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tehuti88-art · 2 years

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9/30/22: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's character from my anthro WWII storyline is Hauptsturmführer (Captain) Erich Arzt, without cap (top drawing) and with cap (bottom drawing); he's also a physician, so he can also be called Dr. Arzt. Fun fact, "Arzt" means "doctor," so that would literally make him Doctor Doctor. He looks friendly but is definitely not a decent person. There'll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, he's a Siberian husky. Um...I guess that's it.

I'll be going off theme for the next month to do Drawlloween, which I've been doing since SketchDaily introduced me to it in 2018.

TUMBLR EDIT: I think I went over quite a few details about Captain...Doctor?...Arzt in previous entries, maybe Trudi Detzer and Eva Heidenreich? Let me check...

All righty let's just do this entry by entry:

Vincenz Immerwahr: Arzt is all, "Why sure I'll join your weird threeway relationship, I got nothing better to do...except PLAN A MURDER HAHAHAHAHAHAURKH AKKH URKKHHKKH." *dies*

Trudi Detzer: Alllllll kinds of skeeze going on here. But the fullest picture of this character to date and URKH AKKH URKKHHKKH. *dies*

Stephen Gerhardt: Brief cameo appearance!

Eva Heidenreich: He's here! Now he's gone. Now he's back! And now URKH AKKH URKKHHKKH. *dies*

Hedy Rader: Wow, I forgot he shows up here. Just for one line. But a funny one. Incidentally, it's kind of weird Col. Heidenreich is contemplating writing SS smut, considering how much of a prude he is regarding DEGENERATE!! stuff, but well, he's a big ol' hypocrite anyway...

I think maybe that's it. I recommend checking Trudi's and Eva's entries for a decent picture which I could very well end up contradicting a bit at points here, though hopefully not too much.

I don't know much about Arzt's early life. I'm assuming he had a nice, normal childhood and adolescence, probably from a well-off family, probably did well in all his subjects and sports and such. Nothing you would call an obvious red flag. I don't know if he has siblings or not, usually I'd lean toward no but perhaps he does. He's one of my younger characters so he doesn't serve in the Great War, but becomes a physician for the Waffen-SS. (I'm assuming he sees a bit of combat before switching to just being a doctor.) He's highly intelligent, charming, good looking (not the typical Aryan looks since he has black hair, but he does have icy blue eyes), and very popular with both women and men. And yeah, I mean that socially, and otherwise. Unlike with Gen. Immerwahr, who's just so important and influential that he can get away with whatever he wants and nobody will bother him for it, Arzt isn't nearly as important, so he has to be more discreet. He definitely doesn't flaunt the fact that he goes both ways. But it's rather an open secret anyway; nobody has any actual PROOF of it (as Klemper's case shows, the SS doesn't even require proof, a rumor is enough), but there are stories. Arzt's discretion goes a long way toward protecting him, and his charming manner likely helps too. I mean who can't help but fall for the guy.

(This is probably the thing that rankles the SS more than his preferences, the fact that he remains a bachelor, and fathers no (known) children. Yeah, that kind of rankles them. But what can you do.)

Artz is actually a pretty good doctor, BTW. He isn't interested in any of the bizarre human experimentation his fellow SS officers engage in; he's interested in established medicine. This leads to a weird running-joke rivalry between him and Dr. Mengele in the story. They have a LOT in common (I feel like I have to point out Mengele is a side character to make it clear Arzt himself isn't directly based on him), but Arzt constantly disparages Mengele as a "quack" for the experiments he engages in as a camp doctor. (Mengele disparages him right back, though for different reasons.) Due to their professions they're often in close contact with each other and so have to tolerate each other's presence, and this leads to lots of catty comments. Unfortunately for Mengele, Arzt is a bit more quick witted with such things and so usually gets in the last insult, though Mengele is more well known, plus he survives the war, so, I guess there's that?

As mentioned in the other entries, Arzt is the one who leads to Lt. Gunter Hesse transferring to the Allgemeine-SS after he's injured serving in the Waffen-SS. He meets Gen. Immerwahr, Hesse's superior officer, while asking for a letter of recommendation for Hesse; Hesse is reluctant to do so himself, as he'd reported Immerwahr to...the Allgemeine-SS!--for inappropriate conduct! (Immerwahr made a move on Hesse and even though he backed off, Hesse didn't like that.) And now the Allgemeine-SS, which refused to follow through on the complaint, needs a letter of recommendation from the guy who had a complaint lodged against him, for the guy who did the complaining! Good times all around. Anyway, Arzt was the one to suggest the Allgemeine-SS as a new job, so he asks Immerwahr for the recommendation, and Immerwahr finds this all so hilarious he goes ahead and writes one. And hits on Arzt, because wow, this hot doctor who's like half his age just showed up at his place out of nowhere. Arzt isn't a homophobic prude like Hesse. He's like, sure why not, whenever you're free. And leaves with the letter. Hesse gets into the Allgemeine-SS though he's awfully confused about this all.

Arzt IS interested in ONE particular type of experimentation. He's quite curious about all types of sexuality, especially those regarded as degenerate by the Nazis (for this reason, Heidenreich dislikes him, probably even more than he dislikes him when later on Arzt and his wife become a thing), so he's willing to try out pretty much anything at least once. I think probably the best term to describe him is versatile, though even that is rather lacking. But anyway, he never turns down an unusual opportunity when it presents itself. This tendency earns him a reputation among women as kind of a playboy, and that's the idea of him that seems to spread the most, even though he's just the same with men. He doesn't deny this half-deserved reputation since it probably helps him keep out of trouble, too. Plus, given how popular and openminded he is, he's more than likely got the "patronage" of at least a few very influential people (Immerwahr, and later on Eva Heidenreich, among them), so that can't hurt. (Hesse, even though he works in intelligence, likely doesn't know the extent of Arzt's carryings-on, though he surely has an idea; but his experience with Immerwahr taught him to pick his battles.)

Arzt's intense curiosity, and willingness to try things out (including some risky things), are likely due to him being a high-functioning sociopath. He has very little fear of danger, and very easily gets bored, and doesn't even have to try to get people to hit on him, so his mindset is "May as well go along with it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ " Men, women, dom, sub, sadist, masochist, anything in between, at least it gives him something to do.

Arzt accepts Immerwahr's invitation to his place and joins him for dinner. Immerwahr owns the biggest estate right in the middle of the city, and it's crammed to the gills with art and antiques, much of it DEGENERATE!! in nature, plus he illegally employs various "undesirables" such as Jews and lesbians (i. e., people unlikely to talk) for his household staff, so of course Arzt finds this quite intriguing. (The naughtier, the better.) Immerwahr is rather versatile too, though he's much more interested in men; his favorite ploy is to invite them back to his private quarters to admire "the view." The room really does have a nice view of the city square, though most time there is spent looking at other things. Of course Arzt goes along. Immerwahr likes him well enough, and Arzt finds Immerwahr interesting enough, that they make it into a semi-regular thing. When Arzt shows up one day and finds Immerwahr has invited along a third party, Waffen-SS captain Oskar Ettlinger, Arzt is all on board, though Ettlinger is a bit more skittish (he's married and in the closet) and needs some convincing. Well, Arzt is pretty convincing. The three of them become a casual item, and when not otherwise engaged, they like to pass the time relaxing on Immerwahr's balcony, smoking and sipping drinks and chatting. This is how visitors usually come across them, and it looks pretty normal and reasonable to those few not in the know.

Arzt likes social gatherings, as they give him the opportunity to meet interesting people, have interesting talks, make interesting connections. He knows all the best people, even if they don't know him very well. One kind of ironic incident, in light of later events, is a small gathering he attends at the country estate of Col. Rupprecht Heidenreich, the chief of SS intelligence. Some members of the Dobermann household, as well as Hesse (who often stays on their estate), are visiting too, and someone comes up with the idea of a friendly competition, a horse race--Heidenreich comes from a long tradition of horse breeding and wants to show off both his riding skills and his prize stallion, Blitzschlag. Also joining the competition are Hesse (with his mare, Gewitter), Insp. Dobermann (he's not terribly thrilled to be involved but whatever), Sgt. Stephen Gerhardt, and Arzt. (2nd Lt. Senta Werner would've liked to join in but she's just a woman so she merely observes, along with Adelina Dobermann, Eva, and Private Konrad Helmstadt, because Helmstadt doesn't really care to be involved and he's just there to keep an eye on the wimminz, too.) The race is a VERY close one, with Heidenreich, Dobermann, and Hesse almost neck-and-neck while Gerhardt and Arzt are very close behind, when Heidenreich pulls a nasty move that causes Gerhardt's horse to topple, taking him with it--Arzt immediately drops out to tend to him (his ankle is twisted), and Dobermann--the intended target of the dirty move--pulls back as well, while only Heidenreich and Hesse finish, Heidenreich winning by a hair. (Addy is disappointed that both her father and her close friend Hesse lost, and Senta is disgusted by the cheating, while Eva is quite smug, and she and her husband pretty much eat each other's face in front of everyone after he dismounts. DEGENERATE!!)

It's on Immerwahr's balcony, though, that Arzt retires to one evening to drink and get away from the buzz of his latest party; parties are nice, but he has a limit, and there isn't anything especially interesting going on. He's sitting at a small table just outside the doors, sipping on his wine, when the doors abruptly burst open and someone storms out. Arzt watches the tall blond woman in the flattering red dress stalk to the balcony edge and grip it until her knuckles turn white, then slump against it as if defeated. He pauses, then picks up the wine bottle and fills a second glass; the woman hears the wine pouring and stiffens before turning to see who else is out there. Upon noticing Arzt, she approaches, and he holds up the glass of wine, saying, "You look like you need it."

Of course he knows who Eva Heidenreich is. She doesn't know him quite as well, though she vaguely remembers him from that impromptu horse race on her husband's property quite a while back, and yes, she knows her husband cheated. She accepts the drink and joins Arzt, who is a very good listener. It turns out Heidenreich cheats at more than horse racing, and he cheats quite frequently--from the very start of their marriage, in fact. Eva has "overlooked" this as much as she can, but now there's a rumor that one of the numerous women he's had affairs with is a lowly entertainer in a nightclub--a half-Jewish woman. Eva can overlook plenty of things, but coming from her "morally upright" husband, the same guy in charge of ensuring the racial hygiene laws are followed, this is just a bridge too far. She refuses to let this one slide. Unfortunately, although she's quite influential, she's still an SS wife and that makes her secondary; Heidenreich is a lot more powerful than she is, and like Immerwahr, can do pretty much whatever he wants. Not only that, but he's more powerful physically as well, and the previous night when she refused him, he got what he wanted anyway. Tonight's party has proven to be almost overwhelming, with her wearing her slinkiest dress and walking around arm-in-arm with her husband, the two of them playing the adoring couple while she secretly wishes she could murder him. She stops just short of saying this last bit out loud, but Arzt gets the gist of it. Eva's hatred of her husband practically oozes from her. He knows something that might help take away some of the sting, though. Apparently offhand, he mentions a room full of decadent art Immerwahr keeps locked in one of the halls--the exact same kind of art Heidenreich always decries as DEGENERATE!!, and the key is kept in a vase outside the door. Maybe Eva would like to go look at that art. Maybe Arzt could join her after a tactful period of time. Eva doesn't need any further hinting. She finishes her drink and leaves. Arzt waits a brief while before finishing his own drink, heading back inside (he spots Heidenreich at the other side of the room, chatting away amiably with a group of people), then exiting out into the hallway. He finds Eva wandering around in the private art room, admiring the displays, and kisses her. She's pretty willing, this time around.

(A note. Heidenreich actually knows exactly what's going on. Eva had gone to him to excuse herself to go look at Immerwahr's collection, and since she's already been cheating on him in an attempt to get back at him (she hasn't had as much luck as he has, since most SS officers are too afraid of angering their boss Heidenreich to sleep with her more than once--Hesse, who actually believes in upholding SS ideals, outright refuses), he figures there's more behind her exit than a sudden interest in degenerate art. When he sees Arzt leave shortly after, he easily figures it out. None of these people are as stupid OR as subtle as they pretend to be.)

Arzt is clear with Eva from the start: He's willing to help her try to get her husband jealous, and/or provide a distraction from her troubles, but that's all it is, a distraction. There won't be any serious relationship and neither of them will be tied down. Eva agrees. It's a bit hard to keep this in mind, however, when Arzt invites her back to his place, a cozy cottage in the suburb, and Eva is surprised to find another woman already there, significantly younger, slim, pretty, and apparently quite at home in Arzt's house. This is Gertraud "Trudi" Detzer. Eva is a bit steamed; Arzt had said nothing about somebody else LIVING with him. Turns out he has a standing arrangement with Trudi; while tending to an injury she'd incurred (he just happened to be the closest doctor around), he was surprised to discover that the young woman was actually male, or more specifcally, intersex--Trudi was born biologically male but with both male and female sex characteristics, and decided to present herself as female. In addition to all this, she's lesbian. In short, she's all kinds of things the Nazis and SS despise, and if they were to find out about her, she'd likely be sent to a camp to be experimented on by somebody like Dr. Mengele. Arzt, however, has different plans. He might not like medical experiments, but he likes other kinds of experiments, and he finds Trudi incredibly interesting. He offers her a deal: He won't report her to the SS, if she agrees to live with him and lets him do basically whatever he wants to her. It sounds like a nasty arrangement that nobody in their right mind would agree to, but Trudi knows the alternative is far worse; she's much tougher and more practical than she looks, and figures, she can handle one man, compared to however many people she might have to handle if she's sent to a camp. She agrees, though with the added stipulation that Arzt's protection extend to her mother, as well. She moves into his house under the pretext of him treating her for a "medical condition," and that's the situation when Eva arrives to pass the time.

Trudi has no romantic or warm feelings for Arzt whatsoever--theirs is a purely transactional relationship, plus, although she's agreed to this arrangement, a few times he's stepped over her personal boundaries into outright force. So she and Eva have a few things in common, although Eva would never deign to admit it. She isn't jealous of Eva's presence, just curious--she can tell the two don't love each other, and wonders what sort of deal they might have going. Eva, well, she's jealous. Arzt's stipulation that this is not a relationship notwithstanding. When she and he retire to his private quarters she makes a point to be as raucous as possible in the hopes that Trudi can hear it. Arzt calls her out on this afterwards, asking if she's jealous of Trudi, and why; Eva is too embarrassed by her own insecurity to answer. She does decide to keep carrying on with him, however, because so far she hasn't been able to find any other guys with the chutzpah Arzt has. (Part of this is because Heidenreich isn't Arzt's boss--he's in charge of the Allgemeine-SS, not the Waffen-SS--though most of it is just Arzt's lack of fear. He finds risky situations like this stimulating.)

Trudi is polite to Eva but for the most part appears to ignore whatever this is she and Arzt have going on. Eva figures the young woman is harmless and spends occasional afternoons at Arzt's place while her husband is busy at work. It's enjoyable, at least. One day while they're lying together, she finally finishes the thought she'd left unsaid at their first meeting: "I wish my husband were dead." Arzt isn't frightened, but he's rational: He treads very carefully.

Arzt: "You surely don't mean that."

Eva (giving him a look): "And why wouldn't I? You think I'm a liar?"

Arzt: "I think people say things they don't mean when they're angry."

Eva: "You think I'm merely hysterical?"

Arzt: "I think you're angry. And for good reason. But it's not the best frame of mind in which to make big decisions."

Eva: "Big decisions?"

Arzt: "There's a reason you're confiding this to me, ja...?"

Yes actually, there is. Eva asks Arzt if he knows anything about poisons. The moment she found out he was a doctor, the gears in her head started spinning--it isn't just hopes of making her husband jealous that inspired her to carry on with Arzt. She's using Arzt, too. He knows that, and doesn't care. Yes, he knows about poisons, he says; "But it isn't poison you should be interested in." When Eva asks why not, he replies, "Because that'll be the very first thing they look for. And everyone knows, the one who wants to use poison the most is the angry wife." Eva's disappointment is obvious, but Arzt isn't finished: "You need to think like a man," he says. This is advice much similar to what Eva's mother gave her when she was younger; "And what would a man think right now?" she asks. "Right now?--something completely inappropriate," Arzt says; "But a man would also think about how to pin this on someone else." "And how would he do that?" Eva asks, to which he replies, "He would think of a bomb."

A resistance group known as the Diamond Network, led by a Jewish camp escapee named Josef Diamant, is active in the city; Heidenreich's SS are constantly investigating them, but they're very skilled at flying below the radar, and they have secret operatives everywhere--for example, the civilian chauffeur who drives members of the SS-Totenkopfverbände (commandant, adjutant, guards) to and from the labor camp is a member who provides a steady stream of intel, directly from the mouths of the SS officers themselves, to Diamant. The Dobermann household, where Hesse often stays, is a literal way station of the Network, with most of the help staff being involved and even Dobermann himself being fully aware of this. (Poor Hesse has no idea.) Although killing is very low on their list of objectives, and they go out of their way to minimize harm to civilian parties, the Network is well known for its use of explosives targeting SS and Nazi officials. The Diamond Network, therefore, is the perfect scapegoat for the murder of Col. Heidenreich. Arzt's specialty may be poisons, but he also knows a little about bombs, and about the way the Network does things. If Eva is serious, if she's 100% SURE that this is what she wants, then he can help her. But she has to be sure. Eva says, "I go to sleep beside him at night, I wake up beside him in the morning, and all I can think is how much I want him gone. None of this is worth it anymore."

So, okay. She's sure.

