#apparently when i know for eight months what the last line of a chapter is going to be it becomes insanely long
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"At this rather intimate gathering (intimate enough that the attendance would render the Great Hall hollow…not that there was ever much chance of the King hosting there, the chamber which is visible and accessible from the King and Queen's watching chambers, but here, here said Queen cannot enter without kingly permission), he watches the mingling lead into dance whilst sipping water, the only water safe to drink of this isle, far as he knows (the same, ferried from Rosamund's Spring in Woodstock, for it is certain the King wishes the newly arrived cardinal to believe there is nothing Rome has that excels anything available in England—although of course there is), splashed with just enough cold, crisp ale to flavor."
—Nowe Thus: Chapter 12
#apparently when i know for eight months what the last line of a chapter is going to be it becomes insanely long#things i am learning about myself...#im like. dropping hints. that im like. reading books#(god bless the floor plan layouts in thurley's books for all these blendable settings)#these tumblr updates....what is this text wagywrfeuh#anyway i couldn't decide a favorite quote. i don't think that's one. but it's very informative#while not being spoilery on its own#oh. i keep switching btwn mary howard and fitzroy. OH WELL#another fix. eff
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Songbird || TWELVE
Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader
Warnings: mention of blood
Word Count: 3.7k
Part Summary: The band records songs for Aurora and Y/N attends a party with Daisy.
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•••
TRACK TWELVE;
MANEATER
...
DAISY JONES: We must’ve written eight or nine songs the first couple weeks. I would have an idea, and then he’d flesh it out, or he would come up with a riff, and I’d come up with a melody line.
BILLY DUNNE: When you’re making an album, any album, it’s an intimate thing. I mean, it has to be.
DAISY JONES: Which isn’t to say we didn’t fight.
BILLY DUNNE: Oh we were fighting constantly.
WARREN ROJAS: For a month it was like that. We’d be in the studio, you know, recording all the arrangements, and they’d be who knows where doing god knows what.
EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Everyday they’d come in with something new.
KAREN SIRKO: I mean great fucking songs.
Y/N L/N: Even though I didn’t want to be in the band, I can’t fault the songs, they were great, amazing even.
EDDIE ROUNDTREE: And every night, they’d come in giggling like two little schoolgirls.
INTERVIEWER: Did it concern you?
GRAHAM DUNNE: Not really. Not yet, anyway. I mean…like whatever they were doing…it was working.
INTERVIEWER: How was Y/N adjusting to being in a band?
KAREN SIRKO: She adjusted well, it was only the arguments that was a concern.
…
“I did everything you told me to do, Billy!” Y/N yelled into the microphone.
“But it’s not good enough,” Billy says from the booth, “Try again.”
Y/N sighed, and began to play again but as soon as she started playing, Billy cut her off again.
“In what possible way was that wrong,” Y/N exclaimed, “I played one note.”
“It was the wrong note.” Billy says, trying to remain calm.
Y/N rolled her eyes, “You need to get your hearing checked.”
Billy turns to Teddy, “It was the right note, Billy.”
A smirk appeared on Y/N’s face at Billy’s annoyed expression.
“Again.” Billy ordered.
Once again as soon as Y/N began to play Billy interrupted her.
“Right,” Y/N says, “This is bullshit.”
Y/N lifted the guitar and placed it back on its stand. With one final glare at Billy, she left the room, joining the rest of the band.
“You finished?” Karen questioned.
“Nope,” Y/N said, flopping down on the couch next to Eddie, “Apparently Billy needs to get his hearing checked because everything I’m doing is wrong.”
Billy came storming out of the booth, his eyes focussed on Y/N, “Get back in the studio now, Y/N, you’re wasting time.”
“Why?” Y/N questioned, “So you can stop me every two seconds, I’d say you’re the one who’s wasting time.”
“Billy, just give her a break,” Karen says, “She’s been in the studio all day.”
“And so have the rest of us.” Billy says.
“Yeah, but we haven’t been yelled at for the past two hours.” Eddie muttered.
Billy sent a glare Eddie’s way before his gaze landed back on Y/N, “Y/N, get back in the studio.”
…
KAREN SIRKO: Billy didn’t know when to stop when he argued with Y/N.
WARREN ROJAS: Y/N never let her emotions show much, but I could tell that she was getting to her breaking point.
CAMILA DUNNE: I knew how Billy was treating Y/N and I wasn’t standing for it. She was my best friend and he was treating her awfully. I knew they didn’t like each other but that was no excuse.
BILLY DUNNE: Y/N got on my last nerve. She always wanted things her way.
Y/N L/N: Billy was a controlling prick.
DAISY JONES: I knew that Y/N didn’t want to be in the band, and I didn’t understand why she was in the band. Her talent shouldn’t have been pushed to the side like it was.
…
The band sat around in the studio waiting for Billy and Y/N to come back with their new song. Y/N sat with her guitar, carelessly strumming a tune she had come up with, humming along to lyrics she had written months ago that was meant to be for her album.
“I like that melody.” Graham says.
“Thanks,” Y/N smiled, “I was working on it for my album.”
Graham began to listen to the song as Y/N continued to strum her guitar. As he began to play her own guitar, working with what Y/N had already created, she turned to him and smiled. One by one each member of the band began to play along with Y/N and Graham. It didn’t sound fantastic but to Y/N it sounded like the most amazing thing in the world.
“Sing the song.” Graham says.
“I wrote the song as a duet,” Y/N says, “Eddie, would you be able to sing the other part.”
“Me?” Eddie questioned.
Y/N smiled and reached down to her bag and pulled out her notebook, turning to the correct page and held it out to Eddie.
“The green ink is what you’re meant to sing. You’ll pick up the melody.”
Everyone began to play what they were before, slowly getting a good balance. Y/N began to sing everything melted away, the only thing she concentrated on was the music. Y/N signalled that Eddie should start singing. As he began he was out on timing which caused Y/N to smile but he soon got into a rhythm.
Their voices complimented each other perfectly. Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Every member of the band got into the rhythm of the song, fully enjoying themselves for not being told what to do, they all got to freely play what they wanted.
The door to the studio opened and in walked Billy and Daisy. Daisy slowed down her walk as she listened to the song, meanwhile Billy let out an annoyed sigh. Y/N was the first to notice and she stopped singing and playing, everyone followed her actions.
“What’s going on here?” Billy questioned.
“Y/N wrote a song and we were playing around with it,” Graham answered, “It’s a great song.”
“It’s not going on the album.” Billy says.
“Come on,” Warren says, “It’s a great fucking song.”
“It’s not going on the album.” Billy repeated.
“I think it should go on the album.” Daisy intervened.
“Thank you Daisy.” Y/N says and Billy rolls his eyes.
“It’s not going on the album,” Billy says, “And that’s final.”
“Okay,” Daisy challenged, “Then I want Y/N to sing The River with me.”
The room fell silent.
“It’s one or the other Billy,” Daisy says, “Her song goes on the album or she sings The River with me.”
…
Y/N L/N: Originally I never wanted my song to go on the album, but the look on Billy’s face when Daisy gave him that ultimatum was what made me want to have my song on the album.
DAISY JONES: We recorded Y/N’s song that day.
EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Y/N’s song was my favourite on the album, still is.
WARREN ROJAS: I think that was the most laid back recording we did. Y/N took the reins on it and let us fuck around with it. It was a good day.
…
“Camila!” Y/N says, entering the house through the front door.
“Y/N,” Camila says, coming around the corner, “I didn’t know you were coming around today.”
“It wasn’t originally,” Y/N admitted, “But figured that since Billy isn’t here, I would come around. I haven’t seen Julia in ages. How are you by the way? We haven’t had the chance to sit and talk in a while.”
“I’ve been okay,” Camila says, sitting down on the couch next to Y/N, “I’ve been busy with Julia, she’s getting to the point where I can’t leave her unattended for too long or they’ll be another broken glass on the floor.”
“Billy hasn’t helped at all?” Y/N questioned.
“He has barely been here,” Camila says, an edge to her voice, “And when he is here, he’s always on the phone with Daisy.”
“I would say that I would have a talk with him, but we all know how that would go, so…”
Camila laughed, “It’s fine, you don’t need to talk to him, I’ll try to when he gets home, whenever that will be.”
“Hey, if you ever need help with anything, you can call me and I’ll answer and be here as quick as I can.” Y/N says, talking ahold of Camila’s hand, “If you need any help with Julia or even a break from her, I’ll babysit her and you can go and take as many photos until you literally can’t anymore.”
“Oh,” Camila says, getting to her feet, “That reminds me.”
Camila walked to the other side of the room and opened a drawer, “I forgot I developed these photos ages ago and I thought you would want them.”
Walking back over to Y/N, Camila handed her three photos and Y/N’s heart sank. The photos were of her and Eddie from the Christmas her first single was released. The first photo was just after Y/N handed Eddie his gift. The two were looking intently into each other’s eyes, a look of adoration on their faces.
Flipping to the next photo, Y/N’s heart sank even more when she saw it. In the photo, she was staring at the camera with a smile while Eddie looked at her. The look on his face couldn’t have been mistaken for anything other than love.
The final photo ripped Y/N’s heart out and threw it on the ground. The photo was taken when neither of them were aware. The two were cuddled up on the couch. Y/N’s arms were wrapped around Eddie’s torso while his arm was wrapped around her waist and the other held onto her arm. Her head rested on his chest while his head was dipped, his lips brushing her forehead.
“When did you take this photo?” Y/N questioned.
“The same day,” Camila says, “It was a cute photo, I took it when you both weren’t looking.”
“Stalker.” Y/N jokes.
Y/N placed the photos back in a stack and handed them back to Camila.
“Don’t you want them?” Camila questioned, furrowing her eyebrows.
“I just-I just don’t think I need them.” Y/N says.
Camila saw right through Y/N’s lie, “What else is going on? Because months ago, you would have been excited to have these.”
Y/N sighed, “Nothing’s going on-”
“Is anything going on between you and Eddie?” Camila questioned.
“What?” Y/N says, “No, there’s nothing going on.”
“Are you sure because the two of you have been acting like strangers for months now.” Camila points out.
Y/N shrugged, “We just grew apart. I was busy working on my non-existent album and he was working with the band, we just haven’t had the time to talk and hang out.” Y/N hated how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
“Are you sure nothing’s going on?” Camila asks.
“I’m sure,” Y/N says, “There is nothing going on between me and Eddie.”
…
Y/N L/N: All of these lies were eating me alive. Of course there was something going on, but at the time I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was, I had never felt that way before so it was all new for me.
…
The next day, Y/N was sitting in the studio, bored out of her mind. They were meant to be recording vocals for Aurora but Daisy never showed up. With her notebook in hand, Y/N was just colouring in the page out of pure boredom. They had all been sitting there for hours.
“Did you try her room?” Teddy asked.
“Yeah, couple times,” Billy says, “I’m worried something’s happened.”
“She’s probably just off somewhere.” Teddy suggested.
“No,, no this is her record as much as it’s mine. Something’s not right,” Billy says, “I got to go.”
“I’ll go with you.” Teddy offered.
“No, it’s worse if the principal comes.”
“Well, take Warren.” Teddy says.
“I can handle it.” Billy says, walking out of the studio.
Y/N looks to where he had disappeared before throwing her notebook down and followed after him. Just as he started up his car, Y/N climbed into the passenger seat.
“What are you doing Y/N?” Billy sighed.
“Look, we don’t like each other, cool,” Y/N says, “But I care about Daisy too, so let’s just go.”
Surprisingly, Billy didn’t argue. He simply nodded and pulled away from the studio.
As the two arrived at the hotel, music was blaring out and shouting was heard for every direction. Y/N and Billy slowly walked closer to the pool where they found Daisy.
“Y/N,” Billy says, “Can you give us a minute?”
“What? Why? I want to see-”
“Y/N, just go.” Billy says.
Sighing, Y/N sat down on a chair, watching the interaction between Daisy and Billy. Y/N had never been one to pry into people’s relationships but she didn’t quite understand what was going on between Daisy and Billy. One moment, they were acting like the best friends in the world and then the next they were acting like they detested each other. Y/N couldn’t work it out.
As Daisy climbed out of the pool, Y/N watched as the glass dug into her feet, causing them to bleed. Y/N winced, standing to her feet.
“Say, hi to Camila for me!” Daisy called to Billy as he stormed off.
“Billy, wait!” Y/N says as he leaves the hotel grounds. Y/N contemplated following him as he was her only way home but she decided against it, opting to check on Daisy.
“Let me guess,” Daisy says, “You’re here to yell at me as well.”
Y/N says, “No, not at all, unlike Billy I know what a fun time looks like.” Y/N lied, she had been annoyed with how late Daisy was but she wasn’t going to outright be angry about it like Billy was.
Y/N looked down at Daisy’s feet, “Can I clean that up?”
Daisy looked down at her feet and watched as the blood mixed with the water, “I’m fine.” As she tried to walk away, Daisy limped, in obvious pain.
“Look, I’ll make a promise,” Y/N says, “You let me clean that up and I’ll happily leave you alone to do whatever you want.”
“Why don’t you join me?” Daisy says.
Y/N sighs, “As long as I can clean that up.”
Daisy rolled her eyes and sat down and Y/N rushed to find a bandage and some alcohol, the latter being much easier to find. After getting some bandages, Y/N went back to Daisy who was miraculously in the same place.
Bending down, Y/N inspected her foot, luckily there wasn’t any glass embedded into her foot so it would be rather easy to clean up.
“Okay,” Y/N says, unscrewing the bottle of alcohol, “This will probably sting a little bit.”
Daisy nods before Y/N pours the alcohol onto the cuts. Daisy winced but Y/N continued to wipe away the blood, disinfecting the cuts. As Y/N wrapped her foot in the bandage, Daisy watched her intently.
“There,” Y/N says, “Just please don’t put your foot in the pool again, I don’t think I can find any more bandages.”
Daisy put her foot down on the floor and looked at Y/N. She didn’t say anything before reaching down and picking up the bottle of alcohol, “No your end of the deal.”
Y/N smirked and took the bottle of alcohol from Daisy and took a long swig.
***
“Where’s Y/N?” Warren asked as Billy entered the studio alone.
Billy looked around, like he was surprised that Y/N wasn’t with him, “I think she’s still with Daisy.”
“You think?” Eddie says, “You just left her?”
“Yes Eddie I did,” Billy says, “I had more important things on my mind.”
“Look,” Karen spoke up, already sensing the tension, “She’s probably fine, she’ll either stay with Daisy or she’ll find her own way home, she always does, there’s no point in worrying.”
No one said anything as Billy picked up his guitar case and left swiftly without a word to anyone.
Back at the house, Eddie was finding it difficult to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt fully awake. Every time he tried to get comfortable, it would only turn into the most uncomfortable position only moments later.
As Eddie closed his eyes for hopefully the final time that night, the phone began to ring in the living room. Due to having the room closest to the living room, Eddie flipped the covers off and got out of bed. As he passed the clock on the wall he took notice of the time. Four in the morning.
Picking up the phone, Eddie answered it.
“Hello?” Eddie says.
There was a long pause before there was an answer, “Eddie?”
“Y/N?” Eddie says, “Are you okay?”
“I-I don’t know where I am.” Y/N says.
“What do you mean?” Eddie questions.
“I lost Daisy,” Y/N says, her words barely legible, “So I continued to drink without her and this guy gave me some pills and I took them.”
“Y/N, are you okay?” Eddie asked, suddenly fully alert.
“I’m-I’m fine,” Y/N says, “I went to walk home but I think I took a wrong turn.”
“Can you describe what’s around you?” Eddie questions.
There was a pause before Y/N answered, “It’s too dark. I don’t think I’m that far away from the hotel.”
“Okay, Y/N, stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.” Eddie says and hangs up the phone.
Only picking up a jacket before he left the house, Eddie got into the van and pulled out of the driveway. His heart was beating fast as he drove, the only thing he thought about was Y/N. As he neared the hotel, he slowed down and kept an eye out for her. There wasn’t much around at all, simply a road and trees with a few houses scattered down it.
As Eddie drove further down the road, he spotted a payphone box and a person sat down next to it. Immediately Eddie got out of the van and ran the small distance.
“Y/N.” Eddie says softly.
Y/N looked up and she smiled, “Eddie…”
Y/N was shivering and goose bumps covered her skin. Pulling off his jacket, Eddie placed it around her and helped her to her feet.
“I’m sorry.” Y/N says as his arm wrapped around her waist as he helped her to the van.
“For what?” Eddie questioned.
“For dragging you out here in the middle of the night.” Y/N says, clutching onto Eddie.
“Don’t apologise.” Eddie says, helping her into the van.
Y/N pulled his jacket tighter around her body as she sat safely in the passenger seat of the car. Eddie got in and began to drive back to the house. Y/N didn’t say anything the entire way there, she simply looked out of the window at the world passing by. She was fully aware of Eddie continuously sneaking glances at her.
As they arrived back at the house, Eddie tried to help Y/N out of the van but she pushed him away, “I’m fine, Eddie.”
“You sure don’t look fine,” Eddie says, “You don’t normally get this bad, Y/N.”
“Yeah?” Y/N questioned, “Well I have all the reason to be.”
Y/N sniffled, trying to fight back the tears she had been keeping at bay for months.
“I’ve had everything I’ve ever been working towards taken from me,” Y/N says, “My album was the one thing I’ve always wanted to do and now that opportunity is gone. I never wanted to join the band and now I have and I haven’t been more miserable in my whole life. Billy never lets me have any creative freedom, and everything I do is wrong. I can’t do anything right in his eyes. I am a singer and a songwriter and it’s been taken away from me. ”
“You have one song on the album.” Eddie says, trying to look at the positives.
“A song that I wrote for my album.” Y/N says, finally letting the tears fall, “I wrote that song with the idea of you singing it with me. I wrote it for us.”
Eddie didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what to say. Y/N looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. Reaching up, Eddie cupped her cheeks and gently wiped them away. He stepped closer to her, decreasing the distance between them.
Y/N continued to stand there, not knowing how to react. Her thoughts weren’t clear and she didn’t know what to say.
Looking down at Y/N, Eddie began to lean forward, his lips inched towards hers like it was a magnetic pull driving them together. Eddie couldn’t help himself, the feeling of Y/N’s lips on his was a feeling he craved, it was as if it were his own personal high and he needed a constant fix. Y/N, noticing this, pushed him away harshly.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Y/N whispered.
“I-I-” Eddie cut himself off because he didn’t really have an answer.
“No, Eddie,” Y/N mumbled, “You’re being mean.”
“I’m not,” Eddie begs, “I’m not, I’m sorry.”
Y/N shook her head, “You are, you don’t do that to someone. You can’t do that to someone. You don’t mess with someone’s feelings like that. Don’t talk to me again.”
With that, Y/N walked back into the house leaving Eddie outside on his own. Eddie remained there in silence for a moment, processing everything. He wished he could rewind time and never did what he did. Angrily, Eddie turned around and punched the wall. Almost immediately he brought his hand to his chest, cradling it. There were cuts on his knuckles and bruises would certainly form, but Eddie didn’t care.
The pain made him aware of what he did. The pain on the outside reflected the pain he was feeling on the inside.
…
EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Everything I did that night, I regretted. I ruined what was left of my friendship with Y/N. I loved her, but I ruined that. And I only made everything more complicated from there.
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Chapter Eight: Doubt
A/N: Loki is in new territory: self-doubt. Thor tries to talk some sense into him. Then he gets an unexpected visitor.
Word Count: 2700
Rating: Explicit for sex, dubious consent
*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+
*Minors DNI*
Tags: Thor being the big brother Loki needs, DUB/CON
Chapter Index
Thor was waiting for him in his rooms when he returned. “I see your head is still attached to your shoulders. Mother always did take it easier on you.” He smiled widely and motioned for Loki to join him at his dining room table. Loki sat opposite him and kicked off his boots. “I took the liberty of sending for a snack to tide us over until dinner.” He lifted the lid on the tray to reveal two bowls of steaming stew and a freshly baked loaf of bread.
“This is just what I need. Thank you.” Loki pulled off his tunic and threw it onto the back of the sofa. “Damn that thing to Hel,” he said while rubbing the back of his neck.
Thor chuckled. “Serves you right for not making yourself available to the tailor.” Thor ripped off a chunk of bread and dunked it in the stew.
“I know.” Loki sipped stew from his spoon. “Thank you again for taking care of everything while I was gone.”
Thor waved his hand in dismissal and set into his food again. After a few quiet moments, he said, “You had me worried when you did not return after a couple of weeks.”
Loki exhaled slowly, “I stopped keeping track of the days. I was acting selfishly, childishly. I have always been hedonistic, but this, this was a whole other level.”
“How much trouble are you in with Mother?”
“Heaps.” Loki shivered as he buttered his bread.
“You look relatively unscathed, so it could not have been too bad.” Loki squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “What? What is it?”
“Trust me; you do not want to know.”
“I do. Please, what did she say?”
“Just remember that you asked for it.” Loki shook his head again and set his bread down. “Mother let it be known that she and Father are still having sex.”
“Ahh, Norns! Still? They are ancient! That is a horrible image!” Thor dropped his spoon unceremoniously into his bowl and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Why…Why would that even come up in a conversation?”
“Oh, it gets worse. Apparently, Father is very good at it, ‘amazing’ was the term she used.”
Thor scoffed, “I am sorry I pressed you on the matter. That is an image I wish I could burn from my mind. Again, why?”
“She asked me not to bed Lady Sigyn and try to get to know her. She has it in her mind that this is a fairytale match. She was prattling on about love and how it makes the sex so much more worthwhile. Or something along those lines. I stopped listening after she mentioned being unable to keep her hands off Father.” Loki shuddered.
Thor was quiet, staring at his half-empty bowl of stew. He said, “Lady Sigyn is a unique beauty. I do not know if even I could have made that promise, Brother.” Loki froze, his spoon half raised to his mouth.
“What are you saying, Brother?” He could not hide the suspicion in his voice. The thought of Thor seducing Sigyn was enough to blur his vision.
“Oh, nothing! Sorry, Brother. I was just thinking out loud. I am surprised you agreed to Mother’s request, given your… appetites.”
“Yes, well…I suppose the least I could do is not ruin the poor girl for all other men before I bid her farewell.”
“Farewell? What do you mean?”
“Mother’s bargain: I keep my cock to myself, and at the end of one month, if I am not in love,” Loki scrunched up his face as he said the last word, “I can send the Andersons packing back to their lands. I get to resume the life I love and dodge the marriage.”
Thor was stunned. “You cannot be serious?” Loki finished his stew and sat back in his chair, waiting for Thor to continue. “Father would never let you back out of a betrothal. There is a signed contract. He would lose favor with the Lords in the North and most in the rest of the realm. There would be distrust of the Crown. It would be political suicide.”
“It would serve him right! I never asked to be betrothed! I never agreed to any of this! I will humor Mother by courting this girl, but I will not marry her.”
“Then you are a fool! Father is the KING! He does not need your permission to make choices for the good of the realm. You may be a prince, but you are still a citizen of Asgard. The King has your interests at heart just as he has everyone's. Lady Sigyn is the loveliest woman to have ever drawn breath in all the Nine! Father has given you a precious gift, and you would toss her away like she is nothing? You do not deserve her!”
“You think I don’t know that?!” Loki stood and walked over to the fire. “She would never choose me. You, maybe. But why would she want me? She should be the future Queen.” He ran his hand over his face. “You said it yourself; I am an incorrigible rogue. Why would she marry me if she had a choice in the matter? She does deserve better. I am doing her a favor by not marrying her.”
Thor dropped his head into his hands. “So that’s what this is about?” He stood and walked over to his brother. “You are a prince. You are charming. You are handsome… usually.” Loki scoffed. “You have the capacity to love.” He rested his hand on Loki’s shoulder. “If you are half as loving as a husband as you are a little brother, Sigyn will be the luckiest woman in the realm.”
“I wish I was as certain as you.”
“Where is this coming from, Loki? You are the most confident person I know.”
“This is different. She is different. I cannot explain why. I was with her for all of five minutes, and I am completely infatuated. The thought of her rejecting me is gut-wrenching. The thought of her belonging to another man makes my blood boil. I want her to be mine so badly. Not just because our parents want us to be; I want her to choose me. But why would she? I cannot indulge in the daydream of her as my wife, the mother of my children.” Loki’s breath hitched as the image of her belly swollen with his child flashed in his mind.
“I do not think I could survive the rejection, so I do not want even to try.”
“Loki, give her a chance. You are not giving yourself enough credit. You are a very clever political strategist. Father even says so. Your magic will rival Mother’s someday. There is no one else I would want by my side on the battlefield. You are smart and the funniest man I know. She would be a fool not to fall in love with you. You promised Mother you would give this a fair go. It is the right thing to do.”
“Since when do I do the right thing? Hmmm?” Loki shook his head and ran his hands down his face. “This is all happening so fast. I cannot even think straight.”
“Loki, look at me.” Thor placed both of his hands on Loki’s shoulders. “You are not only my little brother but you are also my best friend. You would never want anyone to know this, but you are kind and gentle. Sure, you thrive on mischief and chaos, but you would never be cruel. You are a good man.”
Loki looked at Thor thoughtfully for a moment. “Damn, Thor, you aren’t going to kiss me, are you?”
“Ha! You wish!” Thor crossed his arms over his chest. “I meant what I said; you are a pretty great man when you are not being a little twat.”
Loki laughed and raked his hands over his face again. He was feeling a little better after eating and drinking the potion, but he still felt dead on his feet.
“Go lay down. Get some sleep. You can think on this more once you are rested.” Thor led Loki toward his bedroom.
“I am feeling a bit sleepy. Mother’s hangover remedy must be taking effect.” He pulled the covers back and slid to the middle of his bed.
“I will show myself out. See you at dinner.” Thor paused to look at his brother before he closed the bedroom door. Loki was already dosing off; his pallor looked like it was starting to return to normal.
“Thor?” Loki asked sleepily.
“Yes, Brother?”
“Thank you for saying all those nice things. And you know, all the other stuff.”
Thor smiled and shook his head. “You are welcome. Now get some beauty sleep, jackass. You need it desperately.”
“Screw you, arsehole.”
Thor laughed. ‘I hope I got through to him,’ he thought as he returned to his rooms.
oOXOo
“Mmmm…. Mmmm,” Loki bucked his hips involuntarily in his sleep. He was having a very vivid dream. “Oh… oh, mmmm…” He gripped his bed sheets with both hands and rocked his pelvis skyward again.
He felt a warm, wet tongue slide up his shaft. “Fuck…” The dream mouth swallowed his cock with a moan. Soft, warm hands slid up his thighs, circled the base of him, and began pumping.
“Fuuuuck.” He felt like he would float of the bed if he let go of the sheets. ‘I hope I never wake from this dream,’
The mouth continued its noble work on his cock without relenting. A deft hand steadily pumped the base, and another occupied his balls. His arms raised above his head, and he gripped the headboard with both hands. “Oh, fuck…” Loki bucked his hips wildly as his orgasm exploded from his body.
He was breathing raggedly, coming down from his ecstasy, as he timidly peeked one eye open. The light from the sun was low in the sky. ‘Dusk,’ he realized.
He closed his eyes again. He was trying to slow his breathing and get his bearings when he felt a tongue licking him clean, fingernails lightly digging into his ass cheeks.
‘Wait….’ Loki thought, I’m not dreaming.” His eyes shot open wide, and he saw the top of a brunette head located over his hips.
“Sigyn?” he rasped.
“Sigyn!?” Sera’s head shot up, and she glared at him.
“Sera!” Loki pulled his trousers back over his hips and scrambled to a seated position. “What the Hel are you doing here?”
“Was that not obvious, Your Highness?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.
Loki scrambled off the bed. His legs almost gave out as he went to the bedroom door. He was still recovering from the shock and, if he was honest with himself, one of the best orgasms he had ever experienced. Sera let out a pleased little giggle as she made her way up the bed to occupy the warm sheets he just vacated. She was gloriously naked; her hair was untied and flowing around her. She hastily pulled the bed sheet up to cover her bottom half but left her breasts on display, “Come back to bed, silly.”
“You… you cannot be here.” Loki swallowed hard. “How did you get in here? You were dismissed.” He found her dress discarded on the floor and retrieved it.
Sera pouted, “I missed you. You were gone for so long. I thought you would be happy to see me.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come, I’m not finished with you yet.” She smiled wickedly at him and pulled the sheet away from her shapely legs before spreading them for him.
Loki was frozen in place. Angry at her boldness but also wildly turned on. His gaze lingered briefly on the smooth skin of her shin and trailed up to the soft thigh. His mouth watered at the sight of her soft pink cunt, warm and ready for him.
‘So bold…’ he gripped her dress with tight fists, ‘Just a little taste, then send her on her way…’
He took a step toward the bed.
“Yes, come to me. Let me show you how much I missed you.” She held her arms out wide to him.
He groaned, “I can’t.”
“You can. You are the Prince. You can do whatever you want.” She gave him another wicked grin. “You can do whatever you want to me if you’d like.” She rolled onto her stomach and looked at him over her shoulder. "I feel so empty. I need you to make me full." She canted her hips as shook her as at him
Loki’s jaw clenched as he took in the sight of the perfect curve of her ass. So tempting.
‘No…do not do this…’ The memory of Sigyn’s smile in the sunshine flashed in his mind. ‘No!’
“Get dressed!” He threw her clothes at her.
“What!?” She could not believe what she was hearing. She climbed off the bed, ignoring her clothes and hugging the sheet to her chest.
“Get dressed and leave the way you came. I would punish you for being so presumptuous, but I know you would enjoy that.” Loki peeked into the sitting room. Thankfully it was empty. “Get out before someone finds you here.”
“Why are you doing this? Is this because of her? Because of Sigyn? That whore!”
“She is a Lady of noble birth! She is my fiancé! You will remember yourself in front of your Prince!”
“She will never love you as I do! She will never fuck you like I do! She cannot take care of you the way I can!” She sank to her knees on the rug. Tears streaked down her lovely face. “Marry her if you must, but please do not cast me aside.”
“Sera, pull yourself together.” Loki kneeled beside her and wiped her tears with his thumb. “You do not truly love me. We have never even had a real conversation. I paid you for your company. Look, you are a lovely girl. You will make some lucky man a wonderful wife someday. I will always remember you fondly, but this will be the last time we see each other.” Sera’s breath caught in her throat, and she shook her head. “I always told you not to get attached to me. I meant those words.” He helped her to her feet.
“But I’m… I’m…” She shook her head again and wilted in his arms. A wash of anguish clouded her face, “I’m all alone. I need you. I...I can’t live without you.” She tried to wrap her arms around him.
Loki gently deflected her, “Put your clothes back on, sweetheart,” he spoke softly and turned his back to her so she could slip back into her dress.
She whimpered and cried as she tied her sash, “Please, My Prince? Please reconsider. I will be good to you. I will do whatever you ask of me. You know I will.”
“Shhhh. Hush now.” Loki was trying to be patient with the poor thing. He needed to get her out of there. “You must put me out of your mind. It is for the best.”
“My Prince, please? I have no one. I have nothing. Please?” Her tears started pouring again. Loki opened the front door of his apartment and peeked out into the hall. The usual two guards were outside his chamber, but luckily the hallway was empty. “Please? No, please!”
“Farewell Sera.” Loki passed her off to one of the guards and gave him a nod.
The guard nodded back and took her by the elbow. “Come with me, miss.”
Loki watched as the maid was led down the hall and out of sight. The second guard bowed as Loki approached. “The maid, Sera, is no longer in my employ. Do not let her through these doors again.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Loki leaned against the door after he was back inside his apartment. He took a few deep breaths and then looked down to where his cock was in his trousers, “This was all your fault,” he told it.
A/N: I put a dub/con tag on this chapter. Technically, Loki was sexually assaulted in his sleep. However, while Sera was employed by Loki, this was a common (and encouraged) way for her to wake him.
I do not condone SA in any form. This is a work of fiction, not to be used as a how-to guide for getting back into the good graces of your former employer.
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XOXO- Rayne 💚
#a gift for loki#loki fanficiton#loki fan fic#loki god of mischief#loki odinson#loki fanfic#loki smut and fluff#loki smut#dubious consent#dub con#loki fandom#brodinsons
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Left Behind - Chapter 1
The Status Quo
ASH KETCHUM had always been too busy traveling on the road to pay much attention to those in his circle of friends and acquaintances. He always remembers a face when he’d see them again but in transit it was always what was in front of him or a second step ahead that mattered – long term plans were kept vague and that’s how he liked it. “Day by day” in his words.
As he aged, however, that philosophy began to get challenged. It was after Alola when he took notice. Ash hadn’t paid attention to the social media accounts that Bonnie had made him set up, so one day when he went to Kalos for Professor Cerise, he had a huge shock when he noticed a ring on Clemont’s finger.
“Hey, Clemont, what’s that about?” he asked eventually has they conversed over tea and cake.
“Oh, didn’t you see, Ash?” replied Clemont. “I proposed and got married to Serena two years ago. The wedding was eight months ago. She and I posted about it on InstaShoot.”
The black-haired boy blinked in shock. Had he really not noticed, he thought. Strange…
“Er – yeah, I-I must’ve forgotten about it! Haha!”
Clemont cocked his head to one side. “Yeah. I-it’s okay.” Something in his voice told Ash it wasn’t though…
Stranger things happened still. Soon he found out Bonnie and Max had crossed paths somehow and were now dating; Kiawe got engaged to Mallow (he’d been apparently developing feelings for her the whole time when they were in school together. Ash seriously questioned how he hadn’t noticed before. Wouldn’t that have been obvious?); Brock got engaged to Lucy; May and Drew got married and already have a kid on the way.
The then 24-year-old was incredibly confused and wondered: had he never really noticed any of these relationship signs? It seemed odd to Ash…and the worst part was learning all of this either on his new social media accounts or by directly encountering those friends and apparently being the only one not to know.
Worse was to come. He returned home to Pallet Town a few days after learning about Kiawe and Mallow’s engagement to each other. He wasn’t physically or psychologically tired from the journey as Goh and Professor Cerise suspected but he took the vacation regardless because he needed a break from all the shocking news he was enduring.
“Ah, Pallet Town,” sighed Ash when he saw it once he ascended to the top of the hill. “Doesn’t look like much has changed.” Ash huffed with content; it was a line he uttered every time he saw the place. Then has grew closer and closer he heard an orchestra of familiar sounds, sounds that didn’t belong to Pallet Town. “Er…”
Past the thick tree lines that filled his right vision stood familiar yet alien buildings. There stood several new suburb blocks with several more under construction nearby. “Um, no one mentioned those last time we talked…” Ash groaned.
As he entered town, the changes hit him in his heart more. Now there were shopping strips, more than ever before, the once quaint and quiet town now a hustling bustling place. A whole crowd of elementary students rushed by him from a café he usually only saw in the big cities – the sight of it in his hometown hurt his head. He sought out his family home, yet once again, it hit him like a bullet train to the solar-plexus, and that hurt. “Oh, what in the hell is this?” asked Ash Ketchum.
Now his house was replaced with a bigger one, the material the same, now with more storage rooms and a bigger kitchen, dining, and living room. Ash slept that night, not feeling at home at all.
The next day he found his Mom already out of the house. Not thinking this strange, Ash went about his breakfast before he headed for Professor Oak’s Laboratory. His time in the company of his Pokémon at the corral went by peacefully. Professor Oak and Tracey were as cordial as ever with him and nothing seemed amiss to Ash in comparison to the shock he had had for a homecoming yesterday.
Delia Ketchum was noticeably tired when Ash returned home late in the afternoon, but she hadn’t given him any reason to be concerned.
The next morning saw her absent from the house yet again. Ash was unconcerned and once more set off to the Oak Corral. It was at the lab where Ash wondered if something was up, because he found the Professor and Tracey both absent.
“Huh… Strange.”
He headed for a convenience store and was in the middle of walking back to his family house when he saw Gary leaving the local church. Ash froze up where he stood adjacent to the doors. “U-uh…” Ash was without words. Gary was in a tuxedo, a girl with long brown hair he didn’t recognize in a wedding dress, her left arm hooked with his, Professor Oak walking nearby and his Mom in a fancy dress right behind.
