#and it’d be silly to expect myself to keep the same interests that i did when i was fifteen for my Entire Life | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

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Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and��

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #here to misbehave #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #spencer reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #reid request

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awsuntanz · 4 years ago

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a ramble about helium chapter 4 (and dakota’s wonderful characterization)

its 4am, forgive me for any mistakes. i’ve never written anything like this before, aha.

All of these quotes are from Chapter 4 of @heytherestilinski‘s fic Helium!

The way Dakota (the author) fleshes out conflict and allows their painfully realistic characterization to shine is so...perfect. I find myself heavily relating to Dream, George, and even Sapnap at times.

Here are some lines that I didn’t think would stick out to me (but did):

After a quiet moment, to his soaring heart’s approval, George speaks up again.

This entire kitchen scene portrays that feeling of having a conversation with someone who matters to you. Whether it would classify as something important to someone else or not is irrelevant- to you, in that moment, it feels like you’re holding the world. It’s soft, and tender. You don’t want it to fall flat. You don’t want to let it go. (This scene may or may not have encouraged me to say goodnight to a special someone I was thinking of while reading this).

Sapnap dumps the responsibility of the cart back onto Dream. As he walks past him, he says, “You suck at flirting.”

I really enjoyed the stupid banter between Dream and Sapnap at the grocery store. It not only served as some nice comic relief that kept our guard down before the conflict at the end of the chapter, but it’s also something us readers would definitely hear from (and say to) our friends in real life. Good comic relief is something that eases us in naturally and allows us to immerse ourselves and enjoy the moment while maintaining that element of surprise that keeps us interested :)

He turns away from Dream. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Dream may be less controlled in his emotions and impulses, but he is very open in sharing them. George has more of a filter on everything. Controlled. Not wanting to push Dream (or maybe even himself) off the edge.

“You wanted to this morning,” he says, low.

“Yeah, because we were in your house, not the middle of the grocery store.”

Rejection. Denial. George’s response holds some truth to it, but comes off as a haphazard excuse at the same time. He doesn’t appreciate the way Dream pushes for that direct confrontation and frankness when it comes to approaching their situation (and honestly? Neither would I).

George halts to face him again, with a half-whisper, “Not exactly the best place to ambush me, Dream.”

I like the use of the word ambush here because of the strong negative connotation it implies. It’s as if he’s saying that Dream sought out to make him uncomfortable. As if this was pre-planned and intentional, and not another one one of his silly impulses.

Dream stares at him wildly. “I didn’t ambush you. You brought up your expectations, not me.” His voice grows tight. “Are you seriously still going to act like this?”

We’ve had enough of “Dream, why? Dream, no! Dream, quit being an idiot!” from the readers. This time, he takes that blame and tosses it over to George instead. Conflict grows stronger.

“Like I’m—I’m this stumbling idiot who forces you into every bad situation,” he says. “It’s exhausting, and doesn't make me feel good about myself, and—” He runs a trembling hand through his hair. “It’d be nice if you took some responsibility, for once. That’s all.”

God, I’m so guilty of how George does this to Dream. Taking responsibility isn’t very fun when you feel like the other person is constantly making irrational, immature, and as we’ve established earlier, overall impulsive decisions when it comes to what they say and do. We assume that the other person should be able to understand us- We’ve put up with them for all this time, haven’t we?

Realizing that having a mentality like this is toxic and draining to the other person as well is... difficult. It’s difficult to remember that they’re trying, and that they genuinely care about you too. The very same things that make them irritating are what make them a loving and caring person as well. It takes growth from the both of you to learn and understand each other. And growth takes time.

It’s 4AM at the time I’m writing this, and I’m far too tired to quote the entire phone scene, so I’m going to assume you’ve read it.

A few lines from George:

“Can...can you stay on, for a bit? Can we just talk?”

“Please, Dream.”

“I just want to hear your voice.”

A few lines from Dream:

“George.”

“Stop,” he warned. “Stop that.”

“Don’t say that.” // “What is wrong with you?”

“Fuck, George. Why are you doing this to me?”

The reason Dream brings this up is because it highlights a moment where their general character roles in the fic are switched. In this scenario, it highlights a moment of hypocrisy. George is desperate, and vulnerable. The phone call dialogue showcases him doing something that he knows he shouldn’t be doing. “Can we not talk about this? Can we pretend this phone call didn’t happen?”

Now, plenty of ugly nights and long weeks later, he steps closer to George in the grocery aisle as an unconcerned passerby skirts around their cart and conflict.

I’m not sure why I like this line. It feels like a gentle reminder that in the grand scheme of things, your conflict is small. Insignificant to the rest of the world, mattering to you two and only you two. Makes everything a bit more personal, I guess.

He looms over him, wishing he could melt the bristling anger from his brown eyes, and wishing he had it in himself to be angry, too.

I relate to both sides of this. That gut-wrenching feeling of not being able to find your own anger at someone who is angry at you. The feeling of knowing that your anger is frustrating and hurting someone else, too. Either way, it feels absolutely terrible.

“You called me,” Dream recounts, even though he can tell George remembers it as vividly as he. “You talked to me.” He lets out a short, frustrated breath. “Then you got mad at me the next morning, and iced me out.”

Doing the same thing that you hated the other person for doing, and taking it out on them afterwards. Yeah.

(dakota. dream. can you pls stop calling me out through george i would really really really appreciate it thank u) /hj /lh

“Because you let it happen,” George says, but he looks more vulnerable than before.

blame game here we go againnnnn

Dream stares down at him. “So it’s all on my shoulders,” he reiterates flatly. “It’s all my responsibility, now?”

“Yes,” George spits, his sharpness startling them both. He meets Dream's gaze, unwavering, and recollects himself with a deep breath.

“Yes. Because you made it your responsibility, when you sent me that text.”

George was ready to throw that blame right back into Dream’s face. When I saw that whole scene in Heat Waves, I realized how much I related to George in that particular situation. I knew it would come back, somehow. George wouldn’t be able to let something as huge as that, something that shifted the entire course of their relationship...slide so easily. Even with Dream’s eventual promise to work on himself. The whole time, I was thinking, “He’s too nice. He’s too patient,” and, “I wouldn’t be that nice. I wouldn’t be that patient. Not on the inside, at least.”

And you didn’t fail me. That final jab, although relatable- It hurt.

Now that the screens are off, the distance is gone, and the barriers are thinner than ever before, George’s flaws are becoming more transparent. We start to see other parts of his character that had only been foreshadowed in your previous work. I had no idea how Helium would unfold at the beginning, but I’m now very sure that you did not disappoint.

Seeing how you’ve evolved as a writer in both more subtle and more noticeable ways has been awesome :) I’m excited for the next chapter.

#heat waves #dreamland #helium #im very sorry if this is bad #im no fearwastaken #dnf #dreamnotfound #long post #be warned #i cant believe i did this.#kinda nervous to post #edit: ok wow this did really well #thanks to everyone <3 and dakota omg #helium analysis

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heyyyharry · 4 years ago

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Deep End - Chapter 5: Master of the House

…in which Ezi is home alone with Harry’s assistant.

Word count: 4.8k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: PLEASEEEEEE LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! I'll write faster when I get a lot of comments 😩

Harry pulled Ezi down the hallway to find the nearest bathroom. His head started to hurt as he thought about how his mother would react if she found out what Ezi had done. What he had done. He didn’t expect his cousin to run and tell anyone that he’d been attacked by a helpless girl and that Harry had beat the shit out of him afterwards. But someone might have seen that, and words could spread like a virus at these kinds of events. It’d be wiser to just walk away quietly.

When he had found a bathroom, an old lady stepped out, saw them and made a face, probably assuming the worst when she caught sight of the blood on Ezi’s face.

“I didn’t hit her,” Harry told the lady, only to receive a disgusted look in return.

She ignored him and turned to Ezi. “Honey, are you alright?”

Ezi offered a grin, showing her blood-stained teeth. “Yeah. It’s not my blood.”

The lady’s eyes widened in shock. Slowly, she took a step back, then ran off without another word.

Harry immediately shut the door behind them. “Wash your mouth,” he told Ezi, turned on the water, and as she washed her mouth in the sink, he took off his jacket, put it on the marble counter, and rolled up his sleeves.

Ezi hopped onto the counter and watched Harry soak the handkerchief he’d been carrying in his pocket.

“Face,” he ordered, and she lifted her chin so he could gently wipe off the blood around her mouth.

“I was defending myself,” she said once he’d finished and tossed the handkerchief into the bin at his feet.

“I know.” He shifted his eyes back to her. He didn’t mean to sound like a dick, but it seemed like he’d come off as one. He leaned to the side with his hand on the cool surface of the sink. “It’s not your fault. I know my cousin. His family is in debt because of his gambling addiction. I keep telling my mother to ban him from the manor, but she has too much respect for the fucker’s parents to do it.”

“So why did he call you trash?”

At that, Harry couldn’t help but cackle. “He did? Well, I think most people would think so. I haven’t done much to make my mother proud. She wanted her only son to take over our family’s business, but I wanted to become a singer, and yeah…”

Ezi blinked at him. She probably didn’t understand most of what he’d said, so he let it go and worked up a smile. “Sorry for oversharing. You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m not hurt. I was the one that bit him.”

“Are you feeling sorry for him now?”

“No. I would’ve eaten him if you hadn’t shown up.” The way she;d said with a straight face amused and scared Harry at the same time. “Although he didn’t taste as good now that I’m human and need my food cooked.”

“I’ll just assume that you weren’t serious.”

Harry picked up his jacket from the sink. Ezi hopped to her feet and reached for the doorknob, but he pulled her back to him by her wrist and swept his eyes over her body once again. “Where did he touch you?”

She pointed to her waist and showed him the red fingerprints around her forearm.

“Nowhere else?”

“Nowhere else.” She shook her head. “I don’t like being touched.”

A sense of discomfort filled Harry as he recalled how she’d said those same words after he’d yelled at her earlier. She must have been so scared. Tonight he deserved a trophy for being the biggest asshole alive.

“Nobody should touch you. Not even me.”

“You are touching me.”

Harry looked down at his fingers around her wrist and immediately let go. “From now on, nobody,” he said. “Only when you give them permission to touch you, okay?”

“What about handshakes?”

“Handshakes are fine. Wouldn’t recommend shaking hands with everyone, though. Germs and all that.” He stepped in closer and pretended to put his arms around her without touching her, just to demonstrate. “So hugs like this are for friends. You don’t usually do this to people you’ve just met. Unless they’re the ones on the street with the sign that says FREE HUGS. You’re allowed to hug those.”

“Got it.”

“And,” breathed Harry as he grabbed his nonexistent boobs. “This area is forbidden. Nobody is allowed to touch you here...unless you want them too, of course.”

“Why would I want them to?”

Harry ignored the question and went on, grabbing his bum. “Also this and the front area.” He gestured to his crotch. “Forbidden.”

“But I don’t have a tail.”

“You have something else that’s just as important as my tail.” He felt silly to say it, but it would have felt weird to say dick or penis to her face.

She put a finger to her lips; a line appeared between her brows as she pondered. “Speaking of something else, the hole--”

“Okay, not here! Save your questions for when we’re home.”

Harry grabbed her shoulders to spin her around, and she immediately smacked his hands and shot him a glare. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”

“Good. Love that attitude. But really, we need to leave before my mother finds out I almost killed someone in her home.”

He reached around Ezi and opened the door, bobbed his chin for her to go first, but she stood still, her face serious. “That wasn’t like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back there. You became someone else. You were...violent.”

“Well, yeah. Only because he deserved that.”

Ezi cocked her head to the side, her clear blue eyes squinted. “But he was one of your kind. And I’m not. So why were you protecting me?”

“Because he assaulted you. I don’t care if he was the Queen of England. I would’ve beat his ass still.” Seeing her perplexed expression, Harry let out a soft laugh. “Why’s it surprising? Didn’t you save me twice?”

Ezi averted her eyes and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“And you lost your tail for it, so it wasn’t a fair trade anyway.”

He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and told her to go.

They didn’t speak on the ride home. Harry wanted to lighten up the mood with his stupid jokes, but he was too agitated to say anything. They had left without saying goodbye to his mother or anyone, so he would probably be in so much trouble tomorrow. He had put his phone on airplane mode; his mother’s harsh words would have to wait. He also couldn’t help but think that if he hadn’t shown up, something worse could have happened to Ezi. Or his cousin. Or both. And it would’ve been his fault as well.

“Next time we go out, don’t do the opposite of what I tell you to do,” he told Ezi when they’d arrived home and gone upstairs to her room. “You’re even more stubborn than my cat. At least she’d stay put when I tell her to.”

“I was looking for you! I thought you’d left me.”

Harry tossed his keys onto a table and turned to look at Ezi. He put both hands on his hips. She was giving him those puppy dog’s eyes while fidgeting with her own fingers as if she hadn’t nearly torn open his cousin’s throat with her human teeth. He could not imagine what she could do with her siren fangs.

He let go a sigh and scratched his forehead. “You thought I’d left you?” His voice was lower now that he’d calmed down a bit. “So you don’t trust me?”

She said nothing, just staring back at him.

Calmly, he went on, “I brought you all the way here to London and risked it all to keep you in my house, Ezi. I had to speak to some of my relatives at the event, but I was going to come back for you. I told you to stay--”

“You lied to me.”

Frozen to the spot, Harry blinked. “About?”

“Dawson,” Ezi said. “I talked to Dawson.”

“You talked to Dawson?!”

“And he was a nice person.” Then, she had to reassure him, “Don’t worry. It was a short conversation, and I didn’t tell him much about myself.”

“Then how do you know he was a nice person?” Harry scoffed. “I mean, you barely know the lad.”

“He told me about manga, and he called me beautiful, and he doesn’t act friendly to his enemy.”

“Enemy?” Harry asked, but Ezi didn’t bother to explain.

“Why do you hate him?” she asked.

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “He’s a try-hard. I hate try-hards. My mother loves him, so of course you’d love him, too.”

“I wouldn’t call it love--”

“Good. Because he’s lame.”

Ezi tilted her head, looking puzzled. “What’s lame?”

“Boring. Not interesting.”

“Oh.” She gave an understanding nod. “Then you’re the lamest.”

“Okay, you know what?” Harry exhaled and pointed to her bedroom door. He had never felt more like a dad than he was now. “You’re grounded for a day. That means you’re not allowed to leave your room tomorrow.”

“How will I eat?”

“The food will be brought to your room.”

Ezi’s face turned red as she crossed her arms and stomped her foot. “You cannot imprison me!”

“It’s not imprisoning if you still get to play games and watch videos on your iPad.”

Harry knew Ezi loved the iPad. Her furrowed brows relaxed as soon as she heard that she got to keep it. “Fine.” She breathed. “I don’t want to see your face anyway. I’ll just be in my room with Chilli.”

“Good.”

“Good!”

Ezi shoved Harry aside as she stormed into her room and kicked the door shut. Harry stared at it for a moment. Then, he smiled, shook his head and went back to his room.

Ezili had a nightmare again.

This time, she’d returned to the ocean after failing her mission, and as punishment, her mother had turned her into a shrimp, while her sister had watched with a satisfied sneer.

A few moments after she’d woken up screaming, she heard Harry’s footsteps pounding down the hallway before he burst into her room, panting as he asked if she was alright. She almost said that she was now that he was here, but she didn’t and only answered with a nod.

“Okay,” Harry gave a crooked smile. “Just...wake me up if you need anything.”

“Wait.” The word slipped out before Ezili could stop herself.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yeah?”

She rubbed her hands onto her thighs, feeling the smoothness of the fabric of her nightgown, which brought her a sense of comfort. In the semi-darkness of her room, Harry looked strangely handsome with his messy hair and sleepiness in his heavy hooded eyes. She wondered why he had to be all groomed most of the time when he already looked good without trying.

For a second, she forgot what she was about to say then flinched when he called her name.

“Can you sleep here with me tonight?” she asked.

Harry looked stiff, his lips slightly parted.

“If you want to,” she quickly added. When she was living under the sea, she had hated sharing her space with the other sirens, so she could imagine how uncomfortable Harry must feel about her request. Still, she knew if he was around, she wouldn’t have nightmares. If she focused on his presence, then she wouldn’t think about her mother and sister and the task that seemed impossible to complete. Besides, she wanted to be as close to him as possible, learn his behaviours, and slowly slip into his mind and then his heart.

“I mean…” He scratched the back of his head and awkwardly looked around the room. “I guess I could sleep on the sofa over there.”

“There’s plenty of space on this bed,” she said, patting the spot beside her.

His mouth curled. “I know. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. After what happened tonight, I thought you wouldn’t want to be near a man anymore.”

Ezili shrugged. “Well, I’ll try not to hate you tonight.”

Harry rested a shoulder against the doorframe and rubbed his chin. “Well, well, well, are you saying that I chase your bad dreams away?”

“Yes, because you’re already a living nightmare.”

Her response made him laugh. At this point, she could conclude that he enjoyed being degraded.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How’s your English so good? I thought you must speak a language for sirens, no?”

“We speak Séren back home.”

“Oh, cool. Say something in your language.”

“T’ko thikc mei vie mei zua zi.”

“Damn. What does it mean?”

“I don’t like you because you’re ugly.”

Harry’s smile vanished, making Ezili explode in laughter. When she saw the way he was gawking at her, probably because she had never laughed like that before, she forced herself to stop and cleared her throat. “Yeah, so that’s Séren.”

“How do you speak English so well then?”

“Not just English. I also speak French, Danish, and German.”

“Wow. Your fish schools teach human languages?”

Ezili made a disgusted face. “No. I learn them from hearing the conversations of the sailors on the boats.”

“Makes sense.” Harry nodded slowly. “You seem like a fast learner. Way too fast; it’s scary. Maybe your brain is even more developed than mine.”

“Thank you.”

“Now that I’ve entertained you--”

“You’ve done nothing. I did all the talking.”

“I gave you a topic to talk about. Don’t be mean.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Anyway, now that you’re entertained, do you still want me to stay?”

Ezili thought for a second and nodded.

“Alright,” Harry breathed and shut the door behind him. “I’ll stay. Scoot over.”

“You’re permitted to touch me tonight,” Ezili said.

Harry froze when he’d sat down on the edge of the bed. “What?”

Was there something wrong with his hearing? He’d asked her to repeat a lot of things tonight.

“You’re permitted to touch me tonight,” she told him again in annoyance. “You might touch my hand or arm when you sleep. I can’t hold you accountable for that.”

“That’s not--” He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “You know what? Good for you. Keep that attitude when you’re with any man. I’m a man myself, but most of us are pigs.”

“You mean all of you.”

“I literally just lay down and you’re already insulting me.”

“Fine. I’ll stop,” Ezili said, smiling as she watched Harry adjust the covers to make himself comfortable.

“I can’t sleep with you staring at me like that,” he said with one eye shut and the other half-opened.

Pouting, Ezili turned over with her back to him. Harry’s throaty laugh made her stomach clench, but in a good way. “Ezi,” he whispered. “I was only joking.”

She completely ignored him, pretending she was asleep. He was quiet for the next few moments, and when she looked back to check, he was already sleeping. She thought he was playing, so she called his name and lightly pulled a strand of his hair, but he didn’t react. He was lying on his back, his mouth slightly open as he breathed, chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm. She pushed up on one elbow and peered down at his face. She hadn’t observed him this close before. Well, not since their first encounter on the beach. The last time, however, had been in a different situation, and she hadn’t got time to properly study him. Humans were exquisite-looking creatures. She would never admit aloud, but she had always envied them for it.

She started counting his eyelashes and connecting the freckles on his face. The more she looked, the more fascinating he became. It had amazed her how he’d rescued her instead of another human. And not just any human, but his family. She would never betray her kind for a human. Her rescuing him twice had been an act to gain his trust, when the whole purpose of this mission was to have him dead at the end.

Slowly and carefully, she moved closer and gently pressed her ear to his chest. She could hear it. The thumping of his heart, pumping blood through his veins, keeping him alive. He would be dead without that heart. Sadly, so would she.

“Good morning?” Harry said in a tone of a question when he woke up and found Ezi standing in front of the window with her back straight and arms to her sides, like one of those guards in front of Buckingham Palace. “Helloooo?”

“Shhhh. I’m meditating.”

“Who meditates standing up?” He snorted. “Man, you’ve been watching too much YouTube.”

“TikTok. And I’m not a man.”

“Wait, you’re on TikTok now?”

Ezi released a long breath and turned around to face him, hands on her hips. Sunlight filtered through the thin material of her blue nightgown, and Harry looked away as fast as he could before he got hard over a nipple or something. He wasn’t a bad guy. It was only--

“Seven in the morning,” he groaned into the pillow and fell back to the bed. “Fucking hell.”

“It’s morning, so you’re not welcome in my bed anymore.”

He removed the pillow to glare at her. “Ungrateful little minx. Said that after I’d chased away all the nightmares.”

“Go before I send Chilli to take you out.”

As if she heard her name, Chilli appeared in the doorway and licked her little paw while sending Harry a death look.

“You’re siding with the enemy now, huh?” he asked the cat.

“Why not?” Ezi said. “She’s a smart girl.”

Harry groaned loudly as he pushed himself out of bed and started doing some stretches. “Remember,” he told Ezi, who was watching him with her arms crossed and a judgy look on her face. How did she manage to look this good at seven in the morning? Totally unfair. “Remember,” he repeated as he almost forgot what he was trying to say. “You’re grounded. So you can’t leave your room today, but the food will be brought to you. You’re allowed to use the bathroom down the hall.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” He ruffled his hair and gestured at her. “Now continue doing...that...thing that you were doing.”

“Meditating.”

“Whatever,” he chuckled. “Weirdo.”

“Good morning, Mr Boss!” said Amy, Harry’s assistant, as he went downstairs. She’d just arrived with the flowers for his living room.

“Morning, Ames. Any updates?”

“All in the email I sent you, Boss. Also, your mother called...52 times.”

“Yeah, I’ll deal with her,” Harry gave the girl a tight smile as he fixed his hair in the giant mirror by the stairs. “Thank you so much.”

“Did you watch the season finale of Master of the House?” Amy asked, smiling at his reflection in the mirror.

He turned around, grinning back at her. He liked how Amy was always so enthusiastic, but at the same time, found it difficult to match her energy. “No, been too busy. What happened?”

“I won’t spoil.” She giggled and started replacing the flowers in the vase in the centre of the living room with the new ones. “You should watch it this week and we’ll discuss.”

“I will.” When he got to the door, Harry did a spin as he remembered what he almost forgot. “Amy, can you stay here and wait for Niall to come? Also, there’s a girl sleeping upstairs. Don’t wake her.”

Amy’s usual grin had never disappeared so fast. Her hand that was holding a rose froze midair when she asked, “Was it the girl I saw the other day?”

“Yeah.”

“Your new girlfriend?”

“Just a friend.” Harry knew Amy had a little crush on him. It was harmless, so he didn’t really care. “I gotta go,” he told her, pretending he couldn’t see through her frown. “Wait for Niall.”

“Okay.” She forced a toothy grin and waved. “Have a great day, Boss!”

This shirt was too big for Ezili. She shook her head, tongue stuck out at the corner of her lips as she reached further into the closet to get the dark blue t-shirt at the back.

As she pulled the pink shirt she was wearing over her head and put on the blue one. She heard the door to the closet creak open. Her chest nearly exploded. It was just Chilli.

She gave the cat a look. “What?”

The cat meowed at her.

“Yeah, I know he said I couldn’t leave my room and was only allowed to use the bathroom, but I’m bored.” She slipped on a white tennis skirt and sat down on the floor to put on a pair of white shoes. She struggled with the strings, but somehow still managed to tie them into two nice bows like she’d seen on those tutorials.

Twirling in front of the mirror, she asked Chilli, “Do you think I look good?”

Chilli responded by rubbing her tiny head against Ezili’s ankle. Ezili took it as a yes.

Their moment was interrupted by a loud thump from downstairs. Speaking of which, Ezili hadn’t heard from Harry all morning. He’d left breakfast for her at the door and disappeared to who knew where. She probably should go check on him.

Chilli followed her to the living room, both forgetting that Ezili wasn’t supposed to go downstairs. But it didn’t matter anymore, because instead of Harry, she found the green-haired girl lying on her stomach on the white cushioned sofa with her feet in the air and a half-finished bag of chips on the coffee table.. The sound Ezili had heard was the result of the chair this girl had knocked over yet didn’t bother to pick up.

Ezili hesitated for a moment behind the bookcase behind the girl. Before she decided to speak up, the girl did. She was on the phone with someone.

“So the master of the house was taken care of.”

Master of the house?

Harry?

“Nah, I think that girl is dead, too,” the green-haired girl giggled. What was so funny about death? “No, I don’t mean like dead now. But if she attacks, then the team will take her out.”

Ezili shivered. Could she be talking about Ezili? The master of the house was Harry. This green-haired monster had murdered Harry, and Ezili was the next target.

“What do you mean I don’t know that? I’m the expert. I’ve watched stuff like this all the time. Believe me. There’s no way she’s not getting caught. I can’t wait for the world to find out who she really is.”

Ezili went numb until she felt Chilli around her ankle. She put a finger to her lips to order the cat to stay quiet otherwise they’d both die. Picking up the cat, she walked quietly to the front door and slipped out before the green-haired girl found out she’d left her room. She must run away. She’d rather die by her mother’s hands than become a prisoner to humans.