Arzt instructs Eva to take some time to cool off first; he'll get working on the bomb, but she needs to approach this slowly and with a level head. In the meantime, they'll continue their current arrangement so they can keep each other updated. He suggests she try to put her husband at ease by asking him to take her on an outing, make it seem like old times. Eva and Heidenreich go on a weekend getaway by themselves, and though Heidenreich isn't easily fooled, the distraction proves helpful in getting him to let his guard down a little; he figures Eva's cooled off a bit since their last altercation. She's a very skilled actress--she despises every moment she's with him, but effectively hides it. Arzt, meanwhile, works on assembling a bomb that at least superficially resembles those used by the Diamond Network: Diamant used to be a jeweler and watch repairer, so most of his bombs feature elaborate clockwork components. Arzt mimics this the best he can, which isn't very good considering he's not a jeweler or watchmaker, but it'll suffice to mislead the Allgemeine-SS. He uses gears from his own pocket watch in making the device, and when it's finished he lets Eva know. He'll use an untraceable private courier to deliver the device to the Heidenreich estate, where it's fully expected that the guards will open and inspect it. Arzt has hidden the bomb in plain sight by not concealing its clockwork components; many of Diamant's bombs resemble toys, a sort of taunt to their victims, so Arzt made his bomb look like a toy horse with a glass belly, the gears visible within. (Recall that in addition to running the SS intelligence office, Heidenreich is a horse breeder.) The idea is that everyone will assume it's from the Diamond Network and try to figure out how to disarm it. Here's Arzt's twist: It'll already be disarmed, and harmless. The only way it can be made dangerous again is if someone re-arms it with a separate explosive component. That someone is Eva.

So, one day the package shows up at the Heidenreich estate, and the guards at the front gate intercept it. Open it up carefully and look over its contents. One especially lucky guard gets to gingerly pry it open and poke around inside--but literally all he can find is gears. It does look like a Diamant bomb, but either he forgot to arm it, or it's intended purely as a taunt. They figure it's the latter, but decide to give it to Heidenreich anyway, since he'll surely enjoy the irony of owning a Network bomb that looks like one of his beloved horses. As the guard is taking the package to Heidenreich's personal office, Eva intervenes; after expressing concern about the safety of the item and being informed it's harmless, she offers to take it to him herself, and the guard hands it off. Eva pauses outside her husband's office to open the device up and place within it the component that actually will make it explode (Arzt gave her very clear instructions how to do so). Closes it up again, takes it inside. She tells Heidenreich the guards deemed it safe, and hands it over, then excuses herself to go see to something else. Heidenreich opens the package and draws out the horse figurine, looking it over curiously; he smiles as he admires its clockwork innards, then pops open the little glass compartment. Something immediately starts ticking. Heidenreich's smile vanishes and he has a fraction of a second to realize what's about to happen before it does.

Eva is a good distance down the hallway and still walking when the explosion rattles the windows and startles her to a halt--she knew what was about to happen, too, but is stunned nonetheless. She turns and runs back. Several of the guards are arriving too; one holds her back while the others go through the ruined office door, get a look at the scene, then immediately back out and decide to call Allgemeine-SS headquarters. Headquarters calls Lt. Hesse, who's asleep at his apartment in the city because it's late at night; when he hears that there's some sort of emergency situation at Heidenreich's house, he promptly gets dressed, grabs one of the SS cars, and heads out. (Hesse doesn't just enforce racial hygiene laws, he also investigates alleged crimes involving other SS members; so that's why he's involved.) He arrives to find guards trying to console and restrain Eva, who's screaming and sobbing (like I said--good actress); the others lead him to Heidenreich's office and he sees not only the destruction of the big wooden desk and everything around it, but what's all over the walls and ceiling as well. Shaken, he orders the room roped off and kept off limits until a team of investigators can arrive. He questions the guards and Eva as soon as she calms down, getting the basics of what happened; Eva seems infuriated that a bomb got through even after the guards inspected it and declared it safe. She begs Hesse to find out who's responsible and he promises to do his best. The guards confirm that the bomb was unarmed when they inspected it; they can't figure it out. Hesse calls a few trusted colleagues to fill them in, arranges for them to come out and collect evidence in the morning, and heads back home to catch a bit more sleep since he knows this is going to be a long one.

Col. Heidenreich gets a HUGE funeral--closed casket, of course--and the head of the SS, delivering the eulogy, vows that the parties responsible will face swift and brutal punishment. They accordingly begin cracking down even harder on suspected Diamond Network operatives, because who else could it be. Hesse is a bit more circumspect--he believes the same thing everyone else does, but he needs to collect some proof, pin down a specific subject, before he can act.

Despite his assurances, the investigation doesn't get far, until he's approached by Sgt. Stephen Gerhardt, a Wehrmacht officer who also resides at the Dobermann estate. Hesse had given Gerhardt a few details of the case when he asked, and thought little more of it, assuming he was just curious. Gerhardt now posits a theory: Somebody within Heidenreich's household armed the bomb, AFTER it was examined at the gate. Hesse brushes him off--"You're not an investigator, Herr Gerhardt, perhaps you should stick with what you know"--but the suggestion niggles at him the more he thinks about it. After all, there's literally no other possibility. He returns to the Heidenreich estate to question the guards again, trying to pinpoint which one might have something against the colonel; he at last focuses his attention on the last one who had possession of the device and presumably brought it to Heidenreich's office. The young officer is still shaken by the event, and seems genuinely upset and willing to help; when Hesse asks him for details about what happened when he brought the package to Heidenreich, he starts to answer, then blinks and suddenly remembers that he didn't actually deliver the package himself--Eva Heidenreich intercepted it. She was the last one in possession of the bomb, before Heidenreich received it.

Hesse remembers Eva attempting to seduce him some time earlier, and his heart sinks. He requests that she be brought to headquarters for questioning. At first she's defiant, seeming offended that her husband's men would dare suspect her of such things, but when Hesse brings up not just her possession of the bomb but her and Heidenreich's numerous affairs--"You're not stupid, Frau Heidenreich, I know you know everyone was aware of what was going on, because that was the point"--she visibly relaxes and then, to his surprise, gets a rueful smile. Hesse had promised to solve her husband's murder, and he kept that promise. He knows Eva couldn't have pulled it off on her own, however, and asks who else was involved; "Only me," she insists, "you think I'm not smart enough?" "I think you know little about how to make a bomb," Hesse says, to which she simply replies, "And you think I can't learn?" This is before the Internet, of course--it's not like she could've just looked up "How to arm a bomb" on the Dark Web. Hesse tries to coax her into naming her accomplice(s), suggesting that her punishment won't be as bad, but she calls him out on that promptly--"You just said I'm not stupid, Herr Hesse, so don't lie to me now, we both know there's no way out of this for me," and he's forced to stop trying. He does ask why she didn't just divorce him, a question that rankles her: "And give up everything? Everything I worked for! Everything I sacrificed for, while he had everything handed to him, just because he's a man. Maybe you don't know but this is just how it is for us, Herr Hesse, we do all this work to get so far and it can disappear in an instant because some man simply decided so. He doesn't need a reason. Why do I need a reason? He was an a**hole, and I hated him. There's your reason." Hesse finally realizes the depth of the Heidenreichs' hatred for each other, and ends the interrogation; he knows he won't get the identity of the accomplice from Eva. He does suspect it's one of the men she's had an affair with...but that doesn't exactly narrow things down.

(Something of which Hesse isn't aware. Sgt. Gerhardt didn't just pull his theory out of nowhere. He got the idea from Josef Diamant himself. Gerhardt is a Jewish American spy in contact with the Diamond Network, and Diamant is offended that anyone would blame Heidenreich's murder on his people--the bomb is a good fake, but not good enough: "Only an SS idiot like Herr Hesse would even think I'd make such garbage!" As well, the Diamond Network doesn't target private residences for bombing like this person did. When Gerhardt gives Diamant the details Hesse gave him about the crime, Diamant pauses before suggesting Heidenreich's death is an inside job: "I don't like the thought of it, but nothing else makes sense. Somebody in there is trying to pin this on us. Do you think we'd be foolish enough to go after Herr Heidenreich?--it's suicide.")

Eva waives her right to a trial--knowing there's no way it could be fair, and there's no verdict possible other than guilty--and is brought to a public area set up outside the labor camp, where a scaffold has been erected. Diamant was right in saying that assassinating someone of Heidenreich's importance is an extremely reckless move with extreme consequences, and Eva's execution--for that's what the punishment is to be--is open for the public to see, as a warning. She refuses the hood--"I want everyone to see"--and when given the chance to explain herself to the crowd, she announces, "My husband was an a**hole, and anyone here would have done the exact same." The noose is placed around her neck, the trapdoor released; Eva plummets, kicks, falls still. She never gives up the names of any accomplices.

One of the many people watching is Capt. Arzt. He feels no sadness, no real regret; it was too bad Eva got caught, but she knew the risk. If she had named him, he wouldn't have bothered trying to hide or flee because those are things a coward does--but she didn't. He's a bit impressed by her defiance. Her loyalty, he doesn't care one way or the other since she was just an interesting diversion to him, but it's to his advantage that she didn't give him up; reasoning that if she'd wanted him to be punished along with her, she wouldn't have stayed silent, he stays silent too, and resumes going about his normal life without any further concern. She made her choice.

Not long after, though, while he's relaxing at Immerwahr's place with the general and Capt. Ettlinger, Lt. Hesse and one of his men come calling. Immerwahr invites the two to join them but Hesse declines. In Heidenreich's absence, he's assumed temporary command of SS intelligence (in another ironic career twist, Eva recommended he take her husband's position, as he was the only "truly honorable" SS member she knew of), and quietly continued the investigation into Heidenreich's murder. There's been a development: A tiny bent gear found in the rubble of Heidenreich's office has been traced back to a particular watchmaker, and the watchmaker's records state it was a custom pocket watch made for a member of the Waffen-SS. The name in the records is Erich Arzt. An insignificant little piece of metal did what Eva Heidenreich refused to do.

Arzt feigns surprise and ignorance at first, but as soon as Hesse mentions the watch gear, he knows it's over. He stands up, removes and sets his pistol, dagger, and sword on the table, and offers his wrists for Hesse's companion to shackle. He also offers a belated defense for Eva, explaining that her husband mistreated her, and this is why she turned to him for help; he assumes all responsibility for the bomb itself, and says no one else was involved. Aside from this, though, he expresses no remorse. He pauses to take a last sip of wine from his glass and leaves with the officer as Hesse confirms that neither Immerwahr nor Ettlinger were in on the plot; the other two Waffen-SS officers are as bewildered as anyone.

As they head out to the car, Arzt explains that a young patient of his named Trudi is staying at his house, and asks that she not be "molested" as she has no knowledge of the murder plot; he also gives the combination to his personal safe. Hesse looks rather perplexed and uneasy--wondering why Arzt is offering up this information--but says nothing, and they get Arzt settled in the back seat and depart. It's a warm lovely day, the sun shining and the birds singing, and Arzt looks up and briefly enjoys the breeze passing over the open-top car. Then bites down on the little cyanide capsule he took from his pocket and slipped into his mouth while removing his gun and taking a drink of his wine. He's still conscious enough to hear Hesse yell at his companion to stop the car when he starts seizing and bleeding/frothing from the mouth; but by the time they pull him out and lay him on the ground, he's too far gone to notice anything anymore. He dies within minutes. Hesse is so frustrated and infuriated that he screams and kicks him in the side. It doesn't matter, Arzt can't feel it.

Yep, Eva was right. Arzt knows poisons.

The only thing left to do is resume their trip to Arzt's place to search for further evidence in the murder plot. Trudi greets them, and is stunned to hear of Arzt's death. (They wrapped him in a tarp and placed him back in the car for the time being.) She lets them in his private study, which was off limits while he was alive, and stands aside while they search. They locate the safe and open it up to find some random things including Arzt's will; Hesse skims it, furrows his brow, then tells Trudi that Arzt left his house and most of his belongings to her. He assumes the two are lovers, but Trudi seems just as bewildered as Immerwahr and Ettlinger were--"We weren't lovers. We weren't even friends. Why would he leave it to me?" Hesse doesn't know, and by now he doesn't really care. They return their attention to the search while Trudi turns and quietly leaves. They find some sort of records related to a medical experiment and an esoteric organization known as the Thule Society, then they find Trudi's medical file. Hesse glances at it in mild curiosity, and is promptly confused--the name on the file is GERTRAUD DETZER, yet the name inside the file is GERWIN DETZER. He figures it's some sort of mixup and Trudi has a twin brother whom Arzt was also treating until he reads on a bit more, and gets even more and more confused. His companion sees the look on his face and asks what's wrong; Hesse stammers, "Fräulein Trudi--she--he's a boy?" That of course makes zero sense to his friend, they were just talking to Fräulein Trudi and obviously she's a girl. Hesse asks where she is and they finally notice she's no longer standing there; they quickly go through the rest of the house, and in Trudi's room they find that several dresser drawers have been pulled open and emptied, and the door leading to the side yard is unlocked. Trudi knew they would locate her medical file; she made a phone call, packed a few things, then hurried out to the car that arrived shortly after and got the hell out of there. Needless to say, Hesse is beyond pissed off, by now.

There are a few key details here that both Arzt and Hesse overlooked; if they hadn't been so singlemindedly focused on Heidenreich's death, they might have noticed what was amiss. The SS has been leaking intel like a sieve and Hesse can't pinpoint where it's coming from. It turns out Arzt was the main leak--though unwittingly. That's because Trudi is a member of the Diamond Network: She'd caught another of them in the act of breaking into Arzt's house, but allowed her to escape. Surmising that the young woman living with the SS captain could be a potential ally, Diamant recruited her; Arzt discovered this and threatened her, but clever Trudi simply turned herself into a double agent. She remained living under Arzt's protection, feeding him carefully selected bits of information given to her by the Diamond Network, while simultaneously reporting all of Arzt's activities--as well as anything he'd told her while they were alone together--to Diamant. She was always there, sitting in the other room, while Arzt and Eva Heidenreich met; meaning the Diamond Network had suspicions that Arzt and Eva were up to something before Gerhardt, Hesse, or anyone else did. And the car that she called to shuttle her away from Arzt's house and into Diamond Network custody?--is the same limo used to transport members of the SS-Totenkopfverbände, chauffeured by the Diamond Network operative Andreas Cranz (the other big leak in the SS).

So in the end, only one person with knowledge of the Heidenreich plot--Eva Heidenreich herself--ever faces punishment for it, and Hesse is forced to end the investigation, highly disillusioned.

Arzt's role in the plot doesn't end with his death, however. Toward the end of the story, I haven't worked out all the details yet, but some of the characters have a run-in with a Waffen-SS panzer division whose members are strangely fanatical and seem to possess almost unlimited stamina. Of course it's assumed they're high on meth, but it soon becomes clear this is something even more than that. The good guys barely escape with their lives; the only thing that stops the panzer commander (an as-yet unnamed master sergeant I've mentioned before, he has some goofy earlier interactions with Master Sergeant Schulte wherein they yell vulgar slurs at each other and then trade chocolate and cigarettes) is a gunshot to the head. Literally nothing else works. The good guys can only surmise they're on some kind of SUPER meth and leave it at that. After their escape, however, a few details come to light: These Waffen-SS members apparently participated in Project Doomsday, the Nazi medical experiment that plays such a prominent role in the story. This doesn't seem to make sense, as the Doomsday serum--which confers immense strength, intelligence, stamina, and ability to withstand pain on successful test subjects--works only on people with a VERY rare blood type mutation, and successful subjects can be counted on the fingers of one hand with room to spare--all of them were in the rodent side of the experiment. (Remember there are two parallel storylines in the Trench Rats universe, a rodent one and a canine one.) This here was an ENTIRE PANZER DIVISION of seemingly successful test subjects. How is that possible? They couldn't all have the same very rare blood type AND blood mutation.

This plot point is left hanging at the end of the story but gets picked up in the epilogue story, Ultima Thule, which takes place a little while after the war has ended and everyone has started settling down. Rumor reaches the two sets of main characters that Project Doomsday, which was believed ended when its headquarters was raided and the doctor in charge was killed, is in fact still going strong. It's merely been renamed--Project Ultima Thule--and repurposed--rather than increasing strength and intelligence yadda yadda, now it's focusing on conferring immortality itself. Some Nazi doctors who managed to escape capture fled to the mountains and have been keeping the project going. It quickly becomes clear that the members of the Waffen-SS panzer division were involved in the early stages of this updated project (before the doctors fled)--updated, as in the serum now works on ALL blood types. (Fun fact, if the characters had had the chance to check out the arms of the SS members in the previous story, they might have confirmed something was amiss--many Waffen-SS members had their blood group tattooed on their arm.) The serum has been majorly tweaked, and not only has its main limitation been removed, but it's gained a new and much more sinister purpose.

How was this possible when the doctor in charge of the project, Dietmar Kammler, was killed before he could resolve this issue? It's yet another instance of the characters overlooking something right in front of them. I already mentioned the project was successful only in the rodent side of the story--nowhere in the plot, so far as I know, are there any successful canine test subjects. Most of the characters probably assumed the same thing I did, that Project Doomsday was limited to just the one side, and the canine Nazis never bothered with it. Welp! That's not correct. Communication between the two groups is quite limited, but at some point Kammler must have gotten in touch with the canine Nazi doctors and given them all the important information to tweak the serum, probably because he was having such s**tty luck himself. (Sabotage, in his case. But anyway.) Two of the doctors who just happened to gain access to this information were Mengele, and Arzt. Mengele, since he's the one most interested in weird experiments, did the bulk of the work fixing the serum, but Arzt played a pretty big role in spreading the word about it and securing further funding: He was either connected to or actually a member of the Thule Society, whose logo--a broken sun cross swastika (remember that?)--Trudi once spotted in his office without knowing what it was. As you can tell by the name, the Thule Society had a hand in Project Ultima Thule, and Arzt came up with the idea of testing out an early version of the updated serum on the panzer division, misleading them into thinking it was just some variant of the meth they were always being given. This was why they were so difficult to defeat earlier.

After Arzt's death, Mengele is the one left to take up the mantle of the project. He irons out the bugs and passes it on to the remaining doctors before going into hiding and eventually fleeing the country. (So he never plays a direct role in Ultima Thule, no; he's not among the doctors who presumably end up dead at the series conclusion. A-hole lives on into the 1970s in South America!) Among the rodent faction, the party left in charge of the project is SS Major Ludolf Jäger (who sports a nice big BROKEN SUN CROSS SWASTIKA tattoo on his shoulder--yep--he's a member of the Society); among the canine faction, I currently know of nobody in particular who is left in charge, though there's the group of Nazi doctors, and then among both factions, there are the experimental test subjects doing their bidding. On the rodent side, known test subjects include Lance Corporal Indigo Rat (killed by shrapnel in the previous story) and Jäger himself (a volunteer); on the canine side, they include PFC Konrad Helmstadt, and Lt. Hesse.

