#hopefully I’ll find a full time job that pays incredibly well and I’ll be able to get my own place and start living my life again

[rosicheeks]

-

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[duuhrayliegh]

Fuck Misogyny

request: Bucky uses his newly gained knowledge of feminism to squash misogynistic interview questions. @ptrs-prkrs

warnings: language, creepy men, feminist!bucky

a/n: hey babes!! i hope this lived up to what you wanted! i couldn’t find the exact video you were referencing but i know what you’re talking about, so i drew inspiration from a few others.

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

full m.list

The set up was simple. A long row of fold out tables covered in black fabric, microphones in front of each seat. Black papers were taped to the backs of the microphones with each team member's name. Bucky had told Evie that he wasn’t going to be able to work out with her today because of this so it better be worth it. The PR manager for the team, Amanda, had set everything up. Hired the mediator, notified the press, everything. Ever since they announced that they were going to be hosting an Avenger’s Q&A Panel, the internet quite literally broke.

Of course Bucky had been doing lives on TikTok with the group of five for the past couple of weeks now, so he was becoming quite comfortable in this format. He’s become increasingly active on his social media accounts, gaining more and more followers everyday. Granted, there were still haters, as Freddie called them, but Bucky ignored them for the most part.

Bucky was actually excited for this press meeting. He was finally gaining traction in the media and he knew how to correctly answer their questions. As Amanda had explained, there was going to be several questions from the mediator, tons from the press that they had invited, and then some fan questions as well. They apparently were going to be live streaming the conference on YouTube allowing them to read the comments and questions as it went on.

“Okay, everyone. You have two minutes until we start.” The team was in an empty board room in the Hilton hotel. Tony didn’t want everyone on the compound’s grass because he just had it fixed. Bucky scanned his fellow teammates. It was impossible for everyone to dress for the same event. Steve was wearing a shirt that was almost bursting at the seams with a pair of jeans and sneakers.

Tony was wearing a lovely Tom Ford, three piece, two-button, of course. Natasha and Wanda were wearing ripped jeans and casual tops. Vision was wearing a sweater vest and slacks, Bruce was clad in slacks as well a jacket covering his shoulders. Sam was wearing a button-up shirt and pressed jeans and he couldn’t find Clint anywhere, probably hiding in the rafters again.

Bucky had his iconic leather jacket donning his shoulders, a pair of slightly ripped jeans. His outfit was picked out by Cassie and Penny. “You need to look like you care but like you don’t at the same time.” Is what they said, the phrase made Bucky shake his head. His hair had finally started growing back and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

He had gotten help from Evie before he left Cassie’s apartment. She had pulled back the top half, braiding back two sections into the bun at the back of his head. There were pieces dangling in front of his eyes, “to accentuate the facial features, trust me they’ll love it.” Was Evie’s explanation as they pushed him out of the apartment, so he wouldn’t be late.

“Alright guys! They’re calling your names!” The team filed out of the board room and into a large ballroom. Bottles of water were placed beside each placemat. Tony went out first, followed by Steve, then Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Sam and ending with Bucky. They all settled into their seats, Bucky peeled his jacket off himself, placing it on the back of his chair. His black short sleeved shirt highlighted the gold inlays of his vibranium arm.

“Oh, I see we’re showing some muscle today huh, Buck?” Sam teased as Bucky took his seat next to him. Bucky groaned in realization, covering his microphone so it didn’t pick up what he planned to say.

“Good God, is this what it’s going to be like the entire panel? You just bugging the shit outta me?” They shared a laugh making the rest of the members look at the pair. The audience clapped as they were introduced and continued clapping as they assembled before them.

“Thank you. We would like to welcome everyone to the first, of hopefully many, Avenger’s Q&A Panel.” The female mediator, Stacey, read the assigned lines off the sheet on her podium. “We are going to start with questions we curated for the team and then open it up to the members of the press. After that we will turn to our live stream and answer some viewer questions.” The press rustled in their seats, pulling out pens and journals as well as their phones to record. “Okay, starting off with a question directed at the Avengers in general. How are you feeling about coming before the media in this type of format?” Glances were exchanged between the members, not sure on who was going to start.

“I feel that this is a great way for the general public to learn a little bit more about each individual team member.” Vision was the first to respond and Steve added on.

“Yeah, I definitely think that there’s a common misconception that we don’t want to engage with the media or the general public. We do, unfortunately due to the amount of research and training that we are doing behind the scenes, it just goes to the back of our minds.”

“Right. So Tony and Bruce, we all know that you two are geniuses. What are your feelings on expanding the teachings of STEM courses to not only high school, but as far back as elementary school or even kindergarten?” The pair thought about the question before answering.

“Well, I definitely think that offering STEM-based classes at a younger age would be beneficial, especially if we were to allow the kids to continue to switch what they want to focus on.” Bruce started. “It’s incredibly anxiety-inducing for teenagers to have to decide what they’re going to do with their life right before they are thrust into an unforgiving world.”

“Yeah, I’ll never understand why we do that to our future leaders, it’s honestly baffling. Why do American schools wait until high school to require our children to learn foriegn languages, they aren’t going to retain that information. The same applies for such comprehensive courses like STEM-based ones. If you wait until their brains are already developed so far, then they’ve already decided what they think is interesting and if they don’t find those courses interesting then they aren’t going to pay attention.” Tony finished Bruce's thought before nodding to each other smugly, obviously proud of themselves for answering the question so well.

“Interesting that you see it that way. This last one goes out to everyone and then we’ll open it up to the reporters. How do you deal with the stress and anxiety that comes with being an Avenger? Do you feel a certain amount of pressure to always do the right thing?” Stacey shuffled her papers, tapping them twice on the podium.

“We all have our own routines and ways that we decompress after missions so that really just depends on the person. Like I think that Bruce listens to opera music, and Wanda mediatates, Tony tinkers. It depends on the person.” Natasha answered concisely, making Bucky nod his head. He could recall all of those things to be true.

“Oh definitely, and it doesn’t hurt that we have a former VA Trauma Counselor on board to help us work through the harder stuff.” Steve added a gesture of his head to Sam.

“Speaking of that Sam, just a quick question before we open it up. How difficult was it for you to transition from regular Air Force missions to Avenger level missions?” Sam made a face at Stacey before answering.

“Um, I mean, it’s not that different. You’re always fighting one of the Big Three-- aliens, androids, or wizards, no matter what department you’re working with. The only transition I had to deal with was the Tony Stark-erized suits. Now that I think of it, Tony, can we make it tighter?” Sam quipped making the room laugh with ease.

“Alright, well now we’re going to open it up to the reporters. Starting with this gentleman in the front and then if we could also give a microphone to someone on that side of the room. Okay, thank you.” The first reporter stood up, holding the microphone in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hello. John from Huffington Post. The Avengers inspire almost everyone around the world, so we would like to know who inspires you? Who do you look up to in terms of your idols?” He sat back down as the team contemplated their answers.

“Gandhi.” Bruce said, Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him then added. “Pepper, she’s so amazing.” Steve looked down to Bucky, who shrugged.

“I would probably have to say that my sister, Sarah, inspires me. She raised her two sons, Cas and AJ, by herself after the Blip and was able to keep the family business going.” Sam’s answer made Bucky smile. Sam had brought him to their house in Delacroix, he remembered waking up to Cas and AJ playing in the kitchen, happy giggles filtering through reminding him of his time in Wakanda. By the time that Bucky had refocused on the conversation they had moved on without his answer. Several different questions went by, all directed to the team at large, until Chad.

“Hi, I’m Chad for the Daily Mail. My question is for Wanda and Natasha.” The pair of women perked up, excited to have a specific question. “Do you find that your equipment hinders you in doing your job as well as your male counterparts?” Stunned expressions settled over the womens faces, then annoyance. Bucky’s brows shot up to his hairline, appalled that someone had the balls to ask that. Wanda and Natasha handled the question with grace and much more restraint than Bucky would have.

“Well for me, I am able to move things with my mind so I can throw things randomly at people even if I’m not in the room. I’ve been very fortunate to work with Natasha who has Widow training, so my hand to hand combat is improving immensely. And being able to work with Princess Shuri in Wakanda to learn how to fully control my powers. It’s an ever evolving process that I’m always excited to take on.” Bucky nodded and turned his attention to Natasha.

“My favorite thing is training with either Steve or Bucky because they push me to do my best. We all have our specialties here and it’s nice to learn new skills or improve old ones with people who support you.” Natasha sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, throwing daggers with her eyes at Chad in the audience, waiting for him to say something else. Chad stood again, yelling so he could be heard over the crowd’s commotion.

“That’s great, ladies, but forgive me, you didn’t answer the question I asked.” Bucky pushed forward in his seat, leaning into his microphone.

“I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood what you asked them then. I would like for you to clarify what you mean by equipment.” Chad balked, not expecting a male’s voice to respond.

“You know what’s implied by equipment, sir.” Bucky’s jaw clenched at the man.

“Did you just ask two of the most capable women that I’ve ever known, if their equipment, which I’m assuming you’re referring their breasts, made it to where they couldn’t do their job as good as the rest of their male counterparts. Just to be clear, that’s what you’re asking?” Chad stuttered as he answered yes.

“Right, well first off that’s disgusting. Just a bit of background for you, Wanda is the strongest Avenger here, plain and simple. As for Natasha, she’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met and she can take down every single male here.” Bucky took a breath before continuing. “So, what I think you really want to know is how they encourage their teammates to keep up with them.” He dropped his head to look at the two women down the line.

“Don’t worry Chad, I’ll ask them the right question, since you can’t quite seem to understand how to respect women.” The team was holding back snickers at Chad’s reaction. “Wanda, Natasha. Chad wants to know how the hell you push your male teammates to be just as good as you are. What are your strategies to keep us on our toes while training?” Claps sounded from the women press members and Bucky awaited the pair's response. The next press member stood and asked a question.

“Hi, I’m Chloe from Vanity Fair. This question goes to everyone on the panel.” Bucky settled in for another question that didn’t matter. “How do you continue to be aware of things happening in our society today? Do you keep up-to-date through new channels, or social media?” The answers were rather generic from the team, all of them rather uncomfortable from the tension that Bucky and Chad had created. Stacey interrupted after Chloe’s question.

“Okay, we’re going to open it up to viewer questions from our live stream.” An iPad was placed on the podium in front of Stacey and her eyebrows rose. “Okay, there’s quite a variety here. Here’s one for Steve and Bucky.” Bucky perked up, nervous to answer because his adrenaline had worn off.

“One viewer asks, ‘Steve and Bucky, being from the 40’s, women were treated like second thoughts and were talked about like objects. Now, you’re in the 21st century, not much has changed. What have you been doing to support feminist causes?’”

“I just want to say that everyone should be answering this. It’s true that during the 40’s women were not treated the right way, and they still aren’t today. An 18 year old can’t walk down the street at nine o’clock at night without being catcalled. I am a proud feminist, as everyone should be. I think that as a team we are doing pretty well in that department. As far as what I’m doing to support feminist causes, I’m doing as much as I can. I actually recently enrolled in online classes to expand my knowledge on many subjects, seeing as how I am from the 40’s and all.” The crowd laughed along with Bucky.

“Almost all of my classes have to do with either psychology or gender studies, it’s a fascinatingly haunting subject. One book that I’m reading right now was suggested to me by my friend Cassie, it’s called Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women that a Movement Forgot. The author doesn’t let up and I’m only halfway through it. Look, I’m still educating myself, but I’m a strong believer in doing what is right for everyone, so I’m trying. Thankfully I have a few people keeping me in check as far as my actions.” Bucky thought his response was well thought out for being an on the fly question. He was new to the concept of feminism but that didn’t change the fact that it made total sense.

“I’m with Bucky on this. The 40’s were a rough time. I remember the first time I met Peggy Carter, I was astonished that a woman could be in such a powerful position. One of the first things she did after I met her was punch out someone who made a sexual comment to her. I’ve been supporting feminist causes ever since working with Peggy.” Steve added, a sad smile spreading on his face reminiscing Peggy.

“This one says, ‘As a total fan of all of you, I love seeing what you post on your social media accounts. When are the rest of the Avengers going to follow Bucky’s lead and download TikTok?’” Bucky’s head flew back into a full body laugh. Tony shifted forward in his seat, pointing his finger at the laughing man down the table.

“I would just like to say he didn’t get that approved before doing it. However, it did go over really well, so we’ll consider it.” Wanda’s mouth rolled inwards, stifling her laughter.

“We’ll consider it, you’re such an old man. Most of us have TikTok already, we just don’t make content on it like Barnes over here.” Sam said, tossing his head in Bucky’s direction.

“I’ve got like three videos on there!” Bucky and Sam began bantering back and forth.

“Yeah and one of them is dancing to a Cardi B song! Who even showed you that? I thought you only like 40’s music?” Bucky made a face at the man.

“Uh, just because I didn’t like your suggestions for music doesn’t mean I don’t have taste. My Spotify playlist is filling out quite nicely, Wilson.” Bucky and Sam didn’t quit fighting from then on, just little jabs at each other under the table.

“Here’s a good one,” Stacey had a smile on her face, “Are you allies of the LGBTQ+ community?” Bucky responded quickly with no hesitation.

“Yes, many of my friends are members of the Alphabet Mafia. Why wouldn’t we be?” Wanda nodded at his question, laughing at his use of the phrase Alphabet Mafia.

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I’m dating a fucking android, I’d be pretty hypocrictal if I wasn’t an ally. Nat, Clint what about you?” Clint bobbed his head in response.

“Oh yeah. We all are, even the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” Steve’s shoulders shook with laughter at Clint’s nickname for him. The team broke out into laughter, joining Steve. Stacey cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room again.

“Alright, everybody! That’s it for today.” She glanced down at her papers. “We would like to thank everyone for coming out today and joining the Avengers Q&A Panel. At this time we are unaware, if we will be conducting another one of these, but the odds look good based on the response.” The team filed out of the ballroom and into the empty boardroom. Bucky was the last to get into the room and he was approached by Natasha and Wanda immediately. Wanda wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.

“That was so sick, Bucky!” She stepped back and Natasha offered him a side hug as well. “Where’d you learn all that? And since when are you taking online classes?”

“That guy was being an asshole, he needed to be put in his place. I hope you guys didn’t feel like I overstepped or anything.” Bucky hung his arm over Wanda’s shoulder, leaning his weight on her. “And I started about two months ago. They’re going really well, I’m learning a lot and enjoying it surprisingly. It’s a good thing to do in my free time since I’m not always on missions.”

“I’m proud of you James, that was impressive.” Natasha complimented him, she wasn’t usually a woman of many words so that was a lot. Bucky smiled at her, nodding his head. His phone began buzzing in his back pocket, so he excused himself from their conversation. His screen displayed one of Evie’s senior pictures, signalling that she was calling him. He pushed the green button and brought the phone to his ear to answer her call.

“Hello?” She ignored his greeting with a squeal.

“Check your Twitter! Bucky, you’re trending! Here I’m putting you on speaker, we’re all here Buck!” Shuffling noises were heard through the speaker as Evie began reading the tweets to Bucky. Laughs from Cassie, Freddie and Penny could be heard behind Evie’s voice.

“Oh my gosh Eve! Just let the man get back to what he was doing!” Freddie yelled at an excited Evie, who retaliated with a scoff.

“Okay, okay! Just remember we have a movie night tomorrow! It’s Penny’s turn to pick so we don’t know what to expect.” Evie mumbled the last part into her phone speaker. Bucky heard the impact of a pillow hit Evie, causing her to grunt in pain. “Okay! We’ll talk to you later, Buck! See you soon!” She hung up the phone before he could get a word in edgewise. Bucky shook his head as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Amanda approached Bucky asking to speak with him privately.

“So we’re getting a flood of interview requests from networks and papers. We would like to start running with this. We’ll have to go over everything with our PR guy, Ryan, but it should work out. As long as you’re comfortable with all of this.” Bucky smiled and nodded, following after Amanda as she continued explaining what would happen going forward.

He was nervous, of course, but he could tell these nerves were coming from a place of excitement instead of fear, which was a new sensation for the man. It wasn’t unwelcome, it was the same as when he first started hanging out with Cassie, Penny, Freddie and Evie. It was the same when he went on his first mission with the team. Bucky was ready to tackle this next adventure, whatever it would entail.

[mymegumi]

aere perrenius

pairing: akaashi keiji x gn!reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, writer!akaashi and librarian!reader

word count: 2.7k words

warnings: disgusting amounts of fluff

summary: more lasting than bronze. a once in a lifetime opportunity turns into a twice in a lifetime chance, and before you realize it, it just turns into a potential lifetime

dedicated: to miss issy ( @cafemiya ) kind beyond words, incredible beyond compare

You’d once thought that life was cruel to you, a single librarian that ended up helping children find picture books and nasty teenagers that had to pay their overdue library fees. You often just moved through the movements, walking to the library every single day, picking up coffees for everyone that worked with you that day, and nothing ever really changed.

Until today.

Today, when you walked into the coffee shop that was only a block away from the library—a small little out of the way place that served the best croissants with chocolate butter you’d ever had before—you were shocked to note that there was another singular figure in the shop with you.

Typically when you went in, it was early enough in the morning that you beat out the high schoolers and people who went to their 9-5 jobs, yet you always managed to miss the people who worked night shifts, so the barista often told you.

Today, however, there was a singular figure sitting at a table, laptop on the table with a small white mug of coffee in his hands, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he seemed intent to read whatever it is was on his screen.

His hair was curling over thin golden frames, flowing over his forehead and spilling against his ears as he pressed his lips to the coffee mug, blue eyes focused on the words before him. The morning light had not yet seemed to crest the mountains of skyscrapers that littered the Japanese skyline, so the warm lights of the cafe seemed to soften the edges around him, making him angelic as he just relaxed there.

Perhaps it was the pure shock of seeing him, or even just the lack of sleep you always seemed to suffer from in the mornings following a weekend, but something led to your mistake of forgetting to conceal your admiration of him.

In your trance of adoration, you simply forget the cafe has a bell over the door.

He glances his up when he finishes taking a sip from his drink, offering a smile your way in the way that two people up way too early would share a smile with each other—as if only the two of you knew the secrets that the sunrise would whisper if only you would wake early enough to listen.

“Your usual?”

The barista, a sweet girl named Akira who seemed to be pumped full of espresso for she was way too peppy for this time of the hour, draws your attention away from the man sitting by himself at the window table.

“To go, right?” When you shake your head, she laughs slightly, inputting your usual order into the computer just for her to end up making it only a few seconds later, “What’s with the change today, you always take it straight to the library.”

When she sees you steal a glance at the mysterious stranger, she leans in with a hand cupped around her mouth, devastatingly wicked glint in her eyes as she whispers to you, “He came in a couple of minutes of go, saying he’s new in town. A writer, if you could believe it. Maybe you could warm him up to the area?”

“I have to go to work soon,” you hiss back softly, feeling the warmth take over your cheeks as you resolutely refuse to look back at him in case he heard her gossiping.

“Yet, you’re taking your coffee here?”

She, unfortunately, raises her eyebrows suggestively at you as she slides your drink to you in a small white mug resting on a dish, steaming and hot with a less heated croissant on a separate dish. You make a noise of disbelief as you carefully adjust your bag on your shoulder, taking your breakfast with you to a seat, not too close to the writer and yet not too far away that you are unable to admire him.

Pulling out a book from your bag, you are content to just read and settle in for a few minutes that you would normally spend in the library doing random work until the doors unlocked. It’s a newer novel you’d just picked up from a bookstore, and it was only because the author would be visiting the library soon, so you wanted to get a feel for the writing style, in case there were any questions that the people had for the staff.

“A good read, is it?”

You don’t really register that anyone is talking to you, at first, instead intent on just reading In Regards to Aces before it clicks in your mind two facts; one, that you are indeed holding a book and reading, and two, that you are only one of three people in the establishment, not to mention one of the three was just a barista making herself a coffee.

When it hits you that the stupidly attractive man at the window is indeed talking to you, you shove a bookmark in the spot you were reading as you turn to him, “Ah, yeah, it is, though I don’t have much to say on it considering I just started reading it.”

“Initial thoughts, then?” His smile soothes you a bit, making you relax from the initial tension you’d felt, “I’ve found the author tends to use verbiage that rambles on, but that’s my own opinion on it.”

“Well, from what I have read so far,” you set the book on the table, star embellished cover twinkling in the lights of the cafe, “I like the way that the author describes the character’s feelings—it felt really authentic, and added to the atmosphere for the story.”

“Well, just wait until you read the ending,” he raises an eyebrow at you and a playful look comes across his face for a second before disappearing, “it’s a real gutwrencher, honestly, I’m surprised the author had decided to take it in that direction.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be able to read a good part of it before the end of the day,” you muse, hand running idly along the edges of the pages, “I’m hoping to be able to talk to the author during the meet and greet later today at the library.”

He makes a thoughtful noise, a small content smile on his face as he sets his mug down on the saucer. There’s a look in his eyes, something that says that he knows something that you don’t, and yet when you go to ask about it, he says instead, “Tell me what you think of it when you finish it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.”

You watch as he begins to pack up his things, tucking the laptop away into a sleek black backpack, all while sipping gingerly on your drink, “Of course, perhaps I’ll see you again, I’m usually here before work.”

“I look forward to it.”

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder as he leaves the cafe, throwing away his things and setting aside his dishes before he exits. Watching him walk down the street, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Gosh,” Akira’s voice makes you jump in your seat slightly, “he was really pretty; you think he was a model?”

“I don’t know, but he could be if he wanted to be,” you smile to yourself as you check your phone, swearing as you realize you might be a few minutes late, “I gotta get to work, I’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

Chugging the rest of your drink, of which has cooled significantly, you end up rushing out of the door of the coffee shop, leaving a good tip for Akira before you go.

A meet-cute. Is that what that would’ve been considered?

Walking into the library, you have a dopey smile on your lips, and the meeting from the morning lets you float your way through work as if your feet haven’t touched the ground.

The writer meet and greet wasn’t for another few hours so when you were putting books back on the shelves, and when the flow of people tended to slow down, your nose was tucked gently into the pages of the book you’d picked up.

It was wonderfully written, with words that seemed to suck you in and captivate you, unable to truly pay attention to what you needed to be doing. You were so ecstatic to be meeting the author, to be able to see what sort of person they’d turned out to be.

They had been pretty secretive, declining interviews left and right and no one has been able to figure out who they were. No one really knew if Akaashi Keiji was their real name, or just a pen name either, a ghost writer who wanted to leave their mark on the world without claiming any credit for the impression they’d leave behind.

Truth be told, it was something you admired in them.

There was something special about someone wanting to create something, and yet walking about their daily life knowing that not a single person would recognize them for it. They weren’t doing it for fame, or for money, but because they truly enjoyed writing and creating books for people to enjoy.

“If you keep yourself in that book, you’ll never get these shelves done,” shit, you’d thought you tucked yourself far enough into the autobiography section that your coworker, Kaori, wouldn’t be able to find you, “what book is it this time?”

“In Regards to Aces…”

She raises an eyebrow at you, glancing at the big poster of the book’s cover displayed only a few feet away from the pair of you, “Uh-huh, gonna suck up to the writer? Get you a rich, anonymous sugar daddy?”

“Pft,” you smile at her with a crooked grin, “let’s be inclusive here, we don’t know if they identify as a guy, Kaori.”

She shrugs a shoulder at you as you begin to push the cart filled with returned books into the aisle, making your way to the front of the library, “Actually, Akaashi and I went to high school together. When he got famous, everyone at our school, like, made a silent pact to respect his privacy.”

“You know the Akaashi Keiji?” You give her an incredulous look, feet planting firmly in front of the help desk of the library, “As in, coming to our library, has won multiple National Book Awards in a row for their novels Akaashi Keiji?”

“Yeah,” she picks something off of her shirt with a sour look on her face, “I’m pretty sure Bokuto threatened a guy that said he’d leak Akaashi’s school name, but it might’ve been the whole group of them, honestly.”

“Bokuto…” you look at her with a bewildered look in your eyes, “Bokuto Koutarou, MSBY wing spiker, Bokuto?”

“Yeah,” she smiles brightly at you, which you quickly erase with a hand smacking her firmly in the arm, “Oh my god, what was that for?!”

“For not telling me you were surrounded by future celebrities in high school?!”

“Oh, as if there isn’t one person from your school that got famous,” Kaori levels a glare at you as she rubs her arm.

The pair of you are sitting at the reception area now at the front of the library, watching people flow into the seating area set up for the meet and greet. A copy of the book’s cover is set up next to the author’s seat, which is on a small raised platform behind a small red barrier.

