#now that i work customer service i can feel every single time i avoid eye contact. and i do it so much.

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maintaining eye contact is one of the most unnecessary social rules ever made. who decided we should all look at eachothers wetballs

#👽 < text tag #my issues with eye contact arent even because of my eye trigger i just cant do it #like i try my best to put the 'stare at the nose not the eyes' trick to work. but sometimes i end up looking at the eyes anyway and have to #look away for a second -_- not to MENTION every damn time i answer someones question i never ever look at them while im thinking (or #sometimes even while im answering) #if im too busy lookin at your damn face i cant PROCESS YOUR QUESTION and THINK OF THE ANSWER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #i used to think i didnt have any problems with eye contact. but that was when i was busy being horrifically isolated i never spoke to anyon #now that i work customer service i can feel every single time i avoid eye contact. and i do it so much. #But i only realize it after the interaction is complete. Never before or during. #everytime ive responded to somebody's “thank you!” with a “you're welcome!” while im ACTIVELY LOOKING DOWN flashing before my eyes #& when i say actively i mean WHOLE HEAD POINTING DOWNWARDS #i mean i am usually throwing something away but like. WHY DO I NEVER WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEY'VE LEFT TO THROW IT AWAY!?!?!

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Amethyst you so much

Summary: Spencer has had a crush on Y/N since she started working at the bau. She only ever works the night shift after a case, handling all the aftermath gracefully. one night, Spencer stays back and they strike up a conversation about rocks, causing their feelings to dig a little deeper.

Warnings: pure fluff, weed mention, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning

Word Count: 6.4K

Read on Ao3

Late nights at the office had become his thing since Gideon left.

He couldn’t bring himself to go home some nights without a game of chess, a cup of coffee, and the ambiance of the post case staff working. He would’ve had no idea about what goes on after they close a case if he didn’t stay behind most nights.

The phone rings almost every 10 minutes, and it’s always answered by the sweetest voice. The fax machine never turns off, and the most beautiful girl in the world is always running around placing papers in different places.

He’s been smitten with her since she started here, 2 years ago. Never seeing much of her since she was switched to the night shift, always wanting to just watch her from afar, never speaking to her unless he needed to.

“Yes, again we are so sorry for the door,” he can hear her voice from the back corner of the room. “Agent Morgan will be paying for that out of his paycheck, don’t worry, Mr. Kennings. We’ll be sure to remember your hotel when we’re in the area again. The FBI has a very generous budget for overnight cases. Of course, you have a good night too.”

She hung the phone up harshly and let out a deep sigh. He turned around to see her face in her arms, resting against the desk. She looked done, completely fed up. He would be too.

She looked up then, noticing that he was making eye contact with her. She awkwardly smiled and waved at him, “sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Spencer replied. “We asked for the key, I should have stopped him from kicking it in.”

She laughed then, walking over to his desk so she didn’t have to yell across the room. She sat on the corner of his desk lightly, “why do you stay every night?”

“Oh, um,” he wasn’t prepared for this. She had never talked to him before. She was barely able to even look at him when she used to place papers on his desk 2 years ago, now she was on his desk.

“I don’t like to bring the work home with me, it’s better to destress here before I go to my apartment,” he answered, half honestly.

She nodded slightly, “I get it. Luckily I go home in the mornings so the sun helps me feel better.”

“Going home in the dark isn’t fun,” she lightly smiled up at her.

“Do you want a coffee or anything?” She asked softly, “seeing as I am still your assistant as long as you’re here?”

He laughed lightly, “I would, but I’d like to join you in the staff room for it?”

“Okay,” she stood, straightening out her shirt as he stood as well.

He held the doors open for her, letting her walk out first, still smiling as she waited in the hall for him. Never being anything less than 1 foot from him for some reason, and he didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Do you like your job?” He asked lightly.

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “It’s like customer service on crack. Have you ever had to explain to someone why you can’t pay for the cracked foundation after Agent Morgan’s ransacked a place?”

“I honestly never thought of who has to deal with the aftermath,” he awkwardly admitted to her. “I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t stop laughing as they entered the kitchen, “it’s fine. I never have to apologize on your behalf, it’s everyone else who seems to be reckless. Sometimes I feel like it would be better if I came along to babysit.”

“That would be helpful,” he smiled softly as she entered the staff room.

He watched as she took a new coffee filter out of the cupboard. Emptying the coffee pot with ease, rinsing everything before adding the water and scooping in the grounds. He was mesmerized by how fast she was able to do it, then again it was sort of her job.

“What mug would you like?” She turned to him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“Um, the purple one, if it’s there?”

“You really like purple, huh?” She teased him, standing on her tippy-toes to reach the mug for him.

She placed it on the counter before grabbing a white mug, it had a bumblebee on it, “bee happy” written along the top. It was perfect for her.

“Purple is a stress-reducing colour,” she explained. “When I was a kid my parents painted my room purple so that I’d sleep better.”

“I’ve always been drawn to it.”

She leaned against the counter while the coffee pot started to percolate, “Probably because of your anxiety, coffee doesn’t help that.”

“It’s in my DNA to be like this,” he tried to joke, knowing he succeeded when her smile crept back onto her face.

He was on a mission to keep seeing it.

���For someone who spends a lot of time with dead bodies, creepy places and bad people, you sure are a mousy little thing aren’t you?” She teased him.

“I also love Halloween, go figure.” He’s not sure where the confidence came from, being able to make light-hearted jokes like this was only easy with the team.

Which she technically was a part of. He’s seen her almost every single day for 3 years, slowly being able to get comfortable enough for this very moment.

“What else are you into, outside of here?” She asked honestly, making his heart swell as no one else had ever asked him before.

“Lots of things,” he sighed. “I love to read, I’ll read anything. But mostly I enjoy far-off worlds. Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Sherlock mostly.”

“No supernatural?” She gasped. “Sacrilege, honestly. What kind of nerd are you if you don't support supperwholock?”

“That's the show with the monster hunting brothers right?” He tried to recall it to his mind.

She nodded with a pressed-lipped smile, “it’s bad but in a way where I can’t stop watching every Thursday, they just introduced an angel who is pretty gay. Star Trek is cool too, I guess, I was raised by Trekkies.”

“My mom was into Doctor Who.”

“Mamma’s boy,” she teased him slightly, returning her focus to the coffee as she poured the now finished brew into their mugs. “She was nice when she came in that one time, I made her a very sweet coffee just like yours.”

He reached for the sugar then, poring a generous amount into his mug with a grin, “how much do you like?”

“the same amount,” she couldn’t help but laugh. “I hate the taste of coffee, but it keeps me awake.”

He poured the sugar into her mug as she places a spoon in each. Allowing him to stir his own before picking it up finally. Holding the warm ceramic in his hands, it was almost as warm as the feeling in his chest when he looked at her.

He’s felt it for a long time. He’s been caught staring at her by Derek, JJ even tried to get him to give her his number. Which she already had for when she calls him into work in the middle of the night. They knew he had a crush, he did too. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

“Come to my desk, I want to show you something?” She asked softly, avoiding eye contact as she walked towards the door.

He followed, like a lost puppy, all the way back to her desk. It was always neat, he always looked at it when he made his way up the stairs to the briefing room. He could even see it from where he sat at the table sometimes. Always wanting to see her leave in the mornings.

She had a collection of rocks that always changed, he loved the blue one the most but it wasn’t there currently. She had all new ones since the last time he looked.

“Here,” she hands him one. It’s brown and gold, the colours moving and shifting as he turns it with his fingers. The gold running through it like a beautiful wave.

“what’s this for?”

“It’s a Tiger’s eye, for good luck and happiness,” she smiled. “Keep it at your desk and maybe it’ll be easier for you to relax when you come back?”

The butterflies in his chest were swirling then as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. Wanting him to take it, wanting him to feel better. Caring for him.

“Thank you,” he barely whispers, clearing his throat softly. “It’s very nice of you.”

“You’re always nice to me, so,” she shrugged.

They sat down then, he dragged his chair from his desk over to hers. Sitting in close as she explained all the meanings to her rocks. He listened carefully, getting to examine each one as she spoke.

“This one is Jade, it’s for balancing emotions and allowing compassion so I don’t scream at everyone on the phone,” she laughed as she placed one in his hands. Her fingers brushing his palm softly.

It was a beautiful green stone with a thin white line running through it, separating into 3 directions as he flipped it over, “it’s beautiful.”

“I know some people don’t believe in this stuff,” she started to get embarrassed as she placed them all back on the shelf. “But I’ve always thought; if the moon, which is just a rock, can control the water, and humans are 70% water, then who’s to tell me the moon cycles don’t control my emotions and these smaller rocks can’t help problem areas?”

“You’re not wrong,” he shook his head softly as he thought her words over. “People depended on the stars and planets for guidance originally, as well as rocks and herbs for healing, just because it’s outdated doesn’t mean it doesn’t work?”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “No one has ever agreed with me that easily.”

“Anytime you want to talk, I’ll just be over there,” he pointed at his desk. “And I’m a phone call away?” He swallowed sharply at his boldness, trying to stay calm as he awaited her answer.

“I do have your number,” she smiled, reaching out to place her hand on his. “But you should go home, I’m sure you’re chilled out now.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, staring at her hand as they touched. He lightly wrapped his hand around hers, holding it slightly, running his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“And every day after,” she whispered, tilting her head as she smiled at him.

This was going to be interesting.

—

Penelope was always dragging him out. She would take him shopping, to dinner, to the movies. She was like his big sister, dedicated to making sure he wasn’t always cooped up or trying to retreat into a fantasy life.

She kept him busy.

She had 4 bags in her hands as they walked down the street, peering into the store windows to see what else she could possibly be interested in taking home for someone. That’s when they passed the natural health store.

He stopped in his tracks, seeing all the different rocks on the wall accompanies by little cards that described how they could help. He opened the door and rushed inside before Penelope even noticed he stopped following her.

“Good afternoon!” The shop owner called out to him. “How can I assist you today?”

“Um, the girl I like has a rock collection,” he says softly, knowing Penelope is behind him listening. “Crystals more specifically, I’d like to get her some?”

“Well, you came to the right place,” the man beams, escorting him to the wall of rocks. “What is she like?”

“Wonderful,” the words are carried out of his mouth on a sigh as he thinks about her. “She’s confident and nice, and caring. She’s always positive and just so lovely.”

“I’ve got you,” the man starts picking rocks off the wall and placing them in his hands.

Spencer follows him to the desk where he lays down a handful of rocks, Penelope is shockingly quiet as she stands beside him, staring at the collection. She’ll be full of questions later, all of which he is terrified of.

“This is a rose quartz, pretty basic love, beauty, anti-depression stone,” he pushes the pink and a green rock towards him. “Serpentine is for new adventures, observation and insight. I have a feeling you’re up for an adventure with her?”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, “I like that one. It would be better to get her some rare ones, some that have to do with friendship, new beginnings, or opportunities?” He tried to explain his feelings as best as he could. Not knowing if he sounded dumb for a change.

The man smiled wide, “here,” he dipped below the counter and dug out a box. “Chrysocolla is literally for new beginnings, love and opportunity.”

He hands Spencer a vitreous, raw blue stone with small green marks running all through it, it’s beautiful like her. “This is perfect.”

“I’ll throw in a Kiwi Jasper as well, it’s for being by someone's side, support and trust. As well as a Ruby in Zoisite it symbolizes finding the joy in life with someone,” he hands Spencer two equally beautiful stones, prepping a bag and wrappings for all of them.

Spencer lays out the 5 stones he picked out, watching him wrap them with care before placing them in a bag. He rings everything up, Spencer pays and before he’s even out the door Penelope is pouncing on him for answers.

“Who?!”

He can't help but blush and stutter, trying to brush past her and continue walking down the street. “You can’t hide forever Spencer, who is she?”

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“You literally said so?” She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Come on? I won't tell anyone!”

“Y/N.”

The gears are turning in Penelope's head as she tries to place a face to the name, knowing she’s seen her somewhere, “From the office?”

He nods softly, “the one Derek bullies me for staring at?” He clues her in more as they walk.

“He also bullies her for staring at you,” she adds with a smile. “She’s going to love those, when are you going to give them to her?”

“I was thinking about just leaving one on her desk every day? Maybe with a note for why I picked it?” He really wants to woo her, she’s too special to just flirt with.

“She’s going to love that.”

—

Sure enough, he walked into work every day for the next week, placing a rock on a sticky note on her desk. He was never around when she was able to see it, only knowing she got it when he'd arrive at work the next morning with a note reading 'thank you ♥︎ ' on top of his files.

He thinks about her all weekend, planning how he'll give her the last rock as he takes the elevator up that morning. Only to see her sitting at her desk, phone pressed to her ear as she tried to talk someone out of suing the FBI, she looked absolutely miserable. Just a casual Monday morning for her, almost at the end of her shift.

He rushed over to his desk, putting all his stuff down to dig one of the rocks from his satchel. Picking the Kiwi Jasper for today, he grabbed a pen and a sticky note and wrote her a little note.

“Always here if you need to talk, -Spencer ♥︎”

He walked over to her desk, she was still talking so she didn’t notice him until he was right there, she looked up at him with a thankful smile.

“Yes sir,” she answered the person talking to her. “Can I call you back after I speak to the chief? thanks.” She hung up on him, turning all her attention to Spencer.

“I know you know it's been me leaving these, but I brought you in another one,” he says softly, placing the rock in her hand and sticking the note to the shelf where it would end up.

“oh my gosh, Spencer?” She placed her free hand on her heart as she looked at the rock.

“You looked upset?”

She stands and pulls him into a hug, he can feel all the eyes on him as he holds her back, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as she squeezes him.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she pulled back, awkwardly smiling at him as she also noticed everyone staring.

“Always,” he smiled back, hand still resting on her arm. “Um, I have a case I need to get to.”

“Of course, good luck,” she smiled.

He pulls the tiger's eye out of his shirt pocket, showing her that he still had it, “kinda hard not to have good luck with this.”

She bit back a smile, her eyes gleaming as she took a deep breath through her nose. Releasing the same feelings he was keeping inside, allowing both their butterflies to swarm out together.

—

He loved when they had cases in Virginia. Being able to stay in the bullpen and work was relaxing, it was easier to think where he felt safe.

He was working on the geo profile all alone, a huge map stretched across a clear case board as he laid a yardstick across it. Drawing a thick red line with marker over it, in his own little world as he worked away.

He doesn’t realize she’s standing there too until she’s lightly pressing her hand on his back.

“Hey,” she whispers softly. “It’s 10 pm, thought you’d like a coffee?” She places the purple mug on his desk with her purse, turning her attention back to what he’s doing.

“Thank you, I’m almost done here,” he says softly, finishing the red triangle he was making on the map.

“I’ve always found it fascinating how you do this,” she complimented him. “You’re so careful.”

“Like baking, it’s an exact science,” he smiled softly.

It made her giggle slightly, placing her hand back on his back as she moved in closer to look. He wanted her to stay there forever, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus. He tried his best to steady his hand as he finished the line.

Putting the yardstick back down and turning to her, she doesn’t move her hand, instead, softly moving to rest on his arm as she stands close to him. “How are you?”

He feels nervous for some reason, it’s not like she hasn’t been this close to him before. It’s just that she’s close and she smells wonderful and he wonders if her lips would be a better wake-up call than the coffee she brought.

He realizes he’s staring at her lips when he licks his own, “I’m good,” he furrows his brow and clears his throat with a nod.

She smirks at him, “how come you’re the only one still here? Hotch said it could wait till tomorrow?”

“I was waiting for you,” he admits, “but I got carried away setting this up, I never heard you come in?”

“Cause I didn’t,” she scrunches her nose slightly as she straightens her stance. “I saw you working hard and went right to get you a coffee.”

“You’re wonderful,” he blushes as the words slip out, trying his best to keep eye contact when all he wants to do is kiss her.

She pats his arm slightly as she backs up a little, grabbing her bag from where she set it on his desk. “I’m going to set up for the night, come talk to me before you leave?”

“Of course,” he says as she walks away, letting out a small sigh as he realizes just how badly he wants her.

He never gets to talk to her before he leaves, she’s on the phone when hotch comes storming in. Saying something about another body and making Reid leave with him. He’s busy for 3 days straight, thinking about her with every free thought he’s able to squeeze in.

He carries the rock from her in his pocket everywhere he goes; in his pants beside his keys, in his bag with his books, in his breast pocket, over his heart, behind a bulletproof vest. Feeling it press against his chest, a part of her keeping him safe where ever he went.

They finish the case with minimal damage, Spencer specifically making sure that Derek leaves all the doors on the hinges for Y/N’s sake, cleaning up any messes they make so she won’t have to hear about it over the phone. They all notice that he’s doing it for her, quietly appreciating the fact that Spencer is happy for a change, that there’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes again.

He arrives back at Quantico 30 minutes before her shift starts. Everyone else is packing up for the day while he sits at his desk, reading to occupy the time before she comes in.

Only she doesn’t.

30 minutes pass and she’s nowhere to be seen, it’s only 9:02 by the time he starts to panic. Wondering if she’s okay, hoping she’s just in the elevator or grabbing a coffee that’s actually good, somewhere outside of the office.

“Reid,” he hears Hotch calling him from his office door. “She just called in, her grandmother passed away last night so she won't be in.”

“Oh,” he furrows his brow, looking at him with confusion. “How did you know?”

“Penelope,” he smiles. “She’s still here too, and she knows where Y/N lives.”

“It wouldn’t be weird to go see if she’s okay?”

Hotch just smiles at him again, “go see her, Reid.”

Getting her address from Penelope felt a little weird, but she writes it on a sticky note for him and he’s out the door before she can even pry into what he’s going to say. Which is good, because he doesn’t know yet.

It’s late, but he stops by the little rock store on his way to her house. Seeing the lights still on and the same man from before behind the counter.

“Welcome back,” he’s overly cheerful for it being so late. “How did she like them?”

“She likes the ones I’ve given her so far,” he smiles, looking over the wall himself this time for the right one.

Scanning past every emotion and affirmation known to man as he looked around, picking out a beautiful pink Rhodonite for healing grief, supposedly acting as a hug from emotional troubles. And a Rainbow Moonstone for inner peace, harmony and strength.

“She’s lost someone recently?” He asks as Spencer places them on the counter.

“Her grandmother,” he says softly. “These are good, right?”

“They’ll be perfect, we also have amethyst bracelets, they’re good for healing and drawing in positive energy,” he points towards the small display of bracelets. Small purple stones separated with small gold beads.

He picks up 2 of them, placing them on the counter as well.

“Is she still just a crush?”

Spencer laughs lightly, “unfortunately.”

“She might be more after this,” he smirks, ringing him up. “I’ll give you a 2 for one deal on everything, I have a feeling you’ll be in a lot.”

Spencer thanks him as he pays, picking out a small purple bag for the rocks and bracelet. Placing one on his own wrist before leaving. Also picking up some cookie dough ice cream and a card at the corner store just beside her apartment. Remembering all the times Penelope, JJ or Emily has mentioned it being the best ice cream for crying.

He takes a very deep breath before knocking on her door, hoping to every god out there that she doesn’t find this incredibly inappropriate and weird.

“Spencer?” He hears her voice before she even opens the door, looking out the peephole at him.

She whips the door open, eyes puffy and swollen as she looks at him in shock. She’s in a big sweater and shorts, tears dripping down her cheeks as she shakes her head at him.

“I thought you could use some cheering up?” He awkwardly smiles, holding the ice cream up for her to see.

She wraps her arms around his middle, burying her face against his coat. Still crying as she holds him, he holds her with his free hand, shushing her as he presses his cheek to her head.

She pulls back with a sniffle, “come in,” she offers with an arm out, ushering him inside the small room as she closes the door.

He takes his shoes off, handing her the ice cream so he can take off his coat and satchel too. “This isn’t weird right?”

“Not at all,” she laughs slightly through the awkwardness. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you care this much.”

“I brought something for you,” he says as he struggles to dig everything out of his pocket.

He hands her the card and the little purple bag, seeing the overwhelming glance grow on her face. Her eyes grew wide as he mouth opened, speechless.

She opened the card first, reading the passage about grief that was already provided. Dealing with grief was something Spencer knew too well, adding something a little special to the bottom of the card.

“To live in hearts we left behind is not to die,” -Thomas Campbell. As long as you remember her, with a smile on your face and love in your heart, she will always be with you ♥︎ Spencer

She wipes her tears with her forearm, placing the card on the counter beside the ice cream before she opens the bag. She pulls out the bracelet first, absolute shock on her face.

“Spencer?” Is all she can say, in a high squeak as she shakes her head at him.

“I didn’t want you to be sad,” he says softly, stepping into her space and placing a hand on her arm. “I love seeing you smile, and I thought this could help.

He takes the bracelet from her grasp and places it over her hand. Resting it on her wrist softly, straightening it out against her sweater as she notices the matching on over his shirt sleeve.

“Oh this is so cute,” she swoons. “thank you, really Spencer.”

“And there are some rocks for grief healing in there too, one is supposedly like an emotional hug which should heal the grief and sorrow, and the other is more for inner peace and harmony,” he rambles away, not wanting her to miss anything.

She pours the rocks from the bag, into her hand, looking them over silently with a smile, “they’ll look great on my desk.”

“The purple looks nice on you too,” he compliments her, watching her eyes drift up to him.

She places the rocks on the counter before wrapping her arms around him once more. This time he’s able to actually hold her back, tight as possible as he rubs his hand over her back.

She smells like home, clean laundry and happiness. She’s soft and warm, he holds her perfectly against his chest, like she was a missing puzzle piece that someone finally found under the table, she fits into his life like she was supposed to be there.

She kisses his cheek softly before she pulls back, causing him to pull her into a real kiss on impulse. Connecting their lips as she sighs into the contact, melting into his grasp as she kisses him back.

Her lips are soft, fitting between his own gently as she breathes him in. Her hands reach up to grip his cheeks, kissing him again and again, placing pecks to his lips and cheeks with her eyes closed as he giggles.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his lips, “for everything.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers back, kissing her one last time before she pulls away.

“I was actually about to smoke some weed on the fire escape and probably cry some more,” she laughs lightly. “would you like to join me?”