Notice that three of the four test subjects named here were killed in the previous story: Indigo by shrapnel, Helmstadt and Hesse by gunshot to the chest. Yet here they all are, alive again, though not quite themselves--in contrast to their standard uniforms, they're all (even Indigo) dressed in a weird white variant of the SS uniform, their eyes have an odd milky blue haze to them, and they all act like automatons, largely unaware/unaffected by what's going on around them. (Jäger is the lone exception to this last one--because he's the only one who took the serum voluntarily, while still alive.) They're also apparently unfazed by any attempts to injure or kill them, similar to the panzer division. Eventually, the Trench Rat surgeon, Burgundy Rat, discovers that the Nazi doctors also engineered a chemical that partly counteracts the serum by overriding its hypnotic effects (I don't know for sure yet, but perhaps Arzt came up with this as a failsafe--sounds more like something he'd do, rather than the gung-ho Mengele). Indigo is the first to get this tried out on him--he's jabbed with a needle of the counter-serum or whatever it is (they've located some within the Alpine Fortress where all this is taking place) while attacking his former comrades, and for the first time shows a reaction, yelling and dropping to the ground writhing in pain. After several moments, though, some of the milky haze clears from his eyes, he blinks, and starts recognizing everyone around him. He's literally been brought back from the dead. He has no memory of anything after getting hit by the shrapnel, except a vague impression of being somewhere else and meeting someone. (There are hints of an afterlife given in the story but it doesn't dwell on this, since I try to avoid overt religious themes.)

The Trench Rats share this discovery with the canine faction, and they get their hands on the chemical and manage to use it first on Hesse, then on Helmstadt. Hesse, who'd been killed by Diamant while attempting to take the Dobermanns into custody, is extremely confused to suddenly find himself in an icy area, dressed in white and surrounded by different people; as he learns more about what's going on, he decides to switch sides, since the Third Reich, the SS, even his loyal master sergeant Schulte and his lover Sophie are all gone and he has literally nothing left but to help his old friends the Dobermanns. Helmstadt's reaction is decidedly different--although initially confused (his last memory is about the same as Hesse's), he's as devoted to the fallen Nazi cause as ever, and continues actively attacking and working against the Allies. They make another interesting discovery: There's another means of counteracting Ultima Thule's subjects, and that involves putting a bullet in or otherwise destroying the brain--exactly what happened with the panzer commander. (This is also why characters like Schulte, who was shot in the head, aren't resurrected for use in Ultima Thule--only those who were killed by other means.) So this is the big weakness in the project, and the Allies determine they have to make use of it to end the combined efforts of Kammler, Mengele, Arzt, and the rest once and for all.

Of course there's more, but that's the extent of Arzt's part in it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[Erich Arzt 2022 [‎Friday, ‎September ‎30, ‎2022, ‏‎3:00:06 AM]]

[Erich Arzt 2022 2 [‎Friday, ‎September ‎30, ‎2022, ‏‎3:00:22 AM]]

#artists on tumblr #ibisPaint x #SketchDaily #original characters

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shojimezolovemail · 2 years

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if requests r open can we get jackass .. even though ya girl only cares for pontius .. + taking a vacation together ? pls and thank u!

A/N: i know i apologize every time i end up posting but i promise i do feel bad for not getting through these requests!! please know i lov everyone who interacts with my silly works :”)

EDIT: just noticed my messed up warnings! sorry about that!

warnings: slightly suggestive, pet names (babe, baby), blood & alcohol mentions

JOHNNY KNOXVILLE

as much as he loves being on set

he is ecstatic when you mention wanting to go on a vacation with him for an anniversary

johnny’s all over it

he’s figuring out when, where, how and down to the smallest of details

he doesn’t really care where you two go though, he’s mainly focused on the fact he’s going with you

if you’re going somewhere hot then you two are going to the beach as often as possible

mainly because he says you look so beautiful in the sun

but so he has an excuse to be public ally affectionate with you

you need sunscreen on anywhere? he’s snatching the bottle and lathering you up

STEVE-O

it’s meant to be a vacation but if steve-o finds an opportunity for a cool video, he’s doing it

he’d probably be the one to plan the trip as he’s obviously got so much experience under his belt from wild boyz

steve-o’s very happy to hear that you wanted to take a trip with him in the first place

in the time leading up to it, he’s tending you how happy he is

“i’m so gals we’ll get to go away together, babe,”

“steve, baby, it’s not for another three months?”

“i know, i’m just excited.”

if you tried to go out to bars with him, you better watch him because he might be on a damn table professing his love for you after a few shots

which is sweet but you’d rather not get arrested on a vacation

you don’t but, the thought is always on your mind

CHRIS PONTIUS

this trip is 100% spontaneous

you mentioned wanting to visit somewhere and suddenly it’s booked and you’re flying out the next day

chris is giddy the whole way there

if you’re taking a plane, he’s trying to join the mile high club with you

your neck and any exposed skin is covered in marks because you had to keep shooing him away

he’s kinda like steve-o in the way that you need to watch him around bars because he’s getting up on a table and professing his love

chris is also doing that anywhere he can, drunk or not

you’re in a hotel lobby? he’s telling the receptionist how madly in love you guys are

you had to beg him to not take his speedos but, lo and behold, there’s one

BAM MARGERA

another impulsive man

not as much as chris though

you would mention a few places and he’d plan it on a week where he definitely should be on set

“bam, you can’t just blow off shooting because i told you i was sad.”

“yes i can. plus, i already bought us tickets to go somewhere,”

if there was a stunt he didn’t wanna do? he’s throwing you in a car and deciding on what state near you two to visit

on an actual vacation with him though, he’s very doting

you don’t feel like carrying your bag? he’s slinging it over his shoulder even if he’s carrying literally everything else

you need help putting on sunscreen? the bottle is out of your hands in seconds before he’s rubbing it in your skin

RYAN DUNN

any time he has off he’s trying to take a vacation with you

especially to beachy places

despite his resistance to water, something about being with you and the ocean calms his mind

most vacations are planned around shooting but if your anniversary falls on a day he’s meant shooting, it’s not happening

you guys would be half way to your destination before he tells anyone though

ryan gets a good laugh outta everyone’s reactions

if you’re comfortable with it, you two are sneaking into a beach at night

probably a cute lil picnic under the stars and then laying on a blanket as you watch the sky

ryan’s carrying you and everything you two brought back to where you’re staying once you’re worn out

he’s also especially doting on vacations because he feels so tender at the alone time with you

DANGER EHREN

he’s taking you somewhere cold for a vacation

but don’t worry, you can use this as an excuse to hang off him like a koala

ehren’s responsible enough to make sure the weather isn’t too bad where you two would be going

he’s hate to ruin a vacation just because the weather is shitty

even if it was though, you’re happy to spend any alone time with him

if you’re more for a warmer vacation, he’s not opposed whatsoever

he just knows you get a kick out of stealing his warmth in colder climates

ehren’s trying to buy you anything you show slight interest in on vacation

keep an eye on him or he might go into debt because w you said some fancy french dress was cute

DAVE ENGLAND

another man who takes you somewhere cold

aims for a place he can snowboard just so he can impress you

of course, once he tries to do that he face plants into a snowbank

you’re quick to run and help even if you felt like you should i be doubled over in laughter

dave’s a little bloody so you gotta take him back to where you’re staying and clean him up

a prime opportunity for him to keep you close

obviously in sake of ‘keeping warm’ despite knowing either of you could crank the heat up

you’ll take pity as he did just face plant in your name

#jackass #jackass x reader #johnny knoxville #jackass headcanons #chris pontius #ryan dunn #steve o #bam margera #dave england #danger ehren

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession. unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller. You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve. That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.

Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face. It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.

Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you. "Hey," you purred. "Haven't seen you around before. We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."

He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.

“What brings you to Tatooine, hm? Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”

“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.

“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk. Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.

“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”

“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Never comes often enough, amirite?”

Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist. He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.

“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice. He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress. “What are you gonna spend all that on?”

“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.

“Why not spend it on yourself? You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”

It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby. Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step. As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.

“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” he denied.

“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate. “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”

He paused a little before he answered. “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh. You grinned, knowing you finally had him.

“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.

“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.

“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.

“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.

“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.

“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”

“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly. “Twenty for the hour.”

“Twenty?!” you squawked. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him. “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”

You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had. “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.

“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.

“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered. “Standing order, permanently.”

It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.

“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.

“Whenever I want,” he added.

“Whenever you want.”

He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand. “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.

You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment. It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did. Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state. With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor. You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.

He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar. His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms. Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way. The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.

You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.

“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.

“Don’t turn around,” he growled. “Don’t look back.”

“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”

You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker. Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.

Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers. He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds. You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.

He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.

"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.

You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him. "How?" you asked.

"I don't care how, just do it. You have thirty seconds."

You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure. And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second. You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.

"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden. "Fourteen."

Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started. Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal. You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.

"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could. "There you go, I can see it now."

You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to. As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.

"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly. "Just a few seconds left, make them count."

Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.

"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you. You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself. "You want it?" he asked roughly.

"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.

"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in. You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in. It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.

"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down. You're too big." You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment. You were wrong.

"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it? It's all you're good for, anyways."

That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life. You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process. "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.

"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back. "Don't lie."

You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it. He enjoyed hurting you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."

"Good."

His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden. You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return. Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic.

He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp. “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.

He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another. He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.

The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need. It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust. You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.

Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing. "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted. "Can you come for me? Or are you completely useless?"

“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.

“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”

It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear. You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them. He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans. Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.

"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh? You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"

"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm.

"You like it when it hurts,” he posited. “You want me to hurt you."

"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin. It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards. This one was definitely going to do both.

As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though. You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.

With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out. When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud. A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again. Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.

“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.

“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego. “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”

“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained. You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.

“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time? On my ship?”

You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it. “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.

“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back. “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said. I’ll hold you to that.”

The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air. Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.

“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark. “Please, Mando…”

“Whenever I want?”

“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes. He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet. Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits. This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.

He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.

You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates. Like being a Mandalorian's target. And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.

#dark!mandalorian #dark!mandalorian smut #dark!din djarin smut #the mandalorian dark fic #dark!din djarin x reader #dark!din djarin x y/n #dark!din djarin x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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cutestkilla · 2 years

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Get To Know Me Tag Game

Okay, this seems fun, thanks for tagging me @captain-aralias!

Relationship Status: I’ve been with my partner for 21 years this summer, but we are not legally married. Technically, we’re engaged because he gave me a ring 11 years ago, but we’ve never actually tied the knot because I really, really, really do not enjoy the idea of having a wedding and he’s not that into it either. Getting up in front of an audience and professing my feelings is just extremely unappealing to me, not that I object to watching other people do it; I think it’s lovely. We sort of looked into doing something small but then my mom started getting really excited and listing off every distant cousin she wanted us to invite and I just… let it not happen. So, we just had a couple of kids instead (and when I call them little bastards, it's literally true).

Favourite Colour: Teal, hands down. Not necessarily to wear (though I do like to wear it) but every room in my house (apart from the kids’ rooms) has some kind of teal accent in it. Blue in general is my favourite, but teal in particular, maybe because it reminds me of the ocean.

Favourite Food: Really not sure how to answer this one… I’m more of a practical eater than someone who really savours food. Whatever it is, it has to have cheese on it, though. Mac and cheese maybe? Four-cheese panini? I’m also a chocoholic so anything with chocolate counts too. Chocolate cheescake?

Song Stuck in Your Head: ‘Love Like a Sunset, Pt. 2’ by Phoenix, because my son wanted to do a dance in front of the sunset (we’re up at a cottage rental on a lake this weekend and the sunsets are glorious) and since this song is about sunsets I played it for him the past two evenings.

Last Thing You Googled: 'feist my moon my man video' because I referenced it in a comment I just wrote to @aristocratic-otter in which we were discussing recreational enjoyment of moving walkways at airports. (Consider this a tag in, Pati, if you feel like playing!)

Time: 9:55 AM (when I was at this question, anyway)

Dream Trip: Weirdly, this isn’t something I really think much about. I love to travel, but I usually just tag along with other people on their dream trips, and travelling with a 3-year-old and 7-year-old isn’t super appealing right now. I would really like to go to southeast Asia, though. Probably we’ll go down to Anguilla in the spring which is just a gorgeous island in the Caribbean, because my parents are renting a villa there for a few months and have invited us to join them for a week or two.

Last Book You Read: I finished Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall a few weeks ago, and had briefly paused reading the second book in the Dreamer Trilogy (Mister Impossible) to do that, and also just finished that. Both were really enjoyable in totally different ways, and I am ready for Husband Material to come out this week! In the meantime, I started The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern which I’m also really being drawn in to (although the audio book performance is not really the greatest).

Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: I rarely don’t enjoy reading something, honestly, so all of the above!

Last Book You Hated Reading: I really never hate the experience of reading anything, I always get something out of it, even if I think the book, or the writing itself could be better. I will say that finishing the latest book in the Outlander series (Go Tell the Bees That I Have Gone) was a bit of a chore. It was incredibly long and very little happened, and I probably only finished it because of Davina Porter’s great audiobook performance.

Favourite Thing to Cook/Bake: My partner is definitely the chef in our house (lucky me!), so I don’t do much cooking. Cooking-wise, probably my favourite thing to make is a really gooey and buttery grilled cheese. I probably like baking better, because I have a huge sweet tooth, and when it comes to that, chewy chocolate chip cookies are king.

Favourite Craft to do in Your Free Time: I’m not super crafty, but when I do work with my hands, it’s usually on home repair/reno stuff. I was really proud of when I pulled apart the hundred-year-old sash windows on my house and replaced the glass, reglazed and insulated a few of them, but it’s been quite a few years since I had time for an involved project like that.

Most Niche Dislikes: I am struggling with this one… I think most of my dislikes are pretty common and I’m generally an easygoing person. I really don’t like strawberry jam or cooked strawberry in any form, even though I love fresh strawberries. Same goes for grape jelly, it sickens me for some reason, but I love grapes. But is that niche?

A truly niche thing I have hated in life is being the team captain for my fastpitch team and having people beg me to run early morning weekend practices only for nobody to show up, over and over. And over. But I feel like anyone rational who experienced this would also hate it. (I have since quit the team!)

Opinion on Circuses, Now and in History: I mean, the original circuses were essentially bloodsport arenas where people paid to watch other humans and animals suffering, right? So, I’m pretty firmly against those. And now… I just think they’re probably pretty cruel to animals and I would never go to one. I went as a kid and I don’t remember it being that much fun anyway.

Cirque du Soleil on the other hand is lots of fun, and I did go see their Cavalia show which features horse dancing and was amazing (seriously, I highly recommend it if it still runs anywhere, it was magical). It feels a bit different, because the animals involved are a domesticated species that has co-evolved with humans for thousands of years and according to my research they train the horses in a cruelty-free way just the same way a horse would be trained for something like dressage and everything is done in a very natural way.

I even hesitate to take my kids to the zoo, for the same reason, even though the zoo in my city is world class and they definitely do their best to make things good for the animals. But keeping a wild animal in captivity just doesn’t seem right to me, even if it’s supposedly the only option because we destroyed their natural habitat… (What if we tried to fix that instead?) But also our whole society is built on subjugation so it’s kind of hard to feel like I have the moral high ground in any way because of this choice, especially since I literally helped my kid capture a bunch of bugs yesterday (we did catch and release, though).

Do you have a sense of direction, and if not what if the worst way you’ve gotten lost: I have a great sense of direction and spatial awareness, I would say. I rarely get lost and I’m usually pretty good at just looking at a map once and knowing my way from there.

The one time I really did get turned around was the night I arrived on my trip to Tokyo; I had mapped it all out in advance and saved the map to my phone to avoid using data, but we got lost inside Shinjuku station (which is quite large), trying to figure our way out the correct exit to walk to our hotel. It was under construction and being indoors with no real landmarks we ended up rolling our suitcases around for almost an hour before finally getting out, and it was raining when we did.

I will tag in a few folks that aralias didn’t tag on her post in case they want to play: @artsyunderstudy @raenestee @fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @gekkoinapeartree @forabeatofadrum @creepyspice

#tag game

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restapesta · 3 years

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8 for the sentence starters? 🥺

"You're angry."

Ian looks up from where he's staring daggers into his phone. They're sitting at their kitchen table, across from one another, and there's a crease between his eyebrows followed by a slight downturn of his lips.

And even though this may just be concentration in some people's eyes, to Mickey they're the telltale signs when it comes to understating his husband.

Mickey's taken his sweet time studying Ian Gallagher and all his moods. After ten years of sharing their lives together, being in each other's space, and the silent observing of his partner, he's learned to know all of Ian's expressions and what they entail. These days, there was rarely a mood swing that went by and didn't get caught on Mickey's radar, big or small.

If it were a profession, Mickey would have been an Ian Gallagher expert.

Which is why Mickey knows, for a fact, Ian is angry.

"What are you talking about?" Ian snaps out of his thoughts and asks. It doesn't even matter that his question is rebutted by the constant glancing towards his phone.

Mickey makes a face, one Ian will know how to fucking read. It's the are you kidding me? face. Ian gets those a lot. "You're literally glaring at that poor phone. What's up?"

Ian rolls his eyes.

"I'm not glaring," He says while attempting—that's the key word here—to pocket the said phone into his hoodie, biting at his lower lip.

The hand that's holding the device is gripped tightly around it, and Ian's eyes keep drifting towards the thing as if he's waiting for it to light up and reveal the answer to his biggest worry.

He isn't just angry, Mickey can tell now—he's anxious too.

And as much as angry Ian makes Mickey's chest swell with pride and other things when it's directed at other people that just happened to do something so infuriating they elicited Ian Gallagher's hefty rage; frustrates him to no end when it's aimed at his poor ass—there's just something so worrying to Mickey about this. Fucking anxiety.

Why would Ian be anxious? Why does he keep staring at where his phone is, keeping his fingers wrapped around the screen, even though it's stuffed deep inside his pocket?

Mickey thumbs at his nose. "You get a weird text or something?" He asks nonchalantly.

Well, at least he tries to.

Ian raises an eyebrow at him. Fuck, Mickey should've figured Ian knows all his signs too, goddamn it. The word WORRIED is probably painted across his forehead in bold letters.

He breathes out deeply through his nose and decides to be fucking level. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Let me see your phone."

"Why would you need to see my phone?" Ian shoots back, slightly shifting away in his seat.

