#thirty seconds into the call: oh no! this OTHER person is stressed out!

[pigeonfancier]

Heart updates! Finally got the heart monitor off a week or so ago, which was great, because first set of adhesives were melting my fucking skin. The company were sweethearts and sent me new adhesives, which.. were fine for the first week, and then started doing the same, because adhesives are just fucking hell. Thankfully, it’s all healed over well, haha, and it was kind of worth it.

I am perpetually in a state of mild suspicion towards my own experiences, because - am I genuinely uncomfortable, or am I just easily bothered? Am I in pain, or am I just wallowing? But now I have ~*official results*~, and validation that my heart does not like filling up properly, that does hurt like hell, and the wiring is kind of fucked for reasons that I’m going to have to do more tests for. And the wiring is fucked in a way that does not, remarkably~!, resolve itself by “growing out of it” (at 30, somehow). Validation of the issue.. and validation that a lot of doctors are fucking assholesss.

Also, confirmation that I probably do nooot have any of the “you will drop dead” issues from this gene, so woo (knock on wood). It’s progressive, so I have to keep coming in for fucking ever, I guess, but like a lot of things, it’s just a case of monitoring, and slapping on some duct tape as soon as problems present. So that’s nice.

But: more tests! Once my insurance approves them, anyway, because they’re generally fairly great, but they’ve got a bee up their ass over wanting the tests done in a specific order. This wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact my cardio wants it all done at a specific hospital, and the waitlist for that.. already has the most accessible test scheduled for the end of April. And it wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t decide they only wanted tests in a specific order twenty four hours before I went in for a test.

I was kind of banking on the idea I’d have all of these tests done by July, and either have a pacemaker or medication to knock out this issue, whichever fucking one, but. I refuse to be stressed over this, haha. It’ll get resolved, they’ll fix this up, and then I guess.. they’ll test me for POTS, because my view of that remains “this is irrelevant to the greater issue and idgaf”, but they really want to. So at this point, I will roll with what-the-fuck-ever they want if they can fix the overall issue, tbhhh.

In related news:  my mother remains batshit, which I generally expect, but I am still a little mystified by. Cutting this section, because She Is A Lot.

She’s spent my entire life arguing that I do not have any cardiac problems! Several family members and myself remember that I went to a cardiologist as a kid, but it’s about 25/75 on if she’ll actually admit that, and her stories do not stay consistent. When I got the genetic test saying, hey, heart issue!, she was dismissive of it, and the past year or so has been her consistently trying to pick fights with people who mentioned it, arguing that everyone has heart issues and I should get over mine because it was getting very inconvenient, and occasionally inpromptu informing me that, actually, this is all caused by a lack of exercise, or some other spontaneous decision she pulled out of her ass. Or from not eating enough, because I have chronic pancreatitis.. but perhaps I don’t actually have that, and I’m just food-averse?

Ignore the hundreds of dollars of cooking supplies and huge chunks of time just fucking around and experimenting with recipes, I suppose.

It’s been whatever! I am long, long past the point where her opinions hold weight for me, beyond occasional fits of outrage. But once my sister got confirmed as having the same heart issue on a different scale, and once tests started coming in for me, she has switched tracks.. to saying that she has a heart issue, too, and it’s like mine, but with higher spikes! And she just never noticed it, because it just happens, and it’s really quite easy to ignore, but she guesses she’ll go to a cardiologist, just to see --

We inherited the problem gene from her, and her entire family does have severe heart issues - and she herself has aneurysm issues - but I’m unimpressed. Between that and her flipflopping from “you don’t have allergies!” to “well, if you have allergies, then I probably have allergies, so I should ALSO start telling people I should avoid your allergens (of the food that I do not like, do not eat, and do not have any desire to eat)” this year, I’m just lifting my hands from that entire topic. When she brings it up, I’ve been just telling her to go talk to her doctor, get tests, and then disengaging from the topic, because.. man, haha. There’s a lot going on there, and I do not have the psychiatric degree nor the inclination to really dig into this beyond the side-long “huh, these problems really are only relevant when they can impact her, huh?”.

My dad is a little better, at least! He had a panic attack when I told him about all of this, haha, which was.. something, but now he’s taken up just consistently texting me reminders on everything. Have I eaten recently? Have I gotten electrolytes? I should go drink some Gatoraid. Have I taken my meds? GO TAKE MY MEDS. Remember if I’m going out to drink some electrolytes!

He’s kind of a pain in a different sort of way about all of this health shit, but I do appreciate the fact I don’t have to really second-guess him much - when he’s being an asshole, it’s pretty on the nose. And he’s being genuinely helpful, because I do forget shit a lot on bad days, so. #okay!

[hairmetal666]

Steve who goes on a Bake Off type show after Robin, Dustin, and Max set him up as a contestant. He doesn't want to, doesn't think baking or cooking should be stressful, but he's been wallowing since his knee surgery took him out of work and basketball, since his divorce.

His first day on set, he's totally gobsmacked by the sexy host with all the tattoos and long, curly hair. Just, cannot take his eyes off the guy, blushing and stammering whenever he comes around to do interviews, obviously can't stop starring.

After the first day, where he manages to stay comfortably in the middle of the pack, he calls Robin to complain about what a mess he becomes around this gorgeous dude.

Her response is to cackle and say, "Steve! How do you not know who Eddie Munson is? Oh my god, you're a disaster."

Turns out, Eddie Munson is the lead singer of Dustin's favorite band, Corroded Coffin, and also pretty well-known for his dnd YouTube channel. He's been a host on the show for years, only Steve doesn't really pay attention when the others watch it and didn't know.

Eddie, for his part, is losing his mind. He'd known about the beautiful contestant for this season, former college basketball superstar turned coach, having a hell of a shitty year after dislocating his kneecap in a charity game. Eddie--foolishly, it turns out--thought he wouldn't be as attractive in person. He also expected Steve to be terrible and egotistical, a jock through and through.

So, when Steve Harrington walks into the tent in a short-sleeved polo and obviously ironed jeans and is still drop-dead gorgeous, he's fucking flabbergasted. And then Steve has the audacity to be nice? Kind and thoughtful and running to help other bakers when he still has work to do himself? He also blushes so pretty, high across his nose and cheeks, and god does hewant to be the reason Steve blushes like that.

Eddie is beside himself.

Leading up to the second week, Steve schools himself into being calm around Eddie. He can't afford to lose his cool like that every time the host is around. Except, this week Eddie flirts with him shamelessly. Winks at him, leans into space, calls him "m'lord" with this deeply resonant voice that makes Steve want to drop to his knees. Steve doesn't mean to, not really, but he flirts right back, feeding Eddie tidbits of his bakes and looking for any excuse to touch him.

Steve does well for the first half of episodes. He never wins the technical or star baker, but he's regularly within the top contestants. On episode five, though, something is off. He's distracted, forgetful, doesn't leave enough time for his custard to set in the signature. Eddie asks if he's okay, but Steve shrugs and smiles, says "off my game today."

But then, in the technical, he curdles his buttercream more than once, and his genoise sponge burns. Eddie watches as Steve folds his arms above his head and disappears from view. He doesn't hesitate, he sprints from his interview, falling to his knees in front of the contestant.

"Stevie, sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I get migraines," Steve whispers. Trails of wet streak down his cheeks. "I've felt one coming all morning, been trying to stave it off but--"

"Okay, okay," Eddie shakes out his hands. "You can sit out this challenge, yeah? Or take this weekend off. It happens. You'll come back next week--"

"I don't want to stop." More tears fall from his eyes.

"What do you need?"

Steve shakes his head, wry little smile pulling at his lips. "Time to breathe."

Eddie glances up, eyes catching on the camera crew hovering in front of them. He throws both middle fingers up and says, in the most reasonable and even tone, "fuck!" Everyone in the tent looks at him, but he doesn't stop. "Shit!" "Bitch!" Motherfucker!" He goes on and on, saying the filthiest series of things he can think of. The camera crew steps away, another contestant brings Steve a glass of water, and Eddie sits with him.

The other host announces that there are thirty minutes remaining in the challenge.

"Well. That's that, then," Steve says. He stands, patting the naked skin of Eddie's knee where it shows through the rip in his jeans as he goes.

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Out of time, no cake, no buttercream."

Eddie hops to his feet. "You're going to let that stop you?"

"Well." Steve laughs. "Can't serve this." He gestures to his discarded bowls of frosting, his burnt cake.

"You have time to make another buttercream."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Sure, but not the cake."

"Cut the burnt off. Cover it in the buttercream. Easy peasy."

"Okay..." Steve stares at his station. "Okay, that could work. It won't be pretty, but--"

Eddie, knowing he's no longer needed, steps away, and Steve gets to work.

Steve tells Robin all about it and, as soon as he gets home from the taping and she's immediately like, "Eddie Munson, huh?"

He shoots her a look. "It's nothing."

"Yeah, him leaping over a table to check on you is surely nothing."

"Robin," he warns.

"What?"

"Eddie would never want a guy like me."

She laughs but quickly grows sober. "Steve. Of course he would. He likes you."

"It's nothing, really." He walks towards the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?"

Eddie experiences the same harassment from his band members and their manager.

"You're gonna ask Harrington out, right?" Gareth asks.

"That would be a little bit of a professional conflict of interest," he deadpans. He doesn't look up from his guitar.

A puffed Cheeto smacks him square in the forehead. "Hey!" He shrieks.

"He means once the season is done, Edward," Chrissy says.

He wipes the cheese dust from his forehead. "Not a good enough reason to call me Edward. Anyway, I'm pretty sure he's straight."

Jeff guffaws. "C'mon, dude. No way. He's so into you he might as well have a neon sign."

"He divorced a woman."

"That doesn't mean anything, and you know it," Chrissy says.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I may be considering asking him out. Maybe."

Everyone cheers. More Cheetos hit him in the face.

---

To Steve's great surprise, he makes it to the finals. Not just makes it, he gets a star baker, gets first in the semi-final technical. He's baking in the final and might have a fucking chance.

It's with great surprise, once it's all said and done, that he hears his name announced as the winner. He doesn't have much time to process it, because Eddie is striding towards him. He's not carrying the cake stand trophy or flowers, it's just Eddie.

Eddie who stops in front of him, eyes shining. Eddie who leans in and whispers, "I knew you could do it, baby, I'm so proud of you." Eddie who twines his fingers through Steve's hair, pulling him into a soft, sweet kiss.

The internet explodes as the season airs. Everyone is obsessed with Steve and Eddie. They have fics on ao3, a dedicated tumblr community, edits, playlists, gif sets, a ship name all dedicated to them. The fandom grows after episode 5 airs. Not all the footage makes it, thanks to Eddie, but they still witness him tenderly taking care of Steve and directing the cameras away. Fans start scouring their social medias, looking for any hint of their relationship status; even beg them in comments and DMs to reveal if it was just a showmance.

Eddie and Steve, however, are happy in the quiet little world the carved out for themselves after filming. They aren't ready to reveal anything, even hints, whether or not the show would let them.

Then, the final airs and the kiss is revealed to the world. The ending title cards show a picture of Steve with the rest of the season's bakers and the caption, "Steve threw a party for the other bakers..."

The picture then changes to one of he and Eddie, arms wrapped around each other. This caption says: "...at the home he shares with his boyfriend Eddie."

That night, in bed, Steve says, "I'm really glad Robin and the kids made me go on the show. But do you think it's bad that the thing I'm happiest about, way more than winning, is that I met you?"

Eddie places a slow circle of kisses in the dip of Steve's lower back. "Sweetheart, I'd be disappointed if you said anything else. Now, hush, I have a baking champion to congratulate."

[peachdues]

Work has been kicking my ass the last couple of weeks, so I haven’t really had time to write. This is all I’ve got for y’all right now 🤍

Lovers of Compass!Sanemi and Reader discussing books, rejoice. They’re still a couple of fucking nerds (no matter how horny)

It’s almost one in the morning when your phone buzzes.

A message; one from the only person you text, who also happens to be your favorite. On your screen is a picture of the front cover of the book you’d given Sanemi before he left the day before; beneath it, the chat bubble signals he’s sending a follow up.

You caught up yet? Sanemi’s text reads.

You toss your own book to the side, straightening up in bed. Though no one is around to see, a smile unfurls across your lips and your thumbs hurry across your phone’s keyboard.

How far are you?

Sanemi’s reply is instant. Halfway. Can’t finish tonight but I’ve got a few things I need to discuss right the fuck now.

You glance at the time. It’s nearing one-thirty, and your alarm is set for six. Dragging yourself out of bed after less than five hours of sleep is a kind of stupidity you know better than to indulge.

You hit the call button anyway.

Sanemi picks up on the second ring. “I’ve got five minutes,” he warns, voice low, like he’s wary of being overheard. “So if I hang up all of a sudden, it’s ‘cuz of work —“

“Hi to you too,” you tease, settling back against your pillows.

A pause. “Hey there, beautiful,” you can hear his smile even through the phone. “You okay?”

“Better, now that I hear your voice,” and you can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed by the cheesiness of the admission. Texting him is one thing; hearing him, actually hearing that wonderfully gravelly voice of his soothes a tension in your limbs you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying.

He’s okay. He’s unharmed — safe, even. For now, that has to be enough.

Sanemi’s laugh comes through the phone as a staticky exhale of breath. “Normally, I’d ask what you’re wearing, but I’m dead fuckin’ serious — if they don’t win this war —“

“Which battle did you get to?” You sit up, wracking your memory for the approximate place Sanemi has reached in his book. “Did the cadre reunite?”

“No, half of ‘em are still across the fucking continent.”

“Ohhhh, yeah. Okay. I know where you are.” You tug at a loose thread on your comforter. “I can’t say anything. You’ll just have to keep reading.”

“God dammit,” and you imagine he’s rolling his eyes, maybe even glaring down at the book in distaste. “Shit’s got me stressed the fuck out. I don’t know how she’s gonna wrap this up —“

You giggle as he launches into a rant over loose plot ends. Squaring the mental image of your boyfriend — the one currently ranting about the various loose plot ends to still be tied up in his current read — with the one you know must be sitting in some alley or warehouse, waiting to do things he’ll never speak of, feels impossible at times. But here, for this small moment, Sanemi isn’t a Hashira. He’s just a boy, spouting off theories and guesses as to his book’s ending with an almost childlike enthusiasm. Here, there are no orders to leave, no bruised knuckles or bloodstained hands he has to scrub clean in your bathroom sink.

It’s just you and him; your Sanemi. Your wonderful, gentle, sweet Sanemi.

“Ah shit,” he cuts his impassioned tirade off with sigh. There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, but it’s too muffled to be distinguishable. “‘M gonna have to go —“

Just like that, the moment ends and the smile you’d been wearing slides from your face.“Oh.” And you hate how small your voice sounds. “That’s okay — I’m glad I got to talk to you for a sec.”

The rustling stops. “Me too,” Sanemi says softly. “Fuck, I miss you.”

This is the part you hate most; the part when he has to stop being yours and go be theirs, no matter how much you know he doesn’t want to.

Your moments with him are pennies to the hours the Corps gets to demand. As long as they keep their claws in him, this will always be how your moments with him end: in abrupt, hushed voices, Sanemi’s shoulders sagging with a guilt he shouldn’t have to feel.

You grimace. This forced distance between you is bad enough, and you don’t want him to feel worse than he likely already does. You knew what you signed up for by telling him you loved him. You can’t be mad for getting exactly what you’d known to expect. And besides, your ire is reserved for the Corps and the Corps alone. Sanemi doesn’t deserve it. You can’t leave him on your sour note.

He’ll be yours again soon enough, even if only temporarily. That has to be enough, for now. Better to give him something to look forward to, rather than reminding him — and yourself — of what you’re both currently without.

“If you still wanted to know — I’m wearing your shirt. Only your shirt.” You smirk. “A thong, too. The lacy green one.”

A favorite of Sanemi’s, as he’d mentioned a handful of times. One that always set his eyes wide, made his tongue flick out to wet his lips.

Your distraction works. A strangled groan crackles through the phone. “You’re killin’ me, woman.”

[muddyorbsblr]

charades

'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: pre-relationship era; months before 'one look and they'll know'

Summary: After a particularly horrible day on set, Chris extends an invitation for you to join the cast in a game of charades to unwind.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning/s: workplace bullying (mentioned); language [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: hints of mutual pining; we're in Hemsworth's POV

"Come on, it'll be fun, Tiny Terror, I promise." Chris gave your shoulders a slight shake to hopefully snap you out of the sour mood you'd been in all day. It was more than obvious why, considering that there were a good few production assistants that looked like they were on their own personal mission to get you to break composure and break a nose, constantly putting your team down for working too slow or some other reason.

One of them even tried insisting that there were props out of place so they could call into question your skill in clocking the continuity between shots. And while it was simple enough to debunk their accusations, it had also been a rather tedious day even just watching all of the little inconveniences happen that seemed hellbent on putting a damper to your day. He couldn't imagine how much more stressful it was in your shoes.

You were only allowed a few minutes to breathe without much worry when those assistants were pulled aside for Taika to have a word with them. Because other than him, there was someone else that not only witnessed the borderline harassment that occurred today, but was damn near foaming at the mouth to start snapping at them for their insolence.

Tom.

And right now Chris could only imagine that the Brit was standing at full height putting forward every single intimidation tactic he had on display at those people and asking them point blank if they had some sort of issue with you.

