#god if you knew . sometimes I wish I was an oversharer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

corysmiles · 3 years

Note

:] runnaway experiment time.

----

Toeing the line of lies.

Footsteps resonated through the corridor. God, it was one of those days, wasn’t it? Wilbur was already tired of the conversation ahead of him.

He opened the door and, seeing no one else here yet, decided to buy himself a coffee.

You know, being a mad scientist who has to hide the existence of the first laboratorial human ever created to your loved ones is one thing. Putting up with an astronomical amount of paperwork is one thing. Hiding your lessons in morality and basic human concepts to the laboratorial human from your other coworkers who mostly treat the boy like an unknown robot was one thing.

But having to clean up the slip ups of that same boy to your other coworkers to make sure they don’t know what he’s learning, otherwise you would be fired if not silenced in barely legal methods was another thing.

The main difference being, wilbur had no fucking control over what Tom said and avoided. What he did and did not. How much he spoke about Wilbur during their sessions. How much everyone knew.

And he couldn’t just ask. What on earth would one think to directly draw suspicion on yourself like that! He had to play fucking mind games all week to be on the same page as everyone! And if he asked Tom too often the boy would feel guilty about oversharing and would shut off. WHICH WOULD LEAD TO MORE SUSPICION Because he would be the last person Tom saw before the shift in behaviour.

Of course they would care about his feelings when it was inconvenient. Of fucking course.

A groan, and he slammed his head on the table. Days like these happened from time to time, but recently, the frequency increased. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all…

“Glad to see your enthusiasm, Wilbur.”

He shot his head straight up with a silent yelp. He turned his head to meet Techno.

“Oh he-eeyy! I was just- … Mondays, you know?” He showed his coffee.

“Yeah, mondays.” Techno replied, bringing a mug near his mouth. Wilbur sighed internally before taking a deep breath. “So, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said, taking a sip. “Research is good, progress is made, we’re pretty much early on all fronts, and our secret project is coming along wonderfully! Na, I think we’re doing fine.”

It took all of Wilbur’s self control to not hesitate and cheer as well. “Indeed! Which is why I’m curious as to why you brought me here…”

Techno paced around. “Well, I just wanted to ask you some questions, you know? How are your trainings doing, how T-0-M is behaving with you, anything I should worry about… You know, just a regular check-in. We don't get to speak to each other often with all the work.”

‘Wonderful, the 3 dimensional chess game starts now.’

“Oh? I mean, it's nice to talk to you, always, I thought the reports were detailed enough.” He admitted, hoping to make enough of a distraction.

“ Oh I haven’t read a single thing you wrote. Jordan is the one taking care of that. I’m just askin as a coworker.” ‘Of fucking course.’

“Aww, techno is worried about lil’ old me?” Wilbur teased.

“You wish” he smirked in response.

“Not worried enough to check out the reports at least.” the brunette stretched. “But na, Tom is extremely obedient and listening. There have been no slip ups as far as I remember.”

“No slip ups?” He raised an eyebrow.

‘Has Tom made slip ups during their training?? What the fuck is that look for??’

“Well, Almost no slip ups, The subject still tends to be a little careless at times, you know.”

Techno laughed. “That’s putting it lightly.” and ‘What??’

“Has any accident happened recently?” He asked, worry in his voice.

“Well, he didn’t threaten anyone, which is good, but aside from its loud voice and usual clumsiness, we’ve got ourselves a new addition to the list. I don’t know if you had that but during the experiments…. Sometimes he just…. Stops.”

“What?”

“It’ll just look at the ground with glassy eyes, no movement, no talking, no blinking. It just… stares.”

‘???? WHAT??’

“Does he do anything?? How long does it last??”

“Well, it won’t answer the first call, but after 3 or 4, it snaps out of it.” Techno explained, voice level, as opposed to Wilbur’s.

“.... That’s … weird. He never does that with me. Do you think it has something to do with the room?”

“I mean, the experimentation room is pretty much the same as its containment room” ‘Bedroom.’ “so I don’t see how it would factor.”

“...uh.”

“What’s interesting is, as of recently, when it does this, rarely, but often enough for it to be a somewhat common occurrence, it mumbles.”

Wilbur felt his throat tightening.

‘What does he talk about? What did he say?? Did he blow us?? Wait, mumble- MUMble?? Screw the mentalist work, this is brilliant!’

“... Interesting! How did he learn how to do that? Doesn’t it usually just… talk?”

“Well, Philza usually rambles to himself so…”

“He can mimic outside behavior outside of language? That’s amazing!”

“EEeeeehhhh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Techno, he is becoming more and more Human.That is WONDERFUL!”

“I’d rather see it as a thorn in our side but-”

“What do you mean?”

Techno turned around to meet Wilbur’s eyes, genuinely confused.

“What?”

“What do you mean “thorn in our side”? We managed to create a giant fucking human, how can you not be delighted??”

“.... Well, I mean, can we really call it ‘human’?? It’s still… it was still made in a lab and all and he lacks basic human stuff. Also, have you seen a human that’s like 30 feet tall?”

“Well, I can- I could teach him more stuff if that’s what’s bothering you! I can take extra hours if it means we can teach that thing to be human!”

“... Nah, I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Still, we can ask.”

“You think they’ll let you? What if it decided to rebel against us??”

“...”

A sigh, and a drop of shoulder. “You’re right.”

"Thanks. You really got too attached to the thing, in case you forgot, it's not human."

".... how can you say that techno??" Wilbur groaned. "Size aside, he's basically human!"

"Nah, dude. I know you're close, but no. We can't let it get more room than that."

"... you wouldn't say that if he were to be human, would you?"

"Look, if a human was kept in here for years, they would have gone mad and tried to escape. Has T-0-M gone insane? Wanted to see the outside?? No! And if it were to become angry at us do you think it'll leave just a few bruises and broken locks?? T-0-M is dangerous. And we can't let that thing out."

"... and you keep calling him that."

"Because that's his name! Not 'Tom', no little Tommy to whatever. It is an experiment. An artificial human, key word 'artificial'."

"....."

"...."

"Thank you, Techno. I'll think about what you said." Wilbur said after a sigh. The tension on Techno's shoulder dropped.

"I just don't want to take risks, dude."

"Yeah, no. You're right."

After a small silence, a doctor opened the door to the room.

"Techno?"

"Oh hello, puffy."

"Phil is asking for you on the 3rd floor… Am I interrupting something?"

"We were just finished, actually," Wilbur smiled. "How are you doing puffy?"

Techno parted away, and puffy entered the room further.

"Good, good. I have to go see The subject in 2 hours. He's really nice!"

"Yeah…" despite the topic, Wilbur couldn't bring himself to smile.

"Puffy?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's dangerous to treat Tom like a human?"

Puffy's eyes widened.

"...Well not necessarily. It's easy to mistake him for someone like you and me. But I feel like it's best if he doesn't know some things yet...."

"... to keep him in ignorance."

"I mean, if he learns too much, it might just make him sad. Knowing everything he misses in life, it's pretty heartbreaking. Plus the instructions were clear on that… we can't have anyone knowing about Tom."

"Yeah… but like, one day. Just one day, it’s not too much to ask, is it?"

".... dude, I want him to be happy too, but it's for his and our own good."

"... yeah. The contract and all that."

A hand on his shoulder, and Puffy offered a smile.

"Don't worry. It's gonna be nice. Tom is not unhappy here. We’ll make sure he only gets happier. This is his home after all."

And with that, she exited the room. Wilbur stood here, slowly lifting his hand to mask his mouth, gripping his cheeks.

……

….

'And that's the fucking problem, isn't it ?'

More runaway experiment au YES!!!!

Mel I can’t even put into words how much I adore this AU this is so good and I love the interaction between puffy and wilbur :”””]

#runaway experiment au #melissas writing #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #t!wilbur #g!tommy

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salty-ironstrange-shipper · 3 years

Note

Okay so, I'm listening to I think I'm in love again by kat dahlia and there this "I say "fuck you" While I'm thinking of you as my husband" And my brain just screamed IRONSTRANGE!! I M U S T read fluffy ironstrange fics!

So you got any fluffy fics for me? Cuz I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight without reading any floffy ironstrange fics

here are some ~fluffy fics for ya’

(there ended up being a lot, so they’re under the cut)

Peter Parker is a Little Shit

1,044 words

Peter wants to learn how to play the trumpet. Stephen, upon finding out Peter wishes to annoy the former Avengers with it, suggests he doesn't have to learn how to actually play.

Professors Stark and Strange

1,195 words

There's two kinds of professors, the brick wall and the over share. Dr. Strange is professor brick wall and Dr. Stark is professor overshare. How their students learned that they're married with two kids.

An Open Invitation to Dance

1,601 words

Tony has a ring in his pocket and a half-formed plan to get the love of his life to say yes to him

Maybe less than that of a plan

12% of a plan?

a vague idea

The Escapist

1,890 words

Stephen and Tony knew that moving Peter into his crib would be tough. But, they didn't expect this.

“Good kitty”

2,157 words

Sometimes it can be hard to make the first move - especially when your crush is also your hot new neighbor with an adorable cat.

Fortunately, Levi the kitty is there to give Tony and Stephen a little push.

Just a family

2,251 words

They loved each other long before. They will love each other forever. Its just a question of finding each other again!

a rebirth AU inspired by lucifersfavoritechild's tumblr

A Passage in Time

2,264 words

Tony takes Stephen on a nice beach vacation to get away from the cold winter. Other things happen. Like an engagement.

Peter Parker's Homecoming

2,346 words

Five-year old Peter Parker anxiously waits to go to his new home, where his adopted parents, Tony and Stephen Stark-Strange await his arrival.

Where Severus Snape is hot, not a stalker, and somehow gets the girl

2,387 words

And then, as if he wasn’t already the most embarrassing estranged biological dad ever, Tony stopped in his tracks, raised his sunglasses (because of course he would wear sunglasses inside a lecture hall in April), and gave Professor Strange the most blatant, sustained once-over in the history of fuckboyness. Then he put down his glasses, shot a winning smile at the teacher, and said, “Well, I’m Tony Stark, of course.”

Or: Peter Parker is sick and wants to cut his Neuroscience class. Tony just wants to help (and maybe date his son's hot teacher). Stephen Strange just wants to give his lecture in peace.

Burden of Proof

2,561 words

Based on a prompt/headcanon from my dear rinn aka Maevee

"I do have a tiny headcanon just of Christine meeting Tony and fangirling out a bit, like maybe while she's at work so she's struggling to be professional. Strange tells her he's dating Tony Stark and she doesn't believe him, so he brings her proof."

Are You Trying to Deduce Me?

2,619 words

When Tony throws a costume party, both he and Stephen end up coming as very different but very familiar versions of the same character.

Tony Stark's secret husband

2,870 words

It’s not like they wanted to keep the secret because they didn’t. They never spoke about going public with their wedding, and nobody but for tabloids ever asked either Stark or Stephen about their romantic lives so, again, Tony wouldn’t blame either himself or Stephen for keeping it between the two of them.

I Feel Loved

2,913 words

After months of waiting and yearning Stephen returns to Tony for a long-promised date. Things escalate quickly from that point on.

Pint-Sized Parker

3,636 words

Tony is called away from a meeting to deal with a now toddler-aged Peter Parker, who went snooping around in Stephen Strange's spells.

Contentment

3,732 words

Tony hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since before Afghanistan. Even with Thanos gone and everyone back, he still can't shake the nightmares. At a party, Stephen Strange gives him hope for the future that they fought for.

basically just fluff.

I Hate (Love) You

3,990 words

Tony has a hard time spitting out the words I love you. Stephen doesn't mind.

Strange Strawberry Sorbet

6,023 words

After the realization came the denial, immediately followed by depression. So what if Stephen might kind of...maybe...sort of...be in like with Tony. Tony deserves better than a nobody, hobo sorcerer with blasted, shaking hands and the only thing going for him being magicky party tricks he's questionably good at.

Stephen will absolutely NOT ask Tony out on a date, let alone confess to the myriad of feelings he has for the man.

Then again, Peter Parker doesn't need permission to spin his webs like the puppetmaster he is and this time, this time he brought reinforcements.

Petulance (Among Other Things)

6,988 words

Tony’s stuck going to a conference—against his will, thank you very much—and Stephen’s not even coming with him. He’s all alone. Abandoned. Unloved. Melodramatic. Possibly. Just a tiny bit.

—

A conference. A storm. A warmth.

Five Times Tony Saw Stephen Naked and the One Time He Helped

7,117 words

Tony isn't entirely sure how he feels about the Sorcerer Supreme.

He is sure, however, that he's seen enough of him to make those feelings even more complicated.

The Two Lives of Stephen Strange

8,365 words

After losing the love of his life, Stephen Strange finds out he can visit him in his dreams.

tap dancing on a land mine

Tony discovers, much to his delight, that Stephen holds a special hatred for being called “babe”. Of course, that means Tony only goes out of his way to push this newly discovered button of Stephen’s like it’s his god-given purpose in life. Because that’s what true love’s all about, right?

#ironstrange #asks #fic recs #ironstrange fanfiction #ironstrange fic recs #incorrect-ironstrange #tinystark-blog

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fan-fic-writer · 3 years

Text

Pinky Promise | Aone x Reader | Part 2

!!!!Trigger warning!!!! This chapter has several mentions of depression, self-harm, and bullying!!! If any of that makes you uncomfortable or is a trigger for you, please do not read this chapter!! I put a warning before the self-harm mention, but the bullying and (implied) depression is mentioned several times throughout this chapter. My DMs are always open if you need someone to talk to, I will always support you guys, no matter what!!!!!

You know what they say, a pinky promise can never be broken.

Middle school was never easy, no matter who you were. Your middle school years are when you get the meanest and you lose friends and make friends that would last forever. You would know because you had lost the one friend you needed most when your parents sent you to a private middle school in an attempt to make friends other than Takanobu. It’s not like they didn’t like him, in fact, they saw him as a fourth child(probably a good time to mention that you do have an older brother and a younger brother). They just wanted you to make other friends, so you weren’t so reliant on the gentle giant.

“Welcome back,” your homeroom teacher for your final year stood at the front of the room, “I am Takashi Ito, you will call me Mr. Ito or sensei. This is your final year here and Dobutsu Academy, and I won’t be going easy on you because of it. Now how about everyone introduces themselves. No volunteers, I guess I’ll have to call on someone.” The teacher looked around the class as students avoided eye contact, but you weren’t able to dodge his piercing gaze fast enough as you made eye contact, “You, with the h/c hair,” you pointed to yourself in a silent question, “Yes you. Now stand up and give us your name and an interesting fact about yourself.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone glued onto you even as you keep your head down. You tugged at the sleeves of your uniform as you slowly stood up, “U-uh, m-my name is Y/N L/N a-and I don’t h-have an interesting fact about m-myself…” Your voice was just loud enough for everyone to hear you. You could feel your face heat up, feeling the eyes of your classmates burned into your body.

“Everyone has an interesting fact about themselves, you have no reason to not share like the rest of the class will. So I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something.” the smile on his face contradicted the assertive look in his eyes, “Quickly now, don’t keep us waiting.”

