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nekrosdolly · 6 months

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haunting you - a. wesker x reader

you're a stripper and he's a scientist who's never felt the touch of another.

a/n; first wesker piece i've written in a whiiiile so i'm sorry if this is a little clunky!!

content warnings; set in 1998 before the mansion incident, jill moonlights as a bartender, virgin!wesker, stripper!reader (no set stripper name), wesker is in his late thirties (38), reader is 21, loss of virginity, brief dry-humping, sex (p in v), dirty talk, technically bottom/sub wesker, top/dom reader, this might be ooc (im rusty), light petplay (you call him a puppy and he almost creams), whiny wesker, slight condescension from the reader, not proofread as always lol

terms of endearment; darling, sweetheart, dear, puppy (wesker)

wc; 2.460k

You stare at your reflection in the vanity mirror, one of many workers tonight who are less than strapped for cash not unlike yourself. Since you were legal, you’d made the choice, albeit degrading, to start stripping. That was three years ago. Now twenty-one, you’re less naive and smarter with your money, but still lacking financially. Not to mention, you’d been at this club for three years, why change that? No real job would take you if you told them what you’d been doing as a makeshift career anyway.

And so you stare. Your makeup is kept simple but alluring enough for most anyone to be drawn to you, but your outfit is the real showstopper. Strappy and black, you’re nearly naked, but you’re used to that by now. The usual pre-performance jitters have struck you once again, leaving you with cold feet and nerves that aren’t much warmer. Even in the back rooms, you can hear the bass-heavy music and high whistles of men vying for more of whomever’s attention. It’s enough to draw you from your shell and with a few deep breaths, you force yourself away from the vanity. The path to the stage is short, much to your chagrin, and the lights are hotter than hell when you step out to the shiny stage. While you get no cheering, you get your own special welcome of drunken customers whistling lowly and the occasional whoop.

You know from experience that, while intoxicated, watching someone work the pole is hypnotic at the least. Your audience can hardly take their eyes off of you, rolling your body against the chromatic steel pole. It’s still warm from the previous dancer. Your anthem for tonight is seductive and slow, as most dancers’ songs are, and your face is the peak of seduction even as the inebriated crowd douses you with cash of all varieties.

After the dance, you’re slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. Nobody ever said dancing was easy, even the exotic kind. You walk to the bar, swaying your hips with every step. Despite the money you’d earned from your on-stage performance, you’re hounding for more. You refuse to leave with less than your month’s rent tonight. So you saunter to the bar, your sultry gaze scanning the sea of people carefully.

“A drink?” Jill, the bartender asks as you lean against the bar. She’s always liked you, so she slips you a free drink now and then.

“Please,” you nod softly and she smiles, ready to make your usual as a platinum-blonde man approaches you. He offers you no smile, just a somewhat menacing stare. You’d be scared if there wasn’t something so virginal about him. Otherwise handsome, with pale skin and blue eyes behind slightly dorky prescription glasses. Not to mention, he’s dressed in a suit.

“Lovely show,” he says with a somewhat nasally voice. Like clockwork, you smile and sip the cocktail Jill slides over to you. His lips twitch slightly at the corners- a smile by his terms in return.

“Thank you, honey.”

“Of course, dear.” He takes a seat on the stool beside you, flagging Jill over for a cocktail of his own. He seems confident, though you’re not sure if it’s because he’s got money or because he’s talking to someone attractive. Your gaze remains steady on his face, although his trails much lower on you before flicking up to meet your eyes. Weird, you could’ve sworn they were blue just a moment ago…

“Do tell, darling,” he ghosts a pale, elegant hand over your shoulder, “how much would a few hours of privacy with you cost me?”

Just looking at him, he seems like he has money. He reeks of crisp bills that can hardly fit in his overflowing wallet. Part of you wonders just how much you can get out of him. Your performance left you with roughly $360- not quite enough. Should you play your cards right, he could be your last customer for the night.

“Three hundred per hour.” You say with that same smile. He doesn’t flinch at the number like most men might. Then again, you get the feeling that he’s not like most men. He seems respectful, too- maybe you were wrong and he’s a regular, or maybe he doesn’t want to get kicked out. He nods and you finish your drink quickly. He does the same.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the back of the club where there’s less light and doors that lead to private rooms. If he were allowed to touch you, he’d offer you his arm.

You can always tell the experience level of men when they’re alone with you, away from friends whom they might try to fool with a hyper-masculine persona. This man- whose name you still don’t know- is similar to that. He grows a bit more fidgety, maybe out of impatience, and when he sits down on the plush velvet booth surrounding the stage, he struggles to stay still. He clears his throat quietly and looks away from you as you straddle him.

“So tell me,” you purr, cupping his jaw and guiding him to look at you in all your seductive glory. The way your hair is styled compliments your makeup, the curve of your pliant flesh between the straps of your skimpy bikini bottom that’s adorned with black gems, and your top decorated with those same gems. His cheeks heat up at the smooth sound of your voice, red tinging his alabaster cheeks. Nervous eyes trail up your body to meet your own, your heavy gaze inflicting arousal upon him. The heavy feeling pools in his gut, his cock twitching to life in his boxers.

“What’re you looking for? A lap dance? Something a little more?” It’s a little late to be asking that but you get the feeling he doesn’t mind. Even though you’re just hovering, you can feel a hint of the bulge in his pants.

He swallows thickly.

“What would a little more get me?” He asks quietly, his hands unsteadily hovering around your waist. Seeing such soft skin begging to be touched makes his mouth water. Little do you know- you might, given how anxious he seems to be- he’s had very few chances to touch someone as gorgeous as you. He’d taken none of those chances and to this day, remains a virgin. He’s not used to being so close to someone like you.

“Sex, sweetheart.” You rub his cheek with your thumb, resisting the urge to tease him into oblivion. Technically, soliciting sex is against club rules, but what your boss doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Would that cost extra?” “Yeah, it would. You buying?”

“H-How much?”

“An extra three hundred.”

He rushes to grab his wallet from his pocket and dig out the three hundred. You smile as you take it from his trembling hand and tuck it into the waistband of your panties.

“Thank you…”

“Albert.”

“Thank you, Albert,” you settle your full weight onto his lap, really feeling the extent of his boner under your clothed cunt. He groans quietly, biting his bottom lip as he stares wantonly at you. A soft giggle escapes your throat, “just a few rules though.”

He gulps and nods, trying his hardest to pay attention in favor of rutting against your warm, inviting cunt like a dog in heat. You let go of his face.

“One; you cannot leave bruises- no hickeys, scratches, bitemarks, etcetera. Two; no kissing, I need my makeup to be perfect. Three; I’m in control and if you have a problem, speak now or forever hold your peace.” You give him a moment to voice any protests, but he’s quiet as a mouse.

“Fourth and finally, if you cum inside of me, you’re paying me an extra hundred per load. Do you consent to all these rules?”

“I do.”

“Good man,” you feel his cock throb at the praise. Albert sucks in a sharp breath as you slowly roll your hips, a shaky exhale following when you guide his hands to your waist. His hesitance feeds your confidence like fuel to a fire. He tips his head back, each movement against his clothed cock forcing a pathetic whine from the back of his throat. He bites his bottom lip hard and true to a virgin’s ways, his climax is approaching quickly. Sure, he’s masturbated before, but this is much different. You’re so pretty and wet, your dripping arousal soaking through the gusset of your panties. Watching him slowly come undone, the menacing facade melting into the mess he’s trying so hard not to be is satisfying. You’re relatively unphased, even as his cock bumps your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. He’s getting too close to cumming.

“I-I’m going to- Wait, please,” he grips your hips tight, making you still, “I need to be inside of you.” You nod softly and scoot back a little, allowing him to unzip his fly and shove his pre-cum stained boxers down so his cock stands free. Pale fading to pink at the tip, weeping with sticky, salty fluid- he’s long, about three fingers thick, and clean-shaven. He looks down at your hand as you grab his length, cooing quietly at him with faux sympathy and stroking him once, twice.

“Please,” his hands ball into fists with the effort of his restraint. Needy, half-lidded blues meet yours again, “please fuck me.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” You chuckle softly and push your panties to the side, careful of the cash hooked on your waistband, and shuffle closer. He nearly cums the moment you lower yourself onto his achy length, his mouth dropping open. You wince slightly at the stretch- it’s on you for forgoing prep, but how can you deny him when he’s so pliant in your hands? His hands shoot our to grab your waist firmly, struggling to maintain what little composure he has left. Panting, his cheeks are bright red, and he can’t stop looking at you.

He allows you a moment to adjust- though it’s mostly for himself to will himself to avoid cumming on the spot. You’re wet and warm, gummy walls surrounding his length perfectly. It’s even better when you start moving, rolling your hips smoothly. Hands on his shoulders, you keep yourself steady as you ride him. Soft moans fall from your lips, his cock brushing against your spongy g-spot deep within your velvetine walls. He’s all but whimpering, his perfectly aligned teeth digging hard into his pale pink lower lip so hard he might bleed.

He does once you lean forward and move faster, your face just inches from his. If you hadn’t set the rule of no kissing, he’d be pressing his lips to yours to hide his pathetic noises.

“You know,” you murmur, locking his eyes to yours again, “you look kind of like a puppy.” His cock kicks inside of you at that, a stray moan slipping from his lips. He shouldn’t like that, really. He’s a scientist- a virologist to be more specific-, a professional, uptight man, and yet he’s acting so subserviently. It would be bothersome if he wasn’t balls deep inside of you and nearing his climax quickly.

Panting, he struggles to restrain himself. He can’t help himself as he leans forward and wraps you in his (oddly) strong arms, burying his face into your neck to stave off his orgasm for just a little longer. The obscene squelch of your slick makes his head spin, each roll of your hips making him grunt or groan louder and louder until-

“C-Cumming- cumming-” he rasps, his pulsing length spilling hot, sticky seed deep within your gummy walls. The moan he lets out is downright shameful, his grip on you tightening exponentially.

You gasp quietly at how much he cums and how deep it is, nearly reaching your cervix. You pause for his sake, allowing him to relax against your soft body as he recovers from his high. In attempt to soothe him a little more, you rub his upper back. He grumbles and pushes himself against the back of the booth, huffing. His once-perfect hair has become a bit mussed, likely loosened due to the light sheen of sweat. He can’t seem to look at you as he slips another hundred into the waistband of your panties alongside the three other bills.

“Do you want to-” He gestures to you, still straddling him with his soft dick inside of you. Like a nice man, he wants you to finish, but you know you shouldn’t. It would likely increase the chances of you getting pregnant and you simply can’t have that, birth control implant be damned.

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head softly and get off of him, fixing your underwear as you turn away to give him privacy. He tucks himself in his boxers and zips his pants up before fishing for his now-thinner wallet, though it’s not completely empty yet. If you didn’t know better (and you don’t, he’s a stranger after all,) you’d think he gets off on this kind of thing- his wallet being drained.

Albert hands you three more hundreds and mumbles a quiet “thank you” for your services. It hasn’t even been an hour, but it’s not like he cares. Who wouldn’t want to give their money to someone as pretty as you?

He’s satisfied by the looks of things, his face less red now that he’s calmer and more composed. You take the money happily, watching him walk to the door with a smile on your lips.

“What’s your name, dear?” He looks at you over his shoulder.

“Come back soon and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Albert leaves with that, his dignity shattered and his pride dismantled.

Weeks later and you’re at home sitting on your couch, watching the news late at night after one of your shifts. You’re barely paying attention, looking through missed calls on your motorola cd930 when you hear a familiar name come up on the missing persons list. The news anchor is reading off a list of names from the most recent tragedy- a mansion exploding in Arklay County, where supposedly some members of the local S.T.A.R.S team got trapped and barely made it out alive (so you’ve heard.)

“Albert Wesker, Joseph Frost, Richard Aiken, Edward Dewey…” The tired man drones on, listing off the rest of the names as pictures start to pop up. Only one face sticks out to you.

“No way,” you sit up straight and lean closer to your television, your eyes focused on Albert’s picture. Save for the sunglasses, that’s him. You’re shocked and honestly a little disheartened.