"I really don't know, Hemsy, it's been a long day. I kinda just want it to be over," you sighed, the facade you'd put in place of trying to look unbothered finally cracking as your shoulders slumped. "No idea who fucking pissed in their cereal this morning but if their goal was to drag someone down with them, they fucking succeeded. Just wanna go back to my hotel room and order a big bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine and turn my phone off until tomorrow morning."

"Alright, how about this. Just a few rounds, and if you hate it, I'll pay for your pasta and wine?"

You paused, thinking over his offer for a few seconds before finally sighing, "Fine. Thirty minutes. But if I tell you I wanna go, you better be ready to order me the fattest bowl of truffle cream pasta you can find."

Just as you walked off back to your team, Taika and Tom came out of one of the back offices where they sequestered the offending crew members. There were visible scowls on their faces as they muttered to themselves while Taika whispered some instructions to security, probably telling them to keep an eye on the troublemakers moving forward.

"Saw you talking to Lil Mayhem," Taika spoke up once he stood where you did just a few moments ago. "She alright?"

Had the situation not been so tense, Chris probably would have poked a bit of fun at the way Tom's face became visibly more animated as he scanned the set trying to find you. If the Brit became even the slightest bit more enamored with you and still refused to do anything about it, he might have to tell you himself just to caution you that if you didn't feel the same way, you'd have to let him down gently. And preferably sooner rather than later.

"She will be," Chris answered. "She's joining us later."

"Ah perfect," the New Zealander exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "We can pair her off with Tom."

"Hmm?" There was an alarmed look in Tom's eyes now, the sound coming out of him uncharacteristically higher pitched than normal.

"Oh come on, mate, did you really think nobody noticed? You look at her like a pup, wagging its tail and jumping in place when its mum comes home." Chris clapped a hand down on his shoulder, trying not to laugh at how mortified he looked finding out his subtle "work crush" on you wasn't exactly that subtle. "Just don't go humping her leg when she walks in."

"Oh my God, yes you're here too," Tessa exclaimed when you walked into Taika's suite, doing a little bounce on her place at the couch and patting the seat beside her. "We can be partners and smoke their asses."

"Hemsworth promised to buy me pasta if I hated it," you told her with a shrug, sitting at the vacant seat. You didn't seem to have noticed that Tom had moved over, making room next to him on the other side of the table. "And I'm not one to turn down free food."

"Tessa you're already partnered with Chris over here," Taika informed her, pointing at the Australian.

"Hold on since when?" He simply showed her a paper containing all your names, your eyes widening slightly when you saw that yours was next to Tom's. "Fine," she huffed, shifting her gaze over to Chris. "We got this."

Taika then presented a little fishbowl containing folded scraps of paper and explained that a single turn would consist of each of you picking out a paper and trying to sign out whatever was on their paper, while the other had to guess what it was. Straightforward enough. "Whoever's signing cannot talk, but they can make sounds if they think it'll help," he kept on explaining. "Winning pair will get…a nice swanky dinner for two when we get to LA for the premiere. Sound good?"

Lay it on a little thicker, Taika, I don't think they're catching on yet, Chris thought sarcastically, immediately clocking the way your cheeks were reddening and Tom was without a doubt imagining what it would be like to be sitting across from you in a fancy restaurant, imagining that you two were on a proper date. What with the way he couldn't keep his eyes off of you, along with that dopey lovestruck smile painting his face every time you even shared the same breathing space, it wasn't that hard to take a guess what the Brit was thinking right at this moment.

Once everyone had a scrap of paper in their hand, Taika spun a little wheel of your names to pick out which pair went first. "Alrighty then, Tom? Y/N? Which one of you'll be guessing first?"

"Oh, uhm…can I guess first? 'Cause I can't sign for shit."  Your request as you addressed Tom sounded casual enough, had it not been for the chuckle at the end that immediately had both Chris and Taika knowing much better than to mistake your demeanor for 'casual'. Seemed you were as skittish around Tom as he was around you.

And maybe Chris didn't have to interfere and advise you to let his friend down easy after all. Maybe he just had to sit back and let you two find each other at your own pace.

Though admittedly this was the type of behavior that started out cute but would grow frustrating to watch if it went on for too long. If neither of you made a move in the coming weeks he might be tempted to lock you two in a cramped storage closet to move things along.

Tom stood up from his seat, cheeks quickly becoming tinged with pink when he saw the words on his little scrap of paper before looking up and holding your gaze. On a whim, Chris decided to take his phone out and have his camera at the ready.

The chime on Taika's phone signaled him to start, and he held up five fingers in front of you.

"Five words." He then nodded and held up one finger before creating a letter "T" with his hands. "First word 'The'." He held up four fingers next and did the "T" symbol again. "And fourth word 'The'. So 'The Blank-Blank The Blank'?"

He nodded at you, a light shining in both your eyes as he kept on, like a couple of kids excited they found someone to play with. But then when Tom went on to sign the second word, for a split second you gave him a look that had everyone in the room that paid even the smallest amount of attention that his affections were definitely not one-sided.

You were well on your way to being completely smitten with him, too.

He held up two fingers before making a lassoing motion and snapping his fingers so loud that the sound made your neck twitch, your eyes glazing over as he pointed to the space in front of him. "Uh…uhm…Capture?" He shook his head, repeating the motion again. "Herding?" He shook his head again. "Collaring--Cowboy?" He let out a laugh before shaking his head again. "Okay I don't think I'm gonna get that, maybe another word we're running out of time."

Tom took a deep breath, as if composing himself before holding up five fingers. And then he drew his hands close to his chest and started making the most ridiculous sound with his head tilted to the ceiling. "Ememememe omomomomo".

That had you bursting into a fit of giggles, making him break out into a face-splitting grin and a few chuckles of his own. "I'm sorry I got absolutely nothing on that, go back to the second word." He went back to the lassoing and snapping movement. "Wait is this for a person or an animal?" He made a motion as if weighing an object in each of his hands, signaling to you that it was both. "Both?! Okay so…domestication?" He shook his head, but motioning for you to keep going down that route. "The--Taming?" Then you gasped, standing up right as two seconds were left on the clock, clapping your hands. "The Taming of the Shrew! The Taming of the Shrew!"

Out of the sheer excitement in the moment, he made his way around the table, grasping for your hands before framing your face in his hands. Had you both lost yourselves in the moment for even a few seconds longer, Chris would have bet good money that you two would have shared a kiss right in front of them.

But then both of you froze in place, giving each other an awkward smile before he stepped back, making his way back to where he stood seconds before. Good thing Chris already had his phone in hand and snapped a photo before your mutual shyness toward each other got the better of you.

"Cute," Taika commented, throwing Tom a look. "Alrighty then Y/N, it's your turn now."

You stood, looking at your scrap of paper and then looking around the room, your eyes landing on the decorative skull flower vase on the dining table.

Before you could signal for Taika to start the clock, Tom spoke up, "Hamlet?"

A choked sound of utter shock slipped out of everyone else in the room. "Hold up, that counts right, T?" Taika just nodded.

"How the fuck--Are you two telepathically connected or something?" Tessa threw the question out, pointing her finger at both of you. "You know what it doesn't matter, the night's still young. We still got a chance to smoke 'em, Hemsworth."

Chris wasn't paying much attention, shooting you a text instead. So you wanna cash in on that free food, Tiny Terror?

He had to fight back the knowing grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth seeing the message you typed back. I could stay a few more rounds.

A/N: I did mention before that I have some pre-relationship chapters planned for these two blorbos, right? 👀 Well if I didn't, I'm saying it now. Chapters. Plural. I honestly don't know how many pieces I have in store for this collection but safe to say it's not ending any time soon. 😳💖

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[artyandink]

amoralism | fourteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Dean’s the mole, the Sucide Squad formation and it being a train wreck, a bit of family problems, angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Tears of Gold - Faouzia

chauvinism

The mission had been in the works for two long, grueling weeks, and it still felt like a long shot.

You, Sam, Bobby, and the so-called "Suicide Squad" had spent hours in the Bureau's underground briefing room, a place so buried under layers of concrete and steel that cell reception was a distant memory. The air inside was thick with the smell of stale coffee, sweat, and stress—everyone had been pulling double shifts, and no one was more wired than you. The clock was ticking. Dean’s files were being held under lock and key by Raphael Deacon, the Director of the FBI, and a man with more power than the President on his worst days.

But the files—Dean's files—were the key to everything. They held the proof, the answers. The only way to clear Dean's name or understand why he had betrayed you all. You needed those files, and there was only one way to get them: a heist.

It sounded absurd, like something out of a bad spy movie, but it was the only plan anyone had that made sense. Bobby had been pacing the front of the room, whiteboard behind him filled with diagrams, maps, and hastily scribbled notes as the rest of the team crowded around.

“We go in quick, we go in quiet,” Bobby muttered, pulling the cap off a dry-erase marker with his teeth and slashing another line across the board. “We got exactly one window where Deacon’s gonna be out of his office, and that’s when we make our move.”

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, trying to ignore the tension building in your chest. You’d been part of risky ops before, but this? This was borderline suicide.

“You really think we can pull this off?” you asked, glancing at Sam next to you. His brow was furrowed, a hand running through his long hair as he scrutinized the plan for any weakness.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said quietly, eyes meeting yours. “It’s the only way we find out what’s really going on with Dean.”

His words weighed heavily on you. It had been weeks since you last saw Dean, and the encounter had shaken you to your core. You hadn’t spoken to anyone about it—especially not Sam. You swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts of Dean to the back of your mind. Focus. You needed to focus.

Across the table, Charlie Bradbury was furiously typing away on her laptop, her fingers moving faster than you thought was humanly possible. “Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it,” she said, her voice cutting through the room. “I’ve hacked into the security system. We’ve got a thirty-second delay between when a breach happens and when it gets reported. That’s our window.”

John Winchester, his arms folded over his chest, grunted from his spot near the back of the room. He hadn’t said much throughout the planning—just his typical gruff one-liners about security, strategy, and how this was a fool’s errand. But when he spoke, everyone listened.

“And what happens if we miss that window?” John asked, his voice low, but enough to send a ripple of unease through the group.

“We don’t miss it,” Bobby snapped, glaring at John. “We can’t afford to miss it.”

Rufus Turner, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table, gave a lazy grin. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. Haven’t done a good ol' heist in years.”

Next to him, Agent Jack Kline, the youngest member of the team, looked more nervous than excited. He had the look of a deer caught in the headlights, but he was trying to mask it with a look of determination.

Mick Davies, sharp as ever in his suit, spoke up next. “What’s our exit plan? We can’t just waltz out of the building with federal files in hand. Deacon’s got eyes everywhere.”

Bobby paused, pacing again, his boots heavy on the floor. “We’ll split up. Create enough chaos that no one knows what’s happening until we’re gone. Charlie, you’ll jam the internal comms, give us time to slip out without alerting the entire Bureau.”

Garth chimed in, tapping his chin. “And what about disguises? We can’t exactly stroll in looking like this.” He gestured down at his casual clothes.

“That’s where I come in,” Mick said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ve got some connections. We’ll have uniforms. FBI suits, maintenance workers, delivery personnel. The whole nine yards.”

“Sounds like a damn circus,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your temples.

Bobby shot you a look. “We’re working with what we’ve got.”

The plan was as convoluted as they came—deceit, manipulation, distraction, and everything in between. There was no room for error. One slip, one wrong move, and the entire operation would be over before it even began. But you were in too deep now. Backing out wasn’t an option.

The day arrived sooner than any of you were ready for. You could feel the tension in the air as the team gathered in the Bureau's underground garage. Everyone was dressed to play their parts—uniforms, IDs, all fake but polished enough to pass a casual inspection.

You tugged at the stiff collar of your maintenance jumpsuit, feeling out of place but determined. Sam, standing next to you, adjusted the lapels on his fake FBI suit, his eyes scanning the group.

“Everyone know their role?” Bobby asked, his voice hard as he gave one final look at the team.

Charlie was the first to respond. “I’ll be in the van, controlling the security feed and hacking the system as we go. If anything goes wrong, you’ll know because all hell will break loose.”

John, dressed as a janitor, grunted his agreement. “I’ll make sure the halls are clear.”

Garth, in his delivery uniform, gave a thumbs up. “I’m your distraction. Trust me, I’ve got this.”

Mick and Jack were already in character, blending in seamlessly with the handful of actual Bureau agents milling about the garage. It was showtime.

The mission began like clockwork. Mick and Jack were the first inside, walking through the front entrance with forged IDs and briefcases in hand. They passed the metal detectors, nodding at the guards with an air of confidence that only agents from another division could pull off.

Meanwhile, you, Sam, John, and Garth entered through the back, where maintenance workers were busy hauling in cleaning supplies and equipment. John’s hard glare kept anyone from asking questions. The man had a presence that made you glad he was on your side.

Charlie’s voice came through the earpiece in your ear. “Alright, you’re clear for now. Thirty seconds until the first security sweep. Move fast.”

Your heart pounded as you made your way through the narrow back corridors, trying to keep your footsteps light despite the rush of adrenaline in your veins. Sam was right behind you, his eyes darting between you and the path ahead.

As you rounded a corner, you caught sight of Raphael Deacon’s office—a heavy wooden door guarded by two agents. Garth was already in place, wheeling a large cart of ‘deliveries’ toward the door. You watched as he fumbled with the boxes, pretending to lose his balance.

“Oh no, shoot! Sorry, fellas, can you give me a hand here?” Garth asked, flashing his best disarming smile.

The guards, caught off guard by the seemingly harmless delivery guy, bent down to help him, just as John slipped past them into the restricted hallway unnoticed.

“Ten seconds,” Charlie’s voice warned. “You better move fast.”

John reappeared moments later, his expression tense as he gave the signal.

The door to Deacon’s office clicked open.

Inside, Raphael Deacon’s office was as imposing as you expected. The walls were lined with bookshelves, legal documents, and awards, but the real prize was the locked cabinet at the back of the room. Dean’s files were inside. Somewhere.

You rushed to the cabinet with Sam while John kept watch. Time was ticking. You grabbed the small lock-picking kit Mick had given you, your fingers trembling as you worked the lock. The seconds felt like hours as you concentrated, sweat beading on your forehead.

“Come on,” Sam muttered beside you, glancing toward the door.

Click.

The lock gave way, and you swung the cabinet doors open. Inside, stacks of files lay neatly arranged, but it only took you a second to spot the one marked with Dean’s name. You grabbed it, stuffing it into your bag just as Charlie’s voice cut through the comms again.

“We’ve got a problem. Security’s onto us. They’re not buying Garth’s act anymore.”

“Time to go,” John grunted, pulling you and Sam toward the exit.

The building was already buzzing with movement as you slipped back into the maintenance hallways, but just as planned, the chaos was enough to keep most of the agents off your trail. Garth had done his job.

Back in the garage, Charlie was already in the van, her fingers flying across her keyboard. “You’ve got maybe thirty seconds before they realize what’s missing. Let’s go!”

Everyone piled into the van as it sped away, the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. You sat back, heart racing, the weight of the stolen file heavy in your hands.

It was a victory. But as you caught Sam’s eye, you both knew this was just the beginning. The contents of the file would tell you everything—or nothing. Either way, there was no turning back now.

The mission was chaotic, convoluted, and dangerous. But somehow, against all odds, you had pulled it off.

Now came the hard part.

The adrenaline from the mission was still pumping through your veins as the van sped down the back roads, far away from the FBI headquarters. Charlie, behind the wheel, navigated the narrow streets with sharp precision, while the rest of the team sat in tense silence. The stolen file, Dean’s file, sat heavy in your lap, the weight of its contents unknown, but it was the key to everything.

You looked over at Sam. His eyes were fixed on the folder, a mix of worry and determination etched on his face. Bobby sat across from you, arms crossed, looking out the window. John was muttering to himself in the back corner, probably going over every tactical mistake you all might have made. Garth, still in his delivery uniform, was looking out the window with a goofy grin as if the whole operation had been some kind of field trip. Mick, ever the polished MI6 agent, looked almost too calm, while Jack sat quietly, fiddling nervously with his hands.

The van rattled as Charlie took a sharp turn, and you tightened your grip on the file.

“So, what now?” Charlie asked, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “We just crack open this bad boy and hope for the best?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said with a grunt, shifting in his seat. “But not here. Too many eyes around. We need a safe spot.”

Sam finally spoke up. “We can go to my place. Jess is out of town visiting family, and it’s secure.”

You nodded. “Sam’s right. Let’s go there. We can regroup, figure out what’s in this file, and plan our next move.”

The ride to Sam’s place felt longer than it should have, despite the fact that it was only about twenty minutes away. The tension in the van was thick, and you could tell everyone was on edge. After the chaos of the heist, it was hard to believe you’d actually pulled it off. But as much as you wanted to feel victorious, you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Dean was out there somewhere, possibly on the run, possibly still with the syndicate. Or worse, maybe he was exactly what the files would say he was. The thought sent a chill down your spine. After everything, after all the years you’d known him—had Dean really betrayed you all?

Charlie pulled up in front of Sam’s house, parking the van in the driveway. Everyone piled out, and you all made your way inside. Sam’s place was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of stillness that made the atmosphere feel heavier than it should’ve been.