You got more self cautious as you tried to come up with something when something popped into your head, “I, uh… I-I’m fluent in sign language, I have a friend who is a selective mute, so we learned it when we were younger…” your voice trails off, getting quieter as you answered. I shouldn’t have added the part about Nobu. I overshared. Oh god, they’re going to think I’m stupid or something! You silently panicked.

“Now that wasn’t too hard was it. I would love to see you apply that skill during class, maybe starting a club? You may sit down.” You immediately dropped to your chair, fiddling with the sleeves of your uniform again, “Alright, who would like to go next- black hair, glasses seat three of row three. Since you thought having a conversation with your neighbor was more important than whatever I have to say, how about you go next. Just like Ms. L/N.”

That’s what most of homeroom was like, classmates introducing themselves and talking amongst the already established friend groups. You on the other hand sat in the back of the class, book in hand, peacefully reading while the noise only got louder and louder. Your ears were used to silence, that’s what came with being friends with Takanobu, the comfortable quiet. You’d think you would be used to this much noise from having brothers and being in noisy classrooms for most of the day, but every time you would get used to it, the quiet time you would spend with the silent boy would bring you back to that comfortable quiet, making you start at square one.

You stood up, the noise finally being too much to handle you made your way to the front of the class, towards the teacher’s desk, “S-sir. C-can I sit in the hallway for the rest of class?” you nervously fiddled with the hem of your skirt as you asked Mr. Ito to leave the room.

“And why would you need to leave the room? Everyone is enjoying themselves talking, but you’re sitting with your face in a book. Do you simply wish to leave so you can read your book without distraction? Talk to someone, make a friend, Ms. L/N.” The man responded, typing away at his computer.

“M-my ears are sensitive to loud noise sir. I don’t come from a very loud home or friend group so loud noises tend to overwhelm me, m-may I please sit out in the hallway?” Sure, having brothers can be loud, but when one is four years older than you, and the other is twelve years younger than you, it doesn’t tend to get very crazy at home.

