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brummiereader · 2 years ago

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Hi everyone, this is my first time posting and my first time writing a fanfic. But here I am, inspired to write something after reading so many amazing Peaky Blinders fics on here. This is a bit of an out there story, think Peaky Blinders meets time travel, supernatural themes, the modern world, gypsy magic and very unusual circumstances to the start of a relationship. A quick thank you again to @cillmequick for proof reading my story and giving me the courage to post it.

A Ghost Of A Man (PART ONE)

Summary: Reader discovers a curious looking folder full of information on a Small Heath gang from the 1900's. After digging for more information she encounters someone or something in an abandoned building.

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes

Growing up close to Birmingham you had always felt drawn to the famous west midlands city. So drawn to it that you decided to enrol in the history course Birmingham University had to offer. You had a passion in particular for local history and books, you knew so much about the city, and one day you hoped to work in its biggest library. But it was not only history you had a passion for but also antiques. You would often visit small antique shops around the city, certain objects catching your eye, taking them home, then spending countless hours researching the object trying to find out the history behind it. You had quite the collection of items now, taking up the majority of space in your flat that you shared with your friend. Your friend Louise was also a student in history, you met Fresher's week at Uni, and after getting along so well you both decided to ditch student accommodation and rent out a flat together in and old house just outside Birmingham city center. You called it a flat because you didn't know what else to call it. It was more of a converted attic in an old house, the ceilings were low and the floorboards creaked no matter where you stepped but it was worth it, worth it for the vast view of old rooftops with their decaying chimneys, and the remnants of buildings from Birmingham's industrial past that seemed to go on as far as the eye could see. You would often find yourself sitting in the large armchair that occupied the spot next to the small round window in your bedroom, gazing out at the bricked buildings you wondered what life was truly like a hundred years ago in this city. You would get so lost in your thoughts looking out the window that you would often get this overwhelming feeling like you were not supposed to be here, you were living a life that was yours but in the wrong era, it was overpowering at times. You always put it down to your passion for the past and your longing to experience life in a different time. But was it?

It was Sunday, a day you enjoyed the most. Why? Because it was the day you would drag your friend to the antique markets. She loved history but was baffled why a 20 something year old girl would love old dusty smelly objects that in her opinion were better of in the bin.

"Come on Louise, please?"

"Jesus Y/N, don't you have enough old crap?"

" Erh no never...plus I have been waiting for this particular antique fair all year, everyone's hyped for it"

"Hyped for it? Do 70 plus year olds get hyped for things?" Your friend asked with a laugh.

" I'll have you know there are plenty of younger people that go to these markets, it's quite boujee nowadays to decorate your place with little antique nick nacks here and there"

" Boujee" She laughed "fine but you owe me a coffee and the biggest slice of cake available. Why is this one so special compared to the hundreds of others we go to every year?" She said trying to hide her laugh.

" Well...this antique fair will probably never happen again, its only antiques collected from one particular area of Birmingham, Small Heath"

You saw the flyer for the event on your way to Uni one day. After checking online for more information you knew you couldn't miss it, it was a one off event. Apparently the building everything had been stored in for over a hundred years had been brought by property developers and they wanted to get rid of it all, and quickly. The collection was supposed to be sold off to a museum but when the museum decided they no longer wanted to buy the lot of items it was left to collect dust, now everything had to go. Online it stated that there would be all sorts of items from local businesses to household items, clothes, jewelry, books, old newspapers, documents and furniture. You had to go.

Living in Sparkhill not far from Small Heath you decided to take public transport. After a short bus ride you made it to the antique fair. It was already pretty busy and much to your friends amusement you was indeed the only ones attending that weren't over the age of 60.

" Don't say anything" you mumbled to her.

" Are you sure your not from a different century? " She laughed.

Rolling your eyes grumbling to yourself you started to browse the tables. You was amazed at how well preserved everything was. There was everything you could think of for sale, a lot of it out of your price range but you couldn't help but lose yourself looking through it all.

" Y/N, come look at this old pub stuff" your friend called over.

" The Garrison? Do you think that was the name of the pub" you said looking at a large wooden plaque with the name written across it.

" Must be... Ooh! look at these old whiskey glasses, how much are these? She asked the man behind the table.

" For a set of four, 10 quid love"

" You don't even drink whiskey" you leaned into her and whispered.

"I'll take them. She nodded to to the seller. " Well I can put some Bailey's in them, that's close enough right?"

Shaking your head laughing you wandered off to the next stall. Bending down looking into a box you saw some old documents in a paper folder tied together with a red string "The Peaky Blinders ".

" Can I open this ?" you asked the woman.

" Go ahead darling" she nodded.

Opening it up you came across newspaper articles, business documents, police reports and one name In particular that kept popping up, Thomas Shelby. Quickly skimming over an article It talked about a razor gang called the Peaky Blinders based in Small Heath and the leader of that gang was one Mr Thomas Shelby. You were intrigued.

" How much for everything?" You asked.

" For you my lovely 20 pound"

A little pricey you thought, considering you could probably find all this information for free at the Sparkhill library you worked part time at but these were the original documents and newspaper clippings so you decided to go ahead and buy them.

"What did you find?" your friend asked while looking through some old books.

" This old folder about a razor gang that used to operate around here in the early 20th century"

" Riveting" She laughed.

" Ha.ha, I thought it would be a good idea for our latest Uni assignment"

" When our lecturer told us to pick a prominent figure that helped in the building of Birmingham's industrial and economical past I don't think he ment a razor gang Y/N" she laughed.

" It's still interesting though, could be a different take on the assignment? From what I have read so far this Thomas Shelby sounds like a dangerous man"

" I guess it is, if you like bad boys right?" She giggled linking arms with you as you both continued to look through the stalls.

"Wow Louise look at this necklace" you said as you beckoned your friend over with your hand.

"That's beautiful Y/N, you should get it"

The necklace itself was a small gold locket, turning it over there was the engraved initials M.S.

"I wonder who M.S was?" You asked your friend.

"Don't know" she said brushing her thumb over the engraving" but I'm sure with your research skills you will find out"

You continued to look at the locket, you tried opening it but it appeared to be jammed. Just as you was examining the locket for any damage an older lady appeared next to you. Her hands were adorned with rings and she had a curious looking necklace hanging around her neck, noticing you looking at it she spoke to you.

"It's the black Madonna" she said pressing the palm of her hand on it smiling to you. "It keeps me safe".

"It's beautifull, I've never seen anything like it" you said looking at her. She looked familiar, but you couldn't figure out where you had seen her before.

"You should get that" she said putting a friendly hand on your arm.

"Sorry?" You replied confused.

"The gold locket" she said opening your clasped hand around it. "It belongs with you" she said as she closed your hand around it again.

"I'm sorry, have I met you before? You look so familiar" you said as her piercing blue eyes looked deep into yours.

Shaking her head she smiled sweetly. "Maybe we knew eachother in another life"

Smiling back you opened your hand and looked at the locket nestled in your palm. She was right it did feel like it belonged to you, you couldn't explain it, you was drawn to it.

"I think I will get it" you said to the seller.

Turning to face the old lady, she was still looking at you, when you noticed a small tear in the corner of her eye.

"Thank you for convincing me, I'll treasure it" you said, slightly worried that you had upset this dear old lady somehow.

Patting your arm she turned and walked away giving you one last endearing smile.

"Who was that?" Asked your friend

" I don't know, but I feel like I know her from somewhere" you said your eyes following her as she disappeared through the market.

You continued looking through the antique fair for another hour, nothing else catching your eye you both decided to go have some lunch.

A few hours later you arrived back home. Going straight to your bedroom, you looked at your new locket and decided to try it on. It sat perfectly in the middle of your chest, you smiled at yourself in the mirror slightly adjusting it to make it straight. Sitting on your bed you opened up the folder you brought and started to read through everything.

How had you never heard of this gang? You thought to yourself. You knew almost everything about Birmingham's past. These documents looked official though, like someone was collecting information on them. Maybe they were never ment to be seen by anyone. Which begged the question how did they end up in a box at an antique fair? Feeling tired and overwhelmed with information you closed the folder deciding to research through the archives at work tomorrow.

The next day at work on your break you logged onto your computer. Clicking on archives you started typing key words into the search bar. Peaky Blinders, Birmingham razor gang, Shelby family, Small heath gang, Watery lane betting shop, Shelby company limited, Thomas Shelby. But nothing, nothing came up. One last go you thought to yourself, and you typed T.Shelby. There was one link, a death certificate. Clicking on it, you realised it was a death certificate for Thomas Michael Shelby born January 1890 death February 1922 Small Heath, Birmingham. It didn't state how he died, but mentally calculating his birth date and death date you realised he died pretty young. You was so intrigued by this gang, if you was going to use them for your assignment you needed to know more. Slightly frustrated with the lack of anymore information, you decided to dig deeper.

"Janette?" You said calling over to your boss." Will you do me a huge favour?" You said with pleading eyes.

"What do you need now?" she said as she crossed her arms with a slight chuckle.

"Can I have access to the Birmingham Journal newspaper archives"

"What year?"

"1922"

"We should have them upstairs in the storage room, but first things first are you going to tell me what your looking for?" your boss asked curiously.

"I'm doing research on this gang for Uni, the leader Thomas Shelby died in 1922 but on his death certificate it doesn't say how, don't you find that weird?"

"It's not that unusual, if he was part of a gang the authorities would have probably tried to cover it up, I mean I wouldn't be surprised if the police were on his payroll" she laughed raising her eyebrows. "Go on then, just be careful those books are very old, we really need to photocopy them onto the online database, I've told Richard plenty of tim..." She trailed off as she walked away still talking to herself.

Up in the storage room you was losing hope, you had already gone through two very large books filled with news articles from 1922. Pulling out the the third book from the shelf you let out a big sigh. Turning to the first page the article talked about an Italian gang and a man called Darby Sabini "wrong gang" you huffed. Ten pages later at the bottom corner of a newspaper was a short article. " Birmingham gang leader from small heath killed by rival gang". This has to be it you thought. It didn't specify it was the Peaky Blinders gang, but how many other gangs could there have been in Small Heath? It stated that... "The leader of the notorious Small Heath gang had been beaten within an inch of his life in an alleyway by a rumoured rival Italian gang, and was later found dead slumped in his office chair". You sat back in your chair sighing "Jesus Christ, what a way to go" you said aloud. He must have made his way back to his office, and died right there at his desk you thought. Curious you decided to find out where his office was located. After a few minutes of searching you found it on the online property census under the name "T.S Offices". It was close to the city center not far from Small Health. Checking the bus route online you realised the bus to his office passed right by Watery Lane.

Looking up at the clock, only 10 minutes left untill the library closes you said to yourself. Tapping your pen on the desk, fiddling with your new gold locket you was getting agitated, was you really going to do this? It was a pretty morbid thing to do, visiting the place where someone had died, but you had invested so much time into knowing about this man's life. You knew who his family was, that he served in the first world war, that he had an illegal betting shop heck you even knew where he brought his suits from, although you questioned if he actually brought them. You had read everything in that folder you found at the antique fair, tried to find anything on the online databases, you needed a conclusion to his story.

Finally it was five o'clock, packing up your things and turning off the front desk computer you hurried out the library waving goodbye to your colleagues. Walking to take the bus it finally occured to you that the office building was probably no longer there or had been converted into a block of flats. Stopping you started to turn around away from the bus stop, this was stupid, what was you doing you thought to yourself. Then you stoped again walking back to the bus stop then turning around again you walked away, you must have looked like a mad woman to anybody passing by. With a huge huff you psyched yourself up and headed back to the bus stop just in time for the bus. After a ten minute ride you arrived at your stop.

" Excuse me, excuse me!" You waved over to an elderly man on the opposite side of the road.

" I'm trying to find the old T.S offices? "

" Just around the corner love" he pointed to his right

" Thanks" you shouted back heading in that direction.

Turning the corner, you was now on a long road, each side of you were tall red bricked buildings. The direction to Thomas Shelby's office was down that very same street and then as you turn the corner on the left hand side it should be there. Walking down the street a strange feeling came over you, you thought about turning back until you came to the end of the road and saw it. It was still there, the building was still there, you couldn't believe it. It looked completely abandoned, a few windows smashed in and tall metal gates surrounding it with a sign saying "Keep out. Private property". Without even thinking you opened the bottom of the two metal gates being held together with a large metal chain and padlock and slid between them. It was pretty obvious others had been here before, a few beer bottles lying on the grass and some graffiti on the large wooden front door. You pushed with as much force as you could and opened the door. Stumbling in you first came across a large wooden staircase, on your left was an empty room so you decided to head up stairs. As you got to the top the first thing you noticed was that there was still some old furniture, desks facing opposite eachother, one even having an old type writer still on it. Paper was scattered all over the old floorboards and the paint on the walls was chipped and falling off. Picking up one of the papers it read at the top "Shelby Company Limited", you was definitely in the right place.

At the end of the room was a large door, that had to be his office you thought. Making your way over to the door that uneasy feeling started to creep up again, swallowing it down you opened the door. Inside was a large wooden desk and chair, walking over to the desk you brushed your fingers along the back of the leather chair. "Jesus Christ, it's cold In here" you whispered closing your cardigan around you. The windows were not broken in here though, why was it so cold? It was mid January, but wasn't a particularly cold day. Standing facing the window you exhaled out a breath of condensation. Rubbing your arms trying to warm yourself up, you looked down and noticed another piece of paper, it looked like a letter and was signed in hand "Thomas Shelby". Picking it up you sighed " So this is where you took your final breath Thomas Shelby".

Folding up the paper and putting it in your pocket you started to smell something strange a mix of tobacco and what you thought was whiskey. What the fuck you thought to yourself. Then you realised...shit, your not alone. You hadn't turned around from the window since picking up the letter, and you knew that when you would, you'd come face to face with the other person in this room. Slowly turning around your eyes on the floor, with your hands raised up shaking you spoke "I'm sorry...i'm sorry, I kno...know I shouldn't be in here". Your eyes still on the floor you was now facing the doorway, slowly lifting your gaze you noticed two black boots stood in-between the door frame, a long black coat resting against each side of the figures legs. As your eyes moved up you noticed the dark figures hands in their trouser pockets and a gold pocket watch chain attached to their waistcoat. Shaking you finally looked straight ahead of you, and there was a man with a lit cigarette in his mouth and a peaked cap shadowing his face. As he looked up his pale almost sickly white face came into your vision, a look of pure anger and malice spread across his face. His piercing pale blue eyes stared deep into yours, until in a dark deep husky voice he spoke...

"Who the fuck are you?"

NEXT PART

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic

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pocket-watcher · 4 months ago

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I have a little request if that's okay! A group of friends ( or maybe just two or three people) getting lured in by a hypnotist that is an animal lover. And finds people to hypnotize them to become different animals. And the friends group is next.

Or if it's too much people maybe one or two people finding their friend who got lost in the woods and found the hypnotist

Of course it’s okay!! This one might gently tread into pet-play territory, but won’t be sexual! Just a heads up for anyone reading so you don’t get side swept by it haha…

On Thursday they found a flyer for a travelling zoo.

Kieran thought it’d be a better way to spend their Saturday than pushing their way through crowds at the mall, so they all agreed enthusiastically.

Except for Jodie. She was dragged along, complaining the whole way there.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Mac said, eyeing the chainlink fence as he brought the car to a halt.

“I’m telling you, it’s sketchy as hell and I hate it.” Jodie huffed, in the back seat.

“No one cares what you think, Jodie. Yeah, this the address on the flyer.” Kieran pointed out.

Mac drove onwards.

The further up the dirt road they got the more it began to look like a zoo. Big tents, refreshments, and a very dapper man sitting in the ticket booth.

They parked the car. Seemed like a busy place, with quite a few also parked around them.

“Five tickets, my good sir!” Kieran said, slapping the money down on the counter.

Jodie rolled her eyes, as Willow nudged her, giggling, into Lexie who was on her phone.

With an unblinking stare they were handed 5 tickets and ushered inside the first tent.

Which… is where things got odd.

The tent was not full of animals, but instead, full of people.

“…what the fuck.”

Immediately in front were two people in a cage acting like monkeys, one grooming the other’s hair.

Jodie immediately jumped into action. She waved her hands in front of their glazed over eyes, and nothing. The people in front of her simply continued on whilst screeching occasionally like chimpanzees.

“What the hell is this…” Mac said, staring at what he guessed was supposed to be a “lion”. The woman watched him hungrily from behind the bars.

“It’s fucked up is what it is, they’re like brainwashed!” Lexie said, snapping photos on her phone.

Kieran simply stared on in horror. All these people were trapped in these cages.

That’s when it hit him.

“Uh, guys…? Who’s got eyes on Willow?”

The group panicked, looking around, before spotting a small exit flap at the back.

“…Willow?” Lexie called out, reaching for the curtain,

A body slammed into her, throwing her backwards.

Lexie fought for a second to get her attacker off of her, before she realised they were licking her.

“Ew! Ew! Get them off me!!” She yelled, as Mac pulled Willow off the poor girl.

Willow panted, tongue out. No recollection behind the eyes.

“A dog, yes. Not exactly fit for my zoo but she’ll do nicely.” A voice said, the ticket booth operator stepping into view.

“What the hell did you do to her?!” Kieran asked.

The man laughed. “Does that mean you want to see my little trick?” He looked at Lexie and snapped his fingers.

She gasped, head dropping instantly.

She dropped her phone, and immediately began squawking like a parrot, preening herself, strutting around.

Mac, who had let go of Willow, stared unnervingly at Jodie and Kieran.

They were 20 feet from the other side of the tent. From freedom.

“It’s a funny little thing. I didn’t mean for my collection to grow so fast, but,” his eye twinkled, “ah well. I like a full set, what can I say?”

Mac was staggering backwards, away from the mad man. He backed up against one of the cages, only for the person inside to lunge at him, clawing between the grates.

“Jumpy, aren’t we?” The man said, fingers ready to snap.

“No, please, no. Don’t - “

SNAP.

Mac fell to his knees, mouth open, like a zombie. He then dropped to his hands and began moping like a cow.

“Jesus Christ…” Kieran heard Jodie whisper, before she looked at him with survival in her eyes.

She pushed Kieran over and made a run for the exit.

SNAP.

She was two steps too slow.

She slowly stopped, before turning back inside and sitting down comfortably and lazily, like a panda or a sloth.

That brought the man’s attention to Kieran. The last one.

He stared in horror as his friends were turned into animals. And he knew he was next.

“Don’t you want to plead? Or grovel? Maybe try your luck at escaping. You look faster than your friend.” The man teased.

Kieran simply froze in place.

“Ah. Very well then. If it means anything, I don’t think there’s any shame in giving in to your more animal instincts. Prey knows when predator has it cornered.”

SNAP.

#pet play isn’t exactly my cup of tea but it just seemed natural for this one #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #mind control #brainwashing #hypnotized #watcher answers #mindfuck #watcher writes #watcher’s stories

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resurrection-of-soul · 7 months ago

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Flashback | PSYCHOBREAK 11

Writer: Akira (日日日)

Characters: Rei, Adonis, Koga, Kaoru

Rei: What the heck, you're gonna make me cry… It's enough to move even my weary, withered heart. I've been thirsty for so long… But right now, strangely, I feel satisfied.

[ For the best viewing experience, please read directly on my blog! ♪ ]

Rei: ~………♪

Adonis: Oh? Sakuma-senpai, where did you get that guitar?

Rei: This is the temple belongin' to bouzu's family, yeah? I remembered leavin' a buncha instruments in their storehouse, so I went and grabbed 'em just now.

Koga: What are you, a couple that just broke up?

Rei: Emotionally, it really does feel like that. Even though we're cooperatin' like this at the moment, I don't think there's a~any hope of us gettin' back together. Even if he wants us to, I'm to~otally not into him anymore. Cause y'see, right now, I'm in the mood for new encounters ♪ ♪~♪~♪

Adonis: Ohhh… What a great song. Even though the melody is very aggressive, when you listen to it, it makes you feel strangely uplifted. Oogami, you composed a song like this all by yourself? That's amazing.

Koga: Y-yeah… But it's just that the person performin' it is crazy skilled…. In Sakuma-senpai's hands, even a mediocre song'll become a masterpiece.

Rei: Aw, he's feelin' shy. How nice it is to be so young n' innocent~. I wanna regain those kinds of pure feelings too~ Or rather... I'm sure that's exactly what Pup was hopin' for when he named us UNDEAD. Just like Adonis-kun, he sensed I was feelin' down, though in his case it mighta been subconscious… He was hopin' t' help me regain my liveliness so I could be revived. What the heck, you're gonna make me cry… It's enough to move even my weary, withered heart. I've been thirsty for so long… But right now, strangely, I feel satisfied. I suppose, more than a million compliments… What I wanted was someone's pure feelings. ♪~♪~♪

Kaoru: Ohhh~ I don't really get what's going on here, but you guys sure are lively, huh~?

Rei: Yo, Hakaze-kun. Nice entrance, ya nailed the "executive comin' to check in on his employees" vibe. Just when I was startin' t' worry ya wouldn't show, too.

Kaoru: There's no way I'd be a no-show… After all, as the one who hired you to exterminate the "vampires" it's, like, totally my duty to make sure you guys don't slack off, right? I never thought I'd end up being part of a group as weird as "UNDEAD," though.

Rei: You're also an aspirin' idol at Yumenosaki academy, ain'tcha? So you'll be a valuable asset.