The problem was: she didn’t know where she was.

How far was the ocean from here? She remembered having flown across the sky inside the iron bird, so this land must be very far from home.

“Watch where you’re going, crazy bitch!”

Ezili screamed when a car made a loud noise that almost blew up her ears. She stumbled backwards to the side of the road as the man inside the car gave her a look of contempt and drove off.

She hugged Chilli tighter to her chest. Relax, the voice inside her head said. I know you’ll figure out what to do.

She inhaled deeply and--

“Ezili?”

The sound of her name felt like a splash of water on a hot day. She shot her focus to the white car with the window rolled down and saw a familiar handsome face with glasses.

“Dawson!”

Dawson poked his head out of the window. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans -- the opposite image of the person she’d met last night. “Hey, where are you going?” he asked, looking concerned. “With the cat. Where’s Harry?”

“He’s dead,” Ezili told him quietly. She couldn’t let them find out that she’d escaped.

To her surprise, Dawson laughed. Could it be that he was one of them?

“Sooo dead. His mum sent me to check on him because she’s raging and he doesn’t answer his phone. But don’t worry. This happens all the time. He’s like a cat. Got nine lives.”

Ezili rapidly shook her head. “There was a girl in there. Green hair—”

“Harry’s assistant?”

“Yeah, that girl!” She continued nodding. “She was talking on the phone with someone. She said that the m-master of the house i-is dead.”

“Shit.” Dawson’s face grew dim. Maybe he’d finally understood. “She spoiled you the season finale?”

What?

“That sucks. But don’t worry, there’s still more.”

“What?”

“Master of the House. The Netflix show.”

It took Ezili’s brain a few moments to process, then she realised she had made a fool out of herself for nothing. Of course the green-haired girl wasn’t talking about killing Harry. It was a Netflix show!

Sighing in relief, she threw on a smile. “Oh, right. Yeah, that really shocked me. Harry’s not home, by the way.”

Dawson grimaced. “You okay? Where were you running off to?”

“Uhhh.” Ezili straightened her back. ��W-Where were you running off to? I mean, driving.”

Dawson chuckled. He also had dimples like Harry’s, just not as prominent. “I came to see Harry but since he’s not home.” He peered around her to the front gate of Harry’s house. “I guess I’ll go to the bookstore today.” Another smile at Ezili. Unlike Harry, this one smiled a lot. And Ezili was keen on it. “Wanna come?”

Go with him?

Yes, yes she absolutely wanted that.

Harry wasn’t going to let her explore this new land anyway. And after the incident this morning, it was for the best if she knew her way around here, to escape when she must. Still, she remembered how angry he’d been last night about her not doing what he’d told her to do and putting herself in danger. She was about to turn down the offer when Chilli jumped out of her arms and into the car with Dawson. She sat casually on Dawson’s lap, gazing up at Ezili.

Dawson beamed. “Looks like the cat’s made up its mind.”

Ezili rolled her eyes, threw her head back and groaned. “Her name’s Chilli,” she said. “But, fine. I’ll go with you.”

Niall felt like the main character today as he skipped up the steps to Harry’s door. Harry had asked him for a favour again. Because where else would his best friend turn to when things got rough? Niall knew that he was helpful and the best friend Harry could ask for. Still, he tried to stay humble about it.

“Sup, Ames.” He waved at Harry’s assistant, who opened the door for him. “Did you like my new TikTok?”

“With all five of my accounts. I got you, Nialler,” Amy said as she leaned against the staircase while chewing gum in her mouth.

Niall shrugged off his coat and hung it up. “Thanks, love. Sorry I’m late. Mikasa was wild this morning. I’m literally exhausted.”

“Uh, TMI?”

“What do you mean? It’s just yoga. She and her ‘I’m a therapist. Yoga will be good for your mental health’. She thinks I’m in love with her and would do anything for her. And you know what? She’s absolutely correct. Now where’s the girl?”

Amy looked confused for a second before she realised who he was referring to. “Oh, the pale girl? I saw her leave with Dawson Styles.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, she got into his car with Chilli. Is she really Harry’s girlfriend? I don’t like her. She didn’t say hello to me the first time and not this morning, either.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” Niall grabbed his head. “Sick girl on the loose. Sick girl on the loose. Thanks Ames.” Ignoring Amy looking baffled, he pulled out his phone and called Harry. The endless ringing only got him more frustrated. “Pick up, you motherfucker. It’s always the Nialler who has to save the day.”

Harry picked up after what seemed like a million beeps. “Don’t tell me someone’s injured. It’s only been an hour.”

“Worse!” Niall almost yelled. “Dawson kidnapped the girl!”

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfics #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fics #harry styles x mc #deep end

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years ago

Text

Loceit Appreciation Week: Day Four, Debate

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Chapter Summary: Tired of the neglect he experiences at the hands of staunch Morality, when Janus is sent to the Dark Side, Logan attempts to follow some years later. CW: Food mention, Moceit fight Word Count: 3448 Genre: Gen, Hurt/comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Platonic Loceit

taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @cosplayhanna @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @rizzyluke @sevencrashing @all-panic-nodisco

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Though Logic and Self Preservation never had the chance to spend very much time together before the older boy’s disappearance, the conversations they did have were constructive, engaging, and supportive. Which was quite the opposite of what the others had to offer as the years dragged on. During the six that followed the unfortunate event, Logic found himself dismissed and belittled at every turn. Eight years old at the time, he didn’t exactly understand what had happened to his friend. It was confusing, and no one seemed willing to talk about it. The other Creativity mourned like Self Preservation was dead. Fear didn’t seem to notice. Morality cringed whenever Logic brought it up. He didn’t understand.

Time went on well enough then. Eight years old turned into nine, then ten, then eleven; then Fear morphed into Anxiety and the other Creativity disappeared. Even Logic could have called that one -- and he had. If only Morality listened to him and his advocating for the curly haired Creativity’s ideas. If only Fear had let him help more instead of jumping to improbable conclusions. All of it was a shame and it made Logic’s stomach hurt. He had liked that Creativity.

Eleven, twelve, and thirteen passed; then Anxiety disappeared as well, giving Logic a foreboding sense of loneliness. He didn't get along perfectly with Anxiety, but still. It felt like the Sides were dropping like flies. At this rate, Thomas would be more Dark than Light, Creativity said. Morality told them that was nonsense; as long as they three stayed good, Thomas would be fine. But Logic couldn’t help thinking this one was more his fault than the last. Perhaps if he had better communicated reality to Anxiety, things could’ve been different. Morality assured him it had nothing to do with anything like that; Anxiety just couldn’t be worked with. That didn’t sound right.

Through the beginning of his teenage years, the dismissal deepened. Too young, too inexperienced, too angry, too serious, too silly. No matter what Logic did, he couldn’t get through to them -- especially Morality, who seemed adamant that he had no idea what he was doing yet. The arguments ranged from petty to serious. No, Logic would say, Thomas can’t afford another Lego set, Morality, he has to save for textbooks next semester. No, Thomas shouldn’t have extra dessert just because he did his laundry today; he just had cake yesterday and God knows why. Irresponsibility began to overwhelm Thomas as he indulged in his Feelings more. He daydreamed a more fulfilling life, as he’d have himself convinced, through Creativity’s delusions. Logic was never considered. In fact, Logic was bad for insinuating everyone else was wrong.

At fourteen, Logic had had enough. One morning he woke up and decided he didn’t belong with the others -- with Creativity and Morality. He belonged with Self Preservation and the other Creativity. The one that he liked and the older boy who had always listened to him. The thought of enduring another day of disagreements and neglect dried his throat, so as the sun rose, he sunk out.

The Dark Side was, well, dark. Logic didn’t know what he expected but couldn’t find it in him to be surprised. He went to turn on the living room light but curiously found the switch already flipped, the bulb already illuminated. He went to open the blinds and found them already drawn. Rather than foreboding, as Self Preservation found it upon his initial arrival all those years ago, Logic found it fascinating. Not fascinating enough to keep his stomach growling though. Were the others already awake? Did they not have breakfast over here? Perhaps he was just early.

Unceremoniously, Logic grabbed himself a bowl, a box of cereal, and milk from the fridge to construct his breakfast -- a task Morality had always insisted he do for Logic until recently, when he spitefully went a full month of refusing to eat anything Morality made him. He was old enough to make his own breakfasts and lunches, thank you very much.

“You’re up early,” A voice followed the sound of footsteps down the stairs. “Are you making breakfast for once, Vir--” Janus’ words and feet came to an abrupt end when he reached the bottom landing and his eyes rested on Logan; the teen was small but bigger than Janus remembered, bigger than he was the last time they had spoken for sure. He did the mental math quickly -- it’d been six years since he left the Light Side, Logan had been about eight at the time and had always been six years Janus’ junior; so the boy was fourteen. Logan’s back was ramrod straight at their table as he mindlessly sucked Cheerios off a spoon. Across the room, the television droned the news, but Janus was unable to hear it due to the ringing that pierced his ears.

“Good morning, Self Preservation,” Logan greeted after he swallowed, as casually as anything despite his stare that lasted a second too long. He noted the shine on one half of Janus’ face; the way one pupil had slit and changed colors. Fascinating -- but was he okay? He seemed okay at least.

“Self Preservation?” Janus said with a mask of amused absurdity. “When I left I was Prezzi.” The conversation was good, distracting enough to quell his panic as he glanced up the stairs again. Logic’s room hadn’t appeared -- or perhaps he had missed it?

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you still liked being called that,” Logan explained down at his cereal and Janus felt his heart breaking.

“Of course I do,” His brows knitted earnestly at the boy, a hand clutching his collar as though it choked him. Again he glanced up the stairs. “If you’re alright,” Janus took a step back, “For just a moment. I’ve forgotten something, I’ll--”

“My room isn’t here,” Logan’s voice edged with annoyance as he clinked his spoon against the bowl. “I tried everything and it just wouldn’t move,” He mumbled as he aggressively stabbed a Cheerio.

“You tried to make it move?” Janus’ voice gained a shrillness. He couldn’t believe the boy’s audaciousness! “Logan,” He reprimanded sternly but to no avail. The boy continued to sluice quiet mayhem through his cereal and Janus was at a loss.

He glanced up the stairs a final time. It was early, Virgil wouldn’t come out of his room for a couple hours at least, if he did at all that day. His mind quietly asked what Remus would be doing, forgetting for a moment in the emotional chaos that he had run away to the Imagination months ago. Janus sighed and crossed the room.

“So,” He said in a decidedly conversational tone as he sat down at the table. “Anything interesting happening today?” He gestured at the television and Logan shrugged. Janus frowned. The topic of why he was here would have to be breached eventually, but as long as the Subconscious was refusing to move Logan’s room, Janus didn’t think it was an emergency. What was an emergency, however, was the poor boy’s emotional state.

“Do you want more cereal?” Janus offered quietly as he eyed the nearly empty bowl. Surely the Cheerios that were left were too soggy to be enjoyed at this point.

“I can get it myself,” Logan nearly spat with a venom Janus hadn’t heard from him yet. His brows raised, both concerned and entertained.

The Logic he knew would never use such a tone, the contrast was almost funny. Though Logan hadn’t changed completely he noticed; Janus had several memories of Logan insisting he could do something himself. From climbing on counters for scissors he definitely shouldn’t have been using, to pulling bookshelves down instead of asking one of the older Sides to get a book for him, to stubbornly using the side of his fork with both hands to cut a piece of chicken when he would refuse help with dinner. But it would all be done with apologies and explanations, assurances that he’d be safer next time, growing understanding that though his mind was large, he was still small.

“Logan,” Janus said patiently, the humor in his expression dissolving to reveal patience and worry. The boy grit his teeth and continued to glare narrow eyes down at his cereal bowl. “Why did you come here?” Janus asked softly, leaning forward to try and meet Logan’s eyes.

Then Logan remembered that in the short time they had been on the same side of the Mindscape together, Self Preservation had always listened to him. He had always been there to turn to when the others ignored him. Remembering this made his anger ebb away, though with that, the sadness he had been trying to ignore washed ashore. The hardness in his expression softened, but he still refused to look up.

“Morality and Creativity don’t listen to me,” Logan admitted quietly and shame filled his stomach, colliding with his breakfast in a way that made him nauseous. “I’ve tried everything but Morality always says I’m too young to tell him what to do,” His brow twitched and Janus watched as his sad expression morphed back into something more callous.

The sight hurt his heart, but mostly it made anger warm his chest. What on earth was Patton doing? The root of all their issues so far had been a distinct lack of listening. From fighting with Janus over developing moral stances, to stubbornly refusing to consider nuance in the pursuit of art and self expression, to the apathetic dismissal of welling fear and anxiety as adulthood approached -- was there anyone Patton listened to?

“So you came here,” Janus sighed, attempting and somewhat failing to keep the rage out of his tone. “Because I had always listened to you,” He guessed but then Logan shrugged and shook his head.

“Sort of,” He replied and Janus blinked curiously. Had he missed something? “Mostly I just assumed this is where we came when Patton hated us.”

The straightforward words punched Janus in the gut, knocking the wind out of him like he had just unexpectedly stepped off a building and was now free falling with panicked arms that reached for anything to hold on to. As usual, Logic’s assessment wasn’t incorrect. In a way, this was where the Sides Morality didn’t like ended up; but it was deeper than that. At least Janus had to hope it was deeper than that, or else he’d never find it in himself to forgive his closest friend. Janus swallowed his hurt and sat up, shoving his shaking hands under the table. It wasn’t Logan’s fault and he wouldn’t hold the injury against him, though he did need a moment for a deep breath before he was able to find his voice again.

“Patton doesn’t hate you,” Janus reassured baselessly on reflex, but then he stopped. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t just blatantly lying -- which, of course, he had no issues with, but it was a sad realization, nevertheless.

“Then why doesn’t he listen to me?” Logan asked as Janus faltered. “Why did he send you and Anxiety and Remus away?” He looked around the shadowed room as he spoke before meeting Janus’ eyes again. “Creativity calls this the Dark Side which implies that he and Morality make up some sort of Lighter half,” Janus’ hands became unsteady once more as Logan continued asking questions he didn’t necessarily have answers to. At least no answers he wanted to admit. “But if they’re just going to keep dismissing me, then I don’t want any part in that,” He said decisively and pushed his cereal bowl away like it contained the subject matter. “If being a Dark Side means being listened to, then that’s what I’ll be.”

“No, you won’t,” Janus said much harder than he meant to, making Logan’s eyes shoot up. “You’re going back,” he said resolutely, leaving no room for misinterpretation in his tone. Logan opened his mouth but then Janus stood, the chair squeaking loudly against the floor. “If Patton did actually hate you as he does myself and the others, your room would be here,” Janus pointed out, flaring his own heartache with the presumed fact. Logan frowned angrily and balled a fist on the table.

“I’ll just sleep on the couch then.”

“No. You won’t.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep in Remus’ room. He’s used to sharing.”

“This isn’t a debate, Logan, you’re going back.” Janus said evenly, without raising his voice, which somehow made the seriousness in his tone and the steel in his eyes even more intimidating.

In the glaring silence of Logan frantically trying to think of more argument points, Janus’ phone vibrated in his pocket. With a short and aggravated huff, he fished the object out and rolled his eyes at the displayed message.

[SMS From: Patton]

PLEASE tell me Logan isn’t with you

“Well,” Janus sighed, “It seems we’re both in trouble now.”

[SMS Re: Patton]

Oh no, not at all. Whyever would you think that

“That’s Morality, isn’t it,” Logan guessed, looking miserably down at the table. He didn’t want to think about what Morality was saying.

“Yes,” Janus confirmed as he ignored the message that popped up almost immediately. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he sat back down quietly.

Logan was smart, far too smart for his age which is why everything was very difficult for him. Morality was childish and couldn’t see past the fact that Logan was the youngest. Even so, it wasn’t as if he was an actual child. He was the manifestation of Thomas’ Logic; undeveloped, easily frustrated, overwhelmed by his Feelings and in desperate need of acknowledgement for simply trying his best. But even when Janus would convey it to Patton in that way, there was no getting to him.

The fear that Logic would be cast aside and hidden away in this Darkness along with him was real, however. If that were to happen, Thomas would be in a very dangerous situation. It was terrifying enough that his natural Fight or Flight was already over here -- that his very will to live was as well. Janus didn’t want to think about what metamorphosis Logic would go through in that process. From Fear to Anxiety, now to Paranoia; watching Virgil suffer was already more than enough heartache for him, which wasn’t even to mention what was happening to Remus.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so angry at you, Logan,” Janus spoke softly, folding his hands on the table. He watched with a frown as Logan continued staring down. “But I really need you to understand that this is no place for you.” He leaned forward, trying to meet Logan’s eyes again, to no avail. “I know it’s hard, I know Patton doesn’t listen, but you have to keep trying,” Janus’ tone and expression were beseeching and genuine, his brow creased with a deep worry he didn’t have words for. “You have to promise me that you’ll keep trying,” Logan looked up, defiance and confusion hardening his eyes. He opened his mouth but Janus continued. “You have to. Even when you don’t want to. Even when the others don’t want you to. You have to, for Thomas.”

Logan stared at him, confusion slowly overtaking his rebellion. Janus looked…sincere and earnest, but he didn’t understand why. What was the point of arguing with Morality and Creativity if they would never listen? What was the point of going back when even Self Preservation knew he’d always be dismissed? It sounded exhausting. At fourteen, Logan was already so tired of it. But there was something in Janus’ eyes that convinced him to stop fighting; something that told him there was more he just didn’t understand yet. If that were true, if that were ever true, he’d believe it coming from the Side in front of him now and him, alone.

“Okay,” Logan sighed and Janus smiled in relief.

“Good,” He nodded at the bowl as he sat back in his chair again. “You can finish up your breakfast but then--”

“There you are!” Patton’s voice, coming from behind Janus, stopped his words dead in their tracks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, kiddo!”

“Morality,” Logan said, the word easily mistaken for a greeting. The boy glanced between Patton and Janus, the latter having lined his lips in a pensive, unhumored smile.

“Whatcha doin’ over here, bud?” Patton asked as he approached the table. Janus rolled his eyes and leaned as far away in his chair as he could manage.

Watching Janus’ reactions to Morality, Logan felt equally annoyed; both at the fact that Morality came here to get him, and also for how interrupted their conversation had become.

“Eating,” Logan said curtly, reaching for his cereal bowl.

“Well you know we have plenty of cereal in our kitchen, so why don’t you come on back and I’ll pour you some!”

Patton’s positivity grated Janus like sandpaper. Years of assumptions and miscommunications soured his stomach. His body reacted to Morality like something toxic.

“Maybe he prefers the cereal over here,” Janus mumbled sarcastically and Patton bristled as though he had honestly expected Janus to stay silent this entire exchange.

Logan bit his tongue to keep the appeased smile off his lips but his interest bubbled over. No Side had gotten under Patton’s skin like that since Anxiety was sent away. It was almost a missed sight.

“He wouldn’t know what the cereal over here was like unless someone made him try it,” Patton not-so-subtly accused as he reached for Logan’s wrist.

Logan refused at first, pulling with half strength against Patton’s grip. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring cereal myself, Morality,” He mumbled as he met Janus’ eyes. His sardonic and cynical expression seemed to say, it’d be easier to just go along with him I guess, much to Logan’s dismay. “But fine,” He sighed and let himself be pulled to stand, though he immediately shook off Patton’s hand.

“Thank you,” Patton gloated as he turned to leave and Janus all but groaned out loud.

Logan paused. The moral superiority that rolled off Patton was familiar, but at the same time something new against the kindness Janus had shown him. He could easily see why they didn’t get along; their methods were very different. Morality was overbearing, insistent, stubborn, rigid, and often narrow minded. Having developed from Thomas’ Feelings, Patton was silly, immature, and hard to take seriously. Self Preservation was the opposite somehow; smart, clever, flexible, nuanced, and able to see the whole picture with ease. Janus was sarcastic, mature, and deathly serious when need be as a result. Comparing them, it was easy to see why Logic had an easier time getting along with Self Preservation, and why it was pointless to hope that would ever change.

“I’m not doing this because you convinced me to,” Logan told Patton as he trailed after.

Patton turned to blink at Logan, looking mostly confused with a hint of offense. “Of course not,” He saved face, “You’re coming back because over there is where you belong.”

“No,” Logan said slowly, glancing behind himself at Janus, who stayed sitting facing away from them. “I’m doing this because Thomas needs me,” He informed Patton as he began to sink out. “And because you and Creativity would be hopeless by yourselves.”

Janus snickered, covering the sound with a cough into his hand.

“My word, Logan sure has developed quite the backbone while I’ve been gone,” Janus snarked once he and Patton were alone.

“What did you say to him?” Patton accused, his tone somewhere between antagonistic and wounded.

“Why, nothing of course,” Janus mocked and Patton’s eyes narrowed. “We just bonded over our mutual dismissal, is all.”

“I don’t dismiss him!” Patton sputtered and Janus snorted. A tense silence rose before Patton continued. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be talking to him.”

Janus stood finally and turned to face Patton, his brows raised. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re gonna i-influence him or something! Like you did with Remus and then Logan will be over here too!” Patton stuttered and Janus scowled.

“Oh please, you know I’m the only reason he went back so willingly,” Janus waved a limp hand. “Though I doubt he’ll try this again anytime soon, so you don’t have to worry your simple little head about it, darling.”

“Well, good.” Patton finished, glowering at Janus’ smirk. He hated that expression. Why was Janus happy about them fighting? It certainly didn’t make Patton happy. He was anything but having to face him like this. Without much more to say, he sank out as Janus offered a caustic wave of his fingers.

“Good riddance.”

Chapter Three || Chapter Five Part One / Part Two

#loceit appreciation week #loceit week #loceitweek2021 #loceit #janus x logan #sanders sides fanfiction

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sadclearance · 4 years ago

Text

summer

pairing: suwa hiroto x male!reader x naruse kakeru from orange

summary: summer is here again.

category: fluff(?), angst(?), hurt/comfort(?) idk i suck at categorizing

warning(s): implied/referenced suicide

word count: 2013

key:

there's a flashback, but the start and end of it is signified with "*"

s/t - skin tone

summer is a time of warm sunny fun. the sky is clear, the air is hot--there's nothing stopping the group of old high school friends from gathering.

"do you think y/n's almost here?" naho asks, seeing as everyone from the group has finished with their brunch meals.

"if he is, he better have eaten beforehand. no way i'm staying any longer. i wanna get to the beach already!" azusa throws her head back exasperatedly.

"i'm sure he's on his way," saku says, voice steady but mind not confident in his own answer.

"y/n just texted me," hiroto sighs, and everyone already knows what it's about. and nobody's surprised.

"let me guess," azusa leans her face against her palm, "he's got another paper."

"yup," hiroto nods, revealing the screen of his phone to his friends.

"this is summer! who has papers during the summer?" azusa frowns.

"y/n always has papers during summers," saku notes. "maybe he's just working really hard."

"do you guys even know what he's studying?" hiroto asks.

"if you don't know, none of us would," takako says.

"what?"

"haven't you noticed?" azusa's eyes go wide. "are you dense?"

hiroto pouts, "that's not nice."

"y/n hasn't talked to any of us since high school," saku says.

"what? that can't be true. you're exaggerating," hiroto shakes his head.

"nope. not one text. not one reaction," azusa puts her pointer fingers together to create an 'x'.

"do you guys think he's holding up okay?" naho asks with a quiet voice. "i barely even saw him in high school after..."

and they all know what the next words were supposed to be.

but summer is a time for warm sunny fun, not a dark topic like this.

"let's go to the beach," azusa jumps from her seat and grabs her bag.

"yeah"s are heard throughout the group, and they all get up and follow her lead.

and the day is just the way it's supposed to be. the sun is bright, the air is hot, and the splashes of water that they playfully send each other's ways are cold.

"oh, you're so gonna get it!" azusa yells after saku dumps a bucket of water on her.

"hey! be careful," naho scolds. "you're gonna knock down my castle."

"sorry, sorry," azusa sends her a wink before going back to chase after saku.

it's fun like this. it's fun being with his high school friends. so fun that it makes hiroto miss high school.

but missing high school came with reminiscing memories of high school. memories that weren't always so fun.

and now hiroto feels like he can't move his fingers. his eyes can't focus on anything, and his view of the beautiful blue water is blurry. he wants to clear his mind, but he's trapped.

his heady is foggy, yet the past moments whizzing around inside his brain is painfully apparent.

*he doesn't feel the cool breeze of the ocean anymore. he feels the warm air of the blazing fire that was lit in y/n's tiny backyard. probably a fire hazard, but who could think about that when his best friends were smiling so big?

a black-haired boy that usually wears such a painful expression is now laughing heartily alongside the owner of the small place, letting his arms rest around his waist.

and warm s/t hands are pulling hiroto towards them.

"c'mon! join the party!"

there's so much laughter and warmth, even on the cold winter night.

hiroto thinks that it's the best night of his life.

the same hands that pulled him closer are now pointing at both sides of his cheeks.

the brunette and the raven laugh more before they decide to say "fuck it" and give into a little peck on the cheek.

but right before lips meet cheeks, y/n pulls his face away, and the lips are pressed against each other.

a cheery beautiful laugh resounds throughout the cold air as grey and brown eyes stare into each other, wide with realization.

when they pull away, hiroto expects kakeru's face to twist in disgust, but it doesn't. there's a small smile playing on his lips instead.

