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mykneeshurt · 1 year

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hii!! I must say, I love your writing!

Totally in love with haunted (read in ao3). I see you taking requests, so I wondering if you could write a scenario when ghost is married with a woman who's part of the cod:ghosts(2013) team, a total badass, and she and her team coming to visit/help 141 and their reaction when then see Simon always near her and being a little touchy.

Thank u!!!!

Thank you so much for reading Haunted, I’m so glad you’re loving it. New chapter soon. I hope you like this wee drabble! I enjoyed writing it hehe. Your name is Smith in this (your maiden name).

The meeting room had a certain buzz about it, Task Force 141 had been called by Laswell to meet their new team. Ghosts. They’d be working together on their next mission, The Ghosts were well known and well feared. Price sat with his men in anticipation of your arrival.

Eventually Laswell entered and the room fell silent, ‘gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to the Ghosts.’ You each filed in, wearing all black tactical gear, black balaclavas hung from your belts which carried the familiar Ghost sigil.

Working her way down the line Laswell introduced each team member and their specialist field. ‘This is Sargent David Walker, or Hesh. Canine unit and specialist weapons operator.’ Hesh stepped forward and nodded before stepping back. ‘His younger brother Sargent Logan Walker, specialist weapons operator.’ Again stepping forward and nodding in their general direction. ‘Captain Thomas Merrick, explosives and Sargent Keegan Russ, Sniper and close combat expert.’ Both men offered grunts before returning to their position.

141 took in their intimidating counterparts, sizing them up as one does. Ghost however shifted in his chair, seeming inpatient. Soap clocked it straight away, he’d make a mental note to ask him later. ‘And finally’ Laswell continued ‘we have Commanding Officer Smith, close combat expert, Apache pilot and Sniper.’ You were dwarfed by your men as you stepped out from beside Keegan, your average 5’5 muscular frame seemingly lost before them. ‘Pleasures all mine gentleman’ your velvet like voice swept across the room.

Your eyes landed on Ghost almost instantly, fighting yourself to hide a smirk. ‘I look forward to working together on Operation Tasmyn. Anything we can help with we will.’

Soaps eyes widened, a wee think like you in charge of those burly men. He elbowed Ghost ‘creepin Jesus, wouldn’t wanna get on the wrong side of her’ he grinned. Ghost rolled his eyes ‘shut up Soap, fuckin ell.’ Ghost rearranged himself in his seat, again. He was never normally this fidgety.

‘Go and get to know one another in the mess hall, Price? Smith? My office in one hour to discuss the plan.’ Laswell took her leave but not before pulling you into a tight hug. As everyone filed out Soap noticed Ghost linger behind, watching to make sure everyone had left. You were messing with some equipment not noticing Ghost behind you. Soap decided to loiter outside the door he needed to know what had gotten his Lieutenants back up.

As he peered through the crack in the door he saw Ghost run his hand down your arm and squeeze your hand. Soap furrowed his brows, you know each other? You turned around and greeted Ghost with a beaming smile. He let go of your hand and the two of you began talking, he couldn’t quite hear the muffled words but he noticed how Ghost would shift closer to you with every breath. He scurried away before he had the chance to get caught.

—

The next day at lunch you were recovering from an intense exercise session with the boys. As you walked past a table full of Privates one decided to make a comment towards you. ‘How many you reckon she fucked to get to where she is?’ Ghost went to get up from his seat and pretty much kill him. But you were able to shoot him a look which halted him immediately. Gaz clocked it this time, he nudged Soap. ‘What was that look she just shot him? Do they know each other?’ Soap, never one to pass up some gossip kept his voice low ‘I dunno, but I reckon they do. Saw em talking after our meeting yesterday, looked real cosy.’

They watched you like a Hawk as you slowly made your way over to the Private. The mess hall was silent. You gripped his jaw forcing him to look at you ‘well, seems we’ve forgotten our place, haven’t we Private Anderson.’ You gripped hard and bent in low towards him ‘I didn’t fuck anyone to get to where I was, but I did slaughter people in their sleep. Best keep one eye open eh?’ Smirking you let his face go and tapped his cheek, he instantly backed down, face a deep shade of pink.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, were they intimidated? Turned on? Fuck knows. As you passed by you glanced over at Ghost as if to say ‘good boy.’ His demeanour changed, he relaxed slightly and uncurled his fists, before he got up and followed you. ‘Aw they deffo know each other’ Soap whispered ‘we just gotta find out how.’

—

After lunch you moved onto a team building exercise, Laswell deemed it necessary as you were going to be working closely on the next mission. So far everyone was getting along well, Soap and Logan becoming fast friends. Naturally Soap and Gaz pushed for a night out, you and Price agreed, feeling it would be beneficial to let your guards down.

At the local pub, dressed in civvies, you all sat in a booth and began swapping stories. You excused yourself to go to the bar and after a few minutes Ghost joined you. ‘There he goes again!’ Soap excitedly pointed out, ‘they’re fuckin, gotta be.’ Gaz sipped his pint eyes transfixed on you and Ghost. ‘Really? How the fuck could he land a woman like that?’

‘You’re not very good at playing it cool Simon’ you giggled, ‘I know Soap, and Gaz is it? Are definitely on to us.’ It took all of his willpower not to touch the small of your back or kiss your cheek. ‘Fuck, I know love. Can’t help it. Coulda murdered that prick today.’ You thanked the bartender for your drink as you nursed the cold pint. ‘I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. Besides, my lot would have been on him like rabid dogs if I wanted them to. Relax my love.’ He loved it when you called him that.

You walked back over to the booth, Ghosts eyes watching you as you swayed your hips. ‘Oh my god. Yep. They’re fukin’ Gaz snickered. They were like two naughty school boys gossiping in class.

Ghost sat back down, next to Soap but opposite you. Your team knew Ghost was your husband, you’d been together a long time, childhood sweethearts. Ghost was always a private man so he saw no reason that they needed to know he was married. Besides, more leverage if was captured, so he kept it to himself. Price figured it out as soon as you stepped forward on your first day. When you’d gone for your meeting with Laswell and him he blurted it out. ‘How’d you guess?’ You asked him laughing. Price rubbed his beard ‘I know the look of a subordinate husband anywhere. I am one. My wife runs the show’ he laughed.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, it had been months since you’d been in the same room as each other. You smiled at him over the rim of your pint glass, your eyes lighting up every time. Talk soon moved onto battle scars, in other words who has the biggest dick. Everyone took it in turns, Soap showed an impressive one on his bicep from a shot gun wound. Logan, on his chest from where he was stabbed and Keegan one on his thigh from where he had been impaled falling from a building. Finally it was your turn, you stood and lifted your top a mangled scar ran from your breast to your hip. ‘Fuckin hell does it keep going?’ Soap asked. Throwing Ghost a shit eating grin you nodded, you started to undo your jeans and pull the fabric to below your hip bone.

Not being able to take anymore Ghost stood knocking the table, the boys scrambled to steady their drinks. He scooped you up and over his shoulder earning a belly laugh from you. ‘I fuckin knew it!’ Soap shouted gleefully. Ghost whipped his head around shooting him a look before carrying you out of the pub, to do god knows what to you. Soap sat back in the booth feeling smug, ‘I knew they were fuckin!’ The Ghosts all laughed to themselves ‘they ain’t fuckin, they’re married!’ Soap and Gaz looked at each other in utter shock. They had no idea. ‘Smith is her maiden name’ Logan explained ‘she kept it so no one would know. You’re looking at Mrs Simon Riley.’

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw22 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #fluff #john soap mactavish #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #soap mctavish #cod ghosts #call of duty keegan #keegan russ #logan walker #hesh walker #drabble #request

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kaivenom · 26 days

Text

My favourite book came to life?

Summary: you went with your brother's to solve a case but when you get there you start to realize similarities with the murders and witnesses with your favourite book.

Pairing: Gabriel x Winchester!reader

Warnings: none, murder scenes? but not explicit written

Masterlist

Finally the ride ended, you loved your brothers but being on a car with them for eight hours was suffocating sometimes. You closed your favourite book, the ride let you read it once again.

You checked in on the motel and create your covers, this time you were a FBI rookie again, you are always the rookie because you are the younger.

You three spent all the morning asking witnesses and seeing the murder scenarios. Something about the settings was strange, more strange than a creature killing people , this procedure sounds familiar to you somehow.

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

Two days passed since you got on the town and two new murders occured. Officially the assasin it's someonw who read your favourite book.

"I tell you guys, maybe it's a normal serial killer who it's a nerd for this book."

"I think we should be here one more day to check the theory."

That afternoon you visited the new witness, she opened the door dressed like a character from the book and refused to be called by her real name.

"Officially it's a monster, she is completely brain-washed."

"How can we talk to her? Use your book knowledge."

After one hour you convinced her to speak to you about it, you told her you were the inspector from the book and she started to open up.

You said goodbye to the woman and left the house, before getting into the impala, your Dean picked some candy wrapping from the floor.

"Son of a bitch."

"It's the trickster."

"Who?" you repplied confused.

"It's someone we dealed with twice, he is a total pain in the ass," by his faced you could see that he is, "he can alter the reality and change his appareance, all of this it's his game."

"Maybe the only way to get out it's follow it, back there i was the inspectorfrom the book, and this morning the witnesses weren't brain washed, his game its escalating, we need to adapt."

"And for what porpuse?"

"Reveal the mistery and capture the assain." you said quoting the protagonist of the novel."

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

Your strategy worked, you advanced a lot on the case, you almost got him. It was raining outside but you needed to clear your mind, just like the inspector you think, so you got outside and leaning against the motel wall under a shelter from the rain.

You noticed someone with a coat and a black umbrella, just like the final witness of the book, the one who gives the final hint to get the killer.

He got to your side and hand you a letter, you couldn't recognize his face from the town but that doesn't matter. You run to your brothers to give them the information. The chart talked about the police officer and his name, just like the book.

You three went fast to the police man's house to get him in hopes that the game ends and find the trickster. The man was in fact in his house and you arrested him because he was human but no trace of the supernatural one.

"So, we were wrong?" Dean was starting to get frustated.

"No, the trickster it's on town, how else can the victims have that personalities..." while they continue to argue you realized somethin.

"Shut up, i think the letter it's an anagram."

Half and hour and you were going to the location on the chart, a storage outside the village. When you entered you found the man who gave you letter.

"It was you, you killed those people," you are not able to hide the rage of having been fooled by that man, creature.

"I didn't kill them, the officer killed them and i didn't care but then i read this book," he showed to you like it was a comercial, "and thought about taking the opportunity to try some new ideas."

"Disgusting."

"I made it obvious for your brothers to come but i didn't thought about you gorgeous," he started to get close to you, "how are you related to them?"

"Hey, relax with our sister, mate."

"But at first they where just settings, later they started to be characters, why?" you asked, trying to ignore your brothers's attack of protectivity.

"Because i saw you and i was intrigued. You read the book and you found the similiarities but you needed a little hint, i supposed you would love a litte roleplay."

"I like it, not the killing humans part but the yes."

"Are you guys really flirting at this moment?"

"Perhaps we can meet again some other time."

"If there are no murders yet."

"I will have that on mind." he smiled playfully and blew you a kiss from the air before snapping his fingers and dissapearing.

"Son of a bitch, he escaped again, if you weren't flirting with him..."Dean almost screamed at your ear.

"Sorry okay? i didn't know he can do that, you should thell me more about him the next time."

"Oh no, we are not going to talk about him, we don't want you to date him, seeing how you two were right there."

Sam only laughed a little behind you and you three made your way to the impala. When you sat on the backseat and oppened your book, there was a paper with some numbers, a phone number. Smart and pretty Trickster.

#spn #spn imagine #spn x reader #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #sam winchester #gabriel #gabriel imagine #gabriel x reader #spn gabriel #spn gabriel x reader #spn gabriel imagine #trickster #trickster imagine #trickster x reader

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creativepawsworld · 11 months

Text

Silence - Chapter 47

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x OC

Summary = Ana convinces Tommy to give Michael a shot working for him. Tommy invites a widowed horse trainer to Small Heath without letting Ana know.

Warnings = Sexual Intent implied...Language...Grammar... Implied cheating? Maybe...Pregnancy...

Word Count = 2542

Note - =It’s been a hot minutes hasn’t it... But I am back and writing although a bit rusty so yeah, am slowly getting back in but you all want these two adventures to continue so let’s do that... Let me know what you think!

It has been four days since my parents were admitted to the hospital. I had spent my days between there and home. Tommy had me guarded 24 hours a day if I wasn’t with him – I had two Peaky Blinder boys beside me and not the rookies either but the most trusted.

I found the hospital visits draining, mentally and physically being five months pregnant didn’t help either. It was hard to watch my parents being in this condition. It wasn’t easy.

My mother was constantly being sedated. Every time she woke up, she was screaming so loud she would frighten the other patients in the hospital. And anyone that came close to her was attacked. They were slapped, punched or bitten. So it was decided for the safety of everyone, that she would be sedated. The hoped outcome would be that she healed mentally and physically at the same time. But that didn’t seem like a likely scenario the longer the days went by.

