#because my restaurant job is training me on something new but that coincides with my first week at the new job

[absoloutenonsense]

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[monzamash]

lost in japan — lando norris

lando norris x you (femreader) | 3.8k summary – a convincing late night call and a flight to japan. warnings – 18+ (sex, coarse language) inspo – ‘i like being close to you. you’re warm’ for the #monzamashspecial and that shawn mendes song – you know the one. masterlist

“Fly out and see me…”

“You know I can’t, Lando.”

This had been the back and forth for nearly half an hour, like a painfully long rally in tennis and neither one of you wanted to give up the point. Lando had been out in Japan for nearly a week, 5 days and counting and before that, Singapore and before that, Italy for training. He had always been at peace with the time he spent away from home, because up until now it had never really been a problem. Jet-setting across the globe, living out his childhood dream – on top of the world. Chained to nothing and nobody.

But then you showed up in those leather pants; it was all by coincidence and he was in trouble from the very beginning. He liked you. A lot. And you liked him but that one night on a breezy street corner in Melbourne had changed his perspective. Skewed beyond recognition, because now he had someone to miss. Someone who influenced his happiness, his contentedness and that was you. You had snapped up a spot in his cold, precious heart that he had guarded, locked away safely so he didn’t have to wake up to that sinking feeling in his gut, or look at his phone and have his mood drop when he didn't see your name in his notifications.

He was forlorn without you and even though it made him sick that he had ended up like this, he loved it. He took the good with the bad, every chance to hear your voice made it worthwhile and much to your surprise, you felt the same. Infatuated and swept up in this new romance.

“Why not? If you give me a really good answer, I’ll stop asking,” Lando bartered as he trudged around his hotel room, kicking articles of clothing towards his empty suitcase in an attempt to clean up the mess he’d made over the last couple of days.

“Well for starters I have this thing called a job… I have responsibilities and I have my houseplants – you know how much they mean to me.”

A small smirk tugged on the corners of your mouth when Lando rolled his eyes, brow quirked. Even the shaky camera was able to capture his distain for your answer but he quickly bounced back, knowing that he wasn’t completely out of the fight if it was a couple of replaceable pot plants keeping you from dropping everything to see him. Surely he meant more than that.

“You love me way more though.”

“Definitely not,” You scoffed playfully and adjusted the loose, somewhat revealing top you'd been sleeping in before this late night call, “But I do miss you a tiny bit…”

Lando’s frown softened at your confession, one he’d been patiently waiting to hear. I miss you too; he sighed and walked into what looked like a bathroom, carefully balancing the phone on a shelf beside the mirror. 

He was an enigma the night that you met him; a friend of a friend of a friend, someone had said when introducing the two of you at a swanky restaurant in the heart of the city. You had wondered why there was a last minute invite sent your way that afternoon, until your friend explained that her new work friend wanted to show their friend who had just flown in from England a good time. It was a confusing web of acquaintances but you agreed, knowing that whatever she had organised would be worthwhile attending.

Little did you know that the friend would have something to do with why your street was shut down for a week, making your daily commute fifteen minutes longer than normal. But when you looked into those stormy blue, or maybe they were hazel eyes, and grasped the hand he was holding out for you to shake, you didn’t care. In fact, nothing really mattered after the two of you pulled up a seat at the long table and continued chatting, drawn together.

“See something you like? …”

Lando’s tinny voice pulled you out of your daydreaming and snapped your eyes back to your screen. You cleared your throat and tucked a couple of stray hairs behind your ear as you watched him change out of his Phoenix suns shirt; his rippling muscles contracting caught your attention, perfectly sculpted under is sun-kissed skin. Beneath all the boyish charm and dripping sarcasm, he was sexy. And it was taking everything in your power not to give in and book a plane ticket to Japan as soon as possible.

“Nothing in particular but I do like that shirt,” You deflected with a smirk, wanting nothing more than to be crawling your lips all over his skin, tasting the cool mint mouthwash he was swirling and spitting out in quick succession.

“Might have to steal it when I see you next.”

“Which will be…?” Lando teetered off, hoping for sooner rather than later but you simply shrugged and closed your eyes, exhaling so deeply that a whistle rang through your nostrils.   

Lando could tell you were battling internally with the idea, knowing that you wanted to see him just as much as he ached to see you. It’d been too long and with your situationship being so new, so hot – he was desperate to lock in a time or have at least a crumb to cling onto if nothing else. But he needed to be gentle, patient while you worked through all of the metaphorical plates spinning in your head.

“You can steal all of my shirts when you get here,” He sweetly stated, his attention full focused on your solemn expression, “Look, what day suits you the best and I’ll work around that.”

He was serving the ball in your court now, with the promise of taking care of everything else so you didn’t even have to think about it. Make the fleeting decision and the rest will be sorted. Except for the glaringly obvious hurdles you’d have to jump over to get the time off work that you knew Lando wanted you to have.

“Maybe Saturday…”

Lando groaned at your response, “But I’ll be busy all day Saturday.”

“Doing what?” You teased; lip firmly gripped between your front teeth as Lando rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his messy hair in frustration.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” He grumbled and titled his head back, chin and jawline tensed as he groaned loudly into the dark bedroom he was sitting in, “Come on – I’m blue-balling out here and you’re not here to help me… It's not fair.”

“Oh, so you just want me for sex?”

Lando’s eyes narrowed and a small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he planned his next move, “No,” He sheepishly whispered, “But also not no… But definitely not just for sex because that would be wildly perverse and disgusting – promise.” Cheeky fucker.

You hummed, “Just so we’re clear, I’d just be coming out for the sex. Nothing more than that – can’t stand you, actually. Absolutely gross.”

Not even a beat passed before Lando's loud, high-pitched laugh filtered through your air pods, hand barely covering his face. The other was in your face, middle finger perfectly framed on your screen while you sat back and enjoyed the sound you’d missed so much; his laugh alone made you chuckle and forget all about your worries.

“Fuck you,” He cheekily retorted, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, “But what I’m hearing is that you’re coming out… I’m booking you a ticket right now so keep an eye out for the email, baby.”

Baby.

“Baby?” You asked, eyebrow quirked with intrigue.

“Shit, sorry…” Lando cursed under his breath, cheeks reddening as he clicked away on his phone, “It slipped out. Is it bad?”

You shook your head and balanced your chin on your knuckles, “No, I like it – makes me feel like we’re more than just strangers fucking around.”

“Oh yeah? And is that something you want to feel or?”

Now he was just being cocky.

It was your turn to roll your eyes and scowl, “Don’t push it, baby.”

“You can’t go calling me that with that tone and not be naked in this bed right now… You’re killing me.” His voice was strained, eyes dark.

You simply smiled and winked, “I will be soon.”

“Cannot fucking wait.”

It was raining in Osaka when you landed; the red eye flight causing your eyes to flutter close as you slumped in the back seat of the cab, silent. Bright headlights from the heavy traffic flashed behind your eyelids as the driver slowly made his way through the city streets, stopping every two seconds for pedestrians. You were in a foreign country; one you’d never visited before but you felt calm, safe to completely relax after the tenuous eleven hour flight.

Lando had messaged you the address to the hotel he was staying at and let you know he’d left his spare key card for you downstairs at reception. You shyly asked the attendant for the card he left, feeling a little dirty at the insinuation that you were there for a good time, not a long time. A thought entirely in your own head as the young lady gave you a polite smile and sent you on your way.

Because of Lando’s efforts to go above and beyond making your journey as stress-free as possible, you hadn’t bothered messaging him when you landed or even checked to make sure he was at the hotel. Only having carry-on gave you the freedom to jump off the plane and into a cab – no time to really think about the logistics that you had been reassured were taken care of. All you could think about was the instinctual pull you felt to get to him as quickly as you could.

Maybe you should’ve messaged. Given him the heads up as you tiptoed through the long hallway, past the large lounge room and kitchen that was bigger than your own back home. It was massive and as expected, exuding luxury. You could tell from the facetime yesterday that he was living large in the penthouse suite, indulging in all the lavish things life as a professional athlete promised. It was too much but you weren’t complaining when you touched the plush robes hung up on the back of the bedroom door or when you saw how huge, and enticing the bed was.

You let your mind wander to the possibility that maybe, just maybe you could get used to this but as soon as that thought emerged, you flicked it away. The gentle sound of running water echoing drew your attention to the door on the other side of the room, closed and most likely locked for privacy, or so you assumed.

Your feet were gliding you towards the sound, hand reaching for the handle before your brain had even registered what you were doing. Impatience and temptation were fuelling all of your movements as you clicked open the door and let out a cloud of steam, warmth instantly hitting your face as you took a couple of steps over the threshold.

“Hello?” You softly called out, not wanting to startle Lando but failing as you heard a shallow gasp from behind the steamed glass. His hand hit the pane and smudged away the moisture obstructing his sight, his narrowed eyes bloodshot from the water but he could see you, wondered for a second if you were a ghost in the fog but grinning when he realised you were here. Really here.

“Holy shit…” He breathed out and pushed open the glass door, thrilled that you were already unzipping your jeans and tugging the tight shirt from your shoulders. He didn't even have to ask.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

He almost giggled as you skirted your underwear down your legs, the cool air sending chills down across your skin, “Let me in, quick!”

Lando moved aside with another chuckle, hands grasping your waist as you searched for warmth, a sigh of relief exhaled when you felt the hot water rushing over your back, eyes closed and skin tingling from the gentle touches trailing down your spine. You fluttered your eyes open; smile etched on your face as you looked up and took in your surroundings. Took in him.

“Hello.”  

“Hi.”

Lando whispered back as you reached out and placed your hands on his chest that was glimmering with water droplets the same size of his birth marks and freckles. Misshapen and lovely. The scent of lemon and sandalwood mingling together filled the air, his skin still slick and soapy from being interrupted mid-shower but he didn't care. Not one bit.

Your fingers danced across his beating heart, tracing small circles on his shoulder before gazing up through your lashes, smile coy.

“I made it…”

“You did… and you’re real,” So real he could feel you and see, for the first time in over a month, how you reacted to his touch.

“How are you real?”

“That’s way too philosophical for my mushy brain so just shut up and kiss me, please,” You teased, tone soft and arms snaking around his waist to bring his body closer; chest stuck perfectly against yours.

“That I can do,” Lando sang back as he grasped your slack jaw in his hands and pulled you in, lips tied in a wistful kiss.

It wasn’t an ordinary kiss. It was a Lando kiss, which up until this point in your life you’d never experienced before now. You felt sparkly, giddy yet set alight, burning with desire – all rolled into one wild emotion. At first you mistook it for lust, merely a physical attraction that would slowly fade away, never felt again. But it was lust disguised when you felt it for the second time and then the third and forth time, the fifth and so on.

The feeling never faded and remained even when you were miles away, kissing through the phone and pretending you were together, touching one another. Chasing that feeling over and over again.

His lips moved so perfectly with yours, in sync and the taste on his tongue reminded you of a warm summers day down on the beach, cocktail in one hand and his fingers intertwined in the other. It was visceral and destined, like you’d kissed him a million times before; but what you were doing with him was all so new, so fresh, so fucking exhilarating that you hadn’t even realised he’d moved his lips to your neck, the soft spot beneath your ear being gently nibbled by his sharp teeth.

“You smell so good... like the first night we fucked,” Lando mumbled against your supple skin, eliciting the tiniest whimper to slip from your parted lips as he brushed the palms of his hands over your perky nipples.

“Hello to you,” He whispered, pressing a soft, smirking kiss to the top of your left boob before moving to the right, “And hello to you.”

“Oh my god,” You groaned at his words, barely slapping his bicep but still making him flinch, as his breathy giggle fanned across your chest, “Such a dork.” 

Lando removed his lips, reluctantly and stood up straight again, slightly towering over your smaller frame, “I remember you saying that you liked that about me…” He defended and suggestively winked, slowly walking you out from underneath the stream of water and towards the shower wall.

“I think it came up when you were touching yourself and moaning my name… Maybe? Can’t quite recall,” He toyed, knowing exactly what had happened last week when you texted him, ‘call me asap’ in the middle of the night.

“You are doing a lot of talking for a guy who replied with ‘I’m watching the new episode of Mandalorian, can’t call’, after I sent you a photo of me literally naked… You know what, maybe I should leave you hanging, now that you’ve so kindly brought it up.”

The whiny protest and strain in Lando’s eyes softened when he felt your hand graze his thigh, fingernails lightly scratching the skin so close to where he had been aching for you. He gasped at the sensation, starved of anyone’s touch besides his own for far too long. Your eyes met in the middle, a humorous smile twitching on the ridge of your mouth when he sucked in a deep breath and his bottom lip with it as you wrapped your hand around him, twisting gently.

Long strokes sent his eyelashes fluttering shut as he pushed you against the wet titled wall; skin slapping as your back made contact. His head was titled back from the pleasure coursing through his veins, somehow still attached to his body as he let out a strangled moan. He couldn’t think straight – the words magnificent and mind-blowing tumbling around his empty head until he heard a squeak and cracked open his eyes to see you turning around, hands pressed against the crimson tiles.

He noticed a hunger burning behind your stare when you glanced over your shoulder, ass brushing over his cock like a woman starved.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ever since I left your place in London,” You confessed as Lando dipped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses down your back, "Think about it so much."

“Fuuuck,” He grumbled as you rolled your hips steadily, stroking him between your slightly parted thighs with a raspy moan, “Shower sex specifically?”

Lando’s question was punctuated with his tip nudging forward, gliding over your clit before sinking slowly into your warmth with a gruff exhale, “Shiiit.”

A soft giggle slipped from your lips as you leaned forward and rested your forehead against the wall, droplets of water dripping down the ceramic onto your flushed cheeks. Chills crawled down your spine as Lando roughly grasped your hips, fingertips kneading the skin as he slowly fucked into you.

“Shower sex had crossed my mind but honestly, I imagined it all…”

“Did it feel this good?” Lando asked with a knowing smile on his lips as he rocked into you, slow and steady, sensing that the occasion called for something gentle, "Because it didn't in my imagination." You shook your head and grasped his wrist, needing to feel his large hand on your stomach, “Not even close, baby… I want it all.”

Hearing you stake your claim for his heart and hint that maybe you wanted more than just a couple of one night stands strung together sent a surge of serotonin through Lando's hazy mind. It may have started that way; a subtle mention of 'no strings attached' so you could both keep your hearts safe but the countless hours talking on the phone, venting about your day as if you’d known each other for years proved that it was more. The way his touch set every inch of your skin alight proved to you that he was more.

He was the match to your fuse.

A gasp slipped from your lips when he pulled out, the emptiness feeling like a punishment for god knows what but Lando was quick to spin you around and pin your back against the cold wall, “Need to change it up otherwise we’ll be calling it a night very early.”

“Can’t handle the heat?” You teased, hoisting your leg to wrap around his thigh as he stretched you out again; eyes closing for a split second to adjust to his firm thrust.

“Oh, I’m doing great, pretty girl. Dunno about you though...” Lando whispered the last part as his hand skimmed down between your legs, thumb gliding over your sensitive nub ever so lightly – enough to have you hissing in pleasure.

“I am going so good..." You exhaled, trying to keep your cool but the scrunched up brows and slack jaw exposed you and he couldn't help but admire how fucking beautiful you looked meeting his snapping hips, deliciously synchronised .

"Keep touching me like that.”

You unclasped your claws that were digging into Lando's muscular biceps and slung your arms loosely over his shoulders, chest to chest and you could feel his heart beating. It was pumping under the taut skin, thrumming against your own as he rocked his hips into you, long, teasing strokes that were clouding your mind with all sorts of dangerous thoughts.

“I like being this close to you. You’re so warm and soft and god…” He rambled off with a moan and a gritted smile as you opened your eyes and held his face in your hands, smiling back.

“I like it too.”

The words got tangled in your throat as your nails dug into the back of his head, the pace now quickening to a level you’d never really been before with Lando. Sure, you'd had sex but this was different. It was pent up, building to an unparalleled crescendo that was washing over the both of you quicker than expected. Loud moans being swallowed in a desperate kiss, hands fumbling to grab hold of any inch of skin they could to pull you through your earth shattering high. Screams muted by the sound of running water.

And all you could do was ride it out while Lando held you upright, palms shaky and fingertips barely holding on as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck; curls tickling the sultry skin. The air was thick, humidity making everything sticky as your erratic breaths rattled against one another; chests connected, limbs tangled together as you stood under the water.

Wow, was all Lando rasped with no attempt of untangling himself from your embrace until your trembling fingers traced down his back, nails dragging over his supple skin finall brought him into your vision once again. Eyes misty and tired.

“I’m really pruny.” He stated and held up his wrinkling hand; a shy smile appeared on his plush lips as you laced your fingers with his.

You hummed and tucked a couple of the damp curls that had fallen into his face behind his pointy ears, “Shall I suggest continuing this on that massive fucking bed sitting in the middle of a room that’s bigger than my apartment?”

Lando chuckled and ghosted a soft, heart-racing kiss to your pursed lips as he reached for the towel he’d set out for himself, “It’s stupid how massive it is,” He bashfully confessed, wrapping your shivering body up and guiding you out to the warm bedroom.

“It’s… Lavish and maybe a little silly.”

There was comfortable silence as you glanced around the room again, noticing the pile of clothes that Lando had been kicking around on your call yesterday, “Yeah, sorry about the mess. I was gonna clear up but I didn’t expect you to get in so early tonight – I'm bad with time zones and all that shit.”

“Well you have a lot to keep track of with all the travelling so that’s understandable and don’t worry about the clothes, my floor is ten times worse than this.”

There was something familiar in the way you soothed his nerves and made his anxieties melt away with your words. He liked that about you, that no matter what stupid thing he’d said or done, you were either backing him up or affectionately ribbing him before mollifying his worries.

“Can’t wait to see it in person soon,” Lando blurted out, not even thinking about whether that was something you wanted or if your reassuring words warranted that intense of a response.

But you smiled and nodded, again, easing his blushing cheeks that were still burning from his high only minutes ago. There was a comfortable silence as you stood up from the end of the bed and let him bury you in one of the big, fluffy robes you’d noticed on your way in – the gold italic ‘H’ shining under the down lights as you tied the belt up, watching Lando do the same.

“Very soon, I hope.”

You sealed the promise with a kiss to his bottom lip, praying that you could be more than just a stranger he’d met by happenstance. More than an acquaintance who was simply a way to pass the time while he was away from home. Away from his creature comforts.

And if he did need you in his life like you needed him, then you definitely wanted to be his friend. Maybe more.

a//n – really been feeling the lando bug recently so let me know what you thought of this little one-shot! this will actually be the last of the #monzamashspecial celebrating 700 followers and funnily enough, i just passed 1k this morning, i think? so thank you all so much for the support. i still have a couple of great suggestions that i will get to next so keep an eye for that x masterlist | askbox

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Loki X Reader] Chapter 1

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1: New Home

It's just before midnight when you finally get off work. You really like your job, but the hours are murder. Being a chef at one of the most expensive five-star restaurants in Philadelphia has its price. You take off your apron, which has hardly any stains from the last few hours on it, and throw it in the wash. The white jacket goes neatly into your locker and is replaced by a cardigan and a scarf. It’s a cool night. With a last good bye to your colleagues, who are still putting the dishes into the dishwashers, you make your way home.

The night is dark, but the streets are lit by lanterns and the windows of closed stores. Even if it had been pitch black, it wouldn't have worried you to have to walk alone through the empty alleys. Last year a guy had tried to rob you and threatened you with a knife. You had given him a broken nose and several stab wounds in the shoulder. After all, you had been trained at Shield. But the poor guy didn’t know that.

Half an hour later you arrive at your apartment. It's more functional than nicely furnished, and everything is a bit of a pick 'n' mix. But you don't mind it, because you spend most of your time at work anyway. At home you don't feel such great importance to culinary variety when it comes to your own food. A pizza or French fries with ketchup were always welcome. After all, you've been standing at the stove long enough at work. Tired, you decide to wait until breakfast for your next meal and, after a quick change of clothes, just fall into bed.

Fortunately, the next day is your day off. You make good use of it and sleep in. Afterwards you have an nice brunch with eggs, bacon and toast and after a short shower you go into town to do some errands. The sun is shining warmly from the sky and it's a beautiful spring day. If this holds up until the weekend, maybe you'd visit the weekly market and see what exotic and rare foods you can grab there. You love these little trips, even if you rarely find the time.

About two hours later and with three full shopping bags, you re-enter your apartment. It's on the second floor of a rather nondescript building, but the interior is very modern, with pastel-colored, high walls. You put everything in the kitchen cabinets and then brew yourself a tea/coffee, with which you make yourself comfortable on the couch and turn on the TV. It's time to relax a little. So you zap through the programs, watch the rest of an episode of your favorite series and then decide to watch a reality series, which is not exactly known for its quality but is entertaining. So the noon goes by until suddenly the doorbell rings. You get up to see if it's the mailman or a neighbor with a package. But a look through the peephole shows you that it is neither. Surprised, you open the door "Nat!" Natasha Romanoff is a friend of you and your brother, as well as the godmother of his children. But due to her job you rarely see each other. "Hey," she greets you with a small smile. "Can I come in?" "Sure." You lead her into the living room, where you turn off the TV. "What can I get you? Tea, coffee, milkshake?" "Coffee is fine." You disappear into the kitchen for a moment as she sits down in the armchair. Natasha was a rare visitor. Mostly she came with some news from Clint. You see him even less because he spends what little free time he has mostly with his wife and the two kids. Understandable. You don't hold it against him and try to visit them on holidays or for birthdays at her farm.

It doesn't take long until you return to the Russian woman with a new cup and some pastries and sit down on the couch again. "Well," you ask her curiously. "What do I owe the pleasure?" Natasha reaches for her cup. "It’s rather inconvenience. But first tell me if you’ve observed anything unusual lately." Questioningly, you look at her. "What do you mean?" "Nothing weird? You sure?", she asks. "Tell me what I'm supposed to have seen, please," you prompt her, both impatient and confused. Natasha gets right to the point. "You're being monitored." "By Shield?" "By Hydra." Stunned by this news, you remain silent. Natasha uses this pause to drink her coffee. "Oh, this is really good." But you don't listen to her at all, because various thoughts are circling in your head. And again you try to remember if you have noticed anything: same people you met, vehicles, anything. But you got pretty used to your life and didn't pay attention at these things. "Anyway, I'm here to pick you up. For your own safety it’s best if you stay with us for a while," Natasha finally breaks the silence and you look up. "What could Hydra possibly want from me? I don't know any internal secrets anymore. There are better to kidnap than me." "That's what we're trying to figure out right now." "Well, the danger doesn't seem to be acute", you note. "If they wanted to grab me, I wouldn't be sitting here by now. Thanks, but I decline and prefer to stay here. I have my job and the apartment." And now that you know what's going on, you can pay attention and take the necessary precautions, too. "Thanks for warning me." Natasha, on the other hand, doesn't look like she gives you a choice. "You know Shield has its ways to convince you?", she reminds you, but you shrug. Why would such a large organization bother with a single civilian like you? "What does my dear brother say about this matter?", you ask instead. "He hasn't been informed yet." Ergo, they deliberately leave him out of it so that he can't protest. You know this kind of approach of Shield.

Clint understands and supports you in your civilian life, even though he protested the loudest back when you announced your exit. "How’s he?", you want to know from Natasha, who is now finishing her coffee. "He's alive." That can mean just about anything from being happy and healthy to badly hurt but breathing. Better than being dead, you guess. "He's out in Africa with Steve right now." "Busy, huh?" "As usual." She stands up as a sign that she has nothing more to say for the day, and you walk her to the door, where you bid her farewell. "We'll talk again soon," she promises, but admittedly you have little desire to do so right now. "Sure," you reply and close the door behind her.

Well, that were some news. You put her empty cup in the sink and pause thoughtfully by the window. How could you have missed Hydra's agent, you ask yourself while glancing out. Your new life made you too comfortable. But it also takes up a lot of time and energy. And anyway, you dropped out because you didn't want to be cautiousness all the time anymore. You wanted a normal life with a normal job and normal problems. Away from agents, assassinations and super powers. You didn't want to check every day on your way to work if you were being followed, secretly monitored or if someone else was out to get you. That's why you’ve chosen this life. With a sigh, you sit back down on the couch. The past never leaves you alone, you guess. But tomorrow would be a long day even without these new old worries.

~~

The advantage of being a chef is usually that you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn for work. Most Restaurants open at noon, some even in the evening. So does the one where you work. There are preparations to be made before opening time, but you can still sleep through the morning, do some housework, and then head to the restaurant in the sunny afternoon. That's where the trouble starts, though. Just as you're about to open your locker to change your clothes, someone taps you on the shoulder. It's your boss, who hands you a letter. You can tell immediately from his serious expression that something is wrong. And when you open the envelope, you discover your resignation. You look up, perplexed, but you lose out in the following discussion. You don't even get a decent explanation, and that’s what annoys you the most. You're pretty sure your skills aren’t the issue, neither is the way you work. Nor the way you treat your colleagues, with whom you get along very well, even if the tone among cooks is a bit rough. You go back to your apartment, now in a bad mood. It‘s unbelievable! The sunny weather seems like a mockery to you now, and the people you meet along the way are in far too good a mood, in your opinion. It will be hell to find another good job as this was.

Arriving back home you immediately get more bad news: your landlord put a notice on your apartment door. The bathrooms in the building will get completely renovated soon and will be unusable for several weeks. Plus the heavy construction noise during the day. And the water would be turned off. It would be best to find temporary substitute apartment, so they recommend. "Haha...ha..." You laugh dryly and unlock the door. Was that a coincidence? When Natasha had been here yesterday? Probably not. You know Shield's methods and that it’s easy for them to take away your job and your apartment just to get their way. You have two options: either you accept the offer before Shield gets any more stupid ideas, or you run away and try to hide. With a sigh you go into your bedroom and throw a suitcase on the bed, in which you pack clothes, the most important documents and some things from the kitchen you need for work. Not everything fits, so you add a second travel bag. Meanwhile, you think about who you could complain to. Your brother was a favorite target of yours, but he a) had nothing to do with this matter and b) was not in the country. Which’s a shame, because you'd really like to have him by your side right now. If you wanted to complain to Shield directly, Fury would probably be the best person to do it. But you hold too much respect for him to vent your anger to him. Maybe just the next Shield agent who would come to you on this matter would have to step in. You know someone would definitely get back to you. With one last look around your apartment, you leave it and lock the door. Then you shoulder your bag and make your way out.

Just as you're thinking about getting a large coffee from Starbucks down the street, a red sports car pulls up to the side of the road. Natasha at the wheel. "Hmph..." You walk over to her and throw your luggage in the back seat. Then you take a seat in the passenger seat yourself. "Just for the record, I'm not happy with this." "I can see that." She tries to give a sympathetic smile, but you know this is just a job to her. "Well then, off to the Bat Cave, Wayne." "Does that make you Robin?", the Russian asks, driving off. "I guess", you reply snippy, not interested in keeping the conversation going. Fortunately, Natasha wasn't exactly the talkative sort either, so you have some peace and quiet to get your thoughts in order.

It takes you just under two hours to drive from Philadelphia to New York with city traffic slowing you down a bit. Otherwise, you would have arrived earlier at the former Stark Tower. It's been the Avenger Tower for some time now, but that doesn't make much difference, except that Tony Stark seems to be too lazy to put the remaining letters back on it.

Natasha parks in the private underground garage and you take the elevator up to the grand lobby. She tells you about the current residents here. There’s the usual staff, who are of course always present. Of all the Avengers, Bruce Banner is living here permanently. "He actually hardly ever leaves the lab," the Russian explains. "I'm currently living here, too. Every now and then Thor stops by, but mostly he prefers to explore the world. And his brother Loki is here. There have been some...problems with him and he's sort of under supervision here. Tony trusts technology more than Asgard. The owner of the house, by the way, is out visiting an outpost right now." "There are even Avengers outposts?" Natasha nods as she walks you down the halls to the living area. "But don't tell Hydra." "Sure", you promise unfazed. "Speaking of which, if I want to go out to visit someone, do I need a key or how does this work?" "It's better if you stay here in the house for now. It's for your safety, after all." "For how long?", you want to know. The answer is short. "As long as necessary." "So I'm sort of locked in here”, you state. That's typical Shield. As soon as there's any problem, an agent is sent in to put everything in solitary arrest or quarantine. As long as it’s shielded from the rest of the world. Natasha stops in front of a door that is now yours, but doesn't look directly at you, which as much of an answer as you get. "I'll be fine on my own now, thanks," you smile politely but not genuinely at her, and after she assures you that you're free to move around inside the building, you head off with your luggage in your new apartment.

[bonshaquitalafawndreeah]

A bandwagoner’s ode to the Cubs

Let’s get one thing straight right away: I am absolutely not a sports fan. I hated sports most of my life because they made me feel excluded. I couldn’t catch or throw a ball or comprehend strategy. I was consistently picked last in gym class and then shunned by my classmates for making them lose a game of flag football. This made me a very bitter, non participatory person. I’m that basic betch who jokes about a football game interrupting the Beyoncé concert during the super bowl. I declare that I wish both teams could lose when the Bears play the Packers and I’m forced to watch. I don’t even join in at cookouts when people start playing bags. (And I’m sure by now you’re thinking, “wow, you must be fun at parties.”)

I am NOT a fan of sports, but I am a fan of the Chicago Cubs.

Or at least I’m something adjacent to being a fan. (I am somewhere in the “ballpark” if you will.) Is it fair to lump me in with people who bleed Cubbie Blue and can recite rosters from the 90’s? God no! I am a casual admirer at best and although I come from a long line of Cub fans I admittedly payed zero attention to the sport until the 2016 World Series. You could say I’m a bandwagoner but I’m even worse than that. Even after they won the first World Series in 108 years I was still not super interested in sitting through a game. It wasn’t until my husband dragged me to Wrigley under the guise of “spending a day together in the city” that I realized there’s something truly magical about the experience.

Maybe I also happened to be in a magical season of life. We were newlyweds and the World Series win coincided with our honeymoon. My husband wore a Cubs cap to every bar and restaurant and we were congratulated by every person we met. People who had never even been to Illinois were so happy and excited for us. I was buzzing with the kind of pride you feel when something newsworthy happens in your hometown.

I grew up two hours away from Chicago, but moved to the suburbs around 2016. During that chapter, it felt like the entire world was opening up for me and everything was exciting. I had just gotten the job I used to dream about and had coworkers that would quickly start to feel like family. On weekends David and I would take the train from Glen Ellyn to the city. As I sipped a coffee and watched the scenery roll by I couldn’t believe my luck. A friendless little girl from the boonies had found a little community she could thrive in, and it was all next door to one of the world’s greatest cities.

That first Cubs game felt like a fairy tale. I knew I would enjoy drinking beer and eating a hot dog, but I planned on being bored by the rest of it. I didn’t expect to immediately fall in love with the charm of Wrigleyville. Everyone in the stadium was twinkle-in-their-eyes friendly. The blooper reels were cute and funny. Anthony Rizzo stepped to the plate while “Bad Blood” by Taylor Swift blasted and won my heart forever. I developed a genuine investment in the outcome of the game and cheered and groaned with gusto. I somehow got to watch them win that day and we jumped up and down and sang “go Cubs go” as though we had accomplished something incredible. As we left our seats I was grinning from ear to ear like a little kid. We stopped for drinks at the Cubbie Bear and I told David I had just accidentally discovered my favorite thing to do in Chicago.

