#i probably should update the first page to be more like a table of contents at this point

[perpetualexistence]

just read ur entire sea monster au and i have fallen so deeply inlove. with it.

Aaaa, thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it! It's one of the first TD AUs I ever came up with back in November, so it's always got a place near and dear to my heart.

I'm also glad that it means that my little prev/next menu for each post is working as it should. Including for the second part of Poor Unfortunate Soul. Which always had links to the previous and first posts. And if you ever saw otherwise, no you didn't.

#aka perp did a whoopsie with the last post #but i fixed it! #so now it's possible to go back and forth to your heart's content #i probably should update the first page to be more like a table of contents at this point #eh maybe one day #perp answers ask

[h0ney-mochi]

HELLO!! Can i request sub!fanboy!xiao x soft dom!idol (fem or gn) reader? feel free to ignore this! (i apologize for bad grammar & this is my first time requesting) Have a nice day! :D

Fanboy!Xiao x fem!reader ;; modern au (?)

NSFW/SMUT CONTENT (sub!fanboy!xiao, soft dom!reader, idol!reader, reader is afab but no pronoun use, praise, pegging, xiao calls reader 'ma'am' once or twice, longer scenario, not proofread, not too much nsfw tbh my bad)

Summary: Xiao is your biggest fan, yet he never approaches you, so you decide to do that yourself. Things escalate when you give him your number after your performance and you two hang out...

A/n: don't worry nonnie it's alright!! Ur grammar is fine, first time requesting can always be anxious <3 This was fun to write, I read like three kpop writings, one of danganronpa and then did research on idols BAHAHAH / sorry for taking such a long time to write this, hope this is well?! <3

Minor writer, dni if uncomfortable!

There was no denying that Xiao was your biggest fan. You noticed him at every concert, every meet-and-greet, every single event where you were. It made you feel sweet that he always showed up, light sticks and signs of your name, always waving them when you sang. You were also surprised that he could afford to come to every single event..?

But one thing you found interesting is that he never tried to talk to you like everyone else. Xiao was always in the back, just watching, looking at you. Your first thought was that he's shy. Made you a little upset that he didn't even try interacting with you. So you decided that you should start first.

You were aware that he had many accounts — fan pages — dedicated to you. Instagram with short clips of you on stage, pictures and merchandise he had bought, what not. Twitter was just posting updates, links to your newest videos, pictures and more. If he was able to film a longer video of you performing, he'd upload it along with his merchandise hauls.

And Xiao is over the moon when he notices you following each and every one. Almost falls over in his own room when you leave comments from time to time. He swears he'll come up to you some day, but he's so scared of messing up. What if he accidentally says something weird?? Xiao wouldn't dare. He wouldn't dare slip up and admit he daydreams of you.

Yet when your eyes met and you sent a heart gesture in his direction? Yes, he fainted and yes, you were worried as he was taken away. A day after that concert, you thought of sending a message to see if he was alright. But when you saw him tweeting about that, you couldn't help but laugh. He was cute.

...

It was the end of another concert. Everyone was leaving and you told one of your bodyguards to find a 'dark green haired male with highlights that looks pretty'. You watched from afar as the man left to find Xiao. He was typing on his phone, probably updates on one of his accounts.

Once the man approached him, he set his phone away in confusement, asking questions, if he had done something wrong. Your guard just shook his head and told him to follow. You walked away from sight, smoothing out your outfit. If Xiao won't approach you first, you will.

Once he realized he's going backstage, his nervousness grew higher. But when he steps inside and sees you with a smile, staring at him, he almost trips on air.

You chuckle before telling yout bodyguard that ge can leave for a while. He does, leaving you two alone. You look back at the boy and smile again.

"Your name is Xiao, correct?" You ask. You knew his name, of course, but you had to start conversation somehow. His hands are shaking and his eyes are wide, staring at you. Is this real? You're talking to him? You actually know his name like for real?

He feels lightheaded.

"Xiao, are you alright?" You ask again when he doesn't respond. He finally reacts, quickly nodding his head. "Y-Yeah, I'm Xiao," he speaks, voice trembling. You turn around to take your water bottle from the table so you could share.

You hand him the bottle with a smile, "You're nervous, I get it, but don't worry! I don't bite, promise." You watch as he slowly takes the bottle from you, quickly licking his dry lips. You could hear a quiet thank you. You just nodded.

"No, it's just-" Xiao swallows, opening it, still staring, "I can't believe you're talking to me personally? All alone?" You laugh and he feels his face heat up.

He really is shy. Adorable.

"Well, you never tried approaching me, so I thought I should do it first," you say while he drinks, "Although I do wonder, do you not want to talk or you just want to watch from the back?"

"Wait, no, I-" Xiao panics for a moment, but stops before he says anything different, "I mean, I really, really want to talk to you, it's been a dream of mine-" "But?"

"..But I don't think you'd have time for me?" He continues, blinking at you. You nod, "I understand that. But hey, I think I've got time before I go, we can talk! Besides I've wanted to speak to you for a long time."

Xiao's eyes widen, "..huh? Really?" "Oh, of course! Every time I come on stage, I always try to find you because I know you'll be there. It's sweet, cute really," you respond, taking the water bottle from him. You put it in your bag as Xiao trues to process what you just said.

You look at your phone and realize you should be leaving.

"Ah, Xiao, I'm terribly sorry, but I'll have to go," you turn to said male. He nods quickly and you notice a small smile on his face. "No, it's fine- you wanting to speak to me in the first place is enough," he says, voice growing quieter.

"Aw, alright. Well, how about we meet in one of the cafe's?" You suggest, quickly finding a piecw of paper and a pen, "If you'd want to and if you're not busy." You write down your phone number and give it to him.

Xiao takes it with a shaky hand and you smile at him. "Give me a call if you want, okay?" You take your bag, "If you're not busy tonight, that is." He stares at then at you. You put a hand on his shoulder and whisper, "I'll be waiting, Xiao."

His face heats up as you take his hand to lead him out. You say something to the bodyguard and the two of you are leaving. You look back at Xiao. He's staring at you with a slightly opened mouth, probably in surprise.

You send him a wink and look back. That made him get even redder as he hid his mouth in his hand.

...

He was in his hotel room, staring down at the paper. Well, only a day until you're going somewhere else. This will surely be his last chance to finally talk to you. And in private as well?

After a moment of trying to calm down, Xiao took his phone out. His nails tap on the screen, writing in your number. He was nervous, already feeling lightheaded again. He's gonna talk to you.

Before he can back out, he calls you, putting it on speaker. Each ringing sound made him more anxious. Maybe you joked around? Or maybe you gave him a different one? Well, you wouldn't do that, would you? Surely not-

The ringing suddenly stopped, being replaced with your voice.

"Xiao! You called!" Your voice rang through and he sighs in relief. "So, you're not busy? You'd like to meet up?" You ask and he could tell by your voice that you're definitely smiling.

"Um," he swallows, shaking his head, "Yeah, I'm free. You really want to— you want to talk to me?" "Yes, I do, I already said that, didn't I?" You chuckle. Then you started to speak about which Cafe to meet in and which hotel you're staying at. That's how you arranged a meet up.

He was sitting at one of the tables, nervously tapping the cup with his nails. He was looking around the cafe, waiting for you to show up. While he waited, Xiao took his phone out to post some short clips he took.

You slowly approached the table, sitting in front of him. He jumped at your sudden voice, immediately looking at you. You laugh, shaking your head. Xiao noticed the clothes change, of course, trying to disguise yourself.

"Ah, you didn't think I'd come in a vibrant fit, did you?" You say, smiling at him. He averted his eyes, coughing, "No, I didn't think that-" "Don't want fans to come running," you rest your head on your hand. Xiao looks back at you, "I didn't- I'm sorry, I didn't know if you'd want tea, so I just ordered one for myself."

You blink at him and then nod, "I'll order for myself, don't worry." That's how it went, you got a tea and the two of you chatted. Xiao wasn't too nervous anymore which made you feel better. At some point you speak about his social media. You notice his cheeks flush when you talk about how much you love seeing his updates. Never late.

He himself slipped in some shy compliments about you, all the while you enjoyed the tea. It was relaxing. Until it seemed like the time was over. It passed a little too quickly, so you asked him if he'd want to go to your hotel room, continue the chat.

Xiao was starstruck. You inviting him to your hotel room? This was too much for one day.

He immediately nodded, "Yeah, if I can, I want- we can talk more." You blink, slightly laughing, "You're eager." He goes quiet before chuckling, "My bad-"

..

It was quiet, a few sentences here and there until you both were inside the hotel room. Xiao was looking around the place. You closed the door, breaking the silence, "We can go out on the balcony. The view is nice."

He turned to look at you while you shrugged. You took his hand and he followed you to the balcony door, face warming up.

Cold air brushed against your skin as you walked out, letting go of his hand. You rest your hands on the railing, gazing up. Xiao went next to you, looking down at the streets.

"Look up, pretty," you say. He glances at you before looking in. There were some stars scattered along the sky. It went silent.

Xiao was trying to think of something to say, while sliding his hand towards yours. Your hand was warm and he wanted to feel it again.

Should he even be here? Will he get in trouble for being like this with you? He's just a fan, after all. Idols shouldn't be this close with fans, no? But.. he doesn't care for it. You wanted to talk, so here he is. This is a blessing, why should he question it?

You noticed and you waited. Waited for the touch.

His fingers brushed against yours, eyes darting up to your face. You sighed, looking at him. Xiao's eyes widened, pulling his hand away, but you caught it. He stared at you, then back at his hand then back at you. You smiled softly, interwining your fingers with his.

"If you want to hold my hand, just tell me," you say, watching as his face goes red. You continue to stare. His eyes are pretty. He's pretty. Could you make him more flustered?

He's special. And mad attractive.

Xiao is tearing his gaze every few seconds. When you moved your thumb against his hand, he feels lightheaded once again. Oh, the simple things you do to him.

"By the way, I hope I didn't pressure you into meeting up with me," you speak, turning towards him, "You can always leave if you want-" "No-!" He squeezes your hand, "I didn't want to deny, oh no, I've wanted to talk to you for far too long—" You tilt your head, listening to him.

He shakes his head, "I want to be with you as long as I can, being this close to you is just- [name], you're- Can I call you that?" You can't help but laugh a little, nodding, "Yeah, you can. You talk too much." Before he could respond, you continued, "That's cute. I like it."

His breathing hitches. He's blinking again, looking away from you. Cute?

You pull him a little closer by his hand and lean a little down. He gasps, surprise evident in his expression. "You like being called cute?" You ask, lidding your eyes. "I- I didn't mean to make anything weird, I'm sorry," he quickly speaks, but you shake your head.

"Shh. You didn't make anything weird," you put your other hand on his chin, pulling him closer, "Just answer me." Xiao breathes in, eyes quickly flickering down to your lips, then back to your eyes. He feels the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

"..Maybe?" He whispers, swallowing. Will you call him weird? He certainly doesn't want to be seen as one of your weird fans. He isn't, but when you're so close to his face, he can feel your breath, oh God, you're warm, oh-

You slowly go a little closer, tilting your head just so your lips could brush against his. His eyes are widening again as he tries to not move. "Xiao," you whisper, "You're my biggest fan, aren't you?" He responds with a quiet 'I think?' which makes you chuckle.

"I'd like to give you a little reward for being so supportive all this time," you whisper, "Would you accept it?" Xiao immediately responds, "Y-yes, yes of course!" Oh dear, oh dear oh gorgeous..

You finally kissed him. He almost fell down from the sudden feeling, but you caught him, wrapping your hands around him. Xiao's hands went to your cheeks, kissing you back almost immediately.

When you pulled away for a moment to tell him to part his lips, you saw how flushed his face was, he was already trying to catch his breath even if the kiss wasn't that long. Yes, you didn't lie. He was cute. Wide eyes staring into yours as he nods at your words, going to kiss you again.

He did as you said previously. You pushed your tongue against his, a sudden noise being drowned in the kiss. Xiao's hand moved to your hair, tangling into it, trying to ground himself and not get too lost in the moment.

Oh, did you taste sweet. He never even imagined you could kiss so good. Kiss him so good. It was too much, it made him feel like he was flying — one reason as to why he was tugging on your hair.

After a moment, you pulled away again. "Let's go back inside," you say, smiling at him, "It's getting cold. Won't be good getting sick." Xiao just nods, looking away. You let go of him and he does the same. Walking back inside the warm room, he closes the door. When Xiao turns to you, you're pulling him by his hand towards you.

He's already latching onto your lips, free hand going to your cheek. You kissed back while you lead him to the bed, breaking the kiss to tell him to lay down.

Xiao gets on the bed, looking up at you. You can't help but giggle, getting on top. "Is this okay?" You ask, pushing him down. He nods eagerly, "Yes, yes it is, please don't stop." You nod, leaning down to press a kiss on his neck. You slowly kiss up to his jaw before going back down. One of your hands was on his chest and you could feel how his heart was racing. You then sucked on a spot, making him moan.

His hand goes to his mouth while turning his head away. You sucked a bruise before pulling away, leaving a kiss on it. "Are you embarrassed?" You whisper, pressing more kisses to his skin. Xiao slowly nods, swallowing. Your hand on his chest goes to take his hand away from his mouth.

"Use your words, pretty," you say and suck on another spot. He makes noise, hands going to your sides. "Yes, I'm– You're right-" he mumbles out. You press a kiss on the mark and smile, "Good boy." A shaky sigh comes from his throat.

"Oh?" You pull away to look down at him, "You like that, don't you?" Xiao turns his head, facing you, quietly responding, "Maybe.." "Gosh, you're pretty," you say, "Can I mess you up?" Your boldness makes him raise his eyebrows. "What?"

"Oh, my apologies, that was weird," you glance away, laughing slightly, "I shouldn't say that." "Please," Xiao mumbles and you look at him, "Please do that.."

You stare. He's looking up at you with pleading eyes, breathing in. "Please do whatever you want with me, to me, please," he pulls you back down, blinking at you, "Please, I want you to— I-" He doesn't continue. So you speak.

"You want me to what? Tell me," you trace your finger on his cheek, "Tell me what you've been thinking of this whole time." He's lost for words. But when you look at him like that-

"I want you to touch me," he whispers, shutting his eyes, "Please, I want you to do whatever, please, just fuck me—" "Repeat that a little louder, Xiao," you kiss his cheek. And he does. "I want you to fuck me, [name], please, I need you.."

You gave him a peck on the lips before saying, "Good boy. Wait here a moment, okay? I want you to undress." He nods and you get off the bed. You go to one of your suitcases, opening it up. Xiao was taking his clothing off while time to time watching what you were doing.

After finding what you needed, you turned back to him. His eyes slightly widened. Was that.. Are those.. Why is that in your suitcase in the first place? Why would you carry around a strap in your inventory?

Well, who cares about that now.

You went to put down what you were holding — a strap and a bottle of lube. You got onto the bed, looking at Xiao. He stared at you, then back at the stuff. "C'mon, pretty boy, lay down," you say and he slowly does it.

You spread his legs and he let out a noise of surprise while you opened up the bottle.

Xiao stared as you coated your fingers. You glanced at him for a moment, "You're beautiful like this, you know?" He bit his lip, blinking. "I'm not saying you're not always beautiful, you are," you continue while slowly pushing a finger inside, "But right now you're the prettiest."

He sighs, looking away, "Don't— ah- Don't say that, m-ma'am.." You look at him, pushing another inside, "Ma'am?" Xiao closes his eyes, mumbling something before suddenly moaning.

Yes, that felt weird and he never imagined he'd have something up his ass. That something being your fingers.

