Annewashere - Loser Vill

Throwback to all these Jesus comics I drew in 2012…

“You promised you wouldn’t forget me” + ambrose please?

+ “I wished every day to hold you once more”

I haven’t written Ambrose yet so I hope this is somewhat good!!

Ambrose’s house arrest was a touchy subject. He had his family, of course. He could act like that was enough, but he craved more. He would feign indifference.

He often remembers his life outside of the Spellman household, the people he met, the lovers he had. He remembers, but wishes he could forget. There is nothing worse than those memories. The memories taunt him in his dreams. Y/N haunts him in those dreams. 

The bed was suffocating as he attempted to unwrap his body from the sheets. The dreams, again. The same face he’s seen every night for 75 years in this house. He rubs at his eyes, trying to get rid of the thought, but he can’t drop it. Y/N. They had lost contact after everything that happened with the Vatican. He’s tried to find traces, but to no avail. You did not want to be found. The feeling of betrayal was the only thing he had left from you.

“How long has it been, Ambrose? 70 years?” A voice from across the room made him scramble in his bed.

“Who’s there?” He was never one to be scared, but the voice was hauntingly familiar. It was just there, in his dreams. Was he still dreaming?

The room is dark, he’s unable to see a thing. “You promised you wouldn’t forget me.” The voice teased, bouncing of the walls from every side. It itched at him as he stood up from the bed, hating the way the voice taunted him. This was all too familiar. He fumbles around the room for his light, flicking it on.

Ambrose meets the same face he’s seen every night for 75 years and he’s positive he’s dreaming. Except, the hair is different, the eyes aren’t as bright, but that’s the same seductive smile from years ago. Not a single word seems to be able to escape his mouth, even though there’s a million of them swarming his thoughts. “Y/N.” Is all he can say, eyes wide. “You’re not real.”

“Why would you say that?” You questioned, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. He responds instantly, leaning into your touch. It feels like you never left. “It’s me, Ambrose.” You reassure him.

He searches for something that would tell him otherwise, but he finds nothing. It has to be you. “I wished every day to hold you once more.” He confesses, eyes pleading with your own. He’s never felt so vulnerable, yet so complete at the same time. “Why did you leave?” He finally questions, but doesn’t pull away, too scared you’ll disappear.

You open your mouth to answer, but Sabrina bursts into his room. She looks frightened, but stops in her tracks when she sees the scene in front of her. She steps forward tentatively, reaching a hand out to Ambrose. “Ambrose…” She trails off, eyes apologetic as she touches his arm. “There’s a sleep demon in the house, this…” She glances at your figure. “This isn’t real.”

Ambrose turns to meet your eyes again, wondering if what his cousin is saying is true, but you’re gone. He can still feel your hand on his cheek. He was simply reliving all the other dreams he’s had for the past 75 years. The real torture is waking up, the real torture was him believing you’d ever come back.

“You have to wake up, Ambrose.”

I have been vacinated about 30-45 times in my life. Do you know how much I paid for it? Not a dime.

My great-aunt had a tumor and had to treat it with radiotherapy and chemotherapy. She was fully recovered. Do you know how much she paid for it? Not a dime.

One of Brazil's most famous tv show hosts who has been in show business for over 40 years with over 30 milion views had a kidney transplant this year. Do you know how much he paid for the transplant? Not a dime.

When my mother is bored she walks a block up to the public health center and gets a check up. Do you know how much she pays for this? Not a dime.

My mother has been going to the psychologist. Do you know much she has paid? Not a dime.

Does this enrage you? It should. When Luigi said "this" was a insult to the American people's intelligence he probably meant the mediatic circus around his person, but if we're to be honest you could say the same about USA's healthcare politics. Do not let them tell you it "has to be this way" and "there is no other way." There is. You CAN have better healthcare. You DON'T have to sell your house to pay your medical debt. They are MAKING you do this ON PURPOSE. Don't forget that.

I don't usually have any kindness to spare USAians, but we are with you in this one. The world is watching. You CAN turn this around! Don't let them desincourage you.

Y/N: Zoe always gives Daniel flowers, it would be nice if you did the same.

Zack: Alright.

Zack: *gives Daniel flowers*

Daniel: Thank you, but... why?

Zack: I'm confused as well.