Over the years we went to a few more games. Sometimes we went alone. Other times we brought David’s family. Once we dragged along a good friend who was moving across the country the next day, and another who had just finished an overnight shift. Once we went in early April and it was so cold and rainy that I bought a souvenir blanket for $50. I wore it around my shoulders like a cape in every place we stopped. For the very first time, I understood why people passionately love and defend their teams.

In 2019 we didn’t go to any games because my mental health took a nosedive. I was having panic attacks daily and for whatever reason they were most severe when I was in a car, or basically any place where I couldn’t step away “if I really needed to.” I was pretty scary to be around. I spent the summer going to therapy and sitting around at home waiting to snap out of it. The thought of surviving a train ride or a day in a packed stadium made me queasy.

But I always said that the first thing I wanted to do when I started feeling better was go back to Wrigley. I knew that this extra special era for the Cubs would be short-lived. The current team was really entertaining to watch. They had star power that would be hard to replace and they probably wouldn’t stick around forever. I could never love baseball for stats and numbers and performance metrics. I loved the feeling of joy that these players brought.

At the start of 2020 I was doing so much better and was really excited to get back out there. I couldn’t wait to do all the things that I had caused us to miss. And then, as you know... the rest of 2020 happened.

Going to a game was at the top of my summer 2021 bucket list. But work, birthdays, and family kept pushing it back. We were finally supposed to go to a game in mid-July and it was rained out and rescheduled for September.

And this past weekend the entire core of the Cubs was traded away to other teams. Never in a hundred million trillion years did I expect to be the person to care about this, but I’ve been in mourning all weekend.

For this fair-weather fan, Javy, KB, And Rizzo made sports feel approachable and fun. As someone who DOES NOT SPORT at all, I never believed that I deserved a place in that world, but I felt welcome in the little world they created. The absence of their personalities is going to hurt. A big part of me wonders If I’m better off leaving Wrigley behind me, a rose colored memory of being young and happy in my favorite city and believing that magical things can last forever.

I’m sure we’ll go back for a game again some day. But who knows who will be on the roster then? Or if we’ll have a baby in tow. It’ll be a far cry from stacking towers out of our empty beer cups, swooning over Kris Bryant, and knowing that you have all the time in the world to recreate the fun again and again.

So to wrap this thing up in a way that makes it all about meeeeeee...

The disbanding of this group feels deeply personal. Like I’m leaving behind a slightly more innocent chapter, where I could believe my city and my team were the very best and always would be. And just as they’re moving on to new and necessary adventures, my next chapter will likely be something much more realistic and adult.

But it was sure fun while it lasted.

[softboywriting]

Fight For You | Part 1

Summary: Your whole adult life you’ve dated mixed martial arts fighters, it comes naturally with working and living in and around the fighting circuits. After a fallout with your now ex-boyfriend you find a new place to start a new life where you find someone who is willing to fight for you as much as you are for him. Will you be able to build something beautiful or will your past come back to haunt you? [fighting] [asshole ex]

Word Count: 13k

Authors Note:  None of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics on any platform.

|Masterlist In Bio|

Moving to a new town in a new state is a fresh start for you. After a rough year dealing with an asshole boyfriend, leaving said boyfriend and losing your job, you have to find a new place in life. The world is a clean slate for you and Red Lake is where you’re ready to put down some roots and start over. Your best friend Jodi and her wife live there and they’re the closest thing to a real family you have left so choosing Red Lake was a no brainer.

"So, how's the apartment?" Jodi asks as she unlocks the back door of the gym where she works. Her wife Harlow is the owner and a former female MMA fighter. "It's not too shitty I hope."

"Oh I didn't get the apartment. I got the house on Garden Plaza. The one Harlow said her friend was renting out."

"Oh yeah! Fuck, I totally forgot." Jodi holds the door open for you and you wander into the back storage room. It's full of old mats and various pieces of equipment in need of repair. "When does the truck arrive with your stuff?"

"This week. The drivers said tomorrow but I'm not counting on it."

Jodi pushes open the door to the main hallway to the gym floor and nearly smacks into someone. "Holy shit!" She leans on the door and you step forward to see who she hit or just got scared by.

"Are you okay?" A voice says from beyond the door and a head pops out. "Sorry Jodi."

"God! Why are you here so early!" Jodi asks, ushering you out into the hall. She closes the door and you see a guy in a fitted black shirt and a pair of grey sweats standing behind the door. He's oddly familiar.

"Harlow asked me to come in and...wipe down the mats." The guy stares at you and you stare back. You know him. Those chocolate curls, soft eyes, and sharp jawline are unmistakably familiar. You just can't put your finger on it.

Jodi waves her hand in front of his face. "Shawn? Earth to Shawnie boy!"

Shawn Pierce. Shit, yeah it's coming back to you. Tate trained with him about a year ago when he was trying to get into the western region MMA championship circuit. You were never properly introduced but you did talk a few times. Tate didn't bring you by the gym a lot, he claimed you distracted him.

"You're Tate Greyson's girlfriend right?"

"Ex." Jodi snorts and you shove her shoulder. Shawn raises his eyebrows.

"I was, yes. We're not together anymore." You chuckle and shake your head. "Not that we were ever that together in the first place."

Shawn narrows his eyes at you and you shift uncomfortably. "Did he hit you?"

"What?" Your eyes go wide.

"The bruise on your collarbone."

Jodi leans in and pulls your shirt aside a little bit. "Oh shit, what happened?"

Suddenly you remember the bruise in question. You had fallen off the step ladder in your apartment back home while taking down your plant hangers. "I fell while packing up my apartment." You pull your shirt back to show Jodi more of the yellowing bruise. "I swear Tate never hit me. It's been months since I've seen him."

"Oh thank God." Jodi sighs and pulls out her keys. "I'd kill him myself if he touched you."

Shawn steps back and rubs his neck awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed anything."

You lean against the wall as Jodi walks up the stairs to her office door. "No, it's fine. Tate is a bit of a loose cannon, but he never hit me."

"Yeah, he was a tough one." Shawn folds his arms, stretching the tee across his chest and you can't help but stare. He shakes his head. "He never did like to listen, always just wanted to swing hard and fast, no finesse."

"Should have seen him in bed. Same tactic."

Shawn's eyes widen and you realize you didn't really need to tell him that. You flush and he just laughs. "Man he must have pissed you off if you're out here dragging him like this."

"Yeah he did." You roll your eyes at the thought of Tate. Everything he did pissed you off. Silence falls between the two of you and you push off the wall. "I'll see you around?"

"I'm here just about every day." He puts his hand out for you awkwardly and you take it, giving an oddly formal shake. "Are you going to be here a lot?"

"Dunno. I got a job at Dixie's down the street but I work nights. So I might come around a bit."

Shawn drops your hand and runs his hand over his hair. "A waitress?"

"Bartender." You smirk and he grins. "You can stop by, I make a good gin and tonic. I'm allowed discounts for family and friends."

"I'm a friend then, eh?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll be a friend." You look him over and bite your lip. "Maybe more."

Shawn grins and you can't miss the pink that spreads across his cheeks. "You're bold. I like that." He steps back and turns to go out to the main floor. "I should get back to those mats now."

"Mmmhmm." You wave him off. "See ya."

Jodi clicks her tongue and you steps out of her office. "You are so predictable." She says from the top of the stairs.

You jog up to meet her and give her a look. "What? Because I think he's hot?"

"No, because he's a fighter." Jodi rolls her eyes and sinks into her chair as you follow her into the large room. "You only date fighters."

"Says the woman who married one!"

"Hey, I don't count. Harlow is the only fighter I ever dated and I didn't even know she was a fighter when we started going out."

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. So I got a type. Whoopty do."

"At least Shawn's a good one."

"You saying I have poor taste?"

Jodi picks up a few large envelopes and stares at you over them. "You're joking right? Tate? Remember that hot garbage of a few months ago?"

"Yeah but Chase before him wasn't garbage."

"Chase was a two month fling while you worked the circuit with me. Was he ever anything?"

You flop down onto the couch under the window that overlooks the gym. "I guess not. So what, Shawn's a fighter and I like fighters. Maybe he'll be a keeper."

"Ex fighter."

"Hmm?"

"Shawn's an ex fighter." Jodi types aways at her computer and you wait for her to continue. "He doesn't fight anymore. What?"

"He doesn't? Why? He looked healthy."

"Personal choice. Harlow has been trying to book him on the circuit for years. He keeps in shape and trains other fighters for Harlow but he's not getting in that ring for anything. It's a shame, he was a two time champion."

You look out the window to where Shawn is running along the mats on the far side of the gym with a towel. You wonder what made him stop competing. A guy like him could take out anyone his weight. No doubt. You'd seen him spare with Tate once when he trained with him. Shawn has the skill, what would drive him to waste it?

_____________________

Dixie's is a hole in the wall kind of place. Definitely a local spot and everyone in town goes there. It's a bar and restaurant that serves your classic American staples, burgers, fries, steak and sandwiches. Nothing fancy, but the food is good and homemade. The day time crowd at Dixie's is mostly families, regular customers on their lunch breaks or afternoon meetups, occasionally a truck driver or two since it's on the edge of the town. The night time crowd at Dixie's is much different, very adult orientated. They didn't let kids in after eight since that's when most of the drunks and party goers start showing up. Most people know to avoid Dixie's for a late dinner lest you be caught up in a fight or have to listen to some guy babble on about the good ole days for four hours.

You work the night shift at the bar. You don't mind, you tended places much worse. Hell, you lived in Vegas for a year after graduation and that's where you learned to bartend. When you're raised in hell, the rest of the world doesn't seem so bad.

"Hey! You made it!" Carrie says from the door to the kitchen. "I was worried you wouldn't come back after last week."

"What? Greg? Please, I've dealt with a lot worse then having a drink thrown at me and being called a raging bitch." You place your purse under the counter behind the bar in a little safe. Carrie didn't fuck around when it came to safety and personal belongings in her bar.

"Oh thank God. Greg is an asshole but if you made it through the night with him I think you'll be alright."

"I worked in Vegas, Carrie." You grab your apron off the wall beside her. "I've seen shit. Greg, ain't shit."

Carrie looks incredibly relieved. "I've had four bartenders walk out because of him."

"Yeah, well, they weren't me." You wave to one of the waitresses, Sammy, coming in for her shift. The two of you hit it off really well last week so you're excited to work with her tonight."Besides, I'd like to stick around."

Carrie pushes open the kitchen door and you follow her in. "Oh yeah? Find a love interest?"

"I don't think I'd call him that yet. But I'm definitely interested." You grab a few plates off the warming table to help Carrie serve them. "We've met before."

"Oh wow, coincidence huh? You just moved here right?"

"Yeah. It's so weird, but he's a fighter who trained with my ex boyfriend a year ago. I guess I'm bound to meet people from the same circuit."

Carrie chuckles and leads the way with her arms full of plates. "You like those fighters huh? We got a lot of those type around here."

"I do." You fall silent as you help Carrie serve the large group of middle aged people at the front of the seating area. As soon as you're done Carrie walks with you to the bar.

"Anyway, those fighters are always coming in here. I don't mind the business of course, they eat a lot. But some of them also drink alot and bar fights between fighters is a nightmare."

"Don't worry, I can handle them." You wipe out some glasses on the drying station and Carrie starts going through the liquor stock to see what she needs to bring out of the back for the night. "I swear, I'm sticking around."

Carrie pauses and looks over at you. "You seem pretty set on it."

"Yeah, I am. Things are good here. I have my own place, I'm near my best friend, there's a hot fighter who I wanna get to know. It's good. A fresh start."

"I'm happy for you dear." Her hand comes down on your shoulder and you look over at her. She's smiling, her big round glasses sitting too low on her nose. She blows a stray curl out of her face and pats your shoulder a few times. "You're a good kid."

"I try to be." You chuckle. "Anyway, looks like it's kicking off early tonight." You point at a group of guys who have just walked in, some fighters by the looks of them. Out of circuit fighters, the kind who drink too much and let their bodies get weakened by alcohol. You scoff to yourself. Frat boys with too many muscles and big dreams but no dedication. A bunch of Tate Greysons'. It's gonna be a long night.

___________________

"Pierce! Focus!" Harlow yells from the office doorway at the top of the stairs. Shawn is standing in the ring with his client for the day but he keeps looking over at you where you're talking to Jodi near the bathrooms.

You look over and bite your lip, knowing you got him in trouble. "Anyways, as I was saying," you turn back to Jodi and she's grinning. "What?"

"Harlow is gonna kick his ass if he doesn't stop gawking at you." She looks up at her wife through the window and she's pacing the office, watching Shawn like a hawk. "You're quite a distraction."

"I don't mean to be. I'm just standing here for fucks sake." You gesture to your jeans and plain tee shirt. "I'm not even dressed up!"

Jodi laughs. "Shawn's just soft, he's got your attention and he doesn't want to lose it. I don't know the last time he had a girlfriend."

"Really?" You look back. "A guy like him has been single for-" Shawn gets clocked in the head. "Oh shit."

Jodi sighs. "Moron."

You jog over to the ring and hold onto the cage, staring at Shawn on the ground. "Are you okay?!"

"Dude, you went down like a sack of bricks." The other fighter says, kneeling on one knee beside Shawn. "Dude?"

"Is he knocked out?" You ask, walking along the ring to climb the stairs at the open entryway. "Shawn?"

"I haven't been hit that hard in years." Shawn groans, eyes closed. "Good left hook, Connor."

"Thanks, but for real are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Shawn sits up and holds his head. "Y'know no matter how many fights you're in, and how much training you do, getting hit hurts worse when you're not expecting it."

"Getting hit hurts in general." You laugh and help him up on his feet. "And you would have expected it if you weren't staring at me."  

Connor snickers.

"I was not staring." Shawn stretches his arms and shakes off the hit.

"Yeah? Why'd you get hit then?"

"We're sparing."

"Uh huh." You look to Connor. "Did he seem distracted?"

"Very."

"Mmm thought so." You turn and walk out of the cage with a glance back with a small smile.

Shawn calls out to you as you cross the gym floor. "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?!"

"Stop staring at me and actually talk to me is what it means!" You laugh and meet up with Jodi outside the office. "God he's ridiculous."

"He hasn't asked you out yet?"

"No! It's been a week since we met. He just stares at me when I'm here and occasionally says no more than four words to me." You glance over and Shawn and Connor have changed positions so Shawn is with his back to you. "I think he's shy."

"Shawn? Nah. He's sweet, always has been. I think he's just cautious because he knows you just got out of a relationship, and one with a former trainee of his too. I'd be cautious."

"Well light a fire under his ass for me will you?"

Jodi gives you a thumbs up. "I'll get right on that boss. Matchmaker Jodi Price is on the case!"

"Oh shut up. Just talk to him?"

"I will." Jodi grabs her keys from Harlow as she steps out of the office. "We'll be back later honey."

"I'll pick up dinner." Harlow looks out at Connor and Shawn. "If I'm late it's because I've got two man-children to deal with."

"Easy on him. He's got feelings for our girl here."

Harlow rolls her eyes. "I don't pay him to have feelings."

"You're such a hardass, Harlow." You laugh and she smirks. "I promise I'll try not to stop in too much when he's training Connor."

"Yeah yeah." Harlow waves you off. "Get out of here, go have fun."

"Picking up furniture at Ikea isn't fun." Jodi says in annoyance.

"Mmhmm. Sure its not. Bye bye." Harlow walks toward the window to the gym floor and you wave goodbye.

"Come on." You put your arm around Jodi's shoulders. "Let's go build some skeptical furniture and relive the good ole days."

Jodi laughs. "Yeah, the good ole days of duct taped chair legs and book balanced tables. God I hope these Ikea things will be better than our crap back then."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

_____________________

Building furniture is a nightmare. You and Jodi spend an hour putting together a dresser that you end up abandoning in favor of Chinese take out and a rerun of Chopped you hadn't seen before while sitting on the boxes for your nightstand and kitchen cart. You still have both of those items plus your bed frame to build. You'll get to it eventually.

Eventually leads to three days later and you still have the boxes propped against the wall of your living room where you and Jodi abandoned them after dinner. Every day you walk past them and think, maybe that day, but then you keep going. It's not until today, Friday, your day off, that you might actually get them built.

"Hey, what're you doing tonight?" Shawn asks as he steps down out of the cage. You've been watching him spar with one of the other trainers for an hour now after stopping by to help Jodi read over some paperwork for the gyms lease.

"Me?"

He grins. "Yeah, you."

"Building furniture for my house."

He chuckles and sinks into the chair next to you, observing two fighters now sparing on the mats nearby. "Sounds like a wild time."

"Oh it will be. I'll probably decide to get drunk halfway through and just say fuck it again." You laugh to yourself. "Drunk lonely furniture building on a Friday night. I've reached my peak at age twenty four."

"Need some help?" Shawn looks over and you raise your eyebrows. He is really making a move. Finally.

"You sure you don't have some floors to clean or something?" You ask, referencing the last time he tried to get out of your attempt to instigate a date. He is a weird one, definitely interested but hesitant for some reason. You get what Jodi said, about him being cautious because of your past with Tate but it's been almost five months. You're ready to move the fuck on. You gotta make it clear to this man you're ready.

Shawn smiles and looks away. "Okay, fair enough. Just call me out why don't you?"

"Yeah? You realize you've been dragging this out?"

"Yeah yeah. So can I come over?"

You grin and cross your arms. "I guess. What do you drink?"

"Tequila?" He says with a smirk as he starts unwrapping his hands.

"I'm not buying tequila. I don't know about you but tequila fucks me up and I will make some bad decisions."

"Me too, maybe we should go for it then."

"Absolutely not." You reach over and grab Shawn's hand as he picks at a piece of the fabric that's tucked too tightly under another. "How about we just start with some hard lemonade or something?"

Shawn smiles and closes his big hand over yours. "It's a date then?"

"Is it a date?"

"Could be."

"Let's just call it hanging out for now." You place the coiled up wad of wrapping fabric in Shawn's hand. "Now, I'm going to get lunch at Dixie's. You want something?"

"Nah, I brought lunch." Shawn looks over at the sitting area where Harlow has set up a refrigerator, a stand with a microwave and a few little tables with chairs. "Leftover chicken and rice."

You stand and Shawn stands with you. He flexes his hand a few times to work out the stiffness of it being bound too tight in the wrapping. You head for the office stairs to see if the ladies want lunch too. "I'll let you know when I'm heading home so you can follow me."

"Works for me."

"Oh, and don't wrap your hand so tight next time." You point at his hand. "You should know better."

Shawn grins sheepishly. "Maybe someone else should wrap it for me?"

"Maybe." You smile and he just grins.

_____________________

"Hey Jodi have you seen- oh." Shawn leans against the door as he looks between you and Jodi on the couch in the office. It's almost seven and you had completely lost track of time.

"Yeah?"

"Whatcha doing?"

Jodi holds her half wrapped hand up to show Shawn. "Teaching her to wrap."

Shawn smirks. "Your ex never taught you?"

"Tate didn't like having me around too much when he was fighting. He said I distracted him. So I didn't get to wrap his hands but once or twice."

"What a dick. Well I'm done cleaning up for the day, are you ready to go?"

Jodi raises her eyebrows. "Y'all have a date? And you didn't tell me?"

"It's not a date." You roll your eyes. "He's just going to help me with the furniture."

"So he's gonna be at your house with you alone?"

"Yes." You stand and Jodi unwinds her hand. "Now don't say another word missy." Jodi just snickers and you grab your purse. "Let's go Shawn."

An hour into furniture building and you're sure you're going to combust. Shawn is so big and thick, and close. He's in a pair of tight black jeans and a black tank top, having forgone his shirt almost as soon as you started working. He is just...he's too much. You thought Tate was big, you thought Tate was ripped and he was but not like Shawn. The way Shawn is built and the way he moves so fluidly is just...it's enough to stop your heart.

"Hey, hello?" He waves his hand in your face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Yeah?"

Shawn chuckles and leans back on his forearms. "What'd I say?"

"Hello?"

"Nope. I asked you if you wanted to get dinner."

"Oh." You push your hair back out of your face and look up at the clock over your kitchen table. "It's almost eight. Shit."

"So? Do you work tomorrow?"

"Yeah in the evening, but I didn't mean to keep you this late."

"It's not late?" Shawn laughs. "It's no big deal. I'm off tomorrow. I'll order something and we'll keep putting together this bed frame, sleeping on a mattress on the floor is bad for your back."

"Mmmhmm. Sure you don't just want to stay late to get me on this bed after we put it together?"

Shawn sits up, leans forward onto his hands and knees, face close to yours as he pushes himself up off the floor. "Oh I'll be much more upfront when I wanna do that." He pulls out his phone and you flush hot. "What sounds good? Pizza? Wings? Chinese?"

"Don't you need to eat healthy?"

"I do." He smiles over at you. "It's alright to indulge now and then."

"Oh."

"None of this is going away because I eat some pizza now and then." He gestures up and down himself. "I know that sounds incredibly pretentious but I worked hard for this strength. I'm having pizza." He puts the phone up to his ear and walks around the room aimlessly as it rings.

"Tate never wanted to get dinner. He said it'd ruin his diet." You stand and look around at the scattered pieces of the bed frame and your stomach rumbles loudly.

"Yeah because he was an idiot." Shawn says softly before answering the phone and placing an order for a medium taco pizza.

You raise your eyebrows and he grins. How did he happen to know your favorite pizza? There was no way he could have known or guessed. Taco pizza was not an every day order.

"Thank you bye." He pockets his phone. "Anyway Tate was obsessed with his eating habits. I remember sitting him down and explaining that he actually needs to eat real food and not protein shakes and supplements for every meal. He didn't ever listen though."

"Yeah he was an idiot, okay, but how did you know I like taco pizza?"

"Wild guess."

"Uh uh. Who told you?"

Shawn holds his hands up. "Honest to God, you want the truth?"

"Yeah. Who was it?"

"No one. Seriously, it was a wild guess. I like taco pizza and I noticed you have little taco magnets on the fridge and a taco pillow on your couch so I figured maybe you like them too. Seriously, it was a shot in the dark."

You stare at him slack jawed. He had been in your house for an hour and he noticed your taco magnets? That was...just so...weird? What else did he notice? You look around your room suddenly very self conscious of everything you have sitting on the dresser and nightstand. "I...I don't know what to say about that."

"About what?"

"About how observant you are."

"Oh. Should I not be?"

"N-no, I mean, it's fine? I've just never had someone pay attention to my stuff I guess."

Shawn chuckles and gets down on his knees to start taking the rest of the bed frame pieces from the box. You definitely don't miss how his ass is perfectly accentuated by the dip of his jeans. "Well, I like your place, it's interesting and cozy. Sorry if that's weird, I don't mean it to be."

"It's fine." You get down next to him, eyes still on his butt and he hands you a bag of screws. "It's just different. You're different." He leans forward to grab a bar from the frame and the way his back curves makes you want to grab his ass so bad. It's perfectly round and you just want to feel it so badly.

He glances over with a smile as he sits back on his knees. "Is that good?"

"W-what?" You feel a flush on your cheeks. Was he talking about your staring? Was he good? Because yes, a thousand times yes he was.

"Is it good that I'm different?"

"Oh! Yeah, very good." You smile and look down with a chuckle as you dump the bag of screws into a little Tupperware bowl he hands you that you've been using for small parts so nothing gets lost. "I like different."

"Me too." He grins and you meet his eyes. "Let's get this bed together so we can relax when the pizza gets here."

"Sounds like a plan."

_____________________

"Busy night?"

You look up from the back of the bar and see Shawn sitting a few seats down from you. He's smiling, hair pushed back looking like a damn angel in his white tee. The bar has been crowded for two hours now, a huge bachelor party of some sort taking up most of the space in the building. You and Sammy have been working double time to get food and drinks out as quick as possible. Big parties of guys meant big tips, keep them happy, keep that tip growing.

"Yeah." You glance over to the loud crowd nearby. "Bachelor party."

"I see. Must be fun?"

"For me or them?"

"Both?"

You chuckle and walk down to stand in front of him. "Is it fun making drinks? Yes. Is it fun watching a bunch of twenty some year olds get hammered while getting hit on by every one of them? Not so much."

Shawn waves off a drink offer as you gesture to the bar behind you. "I just came by to see how you were doing. You haven't been by the gym in a few days."

"Oh, you noticed." You lean back and smile. "I've been working doubles. Carrie has had a cold and I didn't want her to push herself. I'm a lot younger, I can't handle a few days of work."

Shawn cracks open a peanut from the bucket on the counter for customers. "You're a sweetheart." He grins and pops the peanut in his mouth. "Glad you're alright though."

"Did you think I was avoiding you?"

"Nah. Well, a little?" He chuckles and hangs his head. "Honestly I thought I fucked up the night we put together your bed."

You step forward and fold your arms on the counter in front of him. "I'd tell you if you fucked up. Trust me, you haven't done anything to put me off."

"Good. What do you say to lunch Wednesday?"

"I'd say I hope you like Dixie's pulled pork special because that's where I'll be."

"You work dayshift again?" He shakes his head.

"Yep. My last double."

"Okay, alright. I'll stop by?"

"I'd love it."

Shawn looks over at the party of guys getting loud again. "I'm gonna head out before that gets too wild. Stay safe honey."

"Bye Shawn." You roll your eyes at his ridiculous pet name and he waves as he heads out.

____________________

"How's Connor doing?" You ask as you watch the young fighter spar with one of the other guys while Shawn is taking a break in the office.  

"The kid is insane. He's fast, strong, smart too. He reminds me of myself when I was nineteen."

You look over and Shawn is tossing a stress ball up at the ceiling casually. "Connor is nineteen?"

"Yeah." He looks over with a grin. "Why? Thought he was cute?"

"Shawn! God, no. I'm just surprised Harlow took on a guy that young."

"I was too. I remember when Connor walked into this gym. He was a short little sixteen year old with no intention of doing anything but bulking up a bit."

"He didn't wanna be a fighter?"

"Nope." Shawn chuckles. "He came to take some HIIT classes and some CrossFit bullshit Harlow had let a trainer do for a few months. I think once he saw me and Mike in the ring he caught the bug."

You watch as Connor takes down his opponent, pinning him to the mat. Shawn's right, he is fast and strong for his size. His practice opponent is easily twenty pounds heavier than him and he is taking him down like it's nothing. "You think he's gonna make it to championship finals?"

"He going to make it to nationals if I have any say in it. He has what it takes, he's got the heart and soul of a fighter. You don't see that everyday. I've trained a lot of guys in the last few years and they just don't have what Connor has."

"Has any of your trainees made it to the championship circuit?"

"No. Not yet." Shawn looks over and you chuckle. "What? You think I'm not good at training?"

"Not that. I'm just laughing because your last trainee was Tate right?"

"Yeah."

"He definitely didn't have what it takes."

"He didn't. He couldn't listen, just wanted to do what he thought was right. You'd think when a two time western champion and two time national finalist takes the time to train you, you might try and give a fuck." Shawn sits up and squeezes the shit out of his stress ball. "Tate honest to God pissed me off like no other."

You raise your eyebrows and giggle. How funny it was that the two of you shared the same distaste for Tate. "He was something."

"No. He's nothing and he's never going to be until he gets his head out of his ass."

"Harsh."

"You think so? I'm sure you've thought the same thing."

You smirk. "I've definitely thought worse."

"And I'm harsh?"

"I haven't said it out loud." You scoff and lean back in Jodi's chair. "But someone should."

Shawn stands and walks over to the desk. He leans forward and smirks. "I'd tell that sorry piece of shit every single thing you wish you could say to him. I'd hand deliver it to him right in his smug fuckin jaw."

"Easy tiger." You run your hand up his arm, fingers curling against bicep and he drops his head. "No need for the violence. Fighting is an art not a brawl."

"You-"

"I'm using your own words against you?" You smirk and stand up, checking a message on your phone from Sammy about stopping by for tips from last night.

Shawn straightens up with a grin and shakes his head. "You remember me telling Tate that?"

"It's the first thing I ever heard you say to him."

"Tate is a dumbass for losing a woman like you, y'know?"

"Yeah." You walk around and past Shawn toward the door. "But if he wasn't, I wouldn't have ever found a man worth fighting for."

_____________________

Wednesday afternoon is a shit show. For some reason there are a couple day drinkers in at the bar and they won't stop bugging Sammy. She's covering a shift for one of the other waitresses, Megan, since it's her birthday and she's seriously regretting it. Day shift is supposed to be easy. The worst part being an occasional kid throwing food around. Poor girl.

"I just can't do it," Sammy hisses as she stands beside you at the end of the bar at the wash station. "That guy over there has been harassing me non stop. I've tried everything to get him to fuck off."

You take a look over at the end of the bar and you know exactly which guy it is. He's in his thirties, probably an insurance broker or real estate agent by the looks of his tailored suit and gray temples. He looks older than he should. There's a glass of whiskey in his hand that you served him about ten minutes ago. He's the one you were about to cut off and send packing anyways.

"Want me to make him leave?"

"Do you have a bouncer?" Sammy glances over your shoulder. "Because I don't think he's going to leave so easily."

"Well, how about we make him realize you're not into him?"

"By doing what?"

You smirk and set down your dirty glasses into the sink. "I can stage kiss you. I used to do it all the time with my friends back in Vegas." You look down at the guy. He'd definitely fall for it, he was too drunk to see straight. "We'll make a show of it."

"I don't know." Sammy twists her hands in her apron. "Maybe he'll just leave?"

"Sammy. He's not gonna leave if he thinks he has even an inkling of a chance." You pull Sammy down the bar closer to where the creep is sitting. "It's up to you. He's watching us right now."

"Okay, okay." She shakes her hands out and puts her hand on your shoulder, going up to your neck. You can see her glance over at the guy. "It's working he's watching intently."

"Good." You cup her cheek and bring your other hand up to here jaw and cover her mouth with the side or your palm as you pretend to kiss her. "Is he looking?"

"Mmhyeah."

You pull back and give Sammy a hug before going down the bar to the creep. "Do you need a refill on that?" You ask, pointing to his nearly empty glass. You weren't really going to give him a refill, he'd had more than enough.

"No." He grumbles and stands up. "I'm going home." He passes you his credit card and you settle his tab. "Thanks."

Sammy beams from her spot by the liquor shelves. "I can't believe that worked!"

"Almost every time." You walk over and hand her the ones the creep had left as a tip under his cup. "For you dear."

"Thanks." Sammy pockets the bills and smiles. "I wish I had you years ago."

"Well I'm here now." You ruffle her hair and she ducks away. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Keep an eye out for Shawn? He is supposed to be coming in for lunch."

"Ohhh." Sammy smirks. "You got a little crush on the big boy?"

"Obviously." You toss your bar rag over your shoulder and head for a lady who's just walked up at the end of the bar. "How couldn't I?"

"He's a good one!" Sammy laughs and heads off to check on her tables while you get back to bartending.

_____________________

Shawn never showed up for lunch. You can't say you weren't a little disappointed since you had made plans, but you understand that he may have gotten busy at the gym. Things happen. It isn't a big deal.