“Oh, hey, Ashy-boy,” said Gary as soon as he noticed him.
Ash recovered and tried not to show how stunned he was. “Hey, Gar-bear. You’re…you’re married – er – that’s amazing!”
“Yeah, it is.” Gary paused and looked at Ash. Ash’s lips trembled slightly.
“So, um, no one said anything…”
“Sorry about that,” said Gary awkwardly. “It was RSVP, and when I talked to your Mom, we weren’t sure how available you’d be to come.”
Ash’s heart sank.
“I’m sorry, dear,” his Mother added solemnly. “You just seemed like you really needed a rest so I didn’t want you to worry about attending.”
“I totally get how busy it can be as a Research Buddy so I just assumed things were busy with ya. It was a surprise to hear you came home, but like I said…”
“That and the church does get upset with last-minute arrivals,” said ‘Leaf’.
“Well, it’s not like we were that crowded,” said Gary suddenly. “A few people couldn’t make it anyway. Your Mom probably prepared too much food for the reception anyway, so come with us.”
“Well, um…”
“Good idea! Ash, you do have some fancy clothes for parties, right?”
“Well, yeah, I-”
“Good! Put them on and head for 720 Purwey Street. No, on second thought I’ll come with you to make sure they’re on right,” said Delia as she ran up as fast as she could – or as fast as a woman could in heels – to him.
“Y-yeah…thanks.” Ash sighed inwardly. Now all he’d done was waste his money buying some hundreds yen worth of food in the plastic bag he was carrying.
***
“Oh, hurry, hurry,” fussed Delia as she knotted his tie on his dress shirt.
Ash grimaced and kept his thought about how they wouldn’t be in a hurry if he had just known about the event that morning to himself.
The reception went by with Ash not knowing how to feel. He felt happy for Gary but he also felt an icy loneliness. He didn’t know this ‘Leaf’ girl, never knew she existed, and couldn’t shake the feeling he was a spare brought to eat the food that some five absentees left behind.
“Why wasn’t I told?” he muttered to himself as he swallowed his second glass of white wine. No one heard him, though, and he preferred it to stay that way. His Mother happily conversed with some of the local ladies in attendance while Ash was left alone – he figured his own feelings didn’t need to be known, the loud music and clicking of shoes on the dance floor drowned him from sight…
He felt hurt and unsure of himself. It seemed like pointless bureaucracy to think about the logistics of letting him know of the festivities. He had been around Professor Oak’s practically all day yesterday, why not inform him of Gary’s special day.
***
Delia now placed more focus than ever before into the family business left to her by his Grandmother. It turned out that the expansion to their house was necessary to allow his Mom to host cooking lessons that she started offering. Ash kindly offered to move out to leave space, his Mother gave her blessing. In truth, Ash only agreed to it because it hurt too much to feel so out of touch with everything around him.
He was glad when he was able to go back to work soon after. The problem, however, was that he soon became too engrossed to work. Months passed by, and he was forced to take an even longer break.by Professor Cerise and Goh again.
Ash tried to spend his free time not obsessing with what else was happening, but he couldn’t escape it. Tracey and Daisy had twins before his break; May had given birth while he had been researching in Hoenn and he had not been invited to say ‘hello’; and Lana had recently become a CEO of a now global-expanding Riding Pokémon Training and Education Company.
“Ugh…and Lana really asked Brock and Professor Cerise to help with setting that up before asking me?” Ash hated trying to make it about him, but something stung about not being trusted enough to help with those ventures.
“Everybody…has so much going on, buddy,” Ash said to Pikachu early one morning on the second-floor balcony. There hadn’t really been a point to sleeping in as he’d have liked, everyone he knew was either out of town or preoccupied with other things, so he couldn’t have a nightlife (not in a small town like Pallet) and doing it of his own accord wasn’t really his style anyway. “They’re all doing things I wouldn’t have expected, or are deep in their relationships…”
Even Paul had gotten a girlfriend recently and that weirded Ash out just because his image of him was a surly one. Maybe he’d been wrong about Paul the whole time…
Still, things could be more shocking, Dawn was currently juggling two relationships at once after deciding she indeed has bisexual leanings. Then again, he isn’t an expert in romance so maybe it made sense Dawn never confided this to him. Then there was Ritchie, who changed careers entirely and now is a building engineer; both Violet and Shauna separately went from fashion models and influencers into real estate and restoring national heritage sites; but perhaps worse of all was how he could see and read about pretty much everyone he knew but Misty.
He'd never been able to get an answer, not even a word. Her sisters always picked up her phone, apparently busy with meetings with the League – none of his and her mutual friends really knew either and social media was of no help. Ash sighed and drank his milked-down coffee, he had a feeling he knew what was going on, or at least an inkling. His heart ached as all of that weighed down on his mind.
“Y’know what, though?” he said to Pikachu, continuing his out loud wonderings. “There’s no point in dwelling on ‘ifs.’ We’re here, and we’re now. Not like there’s anything else to do, Mom’s running the restaurant. Let’s just go for a ride.”
“Pika-chu!” said Pikachu in agreement.
Ash hurriedly got his bike out the door and after collecting a random assortment of his Pokémon friends to bring along, began his journey.
“Anywhere you really want to be, Pikachu?”
“Chu. Pika!”
“You don’t have an idea either? Seems we’re in agreement – anywhere we please!”
Ash biked along aimlessly. He breezed through Viridian Forest and past the city and out into the unknown, biking without awareness. He peddled through fields of flowers, past lonely farms and rice paddies, rumbled past bridges that were above rivers or dips in the grasslands, plunged into naturally formed rocky caves turned tunnels and ones purposefully built, he’d tread and weave through towns and cities, climbed up winding roads, and crested a hill and took in the sea breeze as he passed by the ocean from atop a cliff.
He took it all in, not really caring for where he was or how much time had gone. His only stop was a ramen cart at the border of some town somewhere along the way.
He didn’t keep up where he was going because he didn’t want to think. Thinking, he realized, only brought him pain and regret. Traveling was in his heart; he loved adventure and that was where he felt truly at ease.
Yet he couldn’t escape his anxieties. Alone in the open country with only the sound of bike gears winding alongside only the occasional Pokémon cry left his brain to go back to speculation.
Had Misty found a boyfriend or girlfriend by now? Was she pregnant? Running a business or had she taken over from somebody – followed in Violet’s footsteps? Perhaps all his calls in the past few months fell on deaf ears because she was preparing for her wedding? Ash shook his head, trying to will the bad thoughts away but he just couldn’t. Out of everyone whose lives were changing without him knowing, it was Misty’s that strangely irritated him the most. The idea of yet having to have another major epiphany of events beyond his control was too much to bear. He never noticed that he was suddenly going uphill.
Atop the slope lay a four-way crossroad. Ash in his state climbed it without a problem and when the gradient flattened, he had no way of slowing down as a stopped bike with someone on top came into view!
“Whoa! Look ou—”
With a resounding crunch, metal met metal and Ash was hurled into the dirt path.
“Ow…! Damn it. Hey, are you all right…Misty?”
Perhaps it was his last thoughts making him think it was Misty. There was no way such a coincidence as the very person he was thinking of would be there when he needed them was. No way her hair was still as short as the last time he saw her.
“Ash, is that you?”
It was her.
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The Fourth Step - Chapter Twenty-Eight
Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.
Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 3700
Warnings, etc.: anxiety, anxiety spirals, negative thoughts, negative self-talk, overall intense emotions, FLUFF see I can write balanced fic, the briefest of brief mentions of smut
Notes: I think a little explanation will help put reader’s mindset in this chapter into perspective. Those who deal with cognitive dissonance can hold conflicting thoughts in their head at the same time, and they have equal weight and significance even if they’re complete opposite lines of thinking. It can be confusing, lead to a disconnected sense of reality because you never know what’s true, and you distrust your own perception. Cognitive distortion is like a poisoning of positive thoughts, your mind twisting the good things into bad things. It’s very clever, very sneaky, and very difficult to tell the difference from a healthy thought process.
I deal with both, and lemme tell ya, when I first learned about it a lot of stuff started to make sense. If you’d like to learn more, go to your local library or do some googling. I hesitate to suggest direct links because there’s a lot of kooks out there who preach psychology without any actual education in the field, so please just do your research and check sources. And above all, love yourselves 🥰
Mando’a translations and spoiler notes at the end of the chapter.
Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.
Dank farrik, you’re tired.
Even now, after curling up in your blankets and letting sleep dull the edges of that ache in your chest. Apparently you’ll need more than a few hours rest to get rid of the weakness in your muscles, that borderline tremble that keeps trying to take hold of your body again.
You need some kind of normalcy to truly shake it - not the normal you had lived before Din and the kid. Not the normal your treacherous mind was pushing you toward, back in Mos Eisley.
You need the routine of content domesticity that you’ve found only in the last few months. That gentle feeling of belonging.
The warm, bright thing in your chest flares, weak but still there, pushing against the hollow ache that had been scraped out, reaching for something.
You need Din.
Shoving the blankets away along with the threatening memory of just how far you’d spiralled, you stand up and stretch, muffling a groan at how good it feels, the pull in your muscles and back, the prickle of the cool air over the bare skin of your arms and legs left exposed by your nightshirt.
The rush of blood moving through stiff limbs fades from your ears and you pick up on the hum of the engines, that specific frequency that tells you the Razor Crest is moving through hyperspace.
No other sounds drift over the engines, no quiet chatter or soft coos. The hold is dark, in the middle of night cycle - the kid must be asleep.
Where’s Din?
You glance down at the blankets, as if his tall, broad frame would suddenly materialize there.
A curl of unease swirls in the pit of your stomach.
Why hadn’t he come to bed with you?
Pressing a hand over the place where unease threatens to start building, you dig the tips of your fingers into your skin just enough to sting, distract you from falling back into those thoughts.
He had suggested you get some rest, the moment the ship had broken Tatooine’s atmosphere. Nothing in that had been unusual, it was a typical Din gesture, always looking out for your well-being, reminding you to take care of yourself.
Your cheeks warm with the memory of how his hands had cupped your face, large and steady, helping you remember how to breathe.
Unease surges under your palm.
He hasn’t touched you since then.
Pfassk.
He hasn’t even looked at you.
In fact, he’s kept his distance with something almost like intent. Striding toward the cockpit without a glance behind him as the door slid shut. Initiating the launch sequence in silence, black visor focused on the control console. Keeping his back turned to you in the cockpit, even while verbally prodding you to go lay down.
Your stomach turns slowly, nauseating.
Something is wrong.
A thousand thoughts burst across your mind, disjointed and sharp.
Was he injured? Kriff, you hadn’t noticed, so caught up in your own head -
Something had happened, something to make him pull away from you after you had calmed down but what could -
He’s hurt, somehow, you can sense it, he’s not acting like himself.
The urge to go to him pushes your feet toward the cockpit. He must be there, if he’s not in bed.
Carefully, you pick your way through the hold, muscle memory guiding your steps despite the pitch-dark of the night cycle. Pausing by the bunk, you press your ear to the closed door, wave of relief passing over your skin at the muffled sound of soft snores.
At least the kid’s ok.
The durasteel floor is cold under your bare feet as you pad over to the ladder, pausing at the bottom. You take a deep breath, then climb into the cockpit, a frantic energy buzzing in your limbs, concern for him worrying your teeth over your bottom lip.
It’s dimly lit, the lines of hyperspace the only light source, flooding the small space with a white glow tinged faintly blue, flashing ever-so-slightly. The unease dips low in your stomach when you see the glint of his helmet, and you quickly take him in, noting the straightness of his spine and shoulders, the tension pulling them back, holding him stiffly upright in his chair.
Something is wrong -
But then he’s shifting, just a little, gloved hands moving over the console to pull up some kind of data report. There’s no indication of injury in his movements, and you release the breath you didn’t know you were still holding.
Maybe you’re imagining things. Maybe everything is fine and you’re just feeling whatever residual anxiety is left after what happened on Tatooine.
That craving for normalcy swarms over the unease. Yes, you need that, you need this to get your head back on straight. Routine. Quiet conversations with Din as the light of hyperspace flickers over the two of you. Just as it has countless times.
You settle into your chair, tucking your legs close to ward off the chill. The nightshirt leaves your arms bare and only falls to mid-thigh, you probably should have brought a blanket with you, or taken a moment to change into clothes, but you’d been so worried about Din and now - well, now that you’re back in his presence, even the cold isn’t incentive enough to leave him again.
It’s quiet in the cockpit. Just the engines, a distant pulse. It’s soothing on your frayed nerves.
For a moment.
Then it stretches, pulls tight. Fills with something unknown, a tension that radiates out from the beskar-clad frame in the pilot’s chair.
Your tentative peace shudders, heartbeat picking up, hurting that scraped-raw spot behind your ribs.
Something is wrong.
His modulated voice startles you, sounding loud in the thick silence. “How are you feeling?”
A mix of relief and uncertainty makes you shift in your seat. It’s a normal question, one he’s asked before, voice warm with concern for your wellbeing.
But there’s no warmth in his voice, now. No cold bite, either.
It’s just empty words.
You shake your head a little, blinking. Come on, pull out of it. Normal, you need normal.
Forcing a smile on your face, you idly pick at the hem of your nightshirt to give your fingers something to do. “Much better, thank you. How’s the new coolant system working?”
“Fine.”
You wait, but he doesn’t say anything more, the black visor trained on the data scrolling across the screen in the console.
Something is wrong -
Normal you need normal -
You clear your throat, trying again. “That’s good. So, where are we headed now?”
He shifts, helmet turning away from the console, corner of the black visor coming into view. But no more. The tension running through his frame seems to stop him short of looking at you. “Tionas. What happened?”
Unease is boiling into dread and you shove it down deep. “Oh, it wasn’t a big deal, really. Bad Knee Creep saw me on the street, tried to claim I owed him. I obviously argued otherwise, his nose may or may not have gotten broken during the conversation, and he had a few friends with him so I ended up running for it. They didn’t track us as far as Motto’s hangar, I know that, so there’s no need to worry about them recognizing the Crest or - “
“I’m not talking about that.” His words slice through your rambling, efficiently cutting it short. “What happened two days ago?”
Two days ago? You frown, thinking back. What - oh.
A rush of embarrassment warms your skin, and you try to shrug it off with a casual lift of a shoulder, a self-deprecating smile, just in case he catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of the visor. “Oh. Right. I was in my own head about some things, but I’m better now. We can just move on.”
He’s still, silent. Motionless.
Something is wrong -
You scrub a hand over your face, trying to brush away the itch of discomfort that settling over your skin. “Honestly, it’s fine. I mean, I still have some things to work through, but I won’t let it get in the way of the mission. I’ll stay focused on taking care of the kid, finding your people, the Jedi, all of it.”
Your hand drops to your lap, suddenly weak. Something like desperation grips your heart, squeezes. Why isn’t he saying anything? “I’m really fine, I swear. We can just move on and forget it happened.”
The white lines of hyperspace flash through the transparisteel, unsteady light that seems to amplify the silence.
Something is wrong something is wrong something is -
He suddenly spins toward you, chair squeaking with the movement, broad shoulders blocking out the light. The modulator crackles as his voice pushes through it forcefully.
“No.”
You blink. “What?”
His gloved hands fist on his thighs, the line of tension pulling so tight it might snap. “No. I’m not going to forget it happened and move on. You shut me out. For two days.”
A rush of guilt floods your stomach, gnawing, dull and aching. “I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up in my own stuff and… never mind, it’s stupid.”
“You pushed me away so hard that I -“ his voice cracks, barely noticeable but enough to resound in your own chest - “You were so distant, you wouldn’t talk to me, then you show up with him and I thought - fuck, I sat here for the last few hours, waiting for you to wake up and tell me you were leaving.”
A sting of pain nips at your fingertips - your hands are curled too tight into the hem of your nightshirt. “I - none of it was your fault. I’m not - it’s not… it’s my own stuff to deal with, my own hangs up and anxiety to work through. It’s not your responsibility.”
His shoulders shift with a deep breath, fists flattening against his thighs as he visibly calms himself down. “We’re supposed to be in this with each other. Step by step, together. Remember?”
“We are, we are in this together.” Your own fists unfurl, damp palms sliding over your bare knees in an attempt to copy him, do the same and calm down, but guilt and desperation claw their way up your spine until your throat squeezes tight. “It’s just that I should deal with my own stupid mental shit, not you.”
A harsh sound of frustration snaps through the modulator. “It’s not stupid, and it’s not just yours. If we’re doing this together, then it’s mine, too.”
He pauses, suddenly slumping as if exhausted, voice losing the edge of anger to soften into something gentle. “You don’t have to take it all on yourself. I want to help you, tionas. I can’t be with you and not care about you.”
Darkness creeps at the edges of your vision. It’s blinding, all-consuming, throbbing as it fills the hole it had already occupied just a few hours ago, using your tongue to speak. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be with me.”
No no no stop -
You wrestle your thoughts back. The palms of your hands press tight to your eyes, trying to block out those whispers telling you to go run away it’s what he expects he knows you will he even said so -
Don’t please don’t -
I want to live -
But it’s too much, too much emotion battling for control and you can’t keep it contained.
It bursts out, a flood of choked words that come from deep, deep down, beyond that dark throb and warm bright thing warring in your chest.
“I can’t do this, I can’t anymore. I can’t keep fighting that voice in my head telling me to run, hide, get away from you, because you know me, you know too much of me and -“ the words stop up in your throat and you cough, swallow hard, they rush out once again - “I don’t have the strength to keep pushing and trying and - it’s too much. I’ll never win. I’m so screwed up that I see people who are trying to help me as a threat, even the man I love.”
Tears are hot hot hot on your cheeks and they sting, you shove them away with fingers that shake and shut your eyes tight to keep more from falling. “You deserve better than this. Better than me. Kriff, Din, you’re so strong, so brave and thoughtful and kind and smart - you should be with someone like you, not a terrified coward who runs away from everything. Crikking hells, you’re a Mandalorian, and I-I’m a runaway slave. I ran to get my freedom, and I have never stopped running. Not really. Not deep down, where it matters. And I don’t think I can stop. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I wasted your time. I’m so, so sorry.”
Your heartbeat is so loud, frantic, uneven, heavy, and you can’t hear anything over it, over the rush of air pulling through your constricted lungs, the grind of your teeth as your jaw clenches tight against the invisible force that presses down on you -
Something warm envelopes your hands, a gentle strength pulls your fingers into broad palms and holds them there.
The warmth flows through your fingers, wrists, arms, pools in your chest and eases the pounding of your heart as it continues down, through your body until the weight lifts and your breathing steadies.
It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. You just need to open your eyes.
And let him in.
You obey, eyelids flickering slightly as they lift, and the black visor is right there, a familiar slash of dark through silver that makes the warm, bright thing in your chest surge to the forefront.
He’s holding your hands in your lap. The leather of his gloves smooth against your bare thighs.
Yes. Good.
Calm. Focus. Control.
Breathe deep. See him there, in front of you, holding you. Listen to him.
His voice is so soft through the modulator. “I am a Mandalorian. And a bounty hunter. And a… a father to a little green dude. But I am not just one of those things, I’m all of them and more. You told me that once, remember?”
The corner of your mouth ticks up, an almost foreign feeling. “Yeah. That was the night you first called me ‘tionas.’”
He hums in agreement, helmet tilting as he looks down at your joined hands. “Tionas. A question. A mystery. A namana berry farmer, and an eopie herder, and a distiller. All of them and more.”
His hands turn yours over, thumbs tracing the curve of your palms. “A mother to a child who loves you. A slave, and a free person.”
The black visor meets your gaze once more, voice a hushed whisper. “A woman who has lived a thousand lives. Ne’kotir.”
You want to believe him - to let yourself believe him - so badly it’s palpable, a bittersweet bite on the back of your tongue. “How can I be undefeated if my own head is against me? I’m not strong enough to fight it by myself.”
“Needing help doesn’t make you weak.” He releases one of your hands to brush a fingertip over the curve of your cheek, tracing the path of your tears. “Defeat only comes upon us when we deny ourselves that which gives us strength.”
You jolt, surprised by the huff of laughter that bursts from your chest. “It sounds so simple when you say it like that.”
“I know it’s not that simple. But those words have helped me many times.” His hand cups your face, steady as you lean into his touch. “My people believe in the power of personal bonds. The strongest are those with a clan to support them.”
“I… I’ve never had that. I don’t know how to be part of a clan.” Your voice trails off into a whisper, emotion closing your throat again.
The helmet tilts. “Yes, you do. Because you are.”
You frown, searching the visor for that hidden gaze behind it. “I’m what?”
“Part of a clan.”
Time stops. The cockpit disappears and it’s just him and you as he pulls your joined hands to his shoulder, presses your palm to his pauldron.
To the signet of the mudhorn.
The hand on your face nudges your gaze back to his - you hadn’t realized you were staring at where your hand covered the signet.
His voice moves gently but firmly through the modulator. “This is yours, just as it is the kid’s. As it is mine. We are the same, kar’ta. Family. Aliit. Nothing can break that.”
He hesitates, breath stuttering, but then his hand pushes yours tight against the pauldron, rounded edges of the signet imprinting on your palm. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.”
There’s a formal cadence, an importance to the words that settles deep, beckons you to know more. “What does it mean?”
A pause, then - “We are one when together, we are one when parted.”
Tears of a different kind sting the corners of your eyes, and you can’t help but try the weight of those words on your own tongue. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.”
His thumb presses to your lips, like he’s preventing you from saying more but also desperate to feel those words that just fell from them.
You look at him, seeking answers to a question just starting to form in your thoughts but then there’s a flurry of motion, a hand covering your eyes and a clink of metal and then his lips are on yours and you forget everything else.
His hair is soft between your fingers, his scent replaces the air in your lungs and you welcome it. The faint scratch of stubble on your cheek as his lips move over yours sends a shiver down your spine, and his free hand slips under your shirt to follow its path, blazing heat over skin still so new to touch.
The combination of sensations reminds you of the secrets you share with each other, the mutual trust that remains unbroken.
That warm, bright thing in your chest glows.
You pull away, reluctant, but you know you need to say it. “I meant it, you know.”
A faint tremor moves through the hand over your eyes, the only sign that he understands what you’re referring to. His lips press another kiss to yours. “I know.”
You slip your hand from his hair, trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips. “I was waiting for the right time to say it. Guess my own foolish tongue ruined that plan.”
His huff of laughter is everything. “Your tongue is anything but foolish, paklalat.”
“What does it mean?”
“Clever-tongued.”
Your smile doesn’t feel as strange anymore, curves of your cheeks brushing the edge of his hand. “Yet you called me mir’sheb, first.”
“It’s a fine line.”
He lets you tug him forward again, trail your lips over his jaw. “Is there a Mandalorian word for ‘love?’”
The hand on your back sweeps up, resting between your shoulderblades, holding you at an angle so he can tilt your head back, kiss you deep, leave you breathless. “Not exactly. We say it in different ways, depending on the person.”
You catch him off-guard with your teeth on his lower lip, savouring the shiver that runs through him. “Everything is different with you.”
“Yes. Like that.” His mouth curves into a smile against the skin of your neck as he presses a kiss to your pulse.
You hum in agreement, tempted to let him continue his path downward, but the warm, bright thing in your chest makes you pull him back up. “I think I still need to say it, the way I wanted to, given how terrible I clearly am at communicating.”
He hesitates, thumb stroking the line of your shoulderblade, breath falling hushed over your lips. “You don’t have to, I know -“
“I love you, Din Djarin.”
It’s then, in that moment, that you feel it.
Finally, just.
Feel it.
No second guessing, no attempting to distract yourself. No picking everything apart to find errors, doubts.
No fighting to convince yourself you don’t deserve to feel it.
It spreads from your chest, bright and warm and love and everything.
His lips brush yours lightly, letting you feel his words. “I love you, tionas.”
Then he’s kissing you, and you’re kissing him, and every last shred of darkness evaporates from your thoughts until there is nothing but light.
You only stop when it gets to be too much - not enough - and your panting breaths ghost over warm skin, quivering with an underlying barely-there urge to laugh for no reason - or maybe for the only reason that matters.
He shifts, a sound of contentment in the back of his throat, and pulls you into him. You bury your nose in his cowl, breathe deep, smooth your hands over his shoulders, biting your lip to keep the laughter contained when your fingers glide over the signet on his pauldron.
Your signet.
Your clan.
His hands trace steady circles on your back as you both come back into yourselves. Time starts up again and a few seconds tick by, your thoughts meandering through everything you had talked about tonight.
They stick on a memory, and you turn your face into the curve of his neck so he can hear you, keeping your gaze down to avoid accidentally seeing him. “You know what else happened that night, the night you first called me ‘tionas?’”
He kisses the top of your head, groaning softly. “You almost made me lose it and fuck you right there on a storage crate. If the hyperdrive hadn’t blown, I would have.”
A little thrill of arousal warms your core at the memory of his solid form behind you, the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass as you rolled your hips back into it. “Yes, that. But it was also the night I found out about your obsession with HoloNet dramas.”
He sighs heavily. “Mir’sheb.”
“Ah. There’s the line.”
*****
Mando’a translations
Tionas - question
Ne’kotir - undefeated
Kar’ta - heart
Aliit - clan, Mandalorian equivalent of family
Mir’sheb - smartass
Other notes:
*takes deep breath*
Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome is the first half of the Mandalorian wedding vows
*screams into pillow**sobs*
My interpretation of how Mandalorians express romantic love - I know the fandom commonly uses “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” which loosely translates to “I will know you forever” as a Basic equivalent of “I love you” but I haven’t seen it used in official works enough to feel like these two should use it in this fic. Since Mando’a is such a flexible language, I think it makes sense that they would find their own ways to express romantic love, in a way that reflects their specific relationship. Am I overthinking this? Yes. Am I picking and choosing what I want to be “true to the universe” and what I want to play around with? Absolutely. And that’s fanfiction, darling 💋💃
*****
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#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin fanfiction#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x female reader#the mandalorian x f!reader#the mandalorian x you#din djarin x reader#din djarin x female reader#din djarin x f!reader#din djarin x you#mando x reader#mando x female reader#mando x f!reader#mando x you#reader insert#no y/n#the world is light embodied#TWILE
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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
Also on AO3 || Next >
Chapter 1: October 2015
It was, quite frankly, probably the worst day Martin had had since getting moved to the Archives, which was saying something. His alarm hadn't gone off for some reason, so he'd had to rush out the door without eating in order to make his train on time; there'd been trouble on the Northern line that had caused him to miss his connection and have to wait for the next one, meaning he'd only just made it to work before he would be considered late; Tim had accidentally knocked over his tea and it had barely missed the stack of files Martin was trying to research (he just knew that would have been his fault somehow); he'd been hung up on three times trying to verify statements; and when he'd tried to call his mother to wish her a happy birthday, the nurse on duty had been the bossy one who'd never liked him anyway and had told him, condescendingly and specifically and with a spiteful emphasis on the last word, that Miss Liliana doesn't want any calls from you. He was stressed, he was tired, he was strung out. He was on his fifth cup of tea and hadn't brought one to Jon all day, he'd forgotten to pack a lunch and didn't have the money to buy until payday, and at this point he was just counting the hours until he could leave, something he hadn't done in months—not that being home would be any better, just that he could at least bury his face in his pillow and scream his frustration out.
He was the last one back from his lunch break, clutching his cup in both hands. Tim and Sasha were hard at work, Tim frowning and Sasha intent, but she was the one to look up and wave at his desk when she saw him. “We got a statement that mentions a Leitner. Jon wants you to check it against whatever catalogs you can come up with so we can figure out how his edition is different than the original. Says it's top priority.“
Martin made a noise of what he hoped came across as acknowledgment and agreement and sat down at his desk, opening the laptop and reaching for the sticky note with Jon's familiar loopy handwriting on it. He glanced at it, and his day went from lousy to full-on shit when he saw the words Ex Altiora.
“Oh, bloody hell,“ he muttered under his breath.
Tim looked up briefly from his computer. “You know the book?“
“Never read it, but I've heard of it.“ Martin began calling up all the catalogs he could think of, but he knew it was going to be hopeless. They'd never known much about Ex Altiora, but they'd all known it was never mass-produced; there had only ever been one copy, and that much sought-after. The old bag had been furious when…
He terminated that thought quickly. His last encounter with…her…hadn't been pleasant and wasn't one he wanted to relive. Not today. Not at work, anyway.
“How many Leitners are there, anyway?“ Tim asked, sitting back and stretching. “I mean, how many books did he have in that library of his?“
“Nine hundred seventy-eight,“ Martin said automatically. “According to rumor, anyway. Not like he ever let people have access to his collection.“
Tim let out a long, low whistle. Sasha cocked her head at him. “How do you know that?“
“I did my master's thesis on Leitners.“ It was a lie. An old lie, one Martin had trotted out rather a lot in the last eleven years. It had always served him well, but just then, he wished he hadn't said it. Tim knew he didn't have a degree, and he was sure to press Martin about it later.
Fleetingly, Martin gave a thought to cluing Tim in on what was really going on. What was out there. At some point he would need to tell them anyway; they were going to get too close, sooner rather than later, and it was better that they be prepared. Elias hadn't seen fit to tell them, apparently, if Jon's skeptic act was anything to go by (he had to be faking it, nobody could work for the Magnus Institute and disbelieve that hard), but surely he wouldn't have assigned Martin down here if he didn't want them to know. That Elias might not know had never once crossed his mind. It was definitely possible to work for the Magnus Institute without some idea of what it was about, witness the other three people in the Archives, but no way would he be able to head it up if he didn't.
At the moment, however, he put his head down and kept working.
“Martin.“ Jon's voice jerked Martin out of his work haze. He looked up to find Jon scowling at him…or at least in his direction. For once, Martin didn't actually think it was directed at him. Yet. “Have you been able to find anything on Ex Altiora in the catalogs?“
“No, sorry. I don't—it was a pretty rare book,“ Martin hedged. “I mean, there was only one copy.“
Jon's scowl deepened. Now it was for Martin. “Just because it hasn't turned up on any lists so far doesn't mean it isn't on any of them. You're going to have to try harder than that. We can't just give up because it isn't easy.“
Normally, Martin would have apologized, stammered out an excuse, something, but he was tired and overwhelmed and stressed all to hell and gone, and it all combined to make him snap back at Jon in a way he normally only did with people he trusted implicitly not to punish him for it, or didn’t care what they thought of him. “I'm not giving up. It's not just that it won't be on any of those catalogs because it was unique, it's because it wasn't any kind of history or instruction book. It was just a story, somewhere between an epic poem and a fairy tale, about a monster threatening a village that turns out to be bigger than they think every time they start preparing until they throw themselves off a cliff to escape it. The people who understood what it was and what it meant had a vested interest in other people not knowing, so naturally they'd be keen to keep it off of any publicly-available lists, and since there was only ever one copy of the original because nobody ever survived owning it long enough to duplicate it, there aren't going to be other editions out there. Jurgen Leitner's library wasn't all special editions of books expurgated for the general public, you know.“
He stopped, partly because he was out of breath and partly because his brain had just caught up with his tongue and was trying to throttle it. Jon looked rather like Martin had slapped him, and behind him, Sasha and Tim were both gaping at him like he'd just stripped naked and sung a lounge song. His cheeks burned, probably a bright red, but he pressed his lips together tightly to keep himself from apologizing. He hadn't actually said anything he needed to be sorry for.
Finally, Tim reached up and manually shut his jaw, then spoke up in a voice that was almost his usual jovial tones, which told Martin that was as much an act as his own usual soft-spoken awkwardness. “Martin's thesis was on Leitner's library, remember, boss? I think he knows what he's talking about.“
“I—yes, that's right, I'd forgotten.“ Jon sounded slightly off-balance and…almost subdued. “I—I apologize for doubting you. Undoubtedly you're correct about this.“
Was it Martin's imagination, or did he put slight emphasis on the word this? He decided not to mention it. “It's all right,“ he said, and he wasn't sure if it was true or not.
Slowly, he felt himself calming, at least a little. His computer beeped softly at him, telling him he needed to plug it in, and he twisted around to get at the cord. As he did so, Jon turned to Tim. “Have you had any luck in tracking down Gerard Keay?“
Martin fell off his chair.
#ollie writes fanfic#the magnus archives#tma#to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#the project that tumblr enabled#martin blackwood#tim stoker#sasha james#jonathan sims#implied emotional abuse#hey look it's been posted for less than two hours and I already had to make an edit#whoops
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true lies - s. r. (14/15)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.
Chapter Summary: Leaving is the only option - right?
Warnings: angst, blood (but not much), break up, drug addiction (mentioned), alcohol consumption
Word Count: 3.3k
A/N: hello lovies. I'm back and my mind is full of ideas! I hope you like it! gif not mine.
Series Masterlist
previous chapter
You watch the coffee in your cup as if it has all the answers for the future hidden in the caffeine. It's eight o'clock in the morning, and this is already your third cup of the sacred liquid, and you're sure it won't be your last. The shadows under your eyes are a sign of your nightmares that haunted you last night. The fact that you have them doesn't bother you, after all, you've been going through the procedure for months. What bothers you is the fact that you couldn't wake yourself up this time. You've gotten in the habit of pinching yourself when it would get too painful, but something stopped you last night. And the fact that you don't know what exactly bothers you the most.
"Y/N." Emily's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you have to tear your gaze away from your coffee. "What do you think?"
All eyes are on you and out of nervousness you'd like to slide around in your chair, but suppress the urge. You haven't been listening for the last few minutes, too busy with your own thoughts and problems that you can't answer her. The case is supposed to be your last, and you're trying hard to enjoy it and value the time with your friends, but really you're just waiting for it all to be over. Most of all, you want to pack your things and leave.
You barely noticeably shake your head for Emily to continue, and turn your attention back to your coffee, which must be cold by now, but that doesn't stop you from drinking it down to the last drop. Without saying anything, you get up from your chair to get another one, paying no attention to Emily's annoyed look. As you fill your cup in the precinct kitchen, she stands right next to you.
"You're not being very helpful, Y/N," she says coolly as you take a sip. You know her manner is all pretense, because in reality she's incredibly concerned. She only needs to look at your face once to know what's going on in your head, but she doesn't address it. She knows you'll talk to her when the time is right. But you're not sure that will ever happen. "I've already assigned the tasks. You stay here and work with Spencer to gather all the important information that may be relevant to Penelope's research." The look on your face says it all. You don't want to spend any time with Spencer, and certainly not alone, but Emily gives you no choice. Before you can say anything back, she disappears out the door with the others.
With your coffee, which you now wish had a strong shot of vodka in it, you make your way back into the conference room, where Spencer is bent over the table, passing pictures and notes back and forth. You stop in the doorway and watch him for a brief moment, and only then do you notice the narrow, red scratch on his face that stretches from his cheek to his neck. You squint your eyes. It hadn't been there yesterday after all.
"What happened?“, you ask as casually as you can as you sit down and set your cup down on the table. As Spencer looks at you questioningly, you point to his face. "Looks bad." Indeed it does, though it's just a scratch. There's bloody crust in a few places, contrasting in color with his pale skin. Something really got to him.
"Cut myself shaving“, he replies curtly, glancing again at the pictures in front of him. You haven't seen him in two years, don't actually remember who he is exactly, but you still know when he's lying. And when to stop asking and let it go. When Penelope calls, you discuss some stuff and you see Spencer scratching over the wound until it bleeds, which he doesn't seem to notice, which is why you stall Penelope on the phone and grab his hand as soon as the line goes silent. Astonished, he looks at you before looking at his fingers.
"Come with me“, you say briefly and don't even wait for him to follow you. You approach an officer and ask for a first aid kit, which is immediately made available to you. Spencer follows you uncertainly into one of the washrooms, where you already put on the disposable gloves from the box - you don't want any bacteria to get on the wound - and wet a towel from the towel dispenser. Reluctantly, Spencer leans against one of the sinks, waiting for your instructions.