"Why won't you let me see your phone?"

"Are we that couple now, Mickey? With no privacy?"

He's the one to talk.

"You took a shit while I was in the shower this morning, Ian. You have no concept of what privacy is."

"Hey, shut up, you got used to it in prison."

"I hated it."

"Well, I hated yours, too," Ian mumbles lowly.

"Don't try to distract me. Phone."

"Uh, no?"

"Ian."

"It's not a big deal, okay?"

Mickey knows for a fact that's not true if this resistance is anything to show for it.

"Look man," He says. "I don't even know what it is you're angry or worried about but I can already fucking tell you, it is a big fucking deal."

Ian scoffs, but his eyes are still not meeting Mickey's. "How? I'm literally fine."

"Ian," He grips his husband's chin, forcing him to look him dead in the eye. "I know you better than you know yourself. It's obviously a big fucking deal."

Ian stares at him slightly wide-eyed before redness overcomes his cheeks. He leans out of Mickey's grip, and with a flicker of gaze towards Mickey, he casts it down to the floor, pulling his hand with the phone tentatively out of the pocket so it sits on the table between them.

"It's," He sighs, looking everywhere besides at Mickey. "It's not that big of a deal, really. I just—"

Mickey picks up the phone as he lets Ian find the right words for it. He turns the screen on and types in the passcode—Mickey's fucking birthday, like the sap he is—before his eyes meet the headline of a goddamn news article.

PRIDE MONTH, YOUTH CENTERS, GAY JESUS + MORE

Head of the LGBTQIA+ Youth Center, Trevor H., speaks up about pride in Chicago, Gay Jesus movement, future plans, and more in the article below.

Gay Jesus? Mickey looks up at Ian.

This former Gay Jesus in front of him?

"What the fuck is this?" He asks, confused. Who's Trevor H. and why is he talking about Gay Jesus? Why is he talking about Ian, years after the whole disaster even occurred?

What the fuck?

"A former groupie of mine sent me the link to this article," Ian runs a hand through his hair. "Turns out my ex did an interview for this article. There's a whole section about me, apparently."

Mickey looks down at the article. Ignores the ex part. Looks back up again. "What does it say?"

"I don't know. Haven't read it."

"Why?"

Ian shrugs. "Don't feel like it." He fiddles with the skin around his thumb.

Well.

If Ian won't, Mickey will.

He scrolls through the article until Gay Jesus popes up, somewhere around question 12.

Ian's pseudonym only appears after a long discussion about how June of 2021 was a turning point for many young people in Illinois, now that social media was playing a greater role in LGBTQ+ exposure.

Mickey was kind of surprised to find his eyes linger on certain passages, reading through them, then hurriedly skimming others once he remembered that Ian was waiting for him expectantly.

There it is, Gay Jesus, halfway through the article.

Mickey clears his throat to read it aloud, but Ian stops him by snatching the phone out of his hand and placing it back onto the table. He scoots over with his chair so both he and Mickey can read it simultaneously.

There's silence as their eyes scan over the words.

12. What's your opinion on the Gay Jesus movement that occurred a few years back?

- The Gay Jesus movement was, in my opinion, a good goal with a poorly conceived plan. Its founder was unmedicated at the time, but his intentions were pure, as long as I'm concerned. Conversion therapy is still a large problem in our city, and [Gay Jesus] bit off more than he could chew with it. Ian Gallagher did his time for the incident, and I know that he is probably making a better life for himself now. , the Gay Jesus movement will evolve into something better, with a lot more love, and a lot less violence, which always has been the goal.

Have you spoken with him recently? Any new protests coming up after the years long hiatus?

- Thankfully, no. [chuckles] But I have heard through the grapevine that he's doing well. Out and proud, married, and I hope happy. I believe that's all of the support from Gay Jesus we need—simply the knowledge that sometimes we need to help ourselves first before we try to help others.

Ian exhales the second he's finished reading Trevor's answers and slumps back in his chair.

Relief is evident in his features.

"You know," Mickey says after a few seconds of silence. "he just said the truth."

Ian nods, releasing a shaky breath. "Yeah, I honestly expected it to be worse."

"Worse? Ian, what you did was just as wrong as it wasn't. There's nothing bad about wanting to help people."

"I know."

"Then why are you still sad?"

Ian looks up at him suddenly. "How do you know if I'm fucking sad or not?"

"Dumbass, I know you."

Ian groans. "It's creepy."

"That I know you?"

"That you can read me so fucking well."

Mickey smiles up at him, then stands up and comfortably settles himself down onto Ian's lap. Ian's hands go around Mickey's waist almost immediately. The position is gay as fuck, but it feels fucking right.

"This is not something to be angry or sad about, you know?"

Ian sighs. "I guess you're right."

Mickey palms his cheeks and presses a kiss to his lips. "If you read between the lines, that ex of yours is basically saying he supports Gay Jesus."

Ian snorts. "Sure."

"You're really popular, being in a news article and shit."

Ian bites his lip to stop from smiling. Mickey grins himself and pushes on.

"You're sort of a celebrity."

His husband cracks up at that and the two of them laugh about the whole thing as the phone lays discarded at the table.

It wasn't the bad thing Ian thought it would be.

Mickey may not have been there during the Gay Jesus thing, but he's here now, and he still knows Ian better than he knows himself.

And, if he trusts all the knowledge of Ian Gallagher he's gained throughout the years, then he knows Ian's happy right now.

Mickey intends to keep it that way.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #*ficlet #lol idk #thank you for the ask Rhys!#this is like #'becuse i know you. that's how i know.'

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milenadaniels · 3 years

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Before the Night Fades, 8.6k - POV Outsider on Buck/Eddie double date shenanigans (AO3)

“I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who."

---

Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

The nearly-post-COVID return to normal rush is going exactly as well as management at the Tilted Cactus expected it would, which is to say it’s going as miserably as the waitstaff at the Tilted Cactus expected it would.

The owners lost a lot of money to lockdowns, diminished capacity and the general (extremely warranted) paranoia of co-mingling in public during an international plague for the sake of overpriced appetizers. And despite accurately predicting the business would boom once the doors re-opened, management didn’t feel the need to account for more staff to serve said business.

So despite owing $34k on her student loans (that’s after a generous gift from both her parents and her maternal grandmother), barely being able to afford rent in LA, and the utter lack of career prospects, Mere is taking a break in the backroom, next to the dirty mop bucket, mentally running through her finances before she officially gives her notice.

She can’t quit, she knows that.

Turns out leaving New Zealand for LA with nothing but a dream and the idea that if Taika could do it so could she was not the most future-proof plan she could have come up with. The starving artist thing was so 2010.

But Mere’s made up her mind. She’s not made for this abuse. This is bullshit. She’s going to pack up, go home, and you know, do...something else. She’ll figure it out.

Mere pulls herself up from her indelicate crouch on some empty crates and goes in search of a piece of paper — or a fucking napkin, who cares — on which to write up her official resignation.

“No, in section 3A,” she hears Tomas fake-whisper. He’s one of the few new hires to grace these hallowed halls and still thinks it’s disrespectful to talk shit about customers even in the backroom. Umida, a five year veteran of this distinguished profession, has been trying to disabuse him of this particular nonsense.

“Where the fuck is section 3A, Tommy? We have sections 1 to 9, we don’t have any letters.”

“The new sidewalk sections have letters, to distinguish them from inside.”

“You mean sections 10 and 11?”

“...Mr. Peters said they’re using letters.”

“Mr. Peters can swallow my entire ass. The sidewalk sections are literally right outside the door from 9, why would they not be called 10 and 11?”

“Or ‘Hell On Earth’ and ‘Kill Me Please’, as we call them colloquially,” Mere offers, startling Tomas as she pushes through the swinging door she’d been hiding behind. Patio dining is highly encouraged and an excellent way to dine if one has patios. The Tilted Cactus does not have patios. It has a temporary license to put tables on the dirty sidewalk outside their restaurant, where waitstaff get to weave around pedestrians, dogs, and carts like they’re completing an obstacle course.

“Yeah, those work,” Umida agrees, emphasizing her point with a dispirited index finger in Mere’s direction.

“Okay, whatever,” Tomas says with a pained eye roll. “Can you please just check it out and let me know?”

“What’s happening?” Mere asks. She’s leaving this popsicle stand (ideally, on fire as she walks away slowly into the night) but she’s also starved of both human attention and the inherent drama of the culinary world so she’ll be damned if she misses out on one final showdown.

Tomas takes a breath to steel himself. “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who.”

“You don’t have gaydar where you come from?” Umida asks in perfect deadpan.

Tomas glares harder, crosses his arms and juts one hip out. “I come from San Francisco. We invented gaydar. I’m saying I’m pretty sure the guys are together, but I’m also pretty sure they’re each with the women they’re sitting next to. So figure that out.”

“Like a double thruple?” Mere asks, now actually becoming curious.

“Like a ‘I don’t know what y’all are smoking this far north but I don’t understand your weird relationship dynamics and I’m still on probation and I can’t lose this job because I can’t move back in with my brother because I will murder him and I can’t be an only child with aging parents in this economy so can you please just go out there and tell me what the fuck is happening so I can throw this ring at the right person and punch out sometime before I ‘accidentally’ fall on the meat clever downstairs?’ kind of situation.”

Umida and Mere share a glance.

“Okay, well, don’t despair, new guy,” Mere says with a pat on his arm. “Save the meat cleaving for the capitalist elite. We got you. Let the pros handle this.”

“What did the note say?” Umida asks. “One ‘e’ or two? We can at least eliminate half of our options.”

Tomas does not check the note to spot whether the note-taker had written ‘fiancé’ or ‘fiancée’. He stares them down and fips the note in his fingers so the text faces them.

“It says ‘finance’.”

“Ah.”

“We’re going to need a more hands-on investigation, then,” Mere announces.

—————————-

Mere goes first, only because Umida was on her way to swap a side dressing for her table when Tomas intercepted her.

Mere carries a jug of water and makes the rounds of the outdoor tables, trying to hold in her visible distaste for the pseudo-patio vibe the owners tried to make happen out here. There’s a bike stand and a taxi stand two feet from where people are trying to have a romantic dinner. Every now and again, the LA traffic gets rowdy and noisy, completely butchering the atmosphere. There’s a shitty speaker funneling in some Frank Sinatra but it really does nothing to help.

But after this mystery is solved, none of this will be her problem anymore.

Like Tomas said, there are two men and two women sitting like cardinal points around a round table. The women are on the north and east ends, the men on the south and west ones. Two of them are brunets, one a redhead, and one a blond. They’re all disgustingly gorgeous.

And that’s all she’s got.

“The ravioli sounds so good,” the brunette woman says, casting a look at the brunet man to her side.

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

“Mm,” the blond man disagrees. “It’s got feta.”

“What’s wrong with feta?” Asks the redheaded woman.

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with feta,” he responds with a superior smile directed at the man next to him who’s preemptively adopting the look of someone ready to hear some bullshit. “Unless you have an underdeveloped palate and are simply overwhelmed by such strong delicacies as a moderately salty cheese.”

“Okay, don’t talk to me about an underdeveloped palate, Pennsylvania,” the other man responds, posturing despite the softness of his eyes.

“Hey, I said nothing to besmirch the great state of Texas. Texas is a wonder of culinary delight. I’m saying you’re...a simple man.”

“Feta’s disgusting and that’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” the brunet says with smug finality, holding the other man’s eyes until they’re both smirking and looking back at their menus.

Well then.

Mere’s a little bummed as she fills the water at table 36. She’d been hoping the mystery would run longer than 2 whole minutes, but these guys are definitely together. So the mystery will only come down to who’s getting eng—

“Thankfully Chris inherited a more refined palate,” the blond man — Pennsylvania — chirps as the last word.

“He did,” the brunette woman chimes in with a playful smile. “He loves my cooking. You both loved that greek salad I made last week, didn’t you? That had feta in it.”

“It did!” the brunet man replies, slipping his hand overtop hers. “And I loved it. So clearly context is a factor.”

Mere almost spills the rest of the water all over the lady at table 38 as she takes in the man and woman mooning at each other. Though if it’s any consolation, the redheaded woman looks as unimpressed as Mere feels.

“Yeah, I have no idea,” Mere reports back to Tomas.

“The redheads are playing footsie under the table now. That’s one couple at least right?” Tomas asks. The two of them are parked behind the bar where they can see through the window outside but the exterior tint prevents anyone outside from seeing them. The bar is still used for pouring drinks but the stools are gone — can’t maintain 6 feet between them — so the staff pretty much have the run of this corner of the restaurant.

“He’s not a redhead,” Mere mutters, looking out the window to catch the action. “It’s like a dark blond. And I don’t know, I’m pretty sure the two brunets are together, but then blond guy’s foot is way into the other guy’s space.” For a moment she’s distracted by just how damn long his legs are. “That’s certainly...familiar.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida declares when she returns from dropping off plates at table 32.

“They’re lesbians?” Tomas parrots skeptically. “I did not get that vibe.”

“I could see lesbian for the redhead, I think,” Mere says. “Don’t know about the brunette.”

“Lesbians come in all flavours,” Umida informs them haughtily. It’s the start of Pride month and her hijab is held together by an “Ally” pin. “You can’t tell someone’s orientation just by looking at them.”

“But you’ve declared them lesbians,” Mere points out.

“Because lesbians are approaching their table and only lesbians know other lesbians.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Tomas reproaches.

“No, she’s right, lesbians coming up!” Mere watches as two more unfairly gorgeous women approach with two young boys in tow. Honestly, screw LA and their beauty standards. The parties look surprised to see each other, but they clearly know each other well. One of the boys stays with the women, but the other one breaks off to join the table.

“No, I mean you can know lesbians without being a lesbian.”

Umida and Mere ignore him.

“Okay, that’s one of their kids, right?” Umida asks. “Lesbians babysitting for date night?”

“He’s got Pennsylvania’s curls,” Mere agrees. "That's the blond guy, by the way, I think he’s from there. Brunet guy is Texas for the time being."

The boy reaches the table and is pulled into a strong hug by Texas, who then directs him to a hug with the brunette.

“Oh, unexpected.” Mere would have sworn he was a dead ringer for Pennsylvania. “But okay, that confirms the hand-holding I saw. We have a set of parents. And unless this is a super modern table, I don’t see the parents being here on dates with other people.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Umida dithers. “That’s like an auntie hug, not a parent hug. Like if she is the mom, the kid is not happy with her.”

“Wait,” Tomas says.

The boy is wiggling out of Brunette’s grasp and rounding the table to Pennsylvania who’s waiting with a wide smile and open arms, and instead of letting go after, the boy finagles his way onto Pennsylvania’s lap to steal a breadstick. Pennsylvania reaches into the basket for another breadstick to pass to the little boy still waiting with his moms and Mere’s heart tugs a little.

Texas watches on from across the table with unrestrained fondness. His leg shifts to press against Pennsylvania’s who looks up with a smile.

“Boom, gay dads!” Tomas crows.

“And lesbians,” Umida adds.

“Redhead definitely has no part of this,” Mere notes. The woman is smiling but it’s polite and practised, not warm or welcoming. “I guess the brunets could be siblings maybe? Really close siblings?”

Finally, the babysitters make to leave so Pennsylvania kisses the boy’s temple and guides him back to his feet. Texas presses his own kiss to the boy’s curls as he passes, saying something they can’t make out from behind the glass. Brunette gets only a wave as he leaves.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida concludes smugly.

“Okay, good,” Tomas sighs with relief. “So we know who the couples are, now who’s gettin—”

“Um,” Mere interrupts, pointing at the table.

Redhead’s foot is making its way up Pennsylvania’s leg and he shoots her a grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Tomas spits as he walks away.

“Did you even take their order yet?” Mere calls after him. He doesn’t answer.

———-

Mere gets pulled away because now that she’s not quitting in outrage until this table 34 drama is over, she figures she should actually get back to work. Happily, having not seen her for the last 20 minutes, Mikael figured she had left or died and had taken over her section. She agrees to split half the tips with him and lets herself be pulled back into the tide of madness.

“Got it figured yet, Tim-Tam?” she asks when she passes him near the bathrooms.

“The guys are sharing their orders,” he says despondently.

“That’s not that incriminating. I split my orders with people. I’m not about to pay full price to discover if I like something.”

“No,” Tomas glares before gesturing to the window with disgust. “They’re sharing their orders.”

Tomas stalks away to hopefully take an herbal break to calm down and Mere goes back to the window just in time to catch the insanity. Mere feels Umida come up behind her and tries to suppress her shiver when her “what in all that is holy” skates across her bare shoulder.

Pennsylvania has just finished piling some of his spaghetti on Texas’ plate, which is exceedingly normal. But now Pennsylvania is reaching for Texas' burger.

“He didn’t cut that,” Umida notes.

“No, he did not.”

They have pretty messy burgers at Tilted Cactus, ones that are hard to share because if you cut them down the middle they tend to lose structural integrity. Of course, this isn’t a big concern if you’re sharing already-bitten-into burgers. Which these absolute freaks are doing.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida declares again, the earlier smugness replaced with an air of disgust.

But when Umida walks away, Mere watches Brunette wipe something off Texas’ cheek and frowns. One throuple and redheaded side piece? Maybe?

————

“I’m struggling with lesbians as a theory,” Mere tells Umida the next chance she gets at the pickup counter. “I want to believe, but…”

“Yeah, I’m doubting now too. They’re almost exclusively talking to each other. But then I realized it was more getting-to-know-you conversation and this would be a hell of a weird first date.”

“Huh, so heteros all around?”

“Well, I also caught on that they’re spending all this time talking to each other because the guys are like in their own world. Finishing each others’ —”

“Sandwiches?”

“Exactly,” Umida grins, unexpectedly delighted by the reference. “So I don’t know. I really don’t envy Tommy.”

“Me either.”

“Hey Manish,” Umida yells out to the other side of the pickup window, “I’m picking up for Lenore but she’s got a two-seater, why do I have four dishes here?”

“Because Lenore can’t write for shit,” Mere says, picking up the order slip and squinting at the scrawl. “These are for table 24, not 29. It’s a four-seater.”

“Alright, well I guess you’re helping me, then,” Umida says with a wink.

