#and Penny is there too you can see her on the laptop uh

[reestallized]

Started to get some Scarlet and Violet brainrot now excuse me for a bit

[syoddeye]

consequence

price x f!reader | 1069 words nice tags: loser x loser, john price having a sliver of game, but it works a/n: continuation of this shortie. played myself here. 💀

“orange?”

“green.”

“what?”

“sorry, are we not naming colors?”

he's simultaneously wounded and amused that she doesn’t even look up to lash him with her tongue. suppose his attempts are ten a penny—she gets chatted up every day; he’s seen it firsthand.

ever since he tracked her to the shop a little over three weeks ago, he’s become a regular. he goes out of his way to visit and watch her handle interested parties like a professional. from the vantage of his usual table, he pretends to read or scroll on his phone, listening in on how she rebuffs them. his own politeness is rewarded with a gradual drop in her guard.

see, from his observations, he’s deduced what other prospects lack: persistence. something he has in spades.

he moves down the counter with her. it’s always slower in the afternoon, affording the time to talk. her good-for-nothing coworker is on another break.

“your cast.” he gestures. “brand new?”

she fumbles the tamper and bites out a quick, “yep.” 

“no signatures.” her last one—bright blue—was nearly black with names and drawings just yesterday.

“got it this morning before i clocked in.”

“your boss still made you come in after that?”

“yeah, well, some of us have to work—shit.” she drops the tamper and portafilter, both thunking onto the rubber mat at her feet. grounds litter the counter and floor, and her eyelids twitch.

accident prone. unlucky. perhaps both.

john considers jumping the bar. a glance at the staff door says her coworker isn’t rushing to help, but he can’t push the line he’s drawn. in pencil. with a light hand.

after all, it wasn’t too long ago that she was jilted in love. she might as well wear a handle with care label.

she swears, fetches a hand broom and pan, then ducks.

“can i—?” he starts.

“absolutely not.” she snips, alternating tools in her good hand, piling the spilled grounds.

john lets a brief silence stretch, listening to the broom swish and other customers typing on laptops. he leans far enough to cast a shadow over her, and his mind wanders off.

“i didn’t mean to snap. or insinuate you’re, uh, underemployed.”

his focus splinters, his daydreams burst. god help a lech like him. sees a pretty girl on her knees and he’s fifteen years younger. christ. he distracts himself with the mess on the counter.

“takes more than a smart remark to hurt me.”

“yeah? well, watch out for scooters. that’s all it took to hurt me.” she smirks with eyes downcast, sweeping the pile into the pan.

if you’d just popped to the door, love. fessed up. i’d’ve taken care of you.

“mm, you’re resilient though. you got back up.”

she stands, shrugging. “like i said. had to. girl’s gotta eat. bills don’t pay themselves.”

“truer words.” john offers his share of collected grounds and a smile.

she murmurs thanks as she disposes of the coffee and moves to restart his drink until he raises a hand.

“give it a rest.”

“you paid for it.” she squints, disbelieving he’s passing on his coffee. her lips press together, and the small scar from the crash punctuates her uncertainty.

“i want somethin’ else.” his true intentions must bleed through his eyes because the corners of her mouth then pull down. he swiftly adds, “let me sign it.”

she nearly drops everything a second time. “you want to sign it. my cast?” 

“do you have somethin’ else i could sign?” 

her nostrils flare when she’s surprised. embarrassed? it’s cute. he wants to see it again.

“fine. here.” she dumps the pan, sets it aside, and hands him the marker she keeps clipped to her apron.  

he’s careful when he leans closer, concentrating, ignoring the ding of the bell above the cafe’s door. the warmth of her skin seeps through where he holds her arm steady. his chin dips, relishing the strong scent of espresso and how nice and still she’s standing. it’s impulsive, deciding to smudge the line he’d drawn.

she only notices as he writes the last digit next to ‘john’.

“are you—is that your phone number?” 

the bell rings again, and a cluster of voices follow.

“it is.” john confirms with a satisfied grin, glancing at his uniform scrawl. he caps her pen and slides it into the top pocket of her apron. time’s run out with the arrival of the mid-afternoon rush. clockwork. “good chat.” he winks, savors the finer details of her sweet, bewildered expression, and weaves around the small crowd of office workers in for a pick-me-up.

he’s pure confidence on the trip home, imagining what she’ll say when she calls or texts. how he’ll surprise her with his car on the first date. what? why’re you staring like that? how does it look familiar? he cracks himself up, thinking of how he’ll pry a confession out of her, then lean into it. what a coincidence. must be fate, visiting your shop.

his phone remains on the table as he goes about the rest of the day, half-heartedly doing what needs to be done while home. she works until seventeen-hundred, so he doesn’t expect immediacy. it doesn’t stop him from finding excuses to hover nearby or snatching up the device when it pings ten minutes after closing.

>> if this is a plot to get free drinks, i only get one a shift and it’s for me

> It’s a ploy to buy you a drink, if you’d like.

three dots appear and disappear rapidly.

>> i’m not drinking right now >> considering how i got the cast

> then what are your plans for tomorrow?

persistence.

>> supermarket

> Wonderful. Send your address. I’ll pick you up.

>> oh you’re one of those guys >> self invitation type >> you don’t need to come???

> Are you going to carry them yourself?

another round of dots. 

>> good point >> fine, be my muscle

> Gladly. 

she sends her address, which he promptly inputs into a search engine. decent area, expensive rent. clicks his tongue as he clicks through the photos from an old listing. hopefully, the pathetic-looking deadbolt’s been updated.

he suggests a time.

>> works for me

> Good. See you tomorrow. 

>> yeah yeah, night john x

his eyes hitch to the ‘x’, and his chest tightens. he exits the rental site and glances around his flat. yeah, she’ll fit in quite nicely.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"So your sister will be coming by next week with the little ones," your mother declares as you stand at the sink, scrubbing away the remnants of roast beef and potato. "You'll get to play auntie for the day."

"Mhmm," you nod, "what about Justin?"

"Oh, your brother's down visiting with his fiance's family. He said he'd try to make if for Christmas Eve but you know how her family is."

You sniff and pretend to know. You really don't. It's all hearsay to you. You don't hear much from either siblings; they have lives, you just happen to be related.

"S-sounds great," you utter as you put another plate in the rack.

"Oh, honey, you should just use the dishwasher," she says.

"It's f-f-fine, this works," you insist.

"Well, what about you? What are you up to?" She leans on the counter.

"I..." you don't know what to say. You need a lie, anything to appease her. Your brother's engaged, your sister has the white picket fence and you have nothing, "oh, I h-have a job interview."

"You do?" She sounds thoroughly disbelieving.

"Uh, yeah, w-well," you stammer through, trying not to give away your deceit, "since n-no one wants to h-hire me in my f-field, I f-found something new."

"That's exciting," she chimes, "what is it?"

"Uh, I w-want to see i-if it turns out b-before I say," you give a tight-lipped smile, "don't want to d-disappoint you again."

"Sweetie, you're not a disappointment," she hums, "I'm always happy to see you trying."

You look down at the sink and shrug. Behind that comment is the inference that you weren't trying before. That you haven't been. The long nights with vivid nightmares don't exactly motivate you and you've been all but blacklisted as an executive assistant. Even admin roles aren't responding. Even if you do get a bite, the job market is drawn out and tedious.

"Thanks, mom."

"Just... try not to mope around the kids," she chides, "it's Christmas."

You flutter your lashes, "sure, mom."

That's what you are to everyone; weak, pathetic, useless. No, don't do that. You'll make another appointment with Lisa, she always knows what to do.

☕️

Well, this is it. A last resort. One of those freelancing websites that pays pennies. It's better than nothing and will keep you from having too big a gap on your resume. You could easily do the writing gigs, easy money for transcription. You apply to a few of those and scroll on.

You sit up as you see a particular posting that interest you. Oddly enough, the pay isn't half bad. It's also labeled as 'may lead to ongoing work'. Well, well, well, now that's something.

You click into the posting for 'Podcast Script Writer' and review the details. A sample is required for application and lucky enough, you have lots of those hanging around. If it wasn't for your stammer, you'd have an episode done by now. You deleted enough recordings to the point of giving up. Well, this is a solution. You can get your work out there without having to embarrass yourself.

You go through the application, putting in your info and editing a draft before attaching it to the application. You just hope it's thorough enough. You never really let anyone else see and hitting submit makes your stomach flip. With the final click, you close your laptop and quickly get up. Alright, you're not going to dwell on it. If you hear anything, you'll worry then.

You try to read but can't focus. It just makes you think of the posting and your application. Oh jeez, imagine you're rejected but worse, they tell you you've done everything wrong.

Appointment! You can't forget that. You login to the app and put in a request for a Zoom appointment that week. Alright, you're getting things done, you can't say you've done nothing.

You put a video on your phone and lean it on the pop out grip, propping it up on your mattress to watch the compilation of sitcom moments cut together on Youtube. Your mind wanders and your eyes begin to sag as the day shrouds you in fatigue. You slip into a shallow doze as the glare of the screen flickers over you.

The distant clack of keyboards and clicking of mouses needles behind your ears. It's as if you're trapped in a bubble of silence, all colours and noised dampened by the unseen wall. You shudder as you hear his voice, the only thing that's clear. Your name crawls up behind the shell of your ear with his breath as his hands settle on your hips. Your body aches as every muscles tightens and your bones lock in place. Please, no, not again...

"Sir..." you try to speak but nothing comes out. He's always tugging your skirt up, his hand is around your throat. You close your eyes as tears stain your cheeks.

You wake with a start, your phone black as the battery's drained from neglect. You sit up and pant, looking around your dark bedroom, the moonlight limning shadows sinisterly. You gulp and fall back, watching the ceiling as the tears rise in reality and sting your eyes.

If you'd just said no. A simple word. Even you can manage that.

You lay for a while until your restlessness boils over. You get up and plug in your phone. The screen lights up as you rub your eye socket and yawn. There's an email notification in the taskbar. Probably more ads for things you can't afford.

You pull down the menu but find ‘Application Update’ emblazoned across the notification. Oh wow, that was fast. You keep yourself from tapping on the email.

You don't know if you can handle another rejection. You'd rather languish in the uncertainty. You've been doing so for so long, it almost feels safe.

[sparklingchim]

addicted; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: pwp, established relationship, college!au, richboy!jk

rating: 18+

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play, dumbification 😵‍💫, praising, size kink, tummy bulging, dirty talk, hair pulling, oc has bratty tendencies 🤨, name calling; slut, kookie is so handsome, spit kink !! , breeding kink, creampie, choking, googie's chain dangling in oc's face 🤩, slight overstimulation, jewellery kink? if that exists, cum play

summary: your boyfie jungkook fucking you silly.

a/n: im ovulating. that's my excuse.

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"Kinda want you inside me right now."

You look up at Jungkook, who's totally caught up in the movie playing on the laptop between your bodies.

It's a quiet Tuesday evening. Jungkook had come to your dorm just an hour ago, after doing his workout in the gym.

You had been waiting for him all evening along. You're alone in your dorm, Nayeon, your roommate, is spending her day at her boyfriend's place. It's been a boring day honestly, you've been lounging around in nothing but a black t-shirt from Jungkook after classes.

"Yeah? Want some cockwarming?"

"No," you say, propping your chin on his chest. "More like, want you to rail me." That catches Jungkook's attention. You bat your eyelashes when he sets his gaze on you.

That's all you could think about the minute Jungkook set foot inside your room. He looks hot tonight, has the cuddly boyfriend look on that has your mouth drooling for him. Men should just not be allowed to wear grey sweatpants. They do absolutely no good for the world - except leaving you thirsty for cock. Jungkook's also wearing a black cap. You love his hair, you really do but seeing him with a cap on does some things to you.

Jungkook's not even surprised at your boldness. If he got a penny for every time you asked him to fuck you, he'd be rich - that is, course, if you don't consider that the two of you haven't been dating that long and that, well, Jungkook is already wealthy of money.

"My girl wants to fuck?"

"Uh-huh."

And with that, he spreads his legs and drags your smaller body between him. Your back is flush against his ripped chest. Jungkook's manhandling has made his t-shirt hike up your thighs and your pink panties are perfectly on display for his eyes.

"Could've just told me to get between your legs," you mutter. You'd never confess how much you love it when he manhandles you.

"If you're such a big girl who can handle doing shit on her own, then surely you can get off on your own, hm?"

Oh no. That's not what you wanted to achieve with your brattiness.

"Mh-mhm." You shake your head in a pout. You grab his wrist and draw his hand between your legs. "Please?" You turn to look at him and bat your eyelashes again. You love doing it and Jungkook's loves seeing you pliant for him.

"Why should I?" he asks despite already inching closer to where you're aching the most. The pad of fingers place themselves on the damped spot of your panties. "Too stupid to do it?"

Your breath hitches at his slightest movement. "You just do it better." Your words are barely a whisper.

Jungkook's tatted hand, along with his rings that adorn his knuckles, disappears into your panties. Your legs naturally spread wider for him.

First rule established in your relationship: jewellery stays on during sex.

Jungkook loves wearing jewellery. Is practical obsessed with it. And you, on the other hand, are obsessed with the way how hot they make him look like. Jungkook is a fine fucking man, but his jewellery? His rings, chains, bracelets, earrings, his Rolex ? They got your pussy leaking for him.

Jungkook's got all the expensive jewellery that only rich folks could ever afford - which, weirdly enough, adds to the fact that they make you lose you sanity.

The times Jungkook planted kisses down your body and unintentionally - or maybe intentional after all, you don't know - grazed your pussy with his pendant? An agonising tease, but it made everything much more exciting.

"You're so wet baby," he whispers as he drags the pad of his middle finger across your pussy. "Why haven't you told me sooner, hm? Would've taken care of my girl immediately."

"You looked exhausted when you came in."

"Babe," he chides in a dark, disapproving timbre. You swear it's unintentional but you feel more arousal gushing from your pussy at his low voice. "Y'know I'm never too exhausted to please my sweet girl." Oh. What a beautiful thing to have whispered in your ear. Your pussy likes it too.

"Well," you begin, voice already hoarse cause of your dry throat. "Then you'll have no problem fucking me dumb, right?"

Jungkook chuckles. "What kinda question is this?"

"Oh!" you squeak when Jungkook plunges two fingers inside you. A pathetic whine of Jungkook's name flees past your lips. Your hand bolts to his forearm, nails leaving crescent on his skin at the sudden stretch. 

"Silly girl." Jungkook crooks his fingers. "Asking me to fuck her and then acting so surprised." You such a gasp in when Jungkook starts moving his fingers. He drags them along your sweet spot, the tickled feeling makes your toes curl in ecstasy. 

Your head rolls to the side. Jungkook's heartbeat drums right into your ear. Despite of the obscene scene that plays out right in front of you, the soft beats of Jungkook's heart grant an almost romantic, intimate ambiance.

"Feels so good." You sigh and crane your neck to look up at him. Jungkook's eyes are dark. The second his stare meets yours, a devilish smirk curves his pink lips.

"Yeah?" he asks in feigned sympathy. "You like my fingers?"

"S-so much."

Jungkook nudges your elbow. "Let me see your tits, baby." You sit up a little, lift Jungkook's black t-shirt over your head and toss it on the floor.

He spits on one breast and watches it trickle down over curve of your boob before rubbing it over your pebbled nipple. Your thighs tremble at the added pleasure. With his hand so close you can read the time on his Rolex. It's shortly after 8 pm.

"I love playing with you like this." He rolls your nub between his digits. "My dumb girl lets me do anything to her, doesn't she?"

" 'm your toy," you moan, moving your hips along his rapid movement.

"That's right, baby," he praises. "Just mine." His hand is cupping your jaw now, thumbing over your swollen bottom lip. "So pretty," Jungkook mumbles in your ear. You part your lips and close your mouth around his thumb. An approving sound rumbles from Jungkook's throat. You mindlessly swirl your tongue around his digit as Jungkook's starts fucking you faster.

"You gonna cum for me?" Jungkook can feel your walls clenching around his fingers and adds another to it.

You squeal around Jungkook's thumb, eyebrows tightly furrowed with how much pleasure you're getting.

Jungkook withdraws his finger from your mouth and tilts your head towards him by your jaw. He wants to look at you when you cum.

Wet sounds of your pussy fill the room, alongside your desperate moans - and the movie still playing in the background but that was already long forgotten between the two of you.

"That's it. Cum for me, babe." Jungkook squeezes your tit with his other hand.

"Shit, I'm- I'm-

Your whole body tingles when the delight reaches its peak and finally spills over. Your nails claw at his thighs and you squeeze your eyes shut when the prickle overwhelms you.

"Good girl." You're barely able to hear his voice, your high taking over all your senses. You go limp in his arms, legs trembling. Jungkook sprinkles sweet kisses on your jaw, but his fingers remain inside you, slower but still moving.

You're writhing in his arms. "Jungkook."

"I love playing with your pussy," he teases. "Fuck, hear how wet it is? All for me?"

Yes, you definitely hear it. You're wetter than every fucking ocean in this world combined and the squelching sounds are so obscene you don't even wanna know how his fingers feel right now.

You seize his wrist. "Gukkie, please."

"Can't take anymore?" he taunts.

"Too much." You sigh relieved when he removes his sneaky hand from your throbbing pussy, though he can't withstand to land one last teasing smack on your clit. You shake in his arms a whine falling past your lips.

Jungkook holds his glistening fingers in front of your mouth. Without much to say you take them in your mouth and suck them clean. When you're done Jungkook puts them in his mouth, tasting both the remnants of your cum and your saliva.

"Kiss me," you say when he's done tasting you. You know his cap is gonna be in the way, so you pull it off his head.

"Is there any moment in life where you don't look good?" you complain. He's had that stupid cap on for God knows how long, and yet his hair looks perfect. "It's unfair."

Whether if it's his morning hair, his after shower hair, his i just ran through my hair ten times cos im stressed about my exams or his we started baking and it ended up in a flour flight in the kitchen and now i have flour poured all over me, his hair still manages to look like he could do a photoshoot for the front cover of Elle Korea.

"Of course there is, babe," he starts but before he can finish you shush him with your finger on his mouth.

"Keep your corny compliments for yourself. I'm not giving you head tonight."

Jungkook clicks his tongue. "Why do you think that's the only reason why I would give you compliments?"

"Cause you always think with your dick."

"C'mere," he just says, ignoring your words.

He tilts your head up by your chin and clashes his mouth on yours. The taste of your cum is still lingering on both your tongues. Your hand finds his throbbing cock and you stroke him through his sweatpants. You can't recall when he got hard, you were too absorbed in your own pleasure to notice.

"Lie on your back for me," Jungkook says after the kiss.

While you make yourself comfortable on your back, Jungkook carefully closes your laptop and puts it on your bedside table. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the soft pink fabric of your panties flying across the room. He then he removes all his clothing and crawls back onto the bed.

Jungkook positions himself between your spread legs. He jerks his cock a few times and has his dark, fiery eyes on you.

You look so small under him. So fragile and vulnerable. He wants to keep you in his pocket and protect you forever.

"Such a pretty pussy." He traces his head over your glistening cunt, smearing your wetness all over you. And because Jungkook can't get enough of seeing your pussy all wet for him, he pushes his cock out of the way and spits directly on it. You have to hand it to him, he aims better than any man you've ever met. Jungkook spreads the added lubrication over your folds. You whimper beneath him. He's just teasing you and your mind is already foggy from all the bliss.

"Please, Koo," you plead. "Please fuck me."

"Always so needy." But still, he gives you what you want. He aligns his head on your entrance and slowly pushes his cock inside until is deeply sheathed between your greedy walls.

He stays like this for a second, allows you a few seconds to come accustomed to his size.

"God, you're so big." You still welcome the stretch his dick gives your pussy every time.

"But your little pussy can take it, right?" Jungkook pulls back, until only the beginning of his tip is left inside. And with a strong thrust of his hips, he's back inside you again.

Your back arches off the back and Jungkook watches you through lidded eyes. "I love fucking you like this," he says, his hands on both your knees. "Look so fucking hot." His eyes trails down to your tits bouncing every time he thrusts into you.

"I love your cock," you respond because damn that's literally the only thing you can thing about right now. It's just feels so good.

"There's only cock in your mind, isn't? The only thing you always fucking think about?" Jungkook's pace increases and all your rational thoughts are chased away with it.

"There's nothing in there, is it?" Jungkook  rasps and grabs a fistful of your hair. The pain from your scalp hurtles through your whole body. "Just needy thoughts, huh?" His silver fleur-de-lis chain dangles in front of your face as he comes closer. He's careful not do smack you in the face with it.

"Thought of you all day long," you mewl, palming your breast.

"Yeah? Thought of me fucking your tiny pussy?"

