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heartfulselkie · 3 years

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I had a need after talking about Adrien being left-handed/ambidextrous on the APS discord. So here’s a little fic snippet of Marinette finding out Chat Noir is ambidextrous because I really love this idea and now need more of it.

I might add this into one of my main fanfics later. -------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you have to stand over me like that?” Marinette grumbled, her pencil coming to an immediate stop. Chat stood over her shoulder, looking down at her open sketchbook. As soon as he saw her irritated expression though he backed away with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, you looked like you were having fun so I wanted to see what you were drawing.”

She hid her fond smile by rolling her eyes. Chat’s curiosity was cute a lot of the time, but on occasion it was a little overbearing. Especially when she was trying to work on some of her designs. She eyed one of the pages she’d torn out of her book earlier, having already decided to scrap the design she’d drawn on it. Grabbing the page and a handful of colouring pencils, she thrusted them in his direction.

“Here, knock yourself out.” she said as she waved them at him. She’d meant it as a joke, to poke fun at how he was like a child that needed constant supervision and entertainment. But as she saw his shining green eyes widen in excitement she quickly knew he’d taken her seriously.

He hesitantly reached out for the paper and pencils, “Really? You don’t mind?”

“Uh...no. Not at all.” she answered awkwardly, now feeling a little guilty for trying to tease him as she saw his enthusiasm increase.

He took one of the magazines from her desk and promptly sat down on the floor next to her. Resting the page she’d given him on the magazine, he set to work colouring in the half finished sundress design she’d given up on. Her own curiosity stopped her from immediately going back to her own work as she watched him. Chat hummed to himself, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully coloured within the lines she’d drawn. As she watched the pencil meticulously move over the paper, she realised something she hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re left handed.” she stated with quiet amazement.

Chat’s head snapped up to face her, looking almost alarmed as he met her eyes. He seemed to almost shrink into himself then as his gaze settled back on the pencil in his hand.

“Oh, yeah. Sort of.” he murmured.

“Sort of? You’re literally using your left hand right now. How is that ‘sort of’?”

Chat let out a shy laugh as he used his right hand to rub the back of his neck, “I’m actually ambidextrous.”

Marinette stared at him in disbelief for a moment, “What? Seriously? That’s...that’s actually kind of cool.”

She pretended to not notice the slight pink in his cheeks as he ducked his head away, “I normally use my right hand most of the time. So it’s something people don’t really notice.”

“Why though? I mean, you weren’t always ambidextrous were you? Did you teach yourself or something?”

Chat suddenly looked a little uncomfortable as he gave a shrug of his shoulders. He passed the pencil he was holding from his left to his right, fidgeting with it as he tried to answer her.

“I used my left at first. But when I got older and started going through schooling my...my father said it was better if I used my right. He said it was cleaner and more professional.”

Marinette frowned, leaning forward in her seat as she tried to catch Chat’s skittish gaze, “You know that sounds really dumb, right?”

“It’s fine, really.” he answered hastily, “I mean, I’m able to use either hand for most things. I use my right hand usually, but sometimes I slip up and use my left.”

“‘Slip up’? It’s not a mistake to use a preferred hand. You can use whichever one you want.”

“It’s okay. Besides, my writing doesn’t get smudged when I use my right.”

As if to prove his point, he wrote out Chat Noir on the page in a very smooth cursive using his right hand.

Marinette sighed as she turned back to her sketchbook, “I guess, but that’s hardly a reason to tell someone that they have to change their dominant hand. There’s plenty of pens and other stationary for lefties to use anyway. It just sounds kind of dumb to me to tell someone they’re using the wrong hand when there’s nothing wrong about it.”

She couldn’t see what kind of face Chat was making now, but she heard his soft hum as though he were agreeing with her but only for the sake of it. After a minute or so she could hear the sound of him colouring in again. She didn’t really feel like working on her own sketches anymore, so she settled for quietly watching him instead.

“Can I see?” she asked after a while.

Chat lifted his head again, his green eyes meekly looking over her. He turned his gaze back to the page for a moment before lifting it up and handing it over to her.

She smiled as she took the paper into her hands, “You added a rainbow.”

He grimaced at the comment, “Is that bad? Did I do it wrong?”

Marinette exhaled a gentle laugh as she looked at the arched rainbow added into the background of the drawing. She could tell he’d taken extreme care to not do anything that might mess up the dress she’d drawn, as the colours were kept so neatly within the lines and done in even strokes.

“No, I actually like it. And I don’t know what you were worried about. I don’t see any smudges or mistakes.”

His green eyes lit up with surprise, shining at her as he looked at her in awe. The honesty of his expression caused a bashful tint of pink to appear in her cheeks.

He gave her a crooked smirk, “Thanks. But it’s just because I’m that purrfect.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a snort, “Being perfect has nothing to do with it. Especially when it’s someone else’s idea of perfect. You’re allowed to do things how you want to do them sometimes too.”

His cocky smirk faded, softening into a shy smile as he lowered his gaze again.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, Kitty.”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #marichat

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katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

A harem collab in which we go to a party with our v precious hero 18+ Smut boooiiii

Sitting across from him never did get easier. As much as you told yourself it would.

If anything it got harder and harder to share the same room as him, let alone air.

But you were lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to join the agency when you did and to be partnered with your big time crush FatGum. Although you idolized him you were sure he didn't remember you.

And how could he? He saved countless people a day so it should be no surprise that he had no idea who you were on your first day. Still, it stung.

And it shouldn't still sting or come to a surprise when he sets down a flyer on your desk. A huge smile on his chubby cheeks as he taps the sheet of paper.

"Can you believe it?! The agency is throwing a new year's eve party!" He practically gushes, lingering by your desk with his intoxicating smile. He rummages in his brown bag, setting breakfast onto your desk careful to avoid getting grease stains on the flyer as if you'd hang it up one day instead of shoving it into the trash.

"They have one every year." You shrug, thanking him for the breakfast but tossing the paper into the trash can. His smile never waivers as he pulls it from the fresh bin, returning it to the smooth wooden top.

"Yea but not at a fancy hotel and never an open bar! We should go!" His eyes crinkle in the corners and your heart hammers in your chest.

Little do you know he prays to the Gods you don't say no.

"I dont know, it's such short notice. Like next week ain't it?." At least it wasn't a no. He smiles, thinking of your competative behavior.

"Oh I see what it is." He takes the sheet from your desk, waltzing to his own, "You're scared."

"Tch, scared of what?" You hiss, snatching for the paper.

"Scared I'll out drink you!" He laughs at your cute scowl as you size him up. His metabolism was insane, and with him being in his larger state you might not be able to win.

But he didn't have to know that.

"You fucking wish you could out drink me! Remember the last party we went to? You showed your age and could barely stand!"

"Oi! I was much thinner then. I think luck is on my side this time." He slaps his belly and you smile. A genuine laugh fills the room causing Taishiro's heart to clench.

"Yea, yea." You wipe away a tear, "We'll see."

The day drags on and on, turning into a week of you glancing his way. Making sure he wasn't gaining any extra weight as he brought you your normal breakfast daily.

It wasn't until the day of the party did you gain the advantage, a fight almost turned wrong and Taishiro had to use majority of that stored fat for a deadly punch to stop the villain from terrorizing the city.

Still you'd never want this type of advantage just for a stupid drinking contest. Although he was not at his largest, he still had a considerable "dad bod" going on.

"I still can't believe they had a tux in this size so late!" Taishiro shouts into the locker room at the agency, adjusting his tie as he waits for you. Meanwhile nerves eat you alive as you stare into your reflection, wondering if this dress fit okay, smoothing the fabric over your stomach self consciously.

"You okay in there? We're gonna be late." He calls softly, hoping you aren't having second thoughts about going with someone like him.

"Coming!" You call back, glancing at your deep amber dress a final time before rushing into the hall.

"I was just thinking you were going to forfeit and then I-" Words die in his throat and he drinks you in. Beautifully complimented by the shape and color of your dress as he mouth hangs agape.

"Wow. You look…"

"Tai, I know, I look...different."

"Amazing, perfect, breathtaking." He gives you a pointed look, "Which is no different than how you normally look."

Heat creeps up the back of your neck and you're thankful he misses your flustered expression. The walk to the hotel and the brisk cold air gives you time to not only cool off but think.

Really reflect on the year, this horribly rotten, all bad luck year. Reminding you of all the times you had failed but also reminding you of all the opportunities you had missed. And not opportunities in the sense of promotions or saving people but opportunities to get closer with a certain somebody.

You glance up at him and he glances down at you, smiling in a way that sets your skin on fire and yet it makes you feel at ease.

Slowly you were coming to hate it.

"I'm excited that they decided to invite some smaller agencies. Means I can introduce you to some of the kids I interned. Well I guess they are adults now huh." He looks nostalgic, sad even as he stares into space. Opening the door to the large hotel and it the look sticks with him until he is just before the party doors.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." You huff as he places his hand on the small of your back, bringing you into the rented ballroom. Lights and sounds consume your sense as music dances around light conversation. You're beginning to wonder if a drinking contest was such a good idea that is before you see the CEO of your agency totally shit faced. You glanced down at your watch, it was only 8pm.

Taishiro guides you around the room with a "starter" drink, introducing you to old and new faces. Beaming with pride as he introduces you as his partner and not his sidekick like other heroes had done in the past. You hated how much your heart raced.

"And this is Kirishima! He was one of my best and most memorable! Kids got guts and heart in spades!" He slaps Kirishima on the back and the young man slumps forward with a sharp toothed smile.

"Aw come on, I wasn't that great…" He scratches the back of his head.

"I heard that's when you became 'unbreakable'! I think that's so cool!" You gush over the young hero complimenting him to no end.

"Stop. You'll give me a big head." He smiles, blushing furiously before his eyes wander to the closeness of the two of you and then they settle on your drinks, "You're not trying to out drink the infamous FatGum are you?"

You laugh loudly before leaning in close as if to share a secret.

"Oh, yes and I plan to kick his ass."

Kirishima returns your smile and stage whispers

"Taishiro-sama has lost a good bit of weight. I believe in you!" He winks before someone across the room calls for him, "Call me when you get really started!!"

Two hours pass and you find yourself sitting across from your partner with his sleeves rolled up. Showcasing those deadly forearms as he slams back another shot. Kirishima keeps tally on hotel stationary and announces the number of shots.

"You'll have to take five to be in the lead! You'll have two minutes to decide to forfeit or-" But before he can finish you're grabbing for one of the prefilled shot glasses.

"Kanpai!" You shout, slinging them down, ignoring how the room is spinning and how bright the light reflects off of the table full of empty shot glasses.

Kirishima's eyes widen as you down an extra shot for good measure, tallying the booze count with worry.

"Fat hero." He says, almost gritting his teeth, "You'll have to take seven to be in the lead."

The large hero leans on his forearms on the table, the alcohol he's had had mostly been processed and maybe your figured that out. That he was starting to lose his edge so he takes you up on the challenge knocking back the several shots as if they were water. You're eager to gulp down a few more praying it drowns out your feelings for the sexy man across from you, instead he lets his broad hand hover over the shot glasses. Silently giving you a reprieve and noticing just how much you're sweating, how blown your pupils are.

"Let's give it a minute shall we?" He smiles as you drown in his golden eyes. Biting at your lower lip and with a defiant grip you swallow down a final shot.

"Your turn." You focus hard to make sure your words didn't slur, not wanting this feeling or night to end. He snorts, shaking his head wishing you acted out any other time than this.

"I forfeit." He places his hands up and you glare at him as you wonder if he did it on purpose. Before you have the time to accuse the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer, the room lags as you try to place names with faces as they come close to congratulate you. As more and more people crowd you, the hotter the room feels. Politely you excuse yourself to an enclave balcony closing the doors tightly behind you as you gulp down air, desperate to cool off and douse the desire that burns hot in your belly seeping to your core.

"Fuck." You rake your nails through your hair as a hit of icy air skates along your skin leaving goose flesh in its wake. A steady warmth comes from behind you, voice deep as he speaks softly. You can tell he's using the same tone he uses on victims, trying not to startle them with his size.

Little did he know how much you loved how much bigger he was. A safe haven, protection embodied.

"Ready to go home?"

"No I'm fine! Perfectly fine." He sucks his teeth at your stubborn reply, leaning in close with his hands in the pockets of his tux.

"You look flushed...you seem out of it."

"I'm totally of sound mind!" A bark to which he laughs, giving in to the liquid courage as his large hand tilts your chin towards him. Flirting with a line he swore he'd never cross.

"Yea, if you're so sound of mind, would you let me do this?" He asks, leaning closer, lips almost brushing yours. Your breath mingles with his in little puffs of fog agaisnt the cool air and suddenly you're burning again.

From the inside out.

His lips touch yours, gently, passive at first and if he's trying to fight against his urges. Slowly he breaks away, amber eyes glued to your mouth before he sighs. Hoping he didn't just fuck everything up.

In an instant you're drawing him back to you, hands in his golden wheat hair and your fingers weave through the strands. Mouth opening and demanding more as his large hands grip onto your ribcage as if you'd float away.

And maybe you would, you felt like you could.

Frantically your hands demand more, exploring up his shirt, touching across his stomach and digging your nails down his back. His own hands follow suit, gripping at your ass and tits, memorizing every luscious curve until he is drunk off of you and you only. You moan into his mouth and with that he loses all restraint.

Shoving you against the harsh brick building, fisting your hair to tilt your head for better access, exploring your mouth with his well skilled wet muscle. Hands trailing beneath your dress to find your dress, squeezing at your thick thighs and when you moan in approval he moves higher and higher still until his fingers brush against the damp fabric. This time it is his turn to groan as he presses his hardened cock against you, your hips move to grind against his large fingers.

"Please Tai" It is soft, breathy, sending him into a frenzy as he gives you exactly what you want. Letting his fingers slip beneath the fabric to gather the slick between your folds, gently rubbing against your throbbing clit. You arch against his touch, exposing your neck to him, he leans over and bites. Placing kisses along your throat, making sure to be careful enough to avoid marks before his hazed brain causes him to speak.

To confess.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?" He asks, plunging his fingers into your tight heat, stretching you as you mewl, "Ever since I first laid eyes on you. Kamisama you were perfect. And tonight. Fuck baby. Wearing my eye color for all to see. You want people to think you're mine?"

"Yes, Taishiro. I want people to think I'm yours." You moan, fucking yourself on his fingers before he takes over. Setting a quick pace before he curls his thick fingers just right, in an instant you're creaming against his digits. Crying out as he overstimulates you before he covers your mouth with his broad hand, reminding you just how much he dwarfs you.

It makes you cum again and again and he corners you against the wall. Cock twitching as he laps up your sinful faces with a gluttonous appetite.

"Please Tai, pleeeasse."

"What's wrong baby? My fingers not enough?" His cocky tone drives you mad and your hips buck against his touch before he withdraws from your heat. Panting he levels his gaze yo you.

"Is this what you want?" Peppering you with kisses as if you could deny him and his godly hands.

"Don't make me beg Tai…" You rasp, he gives a devilish smile.

"Then I won't." His hands slink up your dress, gathering it at your waist as on skillful finger pulls the overly damp underwear away from your soaking sex. He frees himself and you swallow, not realizing just how large he was, for a moment you worry you won't be able to take him.

"I'll be gentle." He coos, easing himself in an inch at a time as your stretch around his thick cock. Pussy fluttering as it adjusts to his size, he gathers your legs to his sides, squeezing your hips to keep from rutting into you roughly. He pistons his hips slowly, watching your face contort as he angles himself just right. Sensual thrusts have your legs and pussy squeezing him so deliciously tight. Still he worries he's going to hurt you.

"You okay?" Alcohol lingers on his breath and you swallow him whole with a kiss. Moaning into his mouth softly as he rocks you into one of your most intense orgasms to date. It's a slow build, undeniably intoxicating as his steady pace hits your spongy soft spot and his pelvis rubs against your clit. The coil in your stomach snaps and your body clamps onto the behemoth of a man tightly, stars dot your vision as he continues to fuck you through it.

"God you're so beautiful ya know? So responsive to my touch. Taking me so well baby." He purrs against your ear, "Makes me want to keep this pace all night."

He keeps true to his promise, bringing you to new heights at the steadiest of paces, causing you to lose count of how many times you've cum on his length. Pussy attempting to milk him dry as he palm swallows your screams. He looks at your features, your makeup running from delirious tears, mouth fallen opened in a propetial O as your hair clings to your skin.

"Kamisama you're like art." He kisses your quickened pulse, "Ready for me to fill you love? You're squeezing me so tight…"

He groans and all you can think of his him and the searing pleasure that courses through your veins to settle in your over sensitive heat. His cock twitches and you want nothing more than to be stuffed full of the Fat Hero's fat cock and his cum. But words are lost in your hoarse throat and all you can do is nod, moaning his name as if it were a prayer. It's all the encouragement he needs, quickening his pace as the crowd inside grows louder. Counting down from 10.

It's all lost to you and his hips snap against you, the brick scraping against your shoulders as his grip on you becomes so tight you're sure you'll bruise. Your body hyper aware of every little sensation as you drown in pleasure and warm amber sun, he groans, painting your walls in hot ropes of cum, your vision spots as your body arches to meet him as your spams a final time while his lips crash to yours.

All the while fireworks erupt over head, bringing in the new year on a literal high note.

He huffs, sweating as he looks at you, still buried to the hilt. Swiping his thumb over your cheek and running mascara before he breathes out so gently.

"Happy new year baby."

#fat gum x reader #fatgum x reader #fatgum smut #bnha x reader #bnha nye event

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

lockdown lovers ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: lockdown!au. spencer goes from expecting his days to be filled with books, books and more books to books, an asshole cat, and a cute anonymous neighbour. 4857 words

a/n: i was so excited about this and stayed up writing it so i hope you like it too :)

masterlist

It’s three days into lockdown when Spencer notices the cat.

It’s a Maine Coon, he recognises instantly, but there’s this distinctive… dead look in it’s eyes. The body is huge – so fluffy it looks like the cat has a mane, ears invariably up straight and large enough that the eyes look beady in comparison. A mixture of white and grey throughout, the cat spends its days lounging across the windowsill of the apartment in the building next to Spencer’s.

He’s fascinated. How can a cat be so big, so ugly, yet so lovely?

He has to know more.

If he was anyone else, he’d argue the obsession is the fruit of going stir-crazy in his apartment. A lack of seeing his friends combined with having to work cases from home would be the perfect justification for Spencer to move his work station to the window facing the cat.

But this is Spencer. He’s happy being stuck home. He just likes the look of the cat.

He spends a good twenty minutes rifling through his stationary to find a piece of paper and the appropriate pen to jot a note for the cat owner. He thinks the owner must be stuck home, too, so if he sticks the note to his window and waits a day, he could know the cat’s name within twenty four hours.

They’ve had plenty of staring contests. Spencer should know his rival’s name.

So he does. He takes his time writing out the words “I like your cat. Do they have a name?” clearly on the paper, then spends a good five minutes deciding where on the window to stick the message.

He decides on the upper left corner. You won’t miss it.

The cat blinks sleepily at him as they watch Spencer tape the question up.

There’s an answer within three hours.

Spencer is too excited to be embarrassed at how enthused he was when he noticed the response.

Or when he saw the name.

Hi there! His name is Mr Darcy :) He’s a dick x

Spencer can’t help but profile the writing, the syntax, the grammar.

The first thing he notices is there’s a feminine lilt to the way you write – you’re a woman, most likely. The writing is slightly messy, indicating high intelligence, and the use of a smiley face and a kiss makes him think you’re younger in age. If you live alone, which you must because you live in a one bedroom apartment, he can safely guess you’re around his age.

And Mr Darcy… you’re a bookworm. At least for romance and the classics.

Spencer likes Mr Darcy. He has so many questions, suddenly, like how is Mr Darcy a dick and how old is he and why does he never seem to move from his position by the window and what is your name and who are you and do you happen to read a lot of books? Like Ray Bradbury? Please say yes.