You stop by the gym the next day to help Jodi with registration for the fall championship circuit for the western region. She had to have all of the fighters from Harlow's registered and ready to go by Monday. It is a ton of paperwork and you know what to do, so you volunteer to help out before work.

"Can you go get Jack for me? I need to talk to him about getting me a copy of his physical."

"Yep." You push away from her desk and head out the door. The locker rooms are to the right of the main floor of the gym and you head there first.

"Dude, I saw her kissing Sammy."

You freeze and listen to the conversation you've walked up on. It's clearly Shawn.

"So? What's the big deal?" It's Connor.

"I thought she was into me. We've been flirting and stuff and then I walk into Dixie's for lunch and she's kissing the waitress! I thought she was into guys!"

Connor laughs and sighs. "I dunno dude."

"I can be into both." You say, stepping into view and getting a good look at Shawn in nothing but a towel. He's dripping wet and it's so hard to focus on the conversation at hand, you have to look away. "Maybe if you wanted to know what was going on, you should ask me?"

Connor's eyes go wide and he looks between the two of you before ducking his head and squeezing around Shawn to make himself scarce.

"I know you can like whoever you want...I just thought..."

"Shawn." You walk over to him and lay your hand on his chest. He's warm and damp and oh Lord when he shifts you can feel the muscle flex. "Relax. I pretended to kiss Sammy so a guy at the bar would stop harassing her."

"Oh."

"Is that why you didn't show up for lunch?"

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "I walked in and saw that kiss and I didn't know what to think. I'm sorry, I should have asked you."

"It's fine. I probably would have been really confused too." You look him over and he smirks. "I swear I'm still very much into you."

"Yeah? Enough to go on a real date?"

"Mmm I think it's time we did. Any plans?"

Shawn grins. "I have a few. How's this Saturday night sound?"

"I'm off. What time?"

"Six? I'll pick you up. Wear something comfortable and not too fancy."

You raise your eyebrows and he just keeps smiling. "Alright. I'll see you then. In the meantime, have you seen Jack? We need a copy of his latest physical for the registration."

"He's probably out on the floor. If you didn't see him, check the backroom because he might be resting on the spare mats."

"In the storage area?"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "He likes to meditate and listen to his audio books back there to relax."

"Oh. Well thanks." You pat Shawn's chest and he traps your hand under his, curling his fingers around yours. "Yes?"

He bites his lip and shakes his head before releasing your hand. "Nothing. Go on."

"See you in a bit."

_____________________

"Do you still do photography?" Harlow asks you Friday day while you, her and Jodi sit in their living room while going over travel plans for the out of state fights in this year's competition.

"A little bit. I don't do anything professionally anymore."

"But you have your camera?"

"Yeah of course and my lenses. Why?"

Harlow grins. "If I hire you, will you do the photography for the website? I need pictures of all the guys for the brackets this year."

"Sure I can do that. I think I have a my backdrop stuff still as well."

"You'll probably get to photograph Shawn too." Jodi pipes up from where she's typing away at the laptop. "You could take a few just for yourself."

"Jodi!"

"What?"

Harlow groans and shoves her wife's shoulder. "I'm hiring her for a professional shoot, quit teasing her."

"Yeah yeah."

"What time do you want me to stop by? I'm free this weekend and next Thursday all day. Otherwise I work after six."

"Stop by whenever you want. I'm sure it'll take a few days to get all the fighters done and we have a few weeks before fights start. We'll start with Connor when you do get set up. He's my headliner. I'm banking on him hard so I want his photos to be really good."

"Yes ma'am."

_____________________

"So you're doing photos for Harlow?"

You look over at Shawn from the passenger side of his truck. He'd picked you up at a little after six and still wouldn't tell you where you're going. He did make you change into an old pair of jeans instead of the black skinnies you had on and promised you wouldn't regret it. You're almost convinced he's taking you mudding outside of town because you've been driving for twenty minutes and you're still not sure where the hell you are.

"Yeah, I'm doing photos for her? Why?"

"No reason, I was curious."

"You want me to take pictures of you too?"

"I'm not a fighter in the circuit."

"So?"

Shawn looks over and raises his eyebrows. "So why would you take pictures of me?"

"Because you're gorgeous." You look out the window away from him, heart racing at your admission. "I'd die to photograph you in action. You're a rarity, perfect from every angle. It'd be a treat."

"I had no idea you were so into photography. That's awesome." He bumps your leg and you look over. "I'd love to see what kind of photos you take at matches."

"I've taken some good ones. But like I said, I really want to photograph you."

He chuckles. "Sorry sweetheart. I'm retired." He turns the truck down a dirt road toward a big sign that says Pierce Ranch.

"You have a farm?"

"No, my uncle does."

"Why are we going to your uncle's farm?"

"Because I'm taking you horseback riding."

"What? You're serious?"

Shawn turns the truck into a long driveway in front of a big sprawling house. "Dead serious. My uncle is out of town for a few days and he said we could come out and spend some time out here."

You sit stunned in silence. Horseback riding as a first date. Who thought of that? It's so off the wall and incredibly romantic.

"Should we go back?"

You snap out of your thoughts and look over at Shawn as he kills the engine in front of a set of garages. He looks worried. "No, why?"

"You're really quiet. If you don't want to do this we can just go to dinner or something. I know it's kind of different and-"

"I want to go horseback riding."

"Oh." He smiles big and you can see the relief on his face. "Okay good. I'm really looking forward to having you meet my favorite horse."

You put your hand on the door to get out. "I can't wait."

An hour later and you're set up on a horse named Butters, his favorite, and you're strolling along side Shawn on a well worn path around some trees behind the barns. You were nervous at first, needing Shawn's help to stay on the horse but eventually you got the hang of it.

"So, you must really like horses then?" You giggle, looking over at Shawn during a lull in conversation.

"Yeah. I used to spend every summer here with my Uncle Carlos. I still come out here pretty often when I need to relax and get away from it all."

"Ahh, I can see why. It's nice." You bite your lip and glance over. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?" He chuckles. "Usually that's how dates go."

"Why don't you fight anymore?"

Shawn is quiet. You know it's a sore subject, seeing as no one really wanted to get too in depth when they talked about Shawn's past. You're curious though. A man like him with his skills and experience could still be in the ring.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

"No, I-I knew you'd ask eventually." He sighs and guides the horses to a clearing in the trees. He slides off and hitches his horse and then yours to a tree before helping you down.

"Seriously, you seem uncomfortable to talk about it. We don't have to."

Shawn stuffs his hands into his pockets as the two of you head for a bunch of rocks. There's a stream nearby and you can hear the water trickling along the rocks you're walking toward. This place is incredibly serene and you feel bad for bringing up such a tense subject when the date has been going so well.

"So, three years ago I won my second championship." Shawn drops down onto a large flat boulder. "But, the fight was so intense I almost killed my opponent. Now I know, fights get rough and tension runs high in the ring when there's a lot of money and a title at stake. It wasn't about that though. I kicked my opponent so hard he dropped, he just went down, lights out. It wasn't until after everything was said and done I found out he had serious brain trauma from the fight, particularly from my kick."

You sit down next to Shawn and grab his hand. He rubs his thumbs over your fingers gently before continuing.

"I found out he had a newborn baby. I accidentally almost killed this man and took him away from his child because of a sport. I had to stop after that. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Oh Shawn." You squeeze his hand and he looks at you. "You didn't kill him though. He's fine, he's alive and with his child. It is part of the risks you take as fighters."

"I know. I just couldn't deal with that sort of thing happening again. I've made my peace with it and with fighting."

"I understand." You scoot a little closer and he runs his free hand over his hair. "You're a great trainer. Maybe being a fighter isn't for you anymore, but your skills aren't wasted this way. Do you want to fight?"

"To be completely honest, yes. I want to fight every single day, I itch to compete and I think that's why I push Connor so hard. I'm living vicariously."

"Maybe you could do some small time stuff? Not such high stakes?"

"I can't." He shakes his head. "When I'm in the ring I don't stop, I fight hard until I'm out or I win. It's all or nothing."

"Oh."

"Yeah. But anyways, I'm happy training." He smiles, soft and small but genuine nonetheless. "I'm proud to be training a fighter like Connor."

"Good. That's what matters." You bite your lip and giggle to yourself. "I much rather see you like this then all beat up anyway."

"Oh yeah? Not into the black eye and busted lip look?"

"Not on you." You reach out and tenderly turn his face to you. "You're too gorgeous to see damaged."

"I'm gorgeous?" Shawn smirks and runs his hand over your hair. "I think you're mistaken. You're the gorgeous one here." He cradles your face in his hand and just stares at you lovingly.

"No, definitely not." There's a moment where you're both staring at each other's lips and you both know that you want to make a move but it's too soon. Or is it?

Shawn's hand slides away from your face and he stands, offering to help you up. "Let's go back. I've got stuff to make dinner."

"You're making me dinner?"

He hauls you up against him. "Mmhmm. You can help if you'd like." He holds you steady by your hips. "How does spaghetti and meatballs sound?"

"Really good."

"Good." He puts his arm around your shoulders and starts walking back to the horses. "Because when we both have garlic breath the rest of the night won't matter."

You laugh and he just beams at you. "You're something else." You run your hand over his back and he leans his head on yours. "I like it, I like you."

"I like you too."

_____________________

Wednesday night comes around again quicker than ever and Dixie's is crawling with people. All the fighters from Harlow's have showed up to celebrate the announcement of the western circuit championship bracket. Shawn shows up a little after nine and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face. He smiles back and makes your heart beat faster. Things have been going incredibly well with him since the date at the ranch. You're falling hard and fast and you don't really want to stop.

"Hey darling," Shawn says over the loudness as he leans against an empty spot at the bar. "How's it going?"

"Packed! Harlow brought all the guys and their friends and families in! It's crazy."

"Good for business though."

"Very. Carrie is moving faster than I've ever seen her go. We've had to pull Dave from the kitchen twice to help me catch up with drinks. We're gonna need to restock." You laugh and point back at the bar. "My tips are racking up fast too."

Shawn looks you over in your required black tee and apron. It's nothing special, but you know it looks good on you and so does he. "You deserve every dollar you get tonight. You're working hard."

"I am. Can I get you something?"

"Just a diet coke is fine. I'm taking it easy in case anyone needs a ride home tonight."

You turn around and fill a glass from the soda guns attached to the counter. "Enjoy yourself, you got most of these guys to this competition after all."

Shawn raises his drink to that and smiles. "I'm going to go hang out with Connor and Jack. I'll check in later?"

"I'll be here."

Two hours later and you are pushing through the kitchen doors to find Carrie. There's a guy who's harassing you and he's way more wasted then he should be, you've only served him three drinks and they weren't that strong. You suspect he may be taking something along with his drinks and Carrie won't have that sort of activity in her establishment.

"We've got a problem." You state angrily, gripping the doorway to the walk in cooler. "It's that asshole who's been trying to get my number since he sat down."

"Yeah?" Carrie turns to look at you as she hauls out a box of burger patties for the cooks. "Is he tweaked out?"

"I think so. He just grabbed my chest when I leaned over to hand some drinks to a guy beside him."

Carrie is livid, her eyes look like she could kill a man with her bare hands and possible has before. "Oh he's gone, I'm gonna-"

A loud crash from beyond the kitchen stuns you both and not a second later Dave, the line prep cook, throws open the door to the backroom and says there's a fight in the front area. Carrie drops the box of burgers in the cooler and closes the door as she hightails it to the front with you on her heels.

The scene before you is not pretty and immediately you think that it's one of the fighters involved. You're right. It's a fighter. But not a current one. It's Shawn and he is standing in front of the bar squared up with the drunk grabby handed guy. There is an overturned table and chairs and you think Shawn's already knocked the asshole down once, or he stumbled into the table and fell.

"Shawn!" You try to yell over the crowd but it's way too loud.

Carrie pushes past you and shoves her tiny frame through the crowd. You decide to go around to get behind the bar and as soon as you do you see a mess of shattered glass and ice on the floor.

"Shawn!" You shout, hands cupped around your mouth. "Shawn stop!"

He isn't listening or he can't hear you. Either way he's swinging at the drunk guy again in defense and before anything can get worse, the cops show up. You watch as the crowd separates and drunk grabby hands gets cuffed while Shawn tries to talk to the cops. It's no use and you watch them walk Shawn out of the bar as well.

You lean on the counter with your back to the door as the two guys get escorted out. Great. You can't help but feel like this is your fault. Shawn must have seen the move grabby hands pulled and approached him. You run your hand over your hair and look to Carrie as she steps behind the bar.

"God damn fighters. This is such a mess!"

"Yeah it is." You chuckle dryly to yourself. "It sure is."

______________________

You didn't think you'd ever be waiting in the lobby of a police station at three in the morning but here you are. Harlow was going to come with, in fact she was going to go alone and bail Shawn out but Jodi was absolutely trashed and you know she needed to take care of her over Shawn, so you said you would go. Besides, you wanted to talk with him one on one about the fight and why it happened.

You hear Shawn before you see him. He's coming down the hall behind the check in desk. "What do you mean my girlfriend came and-"

"Hey," you wave and he walks over to you quickly and hugs you tight.

"Thank God you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay. What would have happened to me?"

Shawn pulls you back and holds your face. "I couldn't find you after that guy put his hands on you. I was worried you left Dixie's or he did something."

"Shawn, he was wasted. What was he going to do to me? He could hardly stand."

"I don't know. I approached him after I saw what happened and he was talking all this shit like what he wanted to do to you. God it was disgusting, and then I didn't see you around and I panicked."

You cup his face and he has a bruise blossoming on his left jaw. "So your instinct was to fight him?"

"He came at me. I was just going to get some of the guys to help me escort him out but he started swinging as soon as I said he needed to go."

"Well it's done and over with now." You turn and head for the doors. "I'll take you to get your truck at the bar."

The ride to Dixie's is quiet. The dark streets are empty, illuminated only by the soft yellow street lights that have been there for far longer than they should be. Seriously the light is so dim it hardly lights up the road. You turn down the street you live on to take a shortcut to Dixie's and as you pass your house you glance at it instinctively.

You slam on the breaks just past your driveway. "What the fuck?" You put the car in park and squint at your darkened front door, or lack thereof. The door is open, gone by the looks of it.

"Don't get out of the car." Shawn warns, flipping the lock button. "Someone could still be in there. Call the cops and back up out of sight."

You fumble with your phone and put it up to your ear. You report the break in and your street name. As soon as you're done you reverse down the street until you're a few houses away.

Shawn reaches over and lays his hand on your shoulder. "Do you know anyone who might have done this?"

"No. I have no idea. I don't even have anything worth stealing!" You lean your head on the steering wheel. "I don't understand. Could this night get any worse?"

"Don't say that." Shawn rubs up and down your back. "It's not the end of the world. We'll find out what's going on."

"What if I had gone home from Dixie's? What if I didn't come pick you up?" You look at the darkened house. "What if I was there?"

"You weren't. That's what matters. Look," he points to a police car coming down the street. "Here comes the cops."

"Will you go in with me?"

"Of course. You think I'm gonna just stay in the car?" Shawn grabs your hand and kisses it gently. "Come on, let's go talk to the cops."

An hour later and you've filed a full report with Officer Jones. There was nothing stolen as far as you can see. The house is fine, completely in order except for your room. Your dresser had been torn through and your closet emptied out, bed sheets and blankets torn apart too. You have absolutely no idea what someone was looking for and Officer Jones kept asking if you were completely sure you didn't know who could have done this.

It's nearly five in the morning and you are exhausted. The sun is coming up and the sky outside is getting brighter by the minute. You need to sleep and you don't feel safe in your house with the door broken and your bedroom torn apart.

"Grab some clothes, I'm gonna take you to my place." Shawn says, walking around your mess of a bedroom. "We'll take care of the broken door frame and stuff later."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Come on. I know we're both exhausted so I'll drive and we'll pick up my truck tomorrow. We need to rest, it's been a long night."

You grab a tote bag from your closet and throw a few shirts and jeans in it with some underwear. "I could stay with Jodi."

"I really would feel better if you stayed with me." Shawn takes the bag from you as you grab a pair of shoes and socks by the dresser. "Are you okay with it?"

"Of course Shawn." You join him by the door and lay your hand on his shoulder. "I trust you. We'll go to your place. If you want to take that stuff to the car I'm going to grab my camera gear. I told Harlow I'd start doing photos tomo- today." You sigh. "Well, I'll try and get everything set up after we get a few hours of sleep."

"I'm sure she'll understand." He rubs your back and you lean your head on his shoulder. You're absolutely at your limit, body ready to collapse on the next available soft surface. "I'll be in the car. Don't take too long."

"I won't."

_____________________

When you wake up you have no idea what time it is. Shawn's room is bright and you look around for some hint that he is there. He had insisted you take his bed and he'd sleep on the couch. His bed smells so good, like fresh laundry and his cologne. Warm and spicy, it is absolutely perfect. You reach for your phone on the nightstand and see it's just after noon. There are three missed texts.

Harlow: are you coming by to do the shoot today?

Shawn: I'll be at the gym, take it easy and help yourself to the fridge.

Harlow: nvm please rest I talked to Shawn

You close your eyes and flop back onto the pillows. You promised Harlow you'd be by to take some photos, at least some of the ones for the gym website. You turn over and curl up with Shawn's spare pillow, pressing your face into while opening Shawn's text to reply.

You: is Harlow mad I didn't make it?

Shawn: no. I explained the situation and she's more worried about you than anything

You: tell her I can still make it in to set up at least

Shawn: okay. If u are coming by bring me an extra shirt? I forgot to bring one for post workout.

You: okay no prob.

You glance over at his dresser and then back to the window opposite you that over looks the tree line behind his house. It looks like a nice day, it'd be a shame to waste it but you aren't feeling like going out. You just want to stay curled up in his bed forever. Yesterday was so draining with everything that happened and you don't know how much you can handle without snapping at someone. Rest had definitely helped but you still feel uneasy about the break in. It just seemed so targeted like Officer Jones said, but you can't imagine what someone would want from you.

Eventually you get up and make your way down stairs to the kitchen. Shawn's place is beautiful, it truly is. It's very much like a modern cabin and you're not surprised since it's just outside of town in the woods. He's got a few neighbors but it's not like a usual neighborhood setting.

You grab a protein bar from what you assume was once a fruit basket. It looks good enough and you grab your purse from the living room, stuffing one of Shawn's tees into it before you head out. You pause, looking down at the white shirt hanging out of your purse. You go back into the bedroom and take a blue shirt from Shawn's dresser before stripping off your top and pulling the white tee on over your head. It's a little big but it fits well enough and you smile to yourself in his mirror. You grab your purse and head for the front door.

The drive into town is quiet, a little long, but it's nice. It's one long road that winds around the woods in a circle and then turns out on to Main St that you take all the way into town. It's basically a cul-de-sac but in the woods. The whole time you wonder if you should stop by the house and check on it, or if you should call Officer Jones and see if they have anything to go off of. You're really banking on one of your neighbor's having a security camera or something that spotted the intruder. Though your street is so dark at night it's hard to see anything anywhere.

You turn into the lot behind Harlow's and park beside Jodi's Jeep. You unload your backdrops and stands, carrying everything in the back door. You're met with Connor whos grabbing some tape for a mat from the storage room and he offers to help.

"Look who I found," Connor announces as you walk out onto the gym floor with all your stuff in hand.

Shawn walks over from boxing with a stand up bag. "Hey darling," he takes your camera bag and stand case. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes." You smile softly. "Your bed is very comfortable."

"I'm glad." He rests his hand on your lower back. "Is this my shirt?"

"Maybe."

He grins and kisses your cheek. "It's all yours now. Looks good on you anyway. Any word from Officer Jones?"

"Not yet. I'm sure he'll call tonight or tomorrow."

"You can stay at my place as long as you need to."

You stand up on your toes a bit and kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

"Alright love birds break it up." Jodi says loudly, clapping at the two of you. "Before you start getting set up I wanna talk to you about what happened, I need to know who I'm going to skin alive."

"We don't know anything yet Jodi." Shawn says with an eye roll. "I told you that."

Jodi snorts. "I'm still going to kick someone's ass."

"I promise I'll let you know who to hunt when we hear back from the police." You say softly and Shawn gives you another kiss on the head before heading back over to the cage with Connor. Jodi puts her arm around you and the two of you head to the backroom that isn't full of old equipment to set up your camera.

_____________________

Photos go well, you manage to get all the guys done in a few hours. You'll go home later and look them over to decide if you need to reshoot anything. But for now you are finished and starting to pack up.

"Hey, you forgot one."

You turn and look at Shawn standing in the doorway to the backroom where you're set up. "I did?"  

"Yeah. Me." He grins and steps in, closing the door behind him. "I thought you couldn't wait to get photos of me."

"Well, I figured I could get them any time."

"Oh? You think I'll pose for you whenever you like?"

You smirk. "You might, but I want to take candids of you."

Shawn wraps his arms around you and you lean back into his chest. "Candids huh?" He noses against your ear, hand going over your stomach. "Like private candids of me in my bed, laid out on the sheets holding my-"

"Shawn!"

He chuckles deeply and you can feel your body get warm, heat pooling between your legs. "Is that not what you want?"

You turn around in his hold and run a hand over his hair. "I want so much more from you then a couple of photos."

"Yeah? Tell me what you want."

"Oh you know...all the good stuff."

"The good stuff?" He walks you back against the backdrop and you bring his head down, foreheads rolling together. "This kind of good stuff?" He asks lowly before he kisses you softly.

"I know why you came in here." You whisper between kisses, hands going up and down his back. "You're jealous."

He lets out a growl as he kisses along your jaw. "You think I'm jealous of my fighters?"

"Your fighters hmm?"

"Mmm. I'm partnered with Harlow." He pulls back to look down at you. "I own the gym with her. I thought you knew?"

"No, I had no idea. She seems so bossy and it's called Harlow's so..."

Shawn plays with the ends of your hair, twisting his finger around bits of it. "She already had the place, I just bought in with championship winnings to keep it open. She runs the business side with Jodi and I run the gym floor as you can tell."

"Wow. So Connor and the other guys in the circuit this season is a huge deal for you."

"Yeah. A win from one of them could mean we expand Harlow's, new equipment, more fighters. With four guys going this year we have a good chance, and with Connor, we have the odds in our favor, I think."

You grin and shake your head. "Our first kiss and here we are talking business. Y'know if you were anyone else I'd have left by now."

"But I'm not anyone else." He leans in and bumps his nose to yours. "I'm special huh?"

"Oh you're special alright."

Shawn gives you one more kiss before he laughs and pulls back. "Let me make it up to you. I told Connor I'd go to dinner with him at Dixie's to talk about his first fight and what to expect. We can go a little early and have some time to ourselves first. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a date."

"Oh it's not necessarily a date, but it could be."

You smile and he just holds your hips looking down at you. "Come on, enough staring like weirdos. I'm hungry."

____________________

Dixie's is packed when you arrive but you manage to get a table near the bar that's a small two seater. You see Carrie running around like a mad woman and two of the day time waitresses are running around behind her. The place is popular this time of year with fighters and their crews moving into town and nearby during the first part of the western circuit. That's what Carrie told you anyway during her briefing on what to expect and how she deals with the increased number of fights during this time of year.  

"Is that Connor?" Shawn asks, pointing to a table behind you. "What's he doing here so- oh I see."

You turn and look over at where Shawn is pointing to a corner table where Connor is and leaning on the table in her work clothes is Sammy. You smirk, it's about time they talked. Sammy has been eyeing Connor for weeks but she's hesitant because he's a fighter and she knows what the lifestyle entails.

“They’re kids, leave 'em be.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sammy is a good girl. I’m not worried about it.”

“She is. She also knows what it’s like to live with fighters. She told me her brother was a fighter.” You shake your head. “I think she said he went north to try for the canadian championship but he didn't win and ended up settling down up there”

“I knew her brother Devin, we fought a few times.” Shawn smiles over his drink. “The guy was really good, he gave me a run for my money.”

“Oh yeah? Did he train at Harlow’s?”

“No, no it was way before then. When I was nineteen he was twenty one, we went a few rounds in my first championship entry. I didn’t win that year, I got too cocky and big headed. He was a tough dude though, if Sammy is anything like him she’ll keep Connor in his place.”

You chuckle. “Sammy is very shy, I’m not sure she’s like her brother at all.”

“The shy ones are the ones you gotta watch out for.” Shawn smirks and you roll your eyes.

"Anyways, you said I could stay at your place again?"

"Mmhmm." Shawn smiles and chews on his straw. "I definitely don't mind."

"Good. I'm nervous about going home until we find out more from the police. It's feels like such a personal attack since they went through just my bedroom and didn't even take anything." You shake your head and lean you chin on your hand on the table. "They didn't even take jewelry. Someone wanted something from me."

"Maybe they thought it was someone else who lived there?"

"I don't know. I hope there is video footage from one of the neighbors that shows us something."

"They're gonna check with the neighbors for you?"

"Yeah, Officer Jones called while I was photographing Gauge. He said they're gonna canvas the area, ask for surveillance from anyone nearby and see if they can't get a suspect or even a car or something."

Shawn leans back and crosses his arms. "Y'know I was actually thinking, do you think it could be Tate? I didn't want to say something about him to the cops but is there something you have of his?"

You raise your eyebrows. You hadn't thought of Tate being a suspect. Hell, you were two states away from him now and it's been months since the break up. "I don't think I have anything. I gave him everything back, all his clothes and anything he ever bought me. I left it all in a box in our apartment."

"It was just a thought."

"No, it's a good one. He is crazy enough to do something like that." You roll your eyes and flag down Carrie to pay for your drinks. "Maybe I can call him, or I could try his sister Maggie."

"I'd try Maggie if you have a good relationship with her. If it was him he probably won't want to talk to you."

Carrie stops by the table and hands you your bill. "Have you seen Sammy?"

"She's over there with..." You look around for her and Connor but neither are at the table in the corner anymore. "Well she was here. Is she working tonight?"

"Yeah. Her shift starts in five minutes." Carrie takes your cash and you wave her off for change. "You say you seen her?"

Shawn chuckles. "She was with Connor."

"The fighter?"

"Yeah, my champ." Shawn stands and gives you a look and you nod, letting him know you don't mind if he goes looking for the two of them. "I think I know where they are."

Carrie raises her eyebrows. "Well if you find her, tell her to get her ass to work."

"Yes ma'am." Shawn smiles. "See you at the house." He squeezes your shoulder and heads for the front door.

A minute later Sammy comes walking in very flushed and you can't help but smile to yourself. She's got a flower tucked into her hair and you think her and Connor must have been sitting out on the patio since the flower is definitely from the pots out there.  

____________________

You get to Shawn's place a little after eight. His truck is in the driveway so you know he's there. The sun is starting to go down and you are tired from working on photos and stress from the break in. Your brain is absolutely taxed. All you want is some dinner and a soft bed. You turn the handle to the door and walk into music blasting from the kitchen. It's some eighties hair band and you chuckle to yourself as you walk across the living room to find Shawn around the corner shadow boxing at the stove shirtless.

"What's for dinner?" You laughs and he looks back around with a grin. "Smells good!"

Shawn turns and shuts off the music on his phone. "It's chili. I figured it's pretty easy to throw together since I got home just a few minutes ago."

"Why not order something?"

"Eh, I like homemade." He stirs the pot around. "I haven't had it in a while, I thought it'd be nice."

You walk around the island and take a look into the pot. It's not chili. Well, it is, but it's not what you were expecting. "What kind of chili is this?"

"Chili Verde. My dad's recipe. Wanna taste?" He spoons some out to cool in a little bowl on the counter.  "I promise it's good."

You smile. "I'm sure it's very good. What's in it?"

"Pork, onions, green chilies. I cheated and used a bottle of premade chili verde salsa for a starter since I don't have time to stew tomatillos and green chilies for hours." He spoons some up for you and you take a bite. "Good yeah?"

"Hot." You cover your mouth. "It's kinda spicy but I like it. It's good."

Shawn beams and scoops out two bowls to cool. "I'll finish getting dinner ready, go change and relax."

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for making me dinner."

"Of course." He kisses your nose and your heart skips. "Go on."

Post dinner you're sitting on the couch with Shawn watching some ghost hunter show. He's got his arm around your shoulders and you're tucked into his side snugly. It's comfortable, being with Shawn feels incredibly natural. He's warm and safe.

"What're you doing next Sunday?" Shawn asks as he tucks his feet against yours where your legs are outstretched on the ottoman. "I was thinking if you're available we could go out."

"I work the late shift but I can see if one of the guys can cover for me."

"I don't want you to miss work. We can go another day."

"No, I want to go. It'll be a nice escape from the stress around here." You run your hand down his forearm and slide your hand into his. "Are we going to go horseback riding again?"

Shawn squeezes your hand. "Nope. I have another idea."

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling." He grins at you and you narrow your eyes at him. "I can surprise you again can't I? It's more fun that way."

"I'd like to see what tops horseback riding."

"I have a few ideas. Don't worry." He glances at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. "I should go to bed, I have a seven o'clock session with Jack tomorrow." He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. "Do you mind if I take the bed?"

"Nope. I don't mind sharing."

"Sharing? You're ready for that?"

You push off of him and stand up, putting your hand out to him. "I'm ready for anything with you."

He takes your hand and stands, pulling you against him. "Anything huh?" He runs a hand over your hair. "Falling a little fast aren't we?"

"I don't mind." You wrap your arms around his middle. "We work well together. I've never felt this comfortable and free around someone before."

He hums. "It feels natural. I completely understand."

You scratch at his back gently and he smiles down at you. "Let's go to bed. You need to be up early."

"Mmm I could always reschedule if we wanted to stay up late." He runs his hand down your back and over your butt. "I'm sure Jack won't mind."

You shake your head and laugh. "No, you're not cancelling work because of me. We can sleep together any time."

"Well don't make it sound like we're an old married couple, jeez."

You lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him quickly. "Maybe it's good practice for the future."

"Wh- oh." He grins. "First kiss and you're planning our future all in one day? Damn."

"Oh shut up." You pull away and head to his bedroom. "Come on, chop chop. The bed awaits."

_____________________

You wake up in the middle of the night and you're freezing. It doesn't even feel like there is a heater on in the house. You roll towards Shawn and slide your arm around his middle, spooning him from behind. He shifts. A soft grunt followed by a mumble of incoherent sleep laden words. He's like a furnace, body radiating into yours.

"You okay?"

"Mmhmm." You press a kiss to his hair. "All good now."

"I missed this." He places his hand over yours on his chest. His heart beats in time with yours, a cadence of comfort in the night. "I missed being held."

"It's been a while?" 

"A long while. I didn't like to date when I fought. I only wanted to focus on my work." He chuffs. "I'd deprive myself to be the best. Stupid huh?" 

"No. You thought it'd help. It must have, you did win." You flex your fingers against his skin, blunt nails scratching him lightly. "Do you like being the little spoon?" 

"Love it. There's something about having someone smaller than you curled up and wrapped around you that I just love. I do like being the big spoon too, but I really enjoy being held sometimes." 

"I'll hold you any time." You give him a squeeze and he tangles his legs with yours. "You're like a big teddy bear."

He chuckles and that's the last thing you hear before you fall asleep to the sound of his soft breathing and the beating of his heart under your fingertips. 