Kaoru: Don't get your hopes up, 'kay~? I'm notorious for slacking off at school. But, well, if I wanna protect my workplace — my place to belong — then I guess I'll have to put in some effort for once. What a pain, just kill me now~♪ So, that said, I totally made some promotional flyers to hype up tomorrow's showdown. Hand them out to your friends, 'kay? Though with the exception of Sakuma-san, who's super well-connected, it'll probably be a drop in the bucket. Also, I got a fancy stage all set up. Or well, not just me personally, but all the guys who run the shops downtown. They're super enthusiastic about helping out. I would have liked to get custom stage costumes too, but, like? I didn't know your measurements, and I figure there's probably not enough time to get anything made, anyway.

Rei: That's fine by me~ It ain't like our enemies are gonna be all that thorough either, so it'd look better if we just sing in our school uniforms, rather than showin' up in full costume n' comin' off as total try-hards. It'll be fair n' square; a real, proper match.

Koga: Hmm… So the reason we haven't seen ya at all up 'til now ain't cause you were slackin' off, you were actually busy gettin' a buncha stuff ready. I'm seein' you in a new light, Hakaze…senpai. Ya step up to the plate when it counts.

Kaoru: Yup, yup! I'm the kind of man you can rely on~ Really, it's true ♪

Koga: Yeah. Ya seem irresponsible at first glance, but you're actually a reliable guy. I'll remember that.

Adonis: Yes. You have been filling in the gaps we did not notice. It's a big help.

Kaoru: Even so, I still think we're, like, totally unprepared~ I mean, honestly. We've got the venue all set up, but we're seriously lacking in terms of practice, aren't we? The live to exterminate the "vampires" is tomorrow, isn't it? At this point, aren't we basically just winging it?

Rei: Well that's exactly why we're havin' this little get-together, yeah? It's also a chance for us to get t' know each other, since we're a newly formed unit n' all.

Adonis: It is more of a reorganization than a formation, though.

Rei: Ahaha. Funny how Adonis, who's the least familiar with Japanese, is the most precise about the meanin' behind words.

Adonis: Words are important.

Rei: Sure are. In this country, there's a belief known as kotodama¹. I heard about it from a good friend of mine who passed away recently—

Koga: Hasumi-senpai ain't actually dead, y'know… Even though he decided to work from behind the scenes, he's even more fired up about this than us. He even went and convinced his parents to let us use this place for practice without us even askin'.

Kaoru: He needn't have bothered, though~ We could've just, like, practiced at my family's live house.

Rei: 'Tis a good thing, ain't it? The weather's lovely today, and there doth lie a certain sense a' refinement in singin' n' dancin' beneath Mr. Sun's rays. We're gonna be huntin' "vampires," thus let us soak up their greatest weakness n' amass as much of its power as we may. ² ♪~♪~♪

Kaoru: A-are things really going to be okay like this~? You're talking, like, super optimistically and all, but do we have any guarantee that we can actually defeat the "vampires?"

Rei: Nobody knows the future. Not even me, obviously. But, somehow, I feel like things'll work out. For some reason, there's some gramps-like guy inside my head agreein' with me, goin' all, "Aye, 'tis exactly so," too.

Kaoru: What do you mean, "some guy inside my head"? Are you drunk?

Adonis: I asked the same thing earlier.

Rei: I'm perfectly sober. We're the ones who're gonna get rid of the delinquents, so there's nooo way I'm gonna go around breakin' the law like 'em. Without descendin' to the level of our enemies, we'll become like the sun and burn away the vices which corrupt the earth. Leave it to me. I'm feelin' oddly good, so I'll give it my all in tomorrow's performance. I can't say for sure what'll come after, but I can guarantee ya this much, at least.

[ ☆ ]

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Kotodama, or the soul of language, is the belief that words, especially names, hold power. Words must therefore be chosen with deliberate care, as they can have real effects on you and the people/things around you. You know how in shows and movies, martial artists always yell "Hyah!" or smth along those lines prior to attacks? That practice is rooted in this principle, with the idea that a confident, aggressive shout lends power to the attack. (Which is also why every shounen anime ever has the chars going around shouting their attack names.)

Rei is speaking in a haphazard mix of his delinquent and archaic old man speech for these lines. Yes, it does sound just as bizarre in JP as it does in ENG.

#ensemble stars #enstars translation #rei sakuma #adonis otogari #koga oogami #kaoru hakaze #psychobreak #flashback

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shortnewsbites · 7 months ago

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kawaiichibiart · 2 years ago

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Drawtectives Season 2 Finale Live Reaction

Holepunch dude....

....it's a helmet?

OMG

it's....it's....a cat?

Felix

His name is Felix and he belongs to Eugene

Oooohhh, a catamotronic

Eugene's remembering

Nooo, his cat died

......I

...I'm confused but...okay?

Ooohh, nice fit Felix

"It's me, grandmama, Felix!"

I'm still lost about this but like okay, I dig this

"Why did you make him tall?"

"Why did you make him kinda hot?"

I love you Rosé, never change

A cat with a job, my favorite kinda cat

OMFG

OF FUCKING COURSE THEY WOULD MAKE A CATS 2019 REFERENCE.

"Didn't you kill him?"

Oh, conductor dude was knocked out.

"I'm a cat with a job" OωO

Go to Eugene's office!!

Felix is so cuuute 🥺🥺🥺

Ooohh

Zoom in on those posters

Ripped....poster....sus

"Rosé read it to me."

Eugene's notes are super cute

......

Oh no

Oh noooo

Spirit VR shit

Binception

Harvey, a man of many talents. Juggler, high flyer and hot dog eater.

Young Terry!!!

"Look for cat"

The cat is a criminal

Junary 2nd

Smarch, Mabril, Bachtober

Tall for both weather purposes and viewing purposes

Hahahahahaha omg, the pinching

Aaaaaww Felix

Premier chat: among us

Everyone is a spirit???

Premier chat: death ™

"No brain, full of memmies"

Taken by surprise....

Hmmmm....

York reflex: pissing on people who surprise him

A DECOY?!

OMG THERE IS A DIFFERENCE

......so, they are in space?

Rosé asking if she should steal is fucking hilarious

York: IT WAS JOE BEANS!!!…

Man, y'all, I fucking ADORE Felix

....new ship....Jancy x Joe. Truebeans.

"I'm also not very observant" Mood

Conrad....or ConBAD???

omg the hall again

I love the attempts at opening the door

5 idiots and Jancy

I was about to say "5?" but then I remembered: oh yeah, Eugene and Felix are dumbasses (affectionately) too

DISSOLVED SPIRITS?!

FUCK OFF "CONRAD" WHAT THE FUCK

"It's my train now" you son of a fucking bitch, I will end you.

Premier chat: ARM JAIL

"We're your dad"

Who are you Conrad Octur

You know what, I don't care, you're a BITCH, that's what you are!!!

"No one's interested in hypnotism; no one wants to see my shows-" No, no one wants to see a dick, which is what you are "Conrad Octur"

Angry Grandma

Go off Grandma

Go off Drawtectives, fuck him up

"It doesn't matter, they're dead. It doesn't matter to me."

FUCK YOU "CONRAD OCTUR"

Fuck you "Conrad" you used Felix >;(

FELIX JUST WANTED TO BE HELPFUL YOU FUCKING "IT DOESN'T MATTER IF THEY'RE DEAD" PIECE OF SHIT

Horrific death slime

SHUT UP!!

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!

"Me me me me, I did it ALL" bitch, fuck off

SOUP SOUP SOUP

DUNK THE SON OF A BITCH

Haaaaa >:)

Eugene!!! :D

Shut up "Conrad"

Bye Felix

Is this the real life? Or is this fantasy???

"Is there any soup?"

Eugene... 🥺🥺🥺

HUCK E HEESE?!?!?

FUCK YEAH LET'S GOOOOO

Heeeeeyyy, Jancy

YAAAAAAAAYYY HUCK E HEESE!!!

Aaaaaaahhh

It's over

It's done

I'm crying

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh

The fucking end credits

Possible Season 3???

omg please please please

YEAAAHHH!!!

#drawtectives spoilers #drawtectives season 2 #drawtectives

41 notes · View notes

the-himawari · 2 years ago

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A3! Rurikawa Yuki - Translation [SSR] MANKAI Party (3/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Kazunari: Yukki’s costume is totes adorbs no matter how many times I see it!

Taichi: It’s hella cute~!

Yuki: Of course it is.

Izumi: So this time we have an event with all creators.

Yuki: We can choose our birthday event guests regardless of the troupes after all. I was thinking we haven’t had many chances to do a talk with these members.

Tsuzuru: That’s true, now that I think about it.

Kazunari: I bet it’d be hype doing a talk show with the other members who’re creators like Azamin and Omimi someday!

Taichi: I’m down~! I’m sure we’ll get to hear all sorts of stories!

Izumi: Alright, you guys are up soon.

Tsuzuru: Okay.

Kazunari: Gotcha! Let’s pump up the vibes to the max for Yukki’s b-day partay!

Taichi: Yeah!

-pause-

Yuki: Thank you for coming today.

Guest A: Happy birthday, Yuki-kun!

Guest B: Once again, your costume is really adorable today!

Yuki: Thanks. All of you are cute yourselves.

Guest C: Kyahh!

Yuki: Alright, first off, I’ll introduce the guests. Kazunari, Taichi, Tsuzuru.

Kazunari: Hey, heyyy! It’s Kazunari Miyoshi! Yukki, happy, happy birthday

Taichi: Nanao Taichi here! Let’s have loads of fun celebrating Yuki-chan’s event together!

Tsuzuru: I’m Spring troupe’s Minagi Tsuzuru. Happy birthday, Yuki.

Yuki: Thanks for coming, you three. Okay, let’s start with the first segment right away.

*applause*

Yuki: The VLOG viewing party. I filmed a little something with the theme of “a sight you want to show all your fans.” I got Taichi to shoot it for me.

Taichi: I got cute and cool Yuki-chan on camera~!

Tsuzuru: I can’t wait to see how the VLOG turned out.

Yuki: Without further ado, VLOG start.

-pause-

Kazunari: Ah! Isn’t that the costume room that you got installed recently!

Tsuzuru: Yeah, he asked for one to be built in the MANKAI Theatre.

Guest A: Oh, there’s a costume room inside the theatre!

Guest B: I’m glad we get to see the back of the theatre~!

-pause-

Yuki: “Having all these costumes together is a sight to behold, isn’t it?”

Taichi: “It’s legit full of all kinds of costumes! They’re so colourful and give off different feels~!”

Yuki: “Simply put, I wanted to show off my costumes—” “But this place is like a treasure trove to me, so I wanted to show it to you all of you too.” “Each and every one of these costumes are packed with my effort up until this point.” “I wanted to show them to everyone who tells me they love my costumes.”

-pause-

*applause*

Guest C: I love Yuki-kun’s costumes…!

Guest D: All of them are the absolute cutest and coolest!

Yuki: Thanks, everyone. I’m sure the costumes are also happy to hear that.

Tsuzuru: Since we have Yuki’s costumes, the story characters feel even more alive, don’t they?

Kazunari: It gives me inspo on what kinda flyer patterns to design too!

Taichi: I’m into all of Yuki-chan’s costumes!

Yuki: I won’t let you say you’re not into them, got that?

-pause-

Yuki: “Hold on a second. Hand me the camera.”

-pause-

Kazunari: Ooh, it’s Taicchan!

Taichi: Ah! This part’s kinda embarrassing…!

-pause-

Yuki: “Nanao Taichi always puts in lots of effort as MANKAI Company’s costuming assistant.”

Taichi: “Yuki-chan…!” “I’ll keep working hard as Yuki-chan’s assistant from here on out!”

Yuki: “I’m counting on you.”

-pause-

Tsuzuru: I see. You introduced your assistant?

Taichi: Ahaha, I’m blushing~. But I was super duper stoked that Yuki-chan introduced me as his assistant.

Yuki: I’m still going to have you work from now on, alright?

Taichi: Yep!

Guest A: The Last Runway duo are so cute!

Guest B: *Sigh*, precious…

Guest C: I’m supporting you!

-pause-

Taichi: It’s a bummer to say this, but it’s about time to wrap up the event.

Kazunari: Oh yeah. Sumi and Tenten both took a pic. So you should snap one too, Yukki! All of y’all would be happy with a photo, right?

Guest A: Yeah!

Yuki: I got it. I’d also like to save a picture of today. Alright… take it, Taichi.

Taichi: Are you okay with me?

Yuki: Be my cameraman until the very end.

Taichi: Sure thing!

Tsuzuru: I think a photoshoot is going to become a tradition.

Kazunari: It’s great, no matter how many of these photos we take!

Taichi: …Okay, here goes~! Say cheese!

*click*

---

previous |

#a3!#a3! translation #rurikawa yuki #act! addict! actors!

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writtenwhalien · 4 years ago

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All of You | prologue

banner by the talented ryen @kithtaehyung 🥺💕

pairing ↠ ceo!jimin x reader

genre ↠ friends to lovers | slight arranged marriage AU | fluff (eventual angst and smut)

prologue word count ↠ 4587

pg13 | prologue warnings ↠ drinking, reader works for Jimin’s company, she works a lot but loves her job, she’s a high-flyer, reader’s family have Korean names sorry 😅, ambiguous mentions of a difficult childhood (reader’s family was financially unstable), reader is very well off now, lots of talk of children and babies, reader thinks about sex but nothing explicit is mentioned (please note: the full fic will have more warnings with angst, sexual content, an [unwanted] arranged marriage and pregnancy being some of them).

summary ↠ Park Jimin is your definition of perfect. He’s talented, handsome, and dedicated to everything he does, making him the man of your dreams. But what happens when you both wake up one day and realise that’s all you had together… a short dream?

A/N: this prologue is set a year before the main story. Let me know if you wanted to be added to the tag list :) also, i apologise for any inaccurate descriptions of job life and finance etc — i’m still in college and definitely don’t know anything about finance!

series masterlist

With the sun slowly setting behind Seoul’s glittering skyline, your determination to finish your work and head home increases, your energy slowly fading with the sunlight.

There’s papers scattered all over your desk reflecting the current state of your overworked mind, and your computer screen is staring at you with a backlog of emails which suddenly accumulated within the last four hours. It’s jarring to think about when you’ve been working for even longer than that, but nevertheless, you always make sure to finish your tasks before the day’s end, taking pride in your job and your ability to produce the best work.

After all, it’s what got you a job at Park Motor’s — one of the most respected companies in all of Seoul.

Sighing heavily, you lean back in your chair and swivel round to face the breathtaking view. You never get bored of it and every day you come to work, you count your blessings, always feeling eternally grateful to your younger self for working so hard when your circumstances made every step more than challenging.

If you had told your 16 year old self that you’d be working here — with your own apartment in one of Seoul’s most lavish living complexes, a fancy car that has so many functions you’ve forgotten half of them, and a walk-in closet full of so many designer labels that you’ve become friendly with all the boutique staff — well, your younger self would just faint from shock.

It’s a far cry from the life you grew up with.

Knock knock.

The soft rapping at your door brings you out of your little daze and you swivel in your seat again, surprised that there’s even anyone else in the office since you’re sure everyone left an hour ago. But when you meet the face of Park Jimin standing at the threshold of your doorway, your surprise disappears and a smile naturally finds its way to your lips.

“Enjoying the view again?” he asks, the underlying concern in his tone disguised with a soft smile.

“Mhm,” you hum, looking back out of the floor to ceiling windows. “When do I not?” you ask rhetorically — Jimin is used to seeing you here past 5, working hard as you always do and he always remains in awe of your dedication and skill.

He glances across at your desk, taking a few steps into the room and frowning when he sees the headings on a few of the papers. “Has Geun-woo been slacking off again?”

“A little,” you shrug, returning your attention to your desk, and Jimin. You watch him fondly, noticing how his frown deepens as he picks up the papers from in front of you to skim read the contents. “Jimin, it’s fine,” you say softly, taking the papers from his hands. “He’s doing what any kid his age would, just let him have his fun.”

“He’s turning 22, he’s not a kid anymore,” Jimin sighs, his frown dissipating when he meets your gaze — for reasons he has yet to fully acknowledge. “You should take a break Y/N, you always work so hard.”

“I thought you said my work ethic was admirable,” you respond, a playful lilt to your voice as you refer to the time he praised your talent and ability.

Chuckling, Jimin sits down in one of the brass tub chairs on the other side of your mahogany desk. “It is admirable, and I’ve always respected you for it but I don’t want you to overwork yourself.”

A beat of silence follows and you find yourself staring into his brown orbs, momentarily mesmerised by his company and something warm stirs inside of you at his concern. Jimin raises a brow, leaning back as he waits for you to respond.

Shifting forward, you place your elbows on the table. “What about you? I know you’ve had more than a few late nights here. Are CEO’s not allowed to take breaks?” you banter, smiling when he cocks his head approvingly of your comment, and as always, he remains unassuming of his prestigious title.

“I take breaks, because I have the help of others to cut my workload in half, but you” —he pauses, nodding his head thoughtfully towards you— “you’re the best at what you do and that always means you end up with more work than you should, especially because Geun-woo is incapable of doing the bare minimum.” Annoyance seeps into his tone at the end and you chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“Jimin, I love my work and I’m happy to do it,” you reassure him, lightly.

He gives you a questionable look, though his features remain soft. “Even if you’re stuck here for hours after sunset?”

“Even if I’m stuck here after sunset,” you repeat. “Besides, Geun-woo called me earlier today and he promised he’d be in all day tomorrow, so I’ll have everything done soon enough.”

Jimin doesn’t look convinced but he exhales anyway, knowing how demanding this job can be and he can’t make you leave, even if he’d like to see you go home now. “I’ll make sure he does,” Jimin says as he stands up, glancing at the clock on your wall. “Gosh it’s almost six already, what time d’you think you’ll be leaving?”

“Umm...” you take a few seconds, mentally going through your checklist in your head. “Probably 9.”

Looking down at you, Jimin’s frown returns once more. “I promise I’ll talk to Geun-woo and make sure he steps up. It’s not fair on you to always carry his workload as well as your own.”

“Whatever you want, boss,” you smile cheerfully, hoping to rid him of some of his worry.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he puts his hands in the pockets of his Thom Browne suit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow, Jimin.”

Your eyes follow him as he walks towards the door, an unknown feeling gnawing inside of you as he takes his leave.

Before he steps out of your office, he pauses and turns back to you, opening his mouth but then he quickly closes it again. You look at him with an arched brow, confused by his hesitation but he just shakes his head, giving you a brief smile before walking out the door.

The sun has long disappeared from the sky, it’s warm light replaced with the white and neon sparkles of skyscrapers and car headlights, making the city feel more alive than ever. Your own energy seems to have perked up and you’ve gotten through half of the work you needed to do, and it’s now a few minutes past 7 meaning you’ll be out of here by 9pm for sure.

Closing one of the files, you reach across for your water, rehydrating yourself as your mind remains whirring, mentally finalising the strategy one of your colleagues proposed to increase capital.

Your stream of thought is momentarily interrupted by quiet footsteps echoing across the tiled flooring outside, and then you remember it’s probably one of the caretakers finishing their own work for the day, (having spent many days working late, you’re acquainted with all of them).

You return your focus to your work, revising the proposal and making notes to send back, and you’re completely oblivious to Jimin watching you as he walks past the glass panels of your office, stopping outside your door for a few seconds as he smiles across at the sight of you which he finds endearing. You’ve since tied your hair up, the small difference giving you a more focused look and Jimin can’t help but note that you look beautiful both ways, hair up and down.

The soft clicking of your office door is what gets your attention, and you look up to see Jimin… again.

“Hi,” he says quietly, and you notice he sounds quite dazed.

“Hi…” you pull a puzzled face. “Did you forget something?”

“I, uh, no…” he trails off, smiling somewhat nervously.

It’s the first time you’re seeing him like this — the Jimin you’re used to is confident and charming, not shy and hesitant.

As though he too notices his unusual behaviour, he clears his throat and walks into your office, holding up two bags with a familiar logo on them — Jungsik — your favourite restaurant, which also happens to be a half hour drive from here.

“I brought you dinner,” Jimin smiles more surely now. “I know you haven’t eaten since lunch so I figured you must be hungry and it’ll be late once you get home,” he adds, walking up to your desk and placing the bags on one of the seats before clearing your papers to the side, all while you remain baffled.

“That’s for me?” you question, looking up at him.

Jimin leans across your desk to remove the papers from in front of you, his eyes finding yours and he feels as though he’ll melt on the spot with your doe eyes staring up at him, much closer than he was before.

Composing himself, Jimin nods, putting a bag on the table. “It’s your favorite, right?”

“I… yes, how did you know?”

“I heard you telling my dad,” he shrugs, taking the boxes out of the bag.

“But Jimin this place is so far, did you drive there?”

“No, I took a helicopter,” Jimin jokes, chuckling at himself until he sees your face, still as confused as ever. He does have access to a helicopter but he didn’t take one to get to a restaurant. “I’m kidding, yes, I drove.”

Jimin isn’t dumb, he knows where your confusion is coming from and to be frank, he would be confused himself if he did this for anyone else, but it’s you. So he was more than happy to spend an hour of his evening driving across the city and back to get you your favourite food — for the same unacknowledged reasons he becomes soft in your company.

The realisation hits you, that Jimin just spent an hour of his time to buy you dinner, and the warm feeling you felt earlier because of him returns, but you wisely choose not to dwell on it.

“Thanks, Jimin,” you grin.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles softly at you, once again locking eyes with you except this time it’s not just him who feels something — butterflies swarm in your tummy, making you feel fuzzy all over. And it’s not the first time Jimin’s made you feel like this.

