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scriveyner · 2 years

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gifts & curses 16

gifts & curses: 16/30 wc: 2192 rated: M

Masanori was asleep on the couch, curled against the cushion with his arms tucked against his chest and face relaxed. He was vulnerable out here in the open, and Gotou knew how significant the gesture was. There were weeks, months on end where they would check in on the cubs before turning in and see empty beds and a pile of fur in the corner, tails over noses and eyes glinting in the dim light. That Masanori now slept in his human form in front of Gotou, well… that was a large measure of trust he’d been handed.

All of this, everything that had happened in the last few days was like working through a haze, a nightmare without end. Gotou had to shut down his emotions before they carried him away, the rage and the grief and the fear. He had to depersonalize it, step away and treat this just like any other issue brought to him at the police box. There would be time to deal with his emotions later—he had to get through all of this, first.

(If he could make it that long.)

Gotou left a covered dish on the counter—dinner, or breakfast as the case may be, depending on how long Masanori actually slept. He left a note, too—and all the same, he stood beside the couch and watched Masanori sleep for a while; inhale, exhale, live—and he thought of how sometimes in the summer sun Masanori’s lighter hair almost matched Masayoshi’s for shade, thought that they really could pass as kin. Not father and son, not quite—Masayoshi was far too young for it and they both looked younger than they were—but the resemblance was quietly uncanny.

…intentional?

He brushed his hand through Masanori’s hair, down his back, and felt him stir. “You don’t have to wake up,” Gotou said softly, crouching beside the couch. “I’m going out for a bit, but I’ll be back soon. There’s dinner on the counter.”

Masanori made a noise that might have been acknowledgment, but it could have well just been a sleep noise, exhausted and ragged. Gotou hesitated, his hand still on Masanori’s back. The moment of indecision passed and Gotou rose to his feet, taking a quick look around the small safehouse apartment before heading out the front door and locking it behind him.

He had work to do.

Akino said it so simply, calm and plain as if the words didn’t change the entire fabric of his reality. Masayoshi stared at her, and felt her go slightly out of focus—he swallowed and tried to make sense of what she had said, his hands curled into fists on his knees and aware from the periphery that the vampire had joined them as well.

“It’s not true,” he said, finally.

“I know how hard this is,” Akino said softly. She reached out to touch his arm and Masayoshi yanked his body away without moving from his seated position, head down and staring at the concrete floor between them. “Hazama-kun.” A pause, and then, still soft. “Masayoshi.”

“It’s not true,” he repeated, and the words choked up in his throat, clamped up tight. She didn’t attempt to reach for him again, as she sat on her knees in front of him, watching and waiting silently for the moment of acceptance. He hadn’t felt this much emotion even when he first learned of his parents’ deaths overseas, the quiet unsolved murder of foreign travelers in a random robber, so long ago. Now he was completely overwhelmed and unable to process it at all. “Why…how did you…?”

“It wasn’t easy to track down,” Akino said. “Most of the clans—the different measures of night creatures, that is—prefer to stay out of the military, out of law enforcement, and try to keep as far off the radar as they can manage. This was swept under the rug, intentionally forgotten. Did you never wonder why your parents’ murder was brushed aside?”

Masayoshi shook his head wordlessly, swallowed.

“Your mother, she was a wolf. A full-blooded faoladh, a wolf. Not a werewolf. They were both killed by vampires while overseas.”

Masayoshi took another deep breath, chasing the feeling from his lungs. His parents were important, they were people, they deserved to be remembered…but just like those years ago when he had first discovered the newspaper clippings in the memory box his grandfather left him, the emotion burned bright hot like a dying star, and then withered into silence.

Did his grandfather know?

“I don’t believe you,” Masayoshi said.

Akino sat opposite him on the floor, on her knees with her skirt smoothed out over her legs. She simply watched him silently as Masayoshi kept his head turned and his eyes averted. “I don’t have any reason to lie to you about this,” she said. “It explains your original resistance to the witch’s curse, how it didn’t kill you right away—”

“That has nothing to do with this!”

“It has everything to do with it, Masayoshi-kun.”

“If my mother was a wolf,” Masayoshi said, “why didn’t I change before now? Why did nothing come out, until now?”

“You didn’t know,” she said. “How could you? Your father’s father raised you, your mother’s clan didn’t even know you existed.” Akino’s voice was meant to be reassuring, but it felt the opposite. “How would you know what you could do, if you didn’t know it was possible?”

“I’ve been in worse danger,” he said, remembering the electric feel of his pounding blood, the spike of adrenaline, protect them. “I’ve never—”

“You thought you were normal, so you were normal,” Rian said, leaning back against a half-finished wall and cast in shadow. “It’s not so uncommon, really.”

Masayoshi laughed and covered his mouth. “I never thought I was normal.”

“Human, then,” the vampire amended. “Every fight you faced before now, you assumed you were human. The wolf magic in your blood was weak, it couldn’t be triggered until the moon-curse was transferred to you.” He shrugged.

“Gotou-kun bit you,” Akino said, “and that curse boiled away the witch’s taint, and slept in your blood—your faoladh blood—until you needed it.” Masayoshi shook his head violently, one hand still covering his mouth, and Akino simply watched him. “This is new territory for all of us. Mutts are uncommon enough as it is.”

His heartbeat was too fast, Masayoshi could feel the tingles starting down his back, rushing down his limbs, and suddenly it was a struggle to keep his form. He felt ethereal, mutable—he was a wolf, he had always been a wolf…but had he? Really?

Masayoshi took a deep, steadying breath, dragging it in and holding it, sunlight and dust and neglect—and thought of the dreams he’d been having.

“If you want,” Akino said cautiously, “I think I can suppress it. Your wolf form,” she added when he didn’t move or look at her. “I don’t know if it’s possible to tie your transformation to the moon, but I’ve suppressed some wolves who wanted to marry humans, and didn’t want to risk—”

“No,” Masayoshi said, eyes closed tight and focused inward. “I can control it.”

Rian scoffed, but Masayoshi did not open his eyes to face him. “If you could control it, I wouldn’t have had to keep you here,” he said, scorn embedded deep in his voice. “Look, Akino, I don’t get a paycheck from the Blade to keep being his babysitter. Can we just get this over with? Suppress his stupid ability so I can get back to my real job.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Masayoshi asked. “Why are you doing this, why are you here right now if you hate werewolves so much; if this is such an inconvenience for you?” Masayoshi’s eyes snapped open staring at Rian.

“That’s none of your concern,” the vampire said. “You either need to have your wolf suppressed or learn how to control it.”

“I can control it.”

“Bullshit.”

Akino stood up, drawing both of their attention as she brushed her skirt off. “I believe him,” she said and stepped away from Masayoshi. “I trust his judgment, Martin-kun.”

Masayoshi and Rian glared at each other as Masayoshi got to his feet as well—and then Rian was moving, fingers extended like claws, fangs bared and coming at Masayoshi faster than he thought possible. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink as Rian drew his hand back, claws flashing toward Masayoshi’s face.

He caught Rian’s extended arm in a variation on a judo move that Hidenori had taught him years before, and that stopped Rian in his tracks; golden eyes narrowed and heat pulsating in his veins.

However—he didn’t shift.

“Oh,” Rian said, voice weirdly calm in the split second before Masayoshi threw him through the partition halfway across the room, “shit.”

Pedestrian foot traffic was not as plentiful in this portion of the city. Keiko had no idea where she was, or where she was being led to—she’d long since gotten disoriented, turned around in the dark. Kaoru would glance over at her and smile reassuringly, one hand on the strap of the bag worn across his body, and she gave him a lukewarm smile in return.

His scent was weird. He didn’t smell like kin—like Masanori, but he smelled like her, not the strange mishmash of scents that every other werewolf she’d met put off. It was…nice.

Then she caught the tail of another scent, several more like them, as they turned down an alley near an intersection. Keiko stiffened, stopping at the mouth of the alley. Kaoru’s kind expression didn’t change. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re not in any danger…but you can stay here if you wish. This will only take a moment.”

Keiko nodded her head, swallowed, and followed him.

There were about a half-dozen of them in the dead-end of the alley, an assortment of kids around her own age, or slightly older. They all smelled like her…they were all like her. It would be amazing if her danger sense hadn’t kicked into overdrive.

“Yo, Kaoru-chan,” a tall boy with light hair said, seated on a closed trash bin. “Didn’t think you were ever gonna show.” He eyed Keiko, leaned forward, and scowled. “Who’s the bitch?”

The girl seated next to him atop the closed bin slammed her elbow into his midsection and he doubled over, wheezing. “Don’t mind him, little sister,” she said and winked.

“This is my pack,” Kaoru said to Keiko. “They’re wolves, like us.”

Like us.

“Everyone, this is Keiko-chan,” Kaoru said. “She’s run away from her caretaker.”

“Wow, you ran away?” Another female spoke, rising from a crouch. She had dark hair like Keiko’s but worn longer in twin tails, her face disconcertingly familiar. “Keiko-chan, that’s dangerous! What if they catch you?”

“No, I…” there was something about that word that didn’t sit right, that didn’t sound right. But what were Hazama and Gotou anyway, but caretakers? They weren’t her parents, after all. She nodded her head, accepting the terminology. “Yeah, I guess I did run away from my caretakers. They won’t catch me, though.”

“It’s just so weird we’ve never seen you around,” the boy atop the bin said, and this time successfully avoided the elbow jab.

“She’s probably from another facility, dumbass,” the girl next to him hissed. “Maybe the rules aren’t the same, there.”

Keiko looked around at the assortment of kids, and for the first time realized that aside from wearing the same school uniform, they all also wore a dark band just under the collar of their shirts; like their necks were cast in permanent shadow. Keiko swallowed and was suddenly glad for the high-collared windbreaker she had zipped up.

“What I’m getting from this,” a boy who hadn’t spoken up yet said, “is that Kaoru wants us to accept this mongrel into our pack.”

“Mongrel?” Keiko’s lip turned up in a snarl, fingers curling.

Kaoru tilted his head but his hands remained in his pockets. “Who said anything about that?” he asked. “I just thought I’d bring her around since she’s new to the area, so none of you tryhards would attack her if you saw her.” There was a chorus of dark chuckles, and Keiko did not relax her guard. “C’mon, Keiko-chan,” Kaoru said softly. “I promised you a hot meal, didn’t I?”

“Wouldn’t harbor a runaway if I were you, Kaoru-chan,” the last boy-wolf said, in a derisive, sing-song voice as Kaoru turned to leave the alley. Keiko snarled fully at him, mouth bristling with too many too-sharp teeth and the boy startled, dropping back into the shadow of the dumpster, golden eyes narrowed and glowering at her.

Keiko didn’t turn her back on the wolf-children, not until they were well out of sight, and only when their scents faded into the breeze did she relax her guard. Kaoru gave her a curious glance and she gave him a dark look in exchange, which seemed to startle him as well.

She resisted touching her neck as she walked beside this strange wolf-child.

They had all been wearing collars.

<< Part 15 || Start || Part 17 >>

#samurai flamenco #gotoyoshi #masagoto #werewolf au 2022 #ongoing #multipart

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collecting-stories · 4 years

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Home - c. 14 - Georgia

Summary: With your dad home the house feels a little too suffocating.

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

You were home. You had driven home from Tara’s on Sunday, early so that you could go to pick up your dad. He was silent the whole way home and said little more when he got in the house, shutting himself in the garage. He didn’t come in again until your mom got home, annoyed from work and from your dad’s presence in the house. It took less time for them to get into it with each other than it did for dinner to be finished and you knew, as you snuck out your window, that your dad would be back on the bottle before the night was over.

Leaving the jeep in the driveway, you headed down the street and cut through the catwalks, only half considering where you were walking. You hadn’t been home a day and already you felt like you were losing your mind. Maybe it was stress, all the minute components of life piling up on you, making you feel like you were seconds from probably losing your mind and the one thing that had been keeping you sane through all the other crap was suddenly gone, vacant from your life.

You stopped at the familiar house, almost knocking on the side door but you noticed a light on in the camper and you went to it. The light flickered for a second as footsteps sounded, just a few to get to the door and it was opening, the spring creaking as you stood there off the step, Daryl standing in front of you.

“Ya don’t give up, do ya?”

“Sorry, it’s just...a shitty night at my house. I just wanted to go somewhere I’d feel better, figured here was the best place.” You replied.

Daryl stepped back, holding the door wide open for you to step up into the camper. It was small inside but cozier than you expected. You stood there for a moment, a little awkward, feeling like it was the first time you were around him again. And maybe that was because of what you’d said. You couldn’t erase telling him that you liked him, and you certainly couldn’t make him forget either.

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked, handing you a bottle of water and sitting back down at the table. You sat on the bench across from him.

“I picked my dad up this morning.” You replied, “he’s been in rehab.”

“So ya came here?”

“I didn’t want my mom to see I was gone so I walked.” You said, unscrewing the water bottle and taking a sip, it occurred to you only once the water hit your throat how thirsty you were. “I can’t go to Tara’s, she’s in Woodbury, and I can’t go to Maggie’s cause I’d have to tell her.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard for her, the Reverend was a heavy hitter back in the day.” Daryl replied, continuing to eat his dinner, seemingly unfazed. He’d never show you if he was though.

“What?”

“Ya ain’t heard about it?”

You shook your head, Maggie had never said anything to you about her father having a drinking problem.

“He quit the bottle when Maggie’s mom got sick. I remember, musta been nine years old at the time, my mama dragged me to church and he gave this long sermon about sinning and asking for god’s forgiveness. Load a bullshit if I ever heard it, but he changed himself around.” Daryl replied.

“How’d you know the sermon was about him?” You asked, your mind swimming with information. You’d known Hershel all your life, at times when you were feeling lost he always felt like a second father to you.

“Used to drink down at The Wharf with my dad. Told him I was gonna tell somebody about him once when I was real angry and he just said ‘you go tell Reverend Greene or the sheriff, I see ‘em every night’. My dad ain’t big on socialising and he only goes one place.” Daryl said, “it was a poorly kept secret but then he sobered up and everybody swept it under the rug for him.”

“I had no idea.”

“Didn’t mean ta ruin the Reverend for ya…just meant, he’ll be understanding, if nothing else.”

“My mom would lose it if I told anyone that my dad’s an alcoholic. I mean, it’s just you and Tara that know, everyone else just thinks he works a lot or if they don’t think that they just don’t ask.” You admitted. You could practically imagine the hellfire your mom would bring down on you if you told everybody that your dad was a drunk.

“What about yer mom?” Daryl asked, getting up from the table and going to wash his dishes.

You watched him for a moment, thinking this was what you had been missing for those few weeks apart. This was the thing you craved the most from him. To just be able to sit and chat with him, listen to him talk, edging away at his reservations until he was talking to you about anything. You wanted to tell him you missed him, you missed this. That you loved him and that probably you always would but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that you had to take what you could get if you wanted anything at all with him.

“What’d you mean?” You asked.

“Til she died, my mom always stuck it out. Knew no one else was gonna deal with her. She was angry and she could mean when she wanted and she damn near hated my brother, ruined her life the way she saw it. So she knew nobody was gonna want that…she stuck it out til she died.” Daryl replied, “if your dad’s the problem, why doesn’t yer mom leave him?”

“I think it’s the other way around.” You admitted, “my dad drinks so he doesn’t have to be there with her but he doesn’t have to leave either.” Sometimes you thought he might be trying for a slow death, trying to drink himself out of the life he’d been saddled with.

“Yer mom that bad?”

“She can be.” You replied, “what about your dad, I don’t really see him that much, only the one time he thought I was a prostitute.”

Daryl scoffed, that nearly invisible smile appearing, “we don’t bother each other too much anymore. I pay most a the bills and he leaves me alone.”

“You should be the one in the house then,” you teased, smiling when he scrunched his nose and shook his head.

“Nah, I’d have ta redo that whole thing top ta bottom ta wanna spend any time living it in.” Daryl replied, “ain’t the best memories.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, ya didn’t know.” He came back over to the table, sitting down opposite from you and leaning back against the vinyl seating. “Ya want me ta drive ya somewhere?”

“Can’t stay here?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t that I don’t want ya too…” he trailed off, “I don’t want ya doing something yer bound ta regret cause ya think ya feel a certain way.”

“Why do you think I don’t?” You closed your eyes for a moment to calm yourself down before looking at Daryl, this was not going to be like the last two conversations. “I came here because we’re friends and I needed a friend. If you just want to be friends then, I can respect that. But please, I don’t want to totally lose you because of something I said.”

Daryl nodded his head like maybe he was considering what you had said after all. “Fine, I ain’t gonna entertain ya though, I got things ta do.”

“Like what?” You asked, glancing around the camper. It was clean and the space was small, hardly looked like he could do much.

“I was headed down to the laundromat ‘fore ya came here. I got a bag a clothes ta wash in my truck.”

“Good, I’ll come with you.” You replied, standing up, all ready to go.

“I didn’t miss ya pestering me ya know, least I got a break from it.” He joked and you smiled, if he was joking about it then it didn’t bother him as much as he said it did. It wasn’t a far reach for you then, to assume that maybe he did really like you and he was only saying different because he was afraid of being with you.

“Yeah but I bet I’m way prettier than Rick,” you teased, following him out the door of the camper.

“Don’t know, he’s got his moments.”

“I’ve never been in the laundromat before,” you commented, holding the door for Daryl as he carried a hamper bag of clothing in. The laundromat was small, a little store front nestled in beside a law office and a psychic. You had suggested getting a reading, despite the late hour, and Daryl had scoffed at you. “Like, I always drive by but I’ve never been in.”

There were three vending machines besides the one that dispensed detergent. Coffee, snacks, and soda. You tried the coffee while Daryl threw his clothes in the wash. “It ain’t much.” Daryl replied.

“That’s what you always say.” You joked, setting your coffee down on the counter and sitting up on it beside the pile of dark clothes that Daryl was sorting through to throw in the wash.

Being here with Daryl was nice. It felt a lot like before you told him that you had feelings for him though you couldn’t deny the elephant in the room, knowing that Daryl knew you liked him, that you were in love with him, and that you knew he didn’t want to feel the same way.

“Will you still teach me car stuff?” You asked, handing Daryl your coffee to taste.

He took a sip, “ya always put that much cream in yer coffee?”

“To be fair, it’s powdered.” You replied. “I filled my own washer fluid the other day.”

“And yer car didn’t blow up?” He teased.

“No.” You huffed, kicking him with your foot. “So, will you?”

“Yeah.” He replied. He wouldn’t ever admit it but seeing you at his door had felt like a weight lifting off of his chest. Not seeing you or knowing that you were okay had driven him a little crazy. Daryl had considered going to see you at the diner and talking to you but he chickened out every time, convincing himself that you were better off distancing yourself from him. But maybe he had been wrong. Or maybe he just wasn’t better off being away from you.

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pemfrost · 3 years

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Can you please write a Spideynova with jealous Sam? :)

I’m not sure if this 100% counts, but I tried :D (I didn’t edit, sorry for any typos. I’ll fix ‘er up before I post to AO3)

Sam's head fell against his open biology book and for once he was thankful for how thick the damn thing was. It was almost midnight, and instead of relaxing -or god forbid, sleeping- he was cramming for a final. It was the unglamorous part of being a superhero while also being a high school student. Yea, getting out of a boring lecture to save lives was great and all, but it added up. And it added up quickly.

"Can we just call it a night?" His voice was muffled by the book, but he knew Peter would understand well enough.

Originally, they all studied as a team. Or, tried to. Sam was absolutely fine with how things shook out after Ava stormed out on one session. Now, they took turns rotating to study in smaller groups. It was easier for Sam to focus this way, with fewer distractions. And fewer arguments over the appropriate amount of non-school conversations.