He shocks himself. Maybe this quarantine is getting to him more than he realises. He hasn’t felt this excited since Maeve.

He hasn’t been this intrigued since Maeve. And the circumstances are similar, he realises.

No. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Spence.

He worries himself into a spiral when he begins thinking about how to reply. As if she can hear his whining, Penelope calls him.

They’ve made it a habit to call one another a lot. She recently taught him how to use his webcam and has been encouraging him to write more on his computer, rather than by hand.

“Good afternoon, my favourite Doctor.” She sings. He hears some shuffling in the background and can tell she’s baking.

“I need your help with something.” He cuts straight to the chase.

Her interest is piqued, “Oh? I am all ears.”

“Remember the cat I mentioned?”

“The ugly-but-beautiful majestic beast that, if you believed in reincarnation, would’ve been a high class gentleman in his past life? Yes. I think about him every day.”

“His name’s Mr Darcy.”

She lets out a screech, a mixture of a groan and moan that is filled with pure glee. “Of course he’s called Mr Darcy! Tell me everything. How do you know?”

He’s clearly impressed with himself when he says, “I asked.”

“Whoa.” Penelope freezes in her kitchen. “Are you, Doctor Germaphobe, breaking the lockdown rules?”

Spencer feels insulted. “No! Never! I stuck a note to my window, like in that viral tweet you sent me.”

She chuckles, “Well, I already told you I could’ve told you everything about Mr Darcy and the owner if you wanted me to. I am incredible.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Garcia-“

“But it’s morally wrong. Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. What have you said back?”

“That’s what I need your help with.”

Garcia is only a little surprised he’s asking her and not Derek. But, then, as much as she loves Derek, he’s a bit too.. much for someone like Spencer when it comes to love. Spencer approaches people gently, hesitantly, often giving the impression he doesn’t even want to be there.

Derek can have anyone on their knees within minutes.

Different tactics, that’s all.

“Alright, pretty boy. How long have you been talking? Purely through window messages? What else has been said?”

“Well,” He begins, clearing his throat, making eye contact with Mr Darcy, “We’ve only spoken once. When I asked for Mr Darcy’s name. You know, studies have shown that animals can form lifelong friendships with other animals, even if they’re not from the same species.”

“Spencer.”

“Most research has focused on chimpanzees, baboons, horses, hyenas, elephants, bats, and dolphins - but there’s no reason to think that friendship is exclusive to these species.”

“Spencer!”

“What?”

“You’ve spoken to them once?”

“Her. Spoken to her once. And it wasn’t speaking, it was writing.”

There’s a long sigh down the phone. “First of all, how do you know the owner’s a girl?”

There’s movement in Mr Darcy’s apartment. Spencer stares. “The way she writes.”

“Uhuh,” Spencer can hear her stirring something through the phone, “And what was the last thing said?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow – is that a person? Is that the owner? Is that her? Oh my god.

“Spencer? You still there?” Garcia looks to her laptop, checking the call is still connected.

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. The last thing she said was his name is Mr Darcy and he’s a dick.”

“Oh,” Garcia smirks, “It’s sexy hearing you say dick.”

In normal circumstances, Spencer would register her comment and give a very distinct huh, but he’s distracted.

He sees Mr Darcy meow. A hand appears, petite, with fingernails painted yellow that have smiley faces on them. She brushes Mr Darcy’s fur back, pulling so the skin around his eyes tugs up high and he looks stupid. He seems to like it, though.

She must like smileys, he thinks.

Mr Darcy stands and stretches. He’s alarmingly long.

It’s silent on Garcia’s end, where she looks confused at the sudden silence. She checks again that the call is still connected.

“Spence?”

“Still here. Sorry. I thought I saw her.”

“Oooo,” She’s all giddy, “What does she look like? Is she pretty?”

“I couldn’t see her properly. I can tell she’s too cool for me already. This was stupid.” He sighs, “Forget I said anything. I’ll take knowing Mr Darcy’s name and move on with my life.”

Spencer moves to hang up, but is interrupted by a loud “No!” being shouted at him by Garcia.

“No, Spencer! No! You write something back to her right now and you form a friendship with someone that isn’t one of your colleagues. I love you with my whole heart, and you know that, but it would be good for you to expand your social circle!” She grins and bites her tongue between her teeth, “Aaaand.. this could be the start of a quarantine romance. God, I miss dating.”

At the mention of romance, Spencer visibly flinches. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go, Garcia, thanks for calling.”

“Love you. Please marry her so Mr Darcy can be the ring bearer.”

And she hangs up. He’s left contemplating whether he should respond, and what he should respond, as he watches the empty space where Mr Darcy is absent.

It must be dinner time for him.

+++

I’m curious as to how someone named Mr Darcy can be a dick.

That’s a good response, right?

Right?

It lets you know he gets the reference, he knows who Mr Darcy is named after, and leads you to continue the conversation. It’s perfect.

It’s taken him nearly two hours to come up with it. He feels exhausted.

He sticks it on the window, where Mr Darcy has returned to, and huffs out a breath.

He reminds himself to be calm and cool. This is simply a way to pass the time during quarantine, there’s no need to put too much pressure on himself to think it’s anything more or to put more effort than is necessary (he says, after spending two hours formulating a response).

Calm and cool. Cool and calm. Neither are words Spencer would ever use to describe himself.

Spencer stays up until nearly 1am reading. Just before he sleeps, he walks to the kitchen to get some water, and can’t resist checking to see if you’ve responded.

You have. He ignores the way his heart speeds up.

He used to share the windowsill with my other cat and a bunch of plants. Now he bites anything that attempts to move near him. He also likes to vomit on my pillow. My single pillow.

Spencer chuckles as he reads it. He remembers when the window was full of plants, and how one day they all just… disappeared. He assumed the person moved out, but now it’s funny to think that you had to move them all because Mr Darcy demanded he own that space.

He doesn’t recall ever seeing another cat.

Well, now he has to respond. He needs to know about the other cat!

He imagines Derek coming to him in an apparition, like some sort of angel, and saying, calm and cool, kid. Calm and cool.

Spencer decides he’ll reply in the morning. Cause he’s calm and cool, and totally doesn’t want to know anything and everything about you and the two cats you live with.

+++

The messages continue for days. Spencer learns a lot, despite his “attempts” to not profile you (“attempts” as in there was really no attempt).

He learns you were given Mr Darcy by a friend, he’s two years old, and your other cat is the recently adopted, affectionately named Stupid Sally. She’s a ginger cat, estimated to be at least four years old, and you refuse to believe there’s anything going on in that tiny head of hers.

Spencer catches a glimpse of Sally a couple of days after he learns her name. She jumps up beside Mr Darcy, bonks her head on the window, then is whacked by Mr Darcy and falls from the windowsill. Sally doesn’t make another attempt.

He still hasn’t seen you, though. The longer he talks to you, the more he wants Garcia to send him everything she can find on you.

But he has restraint. And fear.

He wants to know more, wants to learn more about the anonymous girl in the opposite building. He doesn’t even know your name, and he assumes you don’t know his, and he’s not entirely sure what number apartment you live in.

He considers asking to convert your conversation from post-it notes on windows to hand-written letters, but that reminds Spencer too much of Maeve and he can’t handle that.

Do you know how difficult it is for Spencer Reid, with all his knowledge and facts and ramblings, to limit himself and how much he says?

It’s torture.

The sun is blinding when Spencer pulls his curtain back, eyes navigating to see if there’s a new message waiting.

I haven’t asked, do you have any cats? Any pets? Mr Darcy would be a terrible boyfriend but Sally could use a lover :)

Before he can stop himself, his mind is whirring with the possible implications of your message. Does this mean you want to meet? You want to know about him as much as he wants to know about you? You’re interested?

He needs to call Penelope. He wants to talk to you so badly, learn everything there is to know, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The situation reminds him of Maeve and, although it’s been so long, he’s still mourning. He’s not sure he’s ready.

Turns out he doesn’t need to worry. You’ve got your own plan.

+++

“So,” Your friend sighs, flopping onto the couch, “You got his number? His name? Anything?”

“No,” You pout, “Not even sure he’s a guy.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

You playfully gasp. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am insulted.”

She chuckles. She knows all about your curious neighbour - she’s the one that encouraged you to reply and keep replying. And now she’s the one trying to convince you to form an actual friendship.

“Just put your number on your window.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?!” You scold, “Anyone could see it!”

“Yeah, but neighbour guy could see it. And text you. And be really cute.”

You can’t help but glance behind you, into your bedroom window, where the infamous window is. Mr Darcy lounges, completely zonked out with the sunshine keeping him warm.

“What’s the worst that can happen? Some random people text you and you, what, block them? That’s it. Easy.”

Life is so easy for extroverts, you think.

You grab your notebook, rip a piece out and jot down your number before you have a change of heart. You’re essentially double messaging through the medium of your window messaging. But who cares?

What have you got to lose?

+++

Spencer stares at your phone number for way too long. Mr Darcy, as if sensing Spencer’s battle, lazily lifts a paw and rests it against the paper, pushing it into the window.

Spencer dials Penelope’s number straight from memory.

“I was beginning to think you’d died, Spencer-“

“Is it a terrible idea to start texting with Mr Darcy’s owner?”

“What?!” She exclaims, “No! No no no no no! That is an incredible idea! Spencer, please tell me you’re texting her!”

Penelope’s excitement gives him a rush of confidence. She’s always so supportive, so encouraging. Penelope is the best.

“I’m staring at her phone number. I just- we know what happened last time..” He trails off, voice meek. He wants to pretend he isn’t constantly thinking about the worst outcome, but he is. He’s scared.

Penelope’s voice is soft down the phone, “Spence. You have nothing to be afraid of, okay? I’m so proud of you for even considering texting her. But if you truly think you’re not ready, maybe you’re not. But remember, this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to. You can keep the conversation to cats and cats only.”

Spencer smiles even though she can’t see him. She’s right. It doesn’t have to be anything and, honestly, it’s likely it won’t be anything – after all, Spencer isn’t exactly confident when it comes to women.

She might also have a boyfriend. A husband. A wife. He doesn’t know.

He realises he’s started thinking way too deep about someone he doesn’t even know the name of.

“Does that silence mean you’re gonna text her?” Penelope questions, suspense and hope clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” He replies, glancing at Mr Darcy, “I am.”

+++

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Hello. I’m Spencer.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner] hello??????? do i know a spencer?

Embarrassment flushes through him. What a weird way to introduce yourself, he chastises himself, Great first impression.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s owner]: Sorry. I’m the one that’s been asking about your cats through the window.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: really? prove it

He wants to feel insulted that you’re so suspicious, but is simultaneously impressed that you’re so cautious. It makes sense to worry after posting your number for anyone to see.

[To: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: Of course. I’ll put a note on my window with my number now.

He does just that, shuffling quickly and frantically like he does when his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute during a case. He slaps the note against the window, unable to resist hovering on the off chance he spots you.

His phone buzzes.

[From: Mr Darcy and Sally’s Owner]: oh hi spencer! im Y/N, owner of Mr Darcy and sally :)

He can’t help but chuckle at the sudden change of tone. You take stranger danger seriously, it seems.

Why does he find that so endearing?

He’s getting ahead of himself, again. Calm and cool.

They pick up the conversation from where the last note left off, where you asked Spencer if he has any pets of his own. He finds it much easier to talk to you like this, rambling and all, which you don’t seem to mind. Your texting style is distinctively different to his, making his phone vibrate multiple times as you send each sentence of your message separately. He prefers writing chunks full of information, all with perfect grammar and punctuation.

You teach him what ‘wtf’ means and when he sends a meme to Penelope with that caption she loses her damn mind.

She decides she loves you there and then.

A friendship blossoms. It’s odd, he doesn’t know what you look like and you admit to catching a glimpse of him when he showed you his number through the window, but other than that you have no idea what the other looks like.

You know so much about eachother’s lives, though, and so much about eachother. You know which apartment you both live in, he’s got a whole list of reasons why Mr Darcy is a dick and he kind of agrees, you even know that he’s an FBI agent.

Then it happens.

He discovers what you look like.

He wants to play it off as an accident, he really does, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

The area under the window opposite yours has become his new sanctuary. He spends way too much time there, reading and whatnot, and he tries to pretend that it’s so he can watch Mr Darcy all day every day, but there’s always been a part of him that wants you to walk by. Maybe stop right in the centre of the window, pause, let him get a good look.

That’s exactly what happens.

He’s doing some “light” reading before he moves to his bed, where he will continue to read, and he sees the main light in your bedroom switch on. You always have a light on – you’re scared of the dark, just like him, but the main light catches his attention because Mr Darcy looks back and meows.

Someone’s in the room.

For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s not the first time he’s noticed someone flutter around the room, never managing to really show themselves. It could the best friend you told Spencer about, the one that you’ve been stuck living with the past month or so.

But it’s not.

A girl appears, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts with still-wet hair. She dangles a cat toy before Mr Darcy, which he swipes at twice, then looks away, uninterested.

She rolls her eyes at that, then starts dancing and mouthing along to a song Spencer doesn’t recognise. Now he can’t stop staring – she’s captivating, whoever she is, as she prances around her room, arms flailing around and serenading a very unimpressed Mr Darcy.

This has to be you, he thinks. He doesn’t know why, but this has to be you.

Your passionate singing dies out. It’s the end of the song. Before the next one can begin, you happen to look up and through the window, straight at Spencer.

And you disappear.

You collapse. You definitely scream a little, dramatically falling to the floor and hiding under the window with your back to the wall.

Holy shit. You think. He’s cute and he saw me singing to my asshole cat.

He must think I’m crazy.

Spencer keeps staring at the now empty space of your window, Mr Darcy having been spooked by your exit.

He thinks he might be in love.

+++

Neither of you know what to say to one another after what transpired.

You’re too embarrassed, Spencer feels a little star-struck, and you’re both speechless.

Neither of you expected the other to be so.. attractive.

Your phone is thrown in your lap. “Do it. Do it now.”

In a daze, you blink up at your friend, “I can’t.”

“Don’t make me threaten you.”

You blink.

“I know where he lives. I will obliterate the lockdown rules to go talk to him and drag him here, then you can deal with this face-to-face.”

Your mouth falls open. “Are you insane?”

She unlocks your phone, opens your conversation with Spencer, and places it in your hand.

“Yes.”

+++

[From: Y/N :)]: did you at least enjoy the performance…..

Spencer’s whole body prickles when he sees you’ve texted him.

Maybe Penelope’s manifesting did work.

[To: Y/N :)]: I did. I didn’t expect our face reveals to be so…

I honestly don’t know what to say.

[From: Y/N :)]: s doctor reid speechless? am i that talented?

Spencer lies back on his couch, beaming at his phone like a teenager in a cheesy chick flick.

[To: Y/N :)]: You’re very talented. Mr Darcy clearly disagrees, but don’t listen to him.

And just like that, you’re back in the flow of things.

+++

When July rolls around, you and Spencer have been talking every day since March. Despite the monotonous, repetitive days, Spencer wakes up giddy when he sees you’ve texted him. He usually wakes up earlier than you, you have a habit of playing games or watching television until the early hours of the morning, and he loves to send you a fact to wake up to.

Your favourite are the animal facts. He got Amazon Prime just so he could buy a plethora of animal books and watch animal documentaries. All for you.

At one point, you evolved to phone calls. They don’t happen often and the first one was while you were drunk, but they’re fun for the both of you.

It had been a Saturday, you and your friend were having a movie marathon with wine and of course she brought up Spencer. She choked on her drink when you told her you haven’t heard his voice or seen him since the incident.

“You should call him,” She slurred, “Tonight.”

“He’s working on his jigsaw. I’m not going to interrupt.”

She gave you this incredulous look, asking Really?

“What?! I have respect for him and his jigsaws!”

“Have respect for yourself and how cute he is!”

“That doesn’t make sense!”

She sighed, placing her glass on the coffee table with a clunk, “Picture this: you’re helping him with the jigsaw.”

You couldn’t hide the slight upturn of your lips at the thought. You both love jigsaws, doing one with him would be stupidly romantic to you.

“Yeah.” She nodded ridiculously, “That ain’t gonna happen if you don’t call him!”

In your drunken state, you realised she’s right. You called him that night for a total of ten minutes before you passed out after calling him super handsome.

You both went to sleep feeling warm inside. Spencer called you again the next day, where the call lasted nearly two hours, and it went from there.

But now the lockdown rules are being eased. People are going back to work, meaning establishments like restaurants and hairdressers are opening up with limited capacity, all breathing beings expected to wear a mask.

Neither of you have mentioned actually meeting one another. You’re too nervous. What if he doesn’t like you? What if the image he’s created of you in his head is way better than you are in real life and he’s disappointed? What if he doesn’t want to meet you?

Spencer worries about the exact same things.

So neither of you say anything.

+++

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Spencer’s mail gets sent to the wrong address. Perhaps to his neighbour, the person living across the hall, or someone on a completely different floor.

Twice, Spencer’s mail has been delivered to the apartment building next door. The building he now exclusively calls “Y/N’s building”.

Now it’s three times.

Unphased by the mask on his face, Spencer glances around the lobby of your apartment building and wonders what your routine is when you get home. Do you immediately check for packages? Look at the noticeboard? Or do you go straight up to your apartment?

Spencer walks to the reception desk, smiling politely even though the person can’t see it.

“Hi, I’m from the building next door. I think my mail was accidentally sent here?”

He clicks a few buttons, types a few things, then flippantly asks, “Apartment number?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Let me go get it.”

He takes his time leaving his chair and wandering through a door. Spencer glances around. There’s a few people, all wearing masks (Thank God), doing their own thing.

There’s two girls next to him. He eavesdrops, because he’s bored.

“I’m too used to living with you now,” The girl facing him pouts, “I don’t want to go.”

The girl with her back to him laughs, light and sweet, “You live a block away.”

“You know Sally is gonna miss me.”

Sally? As in…

“She’s gonna miss you only because you feed her too much and now she’s fat.”

Wait.

“C’mon, Y/N-“

Spencer blocks out the rest cause holy hell. You’re right there. You’re standing right next to Spencer, in all your glory, and you have no idea that he’s right there, too.

Should he say something? Should he introduce himself? Should he..

“Here, sir. My apologies for the mix-up.” The receptionist re-appears, handing Spencer his mail.

“Thank you.”

And Spencer leaves.

Except he doesn’t.

He stops outside the reception entrance, takes out his phone, and texts you.

[To: Y/N :)] This is weird but I’m right outside your building. I think you’re in the foyer and I’m too scared to approach you.

Two minutes pass before the building doors fly open.

Your head swivels back and forth. When you find Spencer, adorable and awkward Spencer, he can tell you’re grinning from the way your eyes bunch up under your mask. God, he knows you have the most beautiful smile. Everything about you is beautiful.

“Hi,” You breathe.

Spencer mouths a silent hi. You’ve taken his breath away.

“I-um. It’s good to see you in person.” Your voice is soft. It’s soft, and smooth, and so much prettier in real life. It’s already pretty through the phone, but the real version shoots straight to his heart.

He gulps, “Yeah, it’s.. Unexpected, but nice.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he can’t tear his eyes away from you, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life.”

The compliment rolls off his tongue naturally because it’s true and from the second he spotted you he’s lost all logical thinking.

“I am?” You ask, gentle and hesitant, almost asking are you sure you mean me?

Spencer blushes, somewhat embarrassed by his confession. But he meant it, Spencer’s not the type to say things he doesn’t mean, and you don’t give him time to regret it-

“Would you like to get some coffee? If you’re free now?”

Would it be too much if he screams Yes?

“Yes. I’m free,” He ignores the mail in his hands, stuffing it in his satchel, “But let’s avoid Café Nero, I assume you still haven’t recovered from the nightmare latte you had there.”

You grin, which makes Spencer feel fuzzy, flattered that he remembers anecdotes from your texts.

Of course he remembers. You remember he has an eidetic memory.

You shyly brush your hair behind your ears, both sides, and Spencer spots the bright red of them. You’re flushed, just like him, and it fills him with confidence to know you’re the same mixture of excited and anxious about meeting him in person.