Sam locked the door behind him, and the group settled in the living room. You sat down on the couch, the file still in your hands, and the rest of the team gathered around.

Bobby leaned forward, eyeing the file like it was some kind of dangerous artifact. “Well, kiddo,” he said, looking at you, “you gonna do the honors?”

You glanced around the room, feeling the weight of everyone’s anticipation. Your hands shook slightly as you undid the clasp on the folder, opening it to reveal the contents inside.

There were several thick documents, each stamped with confidential seals and the unmistakable insignia of the FBI. You sifted through them quickly, scanning for something, anything that would make sense of this madness. There were surveillance reports, witness statements, memos—all detailing Dean’s activities over the last year.

Your eyes caught on one page in particular, a detailed report from Raphael Deacon himself. You skimmed it, your pulse quickening as you read the words:

"Subject: Dean Winchester – Special Agent, suspected mole within the FBI, believed to be in contact with syndicate leader Lucifer. Operative is highly skilled, with extensive knowledge of Bureau protocol. Unclear how deeply involved he is with the organization, but intelligence suggests infiltration may have been premeditated…"

You swallowed hard, passing the page to Sam. His brow furrowed as he read it, a deep frown forming on his face.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Sam muttered, flipping through the pages. “Dean wouldn’t do this.”

John scoffed from the back of the room. “You sure about that, Sam? People can change. And sometimes, they don’t turn out to be who you think they are.”

Sam shot him a glare. “Dean wouldn’t betray the Bureau. Not like this.”

You stayed silent, your mind reeling as you tried to make sense of everything. The reports, the surveillance footage, the classified memos—they all painted a picture of Dean as a double agent. But something wasn’t adding up. Dean was reckless sometimes, sure, but he wasn’t a traitor.

“We need to dig deeper,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “There has to be something we’re missing.”

Charlie leaned over, scanning the files over your shoulder. “There’s a lot of redacted information here. They’re definitely hiding something.”

“Could be a cover-up,” Bobby mused. “Deacon ain’t exactly a trustworthy son of a bitch.”

“Then why’d Dean run?” Jack asked, his voice quiet. “If he’s innocent, why hasn’t he come back?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I don’t believe for a second that Dean’s in on this. Not fully.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. “We need more information. Something solid. These files... they’re not enough.”

Mick spoke up for the first time in a while, his voice smooth but thoughtful. “Perhaps there’s a lead we can follow. If Dean’s gone dark, there must be a way to trace his movements. Off-the-books contacts, safe houses, something he would’ve used to stay hidden.”

Rufus, who had been oddly quiet until now, nodded. “Dean ain’t dumb. He’d know how to cover his tracks. But he might’ve left a trail for someone who knows how to look.”

You stood up, pacing the room as the ideas swirled in your mind. Every second that passed felt like you were running out of time, like Dean was slipping further away.

“Charlie, can you dig into these files, see what’s been redacted and maybe trace where this intel came from?” you asked, knowing full well that if anyone could break through encrypted data, it was her.

She gave you a thumbs-up. “Already on it.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion evident on his face. “We should keep looking for leads, but I agree with you. Something’s off about all of this. Dean wouldn’t just run unless he had no other choice.”

The thought of Dean being out there, alone, possibly in danger, made your heart ache. You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was more to this story. But the mission wasn’t over yet.

The prison was cold. It always was. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. As you made your way down the long, sterile corridor, your footsteps echoed against the hard concrete floors, bouncing off the walls in a rhythmic, lonely sound. The guard leading you said nothing, his face impassive as he swiped his keycard to open another set of heavy metal doors.

It wasn’t your first visit here. You’d been coming to see Eleanor, your mother, for weeks now. But no matter how many times you passed through the gates, through the searches and the checkpoints, it never got easier. You felt the weight of it all pressing down on your chest with every step you took.

And today, it felt even heavier.

Your mind was a whirlwind of questions, of uncertainties. The mission had been chaotic, the files had been convoluted, and worst of all, Dean was missing. A mole. An alleged traitor. But none of it made sense. None of it fit with the Dean you knew. You hoped that your mother, with her past connections to the criminal underworld, might be able to shed some light on the situation.

The guard finally stopped in front of a small, enclosed room—a visiting room. "Five minutes," he said gruffly, as though the kindness of a full hour was something prisoners rarely deserved. He unlocked the door, then gestured for you to enter. You nodded and stepped inside.

Eleanor was already sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her expression as calm and composed as ever. She had that air about her, even in prison. A woman who had lived through chaos and come out the other side unbroken. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, streaks of gray more prominent now than they had been the last time you saw her.

When she looked up and met your eyes, her face softened, just a little.

"Hey, kid," she said, her voice carrying a warmth that you hadn’t expected.

"Mom." You managed a small smile, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. You placed your hands on the table, feeling the cold surface beneath your fingers, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to figure out how to start.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it never had been with Eleanor. She was patient, observant. She had a way of waiting you out, of letting you come to her when you were ready.

You glanced up at her and took a deep breath. "I need to ask you something."

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed slightly. She tilted her head, her hands still resting lightly on the table. "What is it?"

"It’s about Dean," you said, the words feeling heavy as they left your mouth.

Her expression didn’t change much, but you could see the flicker of concern behind her eyes. "Dean Winchester?" she asked slowly.

You nodded, your heart racing. "Yeah. There’s been… something’s happened, and I need to know if he’s involved with the syndicate."

Eleanor blinked, clearly taken aback. She leaned back in her chair slightly, her eyes scanning your face for answers that weren’t yet spoken. "Dean?" she repeated, almost incredulous. "Dean Winchester is involved with the syndicate? The same syndicate I used to run with?"

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out," you admitted, your voice quiet. "There’s a file, reports… all pointing to him being a mole inside the FBI, working with them."

Eleanor looked at you for a long moment, her gaze unblinking. And then, almost abruptly, she let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, that doesn’t make any sense."

"I know it doesn’t," you replied, feeling a mixture of frustration and desperation rise up in your chest. "But it’s there. His name’s all over the files. They have surveillance, they have witness accounts—everything points to Dean."

Your mother’s brow furrowed, her fingers tapping lightly on the table as she considered your words. "I knew Dean," she said finally, her voice steady, as though she was sorting through facts in her mind. "I worked with a lot of people who were mixed up in some dark stuff, but Dean? He wasn’t one of them."

You leaned forward, pressing her. "But could he have been involved without you knowing? Maybe something happened after you were arrested. Something that pulled him in."

Eleanor shook her head firmly. "I don’t believe it. Dean’s a lot of things, but he’s not reckless. And he’s not stupid. Getting involved with the syndicate? That’s a death sentence. And it’s not something he could’ve hidden easily, even from me."

You stared at her, trying to make sense of it all. "But what if… what if they forced him? Or what if he’s been playing both sides, working undercover?"

She leaned forward, her gaze sharp now. "Listen to me," she said, her voice low but intense. "If Dean was involved in the syndicate, I’d know. They don’t operate in a vacuum. Everyone knows everyone. And if Dean was in that system, his name would’ve come up long before now. You said there’s a file on him? Well, I can tell you one thing: Dean’s name isn’t in any of their systems."

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had been hoping, deep down, that she could give you some insight, some hidden piece of the puzzle that would make everything click into place. But instead, it only raised more questions.

"Then why are they saying it’s him?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Eleanor’s eyes softened slightly. "It sounds like someone’s setting him up. They’re using his name, his reputation, to cover their own tracks. And you need to figure out who’s behind it."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. Could it be true? Could someone really be framing Dean, manipulating the FBI into thinking he was the mole?

"But why?" you asked, more to yourself than to Eleanor. "Why would they choose Dean?"

"Because he’s good at what he does," she said, a hint of admiration in her voice. "And because they know that if you believe he’s guilty, no one will question it. Not even you."

The words stung, but you couldn’t deny the truth in them. If someone was framing Dean, they were doing a damn good job of it. And they knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you doubt everything you thought you knew.

You looked down at the table, your hands clenched into fists. "I don’t know what to do," you admitted, your voice small and defeated.

Eleanor reached out, placing her hand on top of yours. "You do what you always do," she said gently. "You dig. You find the truth. And you don’t stop until you have it."

You nodded, the resolve slowly returning to your chest. She was right. There was still a lot you didn’t know, but you couldn’t stop now. Dean’s life—his reputation—was at stake, and you couldn’t let him go down without a fight.

"Thank you," you said, meeting her eyes. "I’m sorry to have dragged you into this."

She smiled softly, squeezing your hand. "You’re my kid. You don’t need to apologize for coming to me for help."

The guard knocked on the door then, signaling the end of your visit. You stood, feeling the weight of the conversation still heavy on your shoulders. As the guard escorted you out, you glanced back at Eleanor one last time. She gave you a nod, her eyes filled with the kind of strength you always admired in her.

As the doors closed behind you, the coldness of the prison faded, but the uncertainty lingered. Dean wasn’t in the syndicate. You were sure of it now. But that meant someone else was pulling the strings—someone powerful enough to frame him, to make you doubt him.

You stepped outside into the crisp air, your mind still racing. There was more to uncover, more pieces of the puzzle to find. And now, you had to figure out how to put them together before it was too late.

Because Dean’s life depended on it.

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[astyrial]

smooth moves spencer reid x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: a touch of a hand brings out spencer’s poetic side word count: 1k warnings: mentions of murder/weapons, probably ooc masterlist | requests are open

    the police station reeks with overrunning minds, each room becoming nearly unbearable. you grab your notepad, already heading out the door so you could have some fresh air. when pushing open the back door you instantly take a deep breath to take in the pennsylvania air. 

  your eyes close for a second, finally feeling at ease. within a few steps you see a bench, a little dirty, but ultimately better than inside the station. you sit down quickly, crossing your legs in front of you and opening up your notebook. 

  there's only a couple of things you know, the serial killer is male, likely in his thirties to forties, strained relationship with his father. which doesn't narrow it down entirely.. he kidnaps from similar places, late night laundromats, motels, etc. 

  you bite your lip, your eyebrows narrowing as you try to piece everything together in your head. he drops off typically at night, meaning he likely has a day job. probably a nine to five. but so does most of the population... 

  everything seems to drop off at a dead end, ending up with you tapping the notebook against your forehead. "i saw you sneak out, you okay?" a soothing voice questions from the back door of the police station. 

  you look up from the notebook and see spencer standing there, his head tilted in curiosity, "yeah, it just got too stuffy in there. i just needed some fresh air to see if i could figure something out."

  "understandable, studies have shown that fresh air can help with stress and anxiety-" he suddenly stops as soon as he sees you smiling softly, your eyebrows lowered, "sorry, you don't need a lesson on the benefits of fresh air. i can help think of some solutions?"

  a larger smile makes its way to your face, your hand patting against the spot besides you. "absolutely," he makes his way to the bench, sitting beside you, his leg touching yours. 

  you show him your notebook, explaining that you can't think of anything more defining about the crimes. he doesn't hide their faces, indicating he doesn't know them. he uses a knife that is then discarded next to the victim. no gunshot wounds, no foreign dna. 

  "maybe he's a cleaner. has a day shift in which he cleans out the motels and such, then he returns during the night. the killer would then know how to clean up the scenes," spencer turns to look at you, bringing his leg up so his ankle is resting on the other one.

  you nod, thinking of it yourself, and it makes perfect sense. there were no signs of breaking in at the motel, meaning the person let them in or they had a key. "spencer you are a genius, i mean literally, but also this could quite literally be the key to solving this case. i need to message penelope to check cleaning companies..."

  spencer lights up at the sound of you calling him a genius, your right hand haphazardly landing on his as you attempt to text penelope with one hand. he looks away from a second, his mind trying to stay on the case, but the thought of you completely overtaking. 

  "hopefully she can find something... you know, you always get this kind of look when we figure something major out with the case," spencer looks over at you, trying to interpret your reaction to figure out what he should say next. 

  "really? like a ridiculous, should tone it down look, or what?" you give him a lopsided grin, shrugging your shoulders at the clearly overwhelmed genius. 

  spencer shakes his head, unable to move his hand out from beneath yours, loving the heat that it creates. he gives you a lopsided grin of his own, "no, never tone it down… well it's like you’re glowing, like the moon is reflecting off of you and creating the perfect illusion."

  "oh you're a poet now doctor reid? and thank you, no one has ever quite described me like that. or least not my appearance when i'm really happy with the result of something," your fingers wrap around the side of spencer's hand, your thumb rubbing against his. 

  he looks down at your hands and back at your eyes. his heart racing rather quickly, "i do know quite a few amounts of poems, memorized them because of my mom. i could recite some for you- but maybe when he return in virginia. it fits you well, your glowing complexion."

  before you can even think to reply to his comments, the back door of the station opens. there stands derek his eyes looking between the two of you. with a smirk on his face, derek insinuates that penelope had been trying to message you that she found a common cleaning company. 

  you thank him quickly before heading back inside, letting go of spencer's hand while passing derek. "smooth move there, pretty boy, thought i was the only one who could get another fbi agent," he pats spencer's shoulder, 

  "we should probably head inside, especially if penelope found something," spencer motions towards the door, trying to the change the subject, but he can't seem to hide the very obvious smile lurking on his face, "we were just talking, trying to figure out the answer to this case. nothing extreme."

  derek nods, shrugging his shoulders with an annoyingly cocky smile on his face, "if you say so pretty boy, because you were definitely holding hands there. probably getting your smoochin' on while solving this case."

  spencer rolls his eyes, tilting his head back as he attempts to ignore derek's awful insinuations of the two of you. he turns to look away, noticing you opening the back door to call the two of them in. "not a word of this," he narrows his eyes at the casanova. 

  you open the door, your face glowing at the sight of spencer. and it didn't take long for his to do the same. he looks back at derek and shakes his head before moving forward into the building. maybe it wasn't the best time for the two of you to discover the chemistry building, but it is certainly memorable.

[marie-swriting]

After All These Years - Emily Prentiss

Masterlist

Summary : when you get a phone call from the hospital telling you Emily got hurt, you immediately drop everything to go check on her, even if it means seeing her again for the first time in ten years.

Warnings : mention of Emily getting beaten and shot, a small portion of angst, fluff, happy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.1k

French Version

Prompt : "They haven’t seen each other in a long time, but Person A realizes they are still Person B’s emergency contact, when they get a call from the hospital." number 3 from this prompt list made by @creativepromptsforwriting

Your phone rings while you’re walking to your car. Instinctively, you go through your purse before picking it up without checking the caller ID. When you hear an unknown voice answering you, you stop yourself abruptly giving the woman all your attention.

“Hello, this is the hospital, is it Y/N Y/L/N, Emily Prentiss’ emergency contact ?”

“Yes, it’s me. What happened to her ?” You question, panic can be detected in your voice.

“Miss Prentiss got beaten, she also got shot. Fortunately, we took charge of her just in time, but she needs to stay in the hospital tonight under observation.” She informs you and you sigh with relief. 

“Got it, thanks for calling me. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

You hang up and run to your car. You throw your purse on the passenger seat and drive without wasting another second. When you’re at traffic lights, you call your boss to explain why you won’t be here. You try to drive carefully while going as fast as you can to the hospital. When you arrive, you park in the first spot you see before rushing to the reception desk. You identify yourself and the woman gives you directions to Emily’s room, you thank her and start running again to the third floor. In the elevator, you allow yourself to finally breathe calmly. Even if the nurse assured you Emily wasn’t in a life-threatening situation, you can’t help but have your anxiety eat you from inside. To this fear you can also add the fact you’re about to see Emily again for the first time in ten years. Even if your breakup was a general agreement, you still stress at the idea of finding yourself in the same room as her. She means a lot to you. You knew the day you broke up wouldn’t be the last day you’d see her, but you wouldn’t have imagined you’d see each other again because Emily would be at the hospital.

The elevator doors open and you trot around looking at every room’s number until you find the room 327. You lightly knock on the door and Emily’s voice invites you in. When she sees you, she frowns.

“Y/N, what are you doing here ?”

“Apparently, I’m still your emergency contact.” You answer laughing nervously.

“Oh… huh, sorry I didn’t think they’d call you while you were probably at work.” Emily apologises putting her hair back in place.

“Don’t worry, they called me before, I was able to come here quickly. Emily, I was so scared when I got the call”, you admit, getting closer to her, “Are you okay ? Are you hurt anywhere ?”

“They gave me pain-killers so I’m okay.”, she reassures you before showing you the chair next to the bed, “Please, sit.”

“Thanks.”

Once you’re seated, your gaze lands on Emily. You don’t even try to hide your concern while you’re searching for every wound on her body. You see several bruises on her face and her left arm in a sling. Notwithstanding she’s in front of you, alive you can’t help but imagine what could have happened if she hadn’t gotten this lucky. Lost in your thoughts while your eyes are still set on her wounds, your old fears about her job come back stronger with each passing minute. You also recall why you never liked her work in the first place when you were together.

“You can't stop thinking about it and say it, you know. You want me to quit.” Emily states, snapping you out of your mind.

“You love your job and we’re not together anymore, I’m no one to tell you this.”

“But you’d want it.”

Emily gives you a knowing look to let you know she doesn’t believe you. You don’t try to deny it anymore and avoid her eyes for a second before looking up again.

“I just want you to be safe.”, you clarify before marking a pause, “Besides even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t push you to quit. I know how important this job is for you, even if it can be dangerous. You also help to put murderers behind bars and save lives, it’d be stupid for me to tell you to stop. But I have to admit I’d be more reassured if your work didn’t involve bullets and serial killers.”