"Tilt your head to the side a little, please." You take the damp cloth and gently dab along the scratch to remove the dried blood. Spencer has to swallow at the touch and you see his Adam's apple bob, and really it shouldn't be that attractive, unfortunately it is anyway. You have to concentrate because this is the closest you've been to him in years. You breathe in his scent, feel his warmth through your gloves, and can barely stifle a deep breath.
"How do you know how to do that?“, he asks softly as you disinfect the wound, and Spencer has to pull himself together to keep from reacting to the burning from the alcohol.
You look at him briefly before turning your attention back to the scratch. „Experience“, you reply, spreading some wound healing ointment over it before taking off your gloves and disposing of everything in the trash can. You then put the first aid kit back together. As you turn around, Spencer is standing right in front of you.
"You didn't tell me you were having nightmares“, he whispers, and confused, you look at him. There's concern in his gaze, and if you're not mistaken, a little affection too, but you push the thought aside, not letting yourself have hope. Hope has only harmed you lately you have not moved forward a bit.
You look once more at the scratch, and then into his warm eyes. "You didn't cut yourself shaving“, you count one and one together and clench your jaws. He doesn't need to answer. You did this to him, you just don't remember. The reason you didn't wake up is Spencer. He was probably holding you, reassuring you so much that your body turned off its protective mechanism. It had certainly been the last time he did that, and you hadn't been awake to enjoy it.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?“, he asks, wanting to reach for your hand, but you take a step back. You don't want him to touch you. You'd prefer it if you weren't in this situation at all. You'd prefer that you hadn't come back at all. None of this should have ever happened.
"It's none of your business anymore, Spencer." Your tone is cool and something in his face changes.
"I thought we were friends."
You have to suppress a laugh. Two years ago, you could have lived well with being friends with him. You were prepared for it then, wished it on him, and meant it sincerely. Only lately you've been through so much that you can't even imagine it anymore. The two years had been hell, but you are sure that you can't live next to him without being able to be with him. You can't watch him and Max be happy together, and even though his happiness is everything you want, you'd rather he be happy with you. But you can't tell him that, it would be unfair and selfish. So you just look at him.
Then you reach for the small suitcase and push past him towards the exit.
-
You're glad when the case is over and you arrive back at Quantico. It's been a week since you and Spencer spoke, and luckily for you, you've continued to be spared nightmares, for which you're quite grateful. Not that Spencer is going to join you in bed one more time to calm you down.
As you walk from the airfield back to the building, you fall back a bit, watching the team joke and laugh with each other despite their fatigue. Most of all, you'd like to leave right now without saying goodbye. Rip off the band-aid, without anesthesia. Short and painless. But your plan is foiled when Emily suddenly walks up beside you and puts a hand on your arm.
"We're going for a drink." She raises an eyebrow expectantly. Apparently she's waiting for you to decline the invitation, and all too gladly you'd like to meet her expectations, but it's almost certainly the last night you'll see each other, at least for an extended period of time, and short and painless wouldn't be fair to her - your best friend.
You smile at her. "You're paying for the first round."
Her eyes widen in delight, but before she can say anything back, Luke, who has overheard your conversation, interferes. "We're going out for drinks?" A grin spreads across his face, almost reaching his ears, and suddenly the rest of the team pricks up their ears. Luke's gaze is fixed on you. "I bet I can drink you under the table by now, Y/N."
„You can’t“, Matt replies, and you see Rossi smile to himself. "Last time you did that, you almost passed out after four shots."
"JJ got the drinks. Maybe she mixed something in“, Luke tries to defend himself, but the blonde raises her hands.
"I'm not responsible for your kindergarten drinking. But I'd love to see you try to drink Y/N under the table." She smiles at you and winks, and you can't help but grin. It feels good to know that all is well between you and the team, even though they know with a high probability that you won't be staying. You'd understand if they were mad at you, but that doesn't seem to be the case. JJ looks at Spencer, who is being less than forthcoming. "You coming, Spence?"
He risks a quick glance in your direction before adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He knows this will be your last night. And that you won't see each other again after this. "I think I'll sit this one out“, he replies curtly, but JJ nudges him and he gives her a dirty look.
"You can't avoid it, Spence."
You'd rather he'd gone home.
The first drinks are on Emily, as promised, and the ones after that are on Rossi, and it's actually not long before Luke is sitting at the table with a glass of water, wishing he'd slowed down. You grin at him from the dance floor where JJ and you are swinging your hips, and he sticks his tongue out at you before putting his head in his hands and sipping water through the straw in his glass.
JJ reaches for your hand and pulls you close before wrapping her arms around your neck. "I'm going to miss you“, she almost yells so you can hear her over the loud music. You smile weakly at her. There's a glint in her eyes, probably from the alcohol, and only now do you realize how much you're really going to miss her.
"I'm going to miss you too“, you reply, risking a quick glance in Spencer's direction. He's sitting next to Luke, looking completely out of place. You look back to JJ and without further ado, she puts her hands to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your mouth. When she pulls away from you again, she just grins at you. "What was that for?"
"I want you to know that we love you. We all do. Remember that when you're lonely, and call if you need anything. You are and always will be a part of our weird family."
You wait a brief moment before pulling away from her and disappearing into the ladies' room. As soon as the door slams shut, tears stream down your cheeks and you have to hold onto the edge of the sink to keep from breaking down. You were aware of how much the others would miss you, but hearing it from JJ only makes it more real. By leaving, you're not only leaving Spencer behind, but everyone else as well, and that's so selfish of you that bile rises inside you and you almost throw up. You wish you hadn't had those last two drinks.
"Y/N?" You don't have to turn around to know it's Spencer. You recognized his voice and can see him in the mirror above the sink.He's standing behind you, unsure of what exactly to do, which is why he buries his hands in his pants pockets and looks at you silently.
You wipe the smeared mascara from under your eyes before turning and leaning against the basin. "This is the ladies' room, Spencer. You're not supposed to be in here.“
"I'm right where I'm supposed to be“, he replies, but doesn't move from the spot. He watches you brush your hair out of your forehead and wipe at your hot face to get rid of the tears. "You don't have to go. You know that, right?"
You look up from your shoes, straight into his eyes. "Yes, I do."
You want to leave the washroom, but his fingers curl around your arm, holding you back. "Y/N ..."
"I can't stay, Spencer. I can't look at you without knowing that someone other than me is waiting for you at home. I can't watch you be happy without me. It's okay, really. It's just that I don't have the strength to watch it anymore." The words just bubble out of you, and for some reason you can't stop. But it feels good to say it out loud, even though you certainly shouldn't. "I love you, Spencer. I'll always love you. But I'm at the end of my rope." You shrug in exasperation. "I have to think about me. I can only think about me." Spencer's face contorts painfully, but you can't stop. "To think that you're about to go to Max's and do God knows what ..." You shake your head, as if it might drive the thoughts from your mind. "I feel like I - I - I can't breathe. Like I'm going to die. And I just can't take it anymore."
Spencer's hand comes away from your arm at your honesty, but only to grab your hand and pull you against him. You bounce against his chest, wanting to pull away, but he holds you tight and presses you to him with his other hand. Carefully, he places his palm against your cheek and gently strokes your skin with his thumb. "Please, don't go."
You look into his eyes, which have filled with tears. "Why not?"
You can practically see him struggling with himself. He wants to say something, but can't find the right words, so he presses his lips together and lets his forehead sink against yours. All he has to do is say it, and you'd throw all your plans out the window and stick around. Just a few words. But he doesn't say them. "I can't ..."
You take a deep breath before pulling away from him, disappointed. „Goodbye“, you whisper, before leaving him alone in the washroom.
-
Spencer sits uncertainly at the kitchen table, watching the tea bag with lemon balm in the cup in front of him. He doesn't actually like lemon balm, but he needs something to calm his nerves and get the trembling of his hands under control as he sits there searching for the right words.
The last time he had felt this helpless, Emily had just left his apartment and he had been about to make some phone calls. The first call would have been to a man who would have given him a different number. The second phone call would have been to a woman who would have transferred him. And the third number belonged to someone who would have given him what he was only too happy to get.
Many years ago, he had sworn to himself that he would never resort to it again. That he wouldn't need it. He would be stronger than the desire to feel nothing more. The only thing that had stopped him was that you would never wish that for him. That you had helped him then, had stood by him. He didn't want it to be in vain.
Spencer hates feeling so helpless, even though he actually knows exactly what he has to do now. That's why he sits in the kitchen in the middle of the night, cup of calming tea in hand, not daring to look at the woman sitting across from him. But he doesn't need to say anything either. She knows why he was at her door at such a late hour. They sit in silence, neither quite knowing what to do. Neither of them has been in this situation before. Spencer is glad she's the first to speak.
"So that's it." It's more of a statement than a question. Spencer nods silently, whereupon she purses her lips. "Because of her?"
Spencer looks up from his cup and looks directly at Max. Then he shakes his head. "No, not because of her."
She raises an eyebrow. "But what? Don't you dare give me that 'it's not you, it's me' tour. I've heard that one before."
Spencer has to think for a moment, find the right words, before he answers. "I've lost her so many times. I wouldn't survive it another time."
The two have known each other long enough. Max knows he's not exaggerating or meaning it metaphorically. He has told her about his addiction, and she had been very grateful at the time that he was so honest with her, even though they hadn't known each other long. Spencer knows that all of this is not healthy and psychologically quite far from reasonable and Maxine knows what she has gotten herself into. But no one could have guessed that it would end this way.
"I'm sorry." Spencer's voice sounds hoarse and raspy. He stands up and makes his way toward the apartment door.
"I hope you make it." There's so much honesty in her voice that Spencer has to smile sadly over his shoulder.Maxine doesn't deserve this. None of you deserve this.
The walk to Emily's apartment is short, but to Spencer it feels like an eternity. The train is late, which is why he actually starts running, afraid of missing his chance. He runs until his lungs are burning and his bag is banging painfully against his ribs.The few people left on the streets look at him askance, but he doesn't care. He's panting, barely getting his breath and wishing he was a little more athletic, but as he sprints around the next corner he can already see the building where Emily's apartment is located.
For a brief moment he considers taking a break, catching his breath, but he can't wait another second. Hopefully he's not too late.
He's not surprised that he can just walk into the building, even though he doesn't have a key. He sprints up the stairs, and runs down the hallways until he's gasping for breath and standing in front of the right door, his head high. He bangs on the door with a clenched fist, hoping it will open and he won't be too late. He can't be late. He can't be late.
Finally, the door opens, and for the first time in years, he can take a real breath.
"Y/N."
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#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid headcanon#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fic#spencer reid true lies#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#Emily prentiss#aaron hotchner#Jennifer jareau#luke alvez#Matthew simmons
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RUN: Chapter VII (Epilogue.)
Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for. He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants. So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly. And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.
You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook. So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos. How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?
Hey friends! Enjoy the epilogue <3 Namjoonie next..
You were pissed.
Jungkook had promised you he wouldn’t be late tonight.
It was your one year anniversary - one whole year of being married to the love of your life - and you were meant to be celebrating at a fancy restaurant with champagne and good food.
You’d gotten all dressed up - squeezed yourself into some ridiculous contraption of a dress - just for him, and now it looked like you were going to miss your booking.
Eight o’clock passed…
Then eight-thirty…
Then nine…
By the time your husband finally decided to make an appearance it was more than an hour passed your reservation time. You’d taken off your dress - kicked off your heels - and made a move on your makeup when the door to your bedroom clicked open.
“Hi Angel…”
Jungkook’s sheepish tone greeted - and you chose not to answer - instead glaring at his reflection in your vanity mirror.
“I know, I know I’m late,” He’s pulled his tie and blazer off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms. You chose not to comment on the suspiciously red coloured stains peppering his collar.
“Happy anniversary to us, I guess.” Your own voice was sharp and angry - in the year you’d been married to Jungkook he had made you feel special and loved - but that didn’t mean he still didn’t fuck up.
“I’m sorry baby,” He moved towards you quickly, and you stood turning to face him, “It was - y’know… God. It’s Bangtan.”
The desperation on his face pulled at your heart strings.
You knew your husband’s job was important - you knew that as a member of the Special Seven - as Bangtan’s shadow he had more responsibilities than he would probably ever tell you.
And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long.
But still. It was meant to be a special night for the two of you. An acknowledgement of everything you’d been through together.
An acknowledgement of your love for one another.
You couldn’t help that you were disappointed.
“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s part of the package, right?”
He sighed heavily and reached up to push some of your hair out of your face, “I hate disappointing you.” His tone was tender and a little more of your anger fizzled out, “I love you so much Angel. I always want to be with you - I always want to make you happy. But I’m not always very good at it, huh?”
You chose not to say anything - slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and staring into the eyes of the man who had changed your life.
God. Your heart swelled to nearly three times it’s size at the look on his face.
Such reverence and adoration - like you were a work of art.
He always made you feel special, like that.
“I’m sorry baby,” His voice was sincere, “I really am. I know tonight was meant to be special…. God. What kind of husband leaves their wife waiting for them on their anniversary?”
He laughed without humour, and you felt a stab of guilt.
“It’s okay Jungkook,” You licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “We’ll celebrate another time.”
He touched your face gently and frowned, “I know you’re disappointed… And you have every right to be, Y/N. Tonight should’ve been about us.”
You sighed heavily, “What kept you out so late?”
His eyes darkened and you noticed for the first time how tired he seemed. He’d been out all day - and if the blood on his shirt was any indicator it hadn’t been easy.
“Namjoon.” He answered hoarsely, “He barely comes out on missions with us anymore. Barely wants to be around any of us…”
You felt a stab of guilt.
Since the night you’d been kidnapped almost four months ago, Kim Namjoon had turned into a shell of his former self. You knew you couldn’t have done anything - you were just as much a victim of Sana’s brutality as he was - but you still felt awful.
“What happened?”
“We tried to help him… Lord knows we’re all emotionally constipated. But Jimin thought it might be nice to take him out for lunch. So we did. And then…” Jungkook shook his head, “Namjoon cut himself with his steak knife. He hasn’t gotten used to his prosthetics yet.”
“The blood?”
He clicked his tongue, “He was sitting beside me.”
You instantly felt terrible. You moved to wrap your arms around your husband, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.
“I’m sorry baby,” You whispered against his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head and frowned, “No stop - don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t take you out for anniversary meals like normal couples. I’m sorry I come home with blood on my shirt -”
“It’s okay Jungkookie.” You pressed a hand to his cheek and he smiled softly at the nickname he’d begrudgingly accepted, “I know who you are - I know the world we live in. I accept it. I accept you. Is it annoying? Of course. But I won’t give up on us. Ever.”
He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm, “I love you baby.”
“Me too.”
“Next time though, text me alright?” You pulled a face, “I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed up.”
He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“I will Angel.”
He spent the rest of the evening showing you just how sorry he was, and how much he absolutely adored you.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an anniversary.
//
“I have something to tell you.” Nayeon had shown up not five minutes ago, with a promise that you had to sit down and listen to her.
You’d obliged of course - she was your best friend after all.
But her confession had knocked the air out of you.
“I’m getting married.”
She was grinning from ear to ear. You almost dropped the cup of tea you were drinking.
“What?”
“I’m getting married.” She didn’t seem upset, “That’s why I came round.”
“To who?”
Her smile widened, “Song Mino.”
“Oh!” You mirrored her expression, “Song Mino. He’s… Nice.”
“And hot.”
Your face flushed and you nudged Nayeon playfully, “Stop it.”
“I’m happy.” She told you honestly, “I might not know him very well but he seems like a decent guy. And like I said… Hot.”
You laughed this time at your friend’s unabashed appreciation of her husband-to-be and clicked your tongue, “Well if you’re happy sweetie, then so am I.”
“My dad told me last night. Mino’s father approves - so does Taehyung….” Her eyes flitted to yours guiltily and immediately you realised what this was.
A setup.
“You want me to tell Jungkook.”
Her lips stretched into a thin line. She grimaced.
“Yes.”
“Why can’t you tell him?”
She frowned deeply, “Because Jungkook’s hated Song Mino ever since they were kids and he stole Jungkook’s first girlfriend.”
“Your brother is not that petty.”
“Yes he is.” She raised a brow and scoffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t know that about him.”
You bit back a laugh at the thought of Jungkook holding a grudge for as long as he apparently had with Mino. Then you frowned. Tonight was meant to be a different kind of surprise for your husband.
“I also had some big news for Jungkook tonight. I was going to wait to tell you but since you’re already here….”
For a brief moment Nayeon seemed confused by what you’d said before her eyes widened and she shot out of her seat. She moved towards you like you were a glass of water and she hadn’t drunk in a week.
“Oh my god. Oh my god.” She pulled you in for a hug, “You’re pregnant aren’t you? Oh my God! How far along?”
You laughed at your friend, “I only found out this morning. We’ve been trying for a couple of months… But I’ve only missed one period.”
Nayeon’s eyes were sparkling with tears and you were sure your own weren’t too far off, “Oh my god! Don’t worry about telling him about the wedding. I’ll do that sweetie. You just worry about telling my brother he’s going to be a dad!”
A loud thud caught both your attention and you turned sharply to find the brother in question - your husband - staring at you both in shock.
“Wait… What?”
Jungkook’s eyes flitted between yours and his sister’s. He blinked slowly, as if slotting everything into place.
Nayeon pulled away from you quickly and shot you an apologetic look.
“Surprise?” She said to her brother with a weak smile before grabbing her things and making a nervous beeline for the exit.
Nayeon mouthed “I’m sorry” to you as she disappeared and you had to stop yourself from laughing at the entire situation. Of course it would all happen like this.
“Was she… Was that…”
You stood quickly and moved towards your husband, cupping his face in your hands softly. Your eyes roved his his features carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension. But all you saw was surprise… And joy.
“I’m going to be a dad?” He whispered, eyes wide, “For real?”
“For real.” You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “You’re going to be the best dad.”
He broke out into a wide grin and bundled you up in a hug, raining his own kisses down across your face.
“Oh my god Angel. We’re going to be parents. Oh my God!”
You giggled at his reaction and squealed when he lifted you off your feet.
“Pregnant wife.” You warned him, and he put you down quickly, patting your head and shoulders to check for signs of injury.
“Oh my god. Pregnant wife,” His smile was dazzling, “I love you so much Angel.”
“I love you too Jungkookie.”
You had spent so long running from your feelings for Jungkook. And he’d done the same.
Thank God you finally decided to stop and rest.
Things would never be perfect - but you were happy. And so was he.
And that was all that really mattered to you.
//
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The Rules of Engagement (1/5)
part one of the The Better Love Series
pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader
summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.
words: 6.3k
warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, eventual smut.
a/n: at the end. @tiffdawg, I finally did it.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
MASTERLIST
Your alarm buzzes, and you roll over groggily.
0615.
Goddamn. You flop a pillow over your head, blocking out the early morning sun, and wonder if three hours of sleep is any better than no sleep at all.
Somehow, you kind of doubt it.
The alarm blares again, a failsafe you’d been wise enough to set up after round two had led you to the shower. You gather your still-damp hair, wincing at how gross that feels, and elbow Peña in the shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine!” You toss your soggy pillow onto his face.
He grunts pathetically, cracks an eye just enough to send you a sliver of resentment, and lifts a middle finger vaguely in your direction.
You’re completely unsympathetic. “Not my fault this time, Peña.”
He curses you in Spanish as you flick on the lights on your way to the kitchen. Coffee is your first order of business.
You’re not sure exactly when Agent Peña became a fixture in your apartment. Oh, you can nail down the general timeline pretty well - a night out with the Search Bloc boys had ended with Peña coming to your place, and things had unfolded naturally from there. The sex was good. Very good. You’ve always had a high drive, and Peña is a man who can deliver. You’re pretty creative, and he’s fairly open minded, and neither of you seem to care to make things complicated with Labels and Conversations. Somewhere down the line, wild nights out evolved into even wilder nights in, and then, before you knew it, you’d let Peña borrow your spare key when he’d left his wallet on your coffee table.
That had been at least two months ago. The sex is still good, and Peña is still leaving his shit everywhere, so neither of you bothered to say anything about it.
It works. That’s all that matters.
You’ve just sat down with your drink in your hands as the doorbell buzzes. “What the fuck?” You glance at the kitchen clock. It’s not even 0630.
The doorbell buzzes again.
You eyeball the gun that Peña has left lying on the kitchen counter. Nobody should be looking for you this early in the morning.
“Hey!” Somebody is knocking now, and shouting, and ugh, you recognize that voice. You leave the gun where it is - somewhat reluctantly - and slam open the door with a ferocity that sends Steve Murphy stumbling into your kitchen.
“Good morning,” you say serenely.
“Good morning to you, too, Ears,” Murphy grimaces up at you.
“That’s not my name,” you remind him for the thousandth time. Not that it will make any difference. Ever since you’d made the mistake of introducing yourself as Centra Spike’s new liaison by saying, “I’ll be your ears,” the Search Bloc boys had leapt at the opportunity to tease. You’re pretty sure most of them don’t realize that you have any other name.
Somehow, it irks you more coming from Murphy.
“What are you doing here?” you ask as politely as your temper allows. Murphy has never been your favorite person, and your caffeine definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.
Murphy rights himself, fixing you with a glare that doesn’t threaten in the slightest. “I’m looking for Javi,” he says. He has the audacity to glance around your tiny living space, as if he’d come with a search warrant.
You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of your too-thin nightshirt, and lift a brow in Murphy’s direction. “And what makes you think he’d be here?”
Murphy pins you with an ‘I see right through your bullshit’ expression. “Call it a hunch.”
Right on cue, footsteps clatter down the kitchen stairs. Murphy smirks. You don’t bother to hide a sigh.
Fuck.
“What are you doing here?” Peña echoes you unconsciously. You try not to cringe at the smug glance Murphy throws your way.
Instead, you turn to glare at Javi, and oh god.
His shirt is buttoned all wrong, hanging lopsided and displaying half his chest, if he’d just given up at the top.
Subtle.
Murphy apparently doesn’t have the stones to address it, because he waves a manilla folder in front of Peña’s face. “Special delivery,” he says, dropping the file on your coffee table with a smack.
Peña dives for it, brow furrowed. Whatever he sees must be good, because he snaps his head up to stare at Murphy. “Where did you get these?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.
“My contact in Medellín.” Steve rests his hands on his belt ever so casually, as if daring Peña to question him.
Peña does. “Since when do you have a contact in Medellín?”
You wonder the same. Partners are usually aware of each other’s informants, unless it’s that kind of contact. Isn’t Murphy married?
“Not important.” Murphy shuts him down quickly.
“Verdugo,” Peña breathes.
You shoot a questioning glance at Murphy. In the three months you’ve been in Colombia, your Spanish is rapidly improving, but Murphy has been here longer, and some things are still beyond you. “Butcher,” he translates with a grimace. “Or executioner. One of Escobar’s top sicarios.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Lovely.”
Peña glances up, surprised to hear you speak, as if he’d forgotten that he’s standing in your living room.
Murphy doesn’t acknowledge you. “He’s in Medellín, Javi.” He stretches, then makes for your front door. “I’m gonna turn in for a bit. Late night.”
Peña grunts, settling on your sofa with the file as Murphy sees himself out.
You sidle up behind him, curious. He knows you’re there - your hair is falling over his shoulder and you’re doing nothing to stifle your breathing, but Peña’s only acknowledgement of your presence is to shift his body ever so slightly to the left, unspokenly granting you access to the file.
You bite your lip, pleased and a little unnerved at the implication. You suppose that Peña wouldn’t be Peña unless he’s breaking the rules. He certainly has a reputation for it.
It hits a little differently, though, knowing that he’s committing a felony just to satisfy your curiosity. And on your fucking sofa, too.
You shake the butterflies away. Peña is flipping through a series of grainy photos, each showcasing the same guy. Somebody, Murphy probably, has circled his face in red ink, and there are further notes in the margins, written hastily. Landmarks, you guess. Peña is reading too fast for you to decipher much, but you spot a map of what you assume is Medellín in the shuffle. It is similarly annotated with scrawling red ink.
Peña flips through the file once, and then again, slower.
You brace yourself on on your forearms, glancing at the clock. You aren’t expected at the embassy until eight - you can afford to be patient.
Whatever this is, it’s big.
Deciding you’ve gleaned all you can from the file, you turn your attention to Peña. He’s leaned forward on your sofa, arms on thighs, lost in thought. Every muscle is tensed, as if he could spring up at any moment, his gaze is narrowed, his brow furrowed in a way that tempts you to lick it.
The thought startles you. You aren’t a goddamn animal.
Are you? Your mind drifts to Murphy, smirking with his arms folded in your kitchen like he could see through your nightshirt, right into your fucking brain.
A stone sinks in your chest. Landing this position with Centra Spike had been your first big break in a lifetime of frustrations. You’d joined the army fresh out of school, angling to be an analyst with the special forces. The good ol’ U. S. of A. had gladly foot the bill for your education in exchange for you signing your life away, and you’d chugged through a mind-numbingly boring double major of mathematics and computer science, all on the sage advice of your recruiter.
The reality of active duty was a kick in the fucking teeth. The brass had taken one look at you - a wide-eyed, idealistic woman with a big hair and bigger goals - and promptly slapped you with a desk job. You’d spent three more years rotting away in a forgotten back corner of an office building in Kuwait, filing reports and delivering messages. Occasionally, they’d throw you a bone and hand you a code to rewrite. Your commanding officer got all the credit, and you were just a glorified secretary.
By the time your contract was up, you’d been sidelined, interrupted, passed-over, underestimated, scoffed, and just flat-out ignored enough to be thoroughly fed up with military life. The glass ceiling in the U.S. Army is raised just high enough to suffocate its victims slowly, and you were sick sick of being stifled.
Being recruited by the CIA for analyst work in the hunt for Pablo Escobar had been pure, dumb luck. Right now, you might just be a liaison, but this is your shot. Your last one, probably, and you’re not willing to give it up just to get laid.
Not even for the best lay of your life.
Peña slaps the file shut with gentle smack, startling you from your thoughts. He reaches for his boots, moving with a single-minded determination that you’d find sexy if it weren’t so damned inconvenient.
“Peña.”
He doesn’t react, just gathers his badge and keys from the end table as if you aren’t even there.
“Peña.” You say it louder this time.
“Hmm?”
“Javi!” You call his name without even realizing it, and it works. His head snaps up, eyes wide, staring at you as if he’s just now seen you for the first time.
You have his undivided attention now.
“Yeah?” He blinks, all wide brown eyes, and fuck it all, you can feel yourself flushing under his gaze.
You swallow hard, push past the strange flutter in your chest. “We’re getting too predicable.”
His brow furrows. “Come again?”
You decide to take the high road, but you can’t stop your lips twitching at the obvious joke that he’s left himself open for. He’s quick to follow your though process, though - his eyes sparkle with laugher, daring you to call him on his blunder.
Shit.
You press on. “This,” you start, grimacing. He’s still looking at you, and his expression is warm. Flirtatious. “What we’re doing…” Goddamn, your face is aflame. “I mean, we’re not exactly subtle.”
He draws back, expression shuttering instantly. “Don’t worry about Murphy,” he says firmly. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
The ‘if he knows what’s good for him’ is clearly implied.
“It’s not just Murphy,” you press. You can’t exactly put into words what it is that you're trying to make Peña understand, you just know it's important that he does.
“What are you suggesting?” He’s standing now, still holding the file against his chest, as if to defend himself with it.
You shake your head. “I think,” you say slowly, trying hard not to catch his eye, “that we need to cool it.”
Silence. You can feel his raised eyebrow.
You step forward. You’re focusing hard on finding the right words without revealing too much, but your hands are desperate for something to do. “We need to stop fucking around.”
There, you said it.
“Oh?” There’s something amused in his tone, but you shrug it off, still refusing to look at him.
“Yeah,” you answer hotly. “Isn’t this fraternization? Shouldn’t we be worried about our careers, or some shit? We both have a lot to lose here.” You glance up, emboldened by your speech. “Do you want to catch Escobar or not?”
He’s looking down at you, not taking you the least bit seriously, expression damn near indulgent.
Indignation sets a fire in your chest.
“You think you can just quit me, cold turkey,” he asks in a voice as smooth as silk.
Goddammit, he’s mocking you.
“Absolutely.” You look him firmly in the eye, former awkwardness forgotten, more determined than you’ve ever been.
He huffs directly in your face. “You won’t last a week, Ears.” He cups your cheek in his hand, skimming your jawline with his thumb. “I know you, remember.”
Oh, the bastard. “You think you can go longer?” You counter, stepping into his chest. You’re pissed now. Peña is a well-known man whore, and you know, know, that you are exactly his type.
He laughs now, openly and genuinely amused. “Longer than you,” he says, glancing down at where your hands are absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.
Oh, fuck.
“I’m fixing you, you absolute asshole,” you hiss, beyond grateful that you’ve yet to undo his last cockeyed button. “Unless you want to show up at the office all freshly fucked and lopsided.” You hold up the hem of his shirt, clearly displaying his mismatched edges.
“Oh.” At least he has the grace to look abashed.
“Yeah,” you swallow dryly, suddenly aware of how close he his, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, sex and the scent of your own bedsheets.
Goddamn, you want him already.
You push it all away, patting him condescendingly on the chest. Two can play this game. “Just looking out for your career, Agent Peña.”
He sighs somewhat theatrically, but you can see the conflict warring in him.
“Well, then, Ears,” he says after a long moment. He rebuttons his shirt properly this time, fingers working quickly. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
You meet his gaze evenly. “Guess so.”
The door shuts behind him, and you sink to the sofa. It’s still warm from where he’d been sitting.
Oh fuck, what have you done?
♠
You’re not watching, you’re not, but you can’t help but notice when Peña comes swaggering into the office at ten am, wearing those sunglasses and those fucking too-tight, dark wash jeans, chugging a cup of coffee like he knows that his exposed neck is a weapon.
You make eye contact through the glass, just for a moment, and he winks at you.
You smirk back, a plan forming in your mind.
This means war.
♠
You retaliate by letting your hair curl wild over your shoulders and squeezing yourself into a leather skirt that is just barely work appropriate. The Search Bloc boys bombard you with whistles and winks and catcalls all day.
It’s worth it, though, to see Agent Peña’s eyes go wide and blinking, to watch him swallow so hard.
“Fucking tease,” Murphy hisses as you glide past his desk.
You flip him off in response.
♠
Your apartment feels strangely empty.
It’s Saturday afternoon. Search Bloc is investigating a tip in Medellín, and Centra Spike doesn’t need you in today. You briefly consider going out, but that would involve changing out of your sweats, and besides, aside from the Search Bloc guys, you really don’t have many friends in Colombia.
You sit down on your sofa, drawing the coffee table toward you, and deal yourself a hand of solitaire. The cards had belonged to your dad before he passed them down to you, and they are comfortable in your hand, worn soft with age. There’s a trick to shuffling a deck this old, and something comfortable in the practice.
The hand you deal is a losing hand.
Frustrated, you stomp down the stairs to the little pharmacy below your flat. “Hola, Emilio!” you wave to the older man working the counter. Emilio doesn’t speak much English, and your Spanish is improving slower than you’d like, but you mostly manage to communicate just fine.
You make your way to the little display of liquor bottles and ponder it for a minute. There’s nothing remotely recognizable on the shelves, but you’re not exactly committed to buying anything, anyway.
There’s nothing more pathetic than drinking alone.
A presence at your shoulder makes you jump. It’s just Emilio. He smiles at you, and reaches for a bottle of clear liquor whose packaging reminds you a little too much of antiseptic hand spray for comfort. He presses it into your hands. “Guaro.”
“This is what I need, then?” you ask him. “Este? It’s good?”
“Guaro.” He’s nodding and grinning, rattling something in rapid-fire Spanish that you’re far too slow to translate. The enthusiasm behind it is hard to miss, though.
“He says it’s good and strong. Respect it, and it will respect you.” Emilo’s daughter winks up at you. She’s bent over, stocking shelves, and you’d missed her, distracted as you’d been by your conversation with Emilio.
You smile gratefully. Ana must be home from university this weekend. You’ve only met once or twice, but she’s kind, and doesn’t mind translating for you. You think you might have been friends, if she was around more.
“Gracias,” you tell her, and mean it. “Aguardiente,” you sound out slowly, frowning down at the bottle. “Sugar water?”
“Something like that.” Ana rises, leaving the box of chicharrones on the floor. “You’ll find that most of the locals just call it guaro. It’s a staple in Colombia. Hard to find anywhere else, and even transporting it between cities is dangerous.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if to say, ‘what’s new?’
“But it’s just liquor, right?”
“Yeah, I think so. Alcohol, sugar, anise…” She shrugs, and laughs. “Simple, but there’s something magic about it. You don’t want to go too hard with this. Sit down and have a small glass with a lime. Slower is better.”
You frown. Anise. It jogs something in your memory, some long-forgotten fact…
“Trust me.” Ana is at your elbow now, pinning you with an earnest stare. “It hits hard, and fast. Papa wasn’t lying.”
You laugh. “Is that the college experience speaking?”
“Oh, yes. Seguro.”
Ana follows you as you take the bottle of guaro to the register. “And how are your classes going?” you ask as Emilio rings you up.
Ana grimaces, shaking her head as she cuts her gaze to Emilio. “It’s good to have a little break,” she admits.
You sympathize with that. You hadn’t cared too much for the tedium of higher education either. Emilio hands you a little paper bag, and you wave goodbye to him with a smile. “I’ll have to catch you when you’ve got a free weekend,” you tell Ana as you head toward the stairs that lead to your flat. You hold up the liquor suggestively. “You can teach me all about how to respect this guaro.”
Ana laughs. “What are you doing this evening? We close up at eight.”
Your face breaks into a grin. It’s hard making friends in Colombia just with the language barrier alone, never mind that your work with Centra Spike forces you to keep so many secrets. Without Peña around, life here is lonely. But Ana seems innocent enough, and it’s just a drink. “Perfect! I’ll be here.”
You walk up the steps feeling much lighter than when you descended them.
♠
Ana doesn’t stay long. She looks around your apartment, carefully assessing, then nodding as if satisfied.
You let it go.
She teaches you to tap the bottom of the bottle to expel the liquor, almost as if you’re pouring ketchup from a glass container. Looking at the contents, they don’t seem particularly viscous. When you ask her why this is necessary, Ana shrugs. “It’s a mystery,” she tells you, and you write it off as one of the eccentricities of Colombian culture, paying rapt attention as Ana begins explaining one of only three acceptable ways to serve the guaro.
♠
“I’ve got something for you,” you announce brightly, slapping both hands firmly on Javier Peña’s desk and leaning in just a hair too close to be strictly professional.
“Oh?” His face breaks into a slow smirk, and he tilts back in his swivel chair, stretching just enough to give you a good view of those too-tight jeans as he hooks his fingers behind his head. “And what’s that?”
Smug fucking bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. You cool your jets and wink at him, teasing a manilla file for him to see. “We thought you might like this.”
“We?”
“Okay, fine, Jacoby caught some chatter, but I vetted it,” you press on, refusing to let him derail you. This is huge. “It’s Verdugo.”
Peña glances up at you, suddenly intense. “You sure?”
“Well, it’s not him personally,” you admit. “At least, not his voice. But,” You slam the transcript down on his desk. “We caught an entire conversation verifying his presence at a safehouse in Medellín.” You pause for full dramatic effect before going in for the kill. “A specific safehouse in Medellín.”
Javi reverts to Agent Peña instantly, all flirting forgotten as he leans forward on his elbows. “Show me.”
You bend over, noticing absently that your hair is once again falling into his face as you tap your finger over the address. Peña settles in to read the full report as you watch, his eyes darting back and forth over the pages at a rate that is truly impressive. When he glances back up at you, the ferocity of his gaze is startling.
“They’re getting ready to make a move.” There’s something like a spark of hope in his eyes, tiny, but growing stronger as he processes the information you’ve given him.
“Yeah,” you say, throat suddenly dry. He’s looking at you with earnest gratitude, and it tugs at something deep in your chest.
“This is big,” he breathes, and just like that, he’s on his feet, gathering the file, punching a number into his desktop telephone.