“I’ll stick with a bowl of ice cream,” he smiled awkwardly.

“Nice one,” she laughs as she opens the ice cream.

“What?”

“Oh, you didn’t even get the reference you made,” she laughs lightly, “to get high you smoke a bowl, so…”

It makes him smile, “I'm a comedian part-time.”

He makes her laugh again, loving the sound of her giggle replacing the tears. “Why aren’t you this funny at work?”

He thinks about it for a little, watching her scoop the ice cream into two bowls, “it’s a little hard to make jokes when people's lives are on the line, I know everyone else does but I get too focused.”

“They probably wouldn’t appreciate your jokes even if you did make them,” she says as she handed him a bowl with a spoon. “They’re kind of mean to you, in a family way but it still sucks sometimes to overhear.”

She walks into the living area then, grabbing a few blankets and opening the window to the fire escape. Crawling out to sit on the ledge, waiting for him.

“I don’t mind it,” he says as he finally sits down beside her.

She places the blanket over their laps, both of them sitting criss-cross applesauce as they ate.

“Do you like your job?” She asks him, just like he once asked her.

“Most of the time,” he nodded as he got brain freeze. The cold air, the cold ice cream, everything that was catching up to him as he scrunched his face up at the feeling.

She laughs at him only a bit before she’s also attacked by the brain freeze, holding the vein in her neck as she chokes out another laugh, trying to warm up the blood going to her head so the pain would stop.

They’re both just a mess of giggles together, unable to say any words as they let it all out. She leans her head on his shoulder lightly as they calm down to just soft chuckles. He presses his cheek against her head.

“Thank you, Spencer,” it sounds like she’s crying a bit. “My grandma was a lovely woman, she’d be glad I’m laughing right now.”

He reached out a hand for her to hold over the blanket. She interlocked their fingers softly, both cold from holding their ice cream bowls.

“If she was anything like you, I’m sure she was the most wonderful woman,” he says softly, not intending to make her cry but having a feeling he might.

“Would you be interested in holding me on the couch while I cry?” She asked softly, tears in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

—

He’s late for work the next morning.

Waking up to the smell of coffee, opening his eyes to a strange view. He’s on a couch he doesn’t recognize in a room he doesn’t know too well.

Then he remembers, they ended up cuddled up on the couch. He wakes up to the memory of her on his chest, crying softly as they listened to some music, he ran his hand over her back while she went through it all, blessed to have his support.

He fell asleep under her at some point, waking up alone with a blanket laid over him. He sat up to see her in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a travel mug.

“Good, you’re awake,” she smiles at him. “Coffee is ready, I uh, I have this button-up shirt from a guy friend, if you wanted to wear that to work today? So they don’t think you stayed here?”

“That’s smart,” he replies as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Getting up, he uses the bathroom, changes and takes that coffee from her. He’s not expecting her to kiss him on the lips at the door, but she sends him off to work like an old housewife.

He doesn’t want to pull away from her, keeping her pressed against him as he leans in for 4 more kisses before she finally pushes him out into the hallway with a laugh, “get to work!”

“Fine,” he sighs, “are you going to be in tonight?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “funeral is in West Virginia next week, so I’ll be in until then.”

“I’ll see you later?”

She nods slightly with a soft smile, “you’ll be seeing a lot of me soon, Spencer.”

“Good,” he winks at her before heading down the hallway and towards the street entrance.

He sighs as he walks outside, resting his back against the apartment complex door, taking a moment to think about everything that just happened, the night of company and the wonderful send-off.

It was something he could get used to.

He rushes into the briefing room when he arrives at Quantico, sitting down with his coffee and pretending he wasn’t late. Listening carefully to JJ’s presentation of the case as he flips through everything he missed already.

“Wheels up in 30,” he heard Hotch say as he zoned back in. “Nice of you to join us, Reid.”

“I know that travel mug from somewhere,” Derek said as he stared at Spencer, who was taking a sip to avoid the awkwardness.

“Hmm?” He played dumb.

“That’s Y/N’s. She washes it every morning when she leaves to go home, I see her do it every morning,” his eyes open wide. “Holy shit.”

“Isn’t that the same tie and slacks from yesterday?” Emily teased him as well.

“Her grandma died, I brought her ice cream and slept on the couch okay?” He all but yelled, flailing his arms slightly so they’d all back off.

Derek reached his fist out for him to pound it, “good man.”

Then Penelope noticed the bracelet, “did she get you that?”

He sunk his hand into his pocket then, “no.”

“What?” Emily and JJ asked in unison, straining their necks to try and get a good look at what she was talking about.

He nervously held his arm out for them, showing them the purple bracelet resting over the sleeve of his shirt. “I got one for her too, it’s for healing and peace. It’s what she needs right now.”

“Oh, so you love her,” Derek smiles as he teases him. Making everyone else in the room swoon slightly.

“Okay and?”

“Oh my god!” Most of them shout at him, embarrassing him to no end. He was so glad she wasn’t at work this morning or else she would be able to hear this from her desk.

“Did you kiss her?” Rossi pries, asking what everyone else was thinking.

He scrunches his face, pushing his glasses up slightly as he clears his throat, “a few times.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” JJ kept the questions coming.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “Kinda weird to walk into her apartment while she cries to say ‘hey sorry about the death in your family, want to date me?’”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees, shrugging lightly. “At least she knows you like her now, it’s been what? 2 years?”

“2 years, 3 months, 17 days and 43 minutes,” he confirms with a small nod and pressed lips.

“Gross,” Derek teases him.

“The plane is leaving in 10 minutes,” Hotch cut into their fun.

Making them all gather their things and continue the interrogation in the elevator, and eventually on the plane, and in the police precinct. Even Penelope called him in the middle of everything to bug him about her.

The questions were never-ending, everyone wanted to know how they even started talking, who made the first move, how he plans to ask her out. They were relentless, he almost regretted admitting to anything.

They bug him all throughout the day, all the way until they’re arriving back at the BAU late that same night. He almost doesn’t want to go back to the bullpen and see her with all of them, knowing they were going to follow and say something.

She’s waiting in the hall when the elevator doors open, a pressed-lipped smile on her face, “bad news.”

“Another one?” Hotch sighs, “have Garcia send us the info. Be at the table in 10.” He pushes his way out of the elevator, passed them all as they stare at Y/N.

“Hi?” She awkwardly waves at them all, showing off the bracelet on her wrist.

“See ya, Spence,” JJ and Emily say as they matt his shoulder, dragging Derek and Rossi towards the bullpen doors.

“Sorry,” he apologizes for them softly, stepping into her space.

She wraps him up in a quick hug, keeping one arm around his waist as she guides him towards the bullpen, “it’s fine, they’re going to have to get used to us being together.”

“Together?” He repeats her words.

“I only cry on my boyfriend's shoulders, if you're up for the title?” She teases him softly, pinching his side as they walk towards the doors.

“Can I frame “Dr. Spencer Reid, Y/N’s boyfriend” beside my Ph.D.’s?” He keeps his hand on her shoulder, holding each other slightly as they walk towards her desk. He felt like one of those kids who wouldn’t let go of their girlfriend's hand in the school hallway, attached to her at the hip.

“I’ll make one for you while you’re gone,” she laughs lightly.

They stop at her desk where he sees all rocks he got her collecting on the shelf, as well as a cup of coffee and his favourite kind of donut.

“Thought you deserved something nice too,” she says as she nudges his side.

He kisses her on the cheek as a thank you, “you’re welcome,” she smiles to herself. A feeling of pride growing in both their chests.

“See you later?” He asks as he picks up the coffee and donut, walking away slowly as she smiles at him.

“Come home to me safely, Doctor Reid,” her voice is just loud enough for everyone in the briefing room, where everyone is waiting at the window, watching them, deciding to put on a show in return.

He stops on the steps to look at her softly, “I’d fight a thousand unsubs to come home to you.”

“I’ll leave the light on,” she blows a kiss at him, making him blush a deep red.

He waves, making his way up the steps and into the briefing room. A smile on his face, heart thumping in his chest, all the support in the world swarming around him as everyone patted him on the back.

That tiger’s eye really did bring him good luck and happiness, and her name was Y/N.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #one shot #fluff

[uvobreakmylegs]

Right Place, Right Time

wanted to write something with a little more humor in it but there’s still dark shit because phantom troupe

Warnings: mentions of death

“There's trouble, boss.”

Phinks' voice cut through the chatter of the busy casino. Chrollo didn't look up at first, relaying a few more instructions to Shalnark via text. 'Trouble' wasn't unexpected; as much as Chrollo could plan ahead, human nature could be unpredictable and would usually cause a few bumps in the road when it came to their heists.

“What sort of trouble?” Chrollo asked as he pocketed the cellphone.

“A Zoldyck.”

Ah.... That was a bit more trouble than usual.

Chrollo's gaze followed that of Phinks and Shizuku. Looking down at them from a second balcony stood Illumi, his face devoid of emotion as the black void within his eyes took in the group.

The second Chrollo made eye contact with him, Illumi gestured to his left with a sharp jerk of his head before walking off in the same direction.

“Does he want to fight away from the guests?” Shizuku asked.

“Maybe,” said Chrollo. He began to walk in the direction Illumi had gone, signaling for Shizuku and Phinks to follow. The three of them walked up one of the staircases located to the side. Phinks pulled on the collar of his suit every so often, while Shizuku walked slightly slower due to the heels that she wasn't used to wearing. But Chrollo could sense that the two were anticipating a fight (Phinks likely ready to use it as an excuse to get out of the fancy suit he hated so much).

“But it may not come to a fight with him,” Chrollo told them.

“Don't the Zoldycks hate us?” Phinks asked.

“Silva hates me specifically,” Chrollo corrected, “but Illumi can be reasoned with.”

Phinks snorted a bit at that, but didn't say anything else. Shizuku then asked what Silva Zoldyck had done to the troupe, to which Phinks gave a brief summary of the incident that had happened years prior. A very brief summary, but he knew there was no point in getting into details since Shizuku would forget almost immediately; this wasn't even the first time she had asked.

Perhaps he should have expected that one of the Zoldycks would be present – it was the opening night for this particular high-end gambling hall. But with how stingy the owner had been rumored to be, he would have thought that the price of a Zoldyck assassin as a security guard would have been more than she was willing to spend.

If it was Zeno or Silva there would be no chance of ending things amicably: Zeno was dedicated to his work and wouldn't be moved by a bribe or any words that Chrollo could offer. And Chrollo and Silva shared a very mutual hatred of one another, so a fight would have been inevitable in that case.

But Illumi, while also just as dedicated to his family as his father and grandfather, could be convinced to stand down if Chrollo could name a good enough price and ensure that the Zoldyck name wouldn't be tarnished in any way. The Zoldycks successfully completed every job they took on, but they couldn't be held accountable if their client terminated the contract before they could complete it. It had happened once before, in an instance where a man had hired Illumi to assassinate Pakunoda. Illumi agreed to hold off on going through with the hit for a short while in exchange for twice the amount the man had paid him for and to allow the troupe the time needed to get to the client and release him from the contract.

Though it would be nicer to just get to Illumi's client and kill her off, there was no chance Illumi would allow them to do that while still under his contract. And Illumi would be happier if he was able to leave with twice the amount of jenny he had been promised.

Illumi was waiting at the end of a hall that had fewer people in it, pointedly looking at him before entering into what looked to be a darkened room. Chrollo pulled out his phone to text an order for the troupe to wait as he spoke to Phinks and Shizuku.

“You two wait out here,” he ordered.

Phinks looked as though he wanted to question him on that, but he held his tongue, crossing his arms as he gave a sharp nod in acknowledgment. If Shizuku felt that his actions were questionable, she didn't betray that fact to him.

Leaving the two of them behind, Chrollo made his way to the door Illumi had entered and pulled it open.

This room was darker than the rest of the casino, and without the electric lights that brightened the building and the bodies of the customers that increased the temperature with their own body heat, it was much cooler in the room as well.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when they did, he saw that Illumi was leaning against a smaller circular table, toying with one of his needles as he watched Chrollo enter.

“I thought you didn't like the body-guarding jobs,” Chrollo said as the door behind him slowly swung shut.

“I owed my brother for his assistance on my last assignment,” Illumi explained, “so I'm filling in for him.”

Chrollo nodded, though he didn't particularly care all that much. Whatever the reason, the presence of a Zoldyck would hinder things. Best to get straight to the point.

“How much are you being paid for this job?” Chrollo asked.

Illumi's eyebrows raised slightly.

“You think you can pay me off?”

“It worked once before.”

“So it did,” Illumi conceded, “but it would start to look suspicious if I accepted your offer too many times, no? It would be a problem if people thought the Zoldycks could be bought out. Our reputation is everything.”

“Well, you can't help it if your client decides that your services aren't needed and lets you go, now can you?”

“Another inexplicable 'termination' with a job that involved the Phantom Troupe?” Illumi asked, “father was annoyed that I did that last time, though he was more annoyed that I took the job in the first place.”

Illumi sighed.

“But again, doing that too often would look strange, and I will not do anything to harm our business reputation.”

“Very few people knew about the previous hit on Pakunoda,” said Chrollo, “there would be few who would notice a particular pattern, and I think the two of us are both inclined to avoid an unnecessary fight if possible.”

“True. Killing you and the rest of your group would take some time. And it wouldn't be worth the amount that woman is offering. Really, she's low-balling us. I don't know what Milluki was thinking when he took this job. Didn't even make her pay upfront.”

“Then we can come to an agreement?” Chrollo asked.

Illumi closed his eyes in thought, his fingers still twirling around that needle. He was considering it.

Chrollo waited in silence. Trying to push Illumi to do one thing was unproductive and could possibly make him decide to fight after all, though he was certain that Illumi was already willing to take him up on the offer since the assassin hadn't sent his needles flying the second Chrollo walked in. Pulling out his phone, Chrollo checked the time: 8:54 PM. He had planned for this particular operation to begin at 9:15. The owner was part of a group that had begun to throttle the livelihood of Meteor City, and tonight she was the host of a party for that group that was taking place in the upper floors while celebrating the successful opening night of her casino. The main purpose was to send a message: kill the group and anyone else in the building so the rest of the world knew not to interfere with the business of his Meteor City. Whatever valuables they collected would just be bonuses for the troupe to divide amongst themselves.

Though Chrollo rarely went back to the city these days, it was beneficial for him if the city still existed. And though he would never admit it out loud, there was of that sentimental feeling of wanting to protect his old home, as harsh and cruel as it had been for him growing up.

Illumi opened his eyes and looked to Chrollo.

“3 billion and I'll leave.”

“That's quite a lot,” said Chrollo, “much more than I paid last time. Why such a steep increase?”

“So it's worth my while.”

Chrollo mulled it for a bit, checking his phone again: 8:57. He certainly had the funds to pay Illumi's price, but it did feel like he was being somewhat taken advantage of in this case. Still keeping an eye on Illumi, Chrollo couldn't help but notice that the assassin seemed to have something else on his mind that he was considering. Then, like he had come to a decision, he sat up a bit straighter as he addressed Chrollo again.

“There's one more thing,” Illumi said.

“Something more than 3 billion jenny, Illumi?”

“Just some time; give me four minutes before you start.”

Chrollo hummed. Illumi didn't need that much time to vacate a building like this. Was it an attempt to set some kind of trap? No, that was unlikely. It would be far too obvious and Illumi wouldn't go to such lengths unless he was being paid to do so. Still, he couldn't help but be a little curious as to what Illumi would need that time for.

“Why four minutes?”

“Personal reasons.”

Ah. He should have sensed something like that would be the answer.

“A lot can happen in even a single minute, Illumi. And you want four?”

“Four minutes is unreasonable?”

“Not enough to end this deal, but I may want you to lower your price a bit.”

“Are you trying to haggle with me?”

Illumi frowned a little when Chrollo smiled at him.

“Maybe just by 60 million or so,” Chrollo said.

“So you'd rather pay two billion, nine hundred and forty million?” Illumi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It's still more than you'll get if you keep your current contract, correct?”

Chrollo saw the corners of Illumi's mouth turn upwards ever so slightly, a small smirk on his face as he closed his eyes again and considered the offer.

“That's true. Even taking that out I'd still be much better off.”

Chrollo checked the time and found it to be 9:01 PM. If Illumi came to a decision soon the troupe's operation could still go as planned.

“Very well,” Illumi said after a moment of thought, “transfer me the money first.”

With a nod, Chrollo accessed one of his bank accounts through his phone, bringing up the necessary amount and transferring it to the account number Illumi gave him. Within a few minutes, the transaction was completed. Illumi seemed rather pleased with himself, Chrollo noted.

“Perhaps you should stay in here for a moment,” Chrollo said, “Shalnark is upstairs. I can order him to take control of the owner and have her officially fire you. Then there won't be any issues with your family, correct?”

“That won't be necessary,” Illumi answered.

“Oh?”

“I got fired before you got here.”

“..... Excuse me?”

There was a flat tone to Chrollo's voice that made Illumi chuckle as the latter continued “that woman felt like she was wasting her money, but she was pressured to hire one of the Zoldycks at the behest of her guests. Seems to me like she was looking for an excuse to get out of paying the full fee. Apparently I was 'unprofessional'. But I'm glad I caught sight of you, otherwise this evening would have been more of a loss for me.”

Chrollo said nothing at first. Illumi had been careful with his wording, Chrollo realized, and it hadn't occurred to him to ask if Illumi was still under contract.

The funds weren't that important to Chrollo, but he couldn't help but feel rather miffed. Had he known that the assassin was currently out of a job, there wouldn't have been a reason to pay a higher price than normal; Illumi would have been left between going home empty-handed or with whatever Chrollo would have been willing to give him.

But then again, how could he have anticipated that a Zoldyck would have gotten fired?

Realizing that he had been played, Chrollo checked his phone again: 9:07. At least they'd still be able to start on time.

“Your four minutes start now,” he said.

Nodding, Illumi stood from where he'd been leaning against the table. He made his way through the room, past Chrollo and to the door that lead to the hall where Phinks and Shizuku waited.

“Perhaps you could humor me,” Chrollo said as he walked by, “it shouldn't take you four minutes to exit a place like this. What exactly are those personal reasons?”

Illumi chuckled a bit as he placed his hand on the knob.

“I suppose you can see for yourself if you decide to watch me leave.”

With that, Illumi left, the door swinging shut.

Standing alone in the dark room, Chrollo wasn't sure what to make of Illumi's behavior. He was used to the assassin being more straight-forward. He was secretive, yes, but there was something about the way he had acted just now that seemed a bit more.... Playful.

Illumi and Hisoka had known each other before Chrollo had met the long-haired man, and the two had seemed like they were in frequent contact. Perhaps, Chrollo mused, some of Hisoka's less-than-ideal qualities were rubbing off on Illumi.

Phinks and Shizuku approached him immediately after he also exited the room.

“It looked like he was leaving,” Shizuku said, “were you able to talk him down?”

“Yes. It was more expensive than it needed to be, but he'll be leaving shortly,” Chrollo answered as he nodded at her.

“He required four minutes before we began, so we'll be able to stay on schedule,” he continued as he looked at his phone again. 9:08.

The two spiders nodded (though Phinks seemed somewhat disappointed to not have a chance to fight Illumi) and Chrollo updated the rest of the troupe. The three of them slowly began to walk back to the main hall before coming to a stop at one of the balcony's. Below them the crowd had only managed to have grow larger as more people had entered to try their luck in the new gambling hall. For the majority of the crowd it seemed to be more of a pastime as they looked more well-to-do, but there were a few individuals who already appeared to be reaching a point of desperation, sweating nervously while they looked to the indifferent dealers.

A grand clock at the top of the hall showed the time to be nearing 9:10, and they had yet to see Illumi leave the building.

“Why did he want four minutes?” Shizuku asked.

“He wouldn't say,” Chrollo answered her.

“Hm. I wonder what it was,” Shizuku said.

“It seems he wanted to collect some woman before we got started,” Phinks suddenly said.

“Huh?”

Both Chrollo and Shizuku looked to where Phinks was looking. Within the crowd they saw Illumi walking through, accompanied by you. He held your hand as he lead you through the throng of guests, and you were giggling at something he had said while you intertwined your fingers with his. Illumi smiled back at you as he continued to pull you forward.

It was not a sight Chrollo had anticipated, nor was he expecting to see the darkened marks on your neck when he squinted. Marks that could've been made by Illumi's mouth.

Remembering that Illumi had said he'd been terminated for being unprofessional, and suddenly the reason for his firing became clear.

“That's just a civilian, right?” Phinks asked, “what does he want with her?”

“I guess he doesn't want to leave her here to die,” said Shizuku, “that's sweet.”

Chrollo continued to watch as the two of you made it to the other end of the hall. When you were finally out of the crowd, you went to wrap your arm around the one that had been leading you, smiling up at him as you two continued your way to the entrance. There weren't many who could touch one of the Zoldycks like that and live to tell the tale. Phinks was most likely right in his assessment; you weren't anything special. You probably had no idea who the person was that you were so happily walking off with or how dangerous he was.

Illumi said something and smiled at you before the two of you began walking again, but Chrollo didn't miss the little warning glance the assassin had sent in his direction.

As Shizuku and Phinks talked amongst themselves on what all that was about, Chrollo found himself unsure of what to think of this particular turn of events.

Evidently to Illumi, you were worth at least 60 million jenny.

You had come to this event on behalf of your friend Kiki, who had been invited by her cousin who had wanted to spend a milestone birthday at the casino. Places like this had never done much for you; the odds were always stacked in favor of the house and you didn't want to lose your hard-earned cash by gambling it away. You only came to do a favor for your friend, and yet about an hour into the evening, she had left you to chat up someone at the bar, leaving you with a group of people you only vaguely knew in an even bigger sea of strangers. Most ignored you, but there was the occasional middle-aged man who would eye you up and make you feel uncomfortable enough that you felt like you needed to leave the general area.

And then you ran into him.