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

End Part 1

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

Thank you for reading! Part 2 will be out sometime in the future as I have to write the ending still, but it’ll be another 13k at least. Thank you all again.  - A

[prettyboyspenceee]

The New Agent - Part 1

A/N: If you’ve been here long enough, you would know that I’ve posted this already. For some reason, I can’t find it on my blog so I’m reposting it! 

Request: “Hey, I got an idea for a Spencer x reader story, maybe smth with more than 1 part 😅 Spencer meeting y/n at a book store/reading and they get to know each other pretty well. 2 weeks later y/n shows up the BAU as their new boss and Morgan/Luke starts flirting with her. 😅” -  @kind-im-gedankennebel

Description: You meet Spencer at a bookstore when you’re lost in DC. You end up spending a lot of time together... and then something happens. 

Character Appearances: Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Emily Prentiss

Disclaimer: I don’t own Criminal Minds! If I did, the show would have 20 more seasons.

(Y/N) - Your Name

(Y/L/N) - Your Last Name

Word Count: 1,218

RePosted: April 14th, 2020

---

As you sat in your hotel room preparing material for your final interview while simultaneously trying to get dressed, you groaned. You knew the interview process for a position at the BAU in Quantico was extensive... but you didn’t know that it was this long. You were apart of the group of finalists for the new position on the team and you had planned to be in D.C for 2 weeks and Agent Hotchner had requested you to stay for another week. Even though the interview process was kicking your ass, it wasn't all bad. On your first day in D.C, you were terribly lost and you stopped into a bookstore to gather your bearings, it was there where you met Dr. Spencer Reid, who coincidently worked for the BAU.

You smiled at the memory of your first encounter.

---

"You would expect a bookstore would have a map or something!" you mumbled angrily to yourself. You were stressed, tired and angry. New York City was so much easier to navigate than Washington D.C.

"Excuse me, are you lost?" You turned around to the sound of someone addressing you.

You looked at the man who approached you up and down, hazel eyes, disheveled curly hair and a purple shirt with a purple tie and dress pants. You smiled to yourself, you thought he was kind of cute.  

You nodded and chuckled, "Is it really that obvious?"

The mysterious man replied, "Dreadfully so."

"I'm (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." You said sticking your hand out.

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," his eyes flicked to your outstretched hand, "I'm really sorry, I don't usually shake hands. Actually, kissing -"

"Kissing passes fewer pathogens than shaking hands," you finished with a smile, "No worries."

Spencer smiled, "If you don't mind, I could show you around the city. It's my day off."

"That would be amazing."

---

You two spent the rest of the day talking endlessly and you were surprised when he asked to see you again. You had told him that you were in town for a job interview but that didn't seem to bother him, Spencer was obviously comfortable around you and you were comfortable around him. After being in D.C for 3 weeks you had spent almost every day hanging out with Spencer. You found it extremely sweet that he went to your hotel room every night after work and took you somewhere new but you were confused. You felt like you were in limbo with Spencer, you weren't sure what your relationship was... you were certainly attracted to him and you hoped he was attracted to you, you knew that you might not stay in D.C but you wanted to try and make things work. You were shaken out of from your train of thought from a knock at your door.

Spencer had told you to dress up and you had no idea why. You smoothed out your dress and opened the door. Spencer was dressed in a white button-down and a pair of black slacks with his classic black converse. As you took in his appearance you wondered how something so simple could look so good.

"Y-you look beautiful," Spencer stuttered, his face slowly turned pink as he took in your appearance.

You smiled and felt the heat rise in your neck, "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

As you and Spencer made your way to a fancy Italian restaurant and you were having a great time. You loved talking to Spencer and just loved being around him. You didn't want this to end.

Halfway through dinner, the BAU was brought up, "Hotch finally chose someone for the position. He was driving himself crazy, I know for a fact he'll probably call them tonight."

Your palms began to sweat, you really hoped you got the position, "I hope they get along with your team. From what you told me, you guys seem like a very close-knit family."

Spencer smiled fondly, "Yeah, we are."

---

After dinner, you two decided to take a walk in the park. Your hands kept brushing against each other and Spencer decided he couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed your hand and you shared a smile.

When Spencer found a park bench you two sat down, " (Y/N), I have a question."

You faced Spencer, "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, "I know we've only known each other for a short amount of time but I feel like I've known you for a lifetime. For the past 3 weeks, there hasn't been a minute where you weren't on my mind. I know you might not be here for too long but I would be over the moon if you would do me the honor of being my girlfriend."

Your eyes were wide, "Spence, I would love to be your girlfriend."

Spencer let out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding. His eyes looked to your lips and then back to your eyes, you smiled and nodded, giving him permission.

Spencer pulled you into a sweet kiss that you wished could last forever. It was one of those kisses that only existed in movies. You broke apart due to the shrill ring of your cell phone.

"Is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" You heard on the other line.

"This is she. How can I help you?" You asked. Spencer looked at you with a confused expression as he listened to the other line.

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner with the BAU. I understand I've put you through an extensive interview process and I'm sorry that I didn't get the chance to meet with you personally today. I wanted to inform you that you've been hired. Your 5 years with the New York City field office was extremely impressive. Welcome to the team Agent (Y/L/N)."

You looked at Spencer in disbelief, "Thank you so much, sir. I look forward to working with you."

"As do I. Have a good night (Y/N)."

You hung up the phone and shakily put it back in your purse.

"Spencer, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I didn't want to get my hopes up and you're hopes up. I completely understand if you don't want to go through with this relationshi-"

He cut you off with a quick kiss, "(Y/N), I am so happy you're the new member of our team. Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ are going to adore you. In fact, Morgan might love you so much, he might try to steal you from me."

You let out a loud laugh, "What does this mean for us?"

"Well, we have to tell Hotch but he won't mind. Rossi can't say anything because he was the reason why the fraternization rule was put in place. The rest of the team will most likely figure it out on their own." He said while playing with your hair.

You hummed, "Now what?"

"Well," he smiled cheekily, "you could grab your stuff from your hotel room and spend the night at my apartment. Just so you can get a head start on work tomorrow and until you find yourself a place."

You gave him a peck on the cheek, "I like the sound of that."

He stood up from the park bench and reached out a hand, "Perfect."

---

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Side Effects- Part 2

M/F Pairing: Y/N X Stray Kids (Multiple Pairings)

Word Count: 4K

Genre: Yandere Stray Kids AU, Vampire AU, Fantasy AU

Warnings: graphic depictions of blood, violence, mentions of smut, and language...Oh, and 3racha are kinda rude...

Summary: Sometimes, we can’t escape the past.

“You look beautiful today, Y/N.”

I blushed, of course, from Mark’s tender compliment. “Thank you,” I managed sheepishly, watching as my boss offered me a cheeky smile before entering his office.

Ever since I left the Miroh Coven, I had been working a part-time position as the Secretary to a wealthy CEO. I didn’t mind my job, enjoying the menial tasks I was usually instructed to obey. It was quite mind-numbing, a worthy distraction when I first started working here hollowing the horrors I had endured from the Miroh Coven. The pay was excellent and I was able to help my roommate afford rent while reliably buying myself luxuries like a new mattress or a fresh wardrobe since my old clothes reminded me too much of the past.

The hours were also minimal, and I often found myself sitting down at my desk only to look up at the clock and realize my day had already concluded. Subsequently, I was able to leave the office on time every day to join the steady stream of afternoon traffic. Afterward, I might stop by a restaurant to pick up something for dinner, or occasionally drive through the downtown marketplace because I enjoyed shopping for fresh produce. It was all quite nice and I enjoyed settling into my new life with a deep sigh of relief.

It had almost been nine months since I last saw any of the boys and other than the unfortunate encounter with Chan’s necklace, I was sure that I would never have to experience anything so unattractive ever again. I was slowly regaining my confidence, joining my roommate several times when she wanted to see a movie or shop at one of the outdoor malls. Everything was starting to work out for me, which meant that I was also starting to comfortably take more risks.

“Please have fun tonight,” my roommate said, practically dragging me along with her as we entered one of her favorite clubs. After much convincing, I had finally given in and allowed my roommate to take me out late at night for drinks and dancing. “This is a nice place,” she said, leading me to the bar. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

I nodded my head, looking around the relaxed atmosphere. It was certainly a much tamer club than what I was used to visiting, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Of course, the influence of alcohol had a way of making a person far more willing to lower their defenses. “One glass,” I said, accepting the fruity beverage from the bartender before my roommate and I found a table near the edge of the dancefloor.

“So many handsome faces,” my roommate remarked. “Interested in anyone?”

I scoffed at her question because I seriously doubted that I would willingly jump into a new relationship anytime soon. “Really?”

“Just wondering,” my roommate shrugged, drinking down the remainder of her scotch. “Wanna dance?”

I waved her off, deciding that I was okay with enjoying my drink at our table. My roommate let out a giggle, locking eyes with a suave businessman who looked ready to devour her whole. “I’ll check on you soon,” she promised and I quickly lost her in the mass of bodies occupying the dance floor.

I rolled my eyes because I knew better than to expect my roommate’s return. Instead, I sipped at my drink while admiring the friendly atmosphere of the bar, neon colors dazzling in my peripheral vision. It reminded me of my younger college days when I was swept away by the illusion of freedom which independent adulthood offered, attending every frat party I could find.

I grinned at the memories, feeling way too old to try anything like that ever again. It was fun once, being so irresponsible, but now it was time to start paying bills and scratch my head when I attempted to do my taxes. Freedom was addicting, and I could see why so many younger people were enamored with the idea of moving away from home and conquering the world. 

Wistfully, I must digress because I often lose myself in my thoughts, and I can’t afford a break in concentration. Instead, I sipped tentatively at my drink, watching the moving sea of bodies. I was entirely focused, which allowed me to raise my guard at the approach of an unfamiliar figure.

“Excuse me? Do you have the time?”

I shrugged loosely because it was an innocent request from someone who clearly wasn’t looking for anything ill-intended. On instinct, I reached into my bag to grab my phone. “It’s almost midnight,” I said, thinking that our interaction would be short-lived.

Instead, the man was insistent, a cold hand digging harshly against my shoulder. “Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to stay up so late, sweetheart?”

The accent had been disguised, but now I recognized it thick and heavy in my ear. I couldn’t even remember to scream before his hand was enclosed over my mouth, teeth nipping at my jaw. Another body slipped into my roommate’s chair, brows raised as he reached for her discarded glass. “Is there room for some company, Y/N?” Jisung asked, blonde hair hanging low in his eyes.

I shook my head desperately, fresh tears clouding my vision. “Where are your manners, sweetheart?” Chan asked with a harsh tone and I was suddenly jerked to the side, a strong hand holding my chin into place.

“What a coincidence, Y/N,” Changbin growled. “We have unfinished business in this little town of yours.”

“You’re coming with us,” Chan said, ignoring the way I fought against him as he practically forced me out of my chair. “Look at me,” he snarled, eyes trained on mine as I started to drift out of consciousness.

I was slowly starting to realize that the implications of being a sire went far beyond just simply turning someone immortal. For example, I knew how cruel Changbin could be, turning violent on a whim, especially if you disobeyed him. He was the one who liked to punish me when he thought I was being bad, dragging out all sorts of special toys to use against my body. Paddles and lashes, whips and spikes, everything Changbin needed was lined perfectly along the walls of the special room he had decorated for himself whenever he wanted to play with someone. He was a sadist in every sense of the word, enjoying the sensation of watching someone suffer for his own pleasure. When he had first brought me into the room, I had immediately protested, close to tears when Changbin had cooed at me and insisted that I would never be forced to do anything outside of my comfort zone. He spoke with a wicked tongue, dark eyes revealing the truth if I had been so willing to look for it, but I eventually allowed him to have his way with me. Tears streaming freely down the side of my face while Changbin’s tongue traced the salty rivulets with a groan.

But Changbin wasn’t the only one with a fiery temper and desire for pain and suffering. His fledgling vampires, Felix and Hyunjin, had decisively taken on his more brutal aspects. Felix lost control whenever I said something to offend him, growling out insults while I tried to avoid his hands. Hyunjin had special permission to use Changbin’s secret room to explore his own masochism, and I had accidentally wandered into one of his sessions at the beginning of our arrangement before things had turned sexual between us. I remember the look of existential terror on the girl’s face that I had foolishly misplaced as pleasure, crying out not in ecstasy but in pain. 

On the other hand, Jisung was the manipulative and cunning brother who thought out everything instead of living on a whim according to his pleasures. It was this same trait that I discovered in Minho who also shared Jisung’s tendency to plan out his movements. The only difference between them was that Minho was silent in his execution while Jisung was loud in letting everyone know that he had gotten his way.

Finally, there was Bang Chan, the legal leader of the Miroh Coven. Chan was the last of the brothers to attempt a siring bond because he had never found the right person. I would never know for sure why Seungmin and Jeongin were “the right people,” but Chan doted on them in every sense of the word. He treasured them like they were his possessions, buying them expensive clothes and allowing them leeway when their bloodlust tended to get the best of them. It was up to the sire to teach their fledglings how to properly drink blood from a source, but Chan had decided not to blink an eye when Seungmin or Jeongin accidentally took things a step too far. 

Just like Chan, Seungmin and Jeongin were also extremely possessive, especially when they considered something to belong exclusively to them. I can only wish that I had noticed sooner, the way the three of them liked to leave their marks on me in various ways, whether it be through a harsh bite or buying me something nice and insisting that I wear it at all times. Seungmin and Jeongin were also dangerous because there had been times when I felt like I was on death’s door, feeling them drink my blood like they would never stop. 

Sadly, I thought I had escaped all of that, so imagine the utter sense of dread crippling my entire body when I woke up to see Chan, Changbin, and Jisung standing over me as they watched me slowly awaken. Chan was the first to react, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he appraised me. “Sweetheart,” he said and a shiver ran down my spine. “Don’t you know how worried we were when you ran away from us like that?”

My lower lip trembled and I bit down on it hard. “I couldn’t stay.”

“Why not?” Chan asked, looking every bit as patient as I remembered.

“You hurt people,” I whispered. “And you hurt me too.”

“Hurt you?” Chan huffed, a look of annoyance masking his features. “We protected you and cared for you, sweetheart.”

“You belong to us,” Jisung said, gaze cold as he watched me from afar.

I sniffled, slowly losing my last shred of pride as I tried not to cry in front of these horrible vampires. His words reminded me of the night I left, rushing out into the streets with blood covering my body. “I don’t have to work for you anymore,” I said.

Changbin growled. “The arrangement meant more than that, Y/N.”

“We love you,” Chan said, reaching for my hands and I didn’t have the strength to fight him. “Remember? We can be together forever.”

I was crying now, triggered by the all-too-familiar words spoken 9 months ago when I entered the Miroh Mansion for the final time.

Jeongin was still young enough to celebrate his birthday, and the rest of the Clan had decided that nothing was too good for their precious youngest member. I remember going shopping with Chan, buying party decorations without any consideration for how much it would cost them. Earlier that week, Jisung and I had visited the bakery to order Jeongin a custom-made birthday cake, including a cheesy message at the bottom to commemorate the occasion. Everyone was in good spirits and I had finally stopped thinking about the bodies in their basement, believing Jisung when he told me that they had been donated to the Miroh Clan to use as a source of fresh blood. “It sometimes happens,” Jisung said. “Whenever there’s an accident and nobody claims the bodies, they send them here for us to use.”

It was an extremely unreasonable explanation but I refused to believe anything else in an attempt to protect myself from the truth. I was determined to move past it, forcing myself to smile at Jisung’s cheesy jokes or Chan’s attempts to make me laugh. I must have been a good actor because they stopped hovering around me at every possible opportunity, watching me like they were waiting for me to bolt out the door and never return.

“Y/N!” Jeongin had said, jumping into my bed to wake me up that morning. “Guess what?” he giggled, adorable face mere inches from my own.

“Hmmm?” I wondered, smirking as he practically beamed with excitement.

“It’s my birthday,” Jeongin said. “I’m supposed to be 40-years-old today!”

“Congratulations,” I snickered, deciding that it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard.

“Will you come play with me and Felix?” Jeongin asked. “We can do whatever we want until Chan gets home.”

That’s another thing I had noticed about the fledglings. They never really liked to talk about anyone except for their sired master. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that Jeongin had no idea that Jisung and Changbin even existed. “Okay,” I said. “Let me take a shower first.”

Jeongin allowed me to get ready in peace and quiet, and I enjoyed the feeling of the water scalding my skin as I stood under the faucet for far longer than normal. Afterward, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, finding Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin in Minho’s room, arguing over who would join teams. I yawned when I entered, wary of the way Minho was watching me from his bed, legs stretched out in front of him as his eyes followed me all the way to where Felix was holding out my controller.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon with the younger boys, ignoring Minho completely as I let Jeongin win several times even though I was much better at Street Fighter. “Finally,” Jeongin exclaimed, racing for the door before I could question him. 

“Chan’s home,” Minho informed me, holding out a hand which I reluctantly accepted, trying not to react when Minho leaned in to press his lips against my delicate pulse point.

Downstairs, all of the vampires were busy setting up Jeongin’s party. Streamers hung from the overhead banisters and balloons floated mindlessly through the room as Chan hugged Jeongin tightly against his chest. “Were you a good boy today?” he asked the youngest who nodded enthusiastically in response.

“Y/N,” Jisung called my name. “Help me in the kitchen.”

I obeyed immediately, finding Jisung situating candles on top of the cake we had purchased earlier that week. I was struck by the normalcy of the situation, standing next to Jisung as he instructed me to start boiling a pot of water. Apparently, despite their delicate diets, on special occasions, the Vampires could enjoy human food and Jeongin’s favorite was being prepared for him.

It was chaotic in the Mansion as everyone attended to their various responsibilities, amusing little Jeongin who flitted from person to person. Although, more often than not, Jeongin stuck close to Chan’s side, talking to his sire about all the nuances of his day. Chan listened patiently, nodding along as he finished the elaborate ribbon around one of Jeongin’s birthday presents. “Is everyone ready?”

We all stood together in the kitchen, singing for Jeongin who was vibrating from head to toe. He blew out the candles and beamed at the accompanying applause. “Happy birthday, Jeongin,” I said, allowing him to pull me into an impossibly strong grip.

Meanwhile, the other vampires slowly congregated into the living room where Jeongin’s presents were waiting for him. “Y/N,” Chan said, holding me back as Jeongin raced out of the kitchen. “Help me carry these drinks.”

I wrinkled my nose because they were obviously filled with blood. Nonetheless, I obeyed diligently, accepting one of the trays before following Chan into the crowded foyer. “Channie!” Jeongin said, holding up a delicate pocket watch. “It’s so nice!”

Chan smiled warmly at Jeongin, ruffling his hair playfully as he started handing out the glasses. Changbin grabbed me by the hips as I passed in front of him, pulling me into his lap as he took a sip from his glass. “It’s not as good as yours,” he teased, lips scarlet from the liquid.

I chose not to respond to his comment, trying to relax against his body. “Y/N,” Chan said before handing me a glass. I studied it cautiously while I gingerly took the glass from him.

“What is it?”

“Just some wine,” Chan shrugged indifferently and I nodded before trying a sip of the beverage. Almost immediately, I winced at the taste and Changbin chuckled at my obvious aversion.

“It was very expensive,” he lightly chastised me and I tried not to notice the smell as I forced more of the wine down my throat. 

Meanwhile, Jeongin continued to open more of his gifts, expressing his gratitude towards each of his older members as he tried on various pieces of clothing and jewelry. When he finally got to my present, he shot me a mischievous smirk. “Y/N...”

“Open it,” I encouraged him.

Jeongin needed no further encouragement, ripping through the wrapping paper before discovering the portable gaming system tucked neatly in the box it once came in. “For you to practice,” I said, pleased at his grateful expression. It was an older system that once belonged to my brother, but I didn’t have a need for it, and Jeongin talked relentlessly about how cool it would be to play the older versions of the games he loved.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

I was warmed by his genuine reaction, feeling nothing but affection for the boy. “You’re welcome.”

“What a good girl,” Changbin said, tipping my glass back against my lips. “You shouldn’t waste it.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he really cared about how expensive the wine cost. After all, these were the same men who brought new things into the house every day after flashing their shiny credit cards at whichever cashier had the privilege of accomodating their requests. Still, I knew better than to upset Changbin, especially on poor Jeongin’s birthday, so I downed the rest of the nasty drink before placing the glass down on the side table. “Shall we watch a movie?” Jisung asked, eyes glinting rather maniacally as he studied my discarded drink.

“Please!” Jeongin chirped. “Something scary.”

I hated the idea of watching a horror movie, but I couldn’t protest when everyone else was in total agreement for once. Instead, I followed the rest of the boys into the main living room, resisting a sigh when Chan drug me down next to him on the sectional. “Whatever you want, Jeongin,” Jisung said, tossing the younger the remote control.

“Dracula!” Jeongin declared, an amusing pick perhaps if these Vampires were less violent.

But my opinion held no weight and the film began while Felix turned off the lights. Bathed in darkness, I resisted the urge to curl in tighter against Chan as I tried not to think about the film playing on-screen. Everyone else was comfortable, settled in their usual pairs which meant Minho was sitting between Jisung’s legs while Felix and Hyunjin flanked Changbin on either side. Seungmin and Jeongin sat close to me and Chan as they watched the television with wide, eager eyes. 

I tried to turn off my mind, focusing on a distant spot beyond the edge of the screen. It worked for a while, keeping my mind occupied away from the movie playing in the background. In fact, I might have managed to survive the rest of the evening had it not been for Chan whose lips were suddenly brushing along the length of my neck.

I immediately flinched away. “What are you doing?” I whispered, unrelenting when his hand wrapped around the back of my head to force me into place.

“I’m hungry,” he smirked against my exposed skin, teeth sharp against my delicate flesh.

“Why now?” I said, looking over at the others because there was no way they couldn’t hear the two of us.

“Just one bite,” Chan said and I rolled my eyes but bared my neck for him, hoping he would be fast about the unexpected ordeal. He was quick to adjust me on his lap, fixing our positions to his liking. Chan’s teeth penetrated my skin gently and I could feel his mouth latch on tightly as he started to drink from me. I tried not to react, glancing away at the other members who were still watching the movie. With the exception of Changbin, who was looking at me with a dangerous smirk that immediately alerted me to the fact that something was terribly wrong.

As the seconds ticked away, I realized that Chan had no intention of stopping and my instincts kicked in as the storm of anxiety registered throughout my slowly weakening body. I jerked away from Chan who must have been caught off-guard, blood spraying into the air around us as the wound had not been properly closed. But my decision proved to be a necessary distraction because Jeongin and Seungmin both immediately reacted to the intense smell, teeth bared as they sought the source of the blood coating the furniture and my clothes. I managed to dodge Jeongin as he lept at me first, colliding into Chan to send them both falling back into the floor. 

With my hand pressed against my neck, I started for the front door, aware of Changbin closing in behind me. But the older boy was unprepared for Seungmin’s attack whose instincts probably insisted that someone was trying to steal his fresh supply of blood. Changbin let out a grunt as he wrestled with a feral Seungmin, receiving help from Felix and Hyunjin who were trying to protect their sire. Through the haze clouding my eyes, I could see Jisung holding back Minho whose sharpened incisors were cutting deeply into the thin skin of his lips. “You belong to us!” Jisung snarled.

“We can be together forever,” Chan said, still distracted by a wild Jeongin whose dark eyes were starting to look very unfamiliar. It was only then that I realized I had been tricked. They had been trying to turn me without my permission. The expensive wine Changbin insisted I drink must have been someone’s blood because when a human died with vampire blood in their system...

I forced those thoughts away, deciding it was far more important to focus on escaping, and the feral vampires provided the perfect distraction. I managed to make it out onto the street, finding my car parked at the sidewalk. I started the ignition, blasting cold air through the vents to keep me conscious as I pulled out onto the main road. Blood was still pouring steadily from my wound when I stopped next to the Emergency room entrance, ignoring a nearby policeman who was clearly displeased that I was blocking the road before I finally succumbed to the darkness with a grateful sigh.

[kenbunshokus]

this is a (super late) update to this fic rec post! i was planning to just keep editing and updating that post, but it’s been so old it no longer appears on tumblr search system and all, so here we are. be ready for some old school zosans in the mix

all complete

absolute favorites will be noted with a ♡

list will be updated as i find more

story count: 30 fics

last update: jan 5th 2020

CANON-VERSE

Goings On by clarify  ♡

Zoro and Sanji understand each other, and sometimes have a very similar sense of humor. Even though they're worlds ahead of most, sometimes they can't help but to act their age.

easily one of my favorites. zoro and sanji are completely in character, being themselves and comfortable in each other’s spaces. for anyone who thinks zoro and sanji can’t get along in canon, this fic can easily prove them wrong.

Part Timer by 8ball ♡♡

Sanji really, really doesn't want to give Zoro a job at his restaurant. Zoro doesn't really even want to work there in the first place, but, well, there’s this thing with Sanji, and this thing with feelings and the whole thing is pretty damn stupid all together.

Zeff just wants grandkids. He’s too old for this bullshit anyways.

a wonderful, heart-wrenching, roller coaster ride of a post-series fic. this fic is not just a mere fic — it’s a zosan magnum opus with guest appearances by so many other characters, lots of crew hijinks and a must-read for everyone who craves for a happy ending for these good boys.

Say It Again by 8ball

Zoro tells Sanji how he feels. And then again. And again. 

since we’re talking about 8ball i just want you to know i’d rec everything they’ve ever written, but special mention to say it again — a classic miscommunication trope fic done well where the miscommunication stems from fundamental misunderstanding of each other’s principles and views instead of just some plot-convenient coincidences. and soft zoro. god, he is soft.

The Wedding Night by cuethe-pulse (lj)

Zoro had never expected any of this.

major character death warning. don’t let the first few scenes fool you. note the warning; the last few lines were like a punch in the gut for me, except, you know, the good kind of punch. also, a quick rec of a drabble by the same author to soothe the pain after this one.

Roronoa Zoro: World’s Greatest Bug Killer by insaneidiot ♡

Sometimes, Zoro's life really sucks. He should've known better than to make fun of Sanji's bug phobia, though...

zoro’s internal monologue is hilarious  — until today, this author is still my go-to expert on zoro’s voice, especially his more sarcastic side.

Quitting’s Easy by insaneidiot

Sanji decides to quit smoking. This is not quite so easy as he thinks it will be. Also, his crewmates (excluding Robin and Nami, of course!) are assholes.

fun, fun strawhat hijinks and oblivious sanji. the crew dynamics and especially sanji’s voice are pitch perfect. there’s a hint of luffy/nami that you can easily scroll past if it’s not your thing.

I can’t stop thinking that i can’t stop thinking by hieiandshino ♡

In which Brook changes tactics and Zoro is not amused. Everyone else is, though.

holy shit is this fic hilarious. i love comedy fics that manage to slip in thoughtful observations and character study in between the hijinks, and this fic pulls that off with flying colors. 

The Walls See All by threesipsmore

Reiju hides a snail cam in her brother's room.

fun short fic from reiju’s pov. there’s never enough zosan set in whole cake island arc and this fic delivers.

Stormbird by Judin ♡

The Straw Hats' first landing in the New World is on Arashi Island, where it looks like they'll be spending a fun week attending the local festival and making new friends. Until they spot a strange pirate ship in the harbour, and Sanji starts behaving oddly. The Straw Hats become entangled with the mysterious Gently Pirates, a crew that harbour many secrets, and whose captain is a man out of Sanji's past who has the power to tear the Straw Hat crew apart. 

it cannot be overstated how wonderful this fic is, and how it could’ve fit into the canon just nicely, like a better-written one piece movie, except with zosan. not only are sanji and zoro in character, every strawhat gets a spotlight and has pitch-perfect voices. brook is especially lovely in this fic.

Unintended Consequence by itsmylifekay

A group of marines charge, Zoro slices through them, and in that instant Sanji feels his own eyes grow wide. Because there, on the arm now outstretched towards him, steel glinting in hand, is the stupid bracelet he’d given Zoro. The bastard is actually wearing it.

there’s a reason this is the most kudo-ed zosan fic on ao3 right now — it’s so soft without being ooc, and there’s a quiet undercurrent of affection laid throughout the fic that will warm you up from the insides.

Somewhere Between Sorrow and Bliss by srididdledeedee

Sanji has never cared for winter.

He can see himself, is the thing. There are bits and pieces that poke through, but it’s not all him. It’s like staring in a fractured mirror. He knows, intellectually, that the person staring back at him is himself, but his face is splintered and his shape is distorted and his body is wrong.

a fantastic character study on trans!sanji and how he comes to terms with his identity with the help of his crewmates. supportive strawhats are always a lovely addition to a zosan fic

Give In To Love by libbylune

Zoro knows better than to think about it too much, but between the rowdy festivals and ancient unexplained temples on this island, it's hard to forget about wanting Sanji.

i love how this fic puts as much focus on the boys after the confession as it does before the confession. a good case fic with its own unique island adventure and i’m always a sucker for soft!zoro

Laundry by libbylune

Dealing with Sanji makes Zoro develop a lot of opinions about clothes.

there’s absolutely nothing hotter than bi!sanji who’s completely comfortable with his gender identity and sexuality. also gay disaster zoro fumbling his words whenever sanji is around is 1) accurate 2) hilarious.

Language of Swords by HaveMyWeedCookies ♡

It took them for a while but finally, Zoro asked if Sanji wanted to hold his sword.

i love fics that explore zoro’s relationship with his craft and his swords, and adding zosan into the mix is something i didn’t know i needed. an interesting outsiders pov zosan in the pov of zoro’s swords.

Ghost of a Chance by sabershadowkat

“I know, for sure, that I didn’t expect to miss everyone so much, including you.” Sanji cut a glance at Zoro and rephrased correctly, “Especially you.”

this fic handles tropes that are usually associated with character death fics, but manages to end it with a happy ending. zoro’s devotion here is heart-wrenching.

Idiot Romance by sabershadowkat

"This has to be a joke," Sanji muttered, poking at the colored petals. Zoro couldn't have just given him flowers.

a classic  — this is literally the first zosan fic i’ve ever read — and a lovely one at that. sanji is oblivious and zoro attempts romance, not that zoro ever needed to.

festival night by thisislegit

“ANOTHER FEAT BY THE WORLD’S STRONGEST MAN, JORIRI.” The woman turned to Mr. Mohawk and with faux sympathy said, “Oh! Sorry, sir. Maybe next time. We can’t always beat the best, but we can do our best and that’s what matters. Do we have any other takers? ANY OTHER TAKERS READY FOR THE STRONG MAN CHALLENGE? HOW ABOUT YOU SIR? MADAM? YOU OVER THERE? ARE YOU INTERESTED?”

“What kind of shit name is Joriri,” said Zoro and Sanji in unison.

i’m an absolute sucker for fics that have zoro and sanji simply hanging out and enjoying each other’s company, comfortable in a way they couldn’t with their other crewmates, and this fic exemplifies that. just them being little shits and having fun with one another.

No Victory in Hesitation & the Past Has Its Lessons by EudaimonErisornae & vageege

Zoro has a lot of things he wants to say to Sanji, but he just needs one more day. || Zoro tries to fix a mistake he made in the past.

major character death warning. i died a little bit inside after reading this tbh. there are some devil fruits-explained time travel hijinks, but mostly it’s this looming, grim inevitability of death that’s written so pervasively throughout the fic that really got me.