Sam enjoyed studying with everyone; Ava made him actually study, Luke helped give him a new perspective, Danny helped him relax, and Peter gave him a reason to want to succeed. Every time Sam would wonder why he bothered with school, he thought about Peter. Sure, Sam could easily be successful with the Guardians, no stupid Biology final needed. No need to graduate. Just him, his helmet, and a universe at his fingertips.

And then there was Peter. Loathe as he was to admit it, there was something special about Peter, something Sam had yet to find the words to describe. Perhaps Danny could help him when they studied for their English final.

“Take the practice test. Pass it, and then we’ll call it a night.” Peter dropped a small pile of papers on Sam’s head.

Sam groaned and brushed the papers off him without lifting his head. “I'm serious, I’m done.”

“What can I do to convince you? You need to pass this final, unless you wanna retake it…”

There was a teasing lilt to Peter’s voice that made Sam roll his head to this side to see him. The dark circles under Peter’s eyes betrayed his own exhaustion, but his eyes sparked with mischief, like he was daring Sam to make some ridiculous request. Like taking a video game break. Or make a frozen pizza- he’d spied one in Peter’s freezer earlier.

Or, a kiss.

Yes, a kiss would convince him to take the practice test. A kiss. From Peter. A kiss. From Peter.

Peter rolled his eyes when Sam didn’t respond, and Sam was thankful his super power wasn’t reading mind- though, it would make it easier to actually tell Peter. Instead, he was laying on his book, looking to Peter like he was so disinterested he couldn’t even make a joke for the sake of breaking up the monotony of studying.

“I’m grabbing a drink,” Peter stood from the table without looking back to Sam.

“Ugh.” Sam pulled himself up and stretched his stiff back. It was utterly helpless. He was putting so much effort towards a future on Earth just because of Peter- and he had no way of knowing if a future on Earth would include Peter. At least, include him in a way that mattered.

Okay, he could do this. He could tell Peter. Ask Peter. Make all of this work mean something more than the promise of a possibility. And he was certain he wasn’t imagining the looks Peter gave him when he thought no one was looking.

Sam sighed and scooted over to sit at Peter’s seat. His notes were so much more organized, rivaling Ava’s in their detail. He kept his ears trained towards the kitchen, no way he was going to let Peter catch him using his notes, not after their earlier argument over Sam’s own poor note taking.

As he was rereading Peter’s meticulous notes on meiosis for the third time, Peter’s phone lit up next to him. Huh. Usually Peter took his phone everywhere, he wasn’t one to leave it lay around where anyone could, you know, glance at an incoming message.

Sam didn’t mean to look, but he was caught off guard, and his eyes jumped to the screen on reflex. And if they lingered on the screen as more messages came in? Well, no one ever accused him of having tact.

♡♡♡: Still up?

♡♡♡ :Thinking about you ;)

♡♡♡: Miss you!

The room tilted as the screen faded back to black. Sam was certain time was frozen, or sped up, or maybe it just didn’t exist at all and was just made up. Made up like the glances he swore Peter was giving him. Made up like stupid bubble of hope he’d let form around him.

“Sam!” Peter laughed as he entered the room again. “Do you want me to make you a copy? I told you my notes were so much better than yours.”

“Whatever.” Sam grit his teeth and refused to look at Peter as he began shoveling his own notes and book into his bag. What was the point of studying, anyway? He clearly had no chance of being on Peter’s romantic radar.

“Whoa. What’s the rush?”

“Nothing. I told you I was done.” Oh, he was so done. So, so, so, done.

“You’re ridiculous. If you fail the final-”

“Maybe I won’t bother taking it.” Sam was numb, his mind repeating the three messages over and over. Who was it? Who had Peter’s love? What did they have that Sam didn’t?

“The hell, Sam?” Peter raised his voice slightly, still mindful of Aunt May sleeping upstairs.

“Look,” Sam said without any emotion, “I can’t keep… doing this.” He gestured vaguely.

“Look, we don’t have to keep studying tonight. We can do a quick cram tomorrow before-”

“No, Peter.”

Peter stepped to block Sam’s retreat. “What happened? I thought-”

“Well, don’t think.” He glared up at Peter, but couldn’t put any real heat behind it. Peter didn’t do anything wrong, not really. The only person to blame was himself for falling for a teammate.

“What is with you all of a sudden?” Peter’s concern was written all over his face, and it was a punch in the gut. Peter was worried about him, as a friend.

Is that all they would be, then? Friends? But then, what sort of friend was dating someone and didn’t tell his friend? They were friends, right? Right?

“Sam?”

“What are we, Peter?”

Peter jerked back, “What?”

“Forget it.” Sam could feel heat rising up his neck and he refused to meet Peter’s eyes.

“No, what do you mean?”

“I-” Sam bit his tongue, it had betrayed him enough for one night.

“We’re… friend’s? Teammates at least.”

“Least. Because friends don’t keep secrets.” Sam tried to shoulder his way past Peter, but a strong hand on his shoulder held him back. “Let go.”

“So, what? Because I want you to study, we're not friends now?”

“No,” Sam ground out. “We’re not friends because you’re dating someone and didn’t think it was worth sharing with me. Like friends do.”

“I- What?” Peter stammered and the damn hand left his shoulder. Even so, Sam could still feel the warmth lingering where Peter touched. “I’m- I did!”

Sam stared. Peter stared back.

“I told you. When we were getting ice cream with MJ and Harry…”

Oh. Sam looked away, his cheeks warm. He remembered the day, a few weeks ago, remembered staring at Peter as he ate his cone, and nodding along without actually hearing- yea, Sam remembered.

“Sam? S-seriously?”

“Gah! Forget it, already.”

For once, Peter listened, letting him leave without any more questions or comments. What was there to say? Anything more and they would officially be in territory Sam was wholly uncomfortable with traversing. Anything more would carry the possibility of doing permanent damage to their friendship. As it stood, their conversation could be swept under the proverbial rug as a late night blip fueled by studying for too many hours without a break.

When he got back to his room, Sam fell against his closed door and focused on breathing. Peter was dating someone, and that someone was not Sam. Probably never would be. He was not okay with that.

Despite that, he pulled out his notes and gave them one another read before he passed out on the floor.

Thanks for reading!

#spideynova #jealousy #pem writes #ask request #hey I got my laptop out bc my thumb hurts from writing on my phone #and i can actually put a read more on this hahaha

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mschillinvillin · 3 years

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The Department of Love is overwhelmed with work in the weeks leading up to Valentine’s day. Head Cupid Sesshoumaru is struggling to finish his paperwork, but when his underlings fail to find a match for a difficult client, he is forced to step in and resolve the matter personally. A V-day Oneshot.

(Also available on my Dokuga, Fanfiction(dot)net, and A03 under the name ChillinVillin)

The mountain of paperwork on Sesshoumaru’s desk grew steadily, despite the long hours he’d been putting in at the office. He was a workaholic year-round – love was not just a Valentine’s affair after all – but February was always a veritable shit storm, and this year he hadn’t even had a chance to go home to sleep.

He was bent over a file for a widower when a soft knock sounded at his door and his youngest team member popped her head in.

Rin was still new to the Department and there had been an uproar when he promoted her onto his exclusive team. Her youthful demeanor and easy smile made her a target for those jaded by the industry, but she was an excellent matchmaker. Her unending reserve of energy and positive attitude served her well, and she let any hate directed at her roll off. As she should have. She was superior.

She was humming lightly when she stepped into his office, the fairy wand she used as her matchmaking device scattering love dust on his pristine carpet. It was not uncommon for her to bring him lunch, so he was startled when she plopped herself into the chair across from him and placed a manilla folder on the empty corner of his desk.

He couldn’t see her over his stack of paperwork, but he didn’t have to look up to know she was displeased. She worried at the edge of a manila folder and her humming cut off abruptly.

“What ails you?” He asked without looking up from his work.

“As you know, Valentine’s day is approaching quickly.”

He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and gestured to the paper mountain.

“There’s this one woman. Kagome Higurashi. She’s a class A case so she both desires and deserves a proper match,” she flipped the folder open to reveal the fresh face of a smiling young woman. She was pretty enough, he thought, glancing at the photo without looking too closely. She was young enough to be planting the seeds for a future with a first partner, and pretty enough to get one. An easy mark for someone as competent as Rin.

“And there is no one suitable?” he surmised.

“It’s not that! I’ve spent the last week trying to get her together with her childhood friend! He’s already in love with her, so half the equation was solved. He’s kind and attentive and he’s studying medicine, so he’s smart and cares about people. He’s perfect for her, but every time I tried to set them up, she brushed my magic aside like it was nothing and found an excuse to take off!”

“We cannot manufacture attraction,” Sesshoumaru huffed, returning to the file before him. This was basic stuff. “You tried to open her eyes and she declined. Move on to the next best match.” And leave me in peace, he thought, biting his tongue. It wouldn’t do to upset her during their busiest time of the year.

“I did!” She wailed. “I found her someone else. This guy was his opposite. He was fun! Flirty and easy to commit to. He would have given her everything she needed to feel fulfilled as a girlfriend!”

“She ignored him as well?”

“Not only was she not interested; she set him up on a date with her best friend and now they’re going steady!”

He frowned. It was almost unheard of for Rin to strike out twice. He put it down to the overwhelming work of her first season on his team. Perhaps she simply hadn’t learned yet what to do when she hit a snag. He would put someone more seasoned on the case.

“Very well. Move on to your next assignment and send Jaken in.”

He closed the manila folder and returned to his work, not acknowledging the short man who came in for it. He couldn’t see Jaken’s eyes over the top of the desk, but the two heads on his staff, their lips pursed like they waiting for a kiss, danced towards him, and then a small hand felt around on his desk before sliding the file off the edge. Jaken made a lot of noise as he came and went, but Sesshoumaru tuned him out, sighing gratefully when the door clicked closed and he was left in peace.

Considering the problem dealt with, he gave his full attention to the case in front of him.

“I’m so sorry sir! Please forgive me!”

The piercing shriek of his subordinate made his head pound. He hadn’t even gone home to shower, and his stomach cramped from cheap vending machine food. The first thing he noticed when he peeled his eyes away from his work was that the staff of two heads looked… wrong.

The heads had twisted apart, the centre cracked like they’d tried to get away from each other. Their kissing faces had devolved into delirious smiles. Jaken clambered up to stand on the chair across from his, waving a folder around. Sesshoumaru cut off his groveling.

“This is not the time for mistakes, Jaken.”

“Please forgive me! I was only trying to do as I was asked, but the task proved to be impossible!”

Sesshoumaru was certain that he hadn’t given anything beyond his subordinate’s abilities. That was why he spent his days (and this time of year his nights) pouring over paperwork.

“It’s that Higurashi woman to blame!” Jaken griped. “I found her a man who was rugged and handsome. He was completely appropriate while presenting enough of a challenge for her to get a sense of satisfaction out of winning his heart. Just as she started to warm up to him, she found out that she was a dead ringer for his ex and got upset.”

“A rookie mistake.”

“Forgive me, but often the second match is better than the first anyway. They appreciate the next match so much more once they’ve had a taste of disappointment.”

It was an old school thought, reminiscent of Sesshoumaru’s father’s ideology from his days running the department. It never would’ve worked for Rin’s childish, bubbling love type, but Jaken’s staff was uniquely designed for two romances in quick succession. The second and more powerful head could not work until after the first had been activated.

“That was not the case?” Sesshoumaru prompted.

“I found her someone similar, but who would be unwaveringly honest in his high opinion of her and who had no prior serious attachments, but she wound up foisting him off on another girl!”

“And your staff?”

“The staff got confused. Since she wasn’t reactive to the first or second match, both heads tried to blast him and he wound up doubly smitten with the new girl. This is a mess.”

Sesshoumaru grunted. This had never happened in the centuries since Jaken had joined the department.

“You cannot work without it, and I need you on the ground. Leave the case and see if Totosai in tech can fix it for you. If it will take more than a few hours, then request assistance from another department to cover your time off. And send Ah and Un in.”

Jaken ran off, leaving the slightly worn folder behind.

A pair of twins slid in several minutes later. Sesshoumaru gestured to the folder without looking up and they whisked it away, disappearing. Ah and Un were a bit of a mystery, but they always got results.

He cursed when they swooped in the next morning and dropped the folder on his desk. They didn’t say anything, and he dismissed them with a wave. The pile had shrunk, but not enough. Valentine’s was only two days away and he had to finish before then.

“Well, well, well,” the soft purr came from the edge of the room. He shot up and glared at the woman who stood in his doorway. His mother smirked at him in all of her finery. She’d long been trying to convince him to join her as a member of the Winter Solstice Department, and 48 hours out from Valentine’s day, when his patience was thinnest, was a bad time for her to try her usual antics.

“What do you want?” He asked, turning his focus back to his desk.

“Poor dear,” she said. Her voice dripped with false sympathy. “Is your little holiday getting the best of you?”

“You know that this is not a good time.”

“Of course. I’ve only come because a request was put in for assistance and I thought I’d offer mine to you, personally.”

He groaned. Of course she’d snatch up the chance to insert herself into his business. He didn’t have time to put another request in, so he handed her the folder. The edges were bent and there was a coffee ring on it. She poured herself a cup of coffee, emptying the pot of his last dregs of caffeine, and sat across from him.

“Word’s been getting out about the difficulties you’ve been having. Is it true she damaged your righthand man’s Toke of Affection?”

“It is true.”

She flicked through the file, a devious smirk on her face. “Are you certain that she’s interested in men dear? I know that on a long winter night, I often prefer the company of-“

“This is not about your preferences,” he said sharply. Her grin widened. “And it is not about lust. We’re in the business of romance. If you cannot deliver, then leave and send someone who can. Besides, she wouldn’t be in the pile were she not available and desiring a romantic entanglement, and her orientation is clearly marked.”

“Very well. This one shall be kind enough to help you.”

She swept from the room, a cold wind billowing in her wake. He counted the folders piled on his desk. Determination set his jaw. He finished his last coffee and got back to it.

She swung back in in the evening, bristling. “Unbelievable! What a thankless operation this is!” His desk had been completely taken over, so she threw the file on top of the cold coffee pot. “I thought that perhaps she would enjoy a little variety, so I sent her a man known to be a little on the imaginative side. He had a woman with him who was gorgeous and also interested. I thought that the more the merrier was a good call, but she ran off so quickly I didn’t even see her go!”

He grunted, and when she realized that he wasn’t paying attention, she flew from his office, plotting.

Sesshoumaru finished his papers with a full twelve hours to spare and finally stood from his desk. His bones popped as he stretched, and he wondered idly how long he had been in the chair. He flicked the lights off and grabbed his coat, intent on having a nice bath and a glass of wine to celebrate his victory. Another year had gone by without a hitch.

He always put in an appearance to the Department’s party for his employees. They worked for him, so once he was clean and rested, he returned to the lobby. As always, they had gone all out. The room was swathed in pinks and red, glittering hearts twirled high above the floor that had been cloaked in a plush red carpet. A live band sung romantics ballads and a hearty spread of festive foods were laid out on a banquet table.

He greeted each employee cordially while it sunk in that his work was done. He’d even have a long weekend. Rin ran up and twirled around him. Her wand trailed sparkles behind her.

“Another year is done!” She cried. He accepted a mini cupcake from her and a glass of champagne. He’d earned it and she said as much. “I admit, I am curious who Mr. Jaken found for Kagome Higurashi. She was so tough to crack that the not knowing is driving me crazy!”

Frowning, Sesshoumaru excused himself and brushed past her to find his second hand. Jaken was chatting with a tall, busty woman from the Halloween department. They were an incongruent pair, but it was widely speculated that the appropriate members of the Love Department were excellent lovers, and they all needed to let off steam after weeks of hard labour.

“Sir,” Jaken greeted! He was a little tipsy and didn’t notice his date eye Sesshoumaru up and down with a wicked smirk. “Meet Haru!”

“Yura!” The woman corrected. In one hand she held a black skull. The other she reached towards him. His mouth twitched and Jaken rambled on as if the exchange hadn’t happened.

“Well done! But what did you ever do about that woman who wrecked my beloved staff?”

Sesshoumaru spun on his heel, scanning the crown until his eyes fell on Ah and Un. They nodded to him when he approached their corner.

“What happened to the Higurashi case?” He demanded.

They looked at each other and shrugged.

Rin, Jaken, Ah, and Un had all struck out with her, leaving him to fumble for who he’d assigned her to. He tried to recall what he’d done with her case when it hit him.

Mother.

He hadn’t really been paying attention when she came in, but surely she’d failed too. He raced to the elevator, barely restraining himself while it climbed to his office, and flicked the lights on. The return of the cold fluorescence made his head throb, but he paid it no heed as he searched his deck for the file. It was pristine, as he had left it, without the Higurashi file in sight. He got down on his hands and knees and peered under it, but other than some of Rin’s glitter that the custodians had missed and a couple of dust bunnies, it was empty too. Snarling, he got up and looked around, finally noticing that it had slid behind the coffee maker.

A job failed. A heart left to grow cold on his day. He would not accept it.

He pulled his blade down from the display on the wall behind his desk. He hadn’t used it since he trained Rin. It pulsed faintly in his hand, the familiar energy stirring awake. He strapped it on, grabbed the folder, and raced down the back stairwell to grab a taxi.

He would find Kagome Higurashi and ensure that she had a partner by midnight.

Her file was thin. He knew that her family was small, but important to her. She was raised to take over her family’s shrine and that’s what she did. She was a romantic, but she rarely dated. She was outspoken, but kind to a fault. Overall, she was a perfectly good candidate for a love match.

His underlings had left notes, all of them detailing what had worked to catch her attention and what had failed along with a list of the names that hadn’t worked. Someone had written ‘this job sucks!’ across the top of the sheet, which he recognized as his mother’s handwriting. Hn, childish.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a bar. It was uncharacteristically cold for February, and snow crunched beneath the wheels. There was nothing in the file to help him, so he tucked it away and went in to watch her. He would have to glean the details about her for himself and find her an acceptable partner. All in the next, he checked his watch and hissed, five hours.

It didn’t take him long to find her. She was bouncing around the people on the dance floor, dancing and chatting over the rock band that was playing near the front. She nursed her drink and seemed perfectly in her element, and he found himself relaxing as he watched her from a barstool. He had his own drink, which he’d purchased just to fit in. He could unsheathe his blade and disappear from view, but that was always a poor choice in such crowded venues.

Kagome Higurashi seemed happy and as he watched her, he began to wonder if perhaps his mother had been right. Maybe she really didn’t want anyone. She flitted from person to person, lingering just long enough to have a laugh before scooting along to the next acquaintance. Even from a distance, he could tell that she was charming. She also seemed to interact with anyone and everyone without judgement. Kindness radiated from her. Why had his underlings had a hard time? She was an easy mark.

A couple bounced up to the bar, and he learned quickly that their names were Miroku and Sango, and that Kagome had set them up, and as they chatted he found out that a number of the people his team had tried to set her up with were also there. She was happy for all the couples, gushing over their outfits, valentine’s gifts. It turned out that she had presented chocolate to all of them, so she was receptive to the holiday.

It bothered him that the system could have made a mistake. It had never happened in his time, nor had he heard of such a thing happening in his father’s.

A confident man approached her, his long hair pulled back into a braid, and he offered her his hand to dance. She smiled at him, and the blade thrummed with the potential for a new match, but just as he reached for the hilt, her eyes shot up to his and everything stopped. She blushed at having been caught staring and looked away, and the bubble burst.