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞! 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 + 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲! 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞! ♡

“Yah! You’re billowing dust all over me!” You giggle as Su-Hyeok all but shakes the fabric of the infirmary beds excessively, sending unwanted particles in straight descension your way following the height difference slope between you two. He smiles at you cheekily over where he was currently holding onto the corners of the white linen, repeating the motion once more to send your hair flying into a mess.

He finally stops long enough for you both to fold the sheets nicely and stretch it taut over the very last cot in the room. Taking a step back, you eye the result of your hard work for the past few hours as you scan the now pristine room, each bed surface without a wrinkle in sight.

Most other students would disagree with you that cleaning duties was their favorite of the student requirements at Hyosan High, but you found it to be therapeutic in a way. Strangely, or maybe not so strangely considering your career choice for the future, you were in your element with anything and everything even remotely close in relation to the medical field. Or, it could be the fact that Su-Hyeok would always try to sign up as your cleaning partner before anyone else has even had a chance to look over the room assignments for the week—all that just to spend more time with you.

You dramatically slide your hands back and forth across each other, dusting them off. Nodding your head in satisfaction as you survey the surroundings, you proudly exclaim, “Look! Isn’t this just perfection, Su-Hyeok?” As you’re smiling at the end product, you don’t catch him gazing at you fondly.

“Yeah, more than perfect,” he mumbles to himself. With only the two of you in the room, it’s hard to miss, though you don’t register the full meaning behind his words.

Holding up your hand for a high five, he returns it, intertwining your fingers together to tug you towards him, the movement practically sending you crashing into his chest. Flustered, you opt to tease him instead to ease the tension you always feel around him. “Yo–You’re too close. I can smell your feet from here, Su-Hyeok.”

“Bear with me for a second,” he chuckles as he pulls you nearer. You can’t bring yourself to look up into his face as he smooths down your hair—entirely his fault from beating the sheets against your head earlier instead of the posts in the room that serve an obvious purpose. Except, you don’t have to worry about that as once he’s finished, he lets go of your hand and bends down to your level, making direct eye contact as he pats your head playfully. “Now, you’re presentable.”

You scoff, mock offended, finally stepping away from his personal space in hopes that the blush on your face isn’t as visible as you imagine it to be. “Are you saying I wasn’t before?” Su-Hyeok puts both hands up in defense, countenance teasing, before flopping unceremoniously onto the nearest bed.

“Aish!” You reproach. “We just made them!” He ultimately springs back up in fear of your relentless whacks to his chest. Glancing at the clock, it was already well into early evening, so you decide to call it a day. “Let’s go! Hopefully we can catch up with the others outside on our way to the entrance!”

“Race you there!” Su-Hyeok dashes out of the room without so much as a second glance, leaving you dumbfounded as you chase after him, dodging other students in the halls also on their way home.

When you finally make it outside, you and Su-Hyeok both spot Gyeong-Su and Cheong-San in the distance. Decidedly heading there together, you deliberately bump shoulders, trying to make the other fall over to no avail. Lightly kicking him in the shin as petty revenge for having sprung a race on you earlier, you sprint off toward your friends in front before Su-Hyeok has time to react.

You don’t give Cheong-San any indication of your presence until you jump on his back, arms around his neck. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall as Gyeong-Su whips around in surprise before seeing it’s you. He laughs at Cheong-San’s struggles as you finally let go. “It’s your little sister from a different mister!”

Growing up together and being the only child in your respective families, you, Cheong-San, and Su-Hyeok have always been close enough to the point that showing up at one another’s residences became commonplace. Mr. and Mrs. Lee never fail to bring up the fact that you’re the daughter they always wanted but never had to pull their son’s leg whenever you come around. Actually, now that you think about it, even when you’re not, they still do so out of habit, resulting in you getting an earful from Cheong-San the day after about how his parents’ affections are prioritized in the wrong order. You frequently laugh it off, but deep down, you’re grateful that the whole family is so protective of you, particularly Cheong-San, almost as if he was your brother by blood.

Though exasperated, when you cutely open your arms for a hug, Cheong-San rolls his eyes and gives in. “One day, you and On-Jo are going to annoy me to death,” he says as you guys let go.

“What an honorable death that would be for you,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Don’t I get a friendly hug too, Y/N?” Gyeong-Su asks before pulling you into one.

“All this tenderness is making me want to throw up,” Cheong-San says as Su-Hyeok reaches the group.

“I think that’s been long enough,” Su-Hyeok warns, jealous.

“Nope,” Gyeong-Su refutes, not letting you go to make a point, causing you to laugh. He releases you soon after though, before Cheong-San has a chance to scold him.