The handsome man with long black hair and dark eyes who'd been walking about. He caught your attention like he'd caught the attention of most of the people around him, though they had seemed more content to watch him and gossip about him from afar. Maybe it was because no one else was going for it, maybe it was because you were slightly jealous that Kiki had managed to find an actual date for the night, or maybe you were just tired of the gross older men that kept ogling you and you wanted to be able to enjoy yourself with someone that you were actually in to. Regardless of whatever it was that made you do it, you approached the man and asked if he wanted to get a drink with you.

He hadn't wanted any drinks, but your boldness had impressed him enough that he wanted to talk with you. In private. Leading you away from the crowd and noise, he took you to a staff-only hallway where he introduced himself as Illumi. You introduced yourself to him, and the two of you managed to hit it off, having a lengthy conversation that ended when he kissed you suddenly. It seemed like something that had been spur-of-the-moment for him, and he pulled away from you to ask if you had liked it. Your answer was to pull him back onto your lips.

Your make-out session had culminated in him pushing you against the wall while he sucked hickeys into the skin of your neck.

And then you got caught.

You were expecting that you'd both get kicked out, but Illumi had been asked to accompany some of the casino staff while you were taken back to the main hall. Being that they were more concerned about Illumi, they left you there while you tried to hide the marks Illumi had left behind. You hadn't been sure if you would see him again; you didn't realize that he'd been working for the casino, and you were worried that you had cost him his job.

So it was unexpected when he appeared before you and asked you to leave with him.

But you said 'yes' without any hesitation.

You slid into the backseat of the car that had pulled up, Illumi coming in after you.

“The Palazzo,” Illumi instructed the driver.

Wait....

“Isn't that the really expensive hotel on the riverfront?” you asked Illumi.

“Yes. I've been staying there,” he answered.

You were amazed that he had the cash to be able to stay at a place like that. Then worry hit you.

“I got you fired, didn't I? Are you sure that isn't an issue?”

With that same small smile you had seen several times now since he'd opened up to you, Illumi smiled back at you.

“I got a better payout leaving like I did than if I had stayed. So don't worry, there's no issue.”

That eased your worries a bit, and you settled yourself into the seat as the car began to pull forward. You glanced back at the illuminated casino as you drove off, and another pang of guilt hit you.

“What's wrong?” Illumi asked.

“I left my friend without telling her anything,” you said as you pulled out your phone, “I should text her about where I'm going.”

“Mm. Yes, that would be a good idea.”

Illumi's tone was always rather flat, so you didn't notice that he seemed slightly displeased as you messaged Kiki to let her know you had left. It seemed like she'd found her own date, so hopefully she wouldn't be too mad at you. It wasn't like she'd been left alone.

The instant you hit 'send', you turned your attention back to Illumi.

“Think she'll get it in time? The reception was a little spotty in some places,” you said.

“It was fine, but don't worry about that.”

With that, Illumi pulled you into his lap while you yelped. You wanted to protest, seeing as you two were in a moving vehicle and the driver could tell what the two of you were doing. Illumi held you securely, however, and when you looked to the front of the car, you found that a sheet of tinted glass now separated the front from the back. The driver must have been able to read the mood.

“Don't worry about what's going on back there,” Illumi told you, “from this point on, all I want for you to focus on is me.”

His order made you blush, and you shyly answered with an “okay” before his lips were on you.

The casino and the people inside it were the last things on your mind that night.

#yandere x reader #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yandere #yandere hxh #yandere illumi #chrollo lucilfer #reader insert #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo gets scammed #hope its not too dumb

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

[combat-wombatus]

chamomile for the soul

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x gn!reader

Genre: fluff :) (university AU)

Warnings: inordinate coffee consumption (._.;)

WC: 0.8k (dis is a short one <3)

Summary: It's finals week. Which means that you haven't gotten more than four hours of sleep at any given day. Which also means that you've been frequenting a café, fully intending to single-handedly consume their entire coffee supply. Too bad someone else is looking out for your health…

(A/N): aaahhhhhh it's me i'm alive pfft…my hell quarter is over so maybe i can get more writing done now >.< anyways please accept this meager offering as repentance for neglecting my writing for like two months alskjdfhjdfh…also this is my first time writing for haikyuu so…initiation?? i guess??

side note: i've only watched the first season of haikyuu!! but i couldn't resist writing for iwa,, he's probably a bit ooc, i'm very sorry ;-;

It’s finals week.

That single sentence was enough to instill fear in almost any student. You’d been cramming for almost two weeks now, trying to forcibly pour the entire semester’s worth of material down your brain like the protein shakes elite athletes guzzled—though you were sure being an elite athlete definitely involved more sleep than you were currently getting—and you were tired. Dead tired.

You slumped in the corner booth of a café—one of many scattered around the college campus—and awaited your fate. You were stressed. You were burnt out. You needed sleep.

You were completely and utterly done with life.

Gazing at the empty cup on the table with exhaustion, you dreaded the idea of having to get up and order another cup, but you were definitely going to need reinforcements if you were to continue studying any longer.

You heaved a sigh, bracing yourself to rise from your throne like an elderly monarch, when a shadow loomed over your table.

“Here.”

You recognized the barista’s voice—you’d lost track of how many coffees you’d ordered from here in the last three days alone.

But you couldn’t recall there ever being table service. Ever.

“What?” you stared at the offering in confusion.

It didn’t look like coffee, and that was the only thing you cared about right now.

“Drink,” he pushed the steaming cup towards you.

“I don’t think I ordered this?” you asked, a hint of uncertainty in your voice.

“Doesn’t matter. No more coffee for you,” he said gruffly.

“What? Wait, but why—”

“That”—he pointed towards your empty cup—“was your sixth cup of coffee today. It’s 4PM. You can’t have any more coffee.”

“But—”

“If you’re tired, go sleep. No more coffee.” He turned and whisked away your empty cup, leaving the pale yellow tea in its stead. You stared at the strange thing; it had flowers floating in it. Goddamn flowers. You weren’t a botany major, but you were pretty sure caffeine didn’t come from flowers.

So useless.

You groaned, shoving your face between your hands. Why did baristas have to be so nosy…I was perfectly fine.

Eyebags…but they were designer. Heh.

Okay, maybe you weren’t perfectly sane at the moment. But who really gave a fuck as long as you finished your goddamn thesis—

“You should drink it before it gets cold.”

You looked up, frowning. “It’s your fault for giving me something that’s not actually helpful right now.”

He sighed. “It’s not healthy to drink a whole gallon of coffee every day, if you haven’t noticed.”

Healthy? Do I look like I care about healthy right now? I’ll show you healthy—

He frowned, almost as if he could hear your thoughts and disapproved of them.

“Leave it if you want, but chamomile reduces stress,” he noted, walking away from your table and leaving you to your misery.

Reduces stress? You gave the floating flowers a doubtful look.

We’ll see about that.

You picked up the cup—it was no longer steaming hot, but it had a cozy warmness to it—and downed the concoction in three big gulps, barely avoiding swallowing the flowers too.

Huh.

It did feel quite nice��warm…like a little fire in your belly…

You closed your eyes, marveling at the sensation.

It is a bit relaxing…

Iwaizumi glanced at your table, your head drooping on the absurd amount of paper sprawled out across the surface. He fought to hide a small smile as he took the order for a customer.

Out like a light.

He knew you’d probably gotten little to no sleep the past week. It was obvious due to the sheer amount of coffee you consumed. No mortal being could consume that much coffee and claim to not be sleep-deprived.

As the customer left with their drinks, he snuck another peek at you. You looked so peaceful, so content, dozing off in your seat, that he didn’t quite have the heart to move you—even though he suspected you’d thank him later for not letting you drool all over the pages.

Iwaizumi stepped out from behind the counter and headed towards your table. He glanced briefly at the documents; your handwriting had grown steadily less legible until he couldn’t even make out the scrawling—and his own handwriting was atrocious, so that was saying something. Gently lifting your head, he swept the papers from underneath your cheek, careful not to graze your ear with a papercut.

He stood, admiring his handiwork. Which meant he was admiring you, but he wasn’t going to admit that right now.

He took the drained cup in his hand, turning it over twice, then took it back to the bar for cleaning.

Chamomile works wonders, he smiled, but he suspected that there wasn’t anything else as wonderful as you.

taglist: @todorkihoe @shinsousliya @lucyheartfilias-wife @zerohawks @iicekking @memeadonna @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @alpha3113 @spike-this-ass @hitosushi @katsuhera @chocoboba @khionne @katsuflossy @angiebug101 @solar3lunar @dabisburntforeskin (please message me or fill out my taglist form—linked in my navi—to join my taglist!)

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi hajime #hq #haikyuu!! #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime fluff #hajime iwaizumi #hq imagines #hq scenarios #hq fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #please forgive me #rip #spring blooms #haikyuu #haikyuu x gn!reader #iwaizumi x gn!reader

[aiekerman]

Medicine - Levi Ackerman

Levi x Reader - fluff

AN: I am not usually a Valentine’s person but here we are. Levi can really get anything out of me. Also, I realise my fic titles seem a little random but I’m titling them after songs that make the vibe in my head - not necessarily based off, just vibes you know. So yeah this is Medicine by The 1975.

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day and you’re in work at a café all day. But Levi is there to at least provide some eye candy.

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

‘He’s so pretty I might pass out,’ Hitch leant over the counter, her chin in her hand as she unabashedly stares across the café at the man sipping at his tea.

His posture is perfect, balancing a book in one hand while his other holds the top of the tea cup delicately to his mouth.  He blends into the café atmosphere like he was there upon its creation. The shop is earth toned, plants hanging all over and soft lighting that cast shadows across his bone structure.

He looked pulled straight out of an indie movie.

The air around him was mysterious yet all consuming, You spent the entire shift stealing glances at him every time he was in. Which was most days. However, Sunday’s took the cake, you assumed he didn’t work on Sundays whatever his job was, as he took the luxury of bringing a book in and spending hours planted at the same table. Working through a multitude of tea as he sat in perfect view to act as eye candy for the baristas for the day.

You steal a last glance at him, while restocking the pastry baskets, internally agreeing with Hitch but turning to her and speaking, ‘Is he worth getting yelled at for not doing anything when a manager sees you?’

Hitch gives her an eye roll before standing up as a customer approaches the counter.

In your own head, you silently think that, yes, he absolutely was worth getting yelled at.

Across the café floor, Levi glances from over the top of his cup when he feels a pair of eyes darting in his direction once again. He took a self indulgent moment to look over you as you gently placed the warm croissants in one of the wicker baskets. From your well-loved sneakers that he presumed to be pair reserved for work, up to your head of hair that bounced and swayed along with your steps.

He was a man who found the joy in life through small moments. His first sip of tea in the morning. Running his hand through his hair once it was freshly washed. Spending his Sunday in the café that was an extra few blocks from his apartment so he could steal glances at the beautiful barista. He could never bring himself to properly talk to you though, that would make it the exact opposite of a small moment.

        *           *           *          *            *         *          *           *          *

You enjoyed Valentine’s day. Your day had started with a card arriving from your parents and your friend back home sending a text message thanking her for flowers that you had booked to be delivered.

When you reached the café for the usual Sunday shift you were met by heart shaped bunting criss-crossing around the whole ceiling.

You settled in behind the counter. It was still early, an orange tint hanging on the edges of the sky. And Sunday mornings were quieter than most, people taking their time to get out of bed. You imagined especially on Valentine’s day, couples would spend the early hours wrapped up in their ‘i love you’s and gift giving. Many opting for breakfast in bed rather than a café trip. You sighed at the dreamy thought.

You were single, and happily so. But you were allowed to indulge in the scenario of a coffee and pancakes being brought to you while you awoke slowly.

Were the pancakes accompanied by steel grey eyes and an undercut from time to time? You could neither confirm nor deny.

Still stuck in your daydreams, you hadn’t noticed that exact pair of grey eyes entering the café and approaching the counter.

He took a moment to look you over while it seemed your head was somewhere else. Your hair sat neater than usual, extra makeup seemed to have been applied; your cheeks more rosy than usual. A pink sweater draped around your figure and Levi swore he could smell the fresh laundry scent wafting from it.

His heart deflated slightly. You probably had a Valentine’s date. He scoffed at himself in his own head. Of course you did, one look at you screamed that you were bound to have people flooding your phone. He chose to ignore any time he noticed a customer flirting with you, but it definitely happened.

You leap when Levi lets off a small cough to catch your attention. Your face immediately blaring with heat as you search for words in your head. You often found herself flustered when it came to serving the stoic faced man.

‘Hi.’

‘Hey’

‘What, uh, what can I get you?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Yes! I’m fine thank you for asking. Ignore my last question by the way I know- uh, I know it’s tea.’

You cut yourself off from rambling. Giving a small nod and beginning to tap on the register screen in front of you, putting through his usual pot of black tea.

You stare at the screen with an unnecessary intensity, trying to focus on the words and wipe the image of Levi delivering your breakfast from her mind. An irrational fear that maybe he was secretly a mind reader brewed in the back of your head. It would explain his constant blank slate of a face, he was constantly processing other’s thoughts.

What was actually running through Levi’s head was how pretty you looked in the glow of the morning sun, your face tinted pink in nervousness.

He only slightly fought off a small smile when you beamed up at him with your sweet voice, ‘I’ll bring it over once it’s ready.’

Levi spent the rest of the morning watching you dart around with drinks and dishes. You did most Sunday mornings solo, smiling at usual customers, rhyming off your catalogue of memorised drinks. Levi felt like a dark cloud hanging over the café, dressed in dark colours in the corner and avoiding conversation. While you were a bright ball of sunshine that seemed to honestly just want to make others smile.

The thought of actually talking to you had his tea cup trembling in his hand.

And so he buried his head deeper into his book, settling for hearing your sweet laugh float around the shop.

You sighed, what was originally a five hour shift extended to ten after Hitch called you begging to cover her half of the day, a last minute Valentine date cropping up or something. And who were you to deny the girl some romance?

Your eyes drifted around the shop, it was now three thirty pm, only an hour and half until it was time to shut. The day had mostly been couples wandering through to pick up a takeaway drink in the midst of a romantic stroll. It was hard to resist a wistful look after them as they huddled together in the February chill.

You shook your head from the thought and continued to restock the muffins, even though it would be unlikely that all would be sold before closing came around.

Standing up your head automatically took a turn in Levi’s direction, this was usually the time he would be due a tea top-up. And on cue he set down his empty cup and glanced up at you.

Two pairs of eyes met and you struggled to fight off the heat rising up your neck under his intense stare. His mouth drops open slightly, barely noticeable from the distance between them.

But you notice, the half inch that his shoulders tense up. The miniscule shake of his book. Your throat is suddenly dry, but manages to croak out, ‘more?’

‘Yes, please,’ the words come almost as a sigh. You hold the electric gaze for another second, before scurrying behind the counter, busying your mind with making up the pot of tea.

You drop it to him wordlessly. Keeping your head down, adrenaline still pumping through you from the previous moment.

The last hour and a half of service passes by easily. You avoid any of your usual indulgent looks at the man in the corner of the café, while you begin closing up.

Levi knows he has to go, he’s closed over his book already, one hand on his jacket that’s been draped over his chair all day.

But he can’t just go. His assumption from the morning has proven wrong - at least so far. You don't seem to have a Valentine’s date. And after your...whatever that was, he’s not about to just leave without so much as a hello.

You stood on the small step ladder, fingers nimbly unpinning the heart shaped decorations when his voice pulled you from your thoughts.

‘Um, thanks for your service today.’ Levi cringes. He swears he sounds like a robot.

‘Oh,’ Kasia stares down at him from atop the ladder, ‘thank you.’

Levi swallows. It’s a start.

‘You don’t usually work this late. On a Sunday.’

‘One of the other girls asked if I could cover her. She got a last minute Valentine date.’

You’ve descended the steps now, standing only a metre away from him. You look him over,

His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, book tucked tightly under his arm. His usual sleek black hair is slightly messed. You didn’t know but he’d spent the last ten minutes tugging at as he tried to find the right conversation starter.

‘You don’t- uh, you don’t have a date?’

You shake your head softly, a small smile beginning to form across your lips.

‘What about you? Don’t you have a girlfriend you should’ve been with all day?’

‘Do you think if I had a girlfriend I’d be here all day every Sunday?’ He lets out a laugh that could be mistaken for a cough.

‘Oh. I just thought…’

‘Thought what?’

‘I don’t know actually. You’re just, uh…’ you stutter, the phrase you’re just so pretty, balancing on the edge of your tongue. ‘What?’ Levi cringes again, his voice coming out harsher than intended, but he freezes up at the quiet words that escape your mouth.

‘Just really pretty.’

They’re barely a whisper, he thinks he could almost be making it up. His subconscious is dreaming up what he wants to hear. But upon looking up at your face, there’s a fear evident in your eyes. As if the words hadn’t meant to escape.

You next words have more energy behind, ‘I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate.’

‘It’s fine, really. You’re, um, also really pretty.’

You swear if your face could get any hotter it’d melt the chocolate in the cookies. Voice immediately fades away again, ‘thank you.’

‘So is it uhh, just you closing up?’

‘Yeah. Just me.’

‘Do you mind if I wait for you? To walk you home? It’ll be too dark to walk alone by the time you’re finished.’

This time you can’t fight the smile as it consumes your whole face, ‘I’d like that.’

His hand reaches out suddenly and a thumb swipes against your cheek.

His eyes go wide upon realising what he did, ‘you had some chocolate. On your cheek.’

You try to respond. But all you can feel is the tingling left over from his touch. And how you wanna feel it again.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi imagine #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman fic #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #aot x reader #aot imagines #snk x reader #snk imagines

[lorei-writes]

Lost Letters

Masamune x MC Fluff Parts of this work include suggestive content. [To avoid suggestive content, skip the following months: May, January.] Word Estimate: 2k

Honourable Customers,

We are pleased to inform You all the lost letters were successfully delivered.

Your trustworthy messengers, Azuchi-Kasugayama Postal Service Crew

Content Warnings: war mention, injury mention, suggestive content, food mention, anxiety mention

To my beloved Masamune. It is March now, and the frost has begun its retreat from the air. You are not here, and I do not expect to send this letter… Yet I miss you so much the words seem to be writing themselves without much help. In this very moment, I wish I could ask how your day was. It is one of those rare instances where I miss modern technology – my helplessness is simply disarming me completely. I console myself with the thought that you will be back tonight. I missed seeing your face so bad. There are so many things I want to tell you, my heart is overflowing. I don’t think I should let any of them spill, yet I cannot hold all either. So, even if just on this paper, I must confess: I love you, Masamune. I love you so much it hurts. I could not focus on anything but your return the entire day. I cannot let you see this letter. You will never let me forget it. Although maybe... Maybe I should.

To my beloved Masamune.

It is March now, and the frost has begun its retreat from the air. You are not here, and I do not expect to send this letter… Yet I miss you so much the words seem to be writing themselves without much help.

In this very moment, I wish I could ask how your day was. It is one of those rare instances where I miss modern technology – my helplessness is simply disarming me completely. I console myself with the thought that you will be back tonight. I missed seeing your face so bad. There are so many things I want to tell you, my heart is overflowing.

I don’t think I should let any of them spill, yet I cannot hold all either. So, even if just on this paper, I must confess: I love you, Masamune. I love you so much it hurts. I could not focus on anything but your return the entire day.

I cannot let you see this letter. You will never let me forget it. Although maybe... Maybe I should.

~

To my courageous Masamune.

It is April now, and you came back all beaten and tattered. Your muscles tensed whenever I touched your skin. The disinfectant seeping into your cuts did not help either, I suppose… But you hugged me tight all the same, and did not let go for long. Your breath tickled my neck as you held your ear pressed against my pulse. I wonder, how bad was it this time? But do not get me wrong. I do not mind, I can stay in your arms for however long you desire.

This time, however, it was different. I cannot describe the feeling that I felt when you looked up at me and simply said you feel terrible and need rest. You… Appeared so vulnerable? And I know it never comes easy to you to be in this state.

I love you so much. Thanks for coming back yet once again. I am writing this as you sleep only a few meters away. Please, rest well – and thank you for trusting me yet once again.

~

To my flirtatious Masamune.

It is May now, and the weather has got quite warm already. However, my dear tiger, treat this as a note of complaint! Although… You will never see it, hopefully. You would see all the other ones then.

Never mind that! How dare you! You big, unruly, sneaky…!!! You know my knees get weak when you kiss me, and yet…! In the middle of the crowd, at that! Truly, my “knees were not a problem” as you put it after lifting me up, but my face surely was! I was red like a crab, Masamune!

How dare you uphold that air of coolness! If it were not for what you whispered… Curse that too, argh! Surely, nobody realised, and you always walk this fast, but… But it is the next morning, and I still am a mess after all the things you did to me the last night!

How dare you stay on my mind even now. Well, you did leave some marks, so surely, it is hard not to think of it, but… ! I want to lay in your arms a little longer, but alas. You had to start work early today of all days…

~

To my caring Masamune.

It is June now, and somehow, I managed to catch a cold. It is nothing much, really, but you insist I don’t leave bed today… Honestly, I feel a little guilty, but I am enjoying myself. You’re spoiling me quite a lot, my love, and I can hardly oppose it…

You brought some of your work here, so that you could watch over me while I napped. You checked my fever, brought me more covers when I was cold, even got Shogetsu to cuddle me up. When I woke up, you cooked me porridge, and I don’t know what rituals you did in the kitchen,  but it was beyond delicious. Or perhaps I’m getting better?

My eyelids are heavier and heavier… And you’re insisting I stop writing and cuddle with you now. You didn’t want to move to sleep in a separate bed either…  How could I refuse? I swear, tiger, some may say you hardly care, but whenever I see you acting like this, my heart beats faster.

~

To my curious Masamune.

It is July now, and this is both a letter of praise, and of complaint. For somebody who learns so fast, you surely never learnt not to get taken away by challenges. However, here end my complaints, as it… Surely is quite entertaining.

We are still running away from our own allies now. We have just settled for the night, and you are calling for me to come eat and sit with you by the fire. Have I ever told you you are the most beautiful when you are free and wild? No? Because your eye sparkles so gorgeously now.

You’ve made me appreciate so many new sides of life. I love sharing it with you, both the good and the bad. I don’t know what you’ve made, but let’s be honest, there are only starts above us and I couldn’t care any less about food right now.