Heart pounding, he paid for his drink and went to the dirty bathroom at the end of the long hall.

Perhaps he needed to be more direct, seek her out and ask what she looked for in a partner.

He marched back to the dance floor only to find that she was gone.

Perhaps she was only in the restroom, he reasoned, but as his watch ticked, he stiffened. 3 hours remaining and he’d lost his target.

He burst out the front door into the chilly night and looked around wildly. He froze. There she was, still in her short party dress, leaning against the wall. He expected her to be smoking, but her arms were wrapped around her chest. He noticed that the long sleeves of her red dress were translucent and couldn’t stop himself from addressing her in clipped tones.

“Where is your coat?”

She snorted, an action that startled him. People did not address him so casually. If he was miffed, it passed with her watery smile. She’s been crying.

He slid his coat from his shoulders and held it out to her. “It was too hot in there,” he explained casually. The cold was uncomfortable, but it reminded him of his childhood home.

“It was supposed to be warm today,” she murmured, shaking her head, but a frigid wind blew through the street and she shuddered. Just as it occurred to him that a strange man approaching a lonely woman after dark could be construed as creepy, she reluctantly accepted his coat. Her fingers brushed his and he pulled away at the contact. She tried to push his coat back. “Don’t give it to me if you’re cold.”

“I grew up in much colder climates than this,” he admitted, and slid it over her shoulders, taking care not to touch her. A small smile graced her features and she turned into the collar and sniffed delicately. Warmth bloomed in his chest.

“I always find these gatherings to be oddly stifling,” he volunteered. She relaxed a little further. Perhaps she was the same. They should’ve found her someone more introverted.

“Yeah. I mean, I love my friends and I glad they’re all happy and in love, but it just kind of reminds me that I’m alone, you know? That I’m the exception. I guess I’m oversharing, sorry.”

So her case was not a mistake. Relief flooded him. He couldn’t point out to her that she’d had lots of opportunity over the last few weeks to kindle a romance, so instead he said. “That sounds difficult. Did it not occur to you to find a valentine of your own?”

She crossed her arms and caught his gaze with hers, and he found himself locked in a staring contest with her. “So where’s your Valentine Mr. Love Expert?”

“I do not have time for one.”

She snorted, again. “See! It’s easy to expect people to just find love! It’s not like you can just buy it at the grocery store. You have to find someone you like, who likes you, who you’re attracted to, who will make your life better, and then you have to work and share experiences and find common ground and give it time to grow. And sometimes it doesn’t work out, even after all of that!”

She breathed heavily after her outburst. She was as passionate about love as he was, but she had looked beyond the first flutterings of new love. “Perhaps I could help you find someone.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then broke into a wide grin. “I have a great idea! Come with me!”

She reached out and gripped his hand. He should have recoiled. This was unprofessional. But her skin was cold that he wrapped it in his own and allowed her to tug him along.

They walked in comfortable silence, before he asked.

“Kagome, where are we going?”

She stopped and gazed at him from under her lashes. “How did you know my name?”

“I overheard one of your friends say it.”

She resumed their pace with a triumphant smile. “I knew you were watching me! Why didn’t you say hi?”

He squeezed her hand. “Is this not acceptable contact?” He teased, though he knew the answer was ‘no’. “And my name, though you have not asked for it, is Sesshoumaru.” She repeated his name softly, rolling the syllables around in her mouth like a fine wine.

“Aha!” They stopped at the mouth of a busy night market. It had also been decorated for Valentine’s day. He was well acquainted with this sort of place as a matchmaking specter, but he found himself in new territory as they strolled the market hand in hand, sampling foods and playing games. She covertly pointed at a woman. “What about her?”

“What are we doing here?”

This was the perfect place for matchmaking, but every man who might have looked at her appreciatively noticed him and scurried along.

“I’m going to be your wingman!” She announced boldly. “Don’t look so shocked! I’m great at it! Just ask my friends. I found them all the perfect Valentine’s dates!” She had no way of knowing that his team had done most of the legwork.

The irony dawned on him that by putting himself into her path as a matchmaker, she had taken up the mantle of trying to find a mate for him. The thought made him chuckle, and then he cracked, laughing so hard that his shoulders shook. He used his free hand to cover his mouth while she gazed up at him. She swatted him playfully. “Don’t be a jerk! I’ll find you someone.” She regarded him for a long moment, then cast her eyes around. “What about her?” She leaned into him and spoke under her breath as they approached a young woman, drawing him in so that his lips brushed her hair.

“Why don’t we look for you instead.”

“I’m not going to play if you’re not. Listen! You’ll be head over heels by the end of the night!” She turned her face up to his, so that their lips almost brushed. He pulled back and dropped her hand, letting the cold sink in. There were rules, even if they felt inconsequential right now. He’d come here for a reason, and he would follow through.

“Very well. Why her?”

The woman was perhaps a little older than Kagome. She was bent over a book beneath a bright streetlight. Her short hair had fallen into her face and she brushed it back behind a small ear. He supposed that she was cute.

“You seem like you need someone who can soften you up a bit. She’s bookish, so she’s probably smart and introverted like you seem to be, but she’s still out here participating in the world.”

“She isn’t my type,” he said. “But I’m sure if she’s very good this year then Cupid will bring her a date next year.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works. Besides, I was good, so why isn’t he helping me?”

He barely stifled his groan. He is trying.

He pointed out three men to her. All seemed kind, handsome, and decent. And each time she shot him down and pointed out a woman for him in return. It made him want to rip his hair out. The temperature continued to drop and without meaning to he drew her closer to him until she was fit comfortably against his side. Their wingman game was interrupted when a young man with light hair and puppy-dog eyes called Kagome’s name. He had a girl with him who glared daggers at Kagome.

“Hey Kagome! So you uh- found yourself a Valentine, huh?”

She blushed and broke apart from Sesshoumaru. “Hojo! Sesshoumaru’s just a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” the men eyed each other up, and something sparked in Sesshoumaru’s mind. This was the childhood friend Rin had tried to set her up with. No wonder why it hadn’t worked. He looked as interesting a bowl of fibre-friendly cereal. Sesshoumaru would be having a chat with Rin when work was back in session.

“Are we going?” The other girl pouted at Hojo, so he bid them a good night and followed her away.

Kagome tucked herself back into his side. “I’m glad he found someone.”

“It will not last.”

“Sesshoumaru! You don’t even know him.”

“I know that he was not good enough for you, yet he still longs for what he cannot have.”

“It isn’t like that,” she murmured. “Hojo is wonderful. He just isn’t right for me. I need someone more... exciting.” She laughed. “Though I’ve had some pretty overwhelming men come onto me in the last month and that’s not right either.”

“You require balance.”

“I want things to be natural.”

He nodded and pulled her along. She had chilled again while they were apart, so he led her out of the market and into a 24-hour café that was teeming with couples. He brought her a hot chocolate and joined her at a bistro table tucked away in a quiet corner.

She moaned when she took her first sip of hot chocolate, and the thrill that went through him at the sound was completely unprofessional.

“Kagome?” He recognized the man who greeted her as one from the party.

“Inuyasha, hey! I saw that you got back together with your ex, congrats!”

Another from the file and he liked this one even less than the last. “Thanks. You were right. I was being stupid. Sorry.”

She shook her head and grinned. “Just don’t screw it up this time, OK?”

“Yeah. I’m glad you found a date too.” A woman who looked remarkably like Kagome approached them. Her straight hair was pulled back and she fixed Kagome with a small smile that struck Sesshoumaru as triumphant. Kagome stiffened slightly and he reached under the table to grip her hand. She relaxed and squeezed his hand back.

Inuyasha lingered a moment too long, until his girlfriend laced their fingers together and pulled him away.

Kagome leaned across the table towards him and spoke in a low voice. “Thanks for not telling them you weren’t my date.”

It hadn’t even occurred to him to correct them. “Another ex?” he asked.

She shrugged. “We didn’t go out for very long. Inuyasha is great in a lot of ways, but he has some growing up to do. Besides, it wasn’t me he wanted.”

Perhaps she needed someone who was more mature, he reasoned. Someone who would not get caught up in a schoolboy crush or use her to rebound from a previous failure. Regardless, he’d be talking to Jaken about making such an incongruent pair.

“You deserve someone who sees you.”

Their eyes met and she smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks.”

She took their empty mugs to the counter and chatted with the barista, who laughed uproariously at whatever she said. Sesshoumaru looked above them at a decorative wall clock and cursed. Only an hour left to find this delightful woman her Valentine’s romance, and he’d been enjoying himself instead of working! He wracked his brain for somewhere with intelligent, mature, fun, attractive people, where he could find a single man for her, and his head was spinning when she approached him and tugged on his sleeve.

“Sesshoumaru? What’s wrong?”

“I just realized I didn’t finish something at work, and it was very important.”

“Do you have to go?”

He grasped her hand and pulled her outside. Snow had begun to fall while they were inside, and the crystals floated to the earth, getting caught in her hair like diamonds.

“No, it’s too late to go back to the office.”

“If we can’t do anything about it then we might as well find you someone hot! Maybe the problem is that we’re looking for love when we should just be helping you work off your tension.”

Was she actually insinuating that he needed to get laid? The thought perturbed him so much that his lip curled up into a sneer. “I’m not a dog. I’m not looking for a quick fuck.”

She flushed at his bad language and dropped his hand, which felt empty without hers. “That’s not what I meant! Ok. It is what I meant. I’m sorry to have offended you. I just thought that maybe – you said you’ve been working hard and you’re clearly exhausted- and.”

“Kagome,” he hummed. “I’m not angry with you, but I’m not looking for that, or anything else.”

After tonight he would go home to his apartment, which was blissfully quiet, and enjoy time to himself. He didn’t need or want company. But he found himself wondering, since failure was imminent, why he hadn’t left her to get some much-needed rest.

He meant to calm her and was shocked when she stiffened in his arms. “Oh my God you’re married aren’t you? And this isn’t a date, definitely not, because I’m your wingman, but we’ve been holding hands and hanging out like a couple and you have a wife at home?”

A middle aged man walking by whistled at her loud exclamation and shook his head at Sesshoumaru. He had to bite his tongue.

He waited until she was panting, her breath fogging the air between them, and then stepped back. “Do you think I would behave like this if I had a separate romantic entanglement?”

He added ‘jumps to conclusions’ on his mental list of her traits.

“No wife?”

“None.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Nonexistent.”

“We have been acting like a couple though.”

He considered their night and sighed. Being forced to acknowledge it meant that it had to end.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

She stepped closer to him, so that he could feel the heat radiating off her. Her lips brushing his neck when she whispered. “Why are you sorry?”

“I meant to find love for you, and now it is too late.”

“You can’t just find love silly. Remember what I said?”

Attraction. Comfort. Balance. Shared experiences. Was that not all things that they had? He marked off his mental checklist one by one.

Her hands fisted into the front of his shirt as his found its way to the nape of her neck. His thumb settled on her pulse point and he could feel her heartbeat go wild under his touch. Gently, as if she might break, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, almost toppling over when she launched herself at him. She wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled him into her, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. He complied, running his tongue across the roof of her mouth and feeling her melt into him. When they broke apart, he found her flushed and breathless.

“Does this mean I’ve failed as a wingman or that I’ve excelled at it?”

He thought of his upcoming holiday review and pulled her back to him. “I will let you know.”

The clock struck midnight, and technically Kagome Higurashi had found her Valentine.

#sesskag #sesskagfic #fanfiction

58 notes · View notes

consensualpredator3rd · 3 years

Note

I think it's hilarious that folks are trying to out you when some of those folks have had fingers pointed at them as well for being abusers themselves. What people don't understand is that while there are deffo some shady dudes out there, a lot of the accusations are just piles of monkey shit being flung as part of some stupid ass Tumblr relationship drama. Dinodaddy was called a pedo and a groomer. Onelittlekingom was called an abuser. Theimperfetc was called an abuser. Itsprimal also dealt with drama several years ago.

It's also some fucking bullshit that dumbass clout chasers wanna reblog and say oh we believe victims but when it's their idols that are being attacked they want proof first. Which is why the drama and finger pointing was swept under the rug and forgotten about.

I don’t pay attention to drama, but I’m not surprised. I don’t think you can do this irl and actually meet people without upsetting someone at some point. And I’m sure there are those who push safety to mask themselves, like the closeted republican “pray the gay away” crowd.

Another issue is these people have set bdsm “rules” that they think you have to follow and bash on others if they don’t. Meet for coffee 15 times, use the safewords they insist on, draft a letter of intent sealed with your blood and notarized by the governor.

What’s important is you have a set of rules that are clearly established, and you stick to them. You don’t have to follow anyone else’s model.

A big sticking point is how my safeword system works. Most people using someone else’s system use red as a “shut down everything for the night” term. But why? Something like that just discourages people from using safewords when they need them.

You can get the same effect by stopping what you’re doing, checking in with your partner, and discussing from there. If they want to shut it down entirely they can tell you then. Which, in this case, she did a little later on.

My system was designed was designed specifically at a counter to the “bdsm is blindfolds and feathers” crowd. To maintain intensity while still having full control in the submissive’s hands. Because that’s what people who see me want.

I get two main complaints from fans and people who want to meet up with me. First is “how do I get my SO to do this type of play with me” and the other is “no one I meet with is aggressive and rough enough with me”.

It’s the second group that finds satisfaction with me. The ones that describe me as “feeling like I got hit my a bus”. And after seeing people in the more than 50 but less than 100 range, less than I can count on one hand thought it wasn’t for them.

Being a virgin doesn’t stop that either, of the dozen virgins I’ve been with almost all came back multiple times, the last one I saw was this past January, after the person all of this is about, and she’s coming back again next week.

Some people like me, some people hate me. That’s the way it’s always been and the way it is with everyone. But the people who actually know me like me, so I don’t care what the people who don’t know me think.

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seyaryminamoto · 3 years

Note

One of the big things about "The Beach" to me is that it seems to suggest that Zuko may be the least empathetic among the Fire teens. Azula shows the most empathy to her brother and her friends, Ty Lee shows the second most, Mai the third most, and Zuko the least. So the point of the episode was to portray the three girls sympathetically while highlighting Zuko's limitations. The issue then is that they never really went back to Zuko's lack of empathy. Thoughts?

Eh, well... the show refuses to go back on a lot of Zuko’s exposed flaws, no matter how they may be highlighted and shown as a problem, so I guess I’d just say what’s one more, in the end, among a pile of many unresolved personal issues? :’D

I think some people would try to argue that Azula wasn’t empathetic at all, but I’d say the key element in these regards is that Azula seemed to backtrack at least once with Ty Lee when she apologizes to her after reducing her friend to tears with her harsh words. It’s fair enough that Azula was very insulting, but she takes it back quickly and admits she knows what her actual problem is, implying there’s self-reflection, self-awareness and remorse enough to not only acknowledge her behavior was out of place, but to know why she impulsively acted the way she did.

Meanwhile, Zuko mocks and calls Ty Lee a circus freak (and, yes, Azula laughs about it), and nothing he says suggests he regrets hurting her. That, honestly, is the core of the problem as far as I can tell: maybe Zuko felt bad for saying what he did? But nowhere in the episode will you find him saying it aloud, which is the typical Zuko issue: more than once he does genuine damage with his actions or words to real people, whether people who were kind to him or people who should be important to him, and he barely ever vocalizes any apologies or remorse for those actions. Heck, right after insulting Ty Lee he tries to rile up Mai to fight Ty Lee because she insulted Mai’s aura? And all of it really is reduced to “he’s angry at himself”. See... I don’t mind the explanation one bit. But I do mind that he not only faces next to no consequences for that behavior (since merely acknowledging what he’s angry about is no actual display of remorse for how he behaved), but he also displays no signs of change or wanting to act differently, and the whole thing’s swept under a rug just because his firebending outburst looks very cool and dramatic. Thus, yes, it’s very easy to conclude, as you did, that Zuko lacks empathy and fails to recognize this as a problem altogether.

Though I will disagree with you in one regard and that is Mai. I... don’t think she displayed any empathy, frankly. She’s more down-to-earth than the others, I’d say, but the way she talks to both Azula and Ty Lee doesn’t really suggest any empathy to me. She’s adamant about making sure Zuko knows she’s mad at him, and while she kisses him at the end, it’s not some sort of “omg I’m so sorry Zuko I didn’t stop to think about your feelings :(((” sort of kiss, it’s a way of showing him she cares about him even if he’s a trainwreck... which, sure, might make Zuko happier, but it doesn’t necessarily mean she “understands” him or is particularly invested in helping him out of his cycle of self-hatred.

I guess that’s one potential factor why Zuko and Mai are so conflictive in canon, I don’t think either one is particularly empathetic with the other -- or with anyone else, maybe except Iroh in Zuko’s case, and only in Book 3. This is certainly why the two of them really should grow up, A LOT, before being in a relationship, but I suppose it’s one thing where ATLA is ironically terrible and brilliant simultaneously: they don’t sugarcoat how conflictive they can be, the way a fanfic writer might reduce their problems to nothingness and absolute irrelevance just because they ship it. So their relationship is absolutely not “romance goals”, but it feels like a genuine teenage romance because of that.

Still, that’s not what we’re talking about: I agree on the most part, Anon, though I suspect the conclusion you’ve reached, and that many of us can and will reach, isn’t quite what the writers and showrunners intended for us to conclude with that episode. We’ve always heard that Book 3 was supposed to feature a storyline about Azula being arranged in marriage to someone, a plotline that was scrapped because she would have had far more focus than they could afford giving her (and what a mistake that was xD). This episode is said to be a minimized version of that plotline, to explore these characters and their dynamics (as well as introducing the factor of Combustion Man’s hunt of Aang, which starts in this episode), only, it may have highlighted a few issues with the characters (especially with Zuko) that simply aren’t dealt with properly, probably because this episode wasn’t intended to do that. Sadly, many episodes weren’t intended to do that with Zuko :’)

A lot of people have criticized The Beach for a myriad of reasons, most of all that the episode is “meaningless filler” (I couldn’t disagree more, but not everyone can appreciate downtime for characters, not even when it expands your understanding of who they are), or that the Fire Nation gang shouldn’t be framed as a happy group of friends we all should love when they vandalized and burned down a house just because they were mad at perfectly innocent (if dumb) teenagers :’D but I guess maybe one secret reason some Zuko fans might not be happy with this episode is that it really doesn’t paint him in a good light altogether and they’re appalled by that?

Either way, I genuinely enjoy this episode because it humanized the characters, I’d say, and whether that humanization was flattering or not isn’t quite the most important element of the character work that was done this time. I guess I’ll spiral back to what I said above with Mai and Zuko: the show doesn’t sugarcoat the problems these four have, just as it doesn’t attempt to resolve them. Would I rather it had resolved them, at least a few of them? Personally, yes, though I doubt they could have done it in the span of a single episode. At the same time, I’m glad they didn’t hide these problems in the characters because they easily could have, so I’m grateful they didn’t do that. As usual, the problem with Zuko lies in the fact that a lot of people credit him with growth he never did, and values that he never displayed, that we would have to assume he learned just because he’s a better person now, not so much because we have solid evidence that proves he learned them at all. So it’s yet another issue with his character, and another thorn that pokes out of his redemption arc that shows it’s absolutely not as perfect and well-rounded as most his fans (and a lot of ATLA viewers) have convinced themselves it is.