My father, he was terrified the moment he woke up. I was there to witness that. The second his eyes opened he tried to sit up but couldn’t due to the wounds in his stomach and chest. Pushing the tubes off his face the alarms on the machines would go crazy. I remember him looking around, hands clutched together as fists. He was ready to fight, even in his frail state.

I remembered rushing forward taking his hands into mine, telling him he was going to be okay. The look he gave me was one of sheer terror. It sent a chill down my spine. He tried to talk to me but he couldn’t, the damage to his tongue too great.

Today I left the hospital early in the afternoon. The nurses and doctors had decided to take my mother off sedation. I wasn’t so sure but I gave my permission for them to do so when I had left. I had already witnessed my father try and learn how to speak again this morning. It broke my heart watching him try, it was traumatic. It was something I didn’t want to see.

My baby kicked a lot today when I was in the hospital and I took that as a sign to spend some time with Tommy. Since the attack on my parents, we hadn’t spent much time together. I was at the hospital while he was on a manhunt. He was a one-man army trying to rid the world or at least England of all Italians. His ambition scared me. He had already made war with the Sabini gang in London. Something he almost lost his life because of. He had a baby to think about now. We both did. We couldn’t be making stupid decisions, not when it came to the Italian mafia.

Walking to his office, I turned to his men telling them with my eyes I would be fine now but no. They wouldn’t leave until I was literally in Tommy’s care. I felt like a child sometimes but I knew it was for my safety. With a sigh I walked into the office, smiling softly at Lizzie as I passed her desk before allowing myself into his office.

He was sat hunched over his desk, eyes glued to a mountain of paperwork. For a brief second, he looked at me before back to his work, a stressed huff leaving his lips.

“I’m with Tommy now you can leave...” I smiled softly at my two bodyguards.

“Wait outside boys.” Tommy interrupted. He hadn’t looked up from his desk, just waved his men away with the swish of his hand.

I rolled my eyes at his actions, whispering an apology to his men as they walked out of his office. I closed the door behind them and walked over to Tommy’s desk taking the pen out of his hand.

“Hello love, how are you today? How’s our baby doing?” I growled slamming his pen down on his desk. I glared into his eyes as he let out a frustrated sigh at my actions.

“I’m busy Stace.” He sighed closing the file he was looking at and putting it away in his locked drawer. I noticed it had a big red private stamped on it. He was never so secretive with his paperwork before.

“What was that?”

“Nothing you have to worry about.” His emotionless eyes looked at me, looking almost bored.

“Yes of course not it’s Thomas Shelby against the world isn’t it?” I scoffed, standing tall. My bump popped out from under my dress.

I watched Tommy’s eyes glance down to my bump, a small smile pulling on his lips before he looked up and into my eyes. Leaning back on his office chair, he raised his eyebrows, a smug smirk on his face.

“You have my attention now what is it you want?” He asked linking his hands over his chest and opening his thumbs to emphasise his question.

“Good” I grinned walking around the desk, taking his tie into my hands. His hands came up to rest on my bump. The baby feeling their father’s hands on them gave an almighty kick. “Ow.” I inhaled, and Tommy laughed caressing the bump in his hands.

“That’s my boy.”

“You think it’s a boy?” I asked, leaning back against his desk. My hands left his tie to rest on top of his on my bump.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t know, maybe. It's 50/50” I bit my lip looking down at my ever-expanding stomach. “Maybe I should get Polly to read my tea leaves. She will know.”

“I thought you wanted a surprise” Tommy asked standing to his feet. His hands never left my stomach as he looked down at me.

“I do, no your right I do,” I speak looking up at him with a wide smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, glaring softly at him. He was looking down at me, his eyes staring deeply into mine but his face remain emotionless. He was a hard man to read at the best of times.

Instead of replying, Tommy leaned down capturing my lips in his. The kiss itself was hungry. Possessive almost. His tongue claimed my mouth within seconds, I moaned pushing myself against him as best I could with a five-month pregnant belly in the way.

“Tommy” I gasped against his lips. He pulled away keeping his hands on my stomach as his lips worked their way across my cheek, down my jaw towards my neck.

“Do you know how gorgeous you look with my child inside you?” He asked nipping along the column of my neck, his hands caressing our bump.

I couldn’t respond. My mind was screaming with enjoyment. I moaned softly as he pushed me harder against the edge of his desk. I had no choice but to slip on top of it. His hands left my bump to pull up the bottom of my dress, softly ghosting over my clothed core.

“So wet for me already baby girl.” Tommy grinned pulling at my earlobe between his teeth, my head fell back as he ran the tip of his nose along my neck. It felt completely sensual. He was doing so many things to me, I couldn’t think straight.

“Oh Tommy” I moaned softly resting my hands back on his desk and pushing my hips into his.

Tommy’s hand slipped behind my neck, holding me in place as he ran the tip of his nose up along my voice box, under my chin towards my lips. Pressing another passionate, wet kiss to my lips. His tongue claimed my mouth. His hand held my neck so I couldn’t escape him.

There was a sudden knock on the door and I immediately pushed Tommy away, pushing my dress down over my legs. Standing up I noticed the annoyed look on Tommy’s face as he readjusted himself in his trousers. Within moments, Michael came through the office, holding a peaked cap and newspaper in his hands, looking nervous.

“What can I do for you, Michael?” Tommy asked with a sigh. I smiled softly at the newest member of the Shelby clan as I took a seat on the guest side of Tommy’s office watching the interaction.

“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?” Michael asked looking between the two of us. I could tell Tommy was ready with a response so I quickly jumped in to save his cousin any more second-hand embarrassment.

“Of course not. We were just discussing the baby.” I side-eyed Tommy who smirked at my response. His head nodded slightly, blue hawk-like eyes looking back at Michael, sucking his plump bottom lips between his teeth – his mind elsewhere.

“What is it you need young Michael?” He asked standing behind his desk with his hands behind his back.

“I heard you were looking for an accounts clerk Tommy. I’m good with numbers.”

“The position has been filled, Michael.” Tommy answered quickly.

“Not according to this morning’s paper” Michael answered back making me laugh softly. “I was the top of my class in mathematics in school and I did a night class on accountancy at Worchester College. Mum said you had six different accounts clerks in the past six months.”

I looked between the two, Tommy had turned his back before turning back around leaning against the filling cabinet, his hands still behind his back as he leaned against the metal.

“When respectable men see all the things you do. They leave. But I, I already know what you do.” Michael continued to speak, turning rather confident for a 17-year-old. Completely different from the boy that walked in only moments before. “Mum says you want to be 80% legal within 2 years.”

“Three” Tommy answered.

“I can help,” Michael replied. “I know both sides and you know you can trust me. I want to help you, Tommy. Become legal for your family.” He looked at me, glancing down at my bump.

I bit my lip looking over at Tommy, I liked what Michael had to say. I liked it a lot, I just hoped Tommy felt the same. I could see the cogs working in his head as he thought about what Michael had to say.

“Do the right thing.” Michael pushed. “I want to be proud of this family.” I couldn’t help but smile at that part. The family was everything to the Shelby’s anyone could see that, all you had to do was spend a bit of time with them and it became glaringly obvious.

“Does Polly know you’re here Michael?” Tommy asked, taking his eyes off Michael and looking at me. I tilted my head to the side, slowly shaking it. We both already knew the answer to that.

“I’m 18 on Friday I go where I please,” Michael responded and I sighed softly, knowing Tommy wouldn’t involve him without Polly’s saying so.

“If he is solely involved in the legal side of business Tommy what’s the problem? It’s a job. Give him a chance.” I spoke up sitting on the edge of the seat. “He is family, he wants and needs this job. Give him a chance to prove himself.”

I watched as Tommy inhaled deeply, pushing himself off the filing cabinet and towards his desk once again. Looking down at the newspaper Michael had brought with him, the job circled in red ink – he thought about what was said. Lifting the phone sitting on the right-hand side of his desk, he dropped it in front of Michael.

“You call your mother, good luck,” Tommy stated walking around the edge of his desk and towards his drinks caddy.

I looked at Michael smiling softly before patting his arm. This was his chance.

*****

A few days later I was tidying up my home after breakfast when a loud knock on the door frightened me until I heard the voice of Esme on the other side. I opened the door immediately letting her inside with a smile until I saw her face.

“Esme, what is it?” I asked instantly panicked something had happened to Tommy.

“It’s Tommy, he is… he is showing that horse trainer around.” Esme wheezed trying to catch her breath. I was confused by her confession.

“Well, he is just being chivalrous I’m sure it means nothing. The man’s probably never been to a place like this before.” I brushed off her concerns. Most people avoided the streets of Small Heath if they could.

“It’s not a man Ana. It’s a young, rich widow from London and from what our John was saying. She wants Tommy.” Esme told me. Her eyes showed nothing but worry and concern for me.

Her words began to embed themselves in my head. Why would Tommy tell me it was a male horse trainer? Why would he lie? Why would he need to show them around a dump like Small Heath? Why did she get the courtesy no one else did?

“Where is he?” I asked, my heart racing in my chest at the thought of catching him with another woman. “Esme, where is he?” I repeated, putting my coat around my shoulders and grabbing my bag.

“I don’t know” Esme shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. “They left the betting shop and I instantly came here to tell you. I knew he wouldn’t be honest with you. Fucking men think they can treat us like objects and we wouldn’t care.”

I listen to her rant as I walked down the stairs, the two Peaky Blinder bodyguards waiting for me as soon as I left.

“Have either of you seen Tommy?”

“Yeah saw him enter The Garrison, ten, fifteen minutes ago.” Harry nodded lighting up a cigarette. “Are you not going to the hospital this morning miss?”

“Not yet” I shook my head, walking towards the Garrison.

I pushed open the door, Esme right behind me – a scowl on her face as the two figures came into view.

“Would you like to fuck me, Mrs Carleton?” Tommy asked just as I walked through the door and the hit of betrayal slapped me up the face. I remained silent as I stood by the door, waiting for her answer.

I wasn’t sure if they noticed we had entered the bar or not but I was hurt and angry. A tear fell down my cheek, Esme stood glaring, I could tell she was biting her tongue, giving the woman a chance to speak.

“No, I am here for the horse Mr Shelby nothing more.” The dark-haired, posh woman sipped on the drink Tommy had made her, grimacing at the taste.

“Good cause that’s my woman there…” Tommy pointed at me, his head finally looking in my direction. “And that’s my child in her stomach. So anything other than the horse is off the table.”

My eyes flicked between the woman and Tommy, my head tilting to the side like I was trying to work him out. Esme’s hand touched my shoulder for comfort as I tried to figure out whether that was the truth leaving Tommy’s mouth or just for the benefit of me standing there. Either way, I wasn’t happy.

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76 @midnightmagpiemama @pierre-gasssllyy @duckybird101

Anyone wanting on or off just let me know I know I have been slacking and I apologise...

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #thomas shelby #thomasshelby #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc

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cookingforsatoru · 1 year

Text

Mitsuya Takashi x F!reader

Warnings: Angst ? financial problems, kinda not angst, it turned out to be slightly funny

summary; Mitsuya and her Wife dreamt of having a child and being successful in their business. Not knowing Takashi has some secrets to hide from her wife that made the company lose money. it even made their relationship in a worst-case scenario.

inspo; second chance - filipino movie

"so Mr. and Mrs. Mitsuya, this is an interview and we're gonna ask questions about what happened to you both for the past 6 years of marriage, okay?"

"Sure"

-6 years earlier-

"I always knew you'd be the one for me, yn. through my ups and downs, you're the one who's there for me baby. I can't imagine doing anything without your support and love. I always think of you as my wife nowadays. I want to make it true, princess."

as he touched your cheeks softly he slowly bend down on his one knee

" I'm asking this with no pressure, love. will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

as tears went down your cheeks, you know what you want to answer to that question.

"yes, love!" chuckled and sniffed as you said

your heart is too happy you cried for more than a minute.

―――――――――――――――

after the marriage, it's already been 6 years

you and Takashi are handling a business of your own. it's about sewing of course.

you were the designer and he's the tailor.

but since you just had a miscarriage he wants you to just rest, he was so busy. he just leave you at home with nothing to do.

he didn't get to tell you his problems, he started to be so irritated all the time you cant even talk to him properly.

as days passed, you didn't know how to keep yourself busy, and its sunday so why not check on your husband in his office? i mean its not going to be a long ride, just maybe 10minutes far from your house soo...

―――――――――――――――

"Good Afternoon, Ma'am Y/n! It's nice to see you back!"

the guard greeted you with a big smile, the staff in your office surely missed you since you've been gone for months.

"Good Afternoon, too"

you went inside and looked for takashi, you saw him talking to his phone in his office room, so you went in.

"hey, Love! I bought Lunch!"

he hangs up and looked really irritated...

"wtf yn, what are you doing here?"

"visiting you and our office... what else?"

"i told you to stay at home, didn't I?"

"yeah but it's so boring there, what's wrong? i just visited"

"yeah, go home now. don't want you here. you'll get tired"

"what?"

"go home."

―――――――――――――――

after what happened you always overthink about why did he asked you to leave?

i mean everytime you ask him 'how's his work?' he always says 'good' or it's fine but really he looks so problematic. as his wife you want to help but he don't open to you anymore.

so he has this trip to another town so you decided to do a little visit the office...

―――――――――――――――

you went to the office and first thing is ask the financier hows the money?