"God, yes."

The moment Jungkook smooths his ringed hand over the expanse of your tummy and presses his palm to your lower tummy it's officially over for you.

Your head rolls to your side and breathy moans escape your plush lips. The pressure Jungkook puts on your tummy makes you feel woozy in the head.

"You like that?" he asks and you're barely able to find strength to nod. "I can feel my cock moving inside you." Jungkook switches his thrusts into a languid fashion. His eyes are attached to where his tatted hand is resting. He can see it - he can see the bulge of his cock in your tummy. "Oh, fuck." He could never get over how fucking hot it looks like. Seeing your tiny pussy taking his big cock will always make him want to nut inside you right then and there. Jungkook grabs your hand that isn't currently occupied with tweaking your nipple and situates it right where his hand had been. "You're feeling this, baby?" Jungkook covers his hand over yours and your hand completely vanishes beneath his. "You feel how my cock is stretching your little pussy open?"

"Uh-huh," you press out, dragging out the sound until it morphs into a moan as Jungkook starts picking up on his pace again.

"Lost your words?" Jungkook sneers. "What a brain dead slut you are for me."

You whimper in response, reaching for his chain to drag him closer. His hand finds your throat once again. It quickly embraces your neck and his fingers make it harder to breath. The watchstrap of his Rolex pokes your skin but you're already used to the chafing feeling. Jungkook is so close to you, you can feel his ragged breathing fanning on your face.

"You're my pathetic little slut, aren't you?"

"Y-yes."

"Open your mouth for me," he demands.

You do, with your tongue sticking out slightly. He lets a drop of saliva fall from his mouth and again it lands right where he wants it to, this time on your tongue. And you swallow, like the obedient little girl you are for him.

He feels your throat bobbing and hums satisfied. "Such a good girl."

Jungkook draws back again, grabbing both your ankles and throws your legs over his shoulders.

Your eyes roll at the back of your head. "Jungkook," you whine. You're so close to cumming again, you feel like you're gonna see stars.

"You're gonna cum, aren't you?"

"Yes - fuck - yes, I'm so close!"

Jungkook thrusts his cock inside just the way you like it.

You relish in the way he forces himself into your pussy, heady and intoxicating pleasure. You tip over the edge, panting a moan of Jungkook's name as you cum onto Jungkook’s rock-hard length. Mind-numbing satisfaction that spreads all over you, hot and melting into you. 

"That's my girl." Jungkook slows down, giving you kisses all over your neck as he rolls his hips into you.

He rides out your high. You're too fucked out to do anything for a moment and just enjoy Jungkook pampering you with kisses.

"Good job," he praises you once again and you feel your heart flutter. God, he's too good at this.

But you could to the same. "Cum inside me," you beg.

That sentence? Heaven in Jungkook's ears. You don't let him cum inside you that often but oh fuck, when you allow him to it drives him crazy.

Jungkook groans into the pillow next to you. "Yeah? Want me to knock you up?"

"Uh-huh. Want you to fill me up."

"Fuck," he moans and it sounds so fucking pretty you think you're falling in love with him all over again.

One of your hand moves to his chest and you softly flick your index against his nipple.

"I'm gonna cum." Jungkook throws his head back and goes sloppy in his movements. He spills all his seed into you until he shoves his cock deep inside you one last time.

Jungkook's head drops down in the crook of your neck and you thread your fingers through his hair. He stays like that for a while, his dick still inside.

When Jungkook starts peppering kisses over your neck and then chest and then face, you know he's come back to his senses. If you're honest, you still feel woolly in your head but Jungkook has always been better at handling the post nut clarity than you.

You poke Jungkook in the side with your feet. "Jungkook, let me pee."

"Let me love you, woman."

"You weigh a ton," you groan as you try to push him off you.

At that, he perks up and looks at you with narrowed eyes. "I take full offense to that. I've worked hard to build these muscles," he says. "But I get it. Someone like you-" He takes hold of your weak, undefined arm and looks at you pityingly. "Would never understand."

You giggle and playfully swat his chest.

"Just let me go and pee, you dummy."

[multifandomfanfiction]

You Are My Sunshine Chapter 7

TITLE: You Are My Sunshine Chapter 7 PAIRING: Marcus/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: 7/? SUMMARY: The FBI is setting up a task force to deal with international art theft and they’re in need of an analyst. Willow Reid, younger sister of the BAU’s resident genius, applies for the job and gets it. She and her new boss, Agent Marcus Pike, get off on the wrong foot due to her overly friendly personality. What will the BAU do when they realize that he’s taken their sunshine away?

“Willow, can I see you in my office?” Marcus asked.

Willow nodded and followed him, aware that the whole team was staring at them.

Marcus shut the door and sat down at his desk. “Is something wrong, Marcus?”

“There was a robbery at a nearby museum and they have security footage of it happening.”

Willow nodded. “Great. I’ll just need their IP address.”

Marcus looked at her, confused.

“I can backdoor my way into their system and pull the footage we need and if I can’t do it, Penelope can.” Sometimes she forgot that Marcus had no background in technology or hacking.

“I was actually hoping you could accompany me,” he said.

“Oh! I guess I could do that. Just let me grab my laptop and we can go.” Willow grabbed her laptop from her office and brought up her software as Marcus drove.

“So did Penelope show you how to do that?” Marcus asked.

“I learned everything from Penny. Before I joined the FBI, I would go to work with Spencer and shadow her.”

Ever since that night in Willow’s office, Marcus let her decide when to bring up her brother or the BAU.

They arrived at the museum and went inside.

Willow tried not to blush at the feeling of Marcus’ hand on her lower back.

“Ah, Agent Pike!” the curator said, rushing towards them.

“This is our technical analyst Willow Reid. She just needs to get a copy of the security footage so she can analyze it and hopefully bring them to justice.”

The curator nodded and led her to the security office.

Marcus stayed back to let her do her thing without being disturbed while he looked around at the paintings. He hadn’t been to this museum yet. Work had kept him busy, delegating tasks and traveling around for cases.

Willow soon joined him.

“Hey, get what we need?” he asked.

Willow patted her bag and said, “As soon as we get back, I can run it through some facial recognition software and we should have our unsubs.” “Unsubs?”

“Unknown subjects. Sorry. I still forget this isn’t the BAU.”

“I’m sure the curator would appreciate that. There’s a gala in a few days and he’d like the paintings back before then.”

Willow frowned. “You don’t think they would have sold the paintings by now?”

Marcus shrugged. “We’ve been following these ‘unsubs’ for a while. They tend to hold onto them for a little while until things die down.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The art thieves were apprehended thanks to the help of the FBI’s extensive databases.

As a token of appreciation, Marcus and Willow were invited to the gala. Willow wanted to turn down the invitation, but Marcus urged her to accept it. It would look good for the FBI and foster a relationship with the public.

Willow called Penelope. “I have a fashion emergency.” She explained what happened and begged Penelope to help her pick out a dress. She smoothed her hands over it again as there was a knock on her door. Willow grabbed her purse and answered the door.

Marcus was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black bow-tie. “You look…you look…wow.”

Willow blushed. Her was dress was white with black lace covering the bust and the inside hem of the dress. It came up to her knees in the front while the back brushed the floor. “You clean up pretty good as well, Pike.”

Marcus smiled and nervously looked at his shoes.

“I guess we should get going then,” Willow said.

“Uh, yeah.”

They went downstairs and Willow saw a limo.

“The owner of the museum insisted,” Marcus explained to her.

“I guess it’s okay. I was wondering how I was going to fit in your little Mazda.”

Marcus laughed and opened the door for her. Willow climbed into the limo, Marcus following.

The drive to the museum was spent in a comfortable silence. Neither of them felt the need to speak to break it.

They arrived at the museum and Marcus got out first. Willow took a deep breath and stepped out, clutching onto Marcus’ arms as they ascended the steps.

Once inside, Willow grabbed a flute of champagne. Maybe it would calm her nerves.

Marcus noticed her nervousness and put a hand on her back. “Hey, you okay?”

Willow nodded and leaned in towards him. Marcus wound an arm around her waist and held her close to his side.

To the outside world, they would look like a pair of lovers as opposed to co-workers.

“Do you wanna go look at the paintings?” Marcus asked her.

Willow nodded and let Marcus lead her around the gallery.

With a few drinks in his system, Marcus talked at length about the colors and the artists’ intent behind the paintings.

Willow couldn’t help smiling. His eyes lit up when he talked about art and you could tell he was passionate about it.

“Who knows? Maybe one day your drawings will be on these walls,” Marcus said.

“I think you’re drunk, Marcus.”

Marcus’ eyebrows furrowed adorably. There was that self-deprecation sense of humor again. Why couldn’t she see how talented she was? Marcus was about to something when the owner cut him off.

“Are you an artist too?”

“I draw in my free time,” Willow told him, “But it’s really just a hobby.”

“I’d love to take a look at your work sometime.”

Willow was speechless.

“She’d love that,” Marcus answered for her.

At the end of the night, there was a toast to the FBI, specifically Marcus and Willow. Marcus and Willow said their goodbyes and went outside to wait for the limo.

The temperature had dropped and Willow shivered.

Marcus took off his suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. “Here. Can’t have our computer genius getting sick.”

“The cold doesn’t make you sick. What you have to worry about is frostbite or hypothermia. Both conditions can lower your immune system and in turn, that can lead to you getting sick.”

“That a fact you learned from your brother?” Once again, Marcus read her like an expert.

“I retain a lot of what my brother says, even if I don’t have an eidetic memory.”

The limo finally arrived and they rode back to Willow’s apartment.

Marcus got out and walked her to the front door.

“I had a nice time tonight, Marcus.”

“Me too, Willow.”

Willow started to take his jacket off, but Marcus shook his head. “Keep it. Gives me a reason to come over sometime.”

Willow blushed and Marcus realized what he had just said.

“Oh my god. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…”

Willow laughed and put a hand on Marcus’ forearm. “It’s okay, Marcus. I knew what you meant.”

They stood there for a few moments before Willow said, “Well, goodnight Marcus.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before she could stop herself. She quickly ducked inside as her heart pounded in her chest.

Marcus reached up and gently touched his cheek. He turned to the door, which he knew Willow was just on the other side of. “Goodnight, Willow.”

Taglist: @bxnnywriting @sugarontherims

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 6

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Fluff, only a tad of angst if you squint

WC: 2500

A/N: Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​ <3

This series is two weeks ahead on Patreon.

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Dean tried to sleep on the couch but it wasn’t as comfortable as the bed, that much was given. It’s just that he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries. And he most probably would do if he slipped in next to her, so he’d rather not.

He gets woken up by her whining though. She probably has fever dreams. He stays rigid, listens to her, kind of hoping that it’d go away but the whining only picks up, so he gets up and walks over, sits himself on the bed next to her and strokes at her head. She’s still so unbearably hot. 

Pouring water into the glass that he placed next to her bed, he wakes her up to drink from it.

She looks at him, her eyes see her surroundings but she doesn’t really register, “‘ve to pee,” She mumbles, “Can you help me up?”

Dean frowns a little. So she does know where she is, clearly sees that someone takes care of her, and she’s okay with it. It baffles him a little, but he’s glad that she let him. Let him take care of her without asking any further questions.

“Sure,” He says and helps her up.

It took them an awfully long time until she was standing, “Should I carry you?”

“I can walk,” 

“Okay,” He knows that she probably can’t make the long way to the bathroom, but he’s not going to be a wise-ass about it. However, he steadies her and helps her take one step after another. 

After the fourth step, she turns to him with pouting lips, “Can you carry me?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, “Yeah,” 

Picking her up, he carries her to the bathroom and lets her down right in front of the toilet, “Do you need me t—”

“—No.”

“Okay, I’ll be right outside,”

“‘K,” 

She takes her time and Dean’s sweating because he already paints the most absurd scenarios in his head. What if she falls asleep on the toilet and leans too close to the sink? He abandons the thoughts, because there were just too many ways on how she could hurt herself in there.

He breathes again when he hears the flush of the toilet and when he hears her washing her hands, he opens up the door again. 

She turns around, her eyes are still foggy, “I don’t wear panties.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a breath, “They, uh, I bathed you, I have new ones if you want to wear them.”

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head.

Dean grins, “Nuh-uh?”

“Too much work.”

Well, yeah, that’s fair. It would be too much work for him either to get them on her. He’s trying to be good and she should not test his patience. 

She reaches her arms up, touches his neck. It’s cold from the water and Dean senses that she’s trying to tell him something but he’s distracted by her cuteness, until he realizes that she probably wants him to help her back to bed. 

“You want me to carry you back to bed, Y/N?”

Her face rubs against his chest and he can’t see but he guesses that she's back in her trance because she didn’t give him an answer. He picks her up, and carries her to the bed, and he’s right, she already has her eyes closed. 

Dean covers her with the sheet and pushes himself off the bed when she taps him on his thigh, “Stay?”

“Yeah,” He smiles, “Of course.” He walks around and gets in and again, she curls up next to him.

  *

For the next twenty-four hours, she was mostly in and out of consciousness. Dean occasionally woke her up to get soup and water into her. He carried her to the bathroom when she had to pee and he drew her another bath when he felt like she’s hot again. 

He had to leave her for an hour to go down and brief his employees. If they noticed how he was dressed (in his sweats and a simple shirt), they knew not to say a word. He returned to his loft after telling them that he’s here but he’s not really here. None of them asked any questions and he knows that the club is in good hands with Cas taking care of it. He somehow also sees it as an opportunity for Cas to prove himself. Maybe he’ll take more days off, test Cas to see if he would be a good fit when Dean would open up another club, and let Cas manage there. Who knows. 

It’s almost 5am when she wakes up again and she turns around to see him sitting in bed with his back against the headboard. He was going through the emails of his private investigators for people who signed up for the waiting list when he heard her speak.

“Dean?” 

He looks over to her, sees her blinking before she sits up. He tries not to laugh, because her hair’s all messy, like really messy, and greasy from all the sweating that she’s done. 

“Yeah?” He grins simply.

“Why am I here?”

Well, Dean can’t lie. It hurts a little that she doesn’t remember their interaction. He closes the laptop, sets it aside, “You wanna hear the short version or the long version?”

Y/N rubs at her eyes and yawns, “Something in between?”

Dean raises an eyebrow before he chuckles, “Well, we were supposed to meet, you still remember that?”

He thinks it’s cute how he can literally see the penny drop. 

“Oh, shit!”

“Yeah,” He huffs out a breath, “I didn’t know what happened and I brushed it off as you maybe having changed your mind, but then your boss called—”

“—Rufus? Oh, no!”

“The very one. Just, how many bosses do you have?” He pulls his eyebrows up his forehead. She doesn’t answer so he takes it that he can go on, “Mr. Turner said that he tried to reach you and even sent someone over to check but you didn’t answer the door. “

Her gaze is trained on her lap, and she tries to tuck strands of greasy hair behind her ear. She’s really so cute it almost hurts for him to watch her.

“I remember feeling hot and then I thought if I went to bed I’d feel better by the morning,” She mumbles and he has the feeling that she’s trying to explain, which she really didn’t have to. She stares at her hand for way too long before she speaks again, “How did you find me?”

Dean shrugs with an easy grin on his face, “I climbed the fire escape.”

“You didn’t,”

“I sure did,” He laughs and she has to smile at that. 

He’s glad to see her smile. She has to do way more of that. 

“What time is it?” She asks with her next breath.

“Almost 5am.”

She frowns at him, “Why are you up?”

“You trashed around in your sleep and I had to come and hold you, so that you didn’t hurt yourself.” He says, which is true. She whined and grunted and he was seriously afraid that she’ll fall out of bed.

Y/N lifts up the blanket to get up and Dean almost can’t get out of bed fast enough to help her. 

She looks at him standing next to her before she looks down at herself, her hands rubbing at her ass, probably noticing again that she’s not wearing any panties, “We didn’t, did we?”

“What? You were barely conscious. I would never,” 

Her face is unfazed as she looks up at him, her eyebrows rising, as if she urges him to tell her the truth, as if she doesn’t really believe him. That kind of hurt. 

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, “Fine. I did put you in a bath to get your temperature down and then I put another shirt on you because your clothes were full of sweat. Wait,” He walks over to his couch and she sits back on the bed, waits for him to return with the big bags of clothes. She’s sitting down again, probably still too weak to stand for a longer period of time, “Claire went out and bought you stuff. I hope it’s not all crop tops and mini skirts. I didn’t check, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Can I take a shower? I feel filthy.” She asks him and they are sitting so close, her naked thighs touch his sweats. 

“Of course,” He says, smirks and adds, “Let me check your temperature first.” Dean reaches his hand up to place his palm on her forehead, then he switches to the back of his hand. After that, he cradles her face in between his hands, and she frowns when she watches him place a kiss on her forehead. He lingers there longer than necessary. 

She has to chuckle, “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking your temperature.” He whispers against her skin. 

“That’s not how you do it, Dean!” She’s laughing and he thinks it sounds great. He would love to hear it more often.

He presses his lips into a thin line but he can’t hide the smirk, “Are you saying that every time I checked Sammy’s temperature, I did it all wrong?” 

She’s full on laughing when he fake gasps and Dean can’t help but thinks that it’s easy with her. She gets his humor. If he knew that back then, he wouldn’t have wanted to wait so long to meet her again. 

Dean showed her the way to the bathroom, carrying the bags with him so she can get dressed afterwards. 

  She made a brave face in front of him but she was screaming on the inside. 

Like, seriously?

Oh my god.

He found her and he took her home to take care of her. 

Who knew that Dean Winchester would do that? Well, she knew that he took great care of Sammy. It’s always Sammy did this , Sammy did that , when he sat next to her in class. She could feel that Sammy was — or still is — very important to him. She just never thought that he would care for her when she was sick with a stupid bug. 

She peels herself from Dean’s shirt and steps into the shower. He had shown her how it works because it’s way too fancy for her liking. He also gave her a fresh towel and showed her which one of the toothbrushes was hers. It’s weird staring at the brushes in their holder. Weird to share a holder with anyone, that wasn’t her roommate or family member, no? She’s probably overthinking things.

The shower is really great. It’s big and it has the right water pressure. She doesn’t know why, but her mind goes straight to the gutter when she thinks of things one could do in this shower. She shakes the thought out of her head and continues to soap herself up, continues to wash the grease from her hair and somehow, she wishes that she had a razor with her because the hairs are starting to grow back in all the places where they are not welcome.

After the shower, she gets dressed and almost screams out of frustration at the clothes Claire apparently bought for her. She wonders if it’s a stupid joke but she has no other option, so she walks out of the shower with a towel still wrapped around her wet hair. 

Dean’s changing his bedding, when he notices her and turns around to face her but immediately, he throws his whole body back, his mouth open wide in a big hearty laugh. 

“What?”

“Fries Before Guys?” Dean says when he finally composes himself. 

“Hey, that’s the best shirt, alright? Or at least it probably was a shirt until they cut off the lower half. The others have sayings like ‘Yes, Daddy?’ , ‘No pants are the best pants’ and many more. I won’t name them all. At least the jeans fit.” 

They really fit. Just, a little less holes would have maybe been better. Her whole legs had holes in them.

Dean’s still chuckling, “Nah, fries before guys. I like that. Do you prefer fries before guys?” He looks at her with a playful smile and one raised eyebrow.

“I would never,” She says and walks up to him with a grin on her face. Dean watches her. His smile disappears. She places one hand on his shoulder and stands on her tiptoes, places a kiss on his cheek and grins when she parts, “Share my fries.” 

He clears his throat before he speaks, and she can see the blush in his cheeks, “Here’s your phone,” He hands it to her, “Mr. Turner would like you to call him when you’re feeling better again.”

“Thanks,” She says and Dean’s already shaking his head, mouth opening probably to tell her that she shouldn’t worry about it. But she does, alright? It doesn’t happen everyday that an old classmate takes care of her when she’s sick. She cuts him off, “No, seriously, Dean. Thank you. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

Dean nods, “It’s really no big deal. I like being around you,”

It’s her turn to blush. 

*

He makes her breakfast and watches her eat while he smiles like an idiot.

“What?” She asks him with one brow raised.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head, and takes a bite himself, “It’s just… it’s good to see you’re eating again.”

She tugs at her shirt while eating. She’s not made for crop tops, doesn’t really feel confident enough and Dean must have noticed because he starts to chuckle, “Do you want one of my shirts?”

“Yes, please,” She groans out and Dean abandons his food to go get her a shirt. 

Later he drives her home, although she thinks that he might have wanted her to stay longer but she really feels like she should go back, and rest, now that she’s walking and talking coherently again. 

However, Dean stops at a store and they go in to buy foodstuff for her fridge. She cringes that he has looked in there, because last she checked it was empty. 