Letting out a sigh, the man scribbles something on a piece of paper, probably a note in case a teacher sees me in the hallway. He handed you the slip of paper and nodded at the door to the classroom as a silent go-ahead, “Be back in here before class ends,” was all he said before he went back to typing on his computer.

~~~~~~~~

That’s when the bullying started.

Your classmates saw how you would leave the class whenever the room got loud and how you kept to yourself. They called you a freak, an outcast. They took one look at your speckled face and called you a freak, commenting on how it looked like acne or dirt. It happened, every single year since you started middle school. You would think that you could finally relax, reset, and make some friends, but they crushed any chance of that.

There was a pair of classmates that would always end up in your class. They would be the first to comment on your behavior or looks, sometimes both. But that wasn’t the worst of it all. Last year, they found out about Takanobu, which shouldn’t seem so bad, until they started spreading rumors about the two of you. Maybe it was how they saw you act with him, or how they saw the difference in size since he hit his growth spurt that year. Or maybe it was just because they hated you.

It was probably the scene they saw you two in, you talking about your day, hands smoothly signing along with your words, a big smile covering your face as you walked to the old park with your baby brother on Takanobu’s shoulders. His face was stoic as always, but you could just barely see the way his lips curled upwards in the slightest bit, if you didn’t know him as well as you knew yourself, you would’ve missed it. That was when the pair decided to follow you, seeing if they could get any dirt on you. They watched from afar as the tall boy carefully put your brother in the baby swing, gently pushing him so that he was rocking back and forth in the seat. They noticed the light pink blush that dusted your cheeks and how you were so much more, alive, with him than in school. After watching you two play with your brother more they concluded that you had to be in a relationship. But there was no way that Takanobu was in middle school, he’s too big, being 5’11 in middle school isn’t very normal.

When you reached school after the weekend ended, you could feel the stares that people were giving, you could hear them whispering to each other, but you couldn’t tell what they were whispering about, but you knew it was about you. You got notes in your school locker, calling you a tramp, a skank, and you couldn’t figure out why. It got to the point where you started believing what they said, you hated the way your freckles covered your face and body, you hated how you couldn’t stand loud places, you hated how you never made eye contact with anyone. You came to hate, you.

!!!Trigger warning: Self-harm and depression!!!

That’s when the cutting started, it was the only way you could cope with the weight that feels heavy on your shoulders, with each slice of the blade you turned that emotional pain into physical pain. You could bear that pain because it would fade away, it wouldn’t come back and keep you awake every night, thinking about how you could’ve done better, how you could’ve been more than you are now. It didn’t stop at your wrists and forearms, when you saw it useless to mark them up anymore, you moved to your legs, painting the bathtub red as the blade danced across your once clean skin. It was the reason you always had long sleeves on, leggings under your skirt.

This continued on until you were called into the principal's office almost halfway through your final year.

Are my grades falling? I swear I still had all A’s. What if they found out about the cutting. They’d tell mom and dad. Then mom would tell nii-san, nii-san would tell Nobu… You panicked at the thought of your best friend finding out about what you did to yourself as you walked to the principal’s office. You could feel your hands get clammy as you clenched them into fists at your side, you could feel the beads of sweat starting to form as you kept your gaze low. But you snapped out of your thoughts as you reached the office door, knocking on the door. After hearing a muffled, “come in,” you slid open the door, stepping inside.

“Y-you called me down sir?” you raised your gaze to look at the principal's desk, avoiding eye contact, “May I-I know why s-sir?”

You could feel his gaze on you as he cleared his throat, “Please have a seat Ms. L/N, I have a few questions to ask you if that’s ok.” he motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. You nodded, taking a seat, waiting for him to continue. “I have just been informed about a rumor about you that was spread early last year, are you aware of said rumor Ms. L/N?”

Of course, you were aware, everybody has been talking about you behind their backs since last year, “Yes, I was aware there was a rumor spread about me, I don’t know what the rumor is though. I wasn’t able to figure it out, I assume that you know what the rumor was?” you fiddled with the hem of your skirt, anxious to finally find out what the school has been saying behind your back.

“There was a rumor that you were in a relationship with a high school second year. When I asked several students who started the rumor and I spoke with who had started it, they said that they saw you with said high schooler and an infant at Shiketsu park, saying that said infant was yours.” He paused to push his glasses up, “Is any of this true, Ms. L/N?”

Boyfriend? In high school? A child? The only infant I know is…- “N-none of that is true, I swear. The ‘high schooler’ they described is my best friend from elementary school, Aone Takanobu. He hit a growth spurt last year and got really tall, not to mention how broad his shoulders got. He goes to a public middle school, Gakuen Middle. You can contact the school to verify. The infant they saw was my baby brother, having an older and a younger brother should be on my student record.” you did your best to explain the situation to the principal, “I’m sure that they just got confused when they saw how, well, uh- big, Nobu is.”

“I will check with Gakuen Middle and look at your student record to confirm your statements, but I do trust what you’ve said.” he quickly typed something into his computer, “Now, with that cleared up, I have a few more questions for you.” The man pulled a few papers out of a desk drawer, “Your current and past homeroom teachers have noticed that you started to only wear long sleeves and leggings, even during the summer, a few months after the rumor was said to be started. Can you verify that for me?”

You froze at the mention of long sleeves, He’s gonna ask to see my arms. No no no no no! “Y-yes sir, that is correct. They help me with my body dysmorphia, sir, it was getting bad last year, I guess I never went back to not having them on..” You let the lie slip off your tongue before you could think.

“Then would you mind if I asked you to pull up your sleeves, Ms. L/N? Here at Dobotsu Academy, not only care about academics, but we care about your mental state as well. So I will ask you again, will you please roll up your sleeves. " He saw through your lie easily, so much for that excuse.

You sat, frozen in your seat. If he saw the scars on your wrist, some new, some old, he would tell your parents. If he told your parents they would take you out of public school for good, which means you wouldn’t get to go to high school with Takanobu. You would break your promise. You couldn’t break that promise, “Sir, I find this unnecessary. May I please return to class.” you said weakly.

With a sigh the man nodded, “Very well, if I hear that you are harming yourself in any way, I will have no choice but to tell your parents.” he paused, pushing his glasses up, “You may return to your class.”

You jumped out of your seat, bowing and muttering a thank you, before leaving the room. There was no way in hell that you were going to let your parents find out. Quickly walking through the halls of the school, you tried to get to your classroom before people noticed you walking through the halls.

~ ~ ~ ~

❤︎ Taglist❤︎: @bnha-butterfly, @kuroolongtea, @tinynarutobookmark

A/N - Thank you guys for waiting!! This chapter was going to be longer, but I didn’t want to keep you all waiting!! I really hope you liked this chapter!! Please remember, my DMs are always open if you need to talk to someone!! Please send me a message if you are feeling depressed or suicidal. I may not be able to help much, but I’m always here to support you!!! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

#Aone #Aone Takanobu #aone takanobu x reader #aone x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader

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headoverjojo · 3 years

Note

Hello, can I request a scenario of Diavolo and reader with pen pal AU?? I just think it would be interesting remembering how secretive he is, but I think there’s like a chance that he’d be willing to open up more to a pen pal yknow. Thank you 💕✨

Hello there! Oh god, after so much time... I’m so sorry about it ç.ç But in any case, I sincerely hope you’ll like this little fic!

Pen pal AU: Diavolo and reader

(Under the cut for lenght!)

Diavolo still couldn’t believe it. When Doppio, more than two months before, had suggested him to try to open up a little -he, Diavolo? Open up a little?!-, Diavolo was so near to strangle him. And, well, this would have been terribly inconvenient, as he would have ended up strangling himself. Instead, he closed himself in stubborn silence, ignoring even when Doppio was trying to call him. He was too pissed: he, a man who was so obsessed by privacy, had to open up?! Sometimes he wondered how could Doppio be so silly and, at the same time, be a part of himself.

However, after having pondered about it for a few days, he found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, Doppio wasn’t so out of his mind. It was true that sometimes he felt… alone, even if he loved dearly his loneliness. When he brought up the topic again, Doppio showed enthusiasm: the Boss was making the right decision! And, knowing his trust issues, he had found the right solution: a pen pal. The Boss could make a bond with them without actually seeing them, and without risking his safety: it was the most convenient deal.

Doppio managed to find a good pen pal for his Boss: their name was Y/N, and they lived in a city far away, so there was no risk to meet them. They too were quite a private person, he found out, and it was their first time as pen pal for them too. It was perfect.

Their first letters were awkward. Diavolo was too used to order around, and he felt weird to use a casual tone. Plus, he still didn’t know if he could trust them: they were a stranger, all in all. He was always scared to unmask himself, that they were just trying to lure him to reveal himself, to show his weakness, and then trying to attack him and bring him down… he was really careful and cautious, when he wrote. He never gave any hint on the place he was, or the weather, or his surroundings… anything that could suggest his position. Not even the most skilled detective would have found his house.

As days and weeks passed, however, he was more and more surprised to see that they never asked him for a more precise description of his place, or why he was using a post office box and not his personal mailbox. It seemed like they… weren’t interested in it. It seemed like they were more interested in his hobbies, what kind of music he liked, which books… their questions always baffled him.

He never thought for real about such frivolous things. He had ambitions, worries and fears, when he was young; then, he had a whole criminal organization to manage. He just… never had the time to stop and enjoy a little such casual hobbies. Killing his opponents wasn’t a respectable hobby, or at least not one he could externalize. He admitted, in his letters, that he didn’t listen to music very often, and that he hadn’t so much to read, and then he asked them for suggestions, curious, all in all, to see what they liked so much to the point to suggest it to someone else.

He listened to the songs they suggested to him, and read some of the books they loved. It was weird… it was like coming to know them deeper, in a more intimate way. He was used to decipher his opponents and, even more important, his allies from small details, in order to find a way to destroy or bend them, but this time… it was different. He wanted to know them not to possess them, but simply because he liked to know them.

Was this… friendship?

He felt a little jolt of excitement every time he saw that there was a letter in the post office box, and he always hurried Doppio to come home as soon as possible. He took control of his body the moment they stepped inside, and immediately opened the letter, reading it almost with greed. It was like a breath of fresh air: for a little while, he could smile and even laugh, reading their news. It was the most awaited moment of the whole week, a few hours when he wasn’t the feared and powerful Boss of Passione, but simply D., as he always signed himself. The man who liked Genesis and Sting and thriller books, who hated cold weather and loud people. Sometimes, he even found himself wishing it was all true, that he could have been just D. forever… but then, something brought him back to reality. A new alliance, someone who was trying to steal from him, a new criminal gang that was trying to compete with them… his world abruptly crashed his wishes, every time. He was who he was, and he couldn’t be no one else, no matter how much, sometimes, he desired it.

After a while, he even shared some really private information about himself: he told her about his Sardinian origins, and that he didn’t know who his father was. He never told it aloud, but… it was heavy, for him, not to know who his father was. He had even questioned his mother, during the time he had kept her imprisoned under the floor, but nothing. She had always murmured that she didn’t know who his father was. She had met him one night, and that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Doppio never worried about these things, mostly because Diavolo made him not to worry about it; he and Doppio were, all in all, twins in one body, and he cared about his twin, in his ways. It had always been Diavolo’s duty to keep Doppio out of troubles and to elaborate painful and complicated decisions and information; feeling the burden of not knowing who their father was was his duty.

For the first time in his life, he was able to finally let these feelings go: he wrote that he felt like he was missing a part of himself, got lost with his father’s identity, and how, sometimes, this heavied on his heart. He wrote that he missed his homeland, sometimes, even if the memories tied to the island weren’t properly positive; still, it was home. The sea, the hard and direct language, the wind that always blew in the evening, the small and half dry bushes of tenacious mediterranean plants… it was carved in his memory. Yes, his life hadn’t been easy, but there were people, even if he could count them on the fingers of only one hand, that didn’t despise him: one was surely the priest who took care of him. The other two were three other old people: the guardian of the lighthouse, the undertaker, who mostly made sure to water all the flowers in front of the graves, and then an accabadora. Maybe his acquaintances were also one of the reasons he wasn’t so accepted between his town’s people… (A/N: an accabadora was a woman, usually an old woman, who was in charge to bring death to people who were so severely sick that their family required this kind of “service”, to spare their loved one of more pain. Some say that the accabadora didn’t literally bring death, but that was in charge to comfort the person who was dying ‘till their last breath, following ancient rituals)

He was tense the whole time he was waiting for their response. Maybe he had overshared… he was worried they could find out who he was for real -he knew it was a paranoid thought, but he couldn’t help to think about it-, but, at the same time, he was worried that he might have scared them away. He found himself… pained by that thought. They were the only person he had ever considered a real friend, and he just… didn’t want to lose them. He had never felt like that for any other person, excluding Doppio; every Capo, every subordinate, could be replaced in no time. But Y/N… they were unique. They couldn’t be replaced, and losing them… it was unbearable. His heart started to sink when, that Saturday, the day he usually received their response, his post office box was empty. Maybe it was too much for them, and they just decided to stop writing to him…

He couldn’t stop to think about it, especially now that he was back in his homeland. He had to come back in a hurry, in order to stop a group of kids who were so tenaciously trying to find out his identity… and, last but not least, they had his daughter with them. He needed to stop them before it was too late… Doppio, of course, didn’t know about the real reason behind his Boss’ orders; he just knew that he had to take care about a couple of “difficult subordinates”, but, at the right moment, Diavolo would have taken Doppio’s place, doing the dirty work.

Diavolo was dozing off a little, inside Doppio’s mind, when a buzz from his phone startled him. From Doppio’s eyes, he read the message from the post office: there was a letter from him in his box. Diavolo couldn’t help but to feel a sense of relief washing over him: Y/N had answered! So, they were still friends…

That news helped him to approach his job with a new strength. It shouldn’t have taken much time to finish those kids… he was Diavolo, after all, the most stand user of the whole world. Nothing could surpass his King Crimson.

He was sure to be home at most the next day. And then, he could have read their letter and breathed again for a little moment, as it always happened…

He couldn’t wait for it.

#jjba #vento aureo #the court of the crimson king #diavolo #neutral reader #pen pal au #pen pal!diavolo #pen pal!reader #scenario #prompt scenario #sfw #anon ask

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unsaidmar · 3 years

Text

WC: 2.5k (long winded girl, I know)

Plot: They share stuff and it changes how they see things. Connection ensues.

CW: Mentions of death, illness, hospitals I guess, violence.

a/n: Hello y’all. This is part two of whatever the fuck is going on inside my pea brain. Hope you enjoy.

Part one, the meeting.

Two; It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

She laughed at the awkwardness of the text and the perfect grammar Dr. Spencer Reid maintained while texting. Ollie made a mental note to care a little more about the phrasing of her own texts, especially considering the circumstances. To say she wanted to impress him was an understatement.

“Good, germs are yucky.” Sent at 7:45 am.

“Also, hi. Good morning” Sent at 7:45 am.

Good morning? Too much too soon? She fell victim to her overthinking for at least twenty minutes after sending her last text, realizing she had to slowly build up the courage to ask about the next time they would be seeing each other, which apparently would have to wait, since Spencer had an inconvenient schedule and could be out of the state in a matter of 20 minutes. Ollie exhaled and stood up from her awful office chair to go and make herself some coffee, hoping to stop her mind from reeling and sending her into her usual never-ending pit of despair and anxiety that came with stepping out of her comfort zone.

A ping echoed in the room and her screen lit up, displaying a text from the one person she had been thinking about. Ollies mother would be crying laughing if she saw the state she was in, positively losing hair over the fact that a cute, smart, witty man was texting her back. A man she had spoken to for the first time not even 24 hours prior.

“I’m a nice person, I’m funny sometimes, I offered him coffee.” She whispered to herself, rationalizing every aspect of their interaction. “That’s how friendships start” She laughed bitterly. “I’m here… freaking… wishful thinking, and maybe he has a significant other… maybe he doesn’t even like women… maybe he just thought I was nice and he thought ‘yay, a new friend’… fuck” she plopped herself back on the chair and threw her head back.

Lia would have known what the right thing to do is, she would come up with a cool thing to text back on the spot, and she resented her absence like she had a million times before. Ollie had gotten used to writing her letters like her best friend was living somewhere else in the world and she would eventually read her friend’s attempt at keeping her updated, which she knew was not healthy and definitely not helping her move on.

The thing is, Lia’s death was not a surprise at all. It was a possibility to the point of actually being expected. She had been diagnosed as a terminal patient for a little over a year before she passed and almost everyone around her had made peace with the fact that she could go any day and that life would have to go on without her, but no amount of grief counseling and encouraging talks with Lia’s family could have prepared her for the unimaginable pain Ollie felt when it happened. She had heard about experiences that made the world turn upside down and how some life events made you go numb and make your legs give weight, but had never come face to face with a happenstance that painful.