“I get a kick in the shin and they get hugs?” Su-Hyeok grumbles, nearly sulking.

“If you wanted one so badly, you could’ve just asked.”

“No flirting before dinner, guys. I’ll lose my appetite.” Gyeong-Su puts an arm around Cheong-San’s shoulder, amused at the scene in front of him.

As Su-Hyeok spreads his arms wide, you mirror him, before handing over your backpack, heavy with beginner’s medical textbooks. “Free hug for you from my lovely backpack.” Gyeong-Su cackles at the priceless expression on Su-Hyeok’s face while Cheong-San just shakes his head, tired of the familiar behavior between the two of you he’s had to witness against his will over the years as the eternal third wheel.

You wave as you see On-Jo and I-Sak approaching, the former shoving Cheong-San’s shoulder so hard, he drops his phone on the ground, rattling against the gravel from impact.

“My phone!” He scrambles to pick it up.

“Hey, gopher. Let’s go have some fried chicken,” On-Jo says, jutting out her backpack.

Regardless of their endless bickering, he doesn’t hesitate in taking the bag from her, though you’re not really surprised. You’ve known about Cheong-San’s massive longtime crush on On-Jo before he even knew it himself. To this day, you’re still waiting for him to make something happen, though you expect to be waiting forever.

“It hasn’t opened yet,” Cheong-San says, peeved.

“Yeah, it has. Your mom said she’s testing out a new recipe today,” On-Jo counters as Gyeong-Su hits Cheong-San, somewhat affronted. You assume they’ve already been over this once before the girls arrived. On-Jo and I-Sak pull you to their side, linking their arms through yours as everyone confirms their attendance to the impromptu chicken dinner invite.

“Ohhhhhhh,” Gyeong-Su drawls excitedly. “Is this a triple date?”

“Mwoya? How annoying.” I-Sak couldn’t be more disgusted as she drags you and On-Jo away speedily towards the school’s entrance, leaving the boys trailing behind to Gyeong-Su’s happy whistle rendition of Auld Lang Syne, extra backpacks and all.

»»————-————-————-————-————-————-————-—««

“There’s the cute couple!” Cheong-San’s mom bellows, referring to you and Su-Hyeok, handing over the largest platter of fried chicken you’ve seen in your life. She immediately embraces you before you even get a chance to sit down.

The boys convene on one side while you and the girls take seats opposite them, somehow paired up as Gyeong-Su had hoped for.

“Mrs. Lee, we’re not together,” you correct as you dig into the plate in front of you, the mouthwatering smell of freshly fried chicken wafting through the vicinity.

“Do we get extra fried chicken if we are?” Su-Hyeok inquires, genuinely curious. You kick him under the table and Mrs. Lee looks on, entertained.

Somehow, the lighthearted conversation as your little group eats shifts to more serious matters when Mrs. Lee heads back to the kitchen to reevaluate the briny recipe with her husband after taking everyone’s feedback into consideration.

“Ah, right. Did you guys catch wind of what’s circulating around school about Mr. Lee? I-Sak starts.

“What about him?” Cheong-San questions, as everyone turns their attention towards I-Sak, wondering what the latest gossip was.

“He emits the odor of a rotting corpse.”

Cheong-San sighs. “Na-Yeon’s the one who spread that rumor, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Knowing her, of course she did.”

All five pairs of eyes turn towards you, scandalized. “Wow, this is the first time that you, the nicest person in the world, have clearly expressed your dislike for someone,” Gyeong-Su states to everyone’s agreement. “Our own future doctor and resident angel with a pure heart full of compassion finally has one person on her hit list,” he teases.

“Pshh, stop it you guys. Refrain from giving me these grand nicknames I can’t live up to. An angel, seriously?” You deny, slightly embarrassed at them putting you in such high regards.

“Su-Hyeok surely thinks so, in a literal sense—" The person in question elbows Gyeong-Su forcefully, on the brink of sending him toppling over in his chair. Everyone laughs as Su-Hyeok shoves a drumstick into Gyeong-Su’s mouth to shut him up.

“Don’t force it, Gyeong-Su. I think he likes Nam-Ra.” As the words leave your mouth, everyone snaps their head your way, staring unbelievably, almost comically so.

On-Jo recovers first. “So, you’re saying he likes someone smart, kind, and beautiful. Hmm, sounds like someone we all know,” she stares right at you.