He helps her carry it up to her apartment but turns around to leave right after. 

“Dean?” She says before he disappears out the door.

“Yeah?”

She walks towards him, leans herself against the door frame, “Can you show me more when I’m feeling better?”

The frown on his face makes way for a smile, and it grows wide and bright. The crinkles carved deep on the side of his eyes, “Yeah, I’d love to.” Dean leans down, kisses her cheek, “But you get better first, alright?”

“I will.”

He leaves another kiss on her forehead and shrugs when he parts, “Just checking the temperature.” 

She laughs. Dean has already made his way down. He waves at her one last time before he rounds the corner of the stairwell.

Chapter 7

[bentforkent]

to the moon and to saturn - chapter two

spencer reid x fem!reader

navigation and summary

there is a version of this story featuring my oc sara on my wattpad and ao3!

word count: 3,559

content warnings: alcohol mentions

previous chapter | next chapter 

betty 

spencer has a recurring dream about her. in this dream, it’s y/n’s 18th birthday. his brain doesn’t know what she looks like past age seven, so dream-y/n has her youthful face on an adult body. her eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiles. she’s holding a birthday cake that’s covered in lit candles. there’s no indication that spencer baked the pink, sloppily-frosted cake, but in his dream, he knows he did. 

she holds the cake out towards him. “make a wish, spencer,” she says, her voice sounding far away and warbled. “it’s not my birthday, love,” he insists, swiping some of the frosting and brushing it across her cheek.

she grins and sets the cake down on the round table in front of her. “sure, but i want to share mine with you.” she pulls out a box, gift wrapped in bright yellow paper with a large blue bow on top. he always wakes up before he can ever open it. 

 he gets this dream once a month without fail. it’s pathetic, he thinks. he hasn’t even seen y/n in twenty years. he’s doesn’t even know her, to be frank. and yet he thinks about her constantly. he---and his therapist, of course---chalk this up to the abandonment he felt when she never came back. she didn’t even say goodbye. spencer thinks about this often, wondering if it was his fault. he wonders if any or all of the horrible things he’s been through have been his fault. his sick brain tells him yes, yes they are. 

 often, when spencer thinks of y/n, he imagines her in some incredible life. a spy, maybe. he knows it’s unlikely that she’s a princess or bank robber now, but he doesn’t put it past her. he doesn’t have enough memories of her, so every play-pretend game they played as children supplements what he knows about her, creating at least some whole adult person for him to fantasize about. she’s become almost a fictional character in the movie of his life. he wishes that they weren’t estranged, wishes that he could know the real y/n instead of whatever caricature of her he’s created. even if she actually was a bank robber. he just wants to know.

wait. he just wants to know. 

spencer is lounged on his couch, cardigan long tossed aside, tie long undone. he’s been home from work for a few hours now, an easy paperwork day cutting his day short. he takes half of a second to make his decision, then pulls out his phone.

 ------

“i need you to look someone up for me,” y/n says nonchalantly, flicking through a cheesy magazine. they’re laying on penelope’s bed, tv in the other room playing a rerun episode of “the office” just loud enough for them to hear. penelope has one hand in a bowl of popcorn, and one on her laptop scrolling mindlessly through some geeky website y/n can’t comprehend.

 y/n had seen spencer that evening on her way to penelope’s house. at least she thought she did. y/n was stopped at a red light, staring straight ahead at the crosswalk before her. living in a decently populated city, there were always fun characters crossing the street, and while y/n had once been in awe of the medley of people living in dc, she’d become used to it, and stopped paying attention. at red lights, she usually takes time to relax, letting her eyes glaze over before the switch to green and the restart of traffic. but before she could check out for her 15 seconds of a mental break, she saw a long haired figure hunched over a book, crossing the street directly in front of her car. 

granted, y/n hasn’t seen spencer in twenty years. she has no clue what he looks like nowadays, but everything from his ray bradbury book to his lanky frame to his beat up converse was familiar. her eyes clung to him, desperate to catch a glimpse of his face, but it never came. and y/n felt like she was going crazy. of all the places in the world, there’s no way that spencer reid’s life path had taken him all the way from nevada to the exact same city she lived in. 

but she didn’t have to wonder, or anxiously await the next time she saw the man by chance, because her best friend was a techy genius and no one could hide from her. y/n decided then, at that red light, that she’d ask penelope to find spencer, something she couldn’t even picture herself wanting just thirty seconds earlier.

y/n’s attempt at casually bringing the topic up is futile, because a.) penelope garcia is a very nosy woman, and b.)....penelope garcia is a very nosy woman. in all of the best ways. “who?” she inquires excitedly, halting all motion that could distract her from this very important conversation. 

“it’s kind of a long story,” y/n says, closing her magazine and sitting up. she crosses her legs, a seating pose that indicates that she’s devoting everything to explaining this to penelope. “so, when i was really little, there was this boy…” 

and the suspense is killing penelope. y/n’s launched into this whole story about blanket forts, and being young, and blah blah blah whatever, but she’s not giving up her male protagonist’s name. penelope has her hands poised at her keyboard, ready to give y/n a location, occupation, and criminal record in less than 30 seconds, but she just needs to know his name. y/n talks, and talks, and talks, and penelope, as the good friend and listener she is, doesn’t interrupt once except to ask a question. 

(“so your mom was sleeping with his dad?”

 “yes! my own mother! i know, right?”)

y/n’s oblivious to the fact that penelope is on the edge of her seat, hanging on her every single word, just waiting, waiting, agonizingly waiting for a name. 

“once, i even put jell-o down a girl’s shirt for this kid,” y/n laughs. “it was cherry flavored, i’ll never forget. my first badass moment.” she stops her story with a shared chuckle, and a silence settles over the two women for a moment. 

“so, did you want me to find this prince charming, or…” penelope waggles her fingers over her keyboard as to emphasize her point.

“oh! yeah! his name is-----” 

penelope’s phone rings, and they let out a frustrated groan in unison. y/n flops back into her laying down position, knowing that when penelope’s phone rings, it almost never bodes well for wine nights.

 ----------

“garcia!” spencer greets as soon as she answers.

“as much as i’m excited to hear from my favorite doctor-profiler-boy-genius, i wonder to what do i owe this pleasure?” penelope glances over at y/n, who has already found her way back into her cosmopolitan magazine. 

 “hey, i was wondering if you could look someone up for me. i know technically it’s not ethical but---”

 “do you have a name for me, wonder boy?” penelope asks. she’s not waiting a second longer for him to spill, lest she gets trapped in yet another long-winded backstory. 

 “uh, yeah. y/n y/l/n. she---,” spencer speaks, and is immediately transferred to hold, with a short and excited “wait!” from garcia. sure, she feels bad for cutting him off twice now during the short span of their phone call, but this? this is major. 

 “y/n, tell me his name is spencer reid,” penelope says, voice coming out rushed and full of eagerness. 

 y/n’s eyes go wide. penelope was really good at her job. she got his name just from her little jell-o story? “yeah, it is, pen!” y/n laughs. “what’s he up to these days?”

 penelope covers the receiver of her phone even though spencer was on hold and couldn’t hear her anyways. “he’s on the phone with me! we work together! we’re like, super close! y/n!” penelope is emphasizing her words with crazy hand gestures, the clinking of her bracelets serving as enthusiastic punctuation.

y/n doesn’t really know how to respond to this information. “he’s FBI?” she asks, stupidly. 

“that is so far beyond the point!” penelope exclaims. “he’s the guy i was texting you about earlier today, the one i wanted to set you up with!”

y/n, with a big goofy grin on her face, tosses a piece of popcorn at her head, watching as it gets stuck in one of her ponytails. “take him off of hold, penny!” excitement courses through her veins. she had seen him earlier. what are the odds?

spencer paces anxiously in his apartment. she’d dead. y/n is dead, and garcia’s trying to find the best way to tell him. that’s why she put him on hold, he knows. there’s a crackle in the phone, and garcia’s voice rings through the speaker. “spencer?” she asks, making sure he’s still on the line. there’s giggling on her end, pulling him to the conclusion that whatever garcia was about to say, at least y/n’s not dead.

 “yeah, garcia?” spencer says, too on edge to say more than a few words at a time. 

 “i’ve got probably a million and one things to tell you about a certain y/n y/l/n,” garcia says, voice mischievous. on her end, there’s a squawk of protest followed by some shuffling. 

spencer waits patiently, and then garcia’s voice is back. “i’ve got her right here with me, actually.” 

 spencer, overwhelmed with nerves, hangs up immediately. 

 “he hung up!” penelope screams, and the two women burst into laughter. penelope’s hunched over at her laptop, cackling.

“i can’t believe he hung up,” y/n says through her fit of giggles.

“you have to come to our work get-together this weekend and see him, y/n. spencer’s hosting!” penelope says.

“he clearly doesn’t want to talk to me,” y/n says jokingly, and they laugh again. not at the boy, but at the scenario. “also, no! no ‘get-togethers.’ you know i don’t do parties.”

 ------

 y/n’s on her way to the party. it took all of 15 seconds for penelope to convince her to be her plus-one. all she had to do is say the words “casual” and “wine” and y/n was in. she tried to ignore the fact that it would just be penelope’s coworkers, one of them being her estranged best friend, and her. at spencer’s apartment, nonetheless. it was bound to be awkward, but y/n tried to focus less on that and more on how excited penelope was to introduce her to spencer. re-introduce her, rather. 

 penelope offered to drive y/n to alleviate some of her nerves, and y/n accepted graciously. neither one of them had talked about spencer since the phone call, except for penelope casually mentioning that spencer hadn’t brought up y/n to her at work at all. they’d all spent the week in limbo, then. the drive to spencer’s apartment is generally silent, penelope jumping in with words of affirmation every so often, if not to calm y/n then just to make her laugh. y/n’s leg bounces as she looks out of the window of penelope’s car. 

when they arrive, after penelope’s parked, she turns to y/n. “y/n. you are colorful, beautiful, perfect, and every other nice word i can think of. everything will be fine. but if, by some odd, unpredictable chance, everything is not fine, say the word and we will be out of there faster than you can say ‘penny.’” y/n pulls her into a tight hug, and penelope can feel her heart beating.

“what if he just tells me to, like, fuck off?” y/n murmurs.

“reid would never. he could never,” penelope says. with that reassurance, they get out of her car and head up to the party.

 -------

y/n stares at spencer’s front door as penelope knocks. the paint on it is chipping, she notes. spencer swings open the door and hoots erupt through the apartment. 

“garcia’s here!”

“hey, garcia!”

“babygirl!”

everyone’s calling for her, so she snakes past spencer and into his home with a pat on his chest. he’s stuck in the doorway and y/n’s stuck in the hall. neither of them know what to say to each other, so they’re sticking to intense eye contact and nervous foot shuffling. y/n’s here, at his apartment. he’s shocked. she’s real, she’s here, and here is his apartment.

 “you look the same,” they say at the same time, and then, at the absurdity of the situation, they laugh together. y/n, feeling empowered by the diffusion of the tension, wraps her arms around him in a hug. he’s broad, she notes. he hugs her tightly, holding on a second too long as compensation for the fact that he’d never know when their last hug had been their last. 

 “come in, come in,” spencer says. as he’s ushering her inside, hand against her lower back, he speaks again. y/n’s acutely aware of his coworkers eyes on her, but she’s distracted by his voice. “did you know that we begin to forget childhood memories while we’re in childhood still? younger children remember 60 percent of early life events, and that goes down by 20 percent in just a year or two.” 

 “hmm, so it’s weird that you remember me, then?” y/n teases as he hands her a glass of white wine.

“well, i don’t, really,” he admits, and y/n hums in agreement against the rim of her drink. 

penelope calls y/n over to where she’s sitting and introduces her to the team. y/n takes notes. penelope never really combines her work and her play, telling y/n it’s to keep her safe, so y/n revels in this insight into her best friend’s life.

 jj, the pretty blonde, seems to be the glue of the group, y/n judges. emily’s guarded, but fun, and y/n sees a lot of herself in her. derek is penelope’s favorite, y/n knows, and it’s not hard to figure out why. he’s attractive, but more than that, he’s charismatic and intelligent. y/n can’t get a good read on hotch, but she likes him well enough. rossi’s her favorite, though, his laidback, cool demeanor just mysterious enough to pique her curiosity. y/n greets everyone with a warm hello and a short introduction, and finds her place at penelope’s side.

she’s out of place for sure, but the team tries their hardest to include her. they’ve got great chemistry as a group, and y/n wins their favor when she cracks a dry joke that gets everyone laughing. she can feel spencer’s eyes on her the whole night, but she doesn’t indulge him by looking back. she’s too nervous. he keeps her glass filled all night, a gracious host, and when she thanks him each time he gives her a shaky smile. he’s nervous too, she realizes.

 when people start filtering out, y/n realizes she’d hardly spoken to spencer all night, save for some light small talk with others. she’d really like to get him alone, but she doesn’t want to overstep. spencer looks at her intently when she stands to leave with garcia. he wants to get her alone, but he doesn’t want to overstep. be bold, spencer, he thinks. it’s just y/n. but it’s not just y/n anymore. they aren’t kids anymore, blindly bonded to one another out of convenience. there’s nothing tying them together anymore except for some flimsy memories, and this scares spencer. y/n’s also insanely beautiful. this adds to his nerves. it’s not too often he has a pretty girl in his apartment alone.

 “you can stay longer if you want, y/n. i’ll drive you home,” spencer says, his words surprising even himself. his eyebrows furrow and y/n wants to smooth the crease in his forehead with her thumb. 

“okay,” she says softly, turning to penelope. “i’ll see you tomorrow, pen?” they embrace, and penelope says her bright goodbyes. when she leaves, y/n leans against the closed front door, staring at spencer expectantly. 

“do you want another drink?” he asks her, unsure of what to do with his hands. 

“no, i think i’m sufficiently tipsy-adjacent,” y/n jokes, placing her hands decidedly on spencer’s shoulders. “i think you and i should talk.” 

“yeah,” spencer replies, his amber eyes searching hers. “we can sit outside.” he leads her to his balcony, and takes a seat on his outdoor couch. 

“it looks like it might rain,” y/n says lamely, sitting next to him, close enough for their thighs to touch.

“did you know women are more likely to give a man their phone number on a sunny day rather than a cloudy one? there’s only a 14% success rate when it’s rainy, as opposed to a 22% success rate when the sun’s out.”

“that’s interesting, spencer. were you planning on asking for my number?” y/n asks jokingly. spencer flushes at the question, stammering a defense. “just kidding. you sure do know a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“sure,” he says with a bite of his lip. “i have three phds. what i don’t know, though, is where you went when you left vegas. or why you left vegas. or…”

“or why i didn’t tell you i was leaving?” y/n finishes for him. he gives a small nod, embarrassed to admit how much it affected him, and y/n frowns. she lays the palm of her hand against his face, rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone. spencer’s taken aback by the affectionate action, but leans into her touch anyways. y/n holds that position for a minute, surveying his features. she’s not ready to tell him the story, honestly. it’s humiliating. save from the fact that her mom essentially ruined his parents’ marriage; she didn’t know the nature of spencer’s relationship with his father now. for all she knows, it’d done a complete 180 in the past 20 years, and she’d ruin everything with her anecdote. no, she couldn’t risk this. spencer looked too pretty under the moonlight, was too nice to her tonight.

“would you be mad if i didn’t want to talk about that yet?” she asks, tracing her finger down the bridge of his nose. spencer feels a little relieved by this. he’s prepared for that conversation to be a heavy one, prepared for her to say she left because of him. because he wasn’t good enough for her. he doesn’t think he can handle that confirmation tonight, so he welcomes the change in subject. 

“can we just...start over?” spencer says.

 y/n nods. “hi, i’m y/n,” she holds her hand out to shake, finally removing it from against his face. spencer takes it with a small smile. 

“i’m spencer,” he replies. they sit in silence for a while, watching the stars. the moment is long, but it feels like they’re suspended in time. like the cars and people underneath them have come to a standstill. spencer reckons y/n’s always had that effect on him, but the hustle of the city disappearing around him makes it much more pronounced.  spencer steals a quick glance at her. she looks so serene. he wonders if she’s thinking as much as he is, or if she’s simply appreciating the city sounds and night air. 

“are you thinking as much as i am?” y/n pipes up, breaking the silence. 

spencer shakes his head incredulously with a chuckle. “you took the words right out of my mouth.” 

y/n turns to face him, pulling her knees to her chest. “tell me a story. like you used to.” when spencer’s gaze meets hers, y/n’s hand moves to tuck a piece of his hair behind his ear, the movement nearly involuntary. there’s a low rumble of thunder, but it sounds far away. 

“okay,” spencer says, neither one of them breaking eye contact. he remembers her eyes being much more vibrant, but he likes the true hue better. and whenever she thought of him, y/n had always imagined glasses, like when he was a child, but being able to see his face clearly is so much better. 

“actually,” y/n starts. she finishes her statement by pressing her lips against spencer’s firmly. he threads his hands through her hair and pulls her closer to him, letting out a soft moan. the kiss is passionate, but not lustful. it’s gentle and full of energy. y/n nips at spencer’s bottom lip. he tastes like sangria. his hand travels to the side of her face, thumb rubbing against her cheek slowly. he kisses her like she's oxygen and he’s never had a breath of fresh air in his life. 

after a minute, y/n pulls away slowly, resting her forehead on his. “okay, now you can tell me a story.” 

spencer presses another chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. “how do you expect me to remember anything right now?” 

y/n grins, pulling away from their intimate position and turning to face the stars. “i can wait. i’ve got all night.” 

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Gwilym shows up in your bookstore to apologise but there still might be more obstacles on your way to happiness.

Author’s Note: And another sprinkle of angst so that chapter six doesn’t feel so lonely. Only one more chapter and an epilogue remain, so keep an eye out for those! Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

Dragging your feet, you crash on your sofa, a floral pattern of one of the walls spinning around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, but as you lose the point of focus, you sense a rise of, so far, the most powerful wave of nausea. You fight the feeling and instead fix your gaze on one of the paintings decorating the living room.

Breathe in.

And breathe out.

You should not have drunk that much. But Jane and Charlotte were unstoppable and admittedly, you needed it. After a couple of drinks, you actually started having fun. Daniel turned out to be a very pleasant companion with a taste for slightly dry humour that, partially due to your inebriated state, made you burst in laughter multiple times during the party.

Oh god, you are going to hate yourself so much tomorrow.

Once it seems the whole world will not tilt again and toss you on your side, you brave a few steps into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. Gulping it down, you can already feel its beneficial effects, which are further enhanced when you press the cold glass against your forehead. You serve yourself another drink and with each sip, you begin to trust your legs again.

You release a content sigh as a soft breeze and smell of rain touch your cheeks when you open the windows; it truly does a world of good. Grabbing yourself two slices of toast bread, you settle onto the sofa, open your laptop and click on a random video for you to watch while you wait to get better before you go to bed. If you lay down right now, you’re sure you would throw up.

With an occasional chuckle leaving your lips as you listen rather than watch a stand-up show, you almost miss a soft, hesitant knock on your door. Almost. Your fingers hover above the keyboard as you contemplate pausing the video. If you press the space key right now, there will be no doubt you’ve heard the knocking.

Slowly retracting your hand back to your side, you let the comedian continue in her sketch and you just wait. It probably takes only a minute, but for you, it’s an eternity before you can hear Gwil shut the door to his flat behind him.

You release a breath you have not realised you were holding and hide your face in your palms.

You are not in a state to face him right now. You need some time. And most importantly, you need to put some space between you, otherwise you’re going to care way too much, and you are not in the position of allowing yourself feelings of that sort.

~

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be back in a minute, just let me attend to this young lady,” you throw behind your shoulder as you rush to the cash desk and leave a customer in the historical section.

“Maybe I can be of service,” Mr Dean appears next to the customer’s shoulder, who jumps a bit, not expecting someone else, and you send a grateful glance to your friend. You knew you could count on him. Whenever he’s in a good mood, he loves to entertain people in the bookshop and no matter the topic or genre they’re looking for, he turns into an expert, gladly offering recommendations.

You hide a smile when you notice Mr Dean’s eyes sparkling as the man mentions the French revolution and he starts guiding him to the needed section.

“Here you go,” you hand the young woman her bag and say your goodbyes, a shrilling sound of chimes hanging at the entrance door announcing her departure.

While you bend down and disappear behind the till to throw away the receipt the woman didn’t want, the chimes sound again, and you emerge from behind the cash desk.

No.

He’s there, right in front of you, the surprise written in his face matching yours.

“Hello,” Gwil says softly and for a split of a second, you forget to breathe.