Imperatives by dollcewrites

Zoro is confident in saying that Sanji is a man who doesn’t do what he’s told. Which is why, when a command accidentally slips from Zoro’s lips during foreplay, he is expecting to hear the cook’s scoff as he continues to do what he pleases.

i don’t tend to do pwp, but this isn’t just one — it’s a completely in-character piece about their relationship and dynamics.

when you say by bluewalk ♡

It's a long time in coming. Usopp can promise, but.

this fic is as much sanuso as it is zosan, and usopp here is — still very much usopp, but also a very beautiful take on his character as someone who spent a lot of time behind sanji’s back, and realizes that when he watches sanji’s back, he gets to see zoro’s, too.

a complete guide to falling in love by ThousandSunny

Sanji was trained in the Bridal Arts; this does not go unnoticed by the rest of his crew.

while the main ship is still zosan, the fic also focuses a lot on zoro and sanji’s relationship with the rest of the crew, and it’s one of those fics that really makes you realize how much of a family the strawhats is. a lovely read all around.

destructivity is a poison that run through our veins by wasteofmind

Zoro thinks that, someday, they are going to kill each other.

a dysfunctional take of their relationship. it’s fascinating in the same way a car crash is fascinating  — there’s an undercurrent of something violent, something visceral. this is one of the fics that inspired me to write migratory animals.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Ocean’s Child by 8ball  ♡

Here's the truth: Zoro couldn't swim. He fell in the water and sank like a stone because there had never been anyone to teach him how to move his arms. He forgot that if he screamed for help the water would get in his mouth, and he even opening his eyes hurt.

Here’s the other truth, the one that stays a secret: a mermaid saved him.

a fascinating retelling of the one piece canon with mermaid!sanji. it feels a lot like a love letter to the seas, and it’s mesmerizing how sanji’s mermaid backstory is seamlessly weaved into the one piece canon.

with you by Cirro

How to find your life partner in three easy steps: 1. Punch them in the face 2. Insult their cognitive abilities 3. Embarrass them so much they agree to marry you

a wholesome two-part modern au series. my personal favorite is the second part, where sanji brings zoro home to meet zeff — complete with the two of them teasing sanji in their own ways.

The Proper Reaction (or What To Do When Your Son Brings His Boyfriend Home by three_days_late

Holidays at the Baratie were always hectic, but it's nothing Zeff can't handle. Sanji's new boyfriend, on the other hand...

on the topic of meet-the-family: the only thing more fun than zoro meeting zeff is zoro meeting zeff and the entirety of baratie staff. also includes one of my favorite line about bi!sanji: “sanji loves nice girls and bad boys”.

Exclusive by cuethe-pulse

Zoro loves Sanji, Sanji loves Zoro. Zoro wants to be exclusive, so Sanji should, too. Right?

this is a circus/bakery au. yes, you read that right, and yes, it works. i went into this fic with a lot of doubts and came out very satisfied with how fleshed out everyone in this au is, and i’m forever in awe with how the author can set up an entirely separate, vivid universe with so few words.

Delivery by styx_in_the_mud

Sanji is stuck delivering pizzas when Patty is out of commission for a while. Zoro likes to order pizza after training. Both of them are sort of idiots, but Zoro can be smooth as fuck if he puts his mind to it.

a fun, in-character au with good ol’ banter and cute get-together.

The End of It All by xpiester333xx

Humans have been forced underground due to the effects of a chemical weapon that has made surface life impossible. Sanji lives in one of these underground colonies and though he dreams of bigger things his life has been mundane; spent following strict rules and obeying higher commands. Or it was, until a stranger shows up and changes everything.

the author labelled it as sci-fi au, but I personally think it’s more dystopian-like? either way, while this fic is on the long side, it manages to keep everyone in character until the very end, which is something that can’t be said for a lot of fics.

well, there we go! feel free to drop me an ask if you want to rec me fics or ask for a more specific/themed rec list; i’ll also update this post regularly !!

i also have an ao3 donutsandcoffee if you want to see my take on these dorks o/

[shiny-procrastinates]

(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 4

part 3 here

Hello everyone and welcome back to our... I don't know how to call this really, I'm more narrating what's happening in the screen than anything, but in any case today we are continuing what we have been doing these last few days.

Last time, we had an episode focused on the Momoko trio, got handed even more mysteries and had a brief cameo of our favorite drill-haired mahou shoujo. So what will this episode have in stock for us? Only one way to find out! (these introductions are getting cornier and cornier, I'm running out of ideas here.)

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record S1 episode 4

Today, Iroha's visiting a chinese food restaurant on Mitama's recomendation. Well, I suppose even magical girls have to eat sometime.

But before that, let's wind back a little bit.

After the op, we get a little monologue from Iroha about "friends". It's probably obvious by now that she's not the biggest social butterfly out there, but this scene basically tells us that Iroha had no friends besides her missing sister, which just makes this even more sad, honestly. The solitary atmosphere of the first episode was no coincidence.

While dropping by Mitama's, Iroha hears from Momoko the aftermath of the fight with the Chain Witch from last episode. Momoko says everyone who had disappeared had come back safely, and says that might've not been a witch, but something lurking behind the rumor. The trio brings up some other weird rumors while Mitama desecrates a perfectly good cheesecake.

“Mitama-san, why“

Iroha asks if there's some rumor where people went missing and Momoko guesses correctly that she's wondering if her sister didn't get caught up in one of those. Sadly, they don't know any other rumor where people went missing besides the Staircase of Severance.

Oh my god Mitama is eating that thing, looks like the Coordinator's will be closed for a while.

The girls try to brainstorm some ways to look for Iroha's sister but, well...

Like this, Iroha just looks like some weird girl who insists her imaginary younger sister is real... which she might be, I wouldn't put that possibility past this series, but for now we are assuming her sister actually existed.

Iroha pokes in and says she'll do it herself, since she has no idea where to start investigating now and it'll probably turn into a long search anyway. Momoko's not very convinced. Mitama then hands Iroha Banbanzai's flyer and now we are back to the present.

In Banbanzai we meet Tsuruno Yui, Kamihama's (self-proclaimed) Strongest Magical Girl. The size of the dishes are also the strongest. One has to wonder how does Tsuruno explain to her father the "magical girl discount" she has going on.

Iroha eats a bit under the expectant eyes of Tsuruno and, when pressured for a rating she says...

50/100, or 2.5/5 when going by the occidental style rating. Tsuruno's shock here is impressive considering that's Banbanzai's usual rating no matter what it puts out. Hey, consistency is good!

After eating, Iroha apologizes for giving such a low rating despite getting free food, but Tsuruno explains basically what I wrote. Yes, Iroha, you guessed right.

Tsuruno apologizes for not having any hints in regards to her sister and, after getting Iroha to call her by her first name, says she'll try to introduce her to someone that might help her with investigating the strange rumors. Tsuruno is hesitant on the phone at first but quickly gets excited as the person on the other side of the line agrees to meet them right away. And the person they go meet is...

Yachiyo, obviously. She's like "I have no time for this" at first, but is stopped by a crying Tsuruno and ends up telling them about the rumor she's investigating.

The rumor Yachiyo's investigating right now is about the Seance Shrine. Basically, there's a rumor saying that if you visit a certain shrine, write the name of who you want to see on a ema and pray properly, you will meet that person. However, you'll be so happy you'll become unable to leave.

Yachiyo says while investigating she found some posts of people saying they actually met who they wanted to meet who disappeared afterwards. Tsuruno wonders if anyone has been declared missing and Yachiyo points out that even if there was, no one would think to attribute a missing person to a rumor.

Tsuruno has a eureka moment and asks if the Seance Shrine is Mizuna Shrine, but Yachiyo says she already tried and nothing happened... wait, hey Yachiyo,  that's dangerous, what if it really was the right one? lol

Yachiyo says she already had low hopes, but if somewhere with so many visitors as Mizuna Shrine was the Seance Shrine, it would already be all over the news with the amount of people that would go missing... which is a very fair point.

So the girls have no choice but to go around and look for a less known shrine. For better or worse, there are a lot of them in Mizuna.

In one of them, Tsuruno finds a stamp rally going on in Mizuna Ward, and asks if that couldn't be a tip in regards to the rumor. Iroha's skeptical at first, but Yachiyo says they might as well do it, since it's better than looking around blindly.

While they walk around, Yachiyo tells Iroha the legend of the star-crossed lovers that was cited in the stamp rally paper. It's the tale of how two lovers of different social standings were separated by death (well, assassination), and then reunited after countless prayers from the princess. Iroha says that it's a lovely story, but Yachiyo doesn't seem to think the same.

Yachiyo then tells Iroha the hidden, true ending of the history, where the princess sacrifices all of the people of the town to their god in order to meet her beloved again.

and magical girls should know that better than anyone else.

A bit later, Tsuruno says doing this almost makes it feel like the old times, but Yachiyo just ignores her. Iroha asks if they've been close for a long time and Yachiyo says they used to be, but they're not anymore. Seeing from Tsuruno's behaviour, though, that's gotta be because of Yachiyo herself.

Iroha comments that even if it was a past relation, she's still jealous, since she's never had any friends besides Ui. Ui was everything to her, so now that she's gone, Iroha feels empty... it's a bit concerning that she feels like that when you consider her sister was ill enough that Iroha had to cure her with a wish. What would have happened had she not become a magical girl?

Yachiyo says, but this isn't the past to Iroha. She firmly believes that Ui must be out there somewhere, so she wants to find her as fast as possible. Yachiyo then tells her that if that's the case, she shouldn't be tied down by her past, she should become stronger, for her sister's sake.

Like that, they finally reach the Seance Shrine...

not. They end up back at Mizuna Shrine, which Yachiyo had already discarded as a possibility due to the number of people that would've gone missing if that had been the case. Yachiyo had thought that there had to be a connection between the rumor and the legend, so maybe they missed a hint somewhere. The trio doubles back for the day.

However, as they head back, something crucial dawns on Yachiyo:

She's a broke college student and today was 10xPoints Day.

Yachiyo gets Tsuruno and Iroha to help her and goes grocery shopping. Yachiyo tells Iroha about the points benefit, but Iroha has no idea what she's talking about, so Yachiyo says she's still a kid... yeah, but I think it would be weirder if a middle schooler knew about this stuff.

Being a magical girl sure is suffering. You get kidnapped from trains and buses, and can't even catch a sale without getting a witch as a freebie. There is no rest.

Here! I can finally comment that it creeps me out the fact that Iroha sleeps with a plushie of this thing. I know it's in this series' style to have weird things going on in the background, but still...

The fight starts and- Iroha why the heck are you going to the front what is that crossbow even for. Yachiyo tells Iroha to stay behind her, but Iroha's holding the idiot ball right now... partly because Yachiyo told her to get stronger, but still. Iroha shoots a few times at the witch, trips, misses espetacularly and almost becomes witch food. Great job, Iroha.

Now, while Iroha's hesitating about what to do, in comes Tsuruno.

Maybe not the best time to be striking poses, Tsuruno.

Iroha screws up once again and sends Tsuruno flying but, as expected of the (self-proclaimed) Mightiest, she still makes short work of the witch (also probably because we're running out of time for this episode).

I'm guessing Iroha's magic in combinations just makes the other person's magic stronger. Kinda lame when you think about the previous two examples, but I guess that's standard for light magic in games... it's already weird enough that their magic has attributes at all but, oh well, game logic.

In the end, poor Yachiyo missed the sale. However, thanks to not being blinded by shiny discounts, she realized something important they were forgetting about the rumor.

Sure enough, just like Yachiyo said, Seance Shrine really was Mizuna Shrine at night. When they walk in...

The extremely suspicious chibi Kyuubei appears. I was going to say it that it only appears in rumors, but the first time it appeared was in a witch Labyrinth, so that's not it either... wait, wasn't it singing a song about rumors the first time Iroha met it? Hmmm...

In any case, the group heads further in, and the rumor very kindly gives them some plaques. Yachiyo tells Tsuruno not to write anything, since they don't know what'll happen and they'd both write the same name anyway.

The plaques turn into something like familiars as soon as they finish writing, and Tsuruno is held back for not writing anything. Iroha hesitates a second with Tsuruno being attacked, but obeys when Tsuruno tells her to go ahead and take care of Yachiyo... I, uh... have a feeling the opposite scenario is more likely, though.

Yachiyo and Iroha go ahead and offer their prayers. Then, when Iroha opens her eyes...

they are at a different place, and what both of them see is...

The people they longed to meet.

Iroha's time has begun to move again.

---- x ----

Aaaand that was episode 4. This time, I wasn't dumb and actually checked the episode was over before starting to write the closing part.

This is probably true of the previous episodes too, but I particularly like how the colors are used in this one. The tale part had not really the same sepia tone of historical things, but more of a celestial yellow tone, and the part at the witch labyrinth in the supermarket has a cute candy-like tone to it. It's not the same subdued kind of realistic thing like in, say, SSSS.Gridman, but there are some good, calm parts in here.

During the rally, when Iroha was telling Yachiyo about not having anything besides Ui, the procession they were walking in the middle of is a reference to Kitsune no Yomeiri I think, but I couldn't really connect the situation or what they were talking about to the tale so I decided to not point it out up there. Do feel free to search about it and draw your own conclusions.

I forgot what else I wanted to say, so I guess I should tie this up now. Did you know? Writing the introduction and close-up is actually harder than writing about the episode itself so you'll have to forgive me for not being able to think up anything besides "see you next time". In fact...

See you next time, on episode 5!

[vergilthelibrarian]

Death!JaehyunxGenderNetural!Reader

Part 1

Already wrote a part 2 lol. I don’t know what to name this yet but I’ll come with something

Death comes for all.

That is a universal truth.

No matter what you do, you will eventually die.

Whether heaven or hell even existed was up for debate but on the topic of death, well everyone knew that death was real.

Death came in many ways and it could be cruel and painful or painless.

As you watched TV, you sighed as you watched the news.

Scenes of children in Yemen starving were shown and though you understood that death wasn’t discriminatory, you couldn’t help the anger you felt at knowing that these kids life were going to be cut short because of imperialists.

You honestly wished Death would intervene in that but all you could do was wish.

You turned off the TV and got up from the couch and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Tonight you were going on a date with Jaehyun and he decided to take you to a ballet which you thought was a bit much for your first date but you didn’t really question it.

You got out the shower, went to your room, got dressed and texted Jaehyun to see if he was ready.

You got a message back, saying that he was already walking to the train station.

Taking that as a sign to head out, you left your apartment, making sure the door was locked.

As you walked to the train station, you thought about the fact that Jaehyun looked like Death.

Maybe it was just a coincidence but he was an exact lookalike, their voices even sound the same.

But though you couldn’t stop thinking about this, you didn’t bring it up to him.

I mean, think about it. How sane would you think Jaehyun was if he were to seriously ask you if you were some supernatural entity?

You’d probably stopped talking to him to be honest and it was because of that that you just didn’t bring up those specific thoughts about him to him.

And besides, after talking to him over the phone, texting him everyday, you were beginning to genuinely like him.

Once you got to the station, you looked around only to spot Jaehyun on his phone.

You walked up to him, catching his eyes as he looked up, a smile growing on his lips, dimples appearing which caused your cheeks to heat up.

“Hey!” he said excitedly, hugging you.

He pulled back, looking at you before grabbing your hand, pulling you to the direction of the train.

“I know I didn’t tell you much about the ballet but it’s called Giselle. It’s a very popular ballet. It’s about a peasant girl who falls in love with womanizing nobleman who breaks her heart.” he said, glancing back at you as you two walked to your destination. “She dies of heartbreak and the nobleman ends paying the consequences for his actions.”

You two made it to the platform.

“Really? That sounds interesting.” you said, because you genuinely were interested.

You were into things like ballet.

There was something about watching people gracefully move dance across the stage in order to tell a story that always fascinated since you were a child but growing up rather poor meant that, you never been to a ballet. You’ve only ever seen them on youtube along with plays and musicals.

You and Jaehyun talked as you wait for the train, getting on once the train showed up.

You both sat in silence as the train went to its destination, getting off once it stopped at your stop.

The cool thing about this station that it was pretty close to the theater.

Once you two got to the theater, you gave the worker your ticket and walked into the big room and took your seats.

When the ballet begun you were hooked instantly, in awe at the movement of the dancers, in love with the music that was playing.

You were so wrapped up in the ballet that you didn’t notice Jaehyun watching you intently.

He found it beautiful at how you were so interested in the performance since he has seen the ballet plenty of times. But it was painfully obvious that this was your first time seeing it and the way how you were so caught up in ballet made chuckled slightly at how utterly breathtaking he found you.

When the scene where Giselle died came, you couldn’t help but cry a bit, pitying the poor girl. And when she didn’t force her lover to dance to death, you cried some more.

It was very romantic and despite having a broken heart, she still forgave the man who basically caused her death. You didn’t know if you would have it in you to do that but you were a bit of a hopeless romantic so who knows.

Once the ballet ended, you look at Jaehyun.

“I’m guessing you liked the ballet huh?” he asked smiling at you and you nodded, wiping your eyes of the tears you had.

“Yeah. It was amazing.” you said smiling softly.

“Come on. Let’s go out to eat.”

Jaehyun took you to a restaurant that was nearby the theater.

You two ate and giggled softly at one another and you couldn’t help how your heart would flutter at his laugh. How his dimpled smile would cause your cheeks to warm up. How his warm and deep voice soothed you. How relaxed you felt around him.

You didn’t want to admit it but it seemed as though you were quickly falling for Jaehyun already.

When you were done eating, Jaehyun paid for the meal and you two walked back the train station and hopped on the train.

Once you two were at your stop, you got off and Jaehyun offered to walk you home and you agreed.

You walked in silence, becoming flustered when you felt his warm hand grab yours as you walked back your apartment.

“Thank you for taking me out. I really liked it.” you smiled bashfully once you two were in front of your apartment building.

“No problem. I liked going out with you.” he said, inching closer to you. “In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me again?” he asked you and you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

Jaehyun still held your hand and as his thumb rubbed the top your hand he asked, “I know this is just our first date but can I kiss you?”

“Sure.” you said and closed your eyes as soon as you felt his lips pressed against yours, his hands cradling your head.

You don’t know what took over you but you bit his bottom lip which he took as cue to part his lips open and your tongue entered his mouth.

He moaned slightly, your hands went up to his chest, grabbing his shirt.

His tongue entered your mouth, his hands leaving your face and sliding up and down your sides, one of his hands going up your shirt.

Jaehyun pulled away slightly, his forehead resting on yours, his breath hitting your lips, his hands still rubbing your skin.

You opened your eyes to see him staring at you intensely.

“Do you want to come inside?” you asked him shyly, knowing full well what the question you just asked him implied.

“Yeah.” he answered and you opened the door to your building, quickly heading inside.

~~

You didn’t know what took over you.

It wasn’t like to just let strangers into your house like this let alone sleep with them. But as you laid next to Jaehyun who was holding you tightly, you didn’t really care.

You oddly felt safe around him.

You felt a peace that you only ever felt when you died and that concerned you because if Jaehyun was actually Death, did that mean that it was your time to go?

“What are you thinking about?” Jaehyun asked, his brown eyes softly gazing at you.

“You.” you squeaked out.

“Really?” he grinned, pulling you closer to him.

“Mhm.” you nodded, drawing circles on his chest.

“I hope you dream of me tonight.” he said, kissing your forehead and soon you felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

~~

“Hm?”

You looked around your surroundings wondering where you were.

You were in a room and could hear a piano being played in the distance.

You got out of the room and went to wear the music was being played.

Stopping in front of a door, you knocked on the door only to hear the piano stop.

“Come in.” a voice said and you walked into the room.

You saw the back of a men in a black suit with golden designs.

He got up from the piano bench and turned to you.

“Jaehyun?” you question but the man chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s only been a year and you’ve already forgotten who I am.”

Your eyes widen.

“You’re Death.”

“I am.”

“What are you doing here? You said that if when it’s my time to go that you’ll be right there to take me home.”

He nodded.

“But I also said that you will know when it’s your time… Do you believe it’s your time to go?”

“No. It doesn’t feel like it.” you answered, shaking your head.

He smiled, dimples appearing on his features.

��Then it’s not your time.”

You looked at Death, squinting slightly.

Something seemed different about him.

The first time you met him, he was very cold and stoic, donning a more brooding personality.

But now, he seemed more warm, his personality very similar to Jaehyun which got you wondering if they were the same person.

So, you asked him.

“Are you Jaehyun?” and Death’s smile grew, his eyes soft as he looked at you and you felt your heart skip a beat.

“And if I was?” he questioned which caused you to frown.

“Then it’s not cool for you to just come into my life and mess with me. If it’s my time to go, I rather not have my heart played with by Death himself before he takes me to wherever.” you said crossing your arms.

Death sighed, walking up to you, cradling your face in his hands.

“I will never play with your heart.” he said. “I just… If I am Jaehyun, I’m only in your life to love you. That’s it.”

You looked up at him and that feeling of safeness was there.

“Why? Why are you trying to get me to fall for you?” you asked him.

Death hummed.

“My brother is married and honestly, I am jealous of him.” he said. “I see the way how his wife looks at him and I can’t help but feel envy. But his job is different from my job. I take the lives of those whose time are up while he just help people fall asleep.” his face hardens. “When you see so many people die, everyday, it gets to you and to be truthful, I don’t see the point in even having a partner because of my job but it does get lonely and I am very lonely.”

“What do I have to do with your loneliness?” and Death smiled.

“You can solve it. When I saw you, I knew I had to have you. I knew you were the one for me.”

You’re eyes widen.

“What are you saying?” you asked him.

“I’m in love with you.” he said, placing a kiss on your lips.

He pulled away, looking at you with his brown eyes.

“And I want you to fall in love with me.” he rubbed his nose against yours.

~~

You moaned awake, the feeling of strong arms wrapped around you.

You moved your head from Jaehyun’s chest and saw that he was still asleep.

So was he really Death?

It seemed so but you will definitely have to ask him at some point.

You couldn’t understand why you felt so safe in his arms.

If Jaehyun really was Death, shouldn’t you know that your time was coming to an end?

Yes, you should but you didn’t and if what Death said to you was the truth, about him falling in love with you and want you to fall for him, what was going to happen exactly.

Were you still going to die?

You weren’t sure but as you watch Jaehyun snore slightly, a small smile come on your lips.

You had no idea what was going on but for now, you’ll enjoy being in the company of your newly acquainted lover.

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

~ISEB in Japan: A Photo Journal~

If you’ve been following me on Twitter lately, you’ll know that I’ve been traveling through parts of Japan the last couple of weeks with my Ignis Play Arts Kai figure in tow. I posted a few pictures over there during the duration of my trip, but those barely scratched the surface of everything I got to do while in Japan. So I thought I’d put together a blog post of my journey while it was still fresh in my mind, featuring everyone’s favorite strategist in what I’ve been dubbing my Great Final Fantasy XV Adventure of 2019!

[Image-heavy content + commentary under the cut]

A brief backstory: I’ve wanted to go to Japan my entire adult life. For years, I’ve watched friends make the trek while I’ve been stuck at home with a severe case of FOMO. The only thing that ever stopped me from going was money (or a lack thereof), so I made the decision last summer to buckle down and sock away every dime I made to make it happen. My only concern before hopping on the plane was that I had missed the wave of FFXV popularity by about a year, but I would quickly learn that—other than not getting to eat any of Ignis’ recipes at the Square Enix Cafe—I had little to worry about.

Literally the only reason I brought my Play Arts Kai figure was so I could take this picture of Ignis at the Citadel (a.k.a. the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building), which was the very first place I stopped at on my first full day in Tokyo. The building + the surrounding plaza, while not 100% accurate, is a fairly impressive facsimile of the one in the game. It’s located in Shinjuku, which also boasts a lot of similarities to Insomnia. Having finished Episode Ardyn mere hours before jetting off on my trip, it felt like I had stepped off the plane and right into the game!

There just so happened to be an Animate right near the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, so I popped in to get a feel for what kind of FFXV merch I’d be able to find two years after the game’s release and a year after its height of popularity. Turns out, there was quite a lot of swag to be found! Truth be told, I’ve never been one to chase down official merchandise (unfortunately my job doesn’t really afford that luxury), but I gave myself special permission while on vacation to buy anything I wanted. So I did! Including everything you see above. ^^;;

The next thing I did was take the train to Ginza to meet Lyle/@landscape-gonna  (@landscape_gonna on Twitter), and I simply cannot say enough nice things about her. If you don’t know who she is, there’s a 99.9% chance you’ve seen at least one of her Ignis costumes, and they are A. M. A. Z. I. N. G. We had chatted a bit previously on Twitter before I went full-on stan mode, asking her if she'd be willing to meet up with me (a total stranger) to have lunch and talk Ignis and Final Fantasy. Not only did she say yes, but she gifted me with copies of her incredible cosplay zines and was not the least embarrassed when I busted out my Play Kai Arts figure in the middle of a busy Japanese dessert restaurant haha.

See? Zero embarrassment here.

We even did Noct’s ultimate pose! In public!

I can’t begin to articulate how special meeting Lyle was for me—being brought together from opposite sides of the world to share in our love for Ignis/FFXV is a memory I will cherish my entire life. So Lyle, if you are reading this: どうもありがとうございます ! ٩( ᐛ )( ᐖ )۶

Lyle wasn't the only friend I had in Japan. Another friend of mine, Asuka (who happens to be well-versed in anime/video game culture), volunteered to be my guide through Ikebukuro/Otome Road the next day. Quick otaku lesson: Kbooks is a chain of stores that specializes in the resale of licensed merchandise. For example, if you missed out on some of the limited availability items from the Movic and the Square Enix Cafe collaborations, you might be able to find them at a Kbooks. Otome Road in particular has something like seven different Kbook shops in a 3-block radius, each one specializing in different products (sports anime, idols, cosplay, etc). I, of course, beelined for the video game shop...

...which is where I found this fucking thing:

I’m not gonna lie, I almost bought it. I just didn’t know what I would do with it besides scare the living daylights out of people when they least expected it lol.

Yoooo Adam I found ya boi in Ikebukuro

We popped into the cosplay Kbooks shop since it was right across the street and I found an Ignis costume for sale! Please enjoy this picture of me pretending to come up with a new recipeh (since this is likely the closest I’ll ever come to cosplaying as Ignis).

One of the things Asuka introduced me to was Hanami (picnic under the cherry blossoms, basically). I had timed my trip to coincide with the blooming of the sakura, and the experience of being in Japan during that time was indescribable. I took a bajillion pictures of the sakura while I was there and unfortunately none of my photos ever quite captured the beauty and magic of them in person, but here’s a lil’ pic of a tree in bloom at Yoyogi Park (with the Movic Ignis charm I bought at Kbooks earlier that day).

Another item on my Japan checklist was to stay at a ryokan (traditional Japanese inn) in Hakone, a town famous for its onsen/hot springs. Nothing in Hakone is cheap (at least, not during peak sakura season), and I had spent an absurd amount of money on a night at one particular ryokan with a private bath (shy husband haha). The private bath could only be reserved in 30-minute increments, and by the time we finally rolled into Hakone the bath we wanted only had one slot available for the rest of the night. So what did I do?

If you said, “Waste the first 15 minutes of your 30-minute, super-expensive onsen experience taking the perfect Ignis-in-a-hot-springs photo” then you would be absolutely correct lol.

I actually wasn’t planning on taking a bunch of photos of my Ignis figure on this trip, but after my husband tucked Ignis into my futon while I was in the bathroom, documenting my trip vicariously through Ignis ended up taking on a life of its own. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I popped back over to Tokyo after my stay in Hakone, which is when I finally got to make the Great Nerd Pilgrimage™ to the Square Enix Cafe! Had the FFXV collab been going on while I was there, I might’ve forked over the cash to eat at the cafe, but I opted to skip out on lunch so I could spend more money in their shop. They still had a small collection of FFXV merch...

...including this acrylic Ignis stand that I wanted but thought I would never own after failing to find it at Kbooks earlier in the week. Huzzah!

Also, I just feel the need to let everyone know that this is what the outside of the Square Enix Cafe in Tokyo looks like lmao.

Our next stop was Kyoto, which we arrived in on Gladio’s birthday (April 2nd). Unfortunately I didn’t have time to draw anything for his b-day, but we did stop for a Nissin Cup Noodle in honor of Gladio!

One of the most memorable moments of my trip was when this boating incident happened, and it requires a little bit of backstory. On my first full day in Kyoto, I attempted to field two of the most popular tourist destinations in Kyoto: the bamboo forest in Arashiyama, and the Fushimi Inari Shrine. Both places have their beauty and historical significance, and I suspect during the off-season are inspiring sites to behold. In my case, both places were absolutely swarming with tourists, which really put a damper on my enjoyment of them. Defeated, I followed a local canal back toward my hotel, which is where I spotted a miniature boat enthusiast controlling a boat that looked eerily similar to the Royal Vessel. I pulled my Ignis figure out with the intention of simply taking a photo of the boat in the background; when the man saw me holding my figure and fumbling with my phone, he flagged me over and gestured for me to put Ignis in the boat. I wish I had documented how it all went down a little better, but as I was literally wheezing with laughter, the above was the best I could capture.

One of the more off-the-cuff decision I made was to dress in kimono for a day while in Gion (Kyoto). As the cherry blossoms were at their height during my stay there, you couldn’t sneeze without hitting someone who was dressed traditionally for the numerous festivals that were taking place throughout the city. As a white foreigner, I initially had reservations about wearing a kimono (for fear of cultural appropriation), but I did everything I could to be as respectful and reverent whilst wearing the garb (and the rental shop was certainly happy for the patronage). It was an amazing experience and I would definitely do it again!

Speaking of being respectful, I made it a point not to take pictures of Ignis while visiting any shrines (because nothing screams ‘douchey American’ quite like whipping out an action figure on sacred grounds), hence why I don’t have pictures of any of the major shrines we visited in this post. I did, however, spot this miniature shrine arch in an alleyway, and thought it would be okay for my equally miniature strategist to pay his respects.

Literally, a tiny shrine in an alleyway. I suppose even alleys have their deities!

Osaka is about 20 minutes away from Kyoto by train, and since I had already traveled all the way out to Kyoto, I went the extra few miles to stop by the Square Enix Cafe in Osaka. They actually had a smaller selection of FFXV merch than the one in Tokyo and I didn’t end up buying anything, but I would’ve never stopped wondering if I had missed out on something if I hadn’t gone and seen it for myself!

My last day in Kyoto was a week into my trip, and I still had five days left to go. After walking ~10 miles every day (no joke, I have the GPS screenshots to prove it!), I was really starting to feel the grind. I’m sure Ignis was also desperate for an Ebony after being lugged around in the bottom of my purse for a week lol.

Back on the Shinkansen (bullet train) to Tokyo!

Weeeeeee (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Said hi to Fuji-san!

Stopped for a delicious matcha parfait! (Shout-out to my husband who never once got annoyed with me whenever I busted out my figure in public spaces lol)

This was without a doubt the craziest and most unexpected find of any of my merch runs. I had gone to the video game Kbooks in Ikebukuro earlier in the week and had sifted through all their Ignis merch with a fine-toothed comb. This particular Movic charm was one I had been on the lookout for, but it was a rare pull even when they were readily available a year ago, and the only Ignis charm I came across in my first trip to Kbooks was the normal Ignis one (see my Hanami pic). I had no real reason to return to Ikebukuro after I got back from Kyoto, but on a whim I went one last time and BAM—this guy was hanging out there in his lil’ baggie, just waiting for me to get my grubby little hands on him. Jackpot!