“Yah, Y/N, you’re supposed to be the smartest one out of all of us here, including almost the entirety of the school. How are you so dense?” Cheong-San clucks his tongue, frustrated.

“Excuse you? I can feel him burning a hole through the side of my face trying to get a glimpse of her in class,” you defend. Up until now, Su-Hyeok hasn’t said a word, though he resorts to beating his forehead lightly and repetitively against the table.

“Care to remind me who’s beside Nam-Ra and sits in the aisle seat?” I-Sak looks at you pointedly.

“It’s me, obviously, that’s how I can tell.” Gyeong-Su ends up choking on his chicken as he snorts while the others just give up.

“Anyway,” On-Jo moves on, circling back on the conversation. “What I-Sak says is true! Mr. Lee was absent for a short while after his son went missing, then showed up one day to class with a deathly smell.”

“How would Na-Yeon know the smell of a cadaver? It’s not like she has any experience being in close contact with one; I doubt the majority of us have.” Cheong-San criticizes.

“No idea, but if it’s the only one she’s not accustomed to, she can’t be wrong about the unidentified scent. He did act exponentially bizarre in the aftermath of what happened to his son,” On-Jo clarifies.

“Poor Jin-Su was an outcast from what I remember. I heard he got bullied severely.” I-Sak looks down at her plate, pitying the boy.

“I feel sorry for him, and Mr. Lee as well. Can you imagine knowing your child getting mistreated but not being able to do anything about it? I wouldn’t be able to bear it, much less fathom what his thought process was at the time,” On-Jo pauses before bringing up another matter. “Do you guys recall him leaving class last week all of a sudden?”

“He had written all these biological terms in English, madly, in some sort of craze on the blackboard,” you detail. “The sound of the chalk was eerie when it scraped so wildly across the board’s surface.” Everyone nods as Gyeong-Su asks you what Mr. Lee had written, with your history of having studied abroad before entering high school. “I’m not quite sure what they meant. It was just a bunch of complex information about parasites, viruses, and cells. But the thing is, his writing wasn’t complete. Those notes seemed like it was solely for him to comprehend,” you deduce.

“He’s known around the school to have been a genius in his prime.” I-Sak stops before adding as an afterthought. “Though, I guess he’s still considered a genius now.”

“Geniuses often go crazy,” On-Jo murmurs.

“You may accumulate a hundred problems, but for the rest of your life, I suppose you’ll never have to worry about that being one of them,” Cheong-San says wittily.

Gyeong-Su laughs as On-Jo scolds him. “Are you looking down on me? Grades aren’t everything.”

“Be careful, Y/N. You might go crazy one day,” Su-Hyeok jokes.

“If I do, I’ll bite you first.”

Gyeong-Su taps your empty plate with his chicken bone, tone fake reprimanding. “Now, now, my dear Y/N—that’s not very school appropriate.”

Before you can get back at him, I-Sak’s rushed reminder sends everyone fleeing from the table, clearly running late to their English academy. After all of your hasty goodbyes to Cheong-San’s parents, Gyeong-Su is the first one out the door, afraid of your wrath-filled kicks if he were to stay any longer. He knows better than to mess too seriously with a black-belt.

You and Su-Hyeok don’t attend the same academy—well he just doesn’t attend one at all—so you two have fallen into a routine of him walking you home everyday after school even though your house is next door to his.

As you walk, the back of your hands keeps brushing against each other’s, close enough to touch but not enough to hold. That is, until Su-Hyeok boldly reaches over to clasp them together without hesitation, always making sure you’re on the inner side of the sidewalk.

A few blocks later, you shiver against the cold, realizing you should’ve heeded your mom’s advice this morning about putting an extra layer on top of your thin green cardigan. Su-Hyeok takes off his black blazer for you to wear, disappointed in having to let go of your hand for you to put it on properly. The only problem was it’s completely too large on you, the sleeves dangling in a funny way and the length almost a dress, but it serves its purpose and smells entirely like Su-Hyeok.

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” You ask him, fretting, despite how touched you are by his actions.

He entwines your hands again and drags you closer to his side. “Not really.” He glances down at you. “I think I’m warm enough.” It’s hard to suppress your smile as you huddle a tiny bit closer, his red name tag lined up with your heart.

When the door of your house comes into view, you reluctantly draw your hand away from his, proceeding to take off his jacket, intending to return it. Before you can so much as get it past your shoulders, he stops you.