In your dreams, you see him again.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚#albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #writing #resident evil x reader #albert wesker fanfic #albert wesker x you #albert wesker smut #top!reader #stripper!reader

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eddiernunson · 1 year

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Master List

Master List of everything I've written

I'm gonna be honest, I'm proud of Trapped, it's something I spent a year on, but I have written so much better since then, especially since I've been writing so much lately.

The higher quality written project is Really Drives Me Mad, something I'm even more proud of.

All content is 18+

Long Form Stories (All Reader x Eddie)

Trapped Master List (Completed)

Summary: Story summary: Reader has had a crush on Eddie Munson for about three years when her friends have had enough of her mooning and find a way for them to be alone together. They do get together, and smut, firsts, and shenanigans ensue. (18+ for the smut in each chapter)

Found Again (Sequel)

Summary: The year is 2005. Vecna is defeated, Steve Harrington is finding grey hairs. Eddie has already been dead for 19 years. Unfortunately, you have too. Since 1989. In a new life, new state, new friends, new school, you find yourself drawn to the new kid, and he to you. Something tells you it had to do with the dreams of a man with long hair when you were small.

Part 1 | Part 2

Really Drives Me Mad (Completed)

Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him (Completed)

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your Adam and him, young and dumb. You;re home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same Weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum lip gloss for the in of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4/5 | Part 6

Blurbs

Face Riding Eddie

Cockwarming with Eddie

One Shots | 18+

Take My Anger | Mean Eddie

Summary: Eddie is pissed after a session from Hellfire and you offer for him to take his anger out on you.

The Taste of You | Rockstar!Eddie

Summary: after attending a successful and rather sweaty concert from Corroded Coffin, you send the front man a rather thirsty DM on his instagram. You wake up to his response...and an offer to go backstage to follow through.

The Splash of Rain on the Roof | Best friend!Eddie

Summary: you're best friends with Eddie Munson after moving to Hawkins, the new girl who ditches the cheerleaders for the Freaks. A year later, you've fallen head over heels for him, and you're convinced there's no way he has any interest in you. It finally seems confirmed when you find out (more or less) that he's into a fucking cheerleader. Your heart breaks.

Nice to Meet You, Where You Been?

Summary: your college roommate takes you to the annual Harrington Halloween Party, where you expect to do nothing but get drunk and dance for a night. That was...until you turn around to the person dancing against you to Eddie fucking Munson.

"Do You Want One?" | Corruption Kink

Summary: your cousin shows you around Hawkins High for your first day, and is surprised to say the least when her sweet cousin hooks onto Eddie Munson. Just seeing him brings a swoop to your stomach you've never quite felt before, and become desperate for more of him

Selfish | Steddie x Reader

Summary: Reader is torn as she wants two people at once, and she figures it's impossible...in the sense that they would never want her. She is proven wrong after making an accidental audience with Eddie one night...

Waiting Room Problems

Summary: a rough landing in a fight with your brother causes you to land in a crowded waiting room. Meanwhile a rough deal also sends Eddie the same fate. Somehow, somehow you try to keep your eyes on your phone and off his tiny little waist. It proves... difficult.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Best Friend!Eddie

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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aliaology · 10 months

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HOUSE THAT BUILT ME

summary: reader (older hughes sister) takes a small flight to toronto to say goodbye to the home she grew up in before moving to michigan.

pairings: hughes brothers x older sister!reader

warnings: just angst. part three of my older hughes! sister au so it kinda contradicts never grow up bc i almost made the michigan house be her childhood house with the childhood room line, but the toronto house was her childhood house, i just lowkey forgot they lived in toronto in the first part.

you didn't expect to be here. you didn't expect yourself to take a last minute flight to toronto and stand in the front of the house you used to call home. but you felt drawn to do so, you had to come back one last time. even if people told you you couldn't, you still did.

you felt yourself walking up the stairs. your handprints littered them, along with little quinnys, little jackys, and little little lukeys. the multi-colored handprints were a stark contrast to the white, chipped paint of the porch stairs.

they creaked under you, causing you to step slower. you now stood in front of the screen door that covered the red door. your hand shakily reached up to the doorbell, pressing it. the all-familiar tune played. it wasn't a normal 'ding!' no, your mother made it ring to a beat. one you would tap your foot to every time it was rung.

the door creaked open, revealing a slightly older woman. "can i help you?" she asked, eyes squinted from the sun.

"im so sorry to bother you, i know you dont know me but, i um- i used to live here." you awkwardly laughed. "me and my brothers are actually the kids who did those handprints on the stairs." you informed.

she opened the screen door, stepping out. she had a soft smile on her face and waved you over to the small swing that was on the porch.

you two ended up sitting and talking. "the back bedroom, that was mine. i did my homework on a dainty desk and that room is where i learned to play guitar." you spoke.

a fond smile was on the womans face. "i've never once changed anything in this house since me and my family moved here." she told.

"i couldnt. i actually hoped one of the kids who did those handprints would show up. i like learning of what this place used to be. plus, whoever did that kitchen was amazing." she chuckled.

"my dad helped my mom do that. it was a dream kitchen for her. he helped a lot of her dreams come true with this house." you said.

you looked over the property. the green grass, the live oak, the trees that surrounded the house. you looked back at her.

"do you- do you think i could come in? i just want to look around. i swear as soon as im done, ill leave. i wont take nothing, just my memories." you smiled.

she let you. you found yourself tracing the walls as you walked upstairs. the same texture was there as it used to be. the steps still creaked twice with every step. the air was still cold, as it used to be.

you walked into your old room. the walls were still the dark purple they used to be. it made you remember who you used to be. the happy-go-lucky little girl whos only care in the world were her three younger brothers.

you weren't done looking around, but you already dreaded the idea of leaving. leaving home wasn't what you wanted to do. doing it once was hard enough. you could see yourself, your younger self, sitting at her desk.

feet kicking with a pencil in her hand as she hummed to some random song that she heard on the tv. she would smile every once in awhile as she did her math homework, realizing she understood something.

you could see young jack running in, a water gun in his hand, and shooting you with it, ruining your mood and your homework. you could see little luke rushing in behind him, tackling jack to the ground. little quinn would pin jack down and little you would tickle him as payback. luke and quinn were your little sidekicks.

after awhile, you walked back to the porch. "thank you again, ma'am. this meant a lot to me. it helped being able to see and feel the house again." you told her.

she smiled. "of course dear." you gave her a polite nod and walked down the handprint-filled stairs. you got to see the house that built you, and instead of leaving with tears, you left with a small smile.

tags (perm); @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @um-mads , @outrunangelss

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iguana-eyanna · 3 months

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Miles Away

Pairing: Damien Haas x Reader

Summary: Damien hasn't felt the same since you told him you'll be leaving L.A. for a job opportunity.

"One gin and tonic, one peach margarita, one espresso martini, and one ginger ale." a server said, placing drinks on the smooth table.

"Thank you!" the table said in unison. Courtney, Shayne, you, and Damien were on a double date as they were celebrating your job opportunity that you were recently given. You were so excited as you got to further your research in historical archives. Everyone seemed excited for you, or well, mostly everyone.

"Here you go babe." You smiled, passing Damien the ginger ale.

"Thanks." He said in a small voice, giving you a soft smile.

Your jaw tightens, but you give a stiff smile before sipping.

Damian was the first person to know about your possible research. He was ecstatic at first, being the most supportive partner in the world. But once you said you'd be transferred outside the U.S. for most of the year, you felt as if he was distancing himself.

Courtney caught drift of the tension in the air, so she lifted her glass.

"I wanna raise a toast for the woman of the hour. You're literally the most smartest person I know."

"Hey!" Shayne said teasingly, making Courtney nudge him in the arm as they both cracked a laugh.

"Anyways... we hope that your research in the U.K. is successful and remember that you always have a home in L.A., cheers my guys!" Courtney said as all of you clinked your drinks together.

Damien's jaw clenched and he gently placed his cup down.

"Sorry, Imma get some air." Damien said, leaving the table.

You look at him leaving to the back and you look down at your lap, upset.

"I'll go check on him." You said, leaving Shayne and Courtney.

You walk outside looking for Damien and you make eye contact, walking slowly towards him as he appeared in his own world.

"Are you okay?" You said in almost a whisper.

Damien closes the space between you two and holds your hand firmly.

"I'm uh, sorry I ruined the night."

Your face turned into concern as you look up at him.

"You didn't, I- I know that this is frustrating. I just wish things can be the way they were." You said, closing in for a hug.

Damien held you closer, cradling the back of your head o reassure himself that you weren't going to fade away into dust. But his thoughts spoke out and ruined the peace that stood between you.

"Then don't go."

You tensed under his touch and let go of him, you're face drawn in hurt.

"Please, don't go." He repeats himself again, but louder this time so you knew he was serious.

Your nose began to flare as your eyes teared up.

"You know I can't, Damien." Your voice cracked.

"And our relationship is what, a joke?"

"Don't you dare say that. You out of all people know how hard I've worked for this research and how much I care for you. Hell, you've known for months that I've been waiting for this opportunity to come around!"

"Well maybe I thought you weren't good enough to get it!"

Silence split the air like a knife as Damien realized what he said.

"What did you say?" you ask in disbelief.

"I didn't- please I didn't mean-" He reaches his hand out for you but you yanked it away. This was supposed to be the only person who'd never hurt you, but now he's hurt you in more ways than you could ever imagine.

You turned away, crying as you just wanted to go away. You hear Damien calling your name, but you don't turn back. And now he stands in an alley way, alone with a broken heart.

It's been three days since Damien last saw you. He's tried calling, texting, even knocking on your door at your apartment. You never answered, and he felt miserable that he could ever say those hurtful things to you.

He was now at work, lost in thought as he was writing something on his keyboard. He didn't notice Shayne going up to him solemnly.

"Shouldn't you be going after her at the airport?" Shayne asks his friend.

Damien pauses, but doesn't lift his eyes on the screen.

"I hurt her Shayne, it's already too late." Damien said, resuming his work.

Shayne closes up to Damien's desk and brings a chair closer to sit by him.

"You've been distant with everyone recently, it's not like you to act like this. The Damien I know wouldn't let go of someone they truly loved-"

"Well you're wrong. Maybe I'm actually selfish to want her to stay." Damien half shouted, outbursting like the other night.

He realized what he did again and groaned, placing his face in his palm.

"I don't know what to do Shayne. I can't sleep, I can't eat. Ever since she told me about this off broad job I... I got scared. She's gonna restart her life over there and I don't know where I'll fit in. I didn't wanna lose her, but I did."

Ever since you got the call saying you'd be permitted to travel around the U.K. to further your research you've worked on for the past few years, Damien never go to hear how things would work out between the both of you. Sure, there would be facetime and texting each other, but it won't be the same.

It was almost like you didn't give thought of whether to further your relationship with him. Turns out, it was only him who had these seeds of doubt.

Shayne looked at the ground, not knowing what to say. Shayne could say 'Love conquers all' or 'Things would work out,' but he'd be lying to his friend.

"I am far from giving advice for long distance relationships. You're afraid you'll get hurt if things don't work out. I totally get that, but she's afraid that she'll lose you now. She's going to leave now thinking that you didn't want to support her dreams."

"I don't want that." Damien said, getting up defensively.

"Then tell her man, tell her what you want to say before it's too late." Shayne followed. Damien hugged his friend and stormed out, heading to his car and began driving away off to the airport.

Damien parked his car and ran to the departure gate. He looked up at which airline you were and went by your gate. He ran as he could possibly can and searched for the nearest TSA where you could be. He whipped his head back and fourth, trying to find you. He then sees the back of your head and screams out your name.

You turn around, eyes wide with shock.

"Damien?"

He tries to move a bit closer, trying not to pass the entrance line as TSA were bewildered.

"I never meant to hurt you. Ever since you told me you were gonna leave, all I heard was that you were gonna leave me. I was scared and wrong and- even if we're gonna be miles away... I never wanna be in the way of your dreams. I'll always support you."

Your eyes glisten and your lip quivered. You got out of line and raced toward Damien who matched the same pace. His hands then grabbed your waist as he pulls you in for the most powerful kiss you two shared. Your hands lose themselves in his hair. Soon, you heard a roar of applause around you and you two look up, blushing.

You turn back to Damien, smacking his chest after you two weren't the center of attention.

"You really hurt me earlier."

"There's not enough words in the world to say how sorry I am."

You bring him closer to you, placing your head in his chest.