Yes, yes, I’m coming, you impatient cat…

~

To my hardworking Masamune.

It is August now, and you are swarmed with work. I do not know how you manage to stay on top of it… But truly, you seem tired now. You set off early, and come back late, and it takes little before you fall asleep.

You… You cannot know it, but each night, you return my embrace quite strongly, even if deep slumber has already claimed you. You are adorable – your nose crinkles slightly whenever I kiss your forehead. I started telling you I love you, and you usually mumble back that you love me too… Then you generally get a little upset and nuzzle into my neck, and sometimes scoff about some pillows or radishes, whichever one it is this time around.

I must never reveal the fact that you talk in your sleep if you are tired enough. What if you forbid me from ever indulging in it ever again? I don’t think I could live without it anymore.

Signed,

Your Beautiful Futon

~

To my joyous Masamune.

It is September now! I want to go celebrate with you, so this letter will be brief:

Thank you for having been born, Masamune.

Please, live a long life. I want to love you plenty more. I need to love you plenty more. To hear you laugh, to see your smile… Your happiness is infectious, and I want for it to last for as long as it can.

~

To my resilient Masamune.

It is October now, and it came in sour, as if to balance the joy of the previous month. This battle was harsh. You emerged victorious, but at what price? So many were lost… Although I think you would care even for a single person just as much. War is a dreadful thing, to say the least. You know it better than I will ever be able to. That is why you protect me from it, is it not? I wish I could carry half your burden...

When you returned, you only latched onto my wrist. Your hands were cold, and you looked almost lost. Were you scared that I would be gone too? My love, my heart… You held yourself together bravely the entire time, but I am glad you let yourself unwind once in our quarters. I needed to feel that you were alive too.

I helped you wash, and you seemed to relax when I ran my fingers through your wet hair. Perhaps the bath was a good idea in the end. I hope no nightmares come your way today – but if any do, I will do my best to chase them all away. I know you would do great by yourself… But I love you, so please, do share some of your concerns.

~

To my grumpy Masamune.

It is November now, and oh my, I got to pay you back for how sweetly you cared for me when I was ill. It appears it was your time, my love. I did not expect you to resist so much! “Sleep in a different room”?! As if I would even consider that much! But… You were quite sweet once you caved in. If we were in the future, I would give you a good patient badge!

Kojuro came in later too. You were so adorable when he started telling stories from your childhood! Ah, and you were locked in bed, so for once, I got a chance to actually listen to them too! A shy little Masamune… I wish cameras were a thing in this time.

It was a good day, but please, do not fall ill much. I will always care for you, it is only that… As much as your pouts were a sight to behold, I love your content smile even more. I will have to make some of today up to you.

~

To my thoughtful Masamune.

It is December now, and you surprised me yet once again. I do know we celebrated Christmas together once, but I did not expect for you to hold onto the idea. This time, you organised everything by yourself, with your own twists to everything.

The party was great – the music, the food, the gifts, I loved every single moment of it. You dressed well too, and I swear, you look even more handsome in the more so festive clothes. It was just cool enough for me to shamelessly cuddle into your side as well… Did you plan that as well?

I must thank you for the gift tomorrow. You must have had ordered this fabric months in advance. It… It really feels amazing knowing that you truly listen to what I say. I love you, Masamune. Somehow, you have this way of making me feel loved even without using any words.

~

To my adventurous Masamune.

It is January now, and winters in this part of the country tend to grow rather harsh. The snow is thick, and it seemingly keeps on falling, and falling… I did not expect for you to suggest taking a trip, much less one to the hot springs.

I do not know what heated me up more – your kisses or the water. Good thing we retreated to our room fast, otherwise we could be thrown out of the estate. I am quite relaxed after we have made love… Perhaps my initial fear of you suggesting doing it in the snow was completely unfounded. Well, you would not force me to go forward with it anyway, but your drive for novelty is infectious at times.

You went out to get some food for us to share, and I am still lying in bed. The pillow smells of you, and the covers are pleasantly warm from our shared heat. I think you will want to slide right next to me once you are back, will you not? I know you do better with cold than the heat, but is it not too tempting? Ah, I think I can hear your steps… I wonder, what are those plans for tomorrow you have made.

~

To my calm Masamune.

It is February now. You seem to be at home plenty, and I welcome the change. We cook together nearly everyday, and I am enjoying it a lot. At first, those were more of classes than anything else, but now… We recreated some of the future dishes I told you about. Is that not amazing? You truly could be a chef in my original time.

However! Today I shall take my revenge! Just you wait and see, Masamune Date! I will pay you back for all those hugs from behind, and “sampled dishes”, and for all those “you seem to have a bit of the sauce over your lips”! I prepared something you did not expect yourself, and you have made me this devil!

I hope I can get this surprised face out of you. It should be tasty enough for that? I should carry it to you before it gets cold…

~

To my beloved Masamune.

It is March again, and I love you all the same.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @rikumorimachisgirl, @bestbryn, @kink-rabbithole  @ikesenfangirl @themysticalbeing If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, do remember to specify fandoms (and characters, if you are interested only in some) :D If it ever happens that you wish to be removed from my taglist, for any reason, do let me know. I will not ask why, it’s all fine ^^

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #my ff #my writing

[robininthelabyrinth]

Good Help - chapter 2 - ao3 link

-

Despite the circumstances of their first meeting, Meng Yao mostly appreciated A-Jue for his quick mind and fearlessness – and, yes, occasionally for his towering height that made grabbing books from high places infinitely easier – rather than his muscles, however impressive they were. In fact, after the first few weeks, he had very nearly forgotten that A-Jue was a guard of the inner hall.

The assassination attempt put an end to that oversight.

It wasn’t that Meng Yao hadn’t anticipated such an attempt, nor that he hadn’t taken precautions. He was careful to take his meals in the communal kitchen at unexpected hours and tested even the snacks he kept with him before consuming them, and naturally avoided any unsupervised hallways or attempts to lure him outside, but he had underestimated the enmity that greeted his appointment: he had not thought that they would launch a direct attack.

The perpetrators entered his office as petitioners, posing as clerks for an influential merchant, and launched the attack just as they were settling into the rhythm of negotiations. They were hoping to catch him distracted, which they did, but Meng Yao had always had good instincts; he realized what was happening the first moment they moved. He was out of his chair and reaching for the flexible sword he stored around his waist almost at once, already calculating how many injuries he could incur and still be able to fight back enough to preserve his life – he just needed to survive until the guards came in, unless they’d somehow gotten rid of those, in which case he needed to run –

The calculations proved unnecessary.

By the time Meng Yao’s hand reached the hilt of his blade, A-Jue was already in front of him, catching one assassin the chest with a vicious palm strike and knocking him into the path of another, turning fluidly to slam an elbow into a third.

He didn’t even draw the saber that hung low at his waist, just knocked aside the assassin’s swords and daggers with his bare hands and then beating them with his fists and feet.

Meng Yao stood there for a moment, blinking, and by the time even his quick-moving mind caught up with everything the assassins all were unconscious or paralyzed, the merchant was on his knees begging for mercy and swearing to his ignorance, and A-Jue was standing there, frowning slightly at one of the still-twitching assassins like he was considering going in for more.

“Why didn’t you draw your saber?” Meng Yao asked, both because he was curious and because it was a better reaction than saying I forgot you could do that or I thought I’d be facing them all on my own again, or, even worse, thanks.

“I thought you’d want them alive to question them,” A-Jue said, blinking at him – he had the same expression of good-natured puzzlement as he did any time Meng Yao corrected him, whether as to his calculation of accounting errors or underestimating the malice inherent in mankind, which remained a subject of recurrent disagreement. “Was I wrong?”

“Not at all,” Meng Yao said, and felt once again the thrill of power when A-Jue nodded and called for other guards to enter and remove the bodies, although he crouched by each one first to check them over for any suicide pills or arrays that might interfere with an interrogation. His professional detachment and efficient resolution of events was truly suitable for a guard of the inner hall, the finest of Wen Ruohan’s soldiers; there could be no complaints.

There was something truly delightful about having a powerful man at your beck and call, Meng Yao reflected, and wondered briefly if A-Jue had been sent his way deliberately as a plant to infiltrate his confidence. It seemed unlikely, given the random nature of their meeting, and certainly A-Jue didn’t fit any of Meng Yao’s known pre-existing preferences, other than in terms of bedpartners. And yet he grew suspicious, if only because A-Jue suited him so very well, just right in every way…

Meng Yao spent the next three days conducting a series of covert tests to see if any information was being leaked from his office through A-Jue, but there was nothing. Ultimately, he was forced to conclude that A-Jue might actually just be – like that.

Straightforward and blunt, fearless in both speech and action, decisive and capable and yet willing to take orders from Meng Yao, never judging him for his birth but respecting him for his abilities…

Good help, he reminded his suddenly over-active libido. Hard to find. Don’t ruin a good thing.

It was hard to remember, though. A-Jue was just the sort of man Meng Yao liked when he went for men: handsome and powerfully built, well-born or rich or both, stern and unyielding in demeanor, the sort of man for whom life generally went the way they wanted. The sort could easily get a girl, even one of good breeding and appropriate lineage, merely by snapping his fingers. The type of man that might tempt even a practiced whore.

Meng Yao liked to break those types of men.

It was a trait he shared with Wen Ruohan, and one of the ways he had managed to get the Emperor’s attention – that first job he had taken had been in the Fire Palace, the Emperor’s torture chambers, and he had worked out a considerable portion of his anger and anxiety through the torment of his enemies, defined liberally as anyone who insulted his mother. He’d matured since then, growing calmer, but he still liked to put proud men on their knees and make them service him, to rub their faces in the fact that he was the one with the power, to make them crawl and plead and cry for him. Though he supposed for someone like A-Jue – he wouldn’t need to break him, really.

It’d be enough to see him bend. Willingly, for him.

And yet, if Meng Yao did that, wouldn’t A-Jue start to flinch from him and turn away from him – seek to preserve his injured pride by fleeing Meng Yao’s presence, the way so many others before him had? It would make working together much more annoying, and A-Jue was perfect the way he was.

Almost irritatingly so. If only A-Jue were more inclined to make errors, Meng Yao would feel freer to take advantage of him.

“Have you ever thought less of me because of my parentage?” Meng Yao asked one evening, apropos of nothing, when A-Jue was already exhausted and more than a little wild-eyed from having to review every single one of the reports on wheat yields in their northern provinces as part of Meng Yao’s random audit of the files.

“I mean, Jin Guangshan’s a waste of space, but you’re nothing like him, so not after the beginning,” A-Jue said automatically, then scowled at Meng Yao when he started laughing. “What? Give me a break, I didn’t know you then! How was I to guess that you’d actually be competent? Or – not awful?”

“I was,” Meng Yao said with dignity, even if his lips insisted on twitching, “referring to my mother.”

“But you hate it when people talk about your mother,” A-Jue said blankly, then shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, is this some sort of mind game? If so, can it wait until tomorrow? I’m going to dream in wheat prices.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Meng Yao agreed, pretending to be solemn. He wasn’t sure if he was more amused at A-Jue’s ridiculous perspective on things or the fact that he seemed to think Meng Yao was not awful simply because he’d indulged him a few times when he was being especially insistent on doing things the soft-hearted way.

“You’re making fun of me again,” A-Jue grumbled. “I don’t know why, but you are. Fuck you.”

The next day, Meng Yao asked A-Jue if he’d ever been to a whorehouse.

“Yes, while on campaign,” A-Jue said, blinking rapidly as if he were trying to hide something, or more likely not think of something. Either he’d had a bad experience or he thought Meng Yao was going to cut off his balls for admitting it.

Which he wouldn’t, of course. There was nothing wrong with the better sort of customer, and Meng Yao felt certain that A-Jue would have been that sort, could imagine him sitting in the corner with a jar of wine and a blush until he was coaxed upstairs and then paying too much for the privilege, after...but it was cute that A-Jue worried about such things.  

Meng Yao put a friendly hand on A-Jue’s shoulder – the man flinched, briefly, but quickly mastered himself, just as he did any time anyone touched him – and said in his best sugar-sweet sympathetic tone that he hadn’t had to use on anyone in ages, “Did she touch you in a bad place?”

“The honored viceroy can go fuck himself any time he damn well pleases,” A-Jue said, and he had no idea how much Meng Yao would like to ask him if he’d prefer to do the honors himself.

“Do you know any other curses, or is it just variations on the term ‘fuck’?” he asked instead, thinking good help, good help, good help. “I know at least three dozen involving farmyard animals, if you’d like to learn.”

A-Jue’s laugh was in no way like a braying donkey, no matter what Meng Yao pretended to insist.

-

“Have you considered the benefits of a regular routine of physical exercise?” A-Jue asked.

Meng Yao glared at him.

“I’m just saying,” A-Jue said. “It would make your life easier.”

“Shut up and help me get down from up here,” Meng Yao hissed – A-Jue had taken care of the vicious snarling creatures that had somehow gotten loose, an obvious follow-up assassination attempt now that the poisoning he thought he’d identified in a late-night dessert had been demonstrably unsuccessful, even if A-Jue had insisted that they were just “sweet little puppies” and Meng Yao was “overreacting”.

“I’d be happy to help train you, if you’d like.”

“I’m far too busy,” Meng Yao said with what little shreds of dignity he still possessed. “I do three times as much work as you do, I don’t have capacity to running off to go wave a stick in the air multiple times a day like some people.”

A-Jue grinned at him, utterly unmoved, and Meng Yao huffed, rolling his eyes at him.

“If I agree,” he said, with no intention whatsoever of agreeing, “will you finally show me your saber?”

If there was innuendo in there – well. He was only a man, after all.

“Perhaps one day,” A-Jue said. “It’s not a privileged I give to everyone.”

Meng Yao tried to parse whether that was flirting. He couldn’t quite tell.

“Well, your saber is very large,” he said, probing. “Maybe you should take it out more often.”

“When I take out my saber, someone dies,” A-Jue said, and – probably not flirting, then. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally skewer you.”

Possibly very strange flirting? Meng Yao wouldn’t put it past A-Jue.

“Yes, well,” he said, straightening his robes and settling back into professional mode. “You have fun with your exercise, but leave me out of it.”

A-Jue escorted him back to his office first, conscientious as always.

Once he was gone, Meng Yao rang a certain bell and summoned Sisi, whose freedom was probably the best investment he’d ever made – she’d merged into the palace staff without leaving so much as a trace behind, acting as though the other girls were her sisters and she’d been there forever, and she was more than willing to report on everything she learned.

Also, she’d retained enough of her looks that everyone thought that Meng Yao only summoned her for sex, making A-Jue’s occasional disappearances for training purposes the perfect time for Meng Yao to meet with her without suspicion – he’d given up most of his paranoia surrounding A-Jue, but that was no reason to share all of his tricks.

Besides, he wasn’t sure he actually wanted A-Jue and Sisi to meet.

“When you’re done fucking him, can you share?” Sisi asked after she put down the tray of snacks – buns and a pot of tea, all of which she sampled before his eyes in the name of sharing food. “Man like that deserves to be common property.”

“I’m not whoring him out,” Meng Yao said, a warning in his tone, and Sisi sighed dramatically.

“Tell me you’re at least having a good time with all those muscles,” she said. “Someone ought to be.”

Meng Yao rolled his eyes.

“Where’s the trouble coming from this time?” he asked, deciding to elide the issue entirely. “I keep hearing whispers and people look nervous, the way they do before some sort of trouble, but neither gentry nor merchant class seem to have produced anything out of the ordinary, and I can’t imagine it’s the farmers again after last time.”

“You’re looking out, you should be looking in,” she said.

“The Emperor’s court?”

That could be a serious problem. Any political turmoil that happened within the Nightless City would have ramifications well beyond it.

“His harem,” Sisi said, her face alight with the pleasure of gossip. “Word’s come back from the south – turns out that the Emperor took one of the Imperial Consorts with him for his trip.”

Even Meng Yao’s eyebrows raised.

“And with the Empress in seclusion, well…”

It wasn’t as though the Empress had a strong maternal family as a backing – no one even knew what her surname was – but she’d been there for years and years, practically part of the décor. Replacing her with one of the Consorts would be…a change.

The Nightless City hated change.

“Could you ask to see her?” Sisi asked. “Just as proof of life…”

“I could,” Meng Yao said, because technically he had authority over everyone, “but I won’t. Why would I invite trouble for myself? I’d have to explain to the Emperor why I interfered with his harem.”

“Good point,” Sisi said, although she looked disappointed.

“Which Consort?”

“The rumor says A-Sang,” she said. “The one that likes to carry scholarly fans.”

“A-Sang? Really?”

“I know! We all thought that the Emperor didn’t even like A-Sang – everyone agrees that A-Sang never got any imperial visits before this; the Emperor never spent a night in A-Sang’s rooms, never even shared a meal, nothing. But why else would he take A-Sang with him on a months-long journey?”

Why indeed. The Emperor remained as unfathomable as ever. Meng Yao wondered briefly if Wen Ruohan really had murdered the Empress in her seclusion, faking her presence with a note…still, it seemed implausible. Why would he bother?

“I heard a rumor once,” he said instead. “About A-Sang.”

Like all good spies and shit-stirrers, Sisi was immediately at full attention – she knew that Meng Yao was not inclined to gossip for the pleasure of it, the way she was, and therefore he would only volunteer information if he intended for her to spread it.

“A-Sang is the Empress’ family,” Meng Yao said, and Sisi’s eyes went wide. “Younger sibling.”

Younger brother, he thought, though he didn’t say anything – he didn’t actually know for sure. It was hard to tell. Wen Ruohan didn’t lock away his wives the way some men did; on the contrary, he enjoyed bringing them out for celebrations to show them off. But the Empress was invariably veiled, swathed in silks without a hint of skin showing, always seated in her chair as if she were kneeling in penance, never moving; Meng Yao, who only saw her from a distance during the celebrations, sometimes almost thought she might not have legs. In daily life, she sometimes attended the Emperor’s court, but always remained seated behind her veils and sometimes even a screen, little more than a silhouette from which, rarely, notes emerged but no voice ever did.

Naturally, if the Empress preferred to be veiled, that meant the other wives had to at least pretend to follow her lead. And that meant veils and concealing clothing, even if some of them interpreted the concept rather loosely, with sheer veils and even sheerer clothing, meant to entice – A-Sang fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, wearing a veil that revealed his eyes and clothing that allowed him flexibility of movement without too much restraint, and while he was slender and delicate, Meng Yao was moderately certain that he was indeed male.

Not that it mattered.

Wen Ruohan had never much cared about that.

“Amazing,” Sis breathed. “So all these years, the Emperor has been refraining from touching A-Sang out of respect for the Empress, and now the little sister wife has finally made her move…”

Meng Yao had said none of that, but it served him to muddle the waters a little, mostly to see who would try to clear it up. Not that it could be, as his information about their familial connection was accurate – gleaned from a careless comment by Wen Ruohan himself, no less – but it interested him to know who would try regardless.

“Go,” he said, and Sisi left, all but floating, and it wasn’t long before A-Jue returned, all shiny with sweat and exertion, looking incredibly fuckable.

“You worked near the harem, right?” Meng Yao asked him, mind still focused on the bubbling little scandal that he just knew would become an issue that could wreck his thus far successful regency. “Do you have any connections there?”

“Not really?” A-Jue said. “Most of the wives are scared of me.”

Typical.

“Is there something you’d like me to find out for you..?”

“No need,” Meng Yao said. He’d never met anyone less well suited to be a spy than A-Jue. “But it may be an avenue of future threats, so keep it in mind.”

“I’m not going to let anyone from the harem harm you,” A-Jue said, oddly fierce. “Not anyone. Don’t worry.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nieyao #my fic #my fics #good help

[stopeatingwhales]

vinyl searching (pt. 2) x graham coxon

here’s the second part, hope you guys like it! there’s something about 1999 graham that i just love so much, and i know he was struggling during this time so i wanted to write about caring for him because he clearly needed it during this time. 

Pairing: 1999! graham coxon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 3.166

part one

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Me and Graham decided on meeting in a small bar on the same road, a couple hours later in the evening. Once my shift was over, I had scurred off to my little flat in order to put together an outfit that was appropriate. I didn’t want to wear something that was too overtly sexual - hell, I wouldn’t even have the courage to be able to wear something like that - so I decided upon wearing an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans. Very 90s. However, me meeting up with Graham was probably going to be more for him than it was for me - although I was so happy that me and him finally were able to take our ‘friendship’ somewhere outside of the small record shop that he sees all my life in, it was very evident that he was in need of someone to be there for him. Now, understanding his demeanor and overall attitude to things from the multiple times that we had conversated, I had hoped to be the one that he needed. Although there was many time I could’ve attempted such a gathering previously, you never know when would be the right moment to chip in and attempt to portray the care that you have stored internally for that significant person, and how they would react to that. For Graham it was a much more awkward situation; the only times of our communication were technically only professional, from a worker providing help and service to a customer. That was how esoteric we were to one another - practically known strangers. If I had come across Graham in a supermarket and he had noticed me, chances are that we wouldn’t interact, the only communication we would be able to branch out to one another being a simple ‘Oh hi! You alright?’. You had to build a sort of relationship with someone over a period of time in order to be able to do something like I did, and that is minusing the amount of nerves you'd have, as well as the courage you’d have to give yourself.

After I had finished with my constant worrying about how this meet-up was going to turn out, I left the house to go to the bar. The walk there felt as if I had been repeating the same events that had occurred during the day, just at a different moment in time. Hardly anybody was in the streets, which was quite ordinary at this hour of day, though it always seemed as if nobody left their homes. As I walked past countless convenience stores, hairdressers and fast-food places, which proved to show there was residency above them from the brick wall built on top, contrasted against windows placed as an outlook to life, very ironically used as to convey that nobody was ever leaving their homes, it proved to me just how mundane and repetitive life had become. The distance apart between each sheet of glass to the one adjacent to it being monochrome. Constant. Unchanging. Almost how all of our lives have been built to follow a system of continuous, resolute living, perpetually ignoring how it forces our lives, that have so much undermined potential, to be wasted, to the point we are simply dependent on enjoying life as we admire it. From a window in our bedroom, to which it becomes boring - as all you are ‘admiring’ is the same sight, every single time. And though this way of living may not be satisfactory, or enjoyable in the slightest, protesting against it would not do anything. Strikes from work would not do anything; you still need to live, and to live you need to earn money, money earned from working. It’s a ceaseless cycle which destroys the mere idea of a dream, aspiration, or motivation to carry on. In turn, what is received is the attractiveness of sadness, distress, and melancholy. You cannot shame those for being addicted to something harmful; if there is no point created for their lives except to be a little pawn on the chessboard of this planet, to take a risk and rebel against it is all you can do - though it would only put you in a situation which can cause more harm than good to yourself.