“W-what about your friend?” Spencer gestures vaguely to where he assumes she’d be, “Would she mind?”

“She’s the reason I ran out here, so… I think she’d be mad if we didn’t leave her behind.”

You smile at one another, a few feet apart. Spencer’s bumped into by the opening door of your apartment complex and stumbles, apologising profusely to the unimpressed woman that just stares at him.

Through the entire ordeal you watch Spencer, only him, and can’t stop the radiant, love-filled look on your face.

Maybe Mr Darcy isn’t such a dick when he’s the reason Spencer came into your life.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #mine #oh to be spencer reid's neighbour that he falls completely in love with during the lockdown

1K notes · View notes

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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existential-angstt · 3 years

Text

37th and 101st // Shane “Dio” Morrissey X Reader

AN: Just a smutty smutty one-shot where the reader is Dio's gf and when they go to the mall, the reader decides to get a choker to wear for Dio. However, when you get Dio riled up and you suddenly end up trapped in traffic, Dio takes matters into his own hands.

You'd never really been one to wear chokers before Dio- they were too tight and irritating and just a little too much for you. But that was before. Since you'd gotten together with Dio your tastes had changed a lot and you were more open to the idea of keeping a few on hand just because you knew how hot it made him to see you in them.

So on one particular trip to the mall at your usual stop in Hot Topic, you made a choice. Dio was stood in the back corner staring up at the band t-shirts, his eyes running over the patterns quickly. "Almost ready to go?" You said, holding what you wanted at your hip, slightly out of sight. Of course, he noticed and he grabbed your wrist like a viper striking its prey, bringing it up to where he could see.

You had a choker in your hand- it wasn't anything too heavy. Clear PVC with an O ring and two small spikes on either side. His eyes flicked up to yours and he raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's get the hell out of here," he replied, guiding you towards the counter to pay.

You could tell something had changed in him-- the way he was suddenly acting twitchy, his grip on your wrist. You'd certainly done something to him. You just weren't sure what was going to happen because of it.

He paid for the choker (you had planned to pay for it, but didn't fight him when he dug wadded-up bills out of his pockets) and he halfway dragged you out of the mall to the massive parking lot where your car was parked outside.

"Will you put it on, butterfly?" He said, nodding at the bag. You smiled and nodded, getting your keys in your hand so you could drive the both of you home. "I'm driving," he added, holding out his hand in a grabby motion for the keys. You handed them over and instead slid into the passenger seat, immediately working the choker out of its packaging.

You snapped it on around your neck and adjusted it, the PVC biting into your neck a little. You looked over at him and flashed him a cheeky grin and you could practically see him drool staring at you in it. His ringed hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and you knew he'd so much rather have his hands somewhere else right now.

Instead, Dio revved the engine and sped noisily out of the parking lot, nearly clipping another vehicle. You took a deep breath and tried to hide your smug smile and making him like this. With any luck, you'd be home in minutes and he'd be fucking you silly.

---------

Well, you weren't home in minutes. 20 minutes later you were still sitting in bumper to bumper traffic behind a bad accident at 37th Avenue and 101st Street. Had you known this would be in the cards you never would have teased him like this-- you could tell Dio was quickly getting so impatient he was irritated and that was never a good thing. It wasn't like he would take it out on you or anything but he'd certainly be moody for several hours, even if you did lay him like you planned.

You were staring out the window, watching the people walk past on the street, not thinking about anything really when the hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up. You turned your head and--- he was staring straight at you, so hard you felt like he could bore a hole into your skull. He glanced down at the choker and then up at your wide eyes and huffed a little, turning back to face the traffic ahead. You blushed a little and went back to staring at nothing in particular until he said, "Unzip your pants."

You looked over at him in alarm, almost unsure you'd actually heard him say that. "What?" You said softly. His head turned sharply in your direction and his eyes burned. "Don't make me ask you again," he snapped. It was cold, yes, but you knew that was all an act, something he would cut out the second you told him to knock it off. At this moment, though, you liked it. It sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, so you unbuckled your seatbelt and did as he said. When you'd done it, you sat waiting, feeling like an absolute fool in stationary traffic with your pants sitting open.

Quick as he liked, Dio's hand reached over the console and slithered down the front of your pants, underneath your underwear where he pressed his palm against you. You'd felt yourself get a little wet earlier between the looks he had been giving you in the mall and the way he gripped your wrist the whole way to the car, so it was no surprise that as soon as he touched you, you were soaked.

You inhaled sharply and looked over at him, waiting to see what his plan was, but his eyes were forward, watching the traffic inch ahead as he let the car coast a few inches. He rubbed a few circles around your clit, finally looking at you after a moment, his eyes raking over your neck again.

"Dio-" you said, looking at him slightly alarmed. It was a busy Saturday and there were plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine, walking down the street and weaving between the stopped cars as they crossed here and there. "Dio-" you said again.

"Shush," he said, lowering his hand a little so he could run his fingers over your lips, tracing your entrance. You tensed in your seat, looking around frantically, so afraid someone would see.

"If you act like that, someone will see," Dio hissed, reading your mind. You hated when he did that. The traffic inched forward again and again Dio rolled the car forward, acting like he was doing anything besides what he was really doing.

Your breathing got heavier and you swallowed nervously. Dio chuckled under his breath and sank a finger into you, curling it inside of you. You cried out in surprise and froze as you felt someone on the sidewalk look over. "You want them to see you falling apart all over my hand? You want them to know I'm fucking you with my fingers here in the street?" Dio said, still not looking at you. That man had to have the best poker face you'd ever seen.

He withdrew his finger to reach up and circle your clit gratuitously a few times before sinking the finger back into you again, adding a second one this time. You could feel the cool metal of his rings pressing into you and it made you moan long and low. He was asking a lot of you, to keep it together for him here-

You looked over at him sharply. He flashed a sharp-toothed grin. This was payback. It was payback for teasing him in the mall. He was getting you back. You hadn't even said anything about the choker, hadn't whispered dirty things about all the things you could use it for, and still, he'd taken offense, like you'd slighted him, enough to do this to you in public.

Or maybe he was just incredibly horny. Who knew.

You clenched around his fingers and gripped the top of the passenger side door, clinging to it for dear life. "I think that guy over there is staring," Dio said teasingly, still not looking at you or the aforementioned guy, as though he had better things to pay attention to.

You groaned as he moved his fingers in and out of you but kept yourself composed for the most part, not daring to turn your head to look for the guy Dio mentioned. Best to pretend you weren't getting fingered by your boyfriend on a busy New York Street at noon.

You might have been keeping up appearances fairly well but you weren't far from orgasm. Dio liked to hear you in bed and you always made sure to completely let go whenever he made you cum, moaning and crying like you were being murdered. You weren't sure if you'd be able to keep yourself from a similar performance once you got there.

Finally, the cars in front of you started to move, the car ahead of you pulling away and still moving. Dio kept his hand where it was, his thumb messily circling your bundle of nerves while his fingers moved in and out of your pussy. He kept it up even as you passed by the accident, where three cop cars were parked around the two half-destroyed vehicles. That was where Dio fucked up.

As you passed by, one of the cop cars pulled away from the accident behind you on the road. "Dio, D- I'm-" you cried, trying to tell him you were about to cum when the cop car behind you flashed his lights.

"Fuck," Dio growled and pulled his hand out of your pants. You whimpered as he pulled over the side of the road and pointed his index and middle fingers at you. You quickly took them in your mouth, cleaning off your own juices and licking away as much as you could while your hands struggled shakily with your pants. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a wet pop just as the officer got to the driver's side window.

Dio rolled down the window lazily. "Officer," he said smoothly. He'd had his days running the cops around the city, causing trouble. By this point he was practiced with greeting the oafs they called law enforcement around here. You were still shaking, right on the edge of orgasm still, fighting every instinct to shove Dio's (or even your own) hand back down your pants to finish what he started.

"How are you today, sir. Do you know why I pulled you over today?" You stared down at the floorboard dizzily, trying to keep yourself as hidden as you could from the nosy cop.

"Uhhhh, no. Enlighten me," Dio said. You knew him well enough to hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice but the cop misread it as politeness, as he was meant to.

"Your girl there isn't wearing her seatbelt. That accident back there, someone died because they weren't wearing their belt," the cop said dryly.

Dio looked up in faux surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, officer. My girlfriend saw the accident and suddenly felt like she was gonna hurl, so I was just about to pull over to let her stick her head out the door when it passed and she felt better. She was just about to put it back on," Dio replied charmingly.

The officer looked at your full of shit boyfriend and then at you, who was flushed and sweating slightly, eyes wide. He sighed. "All right, just don't let it happen again," the cop said impatiently.

"Thank you, officer," Dio smiled menacingly at him as he turned and went back to his car.

"Now," Dio said to you, reaching over and grabbing the O ring on your choker, pulling you close. "Whatdya say we go home and finish what we started, huh, doll?" He said sarcastically, smirking at you.

#shane dio morrissey #dio morrissey x reader #dio x reader #dio morrissey #shane dio morrissey x reader

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cucumbers-and-olives · 3 years

Text

Soda Cans

Summary: oh my god i wish i could put something here, but legit just read it please

Category: slight angst, kinda slow burn-ish

Fandom: JATP

Paring: Luke x non-binary!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/Includes: mentions of conversion camps, hospitalization

A/N: did i write this in two days? yes and i am very proud of it

this is for @dream-a-little-bigger-x's What 90's Dreams are made Of week! I've had so much fun playing around with the boys in the 90's, so thank you!

edit: @ijustreallylovethem sent me a really good ask about how to pronounce Mx., you can find the ask here

Please don’t repost my work without my permission, in part or whole. My work can also be found on AO3 under the same username. Thank you!

“Uggh, are you fucking kidding me!” Luke said, hitting the vending machine a few times to try and get his soda.

The hospital waiting room was pretty empty, except for the members of Sunset Curve, the receptionist, and a nurse that entered the room. The silence was deafening until someone hit the vending machine with their shoe.

The can came clattering down, and they reached down to grab it.

“Here you go,” Luke recognized this person as the receptionist. “You gotta hit it on the lower left side, or else it won’t come out.” Luke took the can from their hand.

“Actually,” They put some coins in and pressed some buttons. “Now that I think about it, the soda can are the only ones that have any issues coming down.” They grabbed a candy bar from the machine.

They sat back down behind the desk and Luke returned to his friends.

“Why didn’t you ask her? About Alex, I bet she can get us in!” Bobby said.

“Yeah,” Reggie agreed. “She obviously likes you.”

“Okay, okay.”

Luke got up and walked over to the desk. “Excuse me, Miss…”

They looked up, “It’s actually Mx., I’m non-binary.” They gave a soft smile. “I’m Y/N, how can I help you and your friends?”

Luke looked behind him and saw that the other boys had followed him up to the desk. “I’m Luke. Uh, we were wondering if you could get us in to see our friend? His name is Alexander Mercer.”

They typed away at their computer, and when they saw his file, their face dropped.

“What- what is it?” Reggie asked nervously.

“I can’t let you all up to see him, his parents have put him on an involuntary psych hold. No visitors.” They looked up at the boys. “I’m sorry.” Y/N looked around, to make sure no one was around as they spoke. “If you come back tomorrow at 2 pm, I can get a phone to him. That’s all I can do, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Bobby said. “Let’s go get some sleep guys.”

Y/N knocked on the door in front of them. The pale halls of the psych ward were even bleaker than the rest of the hospital. They tried to avoid the floor when they could. But the look in those boys’ eyes had resonated inside them.

“Come in,” A boy’s voice said, and Y/N entered the room.

“Hi, are you Alexander?” They asked, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The scrawny blonde boy in the bed sat up, his eyes full of fear. “Are you here to take me away?”

“No, no, no,” They assured, closing the door behind them after checking the hall to make sure no one was there. “Uh, your friends set me? One of them was named Luke, and there were two others?” They moved around the room, grabbing a phone out of a hidden cabinet.

“Yeah, Reggie and Bobby, they were here?” He sat up. “What’s with the phone?”

Y/N sighed and pulled a chair up. “Okay, Alexander-”

“Alex.”

“Alex, in about a half-hour, this phone is going to ring. If anyone comes in before then and sees it, you need to say that Ashley Jones left it out. Ashley’s a bitch idiot, so anyone will believe you on this floor. Don’t say anything unless you hear me on the end, okay? Does that all make sense Alex?” He nodded, and Y/N stood.

They remembered his file and turned around as they reached the door. “People don’t understand us, but I’m sure you know that. My psych hold lasted about a month, and then my parents abandoned me cause the camps cost too much, and no one likes a child that isn’t a girl or a boy. You’ll make it out.”

“Thank you.”

The room was full, and as the boys came into the waiting room, they didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, Y/N was sitting behind the desk, this time, with a line in front of them.

“Let’s get in line, and then Y/N can tell us what to do,” Bobby said, leading the group.

The line got shorter and shorter, people signing in and some being led out by nurses.

“Hi, please sign in and someone will come get you to see your loved one,” Y/N said, a rehearsed speech they had said many times.

“Yeah, do you know how to get a can out of the vending machine? It’s stuck.”Luke said. Panic flashed by in their eyes as they saw the boys.

“Yeah,” They wrote a note quickly. “I’ll come help in a sec.”

Luke read the note. Sign in. I’ll meet you by the vending machine with more instructions.

He nodded, and quickly signed in for all of the boys and they led them to the vending machine.

Y/N glanced over at their supervisor. “I’m just gonna go help them really quickly-”

“Y/L/N. That’s not why I’m here.” He said sternly. “The kid ‘fessed up. This is your last shift.” He left, and the door behind the desk shut.

Fuck.

“Here,” Y/N said softly, kicking the vending machine and freeing the can. They gave Bobby a note along with the soda. “Sorry guys.”

Bobby opened the note as they walked back to the desk. Luke saw them nervously fiddling with a pencil as people logged in and out of the visitor sign-in sheet.

“Luke,” Bobby said, passing him the note.

I wish I had done something that had worked. Someone told my supervisor and well- I got fired. Sorry guys, I wish I could have helped more. Also, Alex is getting moved tomorrow. I’m not sure where, that’s all that I know.

Y/N Y/L/N

[email protected]

XXX-XXX-XXXX

The paper was clearly stationary, and Luke looked over to them, eyes meeting for a moment.

I’m sorry, Y/N’s eyes said.

Me too, He said.

“Let’s go. If we can’t see him here, we can at least as his parents,” Reggie said, still hopeful.

“So that’s it? We can’t see him, and so we give up?” Luke asked, but even his seemingly hopeful question sounded sad.

After Alex’s parents had very rudely shut the door (literally and figuratively) in the boys’ faces when they asked to see him, they had ended up at the soda shop. The store sold any kind of sweet, candy, or ice cream that you could think of. But, in the back of the store, there was a huge fridge area.

In the summer, the boys would come and stick their faces in the fridge to cool down. In the wither, they would shiver as they got sodas with extra caffeine to help them power through and finish songs.

Bells ran throughout the city, ringing out 11 times, showing that it was 11 pm.

“I guess,” Reggie said, grabbing a pack of gummy bears off the shelf.

The boys silently moved to the front of the shop with their items, and as the cashier run them up, the bell in the front door and someone entered. The boys didn’t pay them much attention until they spoke.

“Hey, Uncle J, I got fired… Sorry, I didn’t see that you had customers, I’ll come back later,” Y/N tripped over their words as they turned to rush out of the shop.

“Y/N?” The boys all said, and Y/N paused, turning around and awkwardly shooting the tree some finger guns.

“Heyyy, guys.”

Months later, the boys had parted ways with Y/N. But every so often, the person behind the counter at the soda shop was them.

“Hey, Soda!” Luke hollered to them as he entered.

They lifted their head and smirked, “Rockstar, what can I get you?”

“Oh just,” He leaned on the counter. “A date?”

lol wish I was that smooth

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Luke: @thesweetestsinner

Everything: @funsizearsonist

#jatp90sdreams #julie and the phantoms #jatp #luke patterson x reader #luke x reader #luke jatp #luke patterson #sunset curve #bobby wilson #reggie peters #lets just ignorre the fact that i wrote this in two days and its kinda trash okay? okay thx #also shoutout to the soda can (la croix) that i popped two days ago and gave me this idea lol

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estellaelysian · 3 years

Text

Birthday

I know you all will eventually get tired of my letters, but can't help it, I really love them

For @choicesmonthlychallenge March: day 6 - birthday and day 11 - fluffy

**********

Soft breeze sifted through the windows, gently touching him before moving onto her. He had gotten used to leaving the windows open because she liked it that way.

He had gotten used to a lot of things the way she liked it. He didn’t regret a single of them.

The yearn for small things had increased greatly in the last few months: holding hands beneath a table, stealing glances, even kisses sometimes. It made him feel more alive than he ever had felt.

He shifted the breakfast plate to his other hand before drawing the curtains. She did not notice the change of light. Instead, she was busy scribbling down on her notepad, her laptop open in front of her, display a dozen different tabs. He chuckled to himself.

These days, he was more unlike himself, and she constantly acted like him. He should’ve felt something, but all he felt was adoration at how they now had mixed personalities.

Losing himself to her was probably the best thing he ever went through.

The breeze blew again, this time lifting the curtains before gently grazing her skin. Her hair were held back in a bun, and wisps of it framed her face. She was intently looking between the notepad and the laptop, looking like a mess.

The most beautiful mess, mind you. Nothing less spectacular than a star emitting thousand different rays of light.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, although he hadn’t exactly been silent. As he shuffled behind her in the room, putting away the paper and clearing the desk for the plate, he wondered about how easy life was with her. Everything was there, fixed in his brain in a vivid detail.

She left a part of her behind for him always, no matter in what way.

Her pen, her favorite pen would be left at his apartment. Lipstick stains were found on his glasses left a permanent tattoo on his heart. Her stationary, some of her notepads – something always left behind.

Just like her marks all over him.

An intoxicating warmth spread in his chest as he turned to her.

‘Hey,’ he murmured.

‘Hey,’ she said back, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear.

‘Would you stop that?’

‘Um, yeah, just a sec…’

‘Leave that for a minute please? It’s your day today.’

‘Don’t you remember saying that it’s just another day, same one like the last?’

‘I don’t,’ he said, crossing the room and taking hold of her wrist, forcing her to look up at him.

Her green eyes seemed to drink in his sight before she shook her head slightly and tried to twist her arm away.

‘Ethan, I have work to do.’ She giggled when he still wouldn’t let go of her wrist.

‘And I could care less. Now come on. Come with me.’

He pulled her after him to the desk, where a plate with steaming cannoli pancakes waited for her. She turned to him, aghast. ‘You made this? You do know this is not for the faint of the heart, right?’

A defeated smile tugged at his lips as she burst into a fit of giggles. ‘This is amazing,’ she said, giggling even more.

‘You are impossible. Eat these; I’ll be back in a sec.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Nowhere. Now come on,’ he prompted gently, before finally disappearing past the door.

‘Strange,’ she mused, taking hold of the fork.

He was not the kind for surprises, never would be. He only knew about the effort it took in planning all of it, considering that it could also fail, and he knew Alishka did it for him one too many times. He could do something for her too.

Even if he needed some help, which a petite brunette was happy to provide.

So here he was, going through everything all over again, occasionally running a hand through his hair. The letters her parents were good to go, so were the ones written to her by her friends. Naveen’s present was all set, so was Alan’s and his own. Smiling softly, he went inside the room again, thinking there was no better way to be.

She was humming to herself as she ate, occasionally tapping her foot against the cold floor, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

She seemed almost childlike, but somehow yet the grown woman who had opened up his heart to love when he thought he couldn’t do it anymore.

The one who had barged into his life without his permission.

He couldn’t be more glad for her presence.

He ambled toward her, his hands held behind his back. She didn’t notice him until he placed a soft kiss on her head. She grinned up at him, holding out a spoonful.

‘What is with all the suspense?’

‘You’ll see,’ he said simply, and waited for her.

Just like he had for the last thirty seven years, for someone to heal him.