She figured she was going to have to carry the burden of her loss till the day she died, and even then, the words “I missed you, till the very end.” would be carved in her grave.

Coming back from her spiral, she remembered how she fell down the rabbit hole in the first place. She took her phone with the intention of texting Spencer back and smiled at how stupid she had been to worry about seeing him again.

“Hey, arrest made successfully. Are you busy right now?” Sent at 7:57 am.

Sighing with relief, Ollie smiled and tried to sound casual with her reply as to not sound like seeing him again was the only thing she had been thinking about.

“I’m the boss, I can un-busy myself. Why? Were you charmed by my Keurig?” Sent at 8:00 am.

Spencer was not the kind to send sassy texts, or any text for that matter. This was completely new to him and he was determined to get it right, so he channeled the Derek Morgan that lived within him and prayed to whatever deity was looking out for him to make him sound cooler than he was feeling.

“I’m a sucker for coffee so, yes.” Sent at 8:05

“I’m a sucker for you, apparently” Ollie nearly screamed at how quickly that came out of her mouth. “Fucking loser, dear God” She shook her head, scolding herself and whatever hamster was in charge of her brain and thought process.

“Mi oficina es tu oficina, then. I’ll be waiting.” Sent at 8:07

Twenty minutes later, he was there, coffee cup in his hands. After what felt like no time at all, they were four coffee cups deep into their conversation and had learned a lot more about each other. Turns out Spencer had a day off after they landed from an away case, he had a thing with germs, his favorite color was purple and his co-workers were more his family than just the people he happened to work with. He liked a bunch of sugar with his coffee and had an eidetic memory that was as much of a blessing as it was a curse.

He was impressed at how this girl was not what you would expect her to be, every aspect of her seemed to make no sense and at the same time, it made perfect sense. This purple haired girl had ADHD and a PhD in history, she was the oldest daughter of two of the most stubborn Mexican immigrants and had a sister that made even the most patient of humans go mad. She loved music, and was not ashamed to admit that her taste in music was far from sophisticated. “I am Taylor Swift’s bitch; I know the words to every single one of her songs! Same goes for One Direction too” She argued when Spencer said that it couldn’t be that bad.

A blaring ring halted their conversation to an unexpected stop. Ollie picked up the office phone with an annoyed grimace and exchanged a few words with whoever was calling.

“Hold that thought, I have to go sign a thingy at the front desk” She dashed out of her office and left Spencer there.

For the first time, he felt compelled to look around and fixate on the details. There were a few old looking pictures and some newer ones with people who looked a lot like her. There was one picture that caught his attention, isolated from the rest like it deserved a spot of its own. In it, there was a red-haired girl that looked around Ollie’s age, one of her arms around her waist and the other one cradling her head that was laying on her shoulder. Ollie’s eyes were closed and the red head looked like she was caught mid-sentence. Stuck to the frame was a little post it note that read “I love you, head ass. -Lia” It looked intimate, they were clearly comfortable with that kind of physical affection, and if Lia hadn’t called Ollie a head ass in the post it, he would have assumed they were together romantically.

Ollie came back in a hurry, apologizing for having to run out like that and sitting back down to resume their conversation.

“It’s okay, don’t worry” Spencer assured her. “I was looking at your pictures, I hope you don’t mind” He said, suddenly very aware of how invasive that could be.

“Not at all, those are there to be looked at” She shrugged, bracing herself for the question she knew was coming. Somehow, talking about Lia with him did not feel as dreadful as it had all those times she was asked about it before, perhaps it’s just him and his calming presence.

Sure enough, he pointed at the picture Lia had framed for valentine’s day and asked, “Who’s that?”.

“That’s Lia, she was my best friend. She is my best friend.” She smiled fondly, something that had never happened before when talking about this specific topic. Maybe sharing Lia’s memory with someone who didn’t know her was different. “She passed away almost a year and a half ago. 468 days ago, to be exact. She was really sick, it was inevitable” Ollie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, reaching for the post it and tracing the words over with her finger.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine how hard that must have been”

“It was… heartbreaking. Even with all that time we had to process the news, it still took me off guard.” She shook her head trying to ground herself. “Anyways, that’s a sad topic. I don’t want to bum you out with it.”

He knew the feeling all too well, he had apologized to several people when he rambled about Maeve, feeling like he had said too much and gotten too personal. He was not about to let this beautiful, vibrant soul feel the way he had for so long. Like he still did, truly.

“Don’t apologize, I get it. You’re not making me sad” He felt like he needed to elaborate to actually convey the message. “I went through the same thing with someone I loved too” he said, looking down at his hands, the very familiar feeling of oversharing creeping in. As he looked up, he noticed the sad look Ollie was giving him, but if the profiler in him was right, she was inviting him to share, not to stop.

“Her name was Maeve. She… she was a geneticist. She helped me through a rough time and she became my friend. It’s a long story…” he looked away.

“I want to hear it, long or not. But only if you want me to.” She gave him the warmest smile she could muster, which convinced him to keep going.

“Um, I started getting some headaches a while ago. I went to a few doctors but none of them gave me an answer. I reached out to Maeve for help and… We bonded, I guess.” He took a shaky breath.

“You don’t have to continue if you feel uncomfortable” she whispered in the most delicate tone.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never told this story before. Everyone in my life that I care about was there to see it.” He said, meeting her eyes so she could see how honest he was being. The man got a hold of himself for a minute, and continued.

“Maeve had to go into hiding. She was being stalked by some woman she met at work. Beyond talking on the phone, we hadn’t even met. I had no idea what she looked like and vice versa. This girl, the stalker… She wrote a paper, and Maeve dismissed it because it didn’t have a good enough foundation. When she started stalking her, she scared her into hiding and eventually started dating her ex-fiancé to try and get closer to Maeve, assuming he knew where she was. They ended up finding her and confronting her. She shot herself and the first person I ever loved. Right in front of me and my friends. The first five minutes I got with Maeve face to face, were the last.”

Baring his soul to a person he had known for a whooping 18 hours was the weirdest thing Spencer had ever done, so unlike himself it was almost funny. But at the same time, he felt like it had to happen. By no means did he believe in fate or destiny, but this one moment made him feel like maybe whoever does believe in that stuff, is not completely wrong.

She was not a therapist. She listened because she was going through a similar thing herself and her interest in Spencer’s loss was not rooted in psychoanalyzing him and helping him cope. She was just a mundane human that did not look at him with condescension and pity, she looked at him like she, too, had found a person who wouldn’t ask her “And, how does that make you feel?” in a monotonous voice. They both knew better than to assume they had all the answers.

“Spencer, that’s horrible. I am so sorry you had to see that. Jesus, fuck. I- “She thought about her next words very carefully. “That’s enough to crush anyone’s spirit” She looked at him like he was turning green. The reason being, he did not look like he was crushed. He had a beautiful smile that shook Ollie to her core, he was easygoing and conversation with him was carefree and it flowed easily. If he had not told her about Maeve, she would not have guessed the man sitting right in front of her was as affected as her.

“How did you manage to get through that?” Ollie questioned, fully intending to take notes.

“I don’t really think I have yet…” Well, time to come clean. Spencer thought. “The whole reason I was here yesterday, and a lot more times before that one, is because she and I talked about this museum. She told me about some conferences she had attended here and we made plans to visit together. Doesn’t quite sound like someone who’s over the whole thing.” He fiddled with his fingers, suddenly too aware of how cold it was. “How did you get through Lia’s death?”

“Yeah, well. I don’t really think I’m quite there either. Not like I’m trying, anyways. I can’t seem to get away from the Grey Roots either” Mental images of two little kids running around with dusty books in their hands came to her and she couldn’t help the small smile she broke into.

“I’m a hopeless romantic at heart, I have always thought that the way Lia and I found each other was pure magic. We met when we were in the second grade, right in this museum, we were on a field trip and we clicked. It was crazy to me that I actually met my best friend at such a young age, and the kind that lasts forever too. It sounds like when people meet the love of their lives on their first try. It sounds dorky, I know”

“It doesn’t. If anything, it sounds like you consider yourself lucky to have loved her like you did. We need more people like that, people that believe in magic.” Spencer reassured her with a shrug. He wished he could believe in cute stuff like that, but he was happy Ollie led a life that made her believe.

“Yeah, but us crazy people, we get our hopes up too easily. Sometimes it hurts.”

“Tell me about it.”

And just like that, in the not so well-lit office of the head Conservator of the Grey Roots Museum and Archive, something in the world had shifted.

#spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x latina reader #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds #bau #fluff #spencer reid headcanon

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masonscig · 4 years

Text

attached series | part two: envy

pairing | mason x detective x felix [detective sofía olmos]

word count | 3.8k

tags | @choicesarehard ; @pixelsandkink ; @brightpinkpeppercorn ; @messofakind ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @cellophanesheep ; @senatorraines ; @beccadavenport ; @wayhavenschronicles ; @hudush ; @pumpkinpeng ; @knightava ; @thebobbyfish ; @agentnate ; @admdmrtn ; @losingface (lmk if you want to be removed)

author’s note | omg i can’t tell you how much it’s meant to me that people liked the first part, as bare bones as it was since i didn’t really have an idea then but i definitely do now! i’m obsessed with writing felix AND mason so this has been soooo much fun. thank you if you’ve read this !!!! i hope you enjoy it :)

read on ao3

•─────────────────•

He strode down the hallway, hands in his pockets to give the illusion that he didn’t give a shit, when he was most definitely on edge. His fingers flicked his lighter open and closed against the twill lining of his pockets, trying to focus on the soft clicking noise it made instead of the swarm of thoughts clouding his conscience.

He still couldn’t figure out why he cared so much.

So what, she didn’t try to contact him the past week? He didn’t give a shit. He had bigger things to worry about.

Like his job. And the next piece of ass he was going to conquer.

He had an ample selection of people to choose from, inside the Agency and outside of it. All he had to do was pick his target, turn on a bit of his whorish charm, and – nine times out of ten – they were putty in his hands.

It was baffling to him that since meeting her, when he caught someone staring at him, the familiar glimmer of hunger in their eyes, he felt nothing.

Sofía had burrowed her way into his subconscious and wouldn’t get the fuck out no matter how many distractions he created for himself.

He rounded the corner, picking up speed to push through the large wooden door leading to the meeting area.

Despite everything, his pulse quickened at the thought of seeing her again. Not that he’d admit it, but he was… mildly excited.

––––

He plopped onto the cushiony sofa, swivelling so that he could lay back and prop his legs up on the arm rest, folding his arms behind his head.

“Am I doing the Ferris Bueller pose right?” He grinned, wiggling his ankles.

Nate sighed, pointing to his feet.

“Yeah, aren’t my new sneakers sick? I wanted the Marty McFly shoes but they were so expensive so Sofia helped me pick a knock off instead,” he beamed, extending his leg towards Nate. “Wanna touch ‘em?”

“Please get your feet off the couch, Felix,” he commanded gently, licking the tip of his finger to flip the worn page of his dense book.

“Awe, you’re no fun. If I put my feet on the ground, who’s gonna see ‘em?”

“This isn’t show-and-tell, Felix. This meeting has a purpose,” Adam said from the corner of the room, standing rigid against the wall.

“Every meeting is show-and-tell if you have something new, like my shoes,” he wiggled his brows, leaning forward to untie and retie his shoes for the hundredth time, trying to get the loops just right.

“Seems like you had a good time with Sofía yesterday,” Nate murmured, glancing over the cover of his book, a soft smile on his lips.

Felix’s grin stretched wider at the mention of the detective’s name.

He’d had more than a good time with Sofía at the mall. He’d had the best time.

They’d spent nearly the whole week together, binge watching films to cheer her up. He didn’t really have the attention span to watch movies, but sharing a blanket with her, fingers grazing when they both went for the kettle corn at the same time… it was straight out of a rom-com.

He didn’t really get the hype of kettle corn, but people were supposed to eat it to enjoy movies more… right? He could care less about how shitty it tasted as long as he could spend more time with her.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with me like… this for the past few days, but I really appreciate it,” she smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve got to make it up to you somehow.”

“Hmm,” he mused, screwing his lips to the side of his face. “Nope. I’m just happy we’ve gotten to hang out. You’re always so busy!”

“You say that like you’re not a whole ass supernatural being that works for a secret agency,” she raised a brow at him, the smile still tugging at her lips.

“Touche, touche. I’ll give you that, human,” he said, pushing his brows together like he was trying to sound commanding.

“Oh, please, don’t give me that ‘human’ talk. You know you love our pop culture way too much to talk down to me like that,” she laughed, pretending to shove his shoulder.

“Yeah, I really do,” he laughed. “There’s so much I wanna do that I haven’t been able to with all of this ‘lay low’ shit. Sometimes it makes me wish I had a past human life I could remember like Nate or Adam, ya know?” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, when it clearly was something that passed through his mind often.

She shifted on the couch, looking a little uncomfortable. Oh no, he thought. I should’ve just kept that in. There I go again, oversharing when I don’t even know if she cares –

“Is there anything I can do to help you with that?”

“Huh?” His focus was torn away from overthinking.

“If you’ve got a bucket list, I can try to help you check some things off,” she shrugged, tossing a few pieces of kettle corn into her mouth, crunching softly.

“What’s that?”

“Like, a list of things you wanna do before you die. Things you wanna do before you kick the bucket.”

“Well…” Felix trailed off, shrugging. “I don’t know why I’d kick a bucket, but I’m not dying anytime soon… or ever.”

Sofía snorted, the sound reverberating off of her apartment walls. “That’s an idiom, Felix.”

“Hey, you don’t have to call me names,” he pouted, brows furrowed.

An even louder laugh ripped from Sofía, her chest heaving as she cackled. “Felix – Felix, please –” She wiped the tears from her eyes, barely able to catch her breath.

He was a little upset at that.

He didn’t have a chance to learn all the stuff he wanted about humans. Nate really only taught him what he thought was important for Felix to know – boring things, like literature and etiquette.

She must’ve noticed him frowning, because her laughter tapered off, looking guilty as soon as she realized he didn’t get it.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just messing with you. You’re the funniest guy I know, seriously. And you don’t even try.”

A smile bloomed across his features, a warmth blanketing him, so comforting that he didn’t think the crisp fall wind could make him shiver.

She thought he was funny. The one thing he was good at without being taught.

“Thanks,” he murmured, looking away from her. Did he sense a blush coming on? Wow, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. But maybe not as of recently, since his cheeks burned around her way more than he’d like to admit.

“Well,” he said, after a brief silence. “I don’t really know where to start.”

She pushed her brows together, her glasses sliding down her nose, which she pushed back in place with a finger. “Hmm… is there anything from the movies we watched that excited you?”

He flipped through images in his brain, trying to pin down things he was drawn to from the movies they’d binged. His eyes lit up the moment he settled on an idea.

“I wanna go to the mall, you know, like in Chopping Mall, except we don’t get killed. I’ve never been to one before.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? You’ve never been? Like… ever?”

He shrugged. “I kinda had to stay inside until I learned, uh, what are they called?” He snapped his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut while he racked his brain for the phrase he couldn’t recall. “Social cues! Yeah I was terrible at that at the beginning. Couldn’t go two seconds without bringing up home and the fact that I’m… ya know.” He gestured to himself.

“A vampire?”

“I was gonna say devastatingly handsome, but that fits too,” he grinned as she playfully threw a piece of kettle corn at him.

His smile fell a bit. “I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

“You’ve got forever, right?” She asked hopefully.

He sighed. “Yeah, but when you’ve already missed so much of human history you kinda want to learn more. Nate and Adam and even Mason have cool stories that I can’t even compare to. I want that.”

He pretended not to see her flinch slightly at the mention of Mason. God, Felix, your one job was to distract her. Good work.

“Well, we’re just gonna have to make our own history, huh?” She said softly, gently placing her hand on his arm, a sweet smile on her face.

She was beautiful. He’d seen the movies – he knew exactly how he was supposed to feel when he saw the person he wanted. And for him, when he looked at her, the fireworks were firing off in the background.

He barely resisted the urge to reach out and touch her face. Just barely.

When they finally made it to the mall in the city, after pulling a Ferris Beullers’ (they lied to say they were going downtown to patrol when they were ditching), Felix practically skipped up and down the waxed linoleum flooring, in awe, like a child in a candy shop.

With comically large eyes, face pressed up against the window, he spotted the Marty McFly-esque sneakers and dragged Sofía inside.

So, the shoes meant a lot to him. A symbol of his favorite day in Wayhaven – well, technically outside of Wayhaven, but Adam didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah. I had a great time patrolling.”

––––

Mason pushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the rest of the team’s presence as he retreated to his usual corner, next to a one person armchair.

He tried drowning out Felix and Nate’s incessant chattering, the noise nagging at him like a toothache.

His hand reflexively reached for his back pocket, nearly about to grab a cigarette from the pack. Much to his annoyance, he was reminded that he’d left them in his room, since she was going to be there.

He settled for flicking the lighter again, lips curling into a sneer every time Felix laughed a little too loud.

His senses were suffering. His head was getting cloudier and cloudier with each passing second.

When the fuck was she gonna show?