“Give it back to me tomorrow,” he smiles shyly at you.

“Alright, thanks.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly at a loss on what to say. When did things become so awkward? “Well, this is me,” you point to your gate as if he didn’t already know. “It’s getting late, you should go.”

“Not until I see you inside first.”

Your heart is warm as you turn around to head in. When you lock the gateway behind you, he calls to you through the opening between each metal post.

“It’s not Nam-Ra that I like.”

The statement is entirely too random until you remember the conversation at Cheong-San’s family restaurant.

“Then, who? Do I know her?”

“You do—very well.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I’ll let you know before the end of tomorrow.”

“Then, see you tomorrow, Su-Hyeok.”

“Always.”

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟣

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐭𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐱’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

could i please request a blurb w hotch like the scaring off a creep one u did with james 🥹🫶

Thank you for your request! fem!reader, tw unwanted advance

When a creep at the bar won't leave you alone, you look for the most intimidating man in the room. You know it might make things worse for you, but his suit jacket screams businessman, maybe lawyer, and while lots of lawyers are scumbags, he's standing with another man and two women, neither of which are under his arm, so you take your chances. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you." A cruel hand tightens around your wrist.

"I already told you I have a boyfriend," you say, pulling your hand away from the creeper's reach. 

"I already told you I don't believe it," he says. 

You rag your hand out of his touch and weave through people, until you're close enough to almost throw the businessman off his feet as you slot yourself under his arm. He stiffens, and his friends all react defensively, but luckily he puts up his hand and nobody tries to tackle you. 

The creeper is a couple steps behind you, and he doesn't see the strange reaction your 'boyfriend' has to your hiding in his side, thankfully.

"If you don't leave me alone," you say as bravely as you're able, hand curling with real nervousness into the businessman's shirt, "my boyfriend's gonna ask you outside." 

Creeper looks at you, shocked, and then at the businessman with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Is she fucking for real? 

The businessman's arm settles properly around your shoulder, his hand braceleting your naked upper arm. 

"Did you hear her or not?" he asks, and his voice is so steady, so commanding, he startles not only the creeper but you, too. 

"I can repeat it for you, if you'd like," says his dark-haired friend. She's almost as fierce as he is. 

Finally, finally, your creeper admits defeat and turns away. You watch him walk all the way to the door, and then you turn around and hang your head. 

"Sir," you say, "I am so, so sorry to just barge into you like that." 

"Are you hurt?" he asks. 

You look up, blinking. "Oh, no, not really. He grabbed me pretty hard, but that's when I came up to you." You smile at him and his friends. "You're the most intimidating person here. No offence." 

He rolls his eyes at the wave of his friends' raucous laughter.

"He absolutely is," says a shorter blonde woman, grinning. 

You nod your apologies at all of them and turn back to the maybe-not-businessman, who's really quite handsome both smiling and glaring. You decide you like the smiling more. 

"Could I buy you a drink?" you ask. "As an apology? Or a thank you." 

"No." He holds his arm out like he might steer you away and your heart drops, but he adds, "I'll buy you one. If that's alright." 

There's nothing forceful in his offer. The pit fills. Excitement blooms.

"That's alright," you confirm, words coloured by a tell-tale happiness. 

He guides you to the bar with a big hand behind your shoulder. Good-natured laughter follows from his table of friends, as well as a short but enthusiastic cheer of, "Go Hotch." 

"What's a hotch?" you ask, perplexed.

He laughs, a light, airy thing, at odds with his stern looks. "No idea. My name's Aaron, by the way." 

The Bet- Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Welcome to another episode of sounded better in my head, but idk

20 pounds

20 pounds and dinner 

20 pounds dinner and ice cream 

Deal. 

Deal. Y/n L/n grinned, shoving her phone into her pocket, entering Scotland yard.

"Hello I'm Agent y/n y/l, I'll be joining in on the case." she called out as she entered the detective inspector’s cabin, the DI sweetly smiled at her, nodding and handing her the file.

"May I ask why?" y/n turned to look at a lanky man with dark curls, along with a man who seemed rather apologetic of his friend’s behavior. 

"One of the victims is Interpol's person of interest, so let's get this over with and be on our merry way." she faked a smile towards him. 

“Sherlock behave.” his friend warned, lending a hand towards her “Dr. John Watson.”

“Pleased to meet you.” she shook his hand.

“That's my partner Sherlock Holmes, we’re consultants of sorts.” he explained with a lopsided smile.