#anon #I am sorry to everyone waiting for a reply #because I have been #a little consumed by a little story that isn't little at all #and well...#my heart's breaking in a million ways every day #might as well answer now before I start the mandatory waterworks tonight #sorry again for the delay <3

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jawritter · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 11

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Dean

Word Count: 2046

Warnings: Smut, unprotected smut, language, fluffish? insecurities, I think that’s about it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 12 will post tomorrow! Sorry if this one has mistakes that I completely missed, I had to edit this one on my phone, so it’s likely I missed something. A new chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

“Okay, I know it’s not a Christmas movie, but the Hatchman?” Dean asks, holding up a box set of DVD’s as turned to look at you, knelt in front of the TV.

“It’s your day baby, turn on whatever movie you want,” you tell him, and Dean grins widely as he turns and gets the TV going.

Yesterday had been a good day. You got to pick out a few Christmas Presents for everyone that you could bring back to the bunker. The whiskey tasting had been better than you anticipated, Dean especially appreciated that. It had been far more relaxing than what you had anticipated when the day had started yesterday.

The longer the day had gone on, the more Dean was able to loosen up completely. You were worried it had put a damper on his good mood. Dean had a tendency to brood, but by the time the two of you had gone to bed the night before he was completely back to his old self.

Crawling up on the couch, Dean situated himself a little makeshift nest of pillows and blankets before settling down and pulling you into his arms; bright green eyes glued to the screen as if he had never seen this particular movie before, even though he’d seen it at least a million times.

With him so distracted by the movie you had a chance to look at him, I mean really look at him. You had the chance to relish in the way his morning stubble, which was a good bit thicker this morning since he hadn’t bothered to shave, peppered along his perfect jawline. You got a chance to appreciate the light dusting of freckles that swept over his nose and under his eyes. Every perfect angle of his face seemed more enhanced in the morning light. His pink, plump lips were parted slightly as he focused on the movie playing in front of him. His eyes were bright and a lighter green that seemed to reflect the blinking lights of the Christmas tree.

Those same green eyes flicked from the movie to you, who was still curled up in his well-formed, muscular arms.

“Like what you see sweetheart? ‘Cause I can feel you staring?”

You blushed and hid your face in the bend of his shoulder, blushing furiously. Dean’s fingers brushed your hair away from your face and lifted your chin to look at him.

“What have I told you about hiding from me, pretty girl?” he asked, his face centimeters away from yours.

Giving you no time to respond his lips brushed over your own before placing a toe-curling kiss that was much deeper in their wake, sending heat throughout your body as he turned slighting and pulled you tighter against his still sweatpant clad body.

You melt into him as if you had turned to liquid. His lips glide with your own with ease, his tongue slipping past your lips as you moan lightly into his kiss, allowing him to taste you and pull you under further into the sea you seemed to have found yourself drowning in.

Your fingers trail over his shoulders and across this broad chest, enjoying the way his muscles seem to twitch and move as your fingers slipped across his shirt. His own hand slipping to your hip, gripping you tightly; his own growing excitement becoming more and more evident in the bulge in his sweats that grew further with each touch and brush of your lips across his own.

Suddenly, without warning, he broke the kiss, pulling away from you and laying back down on his back, clearing his throat, and focusing on the movie that was still playing on the screen in front of him.

You felt as if you had been suddenly dropped into an iced-over pool. Things went from progressively hot, to suddenly nothing. You literally felt like the rug had been pulled out from under you.

“Did I do something wrong?” the question slipped out of your lips before you could stop yourself. Dean’s attention shot back to you, once again fully focused on you.

“What? No, why would you think you did anything wrong?” he asked you, sitting up to look at you a little better.

His gaze was soft as he stared at you, and it made you feel really stupid.

“Well, for lack of a better way to put it, you were all over me, then suddenly you were lightyears away. What happened? Did I do something I shouldn’t have?”

Dean’s gaze softened further and for a moment, and you could have sworn a look of shame crossed his beautiful features. It made you want to immediately retract your statement.

“No, no sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, bringing his hand up to the side of your face before pecking you lightly on the lips as if somewhere deep down he was trying to apologize without saying anything. “I just...things were getting a little...things were moving a little fast, and I didn’t want you to feel as if I were pressuring you to have sex with me just because we’re together now,” he stuttered at first but finished in a rush.

You watched as a blush crept its way up to his neck and made its way up to his ears. It wasn’t often that Dean Winchester blushed, and that only affirmed how serious he was about this topic with you, though Dean had never been shy about sex before.

“Dean, you're not moving too fast for me, and I don’t feel pressured to do anything.”

He still looked unconvinced, so you grabbed his hand in yours and moved to sit on his lap, watching his eyes widen as you situated yourself over the still impressively there bulge in his sweats.

“Dean, how long have we known each other?”

Dean seemed to think about that for a moment, before answering. His face scrunched up in such an adorable way you almost forgot what you were talking about and started to kiss him again.

“Years, hell since we were kids,” he answered finally.

You nodded at him, letting your fingers make unsensible patterns across his chest and stomach, but never quite reaching the waistband of his sweatpants. You didn’t miss how his breath would hitch in his throat every time you got a little close, and you were enjoying teasing him.

“And in all those years you have never made me feel pressured or uncomfortable. Dean, we’re together now right?” you asked him innocently, and he nodded in response, finding it hard to concentrate with you touching him and sitting on him this way, he could feel his own resolve wavering the longer the two of you sat there.

“Then what in the world would cause you to think I wouldn’t want to be with you in every conceivable way?”

Either his resolve broke, or that was all the permission he needed, either way, he moved fast enough to make you squeal a laugh as he flipped the two of you over, quickly gaining the upper hand over your, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss that had your toes curling, and your brain turning into a pile of mush.

“Are you sure sweetheart?”

His eyes, even lust blown, showed how serious he was about this, and the fact that he wasn’t just trying to get in your pants.

“I’m sure Dean,” you tell him earnestly.

He smiled softly at you, kissing you more surely than he had a moment ago as he let his hands wander down the length of your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck all the way to that sweet spot behind your ear.

You felt like your body had been set on fire, every touch was amplified as clothing began to fall away and pile onto the floor. When there was nothing left to add to the pile on the floor, Dean sat back on his heels, taking you in with a hungry, lustful gaze that made you quiver underneath him; his cock already hard and leaking, but he paid it no mind.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbled to himself as you reached for his broad shoulders, pulling him back down to you, finding his lips with your own as your legs parted, letting him fit between them easily as if he had always belonged there.

He started to nip and bite his way down your collar bone as his throbbing length rutted against your soaked folds, teasing but never breaching your entrance, his spongy, swollen tip nudging against your clit in the most delicious way with each thrust of his hips.

Your fingers found their way to his short hair as he continued his assault on your throat, marking you as his for the whole world to see, and you didn’t care. You would wear every bruise proudly because they were his.

“Dean, please, no more teasing,” you beg him as your body begins to tremble underneath him, and his own breath becomes faster, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over his freckle kissed skin.

Dean gave you no warning, just captured your lips with his again, both of you swallowing each other’s moans as he slowly began to push his way inside of you, hips rocking back and forth slowly until his full, impressive length was fully seated inside your already trembling heat. The stretch and burn too much, but not enough. Dean was by far the biggest man you had ever been with. You had never felt this full in your life.

He was patient, peppering your face with little kisses, whispering praises in your ear as you adjust to his sheer size and girth, waiting for you to let him know it was okay to move.

Finally, when you were pretty sure you were able to relax your body completely you experiment rolled your lips against his, letting him know you were ready for him. The deep groan that left his chest as he sat a steady deep pace was almost enough to make you fall over the edge and he was steadily driving you towards alone. Never mind the fact that the tip of him was repeatedly hitting that place deep down inside of you that very few men had ever been able to hit.

No words were spoken, and very little sound was made aside from the light sound of his flesh melting your own, and the gentle breaths and groans that would mingle form the two of you. There was no need for impressive words or deep declarations of love. It was said loud and clear through every kiss, every touch, every press and pull of his body connecting with yours in the most intimate way possible.

As his body began to give and falter you found your release moments before he found his, and as corny as it sounds it felt as if the world had completely stopped turn, as if there was no one else, just you and him, two souls that were battered and broken but together made just a little more.

He worked you both through your highs, and when you finally came down your eyes opened to find a pair of wet, green orbs staring down into your own. His lips kiss swollen, and a light glazing of sweat on his flushed skin. He was so breathtakingly handsome that for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

If you thought something had shifted between the two of you before, you had not been prepared for the amount of love you felt for this man that was staring down at you with more love and adoration than you had ever had directed towards you in your life.

There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in your mind that you loved him, but you wouldn’t tell him, not yet, you still had two more days in paradise, and you weren’t going to throw that on him just yet, it would come but not today.

Today you would just spend the rest of the day discovering all the things about each other you had missed and never knew you were missing, and that would be enough.

Forever Tags:

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@onethirstyunicorn

@i-love-superhero

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@amandamdiehl

@miraclesoflove

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@softsebastian

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette

@hayleeharling

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@dirty-pan-goblin

@itmejado

@supernatural3002

@teresa-67

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@lunarmoon8

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@akshi8278

@love-jackles-37-blog

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@bobbie3939

Series Tag List

@440mxs-wife

#dean winchester #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester series #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn smut #jawritter #jensen ackles #x reader inserts #twelve days of christmas

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refinedbuffoonery · 3 years

Text

Flawless (5)

masterlist.

Content Warning: swearing, violence, sex, PTSD, background drug use

*****

Riley waited a full week before talking to Nikki again. Probably not her best move, but Nikki didn’t need to be such a baby either.

Hey we need to book flights, Riley typed.

The three dots appeared and disappeared several times before Nikki sent back, Come over. Let’s do it together.

Ok.

An hour later, Riley hesitated before knocking on Nikki’s apartment door. She didn’t know why. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet here she was, standing outside like a timid guest instead of letting herself in like she always did.

Deep breath. “This is ridiculous,” Riley muttered to herself. Her knuckles collided with the wood in three sharp knocks.

Muffled footsteps approached the door, and then Riley was met with Nikki’s soft smile. “Hey,” the blonde said.

“Hey.” Crossing the threshold, Riley didn’t know what to do with her hands. She tried to put them in her front pockets before realizing her jeans didn’t have pockets. Nikki would take crossed arms the wrong way, so Riley clasped her hands in front of her. That felt wrong too. She settled on clasping her hands behind her back, slightly widening her stance like a soldier.

She’d learned that from an Army guy her mom dated once.

Nikki grabbed her laptop and set it on the kitchen counter. Looking at the screen, she said, “I started looking at flights before you got here. They’re all pretty expensive because it’s Fashion Week, but I think I’ve found some good options.”

Riley kept her distance, but she said, “Whatever you think is best.”

Nikki’s eyes slid to her, disbelieving. “Are you sure?”

Riley tensed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You always have opinions on flights. Always.” That was true. When it came to running a job, Riley never let someone make a decision without her input.

But her apology had to start somewhere. If Desi, of all people, thought she needed to apologize, then she couldn’t just sweep this under the rug. And giving Nikki back some control after refusing to do so before seemed like a good place to start.

“You can pick. I trust you.” Riley shoved down the burning need to look over Nikki’s shoulder as her gut churned, unsteady and anxious without having complete control. She quickly wiped the grimace off her face, but it was too late. Nikki saw it.

“Riles, are you okay? You look like you’re going to puke.” Nikki studied her with a concerned frown.

Riley squeaked, “Yep. I’m good.”

Her friend wasn’t convinced. “You hate this, don’t you?”

“Just book the fucking flights, Nik.” She fought not to squirm the entire time Nikki worked, only relaxing after the deed was done and Nikki closed her laptop with a soft click.

“Need anything else?” Riley didn’t miss the clear dismissal in Nikki’s tone.

“Uh, yeah.” Riley awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, just to give her hands something to do. “Jill told me about that jewelry designer who rented out the Louvre,” she said. “That wasn’t just a casual conversation you two had, was it?”

Nikki glanced down. “No, it wasn’t. But you already knew that.”

“Why not just tell me yourself?”

“Because you wouldn’t have listened to me!” Nikki tried and failed to speak calmly, her normally calm exterior crumbling with each word. “When I questioned you in the kitchen, you pulled rank and basically told me to shut up. If I had suggested an alternative target, you would’ve blown up in my face right in front of everyone!” A pause. “You’ve changed. The Riley I know doesn’t do things like that.”

Her words stung, but Riley kept her expression neutral, the way she’d learned to do in prison. “Desi thinks I still hold a grudge against you.”

“Do you?” Nikki asked softly. So, so softly, almost like she was afraid of the answer.

Nikki’s change in tone and the apprehension lining her eyes was enough to make Riley lower her guard. Not all the way, but just enough to say, “I don’t know. Maybe.” Nikki swallowed. “It’s complicated,” Riley backtracked, desperately trying not to make things worse than they already were.

“So how do we fix this?” Nikki asked. “Fix us.”

Talk to her, Jill had said.

“Talk about it, I guess. Not all today,” Riley quickly added, “but over time.”

“Okay.” Nikki chewed her bottom lip, and Riley waited, knowing her best friend had something more to say. Nikki’s voice was thick when she finally said, “It’s okay that you’ve changed. Of course you have. It’s not fair of me to hold that against you. And I’m sorry that it’s my fault you had to change to survive in there.”

Neither of them could say the word aloud. Prison. Riley could barely imagine a future where she could easily say it.

“Do you really blame yourself?”

“It’s hard not to.”

“That’s why you visited me so much, isn’t it? Because you felt guilty.”

Nikki looked down. “It should’ve been me in there, not you.”

“Bullshit. I made a choice, and I’d do it again if I had to.” Riley wasn’t entirely sure the last part was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Clearly it was, because Nikki met her gaze, eyes brimmed with tears and a sad smile just barely curving her lips.

“Thank you, Riley.”

The moment hung heavy in the air between them. Riley felt it then, the gravity pulling her toward Nikki—the same force that drew them together outside that art gallery all those years ago, like the universe was telling her they needed each other. Riley spent much of the last two years cursing the universe, but this...this was the one thing the universe did right.

Riley closed the distance between them in two long steps, flinging her arms around Nikki and holding her best friend tight, letting the hug convey the last thing she needed to say.

I’m sorry.

Nikki clutched her just as tightly, like she was afraid Riley would disappear again if she didn’t hold on tight enough.

Breaking the silence, Riley asked, “Do you want to go shopping with me?”

“Like Target and the grocery store shopping? Or maxing-out our credit cards on Rodeo Drive shopping?” Riley snorted. This was normal. Like it was before.

“I, uhh, tried on all my party clothes the other day, and none of them fit anymore.” Riley tucked her face into Nikki’s neck, not wanting to see the pitying look on her friend’s face. She expected another comment, or for Nikki’s hand to feel her ribs, but neither happened. Instead, Nikki simply pressed a kiss to her temple and continued to hold her, with no sign of letting go any time soon.

Almost as if she were an anchor, refusing to let Riley get swept out to sea.

*****

Riley studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The metallic red mini dress she’d bought earlier clung to her curves like she’d been wrapped in plastic. She’d expected pity as she pulled it off the rack, but Nikki had been nothing but reassuring. Even after Riley had sent her from the dressing room again and again to grab a smaller size.

She’d left with a pile of clothes small enough to fit a wraith-like body like Cage’s.

Now the team was at an exclusive party at a mansion in the Hills—courtesy of Cage’s endless social connections—for a little fun. And by fun that meant stealing stuff from a notoriously overbearing, sexist, and overall obnoxious director. He had it coming, to say the least.

Desi had to work— “Drunk assholes won’t bounce themselves out of the club,” she’d snarked—but Jill agreed to tag along. That way she could get her feet wet in a real heist and show the rest of the team what she could do.

The four of them—Riley, Nikki, Cage, and Jill—huddled off to the side of the spacious living room as Cage explained the plan. “Get a load of this,” she said, a feral grin lighting her face. It was one of the things Riley admired most about Cage, her passion for the job. “Six months ago, this guy paid millions at auction for a miniature painting. But because of the crowd that attends his parties, he hides it in his personal safe in his office so nothing happens to it.”

Considering the utter debauchery all around her, Riley didn’t blame him. Every guest had either a drink or pills in hand, often both, and she vaguely recognized the actor snorting cocaine off the kitchen counter. In the darker, more private nooks of the mansion, people slunk to the shadows to devour each other in semi-private. Riley made a point not to look too long in those directions.

Jill clearly hadn’t yet learned to do the same. She asked, wide-eyed, “Whose house is this?”

Nikki gripped her chin and turned Jill’s attention back to the group. “It’s better that you don’t know.”

Frowning, Jill questioned, “Why?” Always so many questions with her.

“Because you’ll chicken out.”

“I will not!” she shrieked. Nikki just smirked. “Okay,” Jill amended in a much quieter tone, “maybe a little.”

“Anyway,” Cage redirected. “I’ll go into the office first and make sure it’s empty.” And remove anyone who is there, she didn’t have to say. “Riley and Nikki will hack the safe—” they both nodded— “and Jill will make sure you two don’t leave any evidence behind.”

Riley itched to get her hands on that safe. Stealing that random man’s wallet a week ago had only made her more hungry to get back out there, doing what she did best. She eyed her team. “Don’t get caught.”

“Don’t get caught,” Nikki and Cage parroted, just like old times, and then Cage melted into the crowd, making her way to the office.

The remaining trio followed at a much slower pace, pretending to admire the eclectic collection of artwork hanging from the walls. Riley’s cursory glance snagged on a cartoonish painting of a pug driving a Porsche on some tropical highway. The director had bizarre taste. Knowing Nikki was doing the same, Riley kept the office door in her peripheral vision, waiting for Cage to reemerge.

Meanwhile, Riley pulled her phone from her clutch. To any onlookers, she was merely responding to a text message, but in reality she was hacking into the director’s home security system. It was easy enough, since the whole thing was connected to his WIFI, and the director was dumb enough to leave his network accessible without a password.

Although, it wasn’t like bypassing a WIFI password would’ve slowed Riley Davis down.

Riley didn’t understand this guy. He hosted drug-fueled ragers in his mansion, yet also cared enough about security to have interior cameras. Why would he want proof of what happens within these walls?

Unless…

Gagging, Riley refused to finish that thought.

Cage emerged a few minutes later with a wasted middle-aged woman in tow. She met Riley’s gaze just long enough for two slow blinks. Coast is clear.

Riley looped the office camera feed so it only showed the empty office, giving them plausible deniability of ever going inside. “Let’s go,” Riley murmured. She slipped into the now-empty office, trusting Nikki and Jill to follow.

The director’s office, like the rest of the mansion, was ultra-modern, all sharp angles and sleek, black and white furniture. A distorted statue of a giraffe was the only exception, standing beside the door like a sentry. It’s glassy black eyes made it seem like it was watching them. Freezing, Riley checked the angle of the camera she’d looped. It matched the giraffe’s eye-level perfectly.

Sneaky bastard. The camera was in the giraffe’s eye. Clever, but creepy.

Embedded in the far wall, behind the director’s messy desk, the safe was relatively new and very high-tech. And while the fancier ones were always harder to crack, user-friendliness came at the cost of security. In the case of this particular safe, the battery compartment for the keypad was part of the keypad itself, so the batteries could be changed easily. But that also meant that by taking out the batteries, someone like Riley would then have direct access to the wires inside the keypad, and thus, an easily hackable way in.

Nikki slid on a pair of cotton gloves before taking out the batteries and wiring the keypad to Riley’s phone. Riley reached back to brush her curls out of her face, but Jill stopped her with a firm hand on her forearm.

“Don’t touch your hair. You don’t want any loose strands to fall on the floor.” Riley raised her brows but did as she was told. “You should’ve worn your hair up.” Jill gestured to her own meticulously pinned bun. No stray hairs would be escaping that thing.