“If only it was possible !” She chuckles.

“The fact is, no matter what I think, what you do is important for you, that’s what matters to me…”, you add before taking her hand in yours, “just, be more careful next time. I don’t want another call like that anytime soon.”

“I’d do my best.”, Emily promises you with a smile, “Sorry for scaring you.”

“You’re okay, that’s what matters. Tell me if you need anything.” You say and you see her eyes brighten.

“Right now, I’d need your delicious cookies.”

“Too bad for you, I don’t have them.”, you inform laughing and she fakes a pout, “I didn’t plan on seeing you again today because you’d got hurt. But I can always go to the cafeteria to buy you some and tomorrow I could bake cookies and after you’d get back to yours, I’ll bring them to you.”

“You’re the best.” Emily exclaims.

You lightly squeeze her hand before taking your wallet and go buy some cookies. When you go back to her room, she holds out her valid arm to you with a big smile on her face. You give her the cookies and Emily starts eating them without wasting a second. She gives you some which you accept joyfully. You guys talk with you eat, trying to make up for lost time; at some points, you laugh and it feels like you never broke up. Your conversation seems natural just like the smile on your face. Despite the reason for your reunion, you haven’t been this happy in the last ten years.

When the sun comes down, a nurse knocks on the door. She quickly checks if Emily is okay before telling you you have to go because visiting hours are over.

“Would it be possible for me to stay, please ? I’m her fiancée, I don’t want to leave her alone for the night.”

“Oh, sure, no problems.”, she confirms before walking to the door, “Have a nice evening.”

“Fiancée, huh ?” Emily questions with a smirk once the nurse is out.

“It was the only way to make sure she’d allow me to stay.”, you defend yourself, “I think if I had said ‘ex’, she would have told me to leave right away.”

“She would have probably thought you were the crazy ex who would want to kill me during the night.”

“Probably.”, you laugh with Emily before paying more attention to her face. “Your eyes are bleary, you should go to sleep.”

“You’re right, but you’re not gonna stay on that uncomfortable chair, are you ?”

“They're probably gonna bring me a small bed or something. Go to sleep, don't worry.”

You see she’s skeptical but Emily is too exhausted to argue with you so she closes her eyes while you still hold her right hand and stroke it with your thumb. You keep looking at her while she’s slowly falling asleep. Your eyelids become heavier as well and you end up on the edge of the bed, your hand still holding Emily’s.

JJ opens the hospital room’s door and finds Emily peacefully sleeping with an unknown woman next to her. The raven-haired woman opens her eyes when she hears the door closing although the blonde made sure to not make a sound. Emily greets her friend silently. She wants to run her hand on her face but your weight prevents her from doing it. She sets her gaze on you and shakes you with her hand under your body. When you stand back from your position after you’ve opened your eyes, her face is the first thing you see. Emily points behind you and you turn around, discovering JJ. Feeling the heat in your cheeks, you stand up and present her your hand.

“Hey, I’m Y/N, Emily’s…”, you start hesitating, “friend.”

“JJ, I’m her colleague.”, she greets you by shaking your hand before turning back to Emily, “They told me they were gonna check on you one last time before allowing you to leave. Do you want me to bring you back home like we planned or maybe you want to do it Y/N ?” JJ asks and you shake your head.

“You came here for this, I’m not gonna disturb your plans. Besides, I have cookies to bake, anyway.”

“Her cookies are the best.” Emily comments.

“So, I’m gonna go, but we will see each other later.” You inform them while you take your purse that was next to the chair.

“Sure.”

Automatically, you kiss Emily’s cheek and exit the room. When you close the door, your eyes go wide, realising what you just did. As for her, Emily almost forgot how to breathe, she was not expecting this more than nice touch. 

“Oh, you’re so gonna tell me everything in the car.” JJ exclaims with excitement in her eyes.

When Emily is finally able to go home, the two women get in JJ’s car. On the way to Emily’s home, JJ waits before questioning her friend. Emily hopes she won’t have to talk about your relationship, not really knowing what to say. After ten minutes, JJ can’t hold it anymore.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened between you and your ‘friend’ Y/N or what ?”

“Nothing special.” Emily brushes it off.

“You were peacefully sleeping by her side and you literally froze when you felt her lips on your cheek. Something happened between you two.”

“We used to date ten years ago, that’s all.” Emily explains casually.

“Was it a long relationship ?”

“Five years.”

“Why did you guys break up ?” JJ questions, confused, “Because you clearly still have feelings for each other.”

“Because of my job.”, she says shifting in the seat, “I was always in another country or undercover so we couldn’t talk a lot for months and the rare period of time where I could go home, her job was taking all her time. It wasn’t ideal. We loved each other but it wasn’t working so we preferred to stop there before destroying what we had. I hadn’t seen her since our break up.”

“Why did she come to see you then ?”

“I still haven’t changed my emergency contact. At first, I didn’t want to do it and then I forgot about it and before yesterday, she never got a call whenever I’d get hurt. Needless to say I wasn’t expecting to see her yesterday, even if I’m more than happy about it.” Emily admits looking through the car window.

“That’s what I understood. While you were sleeping, you had a stupid smile on your face.”

“Did not !” She retorts, turning to her friend.

“Was just saying what I saw.”

By the end of the afternoon, you go to Emily’s, cookies in hands. JJ opens the door with a huge smile on her face. You give her one of the two tupperwares with some of your cookies that you made just for her.

“You shouldn't have.” JJ thanks you, touched by your gesture.

“I’m sure that since you’ve been working with her you’ve been having her back while you’re on the field, I had to give you something to thank you.” You explain genuinely. 

“It’s teamwork. Tell me, would you be able to stay with Emily for the night ? I need to take care of my son.”

“If Emily doesn��t mind, sure no problems.”

“I’m sure she won't mind.”, she affirms, confident before taking her stuff, “I’ll let you tell her, I need to go. Have a nice night.”

JJ runs away while you’re still trying to grasp what just happened. When you regain your composure, you take off your shoes and find Emily lying down on her bed. When she sees you and your cookies, she raises a bit, inviting you to sit down next to her. She doesn’t wait before eating, closing her eyes as she enjoys the taste.

“My God, they’re even better than I remembered.”

“I admit I’ve had the time to improve the recipe since last time.”

“How did you do it ? It was already perfect.” Emily interrogates in disbelief.

“I have a secret ingredient.”

“Doesn’t matter what it is, it’s validated by me. Where’s JJ ?”

“She had to leave, she told me she had to take care of her son so it only will be me and you.”

When she hears your answer, Emily frowns. She knows for sure Will is home and he’s more than capable to take care of Henry. She thinks a little bit more and Emily understands JJ lied so she could spend some time with you. She holds herself back from rolling her eyes and tries to play it cool.

“Oh, nice then. It’ll be like old times.”

Since that night with Emily, you’re avoiding her. You know it might not be the more mature way to react but you don’t know what else to do. The night you spent together was special and ordinary at the same time. It was special because it was the first time you were alone with Emily since your breakup, but it was ordinary because you were acting as if you hadn’t stopped talking to each other ten years ago. Contrary to what you thought, your feelings are still here and just as strong. You have always known you’d have affection for Emily until your last breath, you just can’t say without being wrong you’re still in love with her. You tried to not let it show yet Emily knows you like the back of her hand. You just hope with time she forgot your tells but being a profiler gives her an advantage. You are not sure if she noticed something, she has not said anything ; and, if she did notice, she might have not said something because, maybe, despite what she probably feels for you, she still does not wish to be with you again.. You don’t know which one is the real reason and you don’t want to know, especially if it can break your heart.

Therefore, you resumed your life like before. You go to work, you go back to your apartment and you watch your usual tv shows. However, when you’re in front of your screen, you zone out too much, you start thinking about Emily without realising it. You mentally try to get back on top of your feelings. You can’t allow yourself to fall back into her arms, she won’t be here to catch you. You need to do what you should have done many years ago : forget her.

You come home from work, exhausted from your day. Your only wish, to put your pyjamas on and lay down on your couch. You mentally plan everything you’re going to do tonight to save your energy. However your planning comes to a stop when you find Emily knocking on your door. You pause just to make sure your eyes are not playing a trick on you. When she hears you coming from behind her, Emily turns around to you. She waves at you with her valid hand before smiling awkwardly. 

“Em, what are you doing here ? And how did you get my address ? I moved here only six years ago.” You question.

“I work at the FBI and with a genius tech analyst, it was easy.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d be afraid to be the subject of one of your future cases with what you just told me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound creepy.” She adds, embarrassed. 

You brush it away with your hand to tell her it’s okay. 

“So what are you doing here ? Do you feel better ? Aren’t you supposed to be resting instead of standing here, waiting for me ?”

“I’m better, don’t worry. I can’t work”, she sighs showing you her sling, “but at least, I can move. I wanted to talk to you. Since last time, we didn’t have the opportunity to speak and you didn’t answer my calls.”

“I was busy with work, I’m sorry.”

“I’m in no position to blame you for that.”, Emily assures you before looking deeply into your eyes, “Look, I… I know we broke up for a reason, but you can’t deny that when we saw each other, something happened. For a moment, I almost forgot we hadn’t been together for ten years. Y/N, I know I’m always on the move but at least I’ll always come back here, I don’t have to go undercover. I’ll always be able to come back home, come back to you. I’m not asking for us to get back together right away, we could take it slow, trying to learn each other again, see how our relationship develops but I don’t want to see you leave again.”, she admits, taking your hand with her right arm, “The day we broke up was the worst. Even if it was the best thing to do at the time, I hated every second of it. I never thought I’d have the occasion to see you again and when you walked through the hospital's bedroom's door, I thought I was dreaming. I don’t know if you care about me as much as I do about you, but if it’s the case, I’d like to give us another chance. I still love you Y/N.” 

Emily lets go of your hand to stroke your cheek. Your heart misses a heartbeat while you try to regain your composure. When reality hits you, a tender smile makes its way on your face.

“I still love you, too, Emily.”

Without thinking, Emily throws herself in your arms and kisses you with such passion. Your hands get lost in her hair, wanting to press her as close to you as possible. Oh, how you missed her lips ! You wonder how you spent all those years without feeling them against yours. Emily deepens the kiss a bit more until you’re out of breath. You barely break the embrace, your forehead touching. You look at each other full of love, happy to finally be in each other's arms again, after all these years.

Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

[bakhiu]

Bad Desire

Nanami helps you understand why dating him would be better than casually sleeping with your boss Gojo.

read it on AO3 Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader Rating: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Office Setting, One-sided Feelings, Jealousy, Referenced Boss/Employee Relationship, Implied Gojo/Reader, Oral Sex, Alcohol Word Count: 1,623

“What kind of man should I be with then?” you asked with a dejected look. “Someone serious, someone like me.” Nanami replied without hesitation.

Last minute dinner dates are high up on the irritability list for Nanami Kento. Unfortunately, this does not apply to you. The two of you have worked together for a few years, your desks right across from each other in a shared office. 

Your frequent sighs and glances at your phone were not work related stress. You and Gojo have been casually seeing each other for six months. Nanami only knew this because you casually let it slip that you and Gojo hang out after work. You would show up the following day with badly concealed hickies on your neck. It was obvious it was much more than hanging out. 

The multiple scorned lovers of Gojo Satoru making an uninvited appearance to the office and causing a commotion was enough for Nanami to know Gojo was not the serious relationship type. You witnessed this firsthand seven months ago. His ex berated you, accused you of sleeping with him before storming down the hall screaming for Gojo to come out.

And yet, a month later, you and Gojo began casually seeing each other. He was currently working at the second office location and based on your reactions, he was leaving you high and dry. 

“Need help with the end of month reports?” Nanami asked as he glanced up in your direction. 

“Sorry, I’m just distracted.” You sighed as you put your phone in your desk drawer. “Hey, want to go out for a drink after work? We can celebrate finishing these reports!” 

“Oh, well I was planning–” 

“Nevermind!” you interrupted, your face slightly flushed. “What a silly thing to celebrate, especially at the last minute.” 

“I was planning on going to the bar on 5th street, if that sounds good to you.” Nanami responded, forcing himself to glance back at his computer. 

“I’d love to.” you replied, a huge grin replacing your embarrassed expression.

You swirled your straw around your half empty drink, sighing in the process. You were three drinks in with Nanami close behind, on the verge of finally asking why you are so down. Before he could interrupt your sighing, you interrupted. 

“Y’know Nanami, you seem like such a great guy.” you rested your cheek on your palm, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “How are you still single?”

Nanami took a long sip of his drink, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Eventually you broke eye contact, finishing the rest of your drink in a big gulp. 

“I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate.” you stuttered, still too embarrassed to meet Nanami’s gaze. 

“I’m just waiting for the right time to make my feelings known to someone.” Nanami replied, finishing his own drink. 

“How do you know when it’s the right time?” you asked. 

“You will know when the time is right.” Nanami motioned for the server to order another round. 

You both ordered another drink, promising it was the last round. Nanami was a responsible and logical person; you contemplated asking for advice on your relationship with Gojo. Your friendship (if you would even call it that) with Nanami was limited to friendly conversations in the office and courteous inquiries about what you did over the weekend. 

The server returned with your final round, check placed between the two of you with a reminder that the bar closes in thirty minutes. You immediately reached for your drink and took a gulp. It was now or never and if it ended badly, you would chalk it up to drunken shenanigans. 

“Nanami, what do you think of Gojo?” you asked, easing into the conversation. 

“As our boss, or something else?” Nanami questioned back, a small smirk following. 

You choked on your drink, not expecting a response like that. So he knows… you thought to yourself as you coughed and took a sip of water. After clearing your throat several times and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I guess as a romantic partner.” you replied, holding your breath as he contemplated a response.

“He does not have a good track record.” Nanami answered flatly. “You were verbally harassed by one of his exes.” 

“Technically she wasn’t an ex, just a one night stand.” you retorted. “Gojo told me that she would not leave his apartment and had to call security.” 

Nanami stared at you with a blank expression, waiting for you to realize just how ridiculous you sounded defending Gojo. You took another sip of your drink before inhaling deeply and deciding to be honest.

“So, Gojo and I have been casually seeing each other. He said he doesn’t want anything serious but I really like him and–” 

“He doesn’t want anything serious and you still want to confess to him?” Nanami interrupted, rolling his eyes in the process. “Please respect yourself and stop engaging with Gojo. Not only is he unserious, he is also your boss .” 

You gripped your glass, the cool condensation making your fingers slowly slide down. You knew he was unserious most of the time, but he made up for it in other ways. You had some great conversations…sometimes. You would go out to dinner…rarely. The more you thought about it, the more you realized it was a convenient hookup for Gojo. He did the bare minimum to keep you interested. 

Nanami reached for the check and left his card inside, setting it on the edge of the table for the server. You didn’t bother trying to argue about paying for your half, too wrapped up in your own thoughts surrounding Gojo. You had fun with him, isn’t that what matters? You could easily convince yourself to stop wanting a serious relationship, right? 

“What kind of man should I be with then?” you asked with a dejected look. 

“Someone serious, someone like me.” Nanami replied without hesitation.

The time between leaving the restaurant and being thrown onto Nanami’s bed was a blur. You stared up at him, pupils blown wide as he grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. Heart hammering in your chest, you watched with your lips parted as he slowly kissed down your torso, his eyes locked on yours. 

He pressed a soft kiss on your clothed cunt and groaned at how wet you were. He gently pressed a finger on your clit, smirking when you squirmed at the minimal touch. Nanami continued his ministrations over your pussy, intentionally ghosting his finger over your clit. You gave an annoyed sigh, bucking your hips as a silent plea.

“Please stop teasing, Nanami.” you inhaled sharply as he pushed your panties to the side and raised his eyebrow. 

Without missing a beat, he licked a long stripe against your slit, paying a little more attention to your clit but not enough to satisfy you. You moaned and pressed your thighs together, glancing down to watch as he slowly swirled his tongue around your clit. 

You were a leaking mess, your clit throbbing for more pressure. Nanami slipped a finger inside your pussy, but just barely. You threw your head back, feeling equally annoyed and aroused. He was definitely teasing you, or punishing you for wanting Gojo so bad. 

“Why are you teasing me?” you sighed as he slowly curved his finger in your walls. 

“You think this is teasing?” he mused as his thumb started circling your clit. “I could be worse.” 

You bit your lip, wondering if you should try and rile Nanami up by using your previous hookups with Gojo. You weren’t sure how Nanami would react but figured whatever outcome would result in you cumming…eventually. 

“Gojo teases me a lot.” you whispered, anxiety coursing through your veins. “Sometimes he doesn’t let me cum until the next day when we hookup.” 

Nanami raised his eyebrow as he pulled his thumb away from your clit, his tongue circling around it, savoring your essence. You gulped, unable to gauge Nanami’s reaction as he raised himself away from your body. 

“Lucky for you,” Nanami began as he loosened his tie. “I plan on making you cum multiple times.”

At least, that’s what Nanami wished had happened. He wished he could truthfully express his bad desire to be with you.

In reality, before you could question Nanami further, the server appeared and handed Nanami his card back. Nanami gave them a confused look before the server cleared their throat, motioning towards a customer sitting at the bar. 