All in all, I spent way too much money and I couldn’t be happier for it. The only thing I couldn’t find for the life of me was the Ignis cologne by Movic, but after searching through several Animates and Kbooks, I began to suspect it might be an online-exclusive item that wasn’t available in stores. (Which was probably a good thing for me cause I was already stretching my budget to the limit by this point haha.)

On my last night in Japan, I went back to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building—only this time I went at night when it was all lit up! I also went up to the observation deck on the 45th floor (something I didn’t know you could do the first time I was there) and enjoyed a fantastic view of nighttime Insomnia Tokyo. It was the perfect bookend to a perfect trip, and my heart is absolutely overflowing right now with love for both Japan and Final Fantasy XV!

[taehyungtrash2-0]

TAM Chapter 1

What most people of Seoul don't know is that there is a tall, tall building that is seen as a place you would assume has a few businesses renting it out. Maybe an apartment building? A doctor’s office if you will? That's exactly what you should think, but to those who venture inside are greeted by mysterious men and inviting warm lobby. Those who are even more unfortunate find themselves face to face with a man who the police refuse to seek, to which men envy, and what most of the population would find to be absolutely terrifying. The mafia; a lifestyle in which Min Yoongi has been born into, one he has mastered better than the back of his hand. Ignorant to the rest of the world seven men gather into a large meeting room, surrounded by a deep wooden chair and a long table. 

 “Okay, now let’s get this done and over with. I want updates on the Santori contract, new recruits, the arms deal bust, the new building, and the oh yes- THE LOST SHIPMENT!” Yoongi yelled out while slamming his fists on the table. The younger members looking rather shaken. 

“I got the updated contracts this afternoon, but I need you to look it over just in case you don’t like anything.” The older man spoke. Jin the second consigliere and Yoongi’s 3rd in command, in charge of many things but business deals are his game. Don’t let the handsome face fool you, he switches from sweet to feared with the quick and unfazed pull of a trigger.

“That’s fine, I’ll look it over after. Did you end up buying that restaurant by the way? Because I’ve been thinking maybe we can have it as the recruitment front.” Yoongi responded casually, reaching for his glass of scotch. A drink much needed for this kind of work. 

“Yeah I did, French cuisine. But I don’t want them touching the food.” Jin responded with a quick wit and a signature smirk. 

“That’s fine, speaking of them, what’s the update with them, Hoseok?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the man on the other end of the table. 

“We have five new ones that passed the first tests and training. We have Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Huengkai.” he listed off, looking at his paper of notes. Hoseok; soldier in charge of combat training, recruits, and leader of the younger members. A goofy charm that can melt metal but doesn’t piss him off, the last one to do that was found at the bottom of Daechung Lake.

“Alright, I’m trusting you on that. Have them ready by the next monthly shipment. Jimin and Taehyung help him train the new ones. Speaking of Taehyung, I heard you sniped out the drug deal downtown from the Lee Brothers gang. I have a bottle of brandy with your name on it, my friend.” Yoongi said proudly, raising his glass to him before taking a drink. 

“Thanks, man.” Taehyung's low voice rumbled, juxtaposed with his wide smile. Coincidently, the same smile he has on his face every time he snipes to kill, you’ve got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger fingers mine, kind of guy. 

“I helped, you're sharing” Jimin chimed in, smacking him on the back and cracking his neck. Park Jimin; a man of many talents, that is if you count being able to beat 5 men to death within 6 minutes flat. Yes, he’s timed it for fun. Sadists, am I right?

“Get me some too Hyung,” Jungkook whispered across from them. Jungkook; youngest member and I'm good at everything: arson, hand to hand combat, and a manipulative little shit. Don’t let the sweet face fool deceive you.

“Now, for more important things... Who dropped the ball on THE SHIPMENT YESTERDAY BECAUSE I KNOW DAMN WELL IT WASN’T ME. THE LAST THING I NEED RIGHT NOW IS MY GUYS MAKING ME LOOK BAD, SO WHO THE HELL FUCKED UP?!” Yoongi began screaming and slamming his hand on the table. A look of fear spreading to each face in the room.  Each one gulping the surplus of air caught in their lungs. 

“I got the call before the meeting started, the driver got in an accident and they didn’t find the replacement driver until it was past our request time but they have the product. Its five minutes away as we speak.” Jimin spoke bravely, making sure his voice did not shake in front of his boss. 

“Alright, I’m letting it slide but I want your ass talking to those people and getting every detail, we can’t afford a slip up now, not with everything going on. Check the shipment more than usual, I want nothing suspicious happening. Now everyone go, I'm tired of being around people.” Yoongi huffed, turning his chair around, admiring at the fact that there was such a big empty space on the wall. An artist's dream, a beautiful blank canvas of mahogany waiting to be hidden away with vibrant hues. She should love that.

“Except you two, Jungkook and Namjoon. We have some business to talk about.” Yoongi spoke, making only the side of his face visible past the chair. 

“Is something wrong sir?” Jungkook asked hesitantly, walking back to the other two men. 

“No, quite the opposite really,” Yoongi muttered, turning his chair back around and clasping his hands. 

“You know what this is about?” Jungkook asked confused, sitting next to Namjoon. 

“Of course, I know everything” Namjoon spoke matter of factly. Kim Namjoon; the highest IQ of the team, incredibly smart and know everything about everyone. Commonly seen as the tall intimidating figure that can spill your biggest nightmares into the real world. Be careful with him. 

“So Jungkook, being you're the youngest, you have so much to learn. You've shown loyalty to this family for years just like your father, for that, I've made a decision. I see a lot of myself in you which makes this a little easier, but you are the next in line to lead the family. BUT you still have so much to learn and I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon so don't expect to be the king overnight but you are next, nonetheless. I have a confidential thing happening now and this is to be seen by no one but the closest meaning Namjoon, Jin, and you. Namjoon will be training you on everything about researching and basically knowing everything about what we are dealing with. Namjoon, brief him.” Yoongi rolled his wrist to his direction, sitting back and setting his feet up on the table. 

“As of 10:39p.m. last night, Yoongi and I were scoping out a new potential headquarters setup uptown, on the east side. The building was putting on an art gala when Yoongi came across a woman whom he feels needs optimal protection and security. It is our job to watch, follow, and ensure her safety. On top of this, we need to know absolutely everything about her; medical records, childhood, previous romanc-”

“Basically, I am entrusting you to protect her without question.” Yoongi cut him off with a grunt. 

“So, we spy on a girl for you?” Jungkook slowly drew out in confusion. This caused Yoongi to grow very annoyed and Namjoon to smack him on the back of the head. 

“Ow!” he whined, rubbing the back of his head.

“If you’re not going to take this seriously I can go for my second option, I mean Taehyung is a great shot an-”

“I’ve got this, where do we start Joon?” Jungkook cut Yoongi off, Taehyung gets enough praise. It was Jungkook’s time.

“Let’s go, phase one has already started. Yoongi just text me when you’re ready.” Namjoon called while getting up. 

“So someone is buying your sculpture for 1 million won?! Who is it? Are you going to meet? Ask them if they want a sugar baby because trust me when I say, I AM AVAILABLE!” Irene screeched in my face, the rest of the people in the cafe clearly gawking at her words. If the coffee isn't hot enough, the heat from my flushed face will simply reheat it. I myself am already in shock that someone wants to buy my work, let alone pay that much for it. I’m finally going to be able to pay rent on the apartment.

“Hello? Come back down to earth, before I take your place.” she laughed, waving a hand in front of my face, putting my coffee back down.  

“What. Oh, yeah haha! I should really start getting ready, I can’t look like a dump when I’ve got a potential date with my sugar daddy!” I laugh back, grabbing my bag and picking up my coffee. 

“And you really don’t know who it is?” she asks again. 

“Nope, all the curator told me is that the person wanted to keep their identity anonymous until I meet them in person,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders and beginning to walk away.

“Well have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn't do! Wink wink.” she yelled out to me.  

“Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t do half the things you would do.” I laughed, closing the coffee shop door behind me.

[dialux]

they say we’re out of control and some say we’re sinners, ii

Good Omens, chapter two of the Aziraphale character study. Hope y’all enjoy!

Chapter Two: hungry little fool, but you were mine

...

we were born with nothing and we sure as hell have nothing now

...

Through a complex web of intermediaries, Aziraphale decides to meet Crowley in a little shop in Baghdad known for spicy bread and wonderful pistachio recipes[11] to welcome the twelfth century. Aziraphale actually gets there before Crowley; he orders himself a thick sort of soup and starts running through his mental catalog of wines that he knows Crowley’s stored away. The guessing of what he’ll get is almost the best part.

His eyes are closed when an arm closes over his shoulder.

“Angel,” says Crowley.

Aziraphale tilts his head to the side and smiles at him, takes in the sharp edge of his cheekbones that’s softened from the haggard cut of five years before. They both look much better, Aziraphale supposes, now that they aren’t in an active war zone.

“Crowley. It’s been some time.”

“Mmm. When was the last time we met?” There’s something glittering-amused in Crowley’s expression, an angle to his eyebrows, a smugness to his voice- that makes wariness curl down Aziraphale’s back. “Five years, I think. That mess up in Belgrade.”

“Oh, yes.” The wariness digs fine claws into Aziraphale’s spine. “I never did get the chance to ask you if you found those demons that were after you.”

“Never saw them again, actually.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Not really,” says Crowley casually. “Though I did hear a few strange rumors.”

“Did you?” 

“And saw a few disciplinary reports... that don’t add up.”

Aziraphale smiles thinly back at him. “Hell’s not known for its paperwork, I’d think.”

“Hell does take notice when a few demons become discorporated, though. And especially when done as- completely- as happened to those two.” His lip curls. “Their bodies were so badly off, headquarters couldn’t fix ‘em. Had to burn them up. Apparently.”

“It was that bad?” Aziraphale asks, alarmed. 

Crowley slouches into his seat, a jewel-encrusted goblet tipped far enough in his hand to dare the drink to spill. “Only... there was one strange thing.”

“Was there,” sighs Aziraphale.

“Those idiots kept babbling something about me doing the actual act. Which doesn’t make sense, because as far as I remember, I was sleeping in a ridiculously overpriced room while Belgrade was being sacked.” 

Aziraphale folds his hands together tensely. “I’m sure your memory hasn’t gotten that bad, Crowley. Old age... there’s some newfangled ideas about training your brain that ought to come up in a few centuries that-”

“My memory hasn’t gotten bad at all, angel,” says Crowley amusedly. “Perks of being immortal.”

“Well, then, I don’t-”

“Did you steal my face?” interrupts Crowley, leaning further forwards. 

His face is so intent- it feels like Aziraphale’s skin is being pared away, revealing all those terrible emotions running under it. He fights the urge to shift or do something even more moronic. Like throw his own goblet at Crowley’s head and disappear on another eighty-year sabbatical.

You cannot run away from all your problems, Aziraphale tells himself sternly, before he lifts his gaze to Crowley’s black-glassed ones.

“Just,” he says, “for a few hours.”

Sheer glee splits open Crowley’s face. And something else, chasing on its heels- something soft and wide and sharp. 

“And it was borrowed,” corrects Aziraphale sharply, desperate to keep that expression from erasing all thought in Aziraphale’s mind. “Not stolen. It’s not like I went about wearing your face after that.”

“Wouldn’t’ve been a problem if you did.”

“Pardon me?”

Crowley flicks his fingers and picks up the decadently-decorated wine bottle he’s just magicked up, rolling it between his fingers carelessly. There’s a faint smile on his lips. 

“I was just thinking,” he says. “What I tempt the humans into doing, you thwart. What you try to miracle into being good, I miracle into being bad. We, ah- cancel each other out.”

“We do our duty,” agrees Aziraphale. 

The wariness is back. It prowls up and down Aziraphale’s back like a cat, digging claws and sweeping tails over his spine. 

“But nobody down below knew that it was you,” says Crowley. “They couldn’t tell the difference between me doing something or you doing something. Demonic, angelic- it doesn’t matter. So long as the job gets done.”

“What are you saying?”

“We do the work they want us to do. But if it’s in the same city- at the same time- one of us can do both. Tempting and thwarting. Make it easier on both of us.”

“Slothfulness,” says Aziraphale, as scornfully as he can fit in. “And no.”

“No?”

“No!”

“How long have we been here?” Crowley asks, and angles his face to the side, glasses slipping the barest bit to reveal eyes golden as the sunset around them. Aziraphale shudders internally, and prays fervently that he didn’t make the physical movement to match. “Five thousand years, give or take a decade. How many days off have you had?”

Aziraphale swallows, hard. He reaches out and seizes the bottle. Pours it out. Then, glaring defiantly at Crowley- who looks far too entertained for the words coming out his mouth- he takes a too-large swig.

“None. Which you know.”

“I’m sure you’d like some, though. To go buy a book. To find the best restaurants. To... enjoy the new year.” His lips twist into a thin, long line. “We’ve been doing this only once a century because you don’t want anyone up there finding out what you’ve been doing, but what’s to say that anyone cares? Imagine it, angel- the same work, but half the time.” Crowley’s lips flatten, curve upwards. Not a smile, thinks Aziraphale desperately, hands too tight on the goblet. A smirk. “You going to call efficiency sloth?”

“Just because Hell doesn’t know doesn’t mean Heaven won’t,” Aziraphale points out, instead of thinking about the flash of Crowley’s teeth. He lets the old, familiar irritation surge through him. “And just because it’ll mean less work doesn’t mean it’s truthful!”

“Honesty isn’t one of your virtues.”

“Crowley.”

He spreads his arms. “Five thousand years. Has anyone come down to check up on you? They don’t care, Aziraphale. They don’t. Keep doing what they tell you to do, keep signing off on their forms, keep filling your quotas- they won’t care how you do it.”

“No,” says Aziraphale. He drains the wine and steals the bottle back, pouring another too-large portion again. 

Crowley opens his mouth. 

Aziraphale lets his own voice turn sharper. “No,” he says. “Enough. I’m done talking about it.”

"Angel-”

“A new century,” says Aziraphale, too-stern. He exhales once, short and forceful and irritable, then paints a smile back onto his face. “The twelfth century. Let’s enjoy this night, Crowley. We can talk about work later.”

For a long minute, Crowley doesn’t answer. Then a smile ripples across his face, like a stone through still water. “Tomorrow?”

“Why not?” asks Aziraphale. He takes a deep breath, and holds out the goblet. Waits for Crowley to clink it. “It can’t hurt.”

...

Aziraphale refuses Crowley three times after that.

He mumbles inextricable the first time, slurring the word just enough for it to sound like ineffable, and ignores Crowley’s consternation in favor of the kilishi laid out on his plate like little red discs. The second time, Aziraphale sobers himself up with a snap of his fingers and flees into the colorful crowd of a Plantagenet masquerade, trusting that Crowley will need at least a minute longer to follow him. But Crowley times the third request just perfectly to coincide with Aziraphale’s performance review of the fourteenth century.

Aziraphale refuses him in the morning and spends the rest of the day dodging Crowley’s increasingly petty attempts to catch his attention, ranging from leeks in his soup wriggling eerily like live snakes to a friar who tries to drag him into a church to discuss Original Sin. By the time he ditches the infuriatingly insistent friar and returns home he’s got little electrical sparks fizzling out from his fingers; when he opens the letters left on his doorstep, Aziraphale barely finishes reading the damned thing before it goes up in flames. 

He hasn’t taken his hat off, or his shoes, or his gloves. Aziraphale turns around and strides straight back through London to catch up to Crowley, the charred remnants of the letter still clutched in his fingers.

Why should he go out of his way to thwart when Gabriel apparently still doesn’t understand the difference between the Black Plague and the Ten Plagues of Egypt? When Head Office still doesn’t understand they’ve affected a wholly different population in terms of place, people, and time? How can Aziraphale have faith in them when they’re so absolutely stupid?

“Fine,” he says, ignoring Crowley’s scrutiny [12]. “Have it your way. Once. And no more.”

Crowley waves his hand and a coin, wide and glittering and bright as his eyes shines between his fingers. “Alright, then,” he says, a smile like a sheathed sword on his lips. “Let’s do it.”

...

Once, twice, a dozen... does it matter?

...

In the Great Fire, Aziraphale is discorporated. 

It’s accidental; he’s saving two sisters from a burning building when a piece of masonry crumbles down on his head. Aziraphale wakes in a clean, empty room with absolutely no pain. It’s the anger that propels him out of the room at first; anger at Head Office and the anger of a man who’s given everything to a cause only to realize it’s worth absolute jack shit to said organization. Aziraphale takes about three steps out of the heavenly clinic before he gets too tired for any sort of confrontation.

Nobody seems to notice or care that he’s not back on Earth already, so Aziraphale decides on a vacation- it’s been more than a thousand years since his last; he’s certainly overdue- and where better than Heaven? He’s toured Earth and is probably [13] banned from Hell, so he should enjoy this.

He hides out in the library for a few weeks until that gets boring [14]- and then he hangs out in the corners with the rest of humanity that’s merited a heavenly afterlife [15]. When he finally tires of that, he spends another couple weeks exploring the parts of heaven that they’d renovated while he wasn’t around. Within two months, Aziraphale’s about stir-crazy enough to finally head over to Gabriel and get his body back. 

He lands in London. 

The air is damp from rain and mold like always, but it’s not currently raining. Aziraphale makes his way through the city, admiring all the things that have changed in the two months he’s been gone. Five and a half thousand years and it took him two months to get tired of heaven all over again; two months and it feels like London’s grown seven inches to the left of where it had once been. The same, and subtly different, all at once.

The city is no longer smoking. It has healed over. People have settled back into their old lives. 

Aziraphale sits down on a bench near the river to catch his breath. So much has changed. Too much. Two months. Just two months. He feels like a stone on a river, worn down smooth and featureless, unimportant, dislodged from its position for the first time in millennia and suddenly flowing along with the current. Aziraphale curls inwards on himself. He feels so- small.

Then he sees a black-clad figure, kneeling next to a little boy and holding out a piece of candy.

Heart leaping into his throat, Aziraphale lunges forward.

“Crowley,” he cries. 

Crowley almost jumps into the air. Before he can turn around, Aziraphale’s there- he slaps at Crowley’s hands until he drops the candy. Crowley backs off immediately; Aziraphale can see him out of the corner of his eye and thinks Crowley looks like someone who’s stepped off a cliff but found solid ground under him, somehow, impossibly. Relief and shock and the anger at being so terribly foolish as to believe it a cliff in the first place.

There’s such immense emotion carved into his face that Aziraphale cannot bear it. He turns away and catches the wide, shining eyes of the boy, who’s looking more and more like he wants to cry. 

“Here,” says Aziraphale as convincingly as he can manage even as all he wants is the boy to go away. “There you go, have another sweet.” He scowls at Crowley, and immediately regrets it; Crowley is fast regaining his equilibrium, but somehow still looks shaken. “One that isn’t demonic.”

The boy runs off to his parents, who glare at Aziraphale. And Crowley says, in slightly injured tones, “I wasn’t poisoning him, you know.”

Relief spreads through Aziraphale. At least- at least things are back to normal. When he glances at Crowley, the sunset’s illuminating his face so it looks softer than usual, blurred at the edges like candlewax melted over flame. It takes almost all of Aziraphale’s will not to let his hands shake.

“Then what were you doing?”

“Giving a child a sweet,” says Crowley dryly. “He tripped over my shoes. I thought it only-”

“-nice?”

“Someone’s had to maintain the balance around here. Especially after you disappeared.”

Aziraphale doesn’t flinch at that, but he does feel his lips depress into an involuntary grimace. “What?”

“They’ve been sending your regular notices for the past months. Your Head Office, I mean. One act of charity, please, and all that.” Crowley runs one gloved finger over the knuckles of his other hand, but he doesn’t look away from the river. “Bunch of self-righteous wankers, aren’t they?”

“Hmm.”

“Aziraphale?” He turns, just a little, and there’s flickering tension in his slender figure, whipcord-taut and as dangerous as a promise. “You disappeared for... a long time. I was- confused.”

So you decided to continue our Arrangement? Even when I just-

There hadn’t been anything in Aziraphale’s mind when he decided to walk out of the clinic in heaven and just explore. Just exhaustion and the desire for a vacation and the numb anger that came with the realization: five thousand years, and nobody cared if he did his job or not.

But Gabriel had been surprised.

Nobody had noticed he was gone.

Crowley had-

“I got discorporated,” says Aziraphale faintly. “In the fire.”

Crowley breathes in. His fingers convulse around his wrist, white. “Angel,” he says.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Rather- painful. Not a good experience.”

“Angel.”

Crowley’s squeezing his wrist so tight it looks like it might well have been broken on a human. Aziraphale reaches out and places his hand over it; he watches as Crowley softens, just a little.  

“I came back,” he says quietly.

“Come back quicker next time,” says Crowley, just as quiet. “I won’t always be there to do all your work for you.”

Aziraphale inhales. The smell is sharp- dampness like freshly turned over earth, and smoke like the ashes of the city surrounding them. The rain after a firestorm. Crowley, standing close enough for Aziraphale to feel the warmth of his skin. London, picking itself up, dusting itself off, readying itself for another long, long day.

He breathes out, and doesn’t remove his hand from Crowley’s wrist.

...

They do try to promote Aziraphale, his Head Office, eventually. He’s been doing good work; it’s only to be expected. It isn’t that Aziraphale isn’t entirely sure of how to answer, but when Gabriel backtracks a few hours later, Aziraphale doesn’t even bother to question him.

He sets out tea for Crowley the next afternoon, brewed with the use of a good three miracles to perfection. 

Beside it lies a slender cloth, silvered and softened. Tussah silk, thinks Aziraphale, letting it puddle through his fingers. Thick but soft, and with little of the burrs that come with wool. Expensive, too, which he can only hope...

“Aziraphale?”

“Tea,” he says, turning away and letting Crowley settle into his customary position. “It’s ready.”

“I’ve some chocolates. From yesterday, but-”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He’s too nervous. He’s over-compensating. It’s too much. But Aziraphale tilts his head and flexes his fingers and forces himself to calm. “What have you been up to?”

“No good,” says Crowley languidly. “Bit of tempting here, wiling there- deceiving angels and hoodwinking some terrible government officials... all in a day’s work.”

Alright, then, thinks Aziraphale. So that’s how we’re doing this.

“Of course,” he hums. “It’s what you do, isn’t it?”

Suspicion flickers across Crowley’s eyebrows. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Just fine.” Aziraphale hands him the cup and sinks into his own chair. He picks up the first chocolate he sees- dark and ribboned through with special caramel- and pops it into his mouth. “Absolutely fine.”

They graduate from tea to wine, and Aziraphale can feel the hours wheeling away around them, but he doesn’t care about any of it. He’s too warm and content, bones softened and lethargy swimming through his muscles. Chocolate and wine and the softness of a chair with two hundred years of use; Aziraphale is more content in that moment than he has been in years. He actually almost forgets to hand Crowley the silk when he gets up to leave.

“They made it wrong,” Aziraphale says airily, taking care not to let his fingers tighten on the cloth even as he sobers himself up as subtly as he can. “And it’s tussah silk, you know, very difficult to dye."

“So whattaya want me to do ‘bout it?”

“Keep it.”

Crowley stands there.

Aziraphale can feel himself flushing at that silence, at the awkwardness and terrible emotion- whatever it is, Aziraphale can’t be bothered to decipher any of it right now- in Crowley’s face. The cloth feels so- so pitiful, small and scant and so human, above all else, so human, to someone who is about as far from human as they can get.

But even all of that would be acceptable, if Aziraphale hadn’t gone out of his way to keep a cloth far darker than anything he’s ever kept in all his existence. He hadn’t thrown a fit at the shopkeeper, hadn’t asked for a replacement; just taken it from a seller in Shanghai more than fifteen centuries previous and kept it in a cupboard for no reason at all.

For no reason at all.

For absolutely no reason at all.

“Or not,” he says slowly, starting to fold it away, a glutinous liquid starting to crawl up his chest. 

Crowley clears his throat. “No,” he says, sounding strange, like something’s caught in his throat, or he’s sobered himself up abruptly. “No, give it over. You know how I get cold in winter, and they keep saying this year’s going to be worse than the last. I can use it as a scarf.”

“It’s a bit lighter than-”

“Hand it over, Aziraphale,” says Crowley.

He does.

...

Crowley wears it after that. Incessantly [16].

He doesn’t thank Aziraphale, and Aziraphale doesn’t thank him, and none of it matters. There are no words, after all, to explain this. Trust in a person who reason says deserves none of it; faith in a person who’s been repulsed by God; mercy from a demon. 

No words exist, and for all that Aziraphale loves books, loves reading- he’s content with this strange wordlessness. The ineffability of it. The brush of their hands, the twist of their lips, the sharp-tongued slide of their words, always meant to wound in the fashion of a thorned rose. Stinging but not deadly. Uncruel, and lovely.

...

Crowley asks for the holy water on a summer afternoon. 

It’s simple; it’s almost the same place that Aziraphale had met him after getting discorporated. Ducks floating on golden water. London humidity, the air thick in his chest. The itch of the felt hat over his scalp, on just the wrong side of rough. 

The fear is so alive in Aziraphale that he cannot breathe.

He walks away, and it takes him too long to remember that he is an angel. That he need not actually breathe. That magic is his birthright and fire is his blood and Crowley cannot take that away from him.

Is it taken? he wonders, pacing from front to back long into the night, long past the point at which the candles are extinguished, almost until the sunrise lightens the shop again. Is it taken, or is it given? And- and does it matter?

Aziraphale is an angel. He gets to want things. He gets to be...

He gets to imagine a world with Crowley, centuries and centuries upon centuries. A world without Crowley. A world sharper and colder and more dangerous. More colorless. Aziraphale does not like danger [17]. He likes steadiness. He-

He gets to want.

Crowley, gone? The thought spirals through his head like one of those little children’s wind-up toys. It’s unfathomable. So much of these last few centuries have been spent beside each other- not so much the ephemera of the millennia previous, where they’d met once every few hundred years and been so wary of even that- but that of old friends. They meet up, if they’re in the same city. Same area. Talk about work. Chat about old colleagues and terrible bosses and the commendations each have received from their respective sides. Share the best eating places. Wines. 

“A backup plan?” Aziraphale runs a finger over a dust-free first edition of Dante. “I’m no fool.”

Aziraphale can do without a lot of things in life, for all that he has crafted an existence that holds those things dear; he’s done without wine in those centuries before humanity invented it, without sweets when it was too difficult or expensive to acquire, even without Crowley in those long decades between their meetings. 

But Aziraphale has never existed without the promise of Crowley. 

He has counted years in Crowley’s name, spent decades trying to forget him, passed countless moments staring at the stars and thinking of him in the place of everything else that Aziraphale ought to be thinking of.

He gets to be selfish, damn it all.

In Zemun, Crowley’s hands had been clenched so tight every divot of his knuckles were prominent. Aziraphale had knelt by his side and watched him breathe and swore, silently, fiercely, to make him better. Not less of a demon, but more of himself. And it had not mattered then how much Crowley did not wish it, or how dangerous it might become. Aziraphale is an angel, and while Crowley might be a demon, while they might be on opposite sides, Aziraphale will do what must be done. 

“Five thousand years,” he whispers. “And five thousand more. You swore that to me.”

...

The next week, he seeks Crowley out.

Crowley’s angry; his lips are thinner, and there’s a faint haze to the air around him that makes even Aziraphale a little wary of approaching. 

“Well?” he drawls. “Where’s your whole fraternity, angel?”

Despite himself, Aziraphale flushes. “How long’d it take you to come up with that?” he asks, too sharply. He inhales. “And where’s your fraternity, Crowley?”

Crowley is leaning back against the chaise lounge of his home, one that he’d expounded upon in great detail to Aziraphale a few months’ previous [18]; his hair shines prettily against the dark backdrop, and his skin looks even softer and paler in contrast. But his glasses are firmly set atop his eyes. There’s no weakness here that can relax Aziraphale. Just sharp bones and dark cloth and anger, writhing like a living thing.

“Out,” says Crowley coolly.

“What?”

“Get. Out.”

“No,” says Aziraphale. 

“Angel,” says Crowley coldly, “if you don’t leave, I’ll have to make you.”

“And as much as I’d like to see that happen, I came here with another purpose in mind.” Aziraphale blinks at him. Waits for the fall of Crowley’s wrist. The barest twitch of his lips. His mouth feels dry on the inside, sanded and gritty with fear, but Aziraphale knows what’s going on. Knows it well. Too well. He tries to soften his voice with that comprehension. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand, Crowley?”

Crowley tips his head back, slow and lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world in the palms of his hands. “I’m not sure I follow, Aziraphale.”

“I spent two months in Heaven when I got discorporated. I was... tired. It happens. I can understand why-”

“I’m not tired,” spits Crowley viciously, all laziness gone in a flash as he jerks upright. “I am worried about-”

“Your people,” finishes Aziraphale sadly. “Coming after you.”

Agitated, Crowley surges to his feet and moves across the dark stone floor. He turns back at the wall, shoulder slicing through air like a blade, neck the jeweled hilt following through. “I should be worried,” he says. “My lot don’t send notes, Aziraphale, and they don’t send warnings. Or have you forgotten Belgrade?”

“Holy water in their hands and blessed knives cutting into your wings,” says Aziraphale. “I’m not going to forget that. Not ever.”

“Then-”

“I’ve taken years off, when I needed it,” Aziraphale interrupts him. “And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be worried- but I know that if you spend every hour here being worried, it will lead to you being even more tired. And exhaustion in demons isn’t all that different from exhaustion in angels, I suspect.”

“And what,” asks Crowley, “does an exhausted angel look like?”

“Like I did, in 1666.”

For a long, awful moment, Crowley doesn’t react. But him not reacting doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling something; Aziraphale braces himself for the fallout.

Crowley doesn’t disappoint [19].

“You think your exhaustion leads you to fucking getting discorporated?” he shrieks, each syllable louder than the last. “You- you fucking- moronic- fucking- exhaustion- exhaustion- you’re- suicidal?”

Aziraphale remembers that first millennia, when he’d gone through life basically throwing himself into the worst scraps he could find and getting discorporated through it- he’s died in pretty much every way possible. He also thinks about how he didn’t fireproof himself before walking into a burning building. It would’ve taken only a dash of a miracle, one snap of his fingers. He remembers waking up, staring at a white ceiling, and being unsurprised. Being tired, like a river rushing through him, clogged and dusty and so fierce it left nothing of him behind.

“No,” says Aziraphale carefully. “I was- exhausted. And careless. And that meant-”

“Death?”

“Discorporation.”

“You’re insane.”

“If I am, no more than you.”

“Insane!”

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale, fingers clenching and unclenching on nothing. He reaches forwards, almost, but there’s an impassable distance between them. For the briefest of unnecessary heartbeats, the sense-memory of Crowley’s skin rushes through him- the softness, the faint warmth, the long, slender bones pressing back up beneath the flesh, all solid and firm. Instead, Aziraphale swallows. “You need to rest.”