You sped them up, smirking at him. He's trying to say something for sure, but his moans interrupt everything. "Shh, don't be too loud, okay?" You slow down and then take your fingers out, "I want you to be good and a little more quiet, got it?" He suppresses a whine before nodding at you.

...

Xiao gripped the sheets under him, burying his face in a pillow. You held his hips, nails digging into his skin, leaving behind half moon indents. His attempts at staying quiet didn't work well.

"Oh, pretty boy," you bring a hand down to his hair, pulling his head up, "Do you love being this loud for me?" He mewls, eyes fluttering open, it being the only response you got. You sigh, picking up the pace, Xiao moaning louder.

Leaning down to his neck, you press a kiss on his shoulder. You then bite down, sucking a mark while your grip on his hair loosens a little. He groans, tongue falling out, "M-ma'am, fuck, I- feels sogood-!"

"Mhm, just like that," you smile, taking your hand away from his hair, "Such a good boy." You wrap your hand around his dick which makes Xiao jolt, head falling downwards.

"W-wait—!" He moans, gasping as his hand goes to grip the pillow, "I'm gonna- [name], I'm gonna cum—!" You just leave kisses on his neck and back, jerking him quicker. His moans turn into whines and gasps.

His grip on the sheets and pillow is tight, drool stains visible. "Gah‐ Stop, wait- I'm- gonnacum, please, fuck—" his voice goes into desperation, his thighs beginning to shake. You smile before speaking, "Go on, cum for me, pretty. Be a good boy, yeah?"

Xiao trembles in your hands, staining your fingers and the sheets below him. You slow down your thrusts and your pace on his dick. You straighten your back, your hand from his hip going to massage his back as he falls down onto the pillow.

He's panting, still slightly shaking. You take your hand away from him, looking at it. You giggle, glancing down at the sweaty Xiao. "You've messed up my hand, that's cute," you say, licking away a few traces. He turns his head a little too see you. Swallowing, he speaks, "You're.. amazing.. Mmh, that was good ..."

You pull out and he collapses. You sit down, slightly chuckling, "Just for you, Xiao." He sighs, closing his eyes, mumbling something. You tilt your head, "I can't hear you." He groans, hiding his face. You get up to lean over him.

"I just pegged you, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," you say, kissing his hair. Xiao turns to look at you again. Oh, did he look messed up. Messy hair, traces of saliva on his chin..

"Um.." He blinks, making eye contact with you, "Thank you.." You smile before kissing him. He kisses back, pretty much melting in your mouth again. After a few seconds you pull away, still smiling at him.

"You're welcome," you whisper, "My best fan needs a little gift after all."

#☆°• ☆ ask box #☆°• ☆ writings #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin x reader #xiao x you #adeptus xiao x reader #xiao x reader #xiao x reader smut #xiao smut

[vendetta-if]

Hey guys 👋 I just notice that I should probably start making posts updating on the exclusive content that I made on Patreon whenever I finished them 😅

So, I decided to make two posts to let you guys know all of the exclusive side stories and the spicy ones that I currently have up on Patreon so far. In this post, I'll exclusively focus on all the side stories and give out a little sneak peek of each of them. For the spicy side stories and Q&A sneak peeks, click here.

If you guys are interested in supporting me and getting access to all of these exclusive side contents, please check out my Patreon page 🥰💖 I currently have a monthly-subscription-based payment set, so you don't have to worry about getting charged twice when subscribing near the end of the month.

Other than weekly progress update posts, here are currently all the exclusive side stories that are up by the end of November 2022:

Vendetta Halloween Interactive Side Story

Around 19K words, it's a really cute and wholesome and fluffy story about little MC, Ash, and Rin celebrating Halloween together with Viktor, Takashi, Luka, and Cara. You'll have three Halloween costumes to choose from, which will also affect Ash's and Viktor's costumes. There will also be four different activities to choose from for the Halloween Fair and a bunch of smaller interaction options!

Check out the little snippet/sneak peek of the story in this post!

Dead Man Walking (Part 1 & Part 2)

An angsty AU where MC is the one who dies instead of Viktor that night in the alley. Written in Viktor's POV. Around 6K words long.

You’re not sure how you even got into this mess in the first place, but you should’ve known that this day would come, sooner or later. You can only run away for so long before the consequences of everything you’ve done catch up to you.

Any other day, or maybe when you were younger, you would have turned back and tried to face them head-on. But now, you have something special—oh, so very special and dear to you—and you won’t risk harming him; his safety is the only thing on your mind right now.

You are running through a maze of deserted and dank alleyways on a cold winter night, and beside you is your son, his little hand is engulfed in your bigger one as you hold on tight. Sasha has just turned ten today and even though this might not be the best birthday he has had so far, you are planning to make it up to him in the next few days during the weekend.

Vodka Misadventure (Part 1 & Part 2)

A wholesome side story featuring young MC and Ash regarding the vodka incident that they talked about at the party in Chapter 2 😂 Written in MC's POV and a little part in Ash's POV. 6.5K words long.

It’s far from your first time stepping foot in his office. You’ve spent a lot of time with Ash here when you were both younger, hanging out with each other while Uncle Luka worked on some stuff on his desk. It’s certainly a spacious office with a plush carpet and sleek and elegant furniture. There is no window in the room, but it doesn’t feel suffocating at all.

In one corner of the room, there is a full set of sofas, armchairs, and a low and wide coffee table made out of black marble. It’s where you often spent time with Ash and also where your Uncle would receive guests. You know your uncle always makes sure to lock his office whenever he’s not using it and the fact that you’re both in here right now without him even knowing makes you nervous a bit as if you’ve done a crime.

“We have tunnels?” you say in awe.

“Cool, right? Uncle Luka showed this one to me, like a few days ago. He said he’ll give us a thorough tour soon. Said it’ll be useful for us to know, in case of… Well, never mind that. I still have one more thing to show you!” Ash gushes.

They set down the pizza box on the coffee table before moving towards Uncle Luka’s big desk and you trail after them gingerly.

A Fateful Encounter

A Yvette backstory on how she first met Viktor. 6K words long.

Yvette’s heart rate skyrockets as panic starts to sink in. Thankfully, she had taken advantage of the man’s momentary distraction to grab her phone. She quickly taps it to unlock it, only to find out that the phone is… dead. The electricity…

“Well, I think it’s enough chatting. Now, what should I do with you, huh, missy?” There’s a slight edge of excitement under his tone. “If you really are a hero like you said, then maybe it’s a good idea to kill you and make you an example. Or maybe maiming you to the point where the agency wouldn’t want you anymore will be a better fate? Hmm… I like the sound of that. I can already see the headlines: ‘Tragedy strikes as a young superheroine’s career got cut short,’” he says to himself almost dreamily before turning back to her, electricity charge building up in his palms.

He takes a step closer to her and Yvette scrambles back futilely. She feels her scalp tingling as strands of her hair start floating from the static electricity building up in the surrounding atmosphere. This is it… This is the end of my career, my life, she thinks one last time before bracing herself for the agony. However, the man stops at the last moment and turns his head towards the entrance. Yvette hears the crunching glass chimes for a split second before the man in front of her is tackled away.

Patreon Link

Spicy Side Stories and Q&A Sneak Peeks Post

#writing updates #if: vendetta #vendetta if #patreon #patreon exclusive #side story #char: mc #ro: ash #ro: rin #char: viktor #char: luka #char: yvette #char: takashi #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #hosted games #choice of games #cyoa #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Desire, Despair and Updates

OK, drawing is still off the table. My lack of light tolerance won't let me stare at a brightly-lit white surface long enough to be productive. The doctor puts it down to severe dry eyes, but she was running over an hour behind and I did not get much of her time. I got another follow-up next month.

Reading glasses and eye drops are recommended, but distortion from reading glasses is making me a bit sick (it didn't before, I dunno what changed). That thing where my weak eye stopped going off-kilter may be temporary, I hafta heal for at least three months to see if it's going to stay like that. Fingers crossed but I don't feel hopeful.

Patreon is still being stupid. If I would like to confirm I'm over 18 with a nongovernmental ID, they'd like FOUR of them that meet specific requirements and that seems unreasonable. I was abstaining due to not wanting to give a 3rd party my personal data in the first place. If I'd like to stop being 18+, I need to submit my page for approval. It's not worth it to me for three Patrons, two of whom will probably join again if I make a new account. I'm not sure if I'm going to stick with Patreon, but after payments come in (and go out) on December 1st, I'm cashing out and shutting it down. I'll make something new when I'm ready to come back with more content.

I have six more instalments ready to go, and I intend to start posting them without art. I'll put the roughs up for DL on the Patreon tonight, if anyone's interested, and text will go live at some point tomorrow.

So, my few Patrons, you'll be charged on the 1st like usual, and then it should stop. Make sure, because we're going to close down our American bank account and if you pay more money it's not going to me.

I gotta give my eyes a full year to see if light tolerance and dryness will improve. I should get to the point where I can draw... soonish? I have glasses and new eye drops to try. But, again, the doc rushed me out of the office in like, five minutes, so this isn't a high standard of care at the moment.

I got more doctor stuff on Wednesday, and more later in the month. It's gonna be kinda exhausting. I wanted to make cookies and put up some decorations, ya know? But I don't have it in me yet. New instalment will go up tomorrow, though, because I am determined and annoyed, and I'll leave some update info at the Patreon too.

#tin soldier and soldier on #updates #doctor stuff #meh

[w33zerbluealbum]

INTRO! (plz read /nf)

Table of contents:

- Intro

- Separate blogs (all mostly inactive besides transformers blog)

- Dni list

- Info abt me

- Links to other socials/pages

- Ocs/sonas you should know about (Check them out /nf)

- And finally, a big collections of gifs and blinkies at the end!

Last updated: 5/11/24

H1!!!! My name's Soda, but I also go by Cage, Larry, Sal, Johnnie, Leon, and Elliot (for my irl friendz).

MY 0TH3R BL0GZ:

@leon811s-bible - A blog for my gore and horror art!

@inf3ct3d-r3gr3t3v4t0r - My Infected regretevator roleplay blog!

@halloween-holly-leaves - My Hollyleaf side blog!!! I really like Hollyleaf warrior cats guys...😼

@bumblebee-disco-ball My transformers side blog for yapping!!! Bumblebee is my fav.

Not my image!!!!!!

DNI:

- Basic DNI criteria (homophobic, racist, transphobic, etc.)

- If you hate on my interests and hyperfixations.

- If you are a pr0shipper, p3d0, z00, etc.

- 17+

- Anyone else is welcome!!! Especially if you like/are into my special interests and hyperfixations, such as you're in the osc!! >:]

INFO ABOUT ME!1!1!

- NUMBER 1 HOLLYLEAF FAN!!!!!!

- (undiagnosed, not self-diagnosing) Audhd, BPD, and probably some other stuff @_@

- Platonically dating @cemetaryvampire

- He/it mainly, although really any pronouns are fine except she/her and they/them. I'm transmasc mainly.

- My youtube is @/W33zerbluealbum as well, I post a little more often there.

- I love rock, metal, goth, scene, and emo music!! My current favorite bands are MCR, PTV, Taking Back Sunday, Black Veil Brides, Bring Me The Horizon, Get Scared, Green Day, The Smiths, and a little bit of Linkin Park!! (This changes constantly so keep that it mind ig!! I also do not support ANY bad actions from these bands.)

- I am very sensitive to many things and overthink messages due to my (not-selfdiagnosing) undiagnosed BPD, so please use tone tags/reassure me if possible!

- I have essas!! (An essa is an emotional support stuffed animal:3)

Please read one or both of my pronouns page and/or my carrd before interacting!

(Keep in mind, my carrd has not been updated in awhile. Some information, art, etc. may not be up to date.)

I do make some mature/NSFW jokes with my friends, and 12/13+ is recommended for this blog.

I occasionally will use typing quirks, such as replacing letters with numbers or typing a z in the place of an s.

OCS AND SONAS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT

Here are links to original posts about my main sonas and ocs:

Ricochet, my Transformers oc. I really like him, highly recommend checking his post out!! /nf ^

Transformers OC #2!

Scorch, my second (and better) Transformers OC!! I think he's super cool :3

Sal or Larry, my dog oc/sona ^

My actual sona. If I draw myself, this is what I will look like ^

BLINKIES!!

More will be added!!! This also does not showcase all my fandoms, keep that in mind!

Some of these are by @/radiotrophicfungi !! Go check them out, they make awezome stuff!!!

#sodas thoughts #pinned post #intro post #introduction #pinned intro #blog intro #introductory post

[manonamora-if]

Retrospective 2022 (2)

See Part 1 of the retrospective and the overall graphic of 2022 here.

2021 had been a bit of a weird year for me (though it did give me the wonderful world of IF), with a lot of change. So I was glad 2022 was bit more... chill (kinda). I've dived so much deeper in IF and learned so freaking much in the past 12 months.

Long post ahead, breaking it here.

2022 Goals

Last year I only had a few goals: publish Scene 2 of CRWL, submit TTTT to the IF Comp, publish the demo of TTATEH and making Tweego my b*tch.

I am happy to say I've completed all these goals... and then some!

CRWL was updated not just once, but 3 times (with the last one including a bunch of re-writes.

I managed to submit TTTT to the IF Comp (for better for worse).

TTATEH's demo was up for Halloween (with 2 full chapters no less!)

Tweego is not a scary thing that I never managed to make work anymore (I even made an asset pack and guide to make it easy for everyone else)

So what's the extra?

I went from having essentially 3 working projects to 9-ish published ones, with the addition of: SPS Iron Hammer, The Thick Table Tavern, La Petite Mort (FR), The Trials and Tribulations of Edward Harcourt, Goncharov Escapes!, P-Rix - Space Trucker (and Le Jeu de la Dévotion - FR). All links are here.

I started getting my hands dirty with JavaScript (I know, the horror) and more customisation with CSS, and working on adding more accessibility in my projects (visual and gameplay wise).

Got more active in the community (here with Interact-IF, and on discord, and on the Forum... oh, as a note support your authors)

I've started sharing my little silly knowledge of Twine, by creating templates, and guides, and tutorials, and sharing resources.

Also organising my first Comp! (@seedcomp-if) with other peeps from the IF Forum. And we did that in 14 days! (kinda want to create more fun jams too now...)

Got into some trends, with one that resulted in the creation of the really bad idea that is @if-confessions.

And probably more that I forgot about...

Even then...

Part of me feels like it's not been enough, like I haven't been enough, like what I put out wasn't good enough. I've been struggling with insecurity and imposter syndrome for a long time, so this is not new, but it's still there, spiking once in a while, when I really don't need it to.

The slow but consistent increase of negative anons in my inbox (bound to happen with more people following/sharing my content) have made some days very hard to deal with (still, it could be much worse... even the hate from the leaks hasn't been too bad). It's hard not to feel emotional when something you are passionate about or something you do is getting egged on for not good reason. And it's not just the content of the messages (most are not even original...), but the amount of them. Honestly, it is infuriating and tiring (thank gosh for blocking...). It's also a bit hard when there is more negative than positive interactions in my inbox/replies...

Another thing that got me was the little to no progress I've made on both EC or CRWL. I had planned on releasing updates for both this semester, but I've been stuck in front of a blank page for both, or writing and re-writing the same sentence over an over again. Hadn't I distracted myself with other small projects, I would have done the same thing as last year and peaced out for months again...

And then I wrote it all down. I went through all my projects, all the posts I made and put it together that infographic, created and nice timeline... and I realised I was a bit dramatic about feeling like I haven't done enough.

At the end, there were only two months (April and May) which didn't have any publication of games, assets, guides, or update, and that was because CRWL was in re-write/beta. Even if I didn't focus my time on one project throughout the year like I maybe should have, there was on average something out there every month (almost 2x a month by the end).