“This is Peña,” he says as the call connects. “We’ve got something.”
♠
It’s dark when you finally get home. Claudia Messina, head of DEA operations in Colombia, had cornered you in her office for hours, going over and over the information you’d vetted. You brain is absolutely fried, the victory of the discovery stifled by having to defend your work again and again.
You just need a drink.
“About time!” a voice startles you as you turn to shut the door behind you. You jump, barely suppressing a shriek, and whirl around.
Goddamn Javier Peña with his goddamned spare key.
He’s smirking at you from your sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Any other day, you’d have noticed his presence instantly just from the smell.
“What the fuck?” Your voice is more of a whine than you’d like, but dammit, you’re tired, and dammit, he’s gotten one over on you.
He knows it, too, the smug bastard. “Expecting somebody else?” he asks, sauntering toward you with a devastating smile that manages to be both possessive and suggestive all at once.
“No,” you answer somewhat grumpily. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
Given your sulky attitude, you’re surprised to see that his smile brightens a bit. You frown at him, still confused as to why the fuck he is here, and he bustles into the kitchen, clinking around, pouring you a drink.
You sigh and relax onto the sofa. At least you’ll have that.
He comes back, a tumbler of clear liquor in each hand. Ah, so he’s found your guaro. You suspect that he’s helped himself to at least one measure already. He hands you a glass, and you take it gratefully, sniffing at the contents.
He’s drinking it neat, apparently.
“So!” he says, settling beside you on the sofa, close enough that your thighs touch. He pins you with an intense stare. You raise a brow in response, intrigued and a little confused.
He smiles. “Your tip from this morning was a gold mine, Ears.” He eases back, propping his feet on your coffee table in a way that you should probably reprimand him for. He sips, sighs, leans in to bump your shoulder playfully, then settles with his hands at his waist, long fingers fiddling with the glass he’s cradling. “Martinez wants us to go for Verdugo tomorrow,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “Based on your information.”
“Really?” You can hardly believe it. Most of what you do is verify things that others have found, or carry files from Centra Spike to Search Bloc. Same old, same old. Even though you’ve trained for this for years, you’ve never been integral in interpreting and locating a conversation before, especially not for a target as high level as Verdugo.
Javi twists to smile up at you, a real smile. “Really,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. He watches you fight back a grin. “Go on, be smug. This is big.”
“Wow,” you mouth, somewhat awed that you’ve contributed anything, let alone this, to the hunt for Pablo Escobar.
The reaction isn’t lost on Javi. He sits up, wraps his arms around your shoulders and squeezes gently. “Pretty much. You gave us enough information that we feel confident about initiating a sting in Medellín.” He reaches up with both hands, catching your face at the edge of your jaw and drawing you close. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ears.”
Ears. Yours are burning at the heat of his touch. You’re acutely aware of his palms cupping your cheeks. His eyes are dark, too dark, and open, looking at you as if you’ve single handled handed Escobar to the DEA on a golden platter.
You suppress a shudder, leaning in to him as he pulls you in for a hug. Christ, his body feels so good as it cradles yours, arms snaking around your back, stubble gritting awkwardly into your cheek, the scent of smoke and liquor clouding you -
You wonder, abruptly, how much he’s had to drink.
“Peña,” you say swiftly, pulling away from him to stand. The way he’s looking at you right now, giddy and awestruck and openly hungry, well, it’s not going to last. You know it won’t. It can’t.
His face falls, as if he’s confused at your sudden rejection.
You shake your head. Peña is just drunk. You guys aren’t like this. You don’t hug and share and hold each other. It was only ever sex, and it’s not even that anymore.
You’re overwhelmed, suddenly and without warning, at how desperately you want him.
Not just the sex, though honestly, you have missed that. No, what you want is -
You shove that thought down, locking it away so deeply that it will never see the light of day.
You cannot have feelings for Javier Peña.
“Ears?” he questions, tilting his head just so, managing to look more sober than he has all evening.
“I just need another drink,” you say as you sidestep him, making your way to the kitchen. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as his gaze follows you. He seems to take your deference at face value - he’s lighter than you’ve seen him in weeks, excited, almost chipper, if you can believe it. The meeting with Martinez must have gone very well. You snort, contrasting his meeting to yours with Messina. The dissonance is enough to wonder, offhandedly, if some not-so-subtle sexism is at play.
You shake off that thought. It’s not helpful, just depressing, especially here in Colombia. Instead, you turn to look at Javi.
He’s still flopped on your sofa, his original drink in his hand, hunched over the stack of playing cards that you’d left out last night.
Your dad had taught you to play solitaire from a young age. There’s a variation for two players, a game which one will inevitably win, but the real challenge is for the single player, in which triumph relies equally on skill and luck. Last night, after Ana had left, you’d played a long, brutal game, ultimately finding yourself blocked, helpless to do anything but shuffle the deck over, and over, and over again.
Losing two games in a row is just shameful, and you’d left the cards on the table, eager to look at them again with fresh eyes.
Javi eyeballs the game with a furrowed brow. You’d managed to make it quite far. Had the cards fallen in any different order, you’d have won easily. Carefully, Javi flicks over one card from the stack, frowns, then another. This one is a red queen, and he plays it eagerly, shuffling the black jack to its new position and opening up another space.
“Hey!” you protest. He glances up at you, bemused, and you shove a newly made drink into his hand as you settle beside him.
“You missed that move,” he explains, pointing exaggeratedly with the pinky finger that holds the tumbler.
You roll your eyes. “I play draw three,” you correct him. You reshuffle the cards to their original places, this time drawing three from the deck: a five of spades on top, Javi’s red queen in the middle, and the ace of spades below both. The top card, the five of spades, has no place to be played, so you flip all three cards into the discard pile and draw three more from the deck.
Javi frowns. “Seems like you’re making it a lot harder than it has to be.”
You sigh. Men. “Single draw solitaire is for kids,” you counter with a vicious smile. “Just for them to learn to play the game. Real players draw three.”
He huffs, “Oh, really?” he’s smirking up at you, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Are you the kind of woman who likes a challenge, Ears?”
He’s just dying to prove you wrong.
“I’m the kind of woman who refuses to cut corners just so I can win a dumb card game.” you inform him sagely.
“Hmmm,” he says, staring contemplatively at the cards. You let him shuffle through the deck twice, each time verifying what you already know - the game, played as it is, is unbeatable.
‘Seems a little silly to me,’ he teases, bopping you on the nose. “Letting your ego get in the way of winning.”
Of course Javier Peña would see it that way. You kick back, letting your feet settle at the edge of the coffee table. “Go on then,” you tell him, siping at your drink. “Swoop in and save my game with your kiddie version, you fucking hero.”
He laughs overtly at that, eyes sparkling, and something clenches hard in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so open, laughing and flirting and playing stupid games after a long day at work.
It’s nice.
You settle in to watch him work his magic. He’s making plays at an alarming rate - it seems like no time at all before the deck is empty.
You glance at the clock, biting back a sigh. Less than five minutes.
He’s smirking up at you, all mussed and smug, eyes alight with warmth, and suddenly, something swoops dangerously in your belly.
That hair, those eyes, his laugh. Warm skin in the dim glow of the lamplight, his body sprawled over your sofa, just begging to be teased.
You wonder again why he’s here. You’ve made it clear that there’s no more sex, so…
Oh, god.
Glancing back down at him, tousled hair and crooked smile, ridiculous mustache, plopped indelicately on your sofa, you suddenly realize.
Javier Peña had sought you out for your company. For no other reason than that he’d had a good day, and wanted to share it with you.
And oh, oh god.
You’re still so caught up in the sex and your fucking feelings that you can’t divorce that from your friendship, which is obviously important to him. He’s not out celebrating with Murphy - he’s here, in your apartment, with no expectation other than to kick your ass by cheating at children’s card games.
The realization takes the breath from your lungs.
You’re the problem here. Just like with the fucking card game, you’re the one making it complicated.
Javi needs a friend.
Javi needs a friend, and he’d sought you out so that you can just chill together, and all you can think as he shuffles those damned cards is how the callouses of his fingers would catch deliciously against your clit as he dips them inside you.
And, and…
You cut off that dark thought. You are not going there.
Jesus Christ, what kind of friend are you?
“Well, this calls for a celebration,” you say. It’s a beat too late and obviously hollow, but Javi doesn’t seem to notice, and you’ve managed to keep the tremor out of your voice, so that’s a win. You rise, making for the kitchen, desperate to do something with your hands. You find yourself pouring Javi yet another drink - is this his third? Or fourth? You aren’t sure - and making yourself a second, much lighter version.
The last thing you want is to do something stupid.
Javi meets you at the kitchen bar, and you slide the tumbler across to him. He eyeballs it speculatively, raising it and tilting it to view the contents in the dim kitchen light.
“Goddamn, Ears.” He snorts. “Are you trying to poison me?”
The denial falls from your tongue as he tilts back his glass from earlier, his second, - or third? - the one that you’d made. He swallows, pushing the empty glass back into you hand, and stands, catching himself on the edge of the table as if he’d moved too fast.
“Alright?” you ask.
He takes a deep breath, then straightens, slowly letting go of the countertop. “Fine,” he says, cocking a brow at you. “But what is that stuff?”
You laugh. “Emilio, you know, from downstairs, he found it for me. Says it’s a Colombian staple, and I can’t leave without having a bottle at least once.”
Javi blinks one too many times, then giggles. Despite your best effort, you snort at the sound. "Well then,” he raises his full tumblr to your half full one, and they clink awkwardly. “To local rotgut and poor life choices,” he toasts, as solemnly as he as able.
“Salud!” you counter, managing to sound a just a hair more sober. Javi is swaying as he stands, and suddenly, you’re concerned. “When did you last eat?”
He glances at you, tilting his head as if your question makes no goddamn sense, and you sigh heavily. Idiot man.
“Okay, hold off on that one,” you warn him - he looks as if he’s about to toss it back, too. “Let me at least make you some eggs first.”
“Eggs?”
You’re already bustling around your tiny kitchen, pulling a pan from below the stove. “Yeah, moron,” you tell him, unable to stop the grin that catches your lips. “Eggs and salsa. Best food for staving off a hangover that I’ve found so far.”
Javi throws back the rest of his drink anyway, then comes to press his body to your side. “Is that a fact?”
“It’s a fucking science,” you counter, unable to resist slamming your hips into his to nudge him out of the way as you reach into the fridge for the butter.
He wraps his arms around your shoulders, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I be of assistance?” he purrs into your ear, and suddenly, it’s very, very hard to concentrate on cooking.
“Sit. Down.” You hiss, slapping his butt with a dishtowel. He yowls more than strictly necessary, the drama queen; you’re an excellent towel-popper, but it shouldn’t hurt that much.
Still, you rub his ass in compensation, matching his lecherous grin when he fixes it on you. “Have a seat,” you tell him again, kicking a barstool vaguely in his direction. “And watch the magic.”
♠
Javi cleans his plate enthusiastically. “So what’s the secret?” he asks, mouth full, still staring up at you like your shitty scrambled eggs are the best meal he’s ever eaten.
You snort. “No secret, Peña.” You hold up your stick of butter, much lighter than it’d been before, and toss it back into the fridge. “You literally just watched me cook them.”
He grins loopily.
You shake your head, biting back your own smile. How could a man as competent and independent as Javier Peña forget to do something as basic as eat?
Well, it hardly matters. Even with the food you’ve made, he’s going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Ana had cautioned you several times to go easy on the guaro, and you trust her judgement. Emilio’s shit, in particular, is cheap, potent, and deadly.
Well, he’ll pay for it tomorrow. You shake you head, watching him bumble around the kitchen and drop his dirty plate in the sink. Javi stands at your side, warm and solid as you draw just enough water to let the dishes soak.
He reaches for your dish soap, and you stop him with a hand on his arm. Javi glances down at you, still a little drunkenly, but his eyes are warm, his lips parted just slightly, and you pull away from him as if burned.
“I’ll get them in the morning,” you manage hoarsely.
He shrugs, brushes your shoulder with his hand as he bumbles away, and you take a moment to lean against the sink and calm your racing heart.
God, what is with you lately?
Javi has already crashed on your sofa, shoes kicked off, legs sprawled, grinning lazily in your direction.
You manage not to oogle at him, but it’s a near thing.
Instead, you flop down on his opposite side, allowing your legs to tangle in the middle.
He makes a big show of yawning, tilting his wrist up to glance at his watch. You crane your neck to look at the kitchen clock. It’s only 10:33, but you’re both feeling a little lit - Javi more than you, thankfully - and you both have a big day tomorrow.
You sigh, reaching down to collect the empty glasses and discarded playing cards, slipping Javi’s keys in your back pocket while he’s not looking.
He scoffs.
Oh. You whirl, realizing he’d been watching you all along.
“So, am I staying over, Ears?” He grins up at you, a little tired, but still in an excellent mood.
“You are definitely staying over, Peña,” you tell him firmly, trying not to laugh at the wounded puppy expression on his face as he reacts to your tone. His eyes have gone so wide, pout so pathetic that you can’t help but grin, even as you toss a throw pillow haphazardly over his lap.
That seems to get a rise out of him. He sits up, frowning at the pillow. “I’m on the sofa?” he whines.
“Yup!’ you say happily, enjoying the power dynamic for what it is. Putting Javier Peña in your bed tonight would lead straight to…
Well, you’re both drunk, and even if you weren’t, you’re not willing to give up on your bet. Not with the nasty realization that you’d had tonight, for sure.
Javi must follow your thoughts, because he sobers instantly. “Okay,” he says softly, settling back down and cramming the pillow beneath his shoulder.
You’re kind enough to tuck him in, which really just consists of dragging your comforter from you bed and draping it over his ass and shoulders. His boots are lying haphazardly on the floor - you decide to leave them for him to trip over in the morning - and you don’t bother to cover his feet, knowing that he sleeps with his socks outside of the blanket, the weirdo.
Just as you turn away, a single brown eye catches your gaze. He’d been watching you again.
The thought sends a tremor down your spine. “Need anything else?” you ask clinically, trying to ignore the urge to either kiss him, or scream.
He huffs contentedly, rocking against the cushions like an animal sinking into a burrow. His eyes drift closed, and you can’t help but just notice how dark his lashes are against his cheek. “Can’t think of anything,” he murmurs, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
“Okay. Good night,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder as you pass by to turn out the lights.
“Night, babe.”
You choke. Well, maybe he won’t remember.
Fat chance. He’s drunk, but he’s not wasted. You decide to raise him, because any other response from you will be awkward, forever.
“Good night, honey,” you answer sweetly as you flick off the light.
In the darkness, you hear him snort.
♠
author’s notes/confessions:
I have never written Javier Peña. I have never written in second person. I have never written decent smut. I speak no Spanish. Advice and criticisms, if delivered kindly, are very welcome.
Yeah, I realize that I wrote Javi a little lighter/goofier here than he’s probably typically depicted. Hang tight, guys. He’s not taking this seriously yet, but he will be. Just wait.
Guaro/Aguardiente a legit Colombian liquor, and I tried to depict it as accurately as possible for never having tried it. The anise thought that reader has is a reference to absinthe, which is a trip if you’ve ever managed to acquire the real deal (something that’s kind of difficult if you live in the States, unfortunately). Also, I’m unsure if you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy liquor in Colombia, but hey, just go with it.
This started as a conversation with Tiff and turned into... well, this. I am so, so sorry. Expect about 20k and three chapters. Probably.
Not beta’d. you get what you get, my friends.
At the risk of sounding pathetic, your feedback absolutely inspires me to write faster. I don’t make the rules, guys. I just write.
This installment is (mostly) complete, but I’d love to hear what you like and what you don’t, and what you want to see next. My inbox is open. I welcome messages. I want to make friends.
Love you guys big, and happy holidays to those of you who are celebrating!
#Javier Peña#narcos#javi x reader#Javier Peña x reader#pedro pascal#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javi x you#narcos fic#smut#narcos fanfiction#pedro fandom#pedro fanfiction#Javier Peña x you#Javier Peña imagine#narcos netflix
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you’re someone i just want around: VII
Sunflower, my eyes
Want you more than a melody
Let me inside
Wish I could get to know you
Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles
A/N: okay so this part was so much fun to write!! it originally was going to have four more scenes but uh. as we all know. i am very wordy. so the other scenes I have planned will have to be split into what will probably become two more parts and you guys will just have to deal with getting another two chapters 😌 but this part is really exciting because we are getting a lil bit of angst mixed in with harry’s general dumbassery!! love to see it love to hear it!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep cranking out nearly 30k every one to two weeks!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!
ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist
word count: 26.6k
content/warnings: another good dose of denial, Fajita Friday with a side of blended margs, waking up on the wrong side of the coffin, brutal analysis of niall’s non-existent love life, ribeye!y/n x rotisseriechicken!harry, a horrible impersonation of Bob Barker, “are you there, God? it’s me, harry,” degradation, the violation of worksafe laws through the improper use of a ladder, mild pain kink, alexa, play ‘kiss it better’ by rihanna, and the rise of kinkrry (dir. j.j. abrams)
As Harry climbs up the stairs to Y/N’s apartment the next Friday night with a bag containing tequila, orange liqueur, and limes clutched within his jeweled hand, there are two thoughts flickering through his mind.
The first, which weighs more heavily on the vampire, is if Y/N prefers her margaritas blended or over ice, as Harry feels that tells a lot about a person, and it would be such a disappointment to realize now that Y/N isn’t a fan of the blended beverage. The second, which should weigh more heavily on his mind if he had his priorities sorted out, is how Y/N had managed to convince him to let her cook dinner for the two of them.
In reality, it hadn’t actually taken much convincing on the mortal girl’s part at all. When she messaged him on her lunch break earlier that day, asking what he was up to that night, Harry had sat up on his couch, drawing Niall and Xander’s attention to him in a confused manner. He’d stared at the message for only three seconds before opening his phone and pressing on her contact name. The action had come so easily to him that he didn’t even think about hiding his eagerness to speak to her, and instead pressed his phone tight to his ear as the other line rang three times before she picked it up.
“Harry?” Her confused voice rang through his phone speaker, the sound of the bustling cafe apparent in the background. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, love. I just, uh…just wanted to talk to you, s’all.” Harry had replied, shushing the questions he could see hanging off of Niall and Xander’s lips. “How’s work today? Busy?”
“As busy as it always is on a Friday afternoon.” Y/N answered with a sigh, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s lips as he heard a loud slurp through the phone, leading him to picture a stressed out Y/N sipping the last remnants of her iced latte. “But I’m over halfway through my shift, at least, so… it’s all downhill from here. In a good way.”
Harry had nodded slowly, as if the mortal girl could see him through the phone. “I’m glad to hear that.”
His friends, however, seemed to be less glad to hear it, and paused the golf tournament that was playing on TV to stare at him with incredulous expressions on their faces.
“Who are you talking to?” Niall had demanded, kicking his foot into Harry’s calf with more force than what was necessary. “We’re going to miss the first swing!”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Xander snickered to the Irishman next to him, a devious smirk lighting up his face. “It’s that human he’s been obsessed with for the last, like, two months. His little plaything.”
Harry had stood up then, flipping the pair off with a pointed glare before turning towards the kitchen, intent on finding some peace and quiet where he could carry on his conversation without having to worry about Y/N overhearing something she shouldn’t.
“I don’t want to take up too much of your break,” He murmured, resting his elbows over the cool marble countertop of his kitchen island that was nearly the same temperature of his skin. “But calling you seemed easier than texting. I’m free tonight—” He always kept his Friday nights free for her; had she not realized that by now? “So I was thinking I could be at your place around eight? Or nine? What works for you?”
And it was then that he had heard it, breaking through the cafe ambient noise that caught Harry’s inhuman ears, and the inquisitive whispering of Niall and Xander in the other room. As clear as if it were really right in his ear, Harry had heard the sharp intake of breath, the slow exhale that followed, and the melodic voice that he’d become so familiar with, shaking ever so slightly.
“I was, um, actually thinking you could come over a bit earlier.” Y/N had replied, the tapping of her fingertips against her back room’s linoleum table reverberating around Harry’s head. “I got groceries yesterday, and I was going to make fajitas tonight, and I realized I had enough food for two people, and so if you don’t have anything else planned—”
Harry hadn’t meant to cut Y/N off— listening to her nervous rambling is one of his favourite things, and he’d never purposefully forfeit the opportunity to hear it (and that fondness aside, cutting off her speech would be rude)— but shock overtook his body and triggered the response before he could stop it. “You want to cook me dinner?”
“I—” The speaker crackled again, and Harry could practically picture the hesitation wrinkling across Y/N’s face, the caution in her tone a clear indication of how hard she was working to stay upright on the tense tightrope known as their relationship. “Yeah, I do. I’m not a chef or anything, but my friends and I used to cook for each other all the time, and Fajita Fridays were one of my specialties, so—”
“I would absolutely love it if you cooked for me.” A slow grin had spread over Harry’s face, pulling the dimples from his cheeks in a way that he’d recently noticed only she could. “What time should I be over? Do you want me to pick you up from work?”
“No, that’s fine.” Y/N had assured him quickly, the breathlessness in her voice leading Harry to picture the light rush of heat that was probably working its way over her cheeks. “You can come over around six, if that works for you…?”
Harry had checked the Rolex hanging off his wrist, which displayed the time of 2:33PM back to him. “Six is perfect.” He’d replied with an airy yet firm voice, nodding to himself once again. “Can I bring anything? Is there anything you need me to pick up?”
“Oh, uh...no. No, you don’t need to bring anything. Just your appetite; I make a lot of fajitas.” The surprise that echoed in Y/N’s voice and the small laugh that followed had drawn an pleasurable ache from Harry’s dormant chest in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you for asking, though. So… I’ll see you at six, then.”
“Sounds good, love. I’m looking forward to it.” Harry had smiled again, despite no one being around to view it, and continued to smile even after he had hung up and made his way back to the living room, where his two friends had greeted him with an array of exaggerated vulgar motions and kissy faces.
He had waved them off, and though he’d glowered at them hotly and shrugged off their prodding questions, he couldn’t find it in himself to stifle the grin that the human girl’s offer had left behind on his cheeks. She wanted to make him dinner. Just the two of them. It’d been so long since anyone had gone so out of their way for him like that, he hadn’t been able to help his giddy reaction.
As he reaches the final stair leading to Y/N’s floor of her building, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s pink lips. He should’ve known better than to call her with his friend present, he thinks, as his footsteps echo around the empty hallway. The moment he’d plopped back down on his couch, Niall and Xander had ignored his dismissive attitude and proceeded to continue to bombard him with a million questions about her, and a million more digs at his ego when he had later excused himself from their tournament to get ready for the dinner. Although he’d normally be able to ignore their obsessive inquiries without so much as a second thought, he’d berated himself throughout his entire shower and get-ready routine, the harsh judgement ever-present in the back of his skull as he’d picked up his favourite ingredients for margaritas from the grocery store. He should’ve known better.
It’s bad enough that he’s toying around with Y/N’s feelings just for his own selfish needs, but every time the topic of Y/N came up around his friends, it ended with the exact same question, just as it had earlier that day.
“So when do we get to meet her? Like, officially meet her, and not just hear her moaning through your wall.” Niall had asked as he took a sip of his Guinness beer, layering a childish snicker on top of his curiosity.
“Yeah, I’d love to see the girl that domesticated you. Always thought she’d be fictional, actually.” Xander’s laugh had matched Niall’s as the two of them watched Harry slip a fresh t-shirt over his head.
A tightness had developed in Harry’s chest then, so tense that it had nearly stopped him from smoothing the shirt over his inked chest. “You don’t get to meet her.” He had replied curtly, shooting the two vampires a stern look. “She’s not something for you two to gawk at, she’s—”
Niall had interjected then, the mirth in his eyes refusing to bow despite Harry’s seething. “Your girlfriend?”
Harry had stared witheringly at the Irish immortal. “No. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend I have an arrangement with. An arrangement that will become much more complicated if she starts hanging out with other vampires and notices that there’s something… off about us.”
“Off?” Niall had questioned, grinning cheekily with a flash of his fangs, his blue irises dying blood red. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, mate.”
Pausing in front of Y/N’s front door, Harry takes a moment to swipe his hair back from his face, tousling his curls until they fall into just the right place. His chestnut locks are beginning to get a little long again (they curl around his ears and tickle the nape of his neck now), but he can’t quite bring himself to cut them just yet; Y/N has a habit of reaching for them whenever he goes down on her, and the sensation of her tugging on his hair is too satisfying to let go of so easily. As for the rest of his look, Harry has opted to keep it casual tonight, wearing a blue and pink flamingo patterned button down over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, paired with a rust-coloured pair of corduroy pants and his white vans. If their usual routine is any indication, then Harry will be staying the night, and he’s learned over the years that it’s much comfier to leave the next morning in loose clothes than trying to yank on a pair of tight leather pants in a stranger’s bedroom. Not that Y/N is a stranger; in fact, he could probably get away with bringing an overnight bag now. But there’s something so presumptuous in showing up to a dinner date with a bag, and in a shocking— though fleeting— change of heart, the last thing Harry wants is to seem presumptuous.
Harry raises his jeweled knuckles and raps on Y/N’s door in a rhythmic pattern, straightening his back and leaning against the frame as he waits for the door to open.
Even through the wooden barrier, Harry can hear the old music floating through the bluetooth speaker that he knows sits on Y/N’s kitchen counter, the sizzling of peppers and onions in a pan, and Y/N singing to herself softly under her breath, the latter of which pauses as soon as Harry knocks. Instead, it’s replaced with the soft padding of bare feet against the laminate floor, the click of a lock, the removal of a door chain, and the turning of a knob as the door swings open.
And then Harry sees Y/N, and the sight of her catches the breath that he doesn’t really need. It lodges in his lungs and at the back of his burning throat, causing an odd sensation to churn the pit of his tummy as a sudden wave of heat pours into his cheeks.
If Harry’s pride wasn’t as steadfast as he likes to portray, he would openly admit that it truly is frightening how just one glance at her can make his entire nervous system flare.
It’s obvious that Y/N’s been at work all day; her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and the ponytail bouncing at the top of her head is loose, with wisps of hair falling out and framing her face. Her clothing, however, has been changed from her usual work polo and jeans to a cotton bralette that clings to her chest and displays a strip of her stomach that makes Harry’s mouth water. Her black leggings have mesh cutouts on the side, and while that detail would normally draw Harry’s eyes by default, it’s the multicolour patchwork cardigan hanging loosely off her shoulders that really catches Harry off guard. Or, more specifically, it’s his multicolour patchwork cardigan that catches him off guard.
“Hi.” Y/N smiles up at him warmly with the edges of her eyes crinkling, her hands grasping the side of the door tightly. “Six P.M. on the dot, Holmes. I’m impressed.”
“Solving mysteries isn’t my only speciality.” Harry matches his grin to hers, his dimples making an appearance as his expression grows. “Although speaking of mysteries… I think I just solved the case of my missing cardigan.” With his free hand, Harry reaches forward and tweaks a button on the article of clothing, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s bare tummy when he pulls away.
A wispy giggle falls from Y/N’s cheeks as she opens the door wider to invite Harry in. “Right, that case. I was about to call you about it, actually. We got a big break-through last night.”
“Did we?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he steps into her apartment, shifting the fabric tote bag in his right hand to his left as he squeezes into the narrow corridor beside her. “And what was the big break, exactly?”
Y/N wraps her arms around Harry’s neck as he snakes his now free hand around her waist, clutching her close to his cool body. “Well, I was trying to go to sleep, and I was cold, so I went searching in my closet for an extra blanket, and found this tucked in the back from when you let me borrow it last weekend.” She explains lightly, twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Case closed. Elementary, my dear Holmes.”
“I thought that was my line?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as fond amusement dances through his emerald eyes, his cold palm giving one of her love handles a playful squeeze. “First you steal my cardigan, and now my catch phrase. What’s next?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Y/N says with a shrug, her smile growing wider with every passing moment as she nudges his chin teasingly with the tip of her warm nose. “I could steal a kiss, I suppose? That’s a very you thing to do.”
“Not quite. Usually you’re the one trying to steal one, and I make you ask for it. Beg, even, if I’m feeling a bit meaner than usual.” Tilting his head to the side and shaking it slowly, Harry lets out a long sigh. “You’re losing your touch, Watson.”
“Tragic.” Y/N matches his sigh as she begins to untangle her hands from his hair, but when she tries to extract herself from Harry’s grasp, he just holds on tighter.
“But for the sake of tradition…” Harry’s eyes fall to the mortal’s lips as he wets his own with his tongue. “How about a hello kiss?”
Despite the usual iciness of Harry’s touch, heat begins to blossom through Y/N’s chest as she tilts her head up to meet Harry’s mouth. The kiss, unlike many they’ve shared before, is tender, and only lasts for a brief moment before Y/N settles back down on the balls of her feet.
“Hi.” She whispers, her hands curling around the fabric clinging to Harry’s muscular shoulders.
“Hi.” The vampire replies easily as he finally releases his grip on her waist, taking a step back from both Y/N and the bashful instance they’d found themselves in.
He allows her to lead him down the entrance hallway and into her living room, drifting behind her towards the kitchen and glimpsing over all the ingredients she has scattered around her counters.
“You look beautiful in my cardigan, by the way.” Harry throws out casually, admiring the way the article hangs off her figure in the most adorable oversized fashion. “If I didn’t make that clear enough before. And,” the monster takes a sudden deep whiff for emphasis, “it smells delicious in here. Seems like Gordon Ramsey doesn’t have shit on you, huh?”
Although the initial compliment brings a flush of pleasure up Y/N’s spine, she chooses to focus on the latter half of Harry’s comment. “I’d like to think so, yeah. Dinner is almost ready, if you want to take a seat at the table. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Actually…” Harry holds up the bag in his hand and bounces it jestingly, fully bringing it to Y/N’s attention for the first time. “I thought I’d make us margaritas to go with the fajitas. Really commit to the theme, y’know?”
All of the previous drinks that Harry has made for her float through Y/N’s mind, and her mouth salivates at the thought of drinking another of his incredible creations. He really does have such a wise talent with liquor that she finds herself subconsciously wondering how that had come to be. “Of course; we can’t do Fajita Fridays halfway, now can we?”
“No, we can’t.” Harry agrees with a firm nod, setting the bag down on her small kitchen tabletop and unpacking the ingredients he’d toted with him. “Do you prefer your margaritas over ice or blended?”
The correct answer immediately rolls off the mortal’s tongue. “Blended— I’m not insane.” She states with a scoff, picking up her spatula to stir the pepper and onion mixture on the stove as she bobs her head towards the cabinet at the far end of the room. “The blender is just up in that cupboard there.”
The corners of Harry’s pink lips tug up at her response, and he nods to the girl as he drifts over and reaches for the cabinet she’d motioned to. “Gotcha.” He says, pushing back a few decorative serving platters before extracting the blender sitting on the back of the shelf. “Oh, this’ll do nicely.”
His comment is met with a quiet snort from Y/N, who glances at him from the corner of her eye as she turns her attention to the sautéing chicken in her skillet. “Oh, it will, will it?” She asks sarcastically, her lithe fingers adding pinches of seasoning to the dish. “Are you a blender connoisseur, then?”
“Of course I am, angel. Y’have to be, to make a half decent margarita.” Setting the kitchen appliance in the counter, Harry studies it with a keen eye, running his fingers over the smooth glass and slightly worn buttons. “It has a little bit of wear and tear, but that’s to be expected; the rest of it seems to be in decent condition.” He unwraps the cord from the base of the blender, plugging it into the wall before pressing the pulse button a few times to make the machine roar to life. “Listen to that engine purr… A blender like this could bring a man to tears.”
“That’s good to know.” Y/N snorts again, shaking her head at Harry’s antics as he begins to prepare his ingredients. “If you need a knife for the limes, there’s one in the block there. And ice is in the freezer—”
“That’s good to know.” Harry mimics her prior reply with a shit-eating grin on his face, his hand wrapped around a bottle of Don Julio he’d snagged from his bar shelves. “I was about to check the cabinet again.”
With a shake of her head, Y/N steps past Harry to open a cupboard and fetch a serving dish. “Alright, smartass.” She bumps her hip against Harry’s as she passes him, the motion sending a jolt of electricity across the vampire’s pelvic bones. “Keep it up and you’ll lose dessert privileges.”
Although she tries to step away, Harry twists a cool arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back against his chest as he smudges a kiss over her pulse point. “‘M sorry.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low in an attempt to hide the smile brewing on his face. “I’ll be nicer, then. I’d hate to lose dessert—it’s my favourite part.”
With his lips over her neck, Harry can feel the exact moment Y/N’s heart rate increases, his ears pricking with the now familiar and adored sound. Her warm hand cups his over her belly, fingers tracing over the knuckles of his icy touch.
“I know it is.” Y/N tilts her head to the left, trying to provide Harry with more access to her neck as his mouth continues to ghost over her skin. “So I’d hate to take it away.”
The human girl’s familiar and achingly sweet honey and lavender scent fills Harry’s nostrils as his nose brushes against her jaw. When he refers to her as dessert, Y/N doesn’t know how genuinely Harry means it. “Alright. I’ll behave.” He relents, but he squeezes her tummy tightly as his teeth graze her skin one last time before pulling away. “For now.”
When Y/N detangles from the cage that is Harry’s arm, she busies herself with cooking again, doing her best to hide the light sheen of sweat that is beading her forehead. It’s almost embarrassing, really; despite only being here for five minutes, Harry’s already pulling reactions out of her that she didn’t even know she had. If she doesn’t get a hold of herself soon, she’ll be on her knees for him before he’s had a bite of dinner.
With that thought in mind, the mortal forces herself to focus on the tasks at hand, continuing her banter with Harry while making sure to keep the subject matter PG as she plates the food and Harry blends drinks for them. Her tiny table, which she’s already set for two, is soon filled with dishes containing sautéed vegetables, chicken, and other various toppings, and Harry pours his margarita mix into two glasses before sitting across from her with a curious air.
“So this is what you and your friends used to do back home, is it?” He asks, crossing his arms and resting them on the table as he regards Y/N with a tilted head. “Fajita Fridays? Taco Tuesdays? Meatloaf Mondays?”
“Meatloaf Mondays sound depressing.” Y/N shoots back with a scoff, her hand wrapping around her margarita glass and lifting it to her mouth to take a sip. “We weren’t that pathetic.”
Harry exhales a sharp but quiet breath from his nose once—the beginnings of a laugh— before offering a dry reply. “No, it doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it?” He says, watching eagerly as her eyes widen at the first taste of the drink rolls across her tongue. “Do you like it?”
Y/N clears her throat as she lowers her glass from her mouth. “It’s...strong.” Y/N replies slowly, taking another gulp and smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion. “But yummy. This is a repeat recipe, I think.”
The praise warms the pit of Harry’s stomach as he raises his own glass, motioning to the girl before him before bringing the edge of the cup to his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmurs, setting his drink back down after taking a sip and letting his eyes roam over the food before them. “So how did you and your friends do this? Everyone would just reach in at once, or—?”
“Oh, well, we—we used to say grace first, actually.” Y/N admits after a moment, her eyes momentarily flickering to the gold cross dangling from Harry’s neck. Although his usual cross earring is absent tonight, his pearls out of sight as well, and he’s only wearing his opal and lionhead rings, that familiar cross necklace is present as ever. “And then we’d move everything around the table clockwise from the person who actually led saying grace.”
Despite Y/N previously mentioning that she’d been a regular church goer in her hometown, this new information sparks an interest in Harry’s mind. “Really?” He quirks an eyebrow as the human girl reaches for a warmed tortilla and begins to spoon her toppings inside. “But you don’t do that now?”