He wondered if he would ever be able to express in words what he felt about her. If he’d be able to tell her the rise of heat in his cheeks when she was around, or the way his world lit up just the moment he saw her.

No.

No words were enough to tell her what he felt.

And yet, here he was, holding a letter, something he had never done before, just for her.

He smiled when she turned to him again.

‘Come on now,’ she demanded with a flick of her wrist.

‘Yes. Won’t you sit?’

Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, she settled beside him.

They went through the presents together, first the dress and letters shipped to Boston by her parents, then Naveen’s card and a fountain pen (just like he had given Ethan when his residency ended), and then came the gifts from her friends, an assortment of sorts, all things picked in a way that the whole fit together, just like their group did.

She bounced with excitement through it all, and his heart swelled like a water blossom with joy.

She was the single most precious thing in his life, and he had vowed to never let her go again. Ever.

‘Okay, now your turn.’

‘What? I don’t have a present for you.’

‘What?’

‘Come on Rookie. You know I don’t do gifts. This is all you’re getting for your birthday.’

He was amazed by how fast her mood changed. But she didn’t let any of it show, not even betraying a single emotion she felt.

He reached for her and kissed her gently before handing her the letters he had spent the early hours of morning writing.

She gasped, looking up at him, before a smile occupied her face.

‘Read it, I’ll take a quick shower.’

With that, he disappeared, and she turned back to the letter. Unfolding it, she gently traced the words, written in the familiar scrawl, and taking a deep breath, began reading.

My dearest,

You don’t know how grateful I am for your presence in my life. So since today is your day, we are going to celebrate you. In every way possible.

But the first way is in words.

And even though I say that, you must know that no amount of words can ever describe how beautiful you are, or how thankful I am. Yet, here we go.

You are like the sun in my sky, burning fierce and radiant, correcting me when needed, and pushing me toward the correct path when I stray.

You are like the moon in my nights, peaceful and serene, bringing calm whenever I feel unsettled.

You are like the stars that shine so bright, impelling me to try something new and different every few days.

You are the air that feels alive on my skin, feeding me of breath and life.

You are like the cool water that ripples, tranquil, yet wild.

You are like the tree which provides shade to my tired soul.

You are like the leaves which rustle and give me music when I am weary.

And you, my love, are the most precious thing to me.

And below that were the seven words that proved to be the breaking point for her.

He stepped back into the room, wet hair sticking to his face as he looked down at her.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Ethan… this is the best present ever,’ she said.

Failing to hold herself back anymore, she rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his chest.

He rested his chin on her head and peeked to find the letter he had written on the bed, smiling at the last few words before murmuring them to her.

'Thank you for barging your way into my life.'

**********

Thank you all for reading.

Let me know if you want to be added/ removed from the tags

#ethan ramsey #open heart #playchoices #ethan x mc #choices #ethanramsey #openheart #fanfiction #open heart fanfiction

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amostimprobabledream · 3 years

Text

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) - Part One

They say humans, in a strange, ironic twist of fate, owe their magic to demons. A thousand years ago, they walked the earth, wreaking destruction and chaos wherever they tread. Humans were no more than meat for the slaughter, or glorified playthings for their amusement. The first generation of humans to fight back against their monstrous oppressors did so by a peculiar, ancient magic. A power that could repel demons and bring hope to all humanity. A terrible war raged for the fate of the world and the humans managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The demons were banished to their land of origin, sealed away in defeat. But seals don't last forever. While historians argue on how literal these legends may be, there is no denying that ancient creature have begun to stir, appearing in our world again with growing frequency. And soon there might- The last paragraph was torn away. "Oh, for god's sake," you tsk. Sunlight pours through the large, high window of your lecture room, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Though you were engrossed in your book, once you look up, the spell is broken, and the clear sky outside once again has your eyes wandering to it. It seems that you are not the only one getting distracted, either - even the professor keeps tapering off at the promise of an afternoon outside in the gorgeous spring weather. "Well," the professor says, shuffling the papers in front of her. "That's all for today. Please revise over the material and we'll discuss it in further detail next time. You are all free to go." You're only too happy to comply, putting your things away and scrambling to your feet. Everyone else is hurrying to get outside, pouring down the stairs to the doors, chattering to one another as they go. Normally you love going to lectures, but it's just too nice outside to be cooped up indoors. You push open the doors and step outside, a muted sigh of pleasure leaving your mouth. Your university, the Royal Academy of Magic, has the reputation for being tough, but so far, you've been enjoying the work. Learning about the different faces of magic, its uses, and the history of it, it's all so very fascinating to you. You've been able to use magic since you were young, but it's studying it here that will really help you unlock your true potential, and hopefully give you a concrete idea of what to aim for with your career. So far there are so many options a magic-user might do that it's been a little overwhelming trying to decide. As you cross the lawns, grass crunching beneath your feet, you decide to swing by your dorm first to drop off your books - they may contain a lot of knowledge, but damn if they're not heavy - your mother pointed out that you've developed something of a slouch since you started studying here. "I'm back!" you call as you push open the door of your dormitory. "Huh?" Kendou looks up from her bed, where she has a couple of books sprawled out next to her head, notes scribbled in the margins of her notebook as she looks over her textbook. Her red hair spills down her shoulder, coming loose from its signature ponytail. "You're back early!" "Yeah, they let us out sooner than I expected," you reply with a shrug and a small laugh, dropping your bag on your own bed and stretching, wincing as a kink in your shoulder pops. "Oh, well, that's good timing, someone came by earlier with a message for you," Kendou says, pushing herself up into a sitting position, apparently deciding your arrival is a good a reason as any to take a break from studying. "Your mother wants you to go down to the Imperial Research Centre to get your father." "Did she come by here?" you ask in surprise. Normally your mother arranges to meet you after lectures or seminars if she wants to see you during the week, and she's a rather busy woman besides. "No, she left a message at the front desk and someone passed it along," Kendou shrugs. "But she also said you guys are doing something tonight, right?" "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about that!" you say, feeling silly that it could

possibly have slipped your mind - you love it when you get to go out for a meal with your parents and often it means one of them has some exciting news to share. "Thanks, Kendou, I'll head over there now." She grins and gives a little wave. “No problem!” You suppose it's fortunate that the Imperial Research Centre is only a short walk from the campus and that you're very familiar with the place, since your father's been working there for so long. Anyway, it's a pleasant walk, the way there is lined with rows of trees that are only a week or two away from growing from dark to light pink and shedding their blossoms. When the street is in full bloom, it's like there's been a wedding. You even find yourself humming as you walk, breathing in the subtle smell of flowers on the breeze, wondering to yourself if the blossom trees were planted before or after the buildings were founded, but either way, whoever was responsible for them made a good call. The Imperial Research Centre is a peculiar building, made of blue stone and with a roof that boasts four conical points, one in each corner, making it resemble a castle from bygone days just plopped in the middle of the city. There's an aura of mystery to it, too, hinting at the all-important, life-changing work that’s always going on inside. If ever cutting-edge technology is released to the public, odds were that the Centre had a hand in making it. The building is cooler on the inside than it is outdoors, powered by a system designed to spread cool or warm air throughout the entire building, depending on the system. You approach the front desk, wishing that you'd thought to bring a jacket, because it’s always cold in here during the warm seasons, and the receptionist glances up on you with a slightly dismissive expression on her face. It's probably because she thinks you're an overeager student or some hapless intern, it's very rare a researcher your age would be able to work here. "May I help you?" the receptionist asks in a cool, professional tone. "Yes, I'm here to see my father," you reply. "He's one of the vice executives here." You give his surname, and the woman pauses. Is that a trace of nervousness you can see? "He's downstairs in Containment Room 1A," she says, checking a sheet of paper on the desk, which is littered with various papers, random pieces of stationary and one of those magitech intercom systems that they use. They have something similar at the Academy too, though of course, the Centre get the most high-tech version of everything. "All right, thanks," you say, turning to head for the elevator. "Wait!" the woman cries out and you glance back, confused. "I'm sorry, but you can't just walk through here, especially to the lower levels! You don't have the clearance and it can be dangerous." You scoff in disbelief. You have visited your father here before, many times, and this has never been a problem for you before. You always just tell them who you are and then get a visitor's pass. You even know some of the codes to the doors, thanks to waiting around for your father to finish work so often. "Well, please can you have someone go fetch him for me?" you ask, going to reluctantly perching on one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Can't it wait?" the receptionist asks impatiently, and maybe it can, but her attitude is starting to piss you off, so you shoot her a frosty smile you've perfected after watching your mother pull a similar face at people who don't meet her standards. "No, it can't." The woman sighs but she dutifully presses a button on the intercom system and speaks quietly into it for a moment or two, while you idly pick at a loose thread on the chair you're sitting on. She then glances back at you, eyebrows raised. "A messenger has been sent down to speak to him. Hopefully he should be upstairs shortly." "Thank you so much." you reply sweetly, the last words with heavy emphasis. After that, the two of you sit in a mutually frosty silence, with the woman sorting through paperwork on her desk and occasionally

directing people who approach her desk to the correct floor (which seems redundant to you - why can't people just read the clearly printed sign on the wall next to her desk ?), while you flick through some glossy magazines without actually taking in a single word. But you're not leaving until you've spoken to your father. Minutes tick by and you start drumming your heel lightly on the floor, leg jiggling with impatience. You wonder if the woman just lied about sending a messenger down to the Containment Room in an effort to pacify you, in the hopes you'll just get bored and leave. You grit your jaw at the thought, ignoring how cold you're getting, sitting here doing nothing. After maybe ten minutes, a man in a lab coat approaches the front desk, leaning over to speak to the woman. "Kino, could you come with me a moment? Hannah can start her shift." "Oh, I'll be right there!" Kino says, flustered, getting out from behind the desk and following the man as he walks briskly down the corridor, without a backwards glance at you. No doubt her replacement will be along any moment - perhaps she's running late? But you don't plan on sticking around. As soon as the receptionist rounds the corner, out of sight, you spring up and walk briskly across the room to the elevators, stabbing the button and stepping through the doors. You don't bother to fight the smile that spreads across your face as the doors slide shut. ~ "Father?" There's always something slightly creepy about the lower floors. The orbs lining the walls that are designed to keep the machinery running in case of a power shortage cast an eerie glow in the corridors, washing everything with a pale blue light that makes it seem far colder than it actually is. It reminds you a bit of walking through a tunnel of ice. Your boots click on the stone floor as you follow the lights to Containment Room A1. Finally, you reach the double doors leading inside, flanked by two windows each side. You can see your father inside, his back to you, so you rap on the windows. Nothing. You try again with more force, hurting your knuckles, but he still doesn't turn around. Perhaps it's soundproofed, so whatever's out here can't disturb whatever's going on in there? You glance at the keypad next to the doors, but you've never been to this particular room before so the code for the doors on the upper level is unlikely to be the same one for down here. Then you see movement, shadows beneath the crack between door and floor, and the doors slide open with a mechanical swish and two scientists in lab coats come out, comparing notes and murmuring together excitedly. You slip inside before they can slam shut again, unwilling to stand outside in the chilly corridor for any longer than necessary. "Father!" you call out as you enter. But then you stop dead in your tracks. Ahead of you, trapped behind some kind of containment field...is a monster. "What-?!" you hear your father say in surprise at his daughter suddenly marching through the doors. "What are you doing in here?!" But you don't answer. You can't look away from what's in front of you, even if you wanted to. You know without being told that this is a demon, but it's certainly not what they looked like in any of your history books. A tall, humanoid being that is undoubtedly male and you can tell from where you’re standing that he’s tall. The demon's huge, black wings arch out from behind him, reminding you of a bat. Two horns jut out from a crown of spiky black hair, but aside from that, you're surprised by how… human he looks. Your cheeks warm up as you notice he is shirtless, peculiar burn marks covering over half of his body and seemingly crudely stitched together like a patchwork doll. Despite that, he's impressively sculpted, sinewy muscles on full display and you know that demons were said to be uncommonly strong. Your eyes drift further down, and you spot a whiplike tail wrapped around one leg, topped with a pointed barb at the end, like a club in a game of cards. His arms are in restraints and so are his

ankles, yet he doesn't seem stressed in any way, leaning against the back wall of his holding cell as though he's waiting for something. "What...is this?" you breathe out, finally turning to your father. "This is our latest research subject," your father replies beside you, also staring at the demon, though his expression is surprisingly somber, considering just how amazing it is that they have been able to capture and contain a demon. You've never seen a live demon before, and something tells you that the one before you certainly isn't any garden variety one. "Director Fuji is very excited about this. It's not every day you see a demon this high ranking." Slowly, the demon stirs, raising his head a little. You're perfectly safe outside the containment field, as well was the multiple other safety measures both inside the cell and out of it, yet the sensation of being watched makes your flesh break out in goosebumps. From beneath spiky fronds of hair, the demon's eyes - so blue they almost don't look real - stare right at you, his gaze alone rooting you to the spot, laying all your defenses bare and leaving you feeling bizarrely naked before that look. Watching you without once blinking or breaking his gaze, his lips part in a sneer to reveal two rows of teeth, the fangs sharp and white as an icicle. You find yourself holding your breath as your father speaks again. "Sweetheart, meet Dabi."

#Dabi #My Hero Academia #Dabi x Reader #my hero academia #Touya Todoroki #Boku No Hero Academia #BHNA #Fanfiction #Reader-Insert #F!Reader #Demon AU #Supernatural AU #Writing

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fablesrose · 3 years

Text

Tell Me a Story 2

Description: With the first interaction with Chuck almost over and done with, Dean and Y/n have to figure out how the heck this is going to work. Some mafia business goes awry, but when has anything gone to plan?

Word count: 4,581 (guys this is over twice as long as the first part, this is ridiculous)

Pairing: cop!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: Moodboard

Warnings: knives, pain, a little blood

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

A/n: Part two also goes with @girl-next-door-writes Bingo challenge! Btw this whole fic is based on me wanting to write the first part of this chapter so there's that too.

“I don’t know sir, I’m not much of a story teller.”

“Come on Dean.”

“Tell me a story.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well I’ll do my best.” Dean glanced at me, trying to decide how this would go. “If I remember right sweetheart, you called me?”

“Yeah!” I wracked my brain as quick as I could, “It was a wrong number call. I think I was trying to order take out.” Oh my gosh that was so stupid.

“But with me in a new city, a new job, I wanted to talk for a bit,” Dean squeezed my hand, “we decided to keep in touch and the rest is history!”

Chuck just looked at us for a bit, an unamused look on his face, “You’re right, you aren’t much of a story teller.”

Dean’s finger twitched against my hand, and I had to admit, that in this moment it was comforting. At least I was going to die next to a pretty nice dude.

“But whatever. You guys go claim some territory or something.”

Chuck seemed so complacent that it made a spark of anger ignite inside of me.

“Chuck, we’re not some teenage boy gang that spray paints wall-”

He had advanced towards me and had his hand roughly grabbing the base of my jaw, a few of his fingers pressing into my neck. He was just enough taller than me to wretch my face up painfully. I let out a grunt, but otherwise shut up.

“You are whatever I damn well tell you you are, Starling. Now go claim some territory.” He roughly shoved my face to let go. He quickly fixed his sleeves and patted Dean on the arm, “Sorry for touching the merchandise. You kids have fun now.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the building without a second thought.

There was a moment were nobody moved from the room. In the last few minutes it made it easy to forget that there were more than just Dean and I there. I wasn’t the highest ranking person in the room, but the list got messy sometimes.

“Alright, you heard the man,” I sighed. But still nobody moved, “I said let’s go!”

The members surrounding me rushed from their stationary positions to exit the building. I moved to follow but the tug on my arm reminded me that I was still holding Dean’s hand. I couldn’t decipher the look he had on his face, but it wasn’t a good one.

I gave him a soft nod with a squeeze of the hand before letting go and following the group. I heard his heavy footsteps behind me, but he made no effort in catching up to walk by my side.

“What a guy you got.”

I huffed, “Hello to you too Meg.”

“He’s hot. Ask if he’s got any hot friends he can hook me up with alright? Or you can just let me have him.” She nudged me a little in jest.

“Any other requests, Cockroach?”

She shoved me a bit harder, “Just don’t get in the way of my spray paint.”

I laughed as she ran up to the front of the pack, wanting to pick the spot to throw some paint.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, slouching a bit as I followed the pack, wanting to be in my own thoughts.

A hand wrapping around my shoulders caused me to stiffen and straightened my back. I glanced to my side to find that Dean was the one walking next to me now. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, maybe trying to keep up the front that Chuck gave us. I relaxed a little bit, loosened my jaw, but my posture remained straight.

“You expect someone else?” Dean kept his eyes facing forward, not even glancing in my direction.

I mimicked his expression, “The boys tend to try and get handsy.”

He hummed and patted my shoulder, “So that didn’t go to plan.”

I turned to look at him and waited until he looked at me. I shook my head softly as if to say, “Not now, not here.”

He nodded, just as softly, as if to tell me that he understood.

We walked silently down the streets, just far enough behind the group to be separate, but close enough to see where they were going. I know I said we weren’t a teenage boy gang, but sometimes I did wonder. By their behavior alone, you would think they were some stupid seventeen year olds, roughing each other up, looking for trouble. Fortunately to some, they were intimidating enough from experience for people to not try and mess with them.

By the time Dean and I caught up, Meg had already gotten the spray paint out. She would never admit it to anyone out loud, but she enjoyed this. And she was good at it too. She ordered some of the boys around, some to help her with the graffiti, others to keep watch and to keep people away.

I took a second to think, I was lousy at painting (not that I didn’t try), and I figured this was as good a time as any to talk to Dean. Now the question was how to get alone.

The answer was I had to swallow my pride.

I turned my body towards Dean, one hand at the small of his back, the other gripping the front of his shirt, “Hey guys...” That got their attention. “You’ve got this covered, right?” I bit my lip a little, trying to sell it.

“If you don’t get out of here with him right now, I will shoot you myself,” Benny was leaning against a wall with a bemused smile on his face.

I shot him a wink and grabbed Dean’s hand to pull him away, “Duly noted Gaterson.”

“You sure do know how to pick ‘em lover boy!”

Dean let out a single laugh in response as I dragged him a block away into a secluded ally way.

We walked into a shadowy area to get as much seclusion as possible. I let go of his hand and leaned against the wall. I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes which pushed my head against the bricks behind me.

“Starling?”

I sighed, “Please don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, I just meant what does it mean, why do you have it?”

I lowered my hands to see him leaning on the wall across from me, “Maybe some other time. All you need to know is everyone has nicknames around here.”

He crossed his arms, “So is lover boy my nickname now?”

I huffed out a laugh, “Nah, they’ll call you all sorts of things until something sticks.”

There was a pause. We both knew we were dancing around the real subject I pulled us away for, but I wasn’t sure I knew what to do with it.

“So that didn’t go to plan.” Dean was braver than I was.

“Yeah no shit.” I banged my head against the bricks hard enough to make a sound and tried to dig into the cement with my shoe out of frustration. “To look on the bright side—which I loathe doing by the way—we’re not dead...So there’s that.”

“There is that… Got any suggestions?”

“Why is it that you’re supposed to be the professional and I’m making all the decisions?”

“I don’t know, with your performance and cool composure, I’d say that you’re the professional in this situation.”

I sighed and closed my eyes, “The only thing I can think to do is play along. If it gets too much we can fake a breakup...” This was getting so complicated.

“Fake a breakup? As far as I’m concerned, we’re not actually dating.” I could nearly hear the smirk on his face.

“Really Dean? Really?” He chuckled in response. “Since Chuck already knows that you’re a cop I think the best thing to do is for you to go to work. Be a police officer that’s on the payroll, but be a little more involved.”

“Whatever you say sweetheart.”

I heard voices approaching the ally way that sounded familiar. Then there was a harsh shh to quiet them down.

“Shit,” I looked at Dean, grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer, “You’re gonna have to kiss me.”

I stared at me dumbfoundedly, “What?”

“Look, they think we came over here to make out, if we don’t at least look like we’re making out they’re gonna be suspicious.”