“I’m pretty sure a kid in the grade above me moved to Argentina?” She laughs at your answer, a hand over her mouth as someone steps up to the desk, taking both of your attention away from the conversation, “Hey, how can we help yo— oh! Hi, again, how are you?”

Standing before you, straps of his backpack slipping off of his shoulders and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. There’s a little bit of a smile on his lips as he sighs, “Oh. Hello, I’m good. I rushed here because I was worried about being late—Kaori?”

“Akaashi,” she smiles at him, hand reaching out to shake his hand easily as you stare at the both of them flabbergasted, “Didn’t you get my text earlier about you coming to the library?”

“No, I was busy with the moving vans,” he turns his gaze on you and you swear your mouth dries up a little bit, “After I got a cup of coffee, I was arguing with the movers about a van of stuff that got lost. Turns out they were on the wrong side of town.”

“You mean to tell me,” you interrupt, hand coming up to stop Kaori from speaking, eyes trained on the wavy-haired man in front of you, “that you asked for my opinion on your book? Your own book?”

He gives a cheeky grin, teeth showing as he raises an eyebrow, “It’s easier to hear honest opinions if people don’t know I’m the author.”

You roll your eyes at him before he turns back to Kaori for a quick second, “Kaori, would you mind getting me some water, oh and maybe even a snack?”

She nods easily, hair swishing lightly as she pats you on the back and leaves, “‘Course, meet you up on the stage, bigshot.”

When she leaves, there’s a bit of an awkward silence, something like you don’t know what to say, and yet you know if you were to say anything, something might change. It’s only a feeling, but you suddenly want to spend as much time with this man as possible.

Now in the late afternoon light, you study him in a way you didn’t get to before. The warm sunlight that filters in through the windows makes his hair seem a bit light, but still just as unruly as it was this morning. His eyes are inquisitive, sharp in a way that observes and analyzes all within a moment’s notice.

There are patches of red and blue light dancing along his shoulders, refractions from the sun through the stained glass windows. His shirt is a little wrinkled but otherwise neat, one of the sides untucked as his loose tie hangs from around his neck.

He’s even prettier in the daylight, you decide.

“I’m sorry lied to you this morning,” his voice drops a little bit, inflection careful as he looks at you, “I promise I won’t lie to you anymore, if that means anything.”

“Well, if I catch wind of you lying,” you start, sidestepping the swinging door of the counter to start walking towards the stage area, “I’ll make your life a living nightmare, I know where you get your coffee, sir.”

“Oh, not the coffee,” He holds his hands up in surrender, “I loved their dark roast, where else in the town am I supposed to get it?”

“That, mister, sounds like a you problem,” you want to see him smile more, is the first thing you think when he laughs, “but only if you get on my bad side.”

“Do you think going out for dinner sometime might put me on your good side?”

There are moments in life that can shatter and alter the way that you think and perceive things for the future. For instance, that one time a teacher had given you a recommendation on a book had jumpstarted your love of reading which had turned into a job with lovely friends. If not for that one teacher, who knew where you would be now, because life is funny and doesn’t work out the way you think it will when things aren’t set exactly in motion.

This is one of those moments, and you know it is, because as he asks you out on, assumably, on a date, you envision a life for yourself.

A life filled with moments and snapshots with Akaashi Keiji at your side. He kisses your cheek one morning as you both make coffee for each other, his hand is warm on the small of your back as he leads you through the grocery store, and his voice is loving as he whispers to you at night before you fall asleep.

Now, you’ve always been somewhat a romantic, but you think this is the first time you’ve ever envisioned a life like this upon a second meeting. As Akaashi waits for your response, face neutral but content, you smile to yourself.

“Yeah,” you respond, leaning close to bump your shoulder against his gently, “I think getting dinner might boost your standings with me.”

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Affirmation•

Summary: Reader's dad is a dick, Bakugo does the big comfort. Just a short little comfort piece.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader (both 18+)

Warnings: Little bit of angst, degredation (not the fun kind), bad relationship with father, Bakugo is not great at comfort but he gives it the old college try.

Word Count: 1,640

A/N: This was for a request, the basic gist of the request was the reader having an asshole dad that doesn't support them, Bakugo over hearing it, reader breaking down a little then Bakugo giving some comfort. I hope you like it!❤️

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"You shouldn't have moved out so young, it was stupid and impulsive." The harsh, too familiar voice barks over the phone.

"I know." You choke out.

But you left me with no choice. You want to say that, but you don't have the guts.

"You knew damn well you'd never be able to make a living off of doodles."

Another wave of nausea washes over you, your hand tightens around your phone and starts to shake.

"I know…" You don't know, you don't agree, but you can't argue, it would be useless.

"Dad, please don't." You beg, voice wobbly with the tears you're holding back.

You should never have called them for money, you knew better. What choice do you have though? With three dollars to your name, rent to pay and groceries to buy.

You should be able to call your parents… should be. They've never supported your choices, especially your dad.

"Look, you've gotta figure this one out, I can't cure incompetence." Ice settles in your gut as he hangs up.

He wouldn't help you, your mom wouldn't help you.

They had always laughed at your desire to become a comic book illustrator, calling it a useless path, a waste of time. Defeated and helpless, you crawl into bed.

You'll give your two weeks tomorrow, find a real job, maybe keep drawing as a hobby.

The thought makes you sob, the feeling settles into the base of your being, deep and aching.

"What are you crying for?" A grumble of a voice echoes from your doorway.

"Suki, please, not now." Katsuki is a lot of things, comforting is not one of them.

He waits for a moment, you just bury your face further into the blankets, clutching a pillow to your aching chest.

"Was that your dad?" He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You don't answer, just nod and sniffle.

You hear him whisper something about shitty people, then feel the mattress dip.

"He's an asshole, he's gonna act like an asshole."

Not helping.

You flop onto your back, tears pouring out of your eyes as you glare at him.

"Shit, you're actually crying." He scrambles up the bed, he grabs you and hauls you into his lap, almost cradling you like a baby.

"What happened? Do I finally get to blast him to pieces? Just say the word baby, I'll-"

"I'm gonna stop drawing." You admit quietly.

"Huh?" He sounds almost offended.

You snuggle into his warm chest then blink up at him, ruby eyes look at you with honest confusion.

"I can't keep doing it. I can't afford anything, I'm not that good, my parents hate me for it." God it hurts, it makes your insides feel so raw.

He grabs the side of your cheek, forcing you to make eye contact.

"Fuck that, fuck them. You're incredible, -hey, look at me-" Halfway through his sentence you pull your head away and press your face into his chest.

"Hey, firecracker, look at me, please?" The nickname pulls at your heart a little, he's called you that since you met, since you were the only one with enough balls to give his shit right back to him.

When you refuse to look up, he just holds you tightly to his chest. You soak up the body heat, inhale his smell, revel in the way he clings to you.

"Listen to me, then, you're talented, you're capable, and you're so fucking beautiful. Parents are just a bunch of old dumbasses that get off on telling their kids what they can't do." He's trying so damn hard to keep his voice down, you can tell by the way he's gripping you.

"I'll help you with whatever you need." He places a kiss on top of your head, a little rough, but that's just Katsuki.

"No, I can do this, I just have to get a better job." You insist with a pitiful voice.

"I know you can, but you don't have to. I can't let you give up on drawing, not with the talent you have." He runs a hand through your hair as he talks, the motion soothes you immensely.

"I know parents suck, especially when you don't do what they have planned for you, but you have to keep doing what you love. Please, let me help you." He almost sounds frantic, it makes your heart melt.

Katsuki loves you, you know he loves you, he'd bring buildings to the ground for you.

"It's too much, I can't ask you to help with all of it." You wipe your eyes with your sleeve before looking up at him again.

"Is living here the biggest issue?" He asks, still running his hands through your hair.

You nod, defeated and overwhelmed.

"Move in with me." When he says it, he sounds almost as shocked as you feel.

"What?" You ask.

"I'm serious, when was the last time we actually slept in our own homes? Or even showered separately, there's no point in living apart anymore."

He has a point, a very good point. Though, something doesn't sit well with you.

"I'm not a charity case, Suki, would you even be asking me this if I wasn't crying over my dad?" Your question is genuine, but he seems so hurt by it.

"I would be, I've wanted to."

He's dead serious.

You scramble to sit up straight, moving so you can straddle him as he leans against the headboard. You grab the sides of his face and make him look directly at you.

"Katsuki, if this is a prank I will fucking kill you." You say, shaking him a little as you talk.

A small smile creeps onto his face, eyes full of adoration. He reaches up to hold your face as well, thumbs catching the remaining tears.

"You couldn't if you tried, but it's not a prank. Please, come live with me." He grabs one of your hands, brings it to his mouth, then kisses your palm.

"I'm also serious about you being talented." He kisses your wrist.

"And capable." He pulls you in to kiss your neck.

"And so fucking beautiful." He plants one, dedicated kiss to your lips.

"Ok." You say, breathless.

"You will?" He asks, his voice taking on a giddy tone.

His hands snake around your waist and starts kissing you wherever he can, frantic and needy.

"And you're gonna keep drawing?" He pauses, looking up at you with sweet, honest eyes.

You turn to mush when he looks at you like that, without fail.

"Do you think I should?" You play with the collar of his t-shirt, quickly forgetting your father's harsh words.

"Baby, I love your work, I love watching you work. Please don't stop because of some fuck head that couldn't see talent if it hit him in the nuts." He lays his chin on your chest, still looking up at you with a devoted gaze.

"Can we get a dog?" You ask, hands coming up to play with his wild, blond hair.

He gives you a dramatic pout before pressing his face into your sternum.

"We can get a cat." He says against your chest, voice muffled by your body.

You giggle as he pulls you closer.

"I'll keep drawing if we get a dog." You bargain.

He grumbles against your chest before pulling away to look up at you.

"A rescue?" He asks, bright eyes looking up at you hopefully.

There he is, the giant teddy bear hiding under the man that swears like a sailor and makes threats like a hit man.

"Of course." You lean down and kiss his nose.

Somehow, through his reassurance and his desire to have you close, Suki has managed to dull the ache of the parental disapproval.

"I love you." You sigh, hands snaking around his neck.

"I love you more, and I'll wipe the floor with anyone who makes you feel like you're less than incredible." He leans up to kiss you long and hard, lips working perfectly against yours.

"Can we go look at dogs now?" He asks when he pulls away.

"Oh? Mr. 'We can get a cat.'?" You tease him, ruffling his hair as you slide off his lap.

You try to walk towards the closet, but he catches you around the waist from behind, caging you with his strong arms.

"You're talented, say it." His voice is low in your ear, making goosebumps raise on your flesh.

He has this thing that he makes you do, something about verbally affirming yourself until you believe it.

You roll your eyes and pull at his arms.

"Huh uh, no dog until you say it." He kisses your neck gently.

"No dog, no drawing." You shoot back.

"Baby."

"Fine, I'm talented." You huff.

"You're capable." He continues, squeezing you tighter.

"I'm capable." You don't believe it, but Suki does, and that's what matters.

He spins you in his arms, hands coming up to cradle your cheeks.

"You're beautiful." It's more of a breath, a whisper, his voice soft and soothing.

You glare up at him, not willing to say those words. He gives you a serious look, all stern and unwavering.

"I'm beautiful." You say as quietly as you can.

"You are." He kisses your forehead, breathing out as he pours his love over you.

"Who's a badass?" He says as he pulls away, a smile cracking across his face.

"I'm a badass." You can't help but laugh, chest bubbling with admiration for your determined boyfriend.

"Hell yeah you are," He presses one more kiss into your lips, "Let's go get that damn dog."

Katsuki Bakugo is many things, maybe comforting isn't one of them, but he's learning.

[tpwkjerii]

a ghost’s melody

searching for a quiet place to study, you stumble across a seemingly abandoned library and recital hall. when you discover that you’re not as alone in there as you thought and begin to fall for the mysterious boy playing the piano, you start to wish you believed in ghosts before.

pairing: ghost!pianist!taehyung x reader

warnings: character death (not main, except for tae who’s already a ghost lol), slight angst, some cursing, kinda heated makeout session, sfw (PG-13)!

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 4.3k+

listen to: claire de lune and adagio for strings

a/n: first fanfic on here lol i hope it isn’t trash & pls enjoy loves!! xx

Kim’s Library and Recital Hall

At least that’s what you thought was written on the battered storefront. The building’s exterior was aged — the faded letters were peeling, the glass windows were dusty with years of negligence, the copper door handle was rusted from the elements, and the black-painted wood was chipping at the corners.

The store was a perfect match amongst the other ones along the deserted street. It was so ordinarily fitting that anyone could have easily passed it. However, it happened to be exactly what you were looking for — a quiet place to study and somewhere to potentially spend the night since your roommate decided to let you know at the last minute that her and her boyfriend would be in your shared dorm for the night.

With a small shrug, you moved towards the door and attempted to push it open. After a fourth push (that was more tiring than you’d like to admit), the old door finally creaked open. Surprisingly, dust didn’t meet your eyes as you thought it would, and with a brief inspection of the interior, you noticed that it was oddly clean — a stark contrast from its outer appearance. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that someone was diligently taking care of this place.

Paying it no mind, you moved further into the old store, basking in the silence and mildly soothing aura. The music-themed decorations and portraits of deceased musicians reminded you of your brother, and the quietness was a peaceful contrast from your hectic dorm (and, somehow, your campus library).

Before choosing a desk to work on, you checked your phone for the time.

4:37 PM

Nice, you thought. You should be able to get a few hours of work in while the sun is still up. Hopefully this place still has electricity or candles laying around. You sat down at a large wooden desk close to the storefront and pulled out your textbooks and papers, slowly beginning your studying.

You studied your notes in pure silence for 15 minutes when you heard a noise, but it was too quiet for you to distinctly make out what it was. It sounded like a scuffle, almost as if someone was walking but stopped abruptly. You turned and looked around carefully — maybe this place wasn’t as abandoned as you thought.

After looking around for a few moments and not noticing anything else, you returned to your books, although you paid much more attention to the pepper spray sitting in the pocket of your bag. Once twenty minutes passed, you slightly relaxed and hoped it was just a rodent. With a heavy sigh, you stood up from the desk and stretched, figuring that you could take a break and walk around.

With your phone in hand (and pepper spray in the other), you walked away from the desk and into a random aisle of books. You explored the various titles, noting that you hardly recognized any of them. It didn’t take long for you to realize this store was probably much older than you thought, considering that the most recent titles and portraits were from the late 1800s.

As you explored more aisles, you kept thinking of your brother and how much he would love this place you found. Yoongi always loved music and he never failed to humbly show off his natural talent at it. He once tried to teach you how to play the piano; unfortunately, you were too impatient and annoyed that you didn’t get it right away to ever succeed.

You were wrapped in your thoughts as you aimlessly walked around, now only thinking about how you would love to show your older brother this place. Suddenly, you found yourself at the entrance of a hall, and you stare in awe at the large grand piano sitting at the end. Despite its old age, it looked incredibly taken care of. The black paint was flawless and shined in the low sunlight, not a single chip in sight, and the ivory keys glimmered. You were about to walk towards the enchanting instrument when you heard the floor creak.

You froze in your tracks. That creak did not sound like a mouse, and you definitely didn’t hear anyone else enter this place after you. You tore your gaze away from the piano and turned around, your hand gripping your pepper spray. Weaving through bookshelves towards the table with your belongings, you cautiously looked for the source of the noise. But just as you turn the corner, you hear a gentle melody ring through the air.

Usually, this is the time where you would run. Or, if you were the character in a horror movie, the audience would be screaming at you to leave the store to avoid a tragic death.

But you didn’t want to run. Not because you found potential death exciting or because you wanted to piss off your imaginary viewers. But because the melody that was playing was the same one your brother spent months playing over and over again to perfect. It became so familiar to you in your home that you always associated it with him.

With a rapidly beating heart, you all but ran back to the empty recital hall. The volume increased as you neared the hall, and you held your breath as you finally approached the open doors.

“Yoon-” your whisper was caught in your throat as you made eye contact with a ghostly man. His face was devoid of any emotion, eyebags dark and defined, skin tone ghostly pallor, and eyes sullen and tainted with agony. Yet, he was beautiful. He had round feline eyes, defined jaw and cheekbones, full lips, and dark hair that fell elegantly on his forehead.

You waited as he continued playing the piece, knowing exactly when the end approached due to months of listening to it courtesy of your older brother. As the mystery man hit the last note, he looked back up at you, shock evident in his features.

“You’re still here?” he asked, his deep voice throwing you off guard.

“Y-yes, I am,” you started, finding yourself extremely nervous in his presence. You awkwardly shuffled your feet as you rambled, “I’m so sorry for intruding. I thought this place was completely abandoned, and I had no idea you were here. I’ll get going, so sorry again.”

With that, you turned to run back to your bag and get out. But he moved and grabbed your wrist at an unnaturally fast pace, and you gasped at how cold his fingers were on your warm skin. Goosebumps prickled along your arm as you looked up at him in shock and confusion.

He let go of you with a sheepish apology. “It’s just… it’s been a while since anyone has come by. You don’t have to leave,” he said, hastily adding, “unless you want to, of course! I cannot force you to stay if you do not wish to.”

A soft smile spread at your lips. This man was not nearly as cold as he looked or felt. His emotionless eyes seemed hopeful and his mouth was fixed in a boxy smile. With hope that this was fate of some sort, you told him, “I would love to stay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Me?” the ghostly man pointed to himself, oddly shocked at the question.

You nodded, adding with a small laugh, “I don’t see anyone else here who could answer my question.”

He breathed out a laugh as he answered, “Taehyung. And you?”

“Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you, Taehyung.”

He grinned at the way you said his name, and continued, “What brings you here, Y/N?”

“Ah,” you nodded and propped your arms up on the table you two were sitting at. “Noisy dorm halls, librarians who don’t care about enforcing quiet rules, and a horny roommate. You?”

His smile grew at your brutally honest answer. He hesitated as he answered, “I live here. I take care of everything.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Your mouth parted. “Are you Kim Taehyung. As in a Kim of Kim’s Library and Recital Hall?” you joked, relieved that he found your reference amusing.

“Yes, I am Kim Taehyung. I’m relieved you find that interesting,” he responded. You grinned at the way he answered, his tone and diction captivatingly formal.

“Well, you’ve done an excellent job maintaining the interior. The outside though… that could use a bit of help,” you admitted honestly, to which he laughed heartily at. “Do you get much business?” you asked cautiously after he stopped laughing.

He shrugged, the same boxy smile still on his face. “Not much, but it’s alright. The silence is peaceful.”

You nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was more to his answer but deciding not to push it. “It is very peaceful here, and if you ever need some help around here, I’ve got more free time than I’d like to admit.”

Taehyung laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll consider it,” he responded genuinely, his voice growing softer for a second. “I’ll have to warn that working here isn’t as great as it may seem. It’s quite boring.”

“Pfft,” you shook your head, “boring? With the piano skills you have? I could spend all day listening to you play while I dust or shit like that.”

He basked in your ability to speak freely and jokingly with him, and at that moment he gathered the courage to ask the question that was lingering on his mind ever since you made eye contact with him.

“Why didn’t you run away when you first saw me?”

Your gaze faltered for a second, but a small smile returned to your face as you answered honestly, “I was going to run, but the piece you were playing reminded me of my brother Yoongi.”

A brief flash of shock passed on his face, luckily unnoticed by you as you continued your story.

“He used to play it so much, and it felt like fate to hear it again in this place,” you paused, looking back up at Taehyung with a sheepish smile and glassy eyes. “You see, as I walked around, I kept on thinking of how much Yoongi would love this place. Books and sheet music and portraits of musicians and silence. It’s just so so perfect for him. But, as much as I want to, I can never show him this place.”

“Why?”

“Yoongi died 3 years ago.”

[you]

goodnight yoongi. sleep well! i know you’ll do great at your performance tomorrow! mom and i will be waiting for you at the end !!

p.s. seokjin is invited to dinner next week ;)

[best/worst brother ever]

goodnight Y/N. thank you :]. treat me to some lamb skewers after?

p.s. you can text him yourself

[you]

of course, anything you want !!

sleep now, it’s already 3 am

p.s. why would i when i have you? :)

[best/worst brother ever]

ok, mom

[you]

>:(

When you turned your phone off to sleep that night, you didn’t realize that would be the last conversation you would ever have with your older brother.

The house was silent when you received the phone call.

Min Yoongi died in an accident on the way to the recital hall. A drunk driver hit his car, killing him and his friend and roommate, Kim Seokjin. The doctors did everything they could, but he suffered from too much blood loss...

You felt empty. Quiet tears escaped you as you sat in the passenger seat while your mother frantically drove to the hospital. The fresh bouquet of flowers you bought early in the morning to congratulate Yoongi on another performance well done was sitting in the backseat, the bright colors mocking your misery. Labored breaths left you as you ran to his hospital room, and you struggled to breathe when you saw his still body on the bed.

The doctor's solemn words drowned in the background as you fell to your knees. Your hands clutched Yoongi’s in hopes that he would reassuringly squeeze them again and wake up to say that it was just an elaborate prank. But he never did.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Taehyung whispered, offering a hand, which you gratefully took.

You shrugged, responding while wiping your wet eyes, “It’s ok. It was 3 years ago, and there’s really nothing to be sorry about. I’m not even sure why I told you.” You spoke honestly, which was odd since you barely knew Taehyung. For some reason, you felt as if you could trust him with anything.

“So what about you?” you asked after a few moments of silence. “Tell me about you. All about Kim Taehyung,” you finished with a gentle smile, your smaller hand still in his larger one.

“Well, I am 25 years old, a pianist as you saw, I grew up on my family’s farm before I moved to the city to study music with my uncle, and I eventually inherited the place we’re currently in,” he answered, his boxy smile growing as he told you more about himself.

“Wow,” you said, shocked at how much he told you despite knowing you for a short period of time. But you technically did the same.

“How did you like growing up on a farm?” you asked curiously, your hand unconsciously tightening your grip on his.

His eyes lit up as he replied, “It was peaceful. I loved the animals and spending time with my grandmother. The village was nice, too. My friends were always a few steps away,” he paused for a moment, “but when I started to play the piano that my uncle gifted me, I found my new passion: music.”

“So you eventually moved to the city to study music?”

He nodded excitedly in confirmation. “It was hard leaving my parents and grandmother,” he added. “But I tried to go back whenever I could.”

“It’s difficult leaving your family,” you agreed, unsure of what to say next. Luckily, Taehyung expertly carried the conversation.

“So Y/N, how old are you?” he asked, his boxy smile not fading for even a second.

You grinned and responded with the same tone he had earlier. “Well, I am 20 years old, I study Literature and Biology at the National University, I grew up in a city with my mom and older brother, and I found this place by complete chance.”

“You’re more interesting than I thought, Y/N,” Taehyung grinned. “And complete chance? What does that mean?”

“Well,” you started, “I was just thinking about how much I hated my roommate and dorm floor, and I somehow stumbled upon this completely deserted street. To be honest, I don’t even know where I am right now. Yet I’m still here talking to you, is that crazy or foolish of me?”

“No.” His left hand reached up to move a strand of hair away from your face. Your breath hitched and body froze as his cool fingers met your warm skin. “It’s not crazy or foolish at all,” he finished.

You melted under his haunting gaze, and you didn’t even notice how the sun had fallen outside and how the lights automatically flickered on.

Five hours.

Or at least it felt like five hours of you and Taehyung simply talking. At this point, you were really hoping he wasn’t planning on murdering you because you honestly have never met a guy this perfect. It seemed like he didn’t have a single flaw!

With each conversation and joking remark, you found yourself moving closer and closer to him until you two were thigh to thigh. Your denim jeans met the expensive material of his trousers, and both of your warm hands were covered by his much colder ones (something you chose to chalk down to iron deficiency or other potential medical conditions).

To merely say you were growing feelings for Taehyung would be an understatement — you were falling in love.

Eventually, he offered to show you around the store, considering you only really looked at the front. His hand around yours, he led you towards the back, where there were less bookshelves and more music-oriented displays. There were encased instruments, very old photos, worn sheet music, and more portraits.

“My uncle loved collecting portraits,” Taehyung said when he caught you staring at one of Jung Hoseok. “He said it was like always having a memory of someone, even if they passed.”

“Your uncle was right. Although I think pictures and a camera may be cheaper,” you teased, unaware of the slightly pained smile on his face. You looked around some more, and your smile fell as your eyes landed on a very familiar-looking portrait.