"um ma'am we're very low on budget. sir told me to not tell you this but we're really bankrupt. he accepts all projects and does not finnish it so the clients/customers cancel their appointments. but sir is really trying hard. and almost half of our staff's are resigning because we have no money to pay them anymore and plus we have so many debts. it's almost 3million."

...

what?

―――――――――――――――

you left cause how come your husband didn't told you any of this?

this is fucked up.

really. he isn't the takashi you used to know.

you were heartbroken but tried to understand him cause you know he needs you, to calm yourself down you went shopping.

you bought a lot! it made you happy, really! new plates new cups, new home decorations, etc etc.

he came home very late, then saw the new things you bought.

"yn?"

"oh takashi, hey"

"why tf did you shop? where'd you get the money?"

"uh i have my own money, why?"

"you just waisted tons of money, yn"

"what's your problem? you've been acting so strange lately"

he looked really mad, then threw the new plates on the floor

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM TAKASHI?"

"STOP WAISTING MONEY! YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'RE NOT CONTENTED IN THE LIFE I'M GIVING YOU, WHAT? YOU DON'T WANT TO BE IN THIS RELATIONSHIP ANYMORE?"

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? WHERE DID THAT CAME FROM???"

"YOU'RE SO FUCKING SELFISH"

"YOUR PROBLEM IS THE NEW PLATES? IS THAT WHY YOU'RE HATING ME RIGHT NOW? THEN LET'S THROW THE FUCKIN' PLATES, TAKASHI"

you threw the plates and the cups and all the things near you on the floor.

"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?! YOU FUCKIN' HAPPY NOW MITSUYA?"

he gave you nothing but a silent treatment.

―――――――――――――――

after the fight you went to your friend's house, emma sano.

emma really comforted you. after a few weeks you went to your house again...

found nothin' but a girl in bed

girl?

his ex?

but where's takashi?

......

the girl woke up then saw you, and cover her top since she was naked.

"oh- are you his girlfriend"

you were about to cry but really you didn't. you're a badbitch.

"wife. his wife, bitch"

"..."

"get tf out of my fuckin' house, whore"

you tried to control your temper.

she left the house.

but still figuring out where tf is takashi

he deff cheated...

―――――――――――――――

you fixed the house again.

waited for him to come home.

and remembered his vows he gave you

"With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine".

it actually hurts seeing your relationship like this. it sucks

he used to be so sweet. what happened? you really missed him.

you cried praying, hoping he'll come back.

the man who promised you you'd have kids, that you'd wake up everyday with a smile and by his side, the man who promised to never treat you bad, to never cheat, to be there when you need him

the man who is very careful with his words, very responsible with his words. the man who will keep his promises.

nevertheless, he's like that you still love him, you're just really hurt.

-------------------------------- 5 years--------------------------------

"Yah! Takashi can you carry your daughter! I'm still doing my makeup"

"sorry babe, I was cooking but sure"

10 mins... at the interview

"so it's been 5 years already, Mr. & Mrs. Mitsuya"

"yeah, time flies so fast"

"How are you guys? well you two seem pretty happy today"

"well of course, we'd get to share our journey with some people. first, we had financial problems, cheating problems, trusting problems, all that we almost got out divorced. but as for me, as the wife. of course, I love to spend my life with my husband though I was hurt. I'd still love to understand him, I wanted to know the reason why he cheated, wanted to know the reason why he didn't trust me? cause I know myself takashi isn't like that so I knew that there was something wrong. I talked to him the night he cheated. he ranted for the first time in our 6 years."

"as the husband who did all that, I figured my wife's the most understanding woman I've ever met. though I wasn't ready to break up I knew she'd break up with me. but didn't. she fixed all my problems, she was there for me. always."

"so I guess everybody deserves a second chance? Based on your experience Mr. & Mrs. Mitsuya"

"no, but if you still see that the person is trying and see them struggling to get you back, try to understand them, even if they cheated on you once, twice, or more than. we should forgive them cause we're not the ones who will punish them for their sins, God will. especially when God knows that you did nothing wrong, figured that prayers work." -Mitsuya, Takashi

Taglist: @omakeomuomuu @thisbiccc @galactict3a @rgtgt @chuuberrysworld @todorokistoyaa @penguinlovestowrite-blog @ddeadcalm @obeymesimp111 @ashwasherelol @oikawascutie @pinksilk @staymoarmyzen @leilalago @winterv-blackk @bobateasilverpearlrl @jcrml @abellaheart-blogg @gayforyuzuha @supernaturaldreamergirl1130l1130 @kittimacataclysm @sapphire-gemm @layla0mitsuya @rindousfavoritewifefe @mrssano04 @kzuyii @dr4kenlvrr @softbajisbajis @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gangn-ji-ganggang @magxnoriaoriarvtales @mimeeneneen @valhomassallaxzz @akira-kurususushindou @beebeedibapbeedibooppksydh @bontensbabygirll @wintercher0303 @fueledbysanono @chuunayoshiro

just message me if you guys want to be tagged :DD or if you are disturbed by my random taggings, please message me!!

finally finished, just rushed this but took this 3 days to write, sorry!

#tokyo revengers #tokyorevengers #mitsuya x y/n #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 year

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HI STEPH! How has your December been?

Hey Lovely *HUGS*

LOL do you want the "Tumblr happy place" version or the "might be a bit depressing" version??

Tumblr-mask version: It's been alright. We've got some snow now, and it feels a bit more Christmassy. Glad I'm on holidays and just enjoying the time off :)

Real life version: We've got some snow now, and I hate snow. And life's been a bit of a gong show for the past month or so. (cw below cut, medical, retail frustration, and depression mentions)

TL;DR: It's December. Hopefully the new year looks a bit more promising <3

As you all know, this kind of all started back when my job was very uncertain. I had a bit of a brief break when I got my raise and talked with the chief of staff. Few weeks, maybe, then just the desire to have a holiday started to kick in because I realized how EXHAUSTED I was.

I recently went though a pain in the ass experience with my car's manufacturer regarding a small repair on my car that was only supposed to be a one day thing and turned into nearly 3 weeks of me not having a car and them refusing to give me a rental because I don't have an "extended warranty" even though I'm still covered under a warranty. Because of the kind of person I am, this spiralled me into a nightmare scenario of me stressing about not having a car three weeks before Christmas, fighting with the dealership to give me SOME sort of compensation (and failing) and them not being able to tell me when I get my car back – I wanted it back before my Christmas break this week because I prefer to go out during the work week when it's less busy. Anyway, coincidence or not, the missing part MYSTERIOUSLY arrived two days after I escalated my situation with the head office telling them their customer service was shit (in a nicer way, of course, LOL), so I at least have it back now. But not an experience I would wish on my worst enemy, it was THAT stressful.

Leading up to Christmas, work was insane. We're short-staffed and just... no one was "feeling it" this year. We're all tired and we all just want holidays. I took off three extra days since I still had time to book off, so my holidays started sooner than everyone else, and I am so glad I did it. I'm not looking at anything work-related for the next two weeks, thanks.

I don't like winter at all where I live (it's always gloomy and wet; rarely any sun at all), and it feels like my brain is rotting from all the Christmas shit being shoved down my throat. There, I said it. I don't like Christmas, haven't since my dad passed away 2 weeks after Christmas over a dozen years ago. I like the aesthetics of it – the lights, the decorations, the hot cocoa and fancy drinks – but it's TOO MUCH for TOO LONG, and by the time Christmas is here I am DONE. I'm TIRED of people being SHOCKED that I don't like Christmas... ugh. PLUS my seasonal depression spikes badly at Christmas because all people seem to do is like to remind me how alone I am. Like thanks, appreciate it. UGH. The only thing I like about Christmas is that my work gives us 2 weeks every year between Christmas and New Year, and I spend most of that alone watching movies, drinking cocoa or playing video games. It's wonderful. I hear about everyone in my extended family having to visit all these people on Christmas day and I'm like LOL I'm in my jammies watching the Avengers, thanks, you keep that stress.

Christmas is EXTRA kinda poopy this year because one of my closest extended family members found out they have throat cancer at the beginning of November. They're in chemo right now and in good spirits, so I'm trying to stay positive about it, but it's hard to not think about, you know?

Discovering a lot about myself in therapy, and it's mentally draining. That's all I'm comfortable sharing right now.

I'm just all around TIRED and LONELY and feel like no one cares about me, y'know? I feel like I'm never going to be anyone who accomplished something worthwhile (and before y'all say it, my BRAIN LOGICALLY KNOWS THIS IS ALL FALSE, but my wires get crossed and the depression sinks in instead with the intrusive thoughts – My therapist finds it fascinating that I have this kind of awareness and she's trying to find a way to work around it). Some days are worse than others, especially in the winter in this city going on month 2 of no sunshine, UGGGHHH. Having moods that change with the weather REALLY fucking sucks.

AND I've been looking again at getting a cat, but I think I might have to once again put it on the back-burner, because my phone is finally crapping out (it's an iPhone 6S Plus, so it's OOOOOOOLLDD by today's standards) with the camera jittering and the battery barely lasting 4 hours in standby mode, so I might have to get a new one sooner than later. AND I also want to re-look at getting a mortgage again so I'm ready when the housing market inevitably crashes and I can get a condo cheaper than 500K :/ My rent is still cheaper right now because I'm so grandfathered in that I'm paying under 1000$ right now for rent, so staying where I am is the SMART thing, but I'm miserable because the space is too small now. ANYWAY, money. Can't get a cat right now AGAIN because of money. Ugh. I'm not broke by any means, I just.......... am so annoyed my single-person groceries have gone from 50$ a week to 150$ a week, and I HATE HATE HATE it. It's ridiculous. Finally get a raise but I can never catch a break, it seems :/ It's not Avacado Toast, Karen, it's the whole damned economy.

So yeah, that's basically it. I don't talk about myself that much here because I am a fairly private person. I don't like bothering people with my problems because I always feel like a burden. Sometimes, though, I just wish I had a human person I could visit regularly to chat with (that I don't have to pay for, LOL), is all. AND my blog is my happy place, so I try to keep it positive where I can.

Hope you're having a good month, and I hope the holidays treat you well <3

#steph replies #chatting with lovelies #about me #negativity cw #depression cw #my ramblings

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thatbritishbastard · 2 years

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I Guess I’m Not British Anymore. . .

So, I went to the UK and checked on my Mom and family - my wife happened to get a tattoo, so we did that, too. But, I guess I just wasn’t expecting the culture shock.

Upon going back, I had been gone for 2 years and 10 months. Everything was different. Some things I expected, but some were a legitimate shock.

Never before have I been treated like a tourist in the very place I was born and raised. People looked at me kind of strange, even though I knew exactly what I was looking for and how to get there, and even more so when I opened my mouth to speak. I was asked what I was doing there and where I was from. It was weird, but also self-affirming.

Everything seemed the same, even after the pandemic. The occasional person wearing a mask, sure, but not something that you couldn’t see in London before COVID had hit, either.

My family had told me that I looked well, and I told them the same. After not seeing someone for 3 years, it’s always nice to see the changes they’ve made, and to talk about the ones you have made for yourself. We’ve always been a close-knit family. It had been a long flight, so I figured I’d sleep it off before our first family function that night.

It turned out to be a great evening. Everyone was wonderful and nobody hesitated to tell me how different I had become. “You’ve got a proper Yank accent now,” they’d tell me. And that was a comfort to me. Before this trip I really wondered about how I was perceived by other people. I didn’t mind so much if I stood out when I was in the UK – I was only going to be there for 4 days – how people see me in the US means a lot more to me, nowadays.

The next day was just spending it with my immediate family. It was great to see them – I’d missed them a hell of a lot. But they had changed, and so had I. We are different people now, and we’re going to need to learn how to deal with that. For now, it’s a little bit of tension, and a little bit of compromise. It isn’t bad, but it is different. I was ready to come home after less than 48 hours in the country. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t coming home, I’d left my home for this vacation – that’s what this was – it was a vacation to visit my family.

Then it came to the tattoo. It wasn’t in the greatest part of the city, so my wife and I agreed that I would take her to the studio and pick her up when she was done. I wandered around the city center, and that, in itself, did feel the same, but the people didn’t. I guess I didn’t feel the same to them, either. People still asked me where I was from when I spoke to them – I guess they picked up on my newfound accent.

Wherever I went, you could hear people talking about The Queen having passed away. On the London Underground, I felt like the only person around who couldn’t care less. I’d long since lost my affinity with UK and the Royal family. Being a tourist in the place you grew up certainly hits differently to what I had been calling “visiting home”.

I went to pick my wife up from the tattoo studio, and we went out to dinner. Her favorite place in the city had been a steakhouse that my parents had taken us to, so we went there. Whilst we were sitting and talking, the table beside us full of 20 or so drunk and loud patrons. They’d gotten to talking about different kinds of people in the city, and when they landed on Americans, they dubbed the country full of “fat, obese dollar-spenders”. I guess that’s the best you can come up with after several pitchers of booze. The waiters were nothing but perfectly pleasant to us, but hearing them ask where we were from was sobering. There hadn’t been a single person that I’d interacted with on this trip that hadn’t asked where I was from. I found it interesting, but there’s a stale feeling in there, too. I love being a resident in the US, and I wouldn’t trade it for a thing.