He still looked shocked.

“Shit.” I didn’t want to kiss him on the spot either, so I did the next best thing to make it look like we were making out. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled his face down next to my neck slightly angling his body to cover me. The sudden motion caused him to catch himself with his hands against the wall on either side of me.

He wasn’t touching me, but I could feel his startled breathing against my neck. I ran my hand along the back of his neck and through his hair. It was extremely soft. I started making little noises and muttering Dean’s name. To sell the act, naturally.

Dean, once he recovered from his freezing shock started to brush the tip of his nose against my skin which startled me.

I heard a whistle from the end of the ally, “Yeah Ms. Starling! Get some!” The group rounded the corner to see us there. I flipped them off, making them laugh.

I gently tugged at the back of his collar to say it was okay to part now. As he straightened himself I caught his face and left a soft kiss on his cheek.

The group had started to disperse and go their separate ways since we were done putting on a show because they “caught” us.

Dean and I walked side by side out of the ally, by the time we got to the entrance our previous companions had all gone their separate ways.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” I started to walk the way we came, back towards the wall Meg was working on.

“No, uh, that was smart of you,” he jogged to catch up with me and shoved his hands into his pockets.

The walk was silent around the block.

Eventually we arrived to see what Meg had done. She had out done herself once again. The wall was covered with a silhouette of an angel. It’s wings were burning as the figure fell. It was intricate as only Meg could be. There were a few lone charred feathers across the wall as well. In the bottom corner an F was painted as if it had fallen over.

“It’s beautiful. How’d she get if done so fast?” Dean stared at the wall in awe.

I nodded, agreeing with him, “I’m pretty sure she made a demon deal, but I don’t know.” I pointed at the painting, “This is just street art, but this,” I pointed at the F, “makes it Fallen territory. Watch for it.” I patted the wall where there wasn’t any paint, “Alright, I’ll call you if something comes up you need to be at. Any questions?”

“Nope, I guess I’ll see you around Miss Y/n.”

I side-eyed him with a smirk before I started to walk towards my apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something like a week passed. It was relatively quiet, me minding my own business. I thought it was almost too quiet when I got a call from Meg.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Letterboys are causing some trouble on 5th Avenue. You wanna bring your boy toy to help sort this out?”

I hummed, “I was just thinking that it was getting boring around here. I’ll give him a call and head over.”

“See you, Starling.”

“Uh huh.” I hung up on her and dialed up Dean. I was redirected to his voicemail.

“This is Dean, you know what to do.”

“Hey, we’ve got a territory dispute over on 5th Ave, if you’ve got time you can stop by.”

I left it at that and headed out to show some mafia wannabes that territories aren’t to be messed with. It didn’t take long to see Meg standing off against a guy, maybe twenty-three years old.

“Everyone paired off already?”

“Yeah, I think there’s a straggler that headed west though, you wanna pick him up?”

I slapped her shoulder, “Yeah, I got it.”

I heard her start to make small talk with her challenger, he didn’t stand a chance, “So, how’s the other side of town?”

I chuckled as I started heading West, checking all the nooks and crannies. I eventually came up on a kid walking down an ally, his hood was up, head down.

“Hey kid, you lookin’ for something?”

He looked up at me, “Just heading home ma’am.”

I nodded, “Alright, just, have you happened to see anyone running around with a pointy triangle-ish mark on their wrist?”

He didn’t respond, he just pulled out a switchblade. How cute.

“Look kid, you look too young for this, and I’m too old for this, so why don’t you head back where you came from.” As I spoke I pulled out my own, slightly larger, switchblade.

It seemed like he didn’t want to talk anymore because he started to charge at me.

I smiled, “Alright, have it your way.”

I dodged him at first, but then I started to cut him just enough to sting. That seemed to make him angry to the point where he caught me a couple times too. I started cutting a little bit deeper, hoping he would give up.

“Okay, you’re obviously out of your league, why don’t you go home?”

He made a jab at me, to which I grabbed his wrist to stop him. What I didn’t expect was for him to toss the blade into his other hand and slice a fairly deep cut into my side.

“Dammit!” I shoved him away onto the ground and pulled out my gun from the back of my waistband. I pointed it at him and stepped on the hand with the switchblade, “That’s enough of that.”

He spit some blood onto the cement from the split lip I gave him at some point, “Cheater!”

“Hey, you’re the idiot that brought a knife to a gun fight.”

A single bleep from a siren sounded off behind me. I turned my head to see an unmarked police vehicle on the street.

“Ah, Detective Castiel, nice to see you!” I kept the gun pointed at the kid on the ground. He may not have been the smartest, but he was smart enough to not move.

“Y/n, if you shoot that kid I’m going to have to arrest you.” He didn’t sound amused as he walked around the car.

“I’m only going to shoot him if he tries to stab me again,” I stared at the kid pointedly, “got it?”

He nodded sadly.

I looked back at Cas, “You know, this kid was looking to cause some trouble, so really I’m doing your job for you.”

“Sure.”

“Is that a new trench coat? It looks nice.”

“It is, thank you. Are you going to let him go now?”

“I don’t know,” I looked back at the kid, “are you going to go home and not cause any trouble if I let you go?”

He nodded again.

I stopped pointing my gun at him and stepped off of his hand. He scrambled up and ran back the way he came.

I put my gun back into the back of my waistband, “Kids these days.” I popped my hip as I turned to fully face Cas for the first time tonight, “Chuck still wants you on the payroll, by the way.”

“And you already know what my answer is, Y/n,” he leaned back against the car behind him.

I sighed, “Yeah I do. You’re a good man and a good cop, Cas.”

He smiled, a rare occurrence, but I didn’t mention it. “You’re a good person too, Y/n.”

I laugh halfheartedly, “If you say so… If you say so.” I crossed my arms and felt the wet stickiness from my side, reminding me of my injury. “Anyway, Meg should be about a block east of here if you want to go say hi.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah I should see if you guys are causing any other trouble.”

I turned on my heel to head home and clean myself up, “Love you too Cas!”

I heard the car start and drive off behind me. I finally looked down at the cut to see how bad it was. I was wearing a black shirt, so the blood didn’t show, making it difficult to see just how bad it was. From what I could tell, it was a few inches across. I couldn’t tell just how deep it was, but the cut was positioned over my ribs, so it didn’t damage anything important. Luckily the kid’s knife was sharp, so it would heal faster as it didn’t tear the skin, unfortunately the kid’s knife was sharp, so it went deeper.

I pressed one hand against the wound while I walked back to my apartment. On the way my phone buzzed from a text.

Dean: Hey, sorry, I was called out. Did you still need some help over on 5th?

Me: No, it’s taken care of. I’m heading home now.

Dean: Okay.

I put my phone away and continued home. Eventually I was able to unlock my apartment, careful not to get blood anywhere. I headed straight to the bathroom, stripping off my shirt and tossing my phone on my table on the way. I held it to the cut while I dug around for the first aid kit and once I found it I tossed the soaked shirt into the sink.

I turned the water on, getting a washcloth wet. I started cleaning around the cut to get a better look at it, having to rinse out the washcloth a couple of times to prevent just smearing blood around.

It was still bleeding, but the pressure I put on it caused it to slow down. Once I got a good look at it I could tell it wasn’t going to cause too many problems other than taking a while to heal and being sore.

A knock came to the door. I was obviously not prepared for visitors, so I left it be. It was probably one of the neighbors, they liked to check in every once in a while. I hoped they would just move on. They knocked one more time before my phone rang in the other room. I really should have just turned it off.

Finally the phone stopped ringing, but not a moment later I heard the creek of my front door opening. I reached for my gun the was still in my pants.

“Y/n? It’s Dean, I’m coming in okay? Your door is open.”

I sighed in relief and placed my gun on the counter, “Okay.”

I heard some rustling of what I assumed was him taking his coat off and the click of the lock sliding into place.

I pulled out some cotton pads and soaked one in rubbing alcohol. I just looked at it for a second, not wanting to clean the wound, but knowing I had to. I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, preparing myself for the sting.

“I thought you said everything was taken care of.” I looked up to see Dean in the doorway. He had a hard look on his face.

“No, I said the problem was taken care of.” I relaxed against the back of the toilet, knowing that I had a second before I was going to clean my side.

He walked in and took the saturated cotton pad from my hand, “That looks like a problem to me.”

I tensed up in preparation for him to clean it once he started to approach me, “Something like that.”

He hesitated, “You want something to numb it?”

I let go of the breath I was holding, “Yeah, uh, whiskey’s in the kitchen.”

He stood up to go get it, leaving the cotton pad on the counter. He came back with the glass bottle and handed it to me. I took a couple of swigs before placing it on the counter next to the rest of the first aid supplies. I felt myself relax a little bit. I heard a clatter as I knocked something to the floor in the process though. I bent to pick it up, my body protesting a little bit, but I picked it up all the same.

“What’s that? On your back?”

I instantly knew he was talking about the black tattoo that was at the base of my neck, in a spot that my shirt would cover.

I turned so he could see them better, “They’re wings.”

He traced them for a moment before I turned back around, “You wanna get started on this please?”

He grabbed the cotton, “Yeah, of course. They’re beautiful.”

I hissed in response as he started to brush the alcohol along the wound. I clenched my jaw so hard it started to ache, I whimpered before biting down on my fist.

Dean paused and pulled on my hand, taking it from my mouth, “Hey, hey, focus on me. Why don’t you tell me a story, huh? Focus on something else.”

I was breathing heavily, “Like what.”

“What does Starling mean? Why’d you get that tattoo?”

“And why would you want to know that?”

He squeezed my hand, “Because you’re supposed to be my girlfriend, and I think I would know these things.” He smirked because he knew he backed me into a corner.

I groaned as he touched my side again, “Fine.” I took a deep breath, “As you already know everyone needs a nickname. I was called a lot of different things, some more… savory, appropriate than others. I don’t know why, but I always seemed to be favored by Nick, by Crowley. I got my name under Nick, but that doesn’t matter.”

I gasped as Dean pressed particularly deep to which he apologized.

“I was being bossy one day. Nobody was listening, I had just got back from an infiltration job. Someone, they’re not around anymore, they called me a stupid Starling, and it stuck. Starlings in North America are considered an invasive species, terribly annoying, and unwanted.” Dean gave me a break to get a new cotton pad to finish up, “Tattoo means the same once something is solidified, you get a tattoo representing your name and a Fallen symbol.” I pulled my ear forward and showed Dean the fallen F tattooed behind it, just like the one next to the angel Meg painted.

“Well, I think they look like angel wings.” Dean came back and started cleaning the last little corner and around the edge.

“Really? Black angel wings?” I tried not to flinch as he caught the edge a little roughly.

“Yeah, I do, Angel.” He threw away the cotton with a small smile on his face.

I laughed, “Okay, yeah, sure.”

Dean looked at the wound closely, “I think I’m gonna have to stitch it up, just so it’ll heal faster.”

“You know how to do that?” I gestured to the first aid kit, knowing that stitching supplies were there, I had to do some myself every once in a while.

“I’m decent.” He started sterilizing the needle with a lighter he had in his pocket before cooling it off with the rubbing alcohol. “So how’d you get this in the first place?”

The stitching process was still painful, but not as bad as the cleaning. “Letterboys were roaming our side of town, looking for trouble.”

“Letterboys?”

I snorted, “They call themselves Lettermen, don’t ask me why, I have no idea. Really, they’re gang wannabes, so we call them Letterboys.”

Dean tugged at the needle to tighten a stitch, “Uh, huh. And if they’re so pathetic why’d you get this thing?”

I huffed out a laugh, “This idiot brought a knife to a gun fight and I played along for a little too long.”

“Ah, makes total sense.”

“So, how was work in a new city?” I wiped around my eyes to make sure I didn’t have any tears showing.

“Uh, it was alright,” he tied off the last stitch, “transfer information is still being worked out, but they’re thinking about pairing me up with this Detective Castiel or whatever.”

I smiled, “That’ll be good. Cas is a good guy. I actually saw him tonight.”

“Was that before or after you got injured?”

“After.”

Dean looked at me skeptically, “If he’s such a good guy, why didn’t he take you to the doctor or something? Is he in with Chuck?”

“Nah, it was dark, I was wearing that black shirt, I didn’t let him notice. And no, he’s the farthest person from Chuck you could get. He’s tried to take Chuck down a couple of times actually, gotten close too. That’s why Chuck desperately wants him to join, but Cas has the same answer every time, not in his right mind would he ever join.”

“So he’s trustworthy,” Dean nodded, satisfied.

“To an extent, yes.” I examined his handiwork, I was impressed. “You can’t tell him you’re into this though, not that you’re undercover, not that you know me. He’s already too deep into this and if he changes his behavior, thinking there’s a chance he can help you take Chuck down? Chuck will get suspicious and everything will fall apart, okay?”

“Understood.”

I stood up, testing the stitches, “Good.” I started cleaning up the counter and putting stuff away when Dean stopped me and started cleaning up himself. “Thanks,” I headed towards my bedroom and grabbed a new shirt to throw on. I groaned involuntarily when my stitches stretched as I pulled it over my head.

“You okay in there?” Dean asked from the bathroom.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I changed into some sweatpants while I was there.

“Do you wanna keep this or...” He trailed off as I walked out in a shirt that looked very similar to the one in the sink.

“Nah, I’ll just toss it,” I pulled at the hem of my shirt, “these are pretty cheap.” I wrung out the shirt as best I could and walked into the kitchen to throw it away, “The bathroom was just in the opposite direction of my gross trash.” I washed my hands, “Thank you, can I get you anything?”

“Another fake make-out session?”

I snorted, “And why would you ever want that?”

“Because it was hot.” Dean had a teasing smirk on his face as he followed my example. “But for real, do you have a beer Angel?”

I reached into the fridge to grab us some, “You’re serious about calling me that?”

He popped it open easily, “Yeah, I think it’s cute.”

I shook my head and walked to my couch with a beer in hand and curled up into the side, “So.” I gestured for Dean to join me, “What was so important that you knocked on my door twice, called me, and then walked into my apartment anyway?”

He groaned in embarrassment, “Well, it’s not important anymore…”

I laughed, “Oh come on Dean, tell me a story.”

Best Buds: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Dean: @akshi8278 @msmarvelouswinchester

#dean x reader #cop au #mafia au #cop!dean #spncreatorsdaily #mafia!reader #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #make me feel bingo #tell me a story 2 #dean winchester #moodboard

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Victor’s Encounter Date (Eng Translation)

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

Edit: This date has been released in EN!

The date begins with MC in her office at 11pm, preparing Victor’s “big surprise”

Over the past two weeks, she has been sending Victor small gifts to express her gratitude for his help in getting her a smooth interview with Mr Sheng, a real estate tycoon

While she’s in the office, Victor calls her regarding the puppy apron he received

Overall, he would give brief comments on these gifts. He would only say a word of thanks when he occasionally comes across a gift which suits his tastes.

As for the puppy apron I sent today...

Before I can continue asking him about the apron, Victor has already changed the topic.

Victor: If you’re willing to spend all your time on official business, you wouldn’t need to stay up every day... work is never-ending. It’s about time to go home and rest.

MC: Eh?

How does he know that I haven’t returned home to rest yet?

I hastily look out the window. A black car is stationary under the streetlamp. Even though I can’t see the car plate clearly, my instincts tell me that it’s Victor.

MC: Why are you here?

Victor: I was just passing by.

Really...

Victor: Come down. I’ll send you home.

MC: Okay! I’ll pack my things and head down.

Victor: There doesn’t seem to be a big proposal recently. Why do you have to stay till so late?

My heart rattles, and I hurriedly find a reason to get by.

MC: Maybe my mood hasn’t been good recently, so I’m always not in the zone when doing work.

I thought Victor would respond to my words with taunting remarks. Instead his tone slows down, revealing his certainty in me.

Victor: The interview you did with Mr Sheng wasn’t bad. There’s no need to be too impatient, or give yourself too much stress. The accumulation of work always requires time.

Just before I turn the lights off, I toss another glance at the present on the table. Even though he can’t see my expression, I can’t help but smile and nod.

MC: All right.

The next day, Mr Sheng sends her an invitation to a club to meet some of his friends in the industry, mentioning that MC’s interviews have had a positive effect on his company’s reputation

She agrees because it’s an opportunity to expand her network

When she arrives at the club, Victor happens to be there too

Mr Sheng receives a phone call and leaves Victor and MC alone

Victor doesn’t let her drink alcohol, and orders her a glass of warm water instead:

Noticing me look longingly at the beautifully coloured tequila sunrise in his hand, he puts a small red paper umbrella into my cup.

Later on, MC finds herself with nothing to do, so Victor stuffs a cue stick into her hand and suggests they have a game of billiards

MC suggests that if she wins, he has to pass her proposal

She had spent two months on the proposal, but Victor had put it down, saying that it's overly risky

MC: Don’t underestimate me! I’ve won second place in my school’s billiards competition.

While I was prepared for his taunting remarks, Victor grows silent instead.

His interest seems to be piqued, and he sits sideways on the billiard table.

Victor: You’ve left the nest?

He chalks the tip of the cue stick slowly. Seeing that I didn’t say a word, he lifts his eyes towards me, as though genuinely wanting to know my answer to this question.

Actually...

These types of situations happen from time to time. After all, no one wants the proposals they’ve worked hard on to be rejected.

As long as Victor doesn’t completely reject the proposal, I’ll keep on striving.

Come to think of it, this seems to be the first time he has commented on my efforts to keep striving.

Victor: All right. We’ll have one round.

Without waiting for my response, he has already made a decision. His low voice has a hint of joy in it.

I hold my breath and find the most comfortable angle to strike the ball. The colourful balls crash and collide, and one of them rolls in a straight line to the lower right corner--

MC: Yes!

Victor looks at the colourful ball as it rolls into the bag. His brows are raised slightly, and he is clearly surprised.

Victor: No wonder you dared to challenge me today.

MC: The stereotype you have of me is too deep. I’m not really a dummy!

Victor: A dummy’s luck just tends to be better.

My desire to win is ignited. No matter what, I’m going to fight back against his ridicule.

MC: Watch carefully - this is skill, not luck!

Victor leans at the corner of the billiard table, his arms folded. It’s as though he is intrigued, and has an expression which says that he’s going to continue appreciating my “performance”.

My cue stick moves forward, and the white ball leaves my corner, colliding firmly against a bunch of colourful pool balls, and then gets hit into the diagonal bottom pocket...

At the very same moment, I can clearly hear Victor’s chuckle.

Victor: Mm, your skills are not bad.

MC: There’s no need to be too happy. It’s 1 against 0. I’m in the lead.

Victor takes two steps forward. He retrieves the white ball from the bag, gets into position, and leans down slowly.

He isn’t anxious to enter the game at all. He adjusts the angle several times before lifting his head to look at me.

Victor: If you lose, you’re not allowed to cry.

MC: Are you treating me like a child?

Right after the words leave my mouth, the two balls that are hit roll outwards with a “ping”. One rolls into the middle bag, and one rolls into the bottom bag.

At the same time, he stands in position without a hint of hesitation, and strikes. The “ping ping” sounds of impact reverberate continuously in the room--

I lean against the wall nervously, “appreciating” how Victor makes shot after shot, striking the balls into the hole.

His calm expression and skilful techniques completely strip the game of suspense.

He stops his movements and looks at the watch on his wrist. He straightens up and arches an eyebrow towards me slightly.

Victor: Do you still want to continue?

MC: Of course we’ll continue...

My words lack confidence, but I’m someone whose resolve will not die until I reach my goal...

Victor: Don’t waste time. Let’s set new rules. The one who gets the black ball in first wins.

Victor lets MC go first, but she starts feeling nervous

Victor: Want to admit defeat?

MC: Not at all...

After a pause, I say what’s in my heart.

MC: I can’t win against you.

Suddenly, a familiar scent surrounds me.

Victor leans over, pressing himself against my back, holding my cue stick with both hands.

The cue stick controlled by Victor strikes the white ball cleanly. After a crisp sound of impact, the black ball rolls straight into the middle bag.