"your loss, y/n. kakeru's lips are sweet," hiroto playfully sticks out his tongue.

"then i guess i should get a taste for myself," y/n grins like a goof.

this view is so pretty and hiroto would never trade it for anything.

but then suddenly, kakeru's feet are off the ground, and y/n's body crumbles because kakeru is--*

"what--" hiroto gasps when cold water soaks him from head to toe.

"you were off in your own little dream world," takako says, putting the bucket down on the coarse sand.

"stop thinking so hard. that's never been a strong point for you," saku jokes before getting splashed by azusa.

"finally got you!" azusa celebrates, prancing around the low water in glee.

"you're on, takako!" hiroto says with a new burst of energy. he doesn't want to bring down the mood.

"it wasn't a challenge, but if you really wanna lose..." takako grins.

he's tired by the end of the day. takako was right. he lost.

"meet up at five for the festival tomorrow?" hiroto asks before parting ways.

"yup!" azusa nods aggressively.

"keep that up and you're gonna break your neck," saku flicks her head with his pointer finger.

"yeah," takako laughs.

"should we text y/n about tomorrow's plans?" naho asks hesitantly.

"i'll let him know," hiroto says after no one responds.

"you will?" naho asks with hopeful eyes.

"how could i ever say no to you?" hiroto ruffles her hair, trying to make the air less tense.

"don't be late tomorrow!" azusa yells at the group before going her own way.

the walk back to his house is quiet. he doesn't want to be alone right now. his mind is too much to handle alone, and he just wants something to distract him from these memories forever.

before he knows it, his feet have carried him to the l/n family house's door. the house that had been empty since y/n left for college.

he wonders if y/n's even there. probably not, considering how y/n's working on the paper for his project.

but he still needs time to work up the courage to ring the doorbell.

the simple task of lifting his finger and pressing the button takes some time and way more effort than it should, but he eventually gets it done.

"you in?" hiroto asks after a while. he knows his voice is weak, and that even if y/n was home, he wouldn't have been able to hear, but he can't find it in himself to raise his voice. his energy is suddenly drained, and he feels like he can barely keep himself up straight.

he leans against the door for support. "please."

he feels like a drunk, but he hasn't had anything to drink. it's pathetic and sad and ugly. all sides of him that he doesn't want to show anyone.

but he desperately wants to see y/n.

so, he continues.

"please, y/n. open the door," hiroto weakly knocks against the door.

he doesn't know how long he's been there, but he knows he needs to pick himself up and get to his own place.

before he leaves, holding the naive hope that y/n's on the other side of the door, he says, "we're gonna go to the festival tomorrow at five... it'd be nice if you came. i'll wait for you by the park that ka--..." this part is hard. he has to harshly swallow down the lump in his throat. "that we used to hang out at."

he couldn't keep his promise.

he had been waiting since four, but it was half-past five. he couldn't keep his friends waiting any longer.

"come on, hiroto," naho says with a painfully feigned smile. "it's okay."

"yeah," azusa tries to help. "we'll just catch him next time."

"we have all week to see him," saku eventually just grabs hiroto's arm and pulls him with them.

"okay, okay," hiroto forces out a laugh. "i can walk on my own. let's get a snack."

naho's as pretty in that kimono as she was back in high school, but hiroto can't find it in himself to be interested. he realizes that the things that used to excite him don't mean anything to him anymore.

it makes him feel hollow inside. will he feel like this when--if he sees y/n?

the thought haunts him for the rest of their time walking together, looking at what the different stalls and booths had to offer.

he doesn't remember when, but at some point, the sky had turned dark. he's sure the fireworks will start any time now.

"let's find a nice spot!" azusa says excitedly.

"you guys go ahead," hiroto says, pulling away from the group. "i need to go to the bathroom."

"hurry back! or you're gonna miss it!" naho says with a certain desperation in her voice, and hiroto knows it's because she can't afford to lose another friend.

"don't worry," hiroto reassures with a little smile. "i'll be back."

he knows it's silly, but he wants to go back to the park. it's stupid and illogical to even hope for y/n to be there because hiroto's not even sure if y/n was in the house when he said those desperate words.

but hiroto can't help but yearn.

he makes it to the park, and he sees a figure sitting on a bench--their bench.

it could be a random stranger that just happened to coincidentally sit there, or it could--

"y/n..." hiroto says softly when he gets close enough to confirm the identity of this person.

"hiroto..." y/n greets back. he's in casual clothes, nothing like what people normally wear to a festival. it's clear that this wasn't a thought out idea.

he hesitantly takes a seat next to y/n, leaving more space than necessary between them.

"i didn't know you were in town," hiroto says because as much as he's been longing for this moment, he doesn't know how to continue.

"then why did you come last night?" y/n doesn't look up.

"i..." how's he supposed to answer a question that he himself doesn't know the answer to? "i was hopeful."

the silence between them is unbearable, and hiroto wishes that seeing his high school best friend wasn't this awkward. it used to be so easy to talk to each other. why was it like this now?

"do you come back often?" hiroto asks.

"no. i've been too busy with stuff at school."

"you can't lie to me."

"then why ask?" it comes out harsher than y/n meant it to. "sorry..."

hiroto waits it out this time, and it works.

"i... i come back every summer," y/n lifts his head, but not to face hiroto's. his gaze passes the brunette and goes straight for the skies above.

there's tears building up in his eyes, and he tries to blink them away as fast as he can, but hiroto's already seen them.

he tries to think of his next words very carefully, but saku was right. thinking really hasn't ever been his strong point.

so he instinctively grabs y/n's shaking hand with his own and pulls him into an embrace.

"hey, y/n..." hiroto steadies his voice. "you're still reliving that summer alone, over and over again, aren't you?"

the only response he gets is trembling arms around his waist.

"as long as we live, summer will continue to come around..." hiroto tightens his embrace and hopes that his words are the right ones. "but the same summer will never come again."

"i miss him, hiroto," y/n chokes on a sob.

"i know. i miss him, too," hiroto buries his face in y/n's shoulder.

"and i missed you," y/n cries.

"i missed you more," hiroto whispers. "i love you."

he wonders if y/n could hear him over the loud popping of the fireworks.

but more than that, he wonders if this summer, they can finally start anew, as kakeru would want summer to be a time of warm sunny fun.

❥๑━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━๑❥

a/n;

messy half-vent fic. idek if it makes sense. inspired from a manga that i forgot the name of but it was this younger guy who was chasing after an older guy, and the older guy had a deceased boyfriend that died in a car crash in the summer.

#hiroto suwa x male reader #kakeru naruse x male reader #kakeru naruse #hiroto suwa #takako chino #saku hagita #azusa murasaka #naho takamiya #orange anime #orange #orange takano ichigo #x male reader #male reader insert #mlm #anime x male reader

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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

Note

When MVA/MLA Arc gets animated, what will you be looking forward to the most? What (canon-compliant) additions and/or changed do you want or think Bones should make, if any?

There’s--a lot. Does that surprise anyone? There’s a lot.

o I have been foaming at the mouth for voice actor announcements for almost a year now, particularly for Trumpet, Geten and RD. Trumpet’s superpower is literally his voice! I mean, nothing about that statement requires that voice be particularly entrancing, but it certainly seems like it should be, right?? Geten is a boku-type in the manga, but that was literally the only hint foreshadowing his pretty boy face through 21 solid chapters of Pure Feral Gremlin. Everyone was shocked by Geten’s face reveal! How do you maintain that surprise value with an actual voice actor in the mix? Do you not even try? Do you play up the disparity--in which direction? I can’t wait to see what they do. And Re-Destro! Re-Destro requires so much range! From his peppy, silly businessman persona, to the urbane commander, from the overeager yes-man to the raving zealot--who on earth do you get to believably cover all that ground? I can’t even begin to guess, but I am living in anticipation of that article going up on ANN or the official Twitter sources.

o I’m also much looking forward to getting official coloring on Trumpet and Geten. Skeptic seems pretty straightforward--black, black, more black--and RD and Curious, we have color art for, but I wonder if Trumpet will also be all black clothes, to go with that dignified politician image of his, or if he’ll get some color to pep him up a little. What color are those tinted shades of his? His eyes? The wicked-cool Sevens Loud? I assume Geten is all wintery shades, but it’ll be great to confirm which ones. I mean, we all assume he’s white-haired to better annoy Dabi with family parallels, but what if he turns out to be platinum blond? And are his eyes blue? Gray? White? What color is that awful parka? Also, Re-Destro’s stress powers. Having been writing them as black since at least August--Rorschach test blots are generally black, after all, and they’re the clear inspiration--I would much like it if the anime would have my back on this. They made Destro’s mask a dark cinnamon brown, though, so I’m prepared to be unpleasantly surprised in this matter.

o Predictable MLA adaptational choices aside, I’m also eager/anxious about how they’ll handle Spinner’s narration. What I really hope is that they actually straight-up hand him ALL the narration duties--not just the stuff he dictates directly in the manga, but also e.g. the name and quirk explanation material that Present Mic normally gets, or the previews that are always handled by Deku. The opening and closing sequences are another big structural thing, of course--based on the flashed snippets of Hawks and Endeavor in both our current and the previous OP, I’m expecting we’ll see at least a bit of something referencing the upcoming internship arc (which I expect to close out the season), but I hope the villains just walk away with the closing entirely. I want my slice of life villainy ED, dangit.

o Another thing I’m eager/anxious about would be Kotarou, and the Shimura flashback generally. There’s a brittle edge of to Kotarou that I really love, and I hope he manages to keep it in the anime, despite the anime being generally not so great at moments that I would describe as “delicate.” For example, I’d like it if he doesn’t get a super deep voice, and if they could manage to keep his pretty face, and capture how deeply bitter and tired he looks in the scene where he’s reading the letter Nana left him. Also, I hope they keep the little montage bits and, crucially, the changes of clothes the family goes through. We see Tenko in no less than five, possibly as many as seven, different T-shirts through the course of that flashback. It seems like a small thing, but it’s one of the factors that makes me skeptical that AFO gave Tenko Decay, when so many days clearly go by between the opening with the man at the door and the tragic end. It’d be nice not to see too much resurgence on that just because the anime can’t be bothered to come up with more than one outfit for the Shimuras.

I have enough issues with the anime’s usual adaptation choices that I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high on the actual content of the episodes. The staff is diverting too much of its major talent to the movies (BAH) these days for me to expect the whole season to look all that great, and it’s never been particularly creative or daring outside of its climactic sakuga-heavy fight scenes anyway. I’ve also long had a bone to pick with its scoring decisions, and am already eyeballing the climax of the RD/Shigaraki fight and imagining the minor-keyed terrifying dirge I fear the anime will play there, at the moment that Re-Destro (and, shortly afterward, Spinner) are supposed to be experiencing something akin to religious awakenings. There’s also the issue of the violence and gore--judging by how the anime handled the scene where Shigaraki and Compress maim Overhaul, I have some severe reservations about how much blood they’ll be allowed to get away with, particularly in the scene where the League brutally decimates that CRC group and, of course, Shigaraki’s backstory. I’m looking at MVA to serve as a preview for how all the same issues will be addressed in the War Arc.

That bit of pessimism aside, as to what I’m hoping they’ll add or change? Well, off the top of my head.....

o I would love to get a full episode devoted to the time the League spends fighting Machia. Not that first tussle, but the six grueling weeks in the mountains. There’s so much you could add there for character building and atmosphere that Hori didn’t so much as montage through. Where was their food coming from? How’d they pick out places to pitch camp? How much access to news from outside did they have, and how frequently? What were the circumstances in which Gigantomachia “told them himself” about his great sense of smell?? Stuff like that! I don’t think we’re at all likely to get this--honestly, the series of late has had enough of a problem with trimming bits and pieces that I’m as worried about what they might cut as I am hyped about things they might add--but the one thing that gives me some hope is the training camp arc. Specifically, the moment 1-A first gets to the Pussycats’ forest, they get jumped by earth golems, a fight that the manga off-panels entirely, but the anime spends a modest amount of time on, giving the kids a little bit of time to show off their moves and such. I’d love to get something equivalent for the League.

o On a similar note, I wouldn’t turn it down if they fleshed out some of those running street fights a bit. One obvious thing comes to mind: there’s a weird jump in the manga between Skeptic and a horde of his golems being all but on top of Twice at the beginning of 233 and then that fight just--doesn’t happen. There’s no mention of it at all. I think the suggestion is that either Machia’s appearance or the tower going down interrupted it--Skeptic breaks off from his fight the same way Geten and Trumpet do theirs, shifting focus to protecting Re-Destro--but it’d be nice to see the anime touch on it.

o It’d be nice to get a bit of expansion on the nature of the bullying Spinner endured. We’re told he was, but was it limited to verbal? Did he get beaten up a lot? Was there an online element? Deku’s our only other reference point for “bullied kid,” and whatever one might think about the story’s development of Bakugou’s mentality, it’s been made clear in retrospect that there was a lot more too that than just the matter of Deku’s quirklessness. I’d love to know how Spinner’s bullying looked in comparison (not least because of some of the theories about Spinner and Deku needing to come to some kind of accord to free Shigaraki from AFO).

o Make the Villa (both here and during the War Arc) look more realistic. By which I mean, I know Horikoshi is capable of drawing interesting and lived-in interior spaces--he has an entire chapter dedicated to it in the 1-A dorm room contest, after all--but he normally doesn’t bother much with it. At UA, it’s not too distracting, because we know good and well that that whole building is probably maintained by Cementoss anyway. Ditto places like Tartarus (intentionally, dehumanizingly barren) or the League’s post-Kamino hideouts (abandoned homes and industrial spaces). But the Villa? For heaven’s sake, it’s called a mountain villa. It has a clear reception desk on the ground floor; it’s obviously some sort of high-end hotel, if not an outright resort or rentable retreat lodge. Speaking as someone who’s worked in one, places like that don’t look as fuckin’ bare as the rooms we see there always seem to. For fanfic purposes, I’m happy to go on telling myself that e.g. the pool and the bar and the restaurant(s) and the gym are in the building Cementoss doesn’t tear in half, but it’d be nice if the anime could class the whole place up a little, maybe put some real furniture and decor in the rooms that are in use. (Yes, I know this is a ridiculous nitpick.)

o This is less a change and more a correction, but for fuck’s sake, BONES, give us white-haired Shigaraki. The climax of Deika is a solid time for it, given that it’s obvious in the manga that Shigaraki’s hair gets paler in Deika--you can see it in the way Horikoshi inks it (which is to say, the way he stops inking it)! I think if we ever get white-haired Shigaraki in the anime, a somewhat better time as far as narrative justification goes would be when Shigaraki gets out of the tube in the War Arc; you could easily justify it as a side-effect of the surgery. Still, I’d rather see it here. I want white-haired Shigaraki, gleaming and brilliant through the scattering ash in that crater, a veritable angel of sacred destruction. Honestly, more than anything, the crater sequence is the one I hope I love. It’s probably my favorite single moment in the entire manga, as Shigaraki wins over Re-Destro, Spinner and Gigantomachia in the same moment, and finally comes into his own. If they can at least nail that, I’ll consider myself pretty satisfied.

#stillness-answers #my villain academia #meta liberation army #boku no hero academia #bnha #hopes and dreams

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weasleyslag · 4 years ago

Text

i’m not coming home | p.w

summary: A collection of letters between Percy and his girlfriend Penelope Clearwater following his estrangement from his family.

pairing(s): Percy Weasley/Penelope Clearwater

wc: 6.2k (lol I’m sorry)

warning(s): heavy cursing, hella toxic relationship, no happy ending

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30644294

Dear Percy,

See, I told you I would write! I really am so proud of you and your new job. I hope you’ll allow me to come visit your new apartment soon. I know you’re very busy, but maybe not too busy for me? My dad told me he’d pay for my stay in London if you invited me, but I think it’d be more fun for me to stay with you and go to a show or something. I heard there’s some good muggle performances down there, I’d be interested to see that sort of thing. It’d be an good change, I’m up to my head with wizards that think they’re so talented.

Please tell me all you can about your job when you write back! I know it must be super under wraps, being the Junior Assistant to Fudge himself, but I would be interested in knowing the most mundane of things you can tell me, it would most certainly be more enthralling than the highlight of any of my days. I was hoping I’d be promoted to something more dignified by now, but they’ve still got me watching over some of the Ministry workers’ children. You know I like kids, but I’d rather not be a glorified babysitter. There’s not even many learning activities I can do with them, I’m pretty much instructed to do puppet shows and other silly tasks for them all day. Hopefully someone recognizes my potential soon. Maybe since you work with Fudge now, you can say something to him???

I hate to turn this letter sour but Fred and George have gotten into contact with me this week. They’re really worried about you. They said that they’ve all written to you and the letters are always sent back, unopened. You must know this hurts them, why don’t you at least read the letters? You know they love you and I know that you really are kind at heart; you must still have love for them. I know it must have been hard for you to hear that after all your efforts, your dad doesn’t believe you’re capable of receiving such a prestigious job on your own merits. But of course they are all paranoid, what with all that happened last Spring. I hope you can find it within yourself to be the bigger person and reconcile with your family. Maybe they’ve even apologized in their letters, you’ll never know unless you read them. Don’t read Fred’s though, he’s more mad than the rest of them. I’m sure he’s thrown every name in the book at you.

I hope my next letter will be in better spirits. I hope Hermes is doing well and I hope even more so that you will adjust to life in London well.

With Love,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I cannot express with words how excited I was to receive your owl. I hope you don’t mind that I kept her for a few days, Hermes adores her and she reminds me of you. However, I also had to keep her back because it took quite some time to give you an adequate response to everything you said in your letter.

Hermes and I are well. He hasn’t adjusted as well as I have, but I understand. The air is polluted and there’s not much room for him to roam. There’s no forests in sight, only a bunch of buildings. If I wasn’t taking your letters, I would send him back to the Burrow. He was happier there and besides, the ministry has provided me a new owl for business letters.

I, on the other hand, am doing the best I ever have been. I am extremely efficient with my work and I appear to be pleasing my superiors. In my off time, I watch live shows and read. I have been getting into some Muggle classics, like War and Peace. Their culture is quite interesting, although ours is clearly superior. I am glad I am nourishing my mind as much as I can, I only wish there wasn’t so much noise outside my apartment. Jackhammers and traffic is all l I hear all day. It gets old fast. I’m not sure if you would like it here, but I would be happy to have you if you wish to visit. Although, I thought about your proposal to stay with me and I must decline. I would love to and I am sure my hormones would have a field day, but your father wants you to stay somewhere else and merely visit me during the day, trying to trick him would be wrong. I am sorry, but rules are rules, even when it comes to you.

I will speak with Fudge about your employment. I am a bit nervous to do so but I think he likes me, so I will certainly try. You’re a very smart girl and I believe if they just took notice of how you applied yourself, they’d move you up the ranks swiftly. It would be a shame to let such an academic be reduced to a daycare worker. That seems like something my mum would do if she worked. And you certainly surpass her when it comes to brains and ambition.

Dismayed is an understatement for how I feel knowing that my family has taken advantage of our relationship to try to shake me. I do not wish to speak to them now, I will only speak to them when they realize that I am right, which I hope won’t be much longer. You’re right, of course, I do have love for them, even Fred and George, but I can not continue a relationship with people that discount my accomplishments and constantly laugh at my expense. Reading their letters is pointless. I read the first letter I received from Charlie and although he tried to be eloquent, he still wasn’t seeing things my way. He was basically just regurgitating everything my dad had said, just in a kinder way. He and Bill have always been the most sensible so I see no point in attempting to read the other letters, they will only be worse versions of Charlie’s. I will admit that curiosity got the better of me, however. A letter from Fred came in the same day as yours. You were right, it was awful. I shouldn’t have expected anything more, however, that boy is barely literate. Here is a snippet of his abomination of a letter (I have fixed the spelling mistakes, there’s no reason to subject you to that):

“You are a massive cunt, you know that? After all mum and dad have done for you. Seriously? I can’t even call you a prat anymore, that’s just an insult to prat’s. You’re a slag for Fudge and we all know it. If you wanted to give him a good rimming, you could have just said so instead of causing us all this grief. Well not me, I don’t give one fuck about you. You could be in a ditch tomorrow for all I care. And maybe you will be, Fudge and his friends would just as well see you there as in an office. How could you choose him over your own mother? I hope you’re happy that you make her cry every night. I hear that you get paid three times dad’s salary and you have sent home not one knut. But twats like you don’t care about their family, huh? Enjoy your cushy apartment, I hope when you open the windows, a pigeon flies in and takes a shit on your head.”

Isn’t it just terrible? And it’s all one huge paragraph too, with unbearably non-flowy sentences. He is a right idiot if he thinks I’d ever want to respond to that. And why would I want to send money to people who treat me like that, anyway? I can’t put myself into his pea brain so I guess I will never know. Please make me take your advice next time so that I won’t have to subject myself to that kind of torture.

As for what happened this Spring, I’d rather not talk about it. The Ministry says that you-know-who is not back, so I’m afraid Harry must have been lying. Perhaps he had a fever and hallucinated the whole thing. I don’t hate him, by the way. I know my family must be trying to convince you of that but it is just not true. I think he is foolish and many adults are using him as a pawn. It’s sad, really. My family has gotten so desperate that they made Hermione and Harry write me letters too. I had already been informed by Fudge himself to turn over any correspondence from Harry, so of course I did that. I do wish I had the forethought to read the letter first, I’m very curious about it now, but oh well.

I care for you very much and hope we can arrange a visit soon.

With Even More Love,

Percy

Dear Percy,

I was hoping this letter would be more positive than the ones we have exchanged lately and that perhaps we could even arrange my trips to London, but I have gotten some terrible news. And I will not believe it until you confirm it.

There is a nasty rumour going around that you are to be court scribe for the Wizengamot in Harry’s trial. Say it isn’t true, Percy! I know it’s such an honor to work so closely with the Wizengamot, you’d be the youngest person in all of history to work as a scribe for them. But at what cost? Harry is your friend. I’ve been spending more and more time with your family and I consider Harry to be a friend now, too. I know the details of the case, and I’m sure you must since you’re apparently working it. Even if you don’t care for him, you must understand that objectively, Harry is in the right, at least morally. He was saving his cousin. The cousin that he grew up with and besides the kid being an absolute terror, he was basically his brother. Wouldn’t you cast magic to save your brothers or sister? How can you work for a case like that when you know you’d do the same as Harry?

I love you, I really do, and that’s why this breaks my heart so much. You’re turning into something that you aren’t for the sake of ambition. Please don’t do this. Come home and if Fudge truly does value you as much as you think, he will continue working with you even after you are on good terms with your family again. You must be missing them, aren’t you?

I will have to postpone the trip to London until you get all this figured out. I hope you understand. I am always open for you to come back here to visit me. We could all meet for dinner at the Burrow, where you belong.

I don’t have much else to say. I’m scared about what’s happening in the world and I’m nervous for you. I miss you, but I’m not sure if the you I miss is still you.

P.S: Tell Hermes I love him.

xxxx,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

You have heard right, at least about the Wizengamot. I beg of you not to let my family poison your mind. Clearly, they want everyone to think I’m a terrible person. If they had it their way, we wouldn’t even be together right now. It’s not their fault, really, they suffer from cognitive dissonance, but they only think with their heart. That’s not sustainable and most certainly not how the world works. The court specifically wants me to be scribe and like you acknowledged, that is a huge honor. This is really going to help me get ahead even further. You know I have big dreams. I’d like to be the Minister one day and having all this under my belt would be a big help.

I really am not allowed to be discussing the case with the public, but I suppose I will make a tiny exception for you. I can’t help but have a soft spot for you; I musn’t make bending the rules for you a habit. You’re lucky I’m even physically able to say anything. The Ministry is heavily monitoring all the mail that comes in and out from high ranking members, but they haven’t done that with me yet (as far as I know, at least). I guess it must be because I’ve been so loyal and I won’t even receive my family’s letters, so they trust me. Little do they know that I have a weakness for you.

As of right now, I’m not too worried about Harry (of course, they might change when court is in session and I get all the details). I think his case makes sense. I’ve poured through court cases similar to this one, although the defendants were never as much of a public figurehead as Harry (but that shouldn’t matter, the Wizengamot is totally unbiased and will not take Harry’s fame into account when deciding a verdict), and every court case similar to this ended in a not guilty verdict. I am not sitting as a court scribe to try to lock Harry away, it’s just my job. I don’t approve of him, but let’s not pretend like I never want him to see the light of day again. Anyway, I was surprised that someone that possesses your caliber of intelligence relied so hard on pathos to convince me that being a court scribe is wrong. Everyone knows emotion is a flimsy argument and certainly has no place in the courtroom. The fact that he saved a muggle’s life will definitely be brought up in court, but it won’t be because it’s someone he cares for. It’ll be because we have all sorts of laws about self defense and protecting each other, even a few about protecting muggles. I fear you might not have a place high up in the ministry if you continue preferring pathos to logos. And anyway, you trying to my emotion by bringing up my family makes no sense. My family are wizards, so if it came down to it, I could protect them and it wouldn’t be against the law. It’s not my fault that my family is better than those Dursley’s.