The curve of his lips, strong jawline, uneven eyelids, defined eyebrows — it was like you were looking directly at him. Your breath hitched as you looked at the inscription below the oil painting.

Kim Taehyung / 1877 - 1902

“Taehyung…” you called. He didn’t respond.

“Taehyung,” you called again, slowly turning around, your eyes meeting his panicked ones. “You… You’re …”

“Dead.”

“What do you mean you’re dead? You’re standing right here! But the portrait. Oh my god. Is this a dream? Have I been dreaming this entire thing? Ghosts aren’t real! Are you a demon? Oh fu -”

“Y/N!” he shouted, his arms wrapping around you to calm you down, his icy skin only further reminding you that a dead man was hugging you.

“You’re so cold! Oh fuck! You’re so cold! I’m so stupid!” you continued panicking, completely unaware of how to deal with this if it really wasn’t a dream.

“Can you please give me a chance to explain?” he asked, his low voice soothing you.

Begrudgingly, you nodded, and melted into his tight grip. It was hard to believe that he was a ghost when you were physically touching him, a complete contradiction of what online conspiracy theories and horror documentaries (and your biology lectures) told you.

“I didn’t lie about anything I told you. I was born in 1877 and I died in 1902. I was poisoned by another musician who grew jealous of my success. I chose to stay in the human realm as a ghost instead of pass on.”

You remained silent, needing a moment to think. Was he telling the truth? But Taehyung didn’t have a reason to lie to you, nor did he have a reason to be honest. And why was he so insistent on explaining himself? Did he have the same feelings as y —

“I’m telling the truth,” he said abruptly, sensing your inner turmoil. “I understand if you do not trust me. It would be hard for anyone living to trust me in this situation, but I want you to know that,” he paused, looking at you with such emotion that it made you want to reach out to him and take all the pain he was feeling away. “That I am being genuine because I care about you the way you care about me.”

You gasped quietly in shock.

“The last living person to enter this place was 60 years ago, and no one ever stayed,” he began sadly. “But then today, you,” he looked down to make eye contact with you, “you came in and you stayed and we talked for hours.”

As much as you wanted to comfort him, you still remained silent.

Taehyung continued, “Even when I was alive, I never encountered anyone who spoke as passionately as you, who was refreshingly honest, or who cared about what I said as much as you do. Y/N, I hope you understand that our time together today has meant the world to me, and I would never betray your trust or presence for anything in the world.

Your eyes teared up at his confession, and you barely managed to whisper, “Today meant a lot to me too.”

Taehyung let out a relieved breath and tightened his hold on you. “I may be a dead man but my feelings for you are true. I hope that you’ll accept me as I am and -”

“Tae-” you attempted to interrupt him, but he cut you off and only tightened the hug.

“And if you do not accept me, I understand,” he finished, his voice strained as he said the last two words.

“Taehyung,” you started, but he interrupted you again.

“Please, if you wish to leave do not say anything else. I fear that I might not be able to take it if you bless me with your voice and presence again just to leave soon after,” he pleaded, his hands gently holding you to his chest as you two still remained in a fond embrace.

“Taehyung,” you started again, feeling his chest tighten as you gently spoke, “Although this is all very hard for me to understand, I do accept you.” He breathed out a sigh of relief. “But,” you said sharply, and he winced at the word, “You need to explain everything for me to truly believe in you. How am I seeing you? How does this all work?”

Begrudgingly, Taehyung released the hug, and looked at you with a cheeky and fond smile. “How are you seeing me? Easy, as a ghost I can choose when I want to be seen,” he paused, “and when I don’t.” As he uttered the last word, his body disappeared in front of your eyes, and a surprised gasp fell from you.

“You! You! What the fuck!” staring as he reappeared, his body once again covering the wall behind him.

He laughed again at your shock, also finding your blunt language endearing. “It’s something all of us ghosts can do,” he said casually while you stood in shock. He continued, “I can also feel sensations like a human when I’m in this form.”

He stepped toward you again, leaving only a few centimeters between your bodies. “For example,” he started, grasping your warm hand and bringing it up to his cheek, “I can feel the warmth of your hands and how they feel on my skin.”

He dropped your hand and bent down, his beautiful face now directly in front of you. For a moment, you two only looked at each other, his strong eyes holding your curious gaze and his cool breath sending a shiver down your body. “And,” he finally said, “I can feel chills as your breath fans across my face.”

He stood fully up again, leaving you both relieved and disappointed. “I can also feel emotions just like I used to when I was alive, although I’m sure you already know that,” he told you, the boxy smile returning to his face. Your heart still recovering from the intense eye contact only a few moments prior, you could only muster a nod in response. “Would you like me to continue?” Taehyung asked.

“No,” you admitted, shocking him as he was ready to explain more.

“No?”

“I believe you, it’s difficult to, but I believe you,” you told him, your voice quiet as you looked up at him fondly. “This is all confusing as fuck, and I really don’t know what the future would look like for us but,” you pause briefly, watching as his smile grew to meet his eyes, “I have feelings for you, and I want to try and make this work.”

Taehyung grinned and wrapped you in a tight hug, the ice cold of his skin no longer sending an unnerving chill down you. He looked down and used his finger to lift your face to look at him. Wordlessly, he closed his eyes and leaned down.

Following his motions, your lips eventually met. Taehyung kissed you with gentle passion, his full lips molding perfectly against yours. His hands moved down to the small of your back, and he pulled you in tighter to deepen the kiss.

This was better than you expected. His cold lips set a fire within you, and the way he moved his lips against yours made you feel as if your chest was going to burst at any second. The moment his lips touched yours, and yours his, you knew that you could never feel anything like it again.

A moment of adrenaline seeped into you as you parted your lips, greedy for more. At this, electricity coursed through you and you felt as if a fire was ignited between you, and as Taehyung deepened the kiss the fire grew, nearly consuming you both whole.

Your lips moved in sync with his for what seemed like an eternity before he broke the kiss, leaving you breathless. He allowed you to catch your breath before he spoke, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you enter.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, a teasing tone evident in your words.

“It would be rude of me to walk up to a beautiful stranger and steal a kiss from them,” he answered, his hands moving to play with your fingers.

“I suppose it would be, but I wouldn’t have minded,” you admitted, making deep eye contact with him once again.

Taehyung smiled at your words, and he waited a moment before saying, “I know someone that I think you would be happy to see again. If you feel comfortable with me, I can take you to him.”

Your eyes widened, and at that moment, you could hear the same melody he was playing earlier coming from somewhere deeper in the hall. In that moment, you remember seeing the book that Yoongi had when he first learned the song, and how the composer was named Kim Taehyung.

A tear rolled down your face as you looked up at Taehyung in shock, his confirming nod causing a choked breath to leave you. Yoongi already found this place.

With the brightest smile you’ve had on your face in years, you gently grasped Taehyung’s hand. “I’ve never felt more comfortable in my entire life.”

[yellowsuitcase]

Betwixt; Draco Malfoy: Chapter - The Job

Introduction(please read!)

First and foremost, warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but as a forewarning this story will contain mentions of sexual assault as well as swearing/strong language, and smut.

There are some characters in this story that are mine, however, the majority of them are based off of characters in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series. I do not support JK Rowling.

This is a Royalty AU, magic as seen in the Harry Potter series does not exist within this universe.

This series is also being posted on Wattpad @Tonix27 and it is currently In progress / Completed

I plan to create a Spotify playlist for this story, when I do it'll be posted in my masterlist for Betwixt.

Cover and Beta work by @10amnoodles​ on Instagram and Twitch

Please do not repost. There are trends on Tik Tok of people taking sections of writing from their favorite fanfics and posting them, I do not want this done with my work. However, you may post a screenshot of the fanfic's cover with the summary.

A/N: First chapter of the series I’ve been working on! I’m so excited for you guys to read this!!!!

Summary: To make ends meet after her mother's death, Y/N, a young mom, living within the kingdom of Sithrawl, lands a job at the castle working for the Royal Family, specifically for the prince, Draco Malfoy. What starts as a way to make money for her son quickly turns into an unexpected romance between her and the prince. Y/N soon finds herself stuck between her responsibilities as a mother and her longing for  love and adventure

Warning(s): Swearing

Word Count: 5.9k

Credits: @10amnoodles​ Check her out! her artwork is incredible and this series wouldn’t be happening without her :)

Directory

I shut the rickety door and leaned against it, the weight of my body keeping it closed. A deep sigh left my lips, and I relaxed my shoulders, finally feeling safe. It was silent in my home. Jasper must be asleep. I pushed myself off the door and crept around the corner. The wall was cold to the touch, and I was surprised to feel an indent underneath my fingertips. I pulled my hand away to see a long crack embedded in the plaster. There were already so many in this damn house, not to mention the little holes in the roofing and the lack of insulation. It was getting colder every day.

Sighing to myself, I made a mental note of the new damage and peeked into the bedroom. There he was, his dirty blonde hair cast over his eyes as he slept. I put my hand on his shoulder and gently shook him, waking him up. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Upon seeing me, he jumped up. “Mummy!” he said excitedly. My heart swelled as I took my boy into my arms and hoisted him onto my hip. 

“How are you, my love? Hungry?” I ask. He nodded eagerly. I chuckled lightly at his toothy grin. He was always hungry, but weren’t all six-year-olds? Luckily for him, I managed to get some bread for free down at the market. Mrs. Weasley, the kind woman at the bakery, has been sneaking me food for the past two weeks. And although I was grateful for it, I was also ashamed. I would’ve been able to pay for her tasty treats, but my family’s funds had been stretching thinner and thinner ever since my mother passed. 

She died on the first of October, just as the cold was setting in. It wasn’t sudden; she’d been sick for a month or so before finally laying to rest. I had tried to take up her old job. She worked as a maid for a relatively wealthy family, the Greengrass’. However, when I knocked upon their door, a middle-aged woman dressed in my mother’s old uniform answered. That had told me everything I needed to know. Since then, I’ve been scouring the village for potential work. I’d managed to get a few odd jobs here and there, but nothing long term, and I needed to feed my boy. 

“What did you get today, Mum?” Jasper questioned. I turned to him and kissed his forehead. 

“Just some bread. Is that alright?” I asked hopefully. He’d never been the type of kid to complain, but I knew that, as he grew, so did his appetite. Bread was quickly becoming dull. Sooner or later, he’d voice his distaste for it. To my surprise, Jasper smiled and squeezed his arms around my neck, giving me a tight hug. “Yep!” he replied cheerfully. My anxiety quickly faded away. I kissed his cheek and sat him down at the table. 

“Did you do anything fun today?” I asked as I began slicing the loaf. Jasper hummed, thinking to himself. 

“I pretended to be a cow!” he declared, looking proud of himself. Jasper had always been quite the fan of cows. His favorite activity was trotting around the house, mooing. In my opinion, it was the cutest thing ever, but I may be a bit biased. 

“Did you? And how did you do that?” I asked, eyebrows raised. Jasper smirked and puffed out his chest. “I ate grass!” he announced loudly. I shook my head in bewilderment. “You ate grass?” Jasper nodded proudly. “Yup! And look,” he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a bundle of green grass, dumping it onto the table. “I saved some for you,” he finished, pushing the greenery towards me. I did my best to hide my grimace and gently placed his plate of bread in front of him. “That’s...wonderful, uhm, sweetheart, it’s not good to eat grass. You could get sick,” I said quietly, trying to deliver this news gently. A frown appeared on Jasper’s face, and he dropped his head, his eyes now staring at his lap. 

“Oh, Jas, it’s alright. I know you were only playing, but humans can’t eat grass,” I said while taking my own seat at the table. He reluctantly looked up, his pouty lips on full display. “Come on, love, eat some of your bread. The sun is going down, and I don’t like washing dishes in the dark,” I spoke sternly, trying to get him to eat. He sighed but picked up his bread and shoved it in his mouth. I made sure he didn’t choke since he had a tendency to take bigger bites than he should. I gnawed on my own piece.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was nearly nightfall. Who would be at the door at this time? I quickly got to my feet as the person knocked again. “Who’s that, Mum?” Jasper asked, his mouth full of bread. “Finish your bite before speaking, Jas. And I don’t know, let’s find out.” I approached the door, brushed off my dress, and turned the knob. Standing outside was Ron Weasley, the bakers’ youngest son. 

“Ron? Come in, come in. What’s going on?” I asked, a bit concerned he was here to tell me his parents wouldn’t be able to give me food anymore. The ginger-haired boy rushed past me and into my home and eagerly slapped a flyer onto the table. “Look,” he told me as he pointed to the parchment. I gave him a skeptical look but walked over to the table and picked it up. 

The Malfoy family is seeking a servant to the young prince. If interested, arrive at the castle at dawn on the 19th of October.

SALARY: 4 galleons per hour

The person selected to be the Prince’s servant will furthermore reside in the castle.

As I took in the information on the flyer, Jasper took the parchment from my grasp. He held it out in front of him and stared at it intently. I considered berating him for taking what doesn’t belong to him, but I chose not to, and instead, I turned to Ron, who had an enormous grin on his face. “Ron, you can’t be serious…”

“It’s perfect! It’s four galleons an hour, and if you’re working dawn till dusk, that’s roughly eleven hours. Forty-four galleons a day, Y/N. You can’t pass this up. You’d be mad not to at least try,” he told me. I wasn’t quite sold, “Yeah, that sounds like a dream, but what would I…” I paused and held my hand up to Ron, signaling him to give me a moment. Then I faced Jasper. “Darling, put your plate in the sink and go wash up; I’ll be there soon to get you ready for bed, alright?” I instructed him. His pouty lips returned. 

“But I wanna know what’s going on!” the boy insisted. He dropped the paper, crossed his arms over his chest, and promptly glared at me. I held back my laugh at his attempt at intimidation and put a hand on my hip. “Do as I say.” Jasper sighed but slid off his chair and trod off to the bathroom. I turned back to Ron. “If I live at the castle, how can I take care of Jasper? I can’t just leave him here alone; he’s only six, not to mention he’s ill,” I explained as I picked the parchment back up again. Ever since Jasper had turned four, he started having trouble breathing. There had been times where I was unsure if he’d survive through the night. Ron knew about this, but he wasn’t budging. “Y/N, the castle isn’t far. You could sneak out at dusk and spend the night with Jasper, no problem.”

“With all due respect, Ron, I don’t think it’ll be that easy. I’d have to get past people in the castle, the guards, and who knows who else?” I said, shaking my head. My eyes drifted to the flyer in my hand. A servant to the prince. What did that even mean? There was a serious lack of detail in the advertisement. My lip curled in distaste. The Royal Family was known to be quite the arrogant bunch. Malfoy, their surname, directly translates to ‘bad faith’. They didn’t treat their citizens well; nearly every town outside of Orton’s walls was neglected. Totbury, my town, especially.

Nevertheless, the Malfoy’s knew that, despite treating their people terribly, people would scramble for the chance to land this job. Simply based on the look of the family’s servants, they weren’t looking for people like me. If they found out where I live, they’ll surely dismiss me.

“Y/N, you’re underestimating yourself. That castle has numerous secret passageways, just find one of those, and you’re all set. And even if that doesn’t work, then you just make an excuse. Say the Prince himself sent you into the city, what are the guards going to say to that?” Ron argued. I threw him a look of confusion as I put the flyer down, my eyes lingering on the young prince. “How would you even know about secret passageways?” I asked. Ron cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe they exist?” he asked incredulously. I scoffed and walked over to the sink. 

“Ron, they’re only rumors. I’m sure they have a couple of lesser-known corridors, but not a secret passageway. That’s absurd,” I began rinsing off the plates and silverware, “And besides, I wouldn’t get chosen. Have you forgotten who I am? They’re not going to hire a peasant from Totbury, Ronald. I mean, have you seen the sheer amount of guards that line up around the Prince? They won’t let anyone touch him, so what makes you think they’d let me be his personal servant?” I asked, not really expecting a legitimate answer. However, it seemed as though Ron had all the answers that day. 

“That’s easy, just lie. Say you’re from Orton. The population is big enough that they wouldn’t know the difference. And it’s not like the King and Queen even leave the castle. I bet they couldn’t tell the difference between a Sithrawliean from a Perwenese,” Ron claimed. Perwen was the neighboring kingdom to Sithrawl.

“That may be true, but even if I lied, I don’t look the part. I’ve got maybe two dresses, and they both have holes in them. They’ll see right through me,” I pointed out yet another problem with Ron’s plan while I scrubbed the chipped plates in my sink. He remained silent for a moment but then snapped his fingers. 

“You’re about the same age as Ginny, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes looking hopeful. Indeed, I was around his sister’s age. I told him so, and he smiled. “Then you could borrow one of her dresses, in fact, I think Mum just bought her a new one!” he suggested excitedly. Once I put down the now clean plates, I dried my hands and spun around to face Ron. 

“I’m not taking Ginny’s new dress; that’s ridiculous,” I replied. Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but I interrupted him. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for Jasper and me, but I can’t...I can’t just lie to the Royal Family. And I don’t want to leave my son at home all day.” 

“But haven’t you already been doing that? You’ve been scouring the streets for weeks looking for a job. I just thought that maybe this would be a good—”

I cut him off, my patience lost. “Yes, well, you thought wrong! I’m not going off and living in a lavish castle while my child is all alone in this shithole. It’s unfair to him, and I’m not doing it. End of story.” 

Ron’s previously bright smile had faded into a regretful frown. He nodded his head and looked at the floor as if he was afraid to look me in the eye. I began to feel guilt seep into my stomach. He was only trying to help, and here I was giving him a hard time. Nice going, Y/N.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for suggesting it. I’ll just...get going, and don’t worry, I’ll tell Mum you say hello,” Ron said solemnly as he headed for the door. I held my tongue and walked him out, waving as he strode down the road. When I closed the door behind him, I let out a heavy sigh and ran my hands through my hair. There was no need for me to have acted like such a pain, but alas, the apology Ron deserves would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I need to care for my boy.

--------

{The next morning}

--------

I woke with a start, sitting straight up in my bed. My back was drenched with sweat, and my skin felt hotter than hell. I had no clue as to why I'd woken up in such a state, but I didn't have the energy to care. Slowly, as to not wake Jasper, I lifted the covers and slid out of our bed. As I got to my feet and walked into the kitchen, I noticed the sun wasn’t even up yet. I stepped closer to the window and peered out, looking for the town clock. When I spotted it, I saw that it was roughly half-past five. Dawn wasn’t until seven.

Exhausted, I rubbed my eyes lightly and turned around. There on the table was the flyer. I stepped towards it and lifted it up. “...arrive at the castle at dawn…” My head turned towards the window once again. If I got ready now, I could make it. But did I dare? I’d have to find someone to watch Jasper. Does Ron’s offer even stand now? I supposed there was only one way to find out. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly turned on the water in the bath. A slow stream trickled out of the spout. 

“Come on,” I whispered. As if the universe had heard me, the water pressure grew stronger, and the tub began to fill. Anxiously, I stripped my clothing and jumped inside, despite the lack of water. We always kept a wooden bowl by the bathtub, so I reached for it and dunked it under the faucet, letting it gather enough liquid before I dumped it onto my head. The temperature was less than ideal, but I made do, and within fifteen minutes, I was out of the bath and drying off.

Quickly, I threw on my dress, slipped on my shoes, and ran out the door, but not before kissing a sleeping Jasper goodbye. He’ll be okay, I assured myself. The Weasleys were luckily only a few blocks down, so I hustled down the street and up to their door. Yet, once I found myself on their cozy porch, I was unable to knock. My fist hovered above the wooden door, decorated with fresh winter flowers. It’s now or never, a voice in my head whispered. Somehow, I found my courage and rapped my knuckle against the firm wood.

After only a few moments, Mr. Weasley opened the door. “Y/N? What brings you here so early? Has something happened?” he asked initially. Then he saw my wet hair and my shivering frame. “Good heavens! Come inside, you’ll freeze,” he exclaimed, motioning for me to come towards him. I scampered in, and Mr. Weasley shut the door. I could tell he was bursting with questions, but I filled him in before he could speak. 

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I’m here because yesterday Ronald stopped by and told me the Royal Family was looking for a servant. And well, at first, I wasn’t going to apply for it, but now...now I wish to,” I spoke softly. The man stood tall as he processed this information. 

“Well, that sounds grand. But if I may, why are you here?” he questioned. Before I could tell him, Ron entered the foyer from around the corner. “Y/N? You’re here, have you changed your mind?” he asked, his voice sounding hopeful. With a bit of lingering hesitation, I nodded my head. “I have.”

Ron smiled brightly. “Brilliant, wait here,” he instructed before he headed into a different room, leaving his father and me by the door. Soon enough, however, he emerged with a green and white dress. It was paired with a leather brown underbust corset. Although simple, it was perfect. “That’s beautiful, wow. Are you sure about this?” I checked with Ron. He nodded and motioned behind him. 

“Ginny’s awake; she’ll help you into it,” he told me. Right on cue, a sweet young girl with long red hair strolled into the foyer. She waved at me softly, and I waved back. 

“Splendid, off you go then. Ginny, find her a towel to dry her hair, won’t you?” Mr. Weasley asked his daughter. She nodded, took me by the hand, and dragged me into what I assumed was her room. The Weasley’s home looked bigger than the rest in Totbury, but I never suspected that one of their children would have their own bedroom. I was led to the center of Ginny’s room. She shut the door and quickly began helping me out of my day dress. 

“Are you nervous?” she asked immediately. Her inquiry caught me off guard and reminded me of the butterflies in my tummy. I scrambled for an answer as she wrapped my hair in a dark brown towel.

“Of course, I am. I’m leaving my son alone all day,” I told her finally. Ginny smiled softly as she laid my dress on her bed, leaving me in my undergarments. She knew I had dodged her question but didn’t mention it.

“We can have him stay with us today if you want. It’s really no problem,” Ginny offered. This wasn’t the first time the Weasley’s had said they could watch Jasper. While it was very kind of them, I never took them up on it; I couldn’t. My mother never gave me over to another family when she went to work. She would always tell me, “Don’t go outside. I’ll return before nightfall.” And that was that. I stayed put and waited for her to come home. Sure, it was a lonely childhood, but she did what she had to do to provide for me. Now, I wanted to do that for my own child, but it was becoming clearer to me that I wouldn’t be able to do things like my mother. If I get the job, I’ll be in the castle, I won’t be able to come running if something happens. Deep down, I knew the safest option for my boy was to let him stay with the Weasleys.

“Are you sure?” I asked. Ginny smiled and nodded her head. “Of course. He’ll be safe and sound while you do what you need to do.” I gnawed on my lip as she slipped the dress over my head and onto my body. 

“I really appreciate this, you know? Things have just been… difficult lately, and I’m trying to do right by Jasper, but I’m still figuring out how, if that makes sense,” I said to her, not really knowing why I was suddenly confiding in her. Ginny was only a year younger than me, twenty-one. We’d never talked much growing up. Better late than never, I suppose.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Don’t be so hard on yourself, seriously,” Ginny said gently while she began tying up my corset. I took a moment to admire myself in the ornate mirror in front of me. I was now adorned in an ankle-length, deep green dress. It was significantly nicer than any piece of clothing I’d ever owned. 

“Where did you get this, Ginny? It’s so beautiful,” I asked. Ginny shrugged as she pulled and adjusted the fabric, seemingly her final touches.

“I’m not sure. Mum never said where she got it. But it’s gorgeous on you.” I felt my face flush as I stared back at myself in the mirror. I looked unfamiliar. Hesitantly, I gave Ginny a little twirl, feeling a grin creep onto my lips as the skirt flared around me in a perfect circle. I felt young. I felt new.

“Thank you for lending it to me. Hopefully, everything goes well, and I’ll make enough money to buy you many more dresses such as this one,” I said, smiling at Ginny. Then I caught sight of a nearby window. The sun wasn’t in the sky quite yet, but the darkness of the night was beginning to lift. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I’ll be back before nightfall to get Jasper; he should still be sleeping at home,” I rambled while heading for the door, Ginny close behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go fetch him. You’re right though, you’d better get a move on; sun’ll be up in an hour.” I nodded and tore the towel from my head, letting my semi-dry and now wavy hair fall to my shoulders and back. The other Weasleys lifted their heads as I rushed to the door. I quickly waved goodbye and said my thanks as I ran outside, the chorus of their farewells barely reaching my ears. I was already several paces down the street. 

Luckily for me, I knew my way to the castle. Once I reached my teenage years, I’d often sneak through the woods and journey to the capital. And when I got near enough, I’d take a right and go the long way ‘round. That way, I could get up close and personal to the walls of Orton. I couldn’t see anything, of course, but I loved to sit my back against the cool stone bricks and simply listen to the hustle and bustle. As a young girl, I often daydreamed of what life might be like within those walls. Now, I may get the chance to find out.