"I forgive you."

He holds you gently for awhile till you both heard your flight was going to board soon.

You look up to him, sadly smiling as you cradle the side of his face.

"I have to go now."

He softly holds your hand, placing a kiss in your palm.

"We'll work things out, trust me. And we'll call once you settle in your place. I love you."

"I love you too." You replied, placing a sweet kiss on his lips before drifting away. He stood there as he saw you go through TSA and lost sight of you.

He gives a tearful chuckle before he walks away with a heavy heart.

It's hard to say goodbye, especially to a person that meant the world to you. And he knew how to fix the problem as he took out his phone, looking at the next flight to you.

#damien haas imagine #damien haas x reader #damien haas #damien haas smosh #smosh #smosh pit #shayne topp #courtney miller #smosh fanfic

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unseededtoast · 1 year

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Light As A Feather | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: The gravity of your job begins getting to you, and you come to realize you've forgotten how beautiful life can be. And one tranquil night, it's like Spencer is able to lift the weight and makes you feel light as a feather. Inspired by Hozier's "I, Carrion (Icarian)"

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: General violence, angst, pining. Poorly Edited

a/n: howdy folks. I'm still in my spencer reid/hozier brainrot era and so here's another. I hope you all enjoy it and thank you for all of the support I've received, it means the world!!

His presence is enough to make you forget about the horrors of the world, of your job. Right now, it's just you and him, and you've never felt lighter; so unburdened. You're convinced that if he wasn't there, holding onto you with his magnetic pull, that you may just float away in the breeze like a feather.

You had never been to Colorado before, and now you wish you could be here under different circumstances. It's the beginning of fall and it seems as if the people of Boulder are head over heels in love with the season. Which is understandable, you think you'd love fall this much too if you lived in a place this beautiful. The trees are painted in vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red and the distant mountains stand proudly in the background with their snow capped tops. Your eyes are glued to the lush landscape as the SUV drives through Boulder to reach your destination.

You, along with the rest of your team, were called by the Park Rangers from the Rocky Mountain National Park about a few bodies they had discovered. Your superior, Hotch, decided their case was odd enough for you all to pay a visit. At first you hadn't wanted to come, convinced that there would be something closer to home to tend to, but now you're glad you agreed to come. Fall time in Quantico just isn't as picturesque.

Eventually, the SUV you're crammed into alongside three of your other team members drives up a long winding driveway to a hidden cabin in the woods. Hotch had booked the place, seeing as how close it is to the National Park and how secluded it is from potential people of interest. Once again, you tried to argue that the cellphone reception would be terrible up here and that it might hinder the case, but you were outvoted, and the rest of the team wanted to stay here. You hadn't understood why, but when the venue comes into view your jaw almost drops and you understand.

The cabin isn't at all what you had been expecting. Instead of some run-down, small, stuffy house, you see a large, sprawling log mansion. There are large windows adorning the front, accompanied by a wraparound porch on the second level. It's very reminiscent of a tasteful ski lodge.

"Wow." You breathe out as the car comes to a stop outside the front door.

"Still think it's a bad idea?" Hotch smarts off as he opens the trunk and starts handing people their bags. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you grab your bag from him and stare up at your home for the next few days.

The rest of the team wastes no time in going inside to claim their room, but you're happy to meander around for a little bit to familiarize yourself with the layout. You'll let them fight over the rooms and take whatever is left. After all, in a place of this size, even the smallest room is bound to be plentiful.

As you go through the halls admiring the artwork on the wall you spot Spencer doing the same, staring at a particular painting on the wall. You take just a second to appreciate the way he looks, standing there and analyzing art. You've always had an appreciation for Spencer, and not just for his good looks, but also his intelligence and his company.

Since your first day at the FBI you've felt drawn to him, he made you feel important, and heard, when others dismissed you. In fact, he's the reason you're on the BAU team in the first place. He was the only one to recognize your abilities and talents. You try not to hold a grudge about the fact the rest of the team was ready to let you transfer out after your internship. But instead of standing there and gawking at him like some braindead fool, you walk up to him, setting your bag on the floor beside your feet.

You look at the painting that's caught his attention and try to see what he does, try to think about how he interprets it. His mind is an amazing, complex thing, and you hope that one day you'll be able to understand just a small portion of it. It's a painting of the Great Rocky National Park, you can tell from the mountain formation and the river running through it. The painting is almost an identical match, as if it's actually a picture rather than painting. However, there's one small spot on the painting that looks like it's been painted over and over, it sticks out to you.

"What do you think happened there?" You point out the flaw and look up to Spencer, whose eyebrows are drawn closely together as he leans in and looks at the spot. After a few moments of quiet reflection, he stands back to his full height.

"I'm not sure. It looks like maybe the painter had difficulties finding the right shade." He says, still staring at the spot. Your eyes linger on his face before tearing them away before he catches on.

"You're probably right. I'm going to go find what room they left me." You say, grabbing your bag from beside you. Spencer bends over to pick up his as well,

"I should probably do the same." A small smile adorns his face, and the two of you begin walking through the cabin to find the empty rooms the team left you. According to the venue's website there should be one room for each agent, and you're thankful for that. You had never been a fan of sharing room with your coworkers, something about it just feels wrong, but when there's no way to avoid it you endure without much fuss.

The two of you check every room on the first floor only to find that they had all been claimed, meaning you two had to climb the stairs for rooms on the second level. Of course the rest of them would all claim the first floor rooms first, nobody likes to bother with stairs first thing in the morning.

You and Spencer find the empty rooms, side by side with direct access to the porch. You suppose there are worse rooms to have. Eager to step out onto the porch, you toss your bag on the bed and open the sliding door. Colorado's crisp air envelopes you as you step out and you take a deep breath. The air out here feels so clean and refreshing. Great Rocky National Park is directly in front of the porch, giving you an eagle's eye view of a portion of it as you lean onto the banister. Might as well enjoy a little bit of peace before you start working the case.

-----

"Three women were found in the same spot days apart from each other. All bludgeoned and stabbed through the heart." The Park Ranger speaks, indicating to the crime scene that's been barricaded with yellow tape. The Ranger stares at the scene, which is now an inconspicuous patch of dirt and grass, as if there weren't several dead women resting here. The scene is right beside a big body of crystal blue water.

You hang back from the rest of the team, opting to look at the surroundings instead of the immediate scene. The team knows now that finding the tiny details is your forte, and they leave you to your own devices in the beginning of investigations. The cold breeze causes you to hold your too-thin jacket closer to your body as you begin your observations.

"They were all found in the same spot?" Hotch asks the Ranger, who confirms that all of the victims were found in the exact same spot. As you examine the landscape, your eyes narrow in an attempt to find even the subtlest detail. Before too long, you see something out of place in the lush grass and walk over to it while pulling on a pair of gloves.

There's a pamphlet laying in the grass and upon further examination you see that it's been marked up like someone gave the traveler directions. Directions right to this spot. The killer lured at least one victim here. This trail is far off the beaten path, it's not marked by the Rangers. Only someone familiar with the area would know about it.

"Look at this." You call out to your team, and soon a few of them join your side to examine what you found. Spencer and Morgan look over your shoulder at the pamphlet, which is in better condition than you would've thought considering it was laying in grass beside a body of water.

"They're familiar with the area, they had this planned." Spencer speaks up and you nod your head, agreeing with him. Morgan holds out an evidence bag once he's done looking at it and you slip it inside, protecting it from any further damage. Morgan walks off with the pamphlet, leaving you and Spencer together, both deep in thought.

"What have you come up with so far?" You ask softly, curious to see if his theories line up with yours. Spencer shifts his weight and sighs, looking back to the crime scene.

"The killer is organized. They lured at least one victim right to this spot, and I'm assuming they did the same with the others. And they had to have brought the weapons with them. While there are branches to bludgeon people with, there's no evidence of anything nearby being cut down recently. If they used a natural object, it's likely they would've tried to blend it back in with nature." He explains and you nod your head along with what he's saying as you observe the scene and the scenery surrounding you.

"Unless they tossed the weapon into the water. They could have easily used a rock to bludgeon the victims." You counter his explanation. Spencer and you always did this with one another when forming theories. Not as to dissuade, or prove the other wrong, but to make your theories and explanations stronger. It's one of the qualities you most like about him. His eyes drift to the water.

"They could have. But they had to have brought the knife, there's no natural substitute that would leave that precise of a wound." He says, and you relent, agreeing with him.

"I want to question the Rangers, get their work schedules, and see the call logs. I also want to know where the victims were staying and if there's any camera footage of them in the welcome center." You shiver with a gust of wind and hold your arms tighter around your body as you walk off to gather the information you want.

Spencer decides to join you in going to the welcome center, claiming that in a huge national forest that none of us should be traveling alone. He has a good point, but you wouldn't have objected to his company either way. The Ranger from the scene escorts you two to the welcome center in his cruiser, the warm air letting your fingers regain their feeling.

"Who found the bodies?" You ask as you hold your hands in front of the vent emitting warm air. The Ranger looks at you through the rearview mirror before focusing on the road again.

"I found one and Birch found the others during his patrols." He answers and you mentally make a note to find Birch.

"Is that area regularly patrolled?" You push further for more information and the Ranger shakes his head.

"No, it wasn't, until I found the first girl. She had to have been out there for at least three days. After that I sent Birch out to keep an eye on the area. He found victim two a couple days after the first, and found the third a single day after the second." He says and you look to Spencer, both noting the decrease in time between kills. A sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that if you don't find the killer soon, then you may be finding a fourth victim any day now.

Once you reach the welcome center, the Rangers are more than happy to provide you with the security camera footage, work schedules, call logs, and anything else you may need. In fact, it's Ranger Birch that hands over the information himself. He's a young man, maybe mid twenties, with meticulously groomed hair and pressed uniform pants.

"Thank you." You tell him with a warm smile, taking the footage and other information off the counter and into your hands. He nods back with a wide, white-toothed smile and tells you and Spencer to come back if you need anything else. The moment you step out of the welcome center you give Spencer a pointed look with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you think?" He asks you before you can ask him. You lick your lips and glance back into the welcome center, Ranger Birch still looking at you. Your eyes find Spencer's and you motion for him to follow you.

"I think he takes pride in both his appearance and work, and he knows the park well." Hotch pulls up in a black SUV to pick you and Spencer up to return you to the cabin, where the entire team will discuss what's been found so far.

-----

The trip up to the cabin only takes about ten minutes. Your mind works to put pieces of the puzzle together the entire trip back, but there's just not enough known information yet, and it bothers you. You like to have answers quickly because the faster you get answers, the less people will die. Your leg bounces up and down the entire way back, eager to begin deciphering the evidence.

The SUV comes to a stop outside the cabin and before Hotch can turn the car off, you're out and making your way to the entrance. A man dressed in a casual flannel shirt hunched over the flowerbeds stops you in your tracks before you get to the front door. He wipes the dirt from his landscaping gloves onto his worn overalls as he greets you.

"Good afternoon ma'am, I hope you enjoy your stay here. I'm James, I do the landscaping work around here and a few other cabins nearby." He offers you a warm smile, which you try your best to return, but your anticipation is causing you to become short.

"Nice meeting you." You go to walk into the cabin, but James' voice stops you once more. Spencer and Hotch approach, engaged in a conversation likely pertaining to what happened at the welcome center.

"Wait, ma'am. I never caught your name." James smile is reminiscent of an old friend, and he looks at you expectedly. Against your best wishes, you answer him, not wanting to be unnecessarily rude to your host.

"We'll, it's been a pleasure to meet you. Maybe I'll catch you around before you head out. Are you here for work?" He continues his conversation as Spencer and Hotch walk into the cabin undeterred by the landscaper. Maybe if you had just slowed down one of them would've been caught instead. James' eyes linger on the items in your hands.

"Yeah, the whole team is here for work." You answer, shuffling some items around in your grasp. James nods his head and tears his gaze away from the items, the warm smile returning to his face.

"Must be some important work if a whole team is here. By the looks of you all I'd say you're some sort of police." He guesses, eyeing the firearm that's strapped to your thigh. Your eyes narrow at the man, and you nod.

"Yeah, something like that. I really have to get going, they're probably waiting for me in there. Have a nice night, James." You find your exit route out of the conversation with the friendly mannered landscaper. As you step through the door you hear his voice call out to you once more.