Once I had arrived at the bar, I decided to wait by the entrance so there would not cause confusion for Graham as to whether I was inside the building or not. I had noticed the skies begin to significantly darken in their calming shades of blue, instigating the advent of the evening to commence, however it was not dark enough to see sparkles in the empyrean yet. Though it was beautiful to stare at the single-coloured canvas, questioning the mere idea as to how it had formed such a shade of peace, but also existentially questioning how things come to be. Nevertheless, my admiration for the skies was quickly interrupted. “Hi y/n.”

Shifting my head into alignment with his, I had been greeted by the sight of Graham, facial expression clearly evident of nervousness, though it was attempted to be masked from a small smile curving on the corner of his lip. I noticed he was still in the same clothing as he had been in our previous encounter at the record shop earlier in the day, which caused a grin to paint itself on my facial expression. “Hi Graham,” I chriped, connecting eyes with him for a second, widening my smile that was already plastered on my face. “Let’s go inside.”

Inside the bar was nothing much I hadn’t expected; smoke surrounding the atmosphere from cigarettes, and due to the time being early, the place wasn’t as crowded, but you’d assume it to be from the clouds of smoke that welcomed you once you pushed the door open - you could hardly see the lengthy oak wood table separating you from the myriad amount of drinks that could be supplied to you by a simple asking. Ushering over to the nearest booth available, me and Graham sat opposite each other. The booths were always much more comfortable to sit and relax in, the cushioning of the sofa was almost that of a pillow; it was so cozy it was hard not to fall asleep on them. It was a much better choice of seating rather than the tall timber stools attached to the bar. I never found it appealing to sit there and have a chat with someone; it felt as if my privacy had been snatched away with ears surrounding every place my eyes could land upon. It's a much more peaceful atmosphere in a booth, which I had assumed would be a preferable place for Graham, shown from his quiet demeanour. His quietness was something that engaged me so deeply into him as a person - he wasn’t the type to rush to the bar, get drunk, and go off with the first person he had seen, who he hadn’t properly connected with or perhaps spoken to at all. He was much more down to earth, potentially from the amount of fame he had gained over the past couple years; it makes those yearn for silence, and in turn changes their perspectives and outlooks on simple things like outings with friends, for some may avoid them at all costs out of anxiety and fear of being noticed. You’d think that’s the absolute of their desires, being famous, stealing the hearts of so many, but it becomes so much more than that. The press picking out every ‘flaw’ you have or things that you do, the crowds of youngsters dying to get an autograph as if their lives depend on it, the paparazzi perpetually flicking their cameras only because you trotted on the same street to go to the same shop that every normal person goes to… The amount of eyes constantly on you gets overwhelming. I empathised with those who turned to drugs and alcohol to escape horrible feelings like these. Just like Graham.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked Graham sweetly, my smile still on my face.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have a beer.” He responded, our eyes glued to one another's which made me notice the eyebags that had drooped onto the top of his cheeks; it was very evident that he had attempted to nap before meeting me, which made my heart swell out of pity for him - it was obvious he was struggling to even sleep these days.

I nodded before heading to the bar and ordering our drinks. Waiting for our drinks at the bar gave me time to think over everything that was currently happening. It felt as if my entire day had vanished to this one moment where I had unexpectedly landed myself ordering beverages at a bar with the one and only Graham Coxon. It was a wonder to think about how he was feeling at this current moment. He didn't seem as if he was doing well at the moment, he always seemed so exhausted, and his social skills had become very poor over a couple of weeks. It went from him being very calm and candid in our short encounters, slyly recommending each other music with subtle hints of our liking toward each other, to him forming a much more apparent stutter in comparison to the one he already had, as well as being unable to connect eyes with me for a interminable period of time - it was evident that things were progressively getting worse for him, though I wasn’t going to force him into speaking about anything. I just wanted him to be aware that he had at least a friend there for him, potentially that being the girl that he would always see at his local record store.

Walking over back to the booth, I handed him his pint of beer. “Thank you,” he mustered, almost instantly taking a sip from it before noticing the drink I had bought for myself. “Orange juice?”

I laughed slightly at his shocked reaction as I lit myself a cigarette and took a hit from it, him definitely not expecting that of all drinks. “I don’t really like to drink, it never makes me feel that good.”

“But you smoke?” He questioned, a confused expression plastered on his face, paired with a grin.

“Smoking helps with stress, alcohol makes you drunk and gives you hangovers which simply ruin your day,” I answered back, taking a sip from my drink. “Also orange juice is literally the best juice, alcohol tastes like shit you know.”

A small chuckle escaped out of Graham’s throat, causing my eyes to land back onto him again. I gained the perception that he felt somewhat better about actually speaking with someone, which made me feel so touched and taken aback; I had genuinely felt my heart skip a beat out of sadness and yearning for him. He genuinely deserved better than what was going on with him mentally and physically, and the fact that he couldn’t even celebrate the release of his band’s 6th album was paining - he couldn’t attend a lot of the sessions, not out of detest towards any of his band members, but because he mentally couldn’t bring himself to. He was isolating himself without realising, or he may have realised, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. “I must agree on that… But orange juice is too sweet,” He replied, scoffing. “It’s definitely not that much better than a pint of beer, love.”

Shaking my head out of offense towards his last remark, I inhaled my cigarette once again before exposing the smoke from my lungs. Diverting my stare to the ashtray in the middle of the booth, I examined the built-up ash on the tip from the roll of tobacco crumble off from a single flick of the wrapped up paper. “Anyways, how are you?” I asked him, simultaneously offering him a cigarette whilst doing so to avoid any awkwardness.

After taking a cigarette from the packet I owned, then lighting it, he answered. “I’m alright. What about you?”

“Apart from being offended by you saying orange juice is gross, I’m alright too,” I joked, earning another laugh from Graham. “You seem tired.”

Sighing slightly, I watched him scan the room before answering. “Yeah, I am. What gave that away?”

“Your eye bags, you look like you haven’t slept,” I responded, hoping that what was leaving my mouth wouldn’t come across as offensive in any way. “Not in a rude way, though.”

“In all honesty, I haven’t really been able to sleep recently. Not a clue why.” He replied, taking a hit from his cigarette before copying my actions from earlier and erasing the gathered dust onto the ashtray.

“Oh, I understand that,” I said, taking a long drag of the cancer stick before replying. “Same thing happens to me when I’m stressed.”

As the night went on, we spoke about all sorts of things, trying to get to know one another much more as we were so intrigued by each other’s presence. Over time, he opened up much more, his poise changing from being a quiet, dismal, bereaved person, isolated from society, to one that seemed as if he was enjoying himself by hanging out with a friend. Seeing a beam constantly illustrated on his face made me realise this outing meant more than just ‘meeting a friend’. It was leaving the house for the first time in ages, to simply have a good time with someone. He was gentrifying the bare human emotions that he had forgotten were calloused out of anger inside himself. The atmosphere is much different when we’re separated by the till in the record store, the only conversations we could tend to have surrounding music or the weather that day. I felt so much more connected to Graham in this given moment, and knowing that he was gaining pleasure from this made me feel so much happier. Finally, he seemed content, relaxed, and much more aware of his surroundings, not caught up entirely by his mind and the evilness that he would be manipulated by. It was as if from this simple meet-up, he had realised that there was so much more to life than staying at home, pent up with his own thoughts; to his dismay. And though it can be extremely difficult to overcome the hurdles of not believing everything your brain implements to your mind, the important part was that he was making progress. By merely speaking with another person, about topics completely contrasting the negativity resident in his brain, it takes his mind off of things, and would allow the realisation that he is able to overcome these struggles, with the right support.

We hadn’t realised just how long we had been conversing for, until the room began pouring with young adults ready to enjoy a night with their friends. A quick glance at the clock gave the hour away; it was nearing midnight. The time was hardly wasted, we had both created a friendship and connection with one another which bloomed like roses during the spring seasons. Absolutely beautiful. I knew that what we had formed with each other would last for at least a significant amount of time, and I definitely hoped that it would. “Let’s get going, it’s getting a bit crowded right now.” I said, getting up from my seat - Graham nodding along and following me out.

There was a distinctive change in temperature inside the bar in comparison to the streets. The breeze was more prominent, with the skies now pitch black accompanied with the twinkle of the stars and the picturesque glow of the moon. We both began walking to the end of the street, having no idea what was about to occur, going along with it as if there was nothing else in the world except us two, as if it was just ours, and that nothing else mattered at all. This shared moment between us was the only thing able to plague our minds, for everything else that crossed our minds seemed to be insignificant, with no importance to our lives from here on, no matter how much it had afflicted our minds from apprehension hours prior to this moment. Oh, the vulnerable silence shared between us. How much importance it held towards aiding our minds, providing a certain mental clarity that was simply unheard of, as if a certain point of synchronicity in time was exposed between us, forming it as though, as banal as life is day-to-day was always, there was euphoria. Subconsciously, we were both communicating with each other in a sort of telepathy that was so rare in newly flourished relationships like ours. It was as if I had always been close with Graham, as if he was always a cogent figure in my life, that today was only just another catch-up session after not being able to talk with one another for a significant period of time. We both enjoyed ourselves, and there was no need to say anything about it. It felt as though if one of us spoke, it would erase all the memories of the occasion shared in the bar previously. Nothing could explain the elation my body was feeling at this time; from life seeming so meaningless and dull, experiencing something like this amount of joy came as such a shock to my body - it felt as if I had been drugged with so much alcohol that I was witnessing junctures that were only fragments of my imagination.

Stopping our slow pace at the end of the road, I turned my body to face Graham’s, him copying the same actions as me. Briefly, I stared lovingly into his eyes, a smile perched on my lips, him reciprocating with a beam, purely out of content, not mannerisms. Turning my head to stare at his hands, which awkwardly embraced one another, I mustered enough courage to form an embrace with both my palms - him slightly taken aback at first, to which he quickly went along with the moment. His hands were soft, delicate, and held warmth interlocked with mine. We simply stood there, hands laced together, inhaling the brisk air whilst slow waves of air gushed between us. Nothing could get more perfect than this. It was evident that between us, it was definitely more than a simple friendship, and it was obvious that both participants were not objecting against such passion to be compromised into something more. The action of holding his hand gave the notion that he was not alone in everything that he was undergoing; it was there for reassurance, as if it was me indirectly saying, I know you’re struggling, you don’t have to tell me, and I can tell you seem lonely, but I’m here for you. And I won’t ever leave, or let go.  

“See you soon, Graham.”

#graham coxon x reader #blur band #britpop #nineties #imagines #my writing #fluff #graham coxon #blur #fanfic #band imagines #90s

[writesowhatnext]

crush: a noun and a verb // fred weasley

Summary: The reader works at The Three Broomsticks and has a bit of a crush on Fred. Well, more than a bit. Worse still, he knows it and he is one cocky bastard.

Request: Hi I’m not sure if you’re taking requests rn, but if you are, then I have an idea for a Fred Weasley x reader where the reader works at the three broomsticks and has a crush on Fred. He knows this already and purposely goes there (sometimes with George and Lee) to tease and annoy her. Ty, I love your writings x

A/N: this was such a cute request

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: swearing :) and also idk playful hitting I guess? The word abuse + bit of a steamy make out (not too steamy)

Fred Weasley was a menace to society, The Three Broomsticks, and, on a personal note, your entire existence.

You remembered the first time you met him all too well. You were behind the bar, somewhat overprepared for the influx of Hogwarts students you’d been warned about when two boys in robes sauntered in. They were obviously twins, handsome too and around your age with red hair and freckled skin and a distinct air of trouble. They laughed to each other as they walked over; one of them leaning on the bar to get your attention. What you didn’t realise until you got closer to the boy at the bar was how tall he was, or how lovely his dark eyes were.

“You alright there?” he asked, a charming smile on his face. You could feel your face heat up and whether he could see it or not, something about your bashful side-eye or immediate swallow to dislodge the lump in your throat gave away how nervous you were.

“What? Fine, yeah. Yes. You?” you blurted out. His eyebrows rose in amused surprise and you had to blink a few times before you remembered what you were being paid for. “Sorry, what can I get you today?”

His grin only widened when he saw how flustered you were, clearly enjoying that it was all because of him.

That was only the start of Fred’s monopoly on your attention. The second time he came into the pub, it was a sunny day and most students had gone elsewhere – the cosy atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks not a big seller in the sunshine. Not Fred and George though, they didn’t seem to care.

When they walked in, you couldn’t help but consider how attractive they were. Even after meeting them only once, though, you could tell them apart. You could tell which one had gotten you flustered at the bar and as you sat by the kitchens, ready for table service, it was hard to deny how attracted you were to him. Something about his confidence and the easy way he leant across the bar and the way he’d looked at you stirred something inside of you and whilst it wasn’t unpleasant, per se, you did not enjoy having a crush. You sighed, dropping your head into your hands and groaning in frustration. You had to curse yourself really: you get a new job and the first thing you do is go weak at the knees for a boy? Shameful, you thought.

“Y/N,” your boss said, handing you a plate of chips through the kitchen window. “I don’t pay you to sit there and think about how hard it is to be a teenager. Table twelve.”

Your expression turned dry at his words, but you didn’t say anything, only rolling your eyes when he couldn’t see as you picked up the plate and headed over to table twelve: a table crowded by two red-headed gentlemen with matching coats, butterbeer pints and, well, faces.

“Chips?”

You stood next to them; acutely aware of their eyes on you. The one that you’d spoken to before stared at you for a moment before a spark of recognition lit up his eyes and a smile lifted his features.

“That’s us,” they both said at the same time, moving their pint glasses out of the way. You placed the plate down gently, very much eager to leave without making a fool out of yourself by doing something stupid like throwing chips everywhere.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Somehow, hearing him speak the second time only worsened your reaction. Your face felt like it was on fire and as you opened your mouth, every single word you’d ever known died on your tongue. You nodded. He noticed your stiff jaw and your avoidance of eye contact and he wet his lips, smirking.

“Well, we’re regulars so I think we better introduce ourselves; don’t you?” he stuck his hand out and for a moment, you just stared at his outstretched palm and debated whether it was good for you financially to leg it out of the pub. “I’m Fred.”

With a gulp, you wiped your palm quickly on your apron, hoping he didn’t notice, before you shakily grabbed his hand. His smile widened and you tried not to concentrate on it too much, already far too aware of his warm fingers surrounding yours. When he let go, the colder air of the pub was nice. It would be a lie, though, to say you didn’t miss the contact.

“And I’m George,” his brother said, folding his arms and looking at you with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, a very different vibe to his brother. He made no movement to shake your hand and you were grateful. Given how completely nervous you were, you were sure it would’ve clammed up again instantly, had he offered.

“Y/N,” you nodded, smiling a little. Your nervous stuttering and sweating were starting to get on your nerves and you were keen to get a grip.

“You look a bit nervous there, Y/N,” Fred said, feigning mock concern. “Are you alright?”

In that second, you’d never been simultaneously more pissed off and attracted to someone. That cheeky bugger, you thought, teasing you for your crush on him. Annoyingly, his brashness only worked in his favour as you found yourself all the more attracted to him for it.

“Of course,” you tried to keep your voice level. You were failing if George’s amused smile was anything to go by. “Nothing to be nervous about, is there?”

You pursed your lips slightly, focusing on Fred for a fraction too long. If you’d looked any longer, though, you would’ve seen interest flicker in his eyes.

“If you’ll excuse me, gents, I’ve got to get back to work.”

As soon as you began to walk back to the kitchen, Fred whipped his head around to watch you with ardent curiosity. When he turned back, George was sending him a very deadpan, very knowing look.

After that, Fred came in every single weekend. Mostly, he came with George, but occasionally he would come alone. Sometimes he brought others with him. Many times, he bustled into the pub with a whole gang of students; one you recognised as Harry Potter, the boy from the papers. One very chilly day in December was no different. The pub was full of students trying to get in from the cold and Fred, one of them, as full of energy, as usual, steered a younger girl to the bar by her shoulders. She was much shorter than him but she had the same red hair and freckles. She was a great deal prettier too, mind you.

“Hello, my dear, dear Y/N,” he said, leaning on the bar as you cleaned a pint glass with a rag.

“Fred, what a pleasure.”

Your tone may have been sarcastic but you couldn’t hide the fondness that leaked through. It had been so long and yet you still couldn’t shake your crush. Of course, it didn’t help, though, that Fred never let you forget it.

“Y/N, this is my sister, Ginny,” Fred pointed at the girl vaguely, barely taking his eyes off of you as his elbows settled on the sticky wood beneath them. “Ginny, this is Y/N – the most beautiful barkeep in the world.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, used to his teasing. He always did this. He always complimented you to try to get a rise and, despite yourself, you couldn’t help your reaction to him. He thrived off your awkwardly shy expressions and shaky movements and your responses to his compliments spurred him on the most.

“I’m so sorry he’s your brother,” you said to Ginny, shooting Fred a dull glance. Her eyebrows, which had been tightly knitted together in a frown, lifted immediately and a smile spread across her lips.

“Me too, don’t worry. You get used to it,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly hardy for such a small girl and you wondered, for a second, what horrors Fred and George had put her through. You both rolled your eyes as Fred mocked hurt and with an awkward but sweet wave, she left the bar, probably in search of her friends.

“How about a free butterbeer for your favourite customer?” Fred asked, smiling cheekily. You bit the inside of your cheek, rolling your eyes again. You played along though, knowing that he enjoyed messing with you and you enjoyed, well, any time you could spend with him. You leant on the opposite side of the bar; eyebrows furrowed as you pretended to look around. You tried to ignore the close proximity between your upper arms.

“I don’t see Hermione Granger anywhere?”

He choked a laugh, unable to contain his toothy grin, obviously pleased at your answer.

“Now that’s just plain cruel.”

“And you deserve it.”

“Here I was, thinking you liked me.”

You narrowed your eyes at his sad puppy dog expression, barely noticing George approach. “And why would I like you?” you replied far too quickly. There was an edge to your voice, but you hoped he didn’t hear it.

“Very defensive. Did you hear that, George?”

“I did indeed, Fred.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Y/N fancied me or something.”

You rolled your eyes, pouring a pint of butterbeer and pushing it over to Fred.

“It’s on the house if you piss off.”

Fred stood up dramatically straight, saluting you and shooting you a wink before walking over to where his sister had disappeared to, somewhere by Harry Potter and an assortment of other faces you recognised. The wink sent your mind into overdrive and with a marginally annoyed huff, you shook your head to try to dispel the heat from your cheeks; you hoped no one noticed it in the warmth of the pub.

“You know he fancies you too, right?” George asked, reminding you he was still there. He leant away from the bar on one of the beams holding the ceiling up.

“Pfft,” you reach for a glass, pouring George a pint. “Yeah, and I’m the seeker for the Holyhead Harpies.”

“Y/N, Fred’s dragged me in here nearly every bloody Hogsmeade trip for the last three years. Do you honestly think he’d do that only for a laugh?”

You shot him a dry look as you placed the pint on the counter.

“Fine, maybe he would. But not for you.”

You watched George fish through his pockets for some coins before offering them to you. You just shook your head, folding his fingers towards him and pushing the money away.

“He really does like you; he’s just a muppet that doesn’t know how to stop taking the piss. Think about it, yeah?”

Your nod as he left was absentminded, and you couldn’t help but stew a little on his words.

It wasn’t until you were ending your shift about a week later that you saw Fred again. He was wearing his Hogwarts uniform when he barrelled through the door and you nearly didn’t recognise him. You couldn’t deny he looked good and even as he stalked towards you, his snow-covered shoes ruining the floor you had just mopped, you had to admire him a little. Something about the rolled-up sleeves of his jumper and the red and gold of his tie was a good look for him and you could barely focus until he stopped right in front of you, almost trampling the mop in your hand.

“You know it’s not just a joke, right?”

It was then that you realised how serious he looked, and – wait, shouldn’t he be wearing a robe?

“Are you not cold?”

“Blood freezing, actually, but let’s not avoid the question, sweetheart.”

Too concerned about the weather and his lack of appropriate attire, you didn’t even register his words. You just grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him over to a seat by the fireplace. Without another word, grateful that everyone else had left for the day, you fetched him a blanket, tossing it around his shoulders before sitting down opposite him.

“What are you doing here? Are you even allowed here? Won’t you get in trouble?”

With the blanket huddled around his head, a boyish grin shaped his features and your insides twisted at how cute he looked.

“So, you care if I’m I get into trouble?”

You rolled your eyes, thumping him with the back of your hand. He rubbed his arm but his smile didn’t budge.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted, an uncharacteristically shy look on his face.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Blimey, is there an echo in here?”

You went to hit him again but he moved away before you could. He tilted his head from side to side as if debating something.

“We were packing to go back home for the holidays and George told me that you think it’s all just a joke.”

“What’s all just a joke?”

You knew you were probably being dim but you didn’t understand what he was talking about in the slightest – you hadn’t expected to see him again until January and whilst that didn’t particularly fill you with joy, you’d made your peace with it.

“Christ, you are being thick today,” he said, barking a laugh. “Us. You think we’re just a joke. Me and you.”

Us? Your stomach turned inside out at the word. You hadn’t realised Fred thought there was a ‘you and him’. When you didn’t say anything, Fred looked down, messing with hte edges of the blanket between his fingers.

“And I couldn’t have you thinking that could I? So, I came down here-“

“Without a coat.”

“Without a coat,” he rolled his eyes. “Because I had to make sure you knew.”

“Knew what?”