The trip was just how I’d remembered it, although a bit shorter. First, I’d walk straight between the long stretches of farmland. Sometimes I’d even get to see livestock. But after that, the land would transition into dense forest, filled with various wildflowers as well as a little creek. Once through there, one found themselves at the start of a cobblestone road leading straight to the gates of Orton. That’s where I was now. The sun was beginning to pierce the sky, and I didn’t feel ready. Then I thought of Jasper, and my foot moved forwards, the other following after it. Soon enough, I was face to face with two tall men dressed in silver armor. Behind them, cast iron doors concealing the city beyond them.

“State your name and business,” the man on the left said. His eyes wouldn’t even meet mine. Bile tempted to spill into my mouth, but I swallowed it down and did as he asked.

“Y/N of Orton. I come to find work, specifically for the position at the castle,” I said in a tone as confident as I could muster. The guard raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ve never seen you or heard of you. You certain you’re from here?” he asked, jutting his finger towards the doors. I nodded firmly. Fake it till you make it.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t been home in many months as I’ve been looking after my cousin in Totbury. He’s been very ill, and I’ve been afraid to leave his side. Yet, I fear I am without much money. Hence why I’m here now.” I looked at the men, trying to gauge whether or not they detected my lies. I’d only just cooked up that tall tale fifteen minutes ago, and I didn’t have anything past that. My fingers squeezed each other behind my back as I waited for them to reply. One looked to the other, who shrugged, then they turned back to me.

“Very well, welcome back,” he said. My sigh of relief was covered up by the loud creaking of the doors as the men pushed them open, revealing the awaking city. I quickly walked through them before the guards could change their minds. Mother of God. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. But I knew I didn’t have time to explore, I had to get to the castle. Hardly anyone was outside their homes yet, so I took off running, my worn shoe soles slapping on the cobblestone. I didn’t know my way, of course. I was simply going by the spiral at the top of a tower. I could see it from the city streets, so I rushed through the city’s twist and turns until arriving at a long stone bridge. It led all the way to a tall archway, beyond it, the entrance to the castle. 

I did my best not to break out into a sprint and instead speed-walked across it, wondering why there was nobody else in sight. I didn’t have time to ponder it further as I had already made it to the entrance. I told the guards here the same thing I’d said to the ones at the gates. They let me in seconds after I said I was there for the job opening.

The beauty of the castle stopped me in my tracks. Candles flickered above me in the high-hanging chandeliers, their light shining on the polished wooden floors. Gold framed portraits decorated the warm stone walls. Everything was so clean, so elegant. My eyes had no idea where to look. Get a hold of yourself. You’re not here to look around. I scanned the foyer but realized I had no idea where to go. But then a soft voice startled me.

“It’s up the stairs and to the left, dear. Better hurry. The Prince is almost done with his breakfast.” I turned around to see a short old woman with stark blonde hair. At first glance, she reminded me of my mother. She smiled when she saw my face. “Go on, wouldn’t want to be late now,” she ushered. I hastily nodded my head as I hurried up the steps, taking a left just as she had told me. I was now facing a long hallway, at the end of which were open doors leading into a large room. As I drew nearer, I could see a long line of people, all with their hands behind their back and chests puffed out. Intimidation tickled my skin. They all looked so proper.

Trying to push away my thoughts, I stepped into the room, which I realized was the throne room, and claimed my place beside a young woman. She looked to be around my age, as did many of the women. I quickly noticed that there were only women here. That’s odd. Surely at least some men would wish to be the Prince’s servant. Although, I suppose it’s not the same as being his right-hand man or advisor. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud toot of a trumpet. I turned to my right to see a well-dressed man with a silver instrument pressed to his lips. He played a little tune before lowering the trumpet.

“His Majesty, the King, and her Majesty, the Queen.” The man stepped aside, and two figures entered the room. The man was tall, had blonde hair, and a pale, pointed face. His eyes seemed to pierce my soul when he made eye contact. He carried a black and silver cane with him as he walked. The woman at his side looked just as unnerving as her husband. She, too, was tall, although not as tall as the King. Her hair was long and blonde, just as pale as her skin. The slimness of her waist was rather alarming, and her eyes were ice cold. 

The couple took their seats on their respective thrones and turned towards the door. The previous man spoke again. “His Royal Highness, Prince Draco.” The man of the hour, Draco Malfoy, strutted into the room. A perfect combination of his parents, his skin was cool white, nearly the same as his platinum hair. His high cheekbones and pointed chin resembled his father’s, but, unlike the King, Draco’s hair was cut short, a few stray strands hovered over his forehead. When he took a seat next to his mother, I could see her eyes soften as she looked at him.

The trumpeter exited, leaving the Royal Family alone with the line of girls in front of them, save for a few guards. The King cleared his throat and rose to his feet, clutching his snake-headed cane as he did. 

“In a few moments, my son will choose his new servant. I trust you will all be respectful and do as you’re told. If the prince dismisses you, then you leave. If the prince asks you a question, you answer it truthfully. And finally, if the prince chooses you, you will be led to your living quarters and will immediately begin your training. The prince will be taking the throne in exactly two hundred and thirty days; he is a busy young man, and we cannot waste any more time. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. Nobody said a word. “Good. Draco,” he called, motioning to us. 

The prince stood up from his throne and made his way down the marble steps. He stopped a few feet in front of a girl a couple of people down from me. He stared at her for a few seconds before waving his hand and saying, “Dismissed.” The girl didn’t move, she looked confused and a bit shocked. Draco scoffed. “Weren’t you listening to my father? If I dismiss you, you leave. The door is to your right; run along now,” he ordered. I watched in disbelief as the girl bowed her head and rushed from the room, tears in her eyes. “Daft cow,” Draco muttered. Anger began to stir in my chest. What an absolute prick. Christ, I knew the Malfoys were a cold bunch, but I never thought the crown prince would be this much of an arsehole.

He continued going down the line, dismissing girls left and right. It didn’t seem like he had a particular order. No, he was merely kicking out the girls who didn’t please his eye. I knew this because he’d tell them what he didn’t find appealing as they left. 

“Big nose.”

“Thin lips.”

“Too tall.”

“Repulsive complexion.”

He dismissed and dismissed until only three girls remained, including me. He stopped in front of a black-haired woman. She wore a cream-colored gown. It was much fancier than mine and contrasted beautifully with her dark skin.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked. The woman replied that her name was Alyssa. “Hi, Alyssa. Tell me, what makes you want this job?” It was silent for a few moments before the woman answered. 

“My mother suggested it, Your Highness.” Draco clasped his hands behind his back and studied Alyssa’s face and body. His calm demeanor was frightening, to say the least.

“So your mother wants you to have this position, but tell me, Alyssa, do you want this position? Or are we just wasting our time here trying to fulfill the wishes of a woman who isn’t even here?” he seethed. Alyssa stuttered but shook her head and insisted she, too, wanted the job. I could tell from his face that Draco didn’t buy what she was selling, but he didn’t dismiss her. Instead, he shuffled his feet until he stood in front of me. My heart started pounding in my chest, but I kept my head up, my mother’s words echoing in my head. “Don’t be afraid to make eye contact.”

Draco said nothing for nearly an entire minute. He only stood still, eyes never leaving mine. It felt like a staring contest, but without the playful energy. I could see now that his eyes were grey. They looked empty like they were searching for something. I narrowed my own, trying to figure out why they looked this way. It seemed as though this upset Draco.

“What’re you looking at?” he spat. I quickly replied. I could practically feel his anger, and I did not want to add to it by being slow to respond.

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“Liar. Try again, sweetheart.” Perceptive. Or perhaps just angry. Whichever it was, he now left me with a decision—another lie or the simple truth. I weighed the options in my head; neither seemed favorable.

“Your eyes,” I replied. Draco raised an eyebrow. I took this to mean he wanted me to elaborate. “They’re grey.” Upon hearing this, he rolled them.

“Brilliant deduction,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “But why were you staring at them so...intently?” he questioned me further. However, he seemed afraid almost. Like he didn’t want to hear my answer. Regardless, I shrugged.

“Well, they appear sad and honestly, vacant.” I could feel the entire room tense as I spoke. Behind Draco, I saw The King jump to his feet, his wife’s hand on his arm in a feeble attempt at holding him back. 

“Guards…” he started, but then Draco lifted a hand, halting his father as well as the guards who’d begun to take a few steps forward. 

“That won’t be necessary. Send for Olive. She can show her to her new room,” Draco spoke gently. His voice was even and firm, and yet, nobody moved to fulfill his request.

“Surely you’re not picking her, son?” The King asked, desperation evident in his voice. It was easy to see that he disapproved of this decision. Draco, whose eyes still hadn’t moved from mine, adjusted his hands. They now rested on his thighs, fingers intertwined.

“You’re from Orton, yes?” I nodded, not trusting my voice. “You’re healthy, no deathly illnesses?” Again, I nodded. “And you want this job?” This time I decided to speak.

“Yes, Your Highness, very much so.” I curled my toes, hoping my conviction was enough. The smile that stretched across Draco’s face hinted that it was. However, his next words confirmed it.

“Perfect. Yes, Father, I have picked her. Now can somebody please fetch Olive? I don’t quite know why nobody did so even though I specifically remember telling you less than two minutes ago,” he said fiercely. Within seconds, a guard rushed out the door to do as The Prince had ordered. The two girls beside me took this as their cue to exit as well. Alyssa looked gutted, and the other girl seemed relieved. I felt a bit sad to see them go, but my thoughts of them were overridden by the increasingly uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach.

The distress in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It seemed that the vacant man standing in front of me was quite the threatening presence. While this let me know I should tread lightly when in his company, it didn’t instill fear. Yes, I had been intimidated and afraid when I initially walked into the Malfoy’s throne room, but once I’d gotten a good look at the youngest of the bunch, those feelings dissipated.

His eyes told me all I needed to know. Draco was nothing but talk. He was closer to a boy than he was a man, and more importantly, he had no guts to do anything substantial. Sure, words could hurt, but when it came down to it, they were nothing more than words.

As I was led to my room by Olive, the kind older woman I’d met at the doorway, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. 

Taglist (I used my All Draco Works taglist for this, if you DO NOT want to be on this taglist for Betwixt, please let me know!): @beiahadid​ @pastelpuffbar​ @cutie1365​ @dracoxmgg​ @lumlfy​ @sambucky8​ @emilianamason​ @raplinethereal​ @DixieTheMorab24 @xoxohollands​  @prongsandprancer​ @ch0kemedracomalfoy​ @avlauriaa​ @purpleskymalfoy @mariah-can-dream​ @drxcomvlfx​ @sydnee-kom-spacekru​ @dracosgoodgirl​ @voilawind​ @gloryekaterina​ @anchoeritic​ @ragxsxragxs​ @exoticlizard @dlmmdl @siriusblklftv​ @Writtenbyadramaqueen @amourtentiaa​ @keidensu​

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Unwanted Devotion

Yandere Erasermic x Reader

Warnings of yandere and obsessive themes, and kidnapping (like usual)

I was resting in the cat cafe with my best friend, Adara. She loves cats almost as much as me, and they seem rather fond of us too. I scratched the chin of a long-haired Bombay. Its fur was extremely soft and silky to the touch. They take really good care of the cats here. I should know from working here before. Adara laughed as the tail of a white Persian swiped across her nose. It was a peaceful silence between us otherwise.

“So, anyway, have you got anyone to date yet?” She asked, suddenly speaking up. Why did this have to come up? “Eh, only once, but it didn’t last long since he liked someone better.” 

“Ouch. Well, definitely plenty of fish in the sea, huh?” I sighed. “Yeah, but that isn’t really the main focus right now. I can focus on that after my job starts to pay me more. Barely scraping by, but they’re giving me a raise hopefully next week.” 

“That’s not a wrong thing to do.” I rolled my eyes at her. “Says the one married to a rich man already.” 

“Once again, true.” The bell opened to two men entering. They seem slightly familiar. Adara seemed to recognize them before I did. “No way! Is that Hizashi and Shouta!?” I knew she was about to yell out to them. I tried to stop her by covering her mouth, but she leaned away right before. “Hey, Hizashi! Shouta! Is it really you two!?” Her yelling caused the two of them to turn their heads into our direction. A face of annoyance came over the one with the long black hair. It perked up a bit when he and I locked eyes. 

It didn’t take long for the two of them to come to our table, especially seeing the two cats with us. The Bombay of which decided to rest in front of me on the table. That seemed to grab Shouta’s attention. It just looked at him while purring contentedly.  He seemed rather surprised. It could be this one doesn’t like many people. Adara sat next to me for the other seat to be empty for the two of them. 

“It’s been AGES guys! We really should have kept better touch! How have the two of ya been!?” As hyper as ever Hizashi exclaimed. It startled the Bombay, making their fur puff up, but they still didn’t move. 

Adara nodded. “Yeah, it’s been way too long. Surprised to see you guys here. The two of you have been rather busy, huh? being heroes AND teachers now.” 

Wait… what? “Wait… they’re teachers now?” She nodded. “Yep. They actually have been for a few years already!” My eyes widened in surprise. “Hah, wow, never expected you to become a teacher Shouta!” He kept his ever so stoic expression. I do however have a growing interest in how he got that scar on his face. Something tells me it might be a touchy subject though, so no bringing it up.  

A cream-colored Persian went into Shouta’s lap, instantly getting his black outfit full of bright long specks. He didn’t seem to care in the slightest, and it made Hizashi chuckle at him. Hizashi grabbed Shouta’s free hand closest to him and interlocked their fingers. An odd sense of sadness came over me, but there was also happiness as well. Shouta seemed to be looking around making sure no one else saw. It wasn’t very busy considering it was night and had less than half an hour before closing. 

It reminds me that I used to like both a while ago. Of course, now that's definitely off the table. It’s great they stuck towards their heroic desires though. I had to give up from not being able to intern. Same with Adara. Shouta saw where my sight was aimed and tried to pull his hand from Hizashi. “No worries! We can keep it a secret!” Adara piped up.

I smirked at her and looked at them. “What secret?.” She smirks back and that seems to ease Shouta. “Ya should have told me you quit working here! I was tryin’ to find ya months ago! I asked your co-workers when you worked so I could drop by. They refused to tell me!” 

“Well, think about it. They probably thought you might have been a stalker or something. You’re not as recognizable without your hair up.” He thought for a moment and nodded. “Ya got me there!” 

“Still, really bummed they didn’t even tell me someone was asking for me. We could have met so much sooner!” 

“You’re tellin’ me! Well, don’t stop now! Give me your number!”

I laughed at his enthusiasm and gladly gave it to him. He almost too eagerly put my number into his phone. “Might as well give me your number as well.” Shouta piped up. I was rather surprised he wanted it. He didn’t talk to me much back in school. He did often sit by me though. Rather closely too, but there was nothing about it. I shrugged it off and also gave it to him. Adara did the same, but they didn’t seem as enthusiastic about it? Well, she can be rather annoying in her texts. The Bombay demanded attention again by rubbing their head against my hand. 

“Anyways, I envy the energy you have Hizashi. You never seem to run out.” I commented. 

“I really wish he would. He can never be quiet.”  

“Aw Sho, don’t be like that! Ya know you dig it!” 

“I really don’t.” Hizashi looped his arm around Shouta’s shoulders. “Baaaabe! Don’t be so meeeeaaan!” 

“Quiet down!” He snapped, quickly looking around again. None of the staff were in earshot distance and they were busy starting to sweep and restock things. 

“I’d like to ask something if that’s okay,” I said. Shouta looked at me and nodded while Hizashi and Adara were spouting something about music and new slang. He nodded. “How long have the two of you been together? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal though.” 

He seems to think for a moment. “Believe it or not, it wasn’t long after school. We met up again and spoke to each other at times like now when we have the time,” He looked over and “glared” at Hizashi. “If only he could be a bit quieter, but that’s never going to change with his loud mouth.”

“Were ya talkin’ ‘bout me, babe?” Hizashi suddenly asks, gaining attention towards us. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe, maybe not,” A smirk grew on my face. “He’s just saying how much he loves you.” Shouta glares harshly at me with a bit of blush forming on his face as Hizashi quickly pulls him closer. “Aw! How sweet of ya!” Adara laughs at Shouta’s misery. 

Hizashi looked at me. “So, y/n, have ya got a lover yet?” I groaned. “Adara JUST asked me that before you two came!”

“We weren’t here then.” I sighed heavily. “No, and I’m not planning on it until my life is more together.” The two of them grew worried expressions. “What do you mean?” 

I gave a nonchalant shrug. “Just having trouble with a bad landlord and bills. You know, the usual sucky things of life.” Hizashi looked at me with a small frown. “We could-” I knew what he was about to say, and that’s a definite no.  “No. I can’t have you guys do that for me.” I cut in. “But we’re will-” 

“Nope! I’ll handle it on my own.” 

“Y/n, this is serious. Let us help you before it gets worse. I’d know.” Shouta’s voice turned incredibly stern. It almost made me want to cave in and accept it. No wonder he’s a teacher now. 

“Listen, I understand your guy’s concern for me, but I’ll be fine! You both have my number, so maybe just text me something later, and I’ll reach out if I need to.” I persisted. Shouta’s eyes narrowed more. I’ve forgotten how truly powerful this man’s glare was. Yikes. 

It felt like hours, though it was only seconds until he finally relented with a nod of his head and the other two let out their breath they were holding. 

Adara decided to break the tension in the worst way possible. “Hey, Y/n? Remember when you used to have a crush on-” I covered her mouth before she could finish. “That jerk from school? Yeah, I want to slap my younger self for ever having that damn thing on such a narcissist.” I quickly came up with that lie and glared harshly at her. I could tell Shouta can tell something was a lie. 

Adara licked my hand. It took a lot of restraint not to recoil and take my hand away from her mouth. “We better go. Text me later for us to meet up!” I told them, and dragged Adara out the door. I yanked on her long red hair to make her come, and as a little payback. As soon as we got out the door and a little ways away, I let go of her. “What was that about!? You were going to make it so awkward between us four than it already was!”

“Don’t try to deny it! You STILL have feelings for the both of them! I can tell just by the way you look at them!” 

“They’re together now! Do you know how bad it would be!? Seriously, they’d never want to talk to me again!” She shrugged. “I don’t know about that. They seemed still pretty interested in you.” 

“You’re reading too far into things. I don’t want this to come up again.” I hissed, and stormed away with feeling sheer embarrassment at the utter gall she had to try bringing that up. 

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

I started to hang out with the two of them in their limited free time. It surprised me they wanted me to hang out with the two of them every time they were free. My little thing I still had for them quickly vanished as I saw their interactions. Now it’s me trying not to physically gush how adorable they are together. Shouta was reading with his legs over Hizashi’s. A cute little habit I noticed of his is him always having to touch Shouta in some sort of way. In public? A “friendly” arm slung around his shoulders. Between us? Holding his hand or even just rubbing his hands on Shouta’s legs. Especially if Shouta is wearing shorts, like he is now. 

I didn't want to impede on their connection more and more as my mind focused on it. They don’t need me here. They were sitting on their couch while myself was on the loveseat. My phone was out in front of me while I absentmindedly glanced at the two of them from time to time. The more the thought wandered, isn’t this kinda weird as well? We don’t even really speak at times like this. Sure, the peace is great and all, but… Fuck it, this has to change. Come on Adara. Right now would be a great time to- 

My phone started to ring. It was Adara. Impeccable timing! I answered it and stood up to leave the room. “What’s up gir-’

“You need to get away from them NOW!!!” Adara sounded beyond panicked. Panic quickly started to rise in me as well as I glanced at the two men. They didn’t seem any different. I stopped looking before Hizashi and I could lock eyes. 

“What do you mean?” I question. 

“I fully underestimated just HOW much they love you! My husband was just warned by his friend you’re in danger. You need to leave, and NEVER be alone with them again! No matter how much they ask! Get out now, before you can’t again!” 

Okay, that’s beyond concerning. But they’d be caught if they ever did something like that! This can’t be a joke though. She’s surprisingly not one for jokes. 

“You’re on a suspect list! It’s free reign if they get you! RUN!” 

The fear increased tenfold with her words. I look back at the cou- They’re not there! Flight kicked in, and I started to run towards the front door. My wrist was suddenly grabbed, and my phone is yanked from my hand. My attention snapped forward to Shouta tightly gripping my phone. Tight enough his knuckles turned white as he pressed the speaker button. 

Hizashi was standing next to Shouta with a betrayed and hurt expression. His frown deeper than I’ve ever seen it. Shouta isn’t doing much better. “You know Adara, It’s rather hurtful to go back on trying to rekindle our love.” Chills ran up my spine. That doesn’t even sound like Hizashi. 

A shriek of surprise came over the phone. It quickly turned to her breathing heavily. She sounded more angry than fearful. “It’s because you two are fucking insane you put them on the suspect list!!” she spat. 

“That’s rather hurtful, dear Adara.” Hizashi fully blew off her accusation. 

Shouta squeezed it tight enough the screen started to crack. He wasn’t holding my wrist… I decided to run for it. I didn’t even get close to the door when something wrapped tightly around my waist and dragged me back. It was pulled up slightly to prevent me from falling. There was only one thing it could be… Shouta’s capture weapon. He was using his quirk and it only needed one hand. The other still held the phone. 

“You’re no longer needed. Stay quiet, and maybe things won’t end bad for you.” 

‘Crack’ the phone got crushed. 

I was in full blown panic now. Especially the look on their faces. It didn’t take long for Hizashi to hug me tightly. Something wet dripped onto my shoulder. Why is he crying!? If anything, I should be the one crying! “Sho, w-we did it all wrong!” Shouta sighs angrily. He stopped using his quirk, but his capture weapon still was wrapped tightly around me. Including my arms which were pinned to my sides. 

“We overheard that night. We were hoping to bring your love back to us by jealousy,” His eyes narrowed as he looked away. “Turns out that was clearly the wrong decision. It only drove you away more.” 

Hizashi hugged tighter. “Do-Don’t worry Songbird! We can still fix this! We can make ya love us again!” He turned his head towards Shouta. Shouta walked behind me and hugged my bound form as well. It was so binding to the point it was hard to breathe. I tried to squirm in their toxic grip. The attempt to break free was clearly fruitless, only succeeding in them squeezing tighter like a snake suffocating its prey. 

Shouta leaned to be right next to my ear, and let out a satisfied exhale. It being so close to my ear sent another shiver up my spine. “We should have done this much sooner.” Hizashi eagerly nodded as I started to get tired and stopped struggling. 

“Ya see! They’re already lovin’ us! Sho, it’s not close enough though!” In the corner of my eye, Shouta nodded in agreement. They released me, but like a leash Shouta pulls me over to the large couch, Hizashi not far behind. 

"Hold them." Shouta said, and pushed me closer to Hizashi. He didn't have to be told twice. Shouta quickly used his quirk to undo his capture weapon. They had a silent conversation as I started to squirm again. “Guys, stop this! I moved on, you guys need to as well!” 

Their faces turned to delusional obsession. Hizashi sat on the couch, and forced my legs to wrap around his lower back. Shouta quickly ties his capture weapon around my ankles before Hizashi lets go of my legs. 

Hizashi then leans against the armrest of the couch as Shouta goes behind me. He puts his legs over Hizashi’s, and leans forward to fully sandwich me. 

“No. We’ll make you love us again. We lost ya once, and never again.” 

“One way,” He leaned next to my ear again. “Or another.” It didn’t take a genius to know it was a threat… That and him squeezing his legs into my sides. 

It was easy to tell I wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere anytime soon…

[shijiujun]

the only one (on my mind)

Lu Yao chases away four blind dates set by his sister in the same restaurant. Chusheng is the owner of said restaurant and decides to rescue Lu Yao from his fifth one after witnessing all of them.

@sarah-yyy for your chuyao fix hopefully? XD

--

“Chusheng-ge,” says the waiter at the door, who comes forward to take his jacket.

It’s still early yet at Qing Ling Tian, a traditional Hu cuisine restaurant and bar set in one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city in the middle of downtown Shanghai. Chusheng walks in, and immediately is greeted with the bustle of a packed hall tonight as well.

Qing Ling Tian is not one of the best restaurants in Shanghai for no reason — with the grand decor that is the retro style inspired from Republican-era Shanghai fused with contemporary elements, and having hired some of the best chefs in the region, Chusheng is proud to say that they’ve had full-packed reservations for three years running now, be it usual dinners or even wedding banquets.