Victor: Congratulations, your proposal has passed.

Victor’s low voice is at my ear, tinged with a smile.

Not knowing if I should be happy or not, I mutter softly.

MC: This can hardly be called winning...

Victor: I didn’t say that you won. I already passed your proposal last night. You didn’t check your e-mail after work.

Victor’s breath descends on the side of my neck, bringing with it a ticklish residual heat and water vapour. His embrace limits my movements, and my line of sight is confined to the frizz on the billiard table.

MC: ...

Victor: This round of creativity is indeed very risky. If you lose against the market-

MC: I will win!

Without waiting for him to finish, I cut him off.

MC: If it fails, I’ll double this year’s revenue!

I express my attitude decisively. Victor suddenly lowers his head and leans even closer.

The sudden closing of distance magnifies every small detail between us. I can smell his cool and clear scent, and hear every one of his steady breaths.

Victor: I’ll wait and see.

Victor’s body temperature seeps through his thin shirt, covering my slightly trembling back.

Flustered, I try to turn around. Just as I turn my head, my cheek is pressed against his chin.

At this moment, the doors are suddenly flung open. Mr Sheng and a group of others are chatting heartily and about to enter the room. Seeing Victor and I, they pause.

Realising in shock that the position Victor and I are in appears too intimate, I hurriedly squirm out from under his arm, and stand at a corner silently.

On the other hand, Victor calmly straightens up, looking straight at the audience.

Mr Sheng gives me a knowing smile. There’s even a bit of unexpected fondness in his eyes...

Mr Sheng: CEO Victor, I was going to introduce you to two friends who just returned from Wall Street.

Victor retrieves his business card from his pocket, and a small hairpin falls onto the ground.

It’s a red hairpin with a small bowknot on it. There are even two coloured diamonds embedded on the bowknot...

Everyone’s attention is focused on the hairpin.

At that moment, a sentence flashes across my mind: I’m doomed.

With a blank expression, he stoops down to pick up the hairpin, and looks at me without a trace of surprise.

Victor: When did you put this into my pocket?

Sensing the playful glances from the crowd of onlookers, my cheeks flush involuntarily.

MC: I... don’t remember the specific moment, but I did it when you weren’t paying attention...

Victor knits his eyebrows, revealing a perplexed expression.

Victor: Another gift for me?

MC: Yes.

After speaking, I have a “since I’m going to die, I might as well make it worth it” attitude, and continue.

MC: You can use this hairpin to clip up your bangs. I think it’s quite practical when used during work...

Even though I’m certain that I’m speaking in a volume only Victor and I can hear, everybody’s teasing smiles make me feel uneasy...

Victor has maintained the reputation of a thousand-year iceberg for so long. I’m afraid it has been ruined by my hands on this night.

Victor: What nonsense are you thinking about the entire day...

While saying this, Victor puts the small hairpin back into his pocket.

Victor’s reputation is still a formidable one. Even if Victor doesn’t explain himself, the gossip of the onlookers end as soon as he takes out his business card.

All the way till the end of dinner, I obediently maintain a smile, not daring to mention the hairpin to Victor.

On our way home, after much rumination, I decide to give Victor a solemn apology. Before the apology leaves my lips, Victor brings up the topic.

Victor: I accept your goodwill entirely. Could you stop giving me gifts now?

I nod reluctantly, but still struggle with my apology.

MC: I’m sorry about what happened today...

Victor: What are you sorry for?

MC: For making a fool out of you in front of so many people.

Victor: No one will think that way.

Victor adjusts the cuffs of his suit with a calm expression on his face.

It’s as though what happened just now was really not enough to pose an issue to him.

After a few days, MC appears before Victor with a exquisitely wrapped present

👀

It’s a 32 page business report...

It contains data from the company’s monthly financial reports, business index data, word-of-mouth surveys from large-scale programs, market share, etc. ever since LFG started funding MC’s company

MC: All the data reflects that our company has had good business this year. We not only filled in the losses, but our profit margin was also 50% higher than expected.

Victor: So?

MC: It shows that you have a good eye, and have once again made a successful investment!

I expected him to simply cast a sweeping glance at it. Instead, he starts flipping through the report seriously after hearing my words.

Every rustle of the paper flipping makes my heart rattle.

I start feeling nervous for no reason, worried that he would be as he usually is, picking out all sorts of mistakes from the report, and fiercely criticising me.

After some time, he finally closes the report.

Victor: Not bad.

MC: ...

MC: !!!

Victor: What kind of an expression is that?

MC: I’m happy! Only a few gifts I gave you received praise...

Victor pulls open a drawer. While he places the report inside, he takes out a few items at the same time and puts them on the desk.

A salon card, a red hairpin, essential oil for sleep...

Victor: You want me to compliment these things?

I huff, feeling a little guilty.

MC: I... shall return to my office then?

Victor looks as though he’s about to say something, but his phone rings. I stand up quietly, silently gesturing an “I’m leaving” with my hands.

Victor: Wait.

Right after taking two steps, Victor stops me.

Victor: I’ll pick you up at 6pm.

I turn around to see him covering the bottom half of the phone. I hurriedly nod, and suddenly think of something.

MC: Have you started using the puppy apron?

Victor tosses me a glance. After a few seconds of silence, he continues with his phone call.

Fine...

I’ll record this as an addition to the “Victor Not Saying What He Truly Feels” series.

Phone Calls: First // Second

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #MC is HILARIOUS

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flimflamfranky · 4 years

Text

Day 14 - Heat Exhaustion

Franky discovers a drawback to his cybernetics.

It was so hot.

Franky tugged at his shirt, trying to fan some air in there, as he followed Nami through the town. They had just landed on a new island, some small fishing village on the way Sabaody, for a quick pit spot. He and Nami both needed more ink and paper, so they had set out together.

(Nami also claimed it was to “curb his horrendous spending habits”, which, rude. He wasn’t that bad - he only barely went over the limit last time! But still, he didn’t mind the company.) It was supposed to a fun little outing - get out, stretch the legs, see the sights, pick up some supplies. Franky had been looking forward to it. It was nice to have quiet trips to land between all the adventuring. But apparently, this was also a summer island, and summer islands were hot. Too hot. How could everyone else stand it? His back felt it was drenched in sweat, and everyone else was walking around like it was a perfectly pleasant day! A fun outing, Franky bemoaned to himself. This was miserable.

Eventually, they got to what seemed to be a town square - it was a plaza, with benches and trimmed bushes, and a small fountain. Nami stopped to ask some locals where a stationary store would be and Franky immediately narrowed on the fountain. Water! Cool, refreshing water! He rushed over, and sprawl out as much as possible, leaning back into the faint spray of water with a relieved sigh. He briefly considered just jumping in, but he’d definitely get chewed out by Nami. He did stick a foot in there, though, and ignored the weird looks he got from the locals. “Wow, tired already?” Nami teased as she joined him. “You’re such an old man.” “I ain’t that old!” Franky protested. And then he looked at her, confused. “Aren’t you hot, too?” He asked, waving to her outfit. It was a smart outfit - colorful buttoned up shirt and khakis - but Franky broke out into another sweat just looking at it. “No?” Nami said, looking down at herself. “It feels fine to me.” “That ain’t fair. I’m over here sufferin’, and you’re fine and dandy.” Franky wiped at the sweat on his brow. “I swear, Water 7 never got this hot.” “Yeah, because of all the water,” Nami said, smirking. “You’re just not used to this kinda heat.” Franky grumbled a vague protest, and glared up at the sun. Well, squinted vaguely in its direction, but still. “If it’s bothering you,” Nami said. “I can go by myself-“ “No, no!” Franky forced himself up. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” “Well, alright,” Nami said, and she pointed down one of the streets. “That lady said there was a shop down this way that sold ink and papers.” Franky gestured for her to lead the way, and followed her at a brisk pace. He wasn’t about to let some measly heat get the best of him! He’d just tough it out. Maybe he’d even get use to it, after some exposure. Either way, he could totally handle it. Everything was going to be fine. ~ Everything was not fine. If anything, it got worse. It felt like his cola was boiling inside of him. The store hadn’t helped matters - it had been stifling inside without the light breeze. He had to leave the whole transaction up to Nami. Not that she would’ve allowed otherwise, but he had barely been able to focus on even picking out some paper. He was having a lot of trouble with that, focusing. It was like he was in haze, like his brain was melting into a puddle of goo. He felt heavy. Lethargic. It super sucked. At least they were heading back to the Sunny, now. He can handle that, no problem. “Franky?” “Huh?” Franky looked down to see Nami peering up at him. The look on her face made hin suspect she’d been calling him for a while. Oops. She squinted at him, face drawn into a frown. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Franky waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Honest.” “You don’t look fine,” Nami said, unimpressed. “Come on, we can go sit somewhere until-“ “No!” Franky said, stubbornly. He wasn’t gonna give up because of a little heat! “I can...make to back to the Sunny.” “Ugh, why are you guys always so stubborn? You don’t have to push yourself like this!” “I’m not-“ Franky cut off as he stumbled over his feet, just barely catching himself before he ate dirt. “Woah, hey!” Nami was sounded panicked now. Crap. He didn’t want to worry her. “It’s fine.” Franky tried say. He felt strangely breathless. “I must’ve just...tripped over somethin’...” “No, that excuse won’t work on me,” Nami snapped as she reached out to steady him. “You should really- Ah!” Her hands had rested on his arm, but she immediately withdrew, shaking her hands. “Jeez, you’re burning up!” Franky blinked at the ground, hard. Something was beginning to feel wrong. Wrong with his cybernetics, wrong. He thought it was just the heat, but there was something else, he could feel it. He...needed to get back to the Sunny. Now. He opened his mouth to tell Nami that, but his tongue felt heavy and he couldn’t get his breathing right. He...he needed to get up. He forced himself up, hands out to steady himself. His eyes snapped to the horizon, and for a moment everything was good, but then, almost in slow motion, everything began tilting, going all sideways, and that was weird- “Franky!” Oh, he was on the ground again. That wasn’t right. He needed to get up. To...the Sunny. That’s right. He tried to get up, but his limbs wouldn’t respond right. It was like he was moving through oil. Someone was standing over. Hands hovering. Orange hair. Nami. He couldn’t worry her. He needed to get up. He needed- ~ Franky woke to a headache. The dull throb almost shocked him awake, pulling him from a hazy half-asleep state. Then he became uncomfortably aware of other things - a scratchy throat, clammy skin, cramping muscles. He winced. “Franky?” Franky cracked on eye open. The glaring light hurt, but he was able to make out Chopper hovering over him, holding something. He tried to say something but his mouth was too dry and his throat was too sore so all that came out was a pathetic wheeze. “Can you sit up? You need to drink this water.” Franky scowled at the thought of moving, but he did shuffled up into a vaguely vertical position, helped by Chopper’s gentle hands. Then, a glass of water was pushed into his hand. “Drink. Slowly, please.” Franky nodded absently, and took a small sip. The cool relief was almost instantaneous, and Franky found himself draining the whole thing in one go. “I said slowly!” Chopper yelled, wacking him lightly on the arm. “Sorry,” Franky mumbled, weakly, handing the glass back. Chopper refilled it, and passed it back. Franky drank, slowly this time, taking measured sip under Chopper’s stern watch, until Chopper deemed him hydrated enough. Once he handed the glass back, Franky slumped back down, feeling exhausted. Had just drinking water drained him that much? Yeesh. Chopper hovering over him. “Do you remember what happened?” Franky furrowed his brow in thought. “Yeah, I went shopping with Nami, and is was super hot. Too hot. And I...fainted?” At Chopper’s confirming nod, Franky groaned. “That’s embarrassing.” “It’s concerning, that’s what it is!” Chopper said, his voice going even more squeaky. “You almost had a heatstroke!” “Oh.” Franky blinked. “Is that bad?” “Yes!!!” Chopper wailed. “You could’ve died!” “Oh.” Franky winced, and sunk down further into the pillow. “I...I didn’t think it was that bad...” Chopper wiped at his nose with a sniffle, and gave him a glare. “Nami said you were being stubborn.” Ah, and there was that guilt. He’d gone and sacred everyone, hadn’t he? “I’m sorry,” He said. Then, he remembered, vaguely, Nami panicking over him, and...burning herself? “Is Nami alright?” “She’s fine,” Chopper said. “A little shaken, but fine. She got Luffy to bring you back here.” Franky sighed in relief, and he grimaced. “Ugh. She’s gonna super chew me out later, isn’t she?” “Yes. And you’ll deserve it,” Chopper said. “And I’ll deserve it,” Franky repeated, resigned. He settled further down into the pillow with a deep sigh. There was a moment of silence before Chopper spoke up again. “You know you don’t have to prove anything to us, right?” Chopper said, worrying his hooves together. “We wouldn’t think any less of you.” “Yeah, I know,” Franky said, reaching out to give Chopper a pat on the hand. “It just seemed like such a little thing to brought low by, ya know? And honestly,” Franky chuckled sheepishly. “I thought, being a cyborg n all, I wouldn’t be effected by these sorts of things as much.” “I suppose that makes sense.” Chopper said, reaching up to grab Franky’s hand. Franky let his hand slide down so Chopper could hold it easier. “I have a theory, actually.” “Yeah?” “Yeah!” Chopper nodded. “You were really hot to the touch, earlier, your metal. And, I’ve noticed, you tend to run hotter than everyone else. I think, maybe; your cybernetics caused you to overheat faster than normal.” “Yeah,” Franky sighed. “That’s my theory, too. Means I gotta lot of work ahead of me.” Chopper titled his head, confused. “Eh?”

“I’ve already got a coolant for my fridge, so I just need to beef up that system and rewire it through my body.” Franky chewed at his lip, pensive. “This’ll probably happen in cold weather too, so I should probably add a heating system as well...Gotta figure out how to make it automatic, but manual wouldn’t hurt either...”

He trailed off when he felt Chopper grip his hand tighter, and he looked to down to see Chopper getting teary-eyed again.

“You can fix this?” Chopper asked, blinking up at him.

“Well, yeah, bro,” Franky said, patting Chopper’s check. “Wouldn’t even be that hard, really.”

Chopper slumped against his hand, letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear!”

“I really worried you, huh?”

“It was hard not to be,” Chopper said. “I’m not exactly a mechanic, ya know.”

“Oh. Yeah, I could see that being a problem.” Franky let his hand relax, held up by Chopper’s grip, as he yawned. “I can teach ya a few things. If ya want.” “I’d like that,” Chopper said, with a wobbly grin. Then he sniffled, and put on his stern doctor face. “But first! You need to rest more! I shouldn’t have kept you up so much!”

“I don’t mind,” Franky said, grinning, even though he did feel exhausted. “I’m not taking medical opinion from you, Mister-Ignore-My-Symptoms.” Chopper bopped him gently on the head. “Now rest!”

Franky chuckled, but he settled further into the bed, making himself comfortable. “Aye, aye, Doctor.”

#one piece #opfanfic #franky #cyborg franky #whumptober2020 #no.14 #heat exhaustion #fainting #nami #chopper #wow this one really got away from me whoops #it's like...six pages??#franky and chopper just would not stop talking #my stuff #thepilotsfic #no shirt no shoes no service #whump

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radiojamming · 4 years

Note

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that?

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again.

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be—

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact.

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say.

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon.

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with.

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake.

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image.

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them.

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic.

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

#prompt fill #tma #the magnus archives #jonmichael #THIS WAS RLY FUN ;w;#tried to fix the wonky mobile formatting!

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vaguely-gestures-to-the-void · 3 years

Text

Hindsight: My thoughts on Loki (2021)

Welcome back! Spoilers below!

I need to clarify that I watch Loki purely as an escape. I've got a biased perspective in that regard because I don’t actively try to find fault with the show, though there are definitely things I’m not so inclined to. This is more of what I noticed and think things mean and it’s something I’m doing for fun. Anyways, here's my thoughts on episode 2 my loves.

Episode 2: THE VARIANT

Pre-title scene

Miss Minutes’ monologue in the recap is different to the one last ep.

1985 Oshkosh, Wisconsin

C-20!

“Today’s guest performances” on a board. Don’t really know if it means anything tho.

The Iconic (TM) I Need A Hero scene.

Pony.

The green tent - the lair of Loki.

I know not everyone’s a fan of the lighting, but it made sense to me. They’re still in the dark about who Sylvie is.

Why does C-20 take off her helmet? For the drama?

I hope Sylvie cleaned her blade. Narnia taught me well.

The Time Samsung (I can’t remember what it’s called right now) says that the date’s 04/12/1985.

Loki’s first mission (?)

‘Volume 26’ - how many of these does Mobius have?? #giveMobiusajetski

“ONLY at your LOCAL AUTHORIZED DEALER” - subtext about the TVA being control freaks? Jet ski safety?

I googled Wake Magazine. They’re up to volume 20 from what I saw, whilst Loki is reading volume 26, so I guess that’s something

Loki and Miss Minutes lmaooo.

Behind Loki’s elbow is the taxidermy something from the last episode. Also confirms that Loki threatened Casey at Mobius’ desk lol.

The thing has an egg?? What the hell is Mobius collecting? (He’s a Harry Hart variant lmao).

There are little twitches in Miss Minnutes’ hands. That’s so cool!

The egg timer’s a nice easter egg (I’m a comedian).

Mobius! B-15! :)

Is it just me or do the minutemen look similar, but not exactly the same. Makes sense if they’re variants.

I just realised the lights are built into the ceiling. Whoops.

What’s Mobius’ favourite?

Couple of things:

The racks full of identical uniforms/ones just hung up on doors.

The music has started to pick up the pace, but not in the way we see later on in the episode.

There’s a sign saying ‘FARE THEE WELL’ on it. Google tells me that it’s ‘used to express good wishes on parting’. Dang that was some good foreshadowing!

The person that looks like Agatha is still present.

I wonder whether it was supposed to be colder or whether the weather was just like that when they filmed.

The pony’s still around.

I think B-15 certainty that “a Loki couldn’t have gotten the jump of C-20” comes from her experience with them. She constantly tries to make it clear that because she’s not a variant, she’d know Loki better than he would, which (personally) makes the revelation that she’s a variant feel more devastating.

Again with the lighting, they’re still in partial darkness, constantly moving in and out of the light. Whilst what Loki says about the variant setting a trap is true, it isn’t in the context that he says it. Sylvie whoops their asses later.

The black and red-orange flags remind me of tomb markers. It’s a stretch, ik.

B-15 only has tally marks on one side of her helmet.

Mobius has fake pockets in his suit jacket. They’re the worst.

The ticking increasing in tempo as they approach red line - great for setting up tension.

I believe that Loki uses personal space like a weapon - slowly approaching them from the front, and then going behind Mobius’ back when he wants his way. It would make anyone uncomfortable, especially on a subconscious level because there’s a threat behind you.

Or maybe it’s that I have different personal space boundaries, not everyone likes being approached from behind. Loki’s movement felt intentional at least.

Getting Mobius to physically turn his way because of that might have been very subtle manipulation?

Loki looking back and forth trying to judge their reactions lol.

I liked the music in this scene, it sets up tension for Loki’s first attempt at betraying Mobius but then doesn’t completely dismiss it when it’s resolved.

Ravonna Renslayer’s office

The music here is 18 morceaux, Op. 72, No. 2. Berceuse. 18 morceaux, Op. 72: No. 2, Berceuse (Arr. For Theremin and piano) by Clara Rockmore for anyone that’s curious. I found out through Natalie Holt’s Twitter (I think).

The score is, and always will be, perfection.

Mobius’ small talk amuses me.

“Why do you get to keep all the trophies from my cases in here, you don’t think I’d love having that roller skate?” Mobius, what about the thing on the shelf behind your desk????

Ravonna seems like she’s answered these questions before, but she has a fondness for him that makes me think they’re good friends.

Also does Ravonna have multiple complete collections of the Encyclopaedia Britannica in her office? What are those books??

“I hope it’s a double.” Me too Mobius, me too (drink responsibly).