Before he could leave to retrieve his cigarettes, Sofía shouldered her way through the heavy door, struggling a little beneath the weight, her bangs falling in front of her glasses.

She looked a little disheveled, like she’d just woken up, but not messy. She was well put together all the time, like every single item she wore was meticulously chosen; she made it look effortless, nevertheless.

It always made him proud of how quickly he could turn her into a writhing mess, and that he was the only one that saw that side of her.

He bit back a smirk, shifting his weight so his hip propped up against the arm of the chair, expecting her to plop next to him.

So when her hazel eyes focused on Felix first, he couldn’t help but grimace.

Her face lit up, and she rushed over to the sofa, passing Mason and Nate, while keeping her attention focused solely on Felix.

“You wore the shoes!” She grinned, dropping her bag on the floor next to the coffee table.

“Yeah, I’m just breaking them in,” he said, wiggling his feet, still splayed out on the couch.

She plopped onto his legs, making Felix laugh out loud. “Hey! Didn’t you tell me not to crease them?”

“Scoot over and I won’t,” she giggled as he lifted his legs dramatically one by one, grazing them over her ducked head.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her face. She was so… happy. A complete 180 from earlier that week. Not that he expected her to come in a blubbering mess but… something wasn’t right.

Since when did those two get so damn close?

The ache in his head dulled, his senses more manageable from the moment she walked in.

“Hey Nate. Adam. Mason,” she said, waving generally. To any other person who didn’t know Sofía, they’d think she was being friendly. But the millisecond of a pause before she said his name proved she was still upset with him.

Felix leaned in to say something, eyes wide with a grin to match, invading personal space like he normally did. It wouldn’t have bothered Mason, if he hadn’t noticed one thing.

Her heartbeat sped up.

––––

He slid his bookmark into the crease, carefully closing the book. He’d heard Rebecca drive up, so she’d walk in any second now.

Where Nate sat on the love seat in between Felix, Sofía and Mason, he could sense the tension hanging in the air like a shroud smoke.

Mason was nearly seething in his corner, eyes locked on Felix and Sofía like a cat with its back arched, visibly frustrated. Felix was either willfully or blissfully ignorant of Mason’s energy, while Sofía was wrapped in her own bubble with him, quiet laughs exchanged in the tiny space between them, the occasional word echoing off the brick walls.

Adam could tell, too. A single glance exchanged between them proved they both knew something was wrong.

Rebecca pushed her way through the door, quickly surveying the group before addressing everyone and moving on to explain their assignment.

“We’ve heard rumors of something lurking on the outskirts of Wayhaven, right at the edge of the town’s limits. Over the next week, you’ll need to split and patrol to confirm if it’s petty gossip, or something more.”

As soon as the last word was out of Rebecca’s mouth, Mason stormed towards the door, opening it with such force that it smacked the wall, cracking the wood, splintering against the brick.

Sofía flinched, eyes wide. Her posture deflated, like she was finally in a good mood that was ruined by Mason’s explosive behavior.

Nate grimaced, sensing the atmosphere shift from tense to dismal. Even Felix’s smile had faltered as he stared at the doorway Mason exited through.

Sofía’s pulse raced as she stared at her lap, absentmindedly twisting her rings around her fingers.

Rebecca sighed, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “Sofía will need someone to accompany her, but the rest of you should be prepared to defend yourselves if needed.

“This is a relatively laid back assignment compared to what you’re used to, but I don’t want you to let your guards down. As we’ve seen before, anything can happen. You need to be prepared for the worst. Are there any questions?”

“Who’s going with Sofía?” Felix blurted, glancing back and forth between her and Rebecca.

“I’ll let you decide amongst yourselves,” she gestured at the remaining Unit Bravo members. “However, Sofía has the last word.”

In her own way, Rebecca was extending an olive branch, as miniscule as it was. Sofía hadn’t warmed up to her quite yet, but Nate was anxiously hoping he’d see their relationship blossom in his lifetime.

Rebecca glanced at Sofía, who was still wringing her hands together, half paying attention.

“Keep me updated,” she nodded curtly, glancing back and forth from Nate and Adam once.

“Of course, Agent Olmos,” Adam said, tipping his chin at her respectfully. As soon as Rebecca was out of the room, Sofía rose from her spot on the sofa.

“I… I have to get back to the station. I’ll get in touch with you after I’m off,” she murmured distractedly, tossing her bag over her shoulder and exiting before they could respond.

“I’ll go with Sofía,” Felix volunteered. “She’ll need someone to cheer her up while she’s out there.” He was clearly upset with how things played out, and Nate knew he needed to physically be there for her to comfort her – that’s the way he’d always been.

“I suppose,” Adam mused, rubbing a thoughtful hand against his chin. “We’ll be close by in case you need anything from us.”

“Watch out for her,” Nate warned gently, nodding towards Felix. “Adam and I will take the West and East borders of Wayhaven. You can take the South, near the entrance.”

“And Mason?” Felix asked, looking like he didn’t want to know the answer.

“He’ll take the North border. Alone,” Nate nodded. “I won’t tell him that you’re with her.”

Adam squinted. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t let it slip if he asks me.”

“Adam,” Nate sighed.

“I refuse to lie. If Mason asks me directly, I will let him know. Otherwise, you’re in the clear.”

Felix grimaced, pinching the strings at the hem of his scarf between his fingers, tugging at them absentmindedly. “Guess I gotta hope I’m lucky.”

Adam snorted. “Luck won’t help us if Mason finds out we kept this from him.”

––––

Sofía jogged down the hallway, shoving out the double doors towards her car.

Mason stood next to it, puffing a cigarette, arms crossed, looking absolutely volatile. Smoke curled around him like a warning sign, like his boiling blood was pushing steam out of his body. Don’t come closer, it said. She did anyway.

“What are you doing out here?” She sighed, shifting her purse on her shoulder, keys in hand. She’d slowed a few feet away from him, his back turned to her.

He didn’t answer her, nor look at her, eyes transfixed on the swaying trees on the edge of the woods.

“I don’t have time for this. I have to get back to the station.” She walked around him, refusing to look at his face, reaching out for the handle.

“You seemed to have a lot of time to waste back there,” he growled, stopping her in her tracks.

“Seriously?” She turned towards him, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not gonna spell it out for you, sweetheart,” he mumbled around the cigarette, pinched between his lips, set in a thin line.

“Why the fuck are you acting like this? And back there, too, in front of everybody. What’s your problem?” She asked, craning her neck forward.

“You could’ve at least tried to keep that shit to a bare minimum in a meeting.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. You’re not dumb, detective,” he enunciated each syllable of her title, like it was an insult.

“Since when do you care about being ‘respectful’ in meetings?” She air quoted around the word, keys jangling from where they hung off of her thumb.

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you berating me right now, when I don’t even know what you think I did wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, insufferably, shrugging like he wasn’t making her crazy. God, Sofía normally wasn’t an angry type – but she was stubborn, and Mason knew exactly how to push her buttons. “Then why are you acting like a fucking child?” She asked, voice raised. Guilt set in after she heard her voice echo around her. Maybe it wasn’t the best move to argue with Mason when all of Unit Bravo could hear. He was silent. He took long, deep drags from the cigarette, pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. He let the smoke seep out his nose slowly, clouding his features. He inhaled one last time, flicking the bud onto the ground before he smashed it beneath his boot. He met her eyes, the grey of his iris nearly swirling like the stormy, tornadic clouds.

“Your heartbeat.”

He said it so low that she could barely understand it herself. Maybe he didn’t want the team to hear. Didn’t want Felix to hear.

“I literally can’t control my heartbeat, Mason.”

“It spiked… around him.” His eyes flickered away from her, towards the trees again.

“That’s what you’re mad about?” She huffed in disbelief.

Silence. “Well, can you stop acting like that? I’m not yours. You made that clear last week,” she rolled her eyes, unlocking her car, opening the door.

“Acting like what?” He challenged, nearly growling. He’d completely ignored anything beyond the initial question.

“Like you’re jealous,” she nearly spat, tongue flicking as she enunciated each word.

“I’m not fucking jealous.” His nose scrunched like he was holding back a snarl.

“Yeah, well your tantrum says otherwise. Stop acting like a baby. You’re too old for this.”

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped back, letting her slam her door. He turned and walked in without another glance.

She revved the engine and peeled away from the warehouse, expecting to feel a sense of triumph in having the last word, but nothing came. Just emptiness.

––––

A growl ripped from Mason as he paced around his room towards the door, dragging his laundry basket behind him.

For the millionth time, Felix tried pawning his responsibility off onto Mason by planting his harder to wash items at the bottom of his basket.

He didn’t want to learn how to wash a beanie or a scarf, so he pawned it off on the person down the hall.

Felix never pulled this shit with Nate, so why would he try it with Mason? It was beyond him.

Laundry basket grating on the ground behind him, sending electric shocks up his spine at the volume, Mason gritted his teeth, ready to fling his basket at Felix’s door, fully prepared for the plastic to shatter and rip into their clothes. But it was worth it.

Instead, he found the door ajar, the sickeningly bright tones of Felix’s room instantly giving him a headache.

Ugh. What the fuck was so great about the color yellow?

Adam had warned all of them to passcode lock their doors behind him no matter what, since they clearly only relied on themselves for security, being that their home base was in the center of the woods.

Mason dug through the basket, flinging shit into the room, strewing the bright socks, beanies, t-shirts, and scarves across the floor.

He still had a bone to pick with Felix, but at least he got most of his anger out of his system.

Right as he was about to leave, something next to the entrance of his room caught his attention.

The shoes Sofía bought Felix.

Crisp, clean, and begging to be tampered with.

He didn’t mull over the decision for long, grabbing the shoes by their laces and chunking them into his basket, covering them with a pair of jeans.

He grabbed the basket with the tips of his fingers, hoisting it over his back, strolling back towards his room with a slight pep in his step.

––––

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #felix hauville #agent m #agent f #twc fics #detective sofía olmos #hope yall enjoy part 2 !!!#pls lmk if u wanna be tagged/removed #my fic

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torivikachu · 3 years

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I was just listening to Hamilton AGAIN - yeah I just put it on while working all the time - and it just hit me how really relatable Hamilton (or I mean, Lin-Manuel's interpretation of him) is. well, at least for me.

if you're wondering if this is worth your time it is NOT

anybody except me likes lists? I like lists. so let's make a list!

also let's see how many quotes can I fit into this post

whoa, I am excited about it.

1. the moment he meets Aaron Burr, he just sorta searches for something to bond over. like, hey dude I heard you went to Princeton? I wanna go there too, let's bond over it! by the way, I punched someone there lol I swear I am not stupid aand Burr, like um, no, thanks really, I better go, you seem violent, my parents wanted me to go there, okay, and Ham like WHOA YOU AN ORPHAN? WOW I AM TOO IT'S LIKE FATE OR SOMETHING LETS BOND and Aaron like wtf dude just shut up

and honestly that's just me, if I meet a person I like I will latch onto anything and I get sorta...fixated? so yeah, this dialogue is relatable as fuck

2. and Alex doesn't shut up, but then he goes all or am I talking too much?

bro, your anxiety shows.

3. and he keeps ranting all through the show, but his rants seem to charm everybody while I think mine just annoy and scare away? whatever, moving on, with Washington asking him why are you upset and he's replying IM NOT like a fucking teenager and it's probably a small thing but it's relatable as hell

4. and then once he is given permission he dives and buries himself into work, never does things halfway and is eager to take on more responsibilities and do something new and is just generally non-stop and while I can only wish for same energy as he, I like to have a lot of work aswell (well I sure as hell whine about it a lot but Hamilton does too! what's with I havent slept in a week I was weak I was awake you've never seen a bastard orphan more in need of a break)

5. he's flirty and has no qualms with innuendos. and very forward with his feelings? like you strike me like a woman who has never been satisfied sounds like a pickup line that either gonna win him a lot more than a number or fail miserably. he's like going all out, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and if it takes fighting a war for us too meet it will have been worth it and like seriously? yeah, flirt with every person in the room without skipping a beat, why not? he literally said on one intake of breath mr lafayette hard rock like lancelott i think your pants look hot laurens i like you a lot. he compliments people, he just throws it out instantly, most times he meets someone for the first time he compliments them and it's kind of my strategy too? it's not even a strategy, I just blurt out everything I like about a person once I meet them. it's like embarassing, because I liked a piece of jewelery on my co-worker once, and she was talking about something important while I could barely keep up because I kept thinking wow it looks great I gotta let her know. this strange need of mine to voice all thoughts annoys even me sometimes,

6. and then again, when he is angry or doesn't like something, it's painfully obvious. I don't tend to sprout profanities to people I don't like or saying stuff like madison you mad as hatter son take your medicine or you must be out of your GODDAMN mind or you absolutely right John should have shot him in mouth that would've shut him up but I can't school my face so it is always transparent what I am thinking about so my dislike is noted and not appreciated. it got me into enough embarassing situations. actually when studied in lyceum (like a sort of highschool) we had a principal and she addressed us as children and told us to call her mom and every time I was like WHAT THE HELL. I remember her eyes landing on me one time she said that and she almost did a doubletake at my facial expression. so the I'M NOT YOUR SON sentiment is not lost on me.

7. he speaks his mind when he thinks advice is in order? um if you love this woman go get her or for once in your life take a stand with pride. I tend to do it too, because I get winded up pretty fast, and I don't think it's always wise, because it's easy to judge from outside. I am pretty much sure that is the reason one of my friends back from school stopped talking to me. she had a bit of situation with her boyfriend and I still think her boyfriend is a piece of shit and she shouldn't have accepted him back, but whatever. wasn't my place to give advice, apparently

8. he gets overexcited? gentlemen of the jury I am curious bear with me are you aware that we are making history? like really I can't imagine ever getting like that at court. well I can imagine, because I get overexcited too, but saying that out loud? i'd be mortified

9. he's never satisfied? I know I already sorta covered it already, but it's more about him eager to learn and do more and feeling that what he's done and learnt is not enough, never enough. I so feel him on this, it's like yeah sure I know 4 languages, but that can't be enough can it? yeah I've got one degree but that's just ONE DEGREE that's like minimum I gotta get more

10. I know I talk too much I'm abrasive and I am not quoting Hamilton I am talking about myself thank you very much

11. he's a whiny bitch: but they don't have a plan they just hate mine -oh yes- or whatever it is Jefferson started it -huh yes sure-

12. forgetting your sons birthday? I forget my own age, sis. these little details just escape my attention. I like forgot it was my boyfriend's birthday this year - we literally live in the same flat. it took me a couple hours and a reminder from facebook. literally. and then I'll try to get away - hahaha it's like me saying to my parents - oh sure I'll some visit in a couple of months (they live in another part of the country) and then in a half a year being like oh wow when was the last time I went home

13. oh, here comes some more heavy stuff - say no to this. I was in a couple situations where I lost this battle. I think I have some polyamorous tendencies? but I am also very posessive and jealous, yeah, not a great mix, I know. so, I might have sorta dated two girls at one time once. well, not really dated, we were just bi-curious with one? we were friends, just... um, trying things. and then at some point I met another girl and it escalated pretty quickly and we sorta got together (oh my god the whole situation was a mess I was so confused about my sexuality back then and so ashamed you have no idea) and I didn't break it off with the first girl, but it was okay since we weren't... a thing? they knew each other but had no idea I slept with both of them. well we haven't really gotten that far with the first one but. and then the other asked at some point if she's the only one I do this with and I lied and a month into this endeavor I realized it was too much and sorta stopped seeing the first girl. we also stopped being close friends pretty soon afterwards. all my "lovestories" are embarassing actually, but this one is also the one I am most ashamed of. and then there were many situations in life when I was attracted to multiple people at the same time and ugh, I don't know, I kind of hate it, honestly. cheating is not okay. it is okay if everybody is okay with the polyamorous relationship though, but I never got to do it. so, yeah Ham's a dick but so am I

and on that depressing note I wanna wrap it up because I sorta killed the mood with that story. i think that's called oversharing?

if you actually read it to this point - wtf, you have nothing better to do or what?

I am not even gonna tag it so people don't have to scroll over that shit while searching for good content really I just like writing

the whole time I've been writing this my cat just kept staring at me. unblinkingly. I can feel her JUDGING ME

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poptod · 4 years

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Brought To Your Knees (Kenny x Reader)

Description: 7-Elevens are a lot more versatile than one might originally think. AKA, sometimes you can get locked in them with your long-time crush and, following that, things can happen.

Notes: Freshman means you’re around 14-15 years old, Sophomore is 15-16 I think, Junior is 16-17, Senior is 17-18. Idk the American schooling system too well. Completely male reader.

Warning: Smut :) not sure why its there but hey everyone needs a gratuitous blow job every now and then

Word Count: 6.1k

You were expecting rain. You even brought an umbrella along, tucked away in the side pocket of your backpack, but an umbrella clearly wouldn’t work very well. Snow fell harsh upon the earth, cold and freezing near instantly, making a very thick layer of snow trap you inside the 7-Eleven, the doors frozen shut despite the fact that the heating was still on.

How exactly one gets trapped inside a 7-Eleven with the only person they’ve ever really loved probably needs some explaining, so let’s go back to the beginning; seven years ago. Seven years ago you transferred schools due to an unfortunate accident with a classmate, at least that’s what’s on your record. Half of you is grateful no one knows what really happened, but the other half wishes people knew you punched someone in the face hard enough to dislocate their nose. Though, looking at you, most people probably wouldn’t believe you, considering you haven’t got the strongest body structure. Your (at the time) new school was better than the last one in several ways, but the most important to you was the fact that it was a public school. There were horror stories about public schools, of unruly students and horrible teachers, and by god did you want to experience that - private school was far too clean, far too organized for your mind, and you were going slowly insane.