Yay for unrelenting insecurities! (also, don't try to do as much as I did, I'm struggling with juggling all these projects, it's not sustainable)

2022 Achievements and Milestones

Not only did I reach last year's goals, I achieved a bunch of other stuff!

I published 6(-ish) new games/demos this year! And updated the other 3! I lost track of the count, but it wouldn't surprise me if I wrote somewhere around 100-200k words this year (maybe even more than 300k considering all I cut/re-wrote)...

I started experimenting with custom visual and macros (and editing other people's macro). Working on TTTT (and the update of EC) taught me so much about design and coding, and going much further with Twine!

With this newfound knowledge, I made my first template!

Got to learn how to use a bunch new Twine macros and tested a handful of different gameplay to incorporate in bigger projects.

Tweego. That's it.

I've seen my follower count essentially doubled this past year on both itch and Tumblr (getting close to 1k!).

All my games reached some sort of play milestone (from thousands to couple of thousands). More on that in the stats post, there's a lot.

I haven gotten more reviews and feedback on my projects than last year (the jams and comps have helped!) and in general more interactions with my posts. It's been so useful to grow as a creator and improve myself in general!

I reached 1st and 3rd place on a competition!

And participating in the IFComp was an achievement in and of itself!

And I'll add it here too: I helped organised a comp in 14 days! A proper one, not a spur of the moment jam, with an actual website and rules and stuff! (Now, I want to organise more!)

Honestly, I wouldn't have imagined at the start of the year how much I would end up doing this year, how much I would learn and grow, how much I would experience through it all. I got to climb that steep learning curve in coding, finding more about my voice in writing, designing some cool stuff, and share my love for the creative medium. Had someone shown me all I did this year back at the start of 2022, I wouldn't have believed them...

I feel very blessed to have been able to work on all these projects throughout the year and have gotten such positive reaction for each of them (and such help, to find wonderful people in this community and calling them my friends, and to interact with very passionate and helpful veterans in the genre and learn so much from them.

This year had some very high highs and quite low lows, but it has also been a very wonderful and fulfilling year overall! It makes me so excited for the new year and see what it has in store... (though I know of a few things already...)

#retrospective #manonamora #2022 #year in review #gamesindie #dev #assets #twine #sugarcube #itch #mtp #tttt #ttateh #crwl #sps ih #p-st #goncharov escapes! #lpm #ec

[lundehegelund43]

Sony Ericsson Aspen - The New Generation Smartphone

Microsoft has been doing a decent job of marketing its new online service but it could actually have done a bit better educating consumers to what it is. Many of our clients have arrived at us wondering what the differences were between their current hosted solution and Office 365. While there are many nuances to this comparison it is good to get the 5 big ones off the beaten track to the business you are still interested anyone delve into any on the smaller fine details. For $500, you should be expecting a brand new unit with factory and retailer rebates with probably the most up-to-date CPU, a 250 GB to 500 GB hard drive, USB 2.0, built in wireless 802.11G or N, a DVD/CD player/burner and maybe a new warranties. A good place to shop around major brands is Amazon. Simply take a look at "tools- mail merge "then select the most effective document type from the bar for your left. It's very helpful to have a pre-existing mailing list store so as to access. If you do not, great need to have some time made one before anything else. But once this is done, you need only save it and update it whenever necessary. Here are many great troubleshooting tips for microsoft office professional office repair trouble. If you have gotten the office errors immediately after installing this product then check to make certain do have no previous versions of office installed. For the life of me Dislike understand why they do not warn users to uninstall the older version first. They should have a big screen pop-up letting them know to uninstall the older version to start with. Recently, I seemed to be advised by one with the best online articles online that I will buy application and that to create online reviews. Currently, I have some 10,820 articles online including this one here. Personally, I much like Microsoft Products and employ them exclusively to compose my articles. Indeed, office pro Registration Key have purchased and reviewed the new Professional Office Microsoft Office Suit with regards to must say I am impressed. Communicate with colleagues and clients. Online or over the telephone connect with colleagues, partners, connections for updates on any new developments and follow them through. Storage Memory is what your disk is. It's where everything you install and save get kept. If you plan on using your laptop for music, video, games, accessories. you'll want as big a drive as which is really affordable. If your laptop will be to used for under casual web browsing, e-mailing, IM'ing, essay-writing, etc. this is definitely a feature you can minimize to avoid wasting $$. I would personally advise gaining access to least a 100GB hard disk as Windows, Microsoft Office, and other essential programs can really add up in memory usage with. By utilizing styles throughout your document, you get able through photovoltaic cells professional indexes or a table of contents (TOC) more skillfully. The biggest a look at applying styles in your document is consistency. Main topics, headings all approach down to sub-topics may have identical units. Moreover, your table of contents will become dynamic, my personal.e., if you add or delete pages onto your document, the TOC can update utilizing click within the mouse obtaining to manually renumber web site.

#OFFICE PRO

[fruitoftheweek]

Little Cherry Book:

Chapter 1: Who is She?

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 Here

I guess this is a Switch!Spencer (mainly Sub! Spencer)X reader fan fiction this is my first fan fiction I’ve written since middle school so bare with me and feel free to message me constructive criticism. This will probs be multiple chapters but I just couldn’t get this idea off of my mind so here we go! And yes this season 1/2 Spencer because he is just the cutest!

Pairing: Spencer Reid X reader

Plot: Doctor Spencer Reid has heard of little black books, but that pales in comparison to what he has just found in the BAU’s elevator. A sweetly scented notebook filled with salacious journal entries illustrating the writer's sexual fantasies. He doesn’t know what it is about this book but all he can think of is finding its owner.

TLDR: Spencer finds your kinky notebook and uses super sleuth skills to find you.

Series TW: 18+, smut, degradation, piercing, choking, knife play, mommy/daddy kinks, spanking, exhibitionism, Will update as time goes on

Chapter TW: Cumming in pants, Hinting at sex, exhibitionism, no panties, Language, General 18+, Hinting at future kinks

Word Count: 2,439 (gah damn)

𝒯𝒪 𝒲𝐻𝒪𝑀 𝐼𝒯 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒞𝐸𝑅𝒩𝒮:

𝒟𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈. 𝐼𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹, 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹.

As Spencer read these sentences, he paused. Not for the warning of so-called curses, there was no scientific evidence for such things and Spencer knew magic was just science with a trick of the eye, but for the vehement warning making him feel intruding on whoever had left their journal in the elevator.

It had caught his eye as he stepped into the elevator on his way out of the office. As someone who had lost plenty of books in his days roaming the halls of the BAU, he knew how frustrating it was to not know what happened at the end. As he picked it up, he noticed the cover. It was old, bound in aged cherry red leather, yet too small to be more than a pocketbook. He had found your message while searching for a name to return the book to, and simply reading the first page already felt prying.

Alas, one sentence enticed him “If it comes into the right hands, You can find me.” Where his hands the right ones to come into? The probability of that could be found easily by calculating how many people got on and off of this specific elevator that day, no, in the past hour, with the hustle and bustle of people leaving for the day. Spencer could and he would calculate it he wasn’t so distracted by the message and his voracity to solve this mystery.

Tentatively, he flipped the page, finding a handwritten table of contents. This book had obviously been very important to the reader if they had taken the time to write in page numbers, detailed headings, and chapters. The table was nearly full of chapter titles in scrawled cursive lettering. His eyes stopped on the first chapter title. “Male Needs” with shakey lettering. He could tell by your handwriting that you grew more confident in your journaling as the chapters progressed, the hesitations in your strokes growing few and far between.

As he flipped the page once more he had reached the next floor and a large group of people bustled into the elevator. Spencer shied away from them, not just because he had an aversion to contact with strangers and their germs, but because of the sentences, he had read underneath that first chapter “I do not need a man, a man needs me. Yet, when I am with a man, I have needs. Needs that most men can’t fulfill. I need a man that eats pussy like it’s the only way to quench his thirst-“ and with that Spencer slammed the book shut, earning some confused looks from the others on the elevator. He should have heeded the warning because now all he could think about was the fact that this was your nervous entry and as your confidence grew, it was bound to escalate from there. He wasn’t sure if it was his flustered mind or the heat growing deep from inside him that made him feel dirty; not because it scandalized him, but because these were someone’s fantasies and he had intruded in their secrets and soiled them with his mind.

Ding! He had reached the ground floor and that was when he decided to leave it alone. He couldn’t bring it to the lost and found as it would be more likely to end up in the wrong hands there and your secrets would be for someone else to find, not that he even knew who you were.

On his drive home, he tried to think of anything else besides the book. His lunch, Garcia’s new item she added to her collection, how to get back at Derek for putting salt in the sugar container, but his mind kept wandering. It didn’t help that the notebook sat tauntingly on top of his satchel as if saying “Open me, you know you want to. You want to know who I am. You can find me.” There was no way that it had been there for that long as the janitor was on duty today and he had been on the elevator two hours ago on his way to clean the top floor. Since Spencer had left a little later than most people that meant there were multiple elevators full of people who would have noticed. He knew it wasn’t so but part of him felt as if you had left it there specifically for him to find. Like it was made for him. He quickly shook off the thought and went back to who it could be. He wanted to return it without reading any more. You clearly would miss it but he couldn’t imagine you wanted others to know about what lay in those folded corners of your book and your mind.

As he walked up the steps of his complex, he clutched onto the notebook with all of his strength, he feared that he would look down and it would have disappeared, he wanted to keep your deepest secrets safe as if they were his own. He was only able to relinquish his grip when he shut and locked the door to his apartment. He set it on the table as he got prepared for the night. By now he had limited his pool to 54 women who were regularly in and out of the elevator at that time of day which was a cut down in comparison to the 860 roughly women in that building on any given day. But that number still wasn’t small enough. He had to minimize the sample size even further. That was the only reason he reopened to the table of contents, right? Not because of his own morbid curiosity and definitely not because of the heat burning in his stomach.

He looked down at the page numbers, still too nervous to look at the titles, and saw that each entry was a page long consisting of 23 entries and one with a title but no page numbers. Not chapters as he previously thought but entries giving lascivious details into what he had not yet mustered up the courage to read. He was still unable to look at the titles in fear of what he might find. If graphic depictions of female oral sex were displayed under “Male Needs”, what possibly could lie ahead.

For now, he studied the handwriting. Cursive, not often used by many younger women, was often associated with antiquities and traditional values but he noticed something off. There was a very specific curl to certain numbers. Every even number had a specific extra curl or flourish to it and the zeros had a line through it like a “do not enter” sign. This went directly against the hypothesis that you were an older woman that the cursive provided; as many older women who wrote in cursive stuck to the rules even when it came to numbers. She wasn’t old enough to even be Hotch’s age but she appreciated the charm of the past. 'Who is this girl?' Spencer wondered. He was able to narrow it down to about half of his previous lot, excluding the women on his team. He had seen them write enough to know their handwriting inside and out. And while Garcia’s had similar flourishes to yours, she never crossed her zeros.

Spencer knew that he would have to read at least the chapter titles to grasp a better understanding of your handwriting and who you could possibly and as his eyes scanned the page, for the first time in a while he was actually reading slowly; putting all of his focus into each word and what order they were in. Unfortunately, his focus was his downfall. His face became so hot that he felt as if you could see steam coming off of it.

Table of contents:

Male Needs

Praise

Degradation

Mommy

Daddy

Work

Exhibition

Choking

Collars

Breeding

And that was all he could take. Ha couldn’t look at the thirteen and a half more entries, even this much knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t have much experience with women and certainly not enough to understand what all of those words necessarily entailed but he knew that whatever it was keeping his internal fire roaring with heat.

While he hated snooping, he knew he would need more information. He chose the chapter that sounded the most mundane out of all of them, "Work." ‘What was more normal than work.’ he thought, but he was so sorely mistaken.

"Work:

"Before I move on to exhibitionism, I have to talk about work. Yes, I would love to have sex at work where I and my partner are one step away from getting caught, I haven’t done that yet. I want to tell you what I have done. Almost every day I go to work wondering if the others can tell that I’m not wearing underwear.”

His heat spread from his face down until it pooled in his loins and his cock became hard imagining this mystery girl walking the halls of the BAU with a breeze in her skirt, nearly exposing the secret that lied beneath. Had he sat next to you when you were partaking in this activity? What would he have done if your skirt bunched up your thigh as you sat, exposing the tan lines where your underwear should be. Would he be able to see you in your tight work pants with no pantie lines and be the only one who truly knows your secret?

“I kinda want to be caught someday by Him. I wonder what he would do. Would he tell me off for being unprofessional? Would he take me to that storage closet 3 doors past Garcia’s office, just far enough away that he could teach me a lesson for being naughty at work?”

He felt so dirty, inserting himself into the fantasies of a girl which he did not even know that he almost glanced across the use of Him, capital H.i.m. He wanted to indulge in his imagination that in some way or another that the “Him” in question was in fact the man reading this with trembling hands and an impossibly hard cock. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining situations in the storage closet that he regularly used as a reading nook when he needed time away from the others.

He rested his head on the pages of the book, hoping somehow that his dirty thoughts would be transplanted from his head and back into the pages so that he could stop thinking about you. His efforts were thwarted as this action meant that he could spoil himself in your scent that enveloped the book. As if you had wrapped it in the deepest most vulnerable part of you to hide it away from others. You smelled of bergamot, patchouli, and musk but deeper than that, you smelled like sweet, tart berries and honeysuckle in summer. There was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on at first but it was intoxicating all of his senses. It was saccharine, heat, and sex all combined in one. When it clicked, it no longer felt as if his head was pressed against a book but as if his he sat kneeling on the ground with his cheek resting in your inner thigh, your hot sex waiting for his indulgence, “like it's the only way to quench his thirst” echoed in his brain. The scent was your natural pheromones beckoning him closer with the promise of a treat.

And that was it. That was what sent him over the edge. The purest embodiment of your scent had him cumming, hot in his pants.

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

You sat down at the edge of your bed after a long day at work; shucking off your work clothes to get as comfy as you could in your PJs as a way to unwind from the day. You went to grab your lip balm from your bag and noticed that the front pocket of your bag had been left open. You instantly panicked, searching everywhere for your little red book. The one that kept the key to your deepest secrets and darkest fantasies. You tore your bag apart, knowing that you had it at the end of your workday because you took it out of your desk drawer and tucked it back into its home in your bag. You cursed your carelessness for not double-checking that you zipped your bag before leaving. With your forgetfulness, you knew it would happen one day but you didn't realize it would be this soon.

There was an odd mix in your heart and your stomach. Part of you felt your heart drop through your ass thinking that it had ended up in the wrong hands, part of you had butterflies thinking about someone knowing the deepest parts of you, intimately in your own words. You had the assurance that your name was nowhere to be seen in the book but you also knew that you worked with people who analyzed people's dark desires for a living. While none of your fantasies involved murder, they were like precious gems that you kept locked away in your heart. You couldn't dare imagine what would happen if it came into His hands. While you were the youngest at the BAU, only by a few months and you weren't even part of the group because you were still tentative, you couldn't put your dirty thoughts into the innocent head of the pretty boy genius. It was almost more worrisome than if SSA Hotchner or Gideon found it and you were fired. The idea of tainting someone so pure...

You had to literally shake your head to clear your thoughts. Imagining His face tinged red in innocence reading through your lewd writing had your head in a tizzy. Imagining Doctor Spencer Reid sifting through the pages with lightning-fast fingers, stroking down the pages of smut as you had imagined him stroking down your thighs so many times before. You decided to bury your head in your pillow, hoping that would calm your mind enough to slip into slumber.