I really must beg of you to stay away from my family and especially from Harry. That will probably not end well for you. Do not mistake that for a threat, I’d never hurt you, but I’m being realistic. Harry is off the rails and my family blindly believes him. In my opinion, Harry needs to be in a mental hospital, not roaming around as a public figure where everyone hangs on to his every word. He clearly suffers from PTSD after all he went through as a child between his parents being murdered in front him, a very powerful dark wizard trying to to murder him, and the muggle abuse he endured. And that’s not even mentioning all the pressure the world, especially Dumbledore, has put on him. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just insane. If the adults around him cared as much as they say they do, they’d put him away for a while until he can heal. But they won’t, that’s the problem. And now I hear that little Ginny is in love with him. I have never in my life been so in despair. I can’t help but think how bleak her future will be. Maybe I should write a letter to her. I doubt she’ll listen, but I do need to try.

I really do hope you decide to come visit me. Maybe I can speak with your father and come to an honest agreement about you living with me soon enough. I am really lonely here and I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. It seems my family and I will never get along again and I have no one else besides you. I have all this extra income so I think it might be practical for me to marry you. Then, you wouldn’t have to hear all this rubbish from my family in order to feel close with me. I will speak with him about it soon. It’s not really all that bad here and even if you’re not good enough to have a real job in the Ministry, that’s okay. I make enough money and I do want a lot of kids anyway. It wouldn’t be practical for you to have a demanding long term job.

Love,

Percy

Percy,

Maybe I am a sensitive fool but I found much of your letter to be highly offensive. You essentially called me unintelligent throughout the letter, then didn’t ask but rather told me that you would be marrying me (only caring about what my father would say, not me). And to top it all off, you told me I was to be your personal incubator while you get to have an actual job. It’s insulting, really. What if I don’t want to do that, did you even consider that? I care for you and I believe I always will but I am not in a place right now where I fancy marrying you. I think I’d rather tie the knot with one of twins or Charlie. Besides, I felt unsettling how you alluded to muggles being lesser beings. They most certainly are not, they’re just different than us. I don’t know how I can be with someone that sees a whole group of people as lesser than them.

I must not have too much respect for myself. After all, I felt all those things that I wrote in the first paragraph, yet I’m still writing to you. What terrible damage love can have to the brain. I think I know how this whole thing will turn out, yet I still hope against my better judgement that we will end up together. I will try to put this past me if you can promise to not be so cruel.

Things are the same as always in my life. Spending most of the time with Mother and Father and the rest tending to children. I think I might die of boredom. I have been thinking about becoming a Hogwarts teacher, at least it would be less degrading than playing babysitter for a bunch of toddlers. Curiously enough, I received a letter from Snape about receiving a position, not Flitwick. He liked me well enough back in school, but I definitely didn’t think he would ever think about contacting me for a teaching role. I didn’t think he ever thought much about any student that wasn’t a Slytherin. I think maybe he sees himself in me. You know I was treated pretty horribly throughout school and something tells me he might have gone through a similar experience. That aside, however, he wrote me a letter requesting my presence to a meeting in a few weeks. It’s a meeting with all the current teachers, so I’m quite nervous about it. They want to speak with me about a new class, I think, it wasn’t any sort of curriculum I was familiar with. Still, I’m heavily considering it. It would be a big step up. I am a little worried about moving out there, but I think I’ll be alright.

I know you act like you don’t care about how your family is doing, but that’s all it is, an act. So I will at least tell you the good parts. I’m sure you’ve seen by the addresses of the letters that they’re still sending you (because they care), they have moved. The Order has been restored, we’d all love to have you there, although I don’t have much hope that you would consider joining. Even Charlie and Bill have come back and joined. They miss you and I think they’re more than a little disappointed. Ginny is dating a kid named Michael Corner, not Harry. I’m sure you’re over the moon about that. Ron and Hermione have become prefects. That’s really good news, yeah? I’m not quite sure how Ron snagged it, but he did.

I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about any more conflict with you, so I won’t even bring up what you said at Harry’s trial. Just know I’m disappointed. What, I will say, however, is that it was so cruel that you didn’t even speak with your own father once court ended. I know you knew he was there. Look, I have a really bad feeling about the future and I can’t help but fear that something bad is going to happen and you’re going to regret being such an ass to them.

This letter was all over the place, I apologize. I just have all these emotions and you don’t seem to understand. Or if you do understand, you don’t care. I don’t know which is worse.

Take care,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I apologize for my behavior in my last letter. You’re right, I was only thinking of myself. I’ve just been by myself so much that I guess I find it hard to think about what other people want. I hope you can forgive me. Truly though, I think we could reconcile easier if you met me out in London. Of course only corresponding through letters has led to a strain.

Please brace yourself, because I know if you do not prepare for what I’m about to tell you, you will be very mad at me. I consulted with Fudge and we have decided that you shouldn’t become a teacher at Hogwarts. It’s not a good look for me and it’s safe for you. Dumbledore is off his rocker, I’m not going to allow you to be put in harm's way. Fudge has sent a letter to Hogwarts, strongly suggesting that they find a new candidate for their position. I agree that the role is important, kids need to learn, and you would have been a great teacher. But it’s not the right time for you. I know you will probably be royally pissed for a while, but you’ll get over it. I did it for your own good. I hope you will be happy to hear that I have talked to Fudge about you having a proper job in the Ministry and he agrees. He will be writing to you with an offer soon enough. All’s well that ends well, you get a safer, higher paying job. And you can be near me!

Yes, I knew that my family had moved. I hope they move back soon, it’s not safe for them there. You’re right, someone is going to get hurt. I can feel it in my bones. And of course I will be utterly inconsolable, but it will not be my fault if something happens. It will be Dumbledore’s and inadvertently, Harry’s. I would love to give my family advice, but I know they will not listen. Therefore, there’s no point in writing letters. Besides, even if I did want to write to them, I think Fudge would catch on and have someone start monitoring my mail. I trust the Ministry completely, but I still find it’s in my family’s best interests if the Ministry doesn’t know their exact going on’s.

I heard Ron became prefect. I’m very proud. I wrote him a letter, which the Ministry read (and unfortunately a few unkind edits to, but I’m sure it was for good reason), congratulating him. Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s received it. He hasn’t written back. Maybe Dumbledore has started screening letters? I’m proud of Hermione too, although I didn’t write her a letter. You seem to speak with the lot of them often, so please send her my congratulations. She’s such a smart and sweet girl, she’s a good match for Ron (I can tell he likes her). I would have preferred a Pureblood but oh well, she’s better than most muggles. Oh and speaking of people dating, yes I am very pleased that Ginny has found a nice guy that’s not Harry.

Love,

Percy

Percy,

Before I write anything else, I must address your hilarious claim that Dumbledore is monitoring letters. Ron got your letter, read it, then proceeded to burn it. He found it very offensive. He’s not happy with you, so maybe don’t send him more letters.

Fred and George are still mad, more than everyone else. George invited me out last week, I think only because he knew it would get a rise out of you. Fred’s the maddest of them all, as you know so well from his letters, but he’s with Angelina Johnson, so he couldn’t take me on the “jealousy date”. I don’t really fancy George, don’t worry, and I don’t think he fancies me. I must admit, however, that it was a nice time. It was a welcome change to listen to someone talk to me about their interests instead of being obsessed with a job. It was even more welcome that he asked me questions back and seemed to actually care about my responses. My favorite thing, though, was going out with someone that cared so much for their family. Someone that not only understood romantic love, but also platonic and familial love. I’d been missing that part of you for a while. But like I said, I don’t fancy him. I didn’t even let him kiss me. I feel guilty about it all, of course, I’d like to come down to London and try to get things in our relationship to run smoothly again.

Also, yes, I am very upset that you had that letter written to Hogwarts. You totally crossed a line and if I had any balls, I would have broken up with you over it. But alas, I really do want to make it work. This is another thing that I think we need to work on together. In London. Please tell me your thoughts.

With care,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

Literally, what the fuck? I saw red when I read your letter. You. Went. Out. On. A. Date. With. My. Brother? And the little traitor tried to kiss you? I had half a mind to challenge him to a duel. But you’re right, he’s just trying to get me to act out and he will not get that out of me. There are so many problems with our relationship right now and I cannot bear to let you go, so we must meet and work things out immediately. And I’m not coming home, so you must come here. I’ve taken a week off at the Ministry, please arrive here as soon as you receive this letter. I will not be bested by the likes of George Weasley and a few other misunderstandings I may have thrown your way.

No need to write back,

Percy

Dear Percy,

I am so glad we had that meeting in London! I really do feel like we’ve fixed things. It makes me so happy that you have agreed not to be so unkind with your words in the future. And as promised, I have decreased contact with your family and all the other members of the Order. George has written me about a dozen letters since then, checking up on me and filling me in on what’s going on with your family. But as promised, I have not written back. If I expect you to uphold your part of the agreement, I must hold myself to the same standard.

I think I will take that secretary job Fudge offered me. It’s not all that you made it out to be, but at least I can be near you. I’m still too wary to marry you, after all it hasn’t been too long since we were falling apart, but I think it would be nice to be physically closer to you. I’ll see what I can do in terms of flats, since you’re too prudish to lend me room in yours.

Love you lots,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I don’t have much time to write at the moment, I’m very busy, so please excuse the short letter. I, too, am glad we are doing better. It was impacting my efficiency at work and I could not have that. I’m just glad there’s no more Fred and George, they were trying to hijack your mind and make it theirs. Besides, I have heard from more than one female that has come into contact with them, that they are basically a pair of incubi. I know you think I’m dramatic when I say that, but those two boys have turned evil, I know it. I should have seen the clear signs. It was so obvious from the time that they were little boys, chasing poor Ron with spiders.

Thank Godric that you are coming to join me at the Ministry! I can keep a close eye on you there, make sure you’re safe. I know the job isn’t glorious, but not everyone is as fortunate as me. You have to work your way up. I know you’ll have a very important job in no time. And I never said I wouldn’t let you live with me by the way, I said that I didn’t want your father to become cross with me. You really shouldn’t call me a prude, or do you not remember what all went in London when you came to visit? I didn’t think it was quite that forgettable, but I’ll just have to remind you when you move here.

Love,

Percy

Dear Percy,

I’m sorry for the distance between letters. I meant to write, I really did, but everything went to shit here. I know I said I would distance myself from your family, but George wrote to me and said that your father is in the hospital. So now I’m back to semi-living with them. Did you not read your mother’s letter about it, Percy? She marked it “urgent” on the envelope. Your father was utterly distressed that you didn’t even write, much less visit him. It made his recovery harder and longer. Don’t you still care even a little bit? What if he had passed, wouldn’t you have felt so guilty?

Also, your mother collapsed and fell into a fit of tears when you sent your Christmas jumper back. Why didn’t you just keep it? It would have spared her feelings, even if you think you’re too good for the sweaters now. She made me a sweater, I loved it. But oh well, please think about the repercussions of your actions on others. You’re making it very hard on all of us. Also, Fred wants me to let you know that he wants to bring back drawing and quartering just for you. George is more straight to the point, vowing to castrate you if you two ever cross paths again (by the way, they both thought your incubus comment was very funny, I think it inflated their ego).

I know you are on the Ministry’s side, saying that Voldemort is NOT back, which is horseshit and you know it. But you do know who attacked your father, yes? Surely that should be enough proof for you. You’re very smart, why are you letting an institution think for you?

With peace and love,

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

I am slightly dismayed that you didn’t keep up with your end of our agreement, going back to speak with my family. I do understand, though, my father’s attack was a shock and could have ended tragically. I know he’s better now, though, so please cease contact again.

On a similar note, yes, I did read Mum’s letter and know that he was in the hospital. I sent flowers anonymously, if that means anything to you. And I kept tabs on him from the Ministry. If I felt that things were going downhill and he wasn’t going to make it, I would have visited. But he was fine, so it’s not a big deal. Maybe he will learn to not poke his head where it doesn’t need poking from now on.

As for the sweater, it’s not that I didn’t want to keep it. I love her sweaters, I wear some of the old one sometimes. But keeping the sweater would have sent a completely wrong message and given her false hope. So really, sending it back was a selfless act.

I know you want me to say that You-Know-Who is back. But you just don’t understand. I represent the Ministry now. What they say goes. That doesn’t mean I don’t have my own thoughts, it simply means that I stand with them.

Just wanted to remind you that you’re very beautiful and I miss your kind heart. I can’t wait for you to move here.

Love,

Percy

Percy,

I am most certainly NOT moving to be with you in London after the stunt you pulled. Betraying Dumbledore and holding Harry in place whilst being questioned by Fudge? What a dick move. I don’t know what I expected, you provided me all the warning signs. I guess that when it mattered, you’d do the right thing. Now I see how wrong I was. I need some time to myself, and you need to think over in your heart why you thought it was okay to do what you did. You just better be glad that Fudge sent you out before you got smacked the fuck up by Dumbledore.

From the top of my head to the bottom of my toes, fuck you

Penelope

Dear Penelope,

This is the fifth letter I’ve sent to you in a row with no response, please answer. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did and I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed, really I am, but I’ve dug myself too deep. I miss you, I miss Ginny, I miss Charlie, I miss Bill, I miss Ron, I miss Mum and Dad. I even miss Fred and George. But it’s too late. I wish I had seen it before. They were right, you were right. I can’t let them know that. I feel so ashamed. I want to help them, but I also want to never bother them again. I saw You-Know-Who in the Ministry. I know all along that he was back, but I kept denying it for my job. But now I don’t have my family and I don’t have you, so my job is all I have. Please know that anything you see from me from this moment forward doesn’t represent my heart. You’re right, I don’t remember how many letters ago it was, but you said I wasn’t the person you fell in love with. You couldn’t have hit the nail on the head any better. There’s barely any left of that Percy, just his shell. So really, I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. I’m not the person you committed to. But I still love you. It’s total wishful thinking that I can have you back, but hoping is the only thing that keeps me from going insane. Bill wrote me a letter saying that he was engaged. I don’t want to face my family but I’ll go if I can see you.

Love, Percy

Percy,

I felt like I should write you one last letter because despite myself, I still care. I want to give you closure. It’s clear to me that you’re never coming home, which is clear symbolism that you are never going to do the right thing. You said it yourself in your letters, you’re digging your heels in and standing by the ministry. You’re a filthy coward.

Yes, Bill is getting married in a few months. We’re all very busy with preparations, it seems like that’s the only good thing that’s happening around here. You have an invitation, of course, but you shouldn’t come if you just want to see me. If I see you, I will make a scene and there will be more than just mashed parsnips being thrown at you (yes, Fred and George told me about how you visited just for the benefit of the Ministry. It’s pathetic, really). Your mum is convinced you will show up to the wedding and everything will be magically better. I know you better than that. I wish I was in blissful ignorance and thought you still loved us all, but you don’t. You’re not going to be able to get your head out of your ass until it’s one of us that’s laying lifeless somewhere because of the monsters of people that the Ministry have allowed to roam for so long. I know where you stand and you know where I stand. So there’s nothing else to say.

I’m sending back all the things of yours that I have. You should receive them all with this letter. Please write back if I missed anything.

Sincerely,

Penelope Clearwater

#percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Lucien’s Revelation Date (Eng Translation)

🍒Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Note: I translated this because Lucien hasn’t been given much love on this blog 😂 I’ve actually been struggling to pin down his personality, much less like him as a character. This date seems to the most recent release on the CN server, so I thought it’d be helpful in the creation of future text post memes to properly sit down and understand his psyche.

I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did! I hope you will too. Without further ado, please enjoy this rare Lucien content!

A week ago, MC found out that when Lucien was still studying in the UK, he rented a small farmhouse in Hampshire which has a large manor adjacent to it. The lease expired, so Lucien needed to handle the cancellation matters in person. Given this opportunity to travel, MC happily tagged along.

At present, it is the second day that MC and Lucien are at the farmhouse. They have woken up especially early to make a sumptuous English-style breakfast.

When MC thinks that she is more or less done, Lucien comments that MC has missed the most important thing – milk tea. He takes out a small pot and pours two cups of water into it.

Lucien: Come, let me teach you how to make milk tea.

MC: Eh?

Both of Lucien’s hands encircle my waist from behind, wrapping me in his arms.

MC: … But I know how to make milk tea.

My small refutation is completely ignored. He lowers his head and plants his chin on my shoulder, leaning on me even more.

Lucien: The first step to making milk tea is to put the tea leaves in after the water has boiled.

After a while, bubbles start surfacing in the small pot. Lucien places a paper bag of black tea in my hands. He holds my hand and gently pours some leaves into the pot.

Lucien: Now, we need to wait patiently for a while.

As soon as the tea leaves make contact with the water, a light aroma permeates the air. I lean on Lucien while looking around the farmhouse with curiosity.

Even though Lucien hasn’t been here for a very long time, it appears that someone has been maintaining the place. The furniture is clean, and the flowers displayed at the windowsill are fresh.

MC: Lucien, when did you rent this place?

Lucien: After I graduated. I was doing some research back then and needed a place where I could concentrate on writing my thesis, so I rented to this place.

He explains that there a housekeeper has been tending to the home, which is why it is still in such a clean condition.

Considering the peaceful atmosphere and how leisurely they have been spending their time at the manor, Lucien jokes and says it’d be great if they could live such a life every day, and that early retirement doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

After breakfast, MC suggests that they spend the rest of their morning drinking tea and reading books in the attic. Lucien thinks it is a good idea, but says he needs to find something important first.

It turns out that “something important” is a time capsule – two envelopes that MC and Lucien had written a while back when they visited a bookstore. They were asked to randomly pick questions related to their emotions, answer them in a letter, and then leave it in the bookstore for safekeeping. They bring the envelopes to the attic.

MC: I remember the bookstore mentioning that we could collect our time capsules after 99 days, right?

Lucien: They did give me a call, but it happened during the time our relationship changed. I should have given them your contact details, but I was selfish. I requested that they send the letters to this address. It was to prevent me from opening your letter… and to give myself a chance. If there was ever a chance for us to return to this place, I would want to open my letter in front of you.

His voice is calm as he gives me a brief overview of what happened. After saying this, he smiles and takes a sip of hot tea. I smile gently while looking at him.

It is like having two people insist on going opposite directions, painstakingly treading through an arduous winding path, only to realise that the goal was always right there. So there’s nothing else they can do but look at each other, laugh in resignation, and quietly berate each other for being the silly one.

MC: … Back then, the reason why I insisted on us writing our letters was because I wanted to see your response too.

After all, being with him meant that I had to rationalise many little emotions I had. I had to assuage my own worries, and get used to sudden bouts of longing.

Lucien is the most difficult problem I have ever encountered. He perplexes my mind. I always end up eagerly hoping that he can give me an answer.

Seeing that I have become quiet, Lucien takes my hand in his, his low voice radiated by sunlight.

Lucien: I shall reveal the answer to you.

We open our envelopes at the same time.

I take out the question card that I had randomly picked, which had been folded several times as I was afraid Lucien would sneak a peek at it.

Written in fancy fonts on the exquisite card was the question: What did he/she teach you?

I arch my neck in curiosity, only to find that Lucien had gotten the exact same question.

He calmly takes out his letter, and on it is just three words. His penmanship reflects how the answer required little thinking.

MC: “Lack of freedom”…

After reading those three words aloud, Lucien laughs lightly.

Lucien: Why are you reading it in such a somber tone? When I was writing the answer, I didn’t mean it to be unhappy at all. Although after knowing you, I experienced being perplexed about things I had never been perplexed about in my life, for example…

He considers it solemnly, and I unconsciously stare at him, making sure to etch into my heart every sentence that comes out of his mouth.

He lets out a small sigh before laughing to himself.

Lucien: For example, what to have for lunch and dinner.

MC: Huh?

I am left stunned at his unexpected words.

Lucien: Another example would be how I can’t help but notice the flowers of Spring, the rain in Summer, the leaves in Autumn, and the snow in Winter. Another example would be how I feel perplexed when watching a good movie alone, and feeling a need to share interesting things I find with someone. The strangest thing is, even my private time is becoming less and less interesting.

During his slow-paced explanation, Lucien’s eyes carry with it a smile as he watches me and my expression as it morphs from puzzlement to amazement.

Lucien: Is my way of thinking strange?

MC: Well… In my eyes, you’re always…

I can’t seem to find suitable words to use. Rational? Strong?

MC: You look like… You wouldn’t have the same troubles as me.

Lucien captures the hesitation in my eyes, and asks seriously.

Lucien: “The same troubles”… What do you mean by that?

He uses a slow tone of voice mixed with a smile. Evidently, the real answer to this question is clear. I am about to make a joke, but sensing the anticipation in his eyes, I can’t help but tell him what is in my heart.

MC: It means no matter who you meet, what circumstances you face, where you go, you wouldn’t involuntarily think of a particular person. This kind of involuntary… lack of freedom.

Lucien: … [laughs lightly]

A leisurely smile hangs on Lucien’s lips, and he looks up at the roof. A soft white cloud is reflected in his eyes, melding with his violet, creating a sense of tranquility and brilliance.

Lucien: Yes, they are indeed the same troubles.

At this moment, I slowly reveal my own sheet of paper. Coincidentally, there are also only three words written on it.

Lucien: “Having no fears.”

After Lucien reads the three words aloud, I can’t help but laugh.

MC: Why are you using such a melancholic tone? Are you worried that I was feeling wronged when writing this answer?

Lucien doesn’t speak, but his slightly raised eyebrows reveal that this was indeed his initial thoughts towards my words.

MC: Far from it. Back then, I was thinking that no matter what we face in the future, I would be willing to face it.

I pause for two seconds, worried that I was speaking too gravely. I flash Lucien a silly grin.

MC: Well… Basically there’s nothing worth being frightened of, and I’ll be fine when faced with anything.

My relaxed tone causes Lucien’s eyebrows to crease. He avoids my inquisitive gaze and seems to be deep in thought. In the end, he responds with his usual smile.

Lucien: There is still some milk tea left, shall we bring it up?

My instincts tell me that his understanding of what I said was different from what I actually meant. I hurriedly reach out and stop him, wanting to make crystal clear what is in my heart.

Lucien: What’s wrong?

Lucien gently tucks a stray hair behind my ear and looks at me with his usual warmth.

Lucien: Is there anything else we should bring to the attic?

I hold onto his face and look directly into his eyes.

MC: When I say that I’m not afraid, I don’t simply mean not being afraid to open up to you. I mean that I’m not afraid of anything. I’m not afraid of the secrets you keep, and I’m not afraid of accepting the real you. I’m not afraid to stand with you to overcome setbacks and difficulties. And I’m not afraid of the responsibilities and costs that come with being together with you. It doesn’t matter what it is. Being able to meet you, being able to have this moment... It is enough for me.

I say all of this in one breath, and realise that my heart rate has accelerated quite a bit.

Actually, these words should have been said a long time ago. I should have told him everything that was on my mind once I was certain of my feelings…

Just like the answers that were hidden in the envelopes, my words were long overdue.

Lucien looks at me quietly, his eyes expressing shock - something I have never seen before.

A warm, bittersweet aroma wafts out of the cup, permeating the air.

After a moment of silence, he gently frowns.

Lucien: Am I a supervillain in your eyes? Why does being with me require you to summon so much courage to overcome challenges, to bear costs and consequences… Is being with me really that difficult?

He reveals a troubled expression.

Lucien: I even thought what you meant by not having fears was that you did not have the same fears as I do.

He pretends to be secretive, dragging the last few words of his sentence. I can only respond by playing along and probing further.

MC: “Not having the same fears”… What do you mean by that?

All of a sudden, Lucien pulls me into his arms, lowering his voice and speaking into my ear. His voice sounds like a cloud, gently spreading across my heart, shining like sunlight after rain.

Lucien: It means not being afraid of anything when you are with me.

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #love and producer #didn't expect his date to make me feel things #mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn

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madamebaggio · 4 years ago

Photo

Notes: Previously...

LAST CHAPTER!!!!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

Finally. This smut here near killed me! At least I finished another work, so I can focus on the others as well.

Thank you so much for everybody that followed and supported this story.

I hope you like the ending.

REMEMBER PEOPLE, THIS IS SMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT! ;)

***

Chapter 6

As soon as Gretel had a chance she cornered Nuala.

“Miss Gretel?” Nuala called uncertainly.

“We’re talking. Now.” Gretel started dragging her along.

“Maybe you should talk to my brother.” Nuala protested.

“Your brother sucks at communicating.” Gretel told her, pushing her into an empty room and closing the door behind them. “And he’s confusing the fuck out of me. You need to help me out.”

Nuala looked like she would rather eat glass than do this, but then she sighed. “Did you wear the red dress because of him?”

“I…” Gretel pressed her lips together. “He suggested it, yes.”

“I’m very confused.” Nuala sighed.

“You are confused? Can you imagine me?”

“Did he give you a present?”

“How did you know that?” Gretel asked in shock.

“It’d be the next logical step in your courtship.”

“My what?” Gretel screeched.

Now Nuala was the one looking confused. “Your courtship.” She paused. “You did know my brother was courting you, right?”

“No! How could I… How could he… Oh my god!”

“That explains a lot.” Nuala mused.

“You think?” Gretel took a deep breath. “How… How would I know he’s courting me?”

“Well, it’s quite obvious once you know the signs.” Nuala explained. “The challenge to spar and the yielding.”

“Wait, that was the first step?”

“As Nuada is a warrior who wishes for a warrior mate, yes. It’s normal to challenge the one you desire to a spar. Once you yield, it means you accept his courtship.”