You’ve managed to avoid him the whole weekend by some miracle, although, admittedly, on one occasion, when you were forced out of your flat to do grocery shopping, you spotted him at the entrance door when you made a turn to your street. At that moment, you remembered you wanted to check something on your phone, and after fiddling with it long enough for Gwil to get home, you plucked up the courage to do the same.

You assured yourself you just needed some time and space and by the time you would meet him, you would have known what to tell him.

Well, your past self can go screw herself because here you are with your tongue tied.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ben is on Gwil’s tail and greets you cheerfully, his hand raised in a wave.

“Hi,” you manage to blurt out, quite happy with yourself for not butchering the single syllable. It’s all about little victories, right?

“So, uh, I’ll go check some books I guess,” Ben breaks the silence when neither you nor Gwil seems to do so, and scurries farther into the store.

“I am so, so sorry, Y/N,” Gwil eventually breathes out and raises his lowered eyes. “I wish I could have a good reason for not showing up the other day and for copping out on you like that, but I just don’t. I…”

He looks around and bites his lips, looking for a way of how to finish his sentence in books-filled shelves.

You wait patiently because you have the feeling that there is something he needs to say, and it would be ill-advised to interrupt his thoughts.

“Okay, I’m probably already not in your good books, so why not make even a bigger twat of myself, eh.”

“Ha, in the good books. Get it? You’re in a bookshop,” you chuckle, your voice not as strong as you would like it to be.

“Yeah,” he replies, and the corners of his lips rise up slightly. Soon, his voice turns serious again. “Well, I went to that stupid audition and I just fucked it up. Yeah, there’s no better word for that. I fucked it up, big time. I tried to persuade them to give me another chance, I said I would do anything, and the production assistant surprised me. She promised me another audition if I went for a drink with her afterwards, and I… didn’t refuse.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, presumably the first one since he started explaining what had happened. “I wasn’t thinking, and when I realised I was supposed to be with you, it was too late.”

“You could have called me,” you say slowly, daring to meet his gaze.

“My phone was dead. I was fiddling with it so much while I was waiting for the audition. Was driving Ben absolutely crazy.”

“Can confirm!” Ben’s head peeps out from behind a shelf and quickly hides again when he spots both your and Gwil’s not so amused expressions.

“Still,” you start and shake away the trembling feeling that is creeping to your voice, “You could have come by later and explain all of that to me that night.”

By some miracle, it’s as if he senses the direction of your thoughts, and rushes to set the record straight, offering the absolution you haven’t, until now, realised you desperately craved.

“The moment it dawned on me what a jerk I was, I said my goodbyes and left. But it was too late, and I felt like such a prick, so I actually dropped in another pub and drank some more. Was so shit-faced I stayed at my brother’s ‘cause he lives in that area.”

A great weight is lifted from your shoulders and you can finally take a deep and long breath. You feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips but Gwilym does not see it; he is avoiding your eyes, as mortification keeps surrounding his whole person.

“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats once again and the moment the words leave his lips, you forgive him.

Actually, you already have.

You are just about to tell him so when he finally finds the courage to look into your eyes as he reaches out and gently grasps your hands that have been resting on the counter.

“Please, can you forgive me?”

His thumbs are lightly stroking your skin and you cannot tear away your gaze from his beautiful blue eyes.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave right now!”

Wait, what?

It takes you a moment to become aware of where you are and what is happening. The bookshop, right. And as for what is going on…

“Sir, I won’t repeat myself, leave this building immediately!” Peter’s voice reaches such volume that every customer stops in their tracks, their curiosity taking the better of themselves.  

“I was only showing this young lad the historic section. I don’t reckon it’s a crime,” Mr Dean responds in his defence, which only infuriates Peter some more.

“You’re always just helping other customers, or browsing, or, God forbid, reading our books without paying a single penny for them. I want you gone. This is not a library!”

“Peter,” you say weakly, not capable of wrapping your head around it. He isn’t supposed to be here, otherwise you would have warned Mr Dean beforehand.

“Is that the Mr Dean you told me about?” Gwil whispers and it is only then when you notice your hands are still placed in his and his face is much closer to yours than you remember.

“Yes, I’m–” you start but Gwilym won’t let you finish the sentence.

“Trust me, darling. I’ll stop by at your place at around seven, okay?” he hastily says and places a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you at the till dumbfounded.

“Grandpa!” he greets joyfully and rushes to Mr Dean to give him a proper hug. “Have you found the book you told me about?”

Mr Dean shoots a glance your way before he replies. “Ah, I… Yes. Yes, yes, I did, give me a second.” You’re taken aback by his quick reaction because you have not moved from your spot, your jaw down, and you are pretty sure your arms are still stretched in front of you although Gwilym’s warm palms are no longer holding them. You fix your posture in an instant and clear your throat, at least trying to give the impression of having everything under control.

Although you are not particularly proud of yourself, you’re still doing better than Peter. He is just standing there, opening his mouth like fish as no words are leaving his lips.

Gwilym pretends he has only just noticed him and raises his eyebrows in make-believe innocence. “Is there any problem here?”

It takes a couple of moments before Peter gathers his bearings.

“I’m sorry, but this is your grandfather?” he finally finds his voice and points an accusatory finger at your dear friend.

“Yeah! He’s been wearing my ear off about this wonderful book he discovered here, so I’m here to get it for him. For his birthday, you know? Which is coming soon, isn’t that right, grandpa?”

“In a couple of days, actually,” Mr Dean confirms and nods his head seriously as if contemplating the fleetingness of time and existence.

“Urgh, I’m the worst grandson ever, really, looking for gifts this late, I should be ashamed of myself.” You are fascinated by Gwil’s acting; he doesn’t miss a beat and comes up with lies so quickly, all you can do is stare in astonishment. It’s not like anyone needs you right now because all customers are watching the scene unfold.

“Ah, got it!” The victorious announcement of Mr Dean makes Gwil turn on his heel and leave Peter behind.

“Wow, that’s really pretty! You weren’t lying about the photographs.” Gwil expertly inspects the pictures of various relics and nods, approvement and appreciation readable from his pursed lips. “Excellent! We’ll take it.” He closes the book in one swift motion and heads to your cash desk.

By this time, you have composed yourself enough to remember all the common niceties, and you are quite proud of your performance as you easily scan the book that you’ve seen cradled in Mr Dean’s palms many afternoons and punch the price into the card reader so that Gwil can pay.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you do not forget to ask and when your gaze meets Gwil, your heart starts beating so fast you almost can’t hear the answer.

“Oh yes, please, that is if we’re not bothering you.” Gwil’s smile lights up his whole face.

“No bother at all,” the corners of your lips rise in a matching smile and you procced to neatly wrap the book in a piece of brown paper, taking extra care to tie a dark blue ribbon around the package.

“Thank you so much, have a lovely day!” Gwilym places the book under his arm and leaves the shop, Mr Dean on his tail offers a wave and a wink that, hopefully, Peter cannot see.

Through the display window, you almost miss Gwil turning around and mouthing ‘see you tonight’ before he and Mr Dean disappear behind the corner. You almost burst into laughter when Ben suddenly emerges from behind the bookshelves and dashes after them.

You have got the feeling that Peter is mumbling something, but all you can think about is your lovely neighbour and the kiss he ever so gently placed on your cheek.

You resist the temptation to touch your face, wondering whether the imprint of Gwil’s lips can be found there, or whether the gesture is forever inscribed into your mind only.

But then, you finally register Peter’s words...

“I can’t believe it! And of all days he’s got to pick today and embarrass me in front of the buyers. God damn it!”

… and your smile freezes.

~

Buyers.

The sequence of syllables still sounds foreign and dangerous to your ears.

Buyers.

No matter how many times it rolls off your tongue, the word remains the same.

So that’s it. Peter’s made up his mind and he is going to sell the bookshop. And that leaves so many questions unanswered. The new owners, are they going to keep the staff, or do they plan to hire a new bunch of people? Is there even some certainty that they will not rebrand and establish a branch of a fast-food chain? It’s not like the city is flooded with them, right.

You feel the dizziness creeping up your neck as those thoughts swirl in your head, not permitting you a moment of peace. You almost crash into a passer-by, but thankfully you manage to keep yourself upright and the take-out bag with your late lunch intact in your hold.

Once you finally arrive home, you heat up the food you have brought with you and open your favourite book in a desperate attempt to diverge the direction of your thoughts.

You are torn between biting your nails from the uncertainty of your future career and halting in the story and daydreaming about Gwilym’s visit tonight. And with that mindset, you go about your day while you clean up, water plants, and dust your flat; you have been putting it off for ages.

Emerged in thoughts, you almost mishear the buzzing sound of the bell. You are wearing baggy trousers and an old t-shirt with stains God-knows from what. You have reckoned you’ve still got time to change before Gwil’s visit. Oh well, he has seen you at your worse.

However, your brows furrow as you step into the hall and catch a glimpse of the digital clock.

5.40 p.m.

Swinging the door open, you are met with no one. Another sound of the bell and the line on your forehead deepens.

“Hello,” you mutter when you press the intercom, and the static comes through.

“Y/N! Hi! Ready to go out and grab coffee with me?”

It takes a moment before the dots connect.

“Oh, Daniel, hi! I… erm… can you give me ten minutes?”

“Sure thing!”

The dash across your flat, from the door to the dresser, then to the bathroom and back to the hall could be considered a match to any Olympian’s winning sprint race, but it is too early after your accident and your ankle makes itself known. You grit your teeth and grab a purse, leaving your flat and hoping no appliances have stayed turned on.

How could you have forgotten?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Hi!” you greet breathlessly when you fly from the entrance door, and Daniel gives you a lopsided smile.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” No matter how hard you try not to give anything away, the blush on your cheeks betrays you. “Oh my God, you did!” Barking out a laugh, he lets you take a couple of deep breaths before you start walking down the street. “Maybe it should be you who’s gonna buy the coffee today.”

“Gladly,” you smile and spot a cosy café. For a split second, you consider taking him to Hazel’s, but then you imagine the soft hues of brown and gold against black and white background of your most beloved café. Your mind goes straight to the day you bumped into Gwil and Ben in there and you do not wish to stain that memory. Besides, this café is right behind the corner of your block of flats, which means you shouldn’t get stuck at some far-off place. “Actually, I owe you ‘cos I’ve got some plans at seven and I need to get home by then.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies hesitantly, and you bite your lips, feeling like an arse. Well, you can make it up for him by paying for the coffee, right?

~

You are trying. You are really, truly trying. Daniel is nice. Funny, smart, and knows all the iconic movie lines off pat, however, the moment you look into his eyes, you feel nothing, there is no bated breath, no heart beating fast. Nothing. And honestly, it seems you are not making a particularly good impression either. He takes notice of your constant checking the time on your phone, and when you catch yourself doing it for an umpteenth time, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter after a moment of silence, which you wish were a companionable one, but you are too fidgety.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Dan offers a sheepish smile, which you return. “Let’s get you back home, okay?”

The wind is chilling and light drizzle lands on your hair. As you walk down the street, you notice that Daniel is trying to gently hold your hand. It starts with your fingers brushing and you would dismiss it as an accidental touch but when his fingertips graze the back of your palm, you sense the intention in the gesture. You bring your hand up, brushing off a damp strand of hair and scratching the back of your neck so as not to give him another opportunity for touch.

Hoping this debacle is behind you now, you say your goodbyes and grab the door handle to your building. Oh, how foolish!

“I know you’re lost in thought today but it was a nice date and honestly, I’m not ready for it to end.” He gives you a smile and his eyes sparkle when you stop in your tracks and turn your head to face him.

His gaze drops down to your lips and you are (literally) taken aback by the movement to such extent that your body shoots away. In the process, you press your back to the doorbell panel and jump a bit, not expecting that kind of contact.

“Careful.” Daniel’s fingers find your waist to keep you upright. “I realise I might not be the man of your dreams, but I hope we can go for dinner next time.”

“I…” you start, unable to find the words that would not hurt him.

“No, don’t say anything,” he whispers, and it is only then when you realise his face has inched closer to yours. And then he presses his lips to yours, and you freeze at the spot.

Your eyelids do not tremble with emotion, neither do you melt into his touch. You just stand there, barely moving your lips and thinking that this guy just cannot take a hint. You might have been waving the ‘I am not interested’ flag right in front of his face and he still would be none the wiser.

When he finally lets go, your gaze is still fixed forward and you suck in your lips in a subconscious effort to prevent him from another attempt of a kiss. However, you catch a flicker of light in the corner of your eyes and without giving it a second thought you twist your neck, and your gaze falls into the entrance hall. The windowpane which reflected two figures kissing a moment ago turns transparent and reveals a figure standing inside.

He’s there, at the top of the staircase, taking you by surprise for a second time this day.

But this time, his eyes are hurt behind his glasses, a deep line is forming on his forehead, and it seems as if he’s rooted to the cold stone floor. Your heart is breaking at the sight of him and you know you must do anything within your power to atone for this moment because you never ever want to see such pain written in his face.

“Gwil,” you breathe out softly and bend down to escape Daniel’s embrace. Pushing the main door, you rush to your neighbour, your friend, your… “Gwil, this means nothing, I’m not –”

“My doorbell rang, and I was foolish enough to think you couldn’t wait until seven. I…” He is avoiding your gaze, his eyes roving round the hall. He brings his hands to his sides, but quickly finds out there are no pockets in his soft camel pleated trousers and so he clasps them together. When he bites his trembling lips, it is almost unbearable to keep your eyes on him, but you cannot look away either.

Then, his features harden, and it is probably worse than before as your stomach tightens.

“Goodbye.”

You almost miss the sound, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks, but Gwilym is already gone, his moccasins tapping against the cold tiles of the stairs. You fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and have a breakdown right here and now. All you do is simply turn around, every movement calculated so as not to make an unnecessary one. Daniel is still standing at the entrance, his eyebrows raised in the piqued curiosity of what has just occurred.

“I can’t go for another date with you. I’m sorry.”

But you don’t feel sorry at all, well, not sorry for him at least. Your thoughts have turned into a tangled ball of turmoil and indescribable emotions, which are hard to make sense of.

When you reach your floor, you stop in your tracks to your flat. You have thought you lost all the courage, but you muster some from deep inside and cross the hall to knock on his door with determination.

God knows how long you are standing there, you knock again, and again.

Nothing.

Not even a sign of hope.

Your heart skips a beat when you finally hear the creak of a door being open, but a lump forms in your throat instead when it dawns on you that it is not Gwil’s door but Mrs Thompson’s.

“Hello Mrs Thompson,” you greet meekly the slightly open door of the 3A flat and drag your feet to your home.

You do not bother taking off your shoes or clothes. Crushing straight into your bed, you finally give yourself the permission to let your emotions flow and cry yourself to sleep.

~

Taglist: @lv7867​, @spacedustmazzello​, @queenwouldyourathers​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @supernaturalee​, @queenlover05​, @geek-and-proud​, @chlobo6​, @mrsmazzello​, @timeandpixiedust​, @kerouacsroad​, @gwilsmainhoe​​

[sometimesiwrite]

Sick of This

 A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss. 

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt. 

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other. 

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra. 

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?” 

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝” 

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?” 

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way. 

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.  

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that?  “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?” 

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking. 

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer. 

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals. 

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with. 

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round. 

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did. 

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers. 

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.” 

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.” 

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.” 

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over. 

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’ 

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.” 

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder. 

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap. 

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone. 

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could. 

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?” 

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward. 

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial. 

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.” 

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats 

@just-a-sad-donut 

@oxenfurt-archives 

@thirstyforred 

@titaniafire 

@belalugosisdead 

@lonelygayz 

@awkward-turtles-world 

@iloveyouyen 

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus 

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 3

Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: cursing, a bit of self depreciation Word Count: 2.2k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. Beta: None

Part 1  -  Part 2 Masterlist

Chapter 3: for the love of god, explain this

Sam Winchester lies awake at three in the morning, under foreign, scratchy sheets, stubbornly not tearing his eyes from the cracked, ugly wallpaper on the ceiling. A lot of things are happening and his brain is going about a million miles an hour, spinning endlessly, Castiel, Dean returning from hell, the stress of the hunting life, the current case and… Y/n. Wonderful, smart, talented, funny Y/n.

It’s been a while since someone has made him excited. He keeps bumping into her in his mind, keeps finding thoughts of her lying around, eager to distract him. He catches himself wanting to text her about every stupid thing that happens in his day, much like she sometimes does. She’s been the only thing that makes his heart a little lighter, and it’s such a strange feeling, someone’s presence being this uplifting.

He was suspicious of her at first. A strange woman (at least she claims to be one, he forgets he’s never actually… seen her) asking about him, his profession, and then about… ghosts? A bit random, too specific, Sam recognizes he got defensive. But the way she spoke afterwards… he doesn’t know.  His instinct tells him to trust her.

Amidst his thoughts, he doesn’t remember picking up his phone, but it’s just one of those nights, he needs someone to talk to- or rather, wants Y/n specifically. A thought he chooses not to dwell on.

are you awake? I can’t sleep.

I actually am. Lucky you.

Sam smiles. Lucky me, he thinks.

isn’t it like 4 am for you?

Tell me about it. No luck sleeping either.

happen to you a lot?

Yeah.

I happen to have anxiety induced insomnia.

Working at a bar also helps fuck up your sleeping schedule as well.

You?

i’m sorry :/

i don’t get much sleep either. something always keeps me up.

Yeah, I get that.

Where in the Great Unites States of America are you today?

hahah it’s Oregon today.

it’s the ugliest motel room i’ve ever been in.

Ooh

Do I ask about your case or is it confidential?

it’s confidential but i’ll tell you that i am investigating a bunch of strange murders.

You’re investigating serial killers?? That’s so fucking dope.

something like that yeah.

how was your day?

Oh, you know. The usual.

College assignments, a shift at the bar. I went out with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.

I need to clean my house desperately.

I also nearly burned my kitchen down trying to cook lunch. Emmy and I ended up eating some lazy-ass spaghetti, because pasta is the only thing I can cook, apparently.

hahahah what were you making?

You’re gonna laugh if I tell you.

well now you must.

Ugh, do I?

come onnn

It was eggs, okay? I was just trying to make eggs.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

I TOLD YOU YOU’D LAUGH AT ME

HOW DID YOU BURN EGGS?!

LISTEN, OKAY

I NEVER SAID I WAS A GOOD COOK

HAHAHAHAH

Sam laughs over his phone, as silently as he can, so as to not wake Dean up. He turns on his other side and realizes his cheeks hurt from smiling, and it’s a feeling he’s missed.

Yeah, yeah, laugh, culinary genius. Not all of us can be perfect.

i never said i was a culinary genius

but at least i don’t go near stoves if i don’t have to.

Well, it’s not like I can afford every-day takeout (or like that shit is healthy, even if I could) and someone has to cook for my sister while she’s in school

you have siblings?

and yeah you’re right i didn’t think like that sorry.

It’s okay.

And yeah, my sister, Emily.” Emmy”

oooh i thought emmy was your friend.

Nono, it’s my sister. She’s 17.

can i ask you a personal question?

Shoot

why do you have to take care of her? are your guys’ parents not around?

you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with that.

Well, it’s a bit complicated.

My parents’ marriage kind of fell apart when I was around 10. They tried to fix things by adopting a kid- Emily. For a while that worked.

When I was 16 my mom took off and dad took care of us for 2 years almost. He really dedicated himself to us.

He worked his antique shop and supported us. For two years, I didn’t see him spend a penny on himself.

But I ended up having to take care of Em when he passed. I was freshly 18, so I could take care of her as a guardian.

shit i’m so sorry.

It’s okay, honestly.

I mean, it didn’t use to be, and it was hell for a while.

But we made it.

i admire your positivity.

I try :)

i also love that you put smiley faces in your text messages.

Shouldn’t have said that, now I’ll always think about it before I do it

hahah

Sam bites his lip. What the hell is happening? They’re… flirting. Sorta. And it’s nice- better than nice. Fuck.

What about you?

you mean what’s my relationship with my parents?

Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid. It wasn’t what I was asking either.

What I meant was, how’s your life right now. How’s the family business. You can pick which you wanna answer.

i don’t mind either honestly.

as for my parents my mom died when I was 6 months old. my dad passed away about a year and a half ago.

Jesus, I’m so sorry Sam

I don’t know what to say. It can’t have been easy. Losing a parent never is.

it wasn’t but as you said we’re trying to sort of find our footing with Dean. we’ve had our ups and downs.

Yeah I understand that.

Do you wanna talk about it?

right now not really. I mean there’s not much to say about it.

i kinda wanna forget about it. thanks though.

Alright.

So how’s the family business?

Does it feel good to be paid to be Sherlock Holmes?

crap. but we’re doing our best.

for the record i don’t get paid nearly enough for the shit i have to do.