I don’t get how people think Mobius doesn’t remember leaving the stains. It sounded like Ravonna was chiding him for a bad habit and Mobius just made up a remark, not confusion.

Although he does place the cup at a different spot to the rings.

The ship flying past in the windows is a wonderful detail.

“The variant likes to stall for time.” It's very satisfying to me how everything stays relevant. Every detail advances the plot/contributes to it.

“Look, I know you have a soft spot for broken things.”

“I don’t think so-”

“Yes you do.”

Both Mobius and Ravonna only look at the middle figure when referring to the time Keepers. Either the other two are side-lined or don’t contribute at all.

“I’ll delete him myself.” At this point in time, I think Mobius is serious. As the episode progresses, his status may have changed, especially after the Jet Ski philosophy session.

Ravonna’s sash on the peg reminds me of the ones the people talking to Casey were wearing in episode 1.

Man those doors are so cool.

Peak sitting outside the principal’s office energy.

Mobius whistles at Loki as opposed to talking to him like he does later.

Any screen shot from the following scene is pristine chaotic disaster bi Loki energy featuring tired-of-your-tomfoolery Mobius.

“Isn’t that precisely why I’m here?” This marked a change in Loki to me. Up until that point, he’d tried to use what he’d known, who he’d been by scheming his way to the Time Keepers. By admitting he wasn’t sure of his purpose, we’re back with the person at the end of the last episode. It’s very Loki to try all avenues to get what he wants, and after having his world turned upside-down a few times in a short period, maybe he just wanted the familiarity of his old tricks, who he thinks he is.

Loki tensing up and then trying to assert control again reaffirms what I just said.

Man, give Mobius a holiday after all of this. Loki really tested him, huh?

Loki definitely likes validation on some level.

TVA archives (a.k.a the Salad Scene)

I can’t believe that place really exists. The looks combined with the music are just *chef kisses*.

I’m not sure if I’m thinking of the right progression, but the music reminds me of a plagal cadence. Google examples and play it side-by-side, you’ll get what I mean, maybe someone knows what it really is?

On either side of the elevators near the Time Keeper statues are the signs TVA archives.

The symmetry pleases my goblin brain.

I believe the entire show was just flexing the skills of the Loki crew and I couldn’t be happier.

“Pretend your life depends on it. I’m gonna get a snack.” This was so funny in the trailers but Mobius is dead serious (delete him myself comment). And he couldn’t even enjoy his salad.

Love that the end of credits takes from some of the scenes in episode 2.

The archivist has neat glasses.

I want some TVA stationary y’all.

It’s that moment fam.

I can’t be the only one curious by the ‘DISPLACED by 000:000:002:162’. Is that in Units? It would explain why the time line looks slightly bendy whenever we see it, especially if Apocalypses are so frequent.

IT’S THE SALAD LADS!

Mobius is reading the magazine that Loki was looking at earlier. Jet skis are Mobius’ comfort character.

“Don’t set fire to the palace.”

Tom Hiddleston has so much energy, he can move so fast.

“Oh God.” - Mobius, Null Time Zone

“YOU.” - Casey, Null Time Zone

Casey!

No thoughts, head empty, the Salad (TM).

But seriously, people only seem to be at their tables with others that work in a similar section. Not hunters and analysts eating in tandem to me, folks.

Oh Casey. Please don’t hurt him.

Aw, Mobius’ little giggle warmed my heart. Owen Wilson’s giving me whiplash with Mobius. My heart can’t take this y’all.

79 AD Pompeii, Italy

They’re both so giddy, Your Honour, I love them.

Mobius snuck them out lol.

“Bird noises?”

“BE FREE MY HORNED FRIENDS, BE FREE!” The post wouldn’t be complete without this.

Loki just throwing food at people and telling them “...enjoy your last meal while you can” is top tier comedy to me.

This is the first time we see Loki openly say nothing matters. I feel like the case file on the destruction of Asgard really pushed him to treat fate as unchangeable.

LXXIX is 79. Nice one Loki crew!

Mobius’ eye twitching as he checks the variance is a nice touch.

Loki throws away the stick that was holding the goat pen closed at the end.

TVA Archives, TVA cafeteria

Mobius picked up those files so smoothly I had to re-watch it.

Their position reflected what they were talking about - when Loki thinks it’s his individual contribution, he’s walking separately to Mobius, but they meet up when working together. I loved the blocking in that little moment.

I seriously thought that Loki was unconscious when I first saw him asleep around Mobius. I’ll admit it, it felt out-of-character for someone with such bad trust issues. Both of them seem pretty tired tho.

It’s the Jet Ski conversation comrades!

I’m beaming. Mobius talking about Jet Skis was the only time I’ve really remembered it’s Owen Wilson talking. It’s such a fun line to think about!

Loki’s smile. Adorable.

Just go watch the scene, it’ll give you good brain juices.

Mobius does it all for the Jet Skis and nothing else. I don’t make the rules, the Time Keepers do.

“My own glorious purpose.” This is a recurring theme in the season. Ultimately, I think that Loki is going to run for as long as it brings in money/until Loki gets killed again. However, I do like to think that in following seasons we’ll move beyond setting up Phase 4 Marvel stuff and just get deep dives into Loki’s character, though it may happen in the later eps or not be as interesting. Part of what made this show so interesting is the new setting in the Marvel universe but it’s hard to make predictions as to whether it will last in a show featuring the God of Mischief. Whatever happens, I’m happy that we got to see Loki’s existential crisis together, lads.

The music picks up, signalling that this quiet moment is about to end.

“No one bad is ever truly bad. And no one good is every truly good.”

“Scared little boy.”

These lines mean a lot to me. Loki perceives Mobius as an equal, similar to himself but not completely identical. The TVA’s whole aesthetic is Kafkaesque (Disney+ used that word), the imperfections keeping the place from looking mechanical and orderly like what the TVA promotes itself to be. Loki wants Mobius to acknowledge it, but Mobius is in the past, not addressing what’s right in front of him, surrounding him. That’s probably because Mobius doesn’t believe, he accepts what he’s been told though Loki wants to change that. He’s still focused on his job, the variant. I don’t think Mobius will struggle against change in the ‘belief’ part as long as things are rational.

Kate Herron (director) said that the Kablooie scene was improv which makes me wish we had more B roll of Owen and Tom. They seem so professional, invested and fun on set.

“No wonder you’re so bitter.” I’m sorry Mobius you sound as salty as your salad.

‘Artificially flavoured chewing gum’ Has something happened causing artificial flavouring to be preferred?

‘Blue’ has canonically changed to ‘Bloo’ by 2050 in America in the MCU. I blame capitalism.

Why does Mobius look so tiny? I say that like Owen Wilson wouldn’t look like a giant next to me lol.

Owen Wilson is 3.5 inches (9 centimetres) shorter than Tom Hiddleston. Yet he is dwarfed as Mobius. I need to stop talking about this and move on.

There’s no ‘variance energy detected’ line in the report.

“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.” Loki looks so chuffed.

One day, I’ll properly address my thoughts on the shipping. Until then, I just want no one to die.

“Yeah, he’s doing great.” Mobius is so hyped. Good for him.

Owen Wilson has dimples.

Ravonna’s screen doesn’t show the timeline like it does later.

Ravonna is the done mom friend. Sane, undeserving of this, please give her a jet ski moment.

Buckle up folks because the last twenty minutes of this episode are my favourite so far.

At 34 minutes in, we get the music fading in with “Okay. But Mobius...” and a transition to my favourite composition so far. Natalie Holt outdid herself. The soundtrack is nearly constant, there’s no break for a moment of clarity anymore. The progression of events is inevitable, tying the bow on a plot line created in an hour and a half. The little embellishment from the strings (possibly) as Mobius and Loki exit is perfect. Combined with Loki’s raised fist leading to a pan to the ceiling, it prepared the audience for everything being turned upside down.

The changing camera angles and shot lengths (the continuous shot when B-15 takes the knives, the circling behind as the briefing occurs) keep viewers on their toes. The continuous shot is fluid, B-15 doesn’t look at Loki or Mobius, her reaction is natural and that just proves that the timing on that scene was impeccable. The circling behind reminded me of Loki positioning himself behind Mobius as he did earlier, but now he’s on the same side, part of the team though he continues to distinguish between himself and the variant. The building sensation that change is coming is met by the incredible swell in the music as we watch the picturesque Haven Hills get destroyed by modern technology and face the terrifying reality that is the Roxxcart store. There’s a close up on the Roxxcart storefront with school buses with the words ‘Evacuation shuttle’ in the background as we see the TVA’s minutemen come out reinforcing that even when the end is nigh, large corporations will loom over. A storm is raging with worse to come. I can go on and on, but you get the point.

2050 Roxxcart Disaster

I love that y’all are calling this the Alabama supermarket breakup. Makes me chuckle, that’s for sure.

I too hate when people can hear my footsteps. Someone that gets the struggle.

Sylvie places the TVA Samsung over a Roxxcart Security manual. She’s overridden both and is in control.

The date is 03/15/2050.

I think that the way the Hunters and minutemen hold their baton things is so that they don’t get yeeted. Neat.

As always, the beats are slick yo.

I hope the Azaleas guy gets some Azaleas wherever he ended up.

I love the way Loki says “In this storm.” It’s so satisfying for no real reason.

The wonderful Wunmi Mosaku does not get the recognition she deserves for this scene. She switched from B-15 to Sylvie so effortlessly. They’re two distinct characters, her facial expressions, body language everything changed in that instant. Even from the one line, “No, they usually survive,” her delivery had changed in a way that was noticeable. It’s uncanny, exactly what was needed when facing a foe that remained unseen. And the smile? It’s before we know the variant as Sylvie, so naturally it’s that signature Loki smile with a hint of malice we associate with the variant. Damn y’all, Wunmi’s incredible! I really hope she’s recognised for being so talented in this series, if not in all her other work!

Mobius really cares about those people. I really want his redemption (?) arc.

It’s been pointed out that even in those conditions, Roxxcart were selling blankets and water. I think it means that by 2050, cash would be defunct. If only electronic payment existed, as long as there’s electricity they can run a business. Chew on that.

If the man they speak to is 50 to 60, he was a 90s kid.

There must be a difference in the reprogramming or kind of variant selected to be a hunter as compared to an analyst. The Hunters look after their own, but the analysts (or Mobius) go as far as empathising with variants.

C-20 is sitting in front of safety standards.

“A bit amateurish.” Loki knows that the variant isn’t as skilled with magic as he is.

As Loki and the possessed people walk, the lighting becomes brighter. He’s moving out of the shadows.

Me too Loki, I’m worried about B-15 too.

Sylvie unironically saying bless is hilarious.

Randy must be hella tall.

There’s a low angle shot as Loki and Randy face off with the flickering light above with a sign hanging above them like a sword of Damocles and a physical separation. Terror is nearly constant in Loki's life now, but he responds by letting go of his drive to survive.

The subtle swells in the music just add to my rising blood pressure.

C-20’s voice over is sad lads.

“I wanna go home,” we know she’s not referring to the TVA.

Mobius seems like a caring person.

When B-15 sits up and searches the room, I think it’s her realisation. Her shiver was from fear and shock, the music wasn’t about her not seeing Loki, it was about the TVA and what had happened to her.

The head snap and the score timing matching. So satisfying.

“I would never treat me like this. Hi.” I think that’s Loki realising that his foe is not willing to talk their way through conflict.

This fight scene contradicts all the magic we see later ik, but if he didn’t want to hurt anyone and was trying to draw out the real enemy it made sense.

Some of Sylvie’s powers must come into the people she possesses. The guy punched a glass screen and didn’t even bleed.

“I have shit to do.” Sylvie wasn’t raised with court etiquette (from what we know) and her lexical choice reflects that.

Dell computers survive into 2050 in the MCU. So do those robot dogs and Roombas. I am only happy about the Roombas. Where did the real dogs go? :(

“Mobius.”

“Where is he?”

“I lost him.”

“What happened?”

“I...”

Until now, B-15’s delivery has felt slightly rhythmic, like she was used to having the same arguments, particularly with Mobius. When she trails off however, I think it’s her trying to rationalise what she’s been through with Sylvie’s possession. Her devotion to the TVA was rooted in the fact that she wasn’t a variant, her life had a purpose and it was intentional. This must have rocked her, I’m invested in where she’ll go.

THE CUT TO BLACK OH GOOD GOSH.

Sylvie, my queen. I’d roll off a cliff for her.

The person with the moustache (you know the one) has pure fear on his face.

Ravonna knows what’s up.

And so do you, yes it’s the music, go listen to it.

THE RED LIGHTING

The zoom out to that incredible hallway shot and then stopping behind the time door. It was never about him after all, he was in the background of her plans.

Sylvie’s wave in Roxxcart vs. Loki’s on the train. Discuss.

The blackout, thunder and Loki’s pause under the flickering red and white light, do y’all really want me to talk about the s y m b o l i s m????

He’s conflicted, you know it, I know it, Mobius knows it.

Speaking of Mobius, there he is, we cut back to Loki and see him make his decision, zooming back in on him.

And with that final flourish in the score, we are done with episode 2!

Cue the most amazing end credits score you’ll ever hear.

Do yourself a favour, listen to all of it, including the part after the main credits, both are Works. Of. Art.

Ep 2 review

In case you didn’t notice, this is my favourite episode so far. There are parts I didn’t take to as much, but details from the previous episode being used in the plot as well as others being explained by Sylvie in episode 3. Rewatching it was easier than episode 1 though it left me wanting more. It will get more interesting from here, but until then, that was a fun romp.

See y'all next time. I hope whoever's reading this has a wonderful day!

Part 1, Episode 1 extend review link:

#spoilers #loki review #Loki spoilers #my respect for people that write scripts/analysis of any kind has increased immensely.#opinion #things i've noticed #sorry if they're not original #b-15 deserves love #the analysts (mobius) the hunters the minutemen casey every one of them deserves love #here's to everyone who worked so hard and put so much into this series #WUNMI MOSAKU IS AMAZING #I love Ravonna #It's great

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wall-maria-fritz · 3 years

Text

The Wingman (Erwin Smith x Marie)

Chapter 4: The First Letter

Reposting this because I am officially overhauling my @levi-lives blog, in lieu of this one because SOMEONE Tumblr won't let my posts show up from there anymore! grrrr.

@levi-lives blog is still up tho, if you would like still see my original posts

The Wingman: MASTERLIST

Author’s Note:

Daamn this is a pretty long one! I thought you lovelies deserved a thicc update for all the wait 💙

And because of that, we got more song inspos than usual for this chapter: Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens, Strawberries and Cigarettes by Troye Sivan, and come out and play by Billie Eillish

I also forgot to mention last chapter that I named Marie after my favorite impressionist artist, Piérre Bonnard! You’ll see why 😉

Chapter 4: The First Letter

Erwin was thankful for the cool summer breeze as he made his way into the nearby town’s post office to receive his letters from Derek and his mother. A small smile graced his features when he found the two envelopes greeting him when he opened his letter box. One bearing the Wings of Freedom seal of the Scouting Legion, the other a postage stamp from Wall Rose.

He quickly opened Derek’s letter first, Erwin’s blue eyes skimming over the words written on an official Scouting Legion stationary. Erwin was surprised to read that his brother would be visiting again very soon. Derek was under orders from Commander Shadis to retrieve some files at the Cadet Corps’ Archives Office. But more than that, Derek wanted to meet with him saying, “I met a very pretty girl, and I wanna introduce her to you.”

Which was code for, “The Intelligence Division of the Legion has made some discoveries you’ll want to know. Meet me at my aforementioned destination.” Which in this case, was the Archives Office.

Derek Smith was privy to all sorts of confidential information thanks to his position as Deputy Section Commander at the Scouting Legion’s Intelligence Division. Perhaps Derek sharing sensitive information to his brother could cost him his life, but the brothers— as true sons of Jonathan Smith— were adamant in doing whatever it takes to know the truth of the Walls.

Erwin grimaced.

‘And I’m no stupid little boy anymore,’

Erwin pushes back the dark memories.

Moping wasn’t going to help his father’s legacy.

Ever since the suspicious death of their father, the Smith boys have taken it upon themselves to prove their father’s claims that the history of the Walls is more than meets the eye. Which was why Derek— being the elder brother— decided to join the frontlines of the Scouting Legion in pursuit of this knowledge, while Erwin would climb the ranks of the Military Police and uncover the truth from within. The brothers agreed that they would cover more ground if they split up this way.

And worst comes to worst, their mother would at least still have one son around to take care of her.

Erwin opens his mother’s letter next, the familiar loopy scrawl, and the nostalgic smell of home which oddly seems to stick to all her letters, comforting him.

My Darling Erwin,

I’ve just received the carnations, darling. As always, they are beautiful! Please put in a good word for the florist who arranges these. They have such artistry! I will be potting them after I write this. Maybe I’ll place them at the kitchen windowsill so I’ll be reminded of my brave and handsome sons whenever I wash.

And perhaps my brave and handsome sons would remember to visit their dear old mother? Don’t worry, nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. Mother is quite content here with her tulips and carnations, but I do miss my baby boys.

Please tell your brother to be very careful out there. You too, Erwin. If you will not take care for yourselves, then do it for your father and I. Your father would never forgive me if any harm came upon you boys. And it would break my heart.

Mama loves you very much, and I pray that the Goddesses would protect you both everyday. Come visit me soon, darling. I promise I’ll bake you your favorite strawberry pie! With the extra maple syrup, just the way you like it!

Much love and kisses,

Mama.

Erwin smiled softly. It was always nice to hear from his mother. He was glad he chose a good florist for his mother’s flowers. His mother only deserves the best. And he definitely misses her and her strawberry pie.

‘Derek and I should visit mother again soon. ‘

Erwin was tucking in the two letters into his jacket pocket, when he heard a familiar name.

“You’ve got another big one, Miss Marie!”

Sure enough, Erwin sees Marie Bonnard accept a rather hefty looking box from the mail concierge. She gave a bright smile to the young man behind the desk despite the heavy bulk in her arms. “I got it, Tom, thank you!”

Tom blushed at Marie’s undeniably pretty smile. “A-are you sure? I could—“

Marie gasped at the sensation of two strong arms lifting the box out of her grasp. When she looked up to snap at who dared try to take it away, her hazel eyes widened.

“No worries Tom, I’ll help her bring it home.”

Erwin’s easy smile and smooth voice made carrying the heavy box seem like a piece of cake. ‘Well, considering how big this guy is, it probably was.’ The thought made Marie want to cross her arms and stomp her feet.

Tom looked between her and Erwin. Marie could almost see the gears turning in the young man’s head, and the unspoken ‘Oh’ in his lips. “I see, of course sir.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous Erwin, I’m more than capable of carrying it myself.” Marie moves to get the box back, when she notices something.

“Besides,” she begins, as her hazel eyes rove up the unmistakable military uniform Erwin was wearing. They zero in on the crossed sword insignia of the Cadet Corps. “Don’t you have training to go to?”

Erwin’s brilliant blue eyes sparked in amusement. “It’s a Saturday. So no training for today. I got all the time in the world, Marie.” The blonde smirked as he easily pulled the full weight of the box into his arms. “And we both know you’re going to hate lugging this around beneath this heat.”

Marie regarded the man before her. If there was anything she knew about Erwin, it’s that he took what he wanted and there would be no stopping him to it.

And she will hate lugging the box around beneath the harsh sun. Marie harrumphed.

“Fine.”

——————————

The pair walked out of the postal office and into the bright glare of the summer sun in relative silence. The nearby weekend market was having a busy morning, and Marie didn’t miss all the women who have stopped in their errands, pausing their weekend shopping to look up at the vision that is Erwin Smith. They would then notice her by his side, and would either turn away in disappointment or look at her with eyes that wished she’d go away.

Marie rolled her eyes. She’s seen so many girls beam with pride to be seen walking beside Erwin back at the College of Wall Rose. And now, Marie doesn’t understand what was so nice about having complete strangers stare and be hostile towards you for no reason.

Out of curiosity, she peeked up at Erwin’s imposing figure, seeing if any of this attention affected him at all. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t.