Umida is fully capable of carrying four dishes on her own but she’s asking Mere to come with her so Mere’s already reaching for the plates, hoping the blush on her cheek can be written off as heat from the kitchen.

————-

During a slow stretch, Mere takes it upon herself to refill water and wine glasses in section 10.

From table 32 she can hear them talking about elementary school workloads.

“Oh, ah, I meant to let you know,” Pennsylvania says to Redhead, sitting up in his seat. “I can’t make it to the movies next Friday, can we move it to the next week? I should know my schedule by Wednesday.”

“Sure,” Redhead says with a hint of bite to her pleasant smile. “But I thought you had Friday off.”

“I do,” Pennsylvania says, his lips curving into a small, excited smile, “but Christopher won his class’ public speaking competition and they’re doing a kind of show of all the winners for the parents, and it’s on Friday.”

Mere moves around table 34 and heads for table 36 next, but catches the looks of discomfort on every face aside from Pennsylvania’s. He doesn’t realize he’s said something wrong, but the rest of them have.

“Isn’t that just during school hours?” Brunette woman asks.

Texas hesitates before saying, “yeah, but we’re taking him to Universal after to celebrate.”

Out of pity, Mere doubles back to table 34 and reaches for his water glass to fill. People tend to keep their drama buckled while the waitstaff is there. And sure enough, Redhead glances up and paints a tense smile on her face.

“Yeah, not a problem. That sounds exciting.”

There’s a bite to her words, and by the way his shoulders tense and his fingers curl more tightly around his fork, Texas seems to have picked up on it.

————-

By the end of the entrees, most of the staff have caught onto Tomas’ predicament and one by one everyone from the table-bussers to the cooks have gone out for a smokeless smoke break to try to be the one to divine what the hell is happening at table 34.

None are successful.

“This isn’t even like a romantic date,” Mani laments. “Like none of them are that dressed up and they’re talking about like natural disasters and shit. I don’t get a proposal vibe from like any of them.”

“Who even goes on a double date to propose? Who does that? It’s so tacky!” Gabby says from behind the bar where she’s helping herself to a quick nip before she heads home.

“Who still thinks the ring in the champagne bit is a good idea, is my question. It’s a choking hazard!” Mere says. “How romantic to start off your engagement with a trip to the ER.”

Tomas ignores them all. He looks about 10 minutes away from saying to hell with his probationary status and drinking the next hour away straight out of the vodka bottle at his elbow. “I know it’s Pride and I should be representing but I could really do with a little heteronormativity right now.”

—————-

Tomas is stalling.

Table 34 asked for dessert, of course, and when he vaguely floated the idea of champagne, Texas had readily agreed, so this is happening. The champagne flutes are lined up on a tray, the champagne in them is warming with every minute that passes, and he is no closer to figuring out what to do.

“What if I put all the glasses in the middle and they have to pick which one they want?”

“Okay but the person getting proposed to tonight likely doesn’t know?” Mikael says.

“What if you pretend you didn’t see the instructions?” Shania pitches. “As if we can ever write stuff down correctly anyway. Just say it said to bring out the champagne but nothing about the ring being in a flute! Just hand it back to the proposer and let them get it done.”

“You think we don’t know who the proposee is but we know who the proposer is?” Tomas bites. “If I knew that, Shania, I could have just called them away with a phone call or something and asked them who to give the flute to.”

“Geez,” Shania exclaims, hopping off the bar counter to walk away. “You try to help…”

“And then there were three,” Mario announces as he comes back from another completely unnecessary round of filling water glasses outside.

Tomas’ head snaps up from where he’d been staring into the countertops. “What?”

They all rush to the window and sure enough: Redhead is gone.

“I didn’t see her come in,” Mere says, almost breathlessly. If she’d come in to use the restroom, they would have seen her.

“No, she’s gone-gone,” Mario supplies. “Said she had to get back to work but I’m pretty sure she just wanted out. That’s the chick from the news, you know?”

“People still watch the news?” Mere wondered aloud.

Tomas tsks. “Redhead was the least probable suspect!”

“Well we can rule out Brunette and Pennsylvania as a couple, right?” Umida asks, waiting briefly for the gathered crowd to nod. “Okay, so we’re down to the brunets together, or Pennsylvania and Texas.”

“Or polyamorous,” Mikael sniffs. Mikael is trying polyamory. He doesn’t know there’s a bet going on how long he’ll last. It’s a fine relationship style to get into but one he and his jealousy and insecurity issues are deeply unsuited for.

“Apologies, Mikael, or polyamorous. So you have...yeah, 3 of 3 options left for that ring,” Umida grimaces.

“Wait!” So-Hee cries. She’s supposed to be hosting at the entrance but COVID-19 protocols mean people don’t show up earlier than 5 minutes before their reservation so the podium isn’t very backed up. “What does the ring look like? That could be a clue, right?”

They look to Tomas, whose face is blank.

“You didn’t look?” Mere accuses him, though to be fair it never occurred to her either.

So-Hee pounces on the deep purple velvet box without waiting for Tomas to answer.

“Please god,” Tomas mumbles, grabbing the box out of her hands and prying it open with almost reckless enthusiasm.

All six members of staff currently on duty at the window crowd around, many heads bumping together to catch a glimpse. The ring nestled in the box has a slim, dainty band with a solitaire diamond jutting out proudly, with filigree details on either side.

“Oh thank sweet baby Jesus, that is a woman’s ring!” Tomas nearly yells.

“It could be a man’s ring,” Umida protests weakly, almost sad to see the drama come to an end.

Mere’s a little put out too if she’s being honest. But even if they couldn’t tell from the design, the sizing is way too small to fit on either of table 34’s men’s fingers, as So-Hee demonstrates by plucking the ring up and sliding it onto her own tiny finger.

“Yeah, get it stuck on your sweaty fingers, So-Hee,” Tomas protests almost hysterically, feeling his win come into danger. He wrestles it back off her finger and shoves it back in the box before taking a deep cleansing breath.

“Okay, I’ve got a dessert course to deliver,” he says, the picture of calm professionalism as if he hasn’t spent the last hour losing his entire shit.

———-

They should disperse then, but like brothers in arms after battle, all of them feel the need to stand guard as Tomas prepares to deliver the goods.

Some of them, like So-Hee, stand because they’ve foolishly become emotionally invested in the upcoming nuptial bliss.

Some of them, like Umida, stand because they fell in love with their version of events and they feel the need to properly mourn for what might have been.

“They’re co-parenting that boy,” Umida grumbles. “We all saw that! They can’t deny that!”

And some of them, like Mere, stand because they really can’t be bothered to get back to work.

But stand together they do as Tomas plops the ring in one flute and carries the tray out.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice off to the side of their group.

So-Hee, ever the consummate people-pleaser, actually turns to take care of the customer. The rest of them stay fixed at the window. “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

“Maybe? I couldn’t help but notice that young man taking some champagne out.”

“Yes, would you like to order a bottle as well?” So-Hee pokes Mikael. “We’d be happy to bring some out to you.”

“Ah, no,” the man says. “Well, yes. But I’ve already ordered some. I called earlier, when I reserved my table.”

Mere stiffens, her sixth sense borne of years of customer service piquing. Beside her, Umida takes note as well.

“I asked that champagne be brought to the table with dessert, and I left a box...one that looks a lot like the one on your counter there. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence but I couldn’t help but want to make sure it’s not my ring that just went out to that other table.”

Mere’s wide eyes spring to Umida’s.

“Oh my fuck,” Umida whispers.

Then they’re both racing for the door.

“Wrong table, wrong table, wrong table,” Mere mutters under her breath as she dodges a stroller and a dog walker trying to reach Tomas —

“Oh, Edmundo!” Brunette exclaims brightly.

Umida’s hand braces Mere like a soccer mom in a car.

It’s too late now.

There’s nothing they can do but watch this trainwreck happen.

Happily, Redhead vacated the seat nearest to them so they have an unobstructed view of Brunette’s eyes filling with tears, of Texas’ wide eyes, and of Pennsylvania’s face losing all colour.

From context, Texas is the Edmundo Brunette is so pleased with.

But Edmundo is shaking his head, his brow furrowed. “I...wha— ”

Pennsylvania comes back to himself first, though the smile he paints on his face is strained and frail. “Ah, con — congratulations.”

“Wha— Buck, no.”

Pennsylvania — Buck — stands up from the table like a colt learning to walk, his eyes darting across the table without landing anywhere. “I — ah — I should let you guys celebrate.”

“Buck, no, I—” Edmundo’s voice is firmer now, his hand darting out to reach for Buck, and Brunette starts to catch on that nobody’s getting down on one knee with a flowery speech.

“Edmundo?” she calls, her bright smile dimming.

Edmundo looks torn and trapped in equal measure, and Mere wonders for a heartbreaking moment if maybe he’s as confused about his relationships as the Tilted Cactus employees have been tonight.

With a sigh, and a reminder that she’s out of this place like Cinderella at midnight, Mere falls on the proverbial meat cleaver. Stepping around Umida’s still outstretched arm, Mere weaves herself in front of Tomas just in case there’s any physical fallout, and pitches her voice low so the neighbouring tables will have to strain to listen in.

“Excuse me, my name is Mere, I’m the assistant manager. I am so sorry to inform you there’s been a terrible mistake. We’ve delivered a ring to your table that was destined to another this evening. We apologize deeply for any confusion this has caused and we will of course be comping your meals.”

“It—Oh.” Brunette’s eyes land on the ring on her finger, and her remaining excitement implodes into embarrassment so quickly and resoundly that Mere’s surprised it doesn’t produce an audible sound. The fingers of her opposite hand grip the ring and pause for a moment before slipping it off. There’s no box to slip it into so Mere holds out her hand, the other tucked neatly behind her back.

“Thank you,” Mere says quietly. “Please forgive us for the mistake. We will be investigating what happened so it never happens again.”

“Of course,” Brunette says lightly, forcing some life back into her voice. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Her eyes lift then and take in the scene across from her. Edmundo and Buck still standing, Edmundo’s hand wrapped round Buck’s wrist to keep him from leaving, and her eyes shutter once more.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up,” she says politely, rising from her seat and escaping into the restaurant.

Edmundo watches her go but says nothing, frozen still, holding onto the man beside him.

With all eyes more or less off them now, Mere gathers Tomas and Umida and hauls ass back into the restaurant.

————-

The ring is cleaned and inspected by Gareth, its actual owner, who is amiable enough to not escalate the situation further. His fiancée-to-be is none the wiser on any of these happenings — luckily their table, 29, is indoors — so his proposal is still on for the next course. But, just in case it doesn’t go the way Gareth hopes and he turns on them, Mere preemptively comps their meal too and congratulates him before he’s reseated.

On her way back to the kitchen, she grabs Lenore and uses the last hour of her completely fake authority to formally bar her from ever answering the phone again, or taking notes from the phone, or writing anything anywhere ever again. Lenore, having heard about the drama at table 34 and having seen the crying woman rush to the bathroom just now, accepts with little resistance.

And Mere, heart heavy with the weight of what they’ve done to this poor woman, mentally shakes her fist at her own curiosity and need for schadenfreude. If she’d bailed on this place an hour ago, she wouldn’t be leaving with this heartache by proxy.

As if beckoned by her thoughts, Brunette emerges from the bathroom just as Mere is crossing in front of it. She looks better, her tears packed away, and her cheeks only slightly reddened. Mere is about to offer her something — a glass of water? wine? a whole bottle? — when Edmundo steps into view. Mere doesn’t break stride until she’s behind the protection of the pay terminal privacy partition where she can see them but not be seen.

“Hey,” he says softly, his frame pretty loose and relaxed for a man who looked so troubled moments ago.

“Hey,” she returns with a forced smile.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”

Brunette cuts him off with a hand. “It’s not your fault. They made a mistake. It happens.”

Edmundo nods.

“But…” Brunette continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “For a moment, it didn’t seem far-fetched that it...might be real, you know? I know we’ve been taking things slow, but we have been seeing each other for nearly a year now. And I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but it...it didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

Edmundo’s shoulders have grown tense, and it doesn’t escape Brunette’s notice. She smiles sadly.

“But then I looked up and you weren’t even looking at me. You were looking at Buck. You were so scared he would leave and that — that just doesn’t make sense, does it? I mean, even if the...the ring was a big misunderstanding, wouldn’t it have been better that he leave so we could talk about it privately? But you were scared, because he was upset… And if he was...I don’t know...upset that you hadn’t told him about this, you could have caught up later and discussed it, cleared it up.”

Edmundo says nothing, but he hangs his head and gnaws on his lower lip.

“But you were scared. Scared of him leaving in that moment. Scared...that he’d leave with the wrong idea? That he’d leave thinking you were — we were... ” Brunette sighs sharply. “I think I’ve been a fool.”

“You haven’t—” Edmundo tries to say.

“No, I have. It’s felt so many times like there’s been a third wheel in this relationship, and I genuinely didn’t realize until now that it was me. And maybe I’m naive but I’d like to think you didn’t realize it until today either. That you’re just as big a fool as I am. And maybe Buck is too.”

Edmundo opens his mouth twice to say something but nothing comes out. In the end, he settles on, “Ana, I’m sorry. I...didn’t realize. I don’t even know if I understand what I realize. But I...I know you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met and you didn’t deserve this.”

Brunette — Ana — smiles again sadly, and if a touch bitterly, she’s entitled to it.

“Thank you,” she says softly, before fidgeting with her purse strap again. “I’m going to go. You’ll...say goodbye to Buck for me?” Edmundo nods.

“Goodbye, Edmundo.”

“Take care, Ana,” he responds.

Ana takes a few steps before stopping and turning. “Good luck. I think…” she shakes her head before repeating, “good luck,” and leaving out the side doors.

Mere unglues herself from the privacy wall and slinks sadly back to the bar where she finds Tomas and Umida already halfway through a glass of red each. There’s a third, untouched glass waiting for her.

“We’re horrible people,” Mere decides. “Brunette and Texas just broke up.”

“We didn’t do this,” Umida protests half-heartedly. “Technically, Tomas did.”

“Ugh, you ass,” Tomas sputters. “The note said table 34, you all saw it. It’s Lenore’s fault.”

“It is Lenore’s fault,” Mere agrees before downing half her glass like a shot. Out the window, she can see Pennsyl — Buck — slumped in his chair, staring at the tablecloth. There’s a fresh bottle of wine on the table, two empty glasses at his and Edmundo’s places. Mere raises a glass at Tomas for the gesture.

“If they don’t end up drinking it, I’m taking it home,” Tomas says, “I already wrote it off.”

That’s fair.

Unfortunately for him, when Edmundo gets back to the table, he immediately pours them both a very full glass.

Buck straightens out in his chair, looking concerned and looking around for Ana, who doesn’t materialize. Edmundo says something that has Buck relaxing but looking guilty. Then Edmundo shuffles closer and puts a hand back on Buck’s wrist.

“Okay, back to work,” Mere orders. “We’ve intruded on this drama way too much already.”

When she finds her way back to the bar some twenty minutes later for a totally appropriate reason, table 34 is empty.

————————

A year later, Mere finds herself sitting on the Tilted Cactus bar counter on a Friday night, legs swinging and popping olives like they’re mints. She ended up not quitting her job the night she intended to. Between the excitement, the drama, and the on-duty alcohol, she was feeling pretty chill about sticking it out at the Tilted Cactus a while longer.

But she ended up quitting two days later when the owner found out about how she impersonated an assistant manager and gave her hell for it. She could have stayed, he wasn’t really going to reprimand her. But listening to him talk down at her while her stomach filled with dread at the idea of having to apologize and walk back into that hell hole…nah. Fuck the Tilted Cactus, fuck the owner, and fuck two weeks’ notice. They weren’t getting a minute out of her ever again.

She took the gamble of taking out more student loans and was wrapping up her EMT certification. She’d be in an ambulance soon enough, actually helping people. Not the dream that got her to America, but one that would suffice for now. Make up enough karma to get her feet back under her.

“The lesbians are back,” Umida announces excitedly in a whisper as she fits herself between Mere’s legs against the bar.

“Which lesbians?”

“THEE lesbians,” Umida returns, pointing out the window.

“Those are two guys, babe. Three if you count the kid.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida insists, waving her hand to dismiss the kid from her labels. “They have strong lesbian energy.”

“You’re claiming them for your people?” Mere grins fondly. It’s the start of Pride again and Umida’s Ally pin has been traded in for a lesbian-flag coloured hijab secured with the updated BIPOC Pride flag pin. She’s very pretty in pink, right down to the lipstick Mere isn’t allowed to kiss off of her until her shift is up.

“I am, they’re mine. I claim them.”

“Wait,” Mere squints, trying to pin down the familiar feeling she’s getting, “are those…”

“The guys! Eddie and Buck. I told you they were semi-regulars now. And we were right, that’s totally their kid. I don’t know how, especially since we know they weren’t together before that night, but he’s their kid. My money’s on one of them being trans because he’s literally their spitting image combined.”

Mere sighs happily and hugs Umida to her. “Well, I’m glad some good came out of that night.”

“Umida?” a young voice asks from across the bar. In the year since the reopening, a slew of new hires have joined the ranks to replace all the veterans leaving and Mere barely recognizes anyone anymore. She saw Mikael (unsurprisingly single again) a couple of weeks ago but he’s clearly on his way out too. Tomas lasted until his probation was over before quitting. Umida, in no small part because she was the longest lasting employee, was rightfully promoted to the role of assistant manager. Mere still hopes she’ll leave this hell hole soon but in the meantime, at least she’s getting paid. And authority looks really good on her.

“What up, Jerome?”

Jerome pushes his dark blue fringe back and holds up a sheet of paper. “I have a note here to deliver a ring to a table with dessert but it doesn’t say who’s supposed to get it.”

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Mere laughs and tries to push Umida away. “Let me out of here.”

Umida’s arms close around her hips, preventing her escape.

“Calm down. I created a form so that night doesn’t happen again. Jerome, did you use the form?”

“Um, yeah.” He shakes the sheet of paper in his hands. “I mean whoever took the call did. They checked off the table number, and it’s a ‘fiancé’ not a ‘fiancée’, but it’s a table with two guys so…”

“Okay, but there’s a field for the name, did they fill it out?”

“How am I supposed to know who they are from a name though?”