“Good to know.” Riley turned her attention back to cracking the safe.

It took just under a minute.

“Losing your touch?” Nikki teased. “That took forever.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Once the safe was open, they didn’t waste time poking around. All they cared about was the painting, no matter what other valuable things the safe contained. The painting was even smaller than Riley had pictured. The canvas itself could’ve fit in the palm of her hand, and the frame made the whole thing about the size of a birthday card.

Nikki shoved the painting down the back of her dress, the frame’s sharp angles hidden beneath her ridiculous fringed suede jacket. Considering how well it hid the painting, maybe Riley shouldn’t have made fun of it. But only maybe. It was still ugly.

Riley and Nikki locked the safe, and the trio slipped out of the office undetected.

In short, the heist was flawless.

Nikki immediately peeled off, joining Cage in flitting around the room and saying hi to all sorts of people. Nikki seemed to actually know several of the guests, although not nearly as many as Cage did. Cage was acquainted with everyone worth knowing in LA, plus quite a few who weren’t.

Riley much preferred to be a fly on the wall, watching but not interacting.

Jill stayed back with her, mouth agape at all the blatant drug use. “I’ve lived in LA for a long time, so I know that happens here,” she said, “but, like, it’s different actually seeing it, you know?”

A young couple knocked back a handful of pills with shots of something clear, and Riley grimaced. “You can join in if you want, although I don’t recommend it.”

“Absolutely not!” Jill squeaked.

“Good choice.”

Nikki made her way back to them, slinging her arms around Riley and Jill’s shoulders. “Ready to go?”

Riley had been ready to go the moment they’d locked the safe. If Jill’s overwhelmed expression was any indicator, she was ready too.

All that was left to do was collect Cage.

The blonde stood across the room, batting her eyelashes at an attractive, dark-haired man. Her airy giggle floated above the pulsing music at something the man said. Jill coughed. “Umm…”

Riley quickly put her out of her misery. “It’s fine. Cage flirts with everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“She’s just like that,” Nikki added. “Stick with us long enough, and she’ll flirt with you too.”

“Doesn’t that upset Desi?” Riley and Nikki exchanged a knowing look. “Wait, what am I missing?” Jill hissed.

“So many questions,” Riley teased, linking arms with both blondes. Nikki laughed, and together they dodged wasted partiers on their way to grab Cage and go home.

~ Tag List ~ (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@macrileyedits / @hellishrose / @incorret-macgyver-quotes / @mylifequotesshowallofthem / @thecarrieonokay

#beth writes #flawless au #macgyver #riley davis #nikki carpenter #samantha cage #desiree nguyen #jill morgan #macgyver fanfiction

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reminiscing-writer · 4 years

Text

Let Him Talk

Mostly a way for me to project my feelings of how much I hate when the BAU team dismisses our boy Spence every time he starts to ramble.

Let the man speakkkk

Spencer Reid rambled. A lot. It didn't take long after joining the BAU for you to figure this little fact out.

The first time you witnessed this, was when Emily had asked him what he was doing for Halloween. Her question was followed by a long and detailed history of the fellow Doctors favorite holiday. His answer was followed by an eye roll from her.

After that, you and all your colleagues were seated on the jet. This was around the time when JJ was on her maternity leave, and Agent Seaver was conversing with Spencer. You heard her mumble a quick 'Sorry I asked'.

You knew the team never meant any harm by their dismissals, but you also knew it must sting Spencer. After all, you knew first hand what it was like to have your feelings swept under the rug. Slowly, you had started to indicate to Spence you were listening to his rambles. A small nod, a tiny smile.

Now, you and the team were all brainstorming ideas in the local Chicago police department. 4 female bodies in the past month. All of the women were bartenders from the same club. All seemingly poisoned.

You inhaled a sharp breath and pinched the bridge of your nose.

"I think I got it!" Dr. Reid came bursting into the room, grabbing everyone's attention.

Slowly all of the team members followed him back to the room he was working on. Papers and books were scattered all over the floor. (After all, he always said he worked best on the ground.)

His hands got into the weird crab position before the words even left his lips. "The most common date rape drugs- also called club drugs- are flunitrazepam, gamma hydroxybutyric acid, and ketamine. These drugs may come as pills, liquids, or powders. The very few witnesses we do have, all said the same thing. Our vic's were all employees, and as the night went on, they all started to speak with slurred speech, and had a clouded look glaze their eyes. Now, we already now that those are symptoms, or rather, side effects of these 'date rape drugs'," he uses his fingers to air quote, "but-," his explanation continues, when Hotch shoots me a look with raised eyebrows.

The team knew you were all-ears when it came to the Doctors rambles, but even you could see that you were all short on time.

"Spence," you cut him short. You walked closer to him, holding strong eye contact, "The point." He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What is it that you figured out?" You clearified.

"Oh," he blinked, "um- right. The girls mustve been roofied with the standard Rohypnol. Obviously, they wouldn't be allowed to drink on the job. But, they were bartenders, and they would need to drink something. Assuming they have their own water bottles, that's our best bet."

As soon as the Boy Genius stopped speaking, the team quickly rustled out of their seats. Hotch barked orders for Morgan and Rossi to follow him to the workplace of the victims, while Emily and JJ were told to go to the coronors office. You and Spence were instructed to head over to the evidence lockers and look for the girls water bottles.

You jumped to your feet, and before you turned away from Spencer, you quickly stepped closer to him. "Sorry, for cutting you off earlier." You apologized softly.

He shrugged with a half smile, "I'm used to it." He adjusted his satchels strap on his shoulder.

You playfully nudged him with your elbow, smiling, "You can finish your ramble on the plane." His eyes seemingly softened, "Promise." You jokingly blew him an air kiss.

He was right. As he always was.

The owner of the bar was drugging the girls water bottles. Not a big enough dose to affect them right away, but enough so that it took them out slowly throughout the day. After their shifts ended, he would play Knight-in-Shining-Armor, and offer them a 'ride home'.

Luckily, Morgan had got a confession out of the bastard before they even got him back to the Police Station. Turns out, he was a bigger wuss than you all thought.

Wrapping up the case was followed by all of team piling back into the tiny jet which brough you guys to Illinois. Emily and Rossi were laughing over a silly game of chess. Hotch was on the phone with Jack, same as how JJ was on FaceTime call with her boys.

You were wrapped up reading a book, seated next to Spence.

He had an eidetic memory. You, however, did not. So, you seemingly forgot about something that was bugging him. Frankly, you barely noticed how the fellow Doctor kept peeping over to you with shy eyes.

He cleared his throat, softly calling you by your nickname, then quickly apologizing for interrupting your reading.

You look over to him, putting an index finger where your reading had paused, "It's alright," you smiled nodding him to go on with his question.

"It's just," he scratched the back of his neck, "you had said that you were interested in listening to the rest of what I had to say about the drugs earlier," he spoke quickly and unsurly, "and if you really were up for it," he seemed to trail himself off.

Your brain clicked at the previous 'promise' you had given him, "Yes! Spence, you gotta remind me, I forgot." You laughed, pulling your legs up onto the seat, and turning your body towards him, "Educate me." You closed the book you were reading, and stuffed it into the back of the seat in front of you.

"Okay," Reid seemed unsure for a split second. All of his confidence slowly found place in his words, as he saw that you were truly interested in his facts. How your eyes lit up at his sentences, and how you would follow his hands actions.

You were fascinated by the man before you.

Why wouldn't you be. Can you imagine having a friend who knows so much? How would you not be endlessly fascinated and enamored? He’s so cute and brave and brilliant and these people do not give him the respect and credit he deserves.

The last italic part ⬆️ is literally a copy and paste from an OG post of @x-maegana-x

Their post is what honestly really inspired me to write this piece. So hey. Huge credit to them 👌🏻

#spencer reid #spence #spencer reid imagine #reid and reader #criminal minds #light fluff #let him talk

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cosimuhs · 4 years

Text

haven’t seen you (since i was your little girl)

“Oi, Poppins, there’s a lady here to see ya,” she barely gets out, before the woman is turning and Dani’s face is falling, hands grappling for purchase on her pots.

“Mom?”

[or: Jamie has never been good with parents, but this? This feels important.]

read on ao3 or under the cut!

It’s a slow afternoon when the bell on the door jingles open, bringing with it a brisk wave of autumn air.

Honestly, as much as Jamie grumbles about it, autumn in Vermont has grown on her. She’s not one to celebrate the death of plants lightly (unless it’s a pesky invasive species) but there is something to be said about New England foliage. In quite the contradiction, it feels like life is abound in these months - the crunch of leaves and the brightness of Dani’s laugh that settles deep in Jamie’s chest.

As the heat of the summer slips and then disappears altogether, so does her personal space. In the newfound chill, Dani takes it upon herself to warm up, not with extra layers, but by pressing as close as possible — in the street, their joined hands stuffed into Jamie’s jacket pocket, shoulders knocking, or in the middle of the night, when Jamie will wake up, half off the bed, a pile of blonde hair heavy on her sternum.

Yeah, it definitely is one of her favorite seasons.

The only downside is the dip in sales, people sequestered at home against the chill, not looking to start gardening as they face the winter head on. Not to mention, as the months trip slowly past the autumnal equinox, the housewives who pop in, begging for mistletoe and holly in the middle of October.

The woman who has just entered, greying around the temples with lines of age deeply indented around her eyes, seems like just the type, and Jamie steels herself to send her packing for another month or two.

She looks strangely surprised to see Jamie, which is dumb because it’s her bloody shop, and even more taken aback at the lilt in her accent when she asks if the woman needs her help. That at least, she’s well acquainted with, because for some reason, no one in this town is aware that Brits exist.

So caught up in her stewing, she almost misses when the woman speaks. Almost.

“Maybe I got the wrong shop,” she mumbles, wringing her hands.

Jamie has to try hard to tamp down her annoyance because, really, what kind of product do you expect from a store called The Leafling?

Instead she tips on her customer service smile, the one that Dani says makes her look like she swallowed a lemon. “What were you looking for?”

“Who,” the woman corrects and pauses long enough that Jamie thinks this odd lady is not going to provide any other information before she continues.

“I’m looking for Danielle… er — Clayton. Danielle Clayton.”

There’s something familiar about the woman, yet Jamie doesn’t recognize her as one of their regulars. Even weirder, Jamie has never heard anyone refer to Dani as Danielle in her entire life.

“Ah, she’s out at the minute, but she should be back soon,” Jamie says, and she’s about to ask how and why and who, but the lady must see the confusion in her eyes and cuts her off.

I’m Karen,” the woman adds helpfully, as though that will clear literally anything up for her.

“Okay, Karen,” she says, drawing out the vowels and trying desperately not to roll her eyes at the lack of context. “I’m Jamie…?”

Karen’s shoulders have dropped from around her ears, the worry lines fading into her forehead now that she knows she’s in the right place, though the anxious energy surrounding her doesn’t completely dissipate.

There’s a spark in Karen at Jamie’s introduction, like her name means something.

And.

The familiarity is scratching at the base of her neck, that feeling where you know you should know something, but it’s an inch past your reach and you’re forced to scrabble aimlessly, trying to connect the dots. She knows , can place this stranger in the swirl that connects the two of them, but she just can’t name it.

Thankfully, the door is pushing open again before she can guess, this time bringing in the object of their conversation, windswept and harried as she nudges hair from her eyes with a wrist, arms laden with multicolored arrangements.

Dani looks beautiful like this, cheeks flushed from the cold, even with the scowl on her face.

Her afternoon has been filled with endless options and the sharp bite of a bridezilla who needs everything to be practically perfect and Jamie knows Dani can’t wait to let the long day soak away, curl up with Jamie and a strong cuppa — said as much before she left the sheets this morning.

She’s going to close up shop early tonight, she decides the second she sees the strain in Dani’s shoulders, and help release the tension in other ways.

They just need to get rid of Karen first.

“Oi, Poppins, there’s a lady here to see ya,” she barely gets out, before the woman is turning and Dani’s face is falling, hands grappling for purchase on her pots.

“Mom?”

And oh .

Shite.

They have the same eyes, Jamie realizes belatedly, and the aging woman in front of her clicks into place with the grainy childhood photos Dani has tucked away in their apartment.

Karen — Mrs. Clayton — steps forward, enveloping Dani in a clumsy hug around the planters clutched to her chest. Dani doesn’t move to put them down, and Jamie would think it’s all rather laughably awkward if Dani weren’t looking at her over her mother’s shoulder, mouth set and pleading.

“How did you — Why are you… here?” Dani asks like she doesn’t really want to know the answer and Jamie’s chest aches because she knows Dani is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Thinks her mother has come to convince her to move back yet again, or to make her feel bad about leaving in the first place all these years later.

Could never just be a trip to see her daughter.

Jamie knows Dani has told Mrs. Clayton about her, on their sporadic calls throughout the years. Not about them necessarily, but that they work together, live together. Dani had never said they were just roommates, but her mother assumed and she never bothered to correct her.

Even still, it’s a warmth with which she is greeted by Dani’s mother that she wasn’t expecting, one that must have emerged in the years following Dani’s maturation if the look on her wife’s face is any indication.

“I looked you up in the Yellow Pages!” Mrs. Clayton looks remarkably proud of herself, her palm still warm on Jamie’s forearm. “I figured not many flower shops have the same name in Vermont.”

Dani cringes and Jamie almost snorts, knows she’s regretting telling her mother the name of their store right about now.

Mrs. Clayton pushes forward, not even noticing the strained energy of the room.

“I’ll be here for a few days, in the inn down the road,” she beams. “I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to come out here!”

There’s a reason she hasn’t been invited. After years of bombarding Dani with questions of when she’s coming home, not willing to listen to the truth of she’s not, not now or ever, it seemed the pestering had suspiciously disappeared.

Now they know why.

Jamie clocks the quiet resignation that settles in the slope of Dani’s shoulders, but she thinks she sees a spark of eager excitement, smothered and tamped down, behind the solemnity.

Well. No way to avoid this now.

She’s hardly a religious person, but she sends up about ten Hail Marys in preparation for the evening, splayed long and endless, before her:

“You staying for dinner, then?”

---

Supper is maybe the worst thing Jamie’s ever sat through, and she had had to deal with Peter Quint for a good portion of her life.

She ruins the chicken and usually, Dani would grin, wide and teasing, before kissing her breathless against the stovetop.

This time, she sends an exasperated sigh towards the heavens and orders Chinese.

It’s stilted and uncomfortable and she finds herself constantly trying to stay afloat in this weird staring competition that Dani and her mother have got going on. Mrs. Clayton had already tried to mention Eddie, and Dani’s curt, “Don’t,” and the way her eyes flashed over the tableware had thankfully been enough to snap her mother’s mouth shut.

Dani had told her once, the hum of her words spilling into the dark warmth of their bedroom, that her mother had started truly caring about her too late, too removed. By the time she came around to the fact that she had a daughter worthy of time investment, Dani was past caring, had already learned to seek shelter in other, different people — too burned.

And now they’re here. At an impasse - mother and daughter who know nothing about each other, when it really comes down to it - who have spent decades tiptoeing around the mutual hurt and pain of being pushed to the side. Swept under the rug in favor of brief and surface level phone calls since Dani left for London.

Yet, Dani is so open, so achingly vulnerable always, in her emotions, that Jamie can see the longing drawn in the soft lines of her every time she hangs up the phone, sees the way Dani wants, violently, to tip headfirst into the notion that her mother means it this time around, right at the dinner table.

Jamie has been rough around the edges her whole life and she has never, ever been good with parents and, luckily, hasn’t had much opportunity in her life to make her impressions worse.

But this — Dani’s parent — feels important.

So she fills the space between by talking about hydrangeas, her favorite brand of manure composite, and whether she dabbles in vegetable growing. With each breath, she watches Dani breathe out of the corner of her eye, loosening in tune with the flow of Jamie’s brusque accent.

By the end of her blabbering, Dani is giggling at a particularly bad joke she makes and Mrs. Clayton eyes her daughter curiously across the tablecloth.

“Well, I would love a tour of your apartment, ladies,” Mrs. Clayton claps, and it jars Dani so much the table shakes when her knee jumps.

Her knee is the last of Jamie’s worries as she meets Dani’s wide eyes, because she totally forgot that they only have one bed, and how in the fuck are they supposed to just be roommates now?

Dani’s entire body has returned to rigid, fingers white-clenched on her chopsticks and Jamie longs to reach over, smooth her fingers over the groove of knuckle, kiss the promise sitting mercifully unnoticed on her ring finger.

Christ, this is so not how Jamie imagined the evening going.

“Sure,” Jamie yelps. “Why don’t you take a look around the living room while we clear up?”

She ignores Mrs. Clayton’s protestations and politely pushes her towards the record player in the corner as Dani fills the sink with warm, soapy water and they settle into a well worn routine; hip to hip against the counter, one washing and one drying.

“I’ll just be Bert the Chimney Sweep tonight, Poppins,” she murmurs, stroking a subtle hand down the length of Dani’s back when she’s sure Mrs. Clayton is distracted with the photographs on the wall.

Dani rolls her eyes.

“Bert was Mary Poppins’ love interest,” Dani whispers, but the corner of her mouth tilts up and she sags into Jamie’s touch for a moment.

“Allegedly,” she lobbies back, revelling in the grin she gets over the suds.

“I am serious, though,” Jamie continues, knocking Dani’s elbow gently with her own. “Just say I’m in the process of moving out or something and I’m crashing on the couch for a few days, that’s all.”

Jamie can see the moment that Dani decides, what she decides. Can read it plain as day on the face of the woman she loves more than life, in the curve of her lips and the set of her jaw.

“Are you sure?” They’re words from another time, another life, but Jamie means it just as much this time — would rather prioritize comfort, security, over rash decisions.

“I am always sure about you,” is the reply and Dani looks at her so softly, so carefully, that Jamie thinks she could cry, heart ricocheting against her ribcage.

---

She does it in the most Dani Clayton way possible.

“Mom, this is our bedroom,” Dani says, syllables burning quiet and destructive, nostrils flaring. “Where we sleep together.”

Jamie doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not what happens.

Mrs. Clayton nods thoughtfully, brushing past the door frame to inspect the plant prints above the bed. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, fingertips running over the worn paperback on Jamie’s side table.

Finally clears her throat, thick and sticky.

“It’s a lovely apartment, Danielle.”

Dani’s mother glances up, meets their surprised faces, turns towards Jamie. “It seems like a lovely life you’ve built together.”

“You… Oh?” Dani manages, her calm belied by the tremble in her voice.

Jamie is frozen watching it all, the beauty of it unfolding in front of her with bated breath.

“I may not be a great mother, but I’m hardly an idiot,” Mrs. Clayton chides with no real malice.

At this, Dani’s eyes well up and she stumbles forward to sink onto the mattress, mouth opening and closing without a sound.

Jamie shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, suddenly feeling like she is intruding. Wants to give the pair the time they so desperately need from each other.

“Tea, Mrs. Clayton?” Her voice sounds loud in the still acceptance and she thinks she says something about Dani being terrible at it but her ears are buzzing too loudly for her to be sure.

“Please, call me Karen,” Mrs. Clayton says for the umpteenth time, and Dani lets out a watery laugh and nods, fingers slipping over Jamie’s briefly in quiet reassurance. She will be okay by herself, and if she isn’t, she trusts Jamie to help her pick up the pieces.

She dips her head and excuses herself quietly, winking sweetly and reveling in the faint blush that pinks Dani’s cheeks.

The apartment is quiet for a while and if Jamie makes more noise than usual putting the kettle on to give them their privacy, then no one has to know.