Once we got home and on US soil, I was mentally preparing myself for dealing with the CBP officer. I’d gone through some horrifying scenarios in my head that even with a Green Card, that there was a chance that I wouldn’t have been allowed to come home. These were ridiculous, of course, and I had been working myself up for nothing. I’d been expecting to fill out a customs form – even US Citizens had to fill those forms out. But those never came. I was sure I’d be in for a ton of questions, submit biometrics, and hope for the best, like all the other times I’d flown into the US. Why would this be any different? When it was my turn, I wished the officer a good morning, and presented my passport. He asked me to look into his webcam for verification purposes, asked for my Green Card, and stamped my passport. That was. . . everything. No third degree, no proving why I was re-entering, or searching my personal effects. I was welcomed home, despite everything. For the first time I felt safe to be here. I know that I’m allowed to be here, and that the government is more than comfortable with my being here.

I left the UK as a British man looking for a new life, a fresh start. I’m not just the holder of a permanent resident card anymore – I’m an American resident. I belong here and this is my home.

#BashBarks

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acodexofourtime · 1 year

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Love, From Vicki Island

As he rounded the bend in the old tufa causeway that led to the harbor, Doctor Orfeo got a feeling that things would continue to not be as they seemed that day, and perhaps for a long time to come. Having defeated another obstacle in the launderers’ quarter on the bluff above the harbor, he was one ally richer and poorer in time and energy. This was the case for his more recent adventures.

Thoughts about Doctor Ione raced through his head - but he also thought about an ancient plague of infectious orange blood that spread like quicksilver through the Greek colonies in Campania during the pre-Roman era. He thought about Don Benedetto, too, even though the Doctor tried to put him out of his mind. There was so much more that needed to be done, beyond even solving the mysteries that besieged the city of Santa Ninfa.

Sometimes he imagined scenarios where the city was encouraged to evacuate to a nicer town along the coast, one where the only problems were ones of a municipal nature rather than a metaphysical one. For whatever reason, Santa Ninfa stood at the threshold of worlds and was always known for burning the candle at both ends.

On one side, the old volcano, and on the other, the sea. A long line of metaphysical doctors like Doctor Orfeo had visited the city in old times and kept a council of doctors, the Association of the Psychic Lancet, which held the reality warp that emanated from the very foundations of the city at bay. But as years passed, the Association’s purpose was forgotten, and their institutional knowledge waned until attrition and time finished it off for good. After the eldest member retired to a vineyard, all that was left was the most junior member, a woman who kept a shimmering cloud in her cupboard.

After selling off the old Council offices, a squat building of tan masonry with terra-cotta reliefs depicting miraculous works, and locking the front door for the last time, she left it to memory in the half darkness. She later held a little boy’s hand in hers as the two of them boarded a dark car and left the studio that was their home since the boy was born. The little boy looked up to the red-framed window with the stained glass floral rondele, and knew it was the last time he’d ever look on the street from that vantage. “That was some time ago,” thought Doctor Orfeo.

Doctor Orfeo gazed through the pitted archway of veined marble, past the old bronze gate, and saw a woman standing by the iron railing around the harbor overlook. For a moment, he thought she was Doctor Ione, but he knew better. She looked over her shoulder as he approached and stopped a distance to her left. After a time, they looked to one another and exchanged smiles. She wore a long indigo colored coat with amber embroidery, and her round glasses reflected the blueness of the sea.

“There’s nothing like this place,” he said.

“Not in the whole city. I’ve read that this used to be the site of a lagoon some two hundred years ago. A precious ship sank and they built this overlook on top of it, vowing that no finer vessel could ever dock here again,” she said.

“You’re well versed in Santa Ninfa’s history,” replied the Doctor. “I’m Doctor Orfeo, it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

The woman smiled, “Doctor Mikare, Empathic Botanist. Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard about your work, Doctor Orfeo. Our fields are very different, but I was wondering if our paths would ever cross. I study the flooded forest that emerges every so often on the horizon. It tends to dry up, so I need to keep it going sometimes. If you ever see a green boat, that’s me. Empathic plants grow in that depressed island; a geode of time and space. I water them with my assistant’s tears so they’re never forgotten. He’s off in the jungles looking for rare onions as we speak, so now I’m waiting for him to return so I can get back to work.”

“Those plants must have considerable spirit. I’ve only read about such things, never seen them up close. But if they could grow anywhere, it’s here, this is as good an axis mundi as one can find, the place where the sea meets the horizon and then some.

“Yes,” Doctor Mikare replied, with one hand still upon the railing, “after one of the oldest volcanoes went dormant, it tore a direct line to the metaphysical realm. If you were to walk down one side of the sinkhole, you would get the impression that it goes on for about 300 kilometers, but it’s really a lot smaller. I teach the plants down there half-forgotten languages, so that it creates a kind of seed bank for the future.”

Doctor Orfeo smiled at that thought. The metaphysical crab apple that was hiding in his coat pocket stirred with intensity at the idea of guzzling tears for breakfast. He patted his pocket softly and looked back out at the horizon beyond the railing. “I have an idea. This city is getting overrun right now with plant spirits. Do you think your empathic plants would have it in them to host some new neighbors on their island?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Doctor Mikare, and the imagined idea played out in her inner mind like a grand play.

As they hatched a plan, Doctor Orfeo quickly drew up some notes on the back of a colorful postcard with a blue and violet scrollwork border, emblazoned with the proclamation, “LOVE FROM VICKI ISLAND”.

#the continuing adventures of doctor orfeo

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ohcanadashop · 1 year

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orthodontistincanton · 2 years

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samwisethewitch · 3 years

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An Open Letter to Christian Witches

On this blog, I often champion the idea that witchcraft is a practice, not a religion, and that a witch can practice any religion, provided that religion does not explicitly forbid witchcraft. I still very much believe this, and the point of this post is not to tell Christians that they can’t be witches. However, as a non-Christian witch who has been deeply traumatized by Christianity, I do wish Christian witches would be a bit more mindful of how they show up in witchy spaces.

Recently, I’ve noticed a pattern of self-identifying Christian witches dominating the conversation and centering their own beliefs in spaces dedicated to witchcraft. Now, I wholeheartedly believe that this is unintentional, and most of these Christian witches seem like lovely people. But it’s still deeply frustrating and upsetting to be promised a safe space and support from other witches, only to be preached at.

Or be told that I’m doing witchcraft wrong because my ethics are not the same as someone else’s.

Or be told that I don’t understand Christianity, despite having spent the first two decades of my life fully immersed in it.

Or have my trauma invalidated because, “Not all Christians are like that!”

Or spend the majority of our time together reassuring and comforting a Christian witch who is uncomfortable with the inclusion of pagan and/or occult elements in a ritual.

These are all genuine experiences I have had with Christian witches in 2021. And in every single one of these situations, the Christian witch had a very negative reaction to any kind of constructive criticism or request that they be more mindful of the diverse beliefs and experiences in the space. Any suggestion that their actions may be causing discomfort for others was met with defensiveness, if not straight-up denial. The result is a situation where Christian witches are at the center of every discussion and demand (knowingly or not) coddling or hand-holding from teachers and facilitators, while those of us who are not Christian are left deeply uncomfortable but unable to express that discomfort without upsetting someone or being accused of creating conflict.

And I get it. I really do. Because for most of the people in the above scenarios, this was the first time they encountered a situation where their religion wasn’t the norm. But what I need Christian witches to recognize and be mindful of is that this discomfort of being surrounded by people who do not share your beliefs is something those of us who are not Christian experience every day.

In the Western world, and particularly in the United States, Christianity is a religious hegemony. (A hegemony is a group with total political, social, economic, and/or military dominance in a given area.) Everything in Western society was designed for Christians, to serve a Christian worldview, and to reinforce Christian hegemony. Everything from our government to our business practices to our media reinforces Christian values. For Christians, this creates the sense of comfort and security that comes from being part of the in-group. For non-Christians, it meas being constantly bombarded with someone else’s religion. For former Christians with church-related trauma, it means reliving that trauma constantly.

Here’s a look at an average day in my life as a formerly-Christian pagan with religious trauma. Please note that this is not an exaggeration — this is a description of what I experienced on the day I wrote this post.

I get up and, because I live with Christian family members, I walk past exactly five images of Jesus and/or the Virgin Mary on my way from my bedroom to the front door. On my commute to work, I drive past at least a dozen churches, including the one I used to attend, where my religious trauma occurred. I stop at a red light, and the car in front of me has a bumper sticker with an image of a cross and the message, “If this offends you now, just wait until you see it on judgement day!” I happen to know that these bumper stickers are for sale not at a local church, but at a privately owned, nominally secular business. When I get to work, the woman who greets me at the front gate is wearing a crucifix necklace.

I work in diversity education. When I get to the office, my boss asks me to join the local Interfaith council because I am the only person in our department who isn’t Christian. My current big project at work is trying to get a transgender speaker to visit our organization and help us lead a workshop to work towards amending a history of transphobia in our organization. My boss tells me today the she isn’t sure the speaker I arranged will be approved, because our administration might not think it is in line with our organization’s values. When she says this, I know she means evangelical Christian values. She doesn’t have to spell it out — there’s a chaplain down the hall from our office.

After my lunch break, my coworkers are talking about a church event one of them attended over the weekend. I do not contribute to this conversation. It has been several months since I attended an in-person religious event with people who shared my faith. As I’m leaving the office at the end of the day, I pass a Bible study group that has set up in our recreation area. On my drive home, I pass the funeral home where my grandfather’s memorial service was held earlier this year. The programs for that service had the Lord’s Prayer printed on them. My grandfather was an atheist.

This is my level of exposure to a religion I not only don’t believe in, but have been actively hurt by, on a daily basis. This is my normal. I’ve learned to live with it, tune it out, and self-soothe, because there is no other option.

When I’m finally able to be around other witches, many of them are coming from similar experiences. I am finally in a space where I can be vulnerable, where I can talk about what I really believe, and where I can receive support from like-minded people. But if there is even one Christian witch in the group, it’s highly likely that this space too will be dominated by Christian hegemony.

It’s a noted fact that a person exists within a hegemony, they have very little ability to tolerate challenges to this hegemony due to a lack of exposure. This is the origin of the term white fragility, which sociologist Robin DiAngelo uses to describe the discomfort and defensiveness white people feel when confronted with “racial discomfort” such as being asked to consider racism as a system they are complicit in and benefit from rather than as the actions of lone extremists. White fragility is something I have personally experienced as a white woman involved in antiracist work, and it’s something I have taken years to work through and am still actively working on. Since DiAngelo popularized this term, similar terms have been used to point to similar phenomena in other hegemonic groups, as in the cases of male fragility/fragile masculinity, cishet fragility, and yes, Christian fragility.

I’m not trying to argue that all hegemony is the same, and I am definitely not trying to say that my personal religious trauma is anywhere near the level of pain caused by the mistreatment of Black and brown people by white supremacist society. My point here is simply that being part of the dominant group breeds a very low tolerance for exposure to other groups.

Christian witches are members of a hegemonic group entering a space historically occupied by marginalized people, which creates an imbalance of power. (And yes, you can benefit from hegemony even if you are marginalized in other areas. Identity is multi-faceted. Queer Christians, disabled Christians, Christians of color, and yes, Christian witches still benefit from Christian hegemony.) The only way things are going to get better is if Christians are willing to do the work themselves of building tolerance for religious discomfort. The rest of us can host as many interfaith and secular events as we want, but if Christians aren’t able to tolerate the inclusion of other belief systems, we’ll never truly be on equal footing. Until Christians stop centering the Christian experience, it will continue to dominate interfaith spaces, including witchy spaces.

TLDR: I’m asking Christian witches to be mindful of the privilege they bring into interfaith spaces. I’m asking you to be willing to feel uncomfortable, and to recognize that your discomfort does not invalidate the work your facilitators have put into creating the space and/or program. If you truly can’t stand the discomfort, I’m asking you to politely excuse yourself instead of demanding emotional labor from other witches.

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Honest and Truly

Summary: Spencer has his prom 10 years late, but none of that matters when it's with the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female (She/Her)-- Fluff

CW: Minimal vulgar language (PG-13)

Author's Note: This just might be my most favorite thing I've written in a very long time :) Also listen to the song I linked, it makes the title and the ending make more sense! thank you to @spookydrreid and @writhingintheroses for helping me a particular scene!!

Add yourself to my taglist! It makes it much easier for me :)

Honest and Truly

“A prom?” Spencer asks, realizing that the conversation had entered uncharted territory, a territory in which he had not a single clue how to navigate. Spencer, being a preteen in high school, never attended prom.

“Yes, Reid. A prom,” Penelope says, staring at him over the many monitors and stuffed cats that littered her desk, “It’s going to be so much fun!” she says, excitedly.

“That sounds like, uh, I’ll have plans that night,” Spencer tells Penelope, spinning around in the swivel chair as he eats his turkey and cheese sandwich. He usually enjoys their lunches together, but when Penelope gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.

@s“Now I don’t believe that for a second, Reid. The only time that you have plans is when you’re with Y/N. And Y/N is going to be at this prom,” Garcia says, her pink glasses sliding down her nose. She winks at Reid, almost like she enjoys watching him squirm.