“Oh my god, kid, you schmooze,” Umida says. “You roll up to their table, you lay on the customer service thick and introduce yourself and ask their names. People are idiots, they’ll tell you, just like that.”

Jerome cocks his head in contemplation. “Yeah okay, but no, there’s no name. It’s blank.”

“But you made a form,” Mere mock whispers.

Umida turns on her, her eyeshadow catching the bar lights as she narrows her eyes. “This is not the form’s fault, don’t you blame this on the form! The form has a field for a name! The form provides!”

“The form is flawless,” Mere agrees quickly, running her hand down Umida’s arm soothingly. “You can’t account for user error.”

Umida glares harder before looking up to the ceiling in supplication.

Mere, who has never in her life been able to resist picking at a scab, asks, “what table is it?”

Jerome checks the paper. “34.”

“The cursed table. The cursed lesbians!” Mere gasps, squirming out of the way when Umida tries to pinch her side.

“Well it’s not like the kid is a contender, so it’s 50/50,” Umida points out. “Much better odds than last time.”

“And to be fair, if the wrong guy gets the flute, he can just improvise and propose with the ring in hand,” Mere continues. “Overall, much less exciting drama than last time. 3/10 for me.”

“Thank god. Yeah, let’s do that.” Jerome walks away with his marching orders and Umida turns to Mere. “I have to actually go work. You gonna hang out here?” She’s off in a half hour and they have tickets to the back row of the latest Marvel nonsense.

“I got booze, olives, and an unobstructed view of my favourite drama. I’m all set.” In lieu of a proper kiss, Mere lifts Umida’s hand and kisses her wrist, delighting in watching her girlfriend’s eyes soften. She blows Mere a kiss and flits away to put out fires.

Mere is usually on her phone while she waits for Umida but tonight she watches table 34. The guys — Eddie and Buck, Umida reminded her — are across the table from each other, Eddie is relaxed in his chair but Buck is leaning forward, elbows on the table as he tells their son a story that has him cackling in his seat. They’re not holding hands, but anyone looking can see they’re together. They have ridiculous heart eyes for each other, and from her vantage point she can see those long legs intermingling again, one knee occasionally jostling into the other. Little tangible reminders that they’re there and together.

She saw hints of this that night, and to see it have taken hold and blossomed...suddenly she’s really invested in them having a great night. One of them planned this night out, wanted to surprise the other, and she doesn’t want that going to waste because of a blank field on a form.

Mere’s wearing a dark long-sleeve blouse, not too far off the dress code, so slips off the counter, snags the backup apron they always leave behind the bar and ties it around her waist. One of the newbies whose name she doesn’t know watches her from the host pedestal and Mere raises a fierce eyebrow at them until they go back to minding their own business.

She rinses out a jug and fills it with water and ice and slips back into her customer service posture to make the rounds of the tables in section 10.

“Well now, I recognize you handsome folk, don’t I?” she schmoozes when she gets to table 34, picking up Eddie’s glass first to fill.

Eddie doesn’t place her and she doesn’t blame him, he was under a lot of stress that night. It takes Buck a second but he gets it.

“Oh hey, yeah! Weren’t you — “ Buck cuts himself off awkwardly and casts an eye to Eddie and the kid. “You, ah, gave us our meals for free! Because of the, um, mix-up.”

That’s enough for Eddie to place her, and where Buck relaxes back into his chair as she fills his glass, Eddie goes stock still.

Bingo.

“What mix-up?” the kid asks.

“Ah, they put something in our drink by accident,” Buck lies without lying. “Real choking hazard! So they gave us our meals for free.”

“That’s dangerous,” the kid says.

“It was dangerous,” Mere agrees, filling his glass. “Choking hazard was right. Could have turned a really great night all wrong with a trip to the hospital.”

Eddie’s brow furrows slightly and Mere struggles to keep a neutral face.

“It’s never a good idea to hide things in food. I don’t know why people keep trying instead of just calling us for advice. We have tons of ways to help people with surprises.”

“I completely agree,” Buck says. “We’re actually firefighters and you wouldn’t believe how many accidental choking calls we get.”

Eddie swallows, his eyes looking mildly panicked.

“Firefighters!” Mere schmoozes harder, smiling at the kid as he gets excited again. “Well I certainly feel safer then.”

“Ah, you probably shouldn’t. I was actually one of those calls once,” Buck says halfway through a smile and grimace, pointing to his throat where there’s a faint scar. “Emergency tracheotomy on the floor of a restaurant. But that wasn’t a surprise, just, ah, too enthusiastic about the breadsticks.”

Eddie’s looking decidedly gray now, eyes laser focused on the scar.

“Okay, well I’ll just go ahead and clear these,” Mere says, jokingly reaching for the bread basket until Buck laughs back.

“I’m better now, promise! Small bites, chewed thoroughly!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she dithers dramatically, nodding to the kid. “If I leave those here, can I trust you to keep an eye on your dad?”

“Yeah!” the kid agrees with a toothy grin.

Buck’s cheeks redden quickly but he’s still smiling, his head ducked shyly in a way Mere doubts is due to her teasing. Eddie, meanwhile, is still looking poleaxed though fondness is fighting its way back in.

“Well, I was just subbing into this section so this will be goodbye for us but it was great to see you guys! Enjoy your evening!”

“Thanks, you too!” Buck says with an easy smile. Eddie manages a “thank you” and Mere has to restrain herself from patting his shoulder as she walks away.

She’s only just returned the apron to the bar when she sees Eddie walk in and head straight for the host before being led to the back.

“Ready to go?” Umida asks, back in her unsensible heels and cross-chest messenger bag.

Mere takes the hand she extends but tugs her closer instead of following her out, before saying the worst thing she’s ever said in her life, “Actually, do you mind if we stick around a little longer?”

“Something good about to happen?” she asks, peeking out the window.

Mere tugs her in closer and leans her chin on her shoulder. “I think so.”

Twenty minutes later, when Jerome passes by with a tray of assorted chocolate treats and two overturned coffee cups, Mere and Umida find themselves bracketed by half the front and back staff. Gossip still spreads like wildfire it seems.

Buck’s overturned coffee cup and plate is the last thing Jerome puts on the table, and as soon as it’s down, he excuses himself. He keeps a professional pace until he’s past the exterior doors and then he’s racing to take a front seat at the bar.

Eddie turns over his cup but doesn’t reach for the carafe, he wipes his hands on his jeans instead.

“Oh my god, he’s so nervous,” Jerome whispers.

“The kid is so in on it,” the host whose name Mere never caught says, and they’re right. Where Eddie’s tensed up, the kid is bouncing in his seat like he knows something’s coming.

“Come on, guy,” a bus boy mutters, checking his watch. His break is almost over.

Mere’s heart is beating hard in sympathy with Eddie’s as they all watch Buck ignore his coffee cup in favor of serving their kid from the tray. Then he signals to Eddie’s plate, who can’t not lift it for the offered chocolate tortes. Finally, there’s chocolate on everyone’s plates and Buck sits back to try a piece of brownie and Eddie can’t take it anymore.

He motions to the carafe and Buck perks up, finally reaching for his cup. But just as his fingers close around it, some idiot’s dog barks on the sideway, calling his attention away. His fingers flip the cup without ever looking at it, or the plate underneath it.

“Oh come on,” Umida moans.

The dog passes with its dumbass owner and Buck puts his cup back down, or tries to, but finds something in the way. He tries again, pushing the intrusion away with the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my god,” is whined in Mere’s left ear and when she turns her head she’s surprised to find not another Tilted Cactus employee but a customer dressed to the nines, pearls and all.

“Ma’am, did you —”

“Shh,” the woman returns, her eyes never moving from the window. Mere turns back too.

Finally, Buck has managed to push the offending items off the plate and settle his cup down and it’s a nail-biting few seconds where it actually looks like he’s going to reach for the carafe and go about his business.

But like a true wingman, the little kid points directly at it, prompting Buck to push the napkin aside and pick up — the ring.

Buck freezes, holding the ring between his thumb and index. His cheeks flush and a smile begins to break over his face before he looks startled and the smile falls abruptly away.

It’s about this time Eddie realizes that proposing by recreating the night they got together was never going to be the best idea when the impetus to their relationship was an engagement ring accidentally sent to the wrong person.

Eddie vaults out of his seat and into the empty one next to Buck, wrapping his hand around the one holding the ring, and bringing his other hand to his cheek to gently turn his head until Buck is looking at him. They can’t tell what he says, but they can watch Buck’s eyes fill with tears, watch as Eddie gestures to their son who’s smiling wide and reaching out for a hand, which Buck instantly provides. His attention comes back to Eddie then, who’s saying something that gets them both looking a little fragile and it’s hard to say if he actually popped the question yet but Buck is surging forward to kiss him hard and fast. Eddie gives as good as he’s getting for a moment before he slows them with small, gentle kisses. And when they finally break apart, Eddie plucks the ring from Buck’s fingers and slides it onto his ring finger as Buck watches, his eyes wide and half incredulous.

Outside, the nearby tables break out into applause, startling the trio and reminding the two men that they are indeed out in public. Eddie acknowledges the applause with an embarrassed hand and waits until they have a modicum of privacy again before taking Buck’s hand and kissing right near the where the ring now sits. He then reluctantly shuffles back into his seat.

Inside, Mere is hugging Umida to her with a strength buoyed by love. Around them, the staff are starting to disperse, some wiping their eyes, some with goofy grins on their faces.

“Young man,” the lady in the pearls says to Jerome, holding out her credit card, “I want you to charge that family’s meal to my card.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s very generous of you.”

The woman sniffs delicately and leaves without another word. Hopefully Jerome knows where she was sitting…

“I’m glad she did that,” Mere says into Umida’s shoulder, “I was going to, otherwise, and I’m a broke-ass student.”

“I would have pitched in,” Umida says, her voice soft and pensive. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Mere agrees, sliding off the bar counter for the last time. “Oh, hold on.”

She gets closer to the window and turns the flash off of her camera before taking a pic.

“I think that’s bordering on creepy now,” Umida says without judgement.

“It’s not for me.” Mere sends the pic off with a note and three ring emojis.

They don’t make it out of the restaurant before her phone dings.

“What does Tomas have to say?” Umida asks with a smirk.

Mere pulls up the text and reads, “Gays and lesbians. Both, at the same time. Never doubting Umida’s gaydar again.”

Umida laughs victoriously, which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, and Mere lets her drag her by the hand down the street, letting the nostalgia from tonight settle in her chest.

If there’s anything she misses from working the restaurant scene, it’s getting this glimpse into people’s lives.

Yeah, most of the work was gross, obnoxious, or mind-numbing. But every now and again, she got to be a part of strangers’ stories. Got to be there for the happiest days like graduations, or bridal showers. And even the sadder stories could be beautiful sometimes, like when she got to be extra kind to the elderly woman coming into the restaurant alone for the first time in ten years, or watch a family have their last supper together before their kid moves away for school. It’s just all so human and some kind of wonderful.

She hopes her career as a paramedic will have just a little bit of that kind of magic.

#911fic #buddie fics #buddie #my fics #okay this is fic 2 of 2 for pov outsider for me!#completely opposite tone of the last one this is just fun and dumb :P #hope y'all like it!#my posts

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superhero--imagines · 3 years

Text

Etsy Store Here l Ko-Fi l Commission Info I Instagram I Zine

A/N: Looking for a beta reader for a personal writing piece, let me know if you feel like you're a pretty good editor! Also this has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 months, and IDK maybe I'll do more of them since it's kinda fun.

* Omg this freak is so stupid into the fact that you literally create universes with those godly hands

* I’m not kidding, I think a good 80% of his initial attraction to you was because you’re writing will literally make you immortal

* “You’re going to live forever,” Satoru says slightly breathless as he holds one of your print publications in his hand

* You’re just like ‘wtf’ so he explains-

* “You die twice, once when your body can no longer sustain itself, and the second the last time someone says your name.”

* Ah, so he thinks you’ll live forever in the sense that someone will always reference your work

* “That’s not exactly true though, one day the sun will swallow the earth whole, turning everything we love to dust”

* Satoru thinks you sound just like a writer when you say stuff like that

* “Well, unless we find another planet and have a database there or something”

* Satoru googles ‘how to buy a planet’ and ‘how much would it cost to set up a database in space’

* He’s got no respect for your craft- and by that I mean if you’ve got a deadline you’re trying to meet for a submission period or for your editor whatever, he’s just got no respect for it

* Queue Gojo shenanigans where he’ll hide all the pens in the house, or hide your laptop or something just so he can see you all flustered and panicked

* “I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS I ONLY HAVE 12 HOURS TO GET THIS IN!!” You shriek running from one end of your home to the other looking desperately for your laptop charger

* It’s too late in the game to order another one, and you don’t trust leaving Gojo alone in this house

* More than once you’ve left the house to replace whatever Satoru stole only to return to see even more of your things were gone now

* One time he rearranged all the furniture

* “It’s up there,” Gojo says grinning, and you look up to the ceiling fan to see your laptop charger idly hanging off one of the panels

* “I’ll get it down for you if you give me a kiss,” he says cheekily

* There’s sort of a method to the madness

* Part of it is yeah, Gojo loves to laugh, and nothings funnier than you when you’re flustered

* But part of it is you’ve been hunched over your laptop for days now, and you’re starting to be mean to yourself because you’re frustrated

* You need a break

* One he’s more than happy to offer

* And a teeny tiny portion is because he’s lonely

* Whenever you get sucked into a project it’s like you forget about him completely

* So he just wants to remind you he’s here

* And that he loves you

* You sigh, giving him a quick peck, and with a wave of his hand he brings the charger down

* “I expect a better reward when you’re done with your story”

* I think Gojo is probably a pretty big fan of your work

* In fact he’s probably your #1 fan

* But he’s super low-key about it.

* Buys all your publications on pre-order (never in large amounts so you don’t notice)

* If you’ve got into a bigger journal/magazine, or have a book at a bookstore will buy a copy every time he passes by one and see’s it

* He keeps one copy of each work on his bookshelf in the living room

* And then stores the rest/extra copies in a velvet storage box in a temperature-controlled area

* He also has another set that he notoriously marks up with notes/annotations

* “This part sounds like the time I brought them food and took them on a spontaneous date” he’ll say, scribbling furiously into the margin

* Gojo see’s your writing as an extension of you- of your soul

* So he does his best to try and figure out where you get inspiration from

* He’s especially delighted if he notices something he did, inspired something you wrote -

* “Ah the villain hid the hero’s laptop charger so they couldn’t turn in their assignment on top,” he says with a sigh

* - Even if it’s not always positive

* Honestly he plays it so cool you think he doesn’t really think anything of your profession until you come over to his place for the first time and see all your works in a neat line on his shelf

* And even then you think he’s just supporting you because he loves you, after all, they’re all in great condition, he probably hasn’t even opened them.

* And then a little further into the relationship, probably when you move in together or something

* You find all those marked-up copies

* Gojo Satoru has never been redder

* You’re genuinely concerned he might combust

* He’s acting like you just found his porn stash or something

* You wait for a few minutes for him to stammer out an excuse or something

* But when he can’t seem to form any words after several minutes you sigh and close the box

* “I didn’t see anything”

* He just nods

* You start giving him copies of your work yourself now that you know he’s so interested

* “O-oh no it’s fine-“

* It’s actually one of the rare times you see Satoru flustered

* “It’s fine, I insist, I’ve got too many contributor copies anyway”

* He takes them in his hand blushing

* He would show up to all of your readings or signing events -

* Disguised Ofc

* “Hey you should be careful, that guy looks super sketchy-“

* You look to where your manager is pointing, to a tall lanky guy wearing a black hair wig, and these tacky thick-rimmed pink glasses and you sigh

* “No need to worry, that’s just my moronic boyfriend”

* “You don’t have to show up in disguise you know”

* “Well what was I supposed to do? You didn’t invite me” he’s doing that thing where he gets all shy, a blush on his face and his fingers tugging a strand of hair

* You sigh

* The dork is oddly lovable

* “Well, from now on you’ve got an open invitation to all my events”

* He smiles so bright you would think you just offered to blow him in the middle of the bookstore

* He’s got his shortcomings

* “SATORU DID YOU HIDE ALL MY REFERENCE BOOKS?!?!”

* But you couldn’t have asked for a more supportive boyfriend

* “Kiss me and maybe I’ll tell you where they’re at”

* Or a better muse

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #Gojo satoru x reader #Gojo satoru imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru #Gojo x reader #gojou x y/n #saturo gojou #Satoru Gojo imagine #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru jjk #gojo satoru headcanon #superhero—imagines

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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

Red Gardenia

Pairing: Park Jimin x reader (non-idol!au, ballet!au)

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 7k (she the biggest one yet)

rating: pg

Summary: As a minor ballet dancer in the corps du ballet, suddenly thrown into the limelight you are struggling to cope with the pressure, but when a secret admirer with a love for gardenias comes forth you realise that you may actually be able to do it

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

I want to throw the massivest thank you to my beta the amazing and talented @rosietae she's been the rock that supported this foundation and prevented it from crumbling. I had 2 breakdowns and a couple of identity crises when I wrote this one and her help has been a major pick me up. She made this from a withering bud into a fully bloomed flower and I can't express my thanks to her enough!

This is part 2 of my Love Blossom series and the 3/25 square for the @bangtanwritingbingo event (square: Park Jimin)

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Entrée

A grand pas de deux usually begins with an entrée (literally "entrance"), which serves as a short prelude to and also unequivocally denotes the beginning of the dance suite.

You could do this, you could do this. You could definitely do this. The mantra had been in your head for the past few days. You’d hoped that the psychology articles about daily affirmations you read would work, but it proved to be more difficult than you thought.

Instead you felt like you wasted 10 minutes of your practice time, to stupidly look at yourself in the mirror. For those 10 minutes you kept telling yourself that you were able to dance as the main act in the show your ballet school had signed you up for. Maybe you were not doing it right; probably because you disconnected from those positive affirmations very often. So indeed, those 10 minutes were a waste of time.

Your mouth would say ‘you can do it’ but your brain would instantly doubt you, doubt your skills. You were always a dancer in the background and no one ever complimented your dancing more than necessary. How could you believe in yourself when, for years that’s all that it had been? Was all that doubt supposed to disappear just because all of a sudden you were called by your ballet master informing you of the big role change? You had been specifically picked to dance with one of the most prominent ballet dancers that your school had produced: none other than Park Jimin himself.