While patrons go about their meals on the first floor, immersed in the warmth and liveliness of it all, the second floor features a much more sedate vibe. There’s a main space where the bar counter is, and the private dining rooms can also be found on this floor. Customers who wish to have a more romantic and quiet dining experience are usually found here.

As he approaches the bar where Liu Zi, his star bartender, is working behind the counter tonight, Chusheng’s eyes fall on a familiar figure seated in the corner of the room, and he doesn’t know whether to feel exasperated or fond.

He settles for something between both, and Chusheng doesn’t even know the man.

“He’s here again?” Chusheng asks, sitting down at the counter and gesturing towards the tall, handsome man with his date, comfortably settled around a two-person table not too far away from the bar counter. “Who is it today?”

“Another young, rich heiress forced to meet him for a blind date,” Liu Zi rolls his eyes, placing a glass of whiskey on the table before Chusheng. “Your boy is trying his best in chasing her away this time too.”

“He’s not my boy,” Chusheng raises an eyebrow, taking a whiff of his whiskey. “I don’t even know who he is.”

Well, that’s not quite accurate. Chusheng knows of the man — Lu Yao, the youngest son in the well-known Lu family that has managed to produce powerful politicians and army commanders with every generation — because this isn’t the first time he has brought a blind date to this restaurant.

Lu Yao is a bit of an oddball, according to those who mill about in the higher echelons of society, so to speak. Despite being a rich young master, he ran away from home after he finished high school and managed to flee all the way to the UK and Cambridge for university, where he supported himself without taking a dime from his family until he graduated with no less than three degrees under his belt.

Lu Zifu, Lu Yao’s father, then forcibly dragged him back to Shanghai, whereupon he began finding matches for his youngest son.

It seems that with his two older brothers, Lu Sen and Lu Yan, so successful and working in the army and his older sister, Lu Miao, a high-ranking government official in the incumbent party, Lu Zifu doesn’t have much high hopes for his youngest son except to have him enter a beneficial matrimonial partnership with another woman. Of course, the old man isn’t quite as cruel to have his son marry someone he doesn’t like, and thus, why continuous blind dates are being strangely and repeatedly held at Chusheng’s restaurant.

In fact, this is the fifth one, if memory serves Chusheng correctly. It was pure coincidence, the first time Chusheng witnessed Lu Yao and his blind date of the evening at the same table, a few weeks ago.

It wasn’t anything to cry home about — matchmaking and blind dates are still incredibly common and Chusheng has heard his fair share of blind dates gone wrong happening in his restaurant. On two occasions even, the disastrous date even escalated into fights, so it’s not as if he’s a stranger to the farce of terrible blind dates.

Lu Yao, however, is unabashedly a piece of shit, a spoilt brat, a vainpot and a greedy little thing — and the man has no qualms flaunting any of these qualities.

He’s a smart piece of shit though, and while he’s shameless, every time Lu Yao does something ridiculous, Chusheng can’t help but want to indulge him.

—

First Date

“How about we get to know each other first, Lu-xiansheng?”

“Sure,” Lu Yao nodded, setting his drink aside. “Firstly, I don’t have a car, or any property to my name. I probably won’t get a huge cut out of my dad’s inheritance when he dies. I’m a poor academic, and my dad doesn’t think very highly of me. If you want to get some money out of this arrangement, you’re out of luck. I don’t intend to find a well-paying job either, because I’m happy pursuing an academic career. In fact, you will have to give me an allowance to support me-“

Chusheng watched then, a little flabbergasted at the sheer audacity of this young, able-bodied and obviously capable man, and with no shame at all, how he tried to badger his way into a marriage that would keep him in the most comfortable of conditions, without consideration for the lady at all!

Understandably, when Lu Yao entered his second spiel without allowing the woman to interject even in the slightest, she got to her feet and stomped out of there.

“Useless asshole!” she spat as a parting gift.

Once she was gone, Chusheng noted with some interest that Lu Yao’s haughtiness seemed to fade away as he deflated entirely into the seat, pressing his fingers to his temple and downing his entire drink in one shot.

His phone rang then, and Chusheng could hear a woman’s sharp voice berating the man on the other end of the line, no doubt to yell at him for fucking up the date so badly.

“Aiya, Da-jie, I didn’t do it on purpose! If she cannot accept me for who I am, it is not true love!” the man whined, obviously trying to play the fool.

Chusheng remembers turning away at that moment, trying to hide his smile in his drink.

—

Second Date

“I think we both know we’re here at the behest of our parents,” the blind date of the week said coolly. “How about we make do with each other to get our parents off our backs? You can continue living your life and I continue living mine.”

Lu Yao nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

“Well, the only condition my parents have is the dowry. Given your family’s status and wealth, I think this,” and the woman holds up three fingers. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Thirty thousand?” asked Lu Yao.

The woman’s face whitened almost immediately, but she continued, “You must be joking. The Xiao family is also considered one of the wealthiest families in the city. My parents will accept no less than three hundred thousand for my marriage into the Lu family.”

Lu Yao pretended to consider this, before he replied, “Think about this! You’re the CEO of the Xiao family’s banking empire, and in comparison, I’m just a student who’s looking to complete his PhD. I have nothing to my name, not even a single property! Don’t you think you should be paying my dad the dowry instead? I feel more like the one who's marrying out of my own family and into yours.”

Chusheng watched as Lu Yao got a cup of iced water to his face then.

The woman was as vicious as the first one when she said, “Shameless!”

—

Third Date

“So I hear that you want a dowry and an allowance,” Blind Date Number Three said, flopping into the seat opposite Lu Yao’s an hour late.

“Of course,” Lu Yao said matter-of-factly. “I’ve never had to serve someone else. I’m the youngest in the family, if I’m not doted on then who should you dote on?”

Chusheng could tell that Lu Yao was feeling rather pleased about this meeting because from what the woman said, it seemed he was gaining a reputation for himself, one that would hopefully ensure women stayed far, far away from him.

“You’re honestly starting to get a reputation,” the woman said as much, but she didn’t seem all too put out by Lu Yao’s demeanour. “If that’s what you wanted, congratulations. What’s good to eat here, I’m hungry.”

Lu Yao blinked, his interest piqued slightly.

“Well, I’m fond of the Ba Bao La Jiang, but… I’m not-“ he began, and the woman cut him off, “Yeah, yeah, you won’t pay. Geez, my treat, since I’m late. I was dragged here by my older brother while I was at an e-sports gaming competition, and I just want to eat.”

They didn’t talk much after that, busy stuffing their faces with food. It was then that Chusheng found himself staring at Lu Yao’s blissful face as he almost cleaned out half the plate and three bowls of rice on his own.

—

Fourth Date

It was Lu Yao’s turn to be late for this one, and Chusheng noted that he was in a bad mood today, for he wasn’t even turning on the i-am-so-innocent look with his blind date.

The moment he sat down, Lu Yao began, “Yes I want a dowry and a comfortable allowance. I’m kind of useless and entirely shameless, but I still want both of those things. If I want a baguette in the middle of the night, you have to get it for me. If I see an expensive Armani suit in the windows while I’m walking on the streets and want it, you should get it for me. If I’m hungry and want to have dumplings bright early in the morning before I wake up, I want you to get it for me. If I see something that scares me, you have to protect me.”

“And lastly, if I want you to give me your wallet, you should just give it to me,” Lu Yao finished, leaning into the back of his seat. “If you can do all of that, I’ll go to the Marriage Registration Office today with our hukou ben.”

The woman didn’t seem surprised at his outburst, and with a sigh, she commented, “I’m only here out of a favour for Lu Miao, we work together. I’ve obviously heard of your penchant for being incredibly demanding, and wanted to see it for myself. Doing this though… don’t you think you’re bringing shame to the Lu family?”

“Every single one of your siblings is successful in their own right, I don’t know how they ended up with you,” she said. “At the very least, you should be mindful of keeping the reputation and honour your family has painstakingly built over the years intact.”

“I’ll settle the bill for this one.”

That evening, Lu Yao got so drunk that Chusheng took it upon himself to send him home, not that the man remembers it.

—

And so here they are, two weeks after that sad blind date that probably hit a little too close to home for Lu Yao, on his fifth date.

This time, however, it seems that this woman isn’t as easy to dismiss as any of the previous ones. Chusheng suspects that there’s something wrong with her, to be honest.

“Lu Yao,” the woman says seriously, “I’ve been in love with you since I saw you at a family’s gathering when I was eight. I’ll treat you well, I promise! I’ve heard of all the conditions that you want, and I can fulfil all of them.”

Well, that is something none of them are expecting, least of all Lu Yao. Looking slightly stunned, Lu Yao sits up in his seat, and goes, “Everything? You’ll give me your wallet? How much dowry?”

“All of it! It’s not like I can’t afford it,” she nods enthusiastically. “I’ll do anything for you, Yao-gege.”

Lu Yao almost flinches when the woman reaches over, her hand tightly gripping his.

“Don’t you remember? It was dinner at the Feng mansion, you surely remember Feng-bo, right? I fell down the stairs when one of the other kids shoved me to the side while he was running, and you were the one who came over and helped me find my mother. You protected me, Yao-gege. I’ve always remembered that, and then when I heard you were looking for a match-“

“-I’m not, my sister and my father are looking for a match for me-“

“-I knew I couldn’t let this pass up. It’s okay if you don’t love me right now, you’ll see how much I am willing to do for you, and given time, I’m sure you’ll start to love me.”

Oh dear, Chusheng thinks as he sets his glass down.

—

“I can’t,” Lu Yao blurts out, snatching his hand back, properly spooked. “I’m… Chen Xue, you’re… I cannot marry you.”

“Why not? You said that as long as someone agrees to all your demands, you’ll marry them immediately! Is it because I’m not good enough?”

“I- I’m… No, of course not, you’re great, Chen Xue. I’m just… I cannot-“

What a time for his wilfulness to come back and bite him in the fucking ass, Lu Yao thinks, about to panic for real.

“If I’m great, then there should be no issue,” Chen Xue concludes, reaching over to grab Lu Yao’s hand again. “Yao-gege, let’s go now. We can get married today, and deal with the huge wedding and banquets later.”

He’s done for, Lu Yao knows that, and damn Lu Miao for finding him an obsessive match!

Just as he’s desperately thinking of something to say, a shadow falls over them both, and Lu Yao finds himself with another hand over his wrist.

Looking up, his throat goes entirely dry.

“He can’t marry you,” the tall, dark and handsome man says. “Because he’s going to marry me instead.”

Then smiling almost roguishly at him, the man continues, “Isn’t that right, baobei?”

Lu Yao feels shivers running down his skin at the sound of that, and despite himself, his breath catches in his throat when he tries to speak.

He remembers this man, sitting at the counter quietly every single time Lu Yao is here, nursing a glass of whiskey. And just two weeks ago, Lu Yao remembers someone buckling his seatbelt for him in the car, remembers the scent of a specific aftershave as the man leaned in close, and his voice when he told the driver to send Lu Yao home.

“Who the hell are you?!” Chen Xue asks, her eyes going wide. “What nonsense are you saying-“

“Yes,” Lu Yao interrupts, getting to his feet and plastering himself to the man’s side. “Yes, that’s right. I can’t marry you because I’m going to marry him instead. I’m sorry, Chen Xue.”

Chen Xue is silent for a whole minute, looking entirely betrayed. It’s a look that Lu Yao is familiar with, and so he prepares himself for the glass of water or wine that’s going to be splashed in his face in anger, but the moment Chen Xue reaches for the wine glass, the man next to him pulls Lu Yao behind him.

“Chen-xiaojie, wasn’t it? Qing Ling Tian welcomes any and all paying customers, including yourself, but I will not allow you to cause a scene here,” he says. “Please put that down.”

Shaking angrily, Chen Xue scowls, “I want to see your manager! Who the hell are you to talk to me like that, do you know who I am?”

Lu Yao’s hand unconsciously reaches for the man’s jacket sleeve, tugging in fear of the trouble this woman obviously is. While he’s grateful that the man has given him a way out, Chen Xue is indeed the daughter of one of the ministers sitting in the cabinet right now, and even Lu Zifu has to play nice with the old man. Lu Yao doesn’t want to get this nice man into real trouble either.

He opens his mouth to appease Chen Xue somehow, but the man beats him to it.

“Of course I do,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “Chen Xue, Chen Fu Man, Minister Chen’s only daughter. Lao ye-zi has a standing monthly appointment with Chen-shu for mahjong if I recall correctly. As for speaking to the manager, I’ll do you one better. I’m the owner of Qing Ling Tian. Is there something I can help you with?”

At this, both Chen Xue and Lu Yao stare at him, eyes wide and mouths open.

“You’re… you’re…” Chen Xue swallows, and finally putting the wine glass down. “You’re Qiao… Chusheng? Bai-shushu’s…”

“Indeed,” Chusheng nods. “If there’s nothing else, Chen-xiaojie, I’d like to have a nice dinner with my fiancé. Let me have Ah Dou escort you out. Ah Dou!”

“Chusheng-ge,” another man comes over from where he was standing at the entrance of the room.

“Escort Chen-xiaojie out and get Xiao Yun to send her home,” Chusheng orders.

So stunned at the turn of events and what he’s just found out, that Lu Yao doesn’t even move or blink after Chen Xue is forcibly guided out of the room for a good few moments.

It’s only when he hears a breathy chuckle close to his ear that Lu Yao realizes where his fingers are, still pinching Chusheng’s jacket sleeve. As if burnt, Lu Yao steps away, absolutely mortified. Chusheng, Qiao Chusheng, just saw him make an absolute fool of himself.

“I- I…”

“Sit down before you keel over,” Chusheng says, guiding him back into his seat and then to the waiter standing near them, “Da Ding, clear this table and have a fresh course brought up. The Fo Tiao Qiang soup that Lu-xiansheng likes to eat as well, and some of Man-jie’s best dumplings.”

Lu Yao looks up in surprise. He’s speechless still, until Chusheng pushes a glass of warm water over to him.

“Thank you, for helping me out earlier,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “I… I must have caused a scene.”

“No worries,” Chusheng smiles, and damn if Lu Yao’s heart doesn’t skip a beat at that. “Glad that I could help. Lu Yao, is that correct?”

“Mnn,” Lu Yao nods, taking a sip of the water nervously.

“Will you consider going out with me?” Chusheng asks sudddenly.

Lu Yao chokes on his water.

It’s Chusheng who pats him on the back, who presses a napkin to his mouth and looks at him a little fondly while he’s having a coughing fit. When Lu Yao surfaces again, he croaks, “What?”

“I won’t make you go to the Marriage Registration Office with me immediately of course,” Chusheng continues as if this conversation is normal. “We should probably date first, and then if we still like each other after a few, we could set up a meeting between our families and see how it goes. I’m certain your sister would like to take a look at me first, and the same goes for my sister. She’d like to meet you first after.”

“Wait, wait,” Lu Yao tries to breathe. “Hold on a second. You’re saying, like date me?”

“Mnn. Do you think I jest? I’m all for showing my sincerity,” Chusheng smirks almost. “I have a few cars and properties, and I can put your name on any of the ones you like next time, so you don’t have to buy your own. I earn enough, so you can happily pursue your doctorate if that’s what you want. If you don’t, there are a number of open finance-related positions in my company for you to do what you do best.”

“How did you know I have a finance degree?!”

Chusheng raises an eyebrow pointedly and goes, “Blind Date Number Three asked you what your hobbies were and you said ‘making money’ because ‘that’s what I got my degree for’.”

Lu Yao flushes red immediately.

“If you’re marrying me,” Chusheng continues, “Of course the Bai family will give you a dowry and an allowance, just take any of my cards, that should be enough.”

“Who said… who said I was marrying you?!” Lu Yao splutters. “And you’ve been listening in on my dates!”

“It’s a little hard not to listen in when you’re going on so righteously about how you want someone to give you all their assets and pamper you to death,” Chusheng rolls his eyes a little.

“And that night, it was you?”

“Which night?” he teases, and then taking pity on a Lu Yao whose face is entirely red now, he nods, “You were very drunk that night and thought that you called for a ride. You showed your Didi Chuxing app to me yourself with your address on it, I didn’t steal information from you.”

Finally, finally, after so many blind dates, Lu Yao is quiet.

Wondering if he’s scared Lu Yao off for real, Chusheng opens his mouth, ready to try a softer approach and apologize when Lu Yao asks, “… so if I really want a baguette in the middle of the night you’ll get it for me?”

“… I hope we’ll already have a baguette in the house for you seeing how much you like them,” Chusheng answers carefully, “But yes.”

“And if I want dumplings in the morning for breakfast?”

“I’ll call Ah Dou and have it brought in from the restaurant.”

“I don’t like Armani suits, but if I wanted something expensive…”

Chusheng takes out his wallet, and slides three credit cards over the table.

With wide eyes, Lu Yao asks again, “And if I asked you to give me your wallet-“

The wallet lands on the table in between them.

“As for the last one,” Chusheng smiles and leans forward, “I think I demonstrated earlier that I’m more than capable of protecting you whenever you’re scared. Don’t you think? So do I pass?”

The food comes then, interrupting their conversation. Chusheng doesn’t press either, instead scooping out a bowl of soup for Lu Yao and insisting that he eats, knowing that he couldn’t stomach any of his meal earlier with Chen Xue.

At the end of the meal, Lu Yao finally says, “… I want to go to the movies next week.”

“Mnn,” Chusuheng makes a noise of assent. “I’ll buy you dinner before that.”

“I’ll buy the movie tickets and popcorn,” Lu Yao adds, almost a little shyly.

When they leave the restaurant later, Chusheng is holding onto Lu Yao’s hand as he leads him out.

The warmth he feels from that touch alone makes everything right suddenly, and not even his phone continually vibrating in his pocket from his sister’s calls can dampen his mood.

===

*Qing Ling Tian ���玲天 - I guess it's a way for Chusheng to pay homage to the Green Dragon gang 青龙帮 not that he's in a gang right now (he's totally a legitimate businessman)

*Shanghai's cuisine is called Shanghai Cai (shanghai dishes literally), but also can be called Hu Cai (hu cuisine)

*Didi Chuxing - This is China's version of Uber/Lyft/Grab

*hukou ben - In brief, all Chinese citizens need to belong to a family register and have a 'hukou', it's almost like a proof of citizenship I think. Anyway, you need these 'hukou' booklets (like a birth cert) to get married, you bring the booklets down to the office, and take a photo against a red wall, and they print the photos and paste them in the booklets.

*-jie/-shushu/-gege/-bo - older sister/uncle/older brother/uncle

*baobei - darling or baby

[thelastspeecher]

Super hero/villain AU Angie doing one of her first solo crimes as a villain (idk where lute is or he can be there either way). Maybe it starts going wrong and she kicks it into high gear and pulls them throughm

All right, here’s the last Angie-centric prompt in celebration of Angie’s birthday.  Enjoy some Angie being a BAMF and also making a certain hero a bit flustered.

——————————————————————————————

              Angie walked into HQ, nerves fluttering in her stomach.  Despite being a villain for a couple years now, she had yet to come into work alone. But Lute was currently next to the toilet in their house, occasionally throwing up.  She headed for the secretary to pick up her assignment for the day.  The secretary looked up and raised an eyebrow.

              “Where’s your brother?”

              “Sick,” Angie said.

              Technically, it’s true.  Bein’ hungover definitely qualifies as bein’ ill.  You’d think a hydrokinetic would know to stay hydrated when doin’ a bar crawl.

              “Hmm.  Well, luckily, you should be able to handle today’s hit on your own.”  The secretary handed Angie a notecard.  “There’s some poorly guarded electronics that we could use. The ones that we don’t use, we can sell at a heavy markup.”  Angie scanned the notecard with a frown.  “And, like usual, you can pocket some for yourself.  They make great gifts for family.”

              “This is an Amazon warehouse,” Angie said.  The secretary nodded.  “Last time we hit up an Amazon warehouse, the employees were furloughed fer months while the building was rebuilt.  They had to choose between keepin’ their jobs but not gettin’ paid or tryin’ to find a new job.”  The secretary rolled her eyes.

              “Yes, yes, you’re someone who cares about that sort of thing,” she said in a tone that made it clear she didn’t.  Angie scowled at her.  The secretary cleared her throat.  “Since that last hit, legislation was passed that guarantees full pay to employees who cannot work due to villain or hero activity.  The workers at the warehouse will be fine.”

              “Hmm…”  Angie looked down at the notecard again.

              I do recall hearin’ somethin’ like that… She sighed.

              “Okay.  I’ll head on out.”

              “Call if you need backup.”

              “Nah.”  Angie shot a grin that was more confident than she felt.  “I can handle it.”

-----

              Angie landed on the surface of the Amazon warehouse. Thankfully, the building had a large skylight through which she could see the workers busily packing items into boxes.

              Easiest thing would be to break the skylight. But the poor workers have enough to deal with already.  Don’t need to add fallin’ glass to it.  Before Angie could go find a different way in, something incredibly heavy slammed into her, breaking through the skylight.  Angie gasped for breath, spots dancing in her vision.  She glared at the man who had tackled her.

              In Angie’s opinion, far too many heroes either didn’t pay attention to or didn’t care about collateral damage.  To be fair, most villains were in the same boat, but to be equally fair, most villains weren’t cut of the cloth that Angie’s family was.  Of the heroes who caused civilian injuries and more property damage than necessary, the man currently accosting her was one of the worst.

              Hopefully, it’s just ‘cause he’s a young hero. Maybe someday he’ll actually grow into his strength ‘n voice.  Angie abruptly remembered she was falling, surrounded by shards of glass. No, now’s not the time to be thoughtful, Angie.  There are innocent people who ‘re ‘bout to get showered in glass.  Angie summoned a wind to grab the shattered glass from the skylight, then directed it at the hero holding her.  When the glass began to cut him, he let out a yelp and let go, plummeting to the floor.  Picking up more breezes, Angie gently set herself on the floor.  She glared at the hero.

              “Manly Man,” she snarled.  Manly Man smirked.

              “That GLASS trick was DIRTY.”

              “No dirtier than what you just did, breaking glass all over all these poor, overworked souls,” Angie snapped, masking her southern accent.  Manly Man frowned.

              “Why would YOU care?  ANYWAY, they didn’t get hurt!”

              “Because-”  Angie huffed. “No, I’m not in the mood.”  A powerful gust of wind blew Manly Man’s shirt up, covering his face.  While his vision was obscured, Angie grabbed a scanner and hit him over the knees with it. Manly Man yelped, bending over in pain. Angie clubbed the back of his head, careful to hit just hard enough to knock him out.  He collapsed to the ground.  Angie huffed impatiently.  She looked over at the workers, who were gathered by one of the walls.

              “Are you- are you going to kill us?” one of the workers asked timidly.  Angie blinked.

              “What?  No! I’m just here to…relieve you of some of your inventory.”  She made a gust of wind blow open the front door.  “Feel free to leave now before more heroes show up.  Innocent bystanders sometimes get hurt during fights between masks.”  The workers looked cautiously at each other.  “Seriously.  I’m not going to do anything.”  One worker hesitantly made their way to the door.  Once they had left, the other workers sprinted out of the building, leaving Angie alone in the warehouse.

              Well.  Angie looked back at Manly Man, unconscious on the floor.  I ain’t fully alone.

-----

              By the time that Manly Man’s backup arrived, Angie had finished gathering all the electronics.  She didn’t even look up when Flamethrower landed a few feet away.

              “Hey there, hot lips,” she said casually.  She quickly looked over so that she wouldn’t miss his reaction.  Flamethrower had turned bright red behind his domino mask.  The last time Angie had gone up against him, she’d wound up kissing him.

              Why’d I do that, again?

              “Sirocco,” Flamethrower said, visibly struggling to stay professional.  Angie couldn’t help her grin.

              That’s why.  He’s so adorable when he’s flustered.  She hefted the bag of electronics over one shoulder.  Poor feller’s conflicted by his feelin’s fer a villain.

              “You’re happy to know my actual codename, aren’t you?” she asked.  During the same encounter where she’d kissed Flamethrower, she also told him her villain name was Sirocco, after he kept referring to her as “Twister Twin”. “Sounds good when you say it.” Flamethrower scowled.

              “Stop flirting.  Look, if you drop the loot now, I won’t arrest you.”

              “Wait, no attempt to get me to change sides?  No speech about how I’d be an amazing hero? I feel a bit insulted.”

              “Seriously.  There are more heroes coming.  It could get messy.”

              “Aw, you do care about me,” Angie crooned. Flamethrower huffed impatiently. “Sorry, buster, but I came here to do a job.”