“How do you know that she’s going? Did she say she’s going?” Spencer asks, unable to conceal his eagerness that Y/N could be attending. Spencer might hate dancing and those fancy shoes that are too tight on his toes, but all that can be talked away if Y/N is there.

“Yes, she’s going because you’re asking her. That and I’m making everyone go,” Penelope says matter of factly.

Spencer opens his mouth, attempting to talk away Penelope’s suggestion. But Spencer Reid is a smart man and he knows better than trying to argue his way out with Penelope. Especially when it comes to Y/N. He might have an excellent poker face, but Spencer can’t hide his love for Y/N.

“I’m not going to ask her. You know she’ll think it’s because-” Spencer says, prepping for a long winded rant before the door of Penelope’s office swings open.

Y/N, with two coffees in hand, floats into the room like she’s walking on air. Or maybe it’s Spencer’s mind that’s floating when Y/N walks in. He can never tell. Whenever he’s near her, it’s like everything is sweeter, lighter and airier. Wordlessly, she passes the coffee to Spencer. Feeling her fingertips graze his reminds him of how pathetic he must be. He nods, telling her thanks, knowing that he’s unable to fully articulate just how grateful he is for the littlest things.

“Who are you not going to ask and to where, Spence?” Y/N says, leaning against the filing cabinets and sipping her coffee. Penelope, never one to be quiet, silently watches as Spencer and Y/N converse. Spencer looks up at her, feeling that light and airy feeling again. He brushes his hair that falls against his forehead nervously thinking of an answer.

“I- uh, I was thinking of asking my mother to come stay with me for a couple of weeks. You know, she hasn’t seen DC in a couple of years. And I do have some personal days banked,” Spencer says, telling Y/N a small white lie.

“She’s in Vegas, right?” Y/N asks, interested in what Spencer is saying, which is something that he’s still not used to. Spencer nods, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah, she says that she likes the heat,” Spencer says, hating how formal and cold the conversation sounds. It’s normally flowing with easy and familiarity, but something is wedged between them. Penelope, long forgotten by the pair, types rapidly on her keyboard.

“You know, Spence. If you’re up for it maybe we can have lunch or meet at Elmwood Park. I’d love to meet the woman that made my favorite person,” she says, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes. Her stare is so intense that it’s like she’s looking into his soul. He thinks that if she looks deep enough she’ll see her own reflection because his soul belongs to her.

“I-I uh,” Spencer says, immediately thinking that he should actually invite his mother out for a visit, “I think that’s a good idea. She likes the sites and all,” he tells her nervously, trying to ease his beating heart.

He’s her favorite person.

Out of all the people in this city, this world. He’s her favorite person. Spencer, a lover of math, is tempted to figure out the odds of being his favorite person’s favorite person. He knows it’s slim. He knows it’s rare. It’s something magical and Spencer is terrified he’s going to ruin it. He’s terrified he’s going to fuck something up that’s not even his.

“It’s a date,” Y/N says, turning to Penelope, who’s still long forgotten, “Oh, Penny, you need to yell at Morgan for me. He ate my leftovers,” she tells Penelope, who feigns horror, “And now I don’t have lunch”

“How dare he!” Penelope says, her exaggerated response inciting chuckles, “he can get away with murder because he’s pretty,” she says, shaking her head.

He knows that she’s pretending to be disappointed, but he still doesn’t like to see it. Spencer unwraps the other half of his turkey and cheese sandwich and hands it to Y/N. She looks surprised, as if Spencer just handed her a million bucks.

“Spence, you don’t have to,” Y/N says, softly, handing back the half of the sandwich, “It’s your sandwich, I don’t want you to feel-”

“Eat it, Y/N,” Spencer says firmly, looking straight at Y/N, “You need to eat something. We both live off coffee as it is,” he says, hoping that Y/N will take the sandwich.

He’s looking straight at her and she’s looking straight at him. Spencer wonders if he looks deep enough he’ll reach her soul. He dares to think that if he can find her soul, he’ll stare at his face. He’s her favorite person after all, that’s got to count for something.

“Thanks, Spence,” Y/N says, smiling softly, “You make the best sandwiches,” she tells him, taking a bite of the sandwich as Garcia’s eyes flit from Spencer to Y/N. Back and forth, she watches the pair engage in the world’s best miscommunication.

“Y/N, did you hear? I’m throwing a prom!” Garcia says excitedly, hoping that Y/N’s reaction will be more enthusiastic than Spencer’s.

“A prom?” Y/N asks, unconvincingly, “God, I hated my prom. I got punched spilled all over my dress and my date tried to sneak alcohol into the banquet hall. It was a shitshow,” Y/N says, remembering the less than happy memories from high school.

“I didn’t go to prom. You know, between being a 12 year old and a dork,” Spencer says, self deprecatingly, “It’s not the ideal scenario, but I am familiar with the cultural significance of proms in American high school,” Spencer says, speaking to no one in particular, yet looking at Y/N directly.

“Maybe we’ll both get the prom night we deserve, Spence,” Y/N offers, tossing out her wax paper wrapper. She walks past him and it’s like the air is sweeter. He believes in science, but loves magic. Y/N is magic.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, refusing to make eye contact with Penelope, “you know, sorry to uh, cut this short. I have some paperwork to finish. Hotch’s been on me all day about it. So, uh, see you later,” he says, walking out of Penelope's office like a bat out of hell.

He tries to ignore the knowing stares from Penelope and Y/N’s confusion as he ducks out and walks into the bullpen. Spencer doesn’t have paperwork. He finished all his paperwork by 11:12 am. But what Spencer does have is a flight from Vegas to Quantico to book.

And prom shopping.

___

As it turns out, Spencer doesn’t know much about teenage American culture. Sure he’s seen 90s movies that Y/N forced him to watch. But it was quite difficult to pay attention when all he could feel was Y/N’s fingers brushing up against his in their shared bucket of popcorn or her head laying against his shoulder when she got tired.

He doesn’t know much of anything when it comes to romance. But he knows that he loves Y/N— and hopefully that’s enough. He still hasn’t asked her if she’d go with him. Honestly, he’s not too sure why he even has to ask her in the first place. She’s going to be there already, but Garcia and Morgan convinced him that it’s part of the so-called “Prom Experience”

“Spence,” Y/N says, she’s perched on the tall bar stool and rests her elbows on her kitchen island, “did you find a suit yet? I was thinking that we can go to that vintage store on Rock Ave. They have a surprisingly good size selection, and I think that this whole vintage thing fits your aesthetic really well,”

“My aesthetic?” Spencer questions, again lost at sea.

“You know, you’re like nerdy chic. Equal parts dorky and equal parts handsome,” she tells him. He feels his cheeks burn at her words.

Handsome

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” Spencer says, eyeing Y/N over the rim of his hot coffee.

“It is,” Y/N says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like him being handsome is just as obvious as him being dorky, “And get your wallet. We’re going to the vintage store,”

Spencer has a hate-love relationship with weekends. He loves spending time with Y/N where it was so easy to pretend that she loves him as he loves her. He hates the weekends for the same reason he loves them. Spencer knows that it’s all fake. It’s a façade of the truth.

“Spence! You’d look great in this,” Y/N suggests, holding up a gray sports coat, “I think it will match your eyes perfectly,”

“If you think so, Y/N,” Spencer says, nodding his head in agreement. She continues eyeing him as if she’s imagining what he’d look like in the jacket. He has to admit, it’s a very nice jacket.

“Come on, Spence. There’s a mirror over in the corner. Try it on for me,” she requests and not even a second later Spencer finds himself being dragged by the hand to try on the suit jacket.

Y/N holds the jacket open for him as he slips it on through his arms. He’s surprised to realize that it fits perfectly. He looks into the mirror, staring at his face and Y/N, who tugs and smooths the jacket. Spencer can’t look too much longer because if he does the lines between reality and fantasy will be difficult to distinguish. As much as he wants to stare into the mirror all day long, pretending that this is real, he much rather it actually be real. But wishing and dreaming only ends up with battle wounds and broken hearts.

“You look very handsome, Spencer. Very handsome,” Y/N says, staring into the mirror too now. But she’s not looking at the jacket, she’s looking at him. The beat of silence lasts longer than what’s comfortable, “Um, I think, I saw some pants that would look good on you, with this jacket, I mean,” she says, stumbling over her words. She’s not looking in the mirror any more, her gaze is noticeably away from Spencer and the mirror.

“Okay, uh, whatever you think, Y/N,” Spencer says, “I’m not even sure why I agreed to this thing. I don’t dance,” he says, regretting his choice to go to Penelope’s prom, but feeling guilty for maybe disappointing Y/N all in one breath.

“Did you ask her yet?” Y/N asks, holding up a pair of similarly gray colored pants. She must notice his confusion, “You know Austin, the woman you heroically saved. Does any of it ring a bell, Spence?” Y/N teases. Spencer feels his cheeks burn and his heart tighten, that happens a lot around Y/N.

“Oh Austin, uh no. She wasn’t interested in me, after all,” Spencer says, shifting his weight and staring at his converse, “I mean, I should have seen it coming. It’s transference, that’s like Psych 101,” he says, feeling strange. It was odd when Austin broke up with him, even if you can consider it breaking up. He felt a strange sense of relief when it happened, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Y/N clicks her tongue in annoyance as she walks over to Spencer. Tugging slightly on the sleeves of the jacket she says, “well she’s not as smart as I thought she was. You have to be a complete fool to let someone like you go,” she says quietly. She’s standing too close, looking too beautiful, and seeming too perfect for Spencer to not be completely enamoured.

Then it breaks, like shattered glass. The rosey glasses are lifted, leaving only cheeks that sting with nervousness and hearts the yearn for something a little more tangible.

“Stop staring at me and go try it on,” Y/N says, handing him the pair of pants, “Oh and I’m going to look for a vest and a tie to match. This store is unbelievable,” she tells him, pushing him into the makeshift dressing room.

Spencer puts on the pants, which fit, despite being maybe an inch or two loose in the waist. He looks into the tall mirror, which is noticeably empty without Y/N standing with him. A floating hand, belonging to Y/N appears. She holds a burgundy tie and a dark brown vest, both of which are very Spencer. He smiles slightly, strangely happy that Y/N has picked something out that’s perfect for him.

“Tell me when you’re decent,” she says, her voice muffled by the curtain that separates them. He sticks his head out of the curtain, his eyes immediately finding Y/N’s.

“Ohh, Spence, you look amazing. Very handsome,” she says, her hands clasped around the tie, tugging just like she did with his suit jacket before, “What do you think?” she asks, looking at him curiously.

“It’s nice,” Spencer offers, approaching this like he does everything: cautiously, “I do like the texture,” he says, running his hands up and down the sleeves of the jacket.

“You look more than nice, Spence. I know I’ve said it like 30 times, but you look very handsome,” she says. Spencer hopes that she means it. He needs something to be real. Sometimes besides what he feels, because what he feels is the realest thing in the world.

“It’s nice to hear,” Spencer says, “you know from someone who’s not my mother,” he jokes, shrugging off the jacket and grabbing the hanger from Y/N.

“You deserve to hear it,” Y/N says so softly Spencer wonders if she’s saying it all. That beat of silence, followed by the awkwardness is back.

“So, uh, I saw a dress that I’m going to try on,” Y/N tells him, her gaze shifting everywhere but Spencer’s eyes.

“I’ll go pay for this,” Spencer says, walking back into the dressing room and the mirror that lies to his face.

___

Back in Y/N’s car, Spencer shifts in the passenger seat trying to find a way to sit comfortably while holding his suit jacket, pants and vest. Y/N hangs up her dress, that’s wrapped in a gown bag. She wouldn’t let Spencer see the dress, despite her practically picking out his entire outfit.

“So what’s next,” Spencer asks, as Y/N gets into the car. She smiles over at him sheepishly, leading Spencer to think she’s got another trick up her sleeve.

“I’ve got a confession, Spence. And please don’t hate me for it,” Y/N says, her voice coming out a little nervous as she eyes Spencer.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, even if I tried. And I’m certain I’ll never have to,” he says softly, resting his hand over hers on the console. He rubs the back of her hand gently, thinking about just how easy things are with her. If he could only be a little braver, maybe then the mirror wouldn’t be so empty.

“Okay. I knew that things didn’t work out with you and Austin. I overheard you telling Derek,” Y/N confesses, “And I know that it makes me a horrible friend or whatever, but I’m sorry that I eavesdropped,”

“Oh, uh how much did you hear?” Spencer asks, suddenly quite nervous. He can feel his heart drop, waiting for the moment when Y/N laughs at the thought of her loving him. He knows that it’s not fair to her, but then again all is fair is love and war.

“Enough to know that you’re still hung up or or someone else. I left once my conscience got the better of me. Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout,” she says, making the three finger salute that’s common in scouting, “I just wanted to hear it from you, you know you’re my favorite person and all,” she says, a frown forming.

“I think, uh,” Spencer says, “That I was just a little embarrassed. You know how Derek and Penelope and Emily and JJ can get. It’s basically just you and Hotch who aren’t jumping down my throat about being, you know, alone,” he says, chuckling awkwardly.

“They just want to help you, Spence. In their own ways, but I’m always on Team Spencer. You never got to worry about that,” Y/N offers, squeezing his hand.