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears and whilst you were partly sure of what he meant, you needed him to say it. Knowing your luck, you’d end up connecting the dots wrong and making a thunderbird out of a bowtruckle.

“That all those jokes and stuff-“ he looked at you then, letting out a humourless laugh. “I fancy you, Y/N, okay. In an actually quite big and honestly quite inconvenient way.  And I realised, thanks to George actually, that you didn’t know that.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, mouth dropping open.

“You what?”

Your voice was much louder and much more incredulous than you’d intended. “You’ve been teasing me for bloody years and what? You actually feel the same?”

“Well,” he said with a small grin. “I wouldn’t say the same, you do have very strong-“

You moved to hit him with the back of your hand again when he caught your wrist and pulled you toward him. The blanket shrugged off his back as you were pulled over him, your faces dangerously close together.

“That’s practically domestic abuse.”

You could feel his breath on your lips.

“You know,” he wet his lips slowly, eyes flicking down to yours. “I’m quite glad I came,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand as you hovered over him. “Means I get to do this.”

His hand moved from behind your ear to your cheek and then he was kissing you. You would’ve been embarrassed at how loudly you sighed into his mouth had he not smiled, his hand abandoning your wrist to grab your waist, pulling you toward him so you were straddling his lap. Then his hands were everywhere, skimming up and down from your waist to your back to your hips; you could barely keep track as he stole your breath. The warmth of it all was perfect. His tongue lapped at your lips and your hands disappeared into his hair, pulling him closer. Against all that’s sane and good in the world, you both pulled away, breathing heavily. His hands settled on your waist as he stared up at you, eyes blown wide.

“Careful now,” he said, a smirk lifting the corner of his swollen lips. “Carry on like that, and I might think you fancy me or something.”

“You’re so fucking lucky I like you.”

And then you kissed him again.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #writing #imagine

[chloelucia13]

Chapter 14: Suzie, Do you Copy?

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x (kinda) Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt:  You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: Dustin’s return to Hawkins had overjoyed you, but other than that, there was no change to the normal routine of your summer. At least, that’s what you thought.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, spoilers (obvi), language, mentions of violence, injuries, pretty chill tbh

Word Count: 2764

A/N: AHHHH, I’m back finally! I’m so sorry I took so long to update this story! Hopefully I’ll be able to get back onto this series and update it regularly like I used to, but I can’t make any promises. For the time being, I hope you enjoy and make sure to keep an eye out for any updates! As always, my taglist and ask box is open! 

Tags: @just-my-fandom​, @nightbu-g​

You couldn’t recall a time you had woken up earlier than nine a.m. in the past month.

In all honesty, you had considered just sleeping in until the very last minute scramble to get dressed, rush out the door, and get back before Dustin got home.

Unfortunately that plan could not be executed as your mother woke you up, knowing you well enough that she could predict your plans.

And that was why you were at the mall at 10 a.m., your gaze focused on the floor as you made the trek over to Scoops Ahoy. Surprisingly, there was a small line in the shop, considering it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

As you finally stood at the counter and lifted your head, Steve visibly relaxed, his “customer service” persona fading. “Oh thank god, it’s just you,” he sighed, leaning against the counter.

“Just little ol’ me,” you hummed, absentmindedly rubbing at your eye. “God, has the day already gone to shit for you, Steve?”

“Well, he’s already struck out twice if that’s any indication,” Robin piped up, peeking through the window that peered into the back area.

“Twice? Didn’t you guys open just an hour ago?” 

“Don’t rub it in,” Steve huffed, a frown sinking onto his features.

“Fine, fine.”

You and Steve had grown close in the past six months, sharing a special bond that you honestly needed. Though you couldn’t decide if the bond grew from him literally saving your life, or from your significant others (well, for Steve at least) dating each other rather than you two. Both, probably.

“Are you here to order something or just to bully me?” he spoke finally, pulling his ice cream scooper from his makeshift-holster. 

“Right, right. Just a pint of cookie dough and a pint of strawberry,” you instructed, pulling a ten out of your pocket.

He nodded and began scooping the two pints of ice cream. “Who’s the cookie dough for?”

“Dustin.”

He looked up at you, his brows furrowed in confusion. “He’s coming back today?”

“Yeah!”

He sealed the lid of the cookie dough pint. “No one tells me anything!”

You rolled your eyes. “Steve, I told you this two days ago.”

You heard Robin let out a laugh in the back room and Steve pressed his lips into a line. “Do you want ice cream or not?!”

You laughed. “Come on, you know you’d never deprive your two favorite people of ice cream.”

He rolled his eyes and finished up the second pint, sliding both of them over to you as you handed him the $10 bill. “Do you work today?”

“Unfortunately. I’m just hoping I’ll be home before dark tonight because they’ve been fucking keeping me for hours after closing.”

“Doesn’t the pool close at like five?”

“Yup,” you huffed, popping the ‘p.’ “And, to top it all off, I’m stuck with Heather  and Billy today.”

The two of you cringed simultaneously. “Can’t say I’d rather be you.”

“Thanks for the support.” You took the change from Steve and stuffed it into your pocket before cradling both pints of ice cream in your arms. “Well, I gotta drop these off at home and then sit in the sun for a few miserable hours. I’ll call you when I get home.”

***

Your soul nearly left your body when a chorus of screams erupted in the kitchen as soon as you stepped in the front door. They fell silent a moment later, though, and a voice echoed out, “Oh, it’s just you.”

With a hand clutched over your chest, you rolled your eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you guys with my presence, but can we avoid killing me the next time you see me?” you huffed, still struggling to take in a proper breath.

We thought you were Dustin,” Lucas explained, a party blower between his teeth.

“Yeah, I figured.” You brushed past the group and put the ice cream in the freezer. “Can someone make sure that Dustin gets his ice cream? I won’t be able to see him until later tonight.”

“I can,” Will spoke up, raising his hand in the air.

“Finally, someone I can count on.” You grabbed the drawstring bag that held all of your items and slung it over your shoulder. “How’s Jonathan enjoying his job at the newspaper?”

There was a small silence. “You haven’t talked to him about it?” Mike spoke up, and Max swatted his arm.

You shook your head, the healing scratch on your eye beginning to burn slightly. “No, not yet. We’ve, uh... We’ve both been too busy. We haven’t talked in a couple of weeks.” More like a month.

There was another silence before Will spoke. “He likes it. He has the dark room all to himself,” he explained, his voice gentle and hesitant.

“Good. That’s good. Tell him I said hi, or something.” You cleared your throat before turning to the group and giving them a smile. “I gotta head to work. You guys have fun, okay?”

***

God, you felt like vomiting.

Everything seemed to be going wrong today, like you forgetting to bring your sunscreen and sunglasses, Billy and Heather’s constant pestering and gossiping, Billy ignoring his job so he could flirt with Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Wheeler completely ignoring you so she could flirt with Billy, the dozens of kids that had coined multiple nicknames for you and your scar, and the 101 degree temperature that was unrelenting.

Luckily, though, the day was close to coming to an end. Most of the crowd had thinned, excluding a couple of kids who spent the whole day there anyways and adults who insisted on lingering until they absolutely had to leave. 

The shriek of a whistle startled you from your thoughts, your head slipping from your hand and making you lurch forward slightly. A group of muffled cackles sounded to your right, and you rolled your eyes. “Can I help you, or are you just here to make my life a living hell,” you grumbled, snapping your gaze over to Billy and Heather.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted a water, but I guess not,” Heather huffed, stubbornly crossing her arms over your chest.

You gave her a doubtful glance. “Were you really?”

She laughed. “No. Now get up, It’s my turn on deck.”

With a huff you stepped down the ladder and tucked your book and raft under your arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Billy step closer. “Billy, if you push me in the pool you’re gonna wake up with no fucking mullet tomorrow.”

The pair just laughed behind you condescendingly, and you stomped away with a scowl etched on your face.

Ever since the... altercation that occurred months ago, Billy had kept his distance from you. It was a relief, knowing that he wouldn’t test your limits for the sake of his own health. But that didn’t stop him from sprinkling in some teasing every single time he spoke to you.

The hot concrete stung the soles of your feet, and you picked up your pace so you could get to the office before your feet blistered.

“Hey, no running!”  You froze at the voice, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Slowly, you turned on your heel to face the source. 

Jonathan stood behind the fence, his hands in his pockets and a shy smile on his face.

“Jonathan?” you whispered, tilting your head slightly as if you were a dog. 

“Hey Y/N,” he hummed, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

A small smile settled on your face and you walked over to the fence, a silent sigh of relief leaving your lips when your feet settled on the grass that bordered the fence. “Hey! W-What are you doing here? I thought you got out the same time that I did?”

“I do, I just uh... I wanted to go on a walk.”

You nodded. “Oh, okay.”

“And I uh, I wanted to see you. Just see how you were doing, I mean.”

You let out a small chuckle, hooking your fingers through one of the chain links in the fence. “I’m doing good. I mean, as good as I can be sitting in the heat for five hours straight with no sunglasses. How have you been?”

“I-I’m good. Isn’t Dustin back in town?”

“He is, he just got back today. I haven’t seen him yet, though. How’s your job at the paper going?”

“It’s good, really good. I’m enjoying it a lot.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The two of you stood silently, avoiding each other’s gaze except for the spare glances you’d risk. 

“I should get going,” Jonathan spoke finally, a hint of reluctance in his voice. 

“Right, yeah,” you hummed, clearing your throat. “It was good to see you, Johnny.”

“You too.” His mouth opened as if he wanted to say more, but he decided against it, giving you an awkward wave before walking away.

You lingered there for a moment, an all-too-familiar ache in your chest as you watched him walk away from you.

***

After rinsing off, getting changed, and making a final check of the area, you were finally off for the night. You could feel your shoulders nearly weighing your entire body down and your eyelids were extremely close to falling shut at any moment. Silently, you made the trek through the parking lot and over to your car. 

You hopped in the driver’s seat and fished your key out of your bag before putting it in the ignition and twisting.

And twisting again.

And one more time.

Shit.

You slammed your hands against the wheel and let out a groan, throwing your head back against the headrest. “Of course. Of fucking course,” you grumbled.

Then you began to weigh your options. The first idea that came to your mind was walking home, but you quickly decided against it as you were too exhausted and it was too far. 

Your next idea was to walk over to The Hawkins Post and see if you could catch a ride with Jonathan. But you knew that wherever Jonathan was, Nancy would also be. For a moment, you contemplated swallowing your embarrassment and fear and just do it, but again, you decided against that option.

Then you thought about using the phone in the office to call Steve, but you had no idea if he was even home.

And after running through all of the ideas in your mind, you last ditch plan walked past your peripheral.

You shoved all of your disgust down and hopped out of your car, rushing to try and catch up.

“Billy!” you shouted, trying to stuff your keys back in your bag as you jogged over to him.

He stopped and turned to look at you, part-confusion and part-annoyance wrinkling his features. “What?” he huffed.

“Can you, um...” You shifted awkwardly, the reality of the moment catching up to you. “Would you mind giving me a ride home? My car won’t start.”

He rolled his eyes, fishing a pack of cigarettes out from his leather jacket. “Y’know, any other night I’d love to, but I’ve actually got plans tonight. Call a tow truck or something.”

“Billy, please.” Your shoulders slumped. “I don’t live that far from you.”

“Who said I was going home?” 

Your jaw tightened and you pulled your bag higher up on your shoulder. “I’ll pay you $20. Just please.”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to do it? I saw you talking to him earlier.”

“He’s not my boyfriend! Goddammit-” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath and scrubbing a hand over your face. “$50.”

He stood there a moment, placing a cigarette between his teeth as he silently debated it. “Fine. But you’re paying me upfront.”

You bit your tongue and refrained from snapping at him, instead pulling your wallet from your bag and handing him a $50 bill. He snatched it from your fingers and shoved it in his back pocket before nodding his head over to his car and heading that way. 

Though the anxiety from asking him was gone, it was replaced with the anxiety of being in a vehicle with a man who very clearly hated your guts. Your brain was nagging you to just walk home, but you pushed the annoying warnings away and got in the passenger seat.

Billy had exited the parking lot before you even had a chance to put on your seatbelt, the engine roaring as he tore down the empty streets. The ride was silent other than that annoying engine, his godawful music, and your heart racing so loudly and harshly that you felt as if you were about to have a heart attack.

Whether it was your panic or your swarming thoughts, you had zoned out for the first few minutes of the ride. When you finally came to, you realized that you were nowhere near your house. “Did you take a wrong turn?” you mumbled, brows furrowing confusedly.

He scoffed, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “No, I have an errand to run,” he explained as if you were stupid, as if you were already aware of his plans.

Oh my god, he’s gonna kill me.

You gulped, gripping onto your drawstring bag. “What errand?”

“Well, I had already made plans with Karen before you decided to ask for my help, so you’re tagging along.”

Your jaw dropped and you turned in your seat to face him. “You’re making me sit in the car while you hook up with Mrs. Wheeler? You said you were gonna take me home!”

“I did, but I didn’t specify when.” He was grinning from ear to ear, and you had to move your hands under your thighs so you didn’t smack that look off of his face.

“You motherfucker. Literally.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up and get in the back seat. I don't want her seeing you.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Excuse me?” 

“I said-”

His words were cut off by a large object hitting the windshield, making both of you jump and causing him to lose control of the vehicle. The car spun off of the road and collided into a tree on your side, making Billy’s head collide into his door and crushing your door into your body.

A slew of curses and grunts fell from your mouth as you worked your way out of the seat, feeling your ribs ache with each breath as you finally got out from between the door and the center console. You sat down on the center console and gripped onto the back of the seat for balance.

“Oh, no,” Billy grumbled from beside you, eyes wide as he took in the damage. The stereo still spat out a distorted and garbled sound that resembled the music that were playing earlier as Billy tried to restart the car, to no avail. “Piece of shit.”

You finally glanced over at him. “You’re bleeding,” you wheezed out, watching the blood drip down his forehead and into his eye.

He reached up and touched the wound, pulling away and glancing down at his fingers with disdain. “Shit.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel before shoving his door open and crawling out. You followed behind him, collapsing to the ground beside his feet. You gripped onto his arm and heaved yourself up.

Billy left your side to attempt to pry the passenger door open, only for a spew of expletives to fall from his mouth. “Yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking,” you huffed, leaning against the car and clutching your right side as he stomped past you and over to the front of the car.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, leaning close to the windshield and gliding his finger along the spiderwebbed glass. “What the hell?”

A strange ooze clung to his finger, stretching between his hand and the windshield with a strong elasticity. “Fuck.”

A rustling in the shrubs near the building you stood by attracted both of your attention, your heart leaping to your throat.

“Who’s there!” Billy shouted, his body standing straight up.

“I don’t think it’s a who,” you grumbled, reaching for your pocket knife in your back pocket.  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

As you opened your mouth to explain, Billy fell to the ground and was lugged away by a snaking vine. You screamed, but before you could move onto the car and off of the ground, a similar vine wrapped around your legs and dragged you through the dirt

#stranger things #stranger things 3 #stranger things season 3 #Jonathan byers #Jonathan x reader #billy hargrove #Steve harrington #dustin henderson #will byers #Joyce byers #mike wheeler #eleven #Nancy wheeler #Lucas sinclair #max mayfield #jim hopper #platonic!reader #henderson!reader #stranger things x reader #st x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #stranger things 2 #st imagine #st one shot #st series

[bigkyloenergy]

𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙈

 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕: 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃.

a witcher!kylo x reader fic. dark themes, smut ahead. 18+.

summary: you are a barmaid / stablewoman at an inn in toussaint, kylo ren, one of the last of the witchers from the school of the viper regularly stays at the establishment. you wonder what keeps him coming back.

read on ao3.

Empty mugs piled the tables faster than you could keep up tonight, collecting them in your arms and being forced to inhale the putrid smell of ale that should’ve gotten familiar by now. You wrinkled your nose, hoping no leftovers would splash on your clothes as you journeyed to the kitchen. The first snowfall had hit, and it was heavy, the windows covered in blankets of fluffy white curtains. Men huddled near the fire, booking more days than normal, waiting for it to pass. While your impatience wore differently. 

Subconsciously, your mind could conjure the exact days since you’d seen him. 

But the last few days have been check in, check out — change sheets, check in again, check out early — is that person even still here?... and repeat, your body was a machine catered to serving. 

Seemed like useless tasks now that you knew what it was like to awaken every nerve ending that you possessed. For what seemed like millionth time, you damned the Viper who had found routine passing in your workplace, leaving you with this cursed form, like leftover ash from a campfire.

You counted the keys gone when you slinked back behind the counter, wiping your forehead on the back of your sleeve, grateful when you found only a few missing. The last week they’d been emptied, along with your sanity. 

  “Pst, missy,” Ruek whispered from behind you, and you turned to see his fuzzy face peeking from behind the heavy kitchen door, “you got anymore orders?” 

  “No,” you gave him a tired smile, “just checked out ten guys in a row, who I swear were the same person.” 

  “Beards’ll do that to ya,” his kind eyes squinted as he emerged, and you leaned against your station, giving your feet a slight break, “they make us pretty. Here, close your eyes and open up. I’ve got a surprise.” 

Hesitating, you gave him a look, tipping your chin as you tried to see what he was holding behind his back. He clicked his tongue, “Come on, your cheating nature is showing, close your damn eyes it’s not gonna kill ya.” 

Finally, you sighed, doing as he said. You could use a bit of a distraction from work anyway, all you did was go home, plant your face into the pillow only to wake up to the same programming. 

  “Open,” he reminded, which only made you more annoyed. It was Ruek, so you inevitably gave in to avoid the argument. You felt something cold on your lip, reaching your tongue toward the ‘special’ treat, and biting into… chocolate? Quickly, juices poured into your mouth, which urged you to finally open your eyes. 

The cook stood, grinning proudly, a dipped strawberry in his hand. “Eck, Ru, you should've warned me, you know how I am about stuff that sweet.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but what followed was not from him.

  “I used to think this inn had good service,” Kylo’s voice strapped you to an invisible post, straightening your back, choking on the leftover flavors. 

The Viper wasn’t looking at you, he was staring straight at Ruek, exigently demanding a response. 

  “My fault, thought Miss could use a little break.” 

  “Hm.” 

You wanted him to look at you, your very soul was demanding it, to be drowned, the striking yellow in his eyes two suns that burned everything in their path, and you the phoenix who rose under them.

How long had he been here?  

   “Do you need a key?” You finally spoke, trying to sound nonchalant, licking the bits of chocolate off of your lips as you reached for one.

  “No. I already have one.” 

What? Betty wasn’t even here. You had been the only one checking anyone in and out for the last couple days. Your brows furrowed. 

  “There’s a spill near the gwent tables.” He added.

  “Is that why you came over here?” You could feel Ruek looking at you, wondering why the hell you were questioning the man in the first place. Of course, The Viper didn’t answer, nor did he fully acknowledge your presence.

  “I got it. If we have no more orders. No problem. Just — uh let Jerrid know if you need anything from the kitchen.” Ruek shuffled away while you were too busy playing stare off with Kylo’s mask. 

  “You let everyone’s fingers in your mouth, little müna?”

  “What? No. He has me taste test stuff all the time,” gods, this man kept you oversharing at any crumb of attention he gave you, still severely irritated with overgrown mutant though you began to smirk, “is that why you came over here? Are you.. are you jealous?” 

  “You expect me to play cards next to someone’s secretions.”

  “It is, isn’t it? You can play Mr. Keepaway all you want, you think you have this affect on me where you can use me to your will. But you wanna know what I know that you don’t?” 

He didn’t respond, eye twitching, which only aided you, leaning over the counter that Kylo could very easily hop, and this was when he finally met your eyes. Though your traitor of a body screamed with validation, you only grinned.

  “I know this isn’t one sided. What would you do if you knew I fucked him?” You didn’t, of course, but the thought of making The Viper jealous thrilled you to the core, “If I let him cum in my mouth without having to force my jaw open? If he was the one I was fallin—” 

Your chin was grabbed, keeping you still over the counter, your feet almost hovering on the floor. Leather squished your cheeks, his gaze scooping your bravery from you in a single second. 

  “Careful.” The Witcher warned, studying your face, tipping it slightly in his grip, reviving the soreness in your jaw.

  “Or what, Kylo?”

He paused, and for some reason you knew you weren’t going to lack a response this time. Dropping you, he left you to land against the bartop, and his broad shoulders turned toward the small crowd. 

  “Leave.” His voice was a crack of thunder, splitting the customers' relaxation in half.

Most scattered to their feet, afraid of why this King of the Abyss was evicting them, not wanting to take the chance. The men who were brave enough to stay were met with a glint of silver, only to follow, and you heard the silence from valleys away. 

Your eyes darted to find Ruek, there was no living thing in that room except you and Kylo.

If he was even living. 

  “What the hell? What’re you doing? Are you trying to make me lose my job?” He caught your neck again, like it was a new skill he was practicing, then pulled his mask down over his chin.

The whole world stopped. Your breathing was arrested in your lungs, feeling a rush of awareness cut off your circulation and leave you dizzy with the sight of perfect, scarred lips, remembering how earnestly they had caressed your breasts atop of his horse. He was grimacing, wrinkles near his nose as he looked down at you. A lost warning. 

He slammed you into the nearest table, not paying mind to any of the silverware that was under you nor the plates he had just shattered on the floor. Standing between your legs that hung off the end of the it, the fireplace triggered the iridescence of his armor, another engligment to why he wore his title so well. 

You couldn’t stop studying his face, mapping every curve, and you were needy as you leaned up in an attempt to capture his mouth, find every ingredient of what made up this man that haunted you, possessed you. 

Not a ghost, but a demon. 

Just as your lips brushed against the tip of his, your tongue an anxious explorer, he pressed you back down into the oak. 

  “You are mine,” He spat, his lips curling around his teeth as he let the word marinate on his tongue. 

  “No,” you gasped, “f—fuck you, I’m not anyone’s, and you out of everyone has shown me that.” 

  “No? So your cunt isn’t soaked for me right now?” Your thighs pressed together, lips parting just at the words rolled off his venomous tongue, yet you shook your head in pure denial. “Liar. I can smell you. Can practically taste it.” The unoccupied hand ran along the outside of your thigh, under your skirts, til he pinched the fat between his fingers. 