Oh fuck. That was why he was so interested in her yielding and kept bringing it up. To him, it’d meant they were an item.

“Then he suggested you learned magic, didn’t he?”

“Yes…”

“This can be considered a first gift.” Nuala informed her. “He offered you knowledge, even if he wasn’t the one to properly teach you.”

But he had been the one. He was the one that showed her the truth of it. After he told her about it -while he deep inside her -magic became easier to understand and reach. So, in fact, Nuada was the one who gave her the knowledge.

“What else?” Gretel wanted to know.

“Once he asked you to wear his color, he was clearly staking a claim.”

“That was why he told me to wear the red dress?”

“Yes! And then he gave you a present, didn’t he?”

Gretel groaned. “Yes, a dagger.”

“And you took it, but you didn’t know why he was doing it?” Nuala seemed perplexed.

“No.”

“No wonder he’s so confused.” Nuala hummed. “To him it seems as if you were accepting the courtship, but you never take the next step.”

“Which would be?” Gretel pressed.

Nuala hesitated. “Listen… Courtship for us is different.” She explained. “It doesn’t mean dating and seeing how it goes.” It was funny seeing Nuala even saying something like this. “If Nuada is courting you is because he chose you; body and soul. This is a serious commitment; one made to last.”

“But… We barely know each other.” Gretel spoke softly.

“You really should talk to him.” Nuala offered, equally softly.

“I guess I should.”

***

Gretel knocked on Nuada’s door. “Open up, elf boy. We need to talk.”

The door was suddenly opened. “The last time you just marched in. Why change this now?”

“We need to talk.” She said again, just pushing past him.

Nuada snorted and closed the door after her. “By all means.” He said sarcastically.

Gretel crossed her arms. “It’s come to my attention that you…” Oh lord, she was really going to say that word, wasn’t she? “You’ve been courting me.”

Nuada arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“And that…” She cleared her throat, because this conversation was ridiculous. “We’ve had some cultural misunderstandings about it.”

“Such as?”

“Such as I had no idea what you were up to.” She threw at him.

“I beg your pardon?” She could say that -once in her life- she’d managed to get the great Prince Nuada by surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“No.”

He groaned in frustration. “This all makes much more sense now.”

“I’m glad you think so.” She scoffed. “I didn’t even think you liked me! You never use my name.”

“Those are pet names.”

“They sound condescending the way you use them.” She pointed out.

Nuada sighed. “All this time, it never crossed your mind that I might be actually courting you? I kept coming after you.”

“I’m human! We do things differently.” She protested.

“Clearly.” He grumbled bitterly.

There was a silence between them, and Gretel sighed. “I just… I really don’t understand it. I didn’t think about it that way, and now I’m confused.”

“I did not…” He sighed, clearly frustrated with the whole thing. “I didn’t expect it. The first time we came together was really supposed to be the only one.”

“Then what changed?”

“You. I don’t mean to say you became a different person, but it was from then on that I started really seeing you. And once I started seeing…” Another sigh. “There was very little to dislike. You’re strong, brave and smart, and still kind-hearted. You’re a warrior, but you haven’t let that harden your heart or your temperance. As I said…” He gave her a small smile. “Very little to dislike.”

“I…” Gretel’s head was spinning. “This is so sudden. I’d never…”

“Clearly.”

“Look, you have to give me a minute here, okay?” She told him. “I had no idea what was going on until I talked to Nuala.”

“Is this why my sister was feeling so uncomfortable earlier?”

“Probably.” Gretel admitted. “But my point is: I didn’t know I was being courted, or how serious this is for you.”

“So what exactly did you think was happening?” He crossed his arms.

“At first? That you were bored.” She confessed. “The day you came to my room was when it became really confusing to me. Nothing’s been as I’d expected from the first time we fucked on that mess hall.”

Nuada snorted. “Such sweet words.”

She glared at him. “You know that’s exactly what that was. And it’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is that we had very different expectations here, and I’m still adjusting to yours.”

He gave her a look. “What were your expectations?” He wanted to know.

“To understand you and this… Hunger you make me feel.”

That seemed to interest him.

“And you make me so fucking pissed at you sometimes, and then you show this hint of something… And it frustrates me. You frustrate me.” She accused.

“It’s mutual.” He informed her.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” She snapped.

Nuada came closer, close enough to touch, but he didn’t. “Give yourself to me.” He told her firmly. “Let me give myself to you.”

Fuck, that was smooth.

“That sounds awfully permanent.” She indicated.

“What else do you plan on doing with the rest of your life?” He asked. “You could keep an eye on me.”

That surprised a chuckle out of Gretel. “And what will you do?”

“The same.” A pause. “And teach you to fight better.” He added.

She pushed his shoulder and he grabbed her wrist gently. “I am serious.” He told her, his eyes intensely fixed on hers. “And now I understand it might be much for you.”

“Why the dagger?” She asked suddenly. “You could’ve given me anything.”

“Why would I give you a silly trinket when I could give you something useful?” He pointed out.

Fuck this. It was beyond insane, way too much too fast, but at this point? Gretel did not give a single fuck.

There was something about him that made her blood sing and she was going to stick with that.

“If you piss me off, I might kill you.” She warned him.

“You can try, but you’ll need more training to actually manage it.” He pointed out matter-of-factly.

Gretel rolled her eyes. “Funny. How do we seal this?”

He cupped her face. “Say ‘yes’.”

“You know, I feel like I’m selling my…”

“Gretel.” He growled, his fingers sinking into her hair. “Say ‘yes’.”

“Yes.” She said softly.

He kissed her, slower and tenderer than ever before. He cradled her face, took his time with sweet short kisses, until they were both panting.

They helped each other out of their shirts, and Nuada kept slowing Gretel down every time she tried to hurry him along.

“Seriously?” She complained.

“Deadly.” He dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “We’ve been in such a hurry all this time, and only now I realise I missed some spots. This time we go slow.”

Gretel snorted. “You’re already giving me orders?”

Nuada pushed her, so she fell sitting on the bed. “Let me know any time you’re not thoroughly satisfied.”

Gretel rolled her eyes and opened the button of her jeans. “Help a lady, would you?”

Nuada kneeled by the bed and helped her out of her shoes and jeans. She scooted back until she was better positioned in the bed.

Nuada put his hands and knees on the bed and prowled towards her. He dropped a kiss just below her belly button, then pulled her panties down and off.

Nuada palmed her thighs, spreading them wide open. “I believe…” He dropped a kiss to her inner thigh, “I owe you a little something.”

She glared at him. “Don’t you even think about tying me up.”

He smirked at her. “Not this time.” He agreed, dropping another kiss, this one closer to her cunt.

“Not ever, you… Oh my god!” Gretel’s back arched as Nuada licked a strip up her slit, finishing on her clit.

He was not joking when he’d promised he’d take his time the next time he did this. There was no hurry to him whatsoever as he feasted on her cunt. Gretel didn’t know if it was sweet torture or not, as each lap of his tongue ignited her whole being.

He teased her clit with his tongue, used her fingers to open her up until she mindless and her orgasm took her over, like warm water in a bathtub.

She felt it all the way to her toes, feeling sated and drowsy.

Nuada raised his head to look at her, his mouth slick because of her. “Good. Another one.”

“You’ve got be fucking kid…” Before she could finish her protest -which probably wouldn’t be that much of a protest anyway -Nuada lowered his head and started it all over again.

However, this time he wasn’t patient and tender. No, this time he ate her out like she was his last meal. He was merciless as his fingers fucked her, and he used teeth and tongue to drive her insane.

Gretel bit her lower lip so hard she tasted blood, her hands grabbing at the pillow as Nuada kept her pinned down, completely at the mercy of his mouth. She had no idea how long he spent there, but she was sobbing his name and just asking, pleading for him to just fucking…

The second orgasm was harder and more violent than the first and she probably screamed his name really loudly, but… Well… It was a fucking great orgasm.

Nuada chuckled, beyond satisfied with himself, licking his lips like a cat who’d just got the cream. “Pleased already?” He dropped a kiss to her sternum.

“Shut up.” She grumbled.

“Should we stop?” Nuada asked, kissing her clavicle. “You look dead tired.” A kiss to her left shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Gretel grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth to hers for a kiss.

Perhaps all his patience had been used earlier, because this time he didn’t bother trying to slow her down or be gentle.

It was what Gretel loved about kissing (and fucking) Nuada; he didn’t feel the need to treat her like a princess.

She pushed his pants down impatiently, wriggling beneath him. He pushed into her cunt in one smut thrust and Gretel gasped against his mouth. Nuada pulled her thighs snuggly against his waist, before…

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Gretel groaned. “Why do you insist on pinning me?”

Nuada thrusted against her, his hands holding hers down by her head. “I’m not pinning you. I’m holding you.” He promised her as he interlaced their fingers together.

They held onto each other as Nuada fucked her, their breaths coming together, their voices mixing. Gretel felt magic coursing through her again, invading her soul, warming up her veins.

Nuada let go of her hands to grab at her waist, her hps, her thighs as he rutted mercilessly against her, harder and faster. She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing as her body was so sensitive, but she was also so close…

When she came she was once again calling his name and he drank it from her lips, whispering hers back as he spilled inside her.

His body blanketed hers as they stayed there, intertwined, complete.

Gretel chuckled. “Okay…”

Nuada snorted. “Are you trying to turn my room into a greenhouse?”

“Hum?” She hummed confused.

He pushed himself back a bit, so she could see the vines spreading from the bed, some starting to climb up the headboard of the bed.

“So it was a magical fuck.” She commented.

“Always so charming.”

Gretel used his distraction to tumble him to the side and straddle his waist. “I think I should tie you down this time.”

His hands went to her waist. “I’m at your mercy, Gretel.”

She felt warmth spread on her chest. This was so extremely fast and intense, but something told her to run towards it, not away from it. “Yes, you are.” She murmured, leaning forward to kiss him.

***

When they arrived to the meeting the next afternoon, everybody else was already there. Nuala was once again firmly looking at anywhere but them, so… Yeah, she probably already knew what was up.

Gretel got a confirmation of that when the princess gave her a -quick- happy smile.

There was only one chair left, but it was because Nuada tended to stand in the back and act gloomy. This time he marched into the room and sat down, making everyone look at him in shock.

However, he wasn’t looking at them; he was looking at her. He spread his legs open and eyed his own thigh. Gretel snorted, but took the seat offered. He looked beyond satisfied by that, his arm going around her waist.

“What the actual…” Hansel, who’d been balancing his chair on the back legs, fell back from shock -literally.

“What’s going on here?” Red wanted to know.

Mostly everyone seemed too shocked to even comment.

“I thought it was a meeting.” Nuada spoke plainly, like there was nothing out of the ordinary happening.

Hansel had finally got up and he was looking from Nuada to Gretel like he hoped he was hallucinating.

“Can we focus, please?” Gretel asked.

“Honestly?” Liz shook her head. “I’d rather not know. Let’s talk about anything else.”

“No! I want to…” Hansel was silenced by Mina pulling him down to whisper something on his ear.

Gretel looked at Nuada and he was already looking back at her and grinning. “This is going to be fun.”

She snorted, but she was grinning. “You’re such a romantic.”

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #AU #gifs not mine #now complete #hellboy the golden army #hansel and gretel witch hunters #gretel #prince nuada #gretel x prince nuada #why dont we kill each other slowly

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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years ago

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 3 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer decides to return to a previous tryst. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Dom!Spencer, handcuffs, hair pulling, oral, fingering, penetrative sex, rough sex Word Count: 9k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

—————————————————

It was a Saturday night and I had nothing to do. My roommate had gone home for the weekend and all my other friends were at bars. I could've joined them, but it just didn't seem worth it. The last time had been so perfect, I just couldn't imagine that anything else could compare.

I'd tried going back to the same area a few times, but I never saw him again. Then again, seeing me back there might just piss him off. Then again, that would've been okay, too. He was pretty cute when he was mad.

But I wasn't looking at a cute boy that night. No, I was just sitting in my apartment, staring at the textbook that I wasn't even interested in reading. Wishing that something could save me from the boring limbo I had found myself in.

Then, like magic, my phone stirred to life beside me.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

I looked down at the LED, fully expecting it to just be someone tagging me in a picture of a cat. But it wasn't. The number was one I had saved in my phone, hoping that I would see it pop up again one day.

It had been almost a month. I didn't think it would ever happen. But there it was; a text message from Dr. Reid himself.

"Hey (y/n)."

When I slid the message open, I saw he was still typing.

"Long time no talk," was his second message.

That was an understatement.

"Hey yourself."

It was a cursory response. I wanted him to sweat a bit. He'd made me wait, so now he had to deal with the consequences. But then I changed my mind and immediately followed with a second text of, "Texting isn't talking you know."

"You never called. Why should I?" His response was so quick I swore he'd planned this all out in his head. He was playing me like a chess board. Bet he was good at that, too.

"It takes two to tango, Dr. Reid," I jokingly replied.

He read the message, but he didn't answer.

Getting nervous that he was losing interest, I continued typing.

"I figured you wouldn't want to see me again after I made you late. Are those marks still there?"

I smiled at the memory, because I knew he wasn't there to call me out for it. By the time he'd finally made it down to his ride, I had covered his neck in petechiae and his back was equally marked with scratches.

I'd wanted him to remember me.

It'd worked, too.

He'd been typing for a while and I was getting anxious. It had been a bold message to send, and I didn't really think it through.

Was he trying to let me down easy? No, that didn't make any sense. Who the fuck texts a one night stand at 10:30 PM on a Saturday after not speaking for a month just to end things?

He responded.

"Sadly, no. And I wouldn't be so quick to assume I don't want to see you because of that... Revenge is a powerful motivator."

That was the cheeky bastard I wanted to see. I could be cheeky, too.

"Is it?" I asked.

"Where are you tonight?"

His answers were starting to make my heart race. I had to get ready, because he was definitely about to ask me to be his booty call and I was definitely going to do it. Closing my textbook, I shot back another teasing reply.

"Not a club. I'm being a good girl tonight. All by my lonesome."

Thank god my roommate wasn't here and I had somehow been bored enough to clean today. I pulled out my make up and turned the light on my mirror on. As I started to apply it, I got a message that immediately solidified my answer to his inevitable proposition.

"Do you want to change that?"

'God, yes, I do.'

I waited another minute, wanting to be able to finish at least the bare minimum before he saw me. I knew he wasn't a superficial guy, but the last time he'd seen me I had gone full out.

"Which part?" I responded, already knowing his answer.

"Both."

So unpredictable in the most satisfying way.

I took a deep breath and a pause, tapping back a confident reply.

"Are you trying to entrap me, Agent?"

His reply was within seconds, and I was immediately reminded of how incredibly clever this man was. He knew exactly what to say to make me melt.

"Is that what you want?"

I wanted to pick up the phone, dial, and scream yes. But I didn't, opting instead for a calm and composed, "That would certainly be exciting."

My application grew significantly quicker, and I was already eyeing the special drawer I had for these exact situations. My mind was running through my collection of sheer fabrics and lace details, trying to decide what would work best.

Then he said the magic words:

"Send me your address."

Spencer was coming over, and it wasn't a dream. I was going to have that strange, brilliant, beautiful man back in my arms and I wasn't going to fuck it up. With shaking hands, I thumbed out my address with no other commentary. In a few seconds, I would know how long I had until Spencer Reid was in my apartment.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Thank god. It was time enough to prepare.

—————————————————

Spencer Reid was going to be at my door at any minute, and I was suddenly terrified that he'd be disappointed. Convinced that I'd done everything wrong.

We'd had a good time before, right? I'd played over and over again in my head ever since it happened. I was reminded of the soft way he'd touched me in the morning, the childish laughs we'd shared, and the smell of his cologne on the sheets.

God, I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed.

Knock Knock Knock.

When I heard the sound, I immediately tried to fix my appearance in the mirror despite having spent the last 20 minutes doing whatever I could given the time. I had opted for one of my easier-to-remove loungewear pieces. A simple white lace negligee. He seemed like he'd like simple. The little hint of purity, however silly, would also probably appeal to him.

Slowly exhaling, I composed myself before opening the door.

"Hello, Dr. Reid."

He looked as handsome as ever, although I did have the distinct impression that it had been awhile since he had a full nights sleep. I wondered why, but decided not to dwell on it.

"Hello yourself," he responded, his eyes ravaging my figure the very moment I stepped out from behind the door. He waited for me to take a step back and fully open the door before he walked in, and I watched the way he scanned my apartment.

I wondered what he saw.

"How can I help you, Agent?"

It was a tease, and based the look on his face when he finally turned to me, it took him a moment to figure it out. He was too much in his work brain. I could feel it. I'd never seen him at work, but I could tell.

"You seem tense," I spoke coyly, stepping closer and running my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders.

He didn't speak; instead his gaze bored into me, like he was going to lose his composure any second. But he held himself back.

"Can I help you with that?"

That dark shine in his eyes was getting stronger.

"That depends."

As he spoke the words, he finally touched me, a sneaky hand finding its way to my hip. I gasped at the sensation and my eyes fluttered shut. He always had this immediate intoxicating effect on me that I just couldn't explain. I didn't care to, either. I just wanted to keep feeling it.

"Hmm... On what?" I murmured.

I tried to keep track of his hand as it sneaked to my lower back before pulling me closer. I tilted my head to look up at him as I opened my eyes. I just wanted to see that look again. That starved, possessive stare that made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

Although he appeared stoic, I knew there was something brewing. I knew that he was reveling in the effect he had on me.

Such a quiet, peculiar mind.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, and I recognized the question as something deeper.

He was asking me for my limits. He wanted me to tell him what he was allowed to do. I didn't know how to tell him that I would do anything for him.

How could he not already know my answer? Perhaps it was just his attempt at being a gentleman. But I didn't need him to do all of that tonight. I'd much rather see something more... feral.

"Whatever you need," I answered as sweetly as I could.

I heard his soft chuckle. It brought a smile to both of our lips, and he used his free hand to stroke the side of my face. I quickly leaned into his touch, trying to prolong the contact for as long as I could.

"Is that so?"

Yes, I thought before saying, "Anything."

His thumb glided over my cheek and to my lips, gently separating them as he stared at me with a morbid curiosity. He was wondering how far he could actually push me. So was I.

In lieu of an answer, I slipped his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue up it before closing around it. The gentle sucking was mixed with soft rotations of my tongue. His breathing rate increased as he stepped forward and pressed his body flush against mine.

"And if you change your mind?"

What a gentleman.

I wouldn't change my mind, but I chose to indulge him with the proper form. I released his thumb and held my mouth open for a second before biting down on my bottom lip.

"Hmmm," I hummed as I thought about what I might be able to say to set him off.

I needed a safe word that would drive him wild. The thing was, I only knew a few of his interests. But I did know enough.

"Starship," I giggled, a little nod to the enterprise we'd already bonded over.

The effect the word had on him was immediate. His hand shifted to hold my chin. He used that grip to push me against the wall to the side of us, and our mouths connected just as harshly.

What a ridiculously sexy nerd.

The impact of my back against the wall was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. My hands scrambled to grab onto his belt buckle, already trying to unwrap the present meant just for me tonight.

Once I'd gotten the metal separated, I smiled into the sloppy, heated kiss. He stopped, pulling away just enough to look down at my satisfied grin. He didn't say anything.

"What's that look for?" I said with half-veiled bashfulness.

Had he noticed something strange that I hadn't intended to display? Was I going too fast?

"Nothing. It's just..."

'Please don't be something I did wrong.'

"You're so cute when you think you're in charge."

I couldn't control the way my hips rolled against the front of him as he spoke, and I licked my lips before concluding, "I am in charge."

I don't know how Spencer was so fast, but he was. Within seconds, he had both of my wrists pinned against the wall behind me. Just as quickly, he shifted so he could hold them both up with one hand, the other lifting the side of negligee so he could touch the skin of my hip. I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Adorable," he whispered to me.

Naturally, my body reacted by trying to regain control, to touch him more somehow. He knew this, which is why he took a step back, letting go of my wrists and watching them fall back to my control.

"Are you challenging me, Dr. Reid?"

He gave a content, sarcastic smile before shrugging.

"No, I'm not, actually. It's not a challenge if I already know I'm going to win."

I could barely notice the way I puffed out my own chest in response, ready to give him the challenge he was so clearly begging for.

"Fine."

I put my hands in the air in surrender, turning and strutting my fine ass down the hallway in front of him. I didn't turn around, and I didn't tell him to follow. He would. I was confident in that.

I took a seat on the side of my bed, crossing my legs over the other and looking down at my nails with a bored expression. Before I knew it, he was crossing the threshold into my room. He walked up to me, his hands in his pockets and a voice filled with too much confidence.

"I know what you're doing."

He had something up his sleeve. I could feel it.

"What am I doing, Dr. Reid?"

The way he approached me reminded me of a hunt. The cautious, quiet strides toward me were purposeful. He stopped just in front of me, with my foot resting against his shin.

"I thought I already warned you what would happen if you did this."

"Do what?" I feigned innocence, raising my hand to my neck before perching my chin on it and leaning forward.

"Tease me."

That time when his hand made contact, it was on the top of my head. He ran a gentle hand over my hand, and the feather light touches almost tricked me. I'd almost thought he just wanted to appease me. To end my temper tantrum. But shortly after he had gripped the back of my hair in his hand and used the new grip to roughly tilt my head back to him.

"I thought you said you were going to be a good girl tonight?"

I bit down harshly on my lip to stifle my giggle as he tightened his grip.

"Oops," I said with a smile.

Suppressing my laughs enough to string together a sentence, I pressed my hands against his chest while he maintained his grip on my hair.

"I guess if you really want me to be a good girl, Dr. Reid... You'll have to make me."

That instruction was what I needed to break the man in front of me. It was the command he'd been waiting for; the bait for him to finally take what he came for.

Before I knew it, he had spun me around. He abruptly yanked my arms behind me at the same time he bent me over the side of the bed. An unfamiliar, harsh, and fucking freezing material on my wrists told me all I needed to know. The clanking of the short chain when he released my hands was music to my ears.

That beautiful son of a bitch actually brought his handcuffs.

"At least one of us follows orders," I joked, happily remaining on display for the man behind me.

I'm sure he noticed earlier that there wasn't anything blocking him from taking what he wanted underneath the negligee. But he didn't take it. Instead, he pulled me up by the chain, letting me teeter onto my feet before he twirled me back to face him.

"Get ready to learn."

Spencer slowly began removing his tie from his neck while he watched me squirm. His threat raised the tension in the room, but he gave me no clue as to what he was about to make me do.

I couldn't wait.

Once he had removed his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt. It was infuriating not being able to touch him, and I was quickly becoming impatient. It was shocking that it somehow wasn't awkward. I guess I just liked him that much. My thighs were pressed together, and the friction from rubbing them back and forth was the only stimulation I could find right now.

He raised his eyebrows as he noticed, shooting me a warning glance that I knew meant to stop. I did, but only because I was worried he would make me wait even longer if I didn't.

"Get on your knees."

I swayed back and forth, prying my hands apart to shake the chain holding my hands back.

"I can't," I said with a pout.

Spencer seemed to be entertained, and for a moment I thought he might give in.

He leaned over, a quiet breath in my ear as he gave a few words of caution.

"Get on your knees or I will bend you over mine."

My legs shook at the way his breath felt on my ear, and the words made me want to melt. As always, he knew exactly how to get me to do what he wanted.

Deciding that I didn't want to be a full on brat right off the bat, I gradually lowered down to my knees and threw him yet another pout from my new position.

"I want to touch you," I whined before tugging at the chain again.

He must have known it was a test. I had been so open to the hand cuffs being on before, and I still was. I just wanted to see how much power my pout had. Judging from his response, my puppy dog eyes didn't have very much power at all.

"You don't need your hands for that."

In a twisted sort of way, I was glad. I wanted him to do whatever he needed. I wanted to be what he needed. I would be the fight he could always win.

So, when he finally pulled his pants down and let them fall to the ground in front of me, I leaned forward to reach him.

I was quickly stopped by stern hand fisting my hair once more, leaving me hanging in front of him with nothing fun to show for it. He didn't say anything, just watching me as I returned soft whines and rubbing my legs together again.

"For a brat, you're very eager. You don't even realize you're challenging my authority, do you?"

Per usual, he was right. Even on my knees and handcuffed before him, I was trying to take back my control. He at least offered me the control over my neck again, though. He released my hair, smoothing it over the top of my head as he licked his lips. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just let you beg."

I bounced on my knees, trying to express what I wanted without resorting to outright begging. Not yet.

"I'll listen to you, I promise."

"Good," he acknowledged. "Open your mouth."

I obeyed, as I'd just said I would, opening my mouth wide with my tongue forward to receive him. As he pushed into my mouth, he would only give me a couple inches before retreating. He continued this pattern until he had gotten over half of it into my mouth.

That time, he paused, granting me a pleased groan as he let his head fall back. I responded in earnest, continuing to move forward as my tongue swiped over whatever it could reach. When I pulled back, I barely released any of him before going even further forward. I looked up at his face to see if he was impressed.

He was.

Shortly after, I choked as he hit the back of my throat. I receded enough to take a deep breath through my nose. I wished I could use my hands, but I appreciated the novelty of the cuffs for at least this one time.

I swore he heard my thoughts. Because after I finished my breath, his hands found the back of my head and pulled me even further onto him. If my hands were busy, he would just use his own.