Before your emotions show on your face, you look down at the food, raising your brows when you see the many boxes laid out. “This is a lot.”

“I know,” Jimin answers, scrunching up the bag and tossing it on the empty seat beside him. “There’s some for me too.”

“Oh…”

Maybe it’s the casual tone with which he says it, or maybe it’s the smile on his face. But the warm feeling inside of you grows stronger, resonating within you and becoming akin to something like a spark.

Jimin has never had lunch with you before, let alone dinner. You’ve known him for almost two years, having impressed him just as easily as the chairman — his father — and as the months went on, your talent was recognised and rewarded, earning you a few promotions over the two years and not a single person at the company has ever thought you undeserving of them, and Jimin himself has played a role in getting you promoted.

Once you got the job of senior manager of finances around six months ago, you found yourself in weekly meetings with Jimin; as time went on, the meetings became more relaxed and you’ve come to know Jimin as a friend.

But a work friend. And as CEO, he’s always been too busy to ever have lunch with you. So the idea of having him here now — in his free time — is strange to you, but surprisingly welcome too.

Although now you do wonder what he would be doing otherwise… does he not have anyone to go home to, a partner maybe…?

“Don’t you need to go home?” you ask, tensing slightly in apprehension.

Jimin shakes his head and the relief and happiness that spreads through you when he does screams louder than words, but you push your thoughts away.

“I can leave if you want me to though?” Jimin says, a slight hesitancy in his voice.

“No stay,” you answer, eyes going wide when you realise how embarrassingly quickly you said that. “I mean, it’s nice to have company,” you add awkwardly, fingers fidgeting as you glance up at him.

Jimin grins amusedly, pulling the chair up closer to your desk. “Well, I’m all yours, Y/N.”

You smile, turning your attention back to the food as he places a box in front of you with a pair of chopsticks.

Opening it, your mouth waters at the contents and Jimin places a box of fried rice in between you both before tucking into his own food. You suddenly feel a little conscious of being with Jimin now — you’re at work, but you’re not sitting together as work colleagues so you’re not quite sure what you’re supposed to say…

As though he can sense your nervousness, Jimin looks up before taking his first bite, eyes rounding when he sees you’re not eating.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” you mutter, fiddling with the food using your chopsticks.

“Did I get the wrong food? You can have mine if you want,” he says quickly, pushing his food towards you.

“No, no,” you say surely, “it’s perfect, I was just um…” you trail off, thinking of what to say quickly. “I was gonna get some more water from the kitchen, do you want some?”

“Oh,” Jimin says, noticeably relaxing. “Actually I got us some drinks.” Reaching for the second bag, he pulls out two bottles of soju. While he opens one, you look across at him with raised brows.

“What?” Jimin chuckles, holding it out for you.

“I, uh… we’re at work?” you whisper cautiously, as though someone might hear you.

Jimin laughs, eyes gleaming as he watches you frown in confusion. He leans forward into the desk, and for a second he doesn’t say anything, eyes trailing over your face as your features slowly relax, and you’re also once again mesmerised by his beauty.

And then he whispers back, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Seeing him smirk relaxes you, and of course you remember he’s the CEO of this company so you’re not going to get into any trouble for it. You take the bottle from his hand, ignoring the butterflies when your fingers brush his.

“Deal.”

Smiling, Jimin sits back and opens his own bottle. “So, how’s your sister doing?” he asks, casually.

“My sister’s fine,” you chuckle, remembering the time your older sister had met Jimin. You, Jimin and a few others had to come into work on a Saturday for a huge deadline, and your sister had pleaded with you to come as well, having always wanted to see the esteemed Park Motors. She’s pretty talkative and she ended up telling Jimin all about herself, her job, her husband and of course, her son. That was a few months ago.

“Sung-ho’s started pre-school now so she’s been a bit more relaxed,” you tell Jimin.

“Ah, how is he? You should tell her to bring him by one day, I’d love to meet him.”

“I mean…” you pause, chuckling as you think of your nephew’s antics. “He’d be okay for a maximum of five minutes and after that he’d be a hazard.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Jimin shrugs with a fond smile, “besides I’m like a horse whisperer but for kids.”

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head, swallowing your bite. “That’s not possible, kids are evil. I swear Sung-ho turns into the little monster that baby Jack-Jack turns into when he doesn’t get his way.”

Jimin laughs, throwing his head back a little and you find yourself staring at his Adam’s apple. But before your thoughts go anywhere, he looks back at you, still laughing softly. “Jack-Jack from Incredibles?”

“Mhm” you hum, smiling. “I mean it, he even goes all red and there’s no stopping him.”

“Nah, five minutes with me and we’ll be best friends,” Jimin says, a smug smile on his lips.

“You’re pretty confident about that.”

Shrugging, Jimin takes a sip of his drink before he answers. “My best friend, Namjoon, has two kids. I spend a lot of time with them.”

An image of Jimin with two little kids comes into your mind, and it’s strikingly different from how you’re used to seeing him. You like it.

“How old are they?”

“Mi-sun is four, and Baek-hyeon is one.”

“That’s adorable, but it also sounds stressful,” you admit.

“It is actually,” Jimin says. “It’s why I’ve had to babysit so often. Namjoon once called me up at 3am and begged me to come over.”

“And did the baby-whisperer manage to do his job?” you ask playfully.

“Baby-whisperer did a wonderful job actually,” he smiles. “I’d only been there for twenty minutes and I already had Baek-hyeon sleeping on me while Mi-sun was tucked into bed next to me.”

The image in your mind reforms and now you really like seeing Jimin like that. Your eyes almost widen as you realise this — you’re thinking of Jimin in ways you should not be, especially considering you’re not even dating let alone married to be thinking of him as a father… the father of your children. Because that would mean you’d need to sleep with him, and that’s absurd— another image comes into your mind, one which has colour rising to your cheeks and butterflies swarming again, and this time they swarm furiously between your legs.

Jimin is hot, you’ve always thought so, and not just physically. He carries himself with complete grace and charm, his smile is sweet and his eyes are captivating. But the image in your mind takes all of that into account and more.

You quickly take a sip of your drink to remove the vision from your mind. Unluckily for you though, Jimin looks up when you don’t respond to his last comment.

“You good?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“Mhm,” you hum, refusing to move the bottle in case he should see your face properly, but it means you end up gulping down the soju.

“Y/N, are you sure?” he asks, putting down his chopsticks.

“I’m fine, just had something in my throat,” you smile, putting the bottle down and looking down at your food.

“Oh, okay.” He takes another bite of food, but he remains looking across at you.

Noticing this, you quickly resume the conversation before your face heats up under his gaze again. “So baby-whisperer, any tips you’d care to share?”

Jimin looks up thoughtfully. “Honestly, I don’t actually know what I’m doing.”

“Wow, so you’re just a natural?” you ask, laughing.

He shrugs again, modestly. “I think so, or maybe it’s different for different kids.”

“Maybe I should bring in Sung-ho then,” you grin. “We’ll put your skills to the test.”

“Challenge accepted.” Jimin chuckles, taking some fried rice into his mouth.

A comfortable silence falls between you, and there’s a question on the tip of your tongue that you don’t ask — “do you want kids?” You want to know, naturally since he’s so good with kids surely he must want his own, but you don’t want to be impolite so you don’t say anything. It’s a personal topic and sensitive for some. Plus given the images that keep popping up in your mind, you steer the conversation away from kids.

“Your birthday’s coming up soon,” you say, after a moment of quiet. “You’re turning 26, right?”

“Yeah,” Jimin nods, and you look up when you hear the blue tone in his voice, only to see him smiling sadly. “Sometimes I can’t believe how fast time flies,” he says, more quietly now.

“What do you mean?”

Jimin plays with his food for a few seconds before looking up and sighing heavily. “I feel like it was just a year ago I started working here, but it’s been five years…”

Noticing there’s more meaning behind Jimin’s words than he’s letting on, you’re not too sure of what to say. He seems upset and you want to comfort him somehow.

“Is that… a bad thing?” you ask.

“Not really,” Jimin says, meeting your gaze and instantly smiling when he sees you looking at him with the same doe eyes, except this time there’s concern in them. “I guess it’s just me being ungrateful,” he says softly, in an attempt to dissipate your worry.

“Ungrateful?” you ask, puzzled.

“Ah, it’s stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nodding, you focus on your food again, ignoring the slight sting of rejection you feel that he doesn’t want to talk to you about whatever’s bothering him, but at the same time, you remind yourself that this is the first time you’re sitting together outside of corporate meetings — of course he won’t open up to you about his personal life so easily. Even if you find you want him to.

“My dad wants to throw me a party,” Jimin says, moving the conversation on.

“For your birthday?”

“Mhm. But I told him I don’t want one. It turns the day into a huge business meeting and I usually end up with a headache at the end of it.”

“Like your 25th?” you ask, smiling as you remember last year when you had received an invitation for his birthday, which was more of a gala really. Everyone at the company was invited but you were busy so you couldn’t attend.

“And 21st,” Jimin says, almost tiredly. “I let him because they’re supposed to be big—“ he makes air quotations with his fingers “—birthdays, but I’d rather not do it again.”

“What would you rather do?” you ask, leaning back in your seat. You’re about to pick up your half full bottle of soju but decide against it — your tolerance isn’t amazing and you still have work to finish.

Jimin pauses, taking a few moments to think about his answer. “I’d just want to spend a quiet day with family and friends if I’m being honest.”

“Ah, so you prefer a quiet night at home over a night out?”

“I guess so,” he smiles. “I’ve had my fair share of nights out and they don’t really agree with the whole CEO thing so I’ve managed to avoid them.”

Nodding slowly, you realise that Jimin was forced to mature early. When you were 21, you were still in college and enjoying multiple nights out a week with your friends, but Jimin started working at that age, as well as finishing his own studies. And before he turned 23, he was named CEO. It’s a heavy title for anyone, yet Jimin still remains humble, respectable and incredibly kind.

“What about you?” Jimin says, looking up from his food. “Night at home or a wild night in the club?”

“Hmmm…” you tilt your head in thought. The last time you went out for a wild night was probably a year ago, and you can’t say you would care to do it again. As long as you’re with your loved ones, you’re happy. “I think I’m getting old since I love being at home.”

Jimin throws a hand over his heart, looking at you in an accusatory manner but he breaks into a smile while keeping up the act. “You’re younger than me, Y/N, if you’re getting old, what does that make me?”

“You’re only two years older than me!”

“That makes it worse!”

“Oh… yeah,” you giggle. “I guess we’re both getting old together then.”

“Well as long as I have your company,” Jimin smiles, locking eyes with you.

Your heart skips a beat for whatever reason… you don’t know. So you nod, clear your throat and start rambling on about Sung-ho again, the first topic that comes to your mind. Jimin listens attentively as you both finish eating, relating to your anecdotes with stories of his own times with Namjoon’s kids.

He’s in the middle of telling you how he found Mi-sun hiding in the pantry with her cheeks stuffed full of fruit loops, when his phone rings from his blazer jacket which he had taken off a short while earlier. It’s been challenging trying to stay focused on his face but you couldn’t help the few times you checked out his form in the crisp white shirt.

Jimin apologises, pulling out his phone and wincing when he sees the screen. You expect him to excuse himself from the room for some privacy to answer the phone, but he doesn’t.

“Yeoboseyo, abeoji,” he says politely into the phone.

Abeoji. It’s his dad.

You can hear the muffled talking from the other end and Jimin makes a face, like a little kid getting told off.

“Sorry, abeoji,” Jimin apologises. “I had some work to finish and I saw Y/N was still here, and I ended up getting distracted. I should’ve let you know, sorry.”

Jimin glances at you when he says your name and you smile — his dad is chairman of the company and a big support to you so there’s no problem with your name being mentioned.

His dad says something to him that has Jimin looking at the clock on your wall and your eyes follow. It’s almost half 8.

“No, I won’t make it now, but I promise I’ll spend all evening with hal-abeoji and halmeoni tomorrow.”

You frown, understanding why he’s apologising to his dad — he was supposed to be with his grandparents this evening. Instead he’s here... with you.

Jimin apologises once more before saying goodbye and cutting the phone down. He turns to you with a smile as though the last few minutes didn’t just happen.

But you don’t. “Um, were you supposed to be somewhere tonight?”

Jimin’s eyes flit away from you and he takes the last bite of his food, but that doesn’t stop you from noticing that he’s blushing lightly.

“I, uh yeah. At my grandparents,” he hesitates slightly, now making eye contact with you. “It’s okay though, I have dinner with them a few times a week anyway, it doesn’t hurt anyone to miss one evening.”

“Oh…” you nod, giving him a half smile. “Well I should probably finish this work before it gets too late.”

“Ah, you’re right,” Jimin says, hastily clearing the empty boxes from the table. “Let’s get it done so we can get out of here.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “We?”

Jimin nods and smiles, throwing the rubbish in the trash can before picking up the brass chair effortlessly and placing it beside your desk. “I’ll review the cost reports and you finish looking at the proposals, that way we should be done before 9.”

For a few seconds you’re taken aback, unsure of what to say.

Jimin doesn’t need to be here, and he didn’t need to drive an hour to buy you dinner. Nor did he have to sit with you and eat, and he definitely doesn’t need to help you with your work when he has mountains of his own.

Yet something inside you wants him to stay, trumping the logic that tells you to insist you’re fine to do it yourself and that he should go home and rest.

One look up at his ethereal face and that something inside you wins.

“Okay,” you smile at him, your heart skipping a beat when he beams back at you.

A/N: thank you for reading! <3 please like/comment/reblog/send an ask if you enjoyed it, it would mean the world to me :)

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slasherrabbitmadness · 3 years ago

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Victorian DILF Brahms x Female Reader

Slasher Victorian AU series Featuring Brahms Heelshire.

Divider by https://firefly-graphics.tumblr.com/

Series: Don't forget who you belong to.

Chapter 1

Prompt: 79

Brahms taps his foot under his large, dark oak desk. He taps his pencil on a stack of papers, legal documents for his clients, ranging from the mundane like Mr. Krueger complaining about his neighbor Mr. Voorhees, ranging from 'standing there, menacingly' to ' He breathed in my direction.' To the extreme as an abuse case against a young vulnerable girl named Carrie.

Brahms pinches the bridge of his nose, the paper in front of him the most important and he was to not be paid for solving the problem. He picks up the paper to re-read the sections that stuck out the most.

We are advising you on your son, Lawrence, we regret to inform you of his wild, ruckus-filled behavior. We understand that young boys have a degree of tomfoolery to them but he, Lawrence, is turning out to be one who fancies himself an urchin.

Brahms grunts, eyes scanning the page,

He recently had put candy, that was similar in appearance to the headmistresses medication.

Brahms chuckles,

He also has set up a boxing club. He charges the boys a pence a piece for admittance and takes bets against the two boys fighting.

Brahms bit his lip, his cheeks turning pink. He clears his throat as a co-worker glances his way.

His face fell as he re-read the final line.

If these behaviors fail to be corrected over the upcoming break, we recommend a crammer school for young Lawrence.

Brahms slams the paper down on the desk, he leans back in his chair, gripping the arm of the chair, "Crammer school" he seethes. Brahms made a vow to Gerti, to never let their son end up at such a place, he was to be a gentleman and a gentleman comes from a gentlemanly background. Not a Crammer school for the slow and sluggish, a Gentleman's brute offspring to be fed into the army for slaughter.

"Any plans for the night?"

Brahms snaps his head towards his co-worker, Mr. Bates.

"Any plans for the night, Brahms? Taking the maid out for another moving picture?" Mr. Bates grins and nudges Brahms's shoulder with his elbow.

"Ah, no, she's been," Brahms twirls the pencil in his fingers, "Busy."

Brahms glances at his desk, the picture of his late wife and son.

Mr. Bates's eyes follow Brahms's, "You know, I'm sure Gerti doesn't mind. Lawrence adored her, yes, I'm sure that boy is dying for a new one," He rests his clammy hand on Brahms's shoulder, "After all, a boy's best friend is his mother."

Brahms recoils, "By God, Norman, listen to yourself," Brahms brushes off Norman's hand as he stands, "A Boy needs friends his own age," He grabs his important papers, stacking them loosely, he yanks his briefcase from under the desk to slam it on his desk, "Not a mother as a friend."

You gleefully prepare the ginger beer, the old beige and brown bottles embedded with the Heelshire name. You scan the current bottle in your hands, "1771" you read aloud, "My goodness."

You delicately place the plates on the table, humming as you admired the beautiful set. "This costs more than one week's wage." Another tentative glance, "Which is why..." You twirl in the drawing-room, "I'm getting another job!"

Your mind raced back to last week...

The carriage ride was bumpy, every bump from a pothole to a large rock made your already uneasy stomach flip.

"Almost there, miss!" The coach called out to you, "Sorry for the ride, Daniel has made a donation to get the road fix, beautiful ain't it?"

"Yes, that's very kind of him." You opened the flyer in your hand, you read the bold letters over the top,

Apple Pickers wanted weekend work. Only at Daniel Candy's Farm

"Tis nice of him to hire those with no work history or those already with a job, ain't it?"

"Yes, that's very kind of him." You repeated. You brought your attention to the upcoming estate, the large white manor stood out among the hues of greens, from the grass to the pine and oak trees in a neat line leading to the entrance of the manor.

The coachman helped you out of the carriage, "Now, miss, memba' to curtsey and all that."

"Thank you, and thank you for being so kind."

"I only hire the best."

Your breath caught in your throat, eye bugged out to the tall man who appeared to appear as if from nowhere. You looked up, the source of the voice, the deep baritone still carried itself within you.

"My coachman, I only hire the best, shall you prove me right?" His voice was like thick honey, his onyx eyes were warm, his hand was large with not a hint of labor upon it.

You froze, swallowed a hesitant hello, hand reached for his, "It's is very nice to meet you," His hand melded in yours, his thumb rubbed the back of your hand in small delicate circles, "Mr. Robitaille"

"Daniel works just fine." He flashed a bright smile, his eyes twinkled as they stared into yours.

"Daniel," you bite your lip, "It's nice to meet you, Daniel." and curtseyed.

He led you along a light dirt path adjacent to the abundant apple trees. The birds in the trees sang a beautiful melody, they danced between the trees, the songs becoming more jovial as you and Daniel walked.

"You'll be working for the next three weeks, Thursdays," He waved to one of the workers picking apples, "Fridays," He nodded at a male with a wheelbarrow full of apples, "and Saturdays." He placed his large hand on your upper back, "If that is alright with Mr. Heelshire?"

You squeaked at the mention of Brahms, "Ah, yes,"

"Hesitation my dear, would he not be so accepting of a free woman working where she pleases?"

You shook your head, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "It's not that, he just..."

"He doesn't know." Daniel finished for you with a knowing laugh.

You shied away from his words, eyes took in the mass of workers, happily picking apples, chatting with one other, the made it look easy being up twenty feet high on the ladder to pick the apples.

"Pray tell," Daniel removed his hand from your upper back, "Why do you need this job?"

"Well, money." You said earnestly. "I could use the extra money is all."

"For family?" He asked, accepting an apple from one of his workers. He admired the deep red color, "A gift for Mr. Heelshire?"

You wrung your hands together. You chocked in a breath, "It's private."

Daniel stopped, a low chuckle as you had noticed he stopped. He grinned as you fiddled with your fingers, face turned to the ground, a coy smile over your delicate features.

"What's his name?" Daniel stepped to you, his baritone sent a shiver down your spine. "I'd like to hear it be spoken from such shy lips." Daniel rolled the apple in his hand, nudged it towards you, gesturing for you to take it.

You hesitated, your hands shook as you tentatively grabbed the apple. You stared at the red fruit, the color deep and rich, "His name is Daniel Cain, well, Dan, he goes by Dan."

A startled laugh erupted from Daniel. You jumped, eyes darted to the workers around you, their eyes fell upon Daniel. "Do tell, does this Dan Cain happen to be studying at University of London?"

You stammered out, "Yes,"

"How admirable. So tell me, a gift for the young man?"

"No, it's." You roll the apple in your hand, you looked up at Daniel, "A new dress, I wish to look beautiful, well," You grimaced, "At least while with him."

Daniel frowned, his hand reached for yours, you gasped as he held firm, "Pardon for being cliche, but you are already beautiful, How your hair shines in the sun, to how the sun lights up your eyes, your timid nature is quite endearing." He winked at you.

"Come," Daniel gestured, "I shall introduce you to Carrie, she'll be your site boss for the next three weeks."

You jump from the front door slams open, Brahms shouting as he entered, "Please come to the foyer, my love."

You cringe, the nickname spills so easily from him, saying it like it was second nature, "Yes, Sir, be there soon."

"This instant, my love. I need you here."

Your eyes linger on the half-set table, too busy with your dancing and reminiscing to fully finish your job. "Coming, Sir!"

You walk out of the drawing-room, feet picking up pace as you make your way down the narrow hall, the green carpet embroidered with gold string, bought in Egypt, fairly recently. The walls a dark wood, matching the soil in the garden. The small lamps light up the hallway in a yellow hue. The walls lined with portraits of Heelshires past, their eyes unnerved you with every quick walkthrough you made through the hallway.

Brahms sighs and lets his shoulders relax as you step into view. He removes his jacket, tossing it on the coat rack, "Are the Victorian sandwiches done? Is the Ginger Beer ready?" He asks while loosening his tie, his adam's apple bobbed, "Hm?"

You wince "I was a little distracted, I'm terribly sorry, Sir."

"Brahms, we've been over this, my love, you may call me Brahms."