“Nope.” Her lips pop on the final consonant sound of the word. “Did you say grace growing up?” She asks curiously, nodding to the chain around Harry’s neck. “You always wear that cross, so I was just wondering…”
“Oh, uh—yeah. Yeah, we did.” A crease furrows the space between Harry’s brow as he selects his own tortilla, keeping his eyes glued to the food. “My father used to lead it every night.” Although he could leave the comment there and be done with the topic, more words of explanation spill from Harry’s mouth without him realizing how much he’s actually saying, his gaze remaining trained on the way he’s filling his tortilla, almost as if it’s a monumentally difficult task that requires his utmost attention. “I liked to listen to him say it. My father had a very calming voice; he could be loud and boisterous when he wanted to, but at home, he always kept cool and collected. It was comforting.”
Y/N notes the use of past tense when discussing Harry’s father, but doesn’t comment on it. With the knowledge that his mother had passed away in her mind, she assumes the same has happened to his father, and the realization twists her heart in a new and aching manner. “You speak like that, you know.” She tries to steer the conversation into a lighter direction, registering the sadness in his emerald eyes when he discusses his family. “When you’re telling stories about your life. Your voice is low and even, quieter than usual. It sounds a bit like a…lullaby, I guess. Or like— like an audiobook, like someone’s reading some old poetry, or—” Her cheeks flame beneath her skin as she drops her eyes to her plate. “Sorry. That, um, that sounds strange.”
The outpouring confessions from the girl across from him brings an awed expression to Harry’s face. He had always assumed his voice was more of a siren song than anything— capable of luring his victims into a false sense of security before he showed his true monstrous form. But if the stuttering of Y/N’s heart and the brightness in her eyes is any indication, maybe that isn’t quite the case. She described him as a lullaby, yes, but she didn’t sound betrayed at the thought of him spinning stories in order to keep her pliable under his grasp. If anything, her words give the impression that she enjoys it.
“I’ve heard stranger.” Harry murmurs after a moment, his unusually bare forefinger rubbing over his lips pensively as he waits for Y/N to raise her head again. “Thank you. That’s a compliment, really, saying that I sound like my dad used to.”
“Well, I mean, I’ve never heard your dad speak, so take it with a grain of salt—” Y/N forces out a laugh, despite her cheeks and neck still feeling uncomfortably flushed, “—but I imagine it’s similar. After all, he raised you, didn’t he?”
Harry nods slowly, his mind so wrapped in his own memories that he doesn’t even think about the incriminating answer about to fall from his lips. “He did, yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to speak to him.” He admits, pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger as he lifts his left shoulder in an empty shrug. “Memories fade over time. Things change. People change.”
Although she can feel that they’re beginning to breach a more serious topic, Y/N doesn’t pull back like she did in the restaurant. She rationalizes this action to herself as she sips her margarita and collects her thoughts, saying that it’s just because it’s easier to be honest in her apartment than a brunch restaurant. But the truth of the matter is that the longer she spends with Harry, the more Y/N wants to know him. Really know him, outside of their usual arrangement.
“That’s true,” She agrees with hesitancy etched into her voice, keeping a measured glance on Harry’s body to read his reaction. “But you can’t have changed that much since you last saw him. When…” Her words trail off when Harry locks his emerald eyes with hers, but she takes a deep breath and finishes her question in determination. “When did he pass away? How old were you?”
In the immortal’s mind, the answer forms without any delay. His father had been the first to go in his family; the combination of breathing in smoke from the forge and his age being four years his mother’s senior had stopped his heart before hers. The news of his death reached Harry a few days after it had happened, and he had just made it back to Holmes Chapel in time to watch the funeral service from afar.
Despite his appearance being frozen at twenty-six, as it always would be, Harry was nearly twenty-nine to the day of the funeral. Gemma had been thirty-three by then, standing with their mother and a tall man by her side, who whispered what her brother hoped were reassuring words in her ear. His sister's eyes had been nearly a perfect mirror of Harry’s, with the exception of a few crow’s feet beginning to show around them. And his mother had been dressed in widower’s black, a veil pulled over her weeping face to allow her the bit of discretion that was expected in Victorian times. Harry had been distressed when he saw the veil, despite expecting it to be there; he’d hoped he could get one more glimpse of her eyes before he had to leave that day. He had entertained the idea of walking over, expressing his condolences, and compelling her to forget she’d seen her lost son, but the thought had twisted an ache into his chest that had nearly brought him to tears, and—
“I was twenty-one when he passed away.” Harry spits the sentence out, and the familiar lie burns his throat in an entirely foreign way than the thirst he’s used to. “He had lung cancer.” At least, that had been Harry’s assumption after he read up on the disease years after his father’s undetermined passing. It made sense, given that all the grit and soot from the coal and metal grime had found its way into the air of the blacksmith’s shop, and after slaving away for years in order to keep food on the table, it had also eventually made its way into his father’s system… “It progressed quickly.”
As he watches sympathy glaze itself over Y/N’s eyes, all he can think about is how undeserving he is of it. Even though he’s compelled the mortal girl in front of him, gained her trust, been invited into her home, and is kindling a connection with her, all for the simple act of drinking her blood, Harry thinks that this might be the most monstrous thing he’s done yet— paint himself as a victim of circumstance, hiding all the wrong-doings he’s ever committed, and allowing Y/N and her softly-beating heart to feel sorry for him.
The conversation moves to an lighter tone after that, which Harry does on purpose; the less he needs to tell her about his fabricated sob story, the better. And, truth be told, he’d much rather hear about Y/N’s day-to-day life. It’s been so long since he had human concerns, and when he did, his concerns certainly didn’t have anything to do with being betrayed by customers because the cafe wifi was down. It’s almost amusing to him, listening to her rant about all these insignificant people, and he can’t help the way his dimples begin to peek out of his cheeks as she raises her voice at imaginary customers.
“So I told him, in my most polite voice, that we were aware the wifi was down, and that we’d called the provider to let them know, and that they were sending someone as fast as they could to fix it. And do you know what he said to me?” Y/N widens her eyes in incredulous disbelief as she takes a bite of her fajita, chewing and swallowing quickly to continue with her story with more emphasis. “Do you know what he said?”
“No, I don’t.” Harry shakes his head in endearment, hiding the laugh forming on his rosy lips behind his margarita glass. “What did he say?”
“He said—” Y/N twists her face to mimic the customer’s expression, dropping her voice down five octaves lower as she speaks with a ridiculous tone. “‘Oh, well, can’t you just fix it? You work here, don’t you? What else do you get paid for?’ Can you believe that?” She states the last phrase in her normal voice, scoffing at the memory as she crosses her patchwork covered arms across her chest. “Like, I’m a waitress! I don’t work at an internet company! I’m trained to bring you water and sandwiches— which are more cucumber than anything with actual substance— so it’s not my responsibility to figure out why you can’t load Candy Crush on your phone!”
A snicker finally breaks free from Harry’s throat as he watches Y/N angrily stuff a piece of chicken into her mouth. “Sounds like you had a rough day today.”
“That’s pretty average for me, honestly.” Y/N sighs again, rubbing her hand over her forehead as she polishes off the rest of her second margarita. “Ugh, it pissed me off. I wanted to shove his phone right up his ass and ask if his wifi connection got better.” A small smile breaks out across Y/N’s lips in spite of herself as Harry stifles another giggle at her witty comment. “But I’ve talked about it enough. How was your day? What did you do?”
“I did a bit of work in the morning, nothing too noteworthy.” Harry replies, deliberately keeping his answer vague as he twists his lionhead ring around his finger. “And I was about to watch a golf tournament with Xander and Niall when you called.”
Harry thinks nothing of mentioning their names, but is surprised when Y/N’s brow cinch in thought. “Which ones are Xander and Niall? Is one of them the long haired one?” She asks curiously, pulling her (his) cardigan off one shoulder as the tequila begins to course through her veins and heat her body.
“The— no. No, that’s Mitch.” Harry says slowly, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “How did you know that?”
Y/N feels a spike of embarrassment in her stomach, and shyly avoids Harry’s eyes as she answers. “There was a photo of you with a group of guys in your apartment, in the living room.” She mumbles, tapping her fingers against her newly cleaned plate. “One of them— I think he was next to you in the photo?— had long hair. Another had blue eyes, glasses… and brown hair, I think? I don’t really remember the rest…”
Harry hums in the back of his throat, quiet and low. “That was probably Niall.” He guesses, finishing his own margarita and setting the glass down gently. “If I’m thinking of the right picture, then Xander was the one standing next to him.”
Y/N pictures the faces in her mind’s eye, imagining the two brunette boys in the clothing from the photo, slumped next to Harry on the couch of his stunning condo, knocking back pints of beer and plates of nachos as they watch golf on TV. It seems strange to picture Harry doing something so… normal. She forgets, sometimes, that he’s a regular twenty-six year old man. In her head, when she thinks of Harry, regular is the last word that comes to her mind— even when he’s sitting across from her in a casual outfit, doing something as simple as eating dinner while he asks her about her day, Y/N struggles to remember that this man is just that: a man.
Maybe, she ponders, as Harry stands up with the explanation of making more margaritas falling off his lips, it’s because she’s only ever really been alone with him. With the exception of the club where they met, and his friends interrupting their weekend a few weeks prior (her cheeks flame at the recalling of the embarrassing memory), Y/N has only ever seen Harry in her own context.
As the blender whirs to life behind her, the human twists in her chair to catch a glimpse of the object of her thoughts. Even beneath his opaque shirt, she can see the muscles of Harry’s back flexing as he bends down to slice a lime, squeezing the juice into the top of the blender while holding his jeweled hand underneath to catch any seeds. When Harry is around her, he’s charming, cocky, self-assured, and— on the extremely rare occasion— vulnerable. What’s he like around his friends?
Just as cocky, Y/N is sure; she can’t picture Harry letting go of his signature smirk so easily. But does anything else about him shift when exposed to different company? Is there different vocabulary that slips from his mouth? What about his tone of voice? Does that change, too, like Y/N’s used to when she was around Bradley, or when she’s with customers? He mentioned earlier that he’d been watching golf, and that was the last sport she'd ever think he’d have an affinity for, let alone one he’d enjoy enough to make a day out of watching tournaments. What other personality traits and pastimes is he keeping from her? If she were to be a fly on the wall while he was with his friends, would she see someone completely unrecognizable in his Gucci boots and translucent shirts?
The sudden lack of noise from the blender snaps Y/N from her thoughts, and Harry detaches the pitcher and carries it to the table, filling her empty glass with a smile.
“There you are, miss.” He winks at her quickly before filling his own cup and standing back from the table with a grin, his free hand folded behind his back as he straightens his posture. “Now,” He begins, his accent slipping into a more posh tongue as he bows his head lightly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Despite her worries, a soft laugh rolls from Y/N at his impersonation of a server. “Yeah, actually.” She drops her voice lower again, plastering an angry expression onto her face as she reaches into her cardigan pocket and retrieves her phone. “Your wifi is down. What kind of restaurant doesn’t have wifi? Can’t you fix this?”
A loud snort echoes from Harry’s mouth as he sets the blender back down on the counter before sliding back into his seat across from her. “Sorry, love,” He laughs, his regular accent back in its place. “That’s a bit above my paygrade. I can, however, offer you some compensation.”
Wrapping her fingers around the icy margarita glass, Y/N leans forward, resting her chin on her free hand as she appraises Harry with a kinked brow. “Is that so?” She replies in her regular voice as well, her interest piqued. “What kind of compensation?”
“It’s part of our Friday Night Special,” Harry slides his hand across the table and pushes the baggy rainbow sleeve of Y/N’s cardigan down her arm in order to brush his cool fingers up and down her bare skin. “And it features bottomless margaritas paired with cunnilingus from our most handsome waiter.”
A fluttering warmth begins to knot itself around Y/N’s core, but she does her best to keep her composure as she straightens her spine and glances around the apartment. “Sounds intriguing. So where’s the handsome waiter?”
Harry’s pillowy lips plunk down into an exaggerated frown as he presses a hand to his chest, his other hand continuing to stroke over Y/N’s forearm. “Ouch, Watson. That hurt. Might need you to kiss it better.”
“Oh yeah?” Y/N challenges, lifting her drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. “Where exactly does it hurt?”
Instead of answering her query, Harry simply stands from his chair and rounds the table to stop in front of Y/N, extending his hand to her. She lays her fingers inside his cool grasp, allowing him to pull her from her seat. He’s closer than she realized, she thinks, as her chest brushes with his and the intoxicating scent of his cologne fills her senses, only getting stronger as Harry nudges her nose with his own, his lips just barely gliding over her own. The copper specks around his pupils glitz under the muted lighting, electric from the alcohol, from the sensation of her close proximity, and from the ever-present intention of getting between her legs.
When Harry finally speaks, his thick cadence washes over her just as much as his tequila-scented breath, his free-hand tugging suggestively at the waistband of her leggings. “If we go to your bedroom, then I can show you.”
“Mm, is that so?” The girl gives in to his gesture, stepping forward as the vampire begins treading backwards towards their new— though entirely familiar— destination. “You’re gonna show me, then?”
“I most certainly am.” The boy keeps their bodies close, making sure that his lips continue to just barely graze hers as he moves, teasing her nerves into a frenzy. “I plan on showing you over, and over, and over…”
Y/N can’t bring herself to resist the offer. She’s only human, after all.
///
The next morning, Harry wakes up tangled in Y/N’s sheets to two surprises: the sheets on Y/N’s side of the bed are cold and bare, and that Harry is actually waking up.
Although he remembers falling back onto the scattered sheets the night before (after coaxing three orgasms out of Y/N and her coaxing two from him in return), he doesn’t remember drifting off into the sleep he so rarely needs, and because of that, Harry feels disoriented and groggy in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He does his best to blink the haze from his usually sharp eyes, knuckling at them with his cool fingers as he attempts to get his bearings.
His sleep-fogged mind struggles to recall what had happened after Y/N had fallen asleep. She’d drifted off easily and quickly, her sweat-soaked body tucked into Harry’s with her head resting in the crook of his neck. That noted detail sticks out in his memory because it had made Harry pause before biting her. She’d been so comfortable next to him, and in such an inconvenient position that Harry didn’t want to shift her to drink. After debating with himself for a few moments, he’d eventually decided on an alternative and had lifted her fragile wrist to his lips.
Even half awake, Harry’s lips quirk up at the hazy memory. He recalls the feeling of her hummingbird pulse thrumming beneath her delicate skin, practically vibrating against his lips as he stamped a kiss over her vein before biting down. Her blood had a weaker flow there, but that was alright; he’d just sucked a little harder to coax the liquid from her body, feeling his mouth overflow with her welcomed taste as well as with the supernatural chemicals that inject into her system and dull any pain his feeding might cause. He’d been careful to gauge his consumption by the strength of her heartbeat, and when he’d finished, he’d sealed the wound with a bit of his own blood, as usual. He’d made sure Y/N was healed and settled back in his arms before relaxing into the pillows to listen to her breathing, the soft pillows and her radiating body heat feeling more soothing than usual. Somewhere between counting the movement of her lungs and the sun rising, Harry had fallen unconscious.
It’s strange, being up after Y/N. Harry has grown used to rising before her and making breakfast, or even just coffee, and there’s something disorienting about being in her bed alone, without her inherent warmth and soft skin, and only the ghost of her sugary scent left behind. He briefly wonders if this is how she feels when she wakes up to cold sheets and no one beside her (although Harry suspects the lack of his frozen body would make the bed a more comfortable temperature), and thinks that maybe he should begin to lay in bed with her a little longer; if he’s going to fake a relationship with her, it should be a relationship where her partner wants to be around her, and isn’t awake before the sun.
And that’s another thing. The golden orange light of the rising L.A. sun is just beginning to stream through the closed curtains, so what time is it? It can’t be any later than seven— on a Saturday, no less— and at such an early hour, Harry would expect Y/N to still be dreamily dozing in bed. What had drawn her away from her comfortable position in Harry’s arms?
As the sun continues to rise, the light begins to streak onto Y/N’s empty side of the bed and, instinctually, Harry begins to reach for the beam, craving the warmth she took with her when she abandoned the sheets. Instead of the expected touch of heat, however, Harry is jarred by a burning sensation ripping across his icy flesh.
The vampire yanks his hand back in a flash, his face screwing in silent pain as he bites back a yell of anguish, but the damage has already been done. The tips of his fingers are puckered with red blisters, which throb as he flexes his hand in the safety of the shadows. Harry digs his sharp teeth into his lip harder, forcing himself to inhale slowly through his nose and exhale shakily through his mouth.
It takes a few moments for him to collect himself, breathing deeply with his eyes closed as he does so, and as he counts his own breaths like he’d counted Y/N’s the night before, what should’ve been an obvious thought enters his mind: why had he burned? He’s wearing his lionhead ring, which has eyes made of those precious crystals that protect his inhuman skin from sunlight, and as long as he’s wearing it, the sun shouldn’t be able to…
Harry’s sight snaps completely open as he jerks forward in bed, his head throbbing from the sudden movement. When he’d first awoken, he’d attributed his grogginess and dry eyes to sleeping for the first time in weeks, but as Harry’s jade gaze settles upon his uninjured hand, he realizes the truth. That disorienting feeling isn’t from sleep, but from the sunlight that had begun to seep through the curtains and affect his body, bouncing off the glossy walls of Y/N’s room and reflecting off her picture frames and furniture. What would normally not be an issue suddenly becomes the bane of his existence, and what usually isn’t able to affect his body immediately does, obvious in the agonizing sweltering writhing through every single one of his dormant arteries. And all because his lionhead ring is missing from its rightful place.
Granted, Harry hadn’t worn most of his rings to Y/N’s apartment the night before, seeing as how they planned to spend the night in, but he’d kept his mother’s opal and the lionhead securely on his middle finger and pinky, just as he always did. The former brings him memories of his mother, and helps him keep a piece of her— and who he once was— with him in this strange modern time. The latter had been a rebirth gift from a family he’d rather forget, and if it didn’t keep him from flambéing himself every time he stepped into the sun, he wouldn’t wear it at all. In all honesty, he probably would’ve chucked into Hell, if he could.
But the reality of his afterlife is that Harry needs that ring. So why is it missing from his hand?
Cradling his blistered digits to his bare chest, the wounded vampire tosses back the covers, careful to avoid the streaks of sunshine beginning to light up the small room. His icy chest soothes the burn in his fingers, which are taking longer to heal than Harry would’ve thought, but if the grating itch of his dry eyes is any indication, the effects of the sun aren’t just limited to direct physical harm, but are also stopping his body from healing itself as quickly as usual.
Harry presses his good hand to his dizzy head and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the ground as firmly as he can to center himself, refusing to cripple under the extraneous circumstances. He fishes his grey boxers from their signature spot on Y/N’s floor, slipping them on slowly as even the smallest of movements seems to strain his muscles beyond reason. As the elastic band snaps around his hips, another frightening possibility seizes his body: his mother’s ring could also be gone. He yanks his hand away from his head, and it takes his eyes a moment to focus on the opal ring. At least he can breathe a sigh of relief about one thing— if his mother’s ring had disappeared, Harry’s not quite sure what he would’ve done.
And that thought brings his spinning mind back to the present. His lionhead ring is gone, and he can’t so much as step into sunlight without undergoing intense, insurmountable pain, so how is he going to find it?
Another groan falls from Harry’s mouth as he rests his forehead in his palm, propping his elbow against his knee so he can shield his eyes from the sunlight by hiding in between his legs. Daylight talismans are extremely rare; he can’t exactly waltz into the nearest Wal-Mart and pick one up. The crystals that give vampires such cherished immunity all date back to the medieval era, when vampires were considered mythical legends instead of just plain myths, and what few of the crystals are left are hidden deep within old ruins in the remote wilderness of Europe. If Harry hadn’t been given his shortly after he was turned, he’s not sure he would have been lucky enough to own one. He remembers Niall telling him how he had to search every night for months before he found a crystal hidden inside a ruin in Wales, and Xander had once recounted the story of stealing his from the vampire that turned him. Even Mitch had struggled with the crystals before; although his ring had originally been a gift from the vampire that transformed him, he had to crack the crystal in half and set it into a new ring for Sarah when she had met her untimely demise.
Vampires have been known to beg, lie, cheat, and steal in order to get their hands on a daylight crystal, so if someone managed to sneak in and take Harry’s lionhead ring while he and Y/N were sleeping, then Harry is going to have a fucking hell of a time trying to get it back.
As the thought enters Harry’s dazed mind, a chill runs down his back, crawling across his spine and down his tailbone in an unsettling shiver as he slowly turns back to Y/N’s empty side of the bed. If someone— if another creature just like him, who would be the only other person capable of recognizing such a treasure— got into the apartment and took his ring, and found an unconscious mortal girl with the sweetest honey and lavender liquid pulsing through her veins, then…
The sheets and curtains of the room blow in a breeze as Harry jets off the bed, forgetting to control his inhuman speed as he throws the sliding door open and stumbles into the hallway. More sunlight streams through the windows of the living room, and it’s taking all of Harry’s dulled concentration to avoid the beams as he staggers towards the kitchen.
It’s not until the immortal smells Y/N’s familiar fragrance and hears the beating of her heart, in tune with her quiet humming, that the fear Harry hadn’t realized had tightened his chest flows out of him in one fell swoop. He does his best to force even breaths in and out of his lungs, watching as Y/N raises her coffee mug to her lips and blows on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.
She’s dressed in his multicoloured patchwork cardigan again, buttoned up to provide her with warmth and modesty, but it slips down her bare shoulder in a way that allows Harry to see she’s wearing nothing underneath it. Although the cardigan pools around her silky thighs— which are marked with bruises from the night before— Harry can see the tiniest peak of her panties beneath the fabric, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might’ve noticed how they’re not the pair she wore last night (that pair had been ripped right down the middle in his frantic attempt to get them off). However, Harry’s eyes quickly settle on Y/N’s hands, which, after she sets down her coffee cup, pick up Harry’s lionhead ring and begin turning it around in her fingers.
When he sees the ring in her delicate grasp, a wave of sheer rage begins to rumble through Harry’s chest, and it takes every fiber of his undead being to keep it at bay as he approaches the mortal girl. “Y/N,” Harry rasps lowly, voice heavy with the exhaustion that his newfound vulnerability has stacked onto his shoulders. He stands in the one spot of shadow near the kitchen counter, trying hard not to glower. “What are you doing?”
When Y/N turns her head to look at him, her sleepy face smiles softly, eyes nearly as bright as the infuriating sun. Maybe that’s why, Harry thinks, it feels like it burns.
“Morning,” She says quietly, her own voice just as sleepy as Harry’s as she picks up a grey cloth from the table and begins to run it over the ring with precision and care. “How did you sleep?”
It’s a simple, innocent question, and Harry knows that, but his mind can’t think in simple and innocent terms right now. As the light filling the room begins to pound his head even more, Harry’s thoughts revert back to his most instinctual behavior— rough carnal impulse. “What are you doing?” He asks again, his voice lower than before. He sounds dangerous, and he means to. How could she possibly think that taking something from him without his permission is fine?
“I’m polishing your ring.” Y/N keeps that good-natured smile on her face as she replies, but Harry can see the smallest waver in it as she begins to sense his distorted energy from across the room. “It was tarnished, and I have a polishing cloth, so I thought I’d—”
“Give it back.” Harry doesn’t mean to snarl the phrase, but he can’t stop himself from doing it as he thrusts out his hand expectantly; it’s taking all his concentration to keep himself from baring his teeth and letting his eyes bleed red.
Y/N doesn’t fight him on it, and drops the ring carefully into his awaiting hand without letting her warm skin meet his. She watches with confused eyes as Harry slips the newly shined lionhead ring onto his finger, a breath of relief sighing from his red lips the moment the metal meets his skin. He finishes twisting it into its designated spot, and he feels like he can actually breathe again.
The human girl waits a moment for an explanation from Harry, some spoken word or action to justify the hostility rolling off of him as he clutches the jeweled hand to his chest. As the moments pass, however, Harry offers no explanation, or anything at all as he takes deep and measured inhales through his nose, as if he’s trying to relax.
“I’m sorry.” Y/N offers the words quietly, turning in her chair to properly face him with sincere eyes. “I just noticed that it was more tarnished than your other jewelry, and I thought I could—”
“You can’t take my rings from me.” Harry answers in a harsh voice, his face reflecting about as much warmth as stone on a winter’s day. “I thought I’d lost it. You can’t do that.”
“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats the phrase again, gentler this time as she wraps her hands around her steaming mug. She had guessed that the opal ring was his mother’s, but like Harry’s ruby ring and initial rings, she’d deduced this lionhead decal was more for decoration than anything. If it was something important, one would figure that he’d take better care of it. But it seems she’s not as adept at reading Harry as she’d like to think, because his explosive reaction had been totally unexpected. For the first time since she met him, Y/N feels uneasy in his presence. Had she really offended him that much?
The truth of the situation, unbeknownst to her, is that Harry’s reaction is no more purposefully malicious than Y/N’s intentions. Although the ring is back on his finger, and the crystals are beginning to protect him again, Harry’s thoughts are still muddied as he glances around the apartment, carefully surveying the circumstance like the top predator he pretends not to be. There’s still a throbbing in his skull, and his eyes remain painfully dry, despite the fact that his healing has kicked in and mended his blistered fingertips. In this moment, Harry feels weaker than he has in centuries; if someone were to attack right now, he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough to protect himself. How could his aching head afford him any clear plan of attack? How could his burning eyes show him every approaching danger? How did he let himself become so relaxed— so stupidly lax— that he didn’t notice a mere human slipping off his most precious and needed object as he slept soundly in her bed?
“I really am sorry, Harry.” Rising from her chair with her quiet speech, Y/N steps towards him, hand outstretched to touch his inked forearm. “I didn’t know—”
Her hot fingertips against Harry’s frozen skin jar the vampire, triggering his fight or flight instincts as he tenses beneath her touch. “No—” He wrenches his arm away hurriedly, the searing graze reminding him of the sunlight that had harmed him just seconds ago, his wild eyes meeting Y/N’s in a feral frenzy.
Although her chest barely moves, Harry can hear the stuttering breath that the girl sucks in through her teeth, her eyes widening at the severity of his actions. “I’m sorry.” She whispers the phrase again, her fingers jerking back from Harry’s arm in shock. “I…”
The more time passes, the more Harry regains control of himself, and as Harry melds his shattered composure back together, he can see the fear beginning to stain its way onto Y/N’s face. The uneven beating of her heart pricks his ears, as does the scuff of the floor beneath her bare feet as she takes a step back from him. When that uncertain fear reaches her irises, Harry is suddenly flashed back to their first date, when he’d been worried that she might be scared of being alone with him, and how delighted he’d been when he realized that wasn’t the case. And now, as a sick feeling begins to settle in his stomach, he knows he’s blown it.
Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry urges himself to relax.
“No, I’m sorry.” He softens his voice as much as he can muster in order to apologize, rubbing his charred eyes with one hand, hoping they’re still the canopy green Y/N is familiar with. “M’just half asleep still, and I was worried that— I’m sorry.” Harry extends his ringed hand in invitation, desperately craving the warmth of Y/N’s touch now that he’s leveled out, but not wanting to take it unwillingly. He wants her to feel safe enough to give it to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
There’s a moment of hesitation that flickers in her eyes, but it quickly passes as the mortal lays her hand within his. “You didn’t scare me.” She reassures him, but Harry can hear the falseness of her response immediately, and that guarded demeanor only intensifies the nausea rattling inside him.
Is she lying to save his feelings, he wonders, or to make herself look tougher? No matter which may be the truth, Harry hates that she has to feel the need to lie. He’d been upset, yes, but he should know better. And he should know that she doesn’t know better. She thought she’d been doing something nice for him; she has no idea about the torturous results his ring protects him from. And she doesn’t know because Harry refuses to tell her— because he refuses to subject her to that perverted knowledge. This is his own doing.
“I did. I did frighten you, and I was rude, and I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his sleep-tousled curls. “My ring is just— it’s very important to me, and I don’t really like to take it off, so maybe just—just ask next time, yeah?” He murmurs the words in a soothing tone, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles in a poor attempt to make up for the way he’d berated her. “I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, and I’m not angry with you for taking it, but it just scared me when I woke up and it was gone.”
“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats yet again, and although Harry can feel her melting into his touch, there’s still a hint of uncertainty lingering beneath her words.
Harry forces a grin on his chapped lips, which he wets with his tongue before speaking again. “S’alright, dove. No harm, no foul. And no more apologies, yeah?” He brushes a finger over her cheek, trying his best to put on a lighthearted front for the girl. “It was rather tarnished, actually— needed a good cleaning.”
A shy smile finally creeps its way onto Y/N’s face, and Harry has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of content at both the gesture and the lack of prying about why that ring was dirtier than the rest (the answer to said question is just as simple as it is complicated: it reminds Harry of someone he’d rather forget, and if he didn’t need it, he’d drown it in the deepest ocean he could find— keeping it clean is the least of his concerns).
“How about breakfast, hm? It’s early, but we could make some pancakes, or—” Harry glances at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, reading the time with surprise before his gaze travels back to Y/N with a confused look. “It’s not even seven yet. What time did you get up?”
“Around 6:15? 6:30?” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, and Harry’s cardigan slips down her arm with the motion. “I don’t really remember.”
With his other hand still squeezing her own, Harry rugs the sleeve of the cardigan back up her shoulder, smoothing it over her morning-cooled skin. “It’s a Saturday, darling. What were you doing up so early?”
Despite her heartbeat having not quite returned to its usual tempo, Y/N nuzzles into Harry’s touch as he pulls her closer to him. “Couldn’t really sleep, I guess.” Tucking her face into his neck for a moment, Y/N indulges a penetrating inhale, enjoying the remnants of his mahogany and vanilla cologne before stepping back and past Harry to the cabinet.
Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N opens the door and retrieves a pink flowered mug before sliding down the counter to her coffee maker. “Want some coffee?” She asks, touching the glass of the carafe lightly to make sure it’s still warm. “There’s butter in the fridge, I think, if you want to make your disgusting drink.”
Ignoring the dig at his beverage of choice— which Harry has explained to her, multiple times, has many health benefits (not that he needs them) and just tastes better than coffee with cream— the vampire leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest as his brow furrows over his darkening eyes.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He questions, his attention glued to Y/N’s actions as she seems to deliberately avoid his gaze. He analyzes the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even from just her side profile, and a spark of concern ignites his chest. Could this be his fault? Is drinking her blood beginning to take a physical toll on her body? His blood has been healing her bite marks, but what about her iron levels? Is her circulation being affected? Mitch has told him multiple times that drinking from humans is okay once or twice a week, as long as there’s a grace period in between feeding, but Mitch has also never had the same human for as long as Harry has had Y/N. Have the weeks they’ve spent together begun to unravel her?
When Y/N simply shrugs in response to his question, and offers no other words of explanation, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he steps towards her, taking the now-filled coffee mug from her hands and setting it down on the counter. He wraps his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, hugging the girl into his chest for a moment to get a gauge on her body’s response. Her heartbeat stutters, yes, but that’s a usual response to being wrapped inside Harry’s embrace, and it returns to normal after a few beats. Her body feels just as warm as it usually does, and her chest is rising and falling just as it should be. Nudging his face into her hair, he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance. No, nothing smells out of place, and her blood had tasted as delicious and as strong as ever last night. If she’s having trouble sleeping, the cause isn’t anything tangible.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry mumbles the words into her hair before lifting his head up, extracting the girl from his arms just enough so that he can see her face. “If something is bothering you and keeping you up, then you can wake me up, too.”
Y/N worries her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes become entranced by Harry’s rosemary gaze. “I know I could, but I didn’t want to. You—” She swallows hard in an attempt to clear the thickness from her throat as her cheeks begin to burn. “You were sleeping, and I never see you sleep.” Y/N’s voice retreats into a sheepish tone at the admittance, her eyes falling from Harry’s stare to the floor between them. “You always fall asleep after me, and you’re always awake before me. You need rest, too, H.”
While Harry would normally laugh at that simple phrase— at the fact that Y/N doesn’t know how wrong she is— Harry’s dimples remain dormant as he focuses on the concern in her voice. “I—” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to clear it before he can say anything else. “I sleep just fine. Better, in fact, when I’m with you.” He confesses, his thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of Y/N’s neck.
And after Y/N has extracted herself from his grip to take a sip of her coffee, after she teasingly groans while watching Harry drop a pat of butter into his own steaming mug, after he begins to crack eggs into a pan as Y/N starts to lay bacon on a baking sheet, after all that, Harry finally realizes what lodged in his throat. It dawns on him just as Y/N slips a pink apron over his bare, faintly hickey-bruised chest to protect him from splatters of grease, giggling to herself as he poses with his hand on his hip and makes a vulgar joke about how this looks like the setup to a cheesy porno.
The vampire comes to the realization that Y/N takes notice of him.
She notices when he doesn’t sleep. She notices his exposed skin that could potentially be burned while cooking. She notices the expressions on his face, reads the tone of his voice, knows when to press a matter and when to leave it be. And she’s concerned. She’s concerned about not seeing him sleep. She’s concerned about him accidentally getting hurt. She’s concerned about the swings in his moods, the shortness of his answers. And while Harry knows her real concerns should be about allowing herself to be in such close proximity to someone— something— like him, he can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of her worrying about him.
As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, he knows he’s not easy to be around sometimes. He can be vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate. He can be selfish, dishonest, and manipulative. His mood can teeter at the drop of a hat, and he changes his mind like the weather on the best of days. And on his worst of days, sometimes Harry wonders if anyone could care for him, or even stand to be around him, if it wasn’t a necessity.
Although he’d never admit it, when Harry reflects on his friendships, he can feel a degree of insecurity in the threads that tie him to his crew. He’s fairly certain that if he and Mitch met under different circumstances— circumstances when both of them were human— they would likely still be friends. Maybe not as close as they are today, but friends, at the very least. When it comes to Niall, Xander, and Adam, however… he’s not so sure. Yes, he cares for them more than he’ll ever care for anyone again, and his loyalty to them is unwavering, but on his worst days, Harry can’t help but wonder if they would be friends if their connection hadn’t been forged on the basis of what they are, and understanding something that no one else can. If being vampires hadn’t placed them in each other’s lives and sealed them in a bond of venom and blood, would they even have given the others a second thought? Would any of them have wanted Harry in their lives? Harry wants to think yes, but it’s not a question of what he wants; the truth is, Harry is uncertain.
But when Y/N sits across from him with a smear of ketchup on her bottom lip, smiling softly at Harry as he wipes it off with his thumb, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he realizes something that’s never occurred to him before. He’s able to be cared for by someone who is drawn to him for all the reasons humans are normally drawn to each other, and not because they have a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be an other.
Of course, he knows there’s a certain degree of falsity in that; part of his charm and addictive qualities come from what he is, and Y/N, like any other mortal, isn’t immune to that. But instead of allowing herself to be driven away by the usual uneasiness that pairs with being so close to a vampire for so long, Y/N is leaning closer to him, laughing as he cracks a bad joke, kissing him over their breakfast, and showing evidence that she— against all odds— wants to know him. And the thought sends a fluttering below Harry’s ribs.
He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be capable of feeling the same. He wishes he could have the decency to give this girl the proper relationship she wants, or even the decency to break her heart quickly before she gets too attached to someone incapable of seeing her as anything more than a takeout meal. He wishes he could get to know her— truly get to know her, without any ulterior motives.
But Harry is vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate. He’s selfish, dishonest, and manipulative. And he has his fangs too deep in this mortal to let her go.
///
“Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” Harry slides his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to snag his keychain from his pocket, fumbling for the right key before inserting it into his locked door. “I can just drop my groceries off and then swing by your cafe, love. It’s no trouble.”
“No, really, it’s fine, H.” Y/N insists from the other end of the line, her voice nearly drowned out from the roar of L.A. traffic around her. “I already left work, and I’m nearly home. I’ll be over at your place within, like, forty-five minutes, I think? I just have to change out of my uniform.”
With his front door now unlocked, Harry grabs his phone from its perch on his shoulder before pushing open the door with his hand full of groceries, stepping inside his apartment and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I know, but it’s a long walk to my place, isn’t it?”
“It’s, like, twenty minutes— practically nothing. And besides, I have to stop at the post office and mail a letter to my parents.”