“The gentleman over there covered your bill.”

You and Nanami turned around at the same time but had very different reactions. Gojo gave a smug grin and raised his glass to you both. Your heart skipped a beat, resisting the urge to run over to Gojo. Nanami clenched his fist and ground his teeth, annoyed that Gojo once again gave the bare minimum for your attention. 

“Should we go say hi?” you asked excitedly, already reaching for your handbag. 

“You two enjoy your time together.” Nanami answered flatly, placing his card back into his wallet and excused himself. 

You watched as Nanami walked away without acknowledging Gojo or saying good night to you. You hesitated for a moment, recalling your conversation a few minutes ago with Nanami. Was it really worth it to pursue this relationship with Gojo? Before you could ruminate further, Gojo appeared behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back. 

“You missed me so much that you entertained Nanami’s advances?” Gojo whispered into your ear, guiding you back to the bar. 

“Advances?” you questioned, leaning against Gojo’s arm. “We were having a few drinks as friends, er, coworkers.” 

“Sure, baby.” Gojo smirked as he helped you climb up on the bar stool. “Let’s get one more drink in ya before we go have some fun, as coworkers.”

[modern-day-bard]

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller AU Fanficiton

Content Warning: 18+ Minors, do not interact. This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut.

Chapter 11: Shatter

word count: 3.6k

Gwen

The Personal Security Nightmare needs to add nutritionist, sound expert, and fucking psychic to his resume. Apparently.

I suppose he could have become somewhat of a behaviorist over the years in his line of work…not that I really knew much about his work anyway. And I don’t plan to know. My interest has spiked in a very real, very stressful way, and I need to snuff that out as fast as possible. I know Nyah started to catch onto something being off when I asked her to give me Theo’s number. It had been a running gag for at least two years that every time Nyah had a photoshoot with Theo, he would find a way to ever-so-subtly bring me up in conversation.

He was about as subtle as a fog horn in a library. And he kissed like a fish out of water.

I tried to cleanse myself as much as I could in the car ride home which was increasingly hard to do with The Problem looking back at me every thirty seconds. I wouldn’t have had to go on that date in the first place if I hadn’t been so…moved by Joel’s arms around me the other day. Training me how to defend myself, and I can’t even fend off a few improper thoughts. Pathetic.

Joel was bolder than I gave him credit for. I figured Nyah would know I wasn’t telling the truth over the phone. I mean, she knew Theo. There’s no way I’d want to go on another date with that guy. And, she also knew me and how I view dating. I’m praying to any god who will listen that Joel could not hear Nyah say that this should push me enough to finally start dating. There would be no reason for Joel to have that information, and I have an icky feeling that he could somehow use it against me. Or that he would…look down on me or something. I’d expect him to react like he did with the guy from the club. What I hadn’t expected was not only for him to catch on so fast, but to call me out. How am I supposed to tell him that I’m not lying to Nyah, but instead trying desperately to distract myself from whatever happened the other day?

Thankfully, work has kept me busy. I might have wanted to set my desk on fire when I realized my dad refused to put me on the Isla Foundation, but attending meetings during the week and actually getting my hands on even analytical data has been a surprising reprieve from everything else. I missed working. I used to love to visit Russell Corp. and bounce around throughout the different divisions. Up until last year. Then I loved to travel, to leave.

Listening to Harper’s airy laugh though, that is one thing I loved about being home; my friends.

“I mean, you would’ve asked her to leave the wings on too, right?” She dabs a tear from her eye, still right on the verge of another fit of hysterics. In hindsight, Landon’s gallery opening might not be the best place to recount Harper’s private birthday festivities, but Nyah and I were too locked-in to worry. And Landon was too busy doing what they do best. They were currently flitting around the gallery, confidently chatting up what I could only assume were VIPs in the art-world.

“They didn’t, like, get in the way?” Nyah tips her head to the side, biting back a round of laughter herself.

“Well, I actually did get poked a couple times but…I sort of liked it.” Harper’s suddenly earnest expression is enough to make both Nyah and me crack up now.

“Oh, you got poked alright.” I wink at her and she hits my arm hard enough for a bit of my champagne to splash out of the glass. Immediately, she looks horrified by what she’s done, and I focus my attention on a painting a few yards away to keep from losing it again.

The atmosphere here was lively, but it wasn’t rowdy. Landon had successfully brought in dozens of New York’s finest, with Harper, Nyah, and me being the exceptions. Or as Landon liked to put it, “moral support.” We knew nothing about the beautiful pieces that surrounded us other than that they were, in fact, beautiful. I’ve been trying to pick up keywords for the past hour and failing miserably. Nyah and Harper have already given up, and the past three paintings we passed by, we decided it was best to admire them in silence.

“Oh!” Harper finishes a sip of her drink before setting her sights on me, “Landon told me you went on a date! How was that?”

“I mean I was trying to follow Landon’s advice…” I trail off, glancing around until I spot Joel. With the amount of people in the room, he’s certainly out of earshot, but he’s still close by. When I had seen him get into the elevator with only a black t-shirt and dark jeans on, I thought he’d look monstrously out of place. But he fit in here, surrounded by the paintings and sculptures. He’d even slicked his hair back a little today…I would never know he was on the clock if I was a passerby. He looked like any regular guy.

“You’re staring.” Nyah murmurs.

I whip my head around to face her, “I was double-checking his whereabouts. I don’t need him listening in on every conversation.”

“Especially if he can figure out you’re lying again.”

Harper’s curious eyes ping-pong between the two of us. “Were you going on a date to be normal and vet someone for once or is this…something else?”

“I just went on a date,” I say.

At the same time, Nyah says, “Oh, it was something else.”

“Someone just tell me before I get a headache.” Harper whines.

“Gwen freaked because she got hot and heavy when Joel was teaching her hand-to-hand combat so she went on a date with the first guy she could think of.”

“Hand-to-hand combat? It wasn’t military training, Nye.” I glance over at Joel, well, Joel’s arms again, avoiding their gazes.

“Joel turned you on?” Harper whispers, excitement sparkling across her freckled face.

“No! You know me, I’m only used to that sort of…closeness when I’m hooking up with someone. That’s all. It was a physiological response.”

The two of them exchange a glance.

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Are you still trying to make him uncomfortable?” Nyah asks.

“Um…” I glance at Harper, knowing the entire story will alarm her too much. “Not exactly.” There’s no real reason to tell them that someone was able to gain access to my apartment.

“So you like him then?” Harper asks with a smile.

“Absolutely not. I’ve just decided that maybe a bodyguard isn’t the worst idea. And as we said, they’ll just assign me someone else. Plus he seems to be immune to everything I tried anyway.” Hopefully that will ease her nerves slightly. If what Landon said the other day was accurate, she has been worried about my safety.

“That, I can buy. He didn’t even notice when I flirted with him.” Nye adds.

“Or the bottle girl at the club, or the waitress on Monday.” I mumble into my drink.

“The waitress was flirting with him on your date?” Harper asks.

“Mhm.”

“All I’m hearing is that you notice every time someone makes a pass at him. Territorial, are we, Gwen?”

I narrow my eyes at Nyah. “Not at all. It’s human nature to notice.”

Her amber eyes are just as challenging in return. After a pause, she grabs an extra glass off the tray of a passing waiter. “In that case, you won’t mind if I offer him a drink?”

I grip the stem of mine a little tighter. “Not at all,” I repeat.

“Lovely,” Nyah swishes away, leaving me seething and Harper dumbfounded.

Joel is still situated close-by, near the entryway. I’ve had my back turned to him the majority of the evening, so I’m not sure if he’s still doing his classic, ‘look at me until I look away’ bit. I try to subtly stand next to Harper so I can get a good look at him now.

“I am…glad that you’ve decided to keep him.” Harper says softly.

“You make it sound like he’s a kitten we found on the side of the road.”

She smirks at me. “You know what I mean.”

“I know,” I say, linking my arm with hers. “Landon told me that you’ve been nervous.”

Harper clicks her tongue, “They weren’t supposed to say anything—”

“I’m glad they did. I’m fine, Harper. Seriously. This whole thing is just a nuisance more than anything else.”

“That’s what worries me, Gwen. Even I have viewed you as untouchable before, but you’re not. People are clever. The technology available now can make anyone vulnerable—”

“Harper, I’m keeping him. He never lets me out of his sight. You don’t have to worry.”

She studies me for a long moment. “Okay, fine. It makes me feel just a little bit better.”

“Good. Knowing that will make it easier for me to swallow.”

We both turn our attention to Nyah and Joel now. She’s giving him her best doe-eyes and he’s smiling politely at her. I’m mildly shocked and moderately irritated that he accepted the drink from her, but I’ve yet to see him take a sip of it. Nyah throws her head back, laughing presumably at something Joel said, but he just looks surprised.

“You’re gripping my arm a little tight there, love.” Harper murmurs.

“Sorry,” I let go of her, feeling my cheeks heat up. A rarity for me. And the shame of knowing your embarrassment is on display for everyone else just makes it worse.

“Anyone with eyes would agree he’s attractive, Gwen.”

“It’s not that I don’t think he’s attractive…” Nyah places her hand on Joel’s forearm and squeezes.

“But?” Harper raises a brow at me.

I feel my chest get tighter. There’s been too many moments like these in the past few months. Times where I teeter on the edge of the cliff of truth, and I hope someone or something will come along and push me over. I want to explain everything, all the things I can’t tell her. How Joel could be planted here to track and report, not just to protect. How long I’ve been in limbo, and how he throws a massive wrench into my barely-formed plans. But the weight of what it would mean for my family holds me back from the edge, and I give Harper a small smile.

“That part is irrelevant. I think a lot of people are attractive, and a lot less aggravating.”

Not wanting to watch Nyah essentially shove her chest against Joel any longer, I fill Harper in about how he called me out for lying.

“Damn, he’s fearless, you have to admit.”

“We’ve barely spoken since. I’m trying to ice him out… He’s gotten too comfortable.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to protect you,” she tries.

“From what? Protect me from lying to him?”

“No, maybe he doesn’t know if you feel like you can trust your friends. Maybe he’s just trying to suss out who you are, I don’t know. It wouldn’t be that wild. Especially since he seems so uncomfortable with Nyah now…”

That gives me enough encouragement to glance back over at the two of them. I try to ignore the glimmer of delight when I see him bending backwards to create more space between them. I know Nye is just doing this to test me, but I still don’t like it. And, fine, maybe it makes me a little relieved that he doesn't seem to like it either.

“Ooo!” Harper squeals, pointing in Landon’s direction, “Boyfriend! He’s here. We have to meet him.”

Sure enough, Landon was embracing a cute, curly haired man on the other side of the gallery. Just when I thought I couldn’t be more proud of Landon, they actually invited their date to the opening. When they pulled back from each other, I saw that bright blue glasses rested on the tip of Elijah’s nose, and his eyeline reached Landon’s shoulder at best. He’s perfect.

Harper is already dragging me over, but not before she uses her champagne-filled hand to wave down Nyah, pointing frantically toward Elijah. She’s mouthed boyfriend three times before she splashes any alcohol over the rim, which is an impressive feat. Nyah waves us on, much to my chagrin. I can feel Joel watching me walk away, probably wondering if he’ll have to move to ensure that I stay within his sights.

Landon looks apprehensive introducing us to Elijah, who is understandably startled by how tightly Harper hugs him. I’m just surprised she didn’t start jumping up and down.

I make an effort not to joke about how Landon has never introduced us to anyone. I’m sure Elijah knows this by now, but I don’t want to embarrass them. Especially not tonight. I’m no gallerist, but it seems to be going well. The place is packed, people seem happy, and most importantly, they are engrossed in the art. The last thing Landon needs is their group of friends teasing them about their love life.

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Harper exclaims, and Elijah’s cheeks turn slightly peach. It makes me beam at Landon like an idiot.

“I’ve heard so much about all of you. I’m surprised we haven’t met before, we run in so many of the same circles I feel like we keep missing each other.”

“That’s probably because we only dip our toe in the art circle when we have Landon to guide us,” I say.

Landon smiles, “You all hold your own just fine.”

“I’m lost on some of this, even. I might be in the art sphere but I’m a sculptor. I start to get confused when it comes to paintings.”

“Maybe we could all get drinks sometime instead? Drinking, I understand.” Harper holds up her glass as a demonstration.

“I would love that!” Elijah has a smile that could warm your toes, and the way Landon drapes their arm over him makes my heart sing.

That is, until I’m startled by a hand on my lower back.

“Sorry,” Joel’s gruff voice sounds low in my ear. The hand is gone immediately, and I try to ignore the small tug of disappointment in its absence. To my right, I notice Nyah making her way over as well, eyes set on Elijah and Landon.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” Joel asks softly.

I nod, giving an apologetic smile to Landon, though they're already busy introducing Nyah.

Joel and I round the corner to another section of the gallery near the restroom. There’s less people in this corner, though a few waitstaff and patrons are milling about. The quietness of the area doesn’t seem to help, as Joel is wringing his hands, looking at anything except for me.

“What is it, Mr. Miller?”

With the mention of his name, his contemplative eyes meet mine. “At this risk of offending you again, I need to ask what that was all about.”

For once, I don’t have to feign ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

“Just give it to me straight, Miss Russell. Do you plan on making another escape tonight?” He places one hand on his hip, clearly agitated.

“At this moment I would like to escape, but no, I can’t say I made any preparations.”

“Then why send that friend of yours over to try to distract me?”

So he does understand flirting.

“By friend of mine, I’m assuming you meant Miss Abiola. And I’m shocked you were able to take the hint.”

His brown eyes turn molten. “It was supposed to be a distraction then?”

Exasperation coughs out of my lungs as I toss my hands up in the air, “No, Miller. It was meant to be a grown woman trying to get your attention.”

“My attention…?”

“She was flirting with you. Is having a thick skull a requirement for people like you? Does it double as armor?”

A spark of amusement appears and vanishes on his face in an instant. “Well, if that’s the case—”

“That is the case.”

“—If that is the case, I’ll need to have a discussion with your friends about those things. I can’t be distracted while I’m on the clock.”

I give him a once over. “I’m sorry. You had an actual model vying for your attention and that’s what you’re focused on?”

Joel takes another step toward me, and this corner, we’re less than a foot apart. “I’m focused on you. And I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

“Is that the same excuse for ignoring the bottle girl on Harper’s birthday? Or the waitress at the restaurant on Monday? You’re too focused on your job?”

He’s visibly confused. “What? They weren’t—”

“Oh, yes they were.”

“Miss Russell, I can promise I won’t entertain anything while I’m working. Is that what you’re worried abou—”

Glass shatters, and someone lets out a loud scream. In a split-second, Joel’s arm shoots out, pushing my torso until my back presses against the wall behind me. He turns, pressing his back into me with one hand resting on my side, as if to confirm I’m still there. The entire movement takes place before I can even register what’s just happened, before I can even take in another breath. I’m completely boxed in. A notion that would normally make me want to scream, to fight, to demand to be let free. But I didn’t feel trapped. I took one of my deep, calming breaths, and the smell of old leather and a spicy soap filled my senses. I felt…secure. Even though the only thing I could see was the cotton covering Joel’s shoulder blades.

A moment later, laughter ensues. I can hear an apology, someone explaining they startle easily, and another waiter saying they were going to grab some paper towels. I look down to my left, seeing Joel’s tense hand splayed wide, gripping my hip, and a familiar coil in my stomach forms. I shake my head a little, willing myself to focus.

“Um,” I clear my throat, forcing my voice back to normal, “Mr. Miller? I think we’re okay.”

Joel takes a half step away from me, turning to me first, examining my face as if something could have gone through him to get to me. I hold my breath, realizing his hand is still on my hip. I hate to admit it, but it makes me wish I had worn a skirt short enough to feel how calloused his hands were against—

Nope. No. Enough.

“It was just an accident.” My voice is much gentler than I expect it to be.

This seems to jolt him back into reality. He removes his hand, and gives me a nod that would have confirmed his time spent in the military, if Arthur hadn’t already said as much.

Joel peers around the corner, to confirm what I already suspected. It was just a spill, and one broken glass. Nothing so much as splashed on to one of the pieces. I haven’t seen him this…on before. He’s always a looming presence, but even now that we know it was nothing, he’s more electrified. His broad shoulders are still stiff returning to me, and the way his hands are pulled just slightly away from his body, it makes it look like he’s either going to grab me or knock someone out at any turn. For a moment, I actually want to apologize for Nyah’s flirting, especially since I gave her the go-ahead. When he said he was on the clock, he was really on the clock. But the moment passes when I remember his audacity to call me out on my lie the other day.

“Can I return to my friends now? Or would you like to detain the rest of the glassware on suspicion of grievous bodily harm?”

This time, there is no amusement on his face. Not even a flicker. He doesn’t look angry, exactly. Almost…pained.

“You can go,” Is all he says.

I pause, feeling like I should say something else. What I would say, I don’t know. Something to…calm him, I guess. Instead, I just look him in the eye one last time before rounding the corner, and finding Harper and Nyah by the front of the gallery. Landon is busy introducing Elijah to some of the older crowd whom I assume are very important.

“What was that about?” Nyah asks, inclining her head toward the direction I came from.

“He thought I sent you over as a distraction.”

“I see,” Nyah smiles proudly to herself, “Did you tell him I went over to prove a point?”