“I need,” hisses Crowley, mouth full of fangs, “you to go away.”

It takes a kind of courage that makes him tremble to think of it, but Aziraphale rests his fingers on the angle of Crowley’s elbow. 

“No, you don’t,” he says quietly.

Crowley sags at his touch. Not much; his spine had been near-vibrating from the tension, but now it’s the stillness that makes Aziraphale feel strangely guilty. His spine curves, just enough that Crowley is silent, and still, and staring into the dark brick of his home like it’s absolutely fascinating. Like he can’t bear to lift his head or look at Aziraphale.

“Sleep,” whispers Aziraphale, heart thundering in his ears. “I’ll handle it.”

Crowley’s shoulders bow towards each other. He looks tired, half-defeated. And that makes Aziraphale, in turn, want to brush his hands up, over his back, down his shoulderblades, smooth the expression from his face and his body, plaster all the ache over with warmth and kindness and all that Aziraphale has, all the miracles dripping from his fingers with light and honey. 

But he finds his stores of courage quite diminished. 

“One week,” says Crowley finally, voice almost soundless. “Wake me up at the end of it.”

“As long as you need,” disagrees Aziraphale. Thinks, heart in his throat, of the time that Crowley had mentioned sleeping for a century. He quails, and then stiffens his resolve: what must be done will be done, and done well besides. “When you’re ready, and no shorter.”

“Aziraphale-”

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale simply. 

Crowley looks up, at Aziraphale. His glasses have slipped; his eyes are slitted through and dimmed, like a kerosene flame on the verge of sputtering. The strip of skin along his nose that sags when he’s asleep looks soft, and tenderness swells inside Aziraphale like a rising wave. He doesn’t know what Crowley sees, only that Aziraphale’s masks have been torn asunder, only that Aziraphale would rather be worn and shattered than have Crowley discorporated and disappeared from his life. He doesn’t know what Crowley sees, but Crowley acquiesces without further argument.

“I’ll handle it,” murmurs Aziraphale, and takes a firmer grip on Crowley’s elbow, and they walk together to his bedroom. “I’ll handle it all.”

...

By the time Aziraphale steps out of Crowley’s home, it’s evening. He looks up and sees the sunset- golden and painting the entire sky as if with a thick paintbrush. The rain has just ended and the clouds are parted, backlit from the sun like two shining wings. The puddles and damp stone glimmers. There’s quiet calm on the street- a gap between rumbling carriages and shouting vendors, the rain tamping down the stink of refuse and rotten vegetables, an unexpected silent peace that leaves Aziraphale’s chest tight and lungs too small.

He clasps his hands behind his back and walks home.

...

It’s a lot of work, of course, being two agents at once.

Diligence, thinks Aziraphale grimly, settling down to finish his eighth report of the day in triplicate.

...

Multiple wars later, Aziraphale’s got commendations from Heaven for ending them and commendations from Hell for starting them. By the time the 1930s roll around, the filing’s got out of hand; Aziraphale’s got half of Crowley’s documents strewn over his shop and far too many incriminating pieces of evidence for him to be comfortable with any of it. It’s unjustified paranoia that makes him set the perimeter alarms around Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale assures himself, even as he resets it on his weekly visits to make sure Crowley’s not gone and smothered himself in the silk-fringed pillows.

The paperwork has gotten so bad, in fact, that Aziraphale accidentally placed Crowley’s names on the majority of the documents involving his entry into the British Secret Intelligence Service. It takes him two months to even realize the problem, and by then Aziraphale’s got too mired in the mess; he can’t be bothered to fix it back. Crowley therefore becomes a useful pseudonym for a British spy working alone, with a rate of success in disrupting German operations like nobody else- leaving A.Z.-Fell-the-harmless-bookkeeper to develop a relatively successful pipeline of spies throughout Europe to funnel the worst persecuted out of danger. 

Spying is a fulltime job for any human. Spying and becoming a spymaster and somehow mitigating the most extreme of the excesses in a world that seems determined to be the worst it can possibly be- Aziraphale supposes that it’s a good thing he’s never got into the habit of sleeping. It’s ten more hours that he gets to keep on top of work that feels more and more like it’s swamping him whole. 

He’s getting by.

It isn’t easy, but it’s easier than in those cold, terrible years after Eden, when the humans hadn’t been very good at being God’s chosen ones [20] and Aziraphale hadn’t been very happy about being stationed on Earth. It’s what keeps him going through the long, dark nights: the knowledge that I have gone through worse than this, and I have not quit through any of it, and remember who this is for.

Of course, he doesn’t let himself get discorporated this time. He can’t afford for Gabriel to ask for an account of his miracles, not when a good half of his miracles are layered over one innocuous building in Mayfield. He can’t afford for any of this to be known to anyone, and that means keeping his head down and gritting his teeth and getting the work done, and as dearly as Aziraphale might wish for a cup of tea or sweet wine or Crowley’s sweeter venomous tongue- 

The promise of Crowley waking one morning, he finds, makes it all worth it.

...

1940, late November. 

Aziraphale is in Liverpool, hands reddened as he moves through the wounded, pressing miracles into their skin. There’s screaming and the distant whistle of bombs, the crackle of flame. An air raid shelter hit; people sobbing in the streets. Blood, red and thin on his palms. Sunrise comes and it does not warm his chilled skin.

Sunrise comes, and something unspools in Aziraphale’s gut.

Miracles, fading from existence. A waking that hasn’t been seen in decades. Protections collapsing because that which they are meant to protect has woken.

He stumbles away from the weeping man and his collapsed lungs, and presses his hands to a nearby pipe. Steadies himself against it. Tries to breathe, and then stops, because the stink of blood hangs too heavy in the air.

Oh, Crowley, he thinks. Tips his head forward, presses it to the pipe, forces himself calm. Oh, dear boy, you should not wake alone to this.

How the world has darkened. How the world has chilled. How Aziraphale has tossed miracles out, one by one, and thought each a flickering candle to the evil of the abyss. How he wishes he could be there, besides Crowley, and sit beside him for just one night of peace. How he wishes he could tell Crowley: for eighty years you’ve slept, and for eighty years I have kept you safe, and I-

Too many words. If he were anyone else, he would return to London and hold Crowley close. Let his fingers be some sort of glue to his old, shattered heart. Let Crowley warm him, in the parts of him that have gone cold. But he is not anyone else, is he? He is Aziraphale the angel, and that is an inextricable, unerasable part of him.

He is an angel, and he has a duty, and he will do that to the bitter, bitter end.

Still, Aziraphale lingers by himself, a bare shadow, ignored by everyone else. He grants himself one breath, two, three. Just long enough to let the longing curl down his spine. Then he breathes in: blood, flame, the distant, aching promise of rain hanging over Liverpool’s salt-ridden rivers. He breathes out, and exhales miracles with the visible puff of air.

...

He returns home, hours later, to an empty flat in Mayfield, all the paperwork miracled away and the furniture swept clean. 

There is no sign of Crowley.

...

Aziraphale tries searching for him, after, of course. But every door slams shut, every window turns tinted, ever clue goes cold. He wonders, briefly, if this was how Crowley felt in the decades before Christ’s crucifixion; he dismisses the idea before it can take root. Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t been this close then. The Arrangement hadn’t been even a whisper of a thought in either of their minds. Two months later, he gives it up for a lost cause. If Crowley wishes to be found, he will be.

He’s got enough to do, anyhow. The war picks up; Aziraphale gets drawn into it. He’ll meet with Crowley one day, when they get the chance. Until then- Aziraphale has work to finish.

... 

They meet again in a church in London, not quite a year later. Earlier than Aziraphale expected but later than he’d hoped. Crowley looks better; there’s the singing edge of hellfire and brimstone when he walks in, and overlaying it all is mischief like the imp he’s too powerful to be called. He’s softened, thinks Aziraphale; softened and relaxed into himself as he hasn’t been since they first began the Arrangement. As he hasn’t allowed himself to be, since then. Seventy-eight years of sleep have done him a world of good.

He lets Crowley drive him home in the Bentley. They don’t talk about any of it [21]; Aziraphale just watches the mud-smudged city wash him by.

All the lies, he thinks, after, in the smoky, dusty room of his bookshop. All the lies we tell.

To their Head Offices. To each other. To themselves.

There are jagged pieces sliced into each of them over these six thousand years. Aziraphale can feel his fit, perfectly, against Crowley’s. It rather terrifies him. It rather entrances him.

...

Aziraphale loves Crowley. Of course he does. Aziraphale loves many things: his books, his tea, his wines, his foods; what is one more? One more indulgence in an existence full of them will not ruin him. And he does love Crowley, and if it is not as graceful or kind or good as he would want it to be, it does not matter.

He will not let it.

...

(And if he knows, wholly, entirely, that Crowley cannot love him back- 

Aziraphale has spent thousands of years smiling at Crowley. Baring his teeth and calling it love. He has spent so long doing what he wishes and naming it differently. So long reaching forwards, grasping at Crowley’s wings and chest and elbow and hand, and never expecting anything in return.

Here is the deepest secret, the oldest secret, the one that has carved itself bloody into Aziraphale’s sinew where once fire and holiness ran bright: this is not a love that demands recompense.

The promise of Crowley is enough.

It has been thus for six thousand years. It will be thus for another six thousand.)

...

Aziraphale hears about the heist in a tiny corner cafe with more ambition than promise. He’s standing to order when he hears two men grumbling over the compulsive strangeness of rich folk. 

“To go, then?” asks the barista irritably, finger hovering over the shiny register. 

“Stealin’ from a church’s wrong, though,” says the second man, and Aziraphale makes his mind up.

“For here, actually,” he says. “And could you add a butterscotch eclair to the order?”

After all, there’s no reason not to enjoy himself while working [22].

...

Aziraphale returns home and locks the doors and starts making tea for himself before he breaks his favorite cup from his trembling hands. The synthetic aftertaste of the eclair sits heavy on his tongue, and Aziraphale slowly sinks into a nearby chair, knees not quite as firm as he’d like.

His first instinct is to go after Crowley. Demand the truth from him. Scare him into inaction. Aziraphale is an angel; it shouldn’t be excessively difficult.

But his second thought is Crowley, who is paranoid but, perhaps, justifiably so. Crowley, who has been hunted by his own people. Crowley, who has probably had hundreds of other experiences of being unsafe. Outcast from his own people, fearful of Heavenly Retribution... paranoia is not paranoia if the world really is out to get you.

There had been a spy in Lyon who’d killed himself when he saw Aziraphale. A spy who mistook Aziraphale for a German agent and swallowed cyanide; a man who’d died in Aziraphale’s arms, shaking apart and choking. Aziraphale had been besides Socrates when he took the hemlock, and he remembers well the way his body slowly stiffened and succumbed to death. Viramadevi’s screams as she threw herself on her husband’s pyre for grief and her sister-wives’ lamentations. Qu Yuan, walking into the Miluo with his hands clasped tight around heavy stone. Crowley has seen what holy water does to demons, but Aziraphale has not. He can only imagine something similar: Crowley golden-eyed, terrified, trembling and dead.

Aziraphale closes his eyes. 

But if he does not do anything, Crowley can get hurt. Will get hurt.

And there is nothing Aziraphale can do to change his mind. Not if seventy-eight years did not have any effect. Not if Crowley is as stubborn as Aziraphale suspects he will be. He’s already not told Aziraphale his plans to get the holy water; it’s only by chance that Aziraphale knows. Next time- if there is a next time- Aziraphale might not get so lucky.

There’s nothing for it, then.

...

The holiest of holy water is made, not just blessed.

Aziraphale gathers a bucket of rainwater in a cold iron bucket. He purifies it with multiple rituals, blesses it twice over, and even manages to trick Michael and Uriel into blessing it themselves. There’s no holier water in all of history.

It’s only after he gives it to Crowley that he actually lets himself panic in the darkened corner of his bookshelf. The fear sits livewire and hot in his belly, rises up to his chest whenever he remembers. He makes six separate customers cry over the next few days, mostly because he can’t believe their absolute gall in daring to want books now. Now, when Crowley has everything he’ll need to-

Aziraphale makes six customers cry, runs through four months’ stock of tea bags, and is desperately considering whether marijuana is really all that much of an indulgence when compared to wine when his door chimes.

“I AM NOT ENTERTA-” starts Aziraphale, before he sputters to a halt.

Crowley’s standing in front of him, coat glittery and hair parted at a dashing angle, shoes polished shining. “You busy?” he asks. Aziraphale stares, and Crowley’s hands enter his pant pockets. He slouches a little further, though his tone doesn’t change. “Because... I’d get it. Even if- you don’t look too. Busy.”

“What?”

“A decent sushi restaurant in Vauxhall. Thought we’d go.”

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale.

It’s on the tip of his tongue: Can’t you get a hint? Cruelty, fury, implacable and ruthless. How Aziraphale ought to protect him. Send him away and protect them both and let this quiet, comfortable companionship fade into the ether as all of Aziraphale’s other friends have gone over the centuries.

Then Crowley says, “I know how you’ve missed the ones made without vinegar.”

Wretchedness sweeps over Aziraphale like a brush over canvas. Like an ocean in a storm, waves swallowing him whole. Crowley- his kindnesses, quiet and strange and soft. His patience. The way he walks away and returns. Time and time and time again. 

“Not so much, no,” says Aziraphale, and knows the wretchedness is too audible [23]. He pauses. “And- I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

“Dinner, angel,” says Crowley patiently. “I owe you. For the- favor. From last week. Now, do you have to do anything to close up or is it just a matter of locking the door?”

Aziraphale says, faintly, “Don’t mention it.”

Something like testiness flashes across Crowley’s face. “It’s good sushi,” he tells him, voice a half-mumble. “You- we’d like it.”

“We can’t keep doing this,” says Aziraphale gently. 

“Your people don’t care.”

“And if your people decide they do, they’ll kill you.”

“Let me handle Hell,” says Crowley, teeth looking slightly sharper than before, shining just a little more. “My people, right? I’m the one who knows about them. Let me handle it.”

“Crowley-”

“I’m a survivor, angel.” It’s unmistakable now; his teeth have lengthened into fangs, slender and long against his red lips. “Six thousand years- how many times have I been discorporated?” Crowley leans forward. “Less than you, certainly.”

I don’t want you to discorporate. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to bear that grief. I don’t think I could bear it. I don’t-

“I don’t- I can’t-” Aziraphale tries to breathe. Stutters to a halt, and stills. Drags his hands down his face, horrified at his own inability to speak properly. How can he stay with Crowley when, if, if, if-

If, thinks Aziraphale. What would I give up for a world of possibilities?

Trust him, thinks Aziraphale. Trust Crowley, because you know him. Crowley is Crowley, is he not? You know him well. Six thousand years too well.

“You’re certain?

He doesn’t want to do this. 

But, oh, there’s nothing he’d like more. 

Absolutely nothing. 

And Aziraphale- he closes his eyes. Inhales. Flame, rain, the quiet ache of loss. Once, Aziraphale had stood on a prairie right after fire had run over it. The earth was scorched black and brown, but shining through the char and dross: golden flowers, bright as the sun. Life after death. Fire had not destroyed it all; it had only been the last part of a cycle, closing the circle whole. 

Those flowers had been brighter than the sun.

Crowley’s eyes are brighter.

“Well, then.” Aziraphale opens his eyes, and feels himself soften: at Crowley’s patience, at Crowley, who he’s known for too long to not want around, who he’s loved too deeply to hurt as he ought. He swallows, and the words come out steadier than he feels them: “Sushi, you said?”

Crowley’s face brightens like a lamp suddenly lit, and Aziraphale silently resigns himself to another hair-curling ride in that stupid Bentley. 

...

Call it coincidence: Aziraphale is in that same sushi shop when Gabriel comes to meet him. It’s all an uncomfortable reminder; they are an angel and a demon, and for all that Aziraphale’s given up, for all the lies he’s told and all the secrets he’s kept and all the things he’s done- Aziraphale is an angel.

That matters.

It does.

...

He gives in, hours later, as he always does to Crowley. The worst part of it all is that Aziraphale can’t even bring himself to regret his own weaknesses [24].

...

Gardening is not quite so difficult as Crowley had made it out to be. It takes some discreet miracles and a little more discreet wheedling, but Crowley eventually acquiesces to tend the most finicky plants if Aziraphale will watch over Warlock. Because it gives him some more time to teach the boy to be good, Aziraphale doesn’t bother complaining. 

It’s late one night that Aziraphale hears a loud scrabbling sound. He heads out of the shed-converted-to-a-room to see Crowley hissing inventively at a gardenia bush, hair slicked back and face positively shining in the dark.

“Crowley?” he asks, and has the pleasure of seeing him flinch upright.

“Aziraphale,” he says, biting the edges of the word off like it’s a slippery thing. “You’re... awake.”

“No need to sound so happy to see me.”

“I thought you had business in Suffolk.”

“As an angel,” says Aziraphale slowly, “time and distance do not present the same obstacles to me that they do for humans.”

He does take the time to look at Crowley, though; Crowley’s not dressed in the nanny outfit, and the contrast between the skirt Aziraphale had seen just that morning and the trousers now makes his legs look even longer. His hair’s not so perfectly coiffed and looks like it’s sticking up because of Crowley's natural hair rather than any gel. It’s raining, just a little- the kind that’s halfway between mist and proper rain- and the droplets stand out from Crowley’s hair, glinting like a thousand tiny diamonds in the faint light from Aziraphale’s shed.

“They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“Wilde, Crowley?” asks Aziraphale, sighing, though he can’t quite help the spurt of fondness. It’s been so long since he’s seen Crowley without the rigid pleats and corners and perfectly-tamed hair, and even longer since they’ve spoken without an irascible child or multiple people around. “You assured me you weren’t angry about that.”

“I’m not!”

“You quote him more than you talk about anyone else, and that’s including whatever musician’s taken your fancy this decade.”

“You learned the gavotte, you infuriating piece of overcooked cheesecake,” hisses Crowley, folding his arms over his chest. “I missed the first angel to ever dance, all because you didn’t want to wake me up! You danced with Wilde like a- a-”

“-Hoysala courtesan?”

The frustrated edge to Crowley’s gaze softens, marginally. “Never visited that area at that time, actually.”

“Brilliant sculptures. There was this one architect they had- could do things with stone I’d never imagined. Even better dancers, though.” Aziraphale sees the way Crowley’s eyes track to the gardenia bush, the slight shiver wracking his body. “Do you- want to come in? Dry off, maybe?”

“Have to go to Ardennes. Some... garden variety vandalizing, but. Needs a push.”

“And you’re here because?”

“Eh. Gardenias are hard to maintain. And you’re terrible at gardening. Have to make sure the soil’s watered properly. Too little and it can’t grow. Too much and it starts feeling spoiled!”

He hisses the last, spine twisting to meet the bush and spittle falling on the leaves. 

Aziraphale feels vaguely offended, but only in the form of someone who knows full well they haven’t got a proper defense. He sighs instead. “When are you planning to leave, then?”

“Soon.” Crowley rocks back on his heels. “Once the rain clears up. Thought I could fly there.” He smiles, small and genuine, teeth a little too sharp like he’s forgotten they shouldn’t be that way. “’s been ages, you know.”

“Hmm. Last time for me was...”

“Peru? That whole incident with the snowfall and all?”

Aziraphale shudders, remembering it. It had been a couple decades ago. There hadn’t been any lives lost, thankfully, but explaining away an avalanche he’d caused just to stretch his wings hadn’t been a pleasant experience. 

“Enjoy,” he says, and knows Crowley knows he means leave me out of it. “I’ll likely be here when you return.”

“Just two more years.”

“Until we either win, or. Well. Lose.”

“Two more years close to that beerish American diplomat [25]?” Crowley’s lip curls. “I’ll be lucky to want the world to exist after that.”

“Your people chose well.” Aziraphale grins at him, and feels his grin grow when Crowley unbends from his irritated pose. 

“Bah. We all know Heaven hasn’t had good taste since, like, the early days,” says Crowley, eyebrows waggling. “Downhill from Eden, they say.”

“Oh, begone with you!” Aziraphale flicks his fingers, and the sky clears up. He regrets that, almost immediately- the moonlight trickles through to catch on Crowley’s sharp cheekbones, his knife-like hair, his little knobs and buckles and silver contraptions. Aziraphale has to swallow twice before he can speak, and even then he feels a little unbalanced. “Do come back before noon, though. There’s a matinee the mother would like to attend and she’ll notice if Warlock’s nanny isn’t around.”

Crowley rolls his head in a half-nod. “Be back before that, I’d think. Not too difficult to get some grave-defacing or whatever out of my way. I can probably pick up breakfast if I hurry it along.”

“No, better not risk it.” And that’s real regret in Aziraphale’s voice, no matter how much he tries to lighten it. “Dinner, though? Day after tomorrow?”

“That little shop in Iceland we found-”

“-I found-”

“-a year ago?”

“Haven’t been back.”

“Mmm. I’ll try to fit it into my busy schedule.”

“Try,” says Aziraphale, smiling to remove the sting of the words, and steps back just as Crowley nods, tips his head forward, and launches himself into the air. 

A minute later, he steps forward to the gardenia bush and peers at it. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to plant it; but Warlock’s father had insisted, and Aziraphale had eventually given in. He’d treated it as a challenge. Hadn’t used any miracles, hadn’t even taken much help from Crowley. Before he left for Suffolk the bush had been on the verge of wilting.

Now it’s positively beautiful, glossy with terror and glimmering with fear. 

But it isn’t that that catches Aziraphale’s eye. 

For as long as he’s known Crowley, as long as he’s seen him with plants, there haven’t been any flowers. Bushes, yes; flowing vines and rich, verdant trees. But no flowers. No colors.

Slowly, Aziraphale reaches out and brushes the soft, soft petal of a gardenia flower, white as his heavenly raiments. 

He makes sure to pay for dinner the next night.

...

Crowley smiles at him. Crowley bares his teeth at him. Crowley is danger.

In danger? 

Or dangerous? 

(Five thousand years- five hundred years- ago, Aziraphale might have doubted his answer. Now?

Now.)

...

They lose the Antichrist, and Aziraphale finds him. He fights with Crowley, really, properly, for the first time in centuries. He gets discorporated.

Heaven: Aziraphale stands in shining white, body formless, fear twisting low in his belly, leaving his legs aquiver. There are rows of flickering angels behind the general, each waiting patiently. His thigh is aching, a little, and his head feels like it would be throbbing if it had a physical aspect to it. All he can see is white sky, white walls, white on white on white.

All Aziraphale can remember is fire, turning London to ash and ruin. 

He turns, and feels like he’s drowning. All he can feel is loss, flaring up around him, and the ever-present fear. A reminder that he is an angel, that he is an angel, and that is an inextricable part of him, no matter what else he has chosen to become over six millennia. 

Heaven: a river rushing through him, taking all that he's grown to love and pulling it away like cattails in a current. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes. Breathes, in, out. There is no smoke here, no flame nor rain, nothing that can remind him of Crowley. Only Aziraphale, and Heaven, and all that he is and all that he was and all that he has become.

He opens his eyes, and digs his feet into the river. Stands. 

Stands, firm, and says, “Demons can.”

He is not a stone smoothed down by a river. He is not a cattail, yanked along by a river’s current. He is not an angel subsumed by his Heavenly Duties. He is Aziraphale, the angel who chooses otherwise, who cannot be as he ought to be, and he will do what must be done to save Earth.

He will do what must be done.

He will.

...

The Bentley explodes. Aziraphale’s hands are shaking, and Crowley is streaked with ash, and the world will end soon, and all Crowley sees is the hunk of metal aflame, battered, broken.

His glasses are gone. His eyes-

Aziraphale feels his throat throb with something too close to grief. He turns away instead of staying beside Crowley. There are things they have to do; there are things he has to do. He will. He must, so he shall. 

Finish this, he thinks, and his hands still. Finish this, so you can mourn later. So there is time and place to mourn in the future.

...

And still- later- when it’s all over-

Crowley cannot love him. Crowley cannot love. It is impossible.

(Impossible in the manner of a defiant, unFallen angel? Impossible in the manner of an Antichrist who will not destroy the Earth? Impossible in the manner of an angel and a demon standing before their Head Offices, fierce and unbowed and unrepentant?

How can anything remain impossible in this world any longer?)

...

Things happen; the Antichrist lives; the world does not end. Aziraphale settles next to Crowley on the bench, the metal chilled and hard beneath him. He feels so exhausted; in Heaven, Aziraphale had thought his head would be aching if it were physical. Now, he is physical, and it is hurting right behind his eyes like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to the bridge of his nose. He’s so tired, but his limbs are twitching with excessive energy and he can barely find it in himself to stay still.

The body Adam gifted Aziraphale feels too human, in a strange, terrible manner.

He almost doesn’t realize when the bus approaches. It’s Crowley who juggles his elbow and guides him up, and Aziraphale stumbles onto the bus. Sinking into his seat- he actually finds himself half-nodding off.

“The relief, I think,” says Crowley lowly. There’s another two people on the bus- a long-bearded man with a backpack almost as big as him and a college-aged girl who keeps sending wary looks in their direction from over the top of her phone- so he’s keeping his voice quiet until they can miracle their way to Mayfield proper. Best not to call too much attention to ourselves, thinks Aziraphale, a little distracted by Crowley’s shoulder pressing against his own. It nudges him back, a little, and Aziraphale scrapes up the strength to keep himself upright. “Humans call it a crash. Adrenaline crash.” He eyes Aziraphale. “I’m thinking you should, too.”

“How aren’t you crashing then?” asks Aziraphale, more surly than he’d meant to sound, though he can’t quite find it in himself to moderate his tone.

Crowley shrugs, slow and indolent. “You did lose your body and get it back. Tiring stuff, that.”

“And we can’t even rest yet.”

“No.”

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale, helplessly. He feels ugly heat rising through his chest, anxiety and fear like some sulfurous mixture bubbling in his skin. “They’re going to- to-”

“-I know,” says Crowley quietly. 

His shoulder is very warm against Aziraphale’s, and very soft. One of his hands are clutching the wine bottle tight enough to blanch his knuckles. The other rests, preternaturally calm against his thigh. 

“It’s going to be hard,” whispers Aziraphale. 

“We’ve got tonight, I think. And maybe the morning, too, if your lot aren’t too diligent about it all.”

“Choose our faces carefully.”

“Yes,” murmurs Crowley. “We’ve some time, though.” He reaches up and presses a careful hand to Aziraphale’s arm, presses down. “I think you ought to rest. I’ll tell you when we reach.”

For a moment, all Aziraphale can feel is Crowley’s arm, blazing through his coat like hellfire. Then the exhaustion catches up to him, and Aziraphale feels himself curl in on himself, darkness wrapping around him like the space between stars, consciousness fading away, and he doesn’t even have time to feel alarmed at the strength or rapidity of the darkness before it’s claimed him.

...

[11] Aziraphale hasn’t returned to the area since Jesus’ crucifixion, but he misses the pistachio soups. And the kebabs. The foods that the people of France and Italy- and, until a few centuries previous, Rome- enjoy have never had the salt that the Babylonians or Mauryans used. And once someone gets used to that flavor... it's very difficult to revert. It’s only the prospect of returning to the memories of Jesus’ crucifixion and all that you’d done to run away those centuries ago that keeps Aziraphale away.

[12] The smoking paper doesn’t faze Crowley; when he got a commendation for the Spanish Inquisition, he’d burned it with the strongest infernal fire he could create. It’s the look in Aziraphale’s eyes that actually bothers him, though he doesn’t know how to comment on it.

[13] Definitely

[14] Aziraphale’s transcribed most of the books in there. He spends a few weeks just enjoying the smells and the look and the feel, but soon enough the novelty wears off, mostly because he’s the only being who’s found the library any shade of interesting in the past six thousand years, and he knows every word written in it. There’s only so much nostalgia anyone can bear before it becomes cloying, even a bookstore-owning angel. Say what you want about humanity, but their sheer inventive spirit was remarkable.

[15] Which is where he begins to truly hate the celestial harmonies.

[16] Whether as a pocket square, scarf, or handkerchief. As necessary.

[17] This is a lie; Aziraphale loves danger. He doesn’t like seeking it out, which is the whole problem. But the adrenaline? The thud of his heart and song singing out- Aziraphale was and is a Principality. He has led legions in the First War, and he has done his duties well. He likes danger a little bit more than he thinks he should, which is why he avoids any opportunity to seek it out. All while staying with Crowley like a too-bloodthirsty leech. Really, Aziraphale’s been undermining himself since the very beginning.

[18] Crowley imported it from France and had it decked up as outrageously as the sellers would make it. It turned out to be uncomfortable to sit on and delicate besides, and it was only with the use of a miracle that the legs- carved to look like whorls of clouds- weren’t collapsing on the slightest weight. For all that Crowley loathed Rococo art, he’d somehow found himself the owner and designer of a piece that was perhaps the summit of Rococo furniture.

[19] Contrary to all expectation, Crowley doesn’t disappoint. Ever. 

[20] They didn’t develop wines or chocolate or civilization for too long, in Aziraphale’s opinion. The fact that they eventually did is all that’s keeping his faith in an ineffable plan going.

[21] Though, admittedly, Aziraphale is clutching onto his life too dearly in that moment to talk to Crowley about anything. The city might be mud-smudged or scarred-over or even invaded by flying purple rats, but Aziraphale couldn’t have cared less about any of it.

[22] Eavesdropping, by any other name.

[23]  It’s almost the truth, too. He rather enjoys the novelty of the newer sushi; the tang and salt and flavor of it. But his visits to Asahi all those thousands of years ago mean he likes his sushi plainer than most.

[24] Six years with Crowley? Close enough to spend nights together, to sit and talk and enjoy? Aziraphale finds that almost as alluring as the idea of living past the Apocalypse, which is probably his first sign that he’s a little obsessed. Compromised. Stupid. Call it what you will.

[25] Beerish: adj, rough and bad-mannered while enjoying the advents of beer a little too much. [26]

[26] Crowley has absolutely nothing against beer. He knows where it came from. Humans needed to start fermenting alcohol somewhere, after all, and he’s content with the choices he has now. But beer sticking around? When there’s so many bloody choices otherwise? That, he thinks, is probably the single biggest piece of evidence that he’s seen in favor of an ineffable plan.