He considers what she says, not responding verbally, but nodding his head. He hasn’t ever had someone on his “team”, so it’s strange. But a good kind of strange.

“Spence, you okay? I wanted to give you something. To be truthful, I’ve been thinking about how I was going to do this for awhile,”

“Ask me what?” he questions, wondering what she has in store. He watches as Y/N rummages in his bag, clearly looking for something. He’s thoroughly confused when she pulls out a TI-84.

“What on earth?” Spencer says, as she places the calculator in his hands. Her sly grin, beaming up at him only further proves his point: his heart just beats faster around her.

“Just shut and press the on button. You’d think that a genius would know how to work a calculator,” she comments, rolling her eyes playfully.

“You know, I never used these. I can just do it in my head faster,” Spencer says, winking at Y/N when she pushes him teasingly.

“God, Spencer just turn it on!” she demands, very apparently getting more and more impatient.

He turns the calculator on and is brought to a green screen that has a picture of a graph. Spencer raises his eyebrow, as if to ask Y/N for the next direction.

“Press the graph button,” she says, getting quieter as Spencer looks at her.

He presses the button that she said to, waiting for whatever is supposed to happen. Spencer watches as the screen draws four black lines running parallel to each other. A curved line is drawn on the first two black lines, forming the letters “P” and “R”. The screen continues to draw, making an oval that looks like an “O” and the last two parallel lines are joined together with a “v” shape, forming the letter “M”. He takes a second glance, reading the 4 letter word slowly.

P-R-O-M

“Well?” she asks, waiting for his answer.

He’s speechless. Spencer blinks. It’s like his brain has stopped working. It’s a prom, a stupid prom that’s 10 years too late. But it’s the girl of dreams that’s asking him. And that’s the stuff those rom-coms he couldn’t pay attention to are made of.

“I mean, of course. Of course, Y/N,” Spencer says, dropping the calculator into the cup holder and leaning in to hug Y/N.

His heart stops again. Falling into that tricky habit of either speeding up or stopping when she’s around. He thinks he’s ready to implode when she pecks his cheek. Her lips don’t linger, hardly touching his skin for it to be considered a kiss.

“I don’t think I’d want to go with anyone else,” she says, mumbling into his skin. She seals his fate with her lips against his skin. Never again will Spencer imagine what it’s like to have her lips against his skin. Even though it’s a fraction of the time he’d want, it’s tattooed in his mind.

“I’m not much of a dancer, by the way,” Spencer says, reluctantly letting go and sitting back into the passenger’s seat, “so don’t expect too much,” he jokes.

“Oh you better watch it, Doctor Reid. I’m getting you on the dance floor, even if you hate it,” Y/N says, smiling as she backs out of the parking spot and turns into the street.

Spencer looks out the window, thinking to himself that there’s probably nothing he can hate if he’s doing it with Y/N.

Spencer didn’t go to prom in high school. He didn’t do a lot of the traditional things that most former high schoolers reminisce about at his age. He didn’t go to football games or have a best friend to make lifelong memories with.

He didn’t have any of that, until now.

But it’s prom night, 10 years late. His hands are sweaty and his mouth feels dry. Spencer wasn’t this nervous for even his first day at the BAU all those years ago. He tries to fix the burgundy tie that Y/N picked out at the vintage store. It looks crooked and twisted. Nothing like when Y/N tied perfectly in the store for him. He supposes that he can wait till she comes to pick him up.

The mirror, again, is noticeably empty without Y/N standing beside him. He can get lost in there, thinking about her standing with him. He does, because it feels like seconds later when he hears a rapid knocking on his apartment door.

Standing on the other side of the door is Y/N. She wears a sage green dress that looks like it’s made of softest silk. He smiles at her, not sure if he can trust his words. Spencer doesn’t think he’ll be able to do much thinking when all he can focus on is the tiny straps that rest on her shoulders or how the sage green compliments her skin tone.

“You look, god. You’re beautiful,” Spencer says, partly under his breath partly aloud to Y/N, “so beautiful,” he says again, focusing on her eyes.

“And you’re looking very dashing in that suit, Spence,” she says, pushing her way in, “do you need help with your tie?” she asks, looking at the tie he holds in his hand.

“Yes, please,” he says sheepishly. He holds out the burgundy colored tie, but takes his hand back as an idea crosses his mind, “oh wait here, I’ll be right back,” Spencer says, walking quickly to his bedroom.

“Alright,” Y/N says sceptically, “Don’t ditch me, Reid!” she calls out from the living room.

Spencer returns, hiding the new tie behind his back. He places an olive green tie with dusty blue and pink flowers in her hands. He notices her smile grow, realizing that he’s picking a new tie for a reason.

“I might not know much about prom, but I think that we’re supposed to match. You know, since we’re going together,” he offers, “but I need help putting it on,” he says.

“We’re going to match!” Y/N says excitedly. As she unbuttons the first button on Spencer’s cream colored shirt he holds his breath. He can’t breathe when she’s this close. Her fingers are quick and nimble as they feed the tie around his neck and elegantly create a knot. If Spencer wasn’t already in love, he knows that watching her eyes twinkle and her tongue poke out as she concentrates would make him declare it then and there.

“So handsome,” she says, using that quiet voice that makes it seem like she’s talking to herself rather than him, “I can’t wait to dance with you,” she tells him tugging the tie.

“I’m not going to be good, Y/N. I’m going to be a fool,” Spencer says, lamenting already about what an idiot he’s going to look like in front of Y/N.

“That’s nonsense, Spence,” Y/N says, waving him away with a toss of her hand, “You’re going to be the best dancer there,” she tells him rubbing her hand up and down his arm, like she did at the store.

“Would you believe it, if I told you I never danced with anyone?” Spencer says, being the most honest and true he’s ever been.

“We can change that,” Y/N says, stepping towards Spencer and linking her hand in his. She squeezes, restarting and stopping his heart all in one go, “oh wait we need music,” she says, feeling around for where her phone usually is.

“I got it,” Spencer says, stepping away from Y/N. He walks over to the small record player in the corner of his living room. He doesn’t play it too often, the records he has were once his mother’s and they’re too painful to play most days. But Spencer’s sure that he can make every exception to all his rules for Y/N. Maybe he’ll get some happy memories out of it.

“Going old school I see,” Y/N says, teasingly as Spencer walks over grabbing both his hands in hers, “everything about you is very charming, Doctor Reid,” she says, softly swaying to the jazzy tunes of Sarah Vaughan.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Spencer says, following Y/N’s lead as she floats around his living room, carrying him everywhere she goes. She rests her head against his chest and Spencer swears that she’s going to get a concussion from how hard his heart beats.

They’re alone, no audience to witness the moment that Spencer wonders if he can dare to call intimate. It’s intimate to him because every moment with Y/N is intimate. Maybe if someone had told Spencer that dancing like this could bring pure paradise all the way from your fingertips to your eyelashes, maybe he would have done it sooner.

“You’re quite the romantic, Spencer,” Y/N says as the song comes to a close. The record player stops, but they don’t stop swaying, “And you told me you couldn’t dance,” she scoffs lightly, with her head still resting against his chest.

“Is that okay with you?” He asks, “me being romantic,”

“I don’t think that I’d want it any other way, Spencer,” Y/N says, removing her head from his chest and her hand from his. She cups his face, touching him lightly. Y/N holds him like he aches to be held. It’s gentle and tender, yet leaves him desiring more.

“Honest?” Spencer asks, daring to be brave.

“Truly,” she responds.

Spencer shifted slightly, so he can also hold her face in his hands. Y/N drops her hands though, wrapping them around Spencer’s waist to pull them closer together. Spencer’s phantom fingers are like that dance around that dance around Y/N’s skin.

It’s Y/N that initiates the kiss. She moves in slowly and tenuously, looking just as nervous as Spencer is. He’s shaky slightly, the anticipation getting to his head when all he can see is Y/N’s eyes looking into his and all he can think about is how soft her skin is. It’s all he’s ever wanted to think about. Her lips are soft and pillowy.

But it’s more than that.

Kissing her is everything to Spencer. It’s the breathy sighs she lets out as he moves his hands and rests them securely behind her neck. It’s the peachy scent of her perfume that’s so sweet and strong it should be overwhelming when all it is, is intoxicating. Kissing her is dizzying and terrifying, but wonderful and sweet. He can’t tell where his lips start and where her’s end, but it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t open his eyes because he knows he’s facing the mirror. But unlike before, he doesn’t need a mirror to know what he’s looking at. He can look into his soul for that.

“Very romantic,” Y/N says, smiling through the quick kisses she plants on his jawline, “I always thought you’d be a romantic,” he tells him.

Spencer brushes his thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. It’s puffy and bitten from his kisses, but he thinks that it would be a shame to not bite and kiss it some more. He smiles so hard he knows that he’ll wake up in the morning and his mouth will hurt. But that’s the least of his worries if Y/N’s there to kiss it better.

“Honest?” Spencer says, calling back to the song, that’s now their song.

“Truly,”

---

TAGLIST (ADD YOURSELF HERE)

@shemarmooresfedora @willowrose99 @calm-and-doctor @spideygenius @measure-in-pain @nomajdetective @spencerreid9 @saspencereid @laurakirsten0502 @winifrede @muffin-cup @idonotexiste @pastelbabygirl19 @strawberryspence @g0lden-cth @spookydrreid

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader happy ending #spencer reid x reader one shot #spencer reid deserved a happy ending #criminal minds fanfiction

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mzjmesa · 3 years

Text

Out Loud | Chloe Decker

She was a good detective. Is. The pride of the office, the officer praised here and there. Your partner. Your bestfriend. Detective Chloe Decker. It wasn't because of her smart, genius mind that attracted you to her, no. Well, sometimes, anyway. But it could've been alot of reasons, loving Chloe Decker. And you would've loved any other reasons— to make this easier, to make the feelings disappear sooner. Because whatever the attraction was, it was unprofessional— Chloe never did unprofessional. And you fear if you couldn't hold it any longer, she'd run away from you.

You can't bear that.

But you loved Chloe either way. You loved her eyes, her kindness, that bright and knowing smile that goes with her eyes, you loved the way her lips part when she's about to say something defensive— you loved her. You loved her the most when she knocks at your door and asks how you're doing. You loved the late night talks and laughs about freshmen days which was rare, because she never spent so much time in highschool, she got unending stories about it anyway. You loved the way she listens. You loved her. You loved Chloe Decker. And as she passes by your desk, to the man she likes, you reminded yourself that it was wrong. Wrong because you were supposed to be happy for her.

A knock on your desk drifted your thoughts away, Dan. “How are we doing?” he asked, if he'd caught you staring enviously at Chloe and Lucifer, he hadn't mind.

“How are we doing?” You repeated stupidly, still hungover from yesterday. Which by the way was Chloe's fault, you just wouldn't admit it to yourself.

Dan shrugs, “Yeah? I sent you files to look at, remember?”

Oh.

You shake your head as though it would help you focus on the present and tried to remember where you had placed the papers. You checked your drawers, trying hard to block out Chloe and Lucifer's voices. You busied your hand flipping through dozens of papers, vividly remembering the file's name.

Jonathan Flinn's. Ahh. Case closed for 2 months, there wasn't much evidence of the murder, but the majority linked to him, and eventually the court pronounced him guilty. There had been questions left unsolved, and if Espinoza wasn't up to anything, it would've been left at that.

You sighed, “Have you talked to Chloe about this?”

“Yeah,” He looked past your shoulder to where Chloe was, then back to you. “she thinks it's a bad idea.”

Of course she did. You did, too. That was a thing between you two, something about your guts always telling you the same what's what. That's why you were partnered with her, and you would've loved to continue being one (although truth be told, you still were in papers anyway) but she'd found a consultant, a batshit crazy one at that. Lucifer Morningstar. Always telling himself he's the devil, going on and about his everyday life like anyone gives a damn, and always making everything about himself. If he wasn't charming, and a ‘friend’ of Chloe's, you would've hated him. Most times you did. But times when Chloe was down, he was always the first to cheer her up. You used to be the one doing that, until he came.

“You should listen to her, Dan.”

“Oh c'mon! I would've agreed with Chloe and wouldn't have come to you if it weren't so important. His mother is my god—”

“—mother. Yes, yes, I know that, Dan. I know you think this is a good idea to pay her back, too. But it's not, trust me. Trust Chloe.” You exhaled, feeling the weight of her stare on your back. “It could go worst anyway, what when we can't find any evidence or if we do, worst case scenario is it'll only lead to him. Again. We'll just worsen his situation.”

Dan sighed, massaging his jaw with exasperation because he knew you were right. And also because as much as he pretends not to care too much, he does. You loved that about him.

As you heard footsteps behind, you handed back the files to Dan who hid it behind his back, masking his irritation with a smile to Chloe.

You ignored her, lingering your eyes on the missing button of Dan's shirt.

“Ella found some prints, we haven't identified it yet but it's likely our lead.” Chloe started just behind you, and you knew Lucifer was beside her as much as you hated it. “In the meantime, Dan? I'd like to discuss to you about the Flinn case, Lucifer and I went back to the crime scene yesterday. We found nothing.”

Dan frowned. “I thought you said it was a bad idea.”