Everyone knew of him. He travelled abroad multiple times to be the star of a lot of performances. From New York, to Moscow, to Hong Kong, everyone had seen him in at least one performance. This, as well as the fact that you were a couple of years his junior, and in the corps du ballet instead of a soloist, had made it impossible for you to catch more than a glimpse of him around the school. But of course you had heard of him and his stellar performance. Everyone in your school had, but very few actually had the chance to interact with him. He seemed to have a small group of friends that he mostly spent his time with, but no one else seemed to have gotten the chance to get close to him, which instantly made him a snob in your eyes. He probably had the personality of Narcissus himself. Always so high up his own, it made it difficult for him to get the reality check from the people down below. No matter how much your friends berated you for thinking this way, you were certain you were right.

So imagine your surprise when you were told you had been picked for a pas de deux and he was to be your partner. Surprised was a very mild word for how you really felt. Astonished, perplexed? Those two seemed more appropriate. Not only had you been picked to perform on the stage outside of your usual group but you had the famous wonder boy Jimin as your partner.

For the first few days your friends would only see and hear your excited smile and squeals. You had been waiting so long for this opportunity to come by and now you finally had the chance to prove yourself. No one even threw a second glance at the dancers in the corps du ballet. As a group, you were all there to tie in the loose ends that the soloists and main dancers could not. You were the background of a painting. Without it, the painting was incomplete, but no one observed it in detail. It was not as if you were thinking ill of your fellow dancers, but you had promised yourself and your parents when you chose ballet as your profession that you would make it big. You would stand on that stage and perform as a soloist, in the light, the piece de resistance. And so you worked hard to be noticed. Asking extra questions during lessons, making sure you did the movements perfectly. Staying after hours in the abandoned studio to practice until your feet hurt and bled,having to ice your muscles every night, going home late and heading back out early, the tears, the criticism. It didn’t matter to you. You had a dream. And now, all that hard work seemed to pay off. You would be there on that stage in the limelight.

Soon enough though, reality set in after the second meeting you had with the ballet master. You realised the pressure of not only having to be a main performer, but also standing on the stage with the pride of your school. Your demeanor instantly changed. Instead of exaltation, you were filled with dread and anxiety.

Heading to your locker,you grabbed your gym bag, ready for another hour of basic ballet techniques before you met up with your friends.

“Hey, Y/N, the artistic director is looking for you” they motioned to the general direction of where the offices were.

“After class?” you inquired and they nodded at you.

You gulp, what if they are going to pull you away from the show? You don’t let that thought fester in your head for too long because a red flower taped to your locker caught your attention.

“Oooooh, I see they’re at it again” your friend teased, lightly nudging you with their elbow. You smiled softly to yourself and gently peeled off the tape.

A red gardenia, secret love. Whoever had been harbouring these feelings for you, had been doing it for almost 3 months. They had yet to confess their feelings to you. At the beginning you thought it was a scam and scoffed at the flower, throwing it away whilst telling your friends your opinion of ‘poor jokes like these’. A few weeks after that the flowers kept coming in. You finally accepted that it was not a prank, and someone was expressing their genuine admiration and love for you, when one day along with the gardenia a note waited for your attention.

‘Please accept my feelings’ that was it, no name and no indication of who it may be. But it did make you realise that this person was real, and you instantly felt ashamed of the flowers that you had thrown away until then. Had they noticed you doing that? You hoped not. If they had come out and admitted who they were, you would’ve apologised to their face about your insensitivity.

Without responding to your friend’s playful teasing, you gently put the flower behind your ear and turned around. “Let’s get going, or we’ll be late.”

Unbeknownst to you, a couple of lockers down, a boy with hair the colour of sand smiled fondly to himself, watching your form retreat.

Adagio 1

The adagio or adage (meaning "slowly") part of a grand pas de deux features graceful and elaborate partnering by the dancing pair. In the adagio, the ballerina performs elegant, often slow and sustained movements while the danseur supports her.

“Y/N, thank you for coming to see me before class” your ballet master said, motioning for you to take a seat. “Now, I have told you about the performance, but seeing as things are settling and the performance schedule of Swan Lake will be ending soon, I need to update you on yours.” All you could do was sit in silence and nod once in a while, trying to not look like an excited mess and potentially ruin your chances. After all, a ballerina had to have poise and grace, and if you ruined that image, the role could have been handed over to someone else easily.

Shuffling some papers on her desk, she fished a thick folder out of them and stuck it out for you to take.

“Is this the full schedule for the performance?” your voice wavered, seeing the enormity of the folder reminded you of the enormity of the situation. You were about to perform as a main dancer. No more the quiet mouse dancing in the back or the even worse placement of being a backup for a performance.

“Ah, no dear, this is just the contract. As you know, you will be working with our school’s pride, Park Jimin.” You tried your hardest to keep a neutral face and not scoff at that. Of course the teacher would be shoving Park Jimin’s greatness into your face. “And because he is an international dancer, we cannot afford to have him exposed to any potential issues that may arise if anything were to happen.” Her tight lipped smile stopped you from inquiring what she thought may go wrong, so instead you resigned with a nod of your head. Your friends would listen to your rant later, there was no need to explode in your teacher’s office.

After that encounter, which ended up with you not only being insulted as a ‘minor’ figure in the school as opposed to the illustrious Jimin, but also having to lug a contract as big as a dictionary.

“Who needs a contract as big as this? Who does he think he is? International star my foot” you huffed as you struggled to carry the said atrocity and your gym bag down the hall. “I mean, international dancer but also how much trouble does he get into to need so much coverage for his ass? I get it, his ass is big enough to need a hefty contract….!”

Your friends, who’d tried to warn you beforehand of the situation you ended up up stumbling in, gasped. You were not paying attention to where you were headed and oh so ungracefully smacked your head into someone’s shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry” not looking up, you bent down to pick the gym bag that fell off your shoulder on impact.

“It’s ok” a soft voice responded and you swear you can hear angels sing in your ear. You quickly glanced up, the gym bag long forgotten by now. You wanted to put a face to the melodious voice. And so the dream ended and the angel choir broke up. No longer apologetic, your face instantly dropped. It did not matter you have never interacted with him before and that for a first time meeting you were being incredibly rude. Not when the voice belonged to the one and only aforementioned Park Jimin.

“Oh, it’s you”

Smiling brightly at you he nodded, “it is me”.

His soft and plush features were enough to intimidate you. Not that he looked fierce, not by a long shot. It was the opposite, he looked so innocent it almost made you regret ever thinking he was a stuck up brat. Round cheeks, plump lips and eyes that reflected his bright smile, he looked handsome. His sand coloured hair and the blue contacts made him look princely handsome. And you hated it. “Are you Y/N by any chance?” you pondered whether or not you should have responded to him, but your friends made that decision for you before you could utter a word.

“Yes she is” they nudged you to say something. You shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.

“Yes, hi….” you trailed off. You were not close enough for you to be calling him by his name before he even got the chance to introduce himself properly to you. “Jimin” he filled you in, offering you his hand to shake. Having little faith in you and your ability to be polite, your friends nudged you again in a silent warning to not push his hand away. You had to admit the thought had crossed your mind for a couple of seconds, but your parents had not raised you that way. Glaring at the offered hand, you grabbed it in a firm shake.

Jimin faltered a bit, your intense grimace making him think he was an inconvenience. “Well, uh, nice to meet you” you glanced at him, catching the shy look he was giving you before letting go of your hand and stepping aside. “I will not keep you any longer, I will see you later” He hurriedly retreated to his friends, who were on the side waiting for him. You observed the scene silently for a few seconds whilst chewing on your bottom lip. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you made him out to be. But when two of his friends laughed and patted his back in a congratulatory way, you instantly changed your mind.

Variation-Him

Upon completion of the adagio, the dancers separate and each dancer, in turn, takes center stage and performs a variation (1)

To say you had stopped thinking about the pretentious Park Jimin and the encounter you had would be a total lie. How could you, when you were meant to start practicing for your duet in a few days?

Not only that, but from someone who you’d barely see around the school, he turned into someone who would not leave your eyesight. Not by choice, though you would admit sometimes you would seek his form after hearing his laughter nearby. In your defence, he had a very light and airy voice, one that was instantly recognisable and so your traitorous eyes would be drawn to the sound.

Moreover, the way you treated him at the time, as well as the knowledge that you would be performing a pas de deux together, made it impossible for your peers not to gossip. And so, your name and his were strung together and uttered by everyone that would pass by you.

“It is becoming kind of annoying now,” you muttered angrily to your friends. They had tried their best to keep you level headed during the period but they were finding it more and more difficult to try to reason with you.

“Look Y/N, you are getting to perform on stage, with a great dancer” your friend raised their hand up and covered your mouth with it when you instantly tried to protest. “Nuh-uh, as much as you have a personal vendetta against him, you have to admit he is a great performer. This school does not pick talentless people'' you sighed, they were right. He was a good performer, but you were not ready to admit that yet. Not when that would have given him more rights to be prideful about it. Pushing your friends’ hand away, you whined, “He may be a great dancer, but that puts even more pressure on me to be good, otherwise any chance I may have had at a career as a main performer is gone!”

“Hey, you will be just fine! You got picked for a reason!” your friend tried to encourage you but you could only smile sadly at them, finding it hard to believe it. “Plus, your admirer seems to think so too” your friend smiled smugly at you.

Rolling your eyes at them you scoffed, “what, am I supposed to believe the words of someone who can’t even come out clean with who they are? All I know is that they could be someone who has no clue what they are talking about. I mean, they are confessing their love for me. I wouldn’t call that good taste.”

“Maybe you should,” the voice you had come to know very well over the past few weeks spoke from behind you. Confusedly, you turn around “huh?” did he happen to know something about it? Could it be him? Giving you a once over, Jimin cleared his throat. “Maybe you should, you know, hurry up. Our first practice starts in less than 10 minutes. Don’t know about you, but I would like to warm up before anything” his soft smile faltered when you glared at him. You couldn’t help it, spending so much time hating a made up version of him in your head made it impossible for you to warm up to the real version. And his last comment did grate your nerves, was he implying that you weren’t able to manage your time effectively?

You didn’t miss the slight hurt in his eyes as he passed by you, and against your better judgement your heart twinged. Saying a quick goodbye to your friends, you rushed down the corridor to catch up to him.

“Hey, Jimin” he didn’t stop. Not because he couldn’t hear you, but because the slightly panicked look on his face was not something he wanted you to witness. He had almost given himself away, but he couldn’t stand hearing you talk about his admiration and yourself in that way anymore. He tried to play it off as reminding you of the time, but then you gave him that look, a look that told him you really did not want anything to do with him. At that thought, he felt his heart drop to his stomach faster than he could say pas de chat.

“Jimin wait” he did not want to wait, but he listened to you. Why? Because even if you seemed to hate him with a passion, he would do anything for you.

You thought you had not met before, and in a way Jimin supposed you hadn’t. Not in person at least. But he was there when you had your performance for the entrance exam. To say he was entranced from the very beginning was an understatement. His eyes didn’t leave your form. Every pirouette, every arabesque, glissade, plie... you moved like silk in the wind: smooth, seamless, weightless. When your performance was finished, his heart felt weightless and completely enamoured.

He tried to talk to you after, but you disappeared as quickly as you had done your jete. All he was left with was your name from the application form and the hope that you would succeed in entering so he could see you again.

Bringing himself back to the present, he didn’t turn to face you, and you could not bring yourself to apologise, as the words got stuck in your throat. Instead, you walked a few steps ahead of him and stopped. Doing a silly turn on pointe you gave him an unsure smile, “you coming?”

Variation-Her

In general, the variations are intended to showcase spectacular, acrobatic leaps and turns, as well as the skills and athleticism of the individual dancers.

“Now, Y/N, what did I tell you? This has to be all allegro! Quick, quick, quick!” Your director clapped his hands as if to make a point of what quick meant. You nodded, your breath coming out in heavy pants. Having been practicing all the brisees and pas de chat for a good four hours, you were already tired. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead and your breath came out in shallow rasps.

“Once more” You bit your lip as you tried not to glare at them. You barely got a break and it was just the first week. You had a lot more weeks to perfect it. Indeed, it was not perfect and your insistence on not being closer to Jimin during the partnered moves made it even more awkward. The dance was just not flowing as it should have. Flower Festival in Genzano was a classical pas de deux performance, with rapt moves expressing the happiness and flirtation between two young lovers.

Yours portrayed more of a tragedy between two lovers than the blossoming of love between them. Your movements were adagio instead of alegro, and the swiftness of the intended movements were rough and unsure. Frustrated couldn’t even begin to explain how you were feeling.

Jimin, had yet to utter a word during this time , and in a way you were grateful. You didn’t think you could stand it if he’d opened his mouth to boast about his skills. His moves were graceful, quick, resembling a lark hopping through the grass. He had a lightness of movement that made you realise why he was called the wonder boy of the school. Looking as if he was as light as a feather, he breezed through his variation with ease.

“Y/N, come on, up up up!” the director clapped their hands impatiently. “Your variation from the beginning” gesturing you to get off the floor they restarted the musical accompaniment. Huffing in distress you quickly got on your feet, a sharp pain shooting up your calf. Grimacing you tried to get into position, but with the music being way ahead of your start you fumbled around to get into the right position. It only took a wrong turn of your ankle during a quicker brise for your whole leg to cramp causing you to fall into a heap on the floor.

“What are you doing? Up! From the beginning, you can’t be lazing around. Look at Jimin, he’s done his perfectly. You can’t be sullying his name like this.” Trying your hardest to hide the tears of pain and humiliation out of your eyes, you slowly got on your knees in an attempt to get off the floor.

“Uhm, maybe it would be better if we took a small break?” for the first time since you’ve started Jimin spoke up. Shooting him a stubborn scowl you pushed yourself up with great effort. Stumbling a bit from the pain in your leg you refused to give up. “No, I can do this”

“Y/N, look at you” he slowly approached you as if you were going to strike like an injured animal. And maybe that is how he viewed you. Weak and easily hurt by your lack of talent and professionalism. Before you could retort, the artistic director abruptly stopped the music.

“Yes, Y/N, look at you. You’re stiff and uncoordinated. You’re making the proverbial bull in a chinashop look like a ballerina. How can I let you perform next to Jimin? He’s an international star and he has a reputation to maintain. You’re doing your best to sully that” hurtful tears started pooling in your eyes. Maybe you should just withdraw now. Clearly, no one thought you were good enough. As if to confirm your unspoken thoughts, they carried on, “you were not my first choice by any chance. But you were asked for, specifically, so I had to comply. Please don’t treat this like you do with the corps du ballet.”

You tried your best to reign in your tears, you could not expose your feelings like that. One wrong move and they could’ve removed you from the performance.

“Sir, I think it is best we stop here for the day” Jimin suggested. Who was he to ask for such a thing? How dare he ask the artistic director to stop for the day, as if they would listen to him. “I, uh, forgot i have another meeting in half an hour and it’s best if I don’t miss it” you glanced at the two, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach when you observed the change in the director’s demeanour. Grovelling, he assured Jimin that you’d stop there for the day, flourishing his respect and admiration for how hardworking he was. With a last disappointed glance at you and a scoff, they exited the studio.

It was just you and Jimin left, the silence deafening. Pretending to be busy with tying your pointe shoes, you refused to glance at him. You felt disgraced and belittled. Even though you were aware that Jimin had said nothing against you or your performance, you couldn’t help but channel all your hurt into your behaviour towards him.

“You ok? You should go get that checked” finally gathering the courage to address you, Jimin crouched down to have a look at your leg. You retracted it instantly before his hand could touch you.

“I’m fine, don’t be late for your meeting” you snapped at him.

He observed you in silence for a few moments, and you didn’t know if it was the look on his face which screamed pity to you, his concern for your wellbeing, or the humiliation that you have faced because of him, but your anger levels increased exponentially.

“Look, you don’t need to pity me, I’m fine, just go and show the world your greatness and stop bothering with the likes of me” you huffed. “I’m clearly not good enough and need to improve” your voice softened. You knew you were angry at yourself and not at him. He’d been nothing but kind to you from the first moment you have spoken. Maybe that was why you were taking it all out on him. He was always close to perfect. And it irked you.

“I’m not pitying you. In fact, I admire you a lot.” His confession made you snap out of your thoughts and look at him in disbelief. His cheeks were tinted red and you couldn’t help but think of how cute he looked when he was bashful like that.

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered. “Why would you mean that?”

The silence that ensued, along with the uncertain look on his face, made you think that he would finally admit his joke and tell you that he didn’t mean it. He was him, and you were you. The thought made your heart ache.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he finally asked, and you were once again taken aback, not expecting the change in subject.

“I— don’t. You irritate me, but I don’t hate you,” at your words his expression instantly changed to confusion and a slither of hurt flashed across his face. You hurried to explain yourself, “look you are perfect, everyone clearly loves you, you are nice and everyone flocks around you like bees to honey. And it annoys me. But that is my shortcoming, and not your fault so forget I said that” you sat up quickly, the pain in your leg making it difficult. But a warm hand grabbed your forearm. You wanted to shake it off since you did not want his help, but the heat and support it provided was exactly what you needed. And in that moment you realised that, just like everyone else, you had fallen for him and his charms. He was definitely not what you wanted. What you wanted was to be able to perform to the best of your abilities, to stand on that stage proudly next to him. But what you actually needed was him, his soft words, and his sweet gestures that somehow managed to lift you up and nurse your pride, if only by a bit.

With that realisation, fear and determination gripped your heart. “You should go to your meeting” you nod towards the door. “I’ll be fine” seeing that he was prepared to protest, you added quietly, “please, I would like to be alone right now.”

With a heavy heart, Jimin let go of your arm and retracted slowly. Your words hurt, but they also gave him hope that he may actually stand a chance at becoming your rock. And for now that was all he wanted from you.

“Please rest and get that checked” He said, before he turned around and looked at you wistfully one last time, “I don’t really have a meeting to go to, but i will leave if you want me to”

His exit was swift and graceful, but his heart was heavy and uncertain. How could he make it better for you? How could he convince you to trust in your skills more? Suddenly, he got an idea and he prayed that it would work. It was a shot in the dark, but it was the only one he had.