Unfortunately for you both, your efforts would be fruitless and you would both go to sleep unknowingly thinking of each other.

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

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 here

And that's Chapter one. Hope y'all like it. LMK in my messages and all that <3 have a great week!

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid imagine #Spencer Reid x reader #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #sub spencer #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #sub!spencer #mommy kink

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 2.1k WARNINGS: mentions of food, eating, hospitals, and brief mention of armed men

author’s note: finallyyy! been working on this for the past week and i’m relieved to be posting part 3 already! i’m not so confident about this and i am already warning you all that this could be dialogue heavy :((( please let me know your thoughts! i’d be really thankful to hear from you all!

three: subtle snuggles and light snores | masterlist

Wonwoo chose to work at the Royal Hospital of the neighboring kingdom at his own will.  He and the rest of the people in his kingdom won’t deny how the other kingdom pioneered in the line of medicine.That’s why in spite of the many offers and opportunities at his homeland, he wanted to gain experience somewhere else first before going back home. 

The marriage wasn’t served on the table before and when his parents broke the news to him, he was already hired and working for a few months. And now that a marriage is in talks, it seems unlikely that he’ll be going back anytime soon.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to agree. But someplace in his heart couldn’t help but wonder how it got to this. He’s not saying you’re terrible. You’re the exact opposite of being terrible. To him, you are amazing and awesome. A badass even. 

There’s nothing really holding him back. Even his past relationship that you brought up previously. 

It’s just that he wanted a purpose out of this union aside from the fact that this will bear the best outcome for his and your kingdom. 

Wonwoo was once in love. 

He knows, used to know rather, how his heart skipped a beat and how butterflies filled his stomach. But then came you and he is back to zero. He wants to like you. He wants to love you. 

He doesn’t want to be a husband recognized by the public. Instead, he wants to be the lifetime companion that you can lean on and trust. He hopes that you see that he’s trying to be one. 

It’s a challenge though, because he doesn’t know how or where to begin.

These thoughts have been running on his mind for the longest of days and even now as he gazes at your face, deep in slumber. What happened earlier was a shock. All he wanted was to invite you for a quick lunch before he goes to work and here you are now literally at his workplace, getting the right amount of rest you’ve been missing. 

“Your Highness,” the Royal Family’s doctor calls to him politely while the two nurses accompanying him check on you. Wonwoo only gives a brief nod of acknowledgement. “I advise the Princess to stay overnight to recover from her dehydration and stress. A day away from work would be immensely helpful.”

Wonwoo’s eyes don't leave you as he continues to nod and agree with the doctor’s orders. It doesn’t look like it, but he is paying attention to every word the older one is saying. He bites his lip, beating himself up for not knowing what could be causing you stress. 

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to page us,” the doctor assures and Wonwoo finally turns his attention to him. 

“Thank you so much.” He extends his arm for a handshake before letting them leave.

Wonwoo sighs before taking the seat beside your bed again. As much as he wants to go closer and maybe opt to hold your hand, he doesn’t. He just keeps his eyes on you. Your face looks so peaceful while sleeping, a small smile can’t help but form on the Prince’s face. It’s a relief that it’s nothing bad. But still, he can’t feel at ease until he sees your eyes once again. He decided to take a leave from work and stay beside you until you wake up and get discharged.

He has already informed the King and Queen of what happened and they will be here shortly. 

“Wonwoo, my dear,” the Queen greets while opening her arms to the young doctor for a quick embrace. “How are you?”

The King walked past the warm exchange, not wasting any time to be close to your bed. “How is she?”

“Your Majesty,” Wonwoo doesn’t fail to say his greetings first before going on full doctor mode. “The Princess is stable. She just needs to replenish her energy by having lots of rest and she’ll be discharged as early as tomorrow morning. Would you like me to call the doctor in charge?”

“No, no,” the Queen answers, now sitting with her husband who’s been gently cradling your cheek. “We’ll go to him ourselves. I’m just glad you are here for her Wonwoo.”

“Ever the hard worker, she is,” your father mutters a harmless complaint. “I will give her a scolding once she wakes up. Scratch that, I am going to have the Prince do that in my place. He’s the doctor after all.” Finally, the King looks at him, a glint of humor in his eyes.

Wonwoo blushes and keeps his head low. He scratches the back of his neck before firmly promising, “I will take care of her better next time, Your Majesty.”

“Nonsense,” the Queen dismisses his apologetic tone with a wave of her hand. “Everyone gets sick every day and it just so happened that it’s our Princess this time around.”

An hour after the King and Queen left, Wonwoo’s eyes grew heavy. Unbeknownst to him, his head gravitated to your bed and close to your arm. He tried to keep his eyes open, still determined on waiting until you wake up, but his determination was futile because it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep beside you. 

His face was the first thing you saw the moment you regained consciousness. The top of his head was snuggled to your arm, surprising you. At first, you couldn’t figure out what was going on. But the remembrance of the three cups of coffee you had was enough to answer the questions running in your mind. Then, the embarrassment came too soon because you also remember the look on Wonwoo’s face when he saw your agony.

You’re still not feeling well. You should probably get more sleep instead of resenting your embarrassment. You release a low groan, momentarily forgetting the sleeping Prince beside you. 

Wonwoo stirs a little before opening slowly his eyes and meeting yours. He sits up in a heartbeat and blinks his sleep away to make sure you are really awake.

After confirming, he releases the breath he had been holding. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” you whisper, completely bashful. “How long was I asleep?”

“It’s eight o’clock now,” he answers while looking at his watch. “You were asleep for the whole afternoon so approximately eight to nine hours.”

“Wow,” you mutter in sincere disbelief. “I haven’t slept that long since I started working.” 

“That’s why you’re going to sleep more.” Wonwoo stands up and fixes the blanket that’s keeping your body warm.

You frown and weakly stop his actions. “What do you mean? Am I not allowed to go home tonight?”

“Nope,” he answers and pushes your hand back down. “You’re staying overnight and that’s your doctor’s advice.”

“I don’t want to lay on this bed for 24 hours,” you whine, lips in a pout. “Can’t you give me clearance instead?”

“I’m not the doctor in charge and I am more than sure that you know that,” the Prince reminds and gently pat your head. “Go back to sleep and once morning comes, you’ll be good to go.”

Seeing that he has made a point, you give up and let your body relax on the bed in spite of your reluctance. You are smart enough to know that you can’t outsmart a doctor like him. 

Wonwoo grins in victory and makes himself comfortable on the chair. He then pulls his phone out to make a quick check on some emails and updates at the emergency room. 

That got you confused. Why is he still here? You blink suddenly realizing how he had stayed with you ever since you got admitted. You were embarrassed earlier but now you are sorry. 

“Are you not… leaving?” You ask. “I can manage alone. All I need to do is sleep this away, right?”

“Sleep Y/N,” Wonwoo commands while his eyes and hands remain focused on his phone, dodging your question. 

At the sound of your name, you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of the bed with a huff. As the days go by, you have noticed that Wonwoo can be mischievous and whenever he becomes one, it makes your cheeks blush red and heat up like wildfire. 

Wonwoo just snorts at your annoyance. He puts his phone back in his pocket and puts his attention at the back of your head as your breathing slowly even out, much needed sleep once again taking over your body. 

Wonwoo didn’t want to leave you when morning came and Jeongyeon arrived with your new set of clothes and warm meal. But he knew he had to go back to work and fulfill his sworn duty in spite of the validity of his excuse that his fiancee is sick. Other than that, but most importantly, he just wanted to see your eyes again first thing in the morning and he’d be content. 

You seemed to be exhausted still because he could hear your light snores even when the sunlight through your room was enough to indicate how late it is already in the morning. But time is ticking and he is needed at the emergency ward. So, disregarding his qualms, he took the paper bag of clothing from his friend and colleague, Soonyoung, and changed. 

Afterwards, Wonwoo picks up a thermometer and checks your temperature one last time to make sure that you don’t have any fever. All the while, oblivious to the knowing grin of your assistant.

“Please call me when she wakes up. I’d like to see her before she gets discharged,” he requests, hands busy fixing your blanket for the ninth time. 

Jeongyeon smiles, aware that there’s nothing left to fix on your bed anymore, before answering. “Will do, Your Highness.”

Finally, the Prince takes his leave but not after giving one last glance to the sleeping Princess.

Jeongyeon immediately fed you the moment you woke up. She didn’t take no for an answer, reminding you that it’s her responsibility to take care of you and that her failure to do so is equivalent to having her head beheaded (it’s not enacted anymore). 

At this point she’s now nagging you and it just falls deaf to your ears because you are indeed starving after all the sleeping. You ate every food she brought from the warm soup to the last grain of rice so fast, you looked like you were inhaling them instead of chewing properly. That made Jeongyeon scold you again reminding you that you’re about to be discharged from the hospital and she can’t have you admitted again because of indigestion this time around. 

“I am glad that you’re eating well, Your Highness,” the Royal Doctor gladly says. He’s now here to run one last check up before giving you the clearance you’ve been begging Wonwoo for last night. 

Wonwoo, you suddenly remembered. Where is he?

“Your Highness?”

“Oh yes,” you reply, waking up from your daze. “Sorry, I think I ate way too much. Please go on.”

The Royal Doctor checked your chart, frequently updated by the nurses on duty all throughout your stay. He then sits on the chair once used by the Prince to ask a few questions to make sure he’s not missing on anything. Your head still feels heavy but it’s nothing you can’t handle. He assures you that you are fine and gives you the reminders that he usually does with cases like yours. 

“That’s it.” He clasps his hands together and stands up. “You are more than free to go. Please come back next month for a check up.”

“Yes, I will,” you say and reach for his hand to shake it. “Thank you very mu-”

You couldn’t even thank your doctor properly when someone suddenly barges in through your door with a bang. You recognized him right away as head of your security detail. 

“I apologize, Your Highness,” he says, eyes on the floor. Soon, more men follow behind him. “But we have to leave the hospital and move you somewhere safer right this instant.”

Jeongyeon already knows what to do, moving quickly to help you sit up. Meanwhile, the doctor grabs the wheelchair from the small storage room and helps keep your IV stay in place as you move from the bed.

Once you’re all secured, everyone dashed out of the room.

“What the hell is going on?” You demand answers from the men surrounding you and Jeongyeon, who’s pushing the chair to the private elevator.

“There has been a commotion caused by armed men at the Emergency Room,” the head reports and upon hearing where he is talking about, your heart drops to your stomach. “The hospital’s security has it under control but we won’t be taking any chances on letting you stay here any longer, Your Highness.”

“Stop.”

Wonwoo.

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #fic: ifliys

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-35 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19  ♦️ ♦️  7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

Content Warning: This section contains topics that may be uncomfortable to some readers (mentions of abuse). Please proceed with discretion.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Court Hallway

After the trial ended, I did not leave immediately. Rather, I waited in the hallway for Hang Jiahe. 

Soon, she walked over, guarded by two bailiffs.

MC: Miss Hang.

Hang Jiahe: What are you doing here? Are you going to laugh at me?

Hang Jiahe: Are you happy to have beat me?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. I came to tell you something.

Hang Jiahe: What?

MC: Actually… this examination report…

I took out that last examination report again.

MC: Due to time and technical limits, we currently do not have the identification results.

MC: When I showed it in court, I just wanted to add psychological pressure onto you.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe froze for a few seconds, but she then responded quickly.

Hang Jiahe: You tricked me… you tricked me… hahahahahahaha!

She suddenly burst into sharp laughter.

Hang Jiahe: I didn’t lose… I didn’t lose…

Hang Jiahe: I still got my revenge!

MC: …

MC: Miss Hang, can I ask you something?

Hang Jiahe: What do you want to say?

MC: You said in court that Qi Yu tried to hold Hang Fei back “that night”.

MC: But you still murdered her out of hate for her bystander position, correct?

Hang Jiahe: Yes, I hated her for being a coward, hated her for being too scared to resist Hang Fei, hated her for looking on for so many years without lifting a finger!

Hang Jiahe: She knew during those years what Hang Fei was doing to me, so why didn’t she save me?

MC: …

Hang Jiahe: Then… did you know that Hang Fei had also been abusing Qi Yu during those years?

Hang Jiahe: I did. How could she not have been beaten, with how cowardly she was?

MC: Then do you know why she was beaten?

Hang Jiahe: Why?

MC: …

I took out my phone and opened a video featuring Qi Yu’s abuse. That small woman was lying weakly on the floor, passively enduring the man’s punches and kicks. But she kept mumbling something –

“Don’t hurt Jiahe… and those children… stop it…”

Hang Jiahe: What…

MC: Miss Hang, did Qi Yu never do anything during all those times you were abused?

MC: Are you sure that every time, she chose to be a bystander, rather than being forced into her position?

MC: Did you know that Qi Yu said those words in each of the videos she was beaten in?

Hang Jiahe: I…

Hang Jiahe froze for a second, but then she immediately reacted.

Hang Jiahe: So what, then? What do you want to say?

Hang Jiahe: That I misunderstood her? That I shouldn’t have killed her? Then does all the pain I suffered for so many years even matter?

Hang Jiahe: You want me to absolve her? To forgive her?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I mean.

MC: I am not you. I have not endured your suffering, so I cannot request for you to forgive anyone.

MC: I haven’t seen what happened during those years, so I cannot judge whether Qi Yu was actively or passively making her decisions.

MC: And I definitely can’t carelessly determine whether she sinned or not.

I stopped for a moment and looked at Hang Jiahe’s gloves. 

In her mind, she probably was the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantès – someone who had been wronged and could only get revenge for herself. She believed herself as intelligent and as lucky as Edmond, that she would ultimately be the winner. But…

MC: But even Edmond would figure out the situation before his revenge and repay his benefactors.

MC: I’m telling you this, only because I hope you’ll understand what sorts of people you sent away.

MC: I hope you understand that there have been people who intended to treat you kindly.

Hang Jiahe: …

MC: Also, Miss Hang, I can guess why you were not willing to ask for help from the police.

MC: In that sort of situation, you may have thought that you couldn’t rely on the outside world to go against them.

MC: But even so, me, Captain Morgan, and many, many people still have to do something.

I flipped further into the examination report.

MC: Even if Hang Fei is gone, the things he’s done will not disappear with him.

MC: This is the report we’ve created. Captain Morgan’s already sent it to upper management and applied for international cooperation.

MC: Miss Hang, we will bring you the justice you deserve for the pain you’ve experienced.

MC: As for the last few people, I promise that they will receive the punishment they deserve.

MC: So, for the rest of your life, please don’t live in hate.

MC: You’ve already stayed in the darkness for long enough. Please try to take a step forward.

MC: Doesn’t it say that in your beloved “The Count of Monte Cristo”?

MC: “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”

MC: Miss Hang, if possible, please try it.

MC: Perhaps the light you’ve always been searching for isn’t too far away.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe: Ha… ha… hahahahaha!

Hang Jiahe broke into sudden, sharp laughter. It sounded like a heartrending sob was woven in it, as it resounded in the empty hallway, melting into the rain.

Amid the grey deluge of rain, specks of light leaked through. Maybe the downpour would finally end this time.

Not long after, Simon’s homicide case opened trial, and Wang Chunchong was deemed the murderer. Xingrui Estates declared that they would be depriving Xu Yin of her position and removing her from the family. Only Tyson received the weakest blow, as the evidence for instigation of murder was insufficient. However, lots of people online were saying that they hoped he would “succumb to the demon of illness as soon as possible”.  

Thus, the homicide case of the couple in Yaofu Community came to an end.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

NXX Base

After the Hang Jiahe case concluded, the NXX investigation team met up at the base again for discussion.

MC: That’s how the Hang Jiahe case went.