“I know, I know. I... ugh... well I went over it again, anyway.”

A small smile creeped on his face, and you were almost sure his eyes were watering when Lucifer jumped on the conversation about his father, bla bla bla. You couldn't care less. Chloe did, and that should be enough for Lucifer. She'd always been enough for you. You bit your lips, wishing you could busy your hands with something. Anything. But your desk was on your back, and oh, Chloe, too.

It felt immature and all, but you were hurting just knowing they were together, seeing them would break you.

“I'll check in on with Ella.” Chloe announced, “(Y/N)?”

“Are you having a stroke Miss (L/N)? Staying still like a trained robot, you're scarying me— and believe when I say I rarely get scared.” Lucifer added.

Oh you believe alright. And robots are trained?! Trying to hide your feelings with a forced smile, you turned around, making sure you weren't going to make an eye contact with a certain detective, and immediately grabbed a random paper and pen you can hold— scribbling anything. Anything at all.

“I'm alright.” You answered after a beat or two, still unbothered to look. Who would want to, honestly.

Chloe cleared her throat, whispered something to Lucifer, and then bid goodbye. It was then when you looked at them walking away. Lucifer's hand on her back, Chloe looking small beside him— your chest aching the same, if not, more.

You're definitely not gonna look again.

You had a week off work, and you'd almost fell to your knees thanking God when the lieutenant told you. You needed it more than you needed Chloe, which proves just how important it was— Chloe had been. Still is, by the way.

It was 8 am, by now Chloe would be at her desk, examining or making reports, or on a crime scene with Ella and, Lucifer. You snapped out of your mind, reminding yourself you'd needed the vacation because work and particularly Chloe had been stressing you out and very much so hurting you.

You'd hit the beach, go to the mountains for the view,— you didn't wanna hike though, you needed rest not making sweats— visit your sister and niece, and then finally bake while blasting Taylor Swift because admit it or not, you're much broken than your grandmother's vase.

When the water was hot enough, you took a bath and dressed. A peach-colored tank top that comes along with a brown mini skirt and a coat was your outfit for the day. Only, the coat reminded you too much of Chloe's. She liked coats. And that coat, back then warning you that she'd steal it eventually. So you changed with other coats, just didn't fit well with the shirt and skirt, so you gave in and left your hair untouched and untied. Grabbing your pouch and your gun— a licensed one, just in case. And opened your door. You would've preferred the bright sky and fresh air of the morning in LA. But Chloe Decker was standing there, fist on air as if she'd been ready to knock.

You froze.

Were you having a stroke? Most likely.

“(Y/N).”

“Chloe.”

Wasn't she supposed to be at work? You didn't mind either way, but it surprised you still, she hadn't been visiting much since... Lucifer. Everything's just been different since he arrived, not in a good way for you.

You stepped aside, not saying anything since you figured out a human wouldn't understand any word that comes out of your mouth. She went in, instead of sitting on your couch like the old days, she lingered on the living room, standing and looking at you.

Most times you hadn't mind.

She started, “How are you?”

“I'm good.”

“No, (Y/N). How are you?”

You didn't know what to say. Or why she'd ask a question as that. “I'm not—”

“Do you like me?”

What.

Your face must've given the shock, because she answered your unasked question. “Dan said some things. I'm-I'm not— you're not transferring, are you?”

Oh you're definitely gonna choke the life out of Dan. But knowing him, he wouldn't have spit it out too easily. He was probably drunk and didn't mean it. Still, you wished you said it to Chloe yourself. About the liking and transferring.

You remained silent, reading the expression on Chloe's face. Was she sad? Upset? After years of knowing her, you would've known right away. But now you couldn't. And you fear you might've forgotten the every detail of her face, too.

“(Y/N)...” Her voice gave out, carrying every sadness within. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“About what?” You answered stupidly in a whisper, fearing that if you came into your senses everything would feel too real.

“About everything! About— about your feelings for me. About Seatte. About why you've been so far from me!”

“You have been far from me, Chloe.”

She frowns, and you knew millions and billions and gazillions of questions where popping in her mind.

Tears in your eyes were forming, and you hated it, all of this. She wasn't supposed to know at all. She wasn't supposed to know you had immature feelings for her. Wasn't supposed to know you were transferring atleast 'till next month. But Chloe wasn't dumb, and you should've known that.

Chloe swallowed the lump in her throat, her breathing heavy. “We could've talked about it.”

“We haven't talked much at all these days because of—” you cut yourself off, rolling your eyes at how sick it feels. You hated yourself for it, but you continued anyway. “Because of Lucifer.”

She exhaled. “Lucifer and I are complicated.”

“I know that, Chloe.” You said firmly, meeting her gaze pitying you. Of course she pities you. “I also know you like him so much. I know you've been crying when he fake married that Candy. I know you've been sick worrying when he can't answer your texts or calls. I know you've gone lengths trying to understand him. I know. I know so much so that I didn't wanna be so selfish and tell you things you didn't wanna hear because it'll make your complicated relationship with Lucifer even more complicated. I fucking know. And I loved you too much.”

Chloe's tears were beginning to fall, one by one, slowly. And it hurts you to see her like this. Especially because you know you caused it.

“It was never my intention to push you away. You're my friend— can't we just stay like this?” She asked in a soft, breaking voice. And if it wasn't Chloe you would've said yes because people are easy to move on from. But it was indeed Chloe and she was... not like anyone you know. She was a missing piece of your puzzle. Only, you have never been a piece of hers.

“I love you, Chloe.”

It was weird, saying it out loud, to her. You never thought you could, knowing you were a coward than every cowards combined.

You did though, and that must've pulled something. Because Chloe approached you, side hugged, and then left.

So much for a vacation.

You spent the night crying.

Chloe Decker spent hers with the man she loved. And you were never that man.

#chloe decker x reader #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #netflix #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #wlw #angst #angsty #fluff #hurt/comfort #hurt no comfurt #hurt comfort

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maletfsstories · 3 years

Text

The International ("Soju 🇰🇷")

Requested By linxiaopei

"Newcastle"

-"You are here" Said Matt’s boss in a drunken tone as Matt walked towards the table his boss and some coworkers were seated in.

-"Jesus Christ how much have you guys drunk already" Said Matt as he sat down and observed a mountain of empty shots and beer mugs.

-"Not enough and you haven’t had any yet" One of Matt’s coworkers said as he continued drinking from his mug.

-"If you guys forgot I'm the one driving all of you home so I can't drink" Said Matt rather tired as he wanted to be at home instead of in a bar filled with drunk and obnoxious people.

-"Just buy yourself one and bring us another round of beers" Said Matt's boss as he passed him a coupon for a free drink.

Matt begrudgingly got up from his seat and walked towards a small area where a female bartender was passing a few drinks to a waiter.

-"Hello Sir how may I help you?" Asked the bartender as she pushed a menu in front of Matt.

Matt turned around and counted the number of people that were seated around his boss.

-"Could you give me four pints of beer please?" Said Matt as he looked back towards the bartender.

-"Sure" Said the bartender as she rapidly started to fill four large glass mugs with beer.

-"You seem a little stressed sir, are you alright?" Said the bartender once she noticed Matt's blatantly obvious impatient demeanor.

-"Sorry, the thing is that I shouldn't be here at all" Said Matt with a little bit of anger in his voice.

-"Same here, today is my first day on the job and I already want to call it quits" Said the bartender as she placed the first mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Why haven't you?" Asked Matt

-“Even though I don't like large crowds and this bar is the worst I at least get more than the minimum wage” Said the bartender as she placed the second mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"So are you going to continue working here for the rest of your life?" Asked Matt

-"Not at all, I'm working here to pay for my studies, unlike the rest of my family I prefer to work for my stuff” said the bartender as she placed the third mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Your family is rich?" asked Matt with little intrigue in his voice.

-"Yup, they are a bunch of snobbish idiots, my father doesn't work because he inherited a lot of money from our estate and my brother is an influencer who wins a lot of money by posting revealing images of his gym routines on his Instagram" Said the bartender as she stopped filling the last mug of beer and turned back to face Matt directly.

-“Wow, I can't imagine you see your family very often" Said Matt

-“No I don’t, my father lives in our family estate which I don’t normally visit and my brother is currently traveling around the world with his group of roided meatheads”. Said the bartender as she rolled her eyes.

-"It must be a fun life, kind of wish mine was like that" Said Matt with a little bit of melancholy in his voice

-"It does seem desirable but I frankly believe in working hard for one’s stuff" Said the bartender with a smile on her face.

-"What are you studying?" Asked Matt as he made himself comfortable in a small seat placed in front of the bartender's workstation.

-'' I'm studying accounting at Newcastle University" Said the bartender.

-"Well I'm an accountant ..." Said Matt with a small amount of surprise in his voice.

-"Really? How is the job? I mean I love the classes I'm seeing but I don't know anything about how to apply them in a real-life scenario" Said the bartender with a glee in her eyes.

-"Well I've been an accountant for the last five years and believe me when I say that the scenarios in class are way easier than the ones I've experienced in the job, it's hard and complicated but I still kind of like what I do" Said Matt in an attempt to reassure the bartender's career choice.

-"Why are you taking so much!"

Matt turned around and saw his drunk boss moving slowly towards him.

-"Sorry I was just speaking to the bartender," Said Matt as his boss leaned on the bar, meanwhile the bartender immediately completed filling the last mug of beer and placed it in front of Matt.

Matt's boss looked at the four beers and immediately frowned -"Where the hell is yours?" He asked.

-"Sir I can't drink I'm driving you and everyone else home" said Matt in an attempt to stop his boss's insistence.

-"Nonsense, just drink a small bit, that's all I'm asking from you" Matt's boss said as he moved closer towards him.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender as she grabbed the smallest glass size possible, while she was doing that Matt looked at the menu that had been placed earlier in front of him.

In the meantime, Matt's boss rapidly drank his beer and walked away toward his table with the other three that were left.

-"Is this good?" Asked the Bartender as she showed Matt the small glass, Matt immediately looked up and nodded.

-"Do you have something that is similar to vodka but isn't that powerful?" Asked Matt as his boss approached him again.

-"Well, we do have Soju, it's from South Korea and it's in a way an exact match to Vodka, the only difference is that it's mildly less alcoholic, will that do?" Asked the bartender.

-"Please give me one in the small glass you showed me earlier" Said Matt as his boss was now standing next to him.

-"What did you order?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"I ordered some vodka" Lied Matt.

-"Wow Matt, I thought you didn't want to get drunk tonight" Said Matt's boss as he laughed like a clown.

In the meantime, the Bartender had poured Matt's drink from a small green bottle with Korean lettering onto a small transparent glass.

-"I hope you enjoy it sir" Said the Bartender as she placed the drink in front of Matt.

-"Here goes nothing" Though Matt as he swallowed every drop of Soju in an instant, because of this he immediately felt a burning sensation in his throat, luckily it wasn't as bad as the one produced by drinking vodka.

Matt then gave the empty glass to the Bartender and looked at his boss. -"Are you happy now?" Asked Matt with a little sarcasm in his voice.

-"Where is the fun in only one?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"You can't be serious, do you want me to get arrested" Said Matt in a raised tone of voice as he was tired of being pushed around by his middle age child of a boss.

-"Don't you dare to speak to me that way, I'm your boss, if you don't drink another shot I'll fucking fire you" Said Matt's boss in an aggressive tone.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender who had a sad expression on her face while still having the green bottle of soju between her hands.

-"Another one please," said Matt as he finally relented to his boss's order.

The bartender immediately grabbed the empty glass and filled it with the crystalline liquid -"Here you are sir" said the bartender as she passed the drink to Matt.

As Matt grabbed the glass and drank its contents he wished he could end it all, to have a new life where he didn't have a boss or any type of responsibilities.

Once Matt placed the empty glass in front of him the bar where he was in seemed to disappear and was rapidly replaced by the interior of a luxury hotel room.

-"What the hell" Said Matt in a worried tone as he was about to get up from the bed he had suddenly materialized in, before Matt could completely get out of the bed a strange pain made his stop.

This pain was due to Matt's five feet nine stature increasing to six feet three, while that was happening Matt's slim build changed into a more muscular one. His flat chest developed a pair of juicy and muscled pecs, down below in Matt's stomach a few small tires of fat were rapidly removed out of existed which left him with a flat surface that was rapidly replaced by the growth of a six-pack.

Meanwhile, in Matt's skinny arms his biceps, triceps, and forearms grew as new muscle mass filled them, a few veins also appeared here and there, as that was happening Matt's back also became incredibly shredded.

While all the changes to Matt's upper body were occurring all the healthy patches of hair that covered the majority of his body disappeared leaving him completely waxed.

As the majority of Matt's upper body had gone through a certain amount of changes the next area to change was his lower body.

At first in Matt's pelvic area his equipment grew larger and larger. This made him immediately aroused as a moan escaped from his mouth, this moan however was very masculine and in a way, it sounded like that of a huge beast.

When Matt's dick reached the ten-inch mark his ass became the next target of the changes, it grew until what was left was a perfect round and bouncy bubble, then Matt's thighs and calves grew larger leaving him with a pair of powerful legs.

Because of the new growth in muscles around Matt's body, his clothes became extremely strained, as Matt suddenly moved his clothes finally gave in, they broke into small pieces which immediately disappeared, the larger pieces which were still attached to his body also disappeared leaving him completely naked.