"If there's anything I can do to help, number's in the guestbook." The door closes, and the conversation finally ends.

Taking a cleansing breath, you join the rest of the team who are all gathered around the rectangular dining table, which has been designated as the investigation headquarters. On the table are a slew of files, photos, and papers. You add the information gathered from the welcome center to that collection and Hotch starts the conversation.

Hotch reviews the known information and circulates photos of the victims. They're all beautiful young women, and according to Garcia, were staying at nearby resorts and cabins for vacation. The photos get passed to you and you look at them intently, committing to memory every detail you can absorb before you pass them along. It's obvious that these victims were chosen because of their physical appearance, they all share the same basic features such as hair color, eye color, and stature. And eerily, you seem to match the profile as well.

"The physical appearance of the victim is important to the unsub. Having three victims with similar features is no mistake, nor is it a coincidence." You add to the conversation, seeing your team members look from you to the photos on the table.

"Maybe the victims represent someone who scorned the unsub? Extracting revenge through them." Spencer suggests, and it's a good theory. You chew on the skin of your bottom lip as your mind races with theories and trying to piece the information together like a puzzle.

After the general briefing, Hotch assigns Morgan and Prentiss to interview the Park Rangers to establish alibis, JJ and Garcia to continue conducting their online investigation, and Spencer and yourself to go over the welcome center footage. Hotch was going to speak to the people running the cabins the victims were staying at to see if there are any leads there.

You and Spencer are on the second hour of footage when your eyes start becoming heavy. Reaching for the remote, you pause the footage and stretch, needing to take a break.

"You want some coffee?" You ask him, needing something to keep yourself awake. He nods his head,

"Yes, please." You stand from your seat and go to the kitchen to prepare the two of you some coffee. You're sure to put an ungodly amount of sugar in Spencer's, knowing that if you don't you'll hear him complain about it. And most times you enjoy the sound of his voice, but you don't know if you can stand hours of CCTV footage and him complaining about a lack of sugar right now.

You return to the table and place his mug in front of him, steam rising from it. You sip your own and resume your position at the table and reach for the remote. Spencer reaches for it at the same time, your hands brushing one another's. His hand is warm and soft, perfect for the chilly autumn air.

"Sorry." You say, pulling your hand away and forcing any other thought than the footage from your mind, knowing that there's already a faint pink adorning your cheeks. No matter how long you've worked with him, even just simple touches is enough to send you spiraling if you let it. You try not to delve into what that might mean; you profile people for a living, the last thing you want to do is profile yourself. Without a word, Spencer just smiles back politely and presses play.

The footage rolls and you two identify the victims who all showed up unaccompanied, which you find odd considering they were on vacation with their families. Your hand jots down quick notes in sloppy handwriting as you critically examine what you do, and don't, see in the footage. Spencer and you replay the footage showing the victims easily five times each, both silently taking notes, knowing you're going to compare soon. After watching the third victim's footage for the last time, you look over to Spencer, who's face is illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun.

"Do you want to go first?" He asks and you nod, trying not to stare at how the sunlight reflects the amber color in his warm prismatic eyes. You look down to your notes and try to get your thoughts straight before speaking.

"I noted that all three victims walked into the welcome center with a pamphlet already in hand. None of them took the ones provided by the park. They all showed up alone. I can only assume that the unsub gave them the pamphlets with instructions on how to find the scene. Only, I'm willing to bet it was framed as a good-intentioned suggestion. There's no way those women would have gone if they didn't trust the unsub to some degree." Your eyes glance from your horribly written notes up to Spencer, who's leaning on the table, clinging to every word you say. He hums in consideration before he speaks up.

"I would agree. And if the victims were all staying at tourist destinations, those pamphlets were likely already there. So now the question is whether or not the unsub talked to them at their cabins or before they walked into the welcome center." He says, and a lightbulb goes off in your mind.

"Wouldn't it make more sense for the unsub to speak to them at their cabins? I mean, if the unsub caught them in the parking lot there's a chance they might have their families with them. But if the unsub spoke to them at their cabins, the women might be persuaded to leave their families behind for some reason." You say, going with the logical deductions that pop into your mind. Spencer mulls over your words, his eyes narrowing, staring back at you in deep thought.

"You're right. The unsub likely works for the resorts. It would give them access to the victims and it wouldn't be weird for them to give suggestions to guests." He confirms what you thought and you look back to the screen, seeing the third victim frozen in time.

"We should let the team know." You say and Spencer nods. The two of you finish off your coffee and wait for the rest of the team to arrive. You're confident that the two of you have a solid lead on this case. You only hope you can find the unsub before there's a fourth victim.

-----

The sun sets on the scenic landscape and you lean against the banister of the wraparound porch. The rest of the team isn't back yet, and the last thing you want to do is stay inside when it's so beautiful out here. The snowcapped mountain in the distance gleams brilliantly, and it's almost blinding, but you can't look away. Sounds of water rushing and birds chirping fill the air and if you let your mind relax enough it's almost like you're not here to solve murders.

Your head rests atop of your arms on the railing and you breathe in the cool air. The breeze gently blows your hair around, sending a shiver up your spine. You had severely underestimated how cold it would be here, and as a result, you failed to pack adequately because you were basing your packing off of Virginia fall time temperatures, which are noticeably warmer.

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Spencer walking out of his room. He joins your side and leans forward on the railing, looking out at the breathtaking view. His curly brown hair gets blown into his face, and you have to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear. You're also enjoying the breathtaking view.

He looks at peace, which is not something you usually see in him. His mind works overtime almost twenty four hours a day, especially on cases. It has to be torturous sometimes, to never get a reprieve from your own thoughts; and that's something you know all too well. There are some nights where you can't sleep because gruesome memories from the job haunt you.

Noticing that you're staring at him, you turn your gaze back to the colorful trees. The two of you enjoy a moment of tranquility together, a rare moment in the fast-paced career you pursued. A bird flies by, and you can only imagine what that freedom feels like. Most times you feel like your job keeps you cemented in one place, always dealing with death and the most heinous monsters that reside in this world. You often forget just how beautiful and free life can be.

A particularly crisp breeze comes through and you visibly shiver, which Spencer notices. Without a word, he goes into his room and comes back moments later with the throw blanket that was folded at the bottom of the bed. It's burnt orange in color and is made of faux fur, warm and soothing. Spencer drapes it over your shoulders and you hold onto the ends, keeping it secure around you. If you could stay in this moment forever, you would.

Spencer stands so closely beside you that you feel his warmth coming through the blanket, and without much thought, or care, you lean into him just slightly. He makes no effort to move, and the two of you stay like that for what seems like an eternity. His warmth and his smell are so comforting and makes you feel safe. Deep down in your heart you know he makes you feel at home.

The two of you enjoy each other's company in a peaceful silence. There's never been the need to fill the silence with him, like there is the others. While you two are quite talkative in the team dynamic, when you find yourselves alone it's often relaxed with no expectations. You two talk when you want, or is needed, but when there's nothing to say you're more than happy to just be around him. And you hope he feels the same about you, and you think he does, but you're never brave enough to ask for fear of ruining whatever relationship it is that you two share.

Sighing, you cuddle yourself further into the blanket as the sun dips lower and lower, the golden hue turning orange. Spencer moves beside you, and you see his fingers twitch, like he was going to reach out for something but doesn't. Your head turns to look at him above you, and his head lowers, so that your eyes meet one another.

You had always known his eyes were beautiful, but up this close you can truly admire the depth of them. The golden hues remind you of the sunsets, the green in them is like the rich moss that adorns the sides of the rocks; or like the pine needles on the tall trees, and the brown is reminiscent of swirling espresso. Taken aback from his closeness and the heat creeping up your spine, your lips fall open and his eyes glance between them and your eyes. He's so close to you, your bodies practically pressed against one another. You feel yourself being drawn to him, like he has his own magnetic pull.

But whatever was about to happen is cut short by the rest of the team arriving back to the cabin. You and Spencer seem to come back to reality and step away from one another. Flustered, you unwrap the blanket from your shoulders and hand it back to him, already missing the warmth.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft and tender, and his hand brushes your own as he grabs the blanket from you.

"Of course." He smiles softly back, and the two of you part ways to join the rest of your team downstairs to catch up on the latest information. But you can barely pay attention to what is being said, for your mind is drowning with flashes of Spencer out on the porch.

-----

The next morning you wake up as the sun shines in through the windows, illuminating the room beautifully and warmly. Hotch had given everyone the night to mull over the information and said that the investigation will pick right back up in the morning. After you get dressed and ensure your service weapon is properly attached to the harness around your thigh, you make your way down the stairs for a morning cup of coffee. Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch are already sat at the table, picking at some toast for breakfast as they get the sleep rid from their systems.

You make a cup for yourself and Spencer, knowing he will be up any moment now. As per usual, too much sugar gets put into his and then you pour your own. The warm drink calms your nerves and you close your eyes, trying to get your mind prepared for whatever the day may bring. You know there may very well be a fourth victim found soon and you need to be on the top of your game to find the unsub.

"Good morning." A raspy voice makes your eyes open, and you see Spencer walking into the kitchen, dressed in a button up and tie. It's quite casual for him, but you like it, it looks nice on him.

"Good morning, made yours right here." You say and nod over to the mug on the counter. He looks from you to the mug with a smile on his face.

"Thanks." He says, and the two of you stay in the kitchen, sipping on your coffee and waiting for Hotch to give everyone orders.

"Feeling good about today?" It's something you always ask when an investigation seems to be coming to a close. You think it sets a tone, an expectation that the team will succeed. Spencer sips his drink and nods,

"I feel good about today." He confirms, flashing his bright white smile.

Last night, after the team had arrived, Hotch had shown everyone the list of employees from the neighboring resorts and cabins and today the team will be interviewing those employees. You're convinced the unsub has to be on that list and you intend to find out who it is. The questions have already been sorted in your mind, though you're able to adapt to anyone's personality and are prepared to get answers.

"Same teams as yesterday, we're going to divide and conquer." Hotch says, handing each team a list of names. You look down at the list he handed you and see that there are a total of fifteen employees for the small resort that you and Spencer are covering. It catches your attention that seven of the fifteen are women, and you mentally place them lower on your suspect list. This doesn't seem like a crime women usually commit, no, this seems like the work of a man as evidenced by the brute force used.

Morgan and Prentiss take off in one car, Hotch takes another, leaving you and Spencer with your own SUV. The two of you gather your needed materials, such as photos and notepads, before you head out. Spencer grabs the keys and tells you that he's going to warm up the car as you finish organizing your things, and you're grateful for that. Sitting in a cold car doesn't really appeal to you right now.

Once you're content with the items you've chosen to bring along you head out of the cabin. The bright light almost blinds you, and you squint in order to see. From the corner of your eye you see something move, and when you turn to look you see it's the landscaper from the other day, already flagging you down. Resisting the strong urge to just ignore him, you wait for him to reach you on the porch steps. He looks like he's already been hard at work today, he's covered in dirt and sweat.

"Well good mornin'. Got anything interesting going on today?" He asks, shielding his eyes from the light with his gloved hand. You shift your weight and look to the running SUV, already planning your escape route out of this conversation.

"Uh, yeah, you could say it'll be an interesting day." You reply as politely as you can. James smiles widely at your response.

"What sort of thing you have planned?" He asks and you sigh, not wanting to be part of this conversation any longer.

"I'm not at liberty to say, but I've gotta go, my partner is waiting for me." You excuse yourself from the conversation before he can get another word in. From behind you, you hear him say.

"Well alright then, I'll be around if you need anything." As you slide into the driver's side of the car and hand your bag to Spencer, you see the man heading back to the tool shed.

"That's twice now that he's singled me out." You say, keeping your eye on him for a moment longer, watching his moves. The fact that you match the victim profile is not lost on you, and you think it might be making you just slightly paranoid.

"I noticed that too. Could be that you were the first one there the last time, and the last one out this time, but it's definitely something to keep note of." Spencer says as you drive off to the tiny resort the two of you had been assigned. You know he might be right, but the man went out of his way to flag you down this morning and completely ignored everyone else. An uneasy feeling in your stomach tells you that the landscaper should be looked into more thoroughly.