That time as I choked, I swallowed. I could feel him slip further down my throat, blocking the air supply just for a second. When he pulled me back, I knew this was just the beginning.

Once he knew what I was capable of, he was ready to take control for good.

Sure enough, he set a moderate pace of thrusting into my throat, keeping direct eye contact with me as he did so. I paid all my attention on making sure I timed my breath, feeling tears prick the inside of my eyes as I let him take over.

He was so beautiful like this. I thought about what it must be like for him at his job, that I was the first thing he came to. I decided right then, that he would never feel powerless with me. I would be anything he needed.

Suddenly, his pace slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He slipped himself out of my mouth, and the strings of spit snapped onto my chin. I couldn't do anything to stop the running make up or saliva with both of my hands behind my back.

I was certain I looked like an absolute mess. My knees were weak from the position, and Spencer had never looked so pleased. Bending over, he grabbed me under my arms and helped haul me up onto the bed.

His hands casually wiped the tears from my cheeks, and he used the back of his hand to clean the area around my mouth.

"You are so beautiful," he uttered.

'Oh my god, I think I might love him.'

"You're not bad yourself," I croaked, my voice hoarse from what we'd just done.

"Tell me what you want," he dared me, his hand dropping from my hand down to my lap.

"Whatever you want."

It was the answer I had already promised him. I'd meant it before, and I'd meant it then.

He had still maintained eye contact, staring directly into my soul as he slipped his hand between my thighs. The lack of underwear made his job so much simpler, and I was thanking myself for not putting another barrier between the two of us.

Because as much as I wanted to be patient for him, I was growing desperate. Which is why when he finally touched me, his finger slid into my heat with ease. The slickness that had pooled was more than even I expected from the complete lack of stimulation I had received.

His finger wasn't there for long. He briskly removed it and held it up to my face before rubbing them together. He smiled as I struggled to breathe through the teasing.

"I've barely touched you... And yet..." he taunted, causing me to roll my hips, trying to get to something wholly out of my reach.

I was ready to start begging.

"Please, Spencer."

"Please what? Use your words."

He was loving it. He knew damn well that I had absolutely no control over what I wanted. I couldn't grab him, and I couldn't touch myself. All I could do was beg.

"Fuck me. Please."

It was as straightforward as I could possibly be.

"Still so impatient... so needy," he laughed, his hand returning to its place between my thighs.

I wailed as he began thumbing my clit. It was mind-numbing. He knew that I desperately wanted to be filled, and he was doing the exact opposite.

"Yes," I panted. "I need you. I need you to fuck me. Please."

Spencer didn't stop, continuing to stroke the bundle of nerves with quick, repetitive motions.

"Not yet, little girl," he growled in my ear.

It didn't take long for my cries to pick up, my hips rocking furiously as he drove me into my first orgasm. A steady flow of pants and cries were mixed with mangled attempts to call his name. He still didn't stop, refusing to touch me anywhere but the one spot until I finally ceased shaking.

I almost fell backwards, but he caught me with an arm around the waist. I could barely see straight, and ever such a gentleman, he held my delirious body upright for a moment. I could tell he was wondering if I was alright.

The concern mixed with overwhelming desire was too much. Even as he tortured me with pleasure, I could see what an incredibly kind man he was.

That was the only way this would work, I thought. I had to trust him. And I did. I trusted him with my life.

"Tell me what you want," he uttered, offering me a guilt-free retreat that I would not take.

"You," I purred. "I want you, Spencer."

Finally allowing himself to give in to both of our desires, Spencer turned me onto my stomach one more time. When I heard the crumpling noise of foil as he tore the condom wrapper open, I raised my hips into the air. I stood on my tip toes and rested my head and chest against the bed.

He didn't say anything else, lazily rubbing the head against my sex. A trembling, relieved sigh escaped my lips as I felt him breach my opening. He took his time inching into me, savoring the way I clenched around him as he stretched me open. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I could barely keep my eyes open as the rapture overtook me.

Once he was fully in me, he paused, grabbing hold of my locked wrists as yet another reminder that he was the one in charge. I

wasn't going to fight him if he kept it up, that was for sure.

Almost pulling himself entirely out, he jerked me back at the same time that he snapped his hips forward and bottomed out inside me. I yelled out at the sensation, which clearly urged him on. His pace went from composed to frenetic in a matter of seconds, and each time he would slam into me, I couldn't stop the loud moans and cries from spilling out of my mouth.

He didn't let them dissuade him. I was pretty sure that he very much enjoyed the fact that I couldn't control myself. That he was the one doing that to me. But, in typical, sympathetic Spencer fashion, he leaned over me from behind and wrapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the noises.

Didn't want to alert anyone of what was happening behind closed doors, after all.

I could barely breathe as he fucked me into the bed, my feet lifting off the ground from the sheer force he used in each thrust. I let him take out all his pent up frustration on me, enjoying the harsh sting as his skin slapped against mine.

I wasn't going to last much longer. We both knew that we were riding dangerously close to the edge. As much as I didn't want it to end, I was ready to fall off that cliff with him.

His thrusts became jagged and stunted, and my thighs tensed tightly together. I chanted his name into his hand, unable to control myself as I felt my muscles flutter around his cock, urging him to finish with me. He happily obliged, pulling me roughly back to him one more time. Our hips violently collided and he held me down as far as he could onto him before emptying himself into the latex.

I could feel the soft twitching of his cock, and I started to wonder things you're not supposed to wonder about a booty call. I'd come back to that later.

A booty call. A one-night-stand.

Were we still just that? I wasn't going to ask... yet.

It felt so cold when he peeled himself off my back and slowly removed all of himself from me. I whined at the friction following the overstimulation. My legs shook terribly as my feet scrambled to touch the floor.

I couldn't see him, but I heard him throwing the condom in the trash before going through his clothes. Soon after, his hands were gingerly repositioning mine, granting him access to remove the cuffs. Once he'd slipped them off, I realized just how numb my arms had gone. They flopped uselessly to my sides, and I struggled to move my fingers.

Spencer's arms were around me before I knew what was going on. Delicately, he turned me onto my back despite my protesting groans. His touch was so gentle in a way I can't explain. He was acting like I would shatter at his fingertips.

"Wait here," he spoke in a hushed voice, placing a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I would wait anywhere for him.

While I did just that, I moved just enough that my entire body was on the bed. I inched up to the pillows and waited to regain my strength. My wrists were irritated and dented, but I couldn't really care. If anything, it would serve as proof that this night wasn't just a wild fever dream.

I saw Spencer out of the corner of my eyes, carrying an assortment of items that I couldn't help but laugh at.

"I come bearing gifts," he snickered before gracelessly dropping two bottles of Gatorade, a bottle of Advil, and lotion onto my bed.

"My hero," I spoke through the daze as I watched him pull his underwear back on. Understanding that the Advil was to stop my wrists from hurting, I took a couple quickly before I couldn't help but snicker at the sight before me.

"Awwe. I like the way you look without them, though," I teased, motioning to bottom half. "You have a cute butt."

He just chuckled, sitting down next to me and pumping lotion into a hand before motioning for me to give him my wrist.

I turned onto my side and presented him with my hand. Once he started to work the tired, abused muscles, I watched his face. The way he carefully admired the muscles while he worked, like he was trying to rebuild my wrist to the way he found it. He was so careful.

After a few moments, he held out his hand to switch, to which I also obliged.

I muttered a soft, "Thank you."

He only gave me a fleeting glance before returning to our hands.

"It's the least I can do. After what you let me do."

It was a bit of a joke, but also very genuine. He didn't call it aftercare, but that's what this was. I was familiar with it.

He was good at it.

Once he was satisfied that my wrists were going to be okay, he turned to his side to look at me. I looked up at him and wondered if he noticed that I saw the world in his eyes. I wondered if he could sense the overwhelming joy that flowed between us. I wondered if it was just in my mind that it was going both ways.

"I hope you know that I really do appreciate you," he said with a surprisingly serious tone.

My heart fluttered in my chest in a very inappropriate manner.

"Is there anything you need from me?" he asked.

Yes, I wanted to answer. Everything.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn't.

This doesn't mean anything, I reminded myself. He was just doing what he had to.

"No," I lied, instead.

I think he knew I was lying. Of course he knew. Nonetheless, he draped an arm over me and scooted closer to me until my head rested against his arm. He gave my forehead a chaste kiss, and moved his fingers unhurriedly against the bare skin of my back.

I could've fallen asleep just like that, but I didn't want to. I wanted to feel that close to him forever. The freedom and happiness flowing through me was so intoxicating that I'd started to think about my previous thoughts I had during sex.

He was about that age men started to want kids and...

"Do you want kids, Spencer?"

'Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?'

He looked as surprised as me to hear the question, and for a moment his hands stopped clean in their tracks.

'Oh no.'

"Uhh," He cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do. Wh-Why do you ask?"

Although he continued to drag his fingers across my back, it was different now. He was suddenly much more distant. Because seriously, why the hell would he not? We barely knew each other, and I definitely sounded like a crazy person.

"I was just wondering. You're good at taking care of people."

It was true. If he noticed I was covering my ass, he didn't say anything about it. Thank god.

"I'm not actually too sure about that. Right now you just think I'm good at it because your body is coursing with endorphins and adrenaline. The chemical process of love is extremely finicky and easily mimicked. Especially post-orgasm. Once that goes away, you might find you feel differently about me."

I doubted it.

Still, I shifted away from him, backing up so I could see his face again.

He continued, "You know, almost half of women surveyed said they felt anxiety and overwhelming sadness after sex. They even coined a term for it, aside from the typical sub-drop discussed in communities of more extreme sex. 'Post-coital dysphoria.' It's a shame really, that the idea of reassurance after sex isn't more mainstream."

Sometimes it was easy for me to forget he was some kind of genius. I always saw him at his most confident, which happened to also be his most quiet. As he taught me about things that I definitely should have been taught in high school sex education (but was not), I was not filled with anxiety or sadness.

In fact, I was happy.

I didn't really know him that well yet, but I wanted to.

"I can see why people mistake sex for love sometimes, then," I mumbled, not realizing the weight behind my words. It seemed obvious to me in the moment that he wouldn't think I was talking about us.

But then he pulled his hand back, running it through his hair and clearing his throat again.

"Yeah," he agreed, nonetheless, "It's pretty common."

I took a deep breath, panicking on how to pull him back to me. I lightly stretched, shifting to sit up and put some literal distance between us before the figurative distance was too far.

"Well, no worries here, Dr. Reid. I can confidently say I am not in love with you."

I could feel his eyes following me. I said I was confident, because I was. I was not in love with him.

Was I falling in love with him? It was a different question. I didn't know the answer to that one.

I excused myself for a moment to go to the bathroom and freak out in isolation. I could not believe I was somehow incapable of controlling my words around him. He just had this face that made you want to spill your heart out to him.

Did he know that? Whatever. It was easier to blame him for being so damn cute.

When I made it back to the bed, he was already half-asleep. He looked so peaceful and unassuming compared to the dominating personality I had seen not even ten minutes ago. As quietly as I could, I sneaked into my side of the bed. He began to stir, so I came up behind him and wrapped an arm over his waist.

"You know, they say it's dangerous to stay the night after a one-night-stand," I whispered, resting my face on his shoulder. "People might get attached."

"Technically this would be a two night-stand, so I don't think the same rules apply," he grumbled before placing his hand over mine on his stomach.

"Well, if you really want to get technical, we are a one-night-stand plus a booty call," I corrected, earning a playful scoff from the man beside me.

"Pretty sure those are mutually exclusive."

I tried to repeat to myself that he was just trying to be nice. He was doing what all people are supposed to do after sex. It didn't mean anything, I tried to convince myself.

It didn't mean anything.

"You're right."

I still tried to convince myself. It still wasn't working.

Fuck it.

"We could be something more. If you want to," I suggested. I'd sounded absolutely bored by the idea on purpose, but it still hadn't been enough to convince him that I wasn't out here proposing marriage to a fucking bootycall.

His entire body tensed under my touch, like my words had inflicted pain. From my position half on top of him I felt his chest stop moving as he held his breath.

I shouldn't have said it. It was easy to say that in hindsight. But the truth was, I wasn't the only one blaring sirens of my growing attached to the kindhearted man who'd just massaged my wrists. Spencer had always been the one to be blatantly affectionate with me. It was him who had wanted to make this a recurring habit in the first place.

He was the one that always chose to stay the night. He was the one who initiated it. It wasn't just me who wanted something more, but he had to be a stupid, proud man like the rest of them.

"(Y/n) I—"

I knew that tone. I'd heard it before. He was going to tell me he couldn't be with me. We couldn't 'date,' or whatever he'd convinced himself the mature version was of the juvenile phrase.

But I already knew that. He was a fucking FBI agent and he was 10 years older than me. I barely knew anything about him. Had he ever even had a girlfriend? Did he have one now? I didn't even know, and that wasn't what I'd asked.

Still, he was struggling to come up with a way to let me down easy, and I didn't want to hear it. It was going to be a lie, anyway. So, I covered his mouth with my hand and stopped him before he ended things for good.

"Friends, Spencer. I meant we can be friends."

Suddenly, we could both breathe again.

"I'd like that."

The tension melted from the room, but only so much. There was still a wall between us. I wasn't sure if it'd ever go away, but that was a problem for another day.

"Me too," I lied.

I didn't want to be friends. I was scared what 'friends' meant. I was nervous that what I'd done was give him an out to never talk to me again. I was petrified that he'd lose the ability to see me as anything more than a collection of mistakes he'd made.

I didn't tell him any of that. If he noticed, which I'm positive he did, he didn't say anything about it. I was sure he wouldn't. Because even though he was about to shut me down, I knew part of him was craving the intimacy I was willing to offer him. I figured I'd just have to do it quietly for the time being. Wouldn't be the first time a woman took responsibility for a man's feelings.

At least the sex was worth it.

I tried to pretend like that's all it was. After a minute of listening to his heart beating rhythmically underneath me, though, he rolled over once more. Unable to leave him behind just yet, I joined him. I turned so he could pull me as close to him as he wanted.

There was never a barrier between us when the words were removed. My body fit next to his like it had been molded for that purpose. I curled into the warmth and I savored the quiet moments that I was convinced could never come often enough.

As I drifted off into sleep in his arms, our legs tangled together like we were part of the same two headed beast.

My last thought of the night was the one I'd been trying to avoid.

I don't want to be friends, because friends don't do this.

—————————————————

Waking up next to Spencer in my bed that morning was somehow even more ethereal than before. Although I'd shifted several times in my sleep, he'd found me in the darkness each time so that he could cling to me again.

I didn't want to move. I was worried I would wake him and we'd return to our previous lives like this had never happened. I thought back to how tired he had looked when he first got here. I still wasn't totally certain what a profiler is, but the haunted look in his eyes and the tension in his muscles told me it wasn't easy.

I ghosted my fingers over his hand splayed out on my stomach, and the touch only served to make him pull me closer to him.

He was like a child with his favorite toy, desperately seeking out the comfort only I could provide him. I continued to run my hands along his, eventually going up his arm and quietly giggling at the goosebumps that formed. I didn't want him to wake up, but I also didn't want him to be awoken with another notice that he had to leave.

I wondered what the morning would be like without a time limit.

When Spencer began to stir, the first thing he did was bury his face between my shoulder and neck. I giggled at the tickling sensation of his breath, and he responded by peppering the area with short, light kisses.

It was my favorite way to say good morning.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I said through the laughter.

He didn't speak, just humming back contentedly as his kisses became more involved.

"Now who's the needy one?" I teased, tilting my head to grant him more access.

"Still you," he sighed against my skin.

"You know what I really need?" I began, starting the impossible task of turning onto my back while he refused to let go of his hold on me. "Coffee."

I couldn't help but laugh at the playful groan he released in response. He clearly agreed, and even followed the joyful sound with, "And they say the perfect woman doesn't exist."

It didn't mean anything, I warned my heart as it began to race. It was just a joke.

"Well, I didn't for the first ten years of your life. But don't worry, Dr. Reid. You have me now."

The brag, paired with the reminder of our age gap, earned me my release from his embrace. I was sad to lose it, but I'd also been scared of the effect it had on me.

"Your humility is my favorite part," he said in jest as he watched me squirm out from under his arm.

I stuck out my tongue, and he spoke again.

"Wait, never mind. I forgot about that part. That's my favorite part."

My face burned as I sucked it back in before pouting and climbing out of the bed. Grateful that I still had on my negligee, I stopped to pick up his clothes and tossed them onto the bed.

"Come on, lazy bones. I don't know how you like your coffee."

He just smiled, that gentle yet goofy look that told me he was enjoying himself. I didn't stay to watch him get dressed, deciding he deserved his privacy, despite the fact that I had shoved his dick down my throat the night before.

When he got to the kitchen, the pot was already on. I was leaning forward against the counter, half asleep on my propped up hand. He didn't take a seat at the table. He positioned himself directly behind me and wrapped an arm around my chest.

The man just couldn't keep his hands to himself. I wasn't complaining.

He slipped a hand beneath the front of my negligee, becoming more daring as he gently kneaded my breast and his mouth continued to mark my neck.

"What did I do to deserve all this attention now, Dr. Reid?"

It was a serious question. I had literally just been standing there. I had just woken up. I hadn't even cleaned my face.

"Nothing. You just exist."

I both chuckled and scoffed at the answer. So much for not wanting things to be emotional. Being the more responsible of the two of us, I focused on the way his tongue devilishly drew different sounds from me.

He suckled gently on the side of my neck, and his fingers began to tweak my nipple. A moan was ripped from the back of my throat as I jutted my hips backwards against him.

"God, when you react like that I can't help but think you want me to fuck you over this counter."

He was right. I did. Men weren't the only ones who had to deal with illicit thoughts in the morning. I figured he knew as much.

"Please," I begged, moving my arms so I could brace myself against the ceramic.

"Only because you asked nicely."

He withdrew from my neck. I heard as he drew familiar, crinkly foil from his pocket and I giggled at the anticipation. At the knowledge that he'd clearly pulled one from his wallet before he ever left the bedroom.

Soon enough, his fingers were trailing up my inner thighs, quickly encountering my very wet center that was still affected by the night before. Upon realizing I didn't need any preparation, he skipped it entirely. Slowly and with purpose, he slipped inside of me. I let out another loud moan as he filled my sore heat.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter under his breath.

I loved to know he couldn't entirely control himself with me. I wanted to know how I made him feel. It wasn't like the other times. There was no battle for dominance; I submitted to him immediately and freely. He was not rushed or driven by high emotions. His thrusts were slow, deep, and intimate. One of his hands returned to my chest, paying special attention to the breast that had been ignored before.

I leaned forward into his hand, my back arching to provide him with whatever relief he was looking for inside me. I panted out his name as my own version of a Sunday morning prayer.

It went on like that for a while. He took his time with me, like he was memorizing each nook and crevice he could reach. My legs were beginning to shake from his intrusion and also from my impending orgasm.

"Spencer..." I whispered his name differently this time, and his hands withdrew. I whimpered at the loss. But my disappointment was short lived, as his hand found its way down to where our bodies met. I gasped at the contact.

"What, (y/n)?" he asked with the utmost concern, beginning to make soft circles around my clit while he continued to fuck me from behind.

"I-I'm going to..."

I couldn't finish my sentence, collapsing forward as the stimulation became too much to bare. As it usually did, his other hand grabbed hold of my hair, clutching it tightly to pull me back up to him.

"Then do it."

His statement was a demand, but also its own beg. He wanted to feel me finish before him. I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. The way he commanded control of my body was a force that could not be ignored. The ever tightening coil inside of me snapped, causing twitches and spasms to rack my body. My mouth tried to call his name, but my voice didn't come out.

I tried to grip the ceramic when he began to pick up his pace, fucking me harder as my orgasm went on. I knew how much he loved to feel me come undone from the inside. But he held on, continuing his brutal pace until even after I had devolved into a panting, dripping mess underneath him.

My soft mewls from the sensation of being fucked through peaked bliss were still not enough.

"What do you want, little girl?" he growled in my ear as he leaned forward, somehow thrusting harder. Another moan was bubbling up my throat as my feet left the ground with each impact.

"I want... I want you to cum. Inside me."

It was a beg laced with pants and high pitched whines. It was what he wanted to hear.

He grabbed one of my hands, guiding it to my lower abdomen and holding it there. I didn't realize why until the next thrust, when I felt a bump form as he moved within me. I hadn't even considered how deep within me he was. He was showing me how much of me belonged to him.

I'd already known, but the reminder was nice.

With a few more rough, deep thrusts, he had buried himself inside of me, and I could feel it against my hand. From within me I could feel him spilling into the condom.

I remembered my question about children. I remembered his answer.

That beautiful, sneaky bastard was imagining what it would be like to make me pregnant, whether or not he would admit it. I had put the thought in his mind. I just wasn't expecting it to have that profound of effect on him. I was more turned on by that than I'd like to admit.

I had said that I'd do anything for him.

He didn't say anything else. He released my hair and pulled out of me. He left me to prop myself up on the counter the best I could while my body trembled from the loss.

At some point, the coffee pot had finished. I figured there were worse ways to pass the time.

Spencer was gone when I turned around. I figured he had gone to the bathroom to clean up, and I tried not to think anything of it. I poured two cups of coffee and pulled out the cream and sugar.

When he came back, he'd come with his phone. He sat down at the table and silently read through messages from the past hours he spent with me. I watched him prepare his drink, immediately downing some of the contents despite its temperature.

"Good lord, do you even have feeling in your throat?" I asked, laughing as I continued to stir my cup.

"Interesting you would be the one to ask me that. After last night, I wondered the same about you."

Touché.

"Did you get any interesting messages? Is the ever-so-busy Special Agent Dr. Reid going to be whisked away from me without a proper goodbye again?"

The words were laced with only a little bit of bitterness. He ignored it.

"I don't know if I would classify our goodbye last time as improper. At least, not in the sense you're using the term."

He was avoiding an answer. I figured he had to go. Or, well, he wanted to.

That's fine, I told myself. He can go. Even though I didn't want him to.

I watched him, the way he continued to nurse his drink with one hand and look at his phone with the other. I tried to suppress the hearts forming in my eyes.

"When will I get to see you again?" I asked, my tone full of trepidation.

"I'm not sure," was his honest answer, given without ever looking up at me.

"We should do something fun."

That made him look up, with a sly grin forming on his face.

"Not like that, you perverted old man," I laughed.

He raised his eyebrows, choosing not to reply outright to my taunt just yet.

"As much fun as we have in bedrooms, I don't know much about you. I'd like to change that," I explained.

He watched me carefully, his eyes shifting away as he began to overthink it. I could see the cogs of paranoia turning in his mind. I think even he knew he was being sort of ridiculous.

"As friends, Spencer," I reminded with a gentle smile. "Let's do something fun. As friends."

The reserved half smile he gave would be good enough for me.

"Sure," he conceded, which filled me with a bubbly happiness I tried (and failed) to conceal. "I do have to go now, though. If for no other reason than wanting to change."

An understandable concern. I was fine with him leaving if I knew I would see him again this time. But still, something about him leaving so soon hurt a deeper part of me. I wondered if it was that dysphoria he was talking about, but decided not to question it, lest he tell me it was something more worrisome. Something like infatuation.

I nodded, leaving my coffee on the table as I took his already empty cup. He stood up, waiting for me to return before the both of us walked over to the door. Something about his hesitation resonated in me. My puppy dog eyes were out in full force as I stared up at him.

I wasn't able to smile as he left.

"I'll see you again soon. As soon as I can," he assured me.

I wanted to believe him, but I hated that I didn't know when that would be.

He reached a hand down, brushing loose hairs from my face and commanding my attention that I so readily gave.

"Don't look so sad," he instructed. "It makes it hard to leave."

My chest swelled with anxiety and adoration. I wasn't sure how to combat it. I hugged myself with one arm, and Spencer shook his head with a laugh.

"Still not following directions."

He didn't seem to mind all that much, though. He leaned forward and cupped my face in his hand. Our lips pressed against each other with a tenderness that made my head spin. We kissed each other in a way that was carelessly romantic.

When he pulled away, he stared into my eyes for a second too long. And when he waved goodbye and walked out of my door, I couldn't get the thought out of my mind.

Friends don't do this.

—————————————————

| Part 4 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #smut #criminal minds imagine #here to misbehave #request

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hold-my-hand-kuroo · 5 years ago

Text

A Bouquet For You || 02 - Carnation

A Bouquet For You Masterlist

taglist: @disgruntled-gay @moonchild-kun94 @skyguy-peach @error707-thememelord @o51oc @nanacee @prettysetter @sugawsites @shareyourfandomfaves

The next morning is exactly what you feared. You wake up late, missing the three alarms that you had set for yourself, and after some deliberation, you decide to go without breakfast. Not your best idea, but between being late on your first day or a hearty meal, you’d choose the former any day. First impressions were important.

“Are you sure you’re not going to eat?” Kenma asks, watching you fumble around with your shoes at the doorway. “Or actually, where are you even going this early?”

“Work. First day,” you say hurriedly. Turning the doorknob, you turn back to give him a quick wave or something similar to it. “See you. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“B-bye?” he responds like a question. After all, Kenma still doesn’t understand why you’re conversing with him like a real person. The feeling of living with someone after so long feels foreign, and he’s continuously caught by surprise with your behavior. Even a rush, you still poured a glass of milk for him, forgetting that spirits don’t need calcium for strong bones. He drank it nonetheless, being very confused.