The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up as he rounds the corner to his kitchen, setting his grocery bags on the island before leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, his now free hand braced against the cool marble. “You still send your parents letters? Can’t you just call them?” He asks, tapping a ringed finger against the stone.
“If you knew my parents, you’d send letters, too.” Y/N sighs into the speaker, and Harry’s inhuman ears can hear the jangling of her keys in her hand. He can picture her searching for them like she did the night they met, digging into her purse until she’s elbow deep, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.
Despite the distinctive sound of a lock turning, Harry can’t stop himself from asking about her well-being. He’s so used to doing it with his other friends, it slips out on impulse. “Are you home now? Made it alright?”
There’s a hint of exasperated amusement in Y/N’s voice when she responds. “Yes, I managed to walk home all by myself. Didn’t even get murdered.” There’s another thud, and Harry imagines her shutting her door, pushing her weight against it to lock it properly. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know. I have good instincts.”
If she’s allowed him to get this close to her, Harry thinks, then her instincts aren’t exactly the caliber she imagines them to be, but he bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “I’m sure you do, darling.” He murmurs the reply as he opens his fridge to begin stocking it with the items he’d purchased earlier. “Oh, by the way, make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes, yeah? We’re going to be doing a bit of walking later.”
“Right. And you’re not telling me where we’re going because…?”
“Because surprises are fun.”
When Y/N huffs in response, Harry pictures the girl with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed tightly over her tummy as she gives him an endearing glare. “Not when you’re the one who’s being surprised.”
Still, despite her protests, Harry hears the rustling of clothing as she pulls off her work polo, followed by the clanking of her belt, the snap of a button, and the familiar rustle of her jeans being peeled off her legs. “You just worry about undressing yourself, alright? It must be difficult, since you’ve grown so used to me doing it for you.”
“Uh huh. I’m hanging up now.” Y/N deadpans into the phone, but Harry can tell there’s a lingering smile underneath her flat words. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Alright, doll. See you soon.” Harry sets a carton of eggs in the fridge before closing it, hanging up the call and slipping his phone back into his black slacks.
It takes Harry a few more minutes to put the rest of his groceries away in his pantry. He made sure to stock up on all the ingredients needed to make pancakes at the grocery store, as well as picking up a carton of the fancy pomegranate juice that Y/N had mentioned she was fond of. In fact, as he was wandering the aisles of his local Whole Foods, he’d found himself seeking out the snacks that he’d seen in her cupboards. He knows that humans need to eat much more often than vampires do, and seeing as how all the activities Y/N engages in at his condo are rather exhausting and energy-burning, he thought she’d need proper fuel.
After he folds the reusable cloth tote bags he’d brought to the grocery store and puts them back in the pantry, Harry climbs up his glass stairs to his bedroom. He takes a moment to evaluate his appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door, sweeping over every detail with a careful eye. His outfit is alright for what he has planned, he decides; his black slacks and scuffed white vans are comfortable, but more importantly, his white t-shirt embossed with a Hollywood Bowl print that clings to the muscles of his inked arms and broad chest, which Harry knows Y/N will enjoy. His curls, however, need a bit of tending to, and Harry slinks into his bathroom to add a bit more product to his chestnut locks, getting rid of the little frizz that had developed in the L.A. heat in order to fix his curl pattern.
As for his jewelry, he leaves on his usual rings: his gold initial pieces, his mother’s opal, his ruby, an engraved band, and his lionhead ring, which shines under the bathroom lights thanks to Y/N’s careful efforts the week before. Once those are secure, he fastens his pearl necklace around his neck, and fixes the clasp of his cross before slipping a plain gold hoop into his pierced ear. Once he’s satisfied with his accessories, Harry spritzes his favourite cologne across his body, giving his appearance one more look over as he leaves his bathroom and passes the full length mirror in his bedroom again.
The Rolex on his wrist tells him that Y/N is due over any moment, and he’s just making sure his Gucci wallet is securely tucked in his trouser pocket when Harry’s ears prick up at the sound of two pairs of feet stomping into his condo downstairs. It only takes him a moment more to identify the intruders based on their step patterns, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as he checks the time again before sauntering down the stairs.
“And just what do you two,” Harry calls to his unexpected friends as he rounds the corner of the stairs, his eyebrow quirked in question as he steps down from the last platform, “think you’re doing here?”
“We wanted some change in scenery.” Niall quips sarcastically, emerging from the end of the entrance corridor with his hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugging casually. “And I told Xander you might be shirtless, which got him to tag along. But you’re not, much to his disappointment. Though I do think the way you’re about to burst out of that tee suffices. Isn’t that right, Xanny?”
“That’s not true!” Xander snaps hotly, his cheeks blazing and glare electric as Niall cackles boyishly, stepping around him and towards the kitchen, like he always does when he walks into Harry’s apartment. The tanned man glowers at the other vampire as he makes a beeline for Harry’s refrigerator, slowly pinning his gaze back onto the owner of the condo. He clears his throat awkwardly before offering a solid explanation for their sudden visit. “Adam cancelled on pub trivia night, so we thought you might be available instead.”
Harry shakes his head with a sigh as he makes his way into the kitchen, as well— mostly to make sure Niall doesn’t reach for any of the expensive liquors he has arranged on his bar shelves; they took too long to collect for him to just allow a single person to down one bottle like a shot— and leans both elbows against the marble island. “Sorry, mate. I’ve got a date with Y/N.”
“So bring her.” Niall pipes up from the fridge, a stolen bottle of Harry’s favourite beer already in his hand. Harry doesn’t complain— it’s a better substitute than his forty year aged scotch. “She went to uni, didn’t she? She must be smart.”
“I’ve got better things planned for us than pub trivia with two obnoxious knobheads.” Harry retorts, his lips tugging into a smirk at Niall’s responding eyeroll. “That’s not very romantic, is it? Taking her on a double date with you two?”
“And that’s not very nice, H. I’m offended you wouldn’t go on a double date with Xander and I.” The Irishman sniffles with fake sincerity, biting the bottle cap off his beer despite knowing that Harry keeps a bottle opener in the kitchen drawer to his right.
Xander watches the spectacle with distaste, his nose wrinkling as Niall spits the cap from his mouth into his hand. “And I’m offended you’d think I’d date someone who does that.”
“It’s not like you have standards.”
“Hey!”
“But then again, no one sets a bar the way I do.”
“The only bar you set for me was potential alcoholism.” Xander mutters spitefully.
“I’d make a great boyfriend.” Niall interrupts with airy confidence, ignoring his friends bickering and taking a deep swig of his beverage, smacking his lips appreciatively. “But humans are too fragile to keep around for long, and most vampires are fucking psychotic. Unfortunately.”
“What about Charlotte?” Harry suggests nonchalantly, hooking his index finger into the cabinet beneath him and fishing for a coaster. He shuts the drawer and skims the item across the top of the counter towards Niall, just in case the man wants to put his glass container down. This is real marble, after all. “She seems pretty tame.”
Niall glances at the coaster, but doesn’t make any conscious effort to set his drink down. Harry should’ve known; Niall isn’t one to put a pint down until it’s empty, but the possibility is there, nonetheless. It’s not his fault he likes taking care of his home.
Niall sighs through his nose dismissively, following it with a light rattle of his head. “Charlotte’s too...smart. She’s a bit out of my league, and I feel like she’d get bored of me easily. Also, how would you know if she’s tame or not? You rarely hang out whenever she’s around.”
“That’s because she hates me.” Harry states flatly, as if it should be obvious. And it should, considering the young woman had not held back on expressing her strong dislike towards the curly brunette. Harry has thick skin and words never hurt him, but Charlotte has a surprisingly vicious vocabulary; if he hadn’t been amused by her anger, she would have come pretty close to genuinely chipping his ego.
Niall chortles softly. “Well, I mean, you can’t really blame her, can you? You’re kind of a prick.”
“A proper asshole, actually.” Xander chimes in, drumming his digits against the table’s surface and giving Harry a bright, innocent smile.
The immortal momentarily casts his eyes towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I am. If her and Miss Billy Ray Cyrus can’t handle some dark humor and dirty banter, that’s not my problem. Everyone else seems to like me just fine.”
“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects.
“You’re just mad I fucked you once and decided that was enough.”
“Anywho,” Niall interferes, waving around his beer in order to catch his friends’ attention and prevent a catastrophic World War V, he proceeeds to swivel the topic back onto himself, “like I said, I’d make a great partner. I’m funny, I’ve got a whole shelf full of PS4 games, I like to think my oral skills are pretty decent, and—”
“Have you ever made a girl wet her sheets?” Harry prods with entertained curiosity, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.
Niall pauses mid-sentence with his drink perched to his lips, eyes flitting around thoughtfully as he shovels through cluttered memories of drunken one night stands and fleeting relationships. He relents with a sheepish scoff, shoulders sagging. “...No.”
“Then you’re not as skilled as you think.” Harry remarks passively, titling his head to the side with finality. “And I’m willing to bet Mitch’s next stock of O negative that eighty percent of your hookups probably faked it.”
“Oi, bet, then.” Niall snorts, grinning around the spout of his beverage as he finishes his sip. He wiggles his brows playfully, squaring his shoulders proudly. “You can’t fake a leg-shake, darling.”
“A leg-shake?” Harry inquires carefully, pursing his lips to keep from sputtering into pompous laughter. “You mean like this?” He then proceeds to dramatically buckle his right leg, immediately debunking Niall’s ridiculous theory. “Just like that?”
The Irish bloke’s face drops into a scorned scowl as Xander and Harry break into a round of mocking giggles. He draws into himself with childish pettiness, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “Piss off.”
“Unless she couldn’t walk right afterwards, you didn’t really do what you think you did, Ni.”
“It seemed pretty real to me!” The blue-eyed boy rebuttals sharply, cheeks tinging bright pink in embarrassment.
“That’s the point.”
“This is precisely why I’d never entertain a relationship with you, even as a joke.” Xander pipes up towards Niall, smirking cruelly at his friend’s bruised ego. “I like my orgasms to be real, and I’m not willing to put up an act to spare your fragile masculinity.”
“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.”
“Bigger than yours.”
“Is that a challenge? I’ll pull it out right now, I don’t give a fuck.”
“Well,” Harry cuts in loudly, not necessarily keen on watching two grown men compare penis sizes in the middle of his home, “it seems you two have some issues to work out, so the double date is a moot point, anyways.” His jade eyes flicker to his watch again; Y/N should nearly be here, and he doesn’t want these two goons present when she arrives— especially not with their balls out. That wouldn’t be a decent introduction, despite being an unforgettable one. “So I’ll talk to you two later, then. Thanks for stopping by.”
“Hold up, I practically just cracked my beer.” Niall whines in return, holding up the chilled bottle in protest, leaning his backside against the marble countertop with a decisive motion. “Y’can’t kick us out yet.”
Harry laughs once, the noise sounding more strained than he would like. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you over, I think I can.” He retorts, tapping a jeweled finger against the table.
“The blood bag isn’t even here yet,” Xander reasons as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen island, taking a seat and making himself at home as if Harry hadn’t just told him to get the fuck out. “So what's the rush?”
The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickles at the crude nickname, and the older vampire shoots daggers at the younger as he pushes himself off the marble counter. “There isn’t one, except I think hearing herself be referred to as ‘the blood bag’ may make her a little suspicious, don’t you?”
“We’ve referred to her as worse.” Xander shrugs offhandedly, kicking his feet up onto the bar stool next to him.
Harry’s brows furrow as he pushes Xander’s shoes off his furniture, dusting the leather cushion off. “Referred to her as what? And when?”
Although Xander lifts one shoulder again as a vague answer, Niall smacks his lips loudly once again as he swallows the rest of the beer, and answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “In Vegas, after you ditched us to get your dick wet. I think Xander called her a fuckable slab of kobe beef, and—”
“I said ribeye, actually. Nice flavour, but a little chewy.” Xander corrects the Irishman, but has the decency to look halfway embarrassed when he catches Harry’s stony glare. “And it’s not like we’re wrong, right? That’s all humans are.”
Niall gives an affirmative nod as he sets his empty bottle down on the marble counter, completely ignoring the coaster Harry had slid to him. “Don’t take it personally, H. Xanny refers to his own dates as McDonald’s Happy Meal Twinks— at least a ribeye steak is expensive.”
“I’m not taking it personally.” Harry mutters the words in a low voice as his jaw twitches, tensing under the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “But comments like these are why you pricks need to get out of here before she shows up, or else I’ll be feeding from one of you tonight.”
A beat of silence falls between the three vampires as the palpable tension flowing off of Harry thickens the room. Xander and Niall glance between each other and Harry, hardly able to hold the latter’s eyes, before Niall offers a small comment.
“I don’t think Xander would mind that, really—”
“Out.” Harry points a jeweled finger at the entrance corridor with a firm motion. “Both of you. Go bother Mitch.”
He can see the disappointment and frustration that lingers on Niall and Xander’s faces, but neither of them fight him as they rise from their perches in the kitchen and walk dejectedly to the front door. Harry briefly entertains the idea of walking them out, but decides against it; there’s a strange buzzing sensation rising through his ribs, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll say as he bids his friends— he has to remind himself that, yes, they’re his friends— goodbye. It’s safer, he thinks, if he stays where he is and cleans up the mess that they managed to leave behind in their short visit.
He comes to regret that decision, however, approximately three milliseconds after he hears the front door creak open, and a familiar but unexpected voice echos down the entrance hallway.
“Oh— hi. Sorry, I may have the wrong apartment…?”
Harry freezes with Niall’s empty beer bottle clutched in his hand, his grip contracting so hard that he hears the thick glass begin to splinter.
“No, no, this is Harry’s apartment. We were just leaving.” The grin on Niall’s face is audible underneath his Irish accent. “You must be Y/N.”
“I am, yeah.” Harry can hear the tiny thread of surprise at him recognizing her in the human’s words, and the even tinier thread of pleasure that undercuts it. “And you must be...Niall, I think? And Xander?”
Niall’s smug reply grates against Harry’s frozen skin, even from down the corridor. “Harry’s told you about us, huh? Only good things, I hope.”
“Oh, I—”
Harry forces his legs to move with inhuman speed, the beer bottle not even having hit the marble counter by the time Harry appears at Niall and Xander’s shoulders. “Hi, darling.” He says through a strained smile, digging his stony fingers into the back of the two vampire’s arms, an unspoken warning of behave. “Y’made it alright, then?”
When Y/N shines a warm— albeit, slightly confused— smile in his direction, Harry wishes that he’d been faster in shooing his friends out the door, because the action nearly knocks the unrequired breath from his chest.
She’d dressed in comfortable and casual clothes, as per his suggestion, and is standing just outside the doorway in light washed denim overalls, with a black and white striped t-shirt layered underneath, and her familiar cotton candy pink vans on her feet. But the detail that digs its way to the forefront of his mind— more so than her satin lips, her heated cheeks that are appled with her smile, and the tousled locks that are pulled back from her face in a low ponytail— is the shining silver cross pendant that hangs on a chain around her smooth neck.
It’s a new addition that Harry has never seen before, and while he knows he shouldn’t be surprised— after all, she’d told him how she grew up in a religious town, how she’d attended church, how she used to say grace before dinner with her friends— the jewelry still piques his curiosity.
“I did, yeah. It’s really not that long of a walk, H.” Y/N replies, flicking her eyes between Harry and his two friends, who are still watching her every move as if she’s a specimen to be observed. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”
The Irishman with glasses— Niall, Y/N reminds herself— opens his mouth to respond, but Harry quickly cuts him off as he pushes past his mates to take Y/N’s hand and step outside the apartment, fetching his keys and yellow sunglasses from the small side table by the door in one smooth motion.
“Not interrupting anything, doll. Niall and Xander were just on their way out.” Although Harry is smiling at her throughout the comment, the mortal can’t help but feel like the last phrase was aimed at the pair still lingering in the doorway.
“We were just stopping by to see if we could steal Harry for a last minute trivia game, but he said he was already booked.” Niall answers with an accepting shrug, glancing at Xander next to him, who’s still yet to say anything to Y/N, though he is carrying an unreadable empty expression as he gives the girl a calculating once-over. “Apparently, whatever he’s got planned for you two is more interesting than a few beers and watching Xander struggle to remember all the battles in World War I—”
“That’s not fair,” The brunette finally chimes in, breaking his attention away from her body to meet the blue-eyed boy’s gaze. Y/N is surprised to hear an American accent fall from his lips. “I’m the only one who wasn’t there, so how would I know—?”
“And you two are already arguing,” Harry cuts over his friends’ bickering, shooting them an annoyed glance as he wraps a cool arm around her waist, cautioning them to watch what they’re saying. “Which will only get worse once you get alcohol in your hands, and that is why I’m not going to subject Y/N to a headache-inducing night of torture.”
Y/N looks up at Harry with innocent interest swirling in her eyes. “I don’t know, H, it could be fun.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease forms between Harry’s brows. “Don’t you think?”
Niall catches Harry’s eye, taking advantage of Y/N’s distraction to cheekily flash him his crimson irises for a split second, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm that only he can detect. “Yeah, Harry. Don’t you think?”
Jaw tensing, Harry bends down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, dampening his irritation down into a smooth and silky tone. “Don’t try to spare their feelings, love. I’ve got something fun planned for us, I promise.” His teeth graze against Y/N’s skin, and he nearly drags his lips down towards her neck until he remembers her stuttering heartbeat can be heard by the other vampires in their presence.
The two creatures gawk at the image before them, utterly baffled at Harry’s unusual tenderness. It’s very out of character for him, that much is obvious. In all the decades Niall and Xander have been acquainted with the Victorian era immortal, neither have ever seen him be so gentle and touchy with another soul, let alone a human. It feels as if they’re looking at some type of warped parallel universe version of the normally stand-offish young man.
Xander is the first to clear his throat, throwing Harry an annoyed grimace before pulling Niall out from the condo’s entryway. “We’ll see you later then, Harry. C’mon, Ni.”
The Irishman offers a quick goodbye, gifting the strange girl a frail wave and a parting smile before being half-dragged down the hallway by Xander. Niall wrenches himself free and shoves Xander’s shoulder playfully as they round the corner to the elevator, their quiet voices— no doubt spinning juvenile gossip— fading out of earshot. The look in Xander’s eyes had been concerning, Harry thinks, but nothing he needs to worry about right now. If anything, he wants to forget that encounter as quickly as possible, and needs Y/N to forget it, too.
“So,” he pastes an easygoing grin onto his face as he locks his front door, turning to the mortal with a giddy twinkle in his forest green eyes. “Shall we be off, then?”
There’s a lingering look of confusion reflecting back at him, but Y/N doesn’t press the odd encounter as Harry intertwines his icy fingers with her own warm digits.
“Alright.” She agrees, raising a questioning eyebrow back at him. “And just where are we going?”
///
“The Los Angeles Antique Mall.” Harry announces proudly when he opens Y/N’s door, extending a ringed hand to help her out of his low-riding car. “Twenty thousand square feet of vintage collectables, artwork, furniture, and anything else you could possibly want.”
Y/N stares up at the massive building in front of them, observing the worn wood facade and the collection of what seems to be (half faded) stained rocking chairs adorning the wraparound porch. There’s also an impressive amount of wrought iron planters with various greenery scattered between the furniture, with groups of people milling between them as they enter and exit the giant mall.
“You brought me antiquing?” She asks, an bemused look in her eye as she turns to Harry for an explanation.
Wrapping his large grasp around her smaller one, Harry nods enthusiastically as he begins to lead her towards the door. “Yeah. It’s fun, actually. I’m always up for a bit of a treasure hunt, and I thought, since you’re still furnishing your apartment…”
“You know, now that you mention it… I could use some new curtains for my living room. Maybe a nice side table.” Y/N allows, stepping over the wooden stairs to the door as Harry tugs her along. “But I’m surprised you like antiquing. Doesn’t really seem like your thing, if I’m honest.”
A mischievous glint flits through Harry’s jade eyes as he treats her to a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m actually quite fond of antiques, truth be told. I’ve got a good eye for vintage collectables. And…” He lazily tugs on the handle of the door to open it, stepping to the side to allow Y/N to walk through first. “Maybe we’ll find a nice painting to replace that god awful tapestry in your bedroom.”
A scoff of indignation falls from Y/N’s mouth as she turns on her heel to punch Harry’s sturdy upper arm, nearly getting too distracted by the ropes of muscle beneath his tight sleeve to give a response. “I like that tapestry! And, seeing as how you’re either sleeping or fucking me when you’re in said room, I’m a little offended that my tapestry is the thing you focus the most on.”
Harry bites his bottom lip between his teeth. If only she knew how much time he actually spends staring at it.
“Well, there’s certainly other things I focus on…” He replies with a casual air, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Y/N’s overalls to cup her ass suggestively, guiding her along the aisles of antiques. “But nothing ruins a post-orgasm glow like poor interior design, sweetheart. S’a bit of a buzzkill, y’know?”
“So is being patronized.” Y/N deadpans, extracting Harry’s hand from her back pocket as a hot flash begins to creep up her spine. “You keep mocking my interior design choices, and your orgasms are going to get a lot less frequent.”
The vampire belly laughs as he throws an arm around her shoulders, the action as natural to him as breathing once was. “I don’t believe that for one fucking second.” He replies gleefully, smudging an open mouthed kiss to Y/N’s temple.
“You don’t, huh?” The human girl raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to scan the towering racks of oddities all around them. “I wonder if we can find you a vintage fleshlight here?”
“Already got one, doll,” Harry rolls his eyes as he brushes his cool fingers along Y/N’s exposed collarbone, his eyes catching the cross pendant again and brimming with curiosity. “And it’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my toy chest, y’know that—”
Y/N feels Harry’s arm suddenly tense around her, his muscles contracting as his touch jolts away from her collarbones, his hand flexing beneath the open skylights of the building. “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, all her teasing fading away, replaced with concern as she pauses her steps toward the shelves.
“I—” Harry flexes his fingers again, slowly removing his arm from her shoulder to examine his hand. The tips of his fingers are a bright red, crimson burns contrasting against his pink skin, and although it only takes a few moments for the marks to fade, the uneasy feeling bubbling in Harry’s stomach lasts. “Yeah. My, uh, my hand just cramped. But it’s fine now, I think.”
Who the fuck, he wonders as he cautiously slings his arm back around Y/N’s shoulders, wears a cross made of, not silver as Harry originally suspected, but polished iron?
Iron jewelry had fallen out of fashion a century ago, and Harry had never been more thankful than when it did, given how his flesh scorches at merely brushing the metal. When he took his family’s trinkets as a way to remember them before he had to leave, Harry had snuck into his father’s forge in the dead of the night to dip the jewelry in gold that he’d stolen from a local merchant who cheated poor peasants out of their valuables. It had been a tedious task, and rather dangerous due to the threat of being caught, but it had also been necessary; if he hadn’t taken the risk, he wouldn’t have his sister’s cross earring, or his father’s matching cross necklace. His dad’s pocket watch, luckily, had been made of silver, and didn’t need a golden bath, but everything else had to be encased to protect Harry’s skin.
Iron jewelry had been a deterrent to him in the years to come after he was turned; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a pretty young girl from a village and sneak her away for a night of fun, only to discover an iron chain dangling from her neck when he leaned in to take a bite. It wasn’t a permanent problem, of course, as there were plenty of other soft places he could sink his teeth into, but it had been an annoyance then, and it still annoys him now.
Harry does his best to push the irritation to the back of his mind, he really does. He shows Y/N around the twisting maze of antiques, and does his best to showcase one of his favourite hideaways in L.A. He points to anything and everything that could interest her, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks him to reach something heavy perched on a high shelf, even if she just wants to examine it out of curiosity. Harry pulls out typewriters, vintage cameras, tarnished cigarette lighters, and a pastel yellow bicycle with an attached wicker basket from 1941, presenting all of the objects with the enthusiasm of a showcase model on The Price is Right, spouting falsified information about each product in the best impression of Bob Barker he can pull off (“This ancient, rusted bicycle— once owned by the Queen of England herself— can be all yours for just one easy payment of $8.99! Taxes and shipping not included.”).
And although all of that incites multiple tinkling laughs from Y/N, and lights a glimmer in her eye, and compels her to walk closer and closer to Harry until she lets him sneak his palm back into the backside pocket of her overalls, the mystery of her necklace still eats at the far end of his brain. And it’s that insipid, insistent pest of a thought that causes Harry to readjust his grip on the framed Monet print he’d spotted in the racks (Y/N had tried to deny how much she liked it in order to thwart Harry’s triumphant smirk, but she still asked him to grab it for her with a grumble) and spare another glance to the innocent looking cross resting atop her clavicle.
“That’s a pretty little piece.” Harry slips into a nonchalant tone with ease, nodding towards the necklace as he navigates the two of them around a corner. “Why have I never seen you wear it before?”
Y/N brushes her fingertips over the iron cross with a gentle motion. Her fingers don’t scorch with a mere graze of the metal, Harry notes scathingly. Not that he expected it from someone like Y/N.
“Because I don’t wear it often.” She replies, lifting one shoulder without a second thought. “It was my grandmother’s— not, like, originally, but she’d owned it, and gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, so I guess it counts as a family heirloom, huh?”
“Guess so.” The vampire murmurs in agreement, prickles of wonder still coasting against his skin. “So what made you drag it out today?” Did you subconsciously realize that your neck needs protection when I’m near? Harry tacks on in his head, his brow furrowing at the troubling thought.
And at that question, Y/N’s eyes drop to the floor, as if her bubblegum pink vans need an audience for every step they take. “Uh, I was just a little homesick, that’s all.” She mumbles the reply, her shoulders sagging as a dark shadow passes through her usually dazzling eyes.
Homesickness. The one human feeling that Harry can still relate to. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” He removes his hand from her back pocket to wind it around her shoulders again, mindful of the jewelry in question. “Did anything in particular happen, or…?”
Y/N lifts her shoulders once again as she tucks her hands into her pockets, her posture closing off more and more with every passing moment. “Not really. I don’t know, I— normally I’m fine, but when I addressed my letter to my parents today, it took me a moment to remember my ZIP code. It’s the same ZIP code I’ve had all my life, but… I nearly forgot it.” She glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, and Harry realizes that dark shadow is guilt. She feels guilty. “I’ve been in L.A. for less than six months, and almost forgot my parent’s ZIP code. I didn’t think that could ever happen.”
Harry hums low in his throat, a noise of understanding and finality. It’s homesickness, that’s all. That’s explainable, and understandable, and should be enough information to silence the gnawing irritation in his chest.
And yet...
“Do you believe in God?” The question escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can even think to censor it, his own eyes widening on his behalf as his grip on the Monet print nearly releases from the surprise.
“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks, although she nearly stumbles forward when Harry’s sturdy arm catches behind her shoulders as her eyes boggle at him. “I don’t— what does God have to do with antiquing?”
If Harry didn’t have to worry about digging himself out of the whole he created, he’d laugh at the incredulous expression on his lover’s face. “I was just curious, s’all.” He struggles to keep his voice casual, steadying his feet against the wooden floor in an effort to ground himself mentally. “I know you were raised with religion, but you don’t really go to church here— not that church equals a belief, but—”
“Um, I don’t…” Y/N extends her arm to let her fingers graze over the shelf of old lunch boxes next to them, feeling each dip of every embossed cartoon character. “I don’t know. I don’t really believe in, like, a concept of God— at least, not the one I was raised with. But I believe in…” She trails off as she attempts to gather her thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly as she searches for the right words. “Something. I don’t really know if it’s a deity, or an energy, or just coincidence, but… I think there’s something out there that guides us.”
“So you believe in souls.” Harry’s mouth presses into a flat line, his jaw clenching for just a moment as he grits his teeth and then reiterates her previous point. “The thing that allows us to be guided, that is.”
Or allows her to be guided, Harry thinks bitterly, casting his eyes towards their path ahead of them to avoid Y/N’s prying gaze. That’s really the only reason he’d brought up this entire religion conversation— the only reason he ever brings it up: he wants to know if she believes in souls, because in order to be guided by whatever higher power supposedly exists, one needs a soul. And Harry’s fairly certain his was stolen from him in 1837.
“I suppose.” Y/N allows, tracing the embossed lettering of a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box. “A soul, an energy, an aura— they’re all kind of the same thing to me. The thing that keeps your heart beating. I don’t think it needs to be tied to a religion; there’s so many different religions, but everyone has a heartbeat, you know?”
Harry nearly laughs out loud at the irony, but manages to stifle the sound into a non-committal hum. “Does your something include heaven and hell, or is that too based in Christianity?” He asks, half out of curiosity and half out of necessity. “If someone were to lose their soul…” He knows he sounds insane asking the question, but it bubbles out of him before he can choke it back. “Would you think them damned?”
The mortal girl stares at him blankly for a moment, her mouth just barely open as she considers his words. He shouldn’t have asked, and he knows that— he knew it the moment the first question fell from his lips. But the more they discussed the topic, the more it nagged at him. Y/N, with all her good nature, her listening skills, and her soft heart, are most certainly bound for whatever good lies in store when a soul actually leaves a body. Harry, on the other hand… If the monster’s conscience were to ever leave this Earth, he knows it’s not for the metaphorical pearly white gates. And for some reason, that notion bothers him more right now than it has in the last twenty decades.
“Um…” A nervous laugh echoes from Y/N’s mouth, the smile curling the edges of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “Okay, this topic is way too serious for me to discuss sober. Can I take a rain check on the damnation questions? I’m getting Sunday school flashbacks, and living through that once was bad enough.”
Harry wills a smile onto his own face, but the expression is more apologetic than anything as he grips Y/N’s hand in his to tow her down an aisle of antique kitchen equipment. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with such heavy questions. I guess I just wanted to get to know my partner in justice a bit more.”
Y/N takes it in good stride, just as she usually does, her smile relaxing the moment she sees Harry’s dimples peek out from his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock. I’d expect nothing less from such an established detective.”
As the pair pass under another skylight, Y/N’s cross glints at Harry as if to mock him.
///
Y/N isn’t lost.
To the untrained eye, the mindless path she takes through the towering and twisting rows of the antique mall may seem like the wandering of someone who has no recollection of where they came from, nor where they’re going, but Y/N is adamant that she isn’t lost. She isn’t, because when she split from Harry to take a trip to the washroom, he’d warned her not to get lost in the internal maze of the mall. And Y/N, with a glare in her eyes and a scathing remark on her lips, had assured him that she, a grown woman, would be able to find her way back after she was done, and “Honestly, H, just wander a bit. I’ll be able to find you easily.”
So Y/N isn’t lost, because she refuses to prove Harry right. He’s already a cocky asshole with a huge ego, and she couldn’t bear seeing that ego enlarge as a triumphant smirk paints over his face the moment she calls him on his cellphone, admits defeat, and asks him to come find her. She’ll do a lot of things for that man, but that isn’t one of them.
With that in mind, she turns down a corridor of the labyrinth of collectables, trying to find any discernible items that she could use to pinpoint her location in the labyrinth. The yellow bicycle, maybe, or one of the vintage cameras Harry had pretended to photograph her with, or even the strange five foot carving of Bugs Bunny that she and Harry had agreed is probably possessed by a demon. A haunted Bugs Bunny could lead her to her destination— or kill her, truthfully, but either option seems preferable over the solidifying future of having to call Harry.
After another five minutes of aimless ambling, Y/N retrieves her phone from her pocket, a grimace crawling its way onto her face as she opens her contacts to click on Harry’s name. Her finger hovers just over the phone icon, mere millimetres from humiliation, when a few out of place piano notes float by her ears and catch her attention.
Y/N tucks her phone back into her overall pocket as her curiosity takes over, urging her ears to strain towards the distant melody, as well as for her legs to follow. It’s not long before Y/N is walking with purpose again, albeit a different purpose than before. As the music gets louder, Y/N begins to pick out more details— how the piano notes that prick her ears are slightly out of tune, how the player begins and stops and begins again, dragging out different phrases, speeding through others with no clear intention. The minor key of the piece makes Y/N feel like she’s walking into a memory as she wades through the shelves of long-forgotten belongings, old photographs of deceased people in Victorian fashions watching while the young woman falls back in time.
The music grows louder as Y/N reaches a dark corridor with wood paneling lining the walls, and a painted sign saying “Music Room” beckons her down the passageway. She follows with slow steps, and while she knows that maybe leaving the main mall area and losing her way down here isn’t a smart idea, the music that’s beginning to grow impossibly sweet pulls her forward. Y/N rounds the corner to find the oak doors to the music room swung open, and when she lays her eyes on the figure sitting at the mahogany ground piano, she recognizes the silhouette of Harry’s back and shoulders immediately.
Y/N’s gaze falls from his flexing shoulder blades to his inked hands, the jewels on his rings catching the low light of the room as his lithe fingers dance over the dusty ivory keys. He coaxes a melody from the instrument without any difficulty, as if the music had been simmering beneath his skin for ages. Maybe it has, Y/N thinks, as she watches from the doorway with quiet wonder, and although she plans on silently observing for as long as she can, Harry only completes a few more phrases before the music drifts to a halt.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d find me.” He murmurs, clearing his throat of the rasp that had settled in his vocal chords as he played. “Thought I’d be getting a scared phone call any moment now.”
The human girl steps into the room slowly, gliding around to the cut out of the piano and leaning across the lacquered wood. “I wasn’t scared. And I would’ve found you sooner if you’d stayed put. I said wander a bit, not all the way across the building.” She retorts jokingly, trailing a finger along the smooth edge of the piano. All of the sarcasm in her voice melts right out, replaced by intrigue. “I didn’t know you played piano.”
“I, uh, I don’t. Not much anymore, anyways.” Harry runs his digits between the keys again, using only enough pressure to dust the top of the ivory covers. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, honestly, but this…” He lifts an index finger to brush the dust off the gold embossed brand name. “It looks like the one I learned on, so…”
Y/N takes a seat on the wooden bench next to Harry, her shoulder bumping against his as she leans in to smudge a kiss across his cheek. “It sounded beautiful.” She assures him, noting the hesitation in his explanation. “What’s that piece called?”
“It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, in C-Sharp Minor.” Harry curves his fingers over the keys, as if he’s about to begin again, but then relaxes the digits as he exhales harshly. “I don’t play it as well as— as the person who taught me.”
There seems to be a hidden story beneath those words, but Y/N doesn’t press it; if Harry wants to tell her, then he’ll tell her. If not… Well, she’d rather not drag a sour memory from him in the middle of an antique mall. Instead, she drags her fingers over his thigh, rubbing just above his knee in a comforting manner.
“How long have you been playing?” She asks softly, tracing over a black lacquered key with her free hand. When she pulls away, her finger is coated in dust, and she wonders how long it’s been since the piano has been touched by someone else.
The corner of Harry’s lips twitch, as if her question is particularly humorous. “A while.” He answers simply, and he tilts his head to the side to press his face against the top of Y/N’s head, inhaling the scent of her favourite shampoo.
“A while?” Y/N repeats the vague answer to prompt further explanation, but when she gets none, she switches to another inquiry. “Can you play me something?”
The moment she utters the question, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No, I— no. I’m not that good, love, and I don’t really play for people.”
Surprise colors Y/N’s voice when she replies, lifting her head from Harry’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “This isn’t the time for false modesty, H.” She says, tapping two fingers against his knee as punctuation. “Since when have you been humble?”
A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s chest in spite of himself, and he curls his fingers over Y/N’s to move her hand further up his thigh. “I’m not modest! Don’t insult me like that, darling. S’not nice.”
“Prove it, then.” Y/N massages over Harry’s inner thigh as she issues the challenge, baiting the vampire’s ego with ease. “Play me something. Show off a little bit.”
Harry squeezes Y/N’s hand once as a quiet groan twists his lips into a pout. “You’re getting pretty good at manipulating me, y’know that?” He mutters, poising his lacquered fingertips back over the instrument. “Fine. Do you want something sad or happy?”
Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”
“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”
The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something. Please?”
It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it.
“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”
Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.
Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement. As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys.
Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”
“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest. The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good. I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit. I wish I’d stuck with it.”
“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”
“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.”
“Hm. Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”
“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room. Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily. You should buy it.”
Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”
“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”
Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.”
Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah. Sure. So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.”
“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”
Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?”
The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”
“You do?”
“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”
“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice. Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out. And she wants to.
“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore. Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like. Probably do you more good than me.”
Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall.
Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest. The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold. The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.
While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes. She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit. It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.
“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.
Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”
“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”
Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”
“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”
Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder. She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.
“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”
Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.
Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest. Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—
“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”
“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”
There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body. In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.
Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet. Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.
It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”
“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”
“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”
Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs.
“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”
“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”
Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites? Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”
The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.
“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”
Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth. Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.
“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”
“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too. My good girl. And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”
Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs.
“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”
“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”
Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away. He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly.
“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess. Let me take care of the rest.”
When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her. She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions. The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.
Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight. When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.
“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”
The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”
“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”
Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”
As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers. She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet.
“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me? How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”
Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze.
Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk. When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you? You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut. But you can’t have it right now. So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.”
The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up. Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her. When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn.
The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck. The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth. His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.
Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort. If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain. The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed. It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done. His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—
The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms. As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her. He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space. If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment.
He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that. He just can’t. He’ll take burning agony over that any day.
When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him. He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her. He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales. When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue.
The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression. She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it. Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action. Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand.
He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit. The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel.
“Y’can cum for me, baby. Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you. Show me how good you are.”
Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”
“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”
The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her. When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest.
“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.”
Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that. Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to.
When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to. He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms.
He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright. Y’did so well for me, darling.”
The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits. How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return? Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back? Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself? Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now.
Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings. He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth.
“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”
Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss. Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.
“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”
“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”
Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good. That’s good.”
With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground.
As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“You didn’t do anything. It takes two to tango, pet. And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.”
“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”
Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby. How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”
“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’? What kind of double standard is that?”
Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right. I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there. Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?”
The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?”
“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”
Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.”
“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”
Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.”
Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”
Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda! You’ll hurt her feelings.”
A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.”
Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please. If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.”
Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror? That better be a joke.”
“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”
“You’re disgustingly conceited.”
“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips. Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.
Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”
Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”
“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”
“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”
“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls.
“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”
“No.”
“Thrown away.”
“No.”
“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”
“Possibly. And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.”
That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…
That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get.
#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#vampire!harry#vampire!harry styles#harry styles blurb#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#harry styles au#one direction imagine#one direction blurb#ysijwa#vampire au
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DIWK - Chapter six: "I don't know everything, despite the fact you think that I do"
My gif
Word count: 12,6K
Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drug use, drug detox, physical violence. Spencer being a jerk.
Summary: (Y/N) had enough of Spencer's attitude and plans an intervention on her own.
A/N: Hello! how are you? how's your week going? my life is a mess and I'm fighting with a lot of anxiety and stress after the month I spent with my grandparents, so I've been taking everything with calm in the latest days. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Spencer is... and then reader... ok, read it, and see you in the comments! Stay safe, kids!!!
Series Masterlist
Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter four | Chapter five | Chapter six | Chapter seven | Chapter eight | Chapter nine | Chapter ten | Chapter eleven | Chapter twelve | Chapter thirteen | Chapter fourteen | Chapter fifteen |
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(Y/N)'s point of view
After New Orleans, I thought things were starting to get a little better. For a few days, Spencer was a lot like himself again. It was refreshing and exciting. He smiled. He even looked like he had slept. And he wasn't rude. Not at first. Not until that Friday.
- "Hey, pretty girl"- Morgan appeared next to my desk and tapped on the pile of files I was working on- Got any plans for tonight?
- "I was actually going to meet my boyfriend. Why? What do you have in mind?"
Yes. Paul and I had a date, 'cos I hadn't seen him in two weeks. We had spent San Valentine's apart, 'cos we were out on a case. And I barely noticed it. I didn't have my hopes high for that night, though. Maybe pizza, a movie... I didn't feel like having sex, even when it had been over a month since we had done it.
- "I'm clubbing tonight, and I know you are a party girl. So, do you wanna come with me?"
- "As tempting as it sounds, I pass"- I smiled at my friend and shook my head- "All I can do today is have a quiet evening, eat something, watch a movie and then call it a day."
- "Are you sure? 'cos Emily is on board, and you two are my party sidekicks."- I chuckled and kept shaking my head- "Ok, alright. You lose. What about you, pretty boy?"
Spencer had been awfully quiet that whole afternoon. He was buried in his paperwork and only moved from his seat to get coffee.
- "Reid? are you listening?"- Morgan waved until he got his attention. But Spencer apparently didn't want to talk- "Hello? Earth to Reid."
- "What the hell do you want?"- I brought up my eyes to my best friend, 'cos his voice was as annoyed as rude.
- "Hey, hey, slow down, kid. What's your problem?"
- "I'm trying to work, and you don't let me! That's my problem!"- Morgan raised an eyebrow and took a deep break.
- "Ok, my bad."
Spencer glued his eyes on his files again, and I kept looking at him closely for a minute. He was fidgety on his chair. He kept scratching his arms, and he had flipped from human to whatever he was when he yelled at Morgan in a blink.
Of course, shit wasn't over yet.
- "Hey, do you want a ride home?"- I asked him and stood by his desk on my way out. He was getting ready to leave too.
- "I can take the subway on my own"- he talked to me like I was insulting him- "And I don't wanna get in the way of your fake date,"- he grumbled and put on his coat
- "Sorry, what?"- I wasn't sure I had gotten that right.
- "Yeah, you have a date with your boyfriend, and I don't want to get in the way."
- "What are you talking about, Reid?"- I couldn't believe his words. He was acting like a jerk.
- "You know, I don't get it"- he was mad. Furious. And he snapped in front of me, out of the blue- "Why are you still dating that jerk if you don't even love him? does he fuck you that good?"
I could see from the corner of my eye how every head in the bullpen turned to us. I looked at my best friend in the eyes and didn't say a word. I just nodded and grabbed my purse.
- "Enjoy your weekend, Reid."
I knew I didn't have to take those words personally. Spencer wasn't himself. But I was growing tired of justifying him in front of the team and myself. It was time for the big guns.
I tried to ease my mind that night, preparing myself for what I knew I had to do the next day. But I couldn't shake Reid from my thoughts. I needed to know what he was doing if he had dinner. If he was able to sleep. Shit! I needed to know if he was getting high all alone in his apartment.
What if he overdosed? What if he just decided to go a little further and his body couldn't resist it? He was too skinny. He wasn't eating correctly. Shit! He could die.
- "Hey, babe. Are you ok?"- Paul asked me all of a sudden. He was kissing my neck and trying to get under my shirt, and I wasn't even moving. I was thinking about Reid and how to help him. And meanwhile, my boyfriend was trying to have sex with me.
- "Sorry, what?"- I know, that wasn't a good answer.
- "Are you even here?"- he sighed and let me go- "Let me guess, you are thinking about a case."
- "No, I'm just worried about Reid."
I know. That wasn't a good answer either, considering Paul's angry face as soon as he heard his name. Paul hated Reid. Ok, Paul hated every single one of my friends, but he despised Spencer. He would almost see him as his sworn enemy, and they had seen each other in person twice in over a year.
- "Now you think about that nerd when we are making out?!"
- "What?! No! that's not what I meant!"- I tried to explain, but it was clear that wasn't going to work- "He is going through a tough time after the abduction and..."
- "Yeah, yeah"- he cut me off and stood up- "Everything about Spencer is more important than me! I don't wanna hear that shitty and sad kidnap story again!"
- "I'm just trying to say I am worried about him!"- I stood up and followed him around the apartment.
- "You are always worried about him!"
- "He is my friend. He is in pain!"
- "And what about me?! Do you even care about me?!"
- "Sure! of course, I do!"
I knew that was it all of a sudden. I didn't even want to argue with Paul, and neither explain to him how much I needed to help Reid. So I didn't say a word. I only stood in front of him. He brought up his eyes to me and sighed. It took him a few seconds to gather the courage to say what he wanted to say. But when he did, it wasn't good.
- "You are in love with him, aren't you?"
His question made my blood boil. I hated he made such a presumption only because I was worried about Spencer. I loved him, sure, but because he was my best friend. I was with him all day, every day. I saw him more than my own family. More than Lu, Mikey, or Frank. And I knew Reid was in pain and in real danger. Of course, Spencer was my priority.
- "No, Paul. I am not in love with him."- I looked right into his eyes and tried to make my point clear- "He is going through a shitty situation, and I wanna help him. That's all."
- "And do you love me?"
He had never asked me that before. We haven't talked about "love" in the whole year and a half we had been together. And, to be honest, I didn't want to lie. I didn't want to hurt him either, but it was the end of the line, and we both knew it.
- "Paul..."
- "That's a no,"- he said and folded his arms across his chest- "If you don't love me, why are you with me?"
- "Do you love me?"
- "Of course, I do!"- I raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a second - "Don't profile me!"
- "I'm not profiling you. I'm just sure you don't! And that's ok. Paul, we... This is not a relationship. It's two lonely persons holding onto something that didn't work."
We just stared at each other and didn't say a word for what seemed to be for ages.
- "Despite what you might think, I know you, (Y/N)"- he took a step closer to me and kissed my forehead- "And I know you love him."
- "Paul, I really don't. He is my friend, and I'm worried about him"- he simply nodded and sighed.
- "Sure thing. Take care"- started walking to the door and never looked back.
I stood alone in the middle of my apartment. That was it. The easiest breakup because neither of us was in love. And yet, I felt empty and sad. Tears started falling down my cheeks, and I didn't notice them until I was sobbing.
I wasn't sad I had lost Paul. I didn't understand where that emptiness and misery were coming from. Maybe it was grief for a relationship that was never meant to work. Perhaps I was sad because I had failed to maintain a relationship. After all, work had turned into my life. I was just like my father and my brother.
A part of me felt I was slowly turning into what I had fought not to be. And letting Paul might mean I was no longer the old (Y/N). And the new (Y/N) scared me: I was a Fed, I worked over 50 hours a week, and I had killed people. Bad people, but I had pulled the trigger. I knew I had the job of my dreams, and I knew I loved working at the BAU. But with every day that passed, I was walking further and further away from the version of me I loved.
And I was scared of what the new (Y/N) was going to be like. Was she going to be like her dad and lose her family due to her work? or like her brother? who couldn't have a normal life 'cos being a detective was more significant.
I knew we all made our own personal decisions, but a part of me felt it. We were all cut from the same cloth, and I was meant to grow old, alone, and the BAU was going to be my whole life until the day I retired, and the loneliness consumed me.
- "I need a drink."
Spencer's point of view
I took a cab home. I didn't want to take the subway because it would take longer to get there, and I couldn't wait that long. I needed one more fix.
I had been telling myself the same for a whole week now: Just one more. One last time.
But it never was the last time. Every night I failed, and that Friday, I was so eager to forget, I wasn't thinking straight. I snapped at Morgan and (Y/N), just 'cos I was going insane, craving Dilaudid.
After New Orleans, I decided to stop using it. And for two days, I did it. But, of course, I couldn't handle the need. That needle was going to be my end, and I was struggling every day to quit. It was impossible to stop on my own when I needed to quieten the pain somehow.
You don't know how much pain you are into until you numb yourself, and the weight of all your troubles and regrets is lifted from your chest. I knew it was eating me alive, but I had to be strong and quit. So, every day I tried. And every day, I failed. Just like that night, when I laid in bed and slowly unwrapped my belt from my arm, losing all connection with reality.
I had yelled at my friends, and they were probably angry at me. But shit! It was worth it. Nothing was even relevant as long as I could feel the relief Dilaudid gave me.
But it never lasted. And the following day, I regretted it all. I woke up dressed on my bed, a needle next to me and an empty bottle of Dilaudid by its side. Just like a junkie. Tears filled my arms as soon as I realized what had happened. What I had done: I had failed yet again.
My whole body was shaking. I needed to eat something. My last proper meal had been Thursday when (Y/N) and I stopped for dinner on our way back home. And I guess if it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have eaten at all.
I took a long shower, trying to wash away the guilt. It's obvious to say it didn't work. But I consoled myself thinking last night had been the last time. That day I was going to be strong enough, and I was going to quit. I had decided. Nothing could stop me that time.
My breakfast was miserable: I made coffee and took a look in my fridge. Nothing. All I ate that morning was a bowl of cereal (without milk) and two cups of coffee and sugar. Sugar and coffee, actually, like everybody teased me.
I tried to read for a while, at a normal peace, because my head was still fuzzy. So I sat in my living room and grabbed a book from my coffee table: "The Illustrated Man."
After a few hours and four books later, my mind kept coming to the same place. I was out of Dilaudid. And it was a good thing, 'cos now I just wasn't going to get any more. That was it. I had officially quit. Yes. And I felt good. It was a new day, and I was ready to be clean and sober. So I made myself another cup of coffee to celebrate and took a look at my bookshelf. I picked another three books and sat on my armchair, ready to keep on reading. I didn't need drugs to be happy.
Around three in the afternoon, I couldn't stop moving on the couch as I read the sixth book of the day. I drank yet another cup of coffee, even when I knew what I really needed was to get some real food. But I didn't care to starve at that moment. There was only one thought in my mind: Getting high.
Maybe I wasn't ready to quit. I should try leaving it periodically. Actually, perhaps having a bottle around the house could help me ease my mind. Knowing it was there made me feel better. As good as using it.
I was going insane. I kept debating whether I should stay home or find my dealer and just get a little dose. Just enough for one more time. Maybe two. I kept walking around my apartment, creating excuses in my head to get high.
And that was when I heard a knock on my door. I stopped on my tracks, confused. I wasn't waiting for anyone, and I wouldn't really have many unannounced visits. So I walked silently towards the door and looked through the peephole.
- "Shit"- my voice was a whisper I prayed (Y/N) hadn't heard.
What was she doing there? Maybe she had come to talk about my attitude at the BAU. I had said some awful things, but that wasn't really a good moment. I didn't want to see her. I didn't want her to see me like this. I didn't want anyone to see me. So I didn't open the door.
But she knocked again. I didn't move and almost didn't breathe as I stood still by the door, waiting for her to leave. But she wasn't leaving. Instead, she kept knocking over and over again, driving me insane until I snapped.
- "What the fuck do you want?!"- I opened the door and yelled at her face. She widened her eyes, surprised, and didn't move.
- "You just came to stand there and look at me?- I shouted, and she flinched. She had to leave. I wanted her out of my house. But rather than leaving, she walked in and stood in the middle of the apartment.
- "What is wrong with you?"- she was making an effort to stay calm, but I could tell she was scared. She kept biting the inner part of her cheeks and crossed her arms on her chest. Was she scared of me?
- "Spencer, why are you acting like this?"
- "What the fuck is your problem, (Y/N)? Why are you in my house uninvited?!"
- "I called you like three times. I wanted to invite you to my house for dinner, but you didn't answer, so I got worried."
- "As you can see, I'm fine! And no, I don't wanna go to your house for dinner!"
Her eyes were wide opened, staring right into mine, and I swear it physically hurt to see her. She shouldn't be there. I needed her out. I didn't want her to see me like that, and I needed to get out and get some more Dilaudid. Now more than ever.
- "I'm making lasagna"- (Y/N) whispered- "Mikey, Frank, and Lu are coming."
- "I don't care, I don't wanna go to your house, I don't wanna go anywhere! I'm fine here."
- "But, honey bunny..."
- "Stop calling me that!! I hate it!! It's a stupid nickname! I'm not your fucking honey bunny!!"
The silence in my apartment was so deep, I could hear my own heart racing inside my chest. (Y/N)'s eyes filled with tears that soon started falling down her cheeks. She dropped her shoulders, and her arms hung at her sides, slacks.
- "Please"- she begged- "Tell me what's wrong. I want to help you, Spencer."
- "There's nothing wrong! don't you get sometimes I don't want to be stuck at you?! I already have to see your face all day at work. I deserve a break during the few weekends we have off!"
- "I know you don't mean that"- her voice broke, and her chin trembled, but she still made her best not to cry.
- "You don't know that. You don't know shit, (Y/N)."
I stayed quiet and looked away from her. I couldn't stare at those sad eyes for another second.
- "Please, leave"- I managed to control my voice for a second, in a poor attempt not to hurt her anymore. But she shook her head and sniffed.
- "No, Spencer, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you. I am worried."
- "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, (Y/N)! Don't you get it?! I just don't wanna be with you!"
- "Please"- she begged, sobbing in front of me. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't bear to see her anymore.
So I ruined everything and hurt her. I pushed her. She nearly fell back but managed to stabilize. She was shocked by my actions, but I didn't even have time to think about what I was doing. All I could think of that minute was that I needed her out of my house to buy drugs and get high.
- "Spencer, what the hell are you doing?"
- "I asked you nicely, but you didn't leave. So now I won't be nice anymore. Get out!!"
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of my sight. She cried, pleading I would tell her what was wrong with me. But I didn't listen. Instead, I dragged her out of my apartment and slammed the door. I could hear her crying in the hall for a moment, and it enraged me. I thought if she was crying, she herself had caused it. She had appeared at my house at the wrong moment, unannounced.
It wasn't my fault. I just wanted her to leave. I did what I had to do.
And I didn't regret it.
Not until Sunday afternoon, when an announced knock on my door forced me to drag my stoned body from the couch. It was a delivery boy who gave me a package and left. It had nothing written on it. Not even my name. When I opened the box, I found a computer and a note.
- "Play me."
I knew I was still stoned, but not enough to be imagining those kinds of things. I took the laptop to the couch with me. There was a video ready to be played in it. So I pushed play.
- "What the fuck do you want?!"- my heart dropped. It was me, but I could barely recognize my own face- "You just came to stand there and look at me?"
It was a recording of me yelling at (Y/N). She had taped everything, and I couldn't believe my own eyes. I was a monster.
- "I'm making lasagna"- my chin quivered at that scene. Her voice was a whisper, and I was out of myself- "Mikey, Frank, and Lu are coming."
- "I don't care, I don't wanna go to your house, I don't wanna go anywhere! I'm fine here."
- "But honey bunny..."
- "Stop calling me that!! I hate it!! It's a stupid nickname! I'm not your fucking honey bunny!!"
I paused the video, 'cos I couldn't take it anymore. That wasn't me. I couldn't believe I had said all those things to her. It hurt (Y/N), so I could get drugs.
I covered my face with my hands and cried. I was done. Not only did I not know how to recover from my drug addiction, but I also didn't know how I could ever look at my best friend again in the eyes after what I had done.
I remembered she had cried, and I knew I had been mean. But when I saw the extreme hate in each one of my words, I knew I had reached rock bottom. I needed help.
After a few minutes, I pushed play again. I knew I needed to see the whole thing actually to understand what had happened.
- "Please, leave!!"
- "No! Spencer, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you. I am worried."
- "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, (Y/N)! Don't you get it! I just don't wanna be with you!!"
- "Please... Spencer, no! What the hell are you doing?"
- "I asked you nicely, but you didn't leave. So now I won't be nice anymore. Get out!!"
I hit her. I pushed her. She was there to invite me for dinner, and I hurt her. Who was I? What kind of beast does such a thing to his best friend?
Who would do such a thing to the woman he loves.
I curled on the couch, crying. How could I let that happen? When did I turn into a downward version of myself? Ethan was right. I had been dumb enough to think I could control it when in reality, drugs were controlling me. I was losing who I was. I could lose my job. I was losing my friends.
I knew things had been hard for me growing up, but I had finally reached a point in my life where I was happy. I liked my life. I loved my job. For once, I had real friends, and I was making good, catching bad guys. I had actually fulfilled my dream to work at the BAU. So why was I wasting it all?
- "Spencer"- I heard (Y/N)'s voice at the end of the video and saw her face on the screen- "I am here if you need to talk. I'm not mad. I just wanna hug you. Please, call me. Let me help you."
But I couldn't do it. I couldn't talk to her after what had happened. I dragged her by the arm out of my apartment. I made her cry. I didn't deserve anything. I couldn't deal with reality and the consequences of the monster I had become into.
Sunday, March 4th. That was the day it all changed for good.
(Y/N)'s point of view
Spencer didn't call. I wasn't surprised, though. I knew he would be affected by the video and probably felt like he didn't deserve my help. So I did what I knew Frank would say I shouldn't do. I put on my shoes and got ready to go to his apartment and pick him up. I was not going to leave him alone when I could see he was struggling to survive.
But when I opened my door, Spencer was sitting in the hall outside my apartment, hugging his legs, shaking. His eyes were puffy, and his lips were shattered. He looked at me, afraid I would be mad. But how could I? I just wanted to help him.
I kneeled in front of him and touched his hands. They were stone cold. His lips trembled as I looked into his eyes, and after a few seconds of hesitation, he finally threw his arms around me, crying.
- "It's ok, honey"- I whispered and felt his whole body shaking as he held me tight- "I've got you."
- "I'm sorry"- I mumbled, sobbing against my shoulder.
- "Shh, it's ok, it's ok"- I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek.
- "Please"- I had to bite my lips not to cry with him, but I knew I had to be strong for him- "Help me."
- "Always."
I poured two cups of tea on my kitchen island as I looked at Spencer eating a bowl of soup. He was swallowing it like he hadn't eaten in days, which was probably true. We had barely spoken in the last hour. He kept asking for forgiveness as I helped him walk into my apartment and sat with him on the couch. He held onto me like a castaway holds to whatever shipwrecks he finds to survive.
When I finally convinced him to eat something, he followed me to the kitchen and looked at me in silence as I cooked. I didn't know what to tell him, so I just did my best to stay calm. I knew what was happening next, and it wasn't going to be pretty. But I was ready to go through it with him.
- "Thank you"- he whispered and sighed as soon as he was finished.
- "Do you want some more?"- but he shook his head. I smiled at him and handed him his cup of herbal tea.
- "Cookies?"- he didn't answer. He just looked at me with those big puppy eyes and broke my heart.
- "I'm sorry"- he spoke so softly I almost didn't hear him.
- "Don't be."
- "I was a monster"- he stared at me, and I knew he was thinking I was never going to forgive him, when the truth was, I wasn't mad at him at all. I was just worried sick.
- "Are you ready to get better?"- I was afraid to ask, 'cos I was afraid he could change his mind. Still, I trusted the video had shaken him deeply enough to erase from his head any thought of relapsing.
- "Yes."
His answer was clear. Even when it was a whisper, there was no hesitation or no fear. Pure determination. It made me smile to hear him like that. And he smiled at me for a second, filling my heart with hope.
- "Ok, then this is what we are doing"- I walked to my desk and took a folder I had prepared for that day. I gave it to him, and he frowned, confused.
- "What is this?"
- "Our home detox plan. You and I are locked in this apartment for the next fifteen days."
Spencer looked at me, baffled. I just smiled and walked to the fridge to show him how prepared I was.
- "I got all the food we need, and the meds you might need, and a nurse that will come to visit daily to put an eye on you."
- "What? How? What about work?"
- "I'll talk to Hotch."
- "What are you gonna tell him?"
- "The truth"
I wasn't going to lie to my boss, not when he also knew what was happening with Reid.
- "Honey, he knows there's something wrong with you, and I'm sure he will understand our absence for two weeks. You and I have enough vacation days saved to cover that time. And you need it."
Spencer looked at me in silence. I couldn't read his face because his eyes hypnotized me. Even under those circumstances, his eyes were beautiful and sweet. Filled with hope.
- "Ok"- he nodded, and I hugged him right away.
- "I'm so proud of you, honey"- I whispered and caressed his hair for a second.- "Come on. We are doing one more thing before we start."
- "What?"
- "Cleaning your apartment."
I took Reid back to his place and got rid of the Dilaudid he had gotten that weekend: All of it. And the needles. I helped him clean because I didn't want him to find a messy apartment when he would get back there. Then, we packed a bag of clean clothes to take to my place. He looked weak but determined to change, which made me feel so relieved. My heart was joyful.
- "Do you have everything?"- I whispered and held his hand as he stood in the middle of the living room and took a look around- "Do you want to take some books?"- he didn't answer- "Spencer? are you ok?"
- "I don't want to be a burden"- he whispered, and I took a deep breath right away, trying to find the right words to convince him he wasn't and that there was no way on earth he could ever be a burden in my life.
- "You are not, I swear"- he looked down and played with his fingers in my hand- "I mean it."
- "It's not going to be nice"
- "I know"
- "And..."
- "And I want to be there, with you, all along. Ok?"- he looked at me, and my heart skipped a beat.
- "(Y/N), withdrawal symptoms from opiates include anxiety, sweating, vomiting, and"- he cleared his throat, embarrassed- "And diarrhea."
- "I know... but we are going to go through this together, one day at the time."
Spencer kept his fingers in my hand, tracing paths on my skin. I looked at him and bit the inside of my cheeks. I didn't want him to doubt himself, 'cos I knew he could do it.
- "One day at the time sounds good"- he murmured and looked at me with a tiny smile. I nodded and kissed his cheek. I don't know why I did it. I just know how much I liked it. The sensation of his skin, and his two days beard, I don't know what it did to me. But I even shivered.
- "Let's go"- I whispered and held his hand tight. He nodded and grabbed his bag. It was about to get real.
The first night with Spencer was wild. He hadn't used it in over a day, and the withdrawal symptoms started around midnight. We were on the couch watching a movie. I was already half asleep when I felt Spencer constantly moving. He started biting his nails and scratching his face every two minutes.
- "Are you ok?"- I whispered and looked at him. He was pale.
- "I'm not gonna be able to do this."
- "Honey..."
- "No, I mean it."
- "You can, and you will."
- "How do you know? I was weak enough to start using."
- "You were forced to start using, and you are strong enough to stop"- I sat straight and held his hands. He was freezing- "What do you say we put you to bed? I'll make you a cup of tea, and we'll see how you feel in the morning."
He didn't move. I kept his hand in mine, and he held it tight. Real tight. I don't know what he was thinking about, but after a few seconds, he sighed and looked at me.
- "Bed and tea sounds nice,"- I nodded and stood up, but he didn't move- "(Y/N)?"
- "Yes?"
- "Where are you going to sleep?"
- "On the couch"- he sighed, and his face was filled with guilt.
- "I can't let you do that. This is your house."
- "Don't worry about that now. Come on. You need to rest"- I caressed his hand with my thumb, and he finally stood up. But halfway to the bedroom, he stopped.
- "I feel so guilty to put you through all this."
- "I want to do this"
- "But..."
- "No, but"- I turned to him and cupped his face with my hands- "I love you, and I'm not gonna leave you alone. No matter what."
My words resonated inside my head for a few seconds as I stared at him. My stomach was fluttering, and my heart was racing inside my chest.
That wasn't good. But I didn't have to overthink my feelings because my best friend needed me.
Reid walked to the bathroom and put on his pajamas while I made him a cup of warm tea. I knew what was coming: nausea, shivering, throwing up, stomach ache, and more. But I was ready. Two weeks and Spencer was going to be ok.
I had talked about my plan with Hotch earlier that day, and he agreed to give us two weeks off and cover us. Spencer was going to be in Vegas, 'cos his mother had had an episode, and I would be in New York, helping my brother on a case. Seemed convincing. Having the two of us out of town would stop any of our friends to stop by unannounced.
- "(Y/N), thank you for doing this for Reid"- Hotch said before hanging up. I felt lucky to have him as my unit chief. He surely cared for all of us. I don't think anyone else would have done the same.
Retchings from my bathroom were the first thing I heard as soon as I stepped into my room.
- "Honey, do you need help?"- but Reid didn't answer. So I ran back to the kitchen and got him a Gatorade from the fridge, set it on the nightstand. Then I ran to my closet and grabbed a clean towel.
I opened the bathroom door and found Reid kneeled by the toilet. He had already flushed but didn't stand up.
- "Here"- I dampened the towel and put it on his forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed- "Better?"
Spencer just nodded and stayed still for a moment. I took off his glasses and pulled his hair back carefully. He started retching a second later, and I rubbed his stomach, cooing him. When he was done, I flushed and helped him stand up. That wasn't it, and I knew it. He knew it too.
- "Did you know brushing your teeth right after throwing up damages your teeth?"- he whispered, making me smile. It felt good to know deep down, even under those shitty circumstances, he was still the same good old Reid.
- "So, mouthwash?"- I moved the bottle closer for him, and he just nodded- "I'll be outside."
Reid drank a little Gatorade and made a sad effort to read after getting into bed but fell asleep in less than five minutes. I took the glasses off (again) and took the book from his hands. My heart felt warm just to see him there, resting.
But that lasted less than half an hour. I stayed by Spencer's side to make sure he was ok. I was reading when he started retching again. I grabbed the bucket I had already set underneath the bed and rushed to help him. His stomach was already empty. He was basically just vomiting bile.
When he finally fell asleep again, he started shaking. I touched his hand, and he was freezing, so I took an extra blanket from the closet, placed it on top of him, and set the room's thermostats to make it a little warmer for him.
I stayed by his side, reading until he woke up again. This time, he was sweating. I took a clean pajama top from his bag and helped him change. Then, I took the dirty pajamas and the clothes he had worn that day and put them in the washer.
I sat next to Reid on the bed and looked at him. He was awake, rolling over and over, not able to stay still.
- "Come here"- I whispered and tapped on my lap- "Put your head here."
I thought he was going to argue, but no. Instead, he did as told with no hesitation as I ran my fingers through his hair slowly, scratching his scalp carefully. I felt how he inhaled deeply and relaxed, at least for a little while.
But it didn't last. And the rest of the night was a long loop of puke, shivers, and sweat. Spencer finally fell asleep for good around six in the morning, and I dragged my exhausted self to the couch. Night one was done. Nine more to go.
Spencer's point of view
My whole body ached. I opened my eyes, disoriented. All I knew was that I felt I had been beaten up, but I didn't recognize the room. I did recognize the smell on my pillow, though. It was (Y/N)'s. That's how I remembered what was going on.
Adding to how bad I felt, physically, I felt worst knowing everything that had happened the night before and in advance for everything I knew would happen that week. But even knowing that, and even when I was embarrassed to be a burden, I was glad to be there. I was happy to feel taken cared of and loved. It was a change I never imagined I could experience. The one who always took care of his mother now had someone who took care of him. It was under a miserable context, but I felt loved anyway.
Even when I was loved only as a friend.
I stood up slowly. I was fatigued, probably 'cos I had spent half of the night puking. I drank what was left of the Gatorade on the nightstand and walked to the living room. (Y/N) was asleep on the couch. My heart ached to think how uncomfortable she probably was while I slept on her queen-sized bed. No one had ever cared so much about me before. So I walked to the kitchen and made her breakfast. A classical Reid breakfast. Coffee, cereal, and milk. That was it. That was all I could cook.
- "Hey, what are you doing?"- (Y/N) appeared suddenly and smiled at me so sweetly, I nearly dropped the coffee pot.
- "I'm trying to make you breakfast"- I confessed and blushed- "And as you can see, I'm not much of a cooker."
- "You made coffee, you covered the most important part"- she held the cup I had filled for her and smiled- "What if you get comfy on the couch while I make you something to eat?"
- "I can't let you do everything, (Y/N)"- the way she looked at me, my heart skipped a beat.
- "I'll tell you what: If I ever get sick or hurt, or anything happens to me, you are going to be the one taking care of me. Ok?"- I nodded and stayed quiet- "Now, go to the couch. It's a lazy Monday."
- "What does that mean?"
- "We stay in our pajamas, watch movies, nap, and do nothing."
How could anyone say no to that?
I wasn't hungry at all, but (Y/N) really applied herself with everything she cooked: she made chocolate chips, hotcakes, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a smoothie, and also forced me to eat a bowl of fruit. She said I needed all the vitamins I could get, 'cos I had to get strong.
She sat next to me, ate the bowl of cereal I had prepared for her, and drank the coffee I had made. It was relaxing just staying there, covered with a blanket, watching Dr. Who. I felt my body losing up little by little. Until detox hit again. The light was bothering me, burning my eyes, and my body felt weak. Nauseous started kicking in, and before I knew it, I was throwing up on (Y/N)'s carpet.
She held a bucket in front of me and pressed a damped towel on the back of my neck.
- "Better?"- (Y/N) whispered and smiled at me. Her fingers tucked some of my hair behind my ears gently- "Do you want to lay down for a while? You are shaking."
I just nodded.
- "Ok, come on, let's go"- she held my arm and helped me stand up. She was right. I was shaking, but not just because I was cold. It was the withdrawal.
I was so embarrassed and mortified. With each symptom, I was a little more certain (Y/N) would never look at me the way I did. She would never fall for me after what she was witnessing. No one in their right mind would.
- "There you are"- she whispered, fixing the pillow behind my head as I laid on her bed again.
- "Can you please close the curtains?"- I whispered, covering my face with both hands. The light was too painful to deal with.
- "Sure, honey. Headache?"- all I could do was nod- "I'll get you ibuprofen, that will help with your body aches and the migraine."
I stayed still, eyes closed, hands covering my face, thinking how I had gotten to the point of having to detox my body from drugs. It was, without a doubt, the lowest moment of my whole life.
- "Ok, honey, try to get some rest, ok?"- (Y/N) whispered after I took the ibuprofen and drank half the bottle of water she had brought.
- "Can you..."- I studied because I was afraid to tell her I didn't want her to leave me alone. I was afraid to be on my own. I didn't trust myself or my mind.
- "What is it? Do you want another blanket?"
- "Can you stay with me?"- I finally asked and held her hand. She just nodded, smiling, and sat next to me on her bed, making sure I was comfy and cozy, fixing the pillow again and the blanket. I looked at her as she laid by my side on top of the covers and held her book.
- "I'm here, Spencer. And I'll be where when you wake up, ok?"
- "Can you read to me?"- I closed my eyes 'cos the light was killing me.
- "And your headache?"
- "Your voice is soothing, and it would help to concentrate on something else but the pain."
- "Ok... then prepare yourself for some horror, 'cos I'm reading, yet again, "Something wicked this way comes."
- "It's one of my favorites"- I whispered and sighed.
- "Why am I not surprised?"
I tried to fight the waves of nausea, the pain in every muscle and headache, and only focused on the sound of her voice as she read. It took me back to when I was a kid, and my mom would read me every night. (Y/N) kept caressing my hair and reading to me. It was the closest I had ever been to heaven, even when physically, I felt like dying.
When I woke up, (Y/N) was asleep by my side. I tried to move, but my body was limp. It was too painful for me to get up on my own, and all I could think of was one simple thing: Dilaudid. I was craving it. I would never feel so bad if I had a fix. Just a little one. To make the pain go away.
I was making excuses to justify my need for drugs. I wanted to feel better, 'cos right there, on (Y/N)'s bed, I felt dead already, and my whole body was rotting. I just wanted to get a little high. It wasn't going to hurt anyone. Right?
Wrong. The bruise on (Y/N)'s arm was the reality check I needed. I hurt her. I hit her. I pushed her away from me. That's how low I had gotten. I would not let that happen again, and more important than anything else: I was never going to hurt (Y/N), ever again. And that I swore to myself that day on her bed.
There was no use in denying the fact I was in love with my best friend. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And I knew I was going to love her forever, even when she would only be my friend. I didn't even know when I had fallen so hard in love with her. I tried to remember the moment my feelings had changed from friendship to love, but I couldn't find it. I just knew I loved her, and nothing was ever gonna change that.
The kind of love that makes you think you'd die for that person. I would die for her, just to make sure she is safe.
I felt so pathetic thinking those things. Not because I didn't want to feel that way, but because I knew (Y/N) would never look at me like that. But still, I'd give her everything she could ever ask me for.
I just laid by her side and looked at her as she slept. My eyes were finally able to slide on every detail of her face. Her freckles, her nose, the color of her lips that even without makeup looked like a cherry. And the bruise on her arm. I was never going to forget about it and neither forgive myself.
- "Hey"- she whispered, fluttering her eyes- "How are you feeling?"
- "Good"- I lied. I didn't want to tell her I felt like dying. She stayed still, looking at me for a few seconds.
- "Are you hungry?"- I shook my head, even that hurt- "How's the headache?"- my eyes were killing me.
- "Better"- she nodded and sighed.
- "I know you are full of shit, Spencer Walter Reid. You don't need to lie"- I just closed my eyes and refused to open them again for a few minutes.