Hahaha, hang in there.

Dean still refuses to come get his phone?

yeah. he says you can keep it.

Tell him to take care of his devices from now on, this one was battered beyond recognition.

duly noted.

The conversation continued until well after the sun rose. Sam had officially accepted this night to be sleepless, and Y/n was good company. Somehow she took his mind off of everything that was bugging him, made him, if momentarily, forget about it, and he truly loved that about her. The back and forth tended to flow easily between them, and he couldn’t get enough of the chemistry he had with this practical stranger.

Sleepless or not, this night was a good one, after she entered the picture.

-

The glow on her skin is blue-ish and soft, combatting the one from the fairy lights above them. Laptop absolutely not low in volume, couch dipping under two bodies, slumped together, legs leaning against one another, soft flannel pants and droopy eyes. Emily’s hair is out of its usual half-up hairstyle, exploding with volume and bright, firey color, flowing onto the back of the couch.

Jon Snow is yelling on the screen, and Y/n is completely ignoring him, constantly checking her inactive phone and the way the screen doesn’t light up with Sam’s name. Every time she feels disappointed, she tries to quell the relentless thoughts of the possibility of him being completely over her.

Damn it.

“Do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend I’m not aware of or something?” Emily mutters dryly, half-hearted but gentle teasing. Y/n sputters.

“Huh?”

“’Cause you keep checking your phone, and as far as I know you don’t have any friends.”

“HEY,” deeply offended, Y/n places her hand over her heart, glaring at her sister. “Excuse you!” she exclaims, “Connor? Ashley? Lydia?”

“Yeah, a neighbor and two college students that you haven’t talked to in like, what, two weeks? What a social butterfly.”

“Okay first off,” Y/n ignores the screaming and fighting on the screen and shifts to look at her sister. “Stop tracking my socializing.” Em scoffs.

“C’mon, bear, spill.” Bottom lip pouted. She pauses the episode, turning to face her older sister. “Who are they and when can I meet them?” A devilish smile, teasing like only a younger sister can, curling the right corner of her lip.

“He’s not my boyf-“

“AHA! So there is someone! I knew it!”

“I’ve known him for like- what, three weeks? Nothing is going on! I barely know the guy!” Y/n fiddles with her hair and huffs, holding back a smile.

“Where’d you meet him? Is he hot? What’s he like?!” Poking her sister’s thigh continuously, she grins wide, excited. “C’mon, you’re like, no fun.”

“The thing is… I didn’t. Meet him, I mean.” Eyebrows furrow.

“Uh…” Emily purses her lips. “I’m … not following.”

It takes all of five minutes for Y/n to explain to her sister all about her crazy adventure, the lost phone, the brother, Sam. The girls munch on leftover garlic spaghetti, talking about the stranger on the other side of Y/n’s screen.

“He’s just… different? I don’t know- I just, I’m intrigued I guess. He’s mysterious and hilarious. The type of guy we’d hang out with. Why pass it up?”

“Just hang out?” Emily wiggles her eyebrows. Y/n shoves her.

“It’s really not like that.”

“I don’t know, Y/n, he doesn’t necessarily sound just friendly to me.” Y/n won’t lie and say she hasn’t thought about it. She’s a romantic after all, and what a wonderful, movie-like love story would it be for them to fall in love and march into the sunset?

But she recognizes this is the romantic side of her picking up speed on a subject that definitely isn’t for her to decide alone. There’s a second participant in all of this, and he needs to do more than half the work by liking her. She knows it’s no easy feat. A bitter dab of paint dissolves in her chest, because why would he like her? She’s nothing quite special. She’s just a bartender, a college student, a boring, normal girl, painfully mundane, painfully boring. He’s brilliant, kind and sweet, a private investigator, he travels all the time, he’s the most interesting guy she’s ever met for crying out loud. Why would he ever give her a chance?

“I doubt it, Em,” is what Y/n decides to say, because there’s no way she can explain exactly what she’s thinking.

“No, no, you’re doing that thing again.” A hum in question falls from the older Andrews’ lips. “The thing where you put yourself down for bullshit reasons. He’d be lucky to have you.” Y/n wants to roll her eyes. “Hey,” a snap of Emily’s fingers in front of Y/n’s face to catch her attention. “I will literally slap you. You’re smart, funny, kind. He’d be fucking lucky to have you, and if you don’t believe it, I’m gonna beat some sense into you. Stop putting my sister down.”  Y/n doesn’t have anything good to say to that, so instead she lets out a huffed breath of a laugh and sits back on the couch.

“Now,” Emily leans over her own crossed legs and grabs her phone from the rickety coffee table. “Did you Google him?”

“Why the heck would I Google him?”

“It’s the 21st century, Y/n, gosh. Are you at all familiar with internet stalking?” Y/n watched pebbled coffee brown eyes get illuminated by the phone screen, freckles nowhere near as bright as they can be, because she hasn’t gone out into the sunlight today. Emily is gorgeous. Y/n is sometimes jealous, but also genuinely admires her younger sister. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

There’s typing, and then silence.

“Y/n…” And the warning tone on the younger one’s voice completely throws her off.

“What? What is it?” A phone screen is thrust in her face.

Mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, armed robbery, kidnapping, three counts of first-degree murder, and breaking and entering, she reads. Winchester brothers Sam and Dean, disappeared, considered dead.

“What the fuck,” she mutters under her breath, completely horrified at the chance that this is real and the universe isn’t playing some comic joke on her, creating another pair of Winchester brothers called Sam and Dean who, instead of chasing murderers, are the murderers.

She scrolls lower and sure enough, there they are. Mug shots, but more specifically, the guy from the dating app, smouldering cheekily into the camera –a real blue steel-, holding a police station name on a black plaque, sitting at close to six feet and two. Then the younger one, less joyful and sassy, more serious and puppy-eyed. Sam. Close to what was described to her, it’s all there. Pointy nose, sharp jawline, curly brown hair with a growing, swoopy fringe, pulled behind his ears. It’s him. There’s no way, the coincidences are too many.

“Bear…” Emily stares at Y/n’s shocked face, gaze empty and out of it. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Immediately, Y/n grabs her phone.

Sam

His reply is instantaneous.

hey y/n

i was just thinking about you

what’s up?

Please for the love of God.

Explain this.

She sends him the mugshot, photographed from the screen of her sister’s phone.

shit.

-

Part 4

A/N: Tell me what you thought? How the hell does he even explain this?

I realized I haven’t been tagging my forever taglist like a MORON, so just, sorry, I’ll start now. 

Forevers:   @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester​ @deanssweetheart23​ @nostalgic-uncertainty​ @mogaruke​ @superseejay721517​ @lady-hawkguy​ @thosefeelsarereal​ @superwholockmarauder​  @justiceiswater​ @petra-arkanian-1497​ @heyitscam99​ @danijimenezv​ @aj-reuth  @unicornblood4ever @mystriee​ @sadist-fangirl23 @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @superrandomnatural​ @altosaxplayer098 @winter-moons @hunterswearingplaid​ @novaddictx​ @choosemyname​  @live-like-a-girl​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @bowtomytenderaddiction​  @elara98azalea​ @lemondropirwin​ @emmagolden4118​ @glitchcypher @calaofnoldor​ @paradoxical-sleep​ @narynechan @canwenotdothis​ @suicidepanda07​ 

Sam Taglist

@kymberlytorres​ @theboykingsamwinchester​ @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes​ @captainmarvelcorps​ @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away​ @nellachain​

 Seen Taglist  @shutupiminlooove​ @sammysgirl1997​ @kymberlytorres​ @bambi95-blog​ @demonic-meatball​ @thekarliwinchester​ @littlekay15​ @li-m-ii​  @thinspo-isuppose​ @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker​ @marichromatic​ @illuminatus42​ @lazy-author​ @mirandaaustin93​ @hauntedsiriel​ @pilaxia​ @devilgirlsarah​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @captiveties​ @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​ @burningforsam​ @aiofheavenandhell​

[monsoonblooms12]

Detectives By Chance: Chapter 4- Seeking and Chasing

A/N: Hi, how is everyone doing💫💛? I finally completed the 4th chapter, phew. I am really sorry for the delay, It has been some time ( a month to be precise). But I hope that you enjoy reading this💛. Thank you for all the love that you have given the earlier chapters and I love you all very much 💛

Thank you so very much @ohramsey​ for everything. I love you x infinite and I will miss you so much😭🤍❤

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

Pairing: Ethan × f!MC (Dr. Pooja Sharma)

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters. I only own the OCs and my MC.

Word count: 2.3K 

Triggers: Mentions of blood, murder

For Ethan and Pooja, a mutual day off was once in a blue moon thing. So whenever they had one, they would put the world out of their mind and remain engrossed in each other.

And now, after getting a cherished day off for the first time in at least one and a half months, they were sitting here scrutinizing the clues they had assembled from the crime scene.

They sat down on the couch, opened their laptops and kept auxiliary notebooks with them to note any admissible details they could find. Ethan took the three pieces of paper and stationed them down on the coffee table.

The first one was the third bloody note that Pooja had received.

It said: "Ahh, here you are. I knew, I knew you would come. You bastards are as obstinate as I am. But don't worry, I like it. So, did you like my pretty little portrayal that I had made for you? All this is just a sprinkle of my intuitive plan. The real game hasn't even begun yet. Just wait and be on your guard for my twisties and turnsies."

"Hasn't this person done enough? What the freaking hell does he want?" Pooja said, on the brink of tears. She was literally done with this pathetic game of blood.

Ethan hugged her tightly. "Calm down, Love. It hurts me to see you like this. We will find out everything. We will find this person, and we will make them compensate for their sins. I promise." 

"Ethan, I love you so much. Please be with me ad infinitum." Pooja planted a featherlight kiss on Ethan's cheek. 

"I will, Baby, I will, I love you too," Ethan assured her, while tenderly wiping off her tears. 

"And... you don't have to use fancy terms to tell me to love you forever."

At this, Pooja let out a tee-hee.

After she had calmed down, they looked at the second piece of paper. It was a drug store receipt.

"Propofol?"

"If this is a receipt left-back by the murderer, then why Propofol, did they feel remorseful for Davis? " Pooja scoffed. 

"Remorseful? I sure as hell that's not the case." 

Pooja's question lingered in Ethan's mind. Why would, he thought, the murder make the patient unconscious? So that he doesn't shout?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Poke Poke. Pooja poked at his side, bringing him back to reality.

 "A penny for your thoughts?"

" Just thinking about propofol."

" And what does the mind of the world-class diagnostician say about that?"

" As for now, it says nothing essential."

"But?"

"there is a what if."

"And that is?"

" What if the criminal is right in our plain sight?"

" So, as I understand, you are suggesting that the murder is someone-"

"From the hospital. It would be the easiest for a staff member to do everything, isn't it?"

" Hmmm. Although it is a stab in the dark, it is a pretty commendable reasoning. Good job Mr Mitter."

"Mr what?"

"You don't know Mr. Mitter??!! You need to catch up on your detective knowledge, Ramsey. We need to go on a mystery novel-reading spree, ASAP!"

"Don't you think that's just irrelevant to what we are discussing?"

"Excuse You! How the hell are mysteries irrelevant in a discussion of mysteries?" 

Pooja made a phoney, angry face that made Ethan laugh.

" Okay, so number one you are looking ridiculous with that face and number two maybe, I agree with you, just a little."

"WAIT"

"Did you just... give in and agree with me? The Ethan freaking Ramsey accepted his defeat?"

"How is this def-"

"I will write about this day in golden letters in my autobiography."

"Autobiography?" Ethan was chuckling like an idiot.

"Hey, what do you think? I can't write an autobiography or what?"

"No, no, of course, you can! But I really wanna know if you are going to write about your escapades with Jenner or the sleep-talks you do all night. Or maybe about the variety of chocolate you like."

"ETHAN!"

"Okay Okay, I will stop. Let's look at the third bit of paper." 

The third paper was a visiting card. Or something that looked like visiting card held together with a lot of tape. The name on it was too faded for them to interpret. However, they could make out the address and the designation which, surprisingly, was Dr.

All the lingers of laughter and joy from the previous exchange dispersed and seriousness took its place.

"So, this person is a doctor. Very Peculiar!" Pooja remarked.

"What about all this is not uncommon, Poo? Even if they are a doctor, why target you and Alex? How does this person even know you both?" Ethan said, a tinge of anger lingering in his tone.

Pooja absently fiddled with the card while suddenly something caught her eye. In tiny handwriting, the letters D.I.B.S.15. She presented it to Ethan.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

"It looks like some cryptic message to me. Maybe the murderer wrote it absently on this card. We need to infer its meaning. It can be crucial."

"Hmm. Seems, like we have a lot of investigation to do. But at first, let's note down the enigmas we need to find the answers of."

They grabbed a notebook and wrote down all the lingering inquiries and matters about which they were going to seek.

Who is Mr Davis? Why was he targeted?

Why did no one from his acquaintances never come to question about him?

Why did the murderer target Pooja and Alex? How does he know them?

How was the murder perpetrated?

The addresses

MedMinder Drug Store

D.I.B.S.15

"Ethan?"

"Hmm?"

"Should we call the medical store? They might have vital information about the person who bought their stuff."

"Sure they will, reckoning that the person who bought the stuff is the same as the one who murdered Mr Davis."

"Or, you know, we can go there. Like check out both the addresses personally? So many facts are not present on the 'net. We may find something worthwhile for the case or maybe, even find the mastermind?"

"I was contemplating the same thing. But I wanted to take Mark and Alex with us. After all, four brains are more dependable than two." Pooja snickered a little. 

"Sure. I will shoot them both a text to meet us up after their shifts get over." 

But there was no need to do that. When Pooja unplugged her phone from the charger, she saw their texts. Both of them had taken an off early and were en route to Ethan's penthouse.

After fifteen minutes, Mark and Alex arrived. Ethan and Pooja filled them up with everything they had come across.

Then they told them about their plan of visiting the two addresses. 

"That would be incredible. But before that, you both should know the autopsy results." Mark said. 

"The Autopsy result came?" Pooja asked. 

"Yup, this morning. And guess what?"

"The cause of death is not the throat slit. It is Acute Cyanide Poisoning. The throat was slit afterwards." Alex informed them.

"What the hell?" Pooja remarked, wide-eyed.

"All this is so seriously messed up, isn't it?"

"The person has a medical history. They would know the dosage. Also, looking at the kind of criminal he is, it would not have been too difficult for him to arrange the cyanide." Ethan stated. 

"But Why Mr. Davis? I don't understand" Alex queried curiously. 

"Let's get going. I am sure we will get at least some of our answers from these two addresses." 

The four grabbed their coats, took the three clues, packed their tab and set off. The first address on Lyon Avenue was not far from Ethan and Pooja's place. 

They arrived there in ten minutes and spent another five minutes in searching the store.

The drug store was not very busy, dimly illuminated and smelt fusty. 

The man at the counter didn't even notice them coming until, 

"Ahm" 

Ethan cleared his throat. 

The man almost jumped out of his seat. Regaining his composure, he said, "How, ahem, How may I help you?" 

"We need some information. Can you remember who was the person who bought these from you?" Pooja said, handing him the receipt. 

"I am sorry, but information of our customers is confidential. We can not reveal it to anyone except security personals or family member."

Uh Oh. Now what? Nothing a sprinkle of drama can't resolve. 

"Um, Actually the person who bought these from you was most probably my brother. And he is missing for the last three days. So we are searching for information which can lead up to him." Mark said.

Either The shopkeeper was disinterested in their explanation or whatever he said about confidentiality was a lie because he didn't question Mark. He just eyed him sceptically and revealed,

"It was four days ago. I don't remember quite well, but I can give you some information. It was a man of medium height, wearing a high collared black jacket. He wore sleek black sunglasses and a mask. He did not speak anything but handed me the list of items he needed.

He made his payment in cash. When I asked if he was a medical professional, he showed me his visiting card. The card seemed pretty old and unkempt, but the designation Dr. was visible. So I didn't think much and gave him his things. That's all I can recollect."

"Was the visiting card that he showed similar to this?" Ethan asked, presenting the visiting card they had.

"Let me see."

"Yup, the font does seem similar." 

"Seems like this might be our man. Thank you very much for the information." Mark said before they started to exit the shop.

"Wait a sec." The man at the counter beckoned them.

They turned back.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered something. The man, he gave me an extra 20 bucks. When I informed him that he had given me extra cash, he gestured me to keep it. Also, when he was handing over the money, he folded up the left sleeve of his shirt, and there were numerous cut marks on it." The man at the counter told them.

The instant they heard about the cuts, they got the confirmation of their lingering suspicions.

This man was the murderer, and he was the one who was sending them the bloody notes.

The four thanked the man, and as a gesture of gratitude handed him some bucks. Then they left the shop and set off for their next destination.

Once seated back in the car, Pooja said, "So now we know that we are following the right person. Maybe the second address will tell us more."

"Mark, How did you deduce the murderer to be a man?" Alex asked.

"Just took a wild speculation. And because I have,"

Mark stopped.

"had a brother, that came out spontaneously." Mark's voice held traces of pain and brought out the confrontation among his thoughts.

But he quickly regained composure and said, "But thank god the guess was right. If not, we would be in a hell of a mess."

Mark laughed a bit, but his laughter sounded somewhat void.

For the rest of the journey, there was no conversation. A deafening muteness fell in the car, but no one tried to rip through it.

The journey to the second address took 20 minutes.

But they were a bit taken aback from the situation of the place.

It was a cryptic, morose part of the city, and it was awkward for a doctor to set up their practice here. In the entire street, darkness lurked. Flickers of light were visible in some of the houses.

Ethan, Pooja and Alex started to walk down the street slowly to locate the private clinic, but Mark stayed behind.

It was as if distasteful remembrances came to him, inundating him, due to the sight in front of him.

There was a glimmer of identification of the area in his eyes.

After walking a few steps, Alex realized that Mark was not with them.

At first, she began to panic, but when she turned around and saw Mark standing by the car, sighed in relaxation.

"MARK, MARK" Alex beckoned him.

Alex's voice caused Ethan and Pooja to turned around. They, too, detected Mark and the three started to pace towards the car.

"Mark, what happened?" Alex asked after arriving at the car, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Then she spotted the tears rolling down Mark's face.

Before she could say anything, Mark hugged her and broke into stringent sobs. His entire body was shuddering with every cry.

Ethan and Pooja quickly went beside him, trying to calm him down while Alex held him in her embrace.

"Mark, Honey, what happened? Is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell or something?" Alex asked, panic apparent in her voice.

Sensing her dread, Mark tried to regain his composure. And he succeeded a bit.

Breaking himself from Alex's embrace but holding her hand for strength, he levelled up. The other three looked at him, concern and curiosity both unambiguous on their faces.

"T-T-This place, I k-know this place." Mark began, voice trembling a bit.

"You do?" Pooja asked.

"Y-yup. This place, it endures as the beholder of the pain my family went through. All our sufferings, all our cries started here and ended h-here." Mark said, on the verge of tears.

"Mark, if you don't want to talk about it, it is okay, you don't have to," Ethan said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"N-No, I have to say this. I have to tell you."

Mark took a pause.

"T-T-This place is where m-my c-childhood home is."

The grief that we hide from the world, that we bury deep in our soul, when it comes out, it twists knives in a way that rips through all our soul leaving us as shredded as we were when we encountered it.

PS: This case had pulled strings which no one had expected. But will these strings tug the answers with them? This chapter feels like the beginning of the end. What do you think, is Mark's dilemma? What about Pooja's childhood? And what new challenge will the murderer place in front of them?

Every question will be answered and every Mystery will be solved. They might be Detectives by chance but their skills know no bound.

If you enjoyed the story, please like, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going 💕. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great day ahead.💕💕

[myinconnelly1]

A Life Unlived: Life Goes On Pt 4

Masterlist / Previous

Word Count: 1708

A/N: Season 4 - 5 good luck don’t murder me  Emily.... don’t fucking murder me; this is the end of Life Goes on

Warnings: smut, themes of cheating, canon gore, angst- oh so much angst, implied character death (canon), misuse of god/goddess from other religions (canon)

June 2009

“Dean?  Where’s Sam?”  Myin asked as she opened the motel room door to see the beaten down hunter.  “Did you find him?  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,”  Dean said, not moving from the doorway.  I found him, but I was too late.  Myin I failed.  I didn’t stop him.”

“The Devil?”  Myin whispered before pulling Dean in the motel room and hugging him tightly.  “I don’t think you were ever supposed to succeed.

“Fuck destiny!”  Dean shouted causing Myin to let go and take a step back.  “Sorry.  There is more,”  He said quieter.  “The horsemen of the apocalypse came with the devil from Hell.”