Marius: Thanks for your hard work!

Artem: Thanks for your hard work. You did excellently.

Luke and Vyn nodded at me.

MC: Thanks, everyone.

MC: Enough about me – how’s everyone else’s investigation?

Artem: I’ve already updated Tyson’s case file. I haven’t found any new clues for now.

Marius: I followed what Wang Chunchong said and investigated that guy named Xiao Ren, but…

Marius: I haven’t found anything for now.

Luke: You also found out about Xiao Ren?

Marius: Huh?

Vyn: What a coincidence. I, too, found out about him.

MC: !!!

Luke: Marius, what information do you have on Xiao Ren right now?

Marius: Mainly what Wang Chunchong told me before.

Marius sighed.

Marius: According to Wang Chunchong, Xiao Ren is linked to Heirson’s raw materials purchases.

Marius: Tyson held Xiao Ren to very high regard, and keeps his occupational information on severe confidential status.

Marius: All in all, this person seems pretty mysterious.

Marius: What about you, Luke? What did you find?

Luke: The aunties in the group told me that Zhao Fei kept looking for someone called “Xiao Ren”.

Luke: I suspect that Tyson brought up this person in the recording that he sent him.

Marius: That’s possible. Wang Chunchong also heard Tyson bring up Xiao Ren, so there should be some sort of link between them.

Artem: Luke, that’s not all the information that the assistive team provided you, is it?

Luke: Yep, that’s not all.

Luke: First, the workers in Heirson where the abnormalities appeared were mostly on the production front lines, so what they touch the most are the products.

Vyn: They probably mixed in their developed illegal drugs into the products, resulting in infection.

Luke: That’s right.

Luke: Secondly, about Zhao Fei…

Luke ripped out a page from his notebook and placed it on the table.

Artem: These names are…

Luke: When I was questioning these ten people about Zhao Fei, their reactions were a bit abnormal. I suspect that…

Luke: They’re the ones hiding Zhao Fei.

MC: What about you, then, Dr. Richter? You just said that you also found out about Xiao Ren.

Vyn: I spoke with half of the 20 special respondents and noticed that it was the same doctor in charge of their examinations.

Vyn: And that person is named “Xiao Ren”.

Vyn: So I suspect that this person knows many secrets regarding Heirson’s experimental data.

MC: If so, this Xiao Ren person knows about where raw materials come from and can deal with the experimental data…

MC: If we can find him, we might be able to patch up the missing part in our evidence chain against Heirson.

Marius: So this Xiao Ren is going to be our investigative focal point from now on?

Luke: Leave it to me, then. I’m the best when it comes to finding people.

Artem: Then leave Zhao Fei to me. I just happen to have something I want to confirm with him.

Vyn: I have only met with the special patients. I will continue to meet with the remaining bunch.

Vyn: Marius, what are your plans?

Marius: Me? I plan to go see Hang Jiahe.

Marius: She wanted to find reporters in the past to drop major news about Heirson, and she’s now in jail…

Marius: We should find out what this news is.

MC: Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that!

Marius: So, jiejie, want to come with me to see Hang Jiahe? After all, only the two of us know her the best.

MC: Uh…

I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Luke: Marius, do you really need someone to accompany you just to go see someone?

Marius: I’m not going to see a typical person, am I? I’m going to see someone who might give us an important clue.

Marius: It makes sense to be a little more cautious and bring someone else.

Luke: Then just bring your assistant. If anything else, then bring some recording equipment.

Luke: Convenient, and it can record in real time.

MC: …

Right after, Artem spoke.

Artem: Zhao Fei’s case was ours to begin with, and now that we have clues…

Artem: MC, let’s finish it off, alright?

MC: Lawyer Wing…

Vyn: I may be overstepping, but…

Vyn stepped in just before Artem could speak again.

Vyn: May I trouble you to go with me next?

Vyn: There’s a special patient that I need your assistance with.

Faced with their “eager” eyes, I was very sure that –

The investigation team seriously needs to recruit a new member!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼ CHAPTER 7 END  ✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #tot translations #lu jinghe #zuo ran #xia yan #mo yi #marius von hagen #artem wing #luke pearce #vyn richter #未定事件簿 #feels bad for hjh :'(

[palbabor-writes]

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn. 

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up. 

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito​ for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you. 

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort 

pt. i: an opening 

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop. 

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter. 

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.  

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine? 

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back. 

Odd. 

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order– 

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ] 

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands. 

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic. 

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft. 

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down. 

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day. 

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression. 

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites. 

Wait. Favorites? 

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment? 

No. You must be joking. 

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.    

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face. 

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray. 

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move. 

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands. 

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips. 

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils. 

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much. 

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ] 

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now. 

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch. 

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.  

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none. 

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.” 

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!” 

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum. 

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.” 

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now. 

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features. 

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask. 

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips. 

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches your eye. 

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink [ a doppio con panna with bitter lungo shots, poured affogato ] a pleased smile on your soft lips. 

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you. 

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.” 

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine. 

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face. 

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?” 

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles. 

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence. 

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards. 

It’s stupid; he’s stupid. 

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.” 

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it. 

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath. 

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso. 

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans. 

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game. 

Wait. You asked him something? 

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway. 

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit. 

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice. 

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked. 

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia. 

It could be any number of things. 

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs. 

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that. 

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp. 

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team. 

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind. 

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs. 

They won. 

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken. 

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms. 

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh. 

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually– 

Ah, it’s you. 

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted. 

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him. 

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care. 

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him? 

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose? 

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes. 

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks. 

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe. 

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you. 

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here. 

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back. 

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned. 

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve. 

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding. 

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say. 

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way. 

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you. 

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree. 

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him. 

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.  

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes. 

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask. 

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy? 

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it. 

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl. 

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. 

What is there to say? 

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours. 

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!” 

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his. 

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.” 

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care. 

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number. 

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love. 

#sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #reader insert #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #kiyoomi x y/n #kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq #hq!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #multichapter #this thing is like an ode to coffee #sorry #:3c

[specialagentsergio]

love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”  

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #tattoos rlly are a rabbit hole for some of us like i already have an appointment for my second one lol

[juniorgman187]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Reid Fic)

*MY GIF

Summary: Despite her engagement to someone else, Spencer grapples with the reality that he’s in love with SSA Reader when he sees her in her wedding dress.

A/N: I am so fucking proud of Spencer’s speech that I wrote.  Playlist: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe + FINNEAS This song hurts so good :,) Category: Fluffy happy ending! Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: possible unrequited love, soft angst  Word Count: 6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Call it a superpower or a sixth sense, but I had this inexplicable, preternatural ability to detect when we weren’t heading in the right direction - a skill unaffected by even shut eyes or the deepest slumber. 

It seems as though after all these years of being (y/n)’s passenger, my body has developed a survival adaptation in order to offer her guidance before she would even have to ask, or worse - lower her pride and admit she’s lost! 

With as hard-headed as she is, she’d sooner drive us to Timbuktu before asking me for help.

I was half-asleep when I peeked through one half-lidded eye to observe where we were only to see she blew right by Gregory Boulevard when she should’ve turned left on it. 

“Um, you should make a u-turn at this next light,” I gently advised her before returning my head to its previous position perched on my hand. I closed my eyes again with the presumption she would follow my navigation and make a u-turn, but when I didn’t feel the car change course, I opened them to see that she blew right past the stoplight, too. 

“Hey, my apartment’s that way.” I gestured behind us while looking at her for the first time, catching a smug look on her face. That’s when I knew I was in for it. “Where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“You know I don’t like surprises,” I grumbled, slumping back into my seat with partially renewed energy. Her little antics never failed to get my heart racing. I never knew whether to expect a sweet sunset or a sea of snakes when it came to her. She was that polarizing. “Can I at least get a hint?” I egged on, considering she had yet to even reply to my first statement. 

She was completely unfazed by my pleading. She didn’t even peel her eyes away from the road - that’s how little attention she thought I deserved. “Mmm depends. What’s the magic word?” 

This blatant tease was successfully getting a rise out of me. “Pleaseee,” I dragged out the word as if it would do me any good to let her hear it for longer, but in reality, she just liked to hear me beg. 

She took a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth, a chupse, to express her displeasure before saying, “Ooh tough luck. The magic word was actually mushroom, but nice try.” 

A mirthless chuckle escaped me for willingly falling for her tricks despite knowing she’d pull something just like that. This girl was the bane of my existence, but at least she still rewarded me with a hint anyway. 

“Your hint is …” While pondering what hint to give me, her eyes traveled to the side, away from the road long enough to make my heart palpitate in a “if-she-doesn’t-pay-attention-to-the-road, we’re-both-gonna-die” kind of way. 

“... something old.” 

Again, she tore her eyes away from the road so she could register my reaction, but truthfully, I didn’t have one. I had no idea what that hint meant. Or rather I had too many ideas, far too many to limit to just one. 

She could’ve been talking about the age of a location, the history of a place, the vintage appearance of something - virtually anything.

“There’s an infinite amount of possibilities about what that could mean,” I argued. “If you actually want me to guess, you’ll have to give me something more.” 

As expected, she was not a fan of my whining and simply rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, stop complaining and use that big brain of yours. I’m sure you’ll figure it out before we even get there.” 

Although there was a high probability she was right that I could’ve solved it by myself, it was more enticing to feed off of what she could give me. “What if I ask you ‘yes or no’ questions?”

The gears in her head were turning as she weighed the pros and cons of humoring my offer. “You better ask some good questions then,” was her answer, which was the long way of saying yes. 

“Is this ‘something old’ an object?”

She hesitated, then decided on, “No.” So I took that as maybe. 

“Is this ‘something old’ a place?” 

There was no indecision with this answer. “No.” 

“Is this ‘something old’ as in appearance?” 

Again, a partial hesitation, but still ultimately a, “No.”

Realizing I pretty much exhausted the tangible, I settled for something more abstract. “Is this ‘something old’ a concept?”

“Yes, you could say that.” 

Her answer would prove to be redundant, as just seconds after we would arrive at our mystery destination. 

Ellie’s Bridal Boutique. 

“Something old, something new. Something borrowed, something blue.” I recited to myself under my breath when I finally unearthed the meaning. The rhyme was a wedding tradition that referred to the things a bride is supposed to wear on her wedding day that’s meant to provide protection and prosperity for the new couple - a superstition.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!” She mimicked the sound of a winning buzzer. “And you are going to be my something old.” 

A short chuckle left me as I stepped out of the car. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do - wear me?” I jested. 

“Well you are a very pretty boy, but I don’t know if you’re pretty enough to wear down the aisle.” 

“So then how am I going to be your something old? I’m only two years older than you.” 

She stopped dead in her tracks on the sidewalk to reach for my hand. I’d be lying if I said the chilling warmth of it didn’t make my breath hitch. My eyes fell to where our bodies met, but they rose to look at her again when she finally spoke. 

“You’re the very first person I met when I started working in the BAU, which makes you my oldest friend on the team, and since you were the first one that saw me, I wanted you to be the first one that saw me in my dress, too.” 

I was already aware that she’d picked out her wedding gown months before, so this appointment couldn’t have been anything more than an alteration update. The only reason I knew that, besides the obvious, was because I could still remember with perfect clarity the morning she came into work after her fitting. She marched right up to my desk to wave a picture of her in the garment right in my face. It wasn’t until I drew back with my head that I could see the image clearly. The dress, while incredibly stunning on her, ‘didn’t fit right’ - her words, not mine. 

“But that’s not how it’s actually gonna look on me. I asked them to take in the waist, change the neckline, and alter the length.” She vividly described to me, letting her finger run over the digital photo of the dress as she spoke. “Do you see what I mean?”

I lied when I said, “Yeah, I do,” because really, I didn’t need her to describe the details to me - I could already see the vision. Even if the dress was the wrong color, length, and ‘poofiness,’ I’d still think she’d look lovely. 

It was my only hope that her future husband would think so, too. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here for my alteration with Reagan at 4.” Just as quickly as she introduced herself to the receptionist, she was being whisked away by an older woman who seemed to have recognized her. 

“Oh, (y/n)! It’s so good to see you again! Come, come, your dress is ready. I just know you’ll love it.” 

Before she slipped out of my vision completely, (y/n) turned around to address me. “I’ll be right back, I promise. Just wait here.” 

I raised my hand in the air to give a short acknowledgment goodbye and followed her instruction to sit in the chair that lied directly in front of a circular raised platform. 

“Are you the groom?” A soft voice from beside me suddenly asked. I looked up to see it was the receptionist holding a tray with a glass of champagne. 

“Oh, I’m okay thank you,” I denied the alcohol with a shake of my head. “And no, no I’m not. Just an … an old friend.” Again, her words, not mine. 

It would come as a surprise to both me and you that with as much as I know about the world, I had no idea how long this would take before I saw her again. With my estimates, it should take maybe fifteen minutes maximum before she walked out in her dress, but who knows? It’s (y/n) after all. She runs on her own clock. The sun rises and sets on her. 

At least in my world it does. 

By around minute 17, I realized my estimates were way off and there was no way she’d be coming out any time soon, so with all that I could do in that store having been done already, the only thing left for me to do was read. Nothing of quality, though. Just those frivolous bridal magazines on the coffee table beside me. I didn’t even want to think about the germs and bacteria that were harboring on these reading materials, but if it meant it’d cure my boredom then perhaps the contraction of microbes would be worth it. 

To say I wasn’t well-versed in fashion would be an understatement and reading the subscriptions only emphasized that further. To put it in perspective, you could style my future bride in a medieval frock and it wouldn’t discourage me whatsoever because I simply have no understanding of what a ‘good’ wedding dress is, therefore, I cannot make an accurate comparison. 

Take, for example, the dress on page 17 of Modern Bride. The model was donning a high neck, long sleeve creme satin dress. I thought it looked quite nice and classic, but the excerpt described it as totally out of style and too old - a faux pas.

But when comparing that dress to the gown on page 24 of The Bride’s Guide, I couldn’t spot a single difference between the two, yet this passage was written in complete adoration. “This dress is vintage done right,” said the article. But to me - they were exactly identical! What was wrong with the first one?

Maybe it was a good thing grooms weren’t allowed to help pick wedding dresses because if I had to assist my bride in picking her’s, then, of course, it would be bad luck! I’d probably pick something utterly horrendous!

I had to admit it was slightly humiliating to confront my incompetence relating to wedding dresses, so before my self-esteem plummeted any further, I set the magazines back in their rightful place on the coffee table so they could once again be what they were always intended for - extraneous decor. 

With a flick of my watch, I noted the period of waiting had only increased by three minutes. Again, I had yet to master the art of wedding garment fittings, but how was 20 minutes not enough time to put a dress on? However, unlike my better half, I had (relatively) zero problems admitting my ignorance, whereas she’d rather drive us off a cliff or into a lake before letting me know she was lost. 

In surrender to my lack of knowledge, I rose from my seat to approach the receptionist and ask if she had a more accurate estimate for how long it would be until I saw (y/n) again. But as it turns out, any estimate she might’ve been able to tell me would’ve been completely wrong for she wouldn’t have even been able to finish her answer before the aforementioned future bride entered the space behind me. 

Remember before when I said I had no gauges of good fashion to outrank a medieval frock? Well, I stand corrected. 

(Y/n) in her dress is what I will measure everyone against. And no one will ever compare. 

“Wow…” The word came out of my mouth before I could think to stop it. My tone was so honest that it scared me. “I’m - You’re …” I was at a total loss for words that I had to sit back down to hopefully regain some clarity. She laughed at my stupidity with a laugh so gentle, I couldn’t not laugh back. 