If there’s a term to describe you, it’d probably be ‘thrill seeker,’ if asshole can’t be said out loud. For the first couple of years you were a nuisance to classrooms, the well known class clown and always up for distracting the teacher (the history teachers were the easiest to distract, math teachers the hardest), and always ready to fight back for what you believed was right. Then came your first year of high school and you found the greatest thrill of all - boys.

Previously you hadn’t taken much of a romantic interest in either gender, and most people said it’d kickstart sometime in high school, which was about right - freshman year you had a crush on a boy named Everett. It wasn’t a particularly strong crush, not compared to your more recent crushes, but it was your first, and you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You wanted him to fall in love with you, hopelessly and endlessly, you wanted him to hang on your every word and dream of your affections... but you didn’t want to be in a relationship with him. No, you just wanted his adoration, and nothing more - only to lead him on and drop his heart to break it. When this didn’t happen and he didn’t fall in love with you, you realized that most boys are not attracted to other boys, and you became deathly silent when it came to crushes.

Several other boys (and maybe a girl) caught your fancy in the remainder of freshman year, but there was one boy you hadn’t yet met that would become the greatest thrill of all. Junior year you had a class with him, and on the first day of school when you walked into English class your bag fell from your hands, clattering to the floor with a loud thump.

He is perfect, in every conceivable way he’s everything you’ve ever imagined, shy and kind, sincere and genuinely interesting - just the sight of him from that day on and your heart speeds up tenfold. You’re a horror story that teachers talk about, so Mr. Davis is clearly flabbergasted at your silence, and for the most part he leaves you alone even though you’re barely paying attention to the blackboard at the front of the classroom. Instead your attention is focused on the boy sitting two seats in front of you and a row to the right. It’s almost surprising he hasn’t noticed your staring, but clearly Mr. Davis notices because about two months into the school year he pulls you aside to talk about it.

“I wanted to talk to you about your attention,” he says quietly, sitting behind his desk as you stand at the other side. You’re playing absentmindedly with your fingers, barely listening to him, only staying where you are to avoid another hour of detention today. “I know you’re usually very loud in class, word gets around easily here, but you’re staring at your classmate a lot.”

“And?” You ask, not really seeing the point. In your mind, he should be thankful you’re not a disruption.

“Is… is there anything you want to tell me? About Kenny?”

“Who’s Kenny?”

“… that’s the boy you keep staring at,” he says slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Ah, you think to yourself. That’s his name.

“Listen, (Y/N), I want you to know you’re always welcome in my classroom. This is a safe space for you, okay?” His voice goes to a whisper as he says, “I have a boyfriend, so we aren’t so different after all.”

“I’m not gay,” you spit out quickly, the venomous tone of your voice not deterring him.

“I know it can be hard to admit at first, and at your age I understand the confusion within yourself. Just know you can talk to me, okay? And try to pay more attention in class? I know you’ve got it in you.”

Without word you pick your backpack up from the floor, slinging it onto your shoulders and leaving. Just as you exit the main doors, noting the dark clouds low in the sky, you’re called back by one of the vice principals, ordering you to your detention.

“C’mon, it’s Friday,” you groan, walking backwards to stare at the teacher as you walk away.

“I’ll call your parents!” She threatens, whipping her flip phone out of her pocket.

“Oh yeah? What are they gonna do? Fuck off,” you laugh, throwing double middle-fingers at her, which lands you in three hours of detention.

At five thirty you’re released, an absolutely sour look on your face as you walk down the pavement. There’s a seedy part of the city that has a 7-Eleven you’ve been to so often you know the workers’ shifts. All of them are pretty nice, though all very tired of life and if you had to hazard a guess, mildly suicidal. At least that’s the look in their eyes, and you don’t blame them - customer service is one of the most horrid jobs in history. Friday evenings Alan has shift, and he’s rather nice, but upon opening the freezing door to the inside, you don’t see him. The door shuts behind you and you wander the aisles for a little while - you don’t have much change, you note as your fingers fiddle with the coins and bills in your coat pocket.

Several minutes later your attention is brought to the weather - it’s snowing, bad, and you groan internally at the wind force practically blowing down the stop sign out front. The few trees that survive in the city are barely hanging on now, flimsy limbs and branches ripping away from the main trunk. Again you groan, a grimace on your face when you think about having to go home in that. With a calming sigh you turn back to the hotdogs, spinning slow and peaceful in the warm light.

Heaven is one big 7-Eleven, you think to yourself. One of the very few things that calms you down is rotating hot dogs that probably aren’t real meat.

From the corner of your eye you can see someone else enter, but the wind blasting through the doors is enough for you to turn your head.

It’s Kenny.

Of course it’s him.

Gulping you turn back to the hot dogs, hoping beyond belief that Alan will get back soon. Kenny is the only person that’s ever rendered you speechless, the only one that’s ever made your cheeks blush without a word. Even in fluorescent light he seems to glow, peaceful and careful as his fingers drag a feather touch across a row of snacks. He hasn’t noticed you, not yet, so you have time to plan out how to hide from him. Instantly you turn to the cash register, wondering if you’d get kicked out of Alan found you hiding behind the counter.

Too late - you can feel his eyes turn to you, burning into the back of your neck as you hold a viselike grip on the edge of the plastic red counter.

“Um, do you, uh, work here?” He asks, now standing directly behind you. Trying to smile, you turn to face him, feeling your heart burn with the speed it beats at.

“No, I - I just know the guys who work here, I don’t know where they are now, though,” you say, oversharing a little bit and praying he doesn’t notice. He’s right in front of you, half confused as his lips part just barely, brows furrowing above grey eyes. You can practically feel your legs giving out beneath you, but he turns to the door before you fall in front of him. Practically gasping for air as he leaves your personal space, you watch as he goes to open the door.

“Is... is this supposed to be locked?” He asks.

“No, it shouldn’t be,” you breathe out, making your way over to the door to try and open it. It’s stuck, hard - you even back up to kick it and it doesn’t budge.

“Wait, you’re… you’re (Y/N), aren’t you?”

“You know me?” You ask incredulously, even though it’s not that farfetched that he would know your name.

“Of course I do, you’re like a legend at school,” he says, getting quieter as his sentence ends. As he fiddles with his fingers, awkwardly trying to look somewhere else, you can’t help but stare as you nearly always do.

“I’m flattered,” is what you manage to say, just as choked and embarrassed as him.

“I’ll stay out of your way, just - just don’t beat me up?” He requests, holding his hands up defensively as he backs away towards the corner of the small store.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I don’t do that,” you say, taken aback by his words. You know your reputation isn’t great, but you didn’t think it was that awful - you’d never beat up an innocent person and you didn’t plan on starting. “What are you doing here anyway? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Um, my friend… he told me to meet him at the library, but the weather got bad and I needed to get inside,” he explains, still not meeting your eye.

God you’re perfect, you think to yourself in reaction to nothing in particular - he’s just so beautiful, so supple you can’t help but wonder what he’d feel like with his bare skin against yours. More than anything you want to belong to him, which you realize is strange for you; generally you enjoy others belonging to you, but… Kenny is different for no reason, but he’s so incredibly special you can’t understand your infatuation beyond the fact that it’s insurmountable and achingly enduring.

“I might be able to make a flamethrower,” you say, trying to think of ways to not be suffocated by nearness to the object of your unending affections.

“Wait, a flamethrower? What -“ he follows you frantically as you begin to search for flammable sprays - “what for!?”

“The door is frozen shut, we might be able to get out if I melt the ice away,” you say quickly, but he’s pulling at your arms to stop you from digging through the shelves. At the force you whirl around, face to face with him as your chest practically touches his, and in an instant you can’t breathe for fear of losing the moment. You both pause, frozen into shock before he steps back like you’re poison.

“I don’t think that’s, uh, necessary,” he says slowly, and just as slow you agree, nodding as you put the lighter away.

“Sure. You have a phone?”

“No, you?”

“I keep mine at home,” you mumble, untensing as the adrenaline of the moment fades away.

“Well this sucks,” he huffs, crossing his arms and turning awkwardly to the shelves as though he didn’t want you to see his face. “At least it could be worse.”

“No, don’t say that, the power’s gonna go -“

Darkness falls over the store and the heating system goes quiet, the dull background hum going out. A loud sigh comes out of you, letting your eyes accustom to the dark before thinking of what to do next.

“I think we might be stuck here till morning,” you grumble, the dim light of streetlamps casting a gold glow over the various rows and, of course, putting Kenny in a perfectly beautiful light. You can practically feel the blood rushing into your cheeks, and you quickly look away with crossed arms.

“I’m… sorry,” he says rather suddenly, just barely making his way closer to you.

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. “A beautiful coincidence.”

“… beautiful?” He asks, confused by your wording - it can’t possibly be a good thing to him.

“Yeah, I -“ you look over at him, fiddling anxiously with his fingers as he looks up at you - “Never mind. You tired?”

“No, don’t think i will be for a while,” he says, sitting with his back against the refrigerated drinks, the back of his head clunking against the cold glass.

“I’ll get a flashlight and a boardgame,” you tell him, the only idea in your head that didn’t sound stupid; the entire time you’re looking through the back for games, you’re kicking the thought of cuddling him out of your mind. The situation is perfect, far too perfect for it to work out well. Besides, these types of things generally don’t work out for you - as previously said, you’re a bit of an asshole, and that trait has a tendency to screw you over.

He just sits and waits, and when you come back a good five or ten minutes later, he’s still sitting in the same position. It strikes you as odd how he hasn’t even fidgeted considering how much he was doing it earlier, but you just shine the light in his face and cackle when he winces away from the brightness.

“All they had is chess. I guess Marie took back her game, which is fair,” you add as you sit yourself down across from him, putting the box in the middle of you two. “She got fired a while back and didn’t get her game when she left. I helped get her a key for the backroom,” you recall, chuckling, but Kenny looks partially terrified, so you stop.

“You know how to play?” He asks, rubbing his hands together as he starts setting it up.

“A bit. My brother tried to teach me when we were little, I never caught on much though,” you say, thinking distantly of how your brother was doing in university. “He’s a big math guy, loves strategy games like this.”

“So you don’t like strategy…?” He asks slowly, as though worried he’d offend you - you just shrug.

“It’s not that. I’m… just more of a romantic guy.”

For a good three seconds he doesn’t breathe, but when you raise your eyebrows questioningly, he picks up again with an absent nod. Once the last pieces are set into place, he does a quick run-through of the rules, and by the end of it you’re fully aware you’re going to lose at least the first few rounds. Neither of you have a grasp on time as you go through the first round, then the second, and onto the third - you lose very fast, that’s all you’re aware of. He’s sweet about it, for which you’re confused if not thankful. If you were to play chess with some of the people you hang with, they’d be mean about winning and they’d cheat on you, which is fair; you’d do the same to them. Now you’re being nice, trying to actually understand the game, and he’s being a complete sweetheart about teaching you the rules.

It isn’t something you’re used to, but it’s something you could be used to, and something you want to be used to - this sort of kindness. Despite all the thoughts running rampant in your head you manage to stay concentrated on the game - well, him more so than the game - and it almost feels like he might like you. That’s an improvement, you think to yourself, recalling his initial fear of you.

“Could I ask you something? If you don’t mind,” he requests after you both come down from a laughing high, and you agree easily. It’s only far too easy to be open with him. “There’s lots of stories that go around about you - there’s this one, this one’s my favorite, mostly because I don’t think it really happened, but it is really funny.”

“Really? Well, rumors are half right sometimes. What horrid thing did I do this time?” You ask, using the bottle opener on your swiss knife to pop open a beer bottle.

“It’s mostly just… inappropriate, not that it was a particularly ‘bad’ thing. I heard you… slept with Isla and Gianna like, at the same time, like every high school boys’ dream. The guy I heard tell it said you snuck into a sleepover or something?” He says slept like it’s disgusting, so that paired with absolutely everything else about him you assume he’s very unexperienced.

“That’s an interesting story, which I - I don’t usually tell the truth about,” you confess, waiting for him to make his next move in the game, but the moment never comes. He’s far too engrossed in your conversation, and as wonderful as it feels to be having a real conversation with your crush, you can’t help but hate the subject.

“Will you tell the truth this time?” He asks, quiet and sincere in a way that you don’t fully expect. It pushes you to trust him just a little bit more, and it’s all you need for the truth to come out for the first time about that story.

“I went to sell them some weed because they called me up n’ said they’d pay the price for bothering me so late at night, so y’know, I said ‘fuck it,’ you only live once right? I climbed into Gianna’s window for this too, and then they offered for me to share it with them. To be fair to myself I wasn’t feeling… too great about myself,” you grow quiet, “so I said yes. And then they started bringing up sex, and they kept trying to get me to make a move on them, but I wasn’t really feeling it. I didn’t want to do it, but it.. sort of happened anyway?”

He’s quiet, sort of nodding his head but he’s too far in thought to commit to the motion fully.

“Why haven’t you told anyone the truth before?” Is what he asks at first, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you realize it’s one of the easier questions.

“Didn’t want to seem like a pussy, that’s why,” you scoff, taking a smooth swig from your bottle. “It’s not a big deal anyway.”

“Kind of sounds like it,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a virgin,” you say, that asshole part of yourself that you were so worried about earlier rearing it’s ugly head. Right on time too, right when you could’ve opened your heart.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin. You know what they say,” he says defensively, leaning back against he glass.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“The safest sex is no sex at all.”

“Yeah, and abstinence won’t get you pregnant 99.99% of the time,” you laugh. When he just looks confused, you explain, “Virgin Mary, dude.”

He opens his mouth to let out a tiny ‘oh,’ and at last the game is resumed. Throughout the next several rounds he asks more questions, but those times he doesn’t ever lose track of the game turns. By the end of the night, when you’re both finally yawning with dewey eyes, you’ve only won one round, which you’re very proud of.

“At least I beat you once,” you remark as you help him look for blankets to stay warm with. “I won a round against Mr. Chess Master.”

“And I won fourteen rounds against Mr. Sex,” he says, his eyes bulging out of his head as his hand slaps over his mouth once he realizes exactly what he’s said. You turn to him, shocked yet pleasantly surprised to find him so flustered. Dreadful is how you’d describe him, dreading your full reaction.

“Those aren’t the rounds that matter if I’m Mr. Sex,” you respond, trying to remain as smooth and deep as possible when you wink to punctuate your sentence. His mouth falls open when his hand drops back to his side, and you walk out of the storage room with a small smile.

You heave a massive sigh, gathering yourself back together once the door shuts behind you. It only takes a few seconds before he’s following you, but it’s all that’s necessary for you to gain your chill again.

“It’ll probably be easier to sleep back here,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the entirety of the backroom - it’s a tad warmer and carpeted, which is a plus for comfort. The one office chair is cheap and heavily scratched by god knows what, so you roll it into the corner and lay out a blanket on the floor. It’s not an especially nice blanket, which is what you expected. The only real source of warmth you have access to is the leftover coats from employees who didn’t care to take theirs home.

As you lay down on the blanket, covering yourself in a too-large trench coat, you wonder of the different ways the evening could progress. In fact it’s all you can think about, all your brain can stress about when Kenny lies down right beside you. He has his coat as a pillow, and without word you offer your coat to help cover him - he declines, mumbling something about how he’s already warm.

I could kiss him right now, you think, the thought sending shivers of anxious excitement and fear through your veins. He’s staring at the ceiling, and though your body is facing the same direction you’re looking at him, watching the slow movement of his chest and the tired blinking of his eyes. Or we could leave and never talk again.

You don’t know what you’re doing, hardly aware of your own movements as the back of your fingers caress the side of his face, pushing unruly hair away from his eyes. His breath catches in his chest for a moment before he turns to you, eyes wide but curious despite the obvious fear.

“You’re really handsome,” he barely gets out, a whisper that he stumbles over. Judging by his uncertainty in himself you’re confident in saying he’s being sincere - that and the fact that nothing about him insinuates he’d lead you on like that. There’s so many silent words shared between you, a bond that one hold tights while the other wonders how it’s possible.

One wrong move, you think, one wrong move and I fuck this up, just like everything else. The urge to hold him close, to grab his hands and keep them intertwined in your own runs strong through your cold fingertips, but you wait. You wait for him to make the first move, but he doesn’t even blink; he’s far too enraptured in the way your lips part just slightly, the way your eyelashes flutter when you glance nervously up and down.

“I really like you,” you say, though the words don’t fully come from your conscious self. Something grabs you, ties away your thoughts and says what you mean - exactly what you mean, something you hardly ever do. He reaches up towards your hand lying dormant beside his cheek, trailing over your skin till he tangles his fingers in yours, holding your hand tight in his as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. The entire time you stare, watching his eyes flit downwards as a blush you can barely see in the dark crawls up into his face.