“Wait,”  Myin said looking around.  She seemed unphased by the news of the horsemen.  “Where’s Sam?  Is he…”

“He’s alive,”  Dean said realizing the Myin had started crying.  He pulled her against his chest and held her there.  “After killing Lilith I don’t think he thought the other hunters would let him live.  He left, he’s hiding.  Oh,”  Dean pulled a letter from his pocket.  “He gave me this for you,”

“So what now?  Are you going to hide too?”  Myin asked as she put the letter in a drawer by the bed.

“No, I’m going to keep hunting.  I can’t stop now that Lucifer is out in the world free to raise hell,”  Dean flopped unceremoniously onto the motel bed.  “Can I stay here with you?”  He asked quietly as the bed dipped and he rolled next to Myin.

“For as long as you want,”  She replied and kissed his hand before holding it tight to her breast.

Dean would come and go often for hunts, but Myin was flexible with her life.  She had always planned everything out in the past with Jay, and then with Sam.  But now, she wasn’t going to hurt herself by doing things the way she always had before.  She often wondered why Castiel freed her from her agreement with him, and if it had anything to do with her and Dean getting together, but regardless their relationship had been a byproduct of the situation.

Dean would stay with her at the motel when she was working at the hospital and he would come and stay with her and her kids when she was off from work.  They both new that the relationship had been rushed, but neither of them really cared, and both found it very comfortable.  Dean had a way with Dani and Penny that put her mother in law at ease, and their relationship seemed to flourish despite Sam’s non-arrival after his disappearance.

August 25, 2009

“Myin?”  Dean called from the motel room.

“I’m in the bathroom,”  She responded quietly.

“Listen, I know things have been going pretty well for us,”  Dean said sighing and leaning his head against the wall of the bathroom door.  “But I had a dream- Zachariah zapped me to the end of the world, well after the end really.  I have to go… Myin I can’t stay here.  I have to find Sam.  I have to stop him.  I can’t let the Devil win.”

“I understand,”  Myin said, without leaving the bathroom.

“I’ll come back when it’s over.  Please keep the girls safe?”  Dean said before walking out the motel door.

“I’ll keep everyone safe,”  Myin said staring at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test in her hands.  “Well, kiddo, I don’t know what we’re going to do right now, but we will get through this.”

November 2009

“Myin, have you heard from Dean or Sam?”  Castiel asked as his wings fluttered into her office at the hospital.

“Christ, Castiel, you scared me!”  Myin exclaimed from behind her computer.  “Dean or Sam, no I haven’t heard from them in months.  Why?  Are they okay?”

“They went to Ohio, but I haven’t heard from them in a few days and I was hoping they had called you or something.  You and Dean were close last time I saw you,”  the angel said looking at her with a knowing look.

“No, I haven’t talked with them, since Dean’s encounter with Zachariah.  He was supposed to call me when they were safe,”  Myin said looking at a picture of her daughters on her desk.

“Sorry to bother you,”  Castiel said before disappearing.  Myin looked around her office before sitting down to type a letter for her boss.

“I have to leave, you can send me on an extended sabatical or I can resign,”  Myin said as she handed her letter to her supervisor.  “I’m sorry to say that I won’t be able to give you two weeks notice, but everything is in order that this location can run itself for almost a month with very little maintenance from me, and you already knew I was going to be leaving in a few months.”

“I will accept your resignation under the stipulation that you will come back to work for me when you have your affairs in order,”  Her boss said.  “I’ve never had someone that fit in as well as you did.”

“Thank you, I hope to see you soon,”  Myin said exhaling.

It weeks for Myin to track the brothers.  She started in Ohio, after settling things with her mother in law and her daughters, and finally caught up with them in Massachusetts after Christmas.

“Sam?”  Myin asked as she caught him at a bar in a small town called Housatonic.  He was drinking a frozen fruit drink with a look of astonishment and playing with his hair in the mirror behind the bar.  “Sam?” She had to walk over to him and put a hand on his arm to get his attention.

“Oh hey, sorry.  I was uh… distracted,”  He said looking down at her awkwardly.

“Are you and Dean okay?  Castiel was trying to find you, and we were all worried,”  Myin asked trying to get him to look her in the eye.

“Oh yeah we’re fine, totally and completely fine.  No need to worry about anything,”  He said nonchalantly.

“Uh huh, so you and Dean worked things out then?  You’re okay with me and him.  He told you about the baby?”  Myin questioned, finally seeing his eyes.  She knew they weren’t Sam’s.

“Oh yeah, pfftt,”  He threw his hand out to brush off her statement physically.  “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it.  You guys were made for each other,”

“Right,”  Myin said.  “Where’s Sam?”

“What?”  The fake Sam said eyes going wide.  Myin’s phone rang, distracting her from her interrogation.

“I’ll be right back,”  She told fake Sam firmly.  “Don’t leave.”  She walked out of the bar to answer the phone call from Bobby.

“Would you like to do the sex with me?”  Gary asked the beautiful blonde sitting at the bar near him, and was able to convince her to leave with him.

“Shit, Bobby.  I just found Sam what’s up?  What do you mean I need to get out of here?”  Myin said looking around before realizing the uncomfortable feeling she’s had since she got to this town was the same one she would get when her father would cast magic.  “Alright old man, I’m out of here, don’t be so cranky.”

March 2010

~I don’t know what, something just isn’t right.  It was pouring rain as Myin sat in front of her computer messaging an international friend.

~remember how I told you that you worry too much?  Myin scoffed at way that Emily dismissed Myin’s danger.  She couldn’t blame the woman.  She live in a different world, and it wasn’t like Myin could tell her it was all true.  She rubbed her baby bump wondering for the millionth time if Dean was going to call her that night.  But as the hours crept on, she was starting to feel like it wasn’t likely.

~you know that feeling when someone is there but can’t be real?  Myin typed and sent before feeling power unlike she had ever felt.

“I’m taking pity on you mortal.  Normally, I wouldn’t care what happened to someone like you.  But your friend is very dedicated in her prayers,”  A stunning woman of Indian decent stood in Myin motel room.

“Who are you?”  Myin asked as she stood and dropped her laptop on the floor in favor of a pistol.

“Kali, now put that down before you make a mistake,”  The goddess gestured to her firearm.  “The Winchesters are going to face off against the Devil.  Their plan is foolhardy but it’s the only chance they have.”

“Why are you telling me this?”  Myin asked, holding her belly to soothe the squirming child.

“Let’s just say I owed someone a favor, and I didn’t want it to linger.  You need to protect yourself and your children.  Stop looking for the brothers.  And don’t trust any angels.”  She handed Myin a piece of paper with a weird symbol on it.  “Put this up in ever corner of your home and stay there.  Nothing will come inside that isn’t invited.”  Kali glanced at Myin’s computer.  “She’s wrong.  You don’t worry too much.  You should be thankful to have someone like her in your life.”

“Wait what about-”  Myin looked around as the goddess disappeared from her home.  Then flopped onto her couch and pulled the laptop back on to her lap.

~What the correct way to thank a goddess for saving your life?  Myin asked her Hindu specialist.  She needed to give Emily a hug, the woman couldn’t possible know how much she had just saved her neck.

May 2010

Myin stared at the message on her phone as Jody sat and cooed at the new born baby girl.

~We won, I lost.  I won’t be back.  Dean

Myin wasn’t sure how she was going to get back on her feet now that Sam was dead and Dean was gone.  Jody brought the baby over to her to nurse, and Myin cuddled her daughter knowing in her heart this was the safest thing for her child.  If no one knew that her father was a Winchester that was better.

“What are you gonna name her?”  Jody asked sitting down near her.

“Jenny,”  Myin said, keeping her obscure Disney name trend going to keep suspicions low.  “Jenny Connelly.”

@waywardbaby​ @destielhoneybee​ @snffbeebee​ @deangirl7695​ @spnbaby-67​ @maddiepants​ @ladywinchester1967​ @woodworthti666​ @miraclesoflove​ @tumbler-tidbits​​ @emilyshurley​​ @akshi8278​​ @mannls​​ @wendibird​​ @bobasheebaby​​​ @theoneandonlymelol​ @chelsea072498​​ @donnaintx​​ @justsomedreaming​​ @supernaturalenchanted​​ @kalesrebellion​​ @prettydeaneyes​​ @emoryhemsworth​ @laphirablack @dontshootmespence​ @its-a-spn-thing​ @vicmc624​ @idreamofplaid​​ @anaelsbrunette​@winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @kickingitwithkirk​​ @wayward-mikaelson​ @electraphyng @mariekoukie6661​ @ @deanwinchesterinthedarktower @katelynw93​

[iwantitiwriteit]

Love Lockdown - Part 3

Lovesick

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Chris braces himself for his FaceTime with you.

Warnings: Angst, Pandemic backdrop, Profanity

Notes: First In My Feelings Monday™ on books! Hopefully there’ll be more musings as the weeks go on, but I loved the whimsy the mindset added to me day! 🥰 This part was kind tough to write cos it required me to get into an opposing mind frame from the Reader, but a fun challenge nonetheless! Read the previous part here!

As much as he loved Winter in Boston, it was Spring that really captured Chris’ heart.

He’d been watching the beautiful day pass by outside his home office window while he took a few remote meetings with his team. Lockdown didn’t mean shutdown, for Chris at least, as he’s in preparation mode for an upcoming virtual press junket.

However, as soon as those glorious words, “That’s all for today,” were uttered, he upped and gathered his jacket, Dodger and headed for the front door.

“Going for a walk!” He called over his shoulder, his way of saying he’d be back soon.

“Alright, let me grab my jacket!” Scott said in response. Chris sighed and laughed to himself as he waited by the door for his brother. “What?” Scott asked when he got to Chris, who was shaking his head at his brother’s self-invite. He just laughed lightly as they bounded for the street, locking the door behind them.

It took Chris some growing up to appreciate this season. Truly appreciate it. But he’s so glad he does now. There’s a polarity in its elements that make it unique from the other seasons. 

The bright sun peeks from behind thick clouds every so often, fully exposed and giving light gloriously. The flowers, shy and budding in March, are now in April, with just a little time, bold and in bloom. The trees billowing in the cold wind are unaware of their own fierce presence, so gentle in their saving grace that is their shade.

Kind of complex, Spring in Boston. Could be perceived as annoying in its inconsistency of temperature within a 24 hour period; cold one part of the day then hot the next. But he loved that not everyday or every hour was the same. Kept him on his toes in a way.

 He couldn’t help but imagine how you’d like it here at this time of year. How he’d like you here with him. To have you on this walk right now. To hold you close when the sharp wind cuts through, chilling you both. You’d say what you always say when you snuggle up to him for warmth; that your southern bones feel the cold more than he does.

Maybe it’s true. Or Maybe it’s a lame excuse to be closer to him. Either way, he’d never complain. He loves it. He loves you.

Chris smiles to himself at the thought. Yeah, you’d love it here in the Spring. Definitely more than you did in December. What a start to a shit show that turned out to be. Chris hates to think about it. But his brain can’t help but go back there sometimes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Scott asks, walking alongside his brother.

Chris lets out a long breath. He’s back there right now. But it doesn’t start and stop there. December makes him think of January. January makes him think of February. Then March, and before he knows it, he’s been through the chain of events that led you two here: Him in Boston, and you in Tennessee. In love but hurting from it. In the midst of a pandemic? Your relationship is just as uncertain as the end to the world’s madness.

Chris kicks himself at the painful memories. Shaking his head, he looks over to Scott who is patient as his brother finds his words.

“I’m thinking that despite the craziness of the last few weeks, months even, and being on lockdown...”

“Uh-huh…” Scott says knowing there’s more

“In an odd way, I’ve felt more free than I have in a while.”

“How’s that?”

“Well… hasn’t it been kinda great being, ya’know, solo...?” Chris eludes, not wanting to say the actual words.

“Huh? Oooooh!” Scott says as he catches Chris’ drift.

Chris won’t lie; the last 3 weeks away from you have been headache free. The bachelor lifestyle coming back to him with ease. He’s spent enough years on his own to know how to revel in the perks of singleness. No side eyes when he’s yelling at CNN or football, no being told to do stupid, necessary chores that can wait til he’s ready, and no one to get hurt when he’s inevitably fucked up in some way or another.

“Only problem is, I’m the only one of us who’s actually single.”

“Right… I know, and don’t get me wrong! I feel really lucky she hasn’t left me yet, and that she’s stuck it out with me for this long. I really can’t imagine my life without her.”

“But…” Scott prompts.

Chris is hesitant as he starts again. “But lately, guiltily...I wonder if that would be such a bad thing. If we were to… ya’know,” Chris makes weird hand motions that Scott eventually interprets as “breakup”.

“It’s a wonder you’re any good at charades.”

As much as he feels bad and knows he could’ve done some things differently, handled some things better, Chris is sooo frustrated with you.

“Why won’t she just tell me what she’s really thinking— exactly what she’s feeling. I’m not a fucking mind reader! You would think it’d be easy for her, considering what she does for a living, I don’t get it man.”

Scott waits for his cue for Chris to ask the golden question, but when he doesn’t hear it, he looks over at his older brother. Chris looks every bit a boy that’s absolutely lovesick, kicking the rocks in his way, pouting down at his feet. “You want my opinion?” Scott eventually offers.

“Please. I don’t think Dodger’s gonna give me anything good.” Chris bends down to pet the pup quickly before continuing their walk

“I think she has told you what she’s feeling— just not explicitly from her mouth.”

“If that’s the case, then her shutting down every time we’re addressing an issue is supposed to mean…?”

“You’ve got to give her some room to emote, cos you can be a bit, well, you know.” Chris did know, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

Accusations from past girlfriends of him not listening, only hearing, what’s been communicated have not gone unnoted. That, coupled with his bubbling emotions have led to many a breakup in his life. Relationships demoted to damn near flings the way women have come and gone from his life. But what he has with you couldn’t just be another relationship for the books. Chris wants to break the cycle with you… for you.

“I thought I was doing that when I suggested we social distance separately. Then last night she made it very clear that I was very wrong.”

“I could’ve told you that you were very wrong. Tax free.” The two men make their way back to the house. Looking at his brother before him, all sad and distraught, Scott was not going to let him start his own pity party.

“I don’t want to lose her. She’s the one. She’s my one. I know it.”

“Then don’t lose her.”

“When’s anything EVER been that simple?”

“I’m not saying it is, but if you know she’s the one, don’t give up so easily bro. Try everything in your power to give her the relationship she deserves. And she will do the same for you. But, if the problems still persist, then maybe, it would be for the best if…” Scott trails off as he sees his brother’s eyes start to look like those of the dog by their feet. “Look, I’m just telling you from personal, very recent experience, that it isn’t all that bad being friends on the other side of it all.”

“Ugh, God! I think I’d rather have a limb caught off and force fed to me than try to be friends with her if we ever… I can’t even say it.” Chris pokes his tongue out like he’s tasted something awful.

“You’re being hella dramatic right now.”

“But bro, I’m not even exaggerating!” The brothers laugh as they walk up the driveway. As they cross the threshold of the front door, Chris’ reminder for your FaceTime call sounds off, echoing in the foyer. He turns it off and looks up at his brother. “That’s the call to my love’s fate” he tries to joke.

Scott wears a soft, empathetic smile “Everything’s gonna be just fine. No matter what.”

Chris tries to wear some optimism, but the possibility of this being the end of your relationship tugs at him. He won’t let it get a hold of him. “Thanks, bro. I’ll see you later. And DO NOT eavesdrop.”

“Whaaaat??? I would never!” Scott feigns offense. Chris looks unconvinced. “Dodge and I are gonna enjoy an afternoon movie, isn’t that right Dodgey Wodgey?” 

“Dodger’s not even buying it. Stop it.”

“Yeah, that was weird. See ya later, man.”

Chris takes the stairs to his bedroom two by two. He sets up his laptop, making sure to plug in its charger; wouldn’t want it to die on this call.

He paces around the space in front of his desk. As many video calls as he’s done the past few weeks, none of them were as important as this one. Nervousness washes over him. He decides to embrace it; it’s natural, and a good sign. He still cares. He can only hope you do, too. 

The digital clock strikes 2. It’s time.

He calls you, the laptop ringing for a while longer than his beating heart can take. His heart sinks and doubts creep in. Is this is it? Is she done with me? No fight, no… nothing? This can’t be it. But then the ringing ceases and the screen says “connecting”, a sigh of relief involuntarily escaping him.

He can’t help but beam, proud he knows you better than his negative thoughts do. Happy that you wouldn’t leave him high and dry. 

Then he sees your face. Your beautiful face. The natural lighting of your room bouncing off your gorgeous, brown skin. Your hair is the perfect combination of defined curls and loose wisps, neat but not overly so. You are the epitome of effortless, natural beauty. He almost feels like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Hey baby! For a second there, I thought you wouldn’t answer,” he nervously chuckles. 

You smile at him but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He senses your apprehension, even through a screen. He hadn’t done a good job of setting up this conversation with peace of mind for you, now that he thinks about it. “We need to talk” is almost always followed by some heavy, unwanted shit. Not that this talk will be easy, but he most certainly doesn’t want you thinking the worst. He genuinely wants to talk; explain his fuck ups and frustrations. And try to listen.

He figures since he’s put you two here, it’s his job to steer this ship to calmer, nicer waters. Here goes. He tries some small talk, anxiety making him ramble. “So, how’s the… weather? That’s a stupid— ugh, I’m sure it’s, like, hot. You’re down south, where it’s hot—”

“Chris?”

“Yes honey?”

“I don’t wanna do this with you.”

There it is; his worst fear. Losing you. No. He was determined to let his optimism win. Determined that his ears were deceiving him in this moment.

“What do you mean?”

Chris is too all in to go down without a fight, and  fight for you he was prepared to do.

Part 4 | What’d you think?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I.R.L.📷1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.

This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.

Note: I split this into two because it kept stretching on and on ahah. But I hope you’re ready for a creepy ass camboy.

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

You could blame your break-up or the pandemic but you were just lonely. Besides, Cam left you a year ago and the quarantine was long over. It seemed the whole word had moved on except you.

You always got that fluttery feeling when you opened up the tab and typed in the address. You keyed in your username and password and that moment of shame and guilt quickly passed. Men did this all the time so what was the big deal? You had the money and time to waste on the shallow release.

You scrolled through the active rooms and found ‘SuitNTie80’. There were a few times you tried other rooms but you quickly left, always keeping to your comfort zone, not that you were ever very comfortable. There was that shadow of guilt that lingered after but you learned to live with it.

You sat up and leaned on your arm as you watched the window load and the chat popped up first on the side. You were desensitized to the image of the naked body, the large hand around the thick shaft, stroking and teasing as he issued intoxicating groans. You piled your pillows behind you and bent your legs as you watched lazily.

You were mostly quiet but you were there at least twice a week. You didn’t have much to say in the text box and the thought of a private voice chat was too intimidating for the price. You sent your donations and went on your way once you got yours.

You tickled your leg as your eyes clung to the hair along his muscled chest and stomach, his thick thighs bent and bulging as he gripped his dick firmly. He was huge, not that you were ever a size queen, but it was a nice escape, a careless fantasy. It wasn’t hurting anyone to look.

You hummed and reached for your vibe. You leaned back and teased your clit. You got wetter as he moved around and the bold yellow font popped up in the chat box. You hit ‘pay’ and bypassed the tier. The chat dwindled and the muscular body laid back so that his dick stood straight. He continued to play with himself as he pushed his head into the pillow.

You grabbed your dildo and angled it down along your folds. You poked and prodded until you slipped inside just a little. You pulled back and pushed back in until you could take most of it, the vibe still buzzing against your bud.

Another paywall popped up and again you hit the big button and confirmed. You kept the transactions on your credit card and didn’t think much until the statement showed up. Again, the audience dwindled. It was Wednesday, there weren’t as many as the weekends.

You got comfortable again and pumped the toy as you rubbed the stimulator against your clit. You bit your lip and whined, close. The deep voice stopped you.

“Looks like it's just you,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and kept his hand moving.

You typed a hey into the chat and sent another tip. He smiled, only the bottom half of his face visible, the trimmed beard defined his already sharp jaw. You fell back again as you tried to focus on his hand.

“You’re here a lot, honey,” he purred and rasped as he rolled his palm around his tip, “every week…”

You froze and sat up stiffly, careful not to push the toy deeper.

“You don’t have to be shy,” he cooed, “we can go into a private room.”

You didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to cum and lay down. Forget about another long day back in the office.

“No charge,” he offered, “I’d just like to hear your voice.”

Your fingers tapped noisily over the whir of the toy, ‘why?’

“You’re my most loyal customer,” he slowed his hand, “just curious.”