“That good, huh?” 

I wordlessly nodded while my mouth lied openly in waiting. But the right words never came out; there just weren’t any that could capture this vision of perfection in front of me. 

My mannerisms had clearly already given away the true level of my admiration, so in an effort to lessen the enormity of my obvious wonderment, I reluctantly broke my gaze away from the angel in white and picked up a magazine on the table to perfect the notion of nonchalance. 

“You look . . .” She impatiently waited for my addition, even doing the most adorable little twirl in her dress to give me the full view in the meantime. “Nice,” was the adjective I settled for, as it was such a thoughtless response that perhaps it would convince her that there weren’t a million thoughts on my mind. The most recurring one, and arguably the most troubling one being: I think I’m in love with you. 

“Nice?” She repeated like the word stung her tongue, more out of mock offense than earnest disappointment. “You’re reading your magazine upside down so it’s gotta be better than nice.”

I bashfully looked down to find that, sure enough, her words were true. The magazine was upside down and therefore a total revelation of just how ‘nice’ I really thought she looked.

I tried to hide my smile behind my knuckles as I pressed a fist to my lips, deciding on the most sincere compliment I could give her. 

“Nobody holds a candle to you, (y/n),” I nodded in affirmation. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

After saying so, I nonchalantly - well as nonchalantly as one could when caught slack-jawed and completely in awe - reoriented the catalog. Had I glanced up even a second later, I might not have caught her reaction to my words and the way they made her smile uncontrollably. I looked back down at the magazine with a smirk, giving it a brief flick to open up the pages all the way to me and parrot the motions one would make if they were actually reading.

We both knew I wasn’t though. 

It seemed I never left that wedding boutique because even as we arrived outside my apartment later that day, my mind was still there, stuck on the future bride in her gown.

“Earth to Spencer!” She waved her hand in front of me to grab my attention despite already having it. “We’re here!” She announced. Who was I kidding? She always had my attention. I only wish it didn’t take me this long to realize that the reason she was constantly at the front of my mind was that I loved her.

Nearly about to exit the car, the millionth and one thought rang in my head like a bell - wedding bells, if you will. 

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

At a tantalizingly slow speed, I released the doorknob and turned back towards her.

“...I love you.”

She furrowed her brows and shrugged with her mouth, forming a confused pout. “I love you, too, Reid?” She kind of laughed when she said it, so I knew she thought this was just a friend sending off a friend goodbye, but I couldn’t let her think that’s what I meant. 

“No, not like that.” I clarified with the utmost candor. “I’m in love with you.” I shook my head when I said it which, in any other context, might make you think I was lying, but the shake of my head was merely the physical manifestation of every bone in my body knowing I shouldn’t be saying this, but my heart still having the audacity to do it anyway. 

I confessed with that brutally honest tone again, the one so raw and vulnerable it leaves you nauseous and breathless all at once as you anxiously anticipate the other person’s response to your vulnerability. But I couldn’t even meet her eyes, I was too scared. Even if I had, they would’ve been vacant. Her spirit had vanished from her body, and in its departure left just the shell of a woman who was completely void of color. Her flushed face was a remnant of the shock that paralyzed her and it wouldn’t disappear even as I tried to bring her color back. 

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I wish I had better timing - trust me, I will beat myself up later for not saying it sooner. But I promise you, I am not trying to ruin things between you two and I would never actually try to stand in the way of your wedding - you have to believe me. I want you to be happy and if he’s what makes you happy, then I will live with that. I just had to tell you now because ... if you married him without ever knowing how I felt, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

This was true - I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t said anything - but now that I have - will she be able to forgive me?

Vacant stares turned into piercing glares that drove, what felt like, a thousand daggers right through my heart. She was looking at me as though I were a stranger - completely unrecognizable to her. 

(Y/n), it’s me. It’s Spencer. Don’t you remember me? My heart pleaded. I’m still the same guy I was before. I’m the first friend you made on the team, remember? I’m your something old. Please, please remember me. 

By the time I came to the woeful conclusion that she wouldn’t reply, at least not now, there was only one question weighing on my heart heavily enough to make me ask it before I left her car. 

“Would it have been better if I didn’t tell you?” 

My question stayed answerless even as I lingered at the door after getting out, waiting for one. I knew I should’ve closed it, but I couldn’t. In many ways, it would’ve been shutting the only open vessel to her, formally closing myself off from our friendship. The possibility of losing her as soon as I walked away was too real, and I wasn’t ready yet.

“Please, (y/n), talk to me.” It was a trending theme to have every word I spoke be underlined by this profound piteousness. “Say something.” Say anything.

“I ... I need to get home,” She quietly whimpered, practically begging me to let her go. Up until then, I didn’t want to, but I suddenly wished I had shut the door sooner so that I might not have had to hear the quiet addition, “To my fiancé.”

The color she was so void of in her face? It seems I must have recompensed, for not only was I crowned her something old that day, but I was also her something blue. 

_ _ _ 

If there were a guidebook on all the things to do as the love of your life’s wedding (to someone else) nears, I’d like to think I was following all the protocol. 

Since my not-so-subtle confession, I had yet to press the subject or force her for an answer to my final question, which I think she was thankful for. I also hadn’t plotted a giant scheme to ruin the wedding, nor did I have any intentions of doing so. 

For all intents and purposes, I was acting as a gentleman (who’s in love with you but whom you’re not marrying) ideally should.

You would think that after my big declaration, (y/n) would do everything in her power to avoid me. It’s what I would’ve done. But she’s no coward. That exact heart of gold I fell in love with made no exceptions. Because even after what I did, she still had it in her to extend her kindness to me. 

She’s stubborn like that, remember? 

And though she was showering me with a treatment I didn’t deserve, it still wasn’t enough for my greedy heart. 

The true pain lied in the pretending. Every day I would have to come to work and talk with her and laugh with her and smile with her - I would have to be her friend … pretending that was all that I wanted and nothing more. 

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was acting just as she always had with me. It may seem weird to have expected, nay - wanted - a different reaction from her, but I just wanted something. At least, if she was angry, then I would know what I said had some effect on her, but she was just so indifferent. Like what I said didn’t matter. 

It’s been said that there is a thin line between love and hatred. Hate and love both seem to be involved in the neural processing of what is sometimes referred to as the arousal effect of emotion - this is a technical term, so arousal can be negative. Scientists studying the physical nature of hate have found that some of the nervous circuits in the brain responsible for it are the same as those that are used during the feeling of romantic love – although love and hate appear to be polar opposites. Therefore, the same brain circuitry is involved in both extreme emotions. So, as strange as it may sound, if she didn’t love me, then I at least wanted her to hate me, just so I’d know she had any passion for me that matched my burning passion for her.

But as it turns out, she would never go on to display signs of hatred or love, for she never acted passive-aggressively, never gave me the silent treatment - nothing. Nope, she just acted as if it never happened. She went on with her life, essentially expecting me to do the same, but how could I carry on with life while she was still carrying half of my heart with her? 

It’s an impossible feat, that - to walk around with half a heart. And it’s one that has not gotten easier with time. If anything, time has made it worse, and the closer we got to the wedding, the more difficult it became for me to hold back. And with this exponential growth, it was only inevitable that the pinnacle of difficulty came right before the wedding. 

Before shit hit the fan, she arranged, or rather insisted, that I give a speech at the dinner rehearsal. That hadn’t changed, despite almost everything else having done so. Up until the minute I arrived at the venue, I could’ve recited that speech a million times, forwards and backwards, in my sleep, or even in Russian. But I lost any ability to form coherent thoughts from the second I laid eyes on her. 

As soon as I opened the door, she stood at the entrance to greet her guests, having taken a radiant form that I could only imagine would not pale in comparison to what she would look like tomorrow on her actual wedding day. That thought alone scared me shitless. 

If this is how beautiful she looked tonight and it was only just the rehearsal, how would I ever be able to resist her less than 24 hours from now when she would be marrying a man I could only dream of being half so lucky as?

“Spencer!” Familiar crinkles formed around her eyes as a result of her gigantic smile when she saw me and hugged me thereafter. Her embrace was strangely tighter and lasted for longer than usual, not that I was complaining, but I had to wonder if she was compensating for something. What’s that saying - keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? Was she killing me with kindness? That might’ve been wishful thinking though. Because the same flash of indifference I’d been dealt in recent times came back into her face and tone after hugging me. “You’re at table five with the rest of the team.” 

“Oh, thanks.”

That was it? Just a ‘Spencer!’ and then a nudge in the direction of my seat? No questions about my speech? No threatening comments to not say anything that would ruin the charade we’d been playing for months now? Had she forgotten I was even giving a speech?

“Oh, wait, Spencer!” I felt her hand on my shoulder before I heard her voice. “You left this in my car a couple months ago. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you, but I didn’t remember until today.” 

The first thing that raised a red flag was what she was saying. I’d left something in her car? That would imply that I’d forgotten something, and we both knew that wasn’t possible. But the second suspicious element was the matter of what she claimed I’d left behind. She was handing me a book with the back cover facing me. From the looks of it alone, it wasn’t mine. Clearly, it wasn’t mine. I knew every single book that resides on my shelves and this one has never once crossed them. That, on top of the new book smell and the lack of a wear in the spine, was enough to tell me that not only was this a book I’d never read nor was one to grace my bookshelf, but it was most certainly not one I would have left behind.

She was lying. 

She saw the realization dawn on me, but knowing I would mention it, her hand’s grip around my wrist, which I hadn’t noticed was even there in the first place, tightened, sending me a message. 

She knew I saw the deception. There were so many flaws in what she was saying, that she couldn’t have possibly been clueless of them. It was too easy. Or maybe that was by design. She wanted me to figure out it was a lie. But why?

What was she hiding?

The final thing to leave me when she did was her hand. In its place, it had left a a near perfect indentation in my sleeve. How flawlessly it sculpted to her hand told me just how tightly she was holding me. What was she trying to say?

That’s when I flipped the book over to see the cover. 

Can Love Happen Twice?

And right on the inside cover page was scribbled - in a handwriting so distinctive it could only belong to one person and one person alone - “Yes.” 

_ _ _ 

My heart was racing the entire night as I anxiously awaited for the moment to give my speech. Nothing seemed to ease the tension. Not a sip of water, not the loosening of my tie, not the self-soothing bouncing of my leg. But all it took, all it took was one glance from her and suddenly, the storm within me had settled. 

“Next up we have a speech from Spencer Reid!” 

I rose from my seat like a floundering mess, as to be expected, because how can you possibly catch your bearings as you’re about to make a speech to a room full of people?

“H-hi there. I’m Dr. Spen- I’m Spencer Reid. I’ve worked with (y/n) for several years now and - and so I, um, I wrote this speech for her, so, so I’m gonna read it to you all now,” My stammering had gotten the best of me, so before I could unravel into the mess I surely came off as right about now, I spun from my previous position facing the majority to facing only her. I needed to see her. I needed the reprieve of her eyes again, and she was happy to give it to me.

“(Y/n), from the moment I met you, I thought who is she? And I mean that quite literally because I had no idea who you were and why you were there,” Laughter from the crowd erupted, but her laugh was the only one that mattered to me. “But also because there was just something about you that told me I needed to talk to you. I had no idea what that instinct to strike up a conversation with you would lead to, but I trust my gut a little more now because that very intuition gave me one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” 

To my words, an endeared pout formed on her face. She was touched, and I was glad. 

“Over the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years we’ve spent together, I have enjoyed every single measure of time with you. You have taught me more about life and myself than I could have ever learned otherwise - which says a lot,” This once again brought her to laughter. “So I thank you for that, because without you, there would be no one to tell my campfire stories to, there would be no one who could recite Jung or Freud with me, and there would be no one I’d have to correct when they drive down the wrong path,” My own chuckle cut my sentence short. 

“Life with you has simply been made better, and my only hope is that tomorrow, as you get married, you too, will experience that eternal bliss with which you have surely bestowed upon everyone who has had the privilege of knowing you.”

By now both of us were on the verge of tears, hers more apparent than mine as she used the palm of her hand to stifle her sniffles. 

“There is so much more I could say about how great you are, but your favorite author, F. Scott Fitzgerald, has said it best. ‘She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful’,” A tear ran down her cheek as my own eyes welled up beyond their means. “So to you both - may you have a life as beautiful as the bride.”

Even if that life isn’t with me. 

I tuned out all the clapping and cheering, and set my focus solely on her, giving me full liberty to see the way she rose from her chair and escaped the room. Not even shock could paralyze me or stop me from running after her. I sprung so fast into action, which required the maximum amount adrenaline, although I could not credit my speed to the rush, but it was more the exclusive motivation to find her that powered me. The entire time I kept calling out her name as I frantically chased her out of the venue. 

“Spencer.” 

I didn’t even see her there at first, probably because I was half-expecting her to be jumping into a cab or running away from me some more when I found her, but just as before, she made it too easy for me. She was waiting for me, standing there in no spectacular fashion. 

The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face that were not so large so that I couldn’t see the red rings around her eyes that were caused by the irritation and formation of tears. She was simply staring back at me with this look in her eyes as if she wanted to say something. 

In the silence, I could still appreciate how astonishingly gorgeous she was. How badly I wanted her. I would’ve whisked her away and taken her as mine if I knew it would make her happy. But that’s just it - I didn’t know. 

I needed her to say it. So say it. 

Say it, darling. 

Spoken through a congested voice (which spoke volumes in reality because of the mere revelation that she was indeed crying) was the plainest, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she vanished back into the restaurant, leaving me to my devices on the sidewalk. 

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. 

_ _ _ 

Perhaps the false confidence in my speech or what little she had to say to me after it or even the hidden message in the book got to my head, but whatever it was, I was feeling suspiciously alright. Luckily, that feeling didn’t deviate even as I made my way to the church. 

Upon arrival, everything seemed exactly as it should be, so consequently the lack of something out of place did not adequately denote what lied just beyond those doors. Or should I say what didn’t?

Much to my mortification, it was a completely empty church. Every pew, though decorated for a wedding, was uninhabited and showed no indications of having been such recently. As I walked further in, the door automatically shut behind me with a loud bang. It would’ve shocked me more had something else not caught my attention already. 

It was (y/n), standing at the altar … completely alone. 

Suddenly, it felt like I’d been drawn in by this invisible gravity, which was now floating me down the aisle. My feet could not carry me to her fast enough.

I was sure this was some kind of dream simply by the way the light gleamed through the stained glass windows, casting banners of golden luminescence on her. It was as if heaven itself had come down with the specific delegation to illuminate the vision of one of its fallen angels. 

“(Y/n)?” My voice reverberated throughout the chapel, ricocheting off the high, painted ceilings and back to me. “Where is everyone?” 

It wasn’t until I reached a certain point in the middle aisle, that I realized her veil had been covering her face this entire time. The angel in white only turned more heavenly when she flipped the veil backward, revealing herself to me. 

It took her a moment to answer, but it was her head that answered first before her mouth did. She began shaking her head slowly, followed by a short, unequivocal, “No.”

As you might imagine, I was dumbfounded. “No?” That answer wouldn’t have made sense in the context of what I had previously asked. 

“No.” She repeated, with somehow even more definitiveness. I decided it was best to stay silent and wait for her explanation. 

“No, it wouldn’t have been better if you didn’t tell me.” 

There was my answer I’d been searching for. 

“God, Spencer - what took you so long?” 

From the breathlessness and the rushed cadence of her voice, I knew precisely what was coming next. She instantaneously abandoned the bouquet she’d been clutching in favor of her hands’ ability to pull me in. The pressure on my fragile skull when our frenzied lips finally met was not a punishment so much as it was a reward. And just as we began to find our rhythm, I slid my hand into her hair, which I began to regret when I realized just how much time and effort probably went into its structuring. I pulled away the moment I felt a carefully placed pin lodged within her hair slip between my fingers. 