The way his mask hung at his chin was just as sensual as his voice, you didn’t even know how that was physically possible, then again this man broke the rules of reality every time you saw him. He pulled you down further, pressing his hips into yours, “Say it.” 

  “I won’t,” your voice broke with a whine as you felt the bulge in his pants, your legs wrapping around him without a second thought, he smacked your calf, forcing them to hang once more. You groaned, yearning to feel some sort of pressure at your pulsing clit, your body’s temperature spiking by the second. 

  “Hm. We’ll see.” 

The Viper plucked the string that held your bodice together, pulling it until it completely unraveled, your blouse the only thing that hid your perking breasts. You looked down to his gloved hand, then back to him, hair skating over his shoulders, gods-made handles for your undoing. You let out a sigh as he thumbed your nipple through the material, keeping his palm wrapped around your throat. Your hips buckled, finding nothing, the beast keeping his hips perfectly spaced from yours so you couldn’t use him for any sort of pleasure. You felt your blood boiling, and not just from the intricate torture he was inflicting. No man had ever had this affect on you, but he was not any man. 

A low growl came from deep in Kylo’s throat, and your eyes opened, not realizing you shut them in the first place. He was unblinking, watching your reaction as the stitch of his glove rolled around the bud. 

  “Please, Kylo,” you begged, shattering every restraint you had just from seeing him so immersed in you like this, still clothed yet utterly hopeless, knowing he was your only salvation.

  “Say it.” 

You whined, one of your fists hitting the table, not wanting to give into him. But you weren’t the only one suffering. Pulling your top down, he released your tits from their confines, and immediately consumed them. His mouth opened, hot and wet, leaving easy marks as he glided from one to the other, tightening his hand on your neck every time your chittering frame squirmed. 

One of your hands found his hair, and you were surprised when he didn’t pull it from his head. You took the opportunity earnestly, digging your fingers through the raven locks, breaking through knots to find a good grip. He sucked on you like he was getting oxygen straight from your skin, popping a nipple from his mouth only to give the same attention to the other. 

Your cunt was pulsing so badly it hurt, every flutter mocking the emptiness of it, so much that you had to swallow down noises at every flick of the Viper’s tongue. 

Leather fingers danced back down your form, parting your thighs, not hesitating as they peeled your panties from your saturated pussy. The first time you had his cock, you fucked yourself into a rage trying to mimic the way it felt, three fingers wasn’t enough for the fantasy and you knew it. Being so close to that now left you ravenous, forgetting the challenge that was imposed in the first place. 

He ran the tip of his finger down the line of your lips, collecting the juices at the end of it with a single scoop before he pushed it back inside of you. Barely spreading you as he toyed with your entrance, circling and stretching it open, already making wet noises in the emptied inn. 

  “Fuck! I — please fuck me, please. I’ll do anything. Please just — fuck Kylo, please.” The words could barely be made out through insistent whines, he stayed silent, his mouth and finger working diligently to send you over that edge, into the pool of his domination. 

He reached his thumb up to press pressure on your clit, never moving it, while the finger hooked inside of you, and your whole body jerked forward. Kylo quickly put your back in your place, mentally and physically, forcing you to remember his promise. 

  “I’m yours! Okay! I’m yours, puhleaaase, just please…” You couldn’t even properly be convincing, though you meant it, even if you didn’t want to admit it outside of him fucking you sensless. 

He yielded both of his hands, lifting his face from your chest and ridding you of the secure grip you had on his head. Honey yellow eyes surveyed you from your heavy lidded gaze, all the way down to your lifted skirts, then back up again. 

  “Hm. I suppose I need to be more convincing.” In one languid motion, he had your dress above your head, corset falling to the floor with it, leaving you completely bare on top of the main round table in the dead center of your job. Ruek could be watching from the back for all you knew. 

Kylo leered above you, his chest filling, consuming your gaze as much as he did your mind. His teeth pinched the middle finger of his glove, pulling it off with his mouth.

Your stomach flipped. 

He grabbed the amulet that hung at his neck, snapping it off and rolling it around in his hand, examining it the same way he did you. You could swear you saw his eyes glisten with… something, before his focus was back.

The Viper’s large fist started to glow, and soon so did the metal.

Anticipation tickled the back of your neck, your heartbeat similar to an approaching wardrum as it filled your eyes the more you watched, “what’re you doing?” 

  “Showing you.” He didn’t blink.

  “Showing me what?” 

  “Who you belong to.” 

The metal of the viper face was red hot, smoking nearly. He held it between two fingers, grabbing your thigh in one hand and tugging you as you began to crawl up the table. You obediently stilled. 

“Don’t move or we’ll have to do it again.” 

You sucked in a breath of air, senses filling with his scent — pine, mint, leather, the very earth. Just as you did he began to line his cock up with your entrance, rubbing against the folds. He hushed you as you squeaked, and began to lower the medallion down between the hills of your chest. He perfectly lined it up, not having to look twice before he dropped his hand down, and you cried out. The flesh boiled and singed, and the entire map of your skin feeling the aftermath.

The pain was quickly distracted by another as he split you open, a growl being spat between his teeth as his cock sunk all the way into you, giving no time to adjust to the overwhelming size of him. Your nails dug at the stained wood, scratching for some kind of stability as your skin bubbled, painting a gift made by the Viper himself, all while the tip of his dick began to wrack against your cervix. 

Your eyes rolled back completely into your head, nimble fingers finding straps of his armor to hold onto, which only assisted him in beating his hips off of your cunt. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, your knee barely making it to curve, it only helped the Witcher angle you to his pillaging. 

The smell of burnt flesh filled your nose, truly you almost forgot about the branding he had just centered on your torso, meeting euphoria with the way his cock worked inside of you. It sent you to another plane, both of his large hands gripping your hips as he forced your smaller frame to bounce off of him. Forks and other leftover dining ware pinched at your back, ridding them off the table the more he pounded you.

His eyes were blazing carnality, encapsulating the definition of primal. 

  “You are mine,” he spoke through each stroke of his hips, dropping the carved metal to hold your body still with the familiar hold on your neck, “every inch of you… you are a hole for me to fuck. And that is all you are.” 

You whined, specks floating in your sight as you kept alert, eyes so heavy with pleasure it was damn near blinding you. 

  “The next time you let another man touch you,” a sharp smack of his hips, pain crawling up your spine, threatening to quite literally break you, “I will fuck you atop of his carcass.” 

Another plunge of his cock and the table was splintering under you, until it snapped in two. Kylo didn’t care — in fact, it was as if it didn’t even happen, the perfect savage beat he was plowing you with was never broken. 

He just used his own body as a kickstand for your lower half, the persistent assault keeping you where he wanted, finding no need in his hands other than to appreciate your body.

Kylo twisted your nipple, sliding across the spot he had just engraved, your lips parting in return. You heard another grunt from him, forcing your dazed focus on his face, which would forever be your most vivid memory, and you couldn’t even bring warning for the orgasm that he was inducing. 

Just as it creeped up, his bare thumb was circling expertly over your swollen knot, breaking the dam. Your climax poured in, walls clenching and milking his cock in the process. 

A gritty groan was dropped into your ear, and it only served as a catalyst to your silent screams, legs shaking while your cunt became much more sensitive. You tried to pull up, away from his relentless motions, he didn’t let you, just chased you along the broken table, filling you to the brim. 

Lewd sounds began to echo with the crackles of the fire, and all you could focus on was him — he was watching his cock go in and out of you, holding your skirts above your waist to get a good view of his slickened dick, pushing him toward his own finale, using you every inch of the way. 

You could barely tell from his face when he finished, you studied the Viper like it was your true passion, fossilizing his mannerisms, expressions, even his voice. You ate up every moment, the threat of them being memories a looming shadow of presence. The tiny twitch of his nose, deep wrinkle of his forehead, subtle signs he was coming apart for you. 

He pulled out of your fluttering cunt, after leaving a lazy kiss on the scabbing mark of possession he’d left, being more gentle with that than any part of you.

Kylo pulled his mask back over his face before he was tucking his cock away. You were almost sad to see it go. 

If he didn’t come back after this, maybe you’d be okay. You looked down at the piece of himself that he permanently placed on you, your finger running on the curve of its open mouth. It didn’t hurt, maybe due to the adrenaline pumping through your veins. By the time you looked back up, he was turned. 

  “What’re you—”

  “Sh.” 

Your lips pressed together, wanting to reach for your dress, yet something about him told you not to move a muscle. 

The door pushed open, a panicked villager entering, tripping over themselves at every step.

  “Help, a monster is attacking the town! It’s killing everyone, my family, please!” 

#kylo ren fanfic #witcher fanfic #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #ben solo x reader #Witcher AU #witcher!kylo #hv. #dead dove elements #tw branding #tw noncon #tw violence

[aesthbaby]

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event. 

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that. 

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her.  He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of  babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

 Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.  

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips.  You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward,  “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage. 

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob  @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425  @fanfictionfangirl04  @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl  @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby​

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #reader x emily prentiss #agent emily prentiss #prentiss x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fbi fanfic #fbi x reader #fbi cbs #fbi #cbs #x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #x y/n #you x emily prentiss #lesbian #emily prentiss fanfic #hurt/comfort #secret #female reader #bau #emily prentiss x fem!reader #reader interactive #reader insert

[uvobreakmylegs]

Coffee Break

there’s a severe lack of Franklin x reader content and I wanted to try and fix that

Franklin sat at the back of the small cafe, almost tucked away behind an oddly-placed wall and out of view of the majority of the other patrons in the building. He was aware that the manager didn't like him due to how his appearance tended to make other people nervous, and that didn't at all fit with the inviting atmosphere the cafe was supposed to give off. So every time Franklin came in the hostess would take him to the small table in the back at the manager's instruction, in an attempt to hide him from other customers. Unwanted because he scared customers, but tolerated because he brought in money for the business. Franklin suspected that the instant he did anything to upset the manager further he would be promptly banned. But that didn't particularly matter to him; he didn't even like the food that they served.

The only reason he came to that cafe was because of you.

His first time entering the cafe had been an impulsive decision, just to see if it was any good. In general he didn't like going out to eat on his own. Among other nen users, he unusual, but among the non-nen using majority of the population he was a freak. And while he could hardly care of what others thought of him, the fearful reactions and the constant worried glances got old quick.

The reaction from the hostess had been stiff, and the dinner he ordered wasn't good at all. If anyone else had served him that evening, he wouldn't have come back.

But it had been you. Even hours after he had left he found his thoughts drifting to you.

Though you had done well to mask it, he could spot the surprise on your face when you laid eyes on him and took in his unusual appearance. But it had only been in that one moment, and after that you had taken on a professional retail smile as you greeted him and wrote down his order. Your body language indicated that you were comfortable with him, and you had even engaged in some light small talk, asking if it was his first time at the cafe. It was obvious that it was, but he just nodded, prompting you to thank him for visiting the cafe and expressing your hope that he would enjoy the food. When you'd checked on him in the middle of his meal he lied and said that the food tasted fine. And on handing him his check, you had told him that you hoped he would come again.

Anyone but you and he would have forgotten the place.

“Sorry for the wait, Franklin.”

Your voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see you approaching. You didn't bother pulling out your notepad after you placed a glass of water in front of him.

“Just the usual, or did you want something different today?”

“The usual,” he said, nodding.

“Alright. One coffee coming up.”

The only options on the cafe's menu that Franklin found he somewhat liked were only on their breakfast menu, and he suspected that was where the cafe found the majority of its business as that was always when it was busiest. But you didn't work mornings often, so when he went in during lunch hours he would order a single coffee. It only served to further annoy the manager with how little he was spending, but you didn't mind, greeting him just as warmly whenever he came in.

When he decided that he wanted you, he memorized your schedule and made an effort to go in two or three times a week. With the hostesses always placing him at that table in your section, he quickly became a regular customer of yours, and by now you knew him well enough to call him by name. Hearing his name coming from your lips was nice. He wished he could hear that more often. To talk to you outside of that cafe setting, for you to open yourself up to him completely and accept him.

If only that was something that could be done fast.

Franklin wasn't delusional. While he was infatuated, he was well aware that part of the way you treated him was just you doing your job and that you didn't have any sort of romantic feelings for him. He could tell that you at least found him interesting. You asked him questions in the brief chances that you had, asking him about his life: where he was from, what he did for a living, how he came to be in the area. Your desire to know more about him was an innocent one. He imagined that you had never encountered anyone quite like him in your life and your curiosity got the better of you. It was just a shame that almost all of his answers were lies; they had to be given the nature of his life as a criminal. At times it made him feel guilty that he gave you so few honest answers. But lying was his only option and he told himself that he would make it up to you later, when he had gotten closer.

As many of those small questions you asked, you were always careful to never bring up the scars on his face. Likely because you perceived that to be a sensitive subject, but it was also just as likely that you asking such a question would be grossly inappropriate. At this point Franklin could say that the two of  you had a thin friendship, but there was always a barrier that separated the two of you as 'customer' and 'worker', and as certain as he was that you did genuinely like him, it didn't go beyond that. That scenario of the two of you together, of you loving him, was a long way off.

It would have been easy to just take you. You didn't live with any family and seemed to keep to yourself outside of your work hours. There would be some news if you suddenly disappeared, but the sad truth was it wouldn't take all that long for you to become another missing person who vanished without a trace and inevitably forgotten by those who had known you. But the experience of being kidnapped would no doubt break you. You would fear him, and that was the one thing he didn't want. The last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid.

So for this, he would take his time and slowly reel you in. He wasn't always the most patient man, but he could be for the things that mattered, and slowly but surely he would break down the barrier between you two.

You set down a hot cup in front of him, along with a small bowl filled with coffee creamers.

“Anything interesting happening with your job?” you asked. It was a recent development that you skipped the formalities, not bothering to ask if he needed anything else since the answer was always 'no'.

“What did you say your job was again?”

“Security,” he answered.

“Ah! Right.”

“There's nothing interesting to speak of, I'm afraid,” Franklin continued, “work is the same as ever.”

You hummed.

“That can be nice, though,” you said, “nothing interesting means nothing bad happening, right? And that must be good for that line of work.”

“I suppose that's true,” he said, smiling at you. He then noticed your manager glaring from behind you.

“Your boss doesn't seem too happy,” he whispered.

“Ah!”

You moved quickly, giving him the standard customer service line of enjoying his drink before vanishing to the kitchen, your manager following after.

Franklin sat there with the coffee, the mug comically small in his hand, sipping the beverage slowly. The time he had with you was always too short, but that was to be expected. The setting didn't allow for any long or truly meaningful conversations. You were, after all, on the clock. At some point soon, he hoped he could go to that next step: of meeting you outside of your workplace and speaking with you freely, when there wouldn't be any sense of obligation on your part because he was a customer who knew where you worked. That you would trust him, and then he could work on getting closer.

Minutes passed. You had come back out and were doing other tasks, serving other customers. Franklin watched you from the corner of his eye. It wouldn't do if the other staff caught him blatantly staring at you and warned you about it. He had to be certain that he didn't do anything that could potentially put you off. His glances were brief, and you made your way through your section, unaware of the eyes on you and the thoughts that ran through his head. You were such a weak thing in this incredibly harsh world. So many like you died every day and you didn't even know it. There were so many ways you could have died before this point, from being eaten by some magical beast, getting killed by a rouge nen user, or just by being taken advantage of by a man with dark intentions.

Someone like himself.

That thought flew through his mind, and Franklin couldn't help but smirk. He was exactly the sort of man you should be avoiding: a wanted criminal followed by an endless trail of bodies of which he held no remorse for. But he intended on you remaining ignorant of that fact. He didn't want you to view him in such a light, so he would simply tread carefully and as time went on, he would wedge his way further into your life until you were his.

You came by with the check a short time later, placing the slip on the table as you collected the now empty cup. He thought once again of your boss, and decided to see what your reaction would be if he mentioned him.

“Your manager doesn't like me much, does he?” Franklin asked.

You paused.

“Ah, well....” you trailed off, glancing behind you as if your boss would magically appear at the sound of his name.

“Between you and me,” you whispered, leaning in closer, to which Franklin found himself leaning in as well.

“He's just an asshole. So don't pay attention to him.”

You straightened back up quickly, looking back behind you while Franklin chuckled.

“And don't tell him I said that,” you laughed, a light blush on your face.

“Never,” he replied.

You vanished once more into the kitchen while he paid the bill. It may not have meant much to you, but it was the most you had ever done to drop the customer service veil and speak with him like that, even if it was just about the worthless manager. It meant that you trusted him to a certain extent.

Franklin made his way out of the cafe, other patrons and servers stepping out of his path as he walked along, all looking anxious as he walked by. The typical reactions he was used to. Out on the sidewalk, he checked his phone for the time. Nobu wanted him to join in on a job, and since Uvogin was also going to be there, he didn't want to deal with a lecture on being late.

With one last glance through the cafe window, he hoped to see you before he left. And he did.

But what he didn't expect was to see you looking back at him.

You seemed caught as off-guard as he was, with you blinking in surprise as the two of you made eye contact. But then you smiled at him. A small, but genuine smile accompanied by a small wave of your hand. Franklin couldn't remember any time someone had looked at him so sweetly.

He waved back in response and watched as you quickly returned to your work.

This was good.

As Franklin began to make his way to his meeting point, his thoughts remained on you. That barrier was breaking faster than he expected.

#yandere hunter x hunter #franklin bordeau #hxh franklin #reader insert #yandere x reader #franklin x reader #yandere

[thewatermelloncat]

Dancing Lights (Rosénali Part 1/5)

Summary: Rosé works at a bar and Denali catches her eye from the dance floor. The problem is Rosé doesn’t want to make the first move.

Author’s Note: May continue – I don’t know.

Warnings: None

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

The sparkling of her dress is nothing compared to the sparkling of the seltzer she had just poured. The way the changing lights catch every movement as she dances, refracting colours as they bounce off the glittered fabric of a dress that she herself could never hope to pull off.

For weeks Rosé had overheard Lagoona and Jan in the back of her mind asking why she doesn’t just ask her name. Internally she feels like the stakes are too high for her to risk messing it up – externally she ignores them and walks away from the conversation.

Ignoring the attraction isn’t normally a problem since the bar is always busy, especially on Fridays. They’re never short of anything to do so Rosé can always find an excuse not to talk when the dark-haired woman catches her eye.

“Did you see the way she looked at you when you walked past?” Jan chatters when Rosé walks back behind the bar from collecting glasses off tables.

“No.” She hadn’t, but she had felt it.

“You should a-”

“Say it, I dare you” Rosé warns, turning to lean a hip against the counter and crossing her arms, unamused. “Tell me to ask her name.”

“I wasn’t going to say that” Jan lies, her voice raised multiple pitches and half her lips bitten between her teeth. Her eyes also avoid Rosé’s until she flashes her a charming smile.

“Sure, you weren’t” Rosé rolls her eyes before they flick around the crowd of the bar, seeing a lull in patrons. “I’m going to do prep out back.”

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

Not that Rosé is opposed to being a part of large crowds, but there is something nice about being out back on her own. The sound of the music is slightly dulled through the single wall between herself and the bar, and there is no one to hang around practicing terrible pick-up lines on her as if they’d ever work.

By now she’s been measuring out pre-mixes and opening and closing containers long enough that her nail polish is starting to chip and she inwardly curses before realising that, ultimately, she doesn’t care. Probably time for a new colour anyway.

“Rosie! We need you out front!” Lagoona calls through the door to the bar on her left.

Looking up from the bench she can sense the growing crowd in front of the bar. No longer hearing the thumping of dance music she knows that the DJ must be changing sets: always a busy time for drink orders. After putting the last containers into the fridge, she abandons the remainder of ingredients left on the bench and makes for the door.

As soon as she steps back behind the bar a pack of customers are there to greet her. She wastes no time in walking up behind the counter and plastering a friendly smile on her face, joining Jan and Lagoona in serving the crowd.

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

Despite the quantity of people, Rosé works calmly, having long outgrown the overwhelmed look in her eyes. She works mechanically taking orders, turning to the rack for a glass, stepping over to the cupboard for the alcohol. Turning back to the counter to pour it and sliding the glass over to the customer. With a crowd of this much she doesn’t bother to make small talk, she’ll get the tips from the efficiency of her service.

As the crowd is winding down, she turns to the next customer in line without paying attention to who it is.

Why now of all times her bright smile falls from her face at the sight of the dark-haired woman in front of her, she doesn’t know.

“Can I get a drink, please?” she prompts after Rosé had forgotten to say anything.

“Uh, yeah sure” Rosé stumbles with a disorientated blink of her eyes.

“Can I get a shot of tequila?”

Rosé nods and all but skids over to the glass rack, trying to will the shocked look out of her eyes. She knows she probably looks like an idiot – she feels like one at least.

She finds the glass and bottle of tequila easy enough but her normally steady hands fail as she fumbles the cap. Managing to save it last second by pushing it down onto the bench with a loud clatter.

She barely breathes as she makes her way back to her customer and doesn’t pay attention to what money she exchanges for the alcohol across the bench. Habitually her hands reach for the cash but she doesn’t bother to check for a tip – she doesn’t deserve one.

“Welp, that was awkward” Lagoona smirks over at her after the woman had joined back into the crowd on the dance floor.

“Yeah” Rosé accepts, her voice sounding pained as she leans down to sink her head below the height of the bar, bracing herself with her arms still on top.

“Like really painful” Jan adds as she places a bottle of rum back on the shelf.

“I know” she agrees, sinking slightly further down before pushing herself up to lean against the counter. “Someone kill me.”

“Go take a break” Lagoona suggests, thinking Rosé might want to get out from behind the bar for a bit with most of the crowd gone.

“And sit there mulling over the embarrassment that I am. No way, doll” Rosé refuses before asking for a distraction. “What orders are you filling?”

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

Rosé doesn’t know whether she should be proud to say that her interaction with the woman was her most awkward experience of the night. But means to say, when she steps out of the back door of the bar, she hopes to have no more of them.