"Sorry, Brahms." You choke out his name, "Is there anything you need of me at this moment?" You place a warm smile over your face, eyes looking at him as he took off his custom-made shoes.

"Is it so bad for a man to want a woman to greet him when he's come after a hard day's work?" His bright smile made rock in place, heart thumping rapidly in your chest. "You know how good it feels to see your warm face as I get home?"

"I can't say I do." You answer earnestly.

"Do you not feel a sense of joy as I come home?"

You squint your eyes, gaze adverting his, you cough "Yes, I do." You look back at him, "I am simply your maid, Si-Brahms." You gesture to him to follow you down the hall, "I feel great joy when I see you come home to your...home."

"Our home. This place is just as much mine as it is yours." Brahms steps in front of you, gesturing for you to follow him. "You sleep here, eat here, are here every weekend..." He glances at the paintings in the dimly lit hall, "I mean, you must like it if you are here in your free time."

You flinch, nails scratching in the back of your hand, "Uhm, Yes."

Brahms reaches the table as he stares back at you, his eyes narrow, "Sit." He pulls out the ornate chair, his hand padding down the expensive leather, "Enjoy lunch with me."

You smooth your dress from behind as you sit, scooting up as he pushed you closer to the table. Brahms rounded the table, a jovial smile as he sat himself across from you, delicately placing a napkin on his lap.

"Now, how has your day been?" He starts, shoving a victoria sandwich in his mouth, rolling his eyes in ecstasy, "Mhm, my love this is delicious, you outdid yourself."

You giggle, shaking your head, "No, Brahms it's nothing. Just same old same old."

"You sell yourself too short." Brahms clears his throat, "This weekend," He wiped his hands of crumbs, "My son is coming home, he hasn't been excelling at school like he should be," He took a sip of the ginger beer, an approving smile after he gulped, "So I shall be sending him to a nearby crammer school."

You nod, "I'm sure in the end it'll work out for the best." He sips the beer, letting the taste linger on your tongue, "After all, probably be for the best he comes back home. I can imagine boarding school can be isolating after a death," You froze, eyes wide in panic as you glance at Brahms, "I'm so sorry." You place down the glass of beer.

Brahms laughs, the corner of his lips pulling up, "No no, don't be sorry, it's very true." He sips again, "Very true. Ever since Gerti crossed onto the other side, little Lawrence has been lost." He coughs, "He'll be more than thrilled to be home, hid loving father, his second favourite lady ready to greet him with open arms."

"This weekend?" you ask, "This Saturday?"

Brahms stills, his eyes squint, "Yes, I already said this weekend."

Your throat constricts, a burning sensation spreads throughout you. You look away, eyes catching on the ornate couch.

Brahms reaches his hand out to you, his thumb running on the back of your hand, "My love, what?" He raises his brow, leaning in, "What's the problem with Saturday?"

"I have something private to attended to." You state, eyes falling back to his, "I won't be here to greet Lawrence." You swallow, the burning searing through you, "I'm terribly sorry."

Brahms stood up, one stride and he was at your side, "Tell, why won't you be there? It mustn't be family matters, they live awfully far away, days by train." He leans in, "Something in town perhaps?"

You nod with a smile, "I shall be away this coming Friday and days thereafter, a flower picking job just a town over, the lady of the manor is allowing me room and board, very sweet of her." You sip more ginger beer, hands shaking as you brought the glass to your chapped lips.

Brahms places his large hand on your upper back, "Flower picking job?"

"Yes."

"What flower?"

"Excuse me?"

"What flower are you picking?" Brahms leans in closer to you, his other hand resting on the table, "I'm sure you know."

You grin at him, "Narcissus, beautiful flowers." You gulp back more ginger beer.

"That's a nice flower. Beautiful." He leans in closer, his eyes holding a critical glint. "Pray tell, how will you be picking a flower out of season?" He smiles down at you, licking his teeth, his hand clenches around yours. Your mouth agape, breath held. You choke as he leans closer to you, "I know apples are in season."

The air felt thick, the air from your lungs fell from your mouth in rapid breaths, the grandfather clock ticked, each one was felt in your spine. You jump as the grandfather clock thunders out his five pm chime.

You breathe in, "It's only for three weekends," You start, "No more than that."

Brahms chuckles, his fingers pressing into your back, "No more than that...why?" He rests his elbow on the table, chin in his palm, "Why the work when I could easily up your pay."

Your lips in a tight line, eyes dry, bugging out as you stare into his, "Savings." You lie.

Brahms slides his arm around your shoulder, his bicep flexing on the back of your neck, his hand running up and down your arm. He leans into your ear, "If by savings, do you mean Dan?"

#Brahms heelshire #Brahms x reader #Brahms x you #Brahms imagine #Brahms heelshire x reader #Brahms heelshire x you #Brahms heelshire imagine #Female reader #sfw #Candyman #daniel robitaille #Victorian era #Victorian AU #edwardian era #Dain Cain

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rainbowpacifiers · 3 years ago

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A3! Act 12 spoilers - Sakuya’s journey + past (chapters 11-41)

Wanted to share the parts about Sakuya travelling to his hometown, so major spoilers for chapters 11 to 41 (though I will mostly skip the other members’ individual chapters, which is why this spans so many chapters lol). Will also be including some CGs / screenshots. THE HARUGUMI FEELS!!!

Update: If you’ve read this before this update, I added another paragraph and screenshot at the bottom.

So, Izumi has all members leave the dorm because they get forced to shut down activities through the efforts of Amadate Keiju (Hyakka’s founder, a member of the Fleur awards board of directors as well as the person who inspired Sakuya to get into acting). The Spring troupe members extend invitations to Sakuya to stay with each of them (so sweet!! ;___;), but he declines because Kasumi has offered a place to him. Sakuya plans on sleeping over for one night before going on a journey to his roots.

Kasumi tells Sakuya he can stay with them forever (lol), but Sakuya has made up his mind, so Kasumi gives him stuff that will help him on his travels. Sakuya mentions that the other members were worried he might get homesick because this will be the first time for him since entering the troupe to be apart from the others for so long. But he wonders if there isn’t anything he could do to assure the others that he’s doing well. Kasumi suggests he send postcards to them, so Sakuya makes a call to the director (who’s staying alone in the dorms) and asks for everyone’s addresses.

Sakuya visits his aunt / relatives who paid for his school fees to thank them. Sakuya came to Tokyo after getting into Hanagaku, where he came to stay with the Yoshinagas. He wanted to do his best to be “acknowledged as a member of the family”, but his aunt made it clear that they only thought of him as a lodger. Sakuya felt lonely then, but he still thought that he had to express his thanks. Sakuya has been sending them money each month to pay them back for the expenses for the private school, but his aunt is doubtful that he earned it himself and calls it an inconvenience. She’s disappointed that Sakuya didn’t choose to attend a university after they spent so much money on his high school education.

We find out that Izumi offered to back him up if he wanted to go to university (even if just a little). Izumi feels glad to have attended university, where she learned a lot and met all kinds of people. But for Sakuya, that place is Mankai Company, so he was fine with not going to university. He told Izumi that he needed to save up money to pay back the Yoshinagas, which would also enable him to pursue acting more freely (it’s not just about being in their debt financially - Sakuya thinks that them making it possible for him to attend Hanagaku also made it possible for him to come to Tokyo, spend time with Masumi and Banri at school and visit Veludo Way, which is how he ended up joining Mankai. That’s what he’s thankful for).

Sakuya has chosen his way of life. His aunt tells him that he’s been paying them too much and returns the rest. The Yoshinagas only did the bare minimum, so there’s no need for him to feel so grateful. Sakuya hands her a flyer to their next performance and asks if he could send them tickets. His aunt has no interest in acting, but whether he wants to send them tickets is up to him.

Sakuya travels to Hokkaido, where he used to live as a kid (he dreams of it twice before chapter 11) and sends each of the Mankai Company members picture postcards of the place where he used to take walks with his parents. While there, he also visits his old school, the one where the fire broke out and the actions of the theater members (the pirate/Amadate Keiju) inspired him to become an actor. In an earlier chapter, we found out that this was Amadate-san’s last tour as an actor. Sakuya meets Amadate Kabuto there (Hyakka’s top actor and Amadate-san’s adoptive son), who’s been trying to help Mankai Company take down his father.*

Sakuya finds out that Kabuto came to watch a recording of that pirate performance and is invited along. Sakuya thinks Kabuto came to watch the recording for sentimental reasons, but Kabuto explains that he wanted to confirm whether his father was responsible for the fire that broke out then (since he was also responsible for the one at the Mankai Theater). It caused Hyakka to become famous and be nominated for the Fleur Awards. Sakuya is shocked, but now, Kabuto is certain that the fire was an accident.

Sakuya heads to his old address where the old apartment building he used to live in still stands. Sakuya’s family used to live in apartment 101, but because 102 is the only apartment with a nameplate and he came all this way, Sakuya rings the doorbell there. It’s the landlord, who’s already lived there 15 years ago and remembers the Sakumas. He invites Sakuya in and tells him of Sakuya’s parents, how much they loved him and of the time when they explained the meaning behind Sakuya’s name.

Together with his last name, it becomes “sakura saku” - cherry blossoms bloom. Basically, Hokkaido is famous for having their cherry blossoms bloom last in Japan. When the long winters are over, they are a symbol of hope that spring has come through all over Japan. And like the cherry blossom, a special flower that everyone in this town is looking forward to blooming, they wanted Sakuya, even if he would be a late bloomer, to be able to bloom his dream in full bloom at the end. That was their dream.

Sakuya is overcome with emotion and while visiting the cape where he used to take walks with his parents, calls the director because he needs to talk to someone. He tells her that the landlord is letting him stay in the old apartment he used to live in and that the landlord also told him a lot about his parents. He tells her of finding out about his name and of finally, actually getting confirmation that he really used to live here, together with his parents. He tells her that he’s grateful to his parents for his name and that he is able to be an actor and meet people that he loves because of the name his parents gave him. He tells her that he didn’t think there would be anyone (left) who’d remember him or his parents and that he was lonely and upset that his parents left him behind. But all that is left is the gratitude he feels toward his parents. For him and his life, spring has come. Izumi, too, is thankful for having met Sakuya. She asks him to thank his parents for letting them (Mankai) meet Sakuya.

At the same time, the other troupe members receive the postcards Sakuya sent them from his hometown. Chikage, realising Sakuya is homesick, calls for a family meeting (Citron was about to put in a call too, and Itaru was already checking his free days, but Chikage beat them to it lol). Together, the other 5 Harugumi members decide to fly to Hokkaido to pick up Sakuya. While in their rental car, they realise that they had no idea that Sakuya was from Hokkaido and that he doesn’t talk much about the time when he went from relative to relative. But he’ll always listen happily to stories about other people’s families - which actually makes it harder to talk about (for Itaru).

They arrive at Sakuya’s old apartment but are met with the landlord instead. He tells them that Sakuya’s out for a walk and praises him for being a good kid. He’s glad that Sakuya has good friends. They tell him that they are Sakuya’s family.

They head to the cape, but don’t see him anywhere. An employee at a nearby store tells them that they just missed him. They enjoy the beautiful view and talk about how Sakuya used to walk here with his parents. The landlord has told them that Sakuya cried when it was decided that he would have to leave this place after his parents’ deaths. Tsuzuru can’t remember ever having seen Sakuya’s crying face; even when he was crying, all that remains in Chikage’s memories is Sakuya’s accompanying smile. But should Sakuya want to cry, Citron wants him to do it to his heart’s content. They call out to Sakuya’s parents:

Citron: Sakuya’s dad! Mom! Thank you for giving birth to Sakuya! Tsuzuru: Your son is growing up splendidly! Itaru: Don’t worry about what comes next! (basically telling his parents that they will take care of him) Masumi: He has a lot of family now. Chikage: Please come and see him anytime.

They finally meet up with Sakuya at his apartment building. Their visit comes as a surprise to Sakuya, who promptly proceeds to break out in tears when Masumi welcomes him home. Sakuya’s place to come home to is the place where the 5 of them are, says Citron. Sakuya cries happily when Chikage tells him that they came to pick him up.

The Spring troupe members stay the night in the cramped apartment and while everyone’s sleeping, Sakuya talks to his parents (in his head), telling them that the people currently sleeping there are his precious family and that thanks to them, he was able to find the place where he belongs and that he no longer feels lonely. He is glad that he was able to introduce them to his parents.

_______________________

HARUGUMIIIII!!! ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚ I cried!! It was so sad and sweet! There might be more after that, but I haven’t continued reading yet.

*Spoilers for act 12 plot: Before everyone left the dorms, Kabuto made contact with Syu and Reni and insisted on handing incriminating information on his father to Izumi personally. Izumi invited him to their dress rehearsal (so Kabuto wouldn’t get suspected), but Amadate-san still found out about it and had Mankai Theater burned down, thus making it impossible for Kabuto to hand over the data. Consequently, Kabuto left Tokyo to go into hiding and headed to Hokkaido. After he and Sakuya have watched the video, Kabuto hands over a USB with the incriminating information he has gathered and tells Sakuya to give it to Izumi and to not let anyone know that they met. After meeting up with the other Spring troupe members, Sakuya tells them about meeting Kabuto here and hands over the USB for Chikage to go through.

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gubler-me-up · 4 years ago

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Ace

Request: Can I get a one shot for the episode 52 pickup with Spencer x female reader? Like with the scene specifically where Spencer is trying to hand out the flyers but none of the woman take one, but reader approaches him to take one along with his number or something? Whatever else your mind can come up with please.

A/N: Thanks for the prompt, @just-call-me-non! Very specific episode request! I had to take an hour out of my day to rewatch this episode to accurately get the storyline across. Hopefully it does your idea justice! (Also, I know this was posted a day late, but I was relaxing all Friday i didn’t forget about your request i swear)

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: None

Word count: 1.3k

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

Another Saturday night out with your girls should have been a blast. Unfortunately, it was packed with embarrassingly entitled socialites and toxic masculinity. The music also wasn’t helping because the DJ couldn’t pick a good song if his life depended on it. If you wanted to listen to EDM house music, you would have just stayed home and played a YouTube playlist full of them.

Due to your boredom, your eyes started to wander around the club as you and your friends were huddled in a corner trying to make the best of the night. Your eyes had landed on something quite interesting though. Or you should say, someone.

A tall brunet with flyers in his hands was talking to a group of women who couldn’t care less about what he was telling them. They looked as if he was speaking a frightfully terrible language by the way their faces twisted. You, however, were intrigued by the sight you were watching and wanted to get a better view.

“I’ll be back,” you told your friends.

“Where are you going?” One asked.

“I think I’ve found something of interest,” you said.

They all followed your gaze to the lanky, awkward guy you were staring at. The women had walked away from him, so he was left with no choice but to desperately try to convince someone to hear him out. They all looked back at you with questionable stares.

“He looks cute, but he seems like one of those awkward, stiff types. How did he catch your attention again?” Another friend asked.

“Thought I should help him out. I wanna see what he’s handing out,” you explained.

You took the last sip of your cosmo before placing it down on the table. You fluffed up your hair a bit and brushed down any wrinkles in your dress. Your friends watched you in amusement as you prepped yourself to go over to him.

“Get him, tiger,” another said followed by a meow.

You laughed at their sarcasm before walking over to him. He had no idea you were walking towards him as he flailed around a single flyer in his hand trying to convince someone to take it. Since he had about 30 more of where that came from you decided to help him out. You grabbed the one he was flailing around from out of his hands to look at it. He turned around to look at you, surprised someone had actually taken it from him. You looked at him with a smile and held up the picture.

“Who’s this?�� You asked him.

“Uh, it’s um, this guy we’re-and when I mean we’re I mean my team and I-uh,” he stuttered.

You giggled at him stumbling over his words as he struggled to comprehend why you were giving him the time of day. You looked at the picture as he finally told you about some sort of murderer on the loose. It was a very vague sketch, so you looked at him with a quizzical expression.

“How do you ever expect to find this guy with a picture like this?” You asked.

He awkwardly chuckled. He held up the stack of flyers in his hands so you could see them clearly. He put his hand in front of the scar which was sketched above the man’s left eyebrow. You raised your eyebrows curiosity.

“Well, the funny thing is some witnesses say he had a scar right here,” he lifted his hand up to reveal the scar.

You stared intently at the scar on the drawing. Then he lowered his hand down to cover it again. What happened next made you widen your eyes with amazement.

“And some say he doesn’t,” he said as he lowered his hand down to reveal an image with no scar.

You stupidly grinned at his trick. Your ear-to-ear grin made him smile as he lowered the flyers. You grabbed his hand with the flyers and placed it back up so you could see it again. There was really no scar there anymore.

“How did you even do that?” You asked.

“Pure magic,” he said.

“Okay, magician, what’s your name?” You asked.

“Spencer Reid. I-uh-work for the FBI, so that’s why I’m-”

“Yeah, I heard your reason why you were here the first time. Along with you saying some sort of statistic about men being more likely to kill targeted victims over women who are more likely to kill related victims.”

He looked at you stunned. It seemed as if he was shocked you were listening to him ramble. You may have been looking at the sketch of the person he was looking for, but you couldn’t help but to invest in what he was saying.

“You were actually listening?” He asked.

You nodded. “I’m a sucker for true crime. That’s not to say I want to be murdered in real life, but it’s cool that you do this for a living. You know, saving lives and catching the bad guy.”

A genuine, non-awkward smile appeared on his face. “Yeah, I do something like that.”

“And what do you do when you’re not kicking ass and taking names?” You asked.

He chuckled. “I think kicking ass is more up my colleague’s ally, but I personally don’t do anything interesting. Well, interesting to most people.”

“Surprise me.”

“I like to master different chess moves in my spare time and read. I like reading pretty much anything and everything. Twice.”

“That sounds interesting to me. Maybe one day you can teach me that trick and how to play a mean game of chess.”

Spencer looked at you astonished at the way you kept engaging with him. You were starting to think girls like you or even girls in general never took an interest in his quirky behaviour. To you it was enticing.

“Um, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t even get your name,” he said.

You smirked. “How about you give me your number and you can figure it out then. Maybe even discuss each other’s favourite books if you’d like.”

He nodded his head with a tiny smile that slowly appeared on his face. You couldn’t stop looking at him as he did the smallest gestures. He was more attractive than you initially thought from across the club. Every mannerism he did intrigued you more about his character.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Great. What’s your number?” You asked.

He smirked. “It’s near your heart.”

You looked at him funny as he gave you that riddle. You placed your hands in your dress near your left breast. You felt something at the side of your bra. You took it out to see the ace of hearts.

It was nice meeting you, Y/N.

His number followed right after. You were floored. Not only did he figure out your name, but he also gave you his number in the suavest way possible. He didn’t even have to touch your breasts to do it. That was some respectful magic.

“Now you’re telekinetic too?” You asked.

He shrugged. “Can’t say. Maybe if you call I’ll give you a hint.”

“Can you guess when I’m going to call too?”

“That wouldn’t be guessing, but profiling. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing from you in the next two hours.”

“I’ll make sure I don’t keep you waiting.”

He chuckled. “Bye, Y/N. It was really nice talking to you.”

With that he walked into the crowd where he was met by a tall, muscular black man. He put his arm around Spencer and gave him an impressed smile. You giggled as you watched the scene before they fully disappeared into the crowd. You looked back at the ace of hearts and couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe you were starting to have a new thing for quirky magicians.

—–

MASTERLIST

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cygnetofthesea · 3 years ago

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Welcome Home, Part 1: Élite Fanfiction

This fic was inspired and dedicated to @sweetpeony200 and the request for a Guznadia reunion in NYC. Thank you for the inspiration!! It’s not quite what was asked, so apologies for that! (Hopefully @jasminejc4525 writes her version 👀 ) The writing ran away from me and I couldn’t help but delve into Guzman’s psyche. I love doing character studies so this was a way for me to explore the complexities of Guzman’s mind and emotions. I hope to write a second part with more of their reunion, more of their present-day interaction the day Guzman arrives. Hope this part is still enjoyable until then! <3 Part of the Moments Series.

Guzman sat still with his eyes closed, the picture of calm if anyone looked over at him, but inside his was an anxious mess. He wasn't a nervous flyer by any means as he's gone on countless trips overseas throughout his short life, but this was no ordinary flight and he was no longer that ordinary boy.

This was the flight that was taking him toward the rest of his life.

The past few months without Nadia had been unbearable. He had known it was going to be difficult but he hadn't been prepared for the constant tightness that sat on his chest. The only thing that loosened it was Nadia, talking to her, face-timing her, texting her. Every time he saw her name or face on his screen, his chest swelled with elation instead of pain.

It was with Nadia's absence that Guzman was forced to confront the pain that haunted him from Marina and Polo's death. He felt that out-of-body experience all too often, every morning waking up to a sense of loss and confusion. His sister was dead, his best friend had murdered her, and now that best friend was murdered too. It was too much for him to comprehend, his mind twirling with the reality of it because it just didn't feel real, couldn't be real.

But it was.

Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the ashen face that became almost unrecognizable to him. He didn't know how it was possible to be still standing in the wake of all this grief.

It was Nadia who had made him feel human, who had centered him, quelled the raging storm inside of him enough to feel alive. Her simple presence felt like a balm to his soul, brought peace to his mind and combated the pain, the incomprehensible thoughts as he tried to make sense of his life.

It was with her Guzman felt like he could deal with everything. She was the tether that brought him to life and snapped him back to reality. Guzman had always been intrigued by her, since the first moment he set eyes on her simply because of the utter calm and resolve she emitted.