              “What a coincidence,” a voice said behind her. She spun around.  Another hero had arrived while she was talking to Flamethrower. He walked out of the shadows. Angie swore.  “We came here to do a job, too,” Richter said.

              Great.  A geokinetic.  Richter idly tossed a rock in his hand, grinning viciously at Angie.  And not just any geokinetic, but a ruthless, bloodthirsty one.  Making matters worse, Manly Man sat up, groaning heavily.

              “You all right, man?” Flamethrower asked him. Manly Man nodded, standing up.  He glared at Angie.

              “Little Miss Windy KNOCKED me OUT,” he said angrily. He, Flamethrower, and Richter advanced on Angie.  Angie took a few steps back.

              “Now, now, boys,” she said in a pleasant voice. “I think we can handle this like adults.”

              “You’ll turn yourself in?” Richter asked.  Angie laughed airily.

              “I never said anything like that.”  Before the heroes could do anything or say anything else, she kicked up a massive sphere of wind with her in the center. The currents threw the heroes into the walls of the warehouse.  While they were getting back to their feet, Angie summoned breezes to carry her up, through the shattered skylight, and back to HQ.

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (6/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: I’m sorry for the delay. I’d hoped to have finished writing this story and then post pretty quickly, but personal life things have kept my mind other places. But hopefully you guys keep enjoying this story 💙

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

-/-

Sand shifts beneath Killian’s feet as he runs along the shoreline. The tide hasn’t quite come in yet, the water just missing him as it wades onto the shore, but Skipper is getting soaked with salt water as he runs on his leash in front of Killian. He used to not have to put Skipper on a leash for their morning runs since no one else is on the beach at this time of the morning, but then the damn dog went and swam in the ocean only to get caught up in a rip tide.

So, leash it is even if it makes Killian run faster and harder than he ever intends to.

Bloody hell, his calves are absolutely on fire. He should have run along the boardwalk to save himself from this kind of pain.

“Skip,” Killian whistles. “Slow down, mate.”

The dog obviously doesn’t listen and keeps running, but Killian tugs on his leash until he pulls back, stopping and sitting down in the sand. He’s definitely going to have to be shaved later.

“Good boy,” Killian sighs as he finally catches up to him. “You want to head back home? Are you tired yet? I’m exhausted.”

Skipper barks and sticks out his tongue. Killian takes it as sign enough that it’s time to go home.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon on Killian’s walk home, and he slows his pace to watch the world be coated in shades of orange and pink that are like nothing he’s ever seen replicated. Milah used to try with her paintings. She was always so obsessed with the sun and the way it shaded things differently, and he’d catch her painting the same building over and over again with only the most minute differences. She was a bloody brilliant painter, too, and the more time that goes by, the more he wishes he’d been able to keep just one of her paintings.

He’d given them to her son.

Her son who deserved them much more that Killian ever did. His only hope is that they’re displayed instead of shoved in a supply closet or decaying in a landfill somewhere. Her family had been furious when they found out about him, and he doesn’t blame them.

He felt the same way.

Except Killian was the hidden boyfriend who was driving the car that killed Milah, and he wasn’t exactly welcomed by her family at the funeral. He’d always thought that she didn’t have family, that she had few people just like him, but she apparently had hordes of people in her life.

How can he still harbor love for her when she betrayed him?

When she’s the reason he hasn’t been able to commit himself to anyone since.

Well, there was Tink, but she was exactly the same as Milah in so many ways.

At least she didn’t help in giving him the scars that run up and down his arm and wrap around his hand so that there was a permanent physical reminder of her. She simply, well, sunrises don’t remind him of her in the way they remind him of Milah.

Skipper barks again, and Killian shakes himself out of it before continuing to walk up to the beach. Some of the cabana boys are already dragging out the lounge chair cushions to the beach, and Killian nods at them before turning at the boardwalk and making his way to the shop. He goes through the back door so that obnoxious bell won’t go off, and as soon as they get inside, Killian slips out of his shoes and takes Skipper’s leash off before quietly walking up the stairs.

The lights in the apartment are all still turned off, and Killian uses the dim light of the rising sun to find his way back to his bedroom. The only light in there is the brightness of Emma’s phone shining on her face.

“Why did you get up so early to run this morning?”

He pulls off his sweaty shirt and tosses it in his laundry bin. “I’ve got a full day. I’m down at the marina all day. Why? Did you want to come with?”

“I’m doing a spin class with Ruby tonight, but I do need to start running on the beach again. That is a hell of a workout.”

“You’re telling me. My calves are still on fire.”

Emma hums and keeps typing on her phone. What the hell is she writing this early in the morning? He didn’t even think she’d be awake, but he probably woke her up when he left. Damn. He thought he was being quiet.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need to take one?”

“I’m not showering with you, Jones.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

She drops her phone and raises her brow. “I’m sorry. You’re a man who doesn’t want to have shower sex? I think you may actually be a unicorn.”

“It’s a very small shower, love, and I don’t think my knees can take being on the tile. My legs are definitely too tired to have to hold you up.”

“I’m not complaining,” she laughs. “I’ve just never had this happen before. I feel like I need to document it. You can leave the shower on for me. I’ll hop in after.”

Killian raises his hand and salutes at Emma before stripping out of the rest of his clothes and walking into his bathroom. He closes the door behind him and turns on the shower, allowing it to heat up for a minute or two before stepping inside and letting the water pound against his back. It feels better than he imagined it could, and even with this, he knows he’s going to be beyond sore by this evening.

He easily could have stayed in bed with Emma this morning. He could have slept in, had some kind of drowsy, lazy morning sex, and then been on with his day without being sore.

Now that he thinks about it, that would have been the better option.

Then again, the two of them aren’t really wake up in the morning and have sex kind of people. It’s happened, but it almost feels outside of their deal. He’d like to stay inside the deal and within the guidelines of their rules as much as he possibly can.

It’s funny how easy it’s been to fall into this thing with her. It’s usually not like this when he starts sleeping with someone new. There’s a game to be played, no matter how much he’d sometimes rather not play it, but with Emma, it’s not like that. There’s no tip-toeing around each other or questioning motives, not anymore. It is what it is, and they’re both okay with that.

No games may be the most refreshing thing in the world.

Killian quickly scrubs himself down with soap and washes some shampoo in his hair before rinsing it all off. His bathroom door opens, and Emma walks through without a stitch of clothing on.

Bloody hell.

“You almost finished?” she asks, apparently without a care in the world that she’s nearly rendered him speechless.

And possibly changed his thoughts on shower sex, even if that would absolutely be the most uncomfortable thing in the world right now.

“It’s all yours, milady.” He slides open the glass door and grabs a towel while Emma slides by him and steps into the shower. “It may be a little hot.”

“It’s scorching. What is wrong with you?”

“Trying to relieve my sore muscles, love.”

“By burning your skin off?”

“It is not that hot.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his shampoo bottle. He’s got to stop looking at her if he wants any hope of being able to get dressed comfortably.

“Do you have conditioner?”

Killian bends down and pulls out an old bottle that was left here. “This work?”

She reaches out and grabs it. “Do you have more of this?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because whichever girl left this is my new favorite. This stuff is expensive, and I think I’ll be able to actually brush through my hair now.”

Killian scoffs and adjusts the towel around his waist. “What’s wrong with the stuff in the shower?”

“It’s awful. The fact that you have such good hair is amazing.”

Oh, well, if she’s going to compliment him, he can’t pass that opportunity up. He twists his head and gets in her eyeline, ignoring the way water is dripping off her breasts, and moves his brows up and down.

“Why, darling, who knew you had such a thing for my hair?”

Emma’s nose scrunches up. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I can’t let this go. Tell me, what else do you find attractive about me? I know there must be quite a list since you’ve decided to sleep with me on a regular basis.”

“Again, shut up.”

“Nope. I’m not letting this go now. You find me attractive, Swan, and believe it or not, I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.”

“Don’t you have something to be doing?”

“I have nothing to do but stare at you.”

Emma’s laugh is louder than the spray of water, and he sees her shake her head before she goes back to washing her hair. Killian should shave this morning, but he can put that off until tomorrow when he’s not incredibly distracted by the naked woman showering next to him.

Killian brushes his teeth and dries his hair before walking out of the bathroom, leaving the door open for the steam to waft out, and he gets dressed for work. He’s still got hours until then, but if he puts joggers back on, he’ll not want to go. He knows the families who are coming in today for sailing lessons, and as much as he loves that part of the job, he does not want to deal with a group of twelve-year-old kids today.

The shower water keeps running, and Killian sees Emma out of the corner of his eyes before he opens his bedroom door and softly closes it behind him. The lights in the kitchen are on, and when he gets close enough, he sees Elsa standing over the stove with eggs in the pan. He didn’t even know she’d stayed over last night. He should be paying more attention to that. Then again, he doesn’t want Liam to know who he has staying over, so maybe it’s a good thing that they can quietly go about their business.

When Liam and Elsa get married, though, Killian hopes they either kick him out of here or move into Elsa’s place. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take living with Liam because of situations like this morning, but that’s not exactly an easy conversation to have.

“You making enough for everyone?” Killian asks.

Elsa twists around and smiles. “I’m making enough for me, but if you want some, that’s not a problem. Did you go running this morning?”

“Aye, and yes to the eggs, too.”

“That’s really early for you to go running. I didn’t even know you got up at that time.”

“Love, I almost never sleep in. The Navy will kill that habit before they do anything else.”

“Liam has managed to curb that, I think. That or he fakes sleeping in so I don’t feel lazy when I wake up later than him.”

“I think you may be onto his evil plans.”

She laughs again before plating the eggs in the pan and opening the carton next to her to crack open two more. “Oh, by the way, Emma is coming over this morning to help me with some wedding stuff. Anna is going to call in since that’s all really her cup of tea, but Emma is going to help get me a lower rate on one of the club venues. So, if you could go downstairs and unlock the door for her, that would be great.”

Killian swallows and grabs the plate of eggs from Elsa’s side, seasoning them and adding some cheese. “Isn’t that really more Mary Margaret’s department? The weddings, I mean.”

“Mary Margaret is more passionate about it, but they technically have the same job. Plus, Emma was free to meet me this early so we could talk to Anna at the same time.”

Killian accidentally shakes a little too much salt into his eggs. “When is Emma supposed to be here?”

“In about thirty minutes. Did I say you could have those eggs?”

Killian stuffs some overly salted eggs in his mouth. “I figured you’d want them while they were still hot, so I’d take the old ones.”

Elsa hums and nods. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Don’t I know it?”

Killian stuffs the eggs into his mouth, eating far more quickly than any normal human should, and he’s going to regret it later. But he needs to finish and run back into his room because Emma cannot come out this way if Elsa is in the kitchen.

“Did the water just turn off?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought I heard the water turning off, but I must be hearing things.”

Shit.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Killian puts his half-empty plate down. “These are really good, Els. I’ll be right back, yeah? I need to check my phone.”

She doesn’t say anything, and Killian quickly leaves before she can. He doesn’t know what they’re going to do. Elsa is in the kitchen cooking, and she always likes to eat on the sofa. He can’t exactly tell Elsa to go back to Liam’s bedroom so he can sneak Emma out of the house only to sneak her back in.

What the hell, Emma? Why did she even come over last night? Did she not think this through? They’re going to have to start thinking things through if they don’t want to get everyone else involved. That would be a disaster that neither of them know how to get out of with how nosy their friends are.

When he gets back to his room, Emma is still in the bathroom with her hair wrapped up in a towel as she brushes her teeth. At least he thought to buy her a toothbrush to keep here after last week when she tried to use his.

“Do you want to tell me why you thought it was a good idea to meet Elsa here this early in the morning?”

“Huh?” Emma spits into the sink. “What? Why do you – oh you have egg on your shirt, KJ.”

He looks down and flicks it off. How did that happen? “Swan, why did you stay here last night if you knew you were meeting Elsa this morning?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have to drive from my place?”

“What was your plan? Get up and leave only to come back in two seconds later?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“And what do you plan on doing now since Elsa is awake and sitting in the living room eating her breakfast? She’s not going to leave, and I don’t really see how you plan on getting out.”

Emma’s toothbrush drops to the sink. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You have to get her out of there. Get her to take Skipper on a walk or something.”

“She has plans to meet you. she won’t have time. Plus, she knows I already went on a run with him.”

“Shit. What am I supposed to do climb out your window?” Killian’s brow arches. Now that’s an idea. “No,” Emma starts, “no, no, no. This is the second floor. I’m not jumping down. What if I break something?”

“You’ll land on the sand, and you only have to drop about ten feet.”

It’s ridiculous, this idea, but he’s starting to think it might be the best one. Killian walks over to the set of windows in his room, opens one up, and looks down at the small ledge. His room drops directly down onto some sand with Liam’s bedroom and the living area completely out of sight, and as long as she doesn’t land terribly, she should be fine.

Yeah, just fine.

Emma’s stare switches between him and the window, but eventually she goes to grab all of her things, either putting them on or holding them in her hands, and makes her way toward the window. She tosses her shoes down first and then her purse. Finally, she climbs over the ledge of the window and looks back at him.

“Next time, we’re staying at my place or we don’t spend the night or something. I am not climbing out of a window for you again.”

“If I stay at your place, what am I going to do about Skipper?”

“Have Liam take care of him.”

“I can’t very well tell Liam I’m spending the night at your place because I’m shagging you, now can I?”

Emma’s eyes roll. “Your British is coming out. And, literally, Jones, just tell him you went home with a woman. It’s not a lie. It’s not the full truth, but it’s not a lie. Most importantly, it means I don’t have to jump from a window so I can talk to Elsa about price packages for her wedding.”

He hates to admit it, but she makes a good point.

They obviously are still working out all of the kinks in this arrangement since neither of them thought them through.

Idiots. The both of them.

“If I break something, you have to clean my apartment for me.”

“I will be happy to, love.”

“And you owe me lunch this week.”

“You can eat all of my extra crisps for the foreseeable future.”

Emma nods and hooks her leg over the window ledge. He hears her swallow, and then she’s climbing down and holding on to the window as she dangles from side of the building.

“You’re lucky that the sex is good, Jones. And that you do manage to entertain me with more than mediocre conversation.”

“There you go complimenting me again.” Killian flashes her a smile and winks. She is definitely going to try to murder him when she gets back up to this apartment. “I’m not the one who scheduled a meeting. This is technically all your fault.”

Emma doesn’t respond. Instead she looks down at the ground and then drops with a subtle thud. When Killian looks down, he sees her standing on her feet brushing the sand off her ass. That’s definitely going to be a devil tomorrow.

Killian chuckles to himself and then closes his window before heading back out of his room. He’s still got to unlock the shop for Emma. Maybe he should get her a key.

Wait, no. That would definitely be taking it too far.

“Your eggs are definitely cold now,” Elsa says as he walks through the living room where she’s now sitting with her food in front of her. His remaining eggs remain untouched next to hers. “I thought you were avoiding that.”

“No, I was avoiding that for you. I don’t actually mind because Skipper will eat leftovers anyway.”

“Where is Skipper?”

“He’s probably still wandering around downstairs. I’ll send him up when I unlock everything.”

When Killian finally gets to the front door, Emma is standing outside with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed into a firm line. God, all he wants to do is laugh, but he does still want to live to see tomorrow.

“Good morning, milady,” Killian sighs. “I’m loving the look. Very natural. The use of sand is just…stunning.”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to live to see tomorrow.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I am not doing that again.” “As long as you plan things a little better, you won’t have to.”

Emma huffs and brushes past him, but he reaches out and tugs on her wrist until she’s pulling back to him and standing with her hands pressed against his chest. He can see her freckles and the blonde of her eyelashes when she looks like this, and it reminds him of all the times they’ve gone out on the ocean or spent the day at the beach.

It reminds him of how close her lips are to his.

“You have sand in your hair, love.” He reaches up and picks a few pieces out, letting them fall to the ground before he tucks her hair back into place. “How did that happen?”

Emma’s lips part. “I don’t – I – ”

There’s a bark behind the two of them, and they quickly part as Skipper sticks his nose between the two of them.

“I need to go meet Elsa,” Emma finally says as she scratches behind Skip’s ears. “You want to come and talk weddings with us?”

“You know, love, I think I just might.”

“You sure? Anna is very into it, I’ve heard.” “Anna is very into everything. It’s part of her charm. This is also her actual job.”

“True. I’m just kind of here to help with finding them a date. They want it to be this summer.”

Killian mock gasps and walks with Emma. “So soon? Do you think my brother has been improper and gotten that nice girl pregnant?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the gossip around these parts.”

“However will they regain a good reputation? Do you think it will affect the business?”

“It might. You best prepare to be making less money.” “What the hell are the two of you talking about?” Elsa laughs as they walk into the apartment.

“Oh, just how Liam knocked you up and ruined your reputation.”

Elsa’s eyes roll. “I’m not pregnant, and we don’t live in the 1800s.”

“Still. Such a short engagement. People might get ideas.”

“You’re far too cheeky for it to be this early in the morning,” Elsa sighs. “Do you have sand on your jeans, Emma?”

Killian bites his tongue, but he still can’t hold in his chuckle. Emma reaches over to slap him, but she stops herself right before and places her hand on his shoulder before looking down at her jeans.

They are not smooth.

“Huh,” Emma sighs, “I guess that I do. It was windy this morning. It must have blown over on me. Is Liam joining us?”

“Yeah, he’s getting dressed. I honestly think he might be trying to avoid Anna.”

“Or me,” Emma mumbles so quietly Killian thinks only he hears it.

“What?” Elsa asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma quickly corrects. “I’m going to fix myself some coffee and then we’ll get started. Do you have all your numbers?”

“On my phone, yeah.”

Skipper comes walking up the stairs and sniffs along Killian’s shoes before moving over to Elsa and settling down at her feet. The back bedroom door opens, and Liam walks out. Part of Killian wants to stay for this meeting, to get to know what exactly his brother and Elsa are going to plan for their wedding, but he also doesn’t want to be a witness for the cold shoulder Liam will inevitably give Emma. Killian’s never understood Liam’s problem with Emma, but hopefully the man can keep it together enough to not make some asinine remark when Emma is doing him a favor.

“Well,” Liam smiles, “are we all ready to plan a wedding?”

-/-

-/-

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[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 3/13

Word count: 4.3k

When Sherlock Holmes becomes a man obsessed, James Moriarty becomes a man intrigued. That much, you are about to learn.

The first night in your hotel room, you allow yourself rest. The bed sheets are so soft, and sleeping on a mattress is infinitely more comfortable than the floor of a freezing basement. In many ways, despite your fervent dislike of the decor of the room based on its disingenuity, it is a decent opposite to your life before.

There is no blustering breeze blowing through dark, cracked bricks. There are no semi-dangerous power tools strewn over the floor. The sheets don't scratch at your skin.

You make sure, that night, to check yourself over for injuries. The fire was a major risk, you knew that much, and there had always been the chance that you could get caught in the blaze and burn alive, your body remaining trapped in the same house as those of your step-family's, and your freedom curbed by fire.

And you had come out unscathed.

There were no burns on you, not even the tiniest of markings from something as harmless as a stray ember. There was the chance you were suffering from some mild smoke-inhalation, but you felt completely fine, so you weren't too worried about that.

You wake up earlier than most people, but today, you don't have to get up and start sweeping or work on preparing breakfast. You feel absolutely, devastatingly victorious when there come no shouts of your name, no demands to get out of bed and fix the house.

Freedom feels so utterly delightful.

The only real downside is the lack of birdsong. The kind of birds that will chirp sweetly in the morning with you as their only audience do not thrive in inner-city London. Here, there is the eternal street-chatter, car noises, and taxi calling.

When you turn on the TV, having spent the early morning lounging in bed and enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in soft sheets, the news is reporting live from your street.

There is a news reporter lady talking rapidly to the camera, a microphone clutched tightly in one hand. Behind her lie the remains of your parents' house. The blaze has long-since been extinguished, but there still remains one lone firetruck at the scene. The house itself has practically caved in on itself. Tiles of the roof and pieces of wood that had served as the infrastructure of the house lie lamely scattered around the lawn and driveway. It's a mess of ash and what had once been your childhood home.

The words she's saying are almost imperceivable.

Verona's car had caught fire after all. That alone gives you a smug sense of satisfaction. Just one more thing that she had valued had been stripped from her and desecrated.

"...The police have announced that they are launching a murder inquiry into the deaths of Verona Archer and her nineteen-year-old twin daughters Aubrey and Alora. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who will be heading the inquiry, has declined to comment, but sources have confirmed to us that Reichenbach hero Sherlock Holmes will be consulting."

You sit up, more interested in what she has to say than you had been just moments ago. The murder inquiry was no real surprise - you hadn't exactly tried to cover up the fact that the corpses had been hacked to bits. The mere thought of Sherlock Holmes - an allegedly brilliant civilian detective - on the case, did however shock you slightly.

Taking in a shuddering breath only calms you very slightly.

You had been so, so careful, and this had the potential to become your downfall.

The police, of course, would be on the case. You had been smart - burning everything in the house that had belonged to you. Any item that bore your name or image was to be reduced to ash, now scattered in the wind like black snow.

It was most fortuitous that Verona had caused you to have a life of solitude. Her daughters, of course, had been allowed to go out and socialise as much as they wished. Verona herself would attend dinner parties, and had wormed her way into any and every social scene that she could. Everybody had adored the three of them - Verona Archer, with her perfectly curled blonde hair, pink lips, and her darling twin daughters that were the spitting image of her.

That was a social life that you hadn't been permitted. You had been incredibly resentful at the time. Your parent's families flaked away from you once they had both died - there was nobody who cared to reach out and check on their only child. There was no way of being certain whether or not they would even remember that you had been living in the Archer household.

It was rather unlikely there were even any neighbours that even knew of your existence. That obscurity would hopefully keep you safe.

It's mid-morning by the time you eventually leave the hotel room. You've decided that today you're going to buy some new clothes, get some food, and look for a job that won't ask too many questions, all whilst keeping your head down and staying away from any cameras. The employment will probably come in the form of a seedy pub, which does invoke some kind of revulsion within you.

You have to remind yourself that it won't be for long. This is all temporary - once you're able to acquire some forged documentation you'll be in the clear. This is just one step closer to your happy ever after. You've already endured the hardest part and come out stronger for it.

---

Lestrade has relocated his board, featuring pictures, evidence, and lots of colourful string and thumbtacks, to a bigger room in the police station. The board sits front and center of the room, and is the primary focus of the room's occupants.

The full team has been gathered, all congregating in this one room to try to work cohesively.

"Listen, we're under a lot of scrutiny on this case." Lestrade says, grimacing as he looks between his taskforce and the board.

"And that's your fault." Donovan sniffs. "If you hadn't brought in Sherlock bloody Holmes then I bet that the media wouldn't even care."

"Right, right," John tries to intervene. "Let's just look at the evidence, yeah? And try to solve the case?"

As usual, she seems less than thrilled with John's presence, regarding him less than a teammate and more as a tag-along that Sherlock had somehow procured.

"So what do we actually know then?" Donovan asks, staring unrelentingly at the board.

Sherlock steps forward, pinning another picture to the board, next to the Archer girls. "This is our culprit. She's Verona's step-daughter, the child of a previous marriage of Verona's second husband."

There she is - there you are. It's an old photograph, ridiculously outdated from when you had been in high school. It looks terribly out of place next to the pictures of the Archers when they had been alive. Theirs are recent, good quality images - Verona's had been just the night before she was killed. The twins were impossible to distinguish from one another. All of them had the luxury of smiling at the camera, of being happy.

Lestrade takes over. "Her father died almost a decade ago in a car accident, and her actual mother passed away a while before that from health complications. The dad remarried not too long after his wife's death, so Verona becomes her step-mum, and the twins become step-sisters. She's a few years older than the twins, and we have no clue whatsoever what she had been doing since she finished high school."

"And we have no clue where she is now?" Anderson asks.

"None wha-" Lestrade begins.

Sherlock cuts him off. "No, that's not true. She'll be in a major city, most likely London. She'll either be keeping a low profile, or have a new identity set up already. She will have changed since high school - probably a hair cut, hair dye, or even tattoos, though that's unlikely."

"Right, I'll tell the officers on duty to keep an eye out for her." Lestrade nods, "Though I don't think a picture from years ago is going to help very much."

Donovan frowns slightly, her eyebrows tugging downwards slightly. She bites her lip for a second, her eyes darting between the pictures of the Archer girls when they were alive, their bodies, and their possible murderer. "Do we have a motive yet? Are we sure that this couldn't be a stalker who killed the Archers to kidnap their step-sister? I just can't really see a girl who Verona had raised, who loved the twins as if they were really her sisters, just turning on them like that."