When you and Spencer reach the resort you waste no time in beginning your investigations. The two of you are laser focused on the task at hand, and agree to split the list equally. Spencer volunteered himself to question the extra person. Luckily, the front desk attendant was more than helpful and secured two rooms for the interviews to be conducted.

The first four interviews go by without incident, all front desk attendants and kitchen workers who have no indication of manipulative traits and answer your questions openly. You've done this enough times to spot exactly what you're looking for, you know what gets under the skin of unsubs, especially the organized ones who think they have it all figured out.

A couple other interviewees give you good information about the victim who stayed here. They tell you how they remember seeing her with her family in the hall, and how nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the room when it was cleaned. Hotch had questioned the families last night, and cleared them from the suspects list.

By the time you reach the end of your list, you know you can safely cross every one of them off. None of them responded to the misinformation you sprinkled in the questions, things the unsub would've been known to be untrue. And none of them had any sort of reaction to you insulting the intelligence of the unsub, something that would have surely set them off in some way. But to your dismay, none of them had any clue of who could be capable of this kind of malice. Typically, there's at least one person who's able to spot something weird about someone, but not this time.

You group back up with Spencer, the two of you comparing notes in the room he used for his questioning. He had the same results as you and you both were hoping someone else on the team was more successful.

"We got all of them except for James Hilton. The others said he bounces around to each place and some days he's not even here." Spencer says, pointing out the only uncrossed name from the list.

"James Hilton. That's the landscaper." You say, barely able to recall his name from yesterday. The uneasy feeling in your stomach grows.

-----

In the afternoon, the team reconvenes in the cabin around the table to compare findings. Every other agent was able to interview everyone but James Hilton. Granted, his job requires him to go from location to location, but it seems like he's been hanging out around this cabin often. However, he was nowhere to be found when everyone came back. But maybe he went to another location to work on their flowerbeds.

"We'll need to get his statement today. Anyone up to track him down?" Usually you volunteer to go after someone like this, but something is telling you not to, and you listen to your instincts. Thankfully Morgan offers to track him down, and Prentiss joins him once more. You pick at a piece of paper on the table as your mind works, mulling over what you know about the case and the overly-friendly landscaper.

Before Morgan and Prentiss leave, Spencer informs the team about the conversations that James has dragged you into. You tell them exactly what happened, and they all agree that it seems suspicious. Hotch goes off to make some calls to JJ and Garcia, leaving you and Spencer at the table.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asks, leaning forward on the table. His voice snaps you out of your trance and you cease to fiddle with the paper.

"Me? Yeah I'm fine, why?" You ask, not sure why he's concerned. He looks conflicted, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he answers.

"Well, it's just that you fit the victim profile and the conversations with the landscaper seem to be suspicious. And you keep playing with the paper which is an indication of anxiety." He says, trying his best to not profile you in front of your face.

"Spencer, I'm okay, promise. I was just thinking." You tell him, and it's the truth. While James makes you feel uneasy, you're confident that nothing will happen to you. Spencer nods and you stand from the table, wanting to inspect the cabin with finer detail and stretch your legs.

After going from room to room looking for the tiniest thing that might be relevant to the case, you find yourself staring at the same photo that caught Spencer's eye when you all first arrived. There's something about it, something about the discolored spot, that you just can't let go of. It's bothering you for some reason. Frustrated, you take it off the wall and bring it to where Spencer is in the main living area, nose in a book. He looks up from the page when he hears you coming, his eyebrows scrunching closely together.

"What are you doing?" He asks, putting the book on a side table. You place the painting on the large coffee table and put your hands on your hips.

"There's something about this that's driving me insane." You say, eyes drifting from Spencer's face to the painting. It takes Spencer all of ten seconds to analyze the painting again.

"It's the same place the bodies were found." He says and your eyes widen, taking in the scene again and realizing he's right.

"Wait. If this is the same place the bodies were found, then that, is the exact spot they were in." You say, pointing to the discolored spot. The discoloration is where the grass meets the water, the mountain in the background. Your eyes drift to the bottom corner of the painting where you see a cursive 'J' painted in white.

"Do you think the killer is the one who painted this?" Spencer asks you, and you nod.

"I'm sure of it. There's a J painted in the corner. It has to be Hilton. Can you call Garcia?" You ask, mind feeling like it's running a marathon. Spencer doesn't hesitate to get Garcia on the phone.

"Hello my beautiful boy genius, what can I do for you today?" Penelope's voice sounds throughout the room and you smirk at her entertaining phone greeting.

"Hello my beautiful computer genius, can you do me a favor?" You speak first and you can hear her laugh through the phone.

"Oh my darling anything for you." Her voice is melodic and you shake your head at her antics. You love Garcia, she's one of your closest friends inside and outside of work.

"Can you find anything on a James Hilton from the Boulder, Colorado area?" You ask her, knowing your answer is about to be served on a silver platter in just a few moments. Garcia's quick typing echoes through the phone.

"James Hilton, born and raised in Boulder. Has been working as a property manager for the last ten years at the property you all are staying at. Has one traffic record from the nineties, but other than that he's clean." She says, but you were hoping for something more incriminating.

"Anything about a wife, or a girlfriend? Maybe even a sister or mother?" You ask her, staring down a the painting.

"It looks like he was in a long term relationship with Valerie Wilson, also of Boulder. But according to her Facebook page, they are over with." She says, Spencer and you looking at each other, knowing you may have just found a potential piece of the puzzle.

"Perfect. Can you tell me what she looks like and how to contact her?" You ask and write down the details Garcia recites. After you get the needed information, Spencer hangs up and calls Hotch to inform him of what the two of you just found out. Hotch tells us that he's on his way back to the cabin after he's done with the last interview.

The painting lays in front of you two, and you take a seat on the arm of the chair Spencer is sitting in, your leg brushing up against his and your arm resting behind his head to keep yourself stable. Your eyes are glued to the discoloration, and you know there's just something about it that's more than just not being able to find the right shade.

"Is there a way to see if something has been painted over?" You ask Spencer rather than Googling it, knowing he can probably get you an answer faster. He clears his throat and nods his head.

"A few years ago it was found that Vincent Van Gogh painted over several of his works due to the cost of canvas. Experts used x-ray to see through the layers, revealing the original painting." His answer is exactly what you were looking for.

"We have to get this thing x-rayed. And someone needs to contact Valerie and ask her about her relationship with James. His tool shed should be examined as well" You jump off the chair's arm, ready to leave immediately, but having to wait for Hotch before you can proceed with anything else.

-----

Hours later, your leg is bouncing up and down, eagerly awaiting the results of the x-ray. The hospital staff had never encountered something quite like this, but you were thankful that they were cooperative. Spencer had come along with you while Hotch stayed back to get in contact with Valerie. You check your phone every ten seconds to see if you have a new message for him, but your screen is blank.

Thankfully, a few minutes later an x-ray technician comes out and beckons you to a dark room where she clips the x-ray images onto a lightboard. While the images aren't in color, you can still see exactly what you need to. The images show that where the discoloration is, there used to be a woman standing and a man on one knee. A gasp leaves your mouth, the pieces finally fitting together in your mind. Without a doubt, James is the unsub.

Spencer and you race back to the cabin and spill the findings to the rest of the team. Hotch informs you that Valerie had confirmed that James recently proposed, but she turned him down. All of the victims match her appearance. He must have been killing to fulfill some sort of revenge he felt was necessary.

The team calls each of the resorts that James is employed at only to find that he's not at any of them. While the others scramble to try and find a way to find him, your eyes land on the guestbook.

"Guys. I can call him. He told me his number is in the guestbook and we know I fit the profile. He won't be able to help himself." You say, and the others don't have any good reason as to why you shouldn't do it. Your hands shake from the adrenaline as you dial the numbers and the phone rings, your heartbeat resounding in your ears. You're so close to catching this depraved man.

"Hello?" He answers finally. You let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding and speak up.

"Hi James, you told me to call you if I needed help with anything. And, um, I think I might have broken one of the outside lights." You quickly come up with a lie, hoping to lure him out here for the arrest. You hear him moving around on the other end and the start of an engine.

"Of course, I'll be there in just a moment, honey." He says and you hang up the phone, trying not to gag from his pet name.

It takes James all of fifteen minutes to reach the cabin. When he pulls up, the entire team is waiting for him, but you were the one with cuffs in your hands. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Hotch and Morgan were out the door ordering him to the ground. With smug satisfaction, you step over the man and secure his hands in cuffs behind his back.

As the local police show up to take him away, he's spitting every expletive in the book at you. Rage and hatred show themselves very clearly on his face, and you see who he really is. You smile sickly sweet at him as he's shoved into the back of the cop car. Another monster off the street, unable to do harm to another woman. It's like a weight gets lifted from your shoulders.

-----

After the excitement of the arrest, you come down off your adrenaline rush. The rest of the team are packing, getting ready to leave in the morning, but you can't find it within yourself to do it. You're too struck by the beauty in front of you to worry about going back home. You just don't want to part with this yet. So you find yourself out on the wraparound porch once more, the sun retreating far too quickly behind the horizon for your liking.

Despite the waning sun, the landscape looks brighter, more vibrant now that you know that the killer is in custody. Usually, the team gets only a few hours of celebration before you're saddled with paperwork and the next case. A bird flies past again, and you appreciate its freedom again. Its sweet melodies carry in the breeze and soothes your weary soul.

You love your job, you can't imagine doing anything else, but it does wear on you. Both physically and mentally. Before you had started working with the team, you never could have imagined the kind of evil lurking everywhere, even in a place as gorgeous as this. But now, it's like wherever you look, no matter how beautiful the surroundings, you can always spot something amiss. You feel weighted by the knowledge of what reality actually is.

The familiar sound of the sliding door catches your attention, and you see Spencer coming towards you, blanket in hand. A smile finds its way onto your face as he closes the distance between you, securing the blanket around your shoulders. Just like yesterday, he stands right beside you, admiring the view.

"The others are all leaving tonight, they said they want to get a headstart on the papers. But I told them we'd go back in the morning." His voice is raspy, yet soft.

"But what about the plane?" You ask, eyebrows knitting together. He shrugs his shoulders and looks down at you.

"I told them we'd fly back in the morning, already have the tickets arranged." He says, easing some of your anxiousness, but not satisfying your curiosity.

"Why?" You search for the answer on his face.

"Because I saw how much you like it here. You deserve one workless night." He says with sincerity and your heart swells at the sentiment. You fully turn towards him, soft blanket draped lightly across your shoulders. You notice that Spencer has traded his button up for a simple pullover. Something so simple has never looked so good before.

"Thank you, you really didn't have to-" He cuts you off with a smile,

"I know, but I wanted to." He admits, pink coloring his cheeks. You stare up at him in awe, not quite sure what you did to deserve his thoughtfulness. Not being able to hold back your affections, you reach out and engulf him in a hug.

"Thank you, Spencer." You reiterate into his chest, feeling his arms wrap around you. After a few fleeting, precious moments, you let go of him. Staring up into his eyes, you reach a hand up and stroke the soft skin of his cheekbone with your thumb. He doesn't flinch from your touch like he does with others, no, he leans into it as if he's savoring the feeling.

His arm that was around your waist come up to cup your cheek, and he gently brings your face towards his, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You hold him close, a flurry of warmth spreading from your face down to your body. His other hand finds its way around your waist, securing you to his body.

You break the kiss as your chest begins burning with the need of oxygen, and he rests his forehead against yours. Your hands come up to gently grasp the sides of his face, keeping him in place so that you can admire his beauty. After minutes pass by in silence as you two appreciate each other, Spencer tilts his head up and kisses your forehead.

He turns you around so that you're facing away from him, and he grabs the blanket from around your shoulders. Seconds later, you feel him standing behind you, wrapping the soft blanket around the both of you. His chest is behind you, and he hands you the edges of the blanket so that his hands might find the soft curve of your waist. Spencer pulls you in to him so that you're leaning back on his chest.

Spencer rests his head atop of yours as the two of you relax your minds and bodies, focusing solely on each other and the scene in front of you. Your hands come down to entwine themselves with his with a soft smile on your face.