Adagio 2

A few days after that, you were by your locker once again, with a red gardenia in your hands. With a letter grasped between your fingers, you decided you would read it later as you saw your partner approaching. You hadn’t practiced together since that day, left on your own with the artistic director to practice your variation. The first time you entered the studio and realised that Jimin would not be joining you had made you nervous.

As much as you’d tried to ignore it, it strengthened the realisation that you did need him. In such a short amount of time, he made it so that you saw him as comfort and protection. His soft demeanour and worried glances melted your resolve to loathe him. You were ready to admit you were wrong about him, but you did not get the chance to until now.

Approaching you, he smiled unsurely. You looked a lot better and a lot more rested. He only hoped that having a separate chat with the artistic director gave you a small break in his absence. Sparing a short glance at the flower and letter in your hand he tried his best to hide his smile. Instead he motioned to it as nonchalantly as he could, “Secret admirer?”

With the flower in your hand, forgotten at the sight of him, you quickly rushed to hide it behind your back. “Uhm, none of your business” your cheeks were dusted in pink, making him smile at you fully, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “You ready for today? We’re practicing the duet together”

“Ah, so you will be part of this one then?” You tried to make it seem like you didn’t care as to where he had disappeared in the last few days as you subtly prodded him for more information. Quickly catching onto your scheme, he smirked.

“Did you miss me?”

You scoffed, “Not by a long shot wonder boy. Let's go or we’ll be late, don’t know about you but I would like to warm up first” You turned around and started walking away from him, completely missing the lovestruck Jimin you left in your wake.

“Huh” he whispered to himself. You'd rendered him speechless once again.

Hours of practice later, everything went down better than the first time you’d worked together, as you had all the movements down to a ‘T’. Unfortunately, you were so focused on getting the technicalities right that you forgot about the freedom of the movement that went with the dance. You were stiff once again, and lacked the passion that the female lead should portray.

“No, no, no, Y/N. Once more from the top” the artistic director shooks their head in disapproval. You could feel frustration bubbling up threatening to spill in the form of tears once again. Before that could happen, Jimin instantly called for a small break, under the excuse that he needed to readjust his pointe shoes. He motioned for you to sit down next to him, and you shakily and reluctantly took a seat next to him on the floor. You couldn’t even look at him, let alone address him. Once again doubt started creeping in your thoughts.

“You need to relax more. Feel the steps, don’t think the steps” he whispered to you. Without giving you a chance to respond, he quickly got up and the artistic director immediately rushed to start the music again. You had no choice but to get into position, his words still swimming inside your mind. Feel the steps.

You tried, you swore you did. But somehow, it wasn’t working. By the time it got to the adagio, which was less slow and more of a petite allegro, with smaller and quicker movements, you were ready to give up. You felt as though you were made of wood. When it came to the partnered planche, all you did was stiffly raise your left leg to the back with your arms behind you, waiting for Jimin to grab them.

Improvising, he gripped you from the waist to support your planche, instead of grabbing just your hands from behind your back. He brought himself as close to you as he could, his warmth enveloping all of your senses. Luckily this planche was on flat— your foot planted firmly on the ground, rather than on pointe—otherwise you would’ve lost your footing and toppled over on the floor. He smelled good. Funnily enough, he smelled like gardenias in the warmth of the sun. For a second you couldn’t breathe, forgetting entirely where you were. All you could focus on was his gentle grip on your waist and his breath in your ear as he whispered, “focus on me”

As if he’d muttered a magic word, your guard fell down. All your insecurities melted away at his touch. Your brain was filled with the thought of him and as soon as you came down to pirouette in his arms, he was all you could see. Today he wasn’t wearing contacts, offering you an unobstructed view into his chocolate coloured eyes. His smile was soft and encouraging and his hands around you were strong and supportive. He was silently attempting to tell you that he had you, that you could trust him. There was something else hidden there deep in his eyes, however. As you stared at him for a second longer, trying to decipher what it was, something in you shifted. But the next move didn’t wait for either of you, so you quickly moved away from his arms and into the next position.

This time though, things were different. You feltl it in your movements. The uncertainty and stiffness was long gone. You both moved as one, even with your individual variations, you both came back together as if an unknown string was connecting the two of you.

As the end of the last note on the track rang out into the studio, so did the dream of two young lovers. Both you and Jimin finished returning to the first position in tandem, as if you were one. The two of you panted for different reasons. You, from the effort and the thrill of the closeness that you’ve both experienced. Him from performing without breathing, as his heart threatened to burst at having you so close to him. The performance gave him a snippet of what it would be like for him to be your real lover. And it was intoxicating.

The satisfied smile that the director gave you told you that you’d done it. You finally let go, and it was all thanks to Jimin. Excitedly, you turned your head to beam at him. The admiration in his eyes caused warmth to pool in your stomach. You finally saw the invisible string that tied you both together during the duet. It was affection.

Coda

A Coda is a classical ballet term that refers to the finale of a group of dancers and more often, the finale of a pas de deux.

No one spoke of what had transpired between you and Jimin that day. Completely ignoring your admittance, as well as his confession, you tried your best to act professionally. Practicing both together and apart made the days blend together. In that time you attempted to ignore the feelings that were threatening your performance (and your sanity). There was no time for any of that. You had a dream and this was your only chance to grasp it.

For weeks on end, all you did was practice, completely missing out on sleep and any social activities that your friends partook in. You avoided any social interaction that stepped over the small ‘Talk’ line. And you most definitely avoided your partner outside of your practice sessions. Whenever you would see him come from the opposite end of the corridor, you would quickly turn around and pretend you were looking for something in your gym bag. Sometimes, if you were lucky enough, you’d quickly veer to go towards the toilets. You made sure that there was no chance for the two of you to speak outside of the performance, afraid that you would blurt something out that you’d have rather kept to yourself.

The only interaction you had, if you could call it that, was with your secret admirer. And by interaction, you meant smiling at the flower he’d tape to your locker. Oddly though, for the past few weeks they would leave little notes taped next to the flower. From encouraging messages such as ‘You can do it’ to longer ones that spoke highly of your performances and your capability as a dancer. They were never consistent in length or content, but were always signed off the same way: ‘Forever yours, your secret admirer’

Weeks had passed, and with each day your confidence grew alongside your feelings for your partner. Even with little verbal interaction between the two of you, you were dancers. You did not need words to convey messages, and you certainly didn’t need words to convey feelings. Each time you would reach the finale of the dance you were breathless and dazed, craving for more.

More had to wait though. This was it, the first day of the show. You were nervous to say the least, but having worked so hard, day and night, and with the knowledge that no matter what Jimin was there to support you, you were as ready as you’d ever be.

Thinking about it, from someone you thought was a narcissist to someone you’d viewed as a rock, Jimin had managed to ground you and lift you up at the same time. You’d fallen so hard and fast for him, that you didn't even know what hit you. However, at the thought that there was still a secret admirer that had silently cheered you on, and the fact that Jimin was still a more professional dancer than you were, he probably made each one of his partners fall for him quickly. That was enough to dampen the fire in your heart. You would carry on with this performance and prove yourself to everyone. Prove that you deserved a spot on that stage as a main dancer. Show everyone that you deserved the spot standing next to Jimin, even if it was only as his dance partner.

“Hey, Y/N” your friends greeted as you were putting on the make up for the performance. “Are you nervous?” One of them asked as they all crowded around you.

Laughing, another one of your friends responded, “why would she? I bet she’s smug, now that she’s been favoured by the top star of our school. She clearly caught his eye from the beginning if she’s been personally requested by him” your friends' words left you confused, so you turned around to face them.

“What do you mean?”

They looked at each other warily. “You mean you haven’t heard?” They asked you and you shook your head, left even more confused. “The other day someone heard the artistic director discussing how they didn’t think that you’d pull through, but you did and that Jimin was correct in requesting you as his partner for the performance. Apparently…” they would have said more if not for the appearance of said man at your door. Quickly they wished you good luck and exited the room leaving the two of you alone. He looked dashing in his white shirt and tights. The shirt was made of a silky material to allow freedom of movement and the top buttons were undone, exposing his defined collarbones and the white of his skin. It was tantalizing enough to make you swallow thickly.

However, the words of your friends still buzzed in your head, and you didn’t have the time to ask him if it was true. You were both hurried by your ballet master towards the entrance to the stage. It was time.

In the last few minutes before you were supposed to exit and show the world what both of you had worked for, you expected to be nervous, yet you felt strangely calm. Taking advantage of the stillness around you, you stole a glance to your right. Jimin looked tense, more tense than you had seen him before, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of the performance or because he suspected what you were about to ask him.

“Is it true?” You whispered, not holding back. You needed one last piece of information before the puzzle was complete. And you wanted him to freely offer you that piece.

His jaw muscles twitched, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. The silence between you two was even more deafening. It was as if the dancers that pitter-pattered around you, or the people chatting in the audience, did not reach the bubble around the two of you. The string that connected the two of you before, was shortening in length until there were mere inches between you two.

“You made it up to this stage on your own” He whispered, “There is nothing else bringing you up here but yourself. You may think I’m irritating, but in reality, you hate me.” He prevented you from responding by grabbing your hand. His hands were warm, while yours were clammy. “You can’t say hateful things about yourself and claim that you don’t hate me. If you hate yourself, you hate me. If you belittle yourself, you belittle me. So please don’t do that anymore. If you care even a little…” He didn’t continue, he couldn’t. He was on the verge of tears. You could hear it in his voice.

What he implied didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you were more than ready to surrender. But you needed one more thing. “And the flowers?”

Instead of offering you a straight up response he raises his right hand, the one that was hidden from you until now.

You let out a short breath. The puzzle was complete. In his hand stood a lone red gardenia. His secret love.

Well, not so secret anymore.

“Do you trust me?” He asked with a smile.

Smiling back at him with all the love you could muster, you intertwined your fingers together.

“Yes, yes I do.”

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 3 years

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On Family

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published

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One question that I see asked in the news a lot is why there are still any ghouls left. We have a distinctive, high-impact feeding habit that requires us to stay within human society, where we are both outnumbered and outgunned. This has essentially been the case since the development of automatic firearms, and you’ve continued to develop more and more effective methods of killing us since then. How are we not extinct?

The talking heads always have lurid theories to propose. My personal favorite one, which comes up every couple of years or so, is that the government is secretly breeding us so that they have an excuse to send secret police out into the general populace for nefarious purposes pretending to be exterminators. As if they’d need the excuse {Editing Note: I’ve gotta keep my political views out of this except where they directly pertain to ghouls. No unnecessarily alienating people}. The most commonly accepted one seems to be that we just have a lot of children to compensate for our high mortality rate. Spatha calls that an R strategy, I think. Scarlet calls it the Rabbit Theory. Whatever you call it, it’s wrong. Our species has survived off the strength and compassion of our families.

Contrary to popular impressions, our “nuclear” families are pretty small. My understanding is that 1-4 children is the typical range. I’m the only confirmed only child in my friend group. Scarlet’s the youngest of three, Scorpio’s a middle child, Spatha avoids talking about her home life, and Kestrel doesn’t know her biological parents. There’s a couple of pressures that keep our family sizes small. First, it’s challenging to feed too many ghouls at once, especially ghoul children, who we don’t want worrying about where they’re going to get their meals. Second, the majority of ghoul parents are going to end up as single parents before their kids are fully grown. Either one of them is going to get killed, or they’re going to have to separate to go on the run from the exterminators; and, of course, we do still break up and get divorced sometimes.

These pressures are exaggerated by our general lack of an extended family. It’s not that all of our aunts and uncles get hunted down - even if they did, we’d still have cousins - but it’s not safe for us to have traceable extended families. When exterminators identify a ghoul, the first thing they do is put out a bulletin for all known blood relatives. The most common tactic to avoid this is, when multiple siblings make it to adulthood, at least one of them changes their identity and moves away. This isn’t always done, but it’s done often enough that document forging is a widespread and well-respected profession in the Society. It’s useful for dodging exterminators in other circumstances too. My mom and I changed our names and moved cities after exterminators killed my dad when I was 4.

Between that and the sheer number of out-and-out orphans in our Society, it should come as no surprise that we’ve developed a new family structure to fill in the gaps. The terminology we use for this structure is variable, but the term I’ve always used is “household”. A household is a sort of adopted extended family, typically formed by and centered around one particularly resourceful ghoul called a patron. The patron takes whichever ghouls they choose under their wing, introduces them to each other, and helps them coordinate their talents and resources so that they all have everything they need. Most obviously, this means making sure they all have a supply of flesh, but there are numerous other kinds of support a household can provide. I doubt I need to emphasize again how valuable a reliable source of companionship and safety is, but patrons typically have access to connections and contacts that can help the other members of the household accomplish their goals.

My household, for example, was founded by our patron Yaga. It consists of her, her adopted daughter Kestrel, my mom and I, my friends Scarlet and Scorpio and their immediate families, and four other older ghouls. There’s also Spatha, who has been reluctant to fully join the household but acts like a member in most contexts. Three of our members have reliable flesh sources, and Yaga coordinates with other ghouls to find supplementary sources to ensure that she always has a surplus on hand. This keeps all of us well-fed and lets her distribute the rest to those in need in exchange for favors and cachet that the rest of us can use for our own advancement. In turn, the rest of us pitch in for odd jobs here and there, mostly on flesh-gathering jobs of one kind or another, and we look out for each other. I’ve done a bit of babysitting with Kestrel, for example, and Yaga was able to get me and Scarlet summer jobs to save up for college.

Babysitting, by the way, is one of the most valuable services a household can provide to a ghoul parent. Given our mortality rate, it probably isn’t a surprise that there’s a good bit of cultural pressure to have children, and have them quick. Ghoul children are… a lot. When we’re newborn, we’re pretty much like human babies. Ghoul babies can nurse from ghoul mothers for awhile, which is a relief. They need to switch to flesh before their teeth come in, though, so that means flesh slurry, which is more complicated to make than you might think. For best results, you want a mix of blood, muscle tissue, organ tissue, and bone, especially marrow. We get better at pulling all our nutrients from just flesh as we mature, but babies aren’t as developed. Getting those varied tissues is a little more complicated than just getting flesh. Bone especially is challenging - more mature ghouls have no need for it, and it’s honestly kinda gross. You just have to hope that whoever you’re getting flesh from can start holding some bones for you. Not every source has easy access to bones.

{Editing Note: I think I wrote bone too many times - it looks fake now. Bone. Bone.}

We get our ghoul teeth at the same time as our baby teeth. Our ghoul teeth fall out and are replaced too, but we keep growing new ones our whole lives, kinda like sharks. Funnily enough, I don’t think we grow extra human teeth, which seems like a strange way for evolution to take us, but what do I know, I’m not a biologist. At that point we can start eating regular flesh, and parents have the unenviable task of explaining to toddlers that they can’t just slide their teeth out whenever they want. Our other features come in a bit later - claws between 4 and 6, eyes with puberty. Let me tell you, the claws hurt coming in. I couldn’t hold a pencil for a month. My mom told the elementary school that I was deathly sick so she could keep me home, but I think Scarlet just pretended he’d broken both his hands and went in splints. I don’t envy him - stretching my claws did a lot to relieve the pain.

I’ll admit freely that, by our standards, I had a pretty charmed childhood. I fit into human society pretty easily, I had a mom who loved me and could provide for me, a patron and household to help pick up the slack, and ghoul friends my own age. I had the discipline to keep my true nature hidden from my human peers, and I don’t think I was even particularly traumatized by the pressure of performing humanity that much. I can safely attribute that to the fact that I had safe spaces throughout my life to let the charade drop. Most ghouls at least have that. Most, but not all.

Our integration into human society also means that we inevitably become entangled in human society. We become invested in the lives of our human peers, we befriend them, care about them. Sometimes we fall in love with them. Eating people seems like kind of a big secret to keep from a potential romantic partner - I certainly couldn’t manage it - but some ghouls form romantic relationships with humans nonetheless. Maybe some of these human partners eventually discover the truth and are willing to overlook it for the person they love, but I doubt it happens often. I’ve certainly never heard of it. I’ve heard of it going the other way, though, a human partner discovering the truth and reacting poorly. Someone always dies when that happens. I personally know a few ghouls who’ve dated humans, or are seriously involved with them. Frankly, it scares the hell out of me. I get that the heart wants what it wants, but some wants aren’t worth the risk.

{Editing Note: That last line feels… tense. Emotionally charged. Why? And should I change it?}

In my opinion, the gravest of these risks is what happens when a human and a ghoul decide they want to build a life together, but kids are already in the equation. The human-ghoul mixed family is probably the most toxic environment that a ghoul child could be raised in and conceivably survive. All that pressure of hiding your true nature from your peers as you grow up? That feeling of isolation that follows you everywhere you go among humans? All of the most crushing emotional turmoil I’ve described in this book so far? Imagine if there was no relief for that even at home with your family. I frankly have no idea how ghoul parents manage to feed themselves and their children without being caught, or how they manage to perform humanity so flawlessly and constantly that their literal immediate family never catches on. I don’t know how those children manage to survive to adulthood, but I imagine they have some seriously fucked up mental health problems by the time they do. Factor in the suspicion that they would inevitably face from our Society when they finally are able to join it properly - after all, who more likely to become a Judas or be Lost than a ghoul raised by humans? - and I’d be willing to bet most of them don’t make it out of their twenties.

Before we move on entirely from families in general and mixed families in particular, I’d like to take a quick aside to talk about “half-ghouls”. You hear about them in horror media fairly often, the biological child of a human and a ghoul. Authors love to ascribe all sorts of traits to these hypothetical creatures - greater and more monstrous than the sum of their parts, supernaturally strong and vicious, impossible to detect within human society, sometimes with traits that are blatantly impossible, like telepathy or mind control or just plain magic. All of that is obviously untrue, but it’s something of a point of contention as to whether or not a “half-ghoul” is even possible. None of the ghouls I’ve talked to seem to agree about whether it can happen, and a search of human medical literature was similarly inconclusive. Humans, at least, seem to think that it might be theoretically possible, but have never been able to verify it by observation or by medical experiment. Of the ghouls I know that have been romantically involved with humans, none of them have ever gotten a kid out of it. It’s one of those things where we just don’t know. If it were possible, I’m not even sure what the implications would be.

#my writing #memoirs of a flesh eater #original fiction #not tlt

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