"That's been bothering me too." Lestrade says. "I mean, maybe she felt like an outsider, but -"

"Of course she felt like an outsider." Sherlock says. "Verona took away her step-daughter's bedroom and had her sleep in the basement, so that she could store her fur coats upstairs. The step-daughter would be banned from furthering her education, and served as practically a live-in maid. It's incredibly obvious, really."

"They kept her as a maid? In the basement?" Lestrade's jaw hangs open slightly, his tone utterly disbelieving.

"Of course they did. All we have to do now is find her." Sherlock says, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, John. If Cinderella's looking for a story, then we'll help her write one."

---

By the time you get back to your hotel room, your confidence has been bolstered immeasurably. You'd rather cautiously kept away from the more densely populated, camera-filled streets, and remained in more seedy, shady areas where nobody would really care too much even if they did know what you'd done.

In that time, you'd secured clothes, food, and you'd scouted out a few places that would probably be willing to employ you and not ask too many questions, though you weren't under the impression that they would pay you particularly well.

It felt so intoxicating to be completely and utterly free. You had no constraints any more. There were no Aubrey and Alora to hound you when you went shopping, and Verona was no longer around to tell you to be grateful that she even kept you around. Total, complete independence was one of the finest things you had ever encountered.

Perhaps the next few months would be rough whilst you were evading the police and establishing your new life. But ultimately, you were free. From freedom, your happily ever after would be borne.

Hastily, you put the food away - you'd bought simple things that could be stored in the mini-fridge - and pull the clothes on to hangers in the wardrobe. It doesn't feel like home, but oddly, you're glad for that.

Home had been burnt down, reduced to ashes by your own hand. In due time, you'd build a new one if you had to, and it most certainly would not resemble this hotel room.

Once you've finished packing everything away, you try to allow yourself to relax, but for some reason, you feel utterly unable to.

For some, indecipherable reason, you feel watched.

Instantly, your eyes narrow and you stalk around your hotel room, checking below your bed and in the bathroom. There's nobody hiding in either places, and you know that the wardrobe is empty, too. You're utterly alone here, and yet, you certainly do not feel that way. Rather, it feels like there are eyes at your back, scrutinising your every move.

Your next course of action is to check out the window. There's nobody there. Still, you draw the curtains closed tightly. It does little to block out the light or offer you any true sense of security. You're on edge - all of a sudden the shadows in the room feel too dark, too ominous, and it feels like the temperature has dropped several degrees.

There's a deep paranoia settling into your bones, and slowly, but surely, your heart rate is beginning to rise, to the point where your heart is rapidly thundering against your ribcage.

There has to be something you'd missed.

Most people hadn't developed the acute senses that you had. They simply weren't as perceptive, and they had no reason to be. Your distinct awareness of everything around you had been developed over years and years of maltreatment.

Just the slightest movement could tell you a thousand different things. Noises, from the screech of a heeled shoe against wooden floor to the mutterings of your step-mother, were a vital part of determining how safe you felt. Sight, too, was important. You could recognise just from the way Verona positioned her handbag if she would be in the mood to let you eat that night.

You had learnt to trust your senses. And right now, they were declaring that you had missed something - that there was something totally and completely off about this room.

Quickly, your eyes are traversing over every tiny little thing. From the doorframe, to the curtains, to the TV, to the desk -

The desk.

That's what had changed. The sugar packets and TV remote had been pushed to the outskirts of the desk to make room for something that hadn't been there before.

It's in the centre of the desk, and your jaw drops open slightly just at the sight of it. A bolt of ice rushes down your spine and suddenly you're afraid. There had been no fear when you killed three people and set their house aflame. But this, this felt like a threat.

Resting idly, almost innocently on the desk, is a heeled glass shoe.

It glitters prettily under the few rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains, but its mere presence feels insidious. You want to stumble away from it, dash out of the hotel and run for your life. But you don't. Rather, you stalk closer, creeping towards it, your eyes wide and unblinking.

The glasswork is pretty. It's delicate - carefully made, with intricate spirals running up the heel. It's relatively transparent, with a slight blue tint to it, enough to make it appear more frosted. It looks about your size, but it's far too nice to even attempt to wear. It's the kind of shoe you would have relentlessly lusted after as a child. A real life glass slipper.

And yet, neither the pretty glasswork or whether it is actually wearable are the primary thoughts on your mind.

Right next to the shoe, lying so innocuously on the desk, is a little white note. It almost resembles a business card, with a swooping golden border around the edges. If the shoe felt like a threat, then this feels even worse.

Inscribed, in shocking black ink on the bone-white card -

HELLO, CINDERELLA. WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE BALL?

Now you really do feel like crying - like yelling out and destroying everything around you, smashing the glass slipper and burning your dreams just as you'd burnt the house down. You collapse to the floor, one hand clutching at your chest, grappling onto your torso like it was a lifeline.

You had been cautious. Cameras had been avoided at all costs. You'd even made sure that there would be no up to date pictures of you available for you to be identified from. You had done everything right.

It was so, awfully unfair. All of a sudden, that tenuous, delightful freedom had been ripped out from under you and torn to ribbons. And you had no idea by whom.

There was somebody out there who knew. Somebody who knew what you had done, and worse still, knew where you were. Somebody who could very, very easily let themselves into your hotel room.

Last night, you had slept so soundly, totally unaware that you had already been compromised.

You had no idea who could possibly do this - who could want to torment you in this way. Nobody came to mind. There should have been nobody that even cared to look for you, beyond the police hunting down a criminal. Logically, there should have been no way for you to be found. All of your bases had been carefully covered.

Worst of all is that you have no way of fathoming what it even means. Is it a threat? A taunt?

You simply have no idea, and you're not inclined to even want to find out. It's entirely possible that you've burnt your way out of one cage just to be put in another. All because there's somebody out there who's smarter than you, who has somehow been able to undo every precaution you put into place.

Taking in a deep breath, you lower your head into your hands and beg yourself to just think.

This could be a threat. You have no idea who would want to threaten you, and you have no leverage against them.

Rather quickly, you come to the conclusion that for now, you will simply play along with whatever they want. It's the easiest option - if they'd found you here then they could potentially find you anywhere. This way, you can dig for as much information on them as possible.

Playing along could mean being extorted, or made into a pawn. Wretchedly, it threatened to put a stranglehold on your freedom.

But, you'd broken out of the role of the pawn before.

If they were threatening you, then you would play along, until you found the right time to burn them to ash, reduce them to cinders that could easily be swept away. You were already well on your way transitioning from pawn to queen, and you were absolutely determined not to let anything derail you.

This time, you wouldn't run away from the blaze. You would gleefully watch it consume anybody who dared stand against you.

If reaching the fabled happily ever after meant starting a few fires, then that's what you would do.

---

There's a deep sense of relief when you wake up and find that nothing's changed. The glass slipper is still resting threateningly next to the card it came with upon the desk, but you haven't received any additional gifts. Not yet, anyway. You cannot simply throw caution to the wind - now you must be more careful than ever.

Somebody has discovered exactly who you are, and they know exactly where you are. It's quite possibly the worst position for you to be in. The last thing you need is anybody else recognising you.

That morning, you creep out of your hotel room, dressed in some of the clothes you had bought the day prior. You were very careful not to choose anything too flashy or that would stick in people's minds. For all intents and purposes, you needed to become a shadow, to fade from memory and hide in plain sight.

Once again, you will be trawling the shadier areas. These are the places bathed in darkness and defined by hidden bloodshed. These people have little regard for the law-abiding. Being amongst them will probably help keep you concealed.

They won't allow the police to get anywhere near them. There will never be any security cameras. There will only be secrecy and that is where you'll thrive. It's where you will hide, until the press has blown over and your step-family's murders have been relegated to cold cases.

You stalk out of the hotel, ever wary of everybody that you interact with.

Any one of these people in the lobby could have left you the slipper and the note. They're the ones with the most opportunity. However, most of the guests here, from what you can reasonably guess, are disenfranchised or senile. It could have even been the lady at the desk, Emily, you think her name had been.

You take to the streets like a duck to water. You decide to walk along a route with less traffic, working your way through maze-like alleys rather than go near the roads. There's almost no cameras here, and occasionally you will see a metal clasp on the brick walls that perhaps, at some time had held a camera, but it had since been taken down or torn off the wall.

Unfortunately, these places are rife with unsavoury people. Realistically, you probably weren't the only person here that was on the run from the police.

Your methodology of travelling only by the shadiest routes brought you past a myriad of seedy little pubs. You'd taken a look at some of these places yesterday. They seemed like as good a place as any to start looking for a job. The people there weren't likely to ask too many questions.

Despite having probably done crimes more morally reprehensible than any of the pub patrons, there's a disparity in how you view yourself compared to how you view them. They're stationed below you - they are just another stepping stone to your future. Among them isn't where you belong.

The way you spend the day is rather boring - doing a more in depth evaluation of all the places nearby that would probably be willing to employ you, mentally cataloguing the pros and cons of each place. It's incredibly dull, but you have to remind yourself that it's necessary. Right now, you don't have much other choice.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and dusk is beginning to fall over London, you've found a few places you like the look of. They're easy to get to, and just seedy enough that they may not care about your lack of documentation. That, of course, had been destroyed in the fire, and even if it hadn't, you weren't about to use your real name.

Once it starts to get darker, you head back to your hotel room, half-starved. You're simultaneously eager to get back just to eat, and nervous that you could have been left another message.

You practically fly through the lobby, hurriedly following the signs back to room one hundred and twenty five.

You make your way down the hallway, pausing cautiously at your door.

There, hung on the door handle is one of the hotel's do not disturb signs. You hadn't been the one to place it there.

Immediately, you're put on edge. The tiny, rectangular blue and green key card feels rather heavy in your hand. Your fingers twitch, and your eyes narrow. Once again, something is very, very off.

You press your ear to the door. There's nothing - no noise that you can discern. Cautiously, you swipe the card, and you tug the door handle down, but you don't push it all the way open. Not yet. You wait another moment before doing so, your eyes immediately flying to check the bathroom before you even truly step inside.

The room looks deserted, overcast by shadows. There's a deep anticipation stirring within you as you step into the hotel room and let the door close behind you.

It's rather dark - the shadows all move in the dying sunlight, and there's too many places for someone to hide.

"Hello, Cinderella." A voice calls out from the darkness, crooning and smooth.

In a second, your hand has slammed down on the lightswitch. The lights flicker for a moment, but they enable you to see him.

There's a man lounging in the chair to the desk, looking directly at you. His legs are outstretched in front of him, and he's passing the glass slipper between his hands.

You'd never seen him before. He's older than you, perhaps in his early thirties, with slicked back dark hair, an expensive-looking grey suit, and eyes that stare straight into your soul.

"Did you like my gift?" He asks, sounding vaguely amused. His dark, all-consuming, black eyes dart briefly down to the glass shoe in his hands. He strokes a fingertip along the glasswork intimately.

"Who are you?" The question tumbles from your mouth before you can even think to stop it.

He rolls his eyes. "I believe that I asked you a question first. You're welcome to call me Moriarty. But you, Cinderella, have been a very naughty girl."

This Moriarty man is rather changeable, you think. His annoyance had quickly faded to something that sounded horrendously like glee. You're left floundering for a response - there's nothing clever for you to say.

"Have I?" You find yourself saying, rather absently, like you were making an off-hand remark about the weather or something equally insignificant. It feels meaningless to refute him. You know exactly what he's referring to.

"Oh come on," Moriarty says. His voice is almost playful - and it's now that you place his accent. Irish. "You know you have. Killing your wicked step-mother and ugly step-sisters? Most people would call that terrible. Psssh, I'm not so boring." He waves it off, dismissing what you had done gut-wrenchingly easy.

You flinch backwards, your back colliding with the door. "Oh?" You manage to choke out.

"No, no. I'd call that impressive," He says in a sing-song voice. He seems so cheery, and he's practically grinning at you. "You see, most people don't quite gather the guts to kill their own families. And when it's a woman - well, they tend to go for poison. Bit of a cop out, don't you think? But no, not you. That would be too boring. Go on, Cinderella, tell me how it felt."

"Am I...being blackmailed?" You don't think you've ever felt so confused and worried at the same time. This man - the man who had figured it all out and found you seems to be dually comical and threatening. You can't really discern what is an appropriate reaction.

"Only if you'd like to be." He replies with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "Just tell me something, will you?"

[popculturebuffet]

DWD Reviews: Dry Hard or The One and Only Liquidator.. Episode.

Happy Birthday Liquidator! I nearly missed this, I procrastinated a bit too much, but thankfully I got this in time for the anniversary of Dry Hard. Now technically, by airing order LIquidator first showed up in “Just Us Justice Ducks”buuuuuut since that applies for a good chunk of the first appearances there, I choose to go with his first chronological appearance instead. So i’m breifly dipping back into the road to just us justice ducks for one quick review before getting back to life and times and three cabs. Thankfully there’s only one major Disney Birthday next month, and it’s Panchito, so I can fold it into the ride of the Three Caballeros, and hopefully by then i’ll be into the legend of the three cabs itself. But enough insight into my creative process let’s talk about Dry Hard and ole Liquidator himself? I won’t be doing my usual play by play.. partly due to time constraints, as I got to this review far later than intended due to a bungled sleep schedule and another, real world stuff related project I wanted to finally get done. And partly because this episode, while excellent, is pretty simple in it’s plot and being more of a comedy episode, as most Darkwings are honestly, ther’es no real space to dig into a lot of character stuff and most of it would be spent saying “that’s really funny”. And if i’m going to be doing more Darkwing reviews, and try and branch out into more comedy shows period, I’m going to need to try some things once in a while.  The plot in short: It’s an incredibly hot day in St. Canard. While Drake is trying and failing to set up his new sprinkler system, he needs a 3/4 picniey flange as everyone keeps telling him, Gosalyin is profeteering and is in full “little shit” mode, offering consturction workers nearbye complimentary oversalted ships to get them to buy her lemonade.  To make matters worse Bottled Water around the city is turning up gross, as is the tap water, we get a great bit with some yuppie valley girls over that, and an overly hot Darkwing, I mean he’s always hot but still, finds only two brands haven’t been poisoined. His and launchpad’s faviorite and one ran by Budd Fludd. Given his name and his schister apperance, it shouldn’t shock you Budd is behind things and while posioning his competitors and being confronted by darkwing, and acompanied by his two backup dancer’s/minons, he falls into the water, melts, jesus bud what’d you put in there, and seemingly dies.  Naturally Darkwing isn’t that lucky, and instead it’s a super villian origin story as Budd has become the liquidator, and after giving Darkwing a through beatdown and Darkwing narrowly escaping turns all the city’s water hard, just go with it, to blackmail people into paying 5000 dollars for his product. Darkwing persues him, in a swim costume Liquidator chuckles at and compares to his cousin as seen above, and finally using that flange beats him temporarily.. and then for good when Bud shows up at his house, using wet cement to make his new foe into a statue.  The reason for my brevity is this episode is the plot’s fairly simple.. but not bad at all. It provides a great origin for liquidator, and a creative foe for Darkwing to fight, one he can’t gas or punch and has to use clever tactics to fight, while Liquidator keeps pulling out new powers to fight back. But all make some logical sense, except for him being able to turn everything into hard water but hten we wouldn’t have a plot so kay, and up the stakes and his solution is both creative and makes sense given Darkwing was doing some work on the house,so the cement was well set up. It’s not bad by any means, in fact i’d call it excellent, it’s just a bit simplier than the last few episodes i’ve talked about and more about getting more gags and action in and given how creative and funnyt his one is I can’t complain. And character wise Drake is just being his usualy stubborn self, insiting he’s “the original mr.fixit’ when tha’ts clearly not true. It’s a simple standard comedy sueprhero setup: there’s a problme in their life, and solving that problem beats the bad guy. I’m mostly familiar with this sort of set up from the early 2000′s as the boom of teen hero shows really loved this trope and it’s generally a good one. 

As for Liquidator himself.. he’s utterly fantastic. His pitch man gimmick is great, his minions, two sinigng showgirls who repeat what he says, are never not funny, and he himself has good banter with darkwing and intresting powers. It’s a shame this is his only solo apperance as the guy had a LOT of potential and most of the crew’s arguments... just kind of fall flat. 1) He’s too Powerful Then just scale him down like you ended up doing. The show has a wonky timeline and two diffrnet negaducks, it’s okay if a character comes back with less powers so you can use htem more. Just being able to shape himself and blast water is enough. You can remove his hydrokenisis with other water that isn’t part of him (though he could always gain the abliity to add more to him to keep it intresting), ablility to transmute water, ablility to boil himself, and abliity to turn into tiny gremlins when split up. No one would’ve carred for a good few decades and I would’ve understood.  2) His gimmick of talking like he’s out of a commerical is limited Not really. HIs debut had times where he talked normal and advertising has a long history. It’s TRICKY to write for but the payoff is a really funny runner.  3) Coming up with ways to defeat him This one’s a bit more understandable but as creative’s that’s your job, and there’s tons of ways to beat a water based foe, as spider-man can attest. 

MY point with all that is, there’s a lot of ways around the issue set up here, and it’s a real waste of one of darkwing’s best foes. Especially since his origin is intresting, he has unique minions, and a REALLY cool apperance. That might of also been part of it: The liquidator is animated, to use a pun, very fluidily you can see his water bubbling when he stands sometimes and the animation is REALLY beautiuful and well done. So that easily could’ve been part of it: unlike the other villians he’s also harder to animate so they just went iwth theo nes they already had who were easier to deal with. It’s really a sad, wasted opprotunity and the character deserved better.  So yeah overall, a fun, slight episode, with a great villian who again, deserved way better and could’ve been written around more. But if you have D+ check out Dry Hard. It’s a classic and if you haven’t checked out Darkwing it’s an excellent episode to gage wether you’ll like the series or not.  Coming up we finally take a look at one of my faviorite Disney shows, House of Mouse, then dive back into scrooge’s life stoyr. Until then you can comission reviews for five bucks via a direct  message on here or my discord, which is avaliable via my askbox. Until then, there’s always another rainbow. 

[otpnessmess]

For you, there’s nothing I wouldn't do

Here it is finally! The first part of the Jasonette fake dating AU I had promised. I’m working on the following parts already as I will have a couple of weeks with a lot of free time. I’m so sorry for disappearing. Enjoy!

Ao3 - Masterlist

Next

-

“You’ve officially lost your mind, Jay, I swear to God.”

When Marinette had agreed to get up early on a Sunday morning because Jason had asked her to hang out, she didn’t think she’d regret it five seconds into meeting her best friend at their favorite restaurant. And she hadn’t yet, but it was very close.

“Nette, please, I’m begging you right now. Do you want me to kneel and plead? Because I will, don’t try me.” His blue eyes had always been her weakness and the puppy face he was making at her right now almost made her agree on the spot to whatever insane plan he had come up with. The keyword being almost.

“Alright, let me just reiterate to make sure I’m understanding. Your father is hosting a gala in a month and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” Marinette tried to keep her face as straight and serious as possible but it was proving hard since the words she had just said sounded utterly ridiculous.

“Pretty much, yeah. So, will you? I swear I’ll pay you if I have to, I just need you to help me out with this.” He had started to look hopeful since she had yet to outright deny him his request. “You know I love you Bug, and you’re the only one I can trust with something like this.”

Damn, he was good at telling her exactly what she liked to hear, and Mari was just not strong enough to say no to him, though she did plan to at least make him sweat a bit more for it. “Oh really? And what if I asked you for, I don’t know, a new car?”

Her forced attempt at being difficult hadn’t flown under Jason’s radar as he seemed to pick up on it and smirked. “We both know you would never ask for that since you refuse to let me pay for anything every time we go out, but if you did ask for that, know that I’m ready to do whatever you wish me to do. Do you maybe want an apartment? You did mention wanting to stop paying rent… ”

Despite the teasing tone in his voice paired with the sly smirk on his face Marinette knew he was dead serious which, even if it flattered her that her friend would even think about doing such a thing for her, made her backtrack on being difficult immediately.

“No! Argh, you’re impossible. Fine, I’ll follow along to whatever your brilliant plan is, but don’t you dare buy me an apartment, you crazy knobhead.” The look she shot at him tried to be venomous but seemed to be ineffective when the brightest grin took over Jason’s face as he moved to sit by her side to squish the living daylights out of the tiny woman.

“I swear I don’t know what I did to deserve you Nette, I love you.”

That earned him a playful smack on the arm as Marinette gave in and chuckled at his antics. “I love you too, you goofball. Now, get off of me and finish your breakfast.”

The man sat across her once again looking like the cat that got the canary, Cheshire grin in place. “You’re the best."

She pretended not to notice the way her heart paused for a beat when she saw the way Jason was looking at her, with caring eyes as if she was incredibly precious. Instead, the woman hid her face behind her mug of coffee.

"W-why do you need me to do this anyway? What do you need a fake girlfriend for?”

Jason’s demeanor instantly changed, his shoulders squared up and he frowned. “The annual gala my father holds for the company’s investors and partners is always full of old men who are full of themselves-”

“Doesn’t that remind me of someone?”

“Oh shut up, I at least have a good reason for it. They’re nothing more than a bunch of old hags who like to brag 24/7, and since this gala is in their "honor” they can bring guests with them. If I have to go by another year hearing them pitch their daughters and grand-daughters to me hoping I’ll date one of them, I’ll simply kill one of them. Some of the girls over the years have been nice but for every decent one you can actually talk to, you have at least 9 others doing the most ridiculous things to try and get your attention. I assume it’s what they are asked to do but I swear… And everyone else gets out of it too. Dick is already married to Kor'i, Tim is forever married to his job and Damian is not old enough for most of them. So that leaves me, the handsome Jason Todd, to carry the family’s weight on my shoulders.“

She snorted at the theatrical sigh he let out before laying his head on the table, immediately regretting it as he looked up at her with a glint in his eyes. "That’s where you, my dear Miss Dupain-Cheng come in. If I have a girlfriend, those girls will have to effectively back off of me as well, and I won’t have to restrain myself from being incredibly rude to them.”

“As if you could actually restrain yourself from being rude.”

Whether he didn’t hear her or just decided to ignore her comment Mari didn’t know, but once the monologue had been delivered, he leaned back on his seat with his signature smirk. “I’m a genius, I know.”

It took a whole lot from Marinette not to smack her dumbass of a friend again, but even she had to admit no one deserved to have their space invaded as she knew Jason had had in some of the other events his father organized, and if he was being truthful with her, then this gala was shaping to be even worse in that regard. If she could help her friend it would be enough for her, but in doing this she would also have an opportunity to design a gown to wear and hopefully get some people interested in her designs. Maybe she didn’t regret agreeing to this that much anymore.

“You’re one hell of a crazy person, Jay. You’re lucky you’re my best friend.” She rolled her eyes and nudged his leg with hers under the table with a smile. “We’ll have to do some planning this month and you better be ready. I’m not meeting your family for the first time as your fake girlfriend without running through each and every way this could catastrophically end.”

His shoulders relaxed as he nudged her leg back, relief flooding his face seeing her so committed. “Don’t worry Bug, they will love you, and I’ll explain everything to them after this is over, but if they are in on it from the start I just know one of my brothers will screw it up. I think we can pull it off though, and you know I’m always up for a challenge.”

The already familiar confidence rush that ran through Marinette whenever Jason reassured her that everything would be fine made an appearance once more, and at that moment she completely trusted themselves to be able to make do with this crazy-ass plan. After all, Jay was stubborn and always ready to jump in head-first into the weirdest situations.

Newsflash. This time he wasn’t.

Jason had known it was risky to ask his best friend to play pretend so he could get rid of the sticky girls from the gala.

Not because he thought she would refuse, but because of his own feelings.

Truth is, he was in love with Marinette and had been ever since five months into their friendship they encountered two thugs trying to rob a teenager on their way to school. Jason had put one of them down but, before he could go for the second one, Marinette already had knocked him out.

Her breathing was just a bit labored from throwing the man over her shoulder and one of her pigtails had come off from where the robber had grabbed it, but then she turned to wink at him with a smile before going to see if the teen was alright. Red Hood could only feel the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Knowing Marinette was potentially able to kick his ass at any given moment had made him feel all kinds of things, and he was already a goner by the time she was back by his side.

That same night, and back in his bed, Jason was mulling over the earlier events. Read: thinking about Marinette. He had never felt so flustered around the tiny woman and it had proven to be a hard task to get her out of his head even when she had left for her own house several hours ago.