You just sat there, your heart pounding. You liked not being seen, just watching quietly, just being there in the audience. You were embarrassed he even noticed the frequency of your attendance. You eased the toy out of you as you leaned an arm on your leg. You hovered the cursor over the leave icon.

The invited for a private room popped up and kept you from clicking, “just a few minutes, honey, I’m almost done and I wanna help you finish.”

You bit the inside of your lip and dragged your finger down the trackpad. You hit ‘accept’ and a pop-out window buffered as it requested access to your microphone. You could mute once you were in. You confirmed and the private room loaded. You maximized it and drew your hand back sharply, already regretting the decision.

“How are you doing, honey?” he asked, “anyway you want me?”

You stared at the screen, overwhelmed by the spontaneity and your natural shyness.

“I hear your toy,” he said softly, “why don’t you tell me what you’re playing with?”

You gulped and the mattress spring squeaked as you shifted, “um, I’m okay,” you answered his first question, “how are you?”

“I’m great,” he pushed the camera back and sat so that you could see all of him, “it’s nice to hear the voice behind the name.” His teeth grazed his lip as his muscles tensed and he groaned, “so what do we got, hmm?”

“Er,” you looked down, the toy buzzing against your thigh as you’d let it slip thoughtlessly, “a vibe and... “

“And…” he coaxed, “what else, honey?”

“Um, a dildo?” you said weakly, “erm, yeah.”

“Is it inside you?” he asked.

You choked and tried to smother it. You sniffed and clicked off the toy. “Sorry, I don’t think--”

“I want it inside you, now,” he said firmly as he stroked himself, “I want you to imagine it’s me, that i’m stretching you.”

You gaped at the screen as he watched you expectantly, almost as if he could see you. You always kept your camera covered though so at least he could only hear how clueless you were.

“Turn the vibe back on and put that dick inside of you,” he snarled, “come on, honey, for me.”

“I…” you breathed, “okay…”

You shakily hit the button so it vibed again. You asked yourself what you were doing as you slipped it down against your clit and pushed the dildo into you before it could slip out completely. You squeaked and he growled as his hand sped up.

“Mmm, is it in?” he asked, “all of it?”

“Y-yeah,” you murmured, “as much as… I can.”

You cringed at your own answer and he grinned.

“Oh, you’re tight?” he teased, “sounds like you need to be broken in.” You let out a breath as you sat unmoving, filled but paralysed by the intimacy of the chat, “go on, I wanna hear you, honey. I can’t finish if I can’t hear you.”

You hesitated but laid back against the mountain of pillows. You rolled the vibe flat to your clit and moved the dildo slowly. You quivered as the ripples flowed through you and made your toes curl, your legs splayed wide around your laptop. You can hear how wet you are as instinctively you move the toy faster and moan.

“That’s it, honey,” he cooed, “listen to you, hmm? So we for me…” his voice was a series of gasps as he added lube to his length and sped up, “how close are you?”

“C-close,” you rasped.

“Good, good,” his knuckles turned white as he worked his hand even faster, “I want you to picture me… balls deep… fucking you until your hips hurt… until you can’t walk…”

You let out a pathetic mewl as you fucked yourself harder with the toy, to the point of pain.

“What’s you’re favourite position, honey?” he asked as he used both hands on himself.

“Oh, uh…” you shuddered as you thought, trying to keep the toys in action, “doggy… I think.”

“Mmm, wouldn’t you like me behind you, pounding into that tight little cunt,” he puffed, “I can only imagine how tight you’d squeeze me… the way you’d shake… you think you could take it? Hmm?”

“Y… y… yes,” your voice fizzled out and you let out a strained cry as you came abruptly.

You panted wildly and turned onto your side as you squeezed both toys between your legs and groaned. A grunt brought your attention back to the screen as you twitched. The man cradled his sack as he came and strings spilled from his tip as his voice rumbled from the speakers. He smeared his cum all down his length until he was a mess and let his shoulders fall as he stilled his hand.

“Was that good, honey?” he asked as he looked into the camera.

“Mhmm,” you uttered as you sat up and slid the dildo out, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” he stood and came closer to the camera, bending so that you could see his face clearly, he was startlingly handsome, “can we do it again?”

“I… don’t know,” you replied as you turned off the vibe and covered yourself as if he could see you, “maybe.”

“You did really well, sweetie,” he smiled, “and I really like your voice.”

“I…” you sniffed and swallowed as you glanced around your dark bedroom. Is this what you’d come to? “I gotta go.”

You hit ‘leave’ and immediately felt awful. As much for leaving him hanging as even indulging in the chat. You rubbed your temples and bent your fingers against your skull as you gripped your head. How sad could your existence be?

📷

The disconnect icon came up and Andy sighed. He closed down the chat and logged out. He sat and cleaned himself, gently as he was overly sensitive from over an hour of stimulation. He enjoyed his little sessions and he made a decent penny, not that he really needed the money. It was more the high than the dollar sign.

He pulled on a loose pair of silk pajama pants and the fabric tickled his tip cloyingly. He closed the lid of his laptop and tidied the room, stripping the bed and putting the plain cotton sheets back on. He sat heavily to catch his breath and leaned back on the heels of his hands.

He always saw her username in the chat when she entered and tipped but she never said anything. He didn’t think much of it, she was just another regular. LacyLilac; it was a cute name. He was just bored and wanted to try something new. It was fun and thrilling and just the sound of her wet cunt made him twitch.

He kept thinking about her voice. He was disappointed she left so quickly. He would’ve liked to talk a little longer but it was just a porn chat after all. What more did they have to say to each other?

He tried to match her voice to a face in his head. She was probably cute; she sounded young. Well, lots of people were younger than him. He was probably one of the oldest cammers on the site. 

She was shy though and he liked that. He’d married the outspoken one and he was over it. That turned to shit fast and look where it got him. Alone and pimping himself out for kicks. Yeah, it was fun at first, he liked being watched, it was always a game for him. He used to play with himself at his desk in his office, sometimes the interns caught him but they never said anything. They were too afraid.

That was all gone too. That life was behind him, so far it almost felt like it never happened. He wished it never had; wished he hadn’t wasted the time.

He stood and sighed. He took his laptop from the table and slipped it under his arm. He went downstairs and opened it on the counter. He let the screen saver bounce as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap off with the edge of the granite and watched the little wisp of mist rise from the neck.

He tapped on the pad and scrolled through his activity log. He found her name and clicked on it. Her profile was mostly empty except for the profile pic, a stock photo of lilacs. He got nothing from scrolling up and down the blank fields. Well, he knew a few tricks the cops passed onto him back in the day.

He opened another tab and quickly generated the link. He went back to her profile and clicked the little speech bubble beside her username. He took a moment before he began to type.

‘Hey, honey, I had fun. I hope to see you again on Friday <3. My schedule’s changing soon, you can see it here.’ He attached the link and hit send. He took a swig of the hoppy beer and leaned an elbow on the counter. 

All she had to do was click that link, if she didn’t, he’d have to figure something else out. Or maybe just give up.

The computer chirped as a green dot appeared beside her name. She was online. He saw the little eye beside his message and the dots as she typed. She stopped and he waited. Nothing.

He clicked back to the other window and opened up the visitation log for the link. He smiled and took another deep gulp. She’d done it. She tried to use the link and now he could see everything; her IP, her location, her internet provider. It was just enough to work with.

Bing. He switched back over to the chat and finally her response hung beneath his in a bubble.

‘Thx. I’ll try. The link doesn’t work tho.’

He typed with one hand as he finished his beer in sips, ‘sorry, honey. I’ll fix that and send an updated link when I get a chance. Have a good night <3.’

‘Good night,’ she responded and the green dot disappeared.

He set aside his empty bottle and closed the laptop. He was hard again. It didn’t usually happen so soon after a session. It was why he spaced them out. But he was throbbing so violently that just standing straight made him groan.

He gripped the counter and shoved his hand down his pants. He closed his eyes and exhaled as he quaked at his own touch. He thought of her little ‘ums’ and ‘ers’ and the buzz of her toy. Such a shy little thing acting so innocent and yet she was always there, watching him. 

Fuck, it wouldn’t take much more. Not as he thought of how she couldn’t even fit the whole toy in her sweet cunt. He would help her with that. 

📷

The anomaly soon grew to a habit. The second meeting was just as awkward. You didn’t do private chats, it was just easier to fade into the background, but the third was easier. Despite how your nerves flurried and your hair stood on edge, he made you feel comfortable, made you relax as you neared the tipping point.

That night, you promised him you’d be in the chat but things always went to shit when you had plans. You were almost relieved as your after hours activities were starting to get in the way of your work. You found it hard to focus when he kept sending you messages that filled your burner email.

You sat before the blue-tinted hue of the monitor, your eyes watering as the colours seared into your retinas. The spreadsheet left a template in your vision and you saw the little boxes even as you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. Maybe another hour and you could go and forget about the colour-coded rectangles.

You sighed and took out your phone. You looked out at the pen of cubicles, your small office forgotten in the corner. You handled the numbers and those only mattered when someone needed a new chair or the holiday party was coming near, and those tasks were easier left to the interns.

You yawned and swiveled back and forth in your chair. The little envelope floated in the margin. You dragged down the status bar and hit the icon. Your inbox was filled with alerts to new messages on the chat site. You only had your shell email account attached to your phone and kept to incognito mode on your laptop.

Only Lucy was still around and she was having a loud phone call on speaker a few offices down. She basically lived at her desk and served as a harbinger of your future. You opened a private window and signed in. You went to your profile and checked the blinking message box.

‘Hey, starting soon.’

‘On live now!’

‘Where are you, honey?’

‘About to go private.’

The last message was a sad-looking emoji and you shook your head. This was why you needed to stop. It felt special at first to be noticed, to feel wanted even if you were just a money sign, but it was growing exhausting. You hardly even enjoyed it anymore, you were just there to get off and get it over with.

‘Srry, caught up at work. Not going to make it tn.’

You hit send and blacked out your phone. You went back to the lifeless excel columns and compared it with the garbled mess corrupted on the second monitor. You told Stuart over and over to eject it properly and didn’t understand how the file hadn’t been uploaded to the company cloud. You shuffled through your papers and shrugged it off. No use being angry, no one cared.

Your phone vibed again. You ignored it and kept typing, looking through reports by the month as you keyed in numbers. A year's worth of tracking all down the drain. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Your phone wouldn’t stop.

You opened up your phone and went back to the private window. ‘You couldn’t tell me earlier?’ ‘Hello?’ ‘What did I do, honey?’

The messages came close together and you looked over at the log. His chat had gone inactive; it was early. You were slightly addled and confused by that.

‘It’s work. I haven’t had a chance. Can’t talk. Logging off. See you Friday.’ You hit the arrow and excited the window. 

You dropped your phone face down and hung your head back in exasperation. Your guilty pleasure was becoming a second job. The guy had enough viewers, he could hardly be missing your wallet that much. It was starting to get weird and you weren’t so sure you were going to tune in that Friday, you might be better off to catch up on your sleep.

📷

You kept your laptop off on Friday and opted instead to catch up the latest episodes of your favourite trash tv. The week was long enough to have you dozing off by the second episode and you woke early on Saturday, feeling more groggy than refreshed. Even so, you had two days to yourself.

Two days to catch up with your personal life. You went to the kitchen and used the last of the coffee. And the cream. Time for a shop. Well, you could still make a fun day out of it. There was a café in the same plaza as the grocery store so you could stop in and pretend like you were enjoying your time off with whatever specialty flavour they offered that day.

You didn’t get out before noon as you dragged your feet. Your mind kept drifting to your claustrophobic office and the migraine-inducing spreadsheets. You tried not to, fought your own mind as you steered into the parking lot, but you knew you had another week of bullshit awaiting you.

You grabbed a cart and made your rounds of the aisles, sighing as you waited on octogenarians to decide on a grain of bread. You hurried to check-out before you could get caught behind another dawdler and paid, piling your goods in your cart impatiently. You rolled out the lot and filled your trunk, pushing the cart back to the receptacle with the rest.

You hit the lock button on your keys and headed to the cafe. You eyed the strawberry and cream latte on the board as you stood in line. A deep voice drew your attention from the menu and your heart stuttered as you looked at the man at the till. It couldn’t be.

You got a better look at his face as he eyed the desserts in the glass case and pointed to the one he wanted. How in the fuck? The world couldn’t be that small. You tucked your chin down as your cheeks burned. You could only think about the image of him, or really his more intimate parts, and his low moans.

He swiped his card and moved along the counter. You stood frozen, not moving until the person behind you told you it was your turn. You apologized and moved up to the till. You stammered out your order and fumbled with your wallet, keeping your head down as you paid.

You kept your distance as you moved to wait in the corner until your turn at the window was called. You stared at the floor and tried to dissipate into the air as you pondered just leaving without your drink. When your name rang in your ears, you stepped up without look and collided with another.

“Oh, sorry,” the familiar voice made your eyes round, “shoot.”

You winced and pulled your shirt away from your chest as the hot coffee seeped down your front. You shook out the fabric and shook your head.

“It’s fine, I-- I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you dared to look up at him, unsurprised by your luck, “I hope I didn’t, er, spill too much.”

“I’m more worried about burning you,” he said, “you sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” you repeated curtly and stepped around him, “really.”

You grabbed the paper cup and spilled even more hot liquid onto your fingers in your urgency. When you turned back the man was just ahead of you and he waited as he held the door for you. You ducked your head down as you passed him and thanked him with a mumble.

“No problem,” he said as he dropped the door.

You stepped off the curb and almost tripped. You didn’t look back as you rushed over to your car and searched for your keys in your pockets. You hit the button and quickly opened the door and flopped into the seat, placing your cup in the holder as more foam and espresso spilled from under the lid.

You hung your head back and sighed. You cringed and wanted to scream. You gripped the steering wheel and shook the whole car in your tantrum. As if your life couldn’t get worse. You were just one disaster after the other.

You wiped your hand on your jeans and started the car. Oh well, a forgettable slip-up. You wouldn’t remember it next week and he likely wouldn’t either. He didn’t even know who you were. Didn’t know you were one of the perverts watching him on their screen as they sat in the dark, lonely and desperate.

You pulled out of your spot and steered between the rows as you neared the exit. Fuck, you thought to yourself, you probably paid for that coffee. Ugh, why were you doing this to yourself? Making yourself feel worse and for what? He put himself on the internet, you were just supporting him.

“Just shut up,” you said to your inner voice as you turned out into traffic, “just stop.”

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Little Secrets

for @nightimedreamersworld from the prompt list and tags you posted. Thanks to @ninemagicks for leading the way. 

From a tumblr prompt list by @mraculous and sent to the Carry On fandom by @nightimedreamersworld : ‘a mutual friend tried to introduce us, but we already knew each other from LARPing but we’re both too embarrassed to admit that so I jokingly said we used to date and oh god now our friend won’t stop interrogating us about it’ AU

Little Secrets, a Snowbaz LARPing AU (2774 words)

Simon

“Do you want to come over Friday? I can order in curry and I’ll even watch that Netflix thing you’re obsessed with, if you like,” Penny says, before taking another bite of her sandwich. I’ve already finished mine but I take the chance to steal one of her crisps. She never finishes them. I hate seeing them go to waste.

No one should ever bin salt and vinegar crisps. It’s a crime against humanity.  

It’s been harder to coordinate our schedules this term. Even meeting for lunch is a treat. We’ve not had a night in for weeks. It’s not as easy, now that we don’t live together.  

And it’s not often that Penny offers to let me decide what we watch. Says she’s got standards and I watch too much “brain numbing rot.”

Castlevania is not rot. It’s fucking brilliant. My costume for this campaign is based on Trevor Belmont. It’s wicked good.  

I’m gutted to have to turn her down though. Friday’s going to have to be a no. We’ve been gearing up for this campaign for weeks and I can’t miss it.  

“I’m sorry. I can’t Friday.”

Penny looks at me over the top of her glasses. “Why not?”

She doesn’t know about this. About the LARP club I joined. It’s something I started doing over the summer, when she was away in India with her family.  

I was bored. And lonely.

I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it. I’m not. It’s a hell of a lot of fun swinging a sword around and taking part in campaigns. Even the costume workshops are entertaining.  

Everyone’s so friendly. Well, most of them are, at any rate.

Penny tends to frown upon things like this. Things that don’t serve a purpose. Making new friends doesn’t count as serving a purpose. She’s told me more than once that having too many friends is an unnecessary burden. “There’s only so many hours in a day, Simon. Two, three people, that’s all any of us have time for.”  

That’s all Penny has time for. I’m lucky to be one of her three people.  

Telling her I’m spending two nights a week LARPing with near strangers while dressed as a medieval monster hunter likely won’t go over too well.  

Especially as that amounts to two nights a week I’m not doing my coursework or revising. Sacrilege.  

“Uh. I’ve got . . . uh, there’s a study group.”  

“On a Friday night?” Her eyes widen.  

“Yes.” The shorter the answer the better with Penny. I can’t get caught in a lie if I’m barely saying anything.

“For which class?”

Fuck it all. I can feel my leg starting to jiggle. She’ll know the gig is up if I don’t answer soon.  

“Medieval Literature.” Thank fuck I’m actually taking that class this semester or she’d be onto me.  

It’s not that far off, anyway. Most of the costumes qualify as Medieval.

“Dedicated lot.”

“Quite.”

“It’s good to see you being so devoted to your studies, Simon, what with applications for graduate programs coming up.”

As if I needed the reminder.

“Maybe we can try to find some time next week, then.”

“That’d be great.” I reach out to steal another crisp. She smacks my hand away. “I do miss you, Pen.”

Penny pushes the bag of crisps over to me with a sigh, but she’s smiling. “I miss you too, Si.”

It’s not until the next week that we manage to make plans. And it’s not for curry and Netflix.

We’re at Foyles, having spent the last hour listening to one of Penny’s favorite poets do a reading and a Q & A. Penny’s dead gone for Nikita Gill. I thought it was mostly because she’s a femininst and Indian but I see the point, now that I’ve heard her read from her latest book. She’s brilliant.

Penny’s in line to get her book signed and I’m just sort of shuffling along with her, feeling like a bit of a tit, seeing as I’ve not got a book myself.

Should I? I feel I ought to at least have something, but it’s too late now, we’re almost to the signing table.

Predictably, Penny gets into an intense conversation with the author while I stand there, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and nodding every so often. The store clerk finally gets Penny to shove off. She drags it out for another minute and then we’re finally clear of that scene.

I’m ready to head to the pub for a bite, but Penny stops down the line to talk to someone from her seminar and I’m left at loose ends again. It’s mostly uni types in the crowd, nearly all of them intense and bright eyed as they talk over each other now and indulge in some excitable hand waving. There’re a few blokes here and there, moody looking types with man-buns, horn rimmed glasses, and oversized jumpers. I recognize one or two from my classes but no one I know well.

Penny stops to talk to another person and I’m in despair over dinner. I wander over to a book display and idly flip through some paperbacks as I wait for her. Thankfully it’s not more than a few minutes later when I hear her call out to me. “Simon!”

I trot over, more than ready to make a run for the pub but her first words aren’t “let’s get out of here.”

“Si, I want you to meet my friend.”

Oh, fuck. We’re never going to get to the pub at this rate. I plaster a smile on my face and turn to say ‘ hello’ to whoever it is Penny is bound and determined to have me meet.

And I freeze.

“This is Baz. He’s in my Modern British Poets seminar and he’s almost as keen about vampire lore as you are.”

I raise my eyes and meet Baz’s cool stare, that one eyebrow of his arched as he meets my gaze.

Fuck. I don’t need to be introduced to Baz. I know Baz. He’s the Mage in our campaign. He’s a fucking ruthless one too, dead brill with his spells, even though he’s a bit shit when he’s got to do any swordwork.

That was my main job on the summer campaign--give him cover so he could cast his spells and decipher his runes and whatever else it is that Mages do.

I’m front line offense now--cut down anyone in my path, long before they can get near the rest of our party. It’s up to Gareth and Niall to have Baz’s back this time around.

I can’t very well pretend I don’t know him, but I really don’t want to be explaining that I’m in a LARP club to Penny in the middle of this bookstore, not in front of Baz.

Fuck.

I give Baz a pleading look which I’m sure only confuses him, based on the way his eyebrow arches up even more. I don’t know how to convey “don’t tell Penny you know me from the Dragonknight campaign” with just my eyes.

“I’m well acquainted with Simon, Bunce.”

I am well and truly fucked.

“You two know each other?” Penny gives me a penetrating look.

Baz keeps talking. “Yes, we’ve been--” but I interrupt him before he can say anything more.

“He’s my ex.”

I have literally no idea why I said that. And there’s no taking it back, now that it’s out there.