“Not exactly. I’m not even sure what point you were trying to prove.”

“Oh, the point was that it bothers you when other people flirt with your bodyguard.”

Harper’s eyes widen, but she keeps them on the floor.

“If I admit to your trivial point will you agree not to do it again?”

Nyah beams, “Of course.”

“Then fine. It bothers me. I feel…bad, Nye. He’s on edge. When we were talking, that glass shattered and you would have thought there was a bomb threat.”

They both glance in Joel’s direction, Nyah’s gaze curious, and Harper’s empathetic. “Well, don’t look!” I whine.

“Not going to lie, he does look tense,” says Nyah.

“Not to be a know-it-all, but maybe this just confirms what I was worried about.” Harper says, still looking at Joel.

“What do you mean?”

Her sad eyes rest on me now. “I just have the feeling that we need to start taking some of these threats seriously. He was hired for a reason. He knows that. He acts like it. And…maybe you should, too.”

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

[mr-mr-mr-mr-mr]

After minutes of Loomis trying to get it out, he still hadn't cleared it up at all for his friend.

“Do you want me to keep calling you Loomis-?” Vincent asked, confused.

“Yeah-! Yeah... Man, I hate this-”

That escaped Lom's mouth before he really wanted it to, if he did at all.

“I’ve never- just sat down and came out to someone, you know?”

Vin was so confused.

“Wh-”

He thought. Hard.

'I cannot be this stupid can I?'

…

'Holy fuck maybe I am that stupid.'

The ‘T’ in LGBT.

“Are you trans?”

Loomis cringed at the word. He also didn’t know if he was reading Vin's tone right, or if his own stress was twisting it.

Mind was reeling with what might happen in the next thirty seconds, a dozen possibilities at least.

He shifted his feet subtly. In case he had to move.

“Yeah,”

“No,”

He started to look like Vin again. The guy Loomis had danced with, not a threat.

“No! You- I just was not,”

Loomis lifted his mug again, laughing incredulously.

“That was.. a response I wasn’t planning for,”

'Of course, I shouldn’t have assumed he was clueless, or transphobic, just- Good lord. He’s chill. He’s fine with it,'

“Oh-”

'Why?'

“What response were you expecting?” Vincent asked, cautious.

Stirred the coffee cup again.

“Oh, mate, nothing personal,”

Lom put his other hand up, palm facing Vin. Still kind of winding down.

“Just like ninety-nine point nine percent of people wouldn’t have been so nonchalant,"

[addiesock]

Chapter one of something i’ve been working on like a rabid animal is out now! this is ch1 of Florally Right okay bye

Chapter 1` Sunshower Surprises

It was the worst weather of the season, and absolutely nobody was prepared.

Especially the plants. Especially Jimmy.

The shop's windows were all open and flowers surrounded the perimeter of the building, not to mention all of the inside plants that were sunbathing in the garden that had yet to be brought in for proper shelter due to Jimmy's lack of responsibility.

Easy to say, Jimmy was right panicked. His job requires him to check the weather the morning of his opening shift so he knows what to do with the plants and where to set them and he had forgotten because he woke up late and was already so stressed just trying to get to work. Not to mention he couldn’t grab coffee on the way out. In his defense, he thought it was nice when he stepped outside. The rain was a total sunshower.

“Oh gosh..” he mumbled, a half- exhausted/ half- stressed sigh releasing from his chest as the rain began to fall harder on his little garden shop. An assortment of flowers, vines and other specifically small and more delicate plants begin to gather in his arms as he races from the pouring rain to shelter. Not to mention, his coworker who was supposed to keep him in check today bailed on him completely! (She called in sick the day before).

After about thirty minutes of panicking, all of the delicate plants had been safely moved to their respective spots under the sunroof in the green room off to the side of the main entrance and he was now sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and his hands on his head, soaking wet. He never really liked the rain.

just then, as if his luck couldn’t get any worse, and also to his slight surprise. The bell above the entrance rang and he looked up to see another person, wearing only a red sleeveless shirt and dark jeans holding a bag that seemed to be meant for tools, also soaking wet and even more inconvenienced looking as Jimmy. The man then set his bag down on the floor as he walked in and reached a hand up to un- stick the blonde, almost fire like hair from the sides of his face.

Jimmy was rightfully shocked, not only because he wasn’t expecting someone to come into the shop anymore because of the horrid unexpected weather but also because they looked like they were dressed for a nice summer day. He guessed they hadn’t checked the weather either.

He stands up quickly and places himself behind the counter and begins tending to his wet clothes and looking under the counter for anything spare.

“Welcome to Canary Florals! We have plenty of shelter here.” Jimmy says with a smile and a customer service under-your-breath friendly laugh as he shakes his coat and apron off and replaces it with a new one, tying it around his neck first and reaching back to finish the second one before attaching his name tag back onto the apron.

When he looks up again, to properly address the customer, he notices that it’s a man who looks about his own age and he isn’t bad looking at all. In fact, he looked like the sun. Great. Of all the days to be drenched it’s when a hot guy comes in.

“Thank goodness. I can’t stand the rain.” the man says with a slight laugh, exhaling from his nose and making his way up closer to the counter. “It’s like it came out of nowhere, one minute I'm walking down the street looking for somewhere to get a coffee and now I'm..” he looks down at his clothes and grabs the end of his shirt for example. “..miserable.” his eyes squint as he laughs at himself, cringing at his unfortunate situation.

“Oh that sounds awful. Well you're lucky you found shelter here because everywhere else on this street is closed for the day. Something about closing early on Sundays? couldn’t be us.” Jimmy rambles in obvious nervousness, letting his customer service persona go and folding his arms on the counter at a clear attempt at looking cool.

He smiles at the blue eyed fellow in front of him and takes a look around the shop, noticing all sorts of plants, flowers, and signs covered in color that say things such as Flower Power! and Trust in the Sun! He also noticed different flower arrangements placed in the windows of the shop, including an unfinished one placed behind the canary, with flowers of blue, white and green. He had to admit, it was really cute. And so was the florist he assumed, standing in front of him. Despite them both being covered in rain.

“So, Jimmy,” he looks down at the blonde's name tag, “You’re a florist? ” He smiles kindly, leaning in with clear interest.

Jimmy's eyes widen and he looks down at his chest, forgetting that he had put that back on.

“oh, yeah, s’ just a hobby. Picked it up in college.” he looks behind him, gesturing to the bouquet in progress. “and now i’m here i guess. not that i’m complaining though.” he looks to the side, glancing at the various flowers scattered around the room. “i like what i do.” he looks back at the taller man in front of him and a look of guilt crosses his face. “Sorry for that” he laughs nervously. “what’s your name?”

The taller man’s face was rightfully amused, the canary in front of him was…mesmerizing almost. He snapped himself out of his thoughts to attempt to answer the simple question. “oh.. my name's Tango,” he reached down with one hand and picked up his bag from before, various metal sounds following the movement. “of the tek variety.” he smiled at the phrase, recognizing the fact of how lame it is and reveling in it.

the canary’s eyes lit up in amusement and he fell back laughing. Jimmy wasn’t sure he’d heard that irony of a dad joke since he’d seen mumbo drunk on a friday night.

Tango was left speechless. Again. he was sure that it wouldn't be a hit. and in his experience he’s the only one who ever seems to enjoy it.

before they knew it they had been talking for over half an hour, talking about flowers, cars, dumb dad jokes, and the rain. and as jimmy took his eyes of tango for a second, he noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun was shining again through the windows a dark shade of orange.

Tango turned around, noticing the sunset. “oh shoot.” he started to search his pockets for his phone, then his bag.

Jimmy looked up, his eyes questioning the comment.

“I was supposed to be back so long ago..” he let out a defeated sigh. “oh well, s’ too late now” he laughed nervously and met eyes with jimmy again with a smile.

“I wanna see you again. we should get a coffee sometime, maybe without any rain this time.”

Jimmy's eyes widened in surprise that this really smart and handsome guy was asking him out. His face probably resembled a tomato. “yes. absolutely i’m down .” he managed to choke out.

“great. i’ll uh-“ he checked his phone again and visibly cringed “i’ll see ya around!” Tango said as he smiled at the canary one last time and rushed out the door. Taking a sharp turn right and disappearing.

Jimmy was left absolutely speechless. the whole situation gave him whiplash. and the greatest (sarcasm)

part is that he was supposed to start closing ten minutes ago. although it was genuinely absolutely worth it.

find it here on ao3 ~

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter thirty-five

see my masterpost for what came before this.

Keyleth wakes slowly, consciousness washing over her like the waves lapping at the shore. She is in a bed. There are blankets covering her. Soft yellow light is filtered by drawn curtains, casting a warm glow through her eyelids, which she opens to see, oh, she is in her bedroom, the one with Vax's things tucked into drawers beside hers, the one in which Vilya was conceived, the one that has always, always made her feel safe, even when a castle with towering walls and a battalion of armed guards could not.

She is alone, which does not make her feel safe at all. The other half of the bed is cold and perfectly made, as if it has not been slept in. She pushes herself up to sit, groggy and sore, and calls, "Vax?"

It takes but a moment for the door to swing in, and there is Nel, circles under her eyes but smiling, and there, in her arms, is Vilya, clearly bathed and cooing happily. "Good morning," Nel says, before looking towards the curtained windows. "Or, good afternoon, rather. You gave us all quite a fright."

Keyleth barely hears her speak, arms reaching out for Vilya. "Is she okay? Did they hurt her at all?"

"No, Your...no." Nel quickly shuffles around the bed to settle Vilya into Keyleth's arm and, oh, Keyleth can already feel the tears clawing their way up her throat. "She is underfed, as you'd assessed, but I am not at all worried that she will be at a healthy weight again in just a few days."

Keyleth immediately sets to feeding her, relieved when Vilya latches right away. If it is afternoon, as Nel has suggested, then she has been out for many hours indeed, though she remains so very exhausted. "Where is Vax?" she asks.

Nel takes a deep breath. "He...he has been at the temple to the Raven Queen for quite some time now. He...well. He said that he was going to...beg."

Oh. Yes. Keyleth remembers now. There is a hollowness in her chest, the size of a fist, but it is growing, rapidly expanding, and she can feel it consuming her, inch by inch. "Tell me what happened."

Nel perches carefully on the edge of the bed, sadness etched into each corner of her face. "It was just yesterday. He had been meeting with his advisors, hopeful for news about Vilya or you or Whitestone. According to those in the room, he'd been halfway through a sentence when he just...dropped."

Keyleth stares, unblinking, down at her hungry daughter. She remembers being young, perhaps six or seven, and asking her father what happened to his parents. Her grandfather died just this same way, one second alive, the next keeled over, dead. A bad heart, they'd said at the time, but the same couldn't be true of her father. No one's heart was truer, more stalwart than that of her father, the one who'd loved her longest and best.

Of course, what stress Keyleth has heaped upon him these past few years. A war in which her life was threatened to the point that she'd required personal guards. An attack on the road to Syngorn. A peace ball turned into a slaughter in which her hidden magical prowess caused a great deal of scandal. A peace treaty rewritten under the cover of darkness. A secret affair with a guard, which turned into a secret marriage. A pregnancy that nearly killed her. A granddaughter snatched in the middle of the night. A flight from the castle, her own safety thoughtlessly tossed aside in pursuit of her daughter's. So much stress, so much strife—it is little wonder that her father's heart gave out under the strain.

Her father is dead, and it is her fault.

Nel reaches up to rest a hand on Keyleth's arm. She barely feels it. "It is good that you came home when you did, Your Majesty." Nel winces, but the words feel dead in Keyleth's ears. "These past twenty-four hours or so have been such chaos, what with no one knowing where you were and the presence of the Vesran heir, not to mention Mistress Pike not being present to begin the funeral rites—"

"The Vesran heir." Individual words break through Keyleth's haze at different times, making Nel's thoughts difficult to follow. "What...?"

"Duke Vallen. He arrived, what, two days after you and the others left for Whitestone? You'll remember that Duchess Uvenda has been sick for some time—" She doesn't, but then, she hardly remembers her own name at the moment. "—and the young duke came to request a visit from the sovereign before her passing. Of course, he had no idea what turmoil he'd find here when he arrived, and that was before the sovereign..."

Keyleth can't feel anything, not the muscles in her face nor the winter air on her skin nor the hungry child at her breast. Words have ceased to hold meaning, and she stares ahead, unseeing, as silence takes over the little bedroom. Vilya soon finishes feeding, and Keyleth stiffly adjusts her clothes just as the front door to the cottage opens, and she looks up to see Vax appearing in the doorway, face and hair spotted with blood.

It is only upon seeing him, the despair and the sorrow on his face, that the haze that had clouded Keyleth's mind begins to fade, and the horrifying anguish creeps in. Her sight goes fuzzy with tears, her breath coming faster and faster as she can no longer keep the misery at arm's length. The first choked sob bubbles up, shocked and loud, and Nel reaches to scoop Vilya up just as Vax comes around to pull Keyleth into his arms. She buries herself against him, wailing into his chest as she falls apart, collapsing under the weight of the grief and the heartache and the bone-deep, excruciating pain of it all.

.

Percy has seen dead bodies before. Their recent sojourn to Whitestone aside, the night his family was slaughtered, he saw Oliver, Whitney, and Vesper's bodies, and of course, Cassandra died in his arms—or, at least, he thought she did. In his time here in Zephrah, he has attended a handful of funerals, each for aged nobles, and he paid his respects to their open caskets. After the massacre in Syngorn, he watched Pike interrogate several corpses, a truly singular experience that haunted his dreams for several weeks to come.

But this. This is different. An altar of sorts has been erected in the throne room, mere feet from the Seat of the Ashari, and atop it, dressed in resplendent robes the colors of the Ashari crest, lays Sovereign Korrin, his hands folded neatly over his chest, his eyes closed. From here, it looks as though he might merely be asleep, as if at any moment, a young girl with flaming red hair might run up, tug on his sleeve, and ask him to come read her and Percy a bedtime story.

He walks closer. His steps echo around the throne room. He is alone, having asked the guards tasked with watching over the body to give him a few minutes. There was an initial hesitation; no one ever really learned what place Percy had in the sovereign's life, least of all Percy. He looks down at the man who gave him a home, a sister, a title. Even in death, he still seems so tall, so regal.

"The story of my life is one of second chances. The most recent of these happened just a few hours ago, when the man who killed my family did the same to me, but the first happened when I was a boy. I should have died between Whitestone and here, and when I didn't, I should have been shuffled off into an orphanage, to be cared for by some tired godly women and forgotten about.

"But you saw in me...well, I cannot imagine what you saw in me. I hope you saw the man I still strive to become some day, a man of unwavering courage, a man steadfastly dedicated to his people and his family, a man who wishes to leave the world better than he found it. I hope that when it is my turn to join you among the ancestors, you will not look back on the fallen leaves of my time here and feel regret for the chance you took on me. I am a man of pride, but yours, I believe, is the pride I seek most of all."

Percy blinks rapidly, willing away the gathering wetness in his eyes. "I am also a man of my word, and the word I give you is this: I will protect your family, as large or small as it may be, until my last breath has left my body. There is no evil I will not commit in order to keep them safe, because your family is my family, and I hope I am not mistaken in thinking we share a ruthless desire to protect those we care about.

"Because you did not just give me a home when you welcomed me into this castle. You gave me a sister." Despite his best efforts, the first tear falls. "You gave me a father. I foolishly believed I had experienced all the parental loss I would ever experience, yet here I am, just as broken and scared and lost as I was the night my parents were taken from me. I learned so much about being a man from you, and I can only hope I learned enough to be the man that my family, your family, needs me to be."

He takes a step back from the table and bows, bending so low his glasses nearly slip off of his nose. He straightens back up. "I wish you a swift journey into whatever awaits us next. Please do not worry for your daughter and granddaughter. I promise you I—"

One of the doors to the throne room opens slowly with a sharp, eerie creak, and Percy falls silent. A vaguely familiar voice behind him says, "I apologize, I did not realize..."

"Please." Percy turns to see a short man with olive skin and dark, curly hair dressed in a sea foam green doublet. "Come in."

The man, whom Percy remembers meeting on a handful of occasions, is Duke Vallen of Vesrah. The duke, head bowed in deference, approaches slowly. "I did not mean to intrude on your time with the sovereign. I merely wished to pay my own respects before the formal funereal proceedings are to begin."

Percy hums. "I understand. How long have you been here?"

"Only a few days. Believe me, had I known what tragedy I was walking into, I'd never have imposed myself upon the Zephran court. I feel foolish for coming at all."

"And you came because of the Archduchess?"

The duke nods. "Yes. My grandmother, too, is not long for this world, and, well, you know how fond she and the sovereign are—were—of each other. I was hoping he'd be able to visit her in her final days. Now..." He sighs, looking at the sovereign's still body. "Was he ill, do you know?"

Ill? Korrin was strong, fit, capable. Percy can't remember him being ill a day in his life. "Hardly, though I know his own father died suddenly of a heart malady."

"Tragic." There are a few moments of silence, and then Vallen jolts as if struck by lightning. "The princesses! When I arrived, the sovereign filled me in on the most terrible news regarding the young princess. Do you know—"

"She is safe." Percy smiles, though he is quickly growing weary of this inquisitive duke's company. "She and her mother both. They are...convalescing together in the cottage on the south lawn."