She was this young girl of sixteen and yet he carried herself with a sense of resolve and strength that was unlike anything he had seen in even some adults. Even Lu, who he believed to be tough, wasn't anything like Nadia, didn't nearly compare because it was Lu's privilege that gave her that strength. She was born into a world where everything was handed to her, her every desire was at her fingertips, effortless.

But Nadia wasn't like that. Not by a long shot. She worked hard for everything, every single step she took was a battle for her because of her race, her religion, her gender, her socioeconomic standing. She had everything working against her and yet she weathered through it, pushing her way not by aggression or iniquitous means but with a quiet fierceness, a calm gait.

He had to admit, his attraction to her was instant. That had been quite unexpected in of itself and it caught him completely off guard, but it was undeniable. He was pulled in by her demeanor, completely and utterly intrigued by her. He wanted to unwrap her, metaphorically and literally. He wanted to uncover the complexities of her, what gave her that strength, what made her happy, what made her laugh. And then as soon as that thought entered his mind, he knew he needed to see it, to hear it.

What did Nadia Shana's laughter sound like? What did her smiling eyes look like? Particularly, what did her soft eyes and smile look like when it was directed at him? And when by some miracle he managed to achieve that smile, he was addicted, pulled even deeper into her. He was lost and in love before he even knew it was happening.

If he thought it was a miracle that he made her smile, he didn’t know what to call her falling in love with him, her actually wanting and agreeing to be with him. Perhaps it was some divine intervention. Perhaps God had decided that he finally earned her love, that he had suffered enough and deserved something beautiful and miraculous. That she was meant to be his savior all along. Nadia Shana saved so many simply by existing.

And now as the eight hour flight was coming to a close, he couldn’t believe he was going to be reunited with his miracle at long last. He felt like at any moment he would open his eyes and wake up in bed with a heavy heart full of longing and tired, wet eyes. He opens his eyes now at the thought, wanting to get the disappointment over with, but instead of finding himself in bed, he’s met with the sign that reads Fasten Seat belt.

It flashes red just as a ding overhead sounds.

“Attention passengers, we are now approaching JFK airport. Please fasten your seat belt in preparation for the descent. Thank you for flying Air Eropa, we hope you had a pleasant trip.”

Guzman takes a deep breath, his sweaty hands immediately fastening his seatbelt. His heart is racing in anticipation and impatience. His leg bounces erratically as he looks out the window as though somehow he’d be able to spot Nadia from such great heights. He’s momentarily distracted by the view but soon wonders if Nadia was already waiting for him or perhaps she was still on her way.

He switches out the SIM card from his phone for the one Nadia had mailed him a week before so that he could call her as soon as he landed. He remembered the day he saw it in their mailbox. He knew to expect because Nadia had already given him the heads up, they had been making all the arrangements for weeks at that point, but he wasn’t any less excited when he saw it.

He had torn through the package that had her neat handwriting on it and wanted to immediately switch out the SIM cards but she had teased him it wouldn’t work.

“An American SIM isn’t going to do you much good in Madrid,” Nadia had giggled.

Guzman shrugged with a tilt of his head. “I know but I’m excited. I feel like I’m one step closer to you and I can’t wait until you’re in my arms.”

She had looked at him softly, a wistful smile on her face. “I know what you mean. I can’t wait either.”

Before he knows it, the plane lands and Guzman is out of his seat and grabbing his carry-on in record speed. His strides are long and fast and he feels like he’s practically flying at the rate he’s going. He can’t see anything in his periphery, his eyes ahead and only looking around to make sure he’s going to the right place.

He calls her as soon as he can, finally putting the new SIM card to use. The phone rings for a long and excruciating minute. His heart begins to sink when he hears the click on her beautiful voice on the other end.

“Guzman,” she says breathlessly as though she had been running. “Are you here? I just saw your flight landed.”

His stomach does a somersault, a beaming smile across his face. “Yeah, I just picked up my suitcase. Are you here?”

Nadia lets out an astonished laugh. “You’re really here? Where?”

Guzman looks around. “I’m by the Emirates line, where it says terminal 7.”

“I’m looking for you.”

His heart gallops in his chest and he sounds winded when he asks, “You’re here?”

“When you say ‘here’ you better mean JFK airport because that’s where I am now.”

Guzman spins in place, one hand on his suitcase and the other pressing his phone tightly to his ear. He can hear his own heavy breath loud in his ear.

“Yes, this is definitely JFK airport,” he laughs, looking at the crowd. He even spots a film crew on the other side and remembers how Nadia said it was a popular site for tv shows and films. That was probably why it was especially crowded and hard to see around the bodies.

Nadia lets out her own excited laugh. “I see you! You’re wearing your green jacket, the one with the orange lining inside, the one I gave you.”

The excitement mounts inside of him, he feels like his heart would either burst out of him or he would throw up right then.

“Yes! Yes, I’m wearing your jacket. You can see me? Where are you?”

“I’m coming toward you. Turn around.”

He whirls around and there she was, his eyes immediately finding her. It was as though time had stopped and everything, everybody had ceased to exist and there was only her. Nadia, Nadia, Nadia….

In every scenario he imagined, he had run toward her. No matter how wild his imagination, In every single version of his reunion with her, there was running involved: he’d see her as soon as he got off the plane, waiting for him at the tarmac and he’d run to her, their eyes would meet across the the luggage pick-up and he’d jump across and run to her, they’d see each other across the airport and run to each other, colliding until they fell to the ground.

But here, in this moment now, he was stunned. He wasn’t prepared for the breadth of her beauty so close to him, just mere steps away. It was almost overwhelming, his senses anticipating her, his mind unable to comprehend that she was here, that in just moments he would be able to not only hear and see her but actually touch her, smell her, feel her, kiss her...even make love to her if she was so inclined.

His arm falls to his side, limply holding his phone and his breath is caught in his throat as he stares at her in awe. She felt like a mirage but her sparkling eyes are drawing closer, closing the distance between them. She stops just inches away from him, a soft, achingly beautiful smile on her face that he feels his chest hurt at the sight.

She’s the first one to speak. “Hey.”

And just like that, he’s snapped back to reality, the emotions falling over him in one fell sweep that he feels like he’d buckle under the weight but instead he pulls her into his arms, holding onto her to tether him.

“Nadia.” His voice comes out in a choked sob and it’s only then he realizes that he’s crying.

He feels her warm body against him, soft and familiar and he finally feels what he’s been missing all along: home.

He wraps his arms around her tightly, encasing her and holding her close as though trying to meld their bodies together.

“Nadia.”

“Guzman.”

He buries his face in her neck, feeling the coolness of her silk hijab and the warmth from her skin simultaneously, the sensation so familiar and glorious he can’t help leaning heavily against her.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he croaks.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls back slightly and catches her glittering eyes. She lets out a wet chuckle and wipes his cheeks with both hands. “I’ve missed this face.”

She leans in and kisses his damp skin and his eyes flutter close as he kisses his eyes next, basking in her touch even as it makes him breathless.

“Oh god, I love you.”

He lets out a ragged breath and pulls her lips to his before she can even respond, unable to hold off any longer. He needs to feel her, taste her and god, does she taste divine. He doesn’t mean to get carried away but the full weight of reality hits him: she’s really here in his arms, he’s not going to wake up because this isn’t a dream.

He kisses her hard, cupping the back of her head as it leans back against the force of his lips. His tongue slides against her desperately again and again, needing to breathe her in, needing her taste to fill him up because he has been hungry for so long, starving for her touch and he can’t get enough.

He wants to slide his lips against more skin, find the soft spot behind her ear that he knows makes her weak, before sliding down her throat, his tongue tracing the skin there. He wants to grip her until her clothes fall away and there’s nothing left but her skin against his.

He’s so desperate for her he feels he could weep and almost does when she pulls away with a gasp. He chases her lips with a soft whine at the back of his throat. “Nadia,” he pants, looking at her with hooded eyes.

Her eyes are just as intense but with a shyness that he certainly didn’t have. He had no qualms showing all his love for her for the world to see.

She slides her hand down to his chest to halt any further movement with a soft smile. “I love you too. Let’s go home,” she says.

And he wants to pull her in again, the word home echoing inside him, his body filling with elation. Home, he was home now, with her. He swallows thickly and nods against her. It takes a herculean effort to pull away from her but even then, he pulls away just enough to gather up his large suitcase that had fallen in his haste to embrace Nadia. He keeps an arm firmly around her, plastering her to him.

Nadia giggles at the gesture, shaking her head even as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “Is this all you brought with you? I was expecting more.”

“No, I just brought the essentials and figured Mama can ship the rest as I need them. Plus, I can always get new things here.”

“How was your flight?” She tries to reach for his carry-on. “Here, let me hold that for you, at least. You must be tired.”

“It’s ok, I’m not tired,” he says, looking at her with a soft smile. He was still reeling but he hooks the carry-on to the suitcase and pulls them forward, keeping his arm tight around her. “How did you get here?”

Her smile turns coy as she looks up at him. This time, she was the one dragging him forward eagerly. “It’s a surprise. Come on!”

She drags him along by the hand, practically skipping with excitement that he can’t help laughing with her. They make it out of the airport and immediately he’s bombarded with noise. He’s not unfamiliar with city life being from Madrid and visiting Barcelona often, but the noise here certainly felt different somehow. People chattering in so many different languages, cars honking, loved ones greeting each other with shouts and squeals.

He barely has time to register it all when Nadia expertly weaves him past the people and cars, crossing what looked like an island to get to a parking lot. He glances behind them at the long line of taxis waiting in a line, confused.

“Isn’t that where we’re supposed to wait for the taxi?”

But Nadia says nothing, simply squeezing his hand and continuing her trek to the parking lot.

“Is there a special taxi here?” he asks.

“Oh I can’t wait to see how this city is going to test your patience,” she says in amusement.

They finally stop in front of a grey jeep, clearly an older model but still in relatively good shape. Guzman looks at it, noting that it had been recently cleaned, a shiny gleam to the impeccable paint job. He peers inside and sees it’s neat and tidy in there with soft-looking seats and a backpack in the back seat.

He looks back at Nadia. “What’s this? Is this our uber? Where’s the driver?”

He’s looking around as though the driver was going to stride up any second when Nadia lets go of his hand and heads toward the trunk. She pops open the trunk and looks at him expectantly.

“What, am I going to be your bellhop and your driver? Get your suitcase in here.”

Guzman looks at her stunned, not comprehending what she was implying. He looks between her smug face and the car with new eyes. He points at the car and lets out an astonished laugh.

“This is yours? How?”

Nadia shrugs, dusting off invisible dust from her shoulders with a wink. “I bought it.”

His eyes bug. “But, you don’t even drive?”

She brandishes a card out to him, seemingly from out of nowhere. “I do now.”

He takes the card from her and looks at it in awe, seeing her name, birthday, and picture on it, confirming that Nadia, indeed, could drive. At least according to the state of New York and if his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“Holy shit,” he laughs. He grabs her up into a hug, lifting her off the ground. “Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you! You never said anything when we spoke.”

She returns his happy kiss when he sets her back down. “I wanted to surprise you. Plus, I’d have been embarrassed if I ended up not passing so I didn’t want to get both of our hopes up.”

He shakes his head lovingly at her, placing more quick kisses to her mouth. “Nadia, I’d never be disappointed in you. I’d have been proud of you simply for trying.”

She kisses his nose. “I know you would and I love you all the more for it. I just wanted to surprise you and see the look on your face just now? Worth it.”

“Holy shit,” he says again, in awe. “I can’t believe you managed all this on top of everything else. I mean, I can, but I can’t comprehend how. And the car, I thought money was tight?”

Nadia shrugs. “It’s not the easiest, but I’ve been saving up well before Columbia even happened. I always wanted a car and I always thought college would be the best time to get one, in case I ended up somewhere near home and needed to commute.”

“Wow” He shakes his head again, this time with a dull ache in his chest. All these months Nadia had been painstakingly saving her hard-earned money not just for school but for freedom, she had been studying for her permit, took her test, passed, took driving lessons and then passed that too. All of this had been happening and he had no clue.

He knew she wasn’t trying to keep him out of the loop intentionally and his heart warmed at the thought of her wanting to surprise him but it made him realize once again how different they were. Not for the first time he wondered what she even saw in him. Would she ever wake up and realize that she could do better than him? Selfishly he prayed that she didn’t.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So my suitcase can fit in here?”

She scoffs, “Please, it can fit at least three of the same size,” she calculates. She jumps in place and gestures to the open trunk. “Come on, stick it in there! Or do you want to check out more of this parking lot?”

Guzman pretends to look around. “Is a carnival going to pop up somewhere? I’ve heard they do that here.”

Nadia rolls her eyes and shoves him playfully. He catches her hand in his keeping her from pulling away completely. “Someone’s eager to get me home.”

“And someone’s not?” she challenges, sending him a coy look.

Immediately Guzman throws his suitcase inside haphazardly and slams the trunk shut. “What are we waiting for? I just had a long flight.”

He shuffles Nadia urgently to the driver's side, her laughter filing his ears pleasantly. He smooches kisses to her cheek as he helps her in before running around to the passenger side.

The drive is long and somehow short all at the same time. Perhaps Guzman hadn’t yet become jaded from the New York City traffic and he was too amused with Nadia’s bouts of road rage to notice how long they sat on the road.

“Did you see that idiot? You’re supposed to signal, how do you pass the driver’s test when you don’t even signal?” She mutters under her breath but he hears her anyway.

He stares at her in bliss for a moment, watching her practiced movements. He’s never seen her drive before. He remembers the one failed attempt at teaching her on one of their dates but she had gotten too nervous with all the functions in his car.

“Why are there so many buttons, where do I put the key?” she had asked nervously, looking around.

“This car doesn’t need a key. See here? You put your foot on the gas and then push the button?”

She had whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. “What?!”

“Surely this isn’t the first time you heard of an automatic car?” he asked in amusement.

“Well no but I guess we haven’t been in your car a whole lot for me to notice. I don’t know about this Guzman.”

“You’re going to be fine,” he soothed. “Press your foot on the gas lightly and then push the button.”

She does so hesitantly and oh so carefully that it’s a shock to both of them when the car roars to life. “No! No, I don’t want to do this anymore, Guzman. Turn it off, make it stop!”

He tried to muffle his laughter as he put a soothing hand to the back of her neck and pushed the engine button so it quieted down once more.

“That couldn’t have been so scary,” he told her, rubbing his thumb against her skin all the while. He couldn’t help teasing her because she looked so cute but he didn’t want to freak her out either.

“Um it was and I don’t want to do it again.” She moves to get out of the car before freezing in place as though it was going to blow up with the slightest movement. “It’s off, right?”

“Yes, it’s off.”

He had barely gotten the rest of the words out before she bolted out.

That had been the first and last attempt at teaching Nadia how to drive, but looking at her now, he wouldn’t have believed she had been petrified at the thought of it just six months ago.

He wants to continue staring at Nadia but she pushes his face to look out the windshield. “You’ll have plenty of time to look at me until you get sick of my face, check out the sights.”

He obediently keeps his face forward but glances at her from the corner of his eyes. “I’ll never get sick of your face.”

But he does finally comply and takes in his surroundings, after all, this was going to be his new home. He has to admit, the pictures don't do New York City justice. He remembers seeing pictures and even videos of the highly populated city, cars stuck in traffic, people walking carelessly across the street, but nothing is quite like being in the midst of it. He is now among those people in the photos and it felt so surreal.

It was hard to fathom that just a year ago, he had no idea what his future would look like. Had anyone asked him then, he’d have shrugged carelessly and likely joked about sitting on a beach or even sailing in the Balearic Sea or something. But never taking in the sun from New York City and certainly not with the love of his life. He knows he’s supposed to look around and be the wide-eyed tourist, and he will be, but at the moment, all he wants to do is look at the love of his life.

He tries to be subtle about it, leaning his head back and letting it lol in her direction. He does catch sights of the bridge and the gorgeous water gleaming under the bright sunlight, but he’s more entranced by how the sun makes her look ethereal, almost unreal. Guzman was a man of God so there were moments where he wondered if Nadia was an angel meant to guide him through light.

But then he’d really look at her, look past the beauty that rendered him speechless, and look at the person she was. She was more than a miracle, she was a person with her own hopes and dreams and he’d do everything in his power to ensure she achieves them.

Nadia somehow weaves through the bustling roads, carefully and patiently, now that they had left what was the main freeway. They seemed to have reached an area that she was more familiar with and as he paid attention once more to the world outside, he realized it’s vaguely familiar to him too. Nadia had taken pictures on some of these roads and sent them to him, even taking quick little videos to show him the madness that would take place on the streets. They must be getting closer to her apartment—their apartment.

He looks out the window, up at the tall building before it’s obscured from view as Nadia pulls into an underground parking space. He feels a little breathless suddenly, reality hitting him once more. This new, strange, and unfamiliar place would be his home now for the foreseeable future. All the things that he knew and was familiar with, the grocery stores, the arcades, the beaches, everything he once knew was gone. Well, not gone exactly, but would become a distant memory as he made new ones in a new place.

There’s a small ache in his chest, a sense of homesickness but more for the innocence of youth. But as he thinks about his future with Nadia, the ache eases and he’s filled with hope and endless possibilities. He once believed he could do anything he wanted but it was more due to an ignorant cockiness he had, born from privilege. Now, though, he knew that the possibilities only existed because of Nadia. Because she was by his side, Guzman felt like he was capable and worthy enough to deserve a beautiful future.

He looks over to her with a smile, “Is this it? Is this the apartment?”

“Our apartment,” she corrects and he feels like his chest would burst. “But yes, we’re here. Welcome home, Guzman.”

#Guznadia #Nuzman #Guzman x Nadia #Nadia x Guzman #Elite #Netflix Élite #cygnetofthesea graphics #cygnetofthesea writings #cygnetofthesea edits

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sunsoothed · 4 years ago

Text

last love

prompt fill time! i got this prompt ages ago, i think when the show was still airing, and i just finished writing it in two days or so. it's turned out to be much longer than i intended, and i'm pleased about that. there is bye bye balloon date and a night spent in busan. warning for one instance of referenced internalised homophobia.

word count: 2294

read on ao3

enjoy!

Unfortunately sunny, the day reigns. There is a flyer slid cleanly under Jipurgi Law Firm’s door, inoffensive to the eye, nothing special. It is Chayoung who first takes note of it, hearing the paper flap as a draught sings through the office.

She stands in her heels, staring down at the complexity of colour, before she finds a very, very familiar face.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung says, as she bends down and picks the flyer up, “You didn’t tell me you got another job.”

Vincenzo furrows his brows, leans back in his chair to observe what Chayoung’s got her hands on to make her hypothesise such a thing. He leans back far enough to catch sight of the flimsy flyer, distantly notices the Bye Bye Balloon logo, and in his shock, manages to tip his chair back entirely.

Minutes later, Vincenzo holds an ice-pack to the back of his head, seated at the table in the middle of the office. Chayoung sits at the head of the table and Mr Nam opposite him, the both of them eagerly awaiting an explanation while the flyer sits innocently on the table. Vincenzo can see his own tired face reflected back at him.

“Seokdo-hyung asked me to model for him,” Vincenzo mumbles.

Chayoung leans forward, her hands clasped together and forming a triangle with her forearms. “I didn’t hear you, could you repeat that?”

Vincenzo shoots her a dirty look, and replies with a scowl: “Seokdo-hyung asked me to model for him.”

“Wow,” Mr Nam nods. “Wow,” He repeats, and then he claps.

With a deadpan expression, Vincenzo hits his head with the ice-pack.

Chayoung bites her lips to hide a grin. “Modelling, then?”

“He said I owed him,” Vincenzo mutters. “You can see I’m not happy about it.”

Chayoung ignores him completely. Her massage toy materialises out of somewhere and taps him on the shoulder.

“Do you get a free ride if you modeled for them?”

Vincenzo glares first at the toy, then at Chayoung. “How would I know.”

“Tch.” She glares back. “I’m going to ask them.”

Before Vincenzo has time to process what she’s saying, Chayoung skips out of the office. His panicked byeonhosa-nim! fails to reach her ears, and with a sigh he resigns himself to his fate.

It’s a week later that Chayoung drags him to spend a night in Busan, quite literally pulling him by the hand into the train at five-thirty AM. The one backpack of their shared necessities for one night slings heavily over his shoulders.

Seokdo-hyung had already started setting everything up at the port, or so he’d told them, when they’d called him last night. He also specified that they needed to arrive before nine in the morning, then he harped on about logistics of wind direction and whatnot, and Chayoung had put him off speaker and returned to going through Vincenzo’s cupboard.

Of course, she had shown up at his place uninvited, and of course, he let her do whatever she wished.

And so were the consequences: one bad cup of espresso at the train station and three hours in-and-out of sleep aboard the train. Chayoung shakes him awake fifteen minutes before they arrive, something unmistakably soft in her eyes as he removes his head from her shoulder.

“You’re like a cat,” She tells him, smile mild and indulgent. When he asks her to, she refuses to elaborate on it. “You just are.”

Chayoung takes his hand the moment they get off the train. Vincenzo stares down at their joint hands, then at Chayoung’s face, an obvious question in his raised eyebrows.

“You’ll get lost,” She explains. “I bet you’ve never been to Busan before.”

Vincenzo opens his mouth, always ready to argue with her, before he realises that she’s actually right. “I haven’t,” He acquiesces. “Lead the way.”

When Chayoung grins at those words, there is a blush high on her cheekbones, reflecting in the morning sunlight. Vincenzo wants to kiss her.