Two sets of eyes goggle at me, both of Baz’s eyebrows reaching for his hairline now. Penny looks scandalized.

“Your what?” she asks.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I clarify, literally begging Baz to go along with this with my eyes. I probably look like a gormless twat. Just go along with it, I try to broadcast that thought across the two feet of space between us.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” Penny says flatly. “How do I not know about this, Simon?”

Baz looks just as curious, but thank Christ he doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, you now, summer romance, short-lived fling, gone but not forgotten.” I’m literally babbling.

“Very short lived,” Baz says drily. “So short lived I’d be surprised if he had mentioned it, Bunce.” He’s smirking, the smug bastard. Arms crossed over his chest, that one fucking eyebrow mocking me now.

“Yes, ah, you know, summer.”

“I’d say I don’t know at all, Simon.” Penny’s looking between us, a suspicious look on her face. “Why don’t you fill me in. I’d love to hear about my best friend and my study partner getting together and me being none the wiser.”

Baz is full on grinning now. “Yes, why don’t you tell her, Simon? Unless you’d rather I did?”

I think the fuck not.

“Ah. Well. You know we met  . . . ah . . . at the library.”

“What on earth were you doing at the library?”

What the fuck was I doing at the library? I never go to the library and Penny knows that.

Fuck.

“Wasn’t that when your laptop was being wonky?” Baz chimes in.

I scowl at him. Only one of us needs to be fabricating this tale and that someone is me.

“At least that’s what I remember you saying, when you came in that night.”

Bloody hell.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what it was. Had to come in and do a lit search on premises.”

“It’s a good thing I was working the desk that night,” Baz says, uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his jeans pockets.

My eyes follow his hands down and keep going.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in jeans before. Tunics? Yes. Majestic robes? Yes.

Elegant, fitted jeans that are snug all the right spots? Well, I’d remember seeing that before, is all I’m saying.

I drag my eyes back up to his face. “Uh, yes, um, good thing.”

I didn’t know he worked at the library.

“Simon came in, just before closing time, with the idea that he was going to do a search and print it all out in mere minutes.” He’s really warming to the subject and I’ve lost control of this whole situation.

“Typical,” Penny says and I’m outraged.

“What?” I sputter.

She nods her head at Baz. “He gave you those puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of his, didn't he?”

“Now, see here, I’m the one telling the story and–”

But Baz steamrolls right over me. “Oh, you know he did, Bunce.” He gives me a fond look that makes my face heat up.

What’s he playing at? I rub at the back of my neck, feel the clammy sweat starting to form there.

“Got you to do the whole thing for him, didn’t he?”

This is pure slander. I’m not going to stand for this.

“I couldn’t resist his roguish charm.”

“Listen, now--”

Baz just keeps talking. “I had no idea he was such a shameless flirt.” He shakes his head at me and actually manages to look almost mournful, the lying bastard. “Charmed me, wined me, dined me. But once his laptop was functional and the research project complete, just a few short weeks later, he dumped me without a second thought.”

“Simon!” Penny’s glaring at me now. She’s bought his whole fabrication and I’ve got no one but myself to blame for this farce.

“Just wait a bloody minute!” I yelp.

Baz hunches his shoulders and lowers his head. “By text, no less.”

“Really, Simon, how could you?” Penny’s all righteous indignation, her hand coming to rest on Baz’s arm, eyes blazing as she rakes her gaze over me. “I go away for a few weeks and you not only manage to seduce my friend but then unceremoniously dump him by text? You know better than that. You were a bloody wreck when Agatha did that to you!”

And now she’s airing my entire sordid dating history to Baz in the middle of a bloody Foyles on a Thursday night and I’ve not even had dinner. This takes the biscuit, I swear to god.

“Penny, listen, it was nothing like that, really, I swear.”

She’s got her arms crossed over her chest. “Then how was it, Simon?” Cold as ice. You’d think Baz was her best friend and confidant, not me.

This is a fucking disaster. I’d have been better off telling her about the LARPing.

I am going to tell her about the LARPing. It’s the only way out of this mess.

“Listen, Pen, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be upset I was wasting my time--”

“Wasting your time?” Baz interrupts. “Is that what you’re calling our two weeks, then?”

“That’s not what I meant!” I’m going to let a berserker just go by me and wreck Baz this week, I swear I am. Won’t even brandish my sword at him, I’ll just point him in Baz’s direction. It’d serve the bastard right. “Listen, Penny, I was going to tell you, but I was a bit embarrassed--”

“As well you should be, the way you behaved.” Penny interrupts me this time and I have reached my fucking limit.

“Would the two of you let me finish one bloody sentence?”

Two expectant faces meet mine but I swear there’s a glint in Baz’s eyes and his lips quirk like he’s trying to keep himself from laughing. Arsehole. I may go after him myself this week, if he’s not careful. Go rogue. It’d be worth it, just to wipe the smug look off his face.

He’s got his hair down tonight. I don’t know why I didn’t notice that earlier. He’s usually got it up when we’re–fucking hell, why am I thinking about his hair right now?

“Ok, so let me finish what I’ve got to say or I swear to Christ I am going to go off.” Baz inclines his head and waves a hand at me in a ‘have at it’ gesture. Penny frowns but holds her tongue. “So, while you were gone this summer I got a bit caught up in LARPing.”

“You did what?” Penny asks.

“LARPing. Live action role play.”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. For something to do.”

“And why are you telling me this now?”

I pull at my hair and groan. “Because that’s how I met Baz. He’s not my ex. I’ve never gone out with him. I just made that all up, rather than tell you about the whole LARP business.”

“Why on earth would you concoct all that nonsense, Simon?” Penny’s looking completely perplexed but Baz has this cheeky grin, the absolute wanker.

He’s got a dimple in his left cheek.

Fuck.

“Because I thought you’d be irritated. It’s not something that serves a purpose.”

“Why would I care what you do with your free time?”

Oh my fucking god.

I give my hair another yank. “Aren’t you always telling me I should spend more time on my studies? Keep my social life a bit more contained?”

Penny has the audacity to shrug. “I’m not your keeper. If you need to swing a sword around to let off some steam, far be it from me to argue.”

She turns to Baz and smacks him on the arm. “What were you thinking, going along with all this nonsense of his tonight? I’d not expect that kind of foolishness from you, Baz.”

Baz leans against a bookshelf and flashes her a grin. “Let’s just say my curiosity was piqued, when he threw that ex comment out there. And you know how I love to spin a good story, Bunce. He certainly wasn’t going to pull one over on you by himself.” His eyes light on me and there’s something smouldering in the depths of them. Something I’d like to get a closer look at.

“Well, you’re ridiculous, the both of you,” Penny says. “You deserve each other, honestly.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m starved. It’s past time we went to dinner.”  

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Baz’s eyes never leave mine. “I’ll see you Friday then, Snow?”

He used my LARPing alias.

I liked it better when he was calling me Simon.

Penny hooks her arm around his. “Come join us, Baz. Since you and Simon already know each other so well.”

He adjusts his book bag on his shoulder. “I suppose I could do with some dinner.”

Penny keeps her hold on his arm and leans back to look at me behind Baz’s back.

And then she winks.

I think I’m the one that’s been played.

And when Baz’s knee knocks into mine as he squeezes into our booth at the pub I realise I don’t mind one bit.

also on ao3 Little Secrets

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Dimension Jumping pt. 2

The Fellowship x Reader

Fluffy pants, creepy coworkers, and grocery lists. Fun times

Trigger warning: mentions of stalker.

After that kind of rocky introduction and confusing explanation of their quest and what they were doing exactly (also what happened to their wizard ‘Gandalf’) things began to work out better. 

At first, they were in a kind of panic since they aren’t able to destroy that ring thing if they’re in your world, but then you reminded them that they can’t destroy it, and this Sauron guy can’t get it. 

This seems to ease their worries a bit. 

It was very easy for you to get along with the two blond 'hobbit’ cousins Merry and Pippin, and Samwise is a wonderful help in the kitchen. Mr. Legolas kinda just awkwardly stands around most of the time (he doesn’t sleep apparently), while the 'dwarf’, Gimli, likes to bother said 'elf’ which you find to be quite amusing. The two actual human dudes seem to be the more authoritative figures here, so they help to keep everyone in check and ensure they don’t break anything.

Penny has, quite literally, fallen in love with that brown-haired bastard Aragorn, and you’ve sworn that if he breaks her little fluffy heart you’re going to fucking murder him. Lucky for him, it seems he is quite fond of her in return since he sometimes sits idly on your couch with her laying across his lap. This asshole must have dog treats in his pocket or something because there’s no way she would ditch you for some scraggly handsome stranger like in the movies. 

Of course, you don’t complain about it or anything, rather you just leave it and enjoy the fact that Penny is happy (while silently plotting his painful murder in your mind). 

You also had to show them how to work the bathroom, and after they got over their initial shock and awestruck, they all bathed (thank god for your poor nose) and you offered to go get them more clothes later on so you can figure out how to wash theirs.

Overall, it seems that everything is going smoothly and will continue to do so. 

You have yet to give them a chance to mess with your laptop or phone (or even the TV), but mostly because you’re afraid they’ll die of shock. 

Before you know it a week has passed, and not only are they still in your damn home but they’re so freaking well-behaved and polite you actually find yourself not wanting them to go. 

“Why do you wear those fluffy pants?” The sweet little Pippin asks. 

Everyone insists he and his cousin are mischievous little monsters, but you find them to be nothing but adorable and polite. “Because, my dear boy, they are really freaking comfortable. I’m gonna go to the store later and get all of you a pair. They will change your lives." 

His eyes grow wide at your overly dramatic description of fluffy pants and he suddenly seems excited, "Really? Some for all of us?" 

You nod your head with a bright smile on your face, lifting your leg up for him to touch it. "Feel how nice they are!" 

When Pippin places his hand on the soft, fuzzy fabric he looks surprised, "I don’t think I’ve felt trousers so soft before!" 

"Fluffy pants, Pippin. They’re called fluffy pants." 

"Fluffy pants.” He repeats in confirmation. 

His cousin, Merry, chose then to walk into the room, and when he sees the two of you he looks confused. “Pip, what are you doing?" 

"Oh! Merry, come here and feel these!” He exclaims, not bothering to answer his question. 

Merry does as he says, albeit hesitantly, but when his hands touch that miracle fabric he looks just as shocked, “You’ve got such peculiar clothing… I like it." 

"Well, I was just telling my buddy over here that I’m going to get everyone some and absolutely ruin your wardrobe since you’ll never want to wear anything but these ever again.” You tell him smugly, jumping to your feet suddenly, “Oh, I’ve gotta go do something. Keep an eye on Penny for me, won’t you?" 

Yeah, they don’t need to since she’s busy sleeping on a napping Aragorn, but you ask nonetheless. 

You retreat to another room and begin to organize the things you moved from your guest bedroom, wanting everything to be less cluttered while they stay here. 

The air mattress had to come out and everything because of how many there are, but you don’t mind a little extra work for some companionship in response. Heaven knows you need someone to keep you out of your own head.

While you’re neatening things, the blond elf guy walks in and observes you for a few moments, saying nothing and kinda just standing there. You turn after a minute or so and look at him questioningly, "Is there something I can help you with?" 

He doesn’t say anything right away, and so you grab a couple of books and straighten them while you wait. 

"What are you doing?” He asks instead of answering you (a very Pippin move). 

Despite your heart wanting you to be sarcastic in your reply you answer him seriously, “I’m cleaning up a bit since I had to take all of this stuff out of my guest room. It’s kinda messy if you couldn’t tell." 

You wipe your hands on your fluffy pants and smile at him. "I’m almost done. Did you need me for something?" 

He actually acknowledges your question this time with a shake of his head, "No. I wanted to see if you require any assistance." 

Ah, that makes sense. He definitely seems like the helpful type. 

"Oh, well some help would be nice. Maybe you could move those boxes,” you point to some cardboard boxes in the corner of the closet you shoved everything into, “over there.” You then point to a shelf that is mostly empty. 

He nods again and goes to do just that right away, and you go back to sorting through a box full of papers.

“What made you allow us to stay?” He suddenly inquires, lifting the boxes you asked for help with easily. 

You’re a bit surprised at his engagement in conversation and the topic he chose, but you answer despite that. “Well like I said before, I know a group of sad saps when I see it… I didn’t know you’d lost your friend, but I could tell something wasn’t right. And… I don’t know, your hobbits looked so hungry and tired, I couldn’t kick you all out and keep a clean conscience.” It’s true, but what you leave out is the desire you had for some company. Penny is more than enough, but recently you’ve been feeling lonely and inadequate, so you jumped on the opportunity to be useful in your monotone life. 

“There’s something you’re not saying.” He says it like a statement rather than a question, and while he’s right you only shrug. 

“My reasons are my own, but what I told you is my main explanation. Take it or leave it.” You don’t mean to act so cold and aloof, but the thinking about your flaws and recently depressive state only serves to dampen your mood. 

“I meant not to offend, I apologize if upset you. I was only curious." 

You smile at him over your shoulder apologetically yourself, "No, don’t say sorry. I’m just a bit cranky is all, haven’t been getting much sleep." 

He can tell that’s not the truth, but he nods anyway and lets it drop. 

Suddenly the sound of Penny barking reaches your ears, and you sigh knowing that someone is probably at the door. 

When she abruptly stops, you pause and decide to finish with the last small stack you have before going out to check.

Big mistake.

Once you walk out of the storage closet, you’re met with the sight of two hiding hobbits, and Aragorn at the  freaking  door. Your eyes widen in horror, and you turn and close the door in Legolas’ face before he can exit. 

When the door slams, someone pokes their head around the tall 'ranger’ and smiles. 

"Oh, Y/N there you are!" 

Uh oh, he’s not supposed to be there. 

"B-Brian, hey, what… what are you doing here?” You ask slowly, walking over to try and diffuse whatever situation is going on here. “I didn’t even know you knew my address…" 

He smiles brightly despite that and waves his hand, "Don’t worry about it, the boss gave it to me and told me to check up on you! You haven’t been answering your messages and this is the most work you’ve missed in the past, like, 4 years.” His tone is bright and cheery, but you can see behind that mask of pleasantries is nothing but a prying brat who has to know everything 24/7. 

You ignore your dark thoughts and simply smile at him in return, “Yes, well I’ve been very busy. And, actually, I texted Marissa about my absence for the week ahead of time, so I don’t see why she would send you. She told me that I can work from home until I’m ready to come back.” You never liked Brian. Much too nosy and too much of a snake for your liking.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and see that you have… holy shit, 43 missed messages? All from Brian? Ew, okay, that’s weird. 

But you decide not to comment on it.

“Right, well, who is this? I haven’t seen him before." 

Shoot. 

You look up at the brown-haired man sharply, then back at Brian. "W-Who, him? Oh, this is just my… boy…friend… Ara- Er, Aaron. He’s, uh, staying here because his house burned down.” God, you’re a horrible liar, but you try to keep your face straight either way. “Who he is doesn’t matter, I’m kinda busy right now so if you could just…" 

You go to close the door, but he only steps a bit closer, "Wait-! I didn’t know you have a boyfriend!” His expression is more panic stricken now, and dare I say upset,

Ughhhhh  fucking Brian . 

Suddenly a voice pipes up from behind you, “Is there an issue over here?" 

Oh great, another challenger has appeared, and his name is freaking Boromir. 

"Wait, who is this then?” His countenance goes kinda sour, “Your other boyfriend?" 

You face-palm and slowly drag your hand down your cheek, groaning internally at his horrible timing (also electing to ignore Brian’s bitter comment). "This is… Aaron’s druggie brother, Bo…Beau. He likes meth.”

Brian looks alarmed at your mention of him being a meth head, but you only smile and internally kick yourself for coming up with something like that . “You have crackheads staying at your house?! With how you’ve been recently?! S-Should I-" 

You only shake your head once and slam your hand on the wall, "Brian, I am a big girl, and big girls don’t need their  coworkers  to keep them safe. I’ve been nice, but what I do is literally none of your fucking business, so leave me alone or I’ll call Marissa and tell her about,” you pause and lean forward, whispering with a faux sweet voice, “The janitors closet…" 

His face goes pale at the mention of the horrid sight you’d walked into that one faithful Tuesday, and he nods his head in understanding, "R-Right, sorry to bother you! I’ll uh, get going now then. Enjoy your break!" 

He’s gone before you even close the door. 

You simply stare at the closed door for a few moments, trying to process what the hell just happened.

"Miss Y/N?” Merry calls from behind the couch. “What did he mean by 'how you’ve been’? Are you alright?" 

Unable to keep your cool, you reach up and bury your fingers in your hair and groan loudly from frustration, "Ugh! Fucking Brian! Why did you have to open the door to that loser!?” You yell incredulously, pulling on your hair rather harshly. You don’t even entertain the idea of answering that question.

Aragorn seems surprised by your sudden angry outburst, so much so that he steps back and bumps against the wall. 

“He’s always in my damn business! Acting like I haven’t caught him doing  unmentionable  things in that closet! Why him? Why did you think it was a good idea to open the door?!” You don’t mean to yell or to get so angry, but it’s almost like a splash of cold water in the face. A reminder that things are temporary and unexplainable to outsiders. “He’s such a stalker! God, this is going to come back and bite me in the ass!”

You drag your hands down your face and simply stand there for a moment, ignoring all the people gathering in your living room to stare at their mental brake-down having hostess.

“I apologize, I-I didn’t mean to-” Woah he actually trips over his words.

Before he can finish his apology you raise a hand up in a silencing motion. “No, shut up. Don’t apologize I’m not actually mad at you.” It sounds like you are, but you aren’t.

If you were looking at him, you’d see that he visibly relaxes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell I just… he frustrates me. I’m not angry at any of you, I promise.” You drop your hands back to your side and stare at the door for a few moments before turning and walking back into the living room.

“You’re kind of scary,” Sam states from Frodo’s side at the entrance of the kitchen. 

You look over at the two and furrow your eyebrows, “Scary? Me? No way. Just a little irritated.” If anything they’re the scary ones, with their swords and evil ring and all that. 

You glance back at the dark-haired man still at the front door and bite your lip, “I’m really sorry." 

A small and forgiving smile creeps onto his face, and you feel relieved right away. "Perhaps I shouldn’t have opened the door." 

This earns a small laugh and nod from you, "Now that freak thinks you’re my homeless male friend and he’s your drugged up brother. Not a very good reputation.” You don’t bother going over calling him your boyfriend in a panic - if they even know what it means in the first place. 

Suddenly ever innocent Pippin asks, “What’s meth?" 

Lord save your soul. 

—

After explaining to everyone what meth is and how you straight up just called Boromir a doped up loser to someone none of them know, you all have a good laugh. And once you’re all done laughing, you join Sam in the kitchen and notice that he’s taken an inventory of your kitchen. 

"Hello, chef Ramsay. What can I do for you?” You ask with a cheery smile, watching him go through your cupboard while literally standing on the counter with Frodo watching from the floor. 

“Who is chef Ramsay?” Sam asks, looking down at you from his leveraged spot on the counter. 

Oh, right, the poor soul doesn’t know the meme. 

“Nobody, what are you up to?” You change the subject quickly, a part of you hoping he approves of your kitchen. 

“Well… your shelves are lacking a lot. And your… what did you call it, fridge? It is basically empty. What do you eat all week?" 

You don’t reply right away, staring holes into him at his obviously spotty memory. "Well, Sam the thing is, I am one woman, and this one woman didn’t think she’d need to buy groceries for 8 men who all eat like they haven’t seen food for the past week… every meal." 

"So then perhaps we should go shopping!” He exclaims, closing the cabinet and hopping back down to the tiled floor. 

Excuse me, did he just say 'we’? Uh, yeah no.

You shake your head quickly, “No, Sam there aren’t people like you in my world. I can’t take you." 

His face falls and he looks around at the kitchen, crestfallen, "But I can’t tell you what to get if I don’t go…" 

Aw… he looks so sad. It makes your heart pang uncomfortably, and you find that you wanna make him smile again. "Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll get some paper and a pen, and you can write down everything you want me to get on that. How does that sound?”

Almost immediately he perks up and nods his head, “Oh, that sounds wonderful!" 

Bingo. 

"Did you hear that Mr. Frodo? She said she’ll get whatever we want! Come help me make the list!” Okay, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. 

You gather the things you promised from a drawer to your right, then hand them down to him. “Here you are, dear. Take your time, and I’ll go tomorrow. And don’t forget to ask everyone else what they want.”

Hopefully, you won’t live to regret this. 

Without further ado, he rushes out of the kitchen calling for Merry and Pippin. 

These fellas are going to bankrupt you… but if you get to see those happy smiles again, then it’s definitely worth it.