The duke runs a relieved hand over his face. "Thank the gods. There is only so much tragedy this nation can be expected to endure at once." He sighs. "I believe I have taken up enough of your time, my lord. I shall take my leave." He sketches a small bow toward Percy, though he is technically of a higher station, and a deeper one toward the sovereign. As he leaves the throne room, Percy watches him, and though he cannot pinpoint any offensive or disagreeable content in their conversation, he still possesses a small, niggling feeling of unease about the duke, one he can neither explain nor ignore.

[chvnnie]

Stars

lee minho x reader

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut, fluff - MINORS DNI

warnings: non-idol au, themes of depression/anxiety (reader is super sad), a touch of angst, light fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (can we not), dirty talk, minho is very possessive but what's new? marking, reader also is a lil possessive, i think that's it? if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: is a wedding really worth all this suffering?

kofi request: reader is going through a depressive moment & they proceed to have desperate, angsty, needy sex where member "fucks the pain away".

a/n: yeah no this is definitely the same minho from different and eternally. this is just a continuation of the reader's love story with him and i'm soft

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @raspbinniecreme, @humayraaaaa

Your head hits the wooden table with a thud, the pink binder softening the blow. Pressure builds at the point of impact, the soft throbbing sensation at the front of your forehead an almost welcomed alternative to the sharp headache you currently have. You focus on the thuds of the throbbing, counting each one as you lay slumped against the table.

There are seven days in a week, between twenty eight to thirty one in each month, and today, two days before you had to put a deposit down on a venue, was the day that everything decided to fuck up. Minho left hours ago for a “work emergency”, leaving you to make all the annoying phone calls with a kiss and a promise to be home as soon as he could. It’s impossible to get a hold of anyone, and then when you do, it’s like pulling teeth trying to get an answer from them.

No, they won’t have time to offer a second tour today. No, they’re not sure when they will have the time. Maybe they’ll call you back within the next week. Oh, you need this done in two days? Why didn’t you call earlier?

You did. You did call earlier. In fact, both you and Minho, AND your planner had called multiple times during the past month, trying to squeeze in just to check out a few little details. Like damn, we get it, wedding season is busy, but you can’t let three people in for less than thirty minutes to make sure this is the place they want to wed? 

Fuck, they’re really hanging a cloud over what should be the happiest day of your life.

In no way did you think planning a wedding would be easy. You’ve watched countless friends get married, been involved in more weddings than you could remember. You know that the planning period is the most difficult, overwhelming part of it all. You were prepared for immense frustration and never ending tears.

But you didn’t think you would feel so sad during the whole thing.

There was no one on this earth that you would rather spend forever with than Minho. The two of you share a connection that is more than earthly, more than spiritual. It’s a deep bond that twirls around your bodies, binding you together in a dark brown silk and making the two of you one. There’s a warmth that only he gives you, a comfort that only comes from his embrace.

All you want is to marry him. To celebrate the love you share for each other with the people you care about the most.

Then, why is this so fucking hard?

When Minho slipped the emerald ring on your finger, the last thing you expected the upcoming months to contain was a nagging sadness that just wouldn’t go away. This is supposed to be one of the most exciting times of your life, and you’ve spent half of it curled in a ball, sobbing, the stress of it almost unbearable.

You want to marry Minho. You’re more than sure of that. 

So then why are you so sad?

The front door opens, Minho’s voice echoing through the entryway as he speaks quickly to someone on the phone. He seems rushed — not bothering to untie his shoes before wiggling his feet out of them, slipping on the tile floor as he glided to where he left you. You roll your head to the right, catching a glimpse of him comically hopping on one foot as he tries to remove the sock from the other. He’s still chatting away as he switches feet, leaving his socks by the fireplace as he zooms to where you sit on the couch.

“Thank you so much.” He sounds out of breath, quickly ending the call before throwing his phone on the couch. Cupping your face, he brings you in, pecking your lips over and over until he can pull a small giggle from you. “I have good news.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, tilting your head in his hands. “What?”

“There’s a wedding at one of the venues tonight.” His words are still rushed, and judging from the breath that fans over your face, it’s from all the coffee he’s consumed within the past two hours. “Large event, I’m talking close to 450 people.”

You can’t even begin to process how anyone knows that many people, chest filling with the annoying sadness at his words. There was a couple getting married tonight in a venue you desperately want, and you can’t even get in for a quick tour? “Oh. Okay-“

“Like that’s a ton of people. More than we know combined.”

Unsure of what to say, you simply nod your head, waiting for him to get on with it.

“So I was thinking, if they’re unwilling for us to get one last look, why don’t we sneak in?”

You blink at your fiancé, jaw dropped just an inch as your mind spins with his suggestion. “You want us to crash a wedding?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say crash-“

“What if we get caught?”

“With that many guests? Baby, they’ll have no idea. We’ll just blend in with the crowd. It’s not like we would be there long; just enough time to get a good scope of the place and then we’re out.”

As much as you hate the idea, he makes valid points. You two would be in and out in less than an hour, and what’s two extra people in a crowd that large? Besides, it might be nice to see the venue during a wedding instead of staged. It will give you a better idea of how to plan things.

When you sigh and click your tongue, a triumphant smile spreads across his face. Minho bounces onto his feet, quickly gathering his things as he heads towards the stairwell. “I need to iron my suit, but do you think you could be ready by 8:00? I want to slip in mid reception so we’re less noticeable.”

Giving him a nod, Minho blows you a kiss before he rushes up the spiral staircase, all but running to the master bedroom. You stare at the open binder in front of you, the neat to-do list barely checked and staring at you. Waiting for your next move. Pricking you with a sense of dread that makes your small sadness painful — tenderly bruising you.

///

It’s a beautiful space. Truly, it is.

The venue is old, dating back to the beginning stages of the country, only renovated when absolutely necessary over the years. Both the flooring and ceiling are original, as are most of the pillars that support the building. The best part, one that’s a million times more stunning now that the sun has set, is the wide glass ceiling in the reception hall. On a clear night like tonight, all the stars are visible, buzzing with excitement and blessing the couple below them.

Neck craned, you stare up at the stars, watching the way they twinkle and shine. In them, you start to imagine your own wedding. The lace of your dress against your arms, the flowy gown brushing against your legs as you walk. Minho, in his attire, with a smile that rivals the stars for beauty, and he’s looking right at you. Only at you, even in a room full of people and a sky full of beautiful stars.

That. That’s the moment you want. The moment you’re waiting for. The moment you’ll want to freeze time to relive over and over again.

Your mind flashes with images of the to-do, reminders to send our invitations. When’s your next dress appointment? Fuck, have you found a photographer yet? Why hasn’t the florist gotten back to you?

You breathe heavily, lips trembling as you try to hold back tears. Minho was right, you fit perfectly in the crowd. Nobody has spared either of you a second glance or questioned your relationship to the couple. The last thing you want is to catch unwanted attention, for someone important to realize that you don’t fit in here. So you bite your lip, hard, trying to count all the stars you see tonight.

An arm loops around your waist, the familiar scent of Minho washing over you as he pulls you into him. “So,” he places a kiss on your temple “what do we think?”

“It’s nice.” Your voice cracks as you speak, turning your gaze to your fiancé.

There’s no use hiding your emotions from Minho. He catches on immediately; using the hold he has on your waist, he pulls you into a hug. Face hidden against his shoulder, the tears finally begin to fall as you grip onto his suit jacket.

“What do you need?” He whispers into your hair.

“Wanna go home, Min.”

As quickly as he can, without garnering too much attention, he guides you through the busy hall, taking you straight to the car. He helps you in the passenger seat where you shakily curl into a ball, leaning against the door as your depression takes over your senses.

Minho speeds through the night, dodging slow cars on the highway to get you home as soon as he can. He knows you better than you know yourself — he’s fully aware of the toll that planning this wedding has taken on you. As much as he’s tried to help, he knows there are things that he can’t assist with, leaving him to watch the stress pile up and weigh you down.

The car slows as you approach the stoplight just outside your neighborhood. He hasn’t heard you cry in a while, giving him confidence to reach out and grab your hand. 

“Almost there, my love.”

You let him lace his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly for the rest of the drive. Finally, the car comes to a complete stop just outside your house. 

Minho jokes that this home was the best financially irresponsible decision he’s ever made. Everyone teased the two of you for months as you house shopped; isn’t it too early to buy a house? You’ve only been together for a year and a half, shouldn’t you start with an apartment first?

“You don’t get it.” He told Chan one day when he thought you were out of earshot, punching his older friend’s arm. “She’s not just anybody. She’s my somebody, man. She’s already my home.”

That was four years ago. Four years ago, Minho was confident that this was more than a college sweethearts thing. This relationship was the only one that was ever going to matter in his life; it was a forever thing. Hearing him say those things to Chan when everything was still brand new was what pushed you to sign the lease. To pack up your limited belongings and move in with him. This home is where your love story truly began.

Looking at it now, the stars and moon offer just enough of a glow to help you make out the details — the windows, the patched up hole from where Seungmin and Minho hit a baseball into the siding, the front door — should relieve you. Should lift the stress off your shoulder.

Instead, it makes you cry harder. God, why can’t you just be happy? You have everything you could possibly want, and yet, you’re still sad. There’s still a pain in your chest that just won’t leave, no matter how hard you try. And for what reason?

“My love.” Minho whispers, reaching over the console to rub your back. “Can you take a breath with me?”

You nod your head, even if the hiccups you’re releasing prove that you really might not be able to. Softly, he counts to three, making you breathe in with him, then counting to five as you release the breath. Over and over he counts until your hiccups have subsided, heart beating a little more evenly.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Minho knows. You’ve told him several times that the weight of planning this wedding is getting too overbearing. You’ve cried in his arms in the early hours of the morning, stressing over little details that people keep hounding you about. But hearing you now, describing every detail of your sadness and pain rips his heart to shred. 

He knew it was taking a toll on you, but not to this extent.

Once you’ve released every thought, does he speak again, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. The tender flesh of his finger presses into the hard stone on your ring. It cuts into it just enough to send a jolt of pain up his arm, reminding him of the weight of all of this. “Do you still want to marry me? Because if this is all too much, we don’t have to do this.”

It’s not the question, but the tone of his voice that just shatters you. The slight wobble to his words, raspy and threatening to break.

“Of course.” You answer quickly, cupping his cheek with the hand he isn’t holding. “God, Minho, that’s all I want. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your partner forever.”

He swallows while nuzzling into your hand, eyes shutting as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I just wanted to make sure. So what can we do? How can we make this easier on you?”

It’s a tough question, and no matter how hard you think right now, you can’t come up with an answer. The pain is just too much, consuming your brain and not letting you think about anything else.

“I just want to be with you.” You whisper, pressing your forehead to his. Minho lets go of your hand, copying you and placing it on your cheek. “I just wish this pain would go away.”

Your words resonate with him, chest vibrating with just a taste of the hurt you’ve felt the past couple of weeks. If only he could take it away, distract you with something else, even if just for a few moments.

The first kiss is careful. Barely touching yours, his lips move slowly, humming at the taste of your lipgloss. The second is a bit deeper as you begin to kiss him back, mimicking his motions and tilting your head a bit. By the third kiss, it’s deeper than ever, quick with an urgency to taste the other. To breathe in the other’s scent and let it consume one another.

Minho’s free hand lands on your hip, nudging you in his direction just an inch. You pick up on what he wants, climbing over the console and into his lap. Knees on either side of his thighs, you hold onto his face as he pushes the seat back to give the two of you more space. 

“Let me help.” He breathily whispers between kisses. “Let me fuck your pain away, darling.”

He affirms his request by biting your lip, pulling back and letting go before his kisses move to your jaw. 

“Please.” Your voice is shaky, but no longer with sadness. With need. If there’s something you can never get enough of, it’s Minho. “Please, make me feel better, Min.”

The hands on your hips bunch the material of your dress, beginning to hike it up as your head rolls back to give him better access to your neck. Your hands fumble to his belt buckle, shakily undoing it and moving to the button of his slacks.

“Wanted you all night.” He grunts against your neck at the feeling of the light touch of your hands against his growing erection. “You look so fucking good in this dress, baby. Could’ve taken you in the middle of that wedding.”

Both his words and the feeling of his fingers against your clothed clit make you gasp, back arching the tingling that’s covering your legs. 

“All I could think of is how good you’ll look in white.” He moves out of your neck, chin resting on your cleavage as he looks up at you. The fingers sneak into your panties, immediately moving to tease your hole. “How everyone is going to look at you and know you’re all fucking mine.”

Without warning, he pushes two fingers into you, moaning along with you as the digits fill you up. He doesn’t stop until he’s knuckles deep, and then doesn’t even bother to pull out fully. Just hammering into you harder and harder.

Minho hissed when your hand comes in contact with his cock, harder than he thinks he’s ever been. It’s a little ridiculous how needy the thought of you being his forever person makes him; cock painfully throbbing as it screams to be inside you. 

If only he knew you thought the same. When you think about a lifetime with Minho, it doesn’t feel like enough. Time is too short, forever isn’t long enough. Even eternity can’t compare; you need him until universes cease to exist, until all the stars burn out and explode and then some.

“Fuck me.” You moan, unable to take just his fingers any longer. “I need to feel you.”

His lips crash against yours, this time in a more desperate, aggressive fashion. Like you’re devouring each other’s faces as you pull his cock out completely and lift your hips. Minho grabs your hips, swallowing all the moans you give him as he sits you on his length.

There’s no time to take things slow; the windows steam with your shared heat as you quickly begin to bounce on him.

“Tell me.” You whine as your head rolls back. “Tell me you’re mine.”

He chuckles, arms wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against his body as he begins to bite the swells of your breast. “Oh honey. I’m always all yours.”

The car fills with a beautiful melody of moans and skin against skin. Neither of you can take your hands off each other; yours pulling on his hair while Minho’s keep you steady, helping you bounce on his cock with ease. 

It’s in this moment that you realize none of it matters; the pain has eased and the sadness is nothing more than an annoying speckle that’s easy to flick away. So what if planning has been a nightmare? You would relive the nightmare over and over again as long as you always end up with Minho in the end.

Good thing he refuses to let the nightmare continue, tip of his cock hitting your g-spot in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Minho!” You cry, trying to move your hips faster to get more of him.

“That’s it, baby, scream my fucking name.” He says with a laugh that gives you the chills. It sounds so possessive, so claiming. “Let everyone know who you get to spend eternity with.”

It doesn’t take much more before you’re hitting your highs together, curses and praises mixed together as you milk each other. Your head lolls back, staring up out the sunroof as you try to ground yourself by counting the stars. Minho’s cheek rests against your chest, kissing the bruised skin as he attempts to catch his breath.

The idea hits him hard, eyes squinting shut as he kicks himself for not thinking of it before. Not moving from the very comfortable resting spot on your breast, he breathily breaks the silence. “What do you think about eloping?”

©: chvnnie 2022

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can you write a small blurb with yan!mom Alcina Dimitrescu with a fatigue reader?

Mother

You did not feel like getting up. You would rather let the warmth and comfort of your bed continue to envelope your aching body than to have to leave it for the cold that was Castle Dimitrescu. But alas you had lessons to tend to and Mother had planned to personally teach you how to play the piano today. Who were you to keep her waiting again?

The halls of the castle seemed colder today and for a moment you wondered how your sisters were fairing with the colder temperature. You knew what the cold did to them after all.

‘Were the halls always this long,’ you thought to yourself. Your legs were starting to ache and your feet hurt, almost as if you had been walking for sometime now but the hallway just seemed to get longer and longer. It felt like you would never reach the end anytime soon.

A sudden feeling of dizziness washed over you. Your head felt like it was swimming and you were having trouble keeping your balance. Stopping in your tracks you leaned yourself up against the nearest wall, allowing yourself to slide down into a sitting position.

Your eye lids felt so heavy, it was becoming more of a task to try and keep them open at this rate. Maybe some rest wouldn’t hurt. ‘Just for a second,’ you told yourself. Then you would start making your way to mother. She wouldn’t mind if you were a little late, would she?

Alcina was starting to grow a little frustrated by now. You were making her wait on you yet again. It had been thirty minutes past the designated time you were to start your piano lesson and she was starting to hear the ticking of the clock in her head. Was it too much to ask for some mother-child bonding nowadays? Sighing, she guessed you were probably sleeping in again. Having had enough of waiting around for you, Alcina decided it was about time she made her wake up call. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s had to drag you out of bed.

Strutting down the hallway, Alcina is greeted by her three other darling children. “Bela. Cassandra. Daniela. Have you seen (Name)? They’re late for yet another lesson.”

“No, Mother. We haven’t seen them since last night.” Bela answered.

“Oh? And what were you four doing so late into the night?” Alcina questioned already knowing the answer. She knew very well that her girls would sneak into your room to spend more time with you. As much as it warmed her heart, Alcina hoped they weren’t stressing you out. She knew her girls could be a bit much and you were already giving as much as you could to all of them.

“We were playing games with our little (Name) as usual.” Cassandra spoke up.

Alcina quirked a manicured brow, “And what games were you playing?” She inquired.

“Hide and seek!” Daniela excitedly responded.

“I hope you three are not exhausting our darling (Name). They aren’t like us, you know that. They need their rest otherwise they’ll get sick.”

“But they’re doing just fine, Mother! Besides, we know to be really careful with them.” Daniela exclaimed.