In a swift movement the old coat is off of you, crumpled in some corner as you rest your forearms on either side of his head, supporting your body held above him. His breathing picks up and at last he finally looks into your eyes again, careful to watch for any sign of what comes next, but even you aren’t sure as to what you’re doing. Still you move down, inching closer till your lips press against his.

He’s clearly startled, even though he immediately moves against you, kissing up into you even if his hands don’t know where to go. In your position you can do very little, but you manage to thread your hand into his hair, tugging on it lightly as you move deeper, pulling a tiny, broken hum from him. When his hands wrap around your wrists it’s painfully obvious he’s never done this before, so you break away, letting the both of you breathe and smile when it’s finally, fully, consciously realized what just happened. It’s so starkly different than any other romantic encounter you’ve had, so openly loving and yielding you wonder if you’ll ever be able to kiss anyone but him again.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” you murmur, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. He almost laughs, breathy and unsure as he runs his fingers down your spine.

“You could’ve done it sooner,” he tells you, whispering the words into your ear, his lips tickling the edge of it as he speaks. “I’ve had a crush on you for months.”

“Really?” You ask, pulling away to look at him fully. He stammers when you rest your weight on his hips, the heat of your thrill burning through the layers of clothes to intoxicate him. “I haven’t ever seen you look at me once in class.”

“We have class together?”

“I sit behind you, Kenny. English class,” you chuckle, watching his lips purse together in embarrassment.

“I mostly watch you during lunch. I - I never said anything because… well, you know why,” he mumbles, once more unsure of where his hands are supposed to go, so he crosses them on his chest.

“I know,” you say, quiet as you think over your words. “You still could’ve come up to me, but… this works too.”

He breaks into a grin, giggling when you join him till you’re both coming down from a high - as the wide grins dissolve into contented smiles, you kiss again, moving slow and soft, softer than the girls you’d been with, sweeter and more innocent than any love you’ve known.

“It’s strange you know,” you mumble against his lips, interrupting yourself by kissing him again. “I usually go for degenerates, you know, people like me?” You kiss him again, deep and needy - “but God, I’ve never adored someone as much as I adore you.”

“Really?” He manages to get out amidst your attack, trying to get ahold of a rhythm you could kiss him to but you’re chaotic, switching from his lips to his jawline and pressing kisses up his neck.

“Yeah,” you rasp out, the beginnings of a hickey blooming red on his neck.

“Oh, I - oh, don’t leave a mark,” he says, but by the way he tugs at your hair and pulls you closer, you’re sure he really wants you to.

“Let me guess, strict parents?” You ask, pulling away to look at your work. He nods as though it’s something to be ashamed of, but you just sigh and smile, tracing his jawline with your fingers. “This is probably the only time we’ll be able to make lots of noise, though.”

“You mean this’ll happen more times?”

“If you want it to. I want it to,” you say, watching as he nods furiously.

“Yes, please,” he practically whimpers, pulling you in for another searing kiss, his new ferocity biting at your lips and making you moan. You’re grinding on him, hardly realizing your actions before you’re both far too worked up from the friction.

“Fuck, I need you,” you say, your hands going up his shirt to scratch at the soft skin there.

“I haven’t ever done this before,” he tells you, almost glaring at you when you mumble, ‘I knew it,’ but the glare is quickly cut short when you palm at him through his jeans.

“Do you want this? We don’t have to, you deserve better,” you stop for a moment, letting your hand grip at his hip while the other strokes soothingly through his hair.

“Better than a quick fuck in the back room of a 7-Eleven? Probably,” he says, a smile breaking across your face at his humorous tone. There’s a delight that runs through you when you hear him swear, but you try not to think about it. “But I don’t think either of us are gonna be able to sleep well with… this.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug, pulling him back into a kiss.

With fumbling hands he works at your pants, managing to unbutton the ragged material and push them partially down your hips. You do the same for him before pulling his shirt off, kissing down what you find to be a surprisingly toned chest. For as much as he’s bullied he’s incredibly attractive and rather fit, and for a second you wonder why he’s bullied so much, before remembering a lot of people are pretty racist, and the whole ‘being gay’ thing was pretty obvious to everyone.

A long, saccharine moan is pulled from his lips, forcing you to think only of him. At the sound you practically gape, a sudden virility going straight to your cock, which is now straining painfully against your boxers. You can’t remember what it was you did that made him moan like that, so you do everything you think could work - it proves a lot for him to handle. Tiny gasps leave him as you trace your fingernails over his chest, biting tiny love marks into his ribs as your own chest occasionally rubs against his crotch.

“(Y/N), please, just friggin’ touch me,” he whines, his head thrown back and staring blankly at the ceiling, too focused on the sensations to care. You almost laugh at his desperation, but when he grabs your hair and practically grinds his dick into your face, you don’t. As demanding as it is you can’t help but acquiesce. You mouth at him through the fabric, and by the time he’s begging you again there’s a prominent wet spot on his underwear from where you sucked. When at last you begin to pull them down he looks at you, watching intently with flushed cheeks as he’s fully exposed to you.

Standing, you undress yourself, making a little show of it when you notice him staring. The moment you finish you’re back on him, just as needy as he is when your bare cock brushes up against his; his shoulders shake at the contact, and he falls back onto the floor, his eyes shut tight. To soothe the ache you kiss him, as tender as it was when you first kissed, and he finally lets out an anxious breath when you part.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmur, running your hand slowly down his chest till you reach his waist, your fingers just barely curling around him and pumping slower than what he deems should be possible.

“I just need you, anything, please,” he replies, breathy and still as wanting as ever.

“God, you really like begging for me, don’t you?” You tease, smirking when he just whines as you speed up your pace. With a kiss to his neck you whisper in his ear, “I love hearing you moan, though.”

“Then make me moan,” he says thoughtlessly, regretting his words when you smirk and move down his body. Regret is the last thing on his mind however, once you wrap your lips around the tip of his dick, sucking and practically drooling as you pump him.

“You taste wonderful,” you hum, attempting to take him deeper.

As experienced as you are it’s chiefly with girls (even if you aren’t as attracted to them, it’s just easier to pretend like you are), and this would technically be the first time you’ve sucked dick. It’s a lot harder than girls make it seem, you note to yourself, but try to take him deeper anyway. A long whine tumbles from his lips when you both realize you don’t have a very strong gag reflex and take him to the hilt, sucking and still roaming the expanse of his thin waist with your hands. He’s close, you can feel him twitch in your mouth, paired with the precum dripping off him and into you, but he yanks you away by your hair and pulls you up for another passionate kiss.

“What about you?” He asks, panting, and you almost laugh again - it’s so odd for someone to ask about you first.

“The sight of you like this is enough for me,” you assure him, laying wet kisses that have his eyes fluttering into the back of his head down his neck and onto his shoulder.

As you continue pumping him, focusing the majority of your energy on sucking a hickey into his skin, you hardly notice yourself grinding against him. In fact you only realize you’re doing it when his legs wrap around your hips, pulling you in till your cocks are slotted next to each other, both achingly hard. The intensity of it has both of you coming soon after, the imprint of your nails a semi-permanent fixture on Kenny’s hips, paired well with the blossoming hickey on his clavicle. He’s not the only one marked up by the end, though - angry red streaks line your back from his scratching, and you only notice when you collapse on your back beside him.

“Would you happen to have a rag?” He asks, both of you breaking into giggles soon after.

“I’ll go get paper towels,” you offer, reaching for your underwear before realizing you need to clean up before putting on clothes. Instead you peck his forehead, leaving him smiling as you leave the room.

Eventually you’re both cleaned up, clothes on, and the trench coat is covering the both of you, cuddled tight in the back room of 7-Eleven. When the story gets out, as all stories do at some point, there’s a lot of varying accounts on what happened in the night. The most popular, and probably your least favorite, was that you terrorized him the entire night, and though most people don’t believe it considering how close you and Kenny act, it’s still the most popular. Another theory was that you introduced him to drinking and you stayed up with him all night, drunk out of your minds; you don’t mind that story as much, but he does, so you try to tell people that isn’t what happened.

He does ask at one point if he’s allowed to talk about your relationship, and your answer is an ardent yes, which surprises him. You adore every part of him, and you find no shame in that, even if he thinks you should. Sure, you do get bullied a lot more, but it’s nothing brass knuckles don’t sort out quickly.

It’s an odd pairing, you acknowledge that. Punk doesn’t usually go well with sweetheart nerd, but it works surprisingly well, and for that you’re endlessly grateful. In-between classes you run by his locker even though you’re on separate sides of the school, always kissing him before each class. Your little expeditions leave you late to every class but English, and by the end of the year all your teachers hate you as usual with the exception of Mr. Davis.

“You concentrate a lot better these days. Did my talk help you out any?” He asks after class one summer day. Kenny is waiting outside the class, so you try to find a quick answer.

“Well… a little. I talked to Kenny at least,” you answer with a smile, bidding him a kinder good-bye than you usually give your teachers, saluting him as you close the door.

“Everything alright?” Kenny asks, walking shoulder to shoulder with you down the empty halls of the school.

“Everything’s perfect, sugar,” you answer, your arm hanging around his shoulders.

#kenny al bahir x reader #kenny al bahir #war at home #rami malek x reader #rami malek #male reader

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marvinswriting · 4 years

Text

Chapter Three- TSS

Previous chapter, here; master post, here

Janis centric- TW- none

"Okay, great, you're a study group," Gretchen says. "And we couldn't know this information, why?"

"We didn't just study." I laughed.

"We heard a lot of Regina bitching." Aaron says.

"So, nothing new when talking to Regina." Cady grinned.

They met every week when the English teacher should be staying after. Aaron was right, this whole mutual needs thing really helped because soon the whole group was passing again.

But they never stopped showing up to English after school.

They never texted to confirm that they'd meet up, they all just did. Every week, in the empty English classroom. For almost a month.

It's where they were now, sitting in the quiet classroom. Regina was mumbling homework explanations to Aaron while Janis doodled on Regina's homework.

"Oh," Aaron said suddenly. "I get it now."

"Took you long enough," Regina grumbled. "Janis, what are you doing?!"

"Art." The girl said without looking up.

"Well, it's pretty but not on my homework." Regina said.

Janis could tell Regina was trying harder to be a better person. But four weeks of being nice won't erase four years or harassment.

Still, Janis found herself dangerously trusting the blonde more and more. She was yet to tell Damian or Cady about this new development happening in the tiny part of the school.

"Can I ask you two for advice?" Regina asked suddenly.

"Huh?" Aaron and Janis said at the same time.

"You can't tell a soul," Regina said. "Not even Damian." She shot a glare at Janis who raised her hands in defense.

"No guarantee, it depends what it is."

"I'm serious."

"Okay." Janis says slowly. She's never seen Regina this uncomfortable, this vulnerable, this- emotional before.

Regina got up and shut the classroom door.

"Well, now I feel like I'm about to get murdered." Janis half joked.

Regina sat back down at their cluster of desks. "So, I'm- uh." She fidgeted with her hands, avoiding eye contact.

Aaron and Janis looked at each other, confused.

"I suck with emotions." Regina sighed.

"That is very clear, yeah." Janis teased, earning a glare from the girl.

"I just- I'm the HBIC, everyone listens to me and I don't have to worry about anything but-"

"But?" Aaron probed.

"I dunno, you'll think I'm stupid."

Janis crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "I think this is stupid."

Regina shook her arms, like trying to shake out nerves. "Shane Omen is just really touchy and always gets super close and he just- blegh I hate it I would wish he didn't."

Janis nodded. "No, see I actually understand."

Regina looked up. "Yeah but he's openly rude to you. He's sickenly sweet to me and he acts like everyone's dream boy around Gretchen and Karen so I can't tell them about it."

"But aren't you always with Karen and Gretchen?" Aaron asks. "When does Shane have time to act this way?"

"I'm not like Janis," Regina deadpanned, ignoring the scoff from the girl next to her. "I'm not always with my giants. I'm fucking Regina George, the whole school respects me I shouldn't have to be scared of a stupid jock."

Janis reached over to rub Regina's arm. "You're not the only one who feels that way. Yeah, you're fucking Regina George, and the whole school respects you. Guess what? Regina George is allowed to have emotions too."

Aaron nods. "I think we all get scared of Shane Omen sometimes."

"A lot of times," Janis adds.

Regina nods. "Right. Sorry for-" She motions to herself. "This."

Janis snorts. "Sorry, sorry, that's not funny just-" She tries to calm her outbursts. "That sounded way to familiar."

"Well," Aaron says slowly. "You okay Janis?"

Trying to suppress the laughter only made her face bright red. "Yeah," She exhales. "I just felt like I was having an out of body experience. I swear I've said those same fucking words to Damian at least once a week."

"I don't know whether to be reassured that I'm not alone, or concerned for you." Regina says.

"Looks like we all have a bit more than English issues to work out." Aaron mumbles.

"Yeah," Janis glanced at the clock. "But we can unpack my trama another week. Damian's probably waiting for me."

"Just-" Regina stood up quickly as Janis made her way over to the door. "Don't tell anyone. I'm not weak or anything I swear."

"Emotions don't make you weak," Aaron stated.

"Janis, please." Regina ignored the boy, concentrating only on the girl at the door.

"I won't tell a soul Regina," Janis said, putting her hand on her heart. "But I do have to go."

She could hear Regina and Aaron continue to talk as she walked away. It felt weird, to hold this information. Even in eighth grade, Regina would rather fall off a table then deal with her emotions.

To have her open up to Janis and Aaron like that, even in the smallest admission of fear, it was big.

She approaches the tiny pick up zone, grinning to Damian as he looked up from his phone.

"Why hello there." Janis held her arms out, the universal 'pick me up' sign, to which Damian complied. He scooped her up, letting her fall into the palm of his hand as he brought the other one up to cup around her as well.

"So, Jan." He said as he began walking. "How was English help?"

"Good." Janis nodded. She felt bad about lying to Damian, but it technically was English help, just, without the teacher. English self-help.

"Was it good? Because I saw your English teacher leave school."

Well shit.

Damian didn't sound mad, or annoyed. if anything he sounded like he was teasing Janis.

"So, were you really at help?"

"Well," Janis crossed her arms. "I was technically in the English classroom, getting help for English. There was just no teacher."

"Oh?" Damian brought Janis to his shoulder to free his hands as he made his way outside and to his car.

Janis shrugged. "It's a group of students who got tired of the teacher never staying after so we're helping each other."

"Who makes up this group of students?"

Janis shrugged. She didn't want to share too much and then accidentally spill Regina's 'secret'. Overshare was not uncommon when talking with Damian. He definitely knew something was up because of how secretive Janis was being.

"Is Regina there?" Damian grinned knowingly as they reached his car.

How did he know?!

"She's been acting a lot nicer to us, I figured something was up."

As Damian sat down in the car, Janis slipped into his jacket pocket as normal. It was safer is Damian had to stop short.

"Yeah, Regina is there."

"Y'know, at first I thought you two were hooking up or something."

Janis made a face.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes."

"Jan, you two have spent the past four years of your lives hating each other. What changed so suddenly?"

"Well," Here was where the oversharing got tricky. "She apologized."

"And you believe her?" Damian glanced down at Janis. The girl knew he wouldn't be open to the idea at first, hell, she wasn't either.

"Not initially. She's trying to be better though. I think I'm slowly starting to take it seriously."

Damian just nodded. "Don't get hurt."

"I try my best."

"Who could have guessed it was so hard for someone to open up?" I joke.

"Janis you literally don't get to talk." Regina scoffed.

"It's a bitch to get her to open up." Damian said, leaning back in his chair.

"Who's side are you on?" I yell.

"It took a full ass breakdown to get Janis to open up. Regina has nothing on her." Aaron said.

I FORGOT THE FUCKING TAG LSIT OH MY GOD @musicallygt @realmisspolarbear @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

#tiny support squad #g/t mean girls #Giant/tiny #tiny janis #tiny aaron #tiny regina #giant damian #g/t #g/t writing

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

Inktober 2020 #2: Wisp

“I don’t know what it is,” the ghost exorcist said, “but it is definitely not a ghost.”

Mark had already sent a couple of his demons to check the entity out. They hadn’t reported back yet, which meant it wasn’t a ghost… ghosts were easy to identify. He knew nothing had happened to the demons; they were just having difficulty figuring out what the thing was, as far as he could tell.

“I feel you,” he said, agreeing. “I’m guessing you ruled out psychokinesis as well?”

Melvin Farber, the best ghost hunter Mark knew, nodded. “Nothing’s being thrown around. Nothing’s breaking mysteriously. The family just sees a wisp, a vaguely human shape in shadows, and then it’s gone. But…” He shook his head. “Normally, if you’ve got a ghost, you can command them with the names of God, and if you’ve got a psychometric projection or a fragment of a ghost, you can tighten up reality to dissolve them. When I tried to tighten reality… nothing happened.” He shoved graying, curly hair back from his forehead, where sweat-soaked curls had fallen forward.”

Kabbalistic magic was not Mark’s strong suit. “What does it mean to ‘tighten’ reality?”

Melvin shoved his hair up again. “Okay, so. Malkuth is the sphere we are in, the sphere of matter on the Tree of Life. The one directly above us is Yesod, which represents communication, contact with the spiritual, connection in general. Yesod allows us to connect with entities outside the Tree – the dark entities on the Tree of Death, the ghosts, the fragments of broken memory imprinted on reality, all that kind of thing. What I did was I – briefly—blocked the connection to Yesod. Without Yesod we cannot perceive spiritual realities. Obviously we can never permanently block Yesod, we’d cease to exist without the emanation of energy that comes from God at the top of the tree. But if you block it for a moment, in your local area… you cut off the spirit world’s ability to communicate with us, and us with them. So ghosts vanish.” He pointed at the small golden demon sitting on Mark’s shoulder. “Your Sharro Varánas, your demange homeland – blocked. Your demons wouldn’t be able to get through.”