True, for a moment I was unable to open my eyes afterward from the sheer elation I was experiencing, but as I came to, I found myself looking at the hairpin I’d accidentally extracted from her curls, one that I could’ve sworn I’d seen a fellow coworker of ours donning in the past. 

“Is this -”

“Yep, it’s Penelope’s.” She admitted through the most debonair giggles. After giving her a quizzical, and only partially judgmental glance, she managed to blurt out, “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It was my ‘something borrowed’!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

reid taglist: @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid kiss #criminal minds #juniorgman187 #something borrowed something blue

[tchallasbabymama]

Troubled Waters Chapter Three

Hello, my lovelies, I’m back 🥰 Recovery is going well, so I started working on this chapter a few days ago, and voilà, c’est fini! I hope y’all enjoy the chapter but know I’m still working on some requests so these probably won’t be weekly updates. I’m shooting for every other week with requests in between, but we’ll see how it goes. Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything, and check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots. There’s plenty of content for y’all to enjoy! As always, likes are appreciated, but your comments and reblogs really make my day.😘

Word count: 5,759

Sego watched with concern from across the garden as yawns replaced Nia’s usual morning ballads. After the third yawn stretched over her usually cheery face, he set his magazine down on the metal bistro table and interrupted her daze, “You didn’t sleep well last night?”

“No,” Nia pouted as she turned to face her friend. “I kept waking up every couple of hours and then when I finally got to sleep, I kept hearing a voice talking about ‘the thinning’ over and over. I don’t even know what that means.”

“Sounds ominous. Did you ask Celeste?”

“Of course I did,” she snapped and immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I’m tired.”

“Clearly,” he rolled his eyes and she narrowed hers before spraying him with the water hose. “Hey!”

Nia giggled and went back to her plants as she pondered the message from her dream. Sego picked his fashion magazine back up and flipped through the colorful pages. He wasn’t one for clothing around the house, but when he was in public in his human form, he liked to keep up with the trends.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them, and minutes passed before an idea came to Nia as she stroked a large monstera leaf. “You know, mama wasn’t much help, but someone else might be.”

Sego set down his magazine again and his face turned serious.

“Plan B?”

“Plan B,” she nodded.

Sego cracked his knuckles and stood up, “I’ll get the drum.”

Nia finished up outside and washed her hands before piling a plate full of the excess sausage and grits she had cooked with Sego in mind. He wasn’t hungry that morning, so it seemed her leftovers weren’t meant for him in the first place. Nia opened the ritual by placing the plate in the center of the altar and lighting her frankincense resin. She wafted the smoke around their bodies and Sego’s drum, opening them to the spirit world as she hummed the unnamed tune that always came to her during rituals. Once Nia set the small clay pot of burning resin back on the altar, they were ready to begin.

The two friends got into position with Sego placing the drum between his legs and rubbing his hand lightly over the head to set his intentions while Nia stood tall with her head and shoulders back as she waited for him to begin. A few moments later, Nia came alive at the first strike of the drum. She let go and allowed herself to get lost in the sacred sounds, stepping in rhythm. Her feet carried her counterclockwise as her upper body snaked forward and back, being pushed and pulled by unseen forces. When her head began to tingle, she fell to her knees, triggering Sego to pick up the pace as she swayed from side to side with her eyes closed and head tilted back. Nia’s ears began to ring with a high-pitched tone that grew louder and louder until her body grew warm and her eyes flew open. She saw a swirling aura above her, and even though she had hoped to contact Bast, she welcomed unknown spirit. She figured it had something important to say since they usually just communicate through the veil. However, this one felt the need to deliver it’s message in person. Nia’s irises turned white as she parted her lips, allowing the being to enter her body. Goosebumps appeared all over her skin as the high of possession took over her, and the spirit settled into her flesh. The room went quiet as Sego carefully observed his friend. She showed no signs of danger, but he held tight to his drum, ready to banish the strange spirit if necessary.

“Who are you?” he asked, and Nia’s head quickly shot to his direction.

“I am Oma,” she spoke in a gravelly voice that unnerved Sego. Despite the chill that went down his spine, he recognized the name as one of Nia’s distant ancestors, and his apprehension waned. However, his curiosity grew as he wondered how she was able to travel to them so easily.

“What do you want?”

“To warn you.”

“Of what?”

“The realms, they are moving.”

“Moving how?”

“Closer. Space between getting smaller and smaller,” she droned.

“What do you mean?”

“The dead will walk among the living, and the humans among your people.”

“But how is that possible?”

“Bast. Her magic weakens.”

Sego’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Well, how-”

“You cannot stop them. Worlds collide.”

“Who is ‘them’?”

Nia’s head rolled back, and her body began to convulse as the spirit prepared to leave her host.

“No, not yet!” Sego tried to stop her, “Who is doing this!?”

“Be careful. She is precious.”

“Who?!”

Nia’s mouth flew open, and Oma exited her body before disappearing back into the realm of the dead. Sego rushed to his friend and caught her head before it hit the floor, laying it softly on her altar pillow. He grabbed the blanket Nia’s ugogo had woven for her only grandchild and laid it over her shivering body. Confused by what he just witnessed, Sego returned to his drum and closed the ritual with his skilled hands striking the instrument in rhythm. The sound cleared the air, and the vibrations traveled to Nia’s passed-out form, waking her from her state. He played softer as her chest heaved, and she reoriented herself with the world. Nia sat up slowly when her breathing returned to normal, her chilled fingers clinging to the blanket as she looked to her friend. Sego nodded and laid his palms flat on the drum.

“It was...scared,” Nia spoke softly as she ruminated on the spirit’s emotions. “Who was that?”

Sego pointed to the photo of her great-great-great grandma and her sisters. His finger landed just above the shortest one, all the way on the left. Her smile was the brightest of all her sisters, and her wings the biggest.

“Oma?” Nia asked through her brain fog as she tried to piece together what had just happened. As usual, she could only remember how the spirit felt in her body. This one felt anxious and in a hurry. “She’s never spoken to me before. What did she want?”

She attempted to stand, but Sego picked her up and carried her to her bed.

“I will tell you later. Right now, you need to rest.”

Before she could even protest, Nia’s body betrayed her, and she fell into a deep slumber. She slept the day away and woke up to fragrant smells wafting from the kitchen. Sego knew she would need to refuel after what she had just experienced, so he had prepared a hearty dinner to build her strength back up. Nia dragged herself into the kitchen right as he scooped the stewed meat and vegetables over a large bowl of rice. No words were spoken as she slid into the chair and dug into her food as though she hadn’t eaten in days. Sego took a seat on the other side of the table and waited for her to finish. It didn’t take long at all, and when Nia’s body finally felt full, she leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath.

“So, what did she say?”

Sego’s face contorted into a grimace as he spoke, “She, uh...she said the human realm and the realm of the dead are moving closer to ours.”

Confusion clouded Nia’s face as she tried to wrap her mind around Sego’s words.

“But how? Bast-”

“Is weak. Oma didn’t say how or why, but her magic is failing.”

Nia’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked down at her hands, testing her powers and making them glow a vibrant purple.

“I don’t feel any different, though.”

“Maybe because your magic was gifted to you, she doesn’t have to maintain it like the veils?”

“I didn’t think they required upkeep.”

“I didn’t either, but they’re thinning somehow.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Nia thought about Oma’s message before another question entered her mind.

“Why her?”

“She didn’t say,” Sego shrugged, “but she said to be careful and that ‘she is precious.’”

“Who?”

He shrugged again, and Nia stood from the table with conviction, “We should go see my dad. Maybe he’ll know more about her.”

“It’s worth a shot,” he lisped as his forked tongue flickered out and his body melted to the floor. His spotted skin turned to brown and black scales as his arms absorbed into his torso. Nia left to grab her bag, and she returned as his legs melded together. Sego slithered up her body and draped himself over her shoulders. When he got settled, Nia closed her eyes and felt the atmosphere thicken as she transported them to the magic realm. It was much easier than it was the last time she visited over a week ago. Usually, traveling through the veil felt like swimming through water, but it felt more like walking through a downpour this time.

“Did you feel that?” she asked Sego, and he nodded lazily.

Nia walked out her front door and warded it up tight before turning around and facing her other world. She smiled at the vibrant blue sky and breathed in the fragrant floral air before taking the first step into the magical realm. Her stomach twisted with anxiety as Sego’s words echoed through her head, but she was quickly pulled from her trance when a little voice called out on her right.

“Sawubona, Nia!” Adana waved excitedly, and Nia couldn’t help but grin at her young neighbor as she played with her doll on her front porch.

“Sawubona, Adana. How are you feeling today?” she asked as the girl glided over and hugged her waist. Sego slid down Nia’s shoulder a little, and his tongue tickled Adana’s cheeks, making her giggle.

“Good!” she said proudly as her wings flapped behind her.

“Let’s keep it that way,” Nia chuckled as she booped the little girl on her round nose. “I see you’ve been practicing flying.”

“Mhm. Umama said I’m not allowed to fly higher than this yet,” Adana said as she motioned to the few inches between her feet and the ground.

“That’s probably best. You remember what happened last time.”

Adana nodded, thinking back to when her mother had to carry her to Nia’s late one night with a broken wing.

“Umama says she’s gonna teach me how to go higher when I get bigger, and-”

“Adana, dinner!” Zita called from her kitchen, and the little aziza’s wings fluttered even faster at the thought of whatever her mother had prepared for her. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Zita was a fantastic cook, and despite having just eaten, Nia’s stomach grumbled at the thought of another meal. Especially one prepared by Zita.

“Tell her ‘hi’ for me,” Nia called out as Adana quickly waved goodbye and flew indoors. Sego shook his head fondly at the little girl as the door closed behind her, and Nia was thankful for the brief interaction calming her nerves.

As a known healer to all, Nia was very popular among the residents of Birnin Umlingo, the Magic City. She returned waves and short greetings as she made her way to her father’s place, which wasn’t too far from her own. When Nia and Sego arrived at the baobab tree Amare had fashioned into a cozy home for himself, she found him lounging on a limb with a book in his hand. Amare looked up from the page when he felt someone near, and joy spread across his face at seeing his greatest creation. Both of them started to glow faintly as they laid eyes on each other, and his large orange wings spread out as he flew down from his resting spot. Amare enveloped Nia and Sego in a warm hug and kissed her cheek before rubbing the python’s head.

“What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t come visit my old man?”

“Who are you calling old?” he playfully scolded her as he held the intricately carved door open for her to come inside. She looked around at all the human gadgets that filled his home and smiled warmly at his treasures. Nia had always loved his collection, but the books and records were her favorite. Sometimes, they were all she had during the lonely days of her childhood.

“Oh, nobody,” she played coy as she removed Sego from her shoulders and set him on the ground. “How are you, ubaba?”

“I can’t complain, especially today,” he winked.

“Because your favorite daughter is here?”

“Of course! And I have a date in an hour.”

“A date?!”

“Yes, he’s taking me to a restaurant opening in the town square.”

“Sounds fancy. Who is this mystery man?”

“I’m sure you’ll still be here when he arrives. You can meet him then,” Amare said excitedly before another thought crossed his mind. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you! I popped over to the human realm and got these.”

He held out his arm, and Nia marveled at his brand new kimoyo beads, “Ooooh, those are nice.”

“Aren’t they? Top of the line,” he bragged as he examined the new bracelet that he had almost no use for in the magic realm. “Enough about me, though. Is something up? You never drop by unannounced.”

Nia sighed and plopped down in her favorite high-backed leather chair.

“Something’s wrong, ubaba.”

Amare’s eyebrows furrowed, and his wings sank a little as he sat across from his daughter.

“What is it?”

Nia explained her dream and the ritual to him and watched as his face contorted in confusion and disbelief.

“-and then she was gone.”

Amare leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face.

“Oma, huh?” he asked, and Nia nodded. “She was a powerful medium when she was alive. I guess if she can communicate with the dead from this realm, then she can easily communicate with the living from the realm of the dead.”

Nia nodded and continued, “I was trying to reach Bast when she cut in.”

“Hm...maybe she didn’t ‘cut in.’ If Bast’s magic is failing, she might not be able to hear you wherever she is.”

“Maybe you should ask T’Challa,” Sego quipped from the other side of the room as he changed back into his human form. Nia shot him a look to be quiet, and he smirked.

“The king?”

Nia sighed, “Yeah, I forgot to tell you I saw him again.”

“Sure, ‘forgot’ to tell him,” the shapeshifter mumbled.

“Sego!”

He put his hands up in defense, “Ok, I’m done.”

“So what happened this time? Did he recognize you? I hope you gave him a piece of your mind. King or no king, nobody hurts my baby and-”

“Ubaba.”

“What? I’m just saying. So what happened?”

“A bad man tried to hurt me, but before I could do anything, he showed up. He insisted on cleaning my wounds, so I let him, and…”

“And?”

“And he saw Zita and Adana, so I had to tell him about us.”

“You what?!”

“He had questions! What was I supposed to do?”

Amare sighed. “Ok, well, what did he say?”

“He was shocked, but I think he responded well. He didn’t treat me like a freak or anything.”

“That’s good. He seems like a decent, level-headed man.”

“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone. He was-” Nia was cut off by a ringing in her head as the protective wards around her home warned her of a visitor. She could tell by the low pitch that they were coming from the human realm. “I have to go, ubaba. Someone’s at my door.”

Amare and Nia stood while Sego sank back down into his python form and slithered over. The father and daughter hugged each other tightly and said their goodbyes before Nia and Sego were out the door and on their way home.

--------

Earlier that same day, T’Challa sat on his throne and halfway listened as the council argued over trade agreements between the tribes. His attention waned somewhere between the third and fourth attempt to compromise, and his mind wandered to the conversation he had with Nia almost a month ago. He hadn’t been able to get her off his mind lately. Not just her, but what he learned that night, too. He could barely wrap his mind around magical species existing in the first place, much less within his borders.

He was jolted back into the present by a nudge on his left arm and frowned at his cousin.

“What?” he whispered under his breath, knowing N’Jadaka could hear him. The prince also had the heart-shaped herb pumping through his veins from his coup attempt a year ago, so his senses were just as enhanced as T’Challa’s.

“Quit daydreaming,” he responded, equally as low so as not to give their conversation away to prying ears.

T’Challa fought an eye roll and straightened up in his throne.

“Let’s table this discussion for next week,” he cut the conversation short. “Now, is there anything else on the agenda for today?”

“No, my king, but I have one more thing I’d like to bring up,” said the Merchant tribe elder tentatively.

T’Challa nodded for her to continue.

“There have been some strange happenings among my people,” she began. “Just yesterday, a woman wandered into the market yelling about creatures nobody had ever seen before, then she collapsed and started seizing.”

“You’re concerned about a psychotic or epileptic episode?”

“It’s not so much the episode as what came after, your highness.”

“Ok…”

“She died before the doctor could get to her...and then she disappeared before the coroner could examine her body.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” T’Challa’s eyebrows furrowed as he leaned in closer.

“The men who transported the body were found knocked out cold...and when they woke up, she was gone.”

“Sounds like there’s a sick motherfucker around here somewhere,” N’Jadaka muttered with his signature scowl on his face. “Bodies don’t just disappear for no reason.”

The king ignored his cousin and focused on the Merchant elder. “You said she mentioned strange creatures?”

“Yes, my king. She looked deranged, and she spoke of creatures with dripping claws and visible skulls...She seemed terrified.”