Work is exactly what you had imagined it to be. Hell. Within your very first hour, you’re bombarded with new tasks and papers. “Experience is key,” your supervisor had said, but between the directions being fired at you and more coworkers just giving you endless stacks of files, you quickly are at a loss for what to do. Between flipping through the manual and managing your work properly, you find yourself already utterly exhausted by lunch break.

Lunch break. That was your next problem. Nobody wanted to involve themselves with the new, troublesome rookie, leaving you to eat on your own, albeit quickly, because you wanted to get things done.

“D-do you mind if I sit here with you?” a small, shaky voice stammers. You look up from scrolling through your phone to see a short, blonde woman. She grips tightly at her lunch bag, eyes quivering. “You don’t have to let me, though! I don’t want to be too pushy!”

“I don’t mind!” you answer kindly, offering the chair next to you. You watch as the woman of nerves shakily takes the spot. “Actually, thanks for offering. I was worried that I was going to have a hard time getting along with other people.”

“It’s always hard on the first day. I’ve been here for a few months, and it’s still really difficult for me!” she agrees. She seems more relaxed, shoulders going down slightly. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the woman opens her lunch before jolting upright. “I’m sorry! I never introduced myself. I’m Yachi Hitoka!”

You vaguely remember her name, and you realize that it’s the person whose desk is right next to you. You’re embarrassed, to say the least, realizing that you barely made sufficient introductions to the people around you. Offering your own name in turn and apologizing profusely, the two of you get along better than expected. As it turns out, Yachi, though having only been at the company for less than half a year, was a designer genius. Often tasked to be the leader of poster projects, your coworker who seemed only to be made out of nerves was a master at what she did. You hoped to be like her one day.

“It’s a little rough at first,” she admits, wiping stray crumbs off the table, “but you’ll be fine. To be honest, I saw some of the samples you sent in with your resume. Just a peek though! Your pattern-designing is really interesting and pretty, so I think they’ll be useful in the future. If you need any help…you know…feel free to ask me.”

After lunch, you feel like a new person. You’re not sure if it’s just getting food in your system, or Yachi’s genuine optimism and show of support, but you’re determined to work harder. After getting chewed out by your supervisor for making multitudes of errors in the files, you’re back at rock bottom again. Expected.

Walking out of the office building, you trudge your way back home, squeezing your way through the mob of people all rushing to get back home at the station. Taking the train was economical on your part, but a massive hellish experience. You always took notice to stay near the doors, but eventually, people would just push you toward the middle, and you’d be stuck there. Pushing your way back out was a million times worse, as you never felt good about shoving other passengers, even if their actions warranted it.

From there, you carefully follow your GPS back to your apartment complex on foot. You didn’t exactly know yet the area that well, so you were careful to not get lost. As you’re walking, you stop and notice the little florist shop and its display of pink and red flowers. They’re small, and the way the setting sun hits the freshly watered petals, reflecting glimmers of light, fascinates you. Walking closer toward the shop, you lean down and admire the delicate beauty in awe.

“Sorry, but that’s just display. We’re currently out of carnations,” a familiar deep voice informs, followed by the closing and locking of the door. You look up to the source and let out an audible gasp. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”

“So that’s what you meant last night by cutting and dying,” you muse, looking at your neighbor and the daffodils he has in hand. “And here I thought you were some kind of gang leader.”

“I suppose what I said taken out of context sounds pretty bad,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He looks down at his bouquet and motions them toward you. “I was gonna give you this when I got back, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Here. Congratulations on moving in, Neighbor.”

“Thanks,” you laugh, graciously accepting the house-warming gift. “Although, it’d be better if I could get a name to thank. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Shit, did I never mention a name?” he murmurs, tsking. You almost laugh again. Poor introductions seemed to be a pattern, and you were one of the worst offenders. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m, as you can see, the owner of this shop. Some people call me a florist, but I’m really a plant magician.”

“I’m sure you are,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. “Did you just get off from work?”

“Yup. This shop closes every day at 7 PM. Won’t be catching me doing overtime.”

“What about last night?”

“Except when I forget things, which usually doesn’t happen,” Kuroo clarifies with a smirk. He glances at your offense attire and raises a brow. “First day not so good, huh? Are you going home? I’d be willing to lend an ear if you’d like.”

“How kind of you,” you sigh, then nod tiredly. “It’s my second day here, and I already have a therapist. Lovely.”

“It’s good to complain a little from time to time.”

Following the florist, you hum a little in contemplation. Then, taking a deep breath, you being to talk about how terrible your day was and how you’ve been yelled at more times today than ever in your life and that reading the manual over and over again actually didn’t help, but none of the senior workers were very approachable. To be honest, you felt a little bit silly, opening up so quickly to a stranger, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. In fact, you don’t even notice when you’re right in front of the door to your apartment room until you hear the jingling of Kuroo’s own keys.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” you murmur, embarrassed for what seemed to be the millionth time that day. “I didn’t mean to rant-“

“But you look so much better after letting a little bit of steam off,” Kuroo interrupts, flashing you an insanely bright smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Since we’re neighbors that share the same route home, let’s just be friends, yeah?”

“Y-yeah?” you say like a question. “I mean, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Then, see you around, or maybe tomorrow, Y/N,” the florist concludes, unlocking the door to his room, already halfway in. “Hope tomorrow goes better for you.”

“Thanks,” you reply, giving him a wave before stepping into your own home. Setting your shoes aside, you quickly wonder what to do with the flowers. It’s not like you had a vase ready, so you take an empty water bottle out from the recycling instead. Carefully setting the yellow buds into the container, you leave it at the center of the table, deciding that the centerpiece brought a little life into your apartment.

“Hey,” you hear Kenma murmur, walking out of your room with console in hand. You then remember that you really did more life in your apartment. “Nice flowers.”

“You’re not even looking at them,” you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The neighbor gave them to me. Do you like them?”

“They’re fine.”

You laugh again at his aloof attitude and try to throw away the parchment paper that was used to wrap the bouquet. It’s until then that you notice a small note flutter down onto the floor. You bend over and pick it up, wondering if it’s a price tag or something of the sort.

“Hey, it’s Kuroo. You probably already knew that lol. Anyways, I hope u like daffodils. Keep them away from direct heat, and they should live for a while. Since we both seem to be like night owls, feel free to cure my of my boredom. XXX-XXX-XXXX”

“Why are you smiling in the middle of the kitchen?” Kenma asks, brow raised, and in hindsight, you must have looked dumb. If a ghost thought you were creepy, the look you had on must have been just terrible.

“Nothing,” you say quickly and scramble to set the note aside. You know he doesn’t buy it, but you don’t care or want to elaborate on how the florist next door’s kindness made you feel unusually warm. Surprisingly, finding your first friend in a new area was much more relieving that you had expected it to be, especially when your new friend seemed so open and lived close by. “It’s just a note on how to take care of the daffodils.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief silence, and you brush it off as him going back to his game. “I guess that’s fitting since they mean new beginnings or something like that.”

Now that was odd coming from a ghost who couldn’t even remember why he was still here.

“How do you know that?” You watch as he comes to a realization too, eyes widening ever so slightly out of sheer surprise. HIs reaction reassures you that he isn’t lying to you about the amnesia, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m not sure.” He’s frowning, seeming to rack his mind for any clue, anything at all to remind him of where his knowledge came from and why he couldn’t move on. It’s all fruitless in the end. “I…really don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure, giving him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter that much anyway. I don’t mind cooking another portion, especially when you eat so little. Or maybe I eat a lot- Well, whatever.”

From the couch, Kenma nods and sinks into the cushions. Still, he wants to know why out of everything he could have remembered, why were they the flowers. In his current state, he can’t imagine himself as a flower buff in the past; hell, he doesn’t remember being the sun, but every morning when it rises, he feels like he’d hate to be in it, so if he can’t stand the outdoors now, he probably couldn’t either in the past. He thinks hard and long, but when you call him and tell him that’s dinner’s ready, all he can do is give up and go listen about your day.

It’s all so strange, he thinks.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou kuroo #kuroo #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #kenma kozume

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purpli-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Romance For The (Un)Lucky

Summary:

Makoto Naegi has caught the attention of several of his classmates.

Can help from Junko Enoshima help him catch the eye of the person he likes?

You can read it on AO3 here

Makoto was starting to discover that he had a problem with some of his classmates. It wasn’t anything huge, but it was starting to become noticeable.

As Junko had put it, “Damn, Makoto, you’re a total chick magnet.”

At first, he just stared at Junko confused. What did she even mean?

“Huh…?” Makoto had asked. “A ‘chick magnet’...? Junko, what are you talking about?”

“We believe that a certain Mukuro and Sayaka have a crush on thee,” Junko clarified.

“A crush on me…?” Makoto echoed. “Junko, I don’t really think that’s correct.”

“As a plebian, you might not be able to see it,” Junko continued. “But it is very clear that they’d bed you if given the chance.”

“‘Bed me…’? They would make me a bed…?” Makoto asked.

“You’re so fuckin’ oblivious Makoto that it’s actually kinda funny,” Junko said as she stuck out her tongue. “They’d fuck you until you died, is that any fuckin’ better?”

“H-huh…?!”

“C’mon Mac, you got two hot chicks trying to fuck you and you really haven’t noticed?!” Junko said. “Although there is that fuckin’ mysterious stalker chick if that’s your type.”

“You’re kidding, right…?”

“On the contrary,” Junko said, quickly changing her hair into a ponytail. “From my calculations, the chance of any of them accepting your confession is one hundred percent.”

“Of course, also from my calculations,” Junko continued. “You’re very unlikely to confess to any of them.”

“Because someone else has caught your eye,” Junko finished.

“H-how do you know about that…?!” Makoto asked as Junko smiled.

“Because you’re painfully obvious, silly!” Junko said, making her voice higher pitched. “It’s that Izuru Kamukura guy right?”

“N-no, that’s wrong…!” Makoto objected. “There’s no one who I’d currently date…!”

“Makoto, you’re in lovesy-dovesy with an upper-classman,” Junko said. “There’s no shame in admitting that, ya know!”

“H-hey, don’t go saying that so loud!”

“So it is true, right?” Junko asked. “If so, when are you gonna make your move…? There’s no way a guy like that can stay waiting forever.”

“I don’t even really know him,” Makoto admitted. “The way the school treats him like some sort of secret…”

“Admittedly, that does pose a problem,” Junko said, putting on glasses. “Apparently, we aren’t supposed to know about him.”

“We aren’t…?”

“Correct,” Junko said. “Although, this school isn’t the best at keeping secrets, as you can tell.”

“Then how am I supposed to talk to him…?” Makoto asked. “There’s no way they’d let me near him.”

“This does seem pretty hopeless…” Junko said, looking sad. “How are you supposed to confess your love when he’s guarded…?”

“It’s not love…!” Makoto protested. “I just want to get to know him more…!”

“What’s even worse,” Junko said. “Is that you won’t even admit you’re in love with him because there’s no hope… That makes me sad.”

“Wait, how do you know about Izuru Kamukura, anyways?” Makoto asked, trying to change the subject. “Isn’t he supposed to be a ‘secret’?”

“That would be kinda concerning, wouldn’t it?” Junko asked, putting her hands over her chin. “Of course the truth is that they aren’t good at hiding documents so I just took a peek!”

“Plus, everyone’s seen him anyways, right?” Junko asked. “So there’s really no point in saying that he was actually hidden.”

“So you stole documents…?”

“I put them back, eventually!” Junko said. “But that doesn’t matter right now, we’re trying to set up your dream date, silly!”

“Wait, if we’ve seen him before… couldn’t we just try to catch him somewhere?” Makoto asked. “It’s probably a lot safer than us trying to sneak into wherever they keep him.”

“You’re right,” Junko said, putting her hand over her face. “Although that does sound like too much work trying to track him down…”

“Too much work…?” Makoto asked. “He has to go to some overlapping places, right?”

“Maybe,” Junko said. “But isn’t it just boring waiting for someone to just appear?”

“I can do it by myself.”

“Now that is the spirit we like to see,” Junko said, putting on a crown. “Of course we have noticed that he does have some places he likes to visit.”

“Of course we can tell you,” Junko said. “For a price, that is.”

“A price…?” Makoto asked. “What could I offer you…?”

“You must tell Mukuro that you just want to be friends with her,” Junko said. “There is no need for thee to lead her on.”

“Is that it…?”

“Of course that’s fuckin’ it, it’d be a huge weight off my damn back!” Junko said, crossing her arms over her chest. “So if you fuckin’ agree, I’ll tell you where Izuru’s most likely to be, capiche?”

“Yeah,” Makoto said. “Of course!”

“He’s probably loitering by the fountain, like some fuckin’ nerd,” Junko said. “Now go catch your fuckin’ man or whatever.”

“Thanks, Junko,” Makoto said as he went off towards the fountain.

Junko wasn’t wrong. Izuru was by the fountain although it looked like he was walking away.

“Izuru!” Makoto yelled, trying to catch up to him.

Surprisingly, Izuru stopped and waited for Makoto to catch up with him.

“Makoto,” Izuru began. “What do you want?”

“H-huh…? I just want to talk…?”

“Hm,” Izuru said. “I suppose you have something interesting you want to say, then?”

Before Makoto could begin to speak, a loud noise interrupted him.

“Makoto!” Sayaka yelled. “Where have you been…?!”

“Yeah!” Mukuro yelled as she got out of the fountain. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Sayaka and Mukuro…?” Makoto said. “Wait, Mukuro, were you in the fountain…?!”

“That’s what they were doing then,” Izuru said. “How boring.”

“Boring…? Wait, they’ve been here the whole time…?!” Makoto asked.

“Junko told us you were bound to come here,” Sayaka explained as she walked closer to Makoto. “So all we had to do is wait.”

“That still doesn’t explain why Mukuro was in the fountain…!”

“Sometimes you need to take desperate measures to hide,” Mukuro said. “Although I was wondering if you were ever going to come.”

“I mean, what were you guys even waiting for…?” Makoto asked. “Is it something about class?”

Sayaka and Mukuro only stared at him blankly, which he would’ve been able to take more seriously if Mukuro wasn’t soaking wet.

“So you didn’t have anything planned?” Sayaka asked, staring at Makoto intently. “Nothing at all?”

“No…?” Makoto answered. “Not that I know of, anyway.” Sayaka and Mukuro just continued to stare at Makoto.

“It seems our information was wrong,” Mukuro said suddenly. “We’ll be seeing you later, Makoto.”

“Yep!” Sayaka said quickly. “Don’t have too much fun without us, alright?”

Makoto just nodded as Sayaka and Mukuro left.

Somehow they looked disappointed, but Makoto wasn’t sure why.

“That was boring,” Izuru commented.

“I don’t even understand what happened,” Makoto admitted. “Why were they waiting here for me…?”

“Because they were told to,” Izuru said. “They admitted that much.”

“Yeah,” Makoto admitted. “But there has to be more of a reason, right?”

“If you’re going to wonder about that,” Izuru said, beginning to walk away. “You can do it without me.”

“H-hey, wait…!” Makoto yelled, catching up to Izuru. “That’s not why I came here, I wasn’t even expecting them!”

“Then what did you come here for?” Izuru asked. “To talk about the weather?”

“No,” Makoto said. “I just want to get to know you more, is that a crime…?”

Izuru stopped suddenly, looking down at Makoto.

“You want to get to know me…” Izuru said. “Instead of dealing with your other classmates?”

“Dealing with my other classmates…?” Makoto asked. “You mean, like, hanging out with them?”

“That is the same thing,” Izuru said. “There’s no point in our socialization, we would never see each other.”

“That’s not true!” Makoto objected. “I pass by you all the time!”

“During school hours,” Izuru corrected. “And your hall monitor classmate would never allow you to loiter.”

“H-hey, that’s not fair!” Makoto said. “I could make an effort!”

“Why are you so insulted over my comment?” Izuru asked. “It’s not as if I’m wrong.”

“I mean technically, you’re not…” Makoto began. “But becoming friends with someone means making an effort!”

“An effort to get into trouble?”

“No, an effort to get to know you!” Makoto said. “Sometimes getting into trouble is worth the reward.”

“It seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Huh…?” Makoto asked. “Friends are worth it!”

“Wait…” Makoto said as realization dawned on him. “You do have friends, right…?”

“Friendships are boring,” Izuru said. “There is no point in making them.”

“W-what…?!” Makoto yelled. “Of course there is!”

“Just because you find them worth the effort,” Izuru said. “Doesn’t mean that they are.”

“That doesn’t make any sense…!” Makoto said. “It’s human nature to want friends!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that friendships are boring,” Izuru said. “There’s no variance in friendships.”

“No, that’s wrong!” Makoto yelled. “And I’ll prove it!”

“How so?” Izuru asked. “All of your friendships are undeniably boring.”

“I’ll prove it by becoming your friend!” Makoto said. “That’ll prove you wrong!”

“Fine,” Izuru said.

“H-huh…?”

“I agreed.”

“O-of course you did…!” Makoto said. “I didn’t doubt that you would for a moment.”

“So what is your plan?” Izuru asked. “Assuming you have one.”

“T-tomorrow,” Makoto began. “Tomorrow we’ll meet at the same place and then we’ll go to my dorm.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to meet at your dorm?”

“Yeah well… meeting here gives us more time to talk,” Makoto said. “And friendship is built on communication…!”

“Very well,” Izuru said. “We’ll meet here tomorrow at the same time.”

Makoto nodded, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Izuru walked off and Makoto walked back near the dorms.

“So, Makoto!” Junko said, intercepting him. “Did your love story with Izuru Kamukura work out?”

“Well actually…” Makoto began, as he explained his current situation to Junko.

“Wow Makoto, you fuckin’ friend-zoned yourself?” Junko asked, putting her tongue out. “Man you’re fucking hopeless…!”

“I know…” Makoto said. “But at least I’ll get to know him…?”

“What the fuck are you even expecting from him?” Junko asked. “I mean really, you probably should’ve just taken Sayaka or Mukuro at this fuckin’ rate.”

“I can’t give up now,” Makoto said. “At the very least I want to become friends with him!”

“The chances of you being able to keep your feelings hidden are low,” Junko said as she put on glasses. “I do hope you are aware of that.”

“It’ll be fine!” Makoto said. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Apparently, as Makoto was quick to discover, his luck was quick to test the worst possible outcome.

His teachers had all decided to make today pop quiz day and Makoto was poorly prepared.

Afterward, he spilled his lunch and by the time he had cleaned himself up, there was no time left to eat.

Overall, Makoto would rate his day poorly.

At least he had Izuru to look forward to.

“Makoto,” Sayaka said, walking up to him while he was beginning to pack up. “Do you have anything planned for today?”

“Huh…?” Makoto said. “I do, yeah.”

“Oh,” Sayaka said. “Is it with Mukuro?”

“No…?”

“Oh, that’s good!” Sayaka said as she started to smile. “I hope you enjoy your plans, then!”

Makoto smiled at Sayaka as she left.

Alright, Makoto thought. Operation: Become Friends with Izuru Kamukura starts now!

“Makoto,” Izuru said as Makoto walked up to the fountain. “You’ve arrived.”

“Yep!” Makoto replied. “Good thing neither of us forgot, huh?”

“Does that happen often to you?”

“You mean, someone forgetting a hangout…?” Makoto asked. “No, not really.”

Izuru just stared at Makoto.

“Anyways, let’s go to my dorm,” Makoto said. “And maybe try to avoid my classmates along the way.”

“Did something happen with them?”

“Not really,” Makoto began. “But recently my two classmates Sayaka and Mukuro, you met them yesterday, have been acting a bit weird.”

“Junko said that they want to date me, but…” Makoto continued.

“You don’t want to date them, then?” Izuru asked. “Your love triangle situation seems awfully boring.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t date them,” Makoto replied. “I just want to try dating someone else first.”

“Someone else…” Izuru repeated. “Then why aren’t you hanging out with them, instead?”

“H-huh…?” Makoto said. “What do you mean…?”

“Why are you wasting time with someone else when you could be spending time with them?” Izuru asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not,” Makoto admitted. “But I already know I don’t have a chance with them.”

“So I’d rather get to know you instead,” Makoto continued. “Instead of chasing a dream about a relationship that probably isn’t going to happen.”

“You have a poor self-image,” Izuru commented. “Much like that other lucky student.”

“A poor self-image…?” Makoto echoed. “I just think in cases like this it’s better to be realistic about it.”

“If someone else came up to you and asked for advice about the same situation,” Izuru began. “What would you tell them to do?” “Well, obviously I’d say that they should go for it!” Makoto said. “I mean, they only have one shot, right?”

“My point exactly.”

“H-huh…?! Hey, wait…”

“We’re at your dorm,” Izuru said, changing the subject.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Makoto said, unlocking his dorm and letting Izuru in.

“You haven’t decorated,” Izuru commented.

“No,” Makoto admitted. “There’s not much I’d really put in here, anyway.”

“You have no interests?”

“Nothing that isn’t popular, no,” Makoto said. “Plus this place isn’t really mine, right? I wouldn’t want anything to break in here and then have to pay.”

“Aren’t you the Ultimate Lucky Student?” Izuru asked. “Would something break without you attempting to break it?”

“Not really,” Makoto began to explain. “My luck is sort of a fluke, it’s actually more bad than good.”

“Interesting,” Izuru admitted.

After hanging out with Izuru for a while, it was obvious Izuru had to go back to wherever Hope’s Peak was keeping him.

“We’ll speak to each other tomorrow,” Makoto said. “But I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”

“There’s not much they can do against me,” Izuru said.

“Huh…?” Makoto said. “Couldn’t they punish you for breaking the rules?”

“No,” was all that Izuru responded.

Still, Izuru left before anyone could make a complaint.

He’s weird , Makoto thought. There’s something odd about his situation, although I guess it isn’t my place to judge…

When school let out the next day, Makoto was stopped by Kyoko.

“I see you’ve been hanging out with new people, Makoto,” Kyoko said, crossing her arms. “Are you sure you’re making a wise decision?”

“Are you talking about Izuru…?” Makoto asked.

“Just be careful with him,” Kyoko said. “From what I can tell about him, Hope’s Peak is keeping him a secret for a reason.”

“I’ll be fine,” Makoto said smiling at her. “He’s just another classmate, anyways.”

“Are you so sure?” Kyoko asked. “Do you know anything about him?”

“Yeah,” Makoto said. “Kyoko, I promise I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Kyoko said, moving out of Makoto’s way. “Just keep your guard up.”

Makoto made his way to the fountain once more.

“You’re late,” Izuru said.

“One of my classmates held me up,” Makoto said as he scratched his cheek. “She’s worried about me.”

Izuru said nothing and Makoto laughed awkwardly.

“Anyways, let’s just head to my dorm,” Makoto said. “I’m sure she means well.”

After hanging out with Izuru for a week, Makoto could only be sure of one thing.

He wasn’t any closer to Izuru Kamukura. Not even by an inch.

“What are you waiting for?” Junko had asked him. “You’ve known him for a week, which is a boring time for nothing to be happening…”

He had no answer for her, and she knew that.

Changing her appearance quickly, she had put on her glasses once more. “Your best bet is to ask him out now, Makoto.”

“You’d be surprised at the odds,” Junko had advised him. “Just go with your heart or whatever you feel is right.”

“Izuru,” Makoto began, much like the same way they had first talked. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Izuru stared at him with unreadable eyes.

“Remember that person I wanted to ask out?” Makoto asked. “Well, I think I’m finally going to do it.”

“Is that so?” Izuru asked. “And why are you telling me this?”

“Because…” Makoto began. “That person is you.”

Izuru for once looked a bit surprised before it was quickly masked up.

After Izuru didn’t respond, Makoto started to freak out.

“I mean, this doesn’t have to change anything about our relationship…!” Makoto said quickly. “I mean we can still be friends…!”

“How quickly you lose your calm,” Izuru said. “It’s almost amusing.”

“H-huh…? What do you mean…?”

“I was wrong in my original judgment of you, Makoto Naegi,” Izuru said. “I do believe we should at least attempt a romantic relationship.”

“Um…!”

“Of course, most partners kiss each other, correct?”

“K-kiss…?!” Makoto asked. “Um… that’s a bit…”

“Ahem,” Makoto said. “It’s a bit too soon to kiss, Izuru…”

“Oh,” is all Izuru said.

From a far distance, two girls watched in horror as Makoto Naegi and Izuru Kamukura officially started dating.

“There’s no way,” Sayaka hissed. “There’s no way they’re getting together.”

“Maybe we could both take Izuru down,” Mukuro offered. “We can split Makoto that way.”

From an even farther distance, two girls watched in both amusement and sadness.

“It’s kinda a shame Makoto and Izuru got together, huh?” Junko asked in a high pitched voice.

“Maybe it’s for the better,” Kyoko said. “They might be able to balance each other out.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say, Kyoko,” Junko said. “I’m just really interested to see how this plays out…!”

#kamuegi week #non despair au #kamuegi #makoto naegi #izuru kamukura

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camomills · 4 years ago

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Title: Old Souls Relationships: Sinon/Lisbeth; Sinon & Agil Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 1767 Summary: Sinon realizes she is allowing others to become closer to her, and that scares her. A conversation with an older friend might help assuage her fears. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 1: Small Steps. This is a reworked draft from last year's SAO Pride Week that I turned into some Sinon/Lisbeth, mostly Sinon-centric. I also just really wanted to do something with Agil because I think he's a fun character, and I personally think his wise demeanor makes him a nice character to bounce off the younger cast.Thanks to redbluezero for beta reading!