“It’s not my homeland,” Mark said. His father might have been a demange, and as such belonged in Sharro Varánas, but Mark was half-human, and couldn’t go there any more than, alive, he could go to Valhalla, or Hell, or any other realm outside the human world.

“Whatever. My point is, the wisp – whatever it is – didn’t go away. So it’s not above us on the tree, or below us. It’s at our level but it’s not actually here. Or, it’s not part of God’s creation, which sounds ridiculous but it could happen. If it doesn’t naturally connect to Yesod then what I did wouldn’t have done bupkiss to it.”

“All right,” Mark said. “That gives me some idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“The family is very stressed out. I called you in because they say you’re good.” The short, middle-aged man looked up at Mark, shaking his head. “But you’re young. What are you, 18? You’re a child. A child.”

“I’m 25,” Mark said, a note of irritation in his voice, “and thanks for reminding me about the babyface right before I have to go in and get some entity to take me seriously. You’re doing wonders for my self esteem.”

Melvin waved his hand. “Oh, you know I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “You must be up to your armpits in girlfriends. Wish I’d looked like you when I was 25. But you see me here? Skinny old guy, glasses, long face, big nose? I looked just the same when I was your age except I was a skinny young guy and my hair was black.”

Mark had no idea what Melvin expected him to do with this information, but he was used to it. When he first met people, either they were uneasy around him and they clammed up or made excuses and disappeared, or they were drawn in, compelled by his preternatural charisma. They overshared, they tried to give him their number if they were attracted to men at all, they hung on his words… and then eventually, the unease got through to them too. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen with Melvin – the man was a professional exorcist, he had to be pretty used to unease, and he knew what a demange was. Also, Mark hoped he wouldn’t be around Melvin long enough to trigger such a reaction.

“Well. Like you said, the family is stressed out, so I’d better go get to work. Does this wisp have a preferred place to appear?”

“Anywhere the family is. It likes to try to be around people.”

That didn’t sound like ghost behavior, no.

“Golden, make yourself scarce,” Mark told his familiar. No point in freaking out the homeowner with the demon on his shoulder.

*will do, boss*

Golden vanished, and Mark headed into the house, Melvin following.

A blonde woman met them at the door. “Mr. Farber? Any luck?”

“This is my colleague, Mark des Demanges,” Melvin said. “He’s an expert in cases like this.”

“He looks so young,” the woman said.

“I get that a lot,” Mark said, offering her his hand to shake. “You’re the homeowner?”

“Well, my husband and me. And we have two children.”

“This is Ms. Mitchell,” Melvin said.

Ms. Mitchell, who had to be 40 if she was a day, was looking at Mark with entirely too much interest, as her hand held his for just a little too long for a simple handshake. “Where was the last time you saw the wisp?” he asked.

“In the living room.”

***

The living room was exactly what he expected from the lawn and the clothes the blond woman was wearing. Lawyer foyer, hardwood curving staircase that looked downright slippery, white shag carpet, white leather couch. Glass coffee tables.

Shadowed shape of a person sitting on the overly wide bottom step.

“You see?” Ms. Mitchell’s voice was shrill with fear. “Right there! You see?”

“I do, actually,” Mark said. He approached the shadowy figure.

There was absolutely no reason for the figure to be in shadow. The living room had monstrously huge windows, and all of the rest of the staircase was brightly lit in the afternoon sunlight.

“You’re stuck, aren’t you,” he murmured. Even without help from his demons, he could tell that much.

The shadowy figure looked up at him. No features were visible, but its slumping shoulders and downward-pointing head went back and up, the figure leaning back slightly and looking up at him. With interest? Hope? Fear? No way to tell through the shadow.

“I’m gonna get some info and I’ll be right back,” he told the shadow. He turned back to the homeowner. “I need to perform a ritual and I’m going to need privacy. Are there any rooms around here with doors that actually shut?”

“There’s the first floor bathroom…”

Mark sighed. “Yeah, okay.” Obviously the hired help wasn’t allowed to go upstairs where there were actual room rooms.

***

In the bathroom, he summoned Golden back. “What have you got for me?”

*we can’t get there, boss*

“Can’t get there how?”

*anyhow*

Mark rolled his eyes. “That is not helpful, Golden. I need to know where, exactly, that entity is. If you can’t get to where it is, tell me where it isn’t.”

*anywhere. it’s not in your world. it’s not in ours. we can get to a lot of places. this one’s not one of them.*

“That gives me a good idea of what I’m working with.”

***

He returned to the being. “Okay. First we need to establish whether you understand me or not. If you understand me, and you want to say ‘yes’, nod your head, like this.” He demonstrated. “If you understand me, and you want to say ‘no’, shake your head.” He did the back and forth motion that generally meant “no”, or sometimes “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around how dumb you are.” “Now I’m going to ask you, Do you understand me? If you do, nod yes.”

The shadowy head nodded. “Great!” Mark said. “We have a basis for communication. I’m going to ask you some questions about where you came from and where you’re trying to get to. First of all, it’s my theory that you’re stuck here, between branes, and you are trying to get to a different brane, which is not where you are now. Is that correct?”

The entity nodded.

“Wait, branes?” Ms. Mitchell asked in a very loud whisper. “Isn’t it ‘planes’?”

“Don’t look at me,” Melvin said. “I just chase out ghosts.”

“Are you attempting to get into this one? Yes or no.”

The answer was “no.” “Are you attempting to get out of this one?” Mark asked, and again got a no. “Ugh. What am I missing, what am I missing… oh! Okay. Are you attempting to get to a completely different brane but you are for some reason stuck on the edge of ours?” That got a yes.

“If I open the door to let you into this one, will that help you?” No. “If I open the door to let you free of this one, will that help you?” Yes.

He turned to Ms. Mitchell. “Do you have any chalk?”

“Chalk?”

“You have kids, right? Chalk. Like the stuff their teachers use, or the stuff they draw on the sidewalk with.”

“At the summer house I think they have some… but we’d never let them draw anything on the driveway, and this area doesn’t have a sidewalk. So I don’t think so.”

“Figures,” Mark muttered. “Oh, well. I’ve got my own, it would just be more powerful if it was strongly associated with this place.” He turned back to the shadowy creature. “I’m going to have to ask you to stand up and walk forward… no, not onto the carpet, stay on the hardwood. Okay. Now, stand there and don’t move.”

Quickly he knelt down and drew a sigil around the shadowy thing. It was a lot like a banishment sigil, but it lacked the modifiers for “force” and “destination”, so instead of banishing someone to somewhere, it would give them a gentle push to get out of the universe and go find their way to something else.

“You’re drawing. On my hardwood floor!”

“It’s chalk, Ms. Mitchell,” Mark said, not entirely able to control his exasperation and keep it out of his voice. “It’ll wash up the moment the floor is mopped.” With his ritual knife, he slit the fingertip of the ring finger of his right hand – he was left handed – and dripped his blood onto his sigil. “As will this.”

Demanges – somewhere between demon and angel, or perhaps both at the same time – had enormous amounts of magical power. Mark was only half demange, child of a demange in male form and a human mother, but that still left him with far more power than most people. Melvin had to call on the names of God to perform any kind of serious working; all Mark needed was his own blood.

The sigil flared to life, glowing with excess magic. “The door is open,” Mark intoned. “Go you now in peace, traveler, whenever it suits you to do so, and good luck to you in finding your way to the destination you chose.”

The shadow bowed its head, once, and began to fade. In a few moments it was gone.

“And it won’t come back?” Ms. Mitchell asked nervously.

“I don’t think so.” Mark pulled the power he had fired the sigil with back into himself, now that the trapped entity was gone. “It never wanted to be here in the first place. Can you grab me a wet sponge? Not dripping wet, just, you know. Wet but wrung out.”

“I… I’ll see if I can find one. My cleaning girl isn’t working today and I’m not sure where she put the sponges.”

As soon as Ms. Mitchell was gone, Mark rolled his eyes. “How do you not know where your own sponges are?” he murmured.

Melvin nodded. “Rich people. Useless, the whole bunch of them.”

“Not all of them,” Mark said, thinking of his mentor. Andre qualified as rich, although rather than buying a tacky McMansion on a postage-stamp sized piece of land, he used the money to have multiple decent homes he could stay in, all over the world, and then he traveled all the time.

Ms. Mitchell returned with the sponge, and Mark knelt down and mopped his sigil up, taking care to get every last bit of chalk, and especially blood. After they’d been charged with so much magic, it was important not to leave any bit of it around. He had Ms. Mitchell show him to the sink, and thoroughly rinsed and wrung the sponge out. It’d be safest to throw it out, but he didn’t know how well supplied Ms. Mitchell kept her cleaning lady.

“All done, Ms. Mitchell. Pleasure meeting you.”

“Yes,” she said, still staring at him almost hungrily. In fact, she hadn’t taken her eyes off him unless she had to, such as when she went to get the sponge, the whole time. “A pleasure. What did you say your name was?”

“I do have to get going. Melvin, call me once you’ve wrapped everything up.” Ms. Mitchell was Melvin’s client; Mark would be getting his pay from Melvin, not Ms. Mitchell. He’d have done the job for free, but when there was a ridiculously wealthy client who obviously didn’t have enough to do with her money, why not take advantage?

Outside, he whistled as he went to his car. This had gone surprisingly smoothly. They didn’t usually go that smoothly.

He looked around himself nervously, as if the universe might have overheard him and decided to do something about it. Nothing seemed wrong, so far.

Mark got in his car and headed out.

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

I am pretty sure that if I turn this into a full story, the universe will have heard him and decided to do something about it.

I’m not Jewish, so the Kaballah stuff with Malkuth and Yesod might not be fully accurate to how Kaballah is actually interpreted, but in this particular series I’ve never paid a lot of attention to real-life magic or spiritualism; this is fiction set in a universe where there are entities between demons and angels, so I make a lot of shit up.

I actually have a published story about Mark’s origins on Amazon.com, under my own name, called “Tainted Blood”, if anyone is interested in the character.

#inktober 2020 #demanges #mark des demanges #fantasy

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asoulofstars · 4 years

Text

The title of this is currently TBD, as I’ve yet to think of a witty title. Witty title will probably come from @niceofthenine‘s Artemis saying something fun in teasing Riona & Sawyer later.

This is Part 1 of my Riona/Sawyer fake married AU that I absolutely fucking adore. This is all pre-crash, we’ll get to on Island stuff starting in Part 2.

Riona frowned as a bar fight broke out. It was her last night in Sydney, and they’d just finished the conference, and she wanted to celebrate. But when the cops quickly arrived, they all arrested one man, and it was not the man who started it. Riona knew that the FBI had zero sway in Sydney, Australia, but she knew that self-defense was not a reason to get arrested. So, she followed them to the police station, even as the others from her group asked her where she was going.

“Excuse me!” she called. “I was a witness to my husband’s bar fight!”

“Husband? Where were you when he was throwing punches?” the officer asked.

“I was on my way back from the restroom and passed some of my colleagues. I was part of the forensic science conference happening this week. And, I’ll have you know, my husband did not throw the first punch.”

“Princess, they don’ seem to care,” he drawled. “Jus’ head back to the hotel.”

“He is staying the night with us, Ma’am. If you would like to leave your hotel number, we will call you when we have decided to release him.” The officer handed her a notepad.

She put her name and number down, and she frowned. “Is this how self-defense gets handled in Australia? The FBI handles things better than this.”

“FBI? You’re FBI?” The officer snorted. “Come on, Ford. Let’s move.”

Riona watched as the officer led the man away, and she sighed. Nothing left to do tonight, so she went back to her hotel. She packed everything up except for what she would need in the morning, and she went to sleep.

~*~

“Mrs. Ford?” The same voice that had dismissed her last night was on the phone. “You can come pick your husband up. He’s leaving the country today, so apologies if you had another ticket.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Riona threw the suitcases into the rental, and she headed down to the police station.

~*~

“Are you okay, Cowboy?” she asked, hands going to his face to check for fractures from his fight last night.

“Yeah, Princess. Jus’ fine.” He flashed her a small smile.

She blinked at his dimples, and she flushed. His small smile grew into a smirk, and she rolled her eyes.

“James Ford, don’t come back.” The officer looked at Riona. “Keep him out of trouble.”

Riona snorted. “Sure,” she replied. “Come on, Cowboy.” She wrapped her arm around his, and she tugged him out the door.

“Well, you’re quick on your feet,” he said when they were out on the street.

“You shouldn’t have been arrested for self-defense,” she replied.

“Apparently the other guy is some prime minister of somethin’. They were not thrilled.” He huffed and waved his hands. “Guess I should get my stuff. Got a flight to catch.”

“So do I; Oceanic 815. I can drive you.”

“Since I’m apparently on the same plane, I’ll take you up on that.” He climbed into the passenger seat of her rental.

Riona drove to his hotel, and she followed him to his room. He threw a couple things into his suitcases, and then he shouldered a bag.

“Ready to get to the airport, Honey?” he asked with a playful grin, dimples flashing at her again.

Riona snorted, even as his dimples again threw her off guard enough for her to not respond to his lack of actual packing. “I think I like Princess better.” She walked back to the rental car.

“Good to know,” he replied.

Riona couldn’t help but smile. This man was something.

“What?” he asked.

“I just don’t understand you. You’re minimalistic; you’re belligerent, but you don’t fight until you have to. You’re…very flirty.” She glanced over at him.

“Well, you’re very attractive, and you’re the one who said we were married.” He chuckled. “I travel a lot; it’s easier for me to just have everythin’ packed up and ready.” He shrugged.

“You are…very flattering.” She flushed. “And law enforcement is similar pretty much everywhere. They’re not going to tell a random stranger anything. Wife, on the other hand, they’ll give leeway to.”

He chuckled. “So, Princess. What’s your name?”

“Riona Gallagher,” she replied. “I’m going to go ahead and assume that you don’t use your real name, because you didn’t seem thrilled that the officer used it.”

“I go by Sawyer,” he replied.

Riona could tell that there was a story in his name situation, but she decided to let it pass.

“Do you really work for the FBI?” he asked.

Riona grinned. “Forensic specialist,” she replied. “I’m a lab rat, and even if the FBI had any kind of jurisdiction here in Sydney, if they’d actually responded to the FBI thing, they wouldn’t have given me much more once they found out I wasn’t a real agent.”

He snorted. “Well, Princess, you’re also just not that intimidating. But I’m sure you do a hell of a good job.”

She glanced over at him. “I can be very intimidating, thank you very much. You’d be surprised at the amount of times I’ve moved the biggest FBI agents just with my voice.”

She could hear his grin despite her eyes being focused on the road.

“Mmm. Good to know.”

Riona couldn’t help the smug smile in response, and she glanced at him again quickly. She chewed her bottom lip and tilted her head. There was something familiar about him, both in the nagging sense that she knew him from somewhere but also in their ease. She was comfortable with him, and she enjoyed talking to him.

“What?” he asked.

“We haven’t met before, have we?” she replied.

“I think I would remember you, Princess. Why do you ask?” He turned in his seat.

“This is just too easy. I mean, I like talking to people, but I’m always overthinking something. I don’t feel like that with you.” She shrugged a shoulder at him.

“I mean, awkward went out the window when our first conversation was in a police station after a bar fight,” he replied.

She made a small noise of agreement with her throat. “I just feel like I know you from somewhere. But Los Angeles is huge, so maybe it’s just my brain being weird.”

“You don’ happen to live in Park Wilshire, do you?”

“I do, actually. 1G.” She made a turn and eyed him as they came up to a stop sign.

“2F,” he replied. “I’ve only been there for a couple months; I did a month-by-month lease, because I travel a lot.”

“So you mentioned back at your hotel. What exactly do you do?” she asked.

“Little bit of everythin’,” he replied. “I like havin’ options. I don’ wanna settle down an’ miss out on opportunities.”

Riona eyed him out of the corner of her eye, lips pressed together. She knew that was a partial truth at best. “Alright.”

“What’s that mean?” he asked.

“It means that there’s definitely more to that story, but just because I will tell someone pretty much my whole life story when we met last night, doesn’t mean that other people will expand upon things, so alright.”

Therapy helped her in some social interactions. She learned to recognize the cues that meant not to ask for the same amount of information that she might give. She still wasn’t great about her oversharing, but that was a different story.

Sawyer let out a breath through his nose. “Fair enough. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “How about a totally innocent question?” she asked.

“Shoot,” he said.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked, grinning at him as she came to another stop sign.

“Green,” he replied. “Yours is purple, right?” He gestured at her outfit.

“That’d be correct.”

“How ‘bout your favorite song?” he asked.

“Oh, that song that just came out a few weeks ago. Mr. Brightside by The Killers.” Riona’s eyes lit up. “God, I wish that song existed when I was in college. Perfect stage dance song.”

“Stage dance?” Sawyer asked.

Riona flushed. “I was a stripper to pay for school. Sometimes I miss it; it was a really fun experience, and it taught me a lot about myself. But those late nights killed me.”

“Still got those moves, Princess?” He smirked at her.

“Yes, I do,” she replied. “Not that you need to know that.”

“Maybe not. But husband-me must be a lucky man.” His dimples were prominent on his face.

“Maybe he is when wife-me feels like putting on a show.” She shook her head at him. “And we are here!” she exclaimed as the airport came into view.

“Finally,” he said. “Been here too damn long. I am ready to say sayonara.”

“It’ll be good to go home,” Riona agreed. “I miss my cat.”

He snorted. “Your cat?” he asked.

“My beautiful baby, Freyja. She’s a Norwegian Forest Cat, and I picked her out from the shelter. She’s my best friend.” Riona paused and chewed her lip. “Well, best friend besides Aislinn, but Aislinn lives out in Massachusetts. She has a cottage and a huge garden and a couple horses, and she is pretty much my sister.”

“Sounds like a good best friend,” he said.

“The best,” Riona replied. “You have pets or friends?” she asked.

“You count as a friend, right?” he answered.

Riona flushed, chewed her lip, and stole a glance at him as she parked. “I mean, yes, but…just me?”

He gave a vague shrug. “I don’ really do the whole friendship thing. Don’ stay places long enough to make meaningful connections. But…you helped me out, an’ I know you a bit better than I’ve known anyone in a long time, so…yeah. You’re a friend.”

She didn’t have time to respond as he got out of the car, shouldering his own bag and taking her luggage with ease. She didn’t bother to question him, instead wrapping her arm around his and leaning into him as they walked towards the gate to wait.

#written in the stars (my writing)#otp: the princess and her asshole #v: lost

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