The drinks have long gone cold by the time they emerge, raw and yawning in the waning candlelight. Mrs. Clayton bundles herself into her coat when she sees the time, clutching her daughter’s hands in her own, and Dani hugs her, actually hugs her, eyes red rimmed and gentle.

“I would love to see you both tomorrow,” Mrs. Clayton looks at Jamie with Dani’s cheekbones, Dani’s kindness, and smiles.

It feels like approval.

---

After, when the door is long shut behind her and Dani has flicked on the television, feet curling under Jamie’s thigh, they will breathe again.

“All good?”

Dani looks at her with those mismatched eyes and presses a kiss to her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Keeps peppering long soft pecks until Jamie has to lean forward to capture her in a proper kiss, lips slotting together easily, eagerly.

Thank God for those Hail Marys because this is definitely her heaven.

Jamie gets lost in it, has barely been able to kiss this woman all day. Can feel the tightness in her chest unwind when Dani sighs into her, pulls her close and vows not to let go, maybe not ever with the way Dani’s hand is winding around her neck. She makes a little noise in the back of her throat and Jamie cracks open, splintering into oblivion to settle within Dani’s bones.

When they finally separate, foreheads tipped together, lips swollen and hair mussed, delight is written in every curve of Dani’s body.

She is radiant.

“All good.”

#the haunting of bly manor #thobm #dani x jamie #damie #the haunting of bly manor fanfiction #mine #dani clayton #jamie #my fic

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 27 - Loyalty

Title: Irreverent Pt. 27 - Loyalty Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: R Words: 1133

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"What're you doing tonight?" You and Hotch were the last ones to leave the office, having stayed late to finish up all the paperwork that had been piling on him. Penelope mostly did the case selection part, but with JJ also a profiler now, he was pulling double duty still as Unit Chief and Media Liaison and the work was seemingly endless.

"Picking up Jack from daycare and grabbing a pizza for dinner," he admitted as you pressed the button for the elevator. You smiled at that. Hotch was a stickler for healthy eating when it came to Jack, so pizza was a treat for him. "You wanna come? I know Jack would love it if you did." The As would I went unspoken.

You looked at him and nodded, accepting the invite. It was just as well, as you had something you wanted to talk to him about. Ever since the day on the plane, you two had returned almost entirely to pre-Emily dying normal. Which meant that you and Jack saw each other frequently. It had been about a month and while being back to normal was great, you two had swept a lot unsaid under the rug and you'd come to the conclusion that in the spirit of being emotionally healthy it was good to address it. This presented a good opportunity.

You offered to grab the pizza while Hotch picked up Jack. Apparently it was a busy night for pizza because you were told it would be a while before it was ready. After texting him the ETA, you decided to go home and change out of your work clothes and into what was essentially loungewear.

By the time you arrived, both Hotch and Jack had cleaned up and changed. Jack was helping to set the table while Hotch picked out a bottle of wine for the two of you to share. He'd brought up the alcohol thing with you after you two made up and you'd told him that it had been the only way you could manage to fall asleep most nights when you were alone at home. However, you'd gone cold turkey on the solo drinking after a bit and he knew that it was back under control. He had been relieved and so proud of you, knowing how hard that must've been.

When you arrived it seemed like you'd had a chance to go home and change into comfier clothes. He relished these little looks into the part of your life that he didn't get to see very often. The Y/N he saw at the office that was always put together versus the one he got to see in these moments. To him, you still looked effortlessly beautiful wearing leggings and a sweatshirt. He recognized the sweatshirt as his own that he'd thought he'd misplaced a while back.

"Hey, come on in. Where'd you get that shirt?" He asked, grabbing the pizza box from you.

You looked down at the sweatshirt you'd thrown on and realized that you had no idea how you'd acquired. "I have no idea, why?"

"Pretty sure it's mine." His face had this soft teasing smile that made you blush ever so slightly.

You looked at it again, attempting to read the letters backwards. It was from his law school. That jogged something in your memory and you remembered when you'd gotten this particular article of clothing. "Oh, I think JJ gave it to me when she was helping me at the hospital back when Emily…," you trailed off knowing he knew what you meant.

Hotch nodded but didn't want to dwell on that night. Instead, he smiled again and led you in to where Jack was at the dining table. Turning around as you followed him, he said, "Well, you should keep it. Looks better on you anyways."

You laughed as you hugged Jack hello. The three of you managed to have a really nice dinner of pizza and wine (grape juice diluted with water for Jack) and listened to Jack regale you with stories from daycare. By the time Hotch was done cleaning up and you'd helped Jack get ready for bed, it was late, but at least you didn't have work the next day.

When you exited Jack's room, slowly closing the door, Hotch was waiting for you with a second glass of wine. You grabbed the glass from him and the two of you sat down on the couch. "So, what's on your mind?" he asked, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

"How do you do that?" How do you just know?" you asked in amazement. Hotch had a way of knowing when you had something you wanted or needed to talk about.

He shrugged, but beckoned you to move closer so you guys could talk without being too loud and waking Jack. You sat your glass of wine down on the coffee table and moved so you were right next to him. You took a deep breath, knowing he was listening to and watching you with his complete attention.

"I'm glad we're good now," you began softly, looking ahead instead of at him. He murmured a agreement. "But, you shouldn't have been the only one to apologize."

You turned to look at him and his soft brown eyes looked at you with such warmth. He must've sensed that you had to get this out, because he didn't interrupt.

"I am so sorry. I abused your loyalty to me and forced you into lying on the report. I know what you went through with Elle, and I knew that if you could you'd help and I abused that. I am sorry for doing that - for taking advantage of who you are. It was incredibly selfish and unfair and I am so sorry for putting you in that position."

He was really quiet as he listened. He didn't know if he could tell you that he'd lie for you a million times over if need be. He'd pretty much hit pause in telling you how he truly felt, a long time ago. So instead he said, "Okay. Apology accepted. However, you should know that even if you hadn't put me in the position - you could've told me your intent and I would've done anything to help you regardless."

You nodded, a small watery smile on your face. "I know. Thank you."

Hotch looked at you for another second more before bringing his arm around you and pulling you in to him. The action caused butterflies in your stomach as you wrapped your other arm across his stomach and curled into his side. The two of you sat on the couch together until Jack found the two of you like that the next morning, fast asleep.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #irreverentseries

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joonsdiary · 4 years

Text

the engagement

↳ part four of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing: seokjin x reader (female) genre: arranged marriage au // fluff, angst, humour word count: 6,5k

chapter summary: every fleeting glance, every soft touch—each gesture piles onto an insurmountable mountain of feelings you’d rather not have for seokjin.

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

“Big day tomorrow,” you looked up to see your mother approaching. She slid into the booth where you’ve been sitting comfortably for the last half-hour, trying to get your work done. It was rare to see Hwang Youngmi gallivanting in your hotel, much less the Grigio; to say you were surprised seemed like an understatement. You greeted her with a patient smile and attempted to get back to work. You had homework to catch up to, after all.

“I saw what the tabloids said about your date with Seokjin last night.” Youngmi paused, calling out for a waiter. You rolled your eyes when she ordered a cosmopolitan. It was ten in the morning, for crying out loud. But you knew better than to question the woman.

“Oh yeah? Good things, I hope.”

You meant that. You (and possibly Seokjin, you were unsure) had been working double overtime to make the romance sell. Every gesture, every hand holding, every smile; you convinced yourself it had all been for the sake of your precious hotel.

Granted, you’ve only gone on one other date since you visited the Kim Hotel. Despite coordinating schedules with Seokjin, you had to take a rain check on two other dates you were supposed to have. You had no qualms about the matter, and instead poured several dates worth of PDA on one night it would make Taehyung gag with approval.

“Yes! They’ve even dubbed you as the Tamer. I don’t know how you did it either, dear.”

You rolled your eyes at the name, biting back a smile. Kim Seokjin was far from being tamed, but you entertained the possibility if it had been real. Would you be able to hold down Seokjin for yourself and make him commit? You may never know.

“But, as I said, big day tomorrow,” she sighed wistfully, taking a sip of her freshly delivered cosmo. “I know it’s just an engagement reveal but letting the public know just makes it feel more real.”

“Uh-huh,” you replied without much thought. Your mother grew quiet for a while, and you can feel her stare on you. Ever since dinner on Monday night, she had been amicable, listening to your stories and actually making conversation with you. For other people, that would be a normal thing a mother does. But not Youngmi. She was used to getting her way, each word becoming the ultimatum. Therefore, the mere fact that you went into business and did not become a lawyer like she had wanted for you placed a huge strain in your relationship.

“You could have told me, you know,” she said softly. You looked up from your laptop, eyes wide in mild shock and confusion at her tone.

“About what?”

“When you began liking Seokjin and taking this arrangement seriously,” her eyes moist and you fidgeted, unsure of what to say.

“Oh, that.” Guilt bubbled from the pit of your stomach, crawling its way up to your throat. You scratch the nape of your neck as you think about the future, months from now when you’ll be divorced from him. What would your mother say, then? “It just kind of…happened. When he came here to visit me almost a week ago I — it was an instant attraction.”

You tried to keep it as simple as possible to avoid getting tangled in a bigger mess. When it came down to it, at least you were telling one half of the truth.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she began softly, and you closed your journal and gave her your full attention, feeling like you owed it to her. “I know you may think that your father and I drove your business under because we hated you for it, but that was far from what we intended.”

She fiddled with her manicured nails, unable to look you in the eye. Was she giving you the talk? After a huge argument you had with your parents about the hotel’s finances, you made a pact to yourself about not bringing it up with them anymore. Mostly because you always circled back to the same topic of not being able to live up to their dreams for you.

“Your father had the intention of helping you out, and we thought we could, but…” she paused, sighing morosely. “You have to believe me when I say that selling it to the Kims had been a ‘break in case of emergency’ type of decision. They agreed to the purchase but had their concerns regarding their son — hence the marriage.

“I had to agree because I know how much this place means to you; otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed. You know how much I distrust billionaires.”

You both laughed at the comment.

Before you were shipped off to college once upon a time, life with your mother and father were fairly simple. You understood their lack of presence in your large home, as they’ve drilled in your mind constantly that they were working hard to provide for the family. But there was only you, who had been left alone with several housekeepers throughout your youth and young adult life.

That was something you know you might not be able to forgive them for, and your mother knew that. Her attempt at patching up your relationship, despite her unconventional way of doing so, warmed your heart a little.

“When Seokjin’s father suggested to us the idea of having you marry their son, your father was furious — offended by the thought of giving away his only daughter. I convinced him it might be the only way to save the hotel, and perhaps you won’t hate us as much as you already do. That’s why I’d been initially reluctant of sharing the details of the marriage with you.”

Her lips quivered, tears threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes. The sincerity broke your heart.

“Mom, you should have told me sooner,” you chastised, grabbing both of her hands into yours. “We could have found another way.”

“I didn’t want to see you scrape the bottom of the barrel. Getting by without money is hard, Y/N. I know if that happens and you lose your hotel, you wouldn’t ask us for help and close off, which I know is my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you didn’t want to become a lawyer.”

She gently tugged your arm and pulled you into a warm hug. Your heart wrenched painfully as she sobbed on your shoulder, unable to hold back your tears. You wiped them away quickly before she pulled back.

“Look at me, ruining a celebratory mood,” she laughed nervously, and you can tell she was gauging your reaction. “I’m sorry to be telling you all of this now. But you’re getting married so soon and I’m just…”

“It’s alright, Mom,” you offered a reassuring smile. “Better late than never, right?”

She laughed, genuine this time, as she rubbed your forearm gently.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, though,” you pout, suddenly feeling childish again.

“I don’t expect to be,” she said candidly, taking another sip of her drink. “I’m not a day drinker but wow, now I realize why people say alcohol gives you courage.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “I was wondering why you ordered an alcoholic drink at ten in the morning.”

“I only needed a slight push to get me through the fear.” She admitted, patting your arm softly. You grin before turning your attention back to your notes.

“I’m really glad you’ve grown fond of Seokjin. It would have made me feel guilty for the rest of my life if I had let you marry off just like that,” her eyes were soft and you looked away, afraid that you might share something you shouldn’t.

“Yeah. It feels wrong marrying solely for business.”

The sentiment was said more for yourself than for your mother. No matter which angle you viewed your situation, it was all sorts of odd. But the real world is often unforgiving, and you found yourself wondering if your mother was right; what will have become of you, if not for their rash decision? But at the same time, just because the situation happened to work in your favour, doesn’t mean their unwise decision can be swept under the rug.

You arrived at a conundrum: Morals told you to turn away, but behind it was the reality of losing everything you worked for. It was as if you couldn’t have both.

Maybe the answer was to not overthink it. Ignorance is bliss, after all, so you shelve the thoughts for another day.

“I’ll leave you to it, dear.” Your mother sighs as she slid off the booth. “By the way, remember to bring up how your father had chickened out; he was supposed to accompany me today.”

You laughed at the thought — your father had always been too shy to confess how he truly felt, that much you know of. “I’ll bring it up over tomorrow’s dinner.”

She paused, her lips pursing, attempting to recall something important. “I extended the invitation to Seokjin. Surprise.”

Your eyes widened, but your mother only replied with a playful wink before she turned away.

“That sly woman,” you groaned as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You remembered that Seokjin gave you his number the night prior — you joked that he was playing hard to get by not giving it sooner — and you pulled out your phone.

𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸.

There’s no instant reply, and it doesn’t come as a shock to you if he was busy in a meeting. So, you shot another text.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦?

And another.

𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘴.

You set the device face down and decided that waiting for a text back was futile. Your phone vibrated two minutes later, proving you wrong.

𝖠𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 𝗀𝗈, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. There was a text that followed.

𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋-𝗂𝗇-𝗅𝖺𝗐.

𝘚𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘺

𝖨 𝖺𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌.

𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺

𝖨𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖨’𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾.

𝘏𝘢-𝘩𝘢. 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺.

;)

“Ha! An emoji. He has a personality, ladies and gentlemen,” you exclaimed a little too loud bemusedly. This earned you a couple of looks from patrons trying to eat brunch, but you were too preoccupied with your own amusement to care.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰

You were about to set your phone down once more when another notification came through. One glance at the screen caused you to freeze.

“Can’t wait to see you?”

Your stomach performed backflips.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

With your heart drumming wildly against your ear, you opened the message.

𝖢𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

You inhaled slowly through your nose and exhaled quickly through your mouth, feeling lightheaded. You misread it; let heaven rejoice! The period in between the two words and the absence of the word “to” made all the difference in the world. Who knew?

You gathered your wits long enough to give a nondescript reply.

𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦.

You instinctively reach for your cup of coffee, only to find it empty. A thought occurred in your caffeinated brain. “Must be the sugar, and the caffeine, of course. I’m always jittery when I drink coffee. Yup. Good ol’ caffeine.”

You struggled to study for the next hour.

* * *

“Congratulations on the engagement, Seokjin,” one of the board members clapped his back a little too friendly as they walked out of the conference room. He gave a polite smile. “I’m surprised to see you settling down so quickly.”

The added comment made Seokjin’s eye twitch in annoyance. The hell do you care about my personal life?

“Ready to join the married life like the rest of you, old heads,” he attempted a small banter, which brought the man laughing a little too forcefully. Throughout his tenure as COO, he’s learned a thing or two about how to navigate his way around men and women like this one, who was trying to make empty small talk. He knew well enough the intentions behind the action.

“Well, get ready to miss the bachelor life. It’s only good for a couple of months. Then the real struggle begins,” the man laughed, but Seokjin found no humour in his statement. For someone so adamant about pointing out he should settle down before they make him CEO, the man was doing a pretty bad job at convincing him to stay married.

But he knew better.

He grew up in a household where there was no shortage of love, and they came in the form of Mr. and Mrs. Kim. Throughout much of his childhood and young adult life, he witnessed how the infatuation between his parents never wavered. ‘Til death do us part, indeed.

“I’m sure Seokjin here had his fill of the bachelor life.” His father swooped in and rescued him from the clawed board member. “Isn’t that right, son?”

“As I said, I’m ready to join the married life like you, old heads.” For a few months, at least.

The corners of his father’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled genuinely, eyes misting but not for a second longer. When his father is at work, he never showed anything that would make him seem weak. Not because he questioned his masculinity, but he knew that predators lurked around to sink their teeth into any raw emotion that’s shown, before tearing their prey apart. His father had learned that the hard way, too.

The rest of them also gave curt congratulations, and Seokjin narrowly escaped the rest of the staff’s onslaught. Mina gave him a small smile, followed by the same four words as he passed by her desk on his way to the office. Seokjin laughed and shook his head, thanking her, nonetheless.

He walked back to her desk a few seconds later with a burning question.

“Is there a message from her?” he said without further elaboration, knowing that Mina would know who he’s speaking about.

He checked his phone earlier, but there was nothing. He asked Mina if there was an e-mail or a phone call just to be thorough, is all. She shook her head and began typing on her computer.

“Did you want me to make a call? Or would you rather send an e-mail?”

Seokjin winced. When Mina said it like that, it sounded wrong on all accounts. Who the hell e-mails their fiancée a “congratulations to us both” after announcing their engagement? The level of cringe was through the roof on that one.

“Can you order a bouquet, instead? The usual?”

Mina nodded, having been well-versed at the art of calling flower shops to send to his dates every time they attempted to ask for another dinner. There was always a card accompanying that read, “I apologize we couldn’t make it work.” It was simple, easy. No loose ends left untrimmed; just like how he preferred things to be.

The realization didn’t sink in until he settled into the chair behind his desk. If Mina instructed ‘the usual’ from ‘Mr. Kim’s office’, the same flowers would be sent. With the same note.

He bolted up from his seat and almost ran out the door of his office. Mina looked at him with a perplexed expression, when he got to her desk.

“Wait! No, don’t send that. Cancel it. Immediately.”

His secretary blinked up at him with an impassive gaze.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Kim, I haven’t made the order yet.”

He sighed, straightening up and pretending to flick imaginary lint off his expensive suit. “Good.”

“But you could’ve called from your office.” Mina raised the handle of the phone to make her point.

Right. Phones.

“I wanted to make my point more concise. In person,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Sorry for the confusion.”

He began his trek back to his office after receiving an awkward smile from Mina. But then he turned back once more.

“I don’t suppose you know which boutique sells the best tasting chocolate?” He asked her with an apologetic grin.

“Who’s getting chocolates? It better be me, and not your fiancée. She deserves better.” Taehyung waltzed in from the elevator doors and leaned over at the desk before greeting Mina with his usual flirty smile.

“Do you have a better idea?” Seokjin deadpanned, not up to dealing with Taehyung’s banter. He’d had enough from the board members.

“How about giving her something she’ll actually like? What if she’s allergic to chocolates?”

Taehyung was right – but of course, he wouldn’t feed his brother’s ego and say it out loud. It bothered him more than he’d like to admit at the fact that he doesn’t know your preferences. He felt like it was the least he could do; you’re willing to go along with his berserk idea, after all.

“The look on your face reveals it all, dear brother,” Taehyung clicked his tongue, shaking his head with disappointment.

“To be fair, we’ve only gone on two dates.”

“Would you like for me to clap for your amazing accomplishment since you often don’t last more than one?”

Seokjin scowled, hating how Taehyung knew him well enough to push the right buttons. He didn’t need to be reminded of his choice to not commit every single time they talked.

“We’re going to dinner with her parents tonight. Her mom invited me,” he said stoically.

“And you don’t want to go?” Taehyung tipped his head to the side.

“No, it’s not that. Maybe I –”

Then an epiphany struck him. Of course.

“Do you know if Dad still has the Sassicaia?” he supposed he could go ask him now.