Erwin’s handsomely cut profile, with his straight nose, high cheekbones, and perfectly chiseled jaw simply looked ahead, paying no mind to all the longing looks he was receiving.

Of course. He must be so used to all this already.

The summer breeze picked up and slightly ruffled Erwin’s blonde hair, making it glint and gleam against the sun’s brilliance. He looked like a golden hero sculpted by the hand of a god.

It was also then that she caught that familiar whiff of sandalwood and aftershave.

As if sensing her gaze, Erwin’s blue eyes flit at her. A small smirk quirked at his lips. Marie hastily looks to her front. A blush already forming at her cheeks from being caught staring.

“Is the box from your family?”

Marie was just a tad bit miffed that Erwin still hasn’t broken a sweat from carrying such a heavy load.

She shook her head good naturedly, “It came from a very sweet old lady from Wall Rose. She’s been my penpal for a few years now. She likes to send me boxes of treats and goodies when she knows I’ll be away from Wall Rose for the summer.” Marie looks up thoughtfully, ”Well, she does like to say that I’m like the daughter she never had. More so now that her sons are away.” She smiled softly. “So I guess it sorta is from family.”

Erwin smiles back at the wistful look in Marie’s hazel eyes, “She sounds wonderful.”

“How about you? Did you have to clean out your admirers’ dozens of love letters from your letter box?” Marie teased. Erwin raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

“What admirers?”

Marie lightly swatted at Erwin’s arm. He just laughed saying, “If by admirers you mean my mother and my imbecile brother, then yes.”

Marie glanced at Erwin, “You have a brother?” The blonde nodded, “An older one. He just wrote to me that he’ll be visiting back from the Scouting Legion.”

That made Marie’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

‘Erwin Smith training in the Cadet Corps, now an older brother in the Scouting Legion? The Smiths clearly don’t need to pursue a military career if they don’t want to. So what are they doing playing soldier?’

It was then that Marie noticed that they’ve arrived at the corner of her apartment block. “We’re here.”

——————————

The apartment was small, but homey. Just enough for one person to stay in. Erwin noticed the small personal effects that littered the space, which spoke about the girl living within it. Little things, like the paint brushes submerged in a jar of water, and the rolled up tubes of paint beside it. As well as a magazine featuring a popular musical that was showing in Wall Rose, sitting on the small kitchen table.

But what really stood out about the apartment was the variety of flowers which ornamented the place. Marie noticed Erwin’s blue eyes taking in all the flora, and briefly waved at the flowers, explaining that she liked to dabble in Ikebana.

Marie takes the magazine off the table and gestures for Erwin to place the box on the kitchen table she just cleared. “Would you like some tea?” Came Marie’s distant voice, already busy pouring warm water into two teacups. “Thank you,” Erwin replies politely as he approaches a nearby window across the kitchen table. A small plot of white and pink carnations at the windowsill has caught Erwin’s attention.

Marie turns to Erwin with the two fragrant cups of tea, only to find him admiring the carnations. She places a teacup in front of him at the window ledge. “My mother was a florist before she had me. So I try to read the botany and floristry books she left behind whenever I can.”

Erwin’s blue eyes look to Marie in disbelief. How could she be so nonchalant at downplaying an obvious skill.

“Try? Marie, they’re lovely.”

Marie blushed at the compliment, not quite sure if he was referring to the flowers or… something else.

The pair stood before the window, gazing into the view outside, as they took a sip of their tea. A comfortable silence enveloping them.

Erwin raised an eyebrow the moment he took a taste of the sweet tea. Marie smiled, “ That’s strawberry tea from the same lady who sent me the box. You like it?” Erwin looks back to the carnations at the windowsill. A softness settling over his features. “ My mother would make these for me back home. It’s my favorite.”

He turns to look at Marie only to find that her smile has turned into laughter. Who would have thought Erwin Smith would have a sweet tooth… or be a Momma’s boy.

Erwin’s lips and brows quirked in amusement. “What?”

“Oh nothing, I just didn’t think you’d be such a momma’s boy!”

Erwin rolled his eyes.

“Hey, if it’s any consolation,” Marie begins, her laughter dying down. “It’s my favorite too,” she winks.

That caught Erwin off guard. He hastily took another sip of his strawberry tea to fight down a blush.

Marie grew quiet and thoughtful.

“I’m sure your mother doesn’t like that fact that you’re out here. Especially with your brother serving the Legion.”

Erwin turned somber. “No. She tries to convince us to leave everytime we visit her.” The blonde felt the woman beside him take a breath, readying herself for the one question which burned at the back of her head.

“Then why don’t you? You’re Erwin Smith! You’re more than capable of excelling in whatever field you put your mind to in Wall Sina. You can be whatever you want. You don’t need to risk your life in the military.” Marie reached out a hand to gently caress the embroidered crossed swords on Erwin’s chest. “So what are you doing here?”

Erwin’s face was a picture of calm. For many people, the Military was a great gamble for survival and security. They would be willing to endure the hardships of Cadet Corps training, risking their lives in the process, if it meant daily meals, a place to sleep, and a chance to enter the Inner Walls if they were good enough to qualify for the Military Police.

Erwin understood Marie’s confusion on why he would willingly choose to pursue a military career. But she seems to have forgotten that some men take the hard path for a purpose.

His blue eyes were distant as he placed his teacup down. “Isn’t the simple wish to serve humanity an acceptable enough reason?”

Marie’s hazel eyes were unconvinced, but she gave a small shrug anyways. “I suppose,” she replied as she sipped her tea.

“How about you?”

Oh no.

Erwin’s gaze turned intense, as he asked her the one question she’s been dreading.

“What are you doing working as a barmaid? Why aren’t you off spending your summer looking for a husband like the rest of the girls at Wall Rose?”

Now Marie set her own cup down. Erwin watched in interest as something steeled and solidified in Marie’s hazel eyes.

“Because I don’t need one.”

Marie closed her eyes and sighed, “Besides, I’m nothing like the Wall Rose girls. I always have to work for what I get. And that includes College. I work during the summer and try to earn enough to pay off what my scholarship doesn’t cover.”

She looked Erwin in the eye. “That’is why I’m working as a barmaid.”

Marie was prepared to find pity in Erwin’s eyes. Instead, she found wonder. His lips slightly parted as he tucked a stray strand of ginger hair behind her ear. He moved closer to her and drew in a breath.

“You’re right. You’re nothing like the girls from Wall Rose,” Erwin’s smooth baritone sent shivers down Marie’s spine.

This close, Marie could feel the warmth radiating from Erwin’s body. She could smell the distinct sandalwood and aftershave that made her head go hazy. She could feel herself drowning in Erwin’s blue eyes again.

“You’re bright and brave. Entirely something else,” Erwin breathed, as he looked intently into the ginger girl’s hazel eyes. Trying to understand just what exactly was making him lean into her.

He was so, so close. She could feel herself getting surrounded by him…

By Erwin.

If she could just…

Stand on her tiptoes.

Marie felt her soft plump lips touch Erwin’s thin ones, and was thrilled to find him avidly returning the kiss. His strong hands immediately went to her waist, as he pulled her even closer. Her own slender hands wrapped themselves around Erwin’s thick neck. Her fingers brushing along the bristles of his undercut.

Marie felt heat pool in her belly, as the large man prodded a wet tongue against her lips. With a soft moan, the woman parted her lips without hesitation and found that Erwin Smith tasted like strawberries and cigarettes.

So Erwin Smith smokes.

She reveled in the fact that she’s just found out that the man smokes from kissing him. But then Marie felt Erwin’s calloused hands gently but firmly push her away.

When Marie opened her heavy-lidded eyes, she was met with cool and unfathomable blue eyes. The memory of Erwin pressing Elena up against a wall at the bar came rushing back to her. How he was so clearly delighted from taking her pleasure.

Her hands suddenly felt cold as she quickly stepped back as if she’d been burned. Marie stuttered out an apology, already hating herself for acting like a desperate girl. She’s really done it this time.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and clenched her fists. Panic bubbled up her throat.

What was she thinking? Erwin’s only ever liked brunettes. What makes her think he’ll want her over Elena?

“What? No, Marie it’s not that.” The reply of Erwin’s smooth baritone made Marie realize that she’s said her thoughts out loud. Erwin nudges her chin to look up at him.

When Marie opened her glassy hazel eyes again, as if a switch flipped in Erwin, she saw a rather amused look on his face, a small dimple showing on his cheek. “You see, I wouldn’t be a very good wingman if I start kissing you now.”

Marie blinked. “What?”

Erwin stopped the urge to kiss her adorable freckled face again.

“My best friend wants to court you, Marie.”

“Oh.”

Along with that realization, Marie recognized Erwin’s efforts to try and diffuse the situation. Marie started shaking her head in laughter, the awkwardness and embarrassment of the moment finally melting away.

“And you’re going to help him with that?” Marie raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms as she leant back. Erwin gave her a dimpled, boyish grin. “ Can you blame me? The guy promised me a bottle of Ragako Brandy for it. So you better say yes to him!”

“W o w”

Erwin and Marie laughed together. The morning light that bounced brightly against Marie’s ginger curls made the laughing, freckled girl look absolutely radiant.

‘Sweet Sina, now I really want to kiss her again,’ Erwin thought as he added,

“So get ready to see more of our faces at the Territory.”

Marie mockingly rolled her eyes in response.

“Oh Goddess.”

It was then that Marie decided that she quite liked Erwin like this— carefree and playful.

——————————

When Erwin left her little floral apartment, Marie immediately sat down and wrote a letter to Agatha about the charming young soldier who just helped her carry the box the old lady sent. Marie couldn’t help the way the butterflies in her belly fluttered about at the thought. Nor did she notice it.

Two days later, when Marie stepped out of her apartment to finally send her reply to Agatha, she was surprised to find a small white envelope fluttering down from her door jamb.

She picked it up and found her name written on it with an elegant flourish. She excitedly opened the envelope in curiosity and read the elegantly written letter.

Marie smiled.

A/N: Ikebana is the Japanese art of flower arrangement.

*winkwink* to those who have figured *it* out by now hihihi

I’ll see you lovelies again soon, and as always, stay safe, healthy, AND WASH YOUR HANDS!

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oldfashionedmoth · 3 years

Text

Good Vibrations

Find it here on AO3

“Phasma?” Julie typed into the group chat. She had received a new Oculus VR headset for Christmas, and she was anxious to try it out. “Hopefully the gang are up for a game of Phasmophobia tonight” she thought.

Before long she received responses from her two best friends, Jake and Will. They were both in.

“Hey, does anyone mind if I invite my friend Gus to play too?” Jake asked.

Julie rolled her eyes, and stared at her phone, praying for Will to say no. Gus is a total tool, but she didn’t want to be the one to say so.

“…”

Will was typing!

“C’mon, c’mon. Tell him to batter-da-Jesus!” Julie thought. “He just gets in the way”

But alas, his reply to Jake was “Yeah, sure! The more the merrier.”

“You’re too nice, Will, but I guess that’s why I like you” Julie thought with a smile, as she replied with a simple thumb’s up emoji. “Oh well, I guess we’re going to have to babysit Gus again, tonight”

She fired up her sleeping computer and logged onto Discord, and the game.

“Can everyone hear me?” she inquired

“yep”

“yup”

Jake and Will replied in tandem

“Guuuuusssss? You there?” Julie asked

Silence

“GUS???”

Silence

“Is Gus playing with us or what?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m here.”

“Nice of you to join us.” Julie can already feel her blood pressure rising.

Will, who had already amassed a small fortune in the game, loaded the equipment for everyone playing.

“Thank-you, Daddy.” Julie said with a smirk, as she slid her VR headset on.

“You know how I feel about that word!” retorted Will; his protest sounding more flirtatious than threatening.

“What’s wrong, Daddy? You know I love my sugar-daddy.”

“Oh, you love me now? This is a new development” Will purred

“Haha, alright you two!” Jake interjected. “the sexual tension is weirding us out. Right Gus?”

“Gus?”

“He might be AFK?”

“What the flip is he doing AFK? We’re about to start now!”

“No, I’m here.” Gus finally chimed in.

“Ok, are we ready to do this? Will asked. “I vote for Intermediate, Grafton Farmhouse.”

All parties agreed, and the game transported them to the truck. Jake, and Will began memorizing the information on the whiteboard, while Julie practiced getting used to using VR.

“Witness a ghost event, stop the ghost from hunting with a crucifix, and get a photo of dirty water. Ugh! This has to be the worst combo of tasks” Will lamented. “Name is Mark Taylor”

“Hey Mark Taylor! Where are you motherfucker?” Gus yelled.

The others turned around to discover Gus had already left the truck and had Leroy Jenkins’ed himself into the haunted cabin, ahead of the others.

“Gus, man, why did you do that?” Will interrogated him, “You started the clock before any of us even had our equipment picked out.”

Gus ignored him, and continued to yell obscenities at the ghost. The others quickly picked their equipment and followed inside.

“Boner Alert!” Julie exclaimed, shortly after entering. She took a picture of the bone evidence, that was in the kitchen, and picked it up.

“Well, that’s great! Your boner will go nicely with my caulk.” ribbed Will, standing in front of her, with two tubes of caulking he found in the storage area.

Upstairs, they could hear Gus yelling “Hey pussy! Hey Dickhead! Are you afraid of me? You prick. Mark García, show yourself!”

“Hey Gussss,” Julie remarked, “It’s Mark Taylor, not Garcia. And how about we NOT antagonize the ghost before we have to?”

Gus started shouting “Hey Mark Taylor. Mark! Marky-Mark! Where’s the funky bunch?”

Jake called from upstairs, “We got freezing temps!”

They all converged on the landing at the top of the stairs, when Will’s EMF reader went off. “We have EMF of 5 too.”

“I’ll go out and get the video camera from the truck” Julie said

“I’ll come too. I’ll stay in the truck and watch for orbs, once you get the camera laid down” said Will

On their way out of the house they notice a bunch of plates and cutlery on the ground. “Hmm, looks like someone is already starting a yardsale” Julie mused.

“Yeah, probably Gus!” Will said, chuckling

They barely exited the building before the front door slammed shut behind them, and the lights inside the house start flashing.

“It’s hunting! Hide!” Will said to the two others, still trapped inside.

After a few minutes the flashing subsided, and Julie went back inside to lay the video camera down.

“I found a voodoo doll.” Said Jake. He threw it down and it scampered across the floor. Julie took a stationary picture of it, as evidence. Jake picked the doll back up and said “I’m going to take him with me.”

Gus was standing in the corner by himself, singing “Yo, it’s about that time. To bring forth the rhythm and the rhyme. I’m a get mine, so get yours. I wanna see sweat comin’ out your pores…”

Will called out from the truck, “We have orbs! It’s a phantom. We have the ghost event objective now too. All we need now is the crucifix and photo of dirty water”

Suddenly the lights started to flash again. Everyone shut up and disbursed to hide.

When the hunt was over, Jake went back to the truck to get a crucifix. “Hey, does someone already have a crucifix laid down? There’s only one left here”

“No, not me.” Julie replied.

“Nope, me either” said Will

“On the house tip is how I’m swinging this. Strictly hip-hop boy, I ain’t singing this. Bringing this to the entire nation. Black, white, red, brown. Feel the vibration…” rapped Gus

The flashlights started flashing again. “It’s hunting!” they all say together.

“It’s following you, Gus” Will whispered from the truck. “run!”

The ghost chased Gus around the cabin for a while, before eventually running out of steam. The hunt ended with Gus narrowly escaping being killed.

“This is no fun! Why is it targeting me?” He whined

“Well, I dunno, it might have something to do with you saying its name a thousand times, and you won’t stop singing that stupid song?” Julie exclaimed, exasperated “And why are you still holding the crucifix? Put it down, for the love of God, man. It doesn’t work if you’re just holding it!”

But it was no use. She had already lost his attention, and he was on his way back to the truck for more supplies, singing, “It’s such a - GOOD VIBRATION!!”

Jake laid down the crucifix he had, and before long Will was calling from the truck “You got the crucifix objective. Now all you need is dirty water.”

“Do you guys hear water running” Julie asked. Will and Jake said no, they didn’t hear anything besides Gus’ singing.

Julie checked all the sinks upstairs but found nothing. But she could still hear the tap running. She went downstairs to check the kitchen sink and discovered Gus’ little art project. He had found the Ouija board and had encircled it with all the candles and glow sticks from the truck.

“I made a séance circle!” Gus proudly exclaimed, before asking the board “Where are you?”

The planchet slowly moved across the board. D-I

“Dining room?” Jake guessed. “I thought for sure it was upstairs”

E-G-U-S

“DIEGUS? What’s DIEGUS?”

“Die Gus?” Julie suggested

For the first time in the game, Gus was completely quiet. A pregnant pause suspended between the four players. Finally, Gus said “Ahh, you know what guys, my connection is being kinda glitchy tonight.” And with that he dropped out of the game.

Will laughed and said “I don’t think his computer was being glitchy. He just got spooked. That’s a really cool addition to the game, though. They must have added the capability of the Ouija board to use our own names, in the latest update.”

“Yes, very cool!” Julie replied, except her voice came out deep, and robotic. “Ooh, I take it back! Maybe it is being glitchy tonight. Hahaha!”

Will and Jake both burst out laughing at the absurdity of her voice.

“That was so creepy!” Will exclaimed. “You sounded demonic! Hahaha!”

“You know what, we’re never going to get the dirty water. Do you guys want to just call it?” Jake asked, “whatever issues we are having now, might fix itself in the next round.”

“Yeah, I’m done with this one. Come back to the truck.” Will replied

Once in the truck, Jake aimlessly tossed down the voodoo doll he had been holding. Instantly, the doll skittered towards Julie, made a leap, and attached itself to Julie’s face.

In her room, Julie screamed and tore off her VR headset, her heart pounding from adrenaline. She’d never seen the doll do that before. “There must have been a few new updates” she thought, “very creepy additions!”

Julie considered putting the headset back on, but hesitated. She was still shaken up by the image of that gingerbread man-motherfucker flying at her face.

“Do I hear water running?” she said aloud. She thought for sure she could hear the faucet on, in her en suite bathroom, but that was impossible since she was home alone and the front door was locked.

Suddenly, the lights start flashing on an off. No, not the lights. Her vision. Julie’s vision was strobing between 20/20 to complete and utter darkness. Panicked she got up and blindly stumbled across her room and into the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she could see movement by the toilet, but she was thrust into blackness before she could investigate further. When her vision returned, nothing was there.

The sink, however, was turned on and filling up with putrid sludge.

Julie threw herself across the room, and felt around for the tap to turn off the faucet. As suddenly as her eye malfunction came, it returned to normal. Gone was the blinking blindness. Julie’s heart hammered inside her chest. “What the fuck was that?”

*ding ding* chimed Julie’s phone. She’d just received a text. With a sweaty shaky hand, Julie fished her phone out of her pocket. It was a text from Gus. But it wasn’t from the group chat. It read,

“Sure, I guess. But aren’t you still playing with the guys?”

Confused, Julie scrolled up to read the text before this one. It looked like it came from her, but that was not likely. Gus was Jake’s friend. He’s only played with them a few times, and she’s only messaged him in the group chat before. Why would she ever private message him? It read,

“Sorry you got booted from the game. Do you want to play with me now? Just you and me?”

Ok, by now Julie had started to believe this was all an elaborate prank. Playing Phasmophobia alone with Gus would be horrible! She would never text him that.

Julie began texting back “Hey sorry, I’m not really up for another round tonight. I think I’m just going to go to bed.” She saw her thumbs moving swiftly across the keyboard, but something was wrong. Were they even hitting the letters she intended to press? Looking up at the text screen she observed what she had typed. “No, I want to play with you, just you. I have a special surprise for you.”

Julie slowly looked up, into the mirror, and grinned. Except the angle of her lips were wrong; crooked and sinister. This wasn’t Julie’s smile.

Julie helplessly stared into the mirror, as something else stared back at her.

“No one calls me Marky-Mark and gets away with it”

#phasmophobia #fanfic #gaming #humor

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