T’Challa leaned back in his throne, and his mind wandered to Nia again, but this time with purpose. That didn’t sound like any creature he had ever heard of before, but he wondered if she had. His thoughts were interrupted by the Mining tribe elder.

“Also, if I may?”

T’Challa motioned for her to continue.

“There have been multiple sightings of abnormally large hyenas around our province.”

“There were some sniffing around the entrance to the lab this morning, but the Dora scared them off,” Princess Shuri added. “They didn’t look like any hyena I’ve ever seen. They were huge!”

M’Baku’s breathing faltered for a moment; he had heard of creatures like that before. When he met Nia a year prior, he began to worry about the existence of other, more dangerous magical species, and now his fears seemed to be coming true. He couldn’t just come out and say it, though, especially since several of the council members already considered the Jabari to be a backward people. He didn’t need “superstitious” added to the list of reasons not to like them. However, he felt that T’Challa might be a little more open to what he had to say. M’Baku decided a private audience with the king would probably be best.

“Hm...has anyone else noticed anything strange or unusual?” T’Challa asked the room, and two more hands went up. He nodded to the Border tribe elder, and the older man cleared his throat before speaking.

“We took a man into custody yesterday for killing his wife. He claimed she was alive when he left for work, but when he came home, all that was left was her bones. Of course, he’s claiming innocence, but the neighbors say they didn’t see her at all that day, which was unusual. But, um, we’re not sure how he was able to remove the flesh so easily. There looked to be bite marks.”

T’Challa looked to his little sister, who had a horrified look on her face, and grabbed her hand in his. He turned to his other side and saw N’Jadaka’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“What the fuck kind of sick shit y’all got going on over here?” he mumbled so only the king could hear.

“I’m not sure,” he whispered back. The king turned back to the council and gestured at the River tribe elder. “And you?”

“Sightings of strange fish in the river, your highness. Human-sized, much larger than what we are used to.”

T’Challa’s eyes shifted to his right and he noticed the Jabari chief’s nervousness, despite his best efforts to mask his feelings.

“Anything else?” T’Challa asked the council, and they all shook their heads. “N’Jadaka and I will investigate these claims further and have a report for next week. Meeting adjourned.”

The council members saluted him and took their leave—all except one.

“My king, may I have a word privately?”

T’Challa looked at M’Baku knowingly and motioned for the chief to follow him. The two of them, along with the prince and princess, retired to T’Challa’s office to continue their conversation.

“What can I do for you, my friend?” the king asked as everyone filed into the room. Shuri sat by the window and looked out at the country nervously, obviously spooked by what she just heard. N’Jadaka plopped down next to her and tried to seem unbothered, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting with his lucky knife, repeatedly flicking it open and closed in his left hand. M’Baku sat across from T’Challa at his desk, and his leg began to bounce involuntarily as he waited for the king to sit down.

M’Baku cleared his throat anxiously before he began, “We Jabari have many...beliefs that the rest of Wakanda seems to have let fall by the wayside. I only bring this up because of what I’ve seen with my own two eyes, but I believe the elders’ reports. Call me superstitious, but there are forces out there that you would not believe. Even I haven’t seen everything, but there is someone who might know what to do-”

“You’re saying you believe the crazy lady?” N’Jadaka scoffed.

“I do not believe she is ‘crazy’. I believe she saw something none of us could ever imagine.”

“Ok, and her body?” The prince challenged him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I do not know...but I know who might.”

“Who?” Shuri chimed in as she tore her eyes from the scenery.

“She lives with the Border tribe. Her name is Nia-”

“Olu?” T’Challa’s eyes lit up in recognition, and M’Baku couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You know her?!”

“She was the woman who was almost abducted a month ago. How do you know her?” the king asked curiously.

M’Baku wasn’t sure how much he could say without outing her as a non-human.

“She wandered into our territory once when we were still separate from the rest of you. She was very...odd,” M’Baku looked to the king, who seemed to understand his meaning. He wondered just how much he knew of her identity. “She might be able to help.”

“Odd how?” the prince interjected.

“It’s hard to explain,” the king brushed him off to avoid further prying, making M’Baku nod along. The chief still couldn’t tell how much T’Challa knew, but he kept his mouth shut nonetheless. “I will go talk to her.”

Shuri and N’Jadaka shared a look. They both felt like they were purposely being left in the dark, and neither appreciated it.

--------

Nia snuck back into her home in the magic realm and quickly threw on a headwrap before taking a deep breath and opening her door to the human realm. Her stomach twisted up again as she laid her eyes on the king and his guards standing on her doorstep.

“T’Challa, hey,” she greeted him nervously as she leaned against the doorframe with Sego still draped over her shoulders. Nia noticed the two fierce-looking women on either side of him look at her questioningly for her informality, but they said nothing.

“Hello, Nia,” he smiled before noticing Sego. “How are you today?”

“I’m alright. I, uh, actually just got back in from visiting my ubaba.”

“With that?” T’Challa motioned to Sego, and the python stuck out his tongue.

“Sego? Yeah, he likes to get out sometimes,” she said as she stroked her companion’s head. Nia backed up a little and opened the door wider for him, “Anyways, come on in.”

The king ordered the two guards to stay on the front porch, and they stood at attention, looking out at the village. Several of Nia’s neighbors had noticed their arrival and were trying their best to seem inconspicuous as they spied on her to see what was going on. It wasn’t often that the king came around, so the rumor mill started turning almost immediately.

Once T’Challa stepped into the familiar home, keeping a wide berth from Sego, Nia closed and locked the door behind him. They made their way over to the kitchen, and the king sat down in the same hand-carved chair he sat in the last time he was there.

“Can I get you anything?” Nia offered politely as she made her way over to the stovetop and started warming up a kettle she had filled up the night before. “I made a tea blend that helps calm the mind. I’m about to have some myself if you want in.”

“Sure, I’ll take a cup,” he responded with a smile. He watched her scoop the prepared herbs out of a jar and into two reusable cotton tea bags and place one each at the bottom of a mug. She worked in silence as she tried to calm the anxious feeling that had crept back into her bones after leaving Amare’s. Sego could feel her shaking and squeezed her just a little bit to get her to calm down. She relaxed at his hug and poured the hot water into the mugs before carrying them back over to the table. Nia sat down across from T’Challa and blew on her hot tea before taking a small sip. He did the same and smiled at the flavor. “This is delicious, Nia.”

“Thanks,” she gave a small smile back as her stomach fluttered at his compliment. “So...what brings you here?”

The king sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching intently as Sego slithered down from his perch and curled up in the corner. “There have been some strange activities around the kingdom, and I was wondering if you might know anything about it.”

“Strange how?” Nia’s head cocked to the side, and she placed her elbows on the table as she leaned in closer.

“First, there was a woman who was found dead in her home. Her neighbors saw her the day before, and her husband claims she was alive when he left for work, but all that was left was her bones,” he spoke carefully and observed as fearful recognition clouded her face. Nia couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she easily put two and two together. The thinning had begun.

“W-what else?” she asked as she leaned in even closer.

“Another woman’s dead body disappeared. She wandered into the market screaming about horrifying creatures, then she seized and collapsed...but her body never made it to the coroner,” he paused to make sure she was still with him. She motioned for him to continue, and he spoke again, “There have also been reports of abnormally large hyenas and fish, but that is less concerning than the other two.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nia mumbled as she got up and hurried to the bookshelf. She pulled out a large leather-bound book and opened it to a page near the middle before flipping a few pages forward. When she landed on what she was looking for, she set the heavy book down in front of the king. His eyes traveled to the page and widened in fright at the image of a childlike being with a mouth as wide as its face and sharp teeth on display.

“W-what is this?”

“Eloko,” Nia answered as she sat back down. “Long ago, our queen banished them to their own part of the forest. They’re harmless if you ignore them, but if you take pity on them and let them into your home...they’ll eat your flesh in minutes.”

T’Challa scanned the page, taking in every horrifying detail he could as he attempted to calm his heart rate. Not many things frightened the unshakable king, but he was completely out of his element. His mouth went dry as he attempted to speak, “And the other woman?”

“I’m not sure, but…”

He tore his eyes from the book and looked up at her. “But what?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions because it’s not a common occurrence, but when bodies disappear like that, there’s usually dark magic involved.”

“Dark magic?”

“Yeah...like I said, it’s not common, but over the years, there have been a few aziza who use their gifts in ways the rest of us do not approve of.”

“Like…?”

“Like creating zombi.”

“Those are real?”

“Very,” Nia shuddered and downed her tea. T’Challa’s eyes fell back to her book, and he began flipping through the well-worn pages. It felt old like it had been passed down for generations, and he surmised it probably belonged to her family for decades, centuries even. He flipped towards the front of the book, landing on the page about aziza. He couldn’t help but smile at the much more welcoming illustration. T’Challa got lost in the description as Nia stood and went to wash out her mug, needing something to do with her hands to calm her mind. He finished reading and looked up to ask her a question, but it slipped his mind when he noticed strange markings on her back in the shape of wings. He started to ask her about the scars when he realized he had seen them once before.

“It was you…”

“What was?” she asked without turning around, scrubbing her mug unnecessarily hard. Nia heard him stand and walk closer, but kept her focus on her task.

He removed the mug from her hand and rinsed it out. Before she could protest, he spoke softly, “I said they looked like wings.”

Nia stilled as she remembered her tube top left her back exposed.

“Yeah…I remember,” she murmured without looking up at him despite their closeness.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I just didn’t think it was important.”

T’Challa smiled, “Of course it’s important! I never forgot that day…now I know how you appeared out of nowhere.”

“Heh, yeah,” Nia responded as she pushed past him to grab her tea kettle. She filled it up again, but still wouldn’t make eye contact. T’Challa looked at her, confused by her change in attitude when it clicked for him...

“You know, I wanted to see you again-“

“Then why didn’t you come back?” She snapped and he realized why she didn’t seem to like him that much.

“I did. My baba took me on a trip with him that night. We were gone for two weeks, but I came back looking for you.”

Nia paused again before setting the kettle back on the stove. She turned to face him, and he could see the confusion all over her face.

“You did?” She asked apprehensively, and he nodded in response. “I went back every day for a week before ubaba made me stop. He didn’t like seeing me so sad.”

T’Challa’s face fell and he took a step forward, “Nia, I-“

“No, it’s fine.” Nia moved away from him and his heart sank as he watched her go over to her herb pantry. She rummaged around for a while before she came back with yet another tea blend.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began to change the subject, “have you spoken to Bast recently?”

T’Challa didn’t want to upset her more by pushing the conversation, so he went along with her train of thought.

“Uh, no. It’s been a while. Why?” he asked as he leaned against the counter, eyes tracking her as she moved to sit back at the table. Nia noticed he had been reading about aziza and smiled internally.

“The veil is thinning. That’s how the eloko got through…and who knows what else.”

“The veil?”

“Yeah, it’s like the border between realms.”

“How is that possible?”

Nia shrugged, “Only Bast knows.”

“And she’s not answering you,” he mused as he sat next to her. She wanted to move away, but forced herself to stay still.

“Nope. I tried this morning, but one of my ancestors came through and told us about the veil.”

“Us?”

“Me and Sego.”

“The snake?”

“Python,” Nia chuckled and shot Sego a look to warn him to behave.

“My apologies. So what did they say?”

“The realms of the living and dead, and the human and magical realms are colliding…they might overlap soon. That and ‘she is precious.’”

“Who is?”

Nia shrugged, “Bast, I guess.”

“But you think she’s disappeared…” T’Challa thought aloud.

“Yebo. I don’t know what can make a god disappear, though. Another god maybe?”

T’Challa’s mind wandered to his Avengers colleague, Thor, but he had no way to contact the god while he was off-planet.

“Perhaps.”

“I could try contacting some.”

T’Challa nodded as the wheels turned in his mind. “There are smaller cults around the country that worship other gods. We might be able to-“

“We?”

“Well, yes, I was hoping you would come with me. I’ll need someone with your expertise. I know nothing about all this, but you do…I need your help.”

“I don’t know, I-“

“Please, Nia,” he begged as he grabbed her hand in his. The silence was thick as they looked at each other, but neither was able to look away. “I need you.”

Nia stopped breathing for a moment as he trapped her in his puppy dog eyes. She wanted to say no, she really did…but she just couldn’t.

“Ok, I’ll do it.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @dersha89, @impremenior, @ljstraightnochaser, @love—life—passion, @yourstrulybrii

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #t'challa x nia #aziza #t'challa x oc #black!oc #troubled waters #Youtube

[13leaguestories]

May Forecast

As promised to the one Anon who asked me, a monthly forecast! *flips through blank notepad* Uh huh, yea. Honestly, I'm still just writing stuff. I'm far more active on my patreon *cough cough* self-promotion *cough* *cough* gotta keep kibble on the table.

Um, I could and should probably do more sneak peeks but me and sneak peeks have such a weird relationship. Picking a sneak peek that I feel like is exciting and "oh wow" and is not tied to a certain romance or path is hard and I always feel like I choose something that's like "eh, cool."

Insight and For the Crown

Insight is nearing the 50% done mark while FtC is AT the 50% done mark. I don't know which might get done first, maybe even another story which, more info about that below. But while Insight is staying pretty linear still, FtC now is about to hit a division where you literally end up playing an entirely different branch. So it's like writing three or two mini stories in the larger one. That and I've hit a snag with one of the routes that's just hitting every nerve.

I'll be updating both demos soon for bug fixes. BUT!!! As I have said before, if you have an error then I need to know where. Saying this one error and not saying what chapter or at the very least what it's surrounded by does not help me.

If you're having pronoun issues then please make sure you actually picked your pronouns first. No, you choosing male, female, etc is not choosing your pronouns. There is a link on the same page that says [[intended pronouns]] you choose that. You can also go to the left sidebar, down to Settings, and change them there. If you've done that and still have issues, then it's a bug.

There is a ghost bug in FtC that will give you a 4.1 something passage error. I don't have the bug, that passage doesn't even exist. I've updated the game and it still appears. I have no idea what to do with that or how to fix it because ... it doesn't exist.

Throne of Ashes

I have said nothing about this publicly, and this is basically only been talked about on patreon. But yea, that story. More info to come as the beta demo is released this week for patron tiers. I'll probably start publicizing the info this month ...

The most I can tell you so far is that it's fantasy, in Jiwenia like the other two. It's not how I usually write stories and it's not for everyone. This book I just totally said freak it, let's go dark themes. There are trigger warnings of course but seriously, the content makes it not for everyone.

Superstition

Please stop asking me when season three is coming out, I beg of you. On my tumblr page is an Update tab at the top right. It says what's being worked on so when you see Superstition S3: Started and not Not Started. You know it's gone into development.

#monthly forecast

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ 

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now? 

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry. 

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me 

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives. 

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now. 

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner. 

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one. 

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him. 

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.” 

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head. 

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence. 

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier. 

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead. 

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible. 

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.” 

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress. 

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently. 

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission. 

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response. 

Partially, to hide an amused smile. 

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him. 

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night. 

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair. 

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom. 

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way. 

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes. 

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback. 

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters. 

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly. 

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh? 

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation. 

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe. 

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.  

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window. 

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn. 

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair. 

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled. 

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout. 

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?” 

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom. 

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat. 

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.” 

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.” 

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s. 

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly. 

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile. 

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage. 

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms. 

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way. 

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded. 

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down. 

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head. 

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly. 

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you. 

Neil lowered his gun. 

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.  

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?” 

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed. 

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face. 

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil tenet #neil tenet fanfiction #tenet #robert pattinson #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #ives tenet #wheeler tenet #neil tenet imagine #neil x reader #smoke & mirrors #tags hate me