A lone tear falls from the corner of your eye as you're overcome with emotion. You cannot recall a single time in your life that you've felt this serene, where everything just feels perfect. Your soul is well nourished and full from Spencer alone. All of those cases you worked together, the stolen glances across the office, the simple acts of kindness and thoughtfulness for each other has culminated to this one precious moment in time; and you've never felt more content.

The sun eventually sets behind the horizon, the chilly breeze billowing the blanket around you both. Above you in the sky, the stars shine brightly, and you tip your head back to admire them. You can never admire their true beauty in Quantico, their shine is dulled by light pollution, but you can see them clearly here. You can see everything clearly here.

"You know, scientists estimate that there are about two hundred sextillion stars in the sky within the Milky Way." Spencer whispers in your ear as you two bask in their soft white light. You turn around in his hold and smile up at him,

"And yet none shine as brilliantly or as beautifully as you." You say, and pull him in for another soft, heartfelt kiss. As you pull away, you watch as his eyes flutter open and he smiles endearingly. You've never seen such a beautiful sight, never felt comfort as warm as him, and you know as you lean into his embrace, that you will not bear the weight of this world or this life alone.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #hozier #spencer reid x you #Spotify #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid comfort

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ell-arts · 2 months

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hey Ella if Pac man and Cylindria had kids what will their design be and their names?

just curious and I am also a Pac man x cylindria shipper as well and has been my favorite otp since I watched the show

Oooooo I love this question 👀

Dang, if only I had some designs drawn out to show... one day I will!

So, some context first; I've actually already envisioned their kids a long time ago and already had oc's for them. Three, to be exact. They were made several years ago and were only shared in some old friend groups. But since their designs are quite old, I'd like to give them a redesign before I reveal them publically.

So no art to show yet, sadly. But I can share a bit about their names and personalities 👀 They each have nicknames!

Zachary - Named after his grandfather, Zaccy is the firstborn and only son of Pac and Cyli. He is a Yellow One like his dad, but takes after his mom in being smart and witty - definitely to the point of being a smartass, as his sister would tell you. His main hobby is reading books and annoying his sisters, but he also enjoys playing a few rounds of pac-pong with his family. While he does enjoy poking fun at his sisters, he actually sees them as his best friends and would give his life to protect them. He goes by Zac most of the time, but sometimes he is also called Zaccy as a fond nickname - paying homage to when Pac was called Paccy as a child. Appearance: Yellow skin, black hair, pinkish purple eyes. Personality: A goofball and a walking encyclopedia in one package. Witty and sociable, with a bit of a competitive streak.

Ovaline - Pac and Cyli's eldest daughter, who mostly goes by Ova. Unlike her father and brother, and very atypical of Yellow Ones in general, Ova has never really had a big appetite. She loves animals and dreams of becoming a vet one day. She often buds heads with Zac and gets into fights with him, but they always have each other's backs. Ova inherited her grandmother's red hair, and has a tomboyish flare like her mother. Despite this, she is a total daddy's girl. Appearance: Yellow skin, red hair, pink eyes Personality: A bit stubborn and ambitious, but fiercely loyal and valiant. She is a team player through and through.

Sylvaniel - Nicknamed Sylvi, she is the youngest sister and the only one out of her siblings who is pink - in fact, she is the spitting image of her mother. Soft-spoken and introverted, Sylvi is often shy around new people, but turns into a warm and optimistic force once you spend time with her. She often takes the role of peacekeeper between her brother and sister's fighting (but don't be fooled; she's been pulled into their shenanigans on more than one occasion). She was named after a princess from Cyli's favourite book. Appearance: Pink skin, black hair, blue eyes Personality: Though she may be shy and quiet, she is incredibly humble and has an aptitude for cooking. A cinnamon roll with a big heart and a gentle spirit.

#ask #pmatga #pacman and the ghostly adventures #pacster #cylindria #pmatga next gen #zachary #ovaline #sylvaniel #zac & ova & sylvi #pacxcyli

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dogtoling · 8 months

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It occurred to me that I never (actually never???) drew all the Sweet Beak Bakery people together so bam fixed. (Yes, Flint makes everyone look small. No, he's just 2,3 meters tall)

(Refs under cut which I did not post before because I wanted to do all of these at once!)

Amber got a new tenta-cut which everyone already knows about because I've drawn it like a billion times since. But did you know she's got a super cute shirt with human bones on it?

It took me one billion years to get to Kombu's ref because I think I took late December off from doing refs, and I wanted to design him a mobility device to put IN the ref, but just ended up doing it without that because I had zero brain juices going on and it was just going to not happen ever basically. But good news, I DID finally design one yesterday:

It floats, Obviously. (I still need to name it, because he would 100% have a random pet name for it as he does for like every vehicle and his imagination is better than mine, which is an issue)

Flint's main color is dark purple so that's what his ref is primarily but turns out he's (surprisingly) like the most colorful guy I have to the point that I needed to include three colors because he switches consistently several times a day.

#man that took all day but thats great.#dodo art #dodo ocs #sweet beak bakery #sorry dell and larry get no full ref because they are side characters #and i am not posting engel for like the third time

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wordy-little-witch · 3 months

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The Ghost!Roger AU is honestly the best thing I ever read on this site ! It's absolutely perfect 😭

Give me more if it pleeeeease 🥺

I'm really glad people enjoy it!!!!!

I already have a HELLA fixation on the paranormal, and so when I can apply it self indulgently to OTHER fixations, I Am Thriving.

Truly this is my magnus opus.

On that note however, I'm gonna drop some Lore Ideas.

I've said before that Buggy's already aware that Roger is still hanging around. He's not there 24/7, but he does hang out pretty often. Ghosts are Drawn to the things they left Unfinished in this aspect, either by choice or necessity - they hang around on this plane instead of crossing over. Roger made his choices and hated it. He chose the lesser evil, in his mind, because NONE of the options were good.

Then, on that scaffold, about to die, he feels and sees his oldest kids and is frankly more than a little livid.

For one, they're unaccompanied. This is an execution, Loguetown is crawling with Marines - high ranking ones at that - and here stand two barely-teens.

Speaking of them, though, the second thing is how his boys' energies and haki feel. Now Roger has been in a cell for a hot minute - not horribly long, and it's been two agonizing years since he saw his boys, but he knows damn well one should not feel like a ship splintering against the waves while the other has the same warning flags as a landmine in some underbrush. It could be stress, and Roger hates himself for knowing he is a primary contributor to a situation which makes his kids hurt, but there's more to it.

Especially given lucky number three - they're thin. Like. Painfully thin. Buggy had always been rather scrawny, and Shanks had only just begun filling out before Roger disbanded the crew. Right now, his boys looked partially starved, and he was almost certain that if he could get to them, he'd be able to close his fingers around their wrists or ankles with far too much overlap.

Where the fuck was his crew and why the fuck were his sons alone???

The stage was set, though, and he had his role to play. So he just winds his haki tighter, presses as much love-care-guiot-pride-love-love-love into his energy as he can before wrapping it around his kids as subtly as he can.

Then he's spoken, there's cheering, there's movement and pain and-

Nothing.

Roger comes to a few months later.

It takes time to collect himself and his pieces enough to be aware.

Step one - find his kids!!

Shanks and Buggy are not little twin-flame-beacons - Roger assumes they must be back with the crew. He'll have words for them later. For now, Rouge should be due any day! Off to her he goes~

And to carnage he arrives.

It's all he can do to help cause a ruckus where he can when prying eyes get so close to his wife. She is pushing hard with her Haki and he's raging and crying and grieving all at once. Every day that the crusade continues is the day he hopes Garp arrives, that he does something, that he can do anything, that he won't lose her.

He stays longer than expected. A year and a half, and Baterilla is a ghost town. Rouge is barely alive, but their child's energy is bright and bold and u apologetic. Some nights, while she sleeps, he lays his head against her tummy and whispers to Ace or Anne about the world - about the good things, because those are the things the baby should know, those are the things this baby deserves.

Ace is born just as Garp arrives. Rouge dies and Roger grieves.

She comes back far quicker than he did and proceeds to smack him with her shoe, curse him up one side and down another, then wrap him into her arms and cry.

They follow Garp, follow Ace, and they watch over their baby. Dadan is not one who they would choose as a foster mother at a glance, but they warm up to get quickly. Rouge spends her time with Roger watching over their baby boy before she shoos her husband off to check on their other kids. She's never had the chance to meet her stepsons but she loves them all the same.

It takes him longer than expected to find them.

For one, they separated - and how in all the Seas did that happen- and for another, they're making crews. Mostly. Shanks has a crew budding, and Buggy now has a new look in his eyes and a fixation on wearing gloves, but whatever.

So he just. Bounces between the three, occasionally hunting down former crew members to make his displeasure Very Clear.

Only Buggy has ever seen him.

Sometimes Shanks will respond, will seem to Feel something off, but Buggy has always been the one to see the things nobody else could.

So Roger pokes at his littlest apprentice as much as he feasibly can.

It's only by pure happenstance that his kid grows up - and puts on weight, Roger and Rouge both are so proud - and manages to bag a goth Real Housewife Of The Grandline Drama Addict who accidentally-on-purpose adopted a girl with a penchant for divination and spirit boards.

Buggy isn't in the habit of mentioning the things all around people after the first few times landed with broken bones and bogo free trauma.

Now that Roger has ATTENTION however, and a way of talking to more people, AND a chance to gush about his kids to a listening party, well-

He is thriving. Rouge is giggling at him. Buggy is trying desperately to ignore his dead dad and equally dead step mother debating which embarrassing story to tell Pero-chan next.

He's just hoping and praying that they don't tell her about the Secret Spy Incident. He's not sure his blood pressure could take it.

#ghost roger ayyyy #witchy answers!!#thank you for the ask ilysm #any excuse to talk about my ghost roger au is welcome #implied cross guild poly

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undermine-the-instinct · 1 year

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Crush or Chance?

● Bard!reader masterlist ● Next part.... ●Warnings: None ● Wc: 5.9K

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times and shame on the both of us. So what be said for a fourth time?

(Or in other words, Kaveh met you long before you knew him.)

If he's being a little honest, Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you.

Or maybe it's something more like a bittersweet admiration, the same way you'd look at phoenix and think, this will end in flames.

The more he worked, the more clients he contracted the more dissatisfied he became. Functionality over art, structure over beauty, efficiency over soul. He felt like life was being drained out of him. And after a while, he started thinking; Why should I? What was the point? However great he was in the eyes of others, no matter what praises they heap onto him, he is but one person. What could he do on his own?

And how arrogant of him to hope to even try! What has he ever truly done? Even his Magnum opus; A palace that doesn't even belong to him and has buried him in a lifelong debt. He was never really ever going to amount to much.

It was during one of these depressing bouts of his that he met you.

Bars are cesspools, collecting tears and drunken spurs, but also joy. Like his polar opposite you lit up the room, and he couldn't help but feel drawn. Your voice resounded throughout the space, and it stirred something deep in his heart. He felt like he had just found the answer to a puzzle he was grilling over for so long, and seemingly, for no reason at all. He was alive! He was in a bar! Shouldn't he be joining in on the merry?

And so he danced the night away. He sang and greeted old friends and he paid for all his drinks that night. It wasn't until the place was closing that he thought about the bard that stirred his heart and feet into action. But by then you were long gone. If it's meant to be I'll find them again, he thought, and began the trek home.

He didn’t get to meet you that night. He found you again though another day, dancing in the center of a crowd that had surrounded you. There was a man playing a fiddle, while another played on a flute. You were barefoot, a scarf around your waist trailing behind you in a ribbon of silk, a smile on your face. You weren't afraid to get too close to the crowd, you snapped fingers and captured a delighted stranger in your scarf, taking a child by the hand and twirling them around and around.

Mentioning art is the quickest way to end a conversation, is something that is generally known in Sumeru. But there was no conversation to be had here, there was only music and laughter, for the simple joy of being able to move. He felt like a bystander watching a moving painting.

Shouts sounded behind him, and as one the crowd turned back to see. Matra were approaching with scowls, a collective thunderstorm to usher the people on and disperse the crowd.

“Hey! You folks! You're under arrest for public misconduct and unsanctioned musical performance!”

“Uh, no we’re not!” with a last bow to the crowd, and a trilling sound from the flutist, you and your companions ran in opposite directions, gone like magpies in the wind. One second you're there and then you're gone.

Kaveh wants to know what your name is. Who are you?