“’85?” Taehyung broke into a grin, and Seokjin gave him a knowing look. “Classic. But I’m not sure, I haven’t been back home in a while. Not a bad idea, though. And I don’t think Mom would mind.”

Seokjin’s eyes softened. “No, she wouldn’t.”

The afternoon ended without much fanfare, despite the tumultuous morning that had him teetering on the edge a little. Before he left the office, Seokjin made sure to confirm with his father about the existence of the said red wine in their cellar. His father was more than ecstatic when his son said that he was going to give the vintage to you as an engagement gift, which made Seokjin sigh with relief.

He switched into a pair of casual jeans and a woollen pullover, topping it off with a casual suit jacket. He made sure the small box was in the pocket of his jacket before he made his way to his childhood home to pick up the only bottle of Sassicaia left. He made sure to grab other drinks he knew your parents might like, not lingering any longer than necessary. He texted you before he got into his car to let you know he was on his way to the Hwang Hotel to pick you up.

“Grigio,” he said out loud, reading the text you sent as soon as he stepped through the doors. He was beginning to think you liked working from the restaurant rather than your actual office. The sight that greeted him let him know why.

You were surrounded by a few hotel staff and waiters alike (he could tell from the difference in uniform) in a booth, engrossed as one bartender with large round eyes told a story animatedly. He couldn’t hear from where he stood, but the way your hair fell back over your shoulders as you tilted your head back and laughed with relish convinced him that it must be that hilarious.

One of the staff with long raven hair kept in a low ponytail saw his entrance and proceeded to whisper something in your ear. His gaze locked into yours and he watched your expression melt into a soft smile, which sent his brain into overdrive. Each quick step he took mimicked his heartbeat, and he willed himself not to buckle under the weight of your stare.

You stood to greet him, revealing the dress you wore to be similar to the one he saw you in a week ago when he’d first met you. It wasn’t quite the replica, but it hugged your curves like it had been made specifically for you. He pulled you in for a quick kiss, which you more than willingly reciprocated.

He noticed your sudden surge of bravery during your previous date, which initially took him by surprise. He wasn’t saying he didn’t like it, per se, but he’d wholeheartedly let you take the reins when it came to initiating affection; he’ll follow whatever boundaries you’ll set.

“You’re early,” you breathed out when he pulled away. He doesn’t miss the blush that began forming in the apples of your cheeks, which he liked perhaps a little too much. “Also, we don’t have to…um…in front of them. I mean, they don’t know the whole thing, but they’re not the paparazzi, so –”

Seokjin grinned at your state of disarray but patted your shoulder wordlessly to let you know that he got your message. You proceeded to introduce your company one by one.

“Jungkook.” The doe-eyed storyteller, who looked too young to be working behind the bar. He lifted his hand and attempted a small wave. Seokjin returned his gesture with a small nod.

“Joohyun.” The raven-haired who’d let you know of his arrival. He recognized her as the one from the front desk days ago, as well. What were her exact words? Good-for-nothing-billionaires? Seokjin grinned, and she gave him a knowing smile.

So that must mean—

“Yoongi,” he greeted before you could introduce him, extending his hand out. Yoongi’s cat-like gaze studied Seokjin’s hand, before firmly clasping it in his. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.” Yoongi’s voice was gruff, his stare as heavy as the hand that held Seokjin’s.

“Good things, I hope?” Seokjin ventured carefully, but Yoongi’s indifference told him that he knew a lot. Probably more than he’d like to let on.

“Only that you might be the devil’s incarnate,” Yoongi grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. This earned a few quiet laughs from everyone including him.

“Yoongi!” you chastised, exasperated. He shrugged and grinned at you wickedly.

“Your words, not mine.”

Seokjin turned to you with amusement in his eyes, eyebrows knitted in confusion. You offered an apologetic smile. “I may have said that….”

“Multiple times,” Yoongi added. You fidgeted beside him as you cleared your throat.

“Oh wow, look at the time,” you flicked your empty wrist. “We must go.”

“I heard you say he was early just now,” Joohyun pointed out while smirking.

“I hate you all.” You rolled your eyes, but a grin formed on your lips, nonetheless. This earned another round of laughs, even from Yoongi. Seokjin was left in awe at how you managed to draw people in; how you interacted with them.

“No, but really, we should go. The drive is half an hour, and my mom would murder me if we’re late.” You shrugged on your coat, earning a defiant boo! from Joohyun.

After bidding them farewell, you clung onto Seokjin’s arm as you exited the restaurant.

“You should’ve said you were going for a casual. I wouldn’t have dressed up so…” you mumbled so that only he could hear as both of you crossed the lobby.

“Nonsense,” he dipped his head in disagreement. “You look beautiful.”

You turned your ruddy cheeks away from his gaze, and a smile formed on his lips.

“Have a good evening, Ms. Hwang, Mr. Kim,” the doorman bowed. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mr. Park,” you beamed at the old man and Seokjin nodded. The gesture reminded him that your friends didn’t quite share the sentiment — at least not when he was there, anyway.

“How much do they know?” Seokjin began as soon as he pulled out of parking. You gave him a puzzling look and he happily elaborated. “Your friends, I mean. About our agreement.”

“Only Joohyun. I didn’t tell Yoongi, but he figured it out on his own, sort of. Jungkook knew the least — just the fact that we’re in an arranged marriage and that the engagement announcement was for publicity purposes.”

Seokjin nodded; he had a feeling but hearing it from you made him feel better.

“Is that okay?” you asked cautiously.

“You trust them, I trust you,” was all he said.

Seokjin watched you melt into the seat comfortably and he allowed himself to visibly relax as well. He felt queasy on the drive to your hotel from his home, but having you there beside him now, rid him of all his qualms.

He might as well talk about it before he was to meet your parents.

“We have to set our stories straight.” Seokjin broke the silence, and you nodded in agreement.

“My mom asked about it yesterday, and I told her it was instant attraction when you came to visit me a week ago,” you laughed, sounding slightly unhinged. Seokjin could tell you were nervous, as you kept glancing at his direction every so often. “No one was around to witness our conversation at that time, so it’s the perfect origin story.”

He nodded mutely; eyes focused on the road ahead. It was simple and as close to the truth as possible. “There’s another thing. I was going to give it to you tomorrow for your dress fitting, but it seems like I won’t make it.”

He cursed Namjoon for having such perfect timing to return from his honeymoon trip. But the task was urgent and putting it off another day could cause a delay in the construction of the building. Seokjin couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

The next stoplight hit, and he reached inside his suit jacket for the velvet box. He was hit with a wave of nervousness as he carefully opened it to reveal a round cut two-carat diamond ring.

You inhaled a sharp breath, “Seokjin, I…”

“I wasn’t sure of your style, so I opted for something simple.” He took your left hand in his and slid the ring with ease.

“It’s beautiful,” you stared at the glimmering rock, snug around your finger before lifting your moistened eyes to meet his gentle ones. The corner of his lips lifted into a small smile and his heart swelled with pride. There was an odd tension in the air when neither the two of you pulled away, your hand warm in Seokjin’s grasp.

The air in the car grew hot and Seokjin found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat. The unconventionality of the situation you were both in terrified him – you weren’t someone he’d have a long-term relationship with, so he had no qualms about committing. But at the same time, your stint with him isn’t short, either.

“Wow. I guess we’re unofficially official,” you mumbled, laughing quietly. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Seokjin was close enough that he could physically count the lashes in your eyes as they fluttered softly against your ruddy cheeks. But if he leaned closer…

The blaring horn that came from behind the car was enough to snap him out of his thoughts. He straightened up on his chair just as the car pulled up beside them, pausing to give Seokjin the middle finger. Rolling his eyes, he nodded and waved the driver off.

“What an asshole,” you seethed. He turned just in time to see you flipping off the guy as he drove away. Seokjin titled his head back and laughed, easing his feet off the break as his car began moving once again.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

You shrugged, smirking victoriously.

Seokjin kept tabs in his head. Two down, one to go.

“I got you something else.” He trailed his eyes on the road, careful not to lose focus. You freeze, laughing nervously.

“There’s more?” you squeaked.

Seokjin nodded.

“Taehyung was biting my ass about getting you chocolates as a congratulatory gift of some sort.” You laughed quietly beside him, mumbling something about ‘Typical Taehyung’. He left the bit out about almost giving you a we-can’t-see-each-other-anymore farewell bouquet. “So, it got me thinking…”

He paused, giving you a slanted gaze. You eagerly hung onto his words and he smirked.

“…about how much you drink.”

You balk at him and scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. “Are you insinuating that I’m an alcoholic?”

He bit back a smile; he was enjoying this a little too much.

“Anyway, I think we’ve established that I don’t know what your likes and dislikes are, yet,” he paused, licking his lips. He hoped you weren’t offended by his statement, and he took your shrug as an incentive to proceed. “I did notice, however, that you had a certain preference when you ordered your drinks.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” you joked. “Why, did you purchase me a vineyard? Will it be included in the prenup agreement?”

“I can if you want,” he smirked, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I’m kidding. Don’t throw your money at me. I don’t want it,” you deadpanned.

“I know you don’t,” Seokjin smiled fondly at you. “Dad has a lot of different vintages, and I thought you’d like wine better than chocolate.”

“I would’ve been fine with either one, honestly. Or both,” you beamed at him. “Is it red?”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “Sassicaia, 1985.”

You gaped at him. “That’s weird. We’ve been trying to add that in our inventory, but it’s so hard to get a hold of one from that year. We’ve had to settle for recent ones, which isn’t as good, I assume, but — wow.”

“I guess now you’ll find out.” He grinned, but his hand gripped the steering wheel. “It was my mom’s favourite, but she’d only have it on special occasions. I got in trouble when I was fifteen because Namjoon and I snuck into the cellar and emptied a bottle. Little did I know, that would be the last time I’ll see her.”

Seokjin laughed morosely at the memory, but you didn’t say anything. He let the silence simmer for a bit. He didn’t plan on sharing that much but once a little bit slipped, he let the whole dam open.

“I’ll only accept it if you add it on the prenup.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take it back,” he smirked, letting the topic pass. He loosened his grip on the wheel and rolled his shoulder back.

* * *

An hour and a half later, the bottle of Merlot that Seokjin brought with him was almost empty; courtesy of your mother, of course. She was rightfully buzzed and spilling all of your embarrassing childhood stories she could remember; and the woman had a damn good memory. You gave a pleading look to your father, but there was only so much he could do.

“Remember that one time you asked me if you could marry our previous neighbour’s son? What was his name?” she trailed off, snapping her fingers towards your father.

He more than graciously helped. “Hyunwoo.”

“Hyunwoo!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. You rolled your eyes and prepared yourself for an onslaught of memories you couldn’t bury. “You practically had a fit in their front lawn, refusing to leave until he proposed to you.”

“I was five, Mom.” You deadpanned, stabbing the leftover asparagus before twirling your fork mindlessly. She all but glossed over your protest.

“Anyway, I’m bringing this up because I remember I saw him at my friend’s daughter’s wedding three weeks ago — he told me he was the best man — and he grew up! And I mean actually grew! He’s got these huge muscles and —”

“Mom please get to the point,” you shared a look with your dad before you both shook your head. Seokjin laughed beside you as he finished the rest of his water.

(He’d argued that he was the designated driver so he wouldn’t drink, despite your mother offering that the two of you could sleepover, ending the sentence with a not-so-subtle wink.)

“Right, well, he still remembered and asked about you! Imagine that. Actually, now that I mentioned it, he asked me to pass along his number to you, but by that point, the deal with Seokjin’s father was in the works, so I couldn’t possibly have done that.”

You paused as you stared at your mother incredulously, trying to keep your level of anger to a minimum.

“You still could have told me. You had no right to keep me from reconnecting with old friends.”

She scoffed. “I couldn’t let you ruin the deal, Y/N.”

Your anger spilled over as you angrily slammed your silverware down. Gone was your mother who had apologized to you the night prior for her actions, or lack-there-of. What emerged was the controlling Youngmi who needed things to go her way, no matter how wrong the path carved was.

Seokjin must have noticed the steam billowing from your ears because he placed a comforting hand on your knee. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it made your heart flutter.

You let your mother ramble on as his palm didn’t leave you. His thumb occasionally skimmed on the exposed skin of your thigh, which sent a warm feeling where you made yourself off-limits from Seokjin. That wasn’t part of your agreement and was something you weren’t willing to sign off on. Despite that, he made it difficult for you not to think about his mouth on your lips, down the nape of your neck, to the valley between your chest and –

“— isn’t that right, dear?” your mother looked at you expectantly, her face as red as a tomato. She definitely needed to stop drinking more alcohol before she passed out.

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” you glanced at Seokjin for help, feeling warm and flushed. He shrugged, those sinful lips quirking up with a smirk. You leaned in close to him to whisper, “What did I just agree to?”

“She said you were going to bless her with grandchildren soon,” his hand lifted to prop his elbow on the table, leaving your thigh devoid of heat. Your face blanched and your head snapped to your mother, who was already giggling.

“Alright, I think that’s enough fun for one night,” your father stood from the head of the table. He gently placed his arms around her shoulder to help her stand while he gave you an apologetic smile.

“Good idea. We’ll clean up,” you sighed, relaxing into your chair for the first time that night. Your father mumbled something about coming back down to help after he’d set down your staggering mother. It was quiet for a while, and neither you nor Seokjin spoke. You felt that he was studying you, chin snuggly resting on his palm.

“What?” you asked, refusing to look anywhere but him.

“It wasn’t as bad as you made it sound to be,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“For you, maybe.” You rolled your eyes and stood to gather the soiled dishes. “You weren’t the subject of constant badgering. You’re not welcomed to share any information you heard from my mother against me, by the way.”

He followed you into the kitchen carrying glasses of wine. Carefully stacking up the plates, you turned on the faucet to soak them.

“Not even the part where you agreed to have children with me?”

You whirled around only to be met with his broad shoulders that were only accentuated by the knitted pullover that he wore. The proximity made his presence feel imposing. No matter how many times he’d held you against him for the cameras to capture, you might never get used to him.

Like a moth to a flame, your gaze fell onto his, eyes wicked with the anticipation for your answer.

“I was distracted.” You said as nonchalantly as you could. That’s how much you were willing to go as far as admissions went; half-truths were becoming your motto.

“By what, exactly?” he challenged, stepping closer. Instincts told you to back off, but you held your ground. It turned out being brave cost you the remaining personal space you had. You gulped audibly, eyes trailing down to his lush lips before meeting his gaze once more. Why the hell were they always so plump and moist?

As if on cue, he leaned closer and your heart began hammering nervously against your chest. Sure, you had kissed him before, but not like this. The tension made you squeeze your thighs together as your shoulder tensed.

Your eyes were beginning to flutter close when you noticed that he leaned his head to the side, arms reaching for something behind you.

His breath was hot against your ears when he said, “You forgot about the water.”

You quickly side-stepped from him as he turned off the faucet. You swore you could hear his quiet laughter as you walked back to the dining table to clear more dishes. The quiet pattering down the stairs signalled your father’s arrival.

“You don’t have to clean it up, I’ll be fine. You should start heading out soon,” he glanced at the wall clock on the far end of the room and nodded. “Before it gets too late.”

“But dad, there’s a lot to clean up, and I don’t want you to —”

“There’s a reason why they invented a dishwasher, Y/N,” your father patted your shoulders carefully. “I’ll be fine.”

“Wow, Dad, I didn’t know you’d want to get rid of me that quickly,” you rolled your eyes, grinning playfully at him.

“To my favourite daughter? I could never,” he said, exasperated.

You giggled and moved closer to wrap your arms around his large figure.

“I’m sorry for our shortcomings; your mother and I,” your father began with a shaky voice.

“Not you, too,” you laughed softly, pulling away from him. “Mom already gave me the talk yesterday, don’t worry.”

He looked at you hesitantly, and you reassuringly squeezed his arm.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mr. Hwang.” Seokjin emerged from the kitchen after putting away the rest of the plates.

“I’m glad you liked the food. I wasn’t sure if it was up to your standard,” father said playfully, before turning to give you a wink.

“That’s hardly the case at all,” Seokjin laughed softly. “It reminded me a lot of home. My mom liked cooking a lot, too.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’re part of the family now. Holidays are like this too – only more chaotic. We have a huge extended family,” he laughed, clapping Seokjin in the back. You winced; technically, Christmas was a little over two months away. Would your agreement with Seokjin be in effect, by then, and you’ll be on your merry way? Or would you still be ‘together-but-not-really’?

“I’m looking forward to it,” Seokjin smiled genuinely.

Was this part of his act, too? If so, he was pretty damn convincing.

#seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fic #seokjin scenario #seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #writing #seokjin

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alexmitas · 3 years

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Why I’m Just Like Crime & Punishment’s Raskolnikov and so Are You: A Brief Analysis of Dostoevsky’s Most Famous Novel

Just last night I finished Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. After mulling it over for a day (likely not nearly long enough to have substantiated a complete analysis, but with my memory I risk forgetting things if I move on to another book before writing about one that I’ve just finished), I’ve decided to get some of my thoughts down. Firstly, I will say that I am struck. While I’m clearly neither the first nor last person to be amazed by this novel, a work as significant as this one still deserves its praise where it’s due. People will often preface praise based on their interpretation of a creative endeavor by stating that its imperfection is obvious, even though that it’s also the best-est or their favorite, or one of the best-est or their favorite creative works that they have ever encountered, or something of the sort. I won’t be so bold to as to make that statement. That’s because, without a doubt, this was a perfect novel. After all, if something is so close to approaching a spade, by all reasonable measures, and only becomes better and better, and more and more like a spade, with age, then why not call it a spade?

Since the beginning I had a certain kind of resonance with Raskolnikov, the novel’s main character. But just as you can’t fully judge a story unless you consider it as a single, coherent piece (that is, until you have read from beginning to end), so too did I not understand the reason for my resonance with Raskolnikov until I finished reading his full tale. He’s young, he’s handsome, he’s intelligent: check, check, check; these things all apply to me, at least to some minor degree - that much was obvious from the very beginning - but while this superficial resonance was my first impression upon dining, it paled in comparison to the impression I had after the final bite of desert; to say nothing of the pleasant after dinner conversation among friends, the latter of which, of course, I use as a metaphor for the epilogue[1]. Every flaw I see in Raskolnikov, I also see in myself; for every action he takes, I can imagine a world in which I could be drawn down a path that would lead me to make the very same decisions, and to take the very same actions. I don’t know what could possibly be a better model than that for a main character.

Perhaps Raskolnikov’s biggest flaw is his overinflated ego, which is hardly out of the ordinary for someone his age, and isn’t entirely unjustified - as I said, he has three of the most promising traits one could hope for: intelligence, youth, and good-looks – but which does, in his case, lead him down an ideological rabbit hole of naivete, a hole which he creates for himself by dropping out of school, refusing work when it’s offered to him, and letting his resentment for the world grow as he lives off of a handful of meager sums sent to him by his mother and sister as a debt ridden fool in a poor Russian city during the eighteen-hundreds. This ideological thinking, which we shall not confuse with illogical thinking, for it is very much logical, brings Raskolnikov to the thought that, yes, it would in fact be a good idea to murder and rob the wealthy old pawnbroker whom is commonly considered amongst his peers as a mean-ol’ crone, holder of many a promissory note, rumored to have left her wealth to the building of a statue in her image through her will, rather than to her own children, whilst also being a generally unsightly and disagreeable woman, and, having done this, could aim to put her money to a more just cause, perhaps distributing it to others, or perhaps using it to further his own career which he would certainly payback in the form of greater value to society later on. And it isn’t such a crazy sounding idea, is it? After all, what is but one crime if the outcome provides a much greater net good? I’ve known many people, including myself, who’ve had thoughts not so unlike this one, and I suspect you are no different, dear reader. So having rationalized this to himself, Raskolnikov goes through with it, and thereby provides us a story of his Crime, which occupies only about one-fifth of the length of the novel, and his Punishment, which nearly occupies the novel’s entirety; with these proportions themselves giving us an idea of the many-fold burden of consequences for actions, as well as foreshadowing what is to come. And this rationalization runs deep. It isn’t until later, that we learn of truer reasons for Raskolnikov’s action, beginning with the discovery of an article he was able to have published while still enrolled in school, and ending with a true confession of his deepest motives to Sonya, to be discussed later.