A few seconds after Matt's clothes had disappeared a pair of black underwear and black swimming shorts now covered his private area while still leaving his upper body completely exposed.

-"Shit" Said Matt out loud as he noticed his new body and the weird clothing that had replaced his shirt and dress pants.

While Matt continued looking he felt a weird sensation as his face lots its Caucasian features which were replaced by more Eastern Asian ones

Matt's lips inflated only a small bit, his nose became fair and straight, his eyes became slightly slanted and his pupils became dark in coloration, the last thing to change was Matt's hair, it became coal black and his previously office neutral haircut was replaced by a more trendy one.

With the changes now complete Matt got up from the bed he was laying in and grabbed an ultra-modern Samsung phone that was placed on a sleeping table next to the bed.

Matt unlocked the phone with his new face and immediately opened the camera, he was obviously shocked and amazed at the beautiful young Asian face that was looking back at him.

-"너무 이상해" (This is so weird) Said Matt in fluent Korean with his new deep voice, the Adonis looking back at him through the camera shared nothing in common with his old nerdy self, the only thing that was the same was the pair of black glasses he was still wearing.

After exploring his new face with the camera for a little more Matt finally decided to look at Instagram for any info about his new self, Matt opened the personal profile which had the name "Gan Sangwook" displayed next to a picture of Matt's new self flexing with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

Matt after looking at the name and picture also noticed that the new him had a following of almost a million people and that his account was verified meaning that he was relatively famous and well known.

Matt then proceeded to scroll down, as he did he saw dozens of images of the new him working out in gyms surrounded by similarly muscled men, there were also some pictures of him in different locations from around the world and a few pictures were modeling and sponsor type posts.

As Matt continued looking at the pictures a new personality and identity became more dominant in his head, during the process of Matt's old life and memories being eliminated the door of his hotel room opened with a loud bang.

With the door now wide open a group of five heavily muscled Korean men entered the room, Matt remembered seeing some of these men in the Instagram profile but now he somehow recognized all of them and felt a deep personal connection with them.

-"이봐, 여기서 뭐해? 늦었 어. 해변에 가야 해" (Hey dude what are you doing here, it's late. We should be on the beach) Said the bigger of them as the others around him cheered with their deep dumb sounding voices.

-"해변 친구들을 위해 준비된 것 외에 제 인스 타 그램을보고 있었어요" (I was looking at my Instagram, other than that I'm ready for the beach dudes) Said Matt as he started flexing his muscles, the men he now recognized as his gym crew also started flexing their muscles.

-"그럼 가자!" (Then let's go!) Said another one of the muscled men as Matt got up from the bed and walked with the men through the large hallways of the most luxurious resort in Jeju Island.

After a short elevator ride, Matt or Gan Sangwook walked with his friends toward the private beach owned by the resort.

-"수영하러 가기 전에 여러분 사진을 제 인스 타 그램에 올려도 될까요?" (Dudes before we go swimming can I post a picture of all of you to my Instagram?) Asked Gan as he and his crew were a few feet away from the sea.

All of the men said yes and Gan got into position, once he took a few hundred pictures he posted the one he thought looked the best with the caption "해변 준비 😎💪🏻" (Ready for the beach)

After Gan took the picture he continued walking toward the sea, as he did the last vestiges of his old identity of a thirty-year-old British accountant were eliminated what was left was in its place was Gan Sangwook, a young and muscled South Korean jock whose only worry in the world was to keep his body in shape and his one million Instagram followers happy.

#reality change #race change #mental change #age regression #request #the international #dumber

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koukamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Ready to Love

Chapter Seven - Don't Back Down

◇Written Content◇

~ After School ~

As you make your way to Coach Kurosu's office. You contemplate several scenarios in your head about how this meeting might go. A scenario played out about how they would hold up your picture and tear it in front of you, as you weap from being eliminated from Inarizaki's Next Volleyball Club Manager. Of course you found this to be bit dramatic and a results of watching too many contestant shows.

So another scenario was they would simply say you're fired, while passing your things back in a box even before entering the room. Nope that's not it...what things do you have, you didn't even get a locker yet.

But a more logical and louder scenario was you're left standing in front of the coaches and captains while they kindly point out all the mistakes you've made this week and why it's not going to work. The conversation then ends with Kita-senpai dismissing you with a, "We appreciate your time with us", as you've been once again shown then door. This scenario wouldn't be unfamiliar.

As you get closer to the office, you snap back into reality when your attention shifts to someone standing in front of the door. Even with a heads up from a few days ago, the sight you see shouldn't surprise you. But it does... the sight of Class 2-1's candy heiress softly talking to the people in the room caught you off guard. You take notice of how proper she dresses, as much as they reprimanded you about yours you liked wearing your uniform in a more comfortable style. She of course wore the other more girly designed uniform with the bow.

"Awwwe Coach Kurosu, it's fine. I didn't know you'd be busy, so I'll just quickly drop off these candies. I wouldn't want to disrupt your conversation." the pink haired princess continued, "Kita-senpai, there's extra if you'd like some too. If those aren't to your liking I'll make you something else." The other end of the conversation was muffled.

Sawako-san finally bowed her goodbyes, before telling Coach Kurosu she'd visit again later. She closed the door and turned to walk in your direction. You made eye contact and for a second you think nothing is going to be said between you two. But, she breaks the silence and you quickly realize that Osamu is onto something, because there is more behind that smile.

"You must be the manager trainee right?" She smiled.

"Yesss. My name is..." she cuts you off.

"Hmmm, I guess that's all I need to know. I'm surprised you lasted this long, although I'm sure you won't be in my spot for much longer." She smirked.

"So would you be a sweetie... hurry up and quit."

You really couldn't believe that on your first meeting with this girl, she wasn't even trying to hide her intentions. You knew she liked Kita-senpai but who does she think she is to speak so rudely to you. One things for sure you weren't about to let this girl, who tried to use your bestfriends, get the last words.

"I wouldn't count on that... sweetie. Now if you'd excuse me I have a meeting with my team captain and coach. "

"Hmph." She grumbled as she left.

As she left and you walked towards the office. However before you could open the door, you couldn't help but stop at the mention of your name...

"L/N-san isn't doing as well as you hoped." You hear Coach Kurosu say.

"She has made some mistakes this week."

I guess Kita-senpai would say that.

"Shinsuke you have to approach this logically, isn't it better to ask Sawako-san to be manager. She's been very helpful and always comes by to see if we need anything. She even brought treats just now. She's also very dependable and responsible."

"I know that you think that Sawako-san would be a perfect manager and even if L/N-san hasn't done these tasks right. But, Atsumu was very persistent on having L/N-san be a manager. I respect that choice."

"But you said that you're having trouble coming up with ways to help her."

"It's been a little challenging to deal with how to fix them but I'm pretty sure I've figured it out. L/N-san can't do things as easy as I do, so if she steps away she just needs a better mindset on what suits her."

"Suits me... what does that mean? So I need to step away from being manager? He really does want me to quit."

You don't know why that hurts so much, you knew you made mistakes this week and that didn't put you in the best position with him. But you were trying your best and as stressful as things were, a part of you actually liked being here. You know how much faith the guys have in you and if you did quit you weren't about to leave them in the care of Sawako. Plus as much you messed up, the team still tried to cheer you up and have been so excited for break time for your daily treat.

In a week's time, you know you've been a terrible manager but in that same time you didn't quit... and you aren't starting now.

Masterlist - Previous / Next

TAGLIST: @onelostgirl @alfi-ry @luna-vitae-suae @neologyro @its-the-aerieljeane @sassyglassesbunny @hydrogwyn

Taglist still open. PM, ask or comment to be added for updates. :)

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tails89 · 3 years

Text

Whumptober day 4

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Buddie - 1k

Read on AO3

From the depths of the building, a single gunshot rings out, almost lost in the cacophony of the surrounding emergency personnel. More orders are shouted and there are officers and detectives rushing around behind the cover of their vehicles.

And Eddie Diaz sees none of it.

“We have to go in!” He fights back against Bobby and Chim, keeping him pinned against the truck. This was supposed to be a routine call out— a possible false alarm— but now Buck is inside, held hostage by a desperate criminal and no one is doing anything.

“It’s too dangerous.” There’s an edge to Athena’s tone, like she’s only just herself holding back from racing into the building. “We don’t know what’s going on inside and we can’t risk you too.”

“But it’s Buck!” Eddie pleads, appealing to the affection he knows Athena feels for his boyfriend.

“And jumping the gun and rushing in isn’t going to help him,” Athena bites back. “There are procedures for a reason. Ignoring them isn’t going to help Buck.”

“It’s been hours, Athena.”

“We’ll get your boy Eddie, but you have got to let us do our jobs.”

It’s another hour before the “all clear” echoes through their radios followed by a request for an RA unit. Eddie grabs his pack, ready to follow the team. Bobby doesn’t try to stop him and it’s a relief, Eddie was prepared to argue the point but that would have taken precious time.

He rushes inside with Hen and Chimney, a million different scenarios running through his head about what he might see. None of it prepares him for the real thing— Buck; pale, with bruises already blooming across his face.

He’s half sitting, half slumped against a pillar, his eyes closed. There are deep lines of pain etched into his face and his chest rises and falls with short, quick breaths.

And the blood. There’s so much blood— it coats Buck’s hands, his clothes.

Hen and Chim move in, quickly assessing the damage but Eddie can’t move, can’t breathe. The whole world is at a standstill, narrowing in on Buck.

But then Buck’s hand twitches and suddenly roaring in Eddie’s ears dampens enough to hear the soft moan that accompanies the movement.

He’s not aware of his feet moving, but one moment Eddie’s standing still and the next he’s kneeling beside Buck, holding his hand while Hen cuts through his shirt to access the wound.

“Hey, shhh, I’ve got you,” Eddie croons, stroking his free hand through Buck’s sweaty hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Ed—" Buck cuts off with a groan.

“Sorry Buck,” Hen tells him sympathetically as she puts pressure on the wound. “I know it hurts, but we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

Chimney gets to work inserting an IV, and taking vitals. “Okay, let’s get ready to move him.” He leans over Buck keeping his voice light. “Just let us do all the work, okay Buck? You’re good at that.” It gets something that could almost be a laugh from Buck before his eyes are falling shut again.

“No, stay awake,” Eddie tells Buck, tapping his cheek. “Eyes open.”

“He never does listen,” Hen says, motioning for the backboard. “Eddie, give us a hand.”

The sound Buck makes when they roll him onto the backboard almost breaks Eddie’s heart. His eyes are scrunched shut as they lift him up onto the gurney and Eddie reaches for Buck’s hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“You’re doing great,” Eddie tells him. “We’ll be at the hospital soon, just stay awake for me.”

The wait at the hospital is a tense one. The mood inside is sombre. No one feels like talking while they wait.

When the surgery drags on into the second hour, Eddie steps outside to call Carla and ask if she can watch Chris for the night. He can hear his son in the background asking to talk to him and he takes a long calming breath while the phone is passed over.

“Dad what happened?”

Eddie swallows against the lump in his throat. “Buck got hurt, Chris. We’re at the hospital, but he’s going to be okay.”

“Can I see him?”

“We’re just waiting at the moment,” Eddie tells him. “He’s probably going to be in surgery for a while and he’s going to be pretty sleepy after. Tomorrow, if he’s feeling better, I promise you can see him.”

“I want to wait with you,” Chris says, “I don’t want you to be alone.”

Eddie bites his lip as his composure wavers. “I know kiddo, and I love that you want to be here but I’m not alone,” he says, fighting to keep his tone even. “Maddie is here. So is Chim and Bobby and Hen.”

“Okay,” Chris says, voice resigned. “Hey Dad?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“When you see Buck, can you give him a big hug for me?”

“The biggest,” Eddie promises. He disconnects the call and heads back to the waiting room to settle in once more.

Two more hours pass before the doctor comes to let them know Buck is out of surgery and then it's a further forty-five minutes before he’s settled in a room and allowed visitors.

The rest of the team take that as their cue to head home. Buck is going to be okay and the hospital is restricting his visitors to just Maddie and Eddie as it’s outside regular visiting hours.

Eddie and Maddie follow the nurse towards Buck’s room.

“He woke up briefly in recovery,” the nurse says as she shows them inside. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps through till morning.” She leaves them alone after checking the monitors beside the bed.

Maddie doesn’t stay for long, just long enough to reassure herself that Buck’s going to be okay, before she heads home with Chim.

Eddie drags his chair closer to the bed. Buck is still pale in the harsh fluorescent light that filters in from the hall, but his face has lost the grey pallor from before.

“You’re going to give me grey hairs,” Eddie murmurs, reaching for Buck’s hand. He squeezes it, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the warm skin of Buck’s wrist. “You were right behind me when we evacuated.”

Buck’s fingers twitch, curling around Eddie’s hand.

“Had to go back,” he mumbles, half asleep. “Had t’make sure they all got out.”

“I know,” Eddie says, voice low. “You did good.” Buck’s fingers go lax in his as the drugs drag him back under. “Sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#911fic #buddie #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #whumptober #hurtbuck #taken hostage #blood #911 fanfic #my911fanfic

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