One thing led to another and soon he found himself reminiscing about the past months spent in Marinette’s company. How she always seemed to brighten up any room she walked into, making him feel like he should look away but being unable to. Her caring nature taking over whenever someone in need of help was in the vicinity, the tenderness with which she treated people’s injuries, be it physical or emotional.

Jason remembered the first time he had been at the receiving end of it. It had been the time when his identity as Red Hood was also revealed to her.

In his defense, he hadn’t expected Marinette to arrive early to his flat for their movie night only to find him trying to get the cuts all over his abdomen and arms to stop bleeding. Time seemed to freeze as they stared at each other, one sitting on a barstool at the kitchen isle, the other standing at the door with a bag of snacks in her arms. Marinette, being the quick-witted and resourceful person she was, recovered astoundingly quickly from her stupor and started chastising him while tending to the cuts herself while he could only look at her in awe.

Later, when he explained where he got injured, she didn’t seem fazed by discovering his identity. If anything she seemed…smug?

“What’s with that face? I expected more of a reaction:”

Her smile only grew at that as she put on the last bandage around his arm. “I’m glad you finally told me, but I kind of…already knew? I mean, I had my suspicions. You two had roughly the same measurements as far as I could tell, you also happened to go MIA whenever there was an emergency a time too many for it to feel like a coincidence. Also the little stunt you pulled the other day talking to me in the mask? You should’ve at least tried to fake your voice or something.”  Once she was done she patted his head with a wink and left him to process everything while she prepared the popcorn.

That wink had been so cheeky it left him swooning, heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Wait. That had felt familiar.

Oh.

Oh.

Jason was brought back to the present with such force he thought someone had slapped him. Laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling at 3 am he couldn’t tiptoe around the issue anymore. He wondered how he hadn’t reached this conclusion much earlier.

He was in love with Marinette.

He was in love with his best friend.

Dear God, he was so fucked.

That had been the moment he accepted he was so utterly in love with Marinette, and even though Jason had hoped that what he thought was a very one-sided love would subside eventually, with each passing day where he got to know her better and better he only fell harder for her.

Why was he even thinking about all of this? Oh right. He had asked Mari to play pretend as his girlfriend that same afternoon.

What could possibly go wrong?

Marinette had taken it upon her to have their lie be as believable as possible, which meant she wanted them to at least plan out what they’d do if certain situations arose while they were navigating the gala. What this meant was that the following month they had spent a whole lot of time together, maybe too much for Jason’s sanity to remain as stable as it could.

Even if he was used to meeting her at least twice a week and spending their weekly movie night together, Mari practically lived in his apartment now. And he wasn’t complaining at all, but by the gods, if it wasn’t so damn distracting to have her around. She would often keep him company while asking questions about the people who would attend the gala, working on her dress for it, or simply walking around the house jokingly complaining about how Jason tasteless choice of furniture and decorations made the living room look like a yard sale.

Oh, and there was also all the teasing. There had been a consistent amount of it between them before, but now it had turned into a constant stream of cheeky comments, smirk exchanges and usually a smack or two from Mari.

All in all, Jason had lived through both the most blissful yet most frustrating month of his life and the worst of it had yet to arrive, though time did pass by way faster than he would’ve hoped for.

And just like that, the big night was upon them.

-

And that’s it! Hope you liked this little thing and look forward to the next parts! Thank you a lot for reading <3

Tag List

@vixen-uchiha @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tbehartoo @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @queenmj10 @mochegato

[opheliacassiopea]

CHAPTER 6.

TW: Mature language, mentions of alcohol consumption.

Flopping down on your sofa the next morning, you find yourself grinning at the thought of last night as you look through the many pictures that had been taken to document the events of the evening. You insisted on using your Polaroid camera to capture most of the evening, the walls of your apartment were littered with small snapshots of your life; the team, your friends outside of work, nature, anything that made you feel at peace. Your apartment, much like your appearance was how you expressed yourself and it was your sanctuary. 

Looking through the photos, Hotch plays on your mind. He looked good last night, so much so that you had to fight with yourself to stop stealing glances at him. You knew it was wrong to think about him like that, but it was nearly impossible when the man looked that good. Especially his hands, the prominent veins and the polished silver Rolex that sat on his wrist making him look even more attractive. Pulling out a photo of the both of you laughing at Spence’s attempts to beat Derek at a game of snooker, you think back to the conversation at the table.

“You did good, you did good, Pais”. ‘Pais’. Not Selwyn, not Paisley, Pais. As you repeated it, it sounded strange at first, or at least it did until you imagined Hotch being the one saying it and then it felt right. Did he realise the significance of giving you a nickname? The very word is defined as ‘a substitute for the proper name of a familiar person and often used to express affection, it is a form of endearment and amusement’. Surely he must have done, he wasn’t the type of person to do that sort of thing, something that..intimate. Plus, he knew you weren’t one for your name being shortened by just anybody. Was he trying to say something, to tell you something? Of course he isn’t you tell yourself, he’s your superior for God’s sake. Pushing thoughts of your boss to one side, you carried on about your weekend. Despite your plans not being thrilling, you were looking forward to them nonetheless. You had dedicated the time to catch up on much needed sleep and general self care and you were incredibly glad of the opportunity. Always valuing time to yourself, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that the weekend vanished at a frightening pace. 

Flipping through the information brochure, you don't bother looking up at JJ who speaks to you “Spence tells me you’ve picked lecturing for the last module of your doctorate?”. The team, well you JJ, Prentiss, Morgan and Reid were currently sitting at the round table on your lunch hour, which was a rare occurrence with your schedules, you were nearly always working a case, or too swamped with paperwork. Garcia was hidden away in her lair doing who knows what, Rossi out for some fancy lunch and Hotch locked away in his office.

“Yeah, figured it couldn’t be too difficult and the genius himself has offered to help me prepare in the library so it seems like a win win if you ask me” you reply to her as you finally stop reading and look up at the faces around the table “what? It’s not like he’s writing my thesis, I’m just being resourceful and making the most of what's available, y’know?” you defend yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Oh so you’ll accept Reid's help, but not mine? You wound me pretty girl” Morgan teases, throwing an empty bottle at you, which you catch effortlessly and throw it into the bin, but not before you roll your eyes at him, sending him a cheeky smile as you do. 

Disconnecting herself from JJ’s embrace, Emily stands and crosses to you, picking up the brochure you were reading and scans over the information, before discarding it and spinning the chair you were sitting in toward her, clearly she could sense your apprehension. “You’ll do great Paisley, you’ll hit every inch of this criteria, I doubt you even need Reid’s help and besides, it’s not like you need another qualification to prove yourself, you’ve earned your place here” she tells you and you find that you have to force yourself to hold her gaze so you give nothing away.

One of the reasons you had multiple degrees was because on some level, you did feel the need to prove yourself, to prove you were doing something with your intellect and to prove that you did have a place on this team. Never did you want to be looked at as the baby FBI agent, who simply followed the others on the team like a shadow. On the other hand however, you genuinely loved learning and felt it was only natural to continue your studies to the highest level 

and you were proud of yourself for doing so, you’d come a long way since your childhood, but you didn’t want to dwell on that for long.  A few weeks pass and you soon find yourself sat in one of your favourite places; the older, dustier and lesser well known section of the bureau library, scanning over various notepads and books whilst feverishly typing at your laptop planning your first lecture. Looking across the table at Spencer, who kept true to his word and accompanied you to the library for assistance, you voice your initial plan for your first lecture in a few weeks. 

“I’m thinking of starting with nineteenth-century literature with the themes of crime and detection as a general focus and then work my way into psycho-linguistics with instances in literature, before moving on to case specific examples”. Whilst you held a close bond with Derek, you were good friends with Spencer too. The two of you would often hold mini academic debates between yourselves on the way home from a case, or on the phone in the early hours of the morning. From an outsider’s perspective it may look like something more, but that wasn’t the case, you genuinely just had a lot in common and it was nice to be able to watch Harry Potter over and over with somebody who gave no complaints. 

“What texts are you thinking of using? I personally think that Arthur Conan Doyle’s, Sherlock Holmes stories would be a fine choice. It’s more of an obvious one as the element of crime is incredibly apparent and the style of writing is fascinating on it’s own, so it would break the students in nicely I think.” Spencer reveals and you nod in agreement, returning to your typing.

The weekly sessions in the library seem nothing more than distant memories as you find yourself standing at the front of the lecture hall listening to Professor Moore’s introductions. You begin to wish you’d chosen a different final module. Why were you so nervous? You chased serial killers down on a day to day basis, surely you could give a lecture to a bunch of hopeful students for an hour?

“Much to your enjoyment, I will not be lecturing you for these next three months” Professor Moore informs her students in a lighthearted tone. You knew firsthand she was a good teacher and hoped her students didn’t expect too much from you. “This fine young woman will be taking over as part of the last module for her doctorate in criminology and psychology, so please be kind to her and don’t even think about any kind of tomfoolery in my absence, I will be dropping in and keeping in direct contact with Paisley so don’t think it will go unnoticed.” she looks at you and winks as she tells them “plus, she’s one hell of an FBI agent so she won’t tolerate it anyway”.

“Right well, thanks for that Professor. Uh, I’m Paisley and as you know I’ll be taking over for these next three months, hopefully you’ll find it as quick and painless as possible” you tell them, hoping it will break some of the tension and it does, you find the students take to you well as you dive in to the job you’re there to do. “We’re going to start with looking at nineteenth-century literature through the themes of crime and detection. I know this isn’t the big stuff right away and I apologise for that, but I find it’s better to develop a general understanding of the topic first, before delving deeper.” you tell them as you begin to pace the lecture hall out of nervousness.

“This is the century which saw the creation of the Metropolitan Police Force in London, the birth of private and police detectives, and the rise of investigations into the psychology and social causes of crime. The genres of detective fiction and the dramatic monologue which both emerged during this period will be largely focused on, but we’ll also take a look into less frequently studied genres like journalism to give you a full flavour of the period’s insatiable taste for crime”. Switching to the next powerpoint slide, you take a breath and steady yourself, maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. 

“Fictional texts are studied in the context of contemporary debates about crime, policing, criminal responsibility and madness, including legal texts and those related to the emerging science of psychology. We will be studying the texts through genre theory and cultural and historical perspectives”. As you look out to the back of the lecture hall, you’re able to make out the familiar figure of Dr Spencer Reid. He’d taken one look at you that morning in the bullpen and knew how nervous you were; you’d paced back and forth to the break room countless times, drinking far more tea than usual and barely uttering a word to anybody as you fiddled with the two necklaces that always hung round your neck.

You bite back a smile and continue speaking to the students “indicative primary texts for the semester will consist of a selection of popular crime ballads and the dramatic monologues about murder and madness by Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, along with a selection of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. It’s absolutely essential that you all keep up with the reading. And with that, I’ll leave it there for now. Don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions and I’ll see you all next time”. 

Watching the students disperse from the room, you breath out a long sigh of relief and throw yourself into a nearby chair and by the time you get back to the bullpen, Spencer is practically screaming at the top of his voice as he tells anybody that would listen about how well you’d done in the lecture, speaking in just the right tone to be authoritative, but relatable and approachable. In short, he was incredibly proud of you and pride radiated off every inch of him. 

Two months had now passed and much to your surprise, it had now become part of your daily routine that Hotch would sit on the chair beside your desk during your twenty minute break at eleven o’clock each morning. At the start of your break you’d always find a cup of tea, perfectly made on your desk and each day you’d find yourself smiling as you knew who it was from. If Hotch was in a particularly good mood, he’d surprise you with a vanilla milkshake and raspberry muffin like he had done that very first time. If the team hadn’t picked up on it at first, they definitely had now, but they chose not to say anything. 

Some days you’d talk in depth about all manner of things, whereas other days you would find yourselves both working away in a comforting silence. Today was one of his chattier days and he greeted you with a smile as he placed a mug of tea down for you, and a mug of coffee for himself. “You’ve never told me the story behind all these little cartoon frogs pinned to your noticeboard” he begins, tracing his fingers over them as he looks to you for an explanation.

“You never asked, I’m surprised you didn’t use those profiling skills of yours to figure it out” you reply in a joking manner as you set your mug down. “To answer your question though, Spence asked me what my favourite animal was when I first started and when I told him it was a frog, he started to draw me one for each month of the year to help me settle in. I’ve got one of them tattooed on my ankle, I’m surprised you’ve not noticed it” you finish telling him.

“Can I see it? The tattoo?” he asks and you notice the nervousness in his voice and it makes you smile, seeing him almost shy is so unnatural you’re not quite sure how to act. You comply, kicking off your doc martens and pulling your left trouser leg up to reveal the image of a frog wearing a hat, sat on the edge of a teacup. It’s not the most conventional tattoo in the world, but you love it nonetheless. “It’s very you, I’ll give you that” he tells you as he helps you back into your shoe. 

You share a small laugh and you begin to pick up a file, ready to get back to work as the break comes to an end and the team filter back into the room and head to their desks. It’s Prentiss who asks you first “how’re feeling about your final lecture next week, Miss almost Dr Selwyn?” as she maneuvers a huge stack of case files from one side of her desk to the other. 

“Pretty good I think, just want to find out who the assessor is and get it over and done with to be honest” you tell her as you begin looking for a case consult you’d lost in a stack of folders.

“Doesn’t Hotch normally assess some of the final modules? He used to guest lecture with Rossi and Gideon quite a lot” JJ asks as she collects a pile of completed files from the table. 

“Actually no, he stopped guest lecturing once Gideon..uh...left” Reid fills you in “he thought it took up too much of his time and it was more productive to focus on leading the unit”.

“Huh, well at least you know it won’t be Hotch” Emily tells you and you smile in response as you dial the internal number for a copy of the police report for the consult you were working on. The rest of the day passes easily as you work through your files, thankfully not being interrupted by a new case and the rest of the week sailed by smoothly.

This was it, the final week of your doctorate. You’d been allocated reduced duties to allow time for the final hand in of your thesis, along with the multitude of exams you had to complete and you now you just had your final assessed lecture to complete. Arriving slightly earlier than anticipated due to your nerves, you decide to busy yourself replying to emails at your desk in the relatively empty bullpen, mulling over the happenings over the past week in the process.

Hotch had been keeping his distance and you didn't have it in you to figure out why, you’d just presumed it was just work and left it at that. Realistically you had far too much to worry about; the past week had left you feeling the most stressed you’d felt in years. 

Shifting your gaze to Hotch’s office, you’re able to see him talking on the phone, eyebrows furrowed together and jaw clenched. Clearly he’s not in a good mood and you’re thankful you’ll be out of the office all day. Checking through your notes one last time before you make your way to the lecture hall to set up, Hotch’s voice alerts you to his presence, you’d been so caught up in going over your notes that you didn't notice him leave his office. “Don’t you have a lecture to teach, Selwyn?”.

Before you can even look at him, he’s turned his back and retreated to his office. Pushing through the glass doors, you furrow your brows in confusion; what was his problem? It was only on your arrival to the lecture hall that your nerves began to kick in, this was it, once you’d finished teaching this class, your doctorate would be complete. Beginning to set up the powerpoint slides and distributing the resources for the lecture you find yourself slipping into a state of calmness as you worked, you could do this and you could do it well. Treat it like a case briefing you told yourself. Ten minutes later students begin to file into their seats and you’re pleased to greet Professor Moore who’s acting as the assessment supervisor. Toward the end of the lecture, you noticed an extra body had slipped into one of the seats on the back row and you knew who it was instantly. Aaron Hotchner. You’ve got to be fucking joking. He’d spent the better part of a week avoiding you and when he did speak to you, it was mostly dismissive and now he had the gall to show up to your final assignment. Swallowing the urge to throw one of the bulky textbooks at him for his sheer nerve, you continue explaining your current point to the students. 

“We’ve already been over the idea that psycholinguistics is the study of how the psyche responds to words and languages and this is how it’s distinguished from sociolinguistics. One focuses on the social dimension of language, and it’s stylistic patterns, whereas the other focuses on the expressive functions of language”. 

You begin to bring the lecture to a close, but not before thanking the students for their patience and hard work throughout the semester and you’re quick to express your gratitude to the professor for all her help and support. And just like that it was over, you were done. Hastily, you start to pack away the resources from the lecture in order to avoid a conversation with Hotch, his dismissive attitude had annoyed you all week and you weren’t thrilled at the sight of him in your lecture after the way he’d spoken to you this morning. 

“Can I help you with something?” you ask him in a cold tone, your eyes focused on shoving your laptop in your bag as you wait for his response, but you don’t receive one. Scanning the room one last time for any of your belongings, you promptly turn on your heel and exit the room, ignoring his calls as you melt away into the sea of scurrying students.

Things between the two of you eventually returned to normal, you weren’t even sure what ‘it’ was at this point and you didn’t care to ask, you weren’t even sure that it was normal. Hotch didn’t do these kinds of things or so you thought, but you knew better than to question it. Recently the team had been pushed in all directions, working case after case with little to no breaks, so it came as no surprise to you that the month of your graduation arrived in no time at all, acting as the perfect distraction for you all.

Pulling the garment onto your body, you admired the satin fabric of the deep purple dress you’d chosen to wear that day, it’s strappy sleeves allowing the many tattoos that graced the upper

half of your left arm to be shown off, along with the low neckline displaying the delicate tattoos on your collarbones. Before slipping on your graduation cap and gown, you add the finishing touches to your makeup, deciding to go for more of a dramatic look, if there was a day to go all out, it was definitely today. Giving yourself the once over, you feel a bubble of nerves form in the pit of your stomach, today was the day you were graduating and whilst you were excited, you felt apprehensive. Now that you were about to graduate, the pressure to live up to your new title was immeasurable and you were keen not to disappoint.

“Miss Paisley Anora Selwyn”.

You stand as your name is called, focusing on not falling over in your heels as you walk across the stage to receive your doctorate. There were no words to sum up how you felt, the moment was indescribable and as you walked back to your seat, you could hear a chorus of cheers and shouts from the team who insisted on buying tickets to watch the ceremony and later celebrate at one of the slightly fancier bars in the area. Luckily you’d managed to talk Penelope down from doing anything over the top and she very reluctantly agreed, making you settle instead for a compromise that allowed her to buy you a extravagant gift instead. 

“Tonight we’re here to celebrate Dr Paisley Anora Selwyn, many many congratulations” Dave begins the toast and you inwardly cringe at the use of your middle name.

Midway through the pleasantries, you feel Hotch’s hand resting on your lower back and you resist the urge to turn and smile up at him, instead opting for shuffling closer, a slight blush creeping onto your cheeks as you do so.

“Dr Paisley Anora Selwyn” the team echo as they raise their glasses to you, all grinning from ear to ear.

As the night progresses, you lean back against the bar, taking stock of the day. It was hard to believe that only three months ago that you were sat up till the early hours of the morning studying, the end seeming to be miles away, and now you’d finally done it. That wasn’t the only thing on your mind though, much like usual, Hotch occupied your thoughts. All throughout the night there had been subtle touches, stolen glances, and silent conversations between the two of you, and you loved it. Appearing next to you at the bar, Hotch’s arm slips round your waist, pulling you closer into his side as he congratulates you.

“I’m proud of you, well done, Pais”. 

[001jsngprk]

━♡ guess the 20 YEAR OLD MAY baby just arrived to dallyeog! it makes sense, because PARK JAE-SUNG is just as SUNNY as the month of MAY. wait, why do they remind me of LEE WOO-JIN ( TARGET ) ? beyond that, they seemed SPIRITED and PATIENT upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of HAREBRAINED and WISHY-WASHY though. i hope they get acquainted here in COMPLEX # 2 / APARTMENT # 5 / FLOOR # 3 ; HE seems to have a lot going on with HIS job as STUDENT. ( qiu, 18+, they/he/she, est. ) 

hello hello everyone !! i’m qiu and any pronouns are cool w me !!! this is my first krp (tbh first rp in a solid bit) so i might get confused here and there but the admins here are sososo helpful so hopefully nothing will throw me off too bad !! im happy to be here and my dms are always open !! though tbh i do prefer to use discord bc sometimes tumblr likes to commit crimes and eat messages </3 just hmu and ill give you it or add you!! if i dont reply to an im in like a day pls send an ask !! 

i have an about pg that ill work on a little more but ill just write out a short little thing here to get the blog going !

! SUMMARY/TRIVIA ! [⤍ park jae-sung ● 20 yrs old ● uni student ]

- likes to be occupied ;; fully the type to be cooking a full course meal at four am just because he was studying and just needed to do anything else. also the type to let anyone in to eat it ! - non-native ;; from the u.s.! it’s actually his first year in korea ever so his korean can be odd-sounding a lot as even though it’s his native language, it’s not actually the one(english) he knows best !! when speaking in english, he has a southern accent - money-saver ;; buys things in sets exclusively to save money!! he’s more of the frugal type tbh when it comes to things other than bills !! if he recognizes you pls expect him to have random things on him that he’ll offer you like a grandpa offering his grandchild twenty dollars - skillfully independent ;; after living majority of his life mainly on his own, jae-sung can do housework fairly well as well as cook !! not super well, but it tastes better than worse most of the time !!!  - hug-bug ;; if you give him the go-ahead, he’s incredibly physically affectionate !! it’s to the point sometimes he doesn’t even notice, like placing a hand on someone’s back or their own hand ! though, since he’s in korea now, courtesy of his parents’ advice, he’s been trying to rein it in a little ! but no matter w who, he likes to hold hands or hug or link arms or give a bro kiss or anything similar !! - romance averted ;; it’s not that he’s trying to avoid thinking or anything about it, it’s that it honestly doesn’t have much place in his life at all, so it’s never the first thing to come to mind. unfortunately, he’ll gal-pal everyone, assuming everyone are just friends up until people tell him explicitly otherwise - indecisive ;; there really is no choice he feels 100% on. as soon as anyone suggests anything else, he’s quick to switch over, even if he already had a position. the things he can’t change on are things he’s always been mulling over - reckless ;; jae-sung loves to do whatever to distract himself, and it’s pretty obvious in how he literally leaps from building to building away from home. he has a deep love for freerunning, and he’s good at it too (even has a yt channel where he posts a lot of it!), though it doesn’t look it; he always has some bruises or cuts on him. he also loves to try out any sort of trick w any sport such as skateboarding or iceskating!! falling is just part of the fun to him - responsible ;; yeah, it’s a little weird to follow w this, but he really is !! he’s responsible in the ohhhhh crap i have to start on this essay now if i want to be done in time pls learn from me everyone :pensive: type of way. he more so encourages and helps other people to be able to manage themselves, however, sometimes he should really follow his own advice when it comes to self-care.

! WANTED CONNECTIONS ! [ heres the pg for it but it’s all the same prompts word for word tbh ] 

- family first ;; you’re family ! it tbh doesn’t matter what branch of the family you are or anything else, you’re family that maybe met jae-sung over a whatsapp or fb messenger videocall when y’all were young once ! or they can be super close, tbh i dont mind whatever !! - lending a hand ;; jae-sung has a habit of taking care of others first before anything else. whether or not your muse is consciously taking advantage of that, to your muse, jae-sung helps out by giving food or doing chores w you or letting you stay over or any other small job !! this can also work the other way around ! - opposites attract ;; yeah <3 maybe your muse is cold or the rebellious type or anything !!  - guide ;; jae-sung is new to the city and your chara helps jae-sung go out and learn the areas around !!  - buddies ;; i am already running out of ideas </3 but !! this is just someone (or multiple people!!) who jae-sung is constantly over at their place or they’re constantly over at jae-sung’s !! while they don’t have to enjoy every death-defying stunt jae-sung attempts, they still come along ! y’all are just buds who hang out !!  - internet friend ;; the two of you have a history that’s mostly written !! we can work out details !! - lost and found ;; he dropped a notebook and when you saw it on the ground, maybe you picked it up, maybe not, you saw a bad drawing. the highlighter is not even in the pencil lines. he’s sort of embarrassed about it at first, but offers to draw a portrait of you anyways just to find anything to move onto  - brother figure ;; to jae-sung, you’re a sibling figure. what that entails is up to you !!  - wait what? ;; jae-sung learned something he wasn’t supposed to and is now paying the price genuinely :pensive: major f but it rly just be like that sometimes - anything !! ;; we can come up w anything or combine these or whatever !! im open to anything !!  ^^ everything above is open to all genders !!  [04:13AM EDIT] omg this is so embarazzing but i completely forgot to add if youre more comfortable being dmed than dming, just like the post !! i’ll hit you up !!