AO3 Link

The smell of coffee has always been one of Shino’s favorites. It reminds her of rainy days spent in the company of a book in her favorite bookshop, staring mindlessly at the steam as she waited until her drink cooled. It’s no wonder Dicey Café became one of her dearest places.

“Here’s your order!”

The company might have something to do with it, too.

“This one’s on the house,” Rika declares as she sets the cup on the counter, then winks.

From behind her, she hears someone clear their throat.

She slowly turns to meet Agil’s gaze, and sure enough, he’s scowling at her. The grip on the glass he’s drying has turned vice-like.

“That one’s on your salary.”

“Agil, c’mon! Let me be cool!”

They bicker for a short minute, Rika being cheeky whereas Agil is composed. The tone of the discussion is more akin to foolish banter between friends than a squabble between a boss and his employee, so Shino allows herself to laugh at it.

Rika’s shift soon ends and she heads to the ladies’ room to change. As per usual these days, Shino waits for her so they can keep company to one another on the train ride back home.

Yesterday’s commute was much like any other.

The train car shook and rattled against the steel and gravel tracks as the whirls of metal and the passengers’ chatter filled the compartment. The two girls partook in idle chatter, holding onto the same metal pole to keep their balance inside the box car. Shino’s proximity to Rika allowed the girl to filter the blacksmith’s words through the fog of sound.

Shino’s hands scraped against Rika’s on each stop.

“So, so,” Rika continued telling excitedly, “he destroyed the best sword in my shop! My masterpiece, turned to smithereens.”

Shino let out a horrified gasp in jest.

“Oh, my. I lost my dear Hecate’s scope trying to help him out in BoB. I wonder if we’re liable for some sort of compensation?”

The two nodded in tandem over their two-person class-action lawsuit plans. They broke the comical act when the train stopped at the next station a bit too roughly, bumping them into each other. They couldn’t contain their chuckles at their own silliness.

“Ah, next one’s my stop,” Rika announced.

Shino knew. They’d been sharing this commute for a while.

“I’ll be seeing you then. Until next time, Rika.”

Shino expected Rika to leave as the train doors opened, but she approached Shino instead. Rika’s arms bundled around Shino’s frame.

It’s a moment that allowed Shino to take note of a small list of Rika Things. Rika is only taller than her by a few inches, but it’s enough that it allowed her chin to rest on Rika’s shoulder slightly. The fake fur on Rika’s coat bristled against Shino’s nose, gentle and irritating— much like Rika herself, she thought. The pressure at the shorter girl’s back where Rika’s slender fingers intertwined was rough, yet fond.

A wave of warmth radiated through Shino’s body. She weakly squeezed Rika back.

“Until next time!” Rika said as she uncoiled her arms from around the other girl.

She beamed at Shino before hopping through the train doors, waving as she exited at the station.

That was the first time Rika had ever hugged her.

Shino’s body wanted to feel elated, but her brain didn’t allow it; the affection in Rika’s gesture got muddled in her spiral of guilty thoughts. Since when did she allow people to get so close?

Since when did I let myself want that?

The rest of her commute was spent staring out the cart’s window, hoping that the train’s AC would manage to cool down her emotions before long.

As the bathroom door slams shut, Agil rests his arms on the counter and leans against it, a hand sitting upon his bald head.

“Can you believe her? I offered her this part-time job because I knew it’d help her with college, but...” He throws his hands out, his fondness for Lis peeking through a smile fighting his scowl. “You know?”

Mm-hmm, Shino nods empathically, as she’s wont to do with Agil. The company that lures her in here, of course, includes both of the bartenders.

She had grown to care for all of her new friends, but she was caught by surprise at how much she related to Agil, of all people. He is the oldest in their merry band of players, by far, and despite that– no, because of that, they got along.

People her age, throughout most of her experience, were uncaring at best and cruel at worst. The adults around her, dry as they could be, served as the closest to good company she had growing up. There’s a bitter taste in her mouth as Shino realizes she’s grown more proficient in talking to adults due to the past cruelty of all the people her age in her life up until very recently. Thankfully, it’s easy enough to wash it down with the sweetness of the cappuccino Rika had mischievously handed her.

Agil, on the other hand, appreciates having a regular other than Asuna with whom he could default to intellectual conversation and wouldn’t call his establishment, ‘a dump’. How did Kirito manage to rope even Silica into it?

As their conversation strays away from Lisbeth’s demeanor, they fall to their more usual topics: Shino asks about how he manages to do latte art so perfectly every time and he asks if she finally reached the fourth chapter of the book he lent to her a couple of days ago. One “final” plea for him to try out Gun Gale, and his unacceptable excuse that he doesn’t have the time.

Mundane topics like that are their speed, but for once, Shino has something less mundane in her mind. There’s something in that space, with the gentle ambiance music and the calming presence of a wiser friend, that brings her to feel that Agil is the right person, at that time, for those thoughts.

“I think I like Lis,” she professes like a secret she wished wasn’t true. It doesn’t seem to be the meat of what she has to say, judging from the way her jaw clenches.

Agil simply hums. He’d rather talk about latte art.

“Yeah, I figured. I mean, you really started coming here more often once she started working here.”

He laughs, a wry, good-natured sound, hard to define between his fondness for the girls and his apathy for the topic.

“I mean… yes. But that’s not the point. How do I…”

Shino gulps. Her gaze turns to the counter in front of her, where her hands lie. She fiddles with her fingers, watching as her thumbs graze each other through their rotations; staring at them without thinking about the words she’s about to say, are the only way she manages to go through it.

“I guess… I don’t know if I remember how to be around people. Or if it’s... right, for me to be around people?”

She remembers what those hands did; the cold of steel and the heat of gunfire, the maroon of splattered blood and the gray of post office tiles.

Is it okay for a broken person like me…?

Agil would be lying if he said he’s particularly interested in involving himself in the romantic squabbles of teenagers. The other aspect of her plea, though, is something he’s unfortunately familiar with. He ponders, his face a mix of sagely and worried, as the soft thudding of her trembling hands are barely drowned out by the bar’s blues music.

“I was worried, too, back when I had to come back to my life after SAO.”

Shino raises her gaze to Agil’s eyes.

“I mean, it's not the same thing, but… it’s hard being around people who judge you for what you went through, and trying to make connections when everyone thinks you’re screwed in the head is a pain in the ass. ‘The game where those freaks killed each other.’ ‘The murderer girl’.”

Agil knows what Shino did. Shino told all of them, eventually.

“But everyone who spent those two years in the flying castle went through a lot of things they shouldn't have had to, and probably did some things they regret. To others. To themselves. I did, Kirito and Asuna did, and so did Rika. We talk about it…”

His eyes turn to the ladies’ room’s door, where Rika is changing. He decides her past is not his to divulge.

“Uh. I guess all I’m trying to say is that you’re friends with people who get it, because none of us are sure it’ll ever be okay with people. So, we just stick together. I doubt Rika minds… whatever it is you're worried about? I think people like us have little besides each other.”

The last bit sticks with Shino. As she chews on the words once more, she stares at her hands. The weight they carry is impossibly heavy, but if what Agil says is true, then that means others, too, carry the same burden.

Her trembling ceases.

He pauses. “Or something?”

He’s not sure how much sense he is making.

“I’m not sure how much sense I’m making.”

That gets a chuckle out of her, and that’s good enough for him.

Rika exits the bathroom, her former bartender-y, formal-ish ponytail from a few minutes ago undone into a mess of brown hair. Her lack of an apron reveals the cute hammer patterns on her graphic shirt.

"Are you two nerds done talking about nerd stuff?" She says, as if not just as much of one.

Agil and Shino roll their eyes.

"Yeah, we’re done with our nerd stuff."

Rika starts sliding her arm into her jacket, then turns to Shino. “Sweet. Are you ready to go then?”

Shino looks at Agil, who simply offers her a friendly wave and a knowing smile.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

The two girls walk off together to the train station. The empty night streets give them quiet, with little to focus on other than the sound of boots hitting pavement, the cold breeze, and each other. It’s then when, bashful yet confident, Shino tries to interlock her fingers with Rika’s.

Rika squeezes her hand in return, rough yet fond.

As Rika wordlessly taps her fingers on Shino’s knuckles, Shino realizes that Agil was right. There’s no way that those hands, fitting so perfectly together, were meant to be apart. Perhaps such heavy hands have no other pairs but each other, and that is fine.

#SAO #Sword Art Online #Lisinon #Fili writes #saoprideweek2020

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unproduciblesmackdown · 4 years ago

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another prompt saga

April 8th: Talk about friendship. How important are friends to you? Do you find it hard to make and maintain friendships? Are your friends generally supportive? Is there anything about having friends that confuses you?

another big question for me to go on plenty of tangents lol

well i haven't often had friends Really, there's like, being amicable with classmates, being friends with people While We're At School Together, being friendly acquaintances lmfao, or like, the occasional "yeah ig we're sort of friends, not exactly very close tho" lol and then rarely where yeah i'd call someone a close friend, although naturally, it's not like i completely discount those other, less close relationships. and, even more so, not like overall i'm like "oh friendship? yeah that's pretty frivolous and unimportant and it's just something mildly entertaining vs the Real Shit & True Emotional Support & Love of your biological family and romantic soulmate" lol, Friends Are Important and it's entirely serious 2 me

also natch i Do find it hard to make and maintain friendships lol. goes back to like, preschool and being around a bunch of age peers regularly for the first time, where my "best friend" defaulted to this one person who sought out interacting with me when i was otherwise doing my own thing during preschool recess, and i was pretty enthused about getting invited to a bday party one kid invited a bunch of us to, because that was like, a Friend thing, and a fun social thing, and i was included.....that i Do remember just feeling like, socially, everyone else was playing a game i didn't know the rules to and so couldn't expect to participate and, furthermore, i ought to stay out of the way of whatever everyone else was doing, where i Did often choose to do stuff by myself, but it's like, you know, the way "autistic" is even used figuratively (which. i have a lot of disdain for) because it's like oh the defining thing really is that telltale "doesn't want to interact with other people or form relationships, probably because also they have no feelings / normal and intrinsic qualities of Humanity" but it's like, if you pay any attention or god forbid ask autistic people about their own experiences, sure everyone has their own varying social approach and anyone might not always be raring to be the center of the party or Not want to do their own thing, but it's not that oh all autistic people aren't interested in social connection, but that like even when you are a small child it's like, oh all these other kids are interacting in this way that isn't really my social style and that shuts me out, and/or attempting to interact with people results in this even subtle, quiet rejection / exclusion that can be picked up on. i wasn't making friends and was often keeping to myself / keeping my head down as it were, but it wasn't because i didn't want to have friends or socialize. my mom was insistent i was a Shy Child lmao and i'd always argue that i wasn't Really, without further explanation though lmao, but it's like, again that i felt that sort of emergent exclusion, and there wasn't any space to interact much on my terms at all, and like, yeah i often stayed quiet / didn't want to mingle with other kids / if i was in a Situation i wanted to know the How To of navigating it / what to expect

being friends with people at school was fine, except the drawbacks of stuff like "we're only interacting at school, rarely hanging out outside of that" & "someone in the same grade is in a diff class in elementary school so we just never see each other now" & "for some reason that 2nd grade teacher made a whole giant Example out of me and a friend, god forbid, not paying attention or whatever the fuck, so now i feel like we can't interact at all anymore" & "changing schools entirely between elementary / middle / college" & "not being in school" lmao similar to work friends too, we're At Work, might not see each other outside of that, might change jobs & stop seeing each other, & still overall rare, b/c the Preschool Experience never Really stopped imo, had different versions of it even into college and like, being at jobs with other adults lmao, socializing is still Like That, came up with the Je Ne Hate Quoi where like, people kind of just Know to exclude you / consider you an exception to whatever other social stuff is going on.

and then like, the difficulties even when socializing / interactions Are happening, where like, it's always funny like. i'm very Verbose / Chatty and very opinionated but like, this will surprise people, that i Talk actually and have a ton of takes, b/c i was keeping to myself / not sharing that with them and so it's like well, that must of course be the realest version of me, no way i was filtering myself, i just must have Not Wanted to talk, and/or had nothing to say & hence no thoughts or feelings i might wanna share lol, of course....and tbh like, it sure Can be true that i don't wanna talk lmao like. i wanna talk About Stuff that isn't really "personal" generally, which can be like, yeah i wanna talk about this book, or about birds, or about this trivia topic, or whatever, whereas idk so much how to do like small talk about your day or otherwise share Casual things about Yourself, like, idk, being aware my interests are things about Myself but also aware that it's Weird / wasn't the kind of stuff you were supposed to talk about, and i felt that things about my life were otherwise Not The Right Stuff, or too boring (never hanging out, not doing much except being at home reading / doing shit by myself or w/siblings) or too Unfun (able to pick up the sense that At Home Shittiness was a private matter lol......) and it'd be like, idk what to say, things about myself don't seem to fit..........but also it can be that i do not enjoy the Vibe of an interaction lmfaoooo like, i truly do not want to talk to you people. like that i can sometimes vibe with someone inebriated people better lmfao because then, idk, they have some sense of humor and can muster some enthusiasm for anything, but also i'm not really a fan of knowing that someone isn't sober lmfao like. ppl will be like "omg were you drunk" like no, that was just my personality, whereas i am not Heartened to know other ppl Will have to have been drunk to get on my level, for example, don't understand when people cannot muster being even a little silly. it's goofaround hours. but then you have like, being around a bunch of cishet people when they're drunk, and their humor is as nonexistent and boring as ever but they're even louder / more insistent about it, nightmare. and, yknow, just people talking and i'm like "i'm not interested in this at all, whether re: conversational Style or Subject, i would not want to participate" and times when it's like. i know if i was gonna chime in with what i Would say you would not be able to handle me here lmfaoooo so. i truly would prefer examining the wall and thinking about my own shit or texting with someone i do like talking with

but that yknow, in groups / conversations i would be at least someone interested in, i can still be like, idk, Hesitant To Talk b/c of all the instances you've been taught like oh you're socializing Wrong and everyone hated that, sorta like the post about making a comment about salsa that brings the gc to a halt and you're wondering how you fucked up and if salsa killed someone's parents and forgot or whatever, i've been Disheartened re: hanging out when it's like, well, nice to be included, but i'm a friendship third wheel here, not being included in the entire convo and nobody misses it, there's been instances where it's like, two people talking, i chime in, i am completely ignored multiple times, this is frustrating lmao. or there's been times i've tried to put myself out there in a way, like yeah sure i'll hang out with this group, but also i'm anxious and it's like, if people are doing homework i'm also bringing this thing i'm working on as this parallel task, only to find out down the line like people then regarded you as a joke or something b/c it was Rude or Wrong when you know, actually that was you reading some weird shit that didn't exist into the situation, and just like, idk it's wild how people will have like "graciously" declined to express something to your face, and you either can pick up on shit at the time but not be able to say anything which just reads to people like "oh they didn't notice this / that means you can push it a little further next time even" or like, figure out later that something that seemed positive or decent actually ft. people not liking you / not wanting to include you Yet Again, and as a bonus you're left with you know, having to always worry about if people Seemingly being amicable & accepting is actually them wishing you weren't there or solidifying some Interpretations of you that they're then gonna Talk About or Act On behind the scenes, like, beautiful thank you, always very touching, so glad you were so Considerate of someone's feelings and Nice about this where it just ends up being this whole letdown / feeling like even more of a rejection if there was this weird like stringing along lmao like. can allistic people be normal for five minutes

anyways and tied to that sort of, it's also like, simultaneously Cagey About Things and always worried about like, i could tell this person this thing and maybe it'd be Incorrect for the interaction and they won't care, whether because it's too mundane and boring a thing about you or because it's too #Real, i think i glimpsed something a month or so ago about like "do other autistic people have trouble where like, you can be friends with someone a long time but not get particular Close to them" or whatever lol, where like, well i have to hold everyone at arm's length and often Then Some because there's just matter of fact stuff about me that i nonetheless think i can't or shouldn't share, if i talked about something it might be out of the blue b/c i just was hardly confiding in people about it, or it's boring, or it's like, i don't actually feel like i'm close enough with this person that saying this isn't gonna be like "whoa overshare!! i just feel awkward & weird!" lmfao like. there were people i hung out with in person the year i lived out of my car and i did not mention this at all to them / kept it a secret b/c it's like, not out of like ohh this is a secret b/c No One Can Know, some people Could know lmao (shoutout to the person i Did confide in about these problems and who talked with me at what must've been like 3am in that timezone when i was like "well the rich people around here made sure to get cops to harass an unhoused person, e.g. me, would you believe it, it sucked" lmfao) it's that i knew idk, it would be pointless, they'd just feel weird about it and switch into that "for some reason, this is being Nice" where everyone will go into full Putting On A Front mode to be Polite like, that really sucks actually lmao could you Not. but it's like, idk, all this stuff where it's like "this thing about me / my life would be too Boring or too Awkward or Depressing or Etc Etc" turns out to be isolating / alienating b/c like, of course it would be. and idk nobody i ever made friends with in person i was Confiding in, not a ton of them re: me either, because you know. being cagey and wary, on top of like ohhh this person is Standoffish if they're hesitant to interact with people generally or do their own thing or i don't think they're socializing Right / have incorrectly inferred their feelings/motivations/intentions or whatever

and furthermore on that lmao it's also like, again, while i'm Verbose & Opinionated people will think i'm quiet & have no takes to provide because it's also like, even when it comes to stuff i sure feel i Could talk freely about, it's like, if i have a different opinion here will that just be a conversational Interruption ruining things for the real participants, probably nobody wants to hear me talk about this Subject, probably nobody wants to / would let me talk about it at much length without interrupting, even Online lmao i can be just going all out in terms of [how much i can talk about something] and while people can be Into that at that time it's like, people aren't into that beyond that one back and forth on one day, shoutout when people do enjoy the extensive discussing and/or have patience for it other times lol.

then supposing i Am talking to people lmao it's like, idk i'm an acquired taste or what have you, like, on top of the Talking A Ton it's like, the being opinionated and argumentative and sometimes pedantic or whatever on top of being irritable, could stand to be a bit more patient lmao, The Hater Friend to use the figure of speech lmao i have hardly been in a Group to be The [Any] Friend lol, also if my sense of humor doesn't fit it's like well how am i supposed to be silly, if being sometimes Enthused doesn't fit, again kinda an issue......have described myself as A Bit Much, humorously, but already not doing that as Much b/c it's like, i think i'm still too much like considering other people's opinions too "objective" here when like, first of all that's never accurate lmao, second of all i can easily forget that idk, i can at least in theory expect people to just regularly Like me and Enjoy interacting with me lol so. an acquired taste few can sample..........like hey even if other people don't vibe with me, it can just as much be the case that i'm not vibing with other people, don't worry lmao. and yknow, kinda parallel to Masking to seem acceptable in any casual social situation it's like, if i feel i'm suppressing my whole personality here / putting up a front / like i have to Get Through what should be a friendly interaction rather than be able to enjoy it myself, it's not exactly that rewarding. and plenty of times it's like, i like to be around people, but it can be strangers, i don't feel like "oh i wanna go out to eat / see a movie / go to this event, but if i can't get any friends to go, guess i can't!" like get out of the way i'm readily doing shit alone, it can even feel Better that way if otherwise it's like, now this occasion is about performing peak Agreeability for this other person/people, and like, not like i have ever been like "yes i have people i can readily ask to hang out and they'll be like Ya" anyways lol so. used to operating solo, where you can't be like "aha this is because this person has no Human Interest in Human Connection" when it's like. well it was never all up to me was it

well and so also it helped when i was 14 and able to be Online consistently, vs at home lmao. time for online friendship, which i don't think is like, oh that's not Real, like what sorry have you never known about people who have Remote friendships before, phones & letters & telegrams and also [nowadays when many ppl are Remote even if they usually lived near enough to hang out with] where it's like, you have this different format for socializing that can sure play out differently than Real Time, In Person interactions, and ever since i'll be posting mostly to myself lmfao but able to thusly talk about Interests and like, people will come along who want to talk more about it, then we do. i suppose also it can sure help that i'll draw (and Only draw, lol) for said interests, although tbh i think most of the time it's the extensive text posts that do it? really and great litmus test or whatever lmfao like, well already this person must not hate the verbosity. and then you can end up vibing with these people further, or not, but it's like, again, there's this chance for From The Start like, oh this person Likes that i have this niche interest, they like &/or don't mind talking A Lot about it lmao, vs in person introductions where that can sure happen but it's like, that's gonna be chance & spontaneous, whereas ppl might have the opportunity to Seek Out this interaction / content of yours......even online though, i'm still like, not as inclined to reach out or make the first interaction move or whatever lmao so. and then it's like, people make galaxy brain remarks like "ohh people who are very Online don't have friends, irl, they aren't Personable, irl," like yes congratulations i'm autistic and i don't have many In Person friends generally, sometimes maybe not any, don't really know where people think they'll land their argument here. like, follow it through, are you just calling people losers. is it "social media makes peopel Not social" like nobody is Doing Anything when they're online or everyone is embracing strangers and having heart to hearts every weekday morning with whoever is nearby if only they weren't on twitter? plus the fact that like, if i don't have access to people i interact with online, that doesn't like, force me to become neurotypical so that i then have a thriving in person social circle, it just means i'm more isolated? meanwhile, turns out it helps a lot if it's like, yeah i can Expect to interact with people

and then still like, all the time it might be like i still can feel Confused as it were about How To Talk To People lmfao like. there's not much "Just Be Yourself" when being yourself has meant filtering yourself, actually, and being v self conscious about trying (and often failing) to appeal to other people (which, then if you do succeed, it's like oops this person likes me but if i've been putting up a front the whole time, not super Validating) and not exactly a ton of practice getting to do Otherwise, and it can again be like. is this too boring to talk about, or just somewhat arbitrarily like "oh i'd better Not talk / say whatever" for no real reason lmfao, i Can just get like. Real Time Chatty as it were, but it's difficult actually lmfao like i need a lot of momentum, and it's easy for that to be Not the case.......and just like, again that it's easy to forget you don't have to be in "nobody wants to hear you talk" mode, or think like, okay, i can't just say anything, i have to say something Good, aka of interest or funny or whatever lmao but then it's like well i guess i Can just say anything. don't much know how to do that tho

(also, sidenote from "wtf is thinking being friends w/someone online is faker than when you're friends with someone sort of from being in the same building every weekday, what is the conclusion of 'what a loser geek whatever if you care about connecting Online who can't be popular Offline'" where it's always funny when someone is also like "wow even in person Fandom is, like social media, something that only people who suck at socializing Normally are into" lmfao like. not very relevant b/c nobody wants to really be in a broader fanbase rather than find particular kindred spirits through it, and who actually wants to go to comic con or whatever, sounds like a nightmare, but it's still such a faux analytical perspective lmfao like, again, first of all, what's the Conclusion to your argument here? and secondly honestly like. all versions of Small Talk are kinda gonna be bullshit, even amongst say, nt people, there's nothing Universal, and people can certainly be inconsiderate / preclude any genuine connection via what they might consider to be this neutral part of the ritual, and yknow, i find it kinda exhausting like it's peak Time To Mask and then i'm hardly in the mood to Really talk further, like yknow what. idk i'd be annoyed if someone demanded i Correctly Complete some sort of fandom reference by way of greeting, but i'm also annoyed when someone demands i Correctly Complete whatever maneuvers you're supposed to do with a rhetorical "how are you :)" lmfao like. you're a cringe nerd in the rigid social ritual of pleasantries fandom)

anyways and uhh yeah i also yknow, hashtag alana beck, it's like, glad to pretend Friendly Acquaintances makes sense, i guess it can, but it's great when it's like, oh i Don't have to only expect to be really peripheral in people's lives, or to only be friends with people i don't feel like i vibe with That much or also talk to that much about anything, when i can definitely feel like Yes this person is a Friend, no "are they actually closer to an acquaintance at this point" disclaimers needed, again, taking it back to the fact that friendship sure is Significant to me and when i have it that's v important thanks

so it's like uhhhh yeah difficult to make friends, don't have general appeal or whatever lol, ppl aren't on my wavelength or i'm not on theirs, hard to talk to people even though it's not because i don't/can't talk plenty lmfao.......and re: being Supportive it's like well, i don't really tell people In Person i'm autistic but naturally if you follow me Online here i am talking about it lol, and not like anyone who already knew me & was friends with me was like "oh nvm don't like interacting with you now" and i also gotta mention the like Handshake Lgbtq lifehack, where plenty of times it can be like, oh if we vibe on That wavelength it can be easier to befriend people, and/or that people will at least be more like, amicable / supportive based on Knowing you're handshake on that lol. b/c really it's like, i'd also like to just be allowed to talk and/or simply be around people even if we are not Personal Friends, aka that you can expect to be treated decently with some basic respect / consideration and like you're generally allowed to exist and be present and interact with people where you're not only guaranteed to Not be punished / excluded for it if someone's your individual friend and allows you to be here, so. once again it's like, can allistic ppl be normal for 5 min

#still behind on this naturally lmao but when it's now 1am and i've chosen to do a whole essay #it's like whew time to make dark dinner for now #30daysofautismacceptance #2021

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