So it turns out Seokdo-hyung is actually competent at his work, for he had everything prepared when Vincenzo and Chayoung arrived on site, still holding hands. He had nothing to say to that.

“I’ll take you for a nice ride around the coast, but since you both aren’t actually using our service, you get none of the on-flight snacks and we’ll come down before we use up too much fuel. Clear?”

“Clear!” Chayoung exclaims, determined in the sharpness of her eyes. Vincenzo just nods.

Seokdo-hyung claps his hands together, then gestures for them to get on, scampering on once the both of them are standing in the basket. They’re high up in no time, Busan’s urban landscape majestically below them.

“I usually don’t do this,” Seokdo-hyung starts up, after they drift for a few minutes. “But it’s difficult to get licensed to pilot this, so I’m glad I can put my skills to use.”

“You have a very mysterious past, Mr Nutria,” Chayoung calls from across the basket. “How random is a hot air balloon license.”

“Ah,” Seokdo-hyung stares out into the distance, exclaims somewhere between wistful and egoistic. “I’m full of surprises.”

Vincenzo and Chayoung share a smile. Vincenzo shifts closer, so that they’re both sharing the same view, shoulder to shoulder.

“I’ve never seen something like this,” Chayoung tells him, voice soft. She leans into his shoulder to be heard, Vincenzo automatically leaning down to accommodate her.

“Me neither.”

Chayoung laughs, airy and giddy, her eyes on his face for just a second before she continues to take in the scenery. “It’s nice up here, isn’t it?”

Vincenzo blinks softly at her. “Mm. It’s a little cold, but yes, nice. Very nice.”

“You always underdress because you want to look cool,” Chayoung tuts. “I expected this.”

Vincenzo, who has never been so perceived and so personally affronted, only stares mutely as she produces a woolen scarf from her handbag. Before he has the opportunity to ask her exactly how she managed to stuff it in her bag, she’s throwing it around his neck, wrapping it tightly.

“Too - too tight,” Vincenzo winces, as Chayoung pulls the ends of the scarf; constricting his throat.

Chayoung’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, then fall back down in annoyance as Vincenzo grins at her. She shoves his shoulder.

“Idiot,” Chayoung huffs, pointedly looking away from him.

“Wouldn’t it be funny,” Vincenzo starts, placating her with a hand on her shoulder, “If you managed to kill me like that?”

“You’re seriously asking to be killed now,” Chayoung replies, diluted astonishment. “With your mother’s scarf, too. You’re very dedicated to giving yourself a horrible end.”

“That won’t be a horrible end,” He says, toys with the scarf around his neck. “At least, not for me.”

“Not after all you’ve done?”

Vincenzo exhales and bites the flesh of his lower lip. Then he nods at Chayoung.

Chayoung drapes an arm over his shoulder. “Then we’ll go together.”

“Byeonhosa-nim —”

“We’ll go together,” Chayoung vows, leaving no room for argument.

Early evening, Seokdo-hyung has already made his way back to Seoul. Vincenzo and Chayoung have since walked enough to exhaust themselves and eaten too much off the streets of Busan to need dinner. Chayoung still stops him by a convenience store near the Hyatt, and puts two packets of ramen’s worth of bills on his credit card.

“I spent all my money treating you,” Chayoung explains, when Vincenzo holds his mouth open and eyebrows raised throughout the billing process. “Be grateful.”

“On no, of course,” Vincenzo sarcastically inclines his head. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying your luggage the whole day.”

He still holds the door open for her when they exit.

“If it’s too much for your old, weary shoulders, I’ll carry the bag.”

“When we’re outside the hotel?” Vincenzo smiles his fake smile while looking up at the building. “Thank you for your kind offer, byeonhosa-nim.”

Chayoung smiles back smugly.

Well, turns out she wanted him to suffer more.

“There’s only one bed.”

Chayoung just shrugs. Vincenzo scrunches his brows.

“Where will I sleep?”

“On the bed,” She replies.

“And where will you sleep?”

“On the bed.”

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Vincenzo begins, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with it. “Byeonhosa-nim.”

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Chayoung parrots back. “Is it a problem?”

Between Vincenzo’s quiet crisis over the bed and his stuttering, Chayoung has very happily dug her clothes and toiletries out of the backpack.

“I’m going to change,” She calls over her shoulder. “Don’t just stand there.”

Vincenzo, who had been planning to just stand there for a good few minutes more, does not budge an inch. In fact, he’s in the same position when Chayoung returns from the bathroom, mouth minty and feet bare.

“Byeonhosa-nim,” She says softly. “Is it really a —”

“Byeonhosa-nim,” Vincenzo interrupts her. “Can I kiss you?”

When the sun announces the first of its presence, it’s palpable through the translucent curtains of the hotel room. Chayoung awakens from her catnap against Vincenzo’s shoulder, her hair draped over his chest. She hums, content, runs a hand over his torso, eventually settling on the curve of his waist and clutching.

“You’re awake?” Vincenzo’s dry voice sounds from above her. “Did you sleep well?”

Chayoung smiles up at him. “Very well.”

Vincenzo responds in kind; he holds her by the waist, guiding her slightly upwards for a kiss.

“You would, after you exhausted yourself like that.”

“Why do I get the feeling you talk to all your hook-ups like that?” Chayoung wonders while she lightly traces his jaw with her free hand. “Is this how you usually do this?”

“This isn’t a hook-up to me.”

“No?” Chayoung’s fingers stop shy of his lips.

“No,” Vincenzo confirms, bends down to kiss her fingers. “It’s much more than that.”

She sighs against his chest. “For me, too. You’re not a hook-up.”

Vincenzo kisses her forehead.

“But…”

“But?”

Chayoung hides her face in his neck. “But I won’t say this is some first love thing either.”

That draws a laugh out of him. “First loves are overrated anyway.”

Chayoung peers at him. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

Vincenzo tilts his head to look at her. Chayoung gets the hint, lazily boosting herself up on her forearms. Vincenzo, freed from his entrapment, takes a moment to relieve the cricks in his neck, then sits back against the headboard of the bed. Chayoung drapes the sheets over her shoulders and sits beside him.

“Back in Italy,” Vincenzo starts, after retrieving his lighter from his bedside, “There was this upperclassman at my high school. He was also Korean. He used to tutor me, in our school’s library, every Wednesday evening.”

Vincenzo clicks the lighter open and shut a couple of times.

“I realised I liked him and I had a crisis about it, like any fourteen-year-old would. I definitely detested that part of me for a good while. It wasn’t — isn’t something that was exactly… orthodox. And to a fourteen-year-old, no matter what you’ve seen, when you discover something for yourself, it’s always pretty monumental. So I… I tried to avoid him for a few weeks, but he found me each time, and he’d speak my mother tongue and cajole me into a better mood. He never asked what had me so down.”

Vincenzo closes the lighter and holds his thumb down.

“I thought of him day and night. The more I made myself avoid him, the more I’d think of meeting him, the more I met him, the more I’d want to see him again. It was like that. But that wasn’t why I really thought of him as my first love, I think. It was after he graduated, he gave me a present, a letter. He said he was proud of me. And then…”

“And then he left?”

Vincenzo looks at Chayoung with a reluctant smile. He nods.

“That’s when I knew I loved him. His absence hurt like my mother had abandoned me again.” Vincenzo swallows. “But you know how it is for fourteen-year-olds. I did forget him. I did forget that part of my identity as well. But I like to keep him in my memory. He was kind to me, I was so much more naive. It’s nice to remember him, because I can remember a different me. It’s somewhat a tribute to Park Joohyung, the boy I once was. Before my world changed forever.”

Vincenzo swallows into the silence once again. Chayoung sighs.

“I can’t compete with that.”

A laugh, punched out, but a laugh nonetheless. “This isn’t a competition.”

Chayoung sighs again, leans against his shoulder until her cheek is squished against it. “My first love was this boy who used to walk to the bus stop with me. He always had some kind of candy on him, and he always shared it with me.”

“How Pavlovian.” Vincenzo drily remarks.

“What did I say? Nothing that can compete with your sob story.”

Vincenzo scoffs lightly. “We won’t end up like that.”

“We won’t,” Chayoung agrees. “We’re old now.”

Vincenzo bends his head so that they’re eye to eye. “Your timing is horrible.”

“What? Were you going to confess your undying love to me or something?”

Vincenzo’s mouth hangs open in affront.

“You were,” Chayoung says, then covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my god, you were.”

“You ruined the moment,” Vincenzo curtly informs her. “Forget it.”

“You can’t do this to me —”

“I can,” He decides, and sits with his arms crossed and mouth sealed shut.

“Come on.”

“Byeonhosa-nim.”

“Vincenzo Cassano.”

“... Jagiya?”

That makes him look at her.

“I love you,” Chayoung seizes the opportunity. “Now say it back.”

Disgruntled cat that he is, it takes more than one try to get Vincenzo to say it back. But once he starts, he doesn’t stop.

#tvn vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong chayoung #chayenzo #chayenzo fic #vincenzo fic #bye bye balloon #whovie writes

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secret-rendezvous1d · 4 years ago

Text

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

hi, hello!

this is a part two to my spencer reid imagine ‘you owe me’, which is linked here, which hit well with a lot of people and this part was requested by a few of you who wanted to see where the next part would go. smut isn’t necessarily my strong suit and i deeply apologise for the horrific scenes you are about to read; i’m working on it, i promise. i guess we’ll still have to see where it goes. i tried to make it as good as possible, it probably seems like a fail (which i’d completely agree with), because smut is not my strong suit when it comes to writing and i do try my best but i can’t reassure it’ll always be good but i wanted to get a part out that people wanted and it felt like a good time to post it.

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

“you have no idea what you do to me” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 3.0k

summary; after they were interrupted, yn’s still horny and spencer enjoys teasing her after they arrive in another state for a new case.

As soon as YN stepped foot on the jet, ready for take off that took them off to the next kind of case they were investigating, nerves always managed to fill her stomach.

She wasn’t a nervous flyer; absolutely not, given the number of times the team had to fly to and from state capitals in a month to get to murder scenes and towns hit with sudden attacks from killers where the police chiefs had called with a need for their behavioural analytical help. The nerves that appeared and fluttered round her stomach in the form of butterflies came from the unexpected and the feeling of the unknown. In a meeting before they board the jet, which was held by a brightly spirited Garcia who had no reason to be as energeticas she was so early in the mornings, they were only given small snippets about a crime scene - the typical information like the victims names and whether they were in cahoots with another victim or unrelated to, say the least - and images of the victim in such horrific situations that you really didn't need to imagine anything because it was all there in print, and the name of a potential unsub they were asked to check out by higher authority. That was all. There was no expectations as to what they would see upon their first viewing nor were there any expectations about how they would feel upon arriving at a dump site or the ground someone had died upon.

This time around, she was full of all kinds of emotions. The typical amount of butterfly flutters that she was used to, the strange feeling of excitement for working on a new case that got them chaotically running around and using their brains for the good, a feeling of anticipation because she wanted to be there as quickly as possible so they could solve it as soon as they gathered all of the correct information but, deep down, there was some kind of frustration sitting deep in the bottom of her belly, that had been sat there ever since they stepped foot out of their front door just hours ago, because she couldn’t finish what she had started with Reid before they were called in.

As soon as the pilot had them at cruising level, hitting an altitude where they were then allowed to move about the aircraft, YN had moved from her place opposite Spencer, who had chosen to seat himself at the other end of the plane with his book and his case file set on the table before him, and found her way to the soft comfort of his lap. The blanket, that came with the jet (which she was sure Garcia had knitted because it was such a Penelope thing to do for her colleagues) and have been folded on her lap for the duration of take-off, was know draped over their legs and keeping them warm from the chilly atmosphere of the jet. His leather bag tucked under his chair and out of the way of tripping anyone up, her bag left behind on her seat but she didn’t care who moved it if they wanted to sit down because it wasn’t there to occupy it as hers, his phone was sat on the table beside the brown envelope whilst hers stayed in her bag because she had no reason to be contacted, and they felt like they were in their own world.

“I know we interrupted whatever you two were doing back home but,” Morgan sat opposite the two of them, moving YN’s bag to the floor beneath the table so he could perch down comfortable and lean back, looking at how they were all cosy and cuddled up in the singular chair toward the back end of the private jet with the woven blanket covering their laps, “you reckon you could pop the bubble you’re both in and, you know, include yourselves in the conversation we’re about to have on the case?”

“I didn’t know you were the jealous type, Derek,” YN teased, a laugh leaving her mouth when she saw him roll his eyes and fold his arms over his chest in disbelief, a grin on his face. Her body shuddering and jostling Spencer’s body beneath her as she let out a bellowing laugh, “alright, fine, mister Morgan. I’m going to go and catch up.”

She squeezed Spencer’s knee before she moved and stood to her feet, a little uneasy with the flight path being a rather bumpy one this time around, taking the woven blanket with her and taking the comfort from Spencer. Wrapping it tight around her shoulders, like she was wearing a cape, and letting it drag across the floor behind her as she took scuffed steps down the alley and perched down on the sofa beside Emily.

“You don’t hide it well, you know? Neither of you,” Morgan said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stayed focused on Spencer’s face whose eyes were locked on the woman who had just left the warmth of his lap, the corners of his lips twitching a smile that he didn’t want anyone to see, adjusting his seated position so he could reach forward and grab the brown envelope holding the case information. Trying to ignore having the conversation, that seemed to hint and fish for details in his personal life that he didn’t wish to share, that Morgan seemingly wanted to have and hold in such a tight confinement. “YN never wears scarves because we’re usually going somewhere warm. And she’d have taken it off by now, and she definitely wouldn’t wear one with a blanket because she gots warm so easily, so she’s definitely hiding something from us. And you, Reid, anyone who isn’t a profiler can see that something happened before we all got called in and we all know what that something was.”

“What?”

Spencer tried to fix his face into a look of curiosity but… he just couldn’t. What was the point in hiding the truth when his friends knew him inside and out?

“You were about to hit home base and Hotch just had to be the cockblock,” he snorted, Spencer’s eyes never lifting from the page he was reading; and, for someone that could read 20,000 words a minute, he sure took a look time to read whatever was written on the page between his fingers. And, as much as he tried to hide the burning in his cheeks by ducking his head down to his chest and using the paper to cover half of his face, Derek could still see the pink hot-flush taking over his face. “I think that blush says I’m right. Play on, playa. Am I right?”

“I didn’t come to work to be profiled, Morgan,” Spencer stated, a stern voice dripping from his tongue but, to Derek, he could hear Spencer’s well hidden sense of humour begging to make an appearance; he’d been sussed so dodging the conversation was all he could try and do and Morgan wasn’t about to let that happen, “I advise you not to profile me because I can profile you ten times better. Now, are you going to fill me in on the case? Where who is going after we land, etcetera, etcetera?”

Derek smirked in accomplishment and pushed himself up from his seat, turning his back on Spencer as he carried on reading over the case file, walking towards the back of the plane to grab himself a bottle of water to quench his thirst and to click the coffee-maker on so everyone could have a coffee to wake themselves up. He squeezed YN’s shoulder on his way passed her and made her shyly look at him and smile; it wasn’t like the chat he had with Spencer was quiet enough not to be heard..

“Hotch is keeping you two separated,” JJ spoke from her seat amongst the seat of four near the middle of the plane, much to Hotch’s dismay because all eyes were now on him as they awaited why he had chosen to separate the two people who worked fairly well together when they were ordered to, surprisingly for them because of the distractions that could possibly keep them from , “you have a hotel room though. You can do all the catching up there, if you get what I mean.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at YN and YN just wanted the floor of the plane to swallow her whole so she could escape the embarrassment.

“We’ll all head to the hotel tonight, we’ll get some sleep, hopefully wake up with fresh heads and then we’ll head to the station before we assign roles on what we do,” Hotch said, reassurance in his voice, and YN was thankful he spoke up before the conversation went down a route she hadn’t planned to be involved with. She glanced at Spencer, who tried to suffice the smirk that was begging to show on his face, and she swore she could have taken strides down the alley of the plane to swipe him across the back of the head. “Phones on though. Anything can happen through the night and we might get called in.”

YN had never felt happier to be between the four walls of a hotel room.

There was something about being on a plane, sitting and sweating in the same seat and barely moving for hours, that made her always want to freshen up at any given chance. And any given chance she would take. Even if it was a tiny airport cubicle, which was one of four in a row and smelt appallingly like they had been cleaned for days, and she had nothing but toilet paper and wipes and sanitiser and a little spritz of deodorant from her handbag to work with, it was still a chance she would take it.

As soon as they’d said their goodbyes to the team and found that they had drawn the short straw on sharing an adjoining room with someone from the team, aggravatingly, they settled in for the night and went about their business like they normally would when staying overnight on a case. Trying to forget that they could be walked in on, at any point, from Rossi who had politely offered to take the room because the looks on everyone’s faces told him they were skeptical after catching hints from the gossiping mouth of Derek Morgan. Spencer disappeared for a quick shower whilst YN hung her blouses up in the wardrobe and paired her flared trousers with the correct top, the same pair of shoes she always wore - white and incredibly tattered Converse boots - left by the door so they were easily found and easy to slip on in a rush.

“Do you reckon Hotch will call to wake us up in the morning or-”

“I assume he’ll want us in the reception lobby by eight so we should probably sleep now,” Spencer claimed, patting the empty side of the bed beside him once she walked out of the en-suite bathroom, after she had finished freshening up and brushing her teeth and had turned the light off behind her. It wasn’t the biggest bed in the world that they had been given, and it made their double bed at home look like a queen-sized bed with the size of it, and YN was sure it was classed as a single room for one person just by the size of the mattress Hotch had expected the two of them to sleep comfortably on. It wouldn’t surprise her, in all honesty, that someone had given a tip to the bossman to give them the smallest room because they need not worry about being cuddled up so tightly together. “Come on. Stop flaunting your naked body around, please. Rossi is next door and I really don’t need him making tomorrow awkward if he walks in and sees breasts pushed in his face.”

“I’m wearing a towel, you goob. And I definitely wouldn’t push my tits in his face,” YN scoffed, hands running up and down the soft material of the towel given with the room, the white cotton bringing out the deep purple bruises around her neck and the red bite marks that still littered around her collarbone from earlier that evening. Something which Spencer felt pretty proud about when he let his eyes linger. “Besides, Rossi’s probably asleep so we can do whatever we want.”

“We can not,” he warned, shaking his head and slipping his glasses from his nose, folding them up and placing them on the bedside table, just like he’d do during his routine at home. Switching the lamp on, which barely added more light to the room, and using the switch adjacent to turn off the main lighting of the room so save having to move when they were comfortably tucked up under the covers. “We can wait till we get home. More privacy.”

YN grinned to herself and used the opportunity to strut across the floor with a swing to her hip movements, the carpet rough beneath the soles of her feet, her mind focused on walking to his side of the bed so he could gain some kind of understanding of what she wanted to happen. Being as seductive and as sexy as possible in an attempt to try anything to get him feeling horny for her. One leg lifted to straddle him, her other coming up and set the other side of his legs, feeling the cotton of his boxers against the insides of her thighs. His hands came to sit on her hips, fingers circling the cotton covering her body, a curious look on his face.

“They never said we couldn’t do it when we were alone,” she reminded him, forearms resting on his shoulders and her fingers sat in the damp hair at the back of his head. He smelt like his soap - a beautiful pinewood smell that always lingered on his skin and left the bathroom with a delicious aroma - and his shampoo and looked so fresh and soft and the curls atop of his head hadn’t quite curled into their typical wisps yet and they hung lowly around the sculpt of his face. “Can we? Since we didn’t get to do it back in Virginia?”

He pulled her closer, lips puckering as he pressed a litter of kisses to her forehead then the bridge of her nose then her left cheek before her right cheek until he landed on her lips, where he lingered and left behind a tingling sensation that had her reeling and begging on the inside for something more than that.

“Don’t,” she whined, eyes closing in frustration and her thighs tensing and holding him in one positon on the bed to keep him from going anywhere, her head rolling back on the ball of her neck with a frown on her face that soon dissipated when she felt his lips graze the base of her neck. Just below her collarbone, where she could feel his warmth breath escape his nose, yet just above her the blossoming curves of her breasts where she wished for his hands to sit. Dry lips dragging across her soft skin, hands holding her hips down upon his own, leaving a string of gentle kisses across her chest. “Spence-”

“Like that?” He hummed, his damp hair tickling at the underside of her chin, his head nestling into the space at the base of her neck, pecking and nibbling at the skin below her ear, “tell me you like that.”

“I like it,” she whispered, gently holding fistfuls of his hair in her hands and pulling his head away from her neck so she was able to look him in the eyes, a dark look behind his coloured orbs that had her tingling between the legs, “I love it, Spence.”

He smirked.

“That’s enough then,” she heard him say, her mind spinning, “come on, early start tomorrow.”

“No..”

“Yeah,” he grabbed her by the waist and rolled them onto their sides, her body colliding with the mattress and the springs coiled up before re-coiling loudly, a gentle ‘oof’ escaping her as she hit the bed and came free from his body which had now switched positions. Arms bracing his weight and hands pushed into the pillow behind her head, legs straddling her own as she laid flat beneath him, eyes focused on her. “Bedtime, now.”

“You can’t have me feeling like this and then end it,” she pouted, hands snaking up his chest and back to his shoulders, palms flat against the back of his head as she pulled his face a little closer to hers, “baby, please.”

“Think I might save it, go all out with you when we get back home,” he pondered, more to himself than for her to actually hear him but her heart skipped a beat, “yeah, I think I might just warm you up, get you ready, till we get home.”