“Oh, that pest? Just some runt from all the way in Monstadt,” a client frowns, deep and fissured.

“One of those traveling sorts, so let's hope that they pack up and get moving soon.”

“Have they been especially troublesome?” He scoffs at this and looks at Kaveh with wide disbelieving eyes.

“‘Especially trouble?’ Like you wouldn’t believe! You and I both know how the Akademiya hates those artsy types, and then this person shows up and decides to make a whole mockery of that. And for what? Out of spite? How childish.”

“I might have seen them around actually, at a few bars I've visited with some colleagues,” Kaveh supplies, refilling the man’s drink.

“They didn’t look like the sort to cause much trouble.” He’s a liar. As a matter of fact, that smile you wore back then spoke nothing but mystique and mischief.

“Those Monstadt types always like to cause trouble. They had one revolution and think themselves all martyrs and rebels. Trust me, I’m older than you and I know. Remember that one girl who graduated from the Akademiya in two years? I even offered to sponsor that girl and look where she is now; working as a librarian in that grass field of all places,” he scowled.

“What a waste of talent. I’ve had enough of them, so let's hope this one hops over to Fontaine or something, they'd be welcomed over there I bet. Now, didn't we come here for something? The plans for my building, you got them?”

“Of course sir, right here…” This isn't the first time he's heard something like this, especially amongst his oldest clients. It's a shared sentiment, and it feels like something bitter and vindictive. He knocks back his own glass.

Kaveh doesn't know who you are, but he wonders; if you ever went to Fontaine, would his mother like you?

The next time he sees you is in a public garden. And he's late, he was supposed to be at a meeting with another client at least forty five minutes ago, but rushing along, the way you were just standing there caught his eye.

He can hardly see you above all the rolled blueprints and stuffed folders he's carrying, he forgot his bag and it was too late to go back and get it, but he could tilt his head back and get a clearer look at your form in the grass.

Standing in the shade and dappled sunlight of a great tree, barefoot and…posing. He followed your gaze to a book you had lying open in the grass, and saw a few poses and stands he half recognized, all hand drawn with notes in the margins.

You paid no mind to the odd looks or stares you were getting, the way that people gave you a wide berth of space, how some shook their heads and scurried their children on, the way that others would stop and stare before shaking themselves out of their reverie. Kaveh wasn’t part of either group, but he was still…watching you.

He must have been more obvious than most because you lifted your head just as you were stretching, tilting your head in question like a bird, an automatic smile on your face. Quizzical but warm. He tilted his head back at you, like the idiot he was, and your smile broke out wider.

“Good morning to you too, stranger! What are you up to this fine morning?”

Him? You were speaking with him? He lifted up the filled blueprints he had in his arms, obscuring his face more. “Off to work. And, um, how about you?”

“Stretching! Or at least, pretending to.” You twirled a bit into your next position, so that you had your back to him now.

“You're not doing a very good job pretending.”

“Oh? Am I being too obvious?” There was mirth in your voice, amusement.

“You're doing an arabesque in a demi-plie, I think it's obvious.” You stumbled a little and whirled so fast to look at him that he wondered for a second if you could get whiplash. He was holding too many blueprints he could imagine it was hard to see anything other than his bob of his hair and his brows.

“...You know what an Arabesque is?” He shrugged carefully.

”My mother lives in Fontaine, and they are fond of performances there. I know a few terms.” He saw your expression fall a bit through the peeps of his papers, but you brightened up before he could say anything more.

“That's still more than most people I've talked to. What else do you know?”

Kaveh could see you, eager and open to a stranger like himself. He recalled the way the crowd clapped along with you when you were dancing in the street. The way you sang, loud and unabashed, like a thunderbird whose only job it was was to wake the world, to a prophecy now foretold. But he couldn’t tell the future, and he thought neither could you.

How naively brazen you are. How unapologetically bold. How lovely.

“...Aren't you afraid?”

“What?” Your face shuttered off into confusion but he went on.

“Sumeru isn't the most ideal place for musicians and artists. I’m sure you've felt the general attitude and atmosphere, so, what are you doing? Aren't you scared of the repercussions?”

“Repercussions?”

“The sages have the matra set on you. That's not a rumor-it's fact. Aren't you scared of what else they could do to you?’’

“Well yeah, of course I am? But what else am I supposed to do, change the way I live?” His eyes widen, while you scoff, kicking up your feet.

“I’ve said it before and I'll say it again, they’re frightened of us.”

“Frightened? Frightened of what?” What could the sages, the governing force and face of Sumeru, have to fear from the populace?

“Frightened of what we can do? What has humanity done when pushed against the corner, or forced inside the cave? What have we done when the night falls and the rain pours?” You spread out your arms and tilt your head towards the sky.

“We sing! We gather together to tell stories over our work, we dance around the fire, we paint the tales of our passages onto the cavern walls, all things we have done before the written word. Even then, when we learned to write and record our stories, we created fables and tall tales to tell one another.”

“After humans discovered how to read and write, civilization did start to advance, at a before unprecedented rate.,” He admits.

“Art is what pushed civilizations to prosperity. It continues to. The only reason The Akademiya doesn't acknowledge this is because they don't see nor recognize everything as a form of art.”

“Isn’t that a bit naive though?” He shuffles the load in his arms.

“That sounds like romanticism to me.”

“It is. And what's wrong with that?” You shrug.

"Tell me, who embroiders those elegant robes they all wear? Who tills and plants their outdoor gardens? Who builds their offices and homes and buildings? Who cooks their food or carves their furniture? Art is intrinsic to humanity. It is inevitable, irrefutable. Are they trying to deny that?" You scowled.

"Do they not find these things lovely, and necessary? Do they think themselves above the divine craft of creation? Do theyhink themselves as Gods?" You scowled harder, but then sighed, letting your breath out in a single push.

"Hm. But, that's not the question you asked me, right?"

“....No.” Then you thought, tilted your head up to the sky and huffed out a laugh.

“Well, actually, yes I am. But what else can I do, change the way I live?...No. I’m going to continue as I've always have, and if that’s something that makes me a target, then that’s just what comes with the territory of being a star.” You grinned, bright.

“....There are rumors that the Akademyia will deploy the General Mahamatra to subdue you if you make any sort of big fuss.”

“Well, what kind of star doesn't have a scandal or two under their belt?” You grinned again, but wobbly at the corners, and take a good look at all the papers he's carrying.

‘I…hope I'm not keeping you up? You seemed to be in a bit of a hurry before–” He gasped, cutting you off.

"Oh Archons, yes! Damn it, I'm going to be so late!!” He got completely sidetracked!! He gave you a nod that he hoped you saw and ran off to his appointment. Hopefully the client was still there.

Life is art, and art is intrinsic to life, basically, right? If that's the way someone like you sees the world, maybe he can adopt that mindset.

And hopefully he'd find you again, and greet you properly this time, no matter what rumors you were embroiled in. He’ll leave it up to fate this time as well. it's already led him to you twice before.

You're so pretty. Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you already.

He woke up to a dark familiar room, and a dull throbbing in his head.

This was familiar, and normal. He wasn't kidnapped, or anything. He must have gone drinking again, and stumbled his way back home. The question was how he got inside. He’s pretty sure that he lost his keys several days ago and hasn't yet found the time to go get a new pair made. So the question stands…

Actually, the question can wait. His mouth feels like it's full of dust and cotton, and he needs water. That's his first priority.

His feet are bare and the floor cool as he pads his way over to the kitchen, trying to rub the heaviness out of his eyes.

When he reaches the kitchen he stops, and rubs at them again because what are you doing sitting at the kitchen island talking to his jerk of a roommate?

“Oh, you're up.” You stand and walk over to him, reaching out like he needs steadying.

“What are you doing here?”

“We went out drinking and I carried you home, remember?”

“Oh, I remember of course, I wasn't talking to you though dear, I was talking to the man standing there like a mother ready to catch her kid sneaking back inside.”

“Because that's exactly what you did.” The bastard had a steaming cup up to his face, not even bothering to look at him. “How did you get in without your keys?”

“We used the key under the mat. I lost my keys, so how else?”

“I had taken the key and hidden it somewhere else.”

“What? Why would you hide the key?!”

“Because then you'd lose that one too, obviously.”

“Tch. Wait, then how did…” You laugh and shuffle a little, culprit.

“Yeah, sorry, this is my fault. I really wanted to get Kaveh into his bed so I kinda…picked the lock? It’s not broken or anything but still…” You lower your head in apology.

“I wasn’t willing to be patient, I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I'm sure you were in a hurry.” Al haitham sighs in reply and Kaveh bristles.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. What do you think I meant?”

“I think you know exactly what you were insinuating.”

“Then why don't you spell it out for me?” He finally looked at him, tri-colored eyes gleaming oddly in the light. He looked…Apprehensive? No, that was just irritation, as usual.

Kaveh clicks his tongue in annoyance and turns back to you.

“See? What did I tell you about this guy? You don't need to apologize to this jerk, alright? You’re perfectly fine.”

“Oh? Talking behind my back now are you.”

Kaveh scoffs, heat curling in his chest. Or maybe just the leftover alcohol. “It's nothing you wouldn't outright say yourself, so no need to ponder what I’ve said directly. I only spoke the truth, which is even sadder if you ask me.”

“Okay, stop it, that's enough,” You step between the two of them, frowning.

“There is no need for this petty back and forth. It’s late and we should all be in bed already. In fact,” You turn to him, “You were sleeping when I left you, do you need something?”

“...Were you two talking?”

“Just…greeting each other. He came in not too long after we did.”

Another cup sits on the table, softly steaming and obviously yours. It hasn't been long, but you’ve been here for more than a few minutes at least.

You scratch the back of your head with a sheepish grin. “Maybe I should have waited, then I wouldn’t have needed to break in.”

“No harm no foul.” Kaveh’s mouth gapes open when Alhaitham waves you off.

“‘No harm no foul?’ Have you lost your mind?! Are you sick?!”

“I'm perfectly fine you fool,” He sighs through his nose.

“I just expect as much behavior from any of your companions. Nothing was harmed in the end so its fine, I’ll just have the locks changed tomorrow.” He drinks from the cup, and looks up at him.

“I hope you know I’m not paying for your own set of keys.”

“What?! Why not–”

“Kaveh,” You interject. “Are you alright? You were dead asleep when I set you down.”

He groans, rubbing his forehead.

“About that, Thanks for carrying me all the way back here. I was the one who invited you out but you ended up taking care of me.”

“Well, you let me pick the place so I guess it's even between us. Did you get thirsty or something?”

He nods. “Then go lay back down, I'll bring it to you.”

“What? I can't have you serve me under my roof.”

Alhaitham snorts. “‘Your roof?’ Technically its–”

“Ah ah ah!” You cut him off with a raise of your voice and a sharp look, Kaveh grins from behind your shoulder. Alhaitham’s eyes widen by your audacity, and by the archons are you lovely. You turn back to him.

“It's fine. You're the one who needs to rest so let me help you out. Go lay down.”

“Well. if you insist.” He turns and starts the trek back to the room, and the house is quiet enough that he can hear your lowered voices as he walks off. He can't help but feel that you sent him away so that you could say something, or finish talking with Alhaitham. But why would you?

He has a hand on the knob, shutting his door when the thought strikes him, Why is Alhaitham even up at this hour? Sure, sometimes he'd get back late from his scribe duties or whatever, but that was rare. And it's not like he went drinking out late that often (as if he had people to go with him).

And beyond that, why was he talking with you? Of course you were amazing and charming in your own right but people like the both of you don't mesh very well, and with your reputation, it was best to avoid him. As The Scribe, he was technically a Matra, after all.

Oh fuck he’s a matra.

He's just about to go swing the door open to dash to your rescue when it swings open of its own accord, and there you were with a glass of water, wide eyed to see him there.

He grabs your shoulders and tries to turn you to steer you back, but damn it you’re strong. You don’t budge.

“Uh, buddy? Are you alright? What's going on?”

“You have to get out of here, like right now.”

“What, why? Can we calm down for a second?”

“Nonono, you can’t, you have to go now–” He tries to grab you and pick you up around the waist, but you spin around behind him, grab him by his collar and drag him inside the room.

“I’m being serious!” You shut the door, a laugh under your breath.

“I’m sure you are, so explain yourself first.”