She grimaces up at the sky as the door automatically locks behind her, sensing rainclouds above her. They can’t be seen in the darkness of the sky and the glare of street lights above, but she can feel a static charge in the air. She only hopes she can make it back to her apartment a couple blocks away before it all comes down.

“Fuck” she curses when she only makes it half a block before the rain starts.

And it doesn’t start nicely either, not a light shower before the impending deluge but straight into a cascade like a waterfall. Part of her wants to laugh at her bad luck but the rest of her is pissed at getting wet.

Still, nothing can be done so she huddles down further into her jacket and looks down at the ground, hugging close to the side of buildings and ducking under overhangs.

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

When the sound of tyres slow next to her, she has her arms crossed tightly to keep from shivering and is wondering when she’ll be able to see her breath in front of her.

As she feels the car pull up to the curb her initial thought is whether it’s Lagoona or Jan. But neither of them drove and they both live the other way. So, she doesn’t really know why she stops on the side of the road, waiting for a stranger to roll their window down.

A window doesn’t get rolled down either, instead a door is pushed open and Rosé double takes at the sight of the woman from the club sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Get in” she calls out over the rain.

Rosé doesn’t move aside from brushing her sopping wet hair out of her eyes, trying to figure out if she’s seeing everything correctly.

“Come on, you’ll freeze” the woman beckons.

If nothing, the friendly sound of her voice has Rosé at last moving her feet and slipping through the car door before shutting it behind her. The sound of the rain dulling, now shut outside of the compartment.

“Thanks” Rosé’s voice stutters slightly as a shiver wracks through her.

“Here, I think there’s a towel in the back” the woman says as she twists in her seat to rummage around in the back before pulling one through the gap between the front seats.

Rosé smiles gratefully as she takes it from her. There isn’t much she can do with her clothes soaking wet but she does use it to dry off her face and her hands before running it quickly over her hair.

“How do you even have this anyway?” Rosé surprises herself in forming a complete sentence as she roughly folds up the towel before tossing it onto the back seat.

“I figure skate. Sometimes it’s nice to have a shower after training,” the woman explains before quickly adding, “don’t worry that one is clean though.”

Rosé only shrugs. It wouldn’t have mattered to her if it hadn’t.

“Hey, this might sound weird” the woman begins, avoiding Rosé’s gaze. “I don’t even know your name. But I feel like doing something spontaneous and there’s this dock that looks really pretty looking out over the city at night. So, I was wondering if you wanted to go there with me and maybe get a coffee or something on the way” she braves a look at Rosé next to her, but her eyes quickly move away. “If you don’t and you’re tired from work, I can drop you wherever you need to go” she adds the last sentence in quickly only to protect herself from rejection.

A small smile spreads on Rosé’s face. She can’t deny that she wants to get to know this person better and she’s happy that she wasn’t the one who had to take the leap forward in the end. And maybe she is feeling a little spontaneous too.

“I’m Rosé” she introduces, her small smile spreading wider. “And that sounds wonderful.”

Next to her the woman sighs deeply in relief, her shoulders visibly relaxing and her own smile appearing across her face.

“Denali.”

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

Next Chapter: City Lights

#rpdr #rpdr fanfiction #rosé #denali #rosénali #rosenali #lesbian au #jan sport #lagoona bloo

[hairycooterlips69]

Service with a Smile

Howdy y’all, I had a wild hair up my ass to write a fanfic. It’s my first one, be gentle 😅 I’m obsessed with Hawks so I hope I do him proud. Also I was gonna name it Kentucky Fried Fuckin but i don’t wanna be ganked by the Colonel so... Takami Keigo x Fem!Reader

word count : 4k

[ (nsfw 18+) ]  

Warnings: edging, fingering, soft dom/sub, oral sex, nipple play, anal play, choking, unprotected sex

yuhh, get into it~

_______________________________________________

Tonight’s shift couldn’t get any worse.

As you glance at your watch, you internally groan after realizing that you had been on your feet for the last 8 hours stuck behind a cash register. Between some brat spilling juice not once, but twice, on the floor you mopped, a woman berating you for not having any more barbeque sauce, and your closing partner quitting the night before, you were at your wit’s end. Working at a fried chicken shop wasn’t the most glamourous place of employment, but it paid the bills and your quirk did come in handy. Your empathic quirk allowed you to ease the negative emotions of others with the cost of others’ emotions somewhat rubbing off on you. While customers left satisfied and in good spirits, most nights you were left feeling exhausted and impatient. Well at least there’s only 5 minutes until close, you contemplate, mentally preparing yourself to clean and lock up the store.

Lost in thoughts, you hear a soft jingling and the thudding of boots against the tiled floor. “Heyo~, are you guys still open?” The first thing you notice about this customer is his ruby-red wings. Upon further inspection, you see that he is wearing a black body suit, beige pants, and a fur-trimmed coat accessorized with protective glasses and headgear, along with some pompous, feathery hairstyle. You felt as if this person was familiar. I mean, how could you not recognize a guy with massive birdlike appendages? You must have seen him somewhere, maybe around the city or at a bar. Or maybe you’ve seen him at the park, or maybe at the –

“Uh, hello. Earth to Y/N. Sorry for coming in so late, but I’ve been patrolling the area tonight and it seemed like this place was still open. I get pretty hungry around this time. Will you be able to serve me?” You snap back to reality, your cheeks tinged in embarrassment. “How do you know my name? D-do I know you?” you stammer. “Well, I read your nametag. But if you want to get to know me, you most certainly can, kid.” he quipped cheekily. What an ass. Your embarrassment quickly turned into annoyance, but you swallowed your pride and politely responded “yes sir, we are still open. How can I help you?” “Sir? I like that. Well, you can start me off with a four-piece meal and a soda, and after I’m done eating you can help me by giving me your number.” You audibly gasp, astounded at the audacity of this honey-haired jerk. Without a word, you quickly turned on your heels to put together the combo and get away from this man.

He must have noticed how upset you were as you placed his food on the counter rather abruptly. His expression softened from a cocky grin to a repentant half-smile. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. It’s just that I get pretty bored protecting the city and lurking on top of buildings. It’s nice to have some human contact, even if it’s teasing the cutie working at a fried chicken shop.” If you weren’t already flustered before, your face blushed crimson red yet again. Without the arrogance, you notice that this stranger was cherubically handsome, donning bushy blonde eyebrows, golden, catlike eyes, and the beginnings of scruffy facial hair. He must have been around your age or maybe a couple years older. You could tell that he was in almost, if not completely, perfect physical shape by the way his body suit hugged his chest. You hated to admit it, but his flirting was actually coaxing you out of your previously terrible mood. You manually willed yourself to reply, retorting “yeah, well don’t vigilantes like you have anything better to do than harassing a stranger while at work?” “Ouch, kid. A vigilante? Try number-two Pro Hero. I guess that’s what I get for coming in so late and giving you a tough time. I go by Hawks, but the name is Takami Keigo. But, I prefer if you call me yours for the evening.” At this point you couldn’t help but laugh at his boldness. After catching your breath, you responded “Alright Big Bird, enjoy your meal. Just please don’t leave too much of a mess, I already have to wait for you to finish so I can clean up and get the hell out of here.” For a split second, you saw his face twitch in an unreadable manner before his switching back to seasoned professionality. “Ah, of course. I won’t be too long. Thank you again y/n for the food. I’m sure it will be delicious.”

Your eyes followed him as he walked to the table and sat down, wings folding flat to his back as he prepared to dig in. You watched him as he removed his gloves, finger by finger. You couldn’t help but notice how long and graceful they were. Carefully, he teared apart slivers of each piece of chicken before bringing the greasy bits to his mouth. As he prepared his food, he would often glance up at you only to avoid your eyes and look back down at his food. What was with those looks he keeps giving me? It was almost like I angered him, or got offended by what I said, you mused to yourself. I’ll just activate my quirk. That way if he’s pissed, I can smooth things over. I don’t need to be bitched at by the manager again. With slight concentration, you activated your quirk. Suddenly you could feel what he felt – hunger. Besides this, there was another feeling. Similar to hunger, combined with a dull, growing ache. It almost felt like – yearning? Or something more? Once realizing the feeling, you quickly ducked your head. This bastard was aroused! You felt conflicted. He must be feeling confused by what I said to him, but also… I think he enjoyed it? You begin to feel a warming sensation in your midsection. Damnit, I think he is aroused. I’m starting to feel it too. Why would a Pro Hero be interested in someone who’s been covered in grease and sweat all day? You start to feel a little self-conscious at this point. There was no way that he couldn’t smell all the herbs and spices permeating off your overworked body. I smell like the deep fryer and I’m starting to thirst over some big-shot hero. I need to distract myself. “Hey, Hawks? If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna start cleaning up a bit.”

Hawks barely glanced at you as he responded “sure kid, do what you need to do. Don’t stop on my account.” You grabbed a rag and started to wipe down the tables with practiced ease. You closed on most nights and were able to get the store tidied up within 30 minutes or so. This night was different though, and you were somewhat nervous doing your nightly tasks as Hawks observed your work. When your back was turned, you could still sense eyes on you along with the steadily growing ache emitting from the Pro Hero and your own growing desire welling from within your body. Shit, the fact that he’s turned on right now is insane. I guess it is a compliment, he’s hot as hell. I actually kind of like it, you admitted to yourself. This realization combined with your quirk stirred up your own desire of being touched, and the growing warmth of arousal spread through your body like a slow burn. The more you attempted to distract yourself by sweeping the floor and wiping down tables, the deeper this yearning grew. Your watch indicated that it was definitely past the time you normally locked up and left. Fuck, I’m super turned on. What’s with him? And what’s up with me? You decide that you would quash this feeling right then and there. “Hey Hawks, are you okay? Cuz it’s getting late and I-“

As you turned around, you saw the Pro Hero had been standing a few feet behind you, wings fluttering rhythmically to the beat of his pulse. “You know, no one’s ever insulted me like that before and yeah, kid, it was cute, but it was also incredibly rude.” Before you could react, Hawks reached up and grazed the left side of your face with his right hand. “Now, how are you going to make it up to me?”

“I, uh- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just-“

“Just what?”

“I can feel you. I mean, I can feel what you feel, that’s my quirk and obviously you didn’t know that but I’m sensing that you’re-“

“You can sense how I feel, at this moment? Tell me, kid. Let’s see how accurate that quirk of yours is.”

“Well, um… earlier after I called you Big Bird and I got a vibe that you were annoyed but also intrigued? Also, uh – when you were eating and I was cleaning up, I kind of got the feeling that you were interested… in that way.”

“’That way?’ And what way would that be?”

You could tell that Hawks took pleasure in watching you squirm and shade brighter than his pinions. “That way. You know, an… intimate sort of feeling.”

You flinched, expecting Hawks to jerk his hand away from you and walk off in disgust. Instead, a sly, borderline wicked grin began to spread across his face. “Now that’s an impressive quirk. What if I told you that you were correct in that I am turned on by you? In fact, the more I watch you, the more I want to touch every single part of your body and own that delicious ass of yours.” He stepped closer, inches away from you, and began to trail his hand from your cheek down to the nape of your neck. You barely registered Hawks’ wings spreading out and almost immersing the two of you. “You can feel what I feel, right? So that can only mean that you want me almost as badly as I want you. If you let me, I’ll be more than happy to satisfy us both.” Hawks must have misread the look of disbelief slapped across your face. He backtracked, “Was that too far, kid?”

“N-no. Keep going. I want this.”

You had barely finished your sentence when the pro hero lunged forward, pushing his lips against your own with the urgency of a rabid animal. You quickly returned his kiss with equal hunger, pressing back against the soft, inviting landscape of his mouth. Lip-locked and frenzied, you felt him slowly run his hands down the side of your body and onto your hips, grasping them so intensely you felt his nails dig into your skin sending small shocks of pleasure directly to your core. You unconsciously leaned your hips toward, your body responding to the sensation building within your intimacy. You felt the pressure of Hawks’ reciprocating excitement against your leg as he moaned at the growing constraint between his manhood and his uniform.

“Y/n, are you sure you’re up for this? Because I can’t hold back much longer. I would cut my wings off just to flip you onto that counter and ram the shit out of you until you beg me to stop making you cum.”

“Hawks-“

“Call me Keigo, fuck. Call me Keigo, I want to hear you scream my name at the top of your lungs.”

“Keigo, shut the hell up and do what you said. Please just fuck me already.”

He practically flung you across the store, wrapping you up in a tight, muscular embrace with his vibrant, elongated wings beating erratically. Hawks placed you on the counter rather gently, attaching himself to your mouth again. You could feel his tongue softly graze your bottom lip in an attempt to explore you. Ever so slightly, your lips parted to meet his tongue in a battle for dominance. Hawks eventually overpowered you, and you could slightly taste the remnants of his meal as he ran his tongue vertically against the sinew of your cheeks. While Hawks commanded your mouth, you used your knee to tease and stimulate his aching member, pre-cum threatening to bleed through his pants. “Hrrnh, y/n. My cock is practically begging for you,” he groaned. You responded, “for someone who wants to fuck me senseless, you sure are taking your sweet ass time.”

Charged by your smart remark, he pulled away from your lips to focus on his next mission: undressing you before you could even open your mouth to land some other sarcastic comment. With surprising dexterity, he peeled off your shirt and pants while you worked on unclasping your bra. Keigo paused to admire your bare chest. “God y/n, as if you weren’t already looking like a five-course meal. I just might have to devour you until there’s nothing left.” Before you could come up with another response, Hawks enveloped his eager mouth to your right nipple while reaching to attend to your left bud. He began to suck rhythmically as if attuned to your wildly beating heart, lazily switching from massaging your left nipple between his graceful fingers to rubbing it in a clockwise fashion. You groaned animalistically into his ear, clenching your vaginal muscles and grinding your heat against the corner of the counter in desperation.

“Keigo, stop fucking teasing me. Please do something, you’re driving me crazy.”

Obliging, Hawks abandoned your left nipple to pull your drenched panties to one side of your private area. “Jeez, kid, you’re practically drooling down there. I wonder how wet for me you’ll get once I stick my fingers inside that pretty pussy.” Something about the snarky comment sent you over the edge. It was as if something inside your brain snapped, and the need to control this bird-brained asshole overtook you. Oh, I’m gonna give this fucker a show, you mused. You grabbed Keigo’s wrist and shoved it directly inside your clenched hole, violently abusing his fingers akin to a human dildo to escalate your pleasure. Hawks’ mouth practically dropped to the floor, his gaze shifting frantically from you using him as your fuck toy to the canvas of your naked body.

“Holy fuck, kid. That’s so goddamn hot. You really are such a slut, fucking yourself with my own hand. God, y/n. I want to be inside you so fucking bad.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you huffed. “Now take off your clothes while you watch me play with myself.”

You grabbed his wrist again to remove his fingers, replacing them with your own to appease the gnawing desire. “Don’t look away from me, Keigo. Make direct eye contact, or I’ll kick your ass out of here with nothing but a pulsating cock and a hope for a wet dream about me.” Hawks quickly stripped down to his boxers, awaiting eagerly for your next demand. You could see the evident staining where the fabric was constricting his shaft. “Such an obedient pigeon,” you purred. “Now stroke your cock slowly like the good little bird boy you are.” His right hand began to slip down the band of his tightening boxers. “Ah-ah-ah, I said to take off your clothes. I didn’t say you could take it out and touch it. Now I’ll allow you to jerk it outside of your boxers.”

“Fuck, kid. Who the hell are you talking to like that? I don’t like that bratty ass attitude you have. I may just have to sh-”

You interrupted his monologue to jump off the counter and engulf his clothed manhood as deeply as your throat would allow. Even as it threatened to touch the back of your esophagus, you could see that you weren’t able to completely fill it with your mouth. You worked quickly to moisten his stiff cock. He moaned and grabbed the base of your head as you proceeded to bob back and forth, driving him insane by your refusal to let him be in charge.

“You filthy whore. If you’re gonna suck me off at least do it properly.” Hawks was growing feral with desire to feel your slobbery mouth on the skin of his member. “I guess you have been a good birdie. Here, I’ll make this easier for you.” You removed him from your mouth long enough to yank down his underwear and return to his massive source of heat. You grabbed Keigo’s cockhead and placed it strategically between your lips, outlining the contours of your mouth and using his wetness as a lipliner. “Fuuuck, you are so good, so good to me baby bird,” he whimpered pathetically before taking him inside your mouth once again. You continued to pleasure him with an absurd amount of oral pressure and saliva which began to leak out the corners of your lips. After a couple minutes of sucking him off, you felt him start to quiver. “Ungh, y/n. I’m about to cum.”

You immediately pulled away. There was no way in hell Hawks was going to come in the store and take up your time without getting you off. “It’s my turn now Keigo. You talked all that shit and now I want to see what you can do. I doubt you’ll be able to get me to cum.” As you planned, this lit a fire under Takami’s ass to drill you harder than an army sergeant. Without a word, Hawks yanked you up from the roots of your hair, shredded off your panties, and proceeded to flip you on top of the counter with your dripping cunt exposed in the air.

“You’ll regret you said that. You’re about to sing my name until your pussy screams and it’ll be music to my ears. I’m gonna make you my dirty little songbird bitch.”

Your heart was racing as you were sprawled out on the counter, your most intimate parts displayed for Hawks’ viewing. You began to turn your head to face him when you felt a strong grip on the base of your scalp again. “I didn’t say you could look at me. Now turn back around or I’ll leave you with a sopping cunt and a hope for a wet dream,” Hawks mimicked. You regretted being so saucy with him before; he now had the upper hand but at the same time, you felt a wicked delight at what was in store. You could feel him tracing the outer folds of your womanhood meticulously and painfully slow before sliding upwards to reach the sensitive skin on your asshole. You involuntarily twitched as he touched this spot, not used to this area being so vulnerable. “It looks like I found your weak spot, baby bird. I think it’s time to show you what happens to bratty bitches who talk so impolitely to me.” You heard a soft whoosh from behind you, similar to a sailing dart. You gasped in shock as you felt the tip of a feather tickling your rim as two fingers began to penetrate the saturation built up in your twinging cunt. Hawks continued this assault as he began to fist his own member using the slick he swiped from your saturated hole, picking up speed to pump synchronously with his digits. “Shit, y/n. I can’t hold out much longer, your slutty pussy is soaking my hand. I want to feel how wet you are. Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fill you with my cum?”

“Keigo, PLEASE! Please fuck me, I can’t take this anymore, ahh-. I’m begging you, I want you to stuff me with your fat cock.”  

Hawks countered your begging by shoving his length into your sopping cavern. You cried out with a mixture of surprise and pain as he began to pump into you with determination. You could feel your walls clamp down on his manhood as he massaged your insides. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but to moan, your mind succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure you felt in your overheating pussy. Hawks felt like absolute nirvana, reaching parts of you that had not been touched in a very long time. He continued his strides in an exaggerated manner, ensuring that you felt every single inch of him from the base all the way to his engorged cockhead. Your wails of satisfaction began to match the reverberation of Keigo’s swollen balls slapping against your perineum, applauding the unification of two strangers and their primitive needs.  “I told you, baby bird. I knew my cock would drive you insane. Who’s your owner now? Tell me, huh? I want you to say it, to scream it at the top of your lungs. Who’s fucking up this tight cunt, yeah? Who’s filling this slutty little hole of yours, songbird?”

“You are, Keigo, fuck. Fuck the shit out of me, please. Keep ramming my pussy, baby. I’m you-” He cut off your anguished whines by shoving his fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste your own slick mixed with the flavors of his earlier meal. “Y/N, you sure are talkative for someone who can barely handle a cock inside her. Is papa bird too big for you to handle?”

“Hu-hrd-rr!”

“What was that, filthy girl? You’re mumbling.”

Hawks began to hammer into you, his breathing becoming ragged; the way you took such brutal pounding threatened to buckle his knees. He took his fingers out of your mouth so you could scream “I said, HARDER, you bastard!” You couldn’t help but to whine as he continued to fill your ears with lewd comments and grunts, his rhythm beginning to slightly falter with each clench as he fought to reach your cervix. You attempted to regain regularity in your breathing to no avail.

“Aah, aah, fuck Keigo. This is your pussy, don’t stop. Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Shit baby bird, you’re so fucking tight it hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna fill you with all my seed. You’re gonna be begging for my cock from now on out and I’ll make sure to give it to you every night. Now cum for me, baby. Sing me a song, songbird. I wanna hear you fucking say whose cock is claiming your pussy!” The screech you let out was inhumane, your legs shaking savagely as a deep, almost painful orgasm rippled from your center. The lilt of your voice sent Hawks into a frenzy, his thrusts becoming unstable and jolting as he moaned your name. You saw Hawks’ eyes begin to glaze over and saw your opportunity to attack. You turned to reach for his throat and pressed firmly with your thumb and index finger with just enough pressure to surprise him, cutting him off mid-groan. “Awhk, f-feels sh-so good. Almost th-there.” You wrapped your legs around Takami’s hips and squeezed as tightly as possible, leaving the pro hero no choice but to release himself inside you, hips bucking as his load emptied in rivets.  

“Ahh shit, y/n. I meant to pull out. I should’ve asked you first.” He sighed as he slowly removed himself from you. You both watched his fatigued member leave your orifice covered in the combination of juices. “Well normally when people order food here, they don’t end up balls deep in me so…” you retorted. Hawks chuckled, a dash of pink beginning to spread on his cheeks. “Well pro heroes don’t normally meet such gorgeous and smart-ass chicks working at fried chicken shops.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. You weren’t immune to his charm, and you were wondering what just transpired. Hawks searched for a clean towel and began to wipe you off, erasing evidence of the night’s events. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you offered as you both began to redress yourselves. You hoped deeply you would see him again someday, even if it was just to order food. Hawks planted a soft kiss on your cheek, then asked “when’s your next day off, y/n?” You sighed lightly, “I actually have the next day off. Thank All Might, I’m exhausted.”

Hawks smiled, ruffled your hair, and replied “hope you’re not too exhausted. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to take you out on a proper date. I know this great little place that sells the best chicken.”  

#hawks smut #my hero academia hawks #pro hero hawks #hawks x female #keigo takami #takami #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #pro hero #fanfic #bnha x female reader #mha x female reader