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to help me out.” she nodded, holding up the file.

“You’re not from here are you y/n?” John asked as they sat in her temporary office, crime scene images sprawled across the floor. 

“I’m from London, I just work in France.” she said, earning a hum from Sherlock, the two looked at him just in time to see him look away with the tips of his ears turning red, John’s eyes widened at his friend with a theory. 

“How did you get to know about this case?” y/n asked, handing both the men their coffees, taking a sip of her own. 

“My idiot brother wanted my help in it. And when I solve it I can rub it in his face” Y/n laughed, nudging Sherlock. 

“I’m impressed by your motives for crime fighting.” she giggled, John looking at the two’s absolute obliviousness.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊* *＊✿❀○❀✿＊* *＊✿❀○❀✿＊* *＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“Those marks are from a wheelchair.” Sherlock spoke up from his place next to the woman, the trio and Lestrade stood before a board now, with the map of London stuck up. 

“You’re telling me our guy is handicapped?”

“One of them anyways.” y/n and Sherlock spoke in unison, sharing a soft smile with each other. 

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“Here.” Sherlock offered her his coat, once they had walked out from the abandoned warehouse, well abandoned after they arrested the serial killer.

“Thanks.” she whispered, hugging the material close to her body.

“Are you alright?” he asked suddenly, as though he forgot to ask before.

“I am, you?”

“Never been better.” he grinned at her, making heat rush to her cheeks as she looked down with a bashful smile.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“You like her.” John shut the door to 221b “and for all I know you’re probably in love with her.”

“John I've known her for roughly a week, statistically the average time-”

“Except you don’t usually fall under the statistics do you?”

“I suppose I don’t.” Sherlock smirked, walking to his room.

“If you don’t tell her, so help me god I will!” John threatened, huffing when he heard the door slam close.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Y/n sighed as she shoved the papers into her bag, clearing her temporary desk, she had just gotten a call from her boss praising her for her good job. Despite how good of a job she did, people died and all she wanted was a dinner and ice cream date. “You truly did a good job y/n.” Mycroft Holmes stood by her desk.

“You should give your brother some credit.” she said, continuing her haphazard packing which she noticed bothered the British government.  

“I’m doing it you stubborn git!” y/n’s head shot up at the noise as she watched John drag in Sherlock who was grumbling “Mycroft.” John greeted before turning to y/n “Sherlock here likes you.” 

“What?” “what?” Both y/n and Mycroft asked in confusion.

“He clearly fancies you and you fancy him, so please go out on a date.” John flailed his arms around, making Sherlock groan and y/n look at him with wide eyes.

“Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, I’m sorry to disappoint…but I’m married.” she informed, showing the ring which she wore as a necklace rather than on her hand as a display. Mycroft sighed face palming. 

“Oh.” John blinked at her while the whole room went into an awkward silence “I’m so sorry, I genuinely thought you liked sherlock and I-”

“Oh for the love of god will you two grow up!” Mycroft scolded the woman and the grumbling man. And then, the chaos started

“She was the one who placed the bet!” Sherlock pointed at her.

“Oh my god you’re such a snitch!” She pointed back at him “He was the one who escalated it!”

“She made the deal!”

“You’re a sore loser!”

“You’re so mature.”

“You’re so mature.” she mocked, sticking her tongue out to him. 

“Enough!” the two went silent at Mycroft’s voice “can you two behave like grown married adults for once”

“Ew that’s so boring” the two said in unison, now collectively trying to get on the oldest Holmes’ nerves 

“I’m sorry married?!” John interrupted the family drama.

“I married her.” “I married him.” the two pointed at each other nonchalantly.

“What?!” John was freaking out and now all the three Holmes enjoyed it “when?!”

“5 years ago.” she shrugged.

“before I met you.”

“But people don’t have secret spouses.” 

“Consulting detective.” he pointed at himself “Interpol agent.” he pointed at his wife “works.” 

“I don’t know why I agreed to them getting married.” Mycroft rubbed his face.

“You didn’t.” the two said in unison, glaring at the older Holmes 

“Well, you can pester him with the questions.” she moved forward, leaning up pressing her lips to her husband’s “pick me up at 8 loser.” she said in a sing-song voice.

“He made me!”

“Oops, don't feel like taking the excuse train tonight!” she called back, laughing to herself, faintly hearing the sounds of a confused Watson the annoyed Holmes brothers.