“My roommate, he’s the Grand Scribe.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So he’s technically a Matra. And I wouldn’t put it behind him to do something so you need to… like, go, before he reports you or something! One word and the matra would come swarming in here like flies to honey.”

“But he won’t.”

“Darling listen–”

“But he won’t. Not only have I already done my community service, paid my fines, did my time and stayed out of trouble, he actually wanted to thank me.”

What? “Thank you for what?”

“For getting you inside quietly. He just came back from work he said, and didn’t want to deal with any of your drunken shenanigans. So he said it's alright that I picked the lock.”

“He told you it's alright?”

“Yeah, as long as I use the extra key next time.”

“What?!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“He told you where the secret key is?”

“Yep. And he said that he's gonna give me a copy of the new one.” You pop the ‘p’.

“And sorry, the stipulation that I can use it is that I’m not allowed to let you know where it is.” He sucks his teeth and they laugh, reaching out to tug the sleeve of his shirt.

“Sorry love. But come now, take off those scarves so you can lay down, alright? It's late.” And something goes warm and gooey when you use that soft tone of voice, so Kaveh does exactly that, and takes the glass from you with a grateful look when you hand it to him.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Just a little. Not as bad as it usually does.”

“See? That's why you drink water before you pregame.”

“Well now I know for the next time.” He takes a big gulp and hands the rest of the glass to you, waving it away when you try to put it back in his hands.

“Oh, fine.” You finish it yourself then, and Kaveh falls back into the sheets, heavy lidded once more.

“How come you’re not drunk or stumbling, hm? It’s not fair.”

“Oh, I am drunk,” you giggle, “I just know how to hide it really well.”

“It's not fair.”

“That’s because I'm from Monstadt dear, my blood has at least a 10% alcohol content.” Kaveh sighs and covers his eyes, drinking in the quiet. You’re sitting next to him, humming softly under your breath, a brush away from fully singing.

“Hey, why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me those pet names. Like honey or dear or love. Why do you do that?” He looks and catches the tail end of your shrug.

“Because you're my friend. You’re like, the only real friend I've made in this entire damn nation, so I gotta be a little sweet with you, yeah?"

“Sweet with me?” He turns so he's facing you.

“Yeah! You make syrup with honey and not salt, right?” You smile, gold flashing at your throat in the low lamp light.

This close he can see the warm flush that the alcohol has given you, the way you give your smiles even more easily than you normally do, eyes soft and direct.

If he’s being a little honest, Kaveh has a bit of a crush on you. There's no other way to put it. He's so excited to see you, whenever he can, whenever you can, and he wants to see you now more than ever. He wishes you didn’t have to hide so often because he wants to be seen out in public with you, not sneaking like teenagers to some seedy bar, where people are too drunk or too downtrodden to care who comes in.

You…like those kinds of places though, odd as you are. You order a drink, and as soon as you down it you're tuning up an instrument and springing into song. By the third song the whole bar or tavern is joining in, and tears are replaced with smiles, at least for that night.

“Will you stay the night?”

You laugh, again. “And where would I sleep, silly?”

“Right here. Right next to me.”

“Oh, I could never.”

“But you could.”

“I could. But I won't.” You move to get off the bed and Kaveh shoots up, grabbing onto your sleeve.

“Then you can have the bed. Just, stay here. For now. Until morning.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, and his heart while you're at it, while he waits for your answer. Maybe it's because of the way he implores you, or this quiet moment of the night, but you sigh and he knows you’ve given in.

“The bed is big enough for the both of us. Scoot over.” He does as he's told and hopes his face isn't giving his excitement away. He slides under the covers while you slip off your outer layers, and soon enough he can feel you slither beneath the sheets next to him.

“You want to keep the lamp on?”

“No, turn it off.”

“Alright.” The room floods in darkness, and you settle back down.

He’s had a couple sleepovers before. Although, the majority of these were before his father’s…incident, while he was still a very young boy. The others were during his Akademiya days, and were most often just him and his colleagues passing out after days of working on a project non-stop.

So this was new. He’s perfectly aware of his and your bodies; every shift, every position, the way your breathing sounds. He wonders how he’s gonna fall asleep like this.

“Kaveh?”

“Yes?”

“Are you up?”

“Yeah. How else could I answer you?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” You giggle. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did love.”

“Another question, silly.”

“Of course.” You wriggle a bit till you're laying on your stomach, face towards him.

“Why didn't you come to the anniversary performance? The one with me and Miss Nilou?” He winces, and turns to face you too.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was work?” He sighs.

“Really. I had to meet some bigshot client and I tried but I couldn’t reschedule.

“I really wanted to go.”

“...Yeah, I wanted you to go too.” The guilt twists and churns inside him, and he sits up in bed.

“I'm sorry, truly. Tell me when the next one is and I'll be there, I promise. I’ll even miss an appointment if I have to.”

The silence reigns heavy, you don't speak. He's about to repeat his words, swear on them, when you answer him.

“Cyno came and interrogated Zubayr and his son. He then had the members takes a few days leave of absence so that he could interrogate us each. So, Zubayr decided that I shouldn't have any more performances, for the time being. The whole thing with Cyno put the theater on blast, so no more future performances.” Your voice is somber and dull, like a worn knife, disappointment sour.

“And no more public performances either, huh?”

“Not for a while. Cyno is keeping a closer eye out on me. The only reason I could go out with you today was because he had to go out on an excursion, and I know how to avoid the lower Matra.’ You sigh and roll over onto your back.

“So maybe its better if you didn’t come. You would have been targeted too if you were seen with me.”

“...Well, you might not be able to perform publicly, but The Akademiya has no say in what goes on in private property.”

“So?”

“If you…ever want to sing or dance or anything really, you can come find me. This place was given to Alhaitham and I to be refurbished as living quarters, or you can even find me at the Architects Guild, since that building isn’t government owned.”

“Kaveh,” and now it's your turn to sit up. “I can’t put you in danger like that.”

“I won't be in danger.”

“You know, better than I probably do, that the Akademiya don't like outliers. I’m an outlier. If they come to know that you’re friends with me, what do you think will happen to you?”

“It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong. Not really.”

“I’ve undermined them and they really don’t like that. It's hard enough for you, the light of the Kshahrewar, to get clients and make ends meet. I don't want to make things any harder.”

“Things are already hard and I'm doing fine enough, so you don't need to worry about me. The worst I’ll have to deal with is a couple of rumors, and those are everywhere in Sumeru.

"If my reputation is as good as people proclaim I can survive a few rumors.. Furthermore,” He cuts you off as you open your mouth to speak.

“I know how hard it is for you to be here. I know you feel like you have something to prove but that doesn't mean I don't want to make things easier for you, even at my own slight expense. You can't change my mind, love, so don’t try.” Silence returns to the room in a wave, while you two stay poised, tense. Kaveh doesn’t know if you can see him in the darkness; he stares into the room until the dark takes over his vision, blinding him until he blinks it back again.

“I used to be a knight you know,” You speak.” Back home in Monstadt, I was a part of the Knights of Favonius.”

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.”

“I quit,” You continue without fanfare.

“I started to hate my life, and hate myself. I was young too, and I was in a relationship that was falling apart and my whole life felt like it was ending.” You laugh.

“Goes to show how naive I was then. But I quit, and I left, and I just decided to do the things that made me happy, and went along with my morals. I never wanted to feel so miserable and hopeless ever again. Those feelings still sometimes come back, but what I do then is go to where the people were, and sing, make them smile and laugh.

“I don't have that option in Sumeru. I mean I do but, it's never been a choice I’ve ever been actively punished for, before. I'm going to keep doing it of course. I’ll be damned if I ever let a government silence me, but…

“But it still hurts a little, you know?” He reaches out and drags you closer till you're resting in his arms. You've hugged one another before, but this time he wraps his arms fully around you till your brow rests on his collarbone, his cheek against your hair.

“Well, my offer is open for you anytime, at least. I’m sorry my home hasn’t been exactly welcoming to you.”

“Mhm.”

“It must have been hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“You don't need to apologize,” You breathe, reaching to hold him back.

“You've been perfectly wonderful. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“Well, we are both fellow artists on the brink of homelessness, so we ought to stick together.”

“If your roommate ever kicks you out you can stay with me. And if I'm ever kicked out we can roam the streets together.” He chuckles, and he's sure you can feel it where you're pressed to him.

“Well, I can play an instrument, so maybe we can be traveling bards. We can go to Fontaine and meet my mother.”

“Oh, that would be a shock, I bet. I met a girl in Liyue once who plays that Fontaine rock music. I could send her back something. Is your mother a nice lady?”

His chest twinges, remembering tears, heavy silences and dull eyes, The memory of sunshine.

“She's a rather shy woman, and she’s just gotten over some adversary. She's perfectly lovely.”

“What does she look like?"

“Well, I suppose you can look at me and figure it out,” He shrugs. “I've been told I look remarkably like her.”

“Oh, so she's beautiful then.” He starts, and he feels a flush crawl over his face, warm and slow.

“Oh, you sweet talker, you.” You tilt your face up and he's sure you have that sweet smile on your face, that cat's curl.

“I speak only the truth, my dear, I swear it. Anywho, how else am I supposed to keep you by my side, if not with my wily words?”

“Perhaps your fiery temperament? Your musical skill? Your graceful figure? Your sweet kisses?” And you reach up and kiss him, taking the bait.

And yes, you’ve done this before as well, nothing further, but Kaveh’s heart never fails to race. Your mouth is skilled in more than just song, and your tongue is sinfully soft.

You definitely feel the heat of his face when you pull away and rub your cheek against his.

“You’re absolutely precious Kaveh.”

‘Oh, don't patronize me,” He grumbles, and pulls you in even tighter, shoulder to hip aligned, legs entangled. “We have to sleep now. It’s late enough.”

“Why should we?” You flirt. You brush your mouth against his once more and snuggle yourself closer.

“”I'm afraid your kiss has sent my blood racing. It will be hard enough to go to sleep now.”

“Hm. Well, why don’t you sing then? Maybe something calming, a lullaby your mother would sing to you before bed.”

“Hm…I spoil you too much already.”

“But you'll do it, right?” He chuckles when you bonk your head against his. But you settle down, and it's not long till your voice comes hither, soft and lilting. It's hardly more than a tune under your breath, a hum in your throat, but it is soothing, and soon enough he’s actually asleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, the dull throb lessened but persistent in his head, you are not in his bed, or his home. There's only a single note, a badly drawn winking rabbit, but he smiles and pockets it, getting ready for another day. He’ll run into you again soon enough. And if not, then he’ll simply find you.

There seems to be a commotion a few streets away, from what he could hear. Kaveh sighs, harsh and loud, and pushes himself off the wall that he's been leaning against. He came out for some fresh air, and the promise of some spectacle does not entice him. He starts making the trek back to the Architects guild.

Pounding footsteps slap the ground behind him, and he turns just in time for a figure to dash into him. He barely shakes off his shock before he reaches out to half catch the person, but the weight drags him down and he falls too.

“What the hell…? Archons, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for being in the way.” And its the way you turn your head to check behind you that gives him a clear look at your face, familIar and shocking. He barely has the sense of mind to reply back, struck like hammer against a molten steel.

He…hadn’t been looking for you, to be honest. It’s been three times already, that you’ve met but never properly seen nor greeted each other, and he had hoped another opportunity would just…come. Fall into his lap, luck be damned.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times and shame on the both of us.

So what could be said for a fourth time?

“....the General Mahamatra.”

“The what now?” the General Mahamatra? He heard the rumors, but he never thought that you would prove yourself trouble enough for the sages to deploy him. Against you?

You must have done something reckless, like dancing in the streets again. Or singing in the taverns or just being too you. You were lovely, but sumeru likes its lovely things in glass cases, not prancing in bars or dashing down alleyways.

You speak quickly, and the words just register in his brain before he hears the commotion in the plaza, nearer now, the wince on your face and the way you jolt, ready to flee. He makes a decision.

He grabs at the hand fate and has dealt him, and pulls you further inside the commercial alleyways, knowing exactly where he wants to take you and nothing of what he wants to say to you.

But he can start with this. “ I have heard of you! I’ve been wanting to meet you!” He grins, bright like a star.

“I’m Kaveh. You are?

Taglist

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