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, a hint of seduction in her words, lips touching his with every word she enunciated, “you would.”

He laughed maniacally and nudged his nose against hers; “you have no idea what you do to me.”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she retorted, bringing a bent knee up to knee him up the bum in annoyance, “I hate you sometimes.”

“Rubbish. You love me so damn much,” he said, pressing one last kiss to her lips before he rolled back to his side of the bed and stretched out beside her, face turned in her direction, “besides, I’d much rather have our own room and not an adjoining one and I’d rather have the neighbours hear us rather than Rossi. Less awkwardness at work, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes playfully, “goodnight, you annoying human being.”

“Goodnight, you equally annoying human being.”

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years ago

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dirtbags // 3: Charlotte

Summary: High school AU, 1985, Winter. The year’s off to a strange start as Charlotte and her friends find out that not only does Lola work at the new diner that opened up in town, but her dad owns it! Charlotte humbles Nikki in a very un-Charlotte manor, and Vince’s parents decide to host an English exchange student in an attempt to give him a good role model; instead, they get Razzle.

A/N: 8466 words. Do I care too much about this AU? Yes. as always, for my dears @misscharlottelee and @newyeareva ft. a softer world quotes

the city sometimes feels like a movie set. maybe this is the big scene. maybe i can be an extra at least.

Charlotte’s only a few practice hours away from being able to get her provisional license, and she berates her past self for not getting it sooner, especially not when her Winter Break has been kind of a shit-show and she’d rather tear off her own arms than ride in Tommy’s shitbox of a car with Vince Neil.

Since his blowout house party, Vince had essentially been grounded for the rest of the school year, had his car privileges revoked, and the only people his parents apparently trusted him to hang around with outside of school, were Tommy, Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach. Tommy was delighted. The girls, unsurprisingly, were not. Vince himself was downright somber, and had sulked for the remainder of the semester, and well into the break.

He had been in a particularly sour mood since last night, New Year’s Eve, when his parents had announced they were going to be hosting an exchange student from England for six months. Vince is convinced it’s an attempt to give him some sort of role model his own age, and spent most of his parents’ New Year’s Eve party ranting to Tommy and the girls while they played cards in his basement.

Her saving grace is Eileen, of course, who’s father had bought her mother a shiny, new car for Christmas, and had given Eileen the keys to her mother’s old station wagon.

“It’s kinda dumb that we’re taking two cars,” Peach, Eileen’s little sister, pipes up from the back seat, hands fiddling in her lap. It’s New Year’s Day, and while their various parents were sleeping off their hangovers, they’d suggested the kids check out the new diner that was opening today. Vince jumped at the suggestion of freedom, and everyone was in agreement, but Eileen and Charlotte took Peach in Eileen’s car the moment Vince slid into Tommy’s front seat, holding the flyer he’d gotten at the mall that told them all about the diner’s opening day, “just saying, we could all fit in one.” But she’s met with silence, “are you going to be mad at him forever?” She finally sighs.

“Yes.” Both Charlotte and Eileen answer automatically. Peach sighs as dramatically as she’s able, and sinks as low into the seat as she can. Charlotte turns on the radio, and hums along to something familiar, but that she doesn’t quite recognize, staring out the front window at the back of Tommy’s car. Vince turns around in the front seat and flips them off.

“I’m gonna ram them,” Eileen says, with absolute sincerity and serenity, leveling an intense glare at where Vince was now waving.

“Don’t,” Charlotte advises, equally level.

“I don’t get why you’re still mad, I’m not even mad,” Peach huffed, pouting. Charlotte and Eileen share a look; at sixteen years old, Peach was top of almost all of her math and science classes, but she was still a teenage girl, and an absolute fool for a blonde boy who made her cry. Charlotte knew that feeling all too well, but thankfully she’d moved on from the ‘wondering why she wasn’t enough’ stage to the ‘realizing her ex is a cheating douchebag and it was never her fault’ stage. She really hopes Peach can move on to ‘realizing Vince made her cry and hasn’t even tried to change since then and deserved to get his car keyed’ stage quickly.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, a large decal on the inside of window, black, thick and flowing lettering, outlined in gold, reading Leo’s. Through the window, several booths were already filled, as were a host of the stools along the counter. It looked warm inside, inviting in golds, yellows, peaches and oranges, neon signs and rusted street signs, band and comic book memorabilia, and photos. Behind the counter -

Lola. Smiling.

“I’m freezing my butt off, can we go in?” Peach asks, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parker, the only person who did not recognize the girl currently pouring coffee for an elderly gentleman at the counter.

Inside, the diner is warm, filled with the sounds pleasant chatter, and of the Beatles coming from a cherry wood jukebox in the corner.

“Lola!” Tommy can’t help himself, lighting up at the sight of her, and once Lola finishes pouring her customer coffee, she looks to their confused little group, and waves.

“Find yourselves a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls back, smiling bright and wide, hair tied back with a bright, red bandana.

The teens do as they’re told, pulling off jackets and gloves and scarves, sliding into a booth by the window, looking around, wrapped up in the smell of warm food, and the confusion of Lola’s presence, and completely unfamiliar demeanor. There’s an uncertain kind of quiet among them, having just expected to spend lunch at a cool new diner, but this has shift everything, only Peach, blissfully unaware of who Lola even was, seemed at ease, rearranging the sugar packets in their little holder.

Lola comes by with menus, and cups, and a pitcher of water for the table, looking pristine and put together in a tight, black blouse, skirt, and scuffed black combat boots, little peach-coloured apron tied around her waist. She pulls a notebook and pen from the pocket of the apron, looking around at them all, as if finally taking a moment to assess the situation.

Charlotte picked up a menu.

“You work here?” Tommy asked, and Lola confirms brightly, but doesn’t give any further details. She does, however, thank them all for coming, and recommend a few of her favourites.

“I’m also partial to The Lola, for obvious reasons,” she gives an actual laugh at that, as if implying one of the burgers was named after her was giving away too much information, and Charlotte was quickly scouring the menu.

Beef patty, double bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a home-made smokey maple-barbeque sauce, on a toasted bun.

“The menu’s kind of misleading,” Lola admits, moving to look down over Charlotte’s shoulder as she was reading, “all the patties are home made too, with Leo’s signature blend of herbs and spices.” That asked more questions than it answered. No-one’s quite sure what to say.

“Can I get a milkshake?” Peach pipes up, and Lola’s smile grew wide as she asked what flavour, “chocolate, please, and do you have curly fries or regular?”

“Hand cut,” Lola tells her proudly, but that means very little to Peach, who’s just glad to be having food, “still need time to think?” Lola asks the rest, and they all give her awkward, quiet smiles and nods.

Lola leaves, heading back to the counter, and the moment she’s gone, the whole table explodes with whispered confusion, leaning in, asking questions and not getting any answers.

“You guys are being super fucking weird,” Peach hisses loudly at them all, while Charlotte and Tommy argue about how the other should have known. Eileen, quietly delighted by the chaos, demands to know if anyone else thinks Lola might secretly have a twin, and Vince, who’s had the least contact with her aside from Peach, is babbling about how it’s weird to see Lola so chipper; their mutual confusion is enough to set aside Eileen and Charlotte’s hatred of him, at least for the moment.

When Peach demands they explain what they’re all whisper-shouting about, disturbing the booth behind her, they all quiet down, and Tommy and Eileen take it in turns explaining their full understanding of Lola. Charlotte takes the time to actually look around the diner now that she was inside.

There’s two other waitress, one behind the counter, the other always moving on about the various tables and booths on one side, making sure the customers are happy and food and drinks are delivered, both in the same outfit as Lola, though with varying footwear.

The view to the kitchen is unobstructed behind the counter, a half wall where meals ready to be delivered were sat, but a clear view to where three people in the kitchen, two by the grills and fryers, turned away; a broad-shouldered man towering over the grill with the longest hair Charlotte’s ever seen braided neatly down his back, and a comparatively shorter man, also with far shorter hair, though enough to be pulled up into a messy pony tail. The shorter man’s working the fryer, and putting together burgers as the taller man cooked up their various ingredients. There was also a strangely familiar kid with a mop of dark, curly hair washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, barely visible.

Lola worked diligently, smiling and chatting away; she collected dishes, and ferried meals, and handed out slices of desert from the cute, multi-tiered desserts display on the counter. When she came back, milkshake in one hand, basket of fries in the other, Peach is fully caught up on each of her friend’s short but confusing histories with her, and blurts out -

“You’re Lola?” Injecting new meaning into the words, into the name, as if anyone else at their entire school had the same name. Lola’s smile goes a little tight as she places the fries and the milkshake before the redhead. Standing back up, she taps her nametag, which reads Lola, with little flowers drawn around it, and confirms, though it’s clear she’s more on edge than she was before.

“You guys ready to order?” She asks, still trying to keep up her chipper attitude, pulling out her notebook again. Everyone’s quieter this time, looking over the menu and finally deciding on food.

“My mom heard the owner was a chef, is that true?” Tommy asks, looking up from the menu to Lola again, and the tense set of her shoulders loosens considerably at the question.

“Leo is a chef,” Lola nodded, grinning broadly, “trained at the Culinary Institute of America back in the sixties, and worked his way up to being the head chef of Parker House in Boston, which I know probably doesn’t mean much to you guys, but it’s,” Lola laughs a little struggling to describe it, “it’s fine dining at it’s finest, but for the past twelve years, he’s been running Leo’s in Salem, and now he’s here, still using all that fine dining training for the anyone who wants a good meal at a good price.”

“Is that something they have you memorize in training?” Vince says, a little awed, and Lola gives a strange little smile.

“Leo’s my dad.”

Everything kind of fell into place after that, finally making sense, and the gang’s confusion quickly shifted to understanding, and the air around the table seemed to clear. It was easier after that, the teens in the booth ordering quickly, and the chatter picked up to a normal level as she moved away, shouting their order back to the kitchen once she was back at the counter.

She doesn’t spend much time at their table, still in charge of waitressing half of the tables and booths, but she always gives them a nod as she passes, and their meals are being delivered efficiently, so there’s no reason to complain.

The food itself, for diner food, is nothing short of spectacular, which kind of just raises more questions - why if Leo can cook food that tastes this good, and with all the experience he evidentially has, would he open a diner in suburban LA, and not a high-end restaurant? But it feels kind of intrusive to ask, so Charlotte simply enjoys her food, and her friends’ company.

Up until Vince starts complaining about the exchange student again.

“His name’s Nicholas, he shows up in a week, and mom’s making me clear out the basement so he can sleep there,” he’s despondently poking his milkshake with one of his fries, head propped up on one hand, “I’ve been asking for years if I could move into the basement, and this fucking Nicholas just gets it?” His whole expression scrunches up at the thought, and he angrily eats his fry.

“Wait, so the issue isn’t that you have to clean up the basement, it’s that he gets to use it as a bedroom and you don’t?” Charlotte frowned, lowering her own burger, “why would you even want to sleep in the basement?”

“Privacy!” Vince throws his hands in the air, eyes wide, “Tammi keeps complaining about getting cramps in the back of my car, but my bedroom walls are paper thin,” he huffs, “I need my own space.”

“Tammi?” Peach asks, her voice high and almost painfully chipper, “Tammi Frisk? She scored the winning goal in the softball final, right?” She’s not looking at Vince, when Charlotte looks over to her, she’s looking at her plate of fries, pushing the few left around without eating any, smiling in a way that’s clearly forced.

“You were at the softball final?” Tommy asked, frowning slightly. Peach did not look up.

“For the school paper,” she explained, voice still strange.

“You’re still with Tammi Frisk?” Eileen asks, making sure the disgust is clear in her voice as she draws the table’s attention away from the clearly uncomfortable Peach. Charlotte’s lip curled; she wanted to make sure her expression was as judgmental as possible when Vince turned back to her.

It’s not that she cared about who he was dating, she was mostly apathetic to Tammi, and knew little more about her than the fact that she was on the softball team, but Charlotte knew Vince had been dating Tammi when he’d decided to crush Peach’s heart publicly at the start of the last semester.

Neither Peach nor Eileen had told any of them exactly how, but apparently Eileen’s hatred was well warranted, both against Vince, and according to Eileen, Tammi too.

Vince, immediately sensing Eileen’s shift in tone, and seeing the look on her face, frowns.

“Kind of,” he responds flatly, and his gaze flicks to Peach, “not really,” he backtracks, and his indignation at the whole situation seems to fizzle out with a sigh, and he slouches, going back to paying attention to his burger, “she’s sort of hanging out with one of the second-string football guys, but they’re not... and we’re not really...” he trails off, despondent once more.

At least Vince seemed to be self-aware of the fact that he was an asshole to Peach, at least he had the decency to feel bad about it. Why he kept inviting Peach to hang out, despite the fact that he knew Eileen, who hated his guts, would come along too - invited or not - baffled Charlotte.

Tommy was his friend, and a guy, Charlotte was a cheerleader and technically popular, and so was usually begrudgingly invited too, but Peach, sweet Peach, recent Science Fair Winner, junior reporter for the school paper, treasurer for the AV Club, by all accounts ‘a nerd’ when judged by her interests, was still on the guest list of Vince Neil’s life, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud.

It kind of made Charlotte want to punch him in the face.

But that’s not news.

“I hope the English exchange student is a decent influence on you,” Charlotte tells him. Vince scowls.

“You sound like my parents.”

you make me want to pretend to be a better man.

Now that school has started back up, Vince has thankfully had his car privileges returned, and Charlotte can return to not glowering in the back seat of Tommy’s car when he picks her up on the way to school, and drops her home on the days they both have practice.

But it’s Wednesday, first week back, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he’s babbling about practice, or cheerleaders he thinks are pretty, or Lola, but today, he meets Charlotte in the carpark, leaning against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets, quiet. It’s decidedly unnerving.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Charlotte asks, yanking the passenger door open once he unlocks it, sliding into the seat and putting her bag by her feet.

“Nothing,” Tommy voice betrays the lie, the thoughts so clearly on his mind that he was trying to avoid talking about. Charlotte won’t push him, if he wanted to tell her, he would, and he usually does, “put on some music, will you?” And Charlotte obligingly opens the glove compartment in front of her to look through the collection of 8track tapes he keeps in there, several of which had been Christmas gifts from Charlotte herself.

Feet on the dashboard, Charlotte’s more than content listening to Bon Jovi, bopping her head to the beat, when Tommy finally finds the words for his thoughts.

“Lola and Nikki Sixx are friends.”

Up until now, Charlotte was under the impression that Tommy, like her, thought Nikki and Lola would be great as friends, Tommy’s current tone implies otherwise.

“Is that not good?” Charlotte’s careful about her words, still not sure where Tommy’s hesitation was coming from.

“No, they make sense,” he’s quick to try and backtrack, words spilling from him almost too fast, “they make sense as friends.” He deliberates, before asking, “Charlie, you’re not friends with Nikki Sixx are you?” And it sounds like he already knows the answer. Charlotte hesitates.

“He keeps bothering me during my free periods, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends -”

“He called you Charlie,” its deadpan and accusatory in equal measure, and Charlotte shrinks back into her seat as Tommy keeps talking, “he called me ‘Charlie’s cousin’. It was weird.”

“I thought you wanted to be his friend -” she tries, right as they pull up to a red light, and Tommy fixes her with an unamused look, the only expression that makes him seem older than his years.

“Did you tell him I was obsessed with him?”

“No!” Charlotte snaps, automatically defensive.

“Because I’m not -”

“I never said - I told him you were a fan! That’s all! Like Duff was!” Charlotte tries to clear up, and Tommy looks back at the road, though this time he thankfully looks more pensive than angry. Only Bon Jovi cuts through the tense air between them for the rest of the drive back to Charlotte’s house, and when Tommy pulls up outside, he doesn’t say anything to her when she gets out.

The next day, like clockwork, fifteen minutes into her free period, Nikki Sixx comes climbing over the school’s fence, into the garden Charlotte had been trying to force herself to study in. In all honesty, she’d been waiting for him, picking at her nail polish beneath the table and reading the same sentence in Moby Dick over and over again.

“Miss Lee,” Nikki nods to her, a little gruffer than usual, “you seem more tense than usual; I can help you with that if you want,” but he still manages to smirk his way through an unsubtle come-on, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“I’d rather sit on a cactus,” she tells him icily, without even a teasing edge. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostility, and he puts the packet of cigarettes that he’d about to offer her on the table, knowing she’d turn them down anyway, “I thought people weren’t meant to know that we know each other.”

“What people do?” Nikki frowned, raising his lighter to the cigarette between his lips, “is this about yesterday? I talked to your cousin, big deal. Everyone knows you two are related, and everyone knows you,” he looks pointedly to the embroidered logo on her cheer uniform, “I wasn’t even looking for him -”

“Dude,” Charlotte felt as though she was about to tear her hair out, “you called me Charlie to him, people don’t just call me that!”

“Plenty of people call you that! That leggy redhead you’re always hanging around calls you Charlie -”

“My friends call me that -” Charlotte snaps, “and I know you know that’s Eileen Austen.” And Nikki’s wearing a dreamy look, like he’s thinking unholy thoughts about Eileen as Charlotte speaks, before snapping out of it as the first of her words register like a bucket of ice water to the face.

“I’ve called you Charlie before. To your face.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Charlotte tells him dryly, crossing her arms, “it’s less effort if I don’t correct you. We’re so not friends that I don’t even care about correcting you.” Back when this school year started, Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamed saying half the nasty shit she’s thrown at Nikki Sixx, and at some point she may have to confront the idea that being around him has made her meaner, “but did you tell my cousin that I told you he was obsessed with you? Because I never -”

“I said I was glad he was a fan!” Nikki scowled, sitting back and glowering at her across the table, “all I wanted was to ask Lola if she wanted to sit on the roof with the rest of the smokers, and your fuckin’ yappy, dumbass of a cousin -”

Punching someone in the face hurts a lot more than Charlotte had been anticipating, but it’s worth it to see Nikki toppling backwards off of the picnic bench and onto the cold grass. His cigarette lies some few feet away while he lays groaning, clutching his cheek, and Charlotte’s standing, leaning, thighs pressed against the picnic table for support as she’s staring down at him, breathing heavy through her nose while the adrenaline rushes through her system.

“What the fuck, Charlie?”

“Don’t talk shit about Tommy,” her heart’s thundering in her chest, she can feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she looks at her hand, she sees the skin of one of her knuckles has split enough to draw blood, “he has done fucking nothing to you apart from support you, and think you’re really fucking cool, for whatever dumbass reason, so don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikki groaned, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath after being winded so thoroughly, hand still cradling his cheek. That’s how Charlotte leaves him, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, and stalking towards the library to finish the rest of her free period in peace.

When Tommy drives Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach home after school that day, he’s quiet once again, but it somehow feels completely different to the oppressively accusatory air of the day before. The three girls were chattering away, trying to plan a trip to the mall for the upcoming weekend, and only when Peach and Eileen were waving goodbye in the rearview mirror did Tommy speak up.

“Did you punch Nikki Sixx in the face?” There’s a smile in her cousin’s voice, and Charlotte’s not quite sure how to react.

“I had good reason to,” she says, carefully guarded.

“He said you guys were friends, and then he thanked me for being coming to the gig a while back; told me he’d asked you to bring me specifically,” Tommy’s tone was oozing pride, and if Charlotte had been looking at him, and not frowning out the window, she would have seen how he was all but preening.

“He told you all that?” Charlotte’s anger at her memory’s of the morning’s altercation was fading fast.

“He hung out with me and Lola by the carpark for lunch,” Tommy paused, snorting a laugh, “didn’t want his buddies to find out a cheerleader gave him a black eye.”

“I - what? No I didn’t...” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and finally she looked at her cousin’s beaming face.

“You definitely did; Lola laughed at him for a full ten minutes because of it.”

“Serves him right,” Charlotte said, with a begrudging little smile.

Nikki sits with Tommy and Lola on Friday too, which Tommy is delighted to inform Charlotte on Saturday while he’s driving them both to Vince’s, where his parents have invited them over to meet the exchange student. Nicholas.

He arrived on Wednesday, but Vince’s parents have given him the rest of the week to settle in, and had invited around the few friends Vince has that they deem to be a positive influence, if only so he knew a few faces around school.

Charlotte had been picturing some over-gelled boarding-school boy, used to itchy uniforms and strict rules, and about to get a good deal of culture shock hanging around Vince and the rest of their motley little pack, but when Charlotte brings this speculation up in the car, Tommy’s quick to dismiss it. Vince, from the little Tommy had spoken to him in the past two days, was over the moon, claimed that Nicholas - Vince had called him Razzle - was amazing. If Charlotte felt an quiet sense of foreboding at that sentiment, she felt it was justified.

The first thing either of them hear after being directed down to the basement by Vince’s mother, is Alice Cooper playing almost obnoxiously loud; Charlotte’s not sure why, but it eases something in her chest.

Nicholas’s - Razzle’s? - room, first and foremost, is possibly the coolest bedroom Charlotte’s ever been in. He’s decked it out with movie and band posters, though most of the band’s she’s never heard of. There’s string-lights above a desk, a bed crammed into one corner with a bright duvet, and even a sofa, and a few beanbags all crowded around a low, wooden table that had mostly been taken up with a record player, which is where they found their friends.