This article that he wrote sometime before the crime, “On Crime,” reveals deeper rationale for his decision to commit the murder: and that is that he does it as a way to become something more than he is; to break down the cultural and religious structures around him, and more than that to supersede them; to rise above his fellow man as a type of “superman” or Napoleon, as he puts it, becoming someone who is able to “step over” the line which divides who is ordinary and who is great, a line that’s substance consists of rules for the hoi polloi only; ultimately inferring this idea – which, from what I understand was prevalent in Russia during the mid 1800’s – that the best way to view the world is through the lens of nihilism, which employs utilitarianism – the tenet which proposes that actions should be considered just insofar as they help the greatest number of people overall, and where acts of evil may be balanced properly, without the need for consequence, in the face of equal or greater acts of righteousness, especially if that person can prove themselves of some sort of higher value – as a central axiom. Pulling back to a macroscopic view of the novel, this sense that Dostoevsky had to instill within his characters arguments for what at the time was – and still in some sense very well are – contemporary issues, and eternal ideological and philosophical battlegrounds, rather than thrusting his own opinions through the narrator, is something I found to be brilliant and endearing, not only for the sake of keeping the author’s own bias more subdued than would otherwise be the case, but also just as a means to see what happens; to let the characters in the story have the fight, leaving both author and reader alike to extrapolate what hypotheses or conclusions they may as a consequence. In this regard, other characters – including Raskolnikov’s friend, Razumikhin, and state magistrate, Porfiry Petrovich – have the chance to debate with the nihilistic ideology of Raskolnikov after interacting with “On Crime.” This provides depth to contemporary discourse, without reeking of contrivance, and also allows us to see Raskolnikov argue for himself also, even though what he, ‘himself’, stands for is ultimately not clear; not for the reader but also seemingly not for Raskolnikov, as even after deciding to commit the crime, Raskolnikov’s opinion on whether or not it was a just event osculates frequently throughout the novel. It is this osculation, in fact, which constitutes most of Raskolnikov’s early punishment and suffering, as even though it appears as if Raskolnikov has managed to get away with the crime in the domain of the broader world[2], his conscious will not allow such an event to be swept under the rug, or even allow Raskolnikov to continue to live his life unhindered by spiritual corruption, mental destabilization, or physical trauma – all three of which plague him constantly both during his initial contemplations and later fulfillment of the crime. Ultimately, these ideological battles and inward rationalizations do not provide Raskolnikov with the accurate prognostication needed to foretell the outcome of his own state of being after committing such an act; and thereby lies Raskolnikov’s fatal flaw, derived from his arrogance and naivete, where he is left blinded by an ideology which never fulfills its promise of return. Oh, but if only he had a predilection for listening to the great prognosticator within him, his conscious, which, despite his waking thoughts, was calling out to him in the form of dreams.

In what is one of several dream sequences observed by characters in the novel, Raskolnikov dreams himself a young spectator, holding the hand of his father, as the two of them watch a group of misfit boys pile into a carriage. The carriage master, no more than a youthful fool, whips a single mare solely responsible for pulling the carriage. Overburdened and unable to do more than struggle forward at a pathetic pace, the mare whimpers and suffers visibly as the cruel and drunken carriage master orders it to trudge on, whipping it forcefully, all the while calling for any and everyone around the town to pile into the carriage. Laughing and screaming hysterically, the carriage master turns brutal task master when he begins to beat the mare repeatedly after with much effort the beast finally collapses to the ground in exhaustion. Horrifically, a handful of other people from the crowd and the carriage find their own whips and join in on the beating of the poor mare until it finally dies. Young Raskolnikov, having witnessed this event in its entirety, rushes to the mare after its brutal death, kisses it, then turns to the carriage master brandishing his fists before he is stopped by his father. This is the reader’s first warning of the brutality to come, and had Raskolnikov payed heed to what his conscious was trying to communicate to him in his dream, he may have noticed, as we as readers do, that the reaction the young Raskolnikov had to the barbaric murder of the mare very much predicted what Raskolnikov’s ultimate reaction to his then theoretical crime would be – regret; and, therefore, repentance. A second dream of Raskolnikov’s, which very much enforces this idea, pits Raskolnikov in the act of once again murdering Alyona, except this time, when he strikes her atop the head with the same axe, she simply brandishes a smile and laughs uncontrollably instead of falling over dead. This all but confirms Raskolnikov’s suspicions to himself, as his subconscious relays his foolish inadequacy, as a man who thought that he could elevate himself above others by “stepping over” the moral boundaries all of his societal peers abide by (and for good reason). Again, through this tendency that he has to stubbornly ignore his conscious, I find Raskolnikov eminently relatable, to some degree, and it is no wonder: it is a rare individual who finds obeying their conscious to be anything but onerous (then again, perhaps this is only most common in individuals who are still relatively young and naïve, a trait which I share with Raskolnikov, but one in which you may not, dear reader; but I digress). Of course, just because a task is onerous, does not mean that it is impossible. The characters which have been placed around Raskolnikov, and specifically the ones which serve as foils to his character, provide examples of contrast with individuals who at the very least are able to combat the compelling desire that we all have to ignore our consciouses. The three most blatant examples of foils for Raskolnikov are his sister, Dunya, his best friend, Razumikhin, and his eventual wife, Sonya Marmeladov.

The first example of this contrast apparent to the reader is in the character Razumikhin. Razumikhin is also a student living within the same city as Raskolnikov. Unlike Raskolnikov, however, he has not bailed out of university for financial necessity nor wanton of a grand ideological narrative. There is also no reason to believe he has more financial support than Raskolnikov, as he also appears to be poor with no hint of endowment, instead supporting himself through the meager-paying work of translating for a small publisher. And while Razumikhin is even more naïve than Raskolnikov – having never once suspected Raskolnikov of so much as a dash of malevolence – he lacks the same venomous arrogance, whilst showing no signs of lower intelligence. Dunya, Raskolnikov’s sister, provides another example of similar contrast. This is because, as his sister, and, again, with no reason to believe that she is any more or less intelligent or attractive than her brother, Dunya comes from the same upbringing, whilst holds no apparent resentment towards the world around her. Even when she is given the choice to harm someone else – when she finds herself on the side of a gun pointing at a man who has locked her inside of a room against her will (arguably giving her a modicum of a reason to kill another, depending on one’s own stance on morality) – she is unable to do it, instead casting her tool with which to do so aside and letting fate take care of the rest[3]. Lastly, and this may be the most apparent example, presenting what may be Raskolnikov’s true foil, we have dearest Sonya, stepdaughter of the Marmeladovs. Sonya, who in the face of two useless parents, takes it upon herself to prostitute herself so that her family, including three young siblings, may eat, makes Raskolnikov look privileged and morally woeful in comparison. Recognizing this himself, Raskolnikov does his best to look out for Sonya, in what is perhaps his most genuine form of empathy. Despite this – or perhaps, in fact, in spite of this; for early on Raskolnikov identifies Sonya as the sole individual whom may be able to help him redeem himself – Raskolnikov obsessively pushes Sonya to read a verse from the bible involving the story of Lazarus, as a redemption for himself, but also for Sonya, projecting as he does his misdeeds unto her and equating his murderous acts with her soiling of her sexuality for the sake of providing for her family. The story of Lazarus is a story which promises resurrection of the individual as Jesus Christ resurrected Lazarus from the dead. In this way, Raskolnikov probes, a part of him reaching out ever fervently for the means of the rebirth of his soul, despite his hitherto forthright determination to escape his guilt and conviction, looking for proof of Sonya’s moral purity, which he already suspects, despite his accusations, to which she responds by admitting herself a sinner, asking God for forgiveness, and later by bestowing upon Raskolnikov one of her two precious necklace and crosses. And it is in a kindred vein to these three examples of contrast in which the final contrast is made in small part by every character in the novel; for in some sense this novel represents the journey of one man as he isolates himself from a community he loathes to subordinate himself to; of a man who wishes to supersede his place in the world and become a “superman”; of a man who places his individual ideology above the morality of his peers; and it is in this way that the ordinary character, subservient to religion, provides contrast for the atheist who mocks them, not with critique, but with arrogance.

…

…And that ought to be enough for now.

TLDR: 10/10 would recommend.

Thanks for reading,

- Alex

[1] The epilogue, from what I’ve observed from others’ critiques, seems to be controversial in that some believe the novel stands alone better without it. It is not until the epilogue – well into the sentence of punishment by the state for his crimes – that Raskolnikov finally gives up his idea that, essentially, ‘the only thing he did wrong was improperly rob the old lady and to then fall emotionally and mentally apart afterwards’; where, too, he finally gives up his last bit of arrogance and outward loathing for the world and his circumstances, and accepts responsibility for his actions, likely brought on by the outwardly visible sacrifices made by his then wife, Sonya, who he looks to for repentance. However, critics argue that without the epilogue, we would simply be left to assume on our own that Raskolnikov finally gave in to repentance when the novel ended with his confession, and that that would be preferable to what is otherwise a heavy-handed ending, condensed as it is compared to the rest of the novel. This would make sense and likely be fitting enough of an ending. However, in defense of the epilogue, without it, a reader’s main takeaway from the story might be only, ‘do not underestimate how much opposing your conscious will degenerate your soul,’ while with the epilogue, the takeaway is more likely to also include something along the lines of, ‘beware denigrating religion and the multitude of cultures which it has produced, for without the ability to hold yourself accountable for your own deeds and also to be redeemed, there is nothing standing between you and self-destruction and misery, to say nothing of the destruction and misery of those around you,’ which of course is realized by the death of Raskolnikov’s mother as well as the sickening of himself and his wife, as a consequence of his refusal to actually accept his punishment and repent even after his confession (which without acceptance of responsibility is still only a selfish act), outlined in the two chapters proceeding the end of the novel. So if I’d had the genius necessary to write this story, I’d also have looked to include an epilogue to ensure that the totality of my characters’ lessons would also be realized by the reader, for whatever that’s worth.

[2] While Raskolnikov does seem to commit the crime of murder and robbery without getting caught, this does not mean that things go according to plan; in fact, far from it: while Raskolnikov manages to murder Alyona, he very poorly robs her – leaving behind a large bundle of cash she had under her bed, which he missed due to his state of unanticipated frenzy. He also ends up killing Alyona’s younger sister, Lizaveta, when she arrives immediately following the murder, in an act of pure self-perseverance, which just goes to show: when you take the fate of the world into your own hands, when you ‘step over’ the boundaries that your culture (or God; whichever) has deemed should not be crossed – when you arrogantly and naively take the fabric and truth of the universe into your own hands – you do not know what it is you are doing; you do not know what the consequences of your actions will be. It isn’t made clear the degree to which the killing of Lizaveta changed the outcome for Raskolnikov’s soul. Perhaps committing one crime constitutes the same moral weight as committing two crimes simultaneously, but also perhaps it was everything; the one factor unaccounted for which destroyed his evaluation of just outcomes and, having done so, his resolve.

[3] Here is a specific instance in which Dostoevsky’s propensity to pit ideas against each other in the form of characters playing out their practicalities in a real-world context comes to bear. This specific battle, represented by the juxtaposition of the aforementioned scene with Raskolnikov’s murdering of the two women, pits morality against ideology, while leaving a clear winner: for it is one which leads to the eradication of two lives and the degradation of more than one soul, and it is another which leads to the absolution of a dangerous conflict. These two specifically – morality and ideology – clash frequently during the novel’s entirety, with morality often taking its microcosmic form of religion.

#fyodor dostoevsky #crime&punishment #essays #novel analysis #classics

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ericsonclan · 3 years

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Two Whole Dollars

Summary: Violet and Prisha struggle to open the front door due to the overwhelming number of grocery bags in their arms.

Word Count: 1481

Read on AO3:

“Why didn’t you unlock the door before grabbing the groceries?” Violet asked as she watched her wife struggle to balance the eight bags of groceries she was carrying.

“Because,” Prisha grunted as she shifted the bags in her arms in an attempt to reach her phone. If she was able to grab that she could electronically unlock the front door. She would ask Violet to enter the code if her arms weren’t also filled to the brim with groceries. This was the price that Prisha had to pay for finding so many good coupons for this weekly shopping trip. Prisha took a deep breath and tried once more to grab her phone. “Because, what if someone robbed us before we reached the door?”

“Robbed us? In the two minutes it took us to get up the stairs and in front of our door?” Violet looked at Prisha with skepticism.

“It could happen!” Prisha rebalanced the grocery bag that was dangerously close to tipping over; a cartoon of eggs shifted within it.

“What would they even rob in that fucking short amount of time? The album of sketches that you commissioned Sophie to do of me? That’s worthless.” Violet saw Prisha’s eyes grow large at that statement.

“Those are priceless! They are priceless to me!” Prisha huffed and tried to get her keys once more. “Besides, Sir Tubbs is in there. What if a robber harmed him?”

“Then I’d beat the shit out of the robber and win but still a robber wouldn't get into our apartment in two minutes.”

Prisha was about to counter again when a sudden move of her arms shifted the highest grocery bag, causing the carton of eggs to fall down. It was as if time slowed down in that moment as Prisha cried out in shock while Violet’s already large eyes grew bigger. Both of them tried to grab the carton of eggs but it was too late. With a pathetic thud, the eggs burst from within, making yellow yolks spill out from all sides.

“AAAAA! Those eggs cost me two dollars! Two whole dollars, Vi!” Prisha pouted and her head fell as she looked at the destroyed egg cartoon.

“It would’ve cost you nothing to unlock the door earlier. The eggs wouldn’t have had to pay the price,” Violet pointed out. Prisha wanted to speak against it but her wife was right. Just as Prisha was going to give another valiant effort at grabbing her phone in her back pocket the front door opened, revealing Allison.

“You guys are back early.” Allison’s eyes wandered down to the destroyed carton of eggs.

Prisha and Violet blinked in confusion.

“I thought you were at the park playing soccer with Willy,” Prisha stated as she walked through the front door, Violet right behind her.

“I was but I decided to come home for some down time,” Allison picked up Sir Tubbs just as he went to investigate the open door. With a soft kick Allison closed the door and followed her moms into the kitchen.

“Wait, so you were home the whole time we were locked out of the apartment?” Violet placed down the multiple bags of groceries she was holding and looked back at her daughter.

“Yeah but I was listening to music so I didn’t hear you two until Mom made that weird noise and broke all the eggs,” Allison started to unpack the bags, putting away groceries at a fairly fast pace.

“The eggs didn’t make it, but regardless of my mistake which I will clean up in a moment, we got plenty of food!” Prisha smiled over at Allison.

Allison glanced her mom’s way then over at the bag. A mischievous idea formed in Allison’s mind and she decided to have some fun. Returning her expression to her usual stoic one, Allison looked back at Prisha. “All I ever wanted from that grocery trip was those eggs that you destroyed,”

Prisha couldn’t tell how serious Allison was being. It was hard to read her at times. But she feared that Allison was being genuine. “Wait, no! I can salvage some of the eggs!” Prisha thrust open the door and began to try and save the eggs.

Meanwhile Violet didn’t buy Allison’s words. “Really?” She crossed her arms and locked eyes with her kid. “You only wanted eggs, nothing else?”

“Yeah,” Allison met Violet’s gaze and held it.

The two stood there for a moment before Violet reached into a bag and pulled a box of Cocoa Puffs, Allison’s favorite cereal. “So you won’t care if I sat here and ate this entire thing of Cocoa Puffs?”

Allison’s eyes flickered for a moment but she stubbornly held on. “I don’t care,”

Violet and Allison silently had a stare off, neither of them budging as Prisha frantically tried to save the eggs. Sir Tubbs gave a smokey meow, happily trotting out the front door and towards Prisha.

“No, Sir Tubbs, it's dangerous outside the apartment!” Prisha tried to shoo Sir Tubbs back into the apartment while not getting any eggy yolks on him. Sir Tubbs completely ignored Prisha’s plea and purred loudly as he plopped directly into the gooey pile of eggs and shattered yolks. “No, Sir Tubbs, bad!”

Prisha’s loud sounds and scolding broke the stare off between Violet and Allison. Running over, they saw the absolute mess that had occurred. The three of them shared a look before Prisha handed Sir Tubbs over to Violet.

“Alright, you little shit, it's your least favorite time: bath time,” Violet walked towards the bath. “Allison, help me out,”

“Coming,” Allison answered, then looked at Prisha for a moment, feeling guilty that she had a part in causing this whole mess before running off to help Violet.

It was a loud, unpleasant experience washing Sir Tubbs. He fought like a true street cat, never giving up, filling the bathroom with loud meows and looking around with terrified eyes as he swallowed roughly, his claws embedded in the hoodie Violet used only for these bath times. After a while the bath was done and Prisha silently used the hair dryer on Sir Tubbs who rather enjoyed it. As she did so Allison and Violet set up a movie.

It was a pretty ordinary night with the three of them along with Sir Tubbs all on the couch enjoying the movie. The whole event seemed to be swept under the rug and before they knew it all of them were heading to bed. But after saying goodnight to her parents, Allison couldn't help but still feel bad that she had inadvertently caused Sir Tubbs to further the mess. As she thought of a way to apologize, Sir Tubbs hopped on her bed and made his way towards her face. With a dramatic move he flopped his body directly against her face. His curvy body slid down her cheek but Allison didn’t seem to care.

“Yeah, yeah I’m not mad at you,” Allison turned on her side and pulled Sir Tubbs in to cuddle. The cat gave a meow in protest but soon settled down as Allison’s mind continued to spin with what she could do.

Prisha let out a content sigh as the sunlight pierced through the drapes and woke her up. She pulled Violet closer and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek then another. Violet smiled in her sleep and curled closer into Prisha’s warmth. Prisha wanted to stay in bed longer but she knew that she should probably get breakfast ready. As she pondered whether to wait a few moments longer she felt the gentle warmth of Violet’s lips on her hand as the blonde gave her a sleepy kiss. She could wait for a few more minutes. Prisha cuddled closer to Violet and soon the two melted into the moment, basking in each other’s warmth.

After a while though Prisha gained the willpower to get out of bed and start on breakfast. When she went into the kitchen she was surprised to see a fresh carton of eggs with a sticky note on it. Picking up the sticky note, Prisha examined it closely, immediately recognizing the handwriting . It held only a few words: Sorry and underneath that, Don’t let short mom eat my cereal .

Prisha chuckled but she did truly appreciate Allison’s apology. Sneaking a peek outside the window, she noticed that Allison was hiding out in her favorite tree by the apartment, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs in her hands. The teen soon felt the eyes upon her and saw her mom. Allison gave a short nod then returned to her cereal. Prisha returned a wave then walked back into the kitchen, her eyes focused on the carton of eggs. Yesterday had been wild but everything had turned out alright. With that thought in mind, Prisha worked to make an amazing breakfast for her family.

#twdg #twdg violet #twdg prisha #twdg allison #twdg sir tubbs #twdg privet #privet family #fanfic #ericson's diner au

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