[fantasyuta]

thankful

[ jaehyun x reader: fluff! ]

[ wc: 2159 ]

a/n: happy (early) thanksgiving if you live in the united states! i personally don’t really celebrate thanksgiving (oops sorry) but i know a lot of my friends do, and ofc there’s many things i’m grateful for! if you have school/work/etc off, i hope you enjoy your break :D sorry about the quality of this, i really wanted to post it asap so it was a lil rushed

you wrestle the key out the lock of your door and sigh as you kick off your heels and slam the door behind you. you had begun a job at a different branch of your company this week after being promoted, and despite the higher pay and the gratitude you felt towards your boss for the promotion, commute was awful. the new job is much farther than your previous one, and because the time you get off work coincides with rush hour, the freeways, bus routes, and subways are all clogged with people heading home. 

today had been particularly exhausting; you had stood for almost an hour on the bus ride home, giving your seat to an elderly woman. the only thing that keeps you going was the fact that next thursday is thanksgiving, which means that your generous company is giving you wednesday through friday off for holiday. plus, it’s finally friday today, and you plan on sleeping in for at least twelve hours over the weekend.

you toss your bag onto the kitchen counter and throw yourself onto the sofa. you still haven’t made plans for thanksgiving yet; your mom called you earlier to see if you could come back home for thanksgiving this year. maybe now would be a good time to look into airfare to find tickets to fly back home.

suddenly, you hear a thud from your bedroom, and you jolt up immediately. did a burglar get into the house? you wonder as you cautiously approach the bedroom. the door is closed, but the light shining through the crack between the door and the floor signify that the lights inside are on. you take a deep breath as your hand reaches for the door knob.

as you slowly open the door to the illuminated bedroom, you notice two things. the first is the trail of red rose petals on the floor leading from the doorway onto the bed, where even more rose petals are scattered. the second is the figure sitting on your bed, rubbing his head and muttering to himself.

your eyes widen and you let out a screech as you recognize the figure standing up from your bed, and you rush at your boyfriend, jaehyun, as he lets out a husky laugh and wraps you in a hug.

you can’t help but start to tear up as you hug jaehyun tightly, pulling you both down to the bed, as it’s been a little over half a year since you’d last seen him in person.

you and jaehyun grew up as childhood friends and neighbors until high school, when he started training to become an idol. jaehyun had always been handsome, but high school was when you finally saw jaehyun as a real boy-becoming-a-man instead of the kid who would build sand castles with you and adorn them with tiny shells at the beach, or the neighbor who would eat strawberry jam sandwiches with you on the steps leading up to your apartment building. and even though the two of you started drifting apart as he prepared for his debut, you found yourself slowly falling in love with the boy.

you can still vividly recall the day you confessed to jaehyun: you’d waited on the steps in front of your apartment building on february 14, both valentine’s day and jaehyun’s birthday, for him to return home from training. you knew jaehyun would be moving out in a matter of weeks to the dorm for trainees, so you saw this as a last ditch effort to confess your true feelings.

you’d waited for what felt like hours, tightly gripping your bouquet of sunflowers (roses had been sold out, bought by others celebrating their love), despite the sun setting and the moon beginning to rise. you sat on the steps wrapped in a thick blanket and fuzzy scarf, and as the night grew deeper, you started to doze off while the bright petals of the sunflowers began to frost over from the cold.

you’d awoken to jaehyun’s head on your shoulder, the boy hiding under your blanket and breath visible in white puffs in the cold air. you’d nudged him awake, and when his eyes blinked open, you’d held out the frozen flowers and stared at your grimy shoes instead of into his eyes, cheeks rosy and lips blue. ‘uh, hey, will you go out with me?’ you whispered awkwardly.

instead of facing the rejection you’d expected, you were surprised to hear him say yes, and when you finally looked up at him, you saw his radiant smile and deep dimples warm you up from head to toe even in the frigid air. ‘that’s the best birthday present i’ve received so far, y/n,’ he said.

of course, it required a lot of effort for both of you to maintain a relationship and keep it under wraps; the only people who really knew about it was the members of his group, called nct, and your and his parents. (your mom had proudly declared that she ‘basically saw your relationship coming; it was so obvious that it was going to happen! thank me later for choosing this apartment!’)

the last six months have been hectic for jaehyun and his group, preparing for comebacks and travelling all over the world to hold concerts and meet fans. but, your boyfriend shrugs, ‘our schedules are finally over, and i was free, so i thought, why not surprise you?’ he rubs his head, wincing. ‘i don’t think it worked out perfectly, though. it was supposed to be more of a romantic surprise, but then i hit my head on the wall.’

your eyes still red and puffy from crying, you laugh at his clumsiness. you’d given him the extra key to your house to be used in emergencies, which you totally forgot about. you press a kiss to his cheek and say, ‘it’s the best surprise i could’ve received.’

jaehyun grins as he reaches for something into his coat pocket. ‘well, if you don’t mind, i have just one more surprise for you,’ he says softly. you gasp as he pulls two plane tickets out of his pocket, and without even inspecting them, you instinctively know they’re the tickets to your hometown. ‘let’s go back home, y/n,’ he says.

you and jaehyun spend the rest of the week in bliss. on saturday, you wake up to smell him cooking breakfast for you while you stay tangled in the sheets. your boyfriend is an early bird, and on top of that, he’s somehow always prepared -- from hiding his suitcases under your bed so you won’t see them to filling up your fridge to cook for you to planning your dates, whether it be at a fancy restaurant or at home eating pizza on the sofa together. and thanks to his meticulous planning, the days leading up to your journey back home feel like heaven. he even helps you pack your suitcases for the trip, handing you a checklist of essentials as he pores through your closet and helps you put outfits together.

on wednesday, the journey back home feels like a blur, from jaehyun loading your suitcases into the taxi to dropping off your baggage at the airport to sipping champagne in the plane, clinking glasses with jaehyun and smiling giddily. you drop off your bags at the nearby hotel you’re staying at and take a nap to sleep off the jetlag.

suddenly, you’re standing in front of the steps of your childhood on thanksgiving. you grasp jaehyun’s large hand in one hand and the handle of your handbag in the other, shivering as the snow falls lightly around you.

balancing two bottles of champagne  your boyfriend murmurs, ‘do you remember what happened here, on my birthday?’

you know he’s talking about the night you confessed, and you fondly smile at the memory. it feels like it happened yesterday, and you can still vividly recall the butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach. ‘i was so scared,’ you admit. ‘scared that my best friend was moving away, but more scared that he would reject me.’

jaehyun seems taken aback. ‘how could i ever reject you? you’re basically perfect.’

you blush. ‘i’m far from perfect, but i’ll take that compliment,’ you laugh.

hand in hand, the two of you slowly ascend the stairs, making not to slip on any icy patches, and stroll through the familiar hallways until you reach the apartment you grew up in. across from yours is the one jaehyun was raised in, empty now after his parents moved after his debut.

taking a deep breath, you knock on the door.

almost immediately, the door flies open and you’re greeted with the welcoming embrace of your mom and dad. of course, they don’t leave out your boyfriend, who they haven’t seen since his debut; they always treated him like a second son (a perfect candidate for a son-in-law, they joked). there are tears and tissues passed around, and you can’t help but feel guilty about focusing so much on work and school for the past few years instead of on your parents. your mom waves your apologies off with a ‘as long as you’re well off, you’re healthy, and you’re happy, i’m happy.’

the scent of a thanksgiving meal wafts towards you, and your dad ushers you and jaehyun towards the dining table. the table is overflowing with food, and you, jaehyun, and your parents spend the rest of the evening catching up, joking around, and eating the delicious food your mom prepared. throughout the entire meal, jaehyun’s fingers remain interlocked with yours under the tablecloth.

jaehyun pops open the bottles of champagne and pours everyone a glass before pouring his own. you swish the sweet bubbly wine in your mouth, relishing the taste and silently thanking jaehyun’s impeccable taste. your parents seem to enjoy it too, and they openly compliment on his strong potential as a son-in-law who will ‘treat his in-laws better than his future fiance does,’ much to your mortification.

embarrassed, you pull jaehyun away from the table with the excuse of going to your room. you haven’t been in your room since you moved out for college, and you lead jaehyun by the hand through the hallway, both of you giggling and swaying slightly from the champagne, until you reach the third door on the left.

when you enter your room, it’s like nothing has changed. the blankets you slept in are still the same; your dresser and closet doors are still adorned with the stickers you chose when you were eight. you hear the bed creak under jaehyun’s six foot frame as he lies sprawled on your tiny bed, his long legs hanging over the edge of the bed, and you wander around the room, lost in your own memories.

you pass by the desk in the corner of the room, and you remember all the hours you spent studying for high school and writing college applications in the squeaky swivel chair. you pull open the desk drawers and, among the random papers and binder clips, you notice the bright pink flip phone you used for years. you look back on the brief moments you would spend calling jaehyun in between schedules and studying. he would always pick up as soon as possible, patiently listening to your sobbing rants or celebrating good test scores with you. you remember dialing his number as soon as you heard back from colleges; when you got into your first choice school, he’d cried with you. when he'd debuted, you'd cheered him on; when nct won their first win, you cried with him.

you turn to see him gazing at you, his lips and eyes curled into tiny smiles. you giggle, ‘what are you staring at?’

‘you, y/n. you’re so beautiful, and i’m so lucky, so blessed, to be with you,’ he gushes, words slurred and dimples deep. his eyes are sparkling, full of adoration.

you can’t tell if your face is warm from the alcohol or his declaration, but you feel flushed at his words. ‘i’m so thankful for you, jung jaehyun. you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me,’ you whisper as you flop onto the bed next to him and lay your head over his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

‘even more than that one admission, when you cried when you opened the acceptance letter?’ he asked dazedly.

‘yes, you’re even more important. a hundred times more amazing,’ you hum, placing a kiss on his forehead. you feel fuzzy from head to toe, and your boyfriend heaves a sigh of satisfaction as you both drift off to sleep.

and that’s how your parents find you when they quietly check up on the two of you. they smile at you and jaehyun intertwined, your mom mouthing ‘young love’ to your dad, and leave the two of you content and deep asleep.

[soldierwinterthe]

bounty on my head

Summary: After killing the son of a notorious crime boss, the latter puts a price on your head. While you are alone, around the city, some men try to kill you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: a lot of violent scenes, and a lot of blood

A/N’s Note: I admit it, I was inspired by the film 'John Wick', with Keanu Reeves. I LOVE that movie, literally!

Feedback is always appreciated.

If I had known that after killing that son of a bitch, his stupid father would have put a price on my head...no, the son of a bitch would still have died at my hands. He was a known criminal and a murderer, and my job was to eliminate him.

Except that, now, all the assassins in the world when they see me, they try to kill me; up to fifteen million dollars up for grabs. When I found out, I thought I'd kill me alone; they are a lot of money, few people have had these kind of bounties.

Anyway, if I had to be careful first, now I have to watch my back every five minutes.

Every person who comes close to me, sitting next, or ask me a information... it could be a killer ready to kill and to collect its reward.

Then, I'm not that type of person who hides in a bunker, and waits that things pass, and that people forget.

People will never forget – especially when it comes to money. Today, tomorrow, or in ten years, I will always have the size on my head, and someone who wants me dead.

Unless... the only way to make the size disappear, is to delete it. And only the man who requested it can do it. But the problem is that I don't know where he is. Mr. Letun is very good at hiding.

The sound of my phone shakes me slightly; even before I pick up the phone and see who's calling, I already know who it is.

Barnes.

Bucky worries too much; yes, I am his girlfriend, and he loves me, but he also knows that I'm an expert killer in hand-to-hand combat, ranged combat and firearms. Not to brag, but I could kill my enemies, and in the meantime do the manicure.

"Hello?"

"Y/n, are you okay? Where are you?"

I roll my eyes; from his tone of voice, I realize that Bucky is more worried than usual. I know he does it because he's really scared that something bad happens to me, but sometimes I feel like he doesn't trust me.

"Yes, Bucky. I'm fine."

In the meantime, I go into a bar. Bucky kept me locked up at the base for almost a month; he even asked Tony not to send me on a mission. Saving people is the only thing I can do, and I can do it very well; instead, Bucky wants to keep me segregated.

So, I decided to do it my way; while he is on a mission with the others, I got up from the couch, I turned off the TV – now I saw all the programs on Netflix – and after taking a shower, I went out. I didn't want to go to a specific place, I just needed to breathe, and know that I am a free person.

The problem is... my boyfriend. I was convinced that he would be back in two days, but – of course – he had to come back early on the exact day I left.

Even before entering the bar to have a drink and enjoy the evening, the phone rings, and it's him. But his call doesn't intimidate me, I will not go home until I have had at least a couple of glasses of whiskey.

"Y/n, where are you? I am coming to pick you up."

"Bucky, I don't need it. I'm perfectly safe; I'll be back home in an hour."

Before my boyfriend can reply something, I hang up the call, putting the phone back in its place.

Bucky will not ruin my evening; when I come home, will he be angry with me? Damn, yes. But I don't care; he must understand that I can protect myself.

About half an hour later, and a bottle of borboun almost finished, I pay the bill, and I get out of the bar.

It's dark outside, the moon is not visible in the sky, and the street lamps don't seem to want to work tonight; just the night I go out. It's not a coincidence at all.

I walk towards the park – it's the fastest way back home, and at this time, even the least crowded. In the meantime, I start counting the killers around me.

Two boys kissing on a bench; a woman with a clearly empty stroller; a man who walks the dog; a group of boys chatting and joking among themselves, in the middle of the park. Three other men, dressed as garbage collectors, who collect the papers that they themselves have probably thrown to the ground.

In all, I count sixteen people in the park, and they're all serial killers. I remain calm, trying not to show any emotion; in fact, I'm not scared. I should have, but the killers are trained for this.

And then, I feel safer with my two Glock hidden under the skirt, the butterfly knife in the right boot and the knife in the left one.

I'm going out always armed – the danger fills the streets of New York more than I wanted – but I thought it was a good idea to bring some extra weapon.

I went out with the knowledge that they would follow me; to be honest, I feel rather offended by the fact that there are only a few people.

I pass the center of the park, and, exactly after 257 meters, one of the garbage collectors emerges from behind a tree, with a crossbow in his hands; he shoots an arrow, and I can avoid it by a whisker. I run towards him, and I can put him k.o. with one shot. They must have sent the weakest first, because if they all fight like the guy lying at my feet... it will be easier than expected.

Someone is behind me; I turn around, meanwhile I pull out one of my guns.

She's the woman with the stroller, and it's closer than I expected.

The bullet hits the woman right in the head, but not before her knife jabs into my right shoulder; make sure the woman is dead – the pool of blood in which I find her is a tangible proof – I pull out the knife from my shoulder with a sharp blow; pulling it away slowly would only cause more pain.

Despite everything, the wound is not very deep, and moreover, I have already eliminated two killers; only 14 are missing.

After the first two, the others go to the strong manners; the two garbage collectors still run towards me, firing me with machine guns. I hide immediately behind some bushes, but one of them strikes me; now I have a bullet stuck in my right calf. It seems that the right side of my body is the most painful one. From under my skirt, I pull out the other Glock; holding the two guns in my hands, I go out of my hiding place, and I shoot.

At first almost blindly, but when I recognize the shadows of the two men, I shoot a couple of shots, and they fall to the ground.

Fortunately, the park at this time is completely empty, and my weapons have a silencer. At this time, so many shots would attract dozens of people, and the police would soon arrive.

I walk quickly towards the exit of the park, and it seems that I manage to get out of there unharmed... or almost.

I walk in isolated streets – I know perfectly well that others are still following me, and I don't want to endanger innocent people – but the leg begins to limp. As much as I can withstand the pain, I have to hurry up.

Just round the corner, in front of me there are the two guys who were sitting on the bench and the man who took the dog for a walk; the two guys run towards me without weapons. We begin to fight, and between fists, kicks and martial arts moves, I can also put them k.o.

The man with the dog is still in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back; he walks slowly toward me, and showing me his hands, I notice an ax. Seriously? I bet that when he doesn't kill people, this guy uses the ax to break the wood. Anyway, this guy doesn't seem too good either.

The ax leaves me some superficial wounds on my arms, but finally, I stick the weapon on the man's head.

I'm covered in blood – and it's so much that I can't figure out what mine is, and which ones I killed – the leg is now losing sensitivity, and the shoulder wound... no, that has fortunately lost little blood, and what's left around the wound is starting to get dry.

Only the group of boys is missing; eleven people, and I can go back to the base, where a doctor and a lot of morphine are waiting for me.

Less than a mile from my point of arrival, the boys show up; one next to the other, like 'Pussycat Dolls', each of them has a gun in their hand. They start shooting me, I hide behind a car; these don't have silencers, and every shot echoes in my ears.

However, I prepare myself for the counterattack; while they continue to shoot me, I count the bullets I have: 8. Too few to kill them all, but enough to kill eight.

I tear the mirror up close to the car, and help me with it to see where exactly each of the killers are; they are divided, but I can still see them all.

I start shooting: a couple of them behind a car, one behind a phone booth. I can eliminate six, while two bullets missing the target.

Fuck.

I'm out of ammo, and I remain only with the knives; now that I think, I should take the crossbow of the garbage man. I would have made sparks with that.

Suddenly, silence; no noise, no gunshot. They too have no more bullets. I pull out my two knives, and, coming out of my hiding place, I throw the butterfly knife towards the boy near the Chinese restaurant; I hit him, and he falls to the ground.

Four boys remain. They all come towards me, with sharp knives; they hit me in the back, in the stomach. With my knife, I cut the throat to one of them, to another I stab him in the heart; a woman shakes my hair, she pulls them. For the pain I close my eyes for a second, and hit with my knife behind me, blindly.

The blade hits something, and the woman's grip on me slackens. I turn around, and the woman is on the ground, with my knife stuck in the temple; only one kill remains.

He's behind me, and I turn around, ready to eliminate him, and go home.

As soon as I am healed, I will find that son of a bitch of Mr. Letun, and I will torture him until he delete my size.

The man is in front of me, and to my surprise, he draws a gun. He points me straight in the face, but I can lower it in time, the bullet doesn't hit me in the head, but it pierces my left side. I can perceive the bullet perforating the organs, and coming out of the other side of my body.

The adrenaline helps me; I remove the gun from the hands of the man, and with the butt of the gun, I hit him as many times as I can. He fell to the ground; I grabbed his gun, and I shot him.

I approach the woman, and I shoot her too; for safety.

I pull out the charger, four bullets.

I should be able to walk less than a mile – even because the murderers are all dead. I think.

Limping, I finally enter the Avengers base; in the main room there are Steve, Nat and Tony. They turn as soon as they hear the door open, they look at me with an upset air. I must look awful.

"Good evening. Would any of you be kind enough to call a doctor?"

I cough, and cover my mouth with my hand; I look at her, she is dirty with blood.

Fuck.

"A doctor. Now."

"I want to see her."

When the doctor saw me, she thought I was a zombie; a normal person doesn't survive all the wounds I had.

But she still managed to pull the bullet out of my leg – the one in my side had already come out, just as I had foreseen – to mend the shoulder wound, and to disinfect all the cuts I got.

"Actually, she said... she doesn't feel well, and she doesn't want to see anyone, Mr. Barnes."

Yes, it's true. I told the doctor not to let anyone in, and for anyone, I mean Bucky. I know exactly that he will give me a long lecture; in fact, I think he already prepared it when he came here.

And I also know that it will not follow my requests, and will enter like a madman into the room.

Sitting on the couch, I look at the sack full of transparent liquid, which falls drop by drop into my veins. Damn, right now I would kiss the man who discovered morphine.

The door behind me opens, and heavy boots throw closer to me. He took more time than expected to enter.

I move my eyes from the morphine to my boyfriend, who has his perfect blue eyes fixed on me. He doesn't look at my body covered with cuts, Bucky looks me in the eye, never blinking.

He starts to make me uncomfortable.

"Then? Don't you say anything? You will play the game of silence, or you will start with 'Did I tell you?'" I say, imitating his voice in the final part.

"There is not much to say. The bullet holes, the shoulder wound, and the dozens of cuts and bruises on your body speak for themselves."

I roll my eyes; Bucky is not the type that remains silent, especially after what happened to me. I can see the pulsing vein on his neck; he tries to stay calm, but he can't very well.

"Come on, Bucky. We both know you will not resist making me a lecture. so let off steam, go ahead. I am listening to you."

"This is all a game for you!?" Bucky says, approaching me a step closer.

Long ago, when I met Bucky, if he had approached me so threateningly, I would have retreated. Not because I was afraid, but because he was still in its 'high danger' phase.

Now, instead, I know the meaning of every gesture; it took years, before learning to know him.

"No, it's not a game. Sixteen fucking murderers tried to kill me for fifteen fucking millions of dollars! They shot me, beat me, and one of them even had a fucking ax!"

I take a deep breath; the dose of morphine that the doctor has prescribed for me, I think it's not enough; the pain in my leg is starting again, and I don't want to feel it at all.

Bucky continues to remain silent, I lie on the bed, tired like never before; trying to get closer to the morphine bag, to increase the dose, Bucky anticipates me.

"You can't increase morphine."

"Please, Bucky. My leg hurts so badly."

He looks at me, even looking at me, as if to peer inside, know what I'm thinking.

Finally, Bucky approaches morphine, and slightly he increases the dose.

I remain silent, and I thank him with my eyes.

In one corner, there's an armchair, and that's where Bucky sits, not even for a moment glancing at me.

I close my eyes, and fall asleep.

I wake up about a couple of hours later; the first thing I look for is Bucky; he is still there, napping on the armchair.

He always seems so calm, while he sleeps; I wonder if he has ever dreamed me.

I remember the first few times when Bucky was afraid of sleeping with me. He still had not overcome the brainwashing trauma, and the night ended up waking in a sweat bath, completely frightened.

I knew what was happening, but initially I gave him space, and time to recover.

Then, one day, one night to be exact, I couldn't sleep; Bucky and I had gone to the cinema, and then we'd walked the streets of the city.

It had been a perfect evening, and there in my bed, I thought about how we had greeted each other; why Bucky had not kissed me, why he had not even hugged me. So, I went to his room, not even knocking, but Bucky felt my presence at the exact moment when I closed the door behind me.

He turned in his bed, while I was already near the edge. Without saying anything, I lay down beside him, and Bucky automatically wrapped his arms around my waist.

It was the first time Bucky and I slept together, and things have been different since that day.

I look at the morphine sac, now completely empty; in fact, the leg doesn't hurt me anymore, and I feel better.

Only now I realize that I still stain with blood; now it has dried up, and my hands are sticky. Without making too much noise – I don't want Bucky to wake up – I get out of bed, and head to the bathroom.

I open the shower tap, and after having painstakingly removed my clothes, I throw myself under the water.

I know it's a very obvious thing, but the hot water that falls on me is perfect; it loosens the muscles still tense, and it makes me feel much better. It calms me, physically and psychologically.

I am still under the water, when, suddenly, the curtain in front of me opens abruptly; I scream in fright, and pull the curtain toward me, to cover myself.

It's Bucky.

"What the hell, Bucky! You made me die of fear."

"I had to make sure you were here."

"What? Did you think I had left the water open, and I had run away? If you have not noticed, at the moment I still look like a limping old woman."

"As if you had never done it. Leave the water open, and run away."

Okay. Yes, I did it. Bucky and I were not dating yet, but his room was not far from mine; recently. I was part of the Avengers. Since I was a... newbie, I couldn't go for a stroll alone.

But I didn't even want to stay closed in my room; so, one day I went out – making everyone think I was in the shower.

When I returned, however, I entered the wrong window, and found myself lying in Bucky's bed. While he slept.

Come to think of it now, I laugh, but I try to hold back. If I laughed now, Bucky would get even more pissed off.

Now my time of relaxation is over, so I close the tap.

"Can you hand me the towel, please?"

Bucky stares at me for a few seconds, looking a bit 'strange.

"I promise you that while you take the towel, I don't run away. Also because, it's behind you, I wouldn't even have time to get out of the tub, with my leg hurting."

With the towel finally around my body, Bucky and I go back into the room; while I change, he does nothing but stare at me, and I don't know whether to feel excited, or uncomfortable. Probably the second one. Maybe.

"What do we do now?" I ask him, after wearing one of his T-shirts, and sitting on the bed again.

"What do you think? We find Mr. Letun, and torture him, until he cancels the size. Later, we kill him. For safety."

"Are you convinced you want to do it? He has a rather... broad army."

"Who cares! Bucky, what happened tonight, it will happen every time I leave this base. I don't want to remain forever locked up in a room. I want to live."

Bucky looks at the floor; I have never seen him in this state; he's worried, I know. What I don't know is whether his concern. concerns me, or Mr. Letun.

I get out of bed, and going to the armchair where Bucky is, I sit on his legs.

"I know it will not be easy. And I know I fucked up."

"Exactly, you shouldn't have gone out."

"By crap, I meant to have killed Letun's son. I should have killed not only his son, but him too. And instead, I let it go, and now I am in this mess."

Bucky rolls his eyes; poor man, he was convinced that I was sorry to be out; despite the wounds, the cuts, the bullets... I don't regret being out. I really enjoyed it.

"I'm tired of this situation. I don't want to spend the rest of my life like this, locked up in a room to prevent someone killing me. Bucky, I have to find Mr. Letun, and I have to kill him."

"We have to."

"What?"

"We have to find him. I will come with you, I certainly will not let you go alone."

I smile, for what Bucky has just said. Although there was no need, because I knew perfectly well that he would help me.

A couple of days, a week maximum – the doctor said I have to rest for at least a month, but I will never do it – and I will get back on my feet. And I'll find that son of a bitch.

Forever Tag: @doro7winchester - @cirunia - @frickin-bats - @giftofdreams- @ria132love - @flirtswithdanger - @littlenerdgirl16 - @nanie5 - @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester - @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel - @disneymarina - @ironmanlover24

[prettyboyspenceee]

The New Agent - Part 1

Request: “Hey, I got an idea for a Spencer x reader story, maybe smth with more than 1 part 😅 Spencer meeting y/n at a book store/reading and they get to know each other pretty well. 2 weeks later y/n shows up the BAU as their new boss and Morgan/Luke starts flirting with her. 😅” -  @kind-im-gedankennebel

A/N: This concept is so cute! I kinda tweaked it so Spencer and the reader have been kinda dating for 3 weeks before she starts at the BAU so their relationship would be stronger and instead of being the boss I made the reader a colleague. It makes more sense once you read it. But yay! My first multi-part series (even though it’s only two parts). If this flops, Gideon wrote this. The second part is a timeskip! 

Description: When the reader is a New York City field agent interviewing for a position at the BAU gets hopelessly lost in D.C. She meets Dr. Spencer Reid at a bookstore who makes her time in D.C much more enjoyable. 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Criminal Minds! I wish I did!

Character Appearances: Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner (phone call), Derek Morgan (mentioned), Jennifer “JJ” Jareau (mentioned), David Rossi (mentioned), Emily Prentiss  (mentioned), Penelope Garcia (mentioned)

Female Reader! X Spencer Reid

(Y/N) - Your Name

(Y/L/N) - Your Last Name

Word Count: 1,218

Posted: October 7th, 2019

--- 

As you sat in your hotel room preparing material for your final interview while simultaneously trying to get dressed, you groaned. You knew the interview process for a position at the BAU in Quantico was extensive... but you didn’t know that it was this long. You were apart of the group of finalists for the new position on the team and you had planned to be in D.C for 2 weeks and Agent Hotchner had requested you to stay for another week. Even though the interview process was kicking your ass, it wasn't all bad. On your first day in D.C, you were terribly lost and you stopped into a bookstore to gather your bearings, it was there where you met Dr. Spencer Reid, who coincidently worked for the BAU. 

You smiled at the memory of your first encounter.

---

"You would expect a bookstore would have a map or something!" you mumbled angrily to yourself. You were stressed, tired and angry. New York City was so much easier to navigate than Washington D.C. 

"Excuse me, are you lost?" You turned around to the sound of someone addressing you.

You looked at the man who approached you up and down, hazel eyes, disheveled curly hair and a purple shirt with a purple tie and dress pants. You smiled to yourself, you thought he was kind of cute.  

You nodded and chuckled, "Is it really that obvious?" 

The mysterious man replied, "Dreadfully so."

"I'm (Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." You said sticking your hand out.

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," his eyes flicked to your outstretched hand, "I'm really sorry, I don't usually shake hands. Actually, kissing -" 

"Kissing passes fewer pathogens than shaking hands," you finished with a smile, "No worries." 

Spencer smiled, "If you don't mind, I could show you around the city. It's my day off." 

"That would be amazing."

--- 

You two spent the rest of the day talking endlessly and you were surprised when he asked to see you again. You had told him that you were in town for a job interview but that didn't seem to bother him, Spencer was obviously comfortable around you and you were comfortable around him. After being in D.C for 3 weeks you had spent almost every day hanging out with Spencer. You found it extremely sweet that he went to your hotel room every night after work and took you somewhere new but you were confused. You felt like you were in limbo with Spencer, you weren't sure what your relationship was... you were certainly attracted to him and you hoped he was attracted to you, you knew that you might not stay in D.C but you wanted to try and make things work. You were shaken out of from your train of thought from a knock at your door. 

Spencer had told you to dress up and you had no idea why. You smoothed out your dress and opened the door. Spencer was dressed in a white button-down and a pair of black slacks with his classic black converse. As you took in his appearance you wondered how something so simple could look so good. 

"Y-you look beautiful," Spencer stuttered, his face slowly turned pink as he took in your appearance. 

You smiled and felt the heat rise in your neck, "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself." 

As you and Spencer made your way to a fancy Italian restaurant and you were having a great time. You loved talking to Spencer and just loved being around him. You didn't want this to end. 

Halfway through dinner, the BAU was brought up, "Hotch finally chose someone for the position. He was driving himself crazy, I know for a fact he'll probably call them tonight." 

Your palms began to sweat, you really hoped you got the position, "I hope they get along with your team. From what you told me, you guys seem like a very close-knit family." 

Spencer smiled fondly, "Yeah, we are." 

--- 

After dinner, you two decided to take a walk in the park. Your hands kept brushing against each other and Spencer decided he couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed your hand and you shared a smile. 

When Spencer found a park bench you two sat down, " (Y/N), I have a question." 

You faced Spencer, "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, "I know we've only known each other for a short amount of time but I feel like I've known you for a lifetime. For the past 3 weeks, there hasn't been a minute where you weren't on my mind. I know you might not be here for too long but I would be over the moon if you would do me the honor of being my girlfriend." 

Your eyes were wide, "Spence, I would love to be your girlfriend."

Spencer let out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding. His eyes looked to your lips and then back to your eyes, you smiled and nodded, giving him permission. 

Spencer pulled you into a sweet kiss that you wished could last forever. It was one of those kisses that only existed in movies. You broke apart due to the shrill ring of your cell phone. 

"Is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" You heard on the other line. 

"This is she. How can I help you?" You asked. Spencer looked at you with a confused expression as he listened to the other line. 

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner with the BAU. I understand I've put you through an extensive interview process and I'm sorry that I didn't get the chance to meet with you personally today. I wanted to inform you that you've been hired. Your 5 years with the New York City field office was extremely impressive. Welcome to the team Agent (Y/L/N)." 

You looked at Spencer in disbelief, "Thank you so much, sir. I look forward to working with you." 

"As do I. Have a good night (Y/N)."

You hung up the phone and shakily put it back in your purse. 

"Spencer, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I didn't want to get my hopes up and you're hopes up. I completely understand if you don't want to go through with this relationshi-" 

He cut you off with a quick kiss, "(Y/N), I am so happy you're the new member of our team. Garcia, Prentiss, and JJ are going to adore you. In fact, Morgan might love you so much, he might try to steal you from me."

You let out a loud laugh, "What does this mean for us?" 

"Well, we have to tell Hotch but he won't mind. Rossi can't say anything because he was the reason why the fraternization rule was put in place. The rest of the team will most likely figure it out on their own." He said while playing with your hair. 

You hummed, "Now what?"

"Well," he smiled cheekily, "you could grab your stuff from your hotel room and spend the night at my apartment. Just so you can get a head start on work tomorrow and until you find yourself a place." 

You gave him a peck on the cheek, "I like the sound of that."

He stood up from the park bench and reached out a hand, "Perfect." 

---