The name Razzle suited him, Charlotte considered, as she took in the newcomer’s appearance, all spiked up dark hair and ostentatious clothing, animatedly telling a story while Peach and Vince hung onto his every word. He looked almost wild, like collection of half-thought ideas all vying to become a reality through the texture of his clothes, the height of his hair, the hint of amusement that tailed his words, the passion shining in the blue of his eyes when they flicked to look at her and her cousin, standing on the stairs and watching him.

His words grow quiet as he takes them in, as if waiting for something to happen, for someone to introduce them.

“You must be Charlie and Tommy!” His accent, thick and bright, made her nickname sound so familiar on his lips.

“Charlotte,” Vince corrects, giving a surprisingly respectful nod to Charlotte, who tries to shrug nonchalantly.

“Charlie’s fine. You’re,” and Charlotte hesitates for a moment, ignoring Vince’s eyeroll, “Razzle, right?” Razzle’s smile is blinding at her immediate use of the nickname, and he waves them in.

Peach throws Tommy a cushion from the sofa when he asks, and he settles himself on the floor next to Vince, while Peach and Eileen squeeze over to make room for Charlotte on the sofa clearly only made for two people.

“I was just telling these guys ‘bout my band’s very first gig, ‘nd how I had to sneak out just to get there,” Razzle settled back into his own beanbag, hands out and ready to return to his story, eyes still shining with anticipation at the memory, or possibly just glad to have an audience.

Oh, Charlotte thought, looking at this boy she barely knew, already fighting off a smile in the face of his infectious enthusiasm, maybe Vince was becoming a better judge of character.

“You’re in a band?” Tommy’s eyes light up, and Charlotte gives her cousin a fond smile; Razzle has already won his seal of approval.

we need more good crazy. it'd be nice to watch the news, and think, 'that's fucking insane', but feel a little jealous instead of just alone.

Heather hasn’t been glowering as much at lunch, and the rumour is that it’s because she’s getting laid. Well, it’s less of a rumour to Charlotte, since Heather confirmed as much to the rest of the cheer squad when one of the girls asked her, but she’s being coy and secretive about who she’s with, which is the really weird part; Heather won’t say, and no-one’s coming forward, and lord knows that most guys at their school would jump at the opportunity to claim they’re banging the Vice Captain of the Cheerleading Squad.

But Charlotte knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just smiles back when Heather gives her a sunny smile in the cafeteria.

Tommy is less than thrilled with the news when Charlotte brings it up in the car after school. Nikki’s still sitting with him and Lola during lunch, despite his bruising going down considerably over the weekend, and Tommy is equal parts delighted and uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t seem to put into words.

“At least Pam’s single,” he says it with as much of a dreamy sigh as he can manage, though it comes out more forlorn than anything else. Charlotte pets his shoulder, and reminds him that so is over half the squad; he perks up a little at that.

They pull into Mick’s gas station, and Charlotte waves to Mick and Lola, who are sitting on the step by the door sharing a cigarette. Lola waves back.

“Meant to give this to you,” Lola says to Charlotte, still sitting while Mick begrudgingly heads inside. Tommy follows him in, not needing to fill up the tank, but rather just looking to drown his sorrows regarding Heather in a jumbo slurpee. Outside, Charlotte waits with her hands in her pockets, giving Lola an amused smile, watching as the dark haired girl pulls a pin off of the jacket she practically lives in, and hands it over.

It’s a piece of black card stock cut into the shape of a star, barely an inch in diameter, taped to a safety pin. It say Punched Nikki Sixx in silver pen, one of the points of the star already a little bit crumpled.

“You’re a little bit punk, so you get a pin,” Lola tells her, smiling around her cigarette, looking quietly pleased, and perhaps even a little bit proud; whether of herself or of Charlotte, Charlotte can’t tell, but it still makes her flush.

“I thought Nikki didn’t want anyone knowing that a cheerleader gave him a black eye,” Charlotte mused, looking at the little pin, and Lola’s face scrunched up, expression falling.

“So? Who gives a shit?” She shrugs, looking away tone having shifted to almost forcibly neutral in an instant, “wear the pin or don’t, I don’t care.” Lola stands with a groan, without giving Charlotte a chance to respond, and calls to Mick that she’s heading to the diner. Mick waves, Tommy calls out a farewell, and Charlotte frowns, wondering what just happened.

“I hate that,” Nikki says flatly, the moment he spots the pin where Charlotte’s fixed it to the strap of her backpack. There’s no hard feelings between them after last week’s altercation, thankfully, though they don’t talk about it. If Charlotte’s glad that he still showed up, if she’s realised she may, in fact, enjoy his company, she keeps that information to herself.

“Lola made it for me,” Charlotte tells him. Nikki leans in, squinting at the handmade pin.

“Of course she did,” he sighs, leaning back. Surprisingly, there’s quiet between them for a few, long moments; maybe, Charlotte considers, this will be one of those mornings where Nikki uses their time together to catch up on sleep, and Charlotte can actually use her free period for it’s intended, study-related purpose, but then Nikki sighs like he wants her to ask what’s wrong.

So she does.

“I need a new band.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I know,” Nikki nods with resignation, “I was gonna ask this guy I work with, Slash, he plays guitar, but he’s already in one -”

“Wait, you don’t mean Duff’s friend Saul Hudson, do you?” Charlotte frowned, intrigued despite the stab of anger she felt at the mere mention of her ex. Nikki seemed taken aback by her question.

“You know Duff McKagan?”

“I dated him for a year and a half,” Charlotte finds herself suddenly very interested in drawing connecting triangles in the back of her notebook, not looking at Nikki, who’s quietly processing this information.

“He’s in a band now,” and neither of them seem to be quite sure why he offered that information, but they both let is hang between them for a moment.

“Makes sense,” Charlotte nods, tone flat, “with Saul - Slash?”

“Yeah,” is all Nikki has to say.

“Slash is a good kid, I always liked him,” Charlotte offered, and finally she looks up, “Tommy plays drums.”

“Marching band isn’t exactly -” Nikki begins, but Charlotte’s shaking her head.

“No, like, legit drums,” she enthuses, “his parents fixed up their whole garage to make it sound proof for him,” but she doesn’t want Nikki to think she’s pushing her cousin on him too hard, not after last week, so she sits back, and crosses her arms, trying to play it cool, “I mean, you can ask him yourself, see if he’s any good.” She shrugs, but Nikki looks like he’s already considering it.

“How many musicians do you know, Charlie?” He finally asks, giving her a faint, amused smile.

“Probably too many,” Charlotte responds with a longsuffering smile, before her mind turns to the things Tommy himself had told her, “I heard you and Lola are getting along; what’d I tell you?” She teased, and much to her surprise, what she could see of Nikki’s face, for his hair, was turning pink.

“She’s a bitch; you know she’s a bitch, right?” He asks, but he’s grinning, all sharp and dangerously amused.

“I knew you guys would get along,” Charlotte gives a pleased little sigh, as if she’d manufactured their whole friendship herself. Nikki rolls his eyes at her, and the bell goes.

Tommy, as it turns out, thinks they’re sleeping together, at least that’s what he tells Charlotte when they’re on their way to Leo’s after school to meet up with Vince, Razzle, Peach, and Eileen. The news of Nikki and Lola’s potential affair surprises Charlotte at first, but after a moment of consideration, she thinks she should have seen it coming.

Tommy’s reasoning is that they’ve become friends far quicker than he’d realised, and Nikki’s always giving Lola lifts after work, like they’re going in the same direction, even though he’d pretty sure Nikki doesn’t live near Leo’s. It also turns out that that was what had been bothering him about Nikki and Lola being friends; he still tries to insist he doesn’t have a crush on Lola, but he and Charlotte both know that’s mostly a lie.

So Charlotte can see how conflicted he is when he tells her that Nikki’s looking to start a new band, and that he asked about Tommy possibly playing drums. A beat of silence follows, and then, without looking away from the road, Tommy mutters a quiet thanks, knowing without asking that Charlotte had been the one to recommend him. Charlotte leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in unspoken acknowledgment.

“Duff’s in a band,” Charlotte’s voice is soft and a little unreadable.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, tone somber like it’s the worst news in the world, “we could throw rotten tomatoes at him?” He suggested, at the mental picture alone was enough to make Charlotte laugh, “or is that just in the movies?”

“I think that’s just in the movies,” Charlotte says, amid giggles, “besides, the rest of his band doesn’t deserve that.”

In the week that Razzle’s been in LA, Vince and his family have taken him to several, sophisticated restaurants in the vicinity, and Razzle had apparently loved them all; Leo’s was no different. He was sitting across from Charlotte in the booth, at the end of the table, reading the menu intently as the others chattered away about their day, making noises of intrigue every time he spotted something new he wanted to try. His knee knocked hers under the table, but it barely seemed to register, so engrossed in the menu that he muttered the faintest apology.

“Afternoon, guys, welcome,” Lola at work never failed to startle Charlotte, despite the fact that she’d been here once already since the first time. At least her chipper introduction seemed to bring Razzle back to reality.

“Hi, yes - oh! I know you!” Razzle lit up at the sight of Lola, and the rest of the gathered teens watched with interest, trying not to give away how intrigued they were to see Lola’s reaction, “Miss Honky Cat, you work here?”

What?

“Alright, Razzle, you found me, did you wanna order something?” Lola says, with a good-natured eyeroll, and an easy grin, hip cocked to one side. Razzle asks her what she recommends, and orders that, and then the rest of them, who had been sitting in stunned silence, are quick to order for themselves.

When she leaves, it’s mere moments before Tommy asks what that was all about, and Razzle’s eyes go wide.

“That’s Lola, innit? From school? She’s in my music class, was playing Honky Cat on the piano in the second music room, the Elton song, you know, when we had some free this morning,” he explained, confused, “she called me Rocketman when I picked what she’d been playing, but I told her my name’s Razzle.”

“You’re an enigma,” ironically, it’s Eileen who says this, wearing a fond little smile, while Razzle just looked bemused.

“I think it’s the accent, chicks fuckin’ love it,” Vince pipes up, smirking, and Razzle tries to hide his own pleased little grin since he can’t very well deny it, “Pam was all over him in Phys Ed yesterday -”

“We were just having a conversation -” Razzle was quickly turning red, while Vince clutched at his arm, putting on a high voice, twirling his blonde hair around one finger as he pretended to be Pam.

“Oh Nicholas, tell me more about The Clash, please, I want to know more!” He ended with a fake moan, which had Eileen and Peach laughing, while Razzle grabbed Charlotte’s hand and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘help me’.

“Pam’s into Razzle?” Tommy groaned, breaking the moment, falling dejectedly against Vince, who was already leaning pretty heavily on Razzle, who was then ejected from his seat and onto the floor, while Vince was draped over where he was just sitting, and Tommy was draped over Vince, “I’m gonna die alone.”

Despite Tommy’s despair, the rest of the table was greatly amused.

Thankfully for Razzle, it wasn’t a far fall, and he’d held tight to Charlotte’s hand, so at least he hadn’t ended up flat on his back, and Charlotte gave him an apologetic grin as she helped him to his feet. He lets go to dust himself off, and it’s here Charlotte notices his maroon, velvet pants, and black and white leather shoes with their little heel.

“Fancy threads,” Charlotte points out, notes of approval in her voice. Razzle makes a move to straightening a jacket he’s not wearing, and clicks his heels together, drawing the attention of the rest of the table to his shoes, of which they all make various noises of approval, or at least interest.

“I dress to impress,” and judging by his tone, if he were as crass as Vince or Nikki, he would have winked, but Charlotte’s kind of glad he refrained. He then shoves Vince, and by extension Tommy, back up to a sitting position, retaking his seat across from Charlotte, this time purposefully knocking his knee against hers.

Charlotte’s glad that Lola’s back with their drinks, so she can look at something that’s not Razzle’s sunny smile, because she doesn’t want to think about how pretty it makes him look. Stupid, British, band boy and his stupid, blue eyes.

But then she’s looking at Lola, and all she can remember is Tommy’s dejected expression when he told her that Lola and Nikki were possibly sleeping together, and Nikki’s half-hidden, bashful grin when he calls a bitch with a kind of fondness that Charlotte had never heard from him before. The urge to protect her cousin, from harm, from heartbreak, is carved into her bones, but part of her knows it would him hurt more to let him keep falling for Lola when she’d never really end up catching him. Suddenly staring into the depths of her soda became the safest option.

i have loved since you. but when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath.

Heather, of all people, is holding a party, and she tries to limit the amount of people she tells - the squad and her friends were the first to be invited - but of course, the guest list spirals out of control, and it’s exactly one and a half days before Tommy’s mooning over the fact that he’s been invited to a party at an actual cheerleader’s house.

“Dude, you’re killing me here,” Charlotte tells him at lunch; she’s finally sitting with him, Lola, and Nikki, though Nikki’s late. Heather had coyly asked her to ask Vince to bring Razzle - the cute English guy, specifically - and Charlotte had picked up her bag and left. Something about Heather in a good mood was worse than when she was being catty.

“You don’t count, you’re my cousin,” Tommy waived her off, and Lola snorted a laugh from where she was laying in the grass, using her backpack as a pillow. “You going?” Tommy pokes Lola in the ribs and she smacks his hand away, but makes an affirmative noise, and throws her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Something about how that makes Tommy smile, almost pleased, has worry sinking heavy in Charlotte’s gut.

“Heather asked me to ask Vince to invite Razzle,” Charlotte’s not quite sure why she says it, or why it makes Lola bark a laugh of her own, but at least it get’s Tommy’s mind off of last time he and Lola were at a party.

“Of course -” Tommy sighs, but then, in the very same breath, he lights up like a lightbulb, “wait! If Heather’s preoccupied with Razzle, and Pam’s going, then I -” he turned sharply to Charlotte, eyes wide, “is Pam seeing anyone?” Charlotte gives him an amused, but longsuffering look, shaking her head.

“You gonna put the moves on her?” Lola’s smirking, and Tommy’s steadily turning red, but refusing to be embarrassed.

“It’s now or never, you know? She’s graduating in a few months, will go to college and date some meathead, college footballer, this is my chance,” he enthused, and Charlotte pet his shoulder in solidarity.

Nikki joins them halfway through lunch, right as Lola and Charlotte find themselves playing angel and devil on Tommy’s shoulders regarding how he should dress for the party. Charlotte’s firmly of the opinion that he should be be wearing bright, eye-catching things - “Come on, you know Pam likes those new-wave guys!” - while Lola was adamantly recommending to go all-out punk.

“Don’t ask Nikki’s opinion, you know who he’s going to side with,” Charlotte implored, and as if to prove a point, Nikki throws his bag to the side, and lays down with his head pillowed on Lola’s stomach.

“Because Nikki has taste,” Lola throws her arm above her head, into the grass, neck at an awkward angle as she looks, wide-eyed to Tommy.

“Thank you,” Nikki grumbles, and immediately closes his eyes, “what are we arguing about?” A pause, then, “and why is Charlie here?”

“Heather asked Charlie to bring Razz to the party next weekend,” Tommy says, the words sounding rote off his tongue, before he gets into the meat of the argument, laying himself back in the grass. Somehow it makes Charlotte feel left out, being the only one left marginally upright, and she slouches a little lower against the fence.

Tommy explains his conundrum, and much to everyone’s surprise, Nikki refrains from giving his opinion, sighting that he has no clue what Pam would like, and that he’s not taking the fall if Tommy looks like a dickhead and crashes and burns while talking to, arguably, the most popular girl in school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole,” Tommy groans, without really thinking, and as the realization and subsequent horror took over his expression, Lola barked a laugh, and even Nikki was grinning.

The moment was surprisingly light, Tommy’s face buried in his hands, though he’s now hiding a smile, and Charlotte is surprised at how easy it is to smile and laugh here, these people accepting her presence without another thought. The politics of the cafeteria make it all feel so foreign, but Tommy said ‘Charlie’s sitting here now’ and Nikki and Lola took it in stride.

And later, Eileen will ask her where she was at lunch, will go on to sigh and roll her eyes as she recounts barely sitting through five minutes of the cheerleaders buzzing like cheerful, little hornets, discussing who would be at the party, and how they would coordinate their outfits. She’d spent another five minutes with the swim team, who spent the entire time picking apart her backstroke technique since she ‘finally decided to join them’.

“This is why I don’t sit with them,” Eileen had frowned, sitting in the McDonalds carpark, absentmindedly violating her soda with it’s straw out of frustration, Charlotte, wide-eyed, quietly eats her terrible, oily fries, and lets Eileen vent, “if I have to listen to one more five-am-gym-going-wannabe-sports-scholarship tell me my form is off, I’m going to go full Carrie-At-The-Prom at our next meet,” Eileen warned, and reached over to snatch a fry. Very few people were ever privy to Eileen’s frustration, as the redhead seemed to do a rather good job of bottling it up, but Charlotte personally felt honored that her friend could be so honest around her.

“I was thinking of joining yearbook, maybe? Or the school paper with...” a strange moment of hesitation, “with Peach,” Eileen paused, taking a long moment to think, and take a sip of her drink, eyes glass as she stared out at the highway as cars passed before them, “auditions for the school play are on Friday,” she adds, like she’s seriously considering it, “it’s Singin’ In The Rain, Keanu actually suggested I should audition.” The idea that Keanu and Eileen have talked enough for him to suggest that she audition for a musical and for her to serious consider it is kind of baffling; Charlotte doesn’t process the meaning behind any of this now, however, just files it away in the back of her mind for later.

“Macy moved to Portland over the Summer,” Charlotte feigns seriousness with her suggestion instead, trying not to give away how amused she is, already anticipating Eileen’s response, “we’re holding cheer tryouts to replace her on Tuesday,” Eileen’s expression is already souring, almost comedically disgusted at Charlotte’s implied suggestion, though she lets the blonde finish, “you were the best bottom-right to the pyramid we’ve ever had,” she said, barely stifling giggles as Eileen turns to her.

“I’d rather die,” her lip curled, and Charlotte leaned over the center console of the minivan to press her forehead against Eileen’s shoulder, and Eileen reaches up with her free hand to scratch gently at Charlotte’s scalp, before bursting out with, “and my form’s not even bad! The coach loves me, Charlie, she loves me, they just think they’re better than me, bunch of clique-y, insular, webbed-toe bitches.”

The words hang in the air, a surprising outburst from the usually reserved and thoughtful girl.

“Do they really have webbed toes?” Charlotte asks, turning so her temple still pressed against the soft cashmere of Eileen’s sweater, but she was following the ginger’s gaze out to the highway ahead. Eileen gives a tired, little laugh, as if her outburst had left her exhausted.

“No.”

Charlotte wants more than anything to ask her what’s wrong, but knows better than anyone that Eileen only says exactly what she wants someone else to know. Instead, she offers her fries silently. Eileen takes one.

“Peach and I got into a fight today,” voice barely above a whisper, Eileen follows her words with a sigh, and suddenly her out of character frustration made complete, and utter sense. For all that she’s known both Peach and Eileen, Charlotte has never known their altercations to be quick or painless affairs, “Vince invited her to Heather’s party.”

“He invited her himself?” Charlotte’s not sure what the issue is beyond their general dislike of Vince, but if Vince himself is starting to possibly change, then it’s hard to see the issue.

“Yeah,” Eileen seems to know what Charlotte’s thinking, and pauses to find the right words, “I don’t trust him, and I don’t know how she can trust him either.” There’s a quality to her voice that Charlotte’s only heard rarely; uncertainty, “and I don’t want her going to Heather’s party, I barely want to go myself, and what if she drinks, and what if she does terrible things she regrets -?” Eileen cuts herself off, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back against the headrest.

“I get it,” Charlotte says, so gentle, so understanding, but Eileen’s still quiet.

“She’s my little sister, Charlie,” Eileen sighed, “and it’s like our parents couldn’t care less, so I have to protect her, and I have to keep her from the guy she thinks is the love of her life, and I have to be the one to always remind her of all the shitty things he’s done and remind her that life isn’t a goddamn fairytale.” She sounds close to tears, soda cup between her knees and hands clutching, white knuckled, at the steering wheel, or else she may have been tearing her hair out.

There was a shake in her voice, tight and exhausted in equal measure, like the words had sat, unspoken, pressed against her teeth, for far longer than Charlotte had realized she’d been thinking them. Charlotte rests her hand on Eileen’s.

“She loves you more than anyone else in the world, you know that right? She’s just sixteen, you know all the drama and shit we went through last year -”

“I can’t watch her go through what you went through with Duff,” the words escaped Eileen in a rush, and she clamps her mouth shut, sitting forward in the driver’s seat, lips pressed into a thin line, as Charlotte’s heart sank in her chest, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Charlotte sat back in her own seat, nodding dejectedly, fiddling with her bracelet.

“You... Charlie, you know you’re my best friend, and I love you, and seeing you in pain with no way to help,” Eileen’s hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel as she forced herself to relax, though her words have Charlotte’s heart swelling with fondness, “it fucking killed me,” she admitted, leaning back, letting her shoulders sags with the weight of her words, like the weight of the world, and as she leaned back, she looked to Charlotte, so unguarded, so sincere, “I can’t let Vince break Peach’s heart like that.”

Eileen has always looked and seemed older than her seventeen years, but it’s strange to see her like this, to be reminded that she holds within her this unassuming duality. To protect is her first instinct, herself, her feelings, her friends, her family, but she’s still so young, just a kid; she still deserves to be protected too.

“I’m so tired,” Eileen murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands, now folded in her lap, and she huffs a humorless laugh, “I’m seventeen, Charlie, I’m fucking tired of feeling thirty.”

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #nikki sixx imagine #tommy lee imagine #vince neil imagine #motley crue #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue imagine #the angry lizard writes #charlotte & lola #lola&charlotte

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