“Well then, why don’t we all go wake up our little sleeping beauty?”

“Yes!” The three chorused. Any chance they got to interact with you the girls would happily take.

Following their mother down another hallway of the castle the girls couldn’t help but to be giddy. They adored you and wanted nothing more than to spend all their time with you but that was easier said than done. Especially when regarding Cassandra and Daniela. Bela could share, even if she didn’t want to she was at least willing to, but the other two were awful when it came to sharing. Particularly when it came to sharing their new sibling. They all wanted your time and attention and that lead them to fighting even more than usual. Mother had to step in to keep them from ripping each other’s throats out.

Lost in their own thoughts, the girls hadn’t realized their mother had abruptly stopped walking causing them to run into her. Poking their heads out from either side or her, Bela, Cassandra and Daniela all looked curiously as to see what had drawn their mother’s attention. Their eyes fell to the curled up form of their treasured sibling on the floor.

Worriedly, Alcina made her way to you, gently moving some of your hair away from your face. You were sleeping but that didn’t take away any of her concern. If anything it only worried her more. Why were you sleeping on the floor? Why did you look so pale? And why were you so cold to the touch?

“(Name)? Darling? Are you alright?” Alcina soothingly tried to wake you. She was filled with relief when you started to stir, even if it was only a little bit.

“Tired. So tired.” You mumbled.

Her heart clenched at seeing you so obviously unwell. Gingery picking you up, Alcina held you close. Piano lessons could wait. You needed your mother more than ever and she was here for you.

Alcina and the girls walked in silence as they made their way to your room. It wasn’t until Alcina had lied you down that any of them spoke.

Bela was the first to break the silence, “Mother, will they be alright?” Her voiced was filled with concern for her sibling.

Alcina never took her eyes of you as she spoke, “I’m sure they just need some much needed rest and they’ll be back to their normal self.”

“Did we cause this, Mother?” Bela asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

Her mother didn’t respond right away, probably finding the right words to say. “Not necessarily, dear. But you girls certainly didn’t help by keeping (Name) up and running around at ungodly hours.”

Bela, Cassandra and Daniela all put their heads down in shame. They hadn’t ever intended to hurt you. They just wanted to stay with you and spend even more time with you. Their selfishness caused them to overlook what was more important and that was you and your wellbeing.

“It’s not completely your faults, my darlings. I blame him.”

‘Him?’ The girls wondered.

“Heisenberg and his unrelenting need to make himself a part of our (Name’s) life. They don’t need him but he’s insistent on being a nuisance as per usual.”

The girls perked up at this. Uncle Heisenberg was never safe from mother’s wrath. She’d use any chance to blame him for anything but the girls were fine with blaming Heisenberg too. He had been trying to take their precious sibling away after all. (Name) was their’s, fair and square.

“Oh, my darlings. Let’s not talk about the likes of him now. We have more important matters to tend to.” Alcina pulled back the covers, making room for herself as well as her daughters. “Why don’t we all stay and watch over (Name)? We can warm them up and be here when they wake up.”

Smiling, Bela, Cassandra and Daniela followed their mother and took their own spots in your bed. After getting settled with Alcina having laid you comfortably on her person, and the girls on either side of the both of you, enveloping you in their combined warmth and love, Alcina began to softly hum her darlings to sleep.

Looking down at her sleeping children, Alcina couldn’t suppress the loving smile that made its way to her lips.

She loved them.

She loved you.

She loved her little family.

[neoheros]

atsumu usually never gets calls from you.

it's something he's asked you about before, something he's teased you about too, but when it all came down to it, your explanation was simple - what's the point in calling when everything you need to say can be texted?

of course, he called you silly for thinking that, and you explain to him - in excruciating detail - about the time you had to call your econ teacher to ask about the syllabus and it was just about two minutes of "hey, how are you? i'm so sorry to call like this." and thirty seconds of actually getting an actual answer.

point is: you don't call people. not if you can help it.

so when atsumu's phone rings, not once, not twice, but three actual consecutive times - he had to make sure you didn't misdial him - and it had your name on the screen.

he knew something was up.

"they messed up the batch." and it's your voice immediately coming to him a second after he answers the call.

you sound stressed, and it's only half past noon, so atsumu takes a step away from his team, thanking whomever he can that you called exactly on his lunch break.

he speaks into the phone, "hey, what's wrong? what's going on?"

"the dry cleaners." you tell him, and there's a hint of a groan seeping into your tone, "they messed up our batch and now my glove is missing."

the glove.

it's a stupid thing to be stressing about especially in thirty degree weather, but atsumu knows just how much that thing means to you.

it's the pair of gloves you wore when you took the uni entrance exam, it's what you wore when you and atsumu signed the lease to the small apartment you guys are living in now.

and most importantly, when atsumu first proposed to you - he didn't really have a ring to give - so in honor of putting something on your hand, he took one of your gloves and slipped it on you like it was a ring.

you already lost one of the two a few months back, so now that you might not see the other one too? atsumu understands why you're upset.

he chews on his inner cheek, "okay - where are you?"

and you reply, sighing deeply, "i'm at the library."

you're not one to believe in superstitions, but with the test you have coming up in two hours, you really wish you had your lucky glove right now.

"i'll come get you," atsumu says, his hands already picking up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

he's got about an hour until his break is up and your university isn't even ten minutes away, so he's got more than enough time to play hooky with you right now.

you tell him, "no - it's okay - you don't have to."

and atsumu, already ready to go, tells you, with a stupid grin on his face, "yeah, but i have someone here who'd love to see you too."

you called atsumu at 12:02 PM, and not even ten minutes later, he's here - walking into a library full of stressed out college students, still in his jersey, and looking to meet you.

you look up at him the second you hear the doors open, and you're usually very happy to see him - especially when he's in his jersey, hair a bit slicked back, sports bag strapped on his shoulder - but this time, it's not really that that gets you jumping out of your seat.

"hey, look who i found." atsumu gives you a smile, pointing with his thumb to the person next to him.

and you beam - "oh my god, rin!"

and suna gives you a smile that's just as excited as yours, his eyes slightly crinkling as you stand from your seat to let him envelop you in one of his embraces.

you pull back, "what're you doing here?"

"we had playoffs with their team today," atsumu answers, his grin awfully proud, "i would've told you when i got home, but."

and you shake your head understandingly, "i feel like i ruined a surprise."

"nah." suna shakes his head, "you saved me from atsumu dragging me to your house for dinner tonight."

your shoulders rise, and you fake a scoff, "he was gonna take you out on a date? behind my back?"

and suna nods, his smile teasing, "at your house too. can you believe this guy?"

“right,” atsumu rolls his eyes, and he looks at you, “cause i’m definitely cheating on you and i thought that the best date spot for me and him is at our home, which we share, where you will also be at.”

so you scoff, "i never said you were smart."

and suna nods, "you know he never really was."

your shoulders rise as you laugh at that, and suna raises his hand for you to high five, the same humorous glint in his eyes from high school still showing as he laughs with you.

"it's just like high school all over again." atsumu shakes his head at the two of you, and for the first time since they've got there, he takes the seat across from where you used to sit.

suna doesn't sit down, instead he puts a hand on his hip as he grins, "i have a lot of stuff on you from high school, you know."

"rin," atsumu groans, and he glares, "if you don't shut the hell up."

"he had such a big crush on you." suna tells you anyways, his cool demeanor not once faltering, "he'd make us take the long way to school so we'd 'accidentally' bump into you on the way."

(and atsumu's glare crumbles. the pink from his ears cascading to the rest of his face.)

"oh my god, you had a crush on me?" you look at atsumu, your eyes crinkling as you tease, "that is so embarrassing."

and atsumu, rolling his eyes, deadpans, "we are literally married."

to which you repeat, "sooooo embarrassing."

suna snorts, and atsumu, this time who has fully given up on the whole glaring thing, says, "you are uninvited to my house."

(and suna gives you another high five.)

it feels like it's been forever since you last saw suna. the last time the three of you had been together like this was at kita's birthday, and even then, you all seemed way too busy to actually hang out.

so, seeing him now? still connected and bonded with you like not a single second has passed? well, who cares about that stupid glove anymore.

suna takes a step to sit on the chair next to atsumu, but before he can, his phone rings, and he looks at you, brows slightly furrowing.

"i have to take this outside." he shakes his head in annoyance, but before he goes, he takes another step towards you.

suna hugs you again, "it's so good to see you." and he pulls back, kissing the side of your head.

and he's off to go outside.

"what? i get no kiss?" atsumu calls out to him, and for a second, suna turns around, subtly flashing his middle finger and flipping him off with a teasing grin.

atsumu laughs, this time looking at you, "so that basically means he loves me more than you."

"i've got tough competition." you nod, coming back to your seat.

and it's just the two of you again.

he sits comfortably in front of you and you do the same for him, and it's almost like the two of you are just there to ... be there. to just sit together for a while, to just look at each other, and he loves it.

"hey," atsumu smiles.

and your shoulders rise, "hey."

atsumu breaks away from the little staring thing the two of you had going on, and for a second, his attention is on his sports bag as he gently rummages through it.

he finds whatever it was he was looking for, and looking back at you, his smile easily reaches his eyes.

"here." and he hands you a glove.

it isn't the glove the dry cleaners lost, but its the other pair of it that you "misplaced" a few months ago.

"where did you get this?" your mouth falls, the traces of a smile peaking through.

and for a second, atsumu pauses, and he just shrugs.

he tells you, "i keep this one in my locker."

you can't seem to stop smiling, "why?"

what was that saying? i carry your heart with me all the time? atsumu feels like he's read that somewhere before, but he never did get the chance to forget about it.

the glove that means so much to you - it probably doesn't hold as much meaning to him, if he's being honest - but for some reason, he still keeps it in his locker, because every time he sees it, he thinks of you.

he shakes his head, "just because."

"just because?" you frown, but the crinkle in your eyes doesn't go away, "that's all i'm getting?"

and atsumu, with the playful, teasing, haze he still has in his eyes, leans in closer to you - his smile getting wider when you do the same - and with a quick laugh, he pulls you in with his hand.

and he kisses you, because that's all he's been wanting to do since you first called him this morning.

its a simple, quick kiss, nothing too deep or rushed. it was just him, his eyes closed, smiling against your lips for however long he can stretch a second.

"that's all you're getting." and he pulls back, the smile on his face the same, but a different pink dusting his nose.

you shake your head, laughing, "wow, being married to you is getting me nothing at all."

and atsumu says, scoffing, "yeah yeah, just make sure to give this glove back to me when you get home tonight."

i carry your heart with me all the time, i carry it in my heart.

[thefanficmonster]

Friend Appreciation Day

Corpse Husband & Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Platonic FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse shows his appreciation for Y/N on the perfect day - best friend appreciation day.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for the request, I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to get to it sooner but here it is now and I hope you enjoy reading it if you still come across it! Love, Vy ❤

It’s just another regular day for Y/N minus the stress of having to get out of bed and force themself to get ready for work. They took a day off, saying there was a family emergency they needed to tend to but in actuality they just wanted to relax this Saturday. Saturdays are for them and their friends who are unfortunately all busy regardless of it being the ‘friends’ day. On top of all, it’s also friend appreciation day which Y/N has never exactly celebrated in any particular was by they’ve always acknowledged and they wish their friends would do the same

But oh well, they’re all adults now and they all have responsibilities that call for their friends’ understanding. They aren’t kids anymore and they have to own up to it.

Unsure of what to do with their day off, Y/N decides to head on over to Twitter because you know what they say - there’s always something on Twitter. It doesn’t have to be any quality entertainment, it just has to keep you occupied scrolling down a thread or two and boom! - half a day has gone by without you noticing.

That isn’t the case for Y/N today though. Instead of getting stuck in an infinite scrolling cycle on their timeline, they come across a tweet from their best friend Corpse. He is one of their few friends, if not the only one, who’s maintained his childish side and shows it via his streams and videos. Y/N couldn’t be more proud of him. They’ve been friends since they were four, with their moms knowing each other and all, so it’s a two decade friendship that neither of them were too certain in at the time. They weren’t the closest in middle school but grew quite close, literal partners in crime in high school. Although Corpse dropped out because of all the trouble he was getting himself into, it was only after Y/N fought blood and fire to keep him in school because, you’ll admit, he studied more than you did or even cared to do.

He was the one who got them through the rest of high school and never once asked for anything in return.

That’s when they moved away to go to college and basically stuffed him in one of their suitcases cause he followed suit and came to live with them but only after they begged and pleaded and promised he wouldn’t be a bother.

Pushing the incoming nostalgia aside, Y/N clicks on the link to the stream he had started about thirty minutes ago. They are not a gamer per se, but they do enjoy watching other people go through with video games Y/N could never stand. That includes horror games, they don’t do horror games. They are very big fans of Corpse’s narrations and love horror stories in general but when it comes to video games and movies of the same genre they couldn’t find it in themself to care for the jumpscares those pieces of media bring with them.

Surprisingly, the link leads Y/N to a stream that isn’t one consisting of a video game and several other people’s voices mixing together. All they hear is the soothing lo-fi music playing faintly until Corpse speaks up again.

“Yeah, I have a couple new songs in the works but I’m not going to release them anytime soon. I’ll need help to finish the tunes and lyrics. A friend of mine is very good at it.“ He pauses for a second, presumably looking through his chat for another question. A second later he chuckles, “No, it’s not Dave. I mean, Dave and Joel help me a lot too but this is a different friend I’m talking about. They are the hustler of all hustlers and a real music genius to go along with it. At all high school parties they were the DJ. They helped out with the choir and with the musicals our high school barely had the budget to finance. What matters is that they made their own money with music gigs to get themself into and through college. Yeah, I know, they’re incredible.“ He pauses once again, chuckling to himself, “Along the way they also coached this miserable excuse of a musician. They helped me train my voice, they taught me the basics of sound editing and compiling the instrumental with the vocals. They taught me a bunch of shit I’ll always be in debt to them for but I never could’ve asked for a better tutor. I bet all I got that no one else would’ve had the patience to deal with me.“ Corpse wheezes at the memory of the countless times Y/N had to count to ten in order to prevent themself from smacking him across the face for his sarcasm and overall childish behavior he exhibited every once in a while.

“So I owe them my entire discography but Y/N, if you’re watching this, don’t get ahead of yourself - I repay you everyday by cooking dinner cause you’re hopeless in the kitchen.“ Corpse states with a chuckle but Y/N knows he’s serious. And his claim is spot-on, actually, he does actually cook 99% the time and that 1% is when they decide to order takeout which Y/N pays for without any questions asked.

“There, now you know the history behind my music. And a big thank you to PurpleDuck17 for informing me it’s global friend appreciation day. I completely forgot about if but there you go, that entire story-time is even more fitting and appropriate now. I just hope Y/N saw it.“ Corpse pauses for a second, the scroller of his mouse getting picked up by his mic, “Ok, moving on now...”

Oh boy did they see it and boy do they have something to say about it

*  *  *  *  *

“Dinner’s ready!“

Corpse’s eyebrows shoot up before they furrow in confusion. His stream finished a bit ago and now he’s taken to editing a project he’s been working on for quite some time. But that’s besides the point.

He’s the one usually yelling that to get Y/N’s attention, not the other way around. This probably means they either ordered in food or attempted to make something themself - and Lord does Corpse hope it’s not the latter. It’s not like he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture and the overall effort Y/N probably put into it, but he’s not looking forward to dealing with food poisoning either.

Reluctantly but curiously, he opens the office door and peeps his head out through the opening, sniffing the air which smells of freshly boiled pasta, he just can’t put his finger on the kind of pasta. It’s a crucial element of this entire mystery, ok?!

Making his way down the hall, he finds the small dining table in his and Y/N’s shared kitchen set and ready, waiting for him. Y/N doesn’t notice his presence though, they’re too busy flying around the kitchen, fetching different spices to add to the table. When they turn back around to grab the two glasses and the bottle of white wine they left on the counter, they see their messy haired roommate standing in the doorway, looking suspicious as all hell.

They, on the other hand, just flash him a big smile, “Hey! Come sit down.” They motion towards the table. 

Corpse doesn’t let them instruct twice and follows orders, sitting down comfortably, his eyes never leaving Y/N who grabs the glasses and bottle as well as the bottle opener. They’ve always had a way to crack bottles open one way or another which is why popping the cork is a piece of cake for them. He could never.

“Ok, I’m gonna ask: what are we celebrating?“ He finally spits out the question that’s been turning over and over in his mind, wondering if he had forgotten an important date or something. Y/N is not the type to get angry with him, but he knows he’ll be angry with himself if that’s the case.

He takes the glass they happily hand him, taking one of their own, “Friend appreciation day! I thought you knew.”

Corpse silently sighs in relief, “Ah, ok. I know it’s today but it’s just that we never celebrate celebrate it. Never like this, I mean.“

Y/N shrugs, bringing their glass in the air once they sit down, “A little change never hurt nobody. I thought I’d make this year special since it’s the fifth one of us living together and all.”

He nods clinking his glass against theirs before the two simultaneously bring them to their lips and take a sip.

“And to prove I’m not hopeless in the kitchen” They casually comment right before they take their own sip.

Corpse nearly chokes on his as a result, sending Y/N in a fit of laughter at the look of both terror and remorse on his face. Now that’s why they’re besties - because they’re dumbasses together.

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