- "I just don't want you to worry, (Y/N). That's all."
- "Do you want to sleep some more? I'm gonna go..."- but as soon as she moved, I stopped her.
- "No"- I looked at her and held her hand immediately. Every muscle in my body hurt with that movement, but I didn't regret it- "Please, don't leave."
- "Ok, I won't go. I promise"- she held my hand and caressed it slowly and smiled so sweetly, I think I even smiled back.
We laid in silence for a while. I closed my eyes again, trying to breathe normally. (Y/N) was lying next to me. That would get my heart racing in a second.
- "The nurse is coming around five. She will put an eye on you every day if you need any medical attention, ok?"- I hummed as a response and kept focused on her fingers playing with my hand- "Maybe we can ask her to help you take a bath."
I wide opened my eyes at those words and noticed how my best friend was blushing.
- "What?"- she chuckled at my reaction- "I can take a bath on my own!"
- "Really? You should consider it then"- she stuck out her tongue to me and giggled- "Though your two days beard is cute"- she ran her fingers along my jaw and sent shivers all over my body. The proximity felt so new, yet incredibly natural, almost familiar.
- "Thanks?"- I answered with a question 'cos I had no idea what else to do. I just stayed still and looked into her eyes. She didn't say another word either. Her eyes were following her fingers, playing with my jawbone slowly.
I wanted to move a little closer to her and hug her, maybe. But I couldn't. Not only because I physically couldn't move without crying, but because her phone rang and made her jump on the bed.
- "Hey! Paco, how are you?"- I heard her pick up the phone in the living room and walk back to me, holding another bottle of Gatorade.
- "No, I'm on a case. In New York. I don't know how long, I wish I could predict how long it's gonna take to catch a fucking serial killer, but I can't."
I looked at her as she walked around the room, talking with Frank. Of course, it was him. She always called him Paco. I slowly sat down on the bed and sighed. I was paranoid about the shower. Maybe I stank. I hadn't bathed since... Saturday. Obviously, I smelled terrible. I had been sweating all night long.
I made my best effort and walked to the bathroom. Everything hurt. When I finally managed to take off my pajamas and ran the shower, I was weary. But the warm water made me feel a lot better.
I took a long shower. Not just because I wanted to stay forever under the warm water, but because I couldn't really move that fast. I washed my hair and considered shaving. But I didn't have a razor on hand, and if (Y/N) liked my tiny beard, I decided to keep it.
- "Hey! everything ok?"- (Y/N) asked from the other side of the door.
- "Yes, I'm ok"- she walked in, and I froze.
- "Ok, I'll leave a clean towel next to the shower, ok? It's warm"
- "Thank you."
I stayed still under the water until she exited the bathroom and nearly held my breath at the thought of her being there with me. It was too much, and to be honest, I was too weak to overthink it. But I knew it was going to be a thought that would hunt me back home.
(Y/N)'s point of view
I sat on the couch and drank my tea after leaving the towel for Spencer in the bathroom. My heart was racing, and that shouldn't be happening. Why was I so affected by my best friend? I knew I was worried, and all my attention was focused on him, but that didn't explain why my stomach fluttered when I looked at him.
- "Put your shit together!!"- I yelled/whispered to myself and shook my head.
Frank had called to know about Spencer, but I had to lie and act like I was at work. I couldn't just tell him what was going on in front of Reid. So I texted him the short version of the fact, and he asked me to keep him posted. He also told me he was going to keep Mikey and Lu away from my apartment those days.
Spencer took a shower and sat with me on the couch. I had cleaned the vomit from the carpet and kept a bucket near in case he felt sick. We read in silence for a while, and I kept checking on him every few minutes. He was nervous and looked anxious. I wasn't going to ask him what was wrong, 'cos it was obvious he was craving Dilaudid, and to be honest, I was scared he might start yelling and getting violent. So, I stood up and prepared him a smoothie. I knew he hated healthy eating, especially salads, but he was doomed. He had to put some vitamins in his body.
He looked at me disgusted as I gave him the glass but drank it quietly and gave it back in a minute. I was impressed.
He threw it up in less than ten minutes, though. So far, not so good.
He also vomited lunch. I knew his whole body ached, so I put on a Star Trek DVD to keep his mind busy in anything else. When the nurse came, she did a brief check-up and told me to continue with the same diet and ibuprofen in case of severe pain. We had to put an eye on dehydration. She also suggested we'd engage in some physical activity as soon as he felt better. Walks to the park were her recommendation.
I couldn't imagine Spencer walking out of the house under those conditions, but I had high hopes by the end of that week, he was going to feel much better.
The second night was worse than the first because his body aches hit him harder. He rolled in bed in pain, shivering. I stayed with him until late, trying to soothe him. I read and caressed his sweated hair. At a certain point, I just sat there with his head on my legs, and he started crying. His tears soaking my legs and his sobs breaking my heart.
I didn't know what to say. I don't know if there was anything to be said at that moment. So I just leaned in and kissed Spencer's temple. I rocked him like a baby and did my best to calm him down. He just kept crying on and on, tearing my soul apart. I couldn't handle watching him like that. I didn't know what to do to help him feel better too. All I could do was be with him throughout the process and hold him tight to make sure I kept all his pieces together. I didn't want him to fall apart.
When I opened my eyes the following day, Spencer was asleep in front of me. He was pale, and the rings under his eyes were darker than ever. But at least, he was finally sleeping.
I stared at him for a few minutes, planning the day. But soon, I realized I couldn't concentrate. I just looked at him. I knew my friend was handsome, even when he always argued when I let him know. But at that moment, he made my heart beat faster. His hair was messy and with some curls. His brown beard kept growing. I had never seen Spencer with facial hair, and I loved it. I wanted to tell him to keep it, but then I thought it might be inappropriate. Not that telling him was wrong, but what he was making me feel.
I refused to think I had a crush on my friend. Because I didn't. I was just worried sick for him, and my head was confused. It wasn't the time to think about that. I had to be a good friend and help Reid. His wellbeing was all that mattered to me.
So I got out of bed and ran to the kitchen to make sure everything was ready. I cooked breakfast and lunch, cleaned, and took a quick shower. I was walking out of the bathroom in my clean clothes when Spencer woke up. He rolled in bed and looked at me, confused.
- "Hey, how are you feeling, honey?"- I whispered and sat next to him on the bed. He yawned and nodded.
- "Better."
- "Great, I hope you are hungry, 'cos breakfast is ready"- he scratched his head and yawned again. And I swear, I had to mentally slap myself because I thought he looked adorable and couldn't stop staring.
- "Do you want to take a shower?"- I asked him and stood up. I had to do anything to keep me from being stupid- "I can also run you a bath. I got some salts that could make you feel better. They might help with your body ache."
- "Thank you"- he whispered and sat down. He just looked at me in silence as I kept myself busy opening curtains, folding blankets, and cleaning the bathroom, to get it ready for him
- "Did you sleep?"- he asked me suddenly- "You look tired."
- "Nah, I'm ok. I think I went too heavy on the coffee earlier."
- "How long have you been up?"- I looked at my wristwatch and sighed.
- "A couple of hours."
It was ten. I got up at eight. Spencer had finally fallen asleep at five. It didn't take a genius to see I hadn't slept properly.
- "Why don't you nap?"- he asked and tapped on the bed- "You look like you could use some more sleep"- that was tempting, I won't deny it. But no. I couldn't.
- "Tell you what, why don't you eat something and then we can watch a movie together?"- Spencer nodded and moved slowly. That's when I remembered he felt like shit.
- "Come here"- I stood by his side and held his hands- "Can you stand up?"
- "Yes"- he whispered and tried to move on his own. His legs were shaking, and so were his hands. He did his best to stand up, and after a few tries on his own, he succeeded. But after giving two steps alone, he stumbled and nearly fell.
- "I've got you!"- I said, wrapping my arms around him and keeping him steady. His whole face was red, in anger maybe, or embarrassment. I didn't want to push him to talk or do anything. I just made sure he wouldn't fall.
- "Wanna stay in bed?"- I suggested
- "No"- he murmured and took a step ahead
- "Ok, let's go to the living room then."
Spencer didn't reply. I was sure he was ashamed and upset. I just walked with him to the living room, trying to think of anything else: anything but the butterflies in my stomach.
It was getting harder to ignore the mental fuzziness I felt each time I looked at him. But I refused to think about it. It wasn't the right time.
But it got worse that evening.
We spent the whole day on my sofa, napping, reading, and watching Star Trek. I was getting dinner ready when Spencer's phone rang. We both stayed still. He looked at me with widened eyes, almost scared. I smiled and walked to my room to get the phone. It was JJ.
I'm not proud to say it, but an overwhelming sensation of insecurity and concern filled my body. Why was JJ calling Spencer? Were they closer than I thought? I don't know why I kept thinking all those things.
- "It's JJ"- I announced and gave him his phone. He hesitated for a moment and finally picked up. I walked back to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. What was wrong with me?
- "Mom is fine, thank you for calling"- I heard him say and closed my eyes. I had to focus on the food. I had to focus on helping him get better.
Why was I so upset JJ had called him? It was nice to know more people cared about him. Not as much as I did, of course.
- "Sure, I tell her. I'll see you in a couple of days"
I walked back to the living room carrying a tray with soup and salads. Spencer sat down properly and looked at me with a small smile.
- "I know you hate veggies, but you are doomed"- I whispered, reading his mind- "These are packed with all the vitamins and minerals your body needs."
- "Thank you"- he murmured and kept his eyes on me until I sat next to him and grabbed my bowl.
- "How was JJ?"- I had to ask. He cleared his throat and played with the lettuce on his dish for a moment before saying.
- "She was ok. She wanted to know if everything was ok with my mom."
- "Oh"- I didn't know what else to say. I tried no to think about it anymore, 'cos it was useless.
- "I kind of felt bad everybody swallowed our story"- Spencer confessed and sighed.
- "That's because I make up the best lies, honey,"- I smiled at him, but he just stared- "Everything ok?"
- "I'm not hungry"
- "Come on, at least have the soup, please?"
- "I don't want to barf all over your carpet, again"- he whispered and kept playing with the lettuce.
- "What if I tell you I made brownies? and you can have a brownie if you eat the soup?"- Spencer bit his lips and shook his head.
- "Why are you treating me like a kid?"
- "I am not! I'm blackmailing you with sugar as I would do under any other circumstance."-
And I wasn't lying. I would definitely try to force him to eat or do something with the promise of a brownie.
- "So? What do you say? Eat that soup, and we'll have brownies... with vanilla ice cream."
Reid stared into my eyes, and I held my breath. He was so pale, so thin. And yet, so beautiful.
- "If I vomit..."
- "If you vomit, you vomit. No hard feelings"- I smiled and tapped on his leg- "Besides, you need to get some vitamins in your body. You are too thin."
He didn't reply. He started eating slowly and kept watching Star Trek in silence.
Spencer successfully ate his bowl of soup and ate a little bit of the salad. I knew he hates veggies, so I didn't push him. As a reward, I prepared a big tray with brownies with ice cream, chocolate sauce, and hot chocolate with marshmallows and put it on the coffee table in front of us. We were about to start eating when we heard a knock on the door.
- "That's the nurse"- I said and stood up quickly. But I was wrong. It was Paul.
- "Babe... hey"- he smiled at me as soon as I opened the door and tried to walk in. But I didn't let him.
- "What are you doing here?"- I stood at the door and raised an eyebrow. I knew we didn't have a bad breakup, but after what he had said that night, I was afraid he might freak out to see Spencer in his pajamas watching tv on my couch.
- "I couldn't stop thinking about what happened the other night, and..."- he made a pause and looked inside- "What are you doing?"
- "I'm having dinner"
- "Alone?"- I didn't answer- "Can I come in?"
- "No"
- "Are you with someone? are you on a date?"- Paul pushed the door and stormed into my apartment. Reid turned around and looked at him, embarrassed.
- "What the fuck do you think you are doing? get out of my house!"- I grabbed my ex-boyfriend's sleeve and stopped him.
- "Hey, Paul"- Spencer waved from the couch, looking scared. His shoulders were tightened, and his eyes wide opened.
- "What is this nerd doing here?"- Paul turned to me, ignoring my friend.
- "What are you doing here? That's the question!"
- "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day."
- "Well, sorry to crack the news, but if this is an apology, it sucks!"- I swear, I could feel my pulse speeding- "And there is nothing to talk or forgive, we broke up, and it was ok!"
- "Yeah, and now the nerd is here to make you feel better!"
- "You have no idea what you are talking about! And would appreciate it if you stop calling him that!!"- I freaked out and clenched my fist. I was going to lose it with him.
- "Good luck with the Ice Princess here!!"- Paul yelled at Reid- "If you are lucky, she is gonna hug you once!!"
- "Get out!"- I stood by the open door and slammed it as soon as he had left. My hands were shaking, my lips were quivering, and my eyes were tearing up.
- "Are you... are you ok?"- Spencer stood up and walked to me. He stumbled a little but managed to hold me. I didn't reply. I just broke into tears.
Why was I crying if I was glad I had broken up with Paul? Why was I so upset to see him at my house? Why was I shaking in anger?
Maybe I was just human, and I was tired of all the shit. Perhaps I was just sleepy or stressed with everything going on with Reid. Or the fact he kept thinking I had feelings for my best friend was too much for me.
Even the fact he called me "Ice Princess" hurt me. Yes, I wasn't a very physical person with him. But that was just because I wasn't in love with him.
For a few minutes, I just cried, soaking Spencer's pajamas as he held me tight, just like I had done for him the night before.
- "I'm sorry"- I whispered and sighed. I let him go and fixed my hair- "I shouldn't let Paul affect me so much, but I wasn't expecting to see him."
- "What happened?"- Spencer held my hand and took me to the couch with him. He handed me a dish with brownie and melted ice cream, and a spoon.
- "We broke up a few days ago."- my best friend looked at me in silence as his shaky thumb wiped off the tears on my cheeks.
- "I was actually planning dinner with the guys to give them the news, 'cos I knew they would like to celebrate... but that doesn't matter. You were right; I didn't love him. I don't know why I was still dating him."
- "I'm sorry"- he whispered and carefully wrapped me on a blanket.
- "Don't be. I really wanted to break up with him. I was just scared to lose who I used to be..."
- "You are never going to lose who you are, (Y/N)"- Spencer whispered and cut me a smile- "Frankie, Lu, and Mikey would never let that happen"- I sighed and nodded- "I won't let that happen either."
- "Thank you, honey"- I grabbed the spoon and took a big piece of brownie- "You know what bothers me? I don't know why I'm crying so much! I'm not sad! I'm angry!"
- "Actually, when you get mad, your body produces a flood of hormones that stimulate strong reactions in your body, like racing your heart and getting sweaty palms. In response to the elevated stress level, crying stimulates the release of oxytocin and prolactin. These two chemicals can bring your heart rate down and otherwise calm you after a stressful event."
- "Well, my fucking body makes me look weak and stupid!"
- "You could never look weak..."- Spencer hesitated for a second. It felt like he wanted to add something to those words but finally just stayed quiet.
- "Thank you, honey bunny. You are the best friend I could ever ask for."
- "Don't say that. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for."
We just stared for a few seconds. His eyes on mine, my hands still shaking, though I didn't know why.
It was a moment I knew I could never forget, 'cos it was the moment I first considered kissing Spencer.
It was a thought that only lasted for a second, but it was there. And like a seed planted on my brain, once I knew it was there, it could only grow and hunt me, like a ghost.
Spencer's point of view
My heart ached to see (Y/N) crying because of an asshole who never deserved her. And it also jumped of joy knowing she was no longer dating that jerk. I knew I could never make a move on her, but just to know she wasn't stuck with him made me happy.
But the fact she had gone through all that alone and didn't even talk about it for four days because she was too busy taking care of me made me feel awful. I didn't deserve any of that.
- "How are you feeling?"- she whispered and smiled at me after finishing her brownie- "Want me to heat your cocoa?"
- "I'm ok, thank you"
I stared at her in silence and decided to make the boldest move I have ever made with her, and opened my arm for her so that she could cuddle. She didn't hesitate and moved closer. I wrapped an arm around her, and her head rested on my chest. And trying not to make it look like a big deal, I also held her hand and caressed her skin, tracing random patterns on it.
- "I'm sorry for being such a bad friend"- I said and kissed the top of her head. I didn't plan it. I just did it. And it felt so good.
- "Don't say that."
- "I've been an asshole since Tobias."
- "You haven't... I mean, you have, but you had your reasons"- she made a pause and sighed. I knew something was bothering her, and I was hoping it wasn't our position because I loved how her warm body felt against mine.
- "Honey?"- she whispered, and I hummed as a response- "Would you call me a cold person?"
- "Never..."
- "I know I'm not a physical person, but..."
- "Me neither, and look at us"- I pointed out the obvious, and she softly giggled. He raised her head from my chest and turned to look at me. I swear all I could think of that minute was kissing her.
- "I am more loving with you than I ever was with Paul"- she confessed and sighed. Her eyes were sad. Clearly, what he had said to her had affected her more than she wanted to admit.
- "He didn't deserve it anyway"- she added and moved back to lay her head on my chest- "You do."
And after that, we just stayed like that, hugged on the couch, until the nurse knocked on the door.
- "You look much better"- I smiled at the nurse and nodded- "Still nauseous?"
- "Yes, but not as much as yesterday"- I whispered and looked at her, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm, right next to all the marks I left with the needles. I wanted to hide them from everyone, and I thanked (Y/N) wasn't in the room. Of all people, she was the one I didn't want to see those marks the most.
- "They are going to fade soon"- the nurse whispered. I wasn't too subtle with my reaction, I guess. I just nodded and looked away.
- "Your girlfriend is taking excellent care of you. You are a fortunate guy"- I'm sure I blushed and turned to her immediately.
- "She... she is... she is not my girlfriend"- I felt I needed to explain it, I don't know why.
- "Really?"- and the nurse seemed to be in shock- "She surely loves you."
- "She is my best friend"- I whispered and felt how my heart was nearly bursting inside my chest.
- "You are lucky to have her"- she added, and I agreed.
I knew I was lucky. Even when (Y/N) wasn't my girlfriend, I knew I had to be with her. Always.
After thirteen days of home detox, I was back to being my old self again. I felt happy, healthy, and strong. I don't think I had ever felt that good before.
I loved spending those days with (Y/N), and I was pretty bummed I had to go back to my apartment the next day. The fact I had lived with her for two weeks was incredible. I knew it all happened under dark and miserable circumstances, but it had been life-changing.
Now I knew everything I wanted to know about her to help me make her day better and all her little quirks. Her favorite brands of tea, her favorite snacks. How she liked to take the last cup of tea of the day in bed, reading. Her favorite bands. How she always cooked singing. She always slept on her left side. And how after all those days, we would be so comfortable together, we would cuddle naturally, even without asking.
I don't want to overreact, but it was pretty heavenly to me, like the sensation I felt with the romantic poems mom used to read to me when I was little. Just don't tell anyone I said that.
- "Ok, dinner is ready"- (Y/N) announced and took the lasagna from the oven. I held a bowl of salad and walked with her to the dining room.
- "What do you wanna drink?"
- "A glass of wine, you?"
- "Red or white?"- I asked her and walked back to the kitchen. I didn't even wait for her answer. I took the white and two glasses. She smiled and sat down.
- "This looks amazing, (Y/N)"- and I wasn't lying.
- "Wait until you see dessert, we have three colors of Jell-O"- the fact she knew I loved jello wasn't what got me. It was how happy she looked to spoil me with my favorite dessert.
- "Thank you for cooking all my favorite meals."
- "You are welcome, honey bunny"- I smiled at her and poured a glass of wine for her and one for me.
- "Can I ask you something?"- I whispered, and she nodded- "Why do you call me honey bunny?"- she looked from her dish and giggled.
- "It took you forever to ask."
- "Well... I didn't want you to think I didn't like it..."
- "You don't?"- I wide opened my eyes and shook my head frenetically.
- "No! I love it! I just... don't know... where does it come from? You said I gave you the "honey bunny" vibes, but... what does that mean?"- (Y/N) chewed her lasagna and looked at me.
- "Well, I always loved that nickname. I thought it was adorable and never used it on anyone because no one ever gave me that vibe. I had never met my honey bunny before."
"My Honey Bunny." That woman was killing me, and she had no idea.
- "And I took it from Pulp Fiction"- she finally confessed and waited for my reaction- "Have you seen it?"
- "No"- I admitted and shrugged.
- "Then we are watching it after dinner tonight"- (Y/N) decided, and I nodded- "You still don't give me a nickname, by the way."
She had no idea, but I had a list of nicknames for her. I had written all the cute names I wanted to call on a notebook I kept in my satchel. But I didn't dare. I could call her cute names in my head all the time, but never out loud.
- "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, by the way"- she added and kept eating.
- "I have never done it before"- I accepted, feeling embarrassed- "Sorry."
- "Why are you sorry?"
- "I don't want you to think I don't want to call you by a loving nickname. I just..."
- "Come on, how would you call me? Do I give you any nickname vibe?"- I chuckled, and she smiled childishly.
- "I really like the story behind "nugget." I think it's brilliant"- she shook her head, and her cheeks blushed- "But for you... I think I have three options."
- "So you've given it some thoughts!"- I nodded and took a sip of wine- "Let me hear them."
- "Well... after that case in Oregon when you got lost in the woods, I thought I could call you "chipmunk"- I confessed and watched her face light up.
- "I love that!"
- "Really?"- I chuckled and looked at her holding my breath- "Well... then I remembered how we became friends and your obsession with cupcakes, so I thought I could call you that."
- "I love that too!!"
- "And..."- since I was honest, I took it a little further- "After last Halloween, and all the carving we did, and our movie marathon, I thought "pumpkin" was pretty sweet too."
(Y/N) sighed and smiled at me, her cheeks blushing and her eyes shining.
- "They are all awesome, so you should use them all, and I can look for more nicknames for you"- I simply stared at her and felt how my heart melted.
- "Ok"- I whispered, and she raised an eyebrow playfully.
- "Ok, what?"
- "Ok... pumpkin"- I whispered and held my breath at the sound of those words leaving my lips.
She really didn't have a clue about what she did to me.
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Next update: May 19th, 2021
#Spencer Reid#Matthew Gray gubler#Criminal Minds#mgg#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#fluf#angst#Criminal Minds rewrite#babymetaldoll edits#babymetaldoll writes#DIWK#Spencer Reid x reader#matthew gray gubler
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trial and error pt. 3 [senku x reader]
I had a lot of issues writing this chapter for some reason. I think I ran out of creativity for a good few weeks so I kinda struggled trying to keep Senku in character. I really just wanted to get the third chapter out though so I hope you like it!
SHIPPING: SENKU X READER
PREMISE: [Name] had always known Senku was a little bit of an oddball but that’s what made him so interesting to her as children. Now in the Stone World, he’s only even more interesting what with his claims about shooting up to a million years worth of technology back, but some things never change with him; specifically on the concept of love. As a way to get him to think about it as something other than “disgusting feelings” she proposes for him to think of it differently, though it seems to be going in a direction she never expected.
PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE
{–*–}
CHAPTER THREE: FINDINGS
He was standing near his base by the time [Name] was done. From the looks of it, he had tried to dress up as well, even if it looked like the littlest effort was made. His hair stayed as big as it was, but what seemed to be a makeshift bowtie was settled on his neck (albeit lopsided, but [Name] didn’t really expect much from him in the first place).
“Jeez, who dressed you up, the local village boys?” She asked once she was within hearing range with Senku.
Scowling, Senku only shook his head. Flicking the strip of rag around his neck, he said, "Chrome and the bumbling fools of guards obviously haven't gone on dates before."
"I don't think you have much room to talk. Besides I’m pretty sure that was obvious," [Name] replied humorously, remembering when Ginro couldn't even look her straight in the eye during her and Senku's first few months at the village. "Why would you ask them of all people anyways?"
Senku raised his eyebrow, as if finding the question peculiar. "Who should I have asked?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe the married men in the village?" [Name] suggested, watching as Senku furrowed his brows even more. Giggling, she shoved his shoulder. "So much for being a genius. What, were you so nervous to go on this date with me you forgot something as simple as retrieving data from the most obvious people?"
Senku rolled his eyes. "I'm busy with other things--saving the world from going back another thousand years in society, being one of them.” He reasoned as he turned his head away from her.
[Name] only laughed at him, pushing him to forward so they can start walking towards the woods. “Let’s just get this date other with, shall we? You didn’t forget to plan, I’m presuming?"
“Of course I didn’t. Do you take me for some idiot or something?” Senku asked as he peered at the younger girl, who only gave him a knowing look. Instantly, he shook his head. “No don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” [Name] trailed off. “Remember when you were so caught up in one of your projects you ended up putting too much laundry detergent in your washing machine?”
That day had been burned into her memory--it had probably been the only time she’d seen Senku visibly panic over something so mundane. They were helplessly watching the washing machine shake violently and become a soapy mess in it’s little area for almost an hour until Byakuya came home to a disgustingly sweet smelling hallway and two elementary school children covered in bubbled up laundry detergent from head to toe.
“Don’t remind me; I smelled like laundry detergent for two months.” Senku muttered.
“It was funny, though. Definitely took thoughts away from my dad and brother.” [Name] replied happily. She didn’t need to turn her head to see that Senku had immediately spun his head toward her at the mention of her father.
A warm silence followed between them, no doubt Senku was thinking of something to say--should he say something about it? Should he brush it off? Senku had known [Name] enough to know that, while he never took anything like emotions too seriously, she wasn’t exactly emotionally attached to much either. He didn’t doubt for a second that [Name] thought about her family during those late night preparations she partook with him when Kohaku or Chrome couldn’t stay up past the 20th hour like they did.
He also didn’t doubt that she had done the same thing he had done once she thought her family over--understand the probabilities of seeing her mother and finding her father and brother’s grave were most likely slim and choosing to focus the task at hand: saving the world from total chaos at the hands of Tsukasa and his wildlings. So, she kept it silent, just like she always did.
Should I even mention anything about that? He wondered to himself as he helped her walk down a narrow junction between some large trees. They’d known each other long enough to understand each other without much verbal communication. Even after not having much contact once Senku entered middle school along with the whole thousands of years of being petrified in time, they still had a weird connection with each other. Maybe that was why he decided to free [Name] of her stony confindes; no one else could read his mind or understand what he’s thinking like she does.
Whatever route he took, it wouldn’t be awkward, he finally concluded when they reached the river. He let [Name] hop on the rocks that stood above the water before following suit. “Right, that was the day they got into that car accident.” He stated once they reached the other side.
[Name] hummed. “Mom was stuck at the hospital all day and wanted to take me with her; I couldn’t bear the smell there. It was too clean. So I went to your place thinking you might need something since you’re so useless--OW!” She rubbed her head as she glared over at Senku, who looked the other way, acting as if he hadn’t just slapped the back of her head so hard it made her hair flip over her head. “Anyways, I thought you needed me for something and apparently you did, but I don’t think an eight year old could have done much if a ten year old couldn’t do anything except stand around and watch the mess. It was funny, though. Mom and I laughed about it after a few years.”
“Glad to know my endless suffering and pure shock brought joy.” Senku said sarcastically, though [Name] could pick up the light heartedness behind it.
Elbowing him lightly so he can turn to look at her, [Name] smiled at him. “Well just so you know every time I think of the dad and brother, I also think of you with a bubble beard right after.”
Senku, for a moment, felt something turn before he wrinkled his nose. “Did you just family zone me? During a date?” He asked disgustedly. It was his turn to get a slap on the back of his head.
“Seriously? That’s what you took away from that?” [Name] asked, irritated. She decided to look forward as they kept walking, however it seemed as though they walked mindlessly through endless amount of trees. “Where are we going anyways?”
“Just a few more feet. There’s a clearing close by; I think you’d like it.” Senku said as he nudged her forward.
[Name] covered her eyes as she began to notice leaves becoming lower and lower to the point that she had to duck and sometimes even squat to get through some spaces. Man, if I knew this would happen, I would’ve worn something besides this kind of dress, she thought reluctantly as she watched the ends and edges of the dress get dirtied. Still, she persisted as she had been curious as to what the clearing had looked like. She hadn’t gone so far in terms of exploring for the past few weeks; winter was coming and Senku needed every available person possible to help prep the village for the freezing season. She spent hours lining and sewing furs onto their cloaks and coats to the point that she left little prick marks on her hands permanently.
“Okay, we’re here.” Senku announced once they both managed to stand again. Shaking a few leaves away from her head, [Name] looked up to see a green clearing, like Senku said. However, he never said how… Ethereal it was. Wild flowers, ones she vaguely recognized to be new versions of flowers from the past, spread across the spanse of the field. Lightning bugs flicked and glowed every now and then, being the main source of light besides the makeshift lantern Senku was currently crafting beside her.
“Whoa,” was [Name]’s only response. “Don’t tell you found this last minute just for a date, Senku.”
A snicker followed right after. “No. I found it a few months ago when trying to collect foxtail millet for the noodles. Let’s keep walking, though. This isn’t what I wanted you to see.”
It’s not? [Name] thought as she let Senku lead her further past the clearing, walking around the flowers as best as possible. The walk was silent, which surprised [Name] since Senku sometimes never did keep his mouth shut when it came to his little experiments. Could it be he's taking this date more seriously than she expected? She let that thought cross her mind as she watched him walk ahead of her. Not possible. If anything, he might just be keeping things a secret since I'm the test subject. [Name] thought to herself. Why would he even take this seriously in the first place?
"Look I know this is a date and all, but could you not glare at me?" Senku finally piped up, looking at his companion warily. "You look like you're about to plot my murder?"
"Who said I haven't already?" [Name] quipped, finally shaking herself from her thoughts. "Anyways, where did you take us, Casanova?"
She laughed as she watched Senku's face scrunch up in disgust at his nickname. He opened his mouth, ready to spew an insult before he stopped himself, staring at the shorter girl. Sighing, he just waved a hand forward. "Look above you."
"Above…?" [Name] questioned as she craned her neck. She sucked in a breath as she looked at the lightened sky above her. Of course, she's had plenty of nights where she stood outside to marvel at the stars and sky--she had never seen it so bright pre-petrification. She had thought that was the brightest and clearest she'd ever seen when she was in Senku's observation tower.
That is, until today.
"It's so… So…" [Name] started, but couldn't quite put her words together. She felt Senku brush up against her shoulder as he finished for her.
"Beautiful." He complimented as he stared up as well.
The sky was littered with various shades of purples, pinks, and blues. There wasn’t a coud in sight, which allowed the stars to litter across the dark plain above them. Faintly, she can make out certain constellations, pointing out the ones she wasn’t too sure to her companion, who nodded in confirmation to all of them.
"Who knew we'd get to see the sky as non-polluted as this." Senku said as they continued to keep watch over the sky.
"You took the words right out of my mouth." [Name] laughed. "I thought the observation tower was something else, but you really outdid yourself here, Senku. I didn't even expect you to walk this far without having you get carried by Chrome or something."
"Killing the mood." Senku replied, flicking her forehead, though [Name] made sure to take notice of his shortened breath he tried to hide. She pretended to feign ignorance even further when she let him walk behind her, catching his breath behind some bushes and then shuffling around until he finally brought a basket out.
"Suika should've given better instructions on where to find this thing." The spiky haired scientist said. "It looked like it got buried under a bunch of dirt instead of sitting plain out in the open like she said."
Senku opened the lid, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out two bowls of his notorious green ramen, wrapped tightly in large leaves to keep it from spilling. With it came a makeshift picnic blanket (though, it just looked like old scraps of dresses sewn together over the years; no doubt Suika had asked one of the older village women if she can borrow it). Together, they worked to keep the blanket down, placing heavy rocks at the corners to keep it from flicking upward since the wind picked up a little stronger from where they placed themselves.
"This ramen tastes gross." Senku groaned once he settled down, though it didn't stop him from continuing to eat it. [Name] only rolled her eyes as she ate it herself (though she did have to agree with Senku; the ramen was gross, but she put up with it anyways), basking in the windy air.
“I’m surprised you haven’t said anything yet about the information you’ve gathered for this date,” [Name] said. “Usually you relay the data to me once you get it all down."
“Can’t exactly tell the subject about the data I’m gathering about them.”
“Oh but you’re dying to tell me, aren’t you?” [Name] pushed. Truth be told, she was more curious on just how exactly he thought of the experiment. Sure, she had been the one to suggest it, but she had zero idea on what his plans are--what were his variables? Was he gathering information? Was he including numbers or was all of this just pure observation? There was no doubt in her mind that someone was observing them as well; most likely Kohaku since she’s better off at hiding and watching without being noticed once.
“Maybe. I’ll tell you after I’m done with this whole experiment.” Senku replied as he took a sip of the water packaged with them before handing it off to her. [Name] took it graciously, taking a few sips as she thought about his wording.
Quirking up her eyebrow curiously, she asked, “Wouldn’t that be tonight?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” Senku confirmed. “You think one night will determine this whole thing? It might take more days actually--a few weeks even. I’ll gather all my information, relay it to you, and then confirm whether or not love is just a construct of emotions for me. Which it will be, from the information I’ve gathered.”
[Name] watched him in disbelief. There was no way she actually heard that correctly. Weeks? How’s that going to work? Would I even last a few weeks managing to go on more dates with this idiot? She questioned. “Wha-- I-- Don’t you have a grandiose plan that requires all your time and attention?”
She only received a shrug as an answer. What the hell does that even mean? She questioned herself as [Name] watched Senku stretch. He was the one repulsed by the idea of going on a date. Why would he extend this to weeks? She let herself wonder, pulling all the probable possibilities as to why he decided it so suddenly. Sure, Senku was right about not being able to gather enough information from just one date, but he could have easily just done one or two more nights of their little experiment dates instead of presuming it down to a matter of weeks.
Finally it finally hit [Name]: he was hiding something. What it was exactly, she’s not entirely sure, though she knew Senku was probably planning something stupid that could most likely put him in danger, or worse killed, which in turn would cause her to intercept and talk him out of it. He was probably using this date shenanigans to distract her from his death inducing plans.
Squinting her eyes at him, she decided to hold back on her on findings. After all, if he isn’t bothering to tell her what he’s gathering on her, she’ll do the same. Instead, she sighed, opting to make it seem as if she should have known. “You’re unbelievable.” [Name] replied.
“Oh, I know. That’s what gets you on your toes right?”
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Sole Survivor -> III
summary -> days nineteen through twenty-three; confessions, secrets, more immunity idols, and wavering trust.
words -> 5.0k
warnings -> survivor typical wording (immunity idol, idols, tribal council) cursing, mention of past steve x reader
notes -> we find out a little more about steve & reader, the beginning of the merge (i’m so excited!!!) & trust is crumbling.
series masterlist here
— ➶ —
PREVIOUS <- CHAPTER III • OUTLAST -> NEXT
— ➶ —
Day Nineteen
Bucky won’t talk to you.
You’re unsure if it’s because of what you had said or because he’s just giving you space, but the tension between you two is palpable.
And for some reason, you hate it.
You’re not used to this feeling of regret, especially within the game of Survivor. Your motto had always been there are no regrets in this game, you hold your head high and live with how you’ve played.
Only, Bucky had so quickly become your anchor in this game, just going one day without him by your side felt wrong. You couldn’t even pinpoint when it had happened. Was it the first vote, where he had shown you just how strategic he could be? The jokes in the water? The way his arms wrapped you in the storm?
It had never felt like this with Steve. His arms had always been just a little too tight and things had always felt a bit too forced. You had always know Steve was a means to an end, you would get far and avoid being hurt. You had just assumed that would happen this time too, you hadn’t prepared for a Bucky Barnes.
Bucky was more subtle touches and bright eyes. Bucky just felt right. You suppose that’s why you hate not talking to him, because he felt right. Because deep down you knew he wasn’t Steve, he wasn’t a means to an end, he was real in a sense. Someone you wanted around and didn’t want to see go.
A laugh escapes you. One loud enough that it garners Bucky’s attention from his spot in the water.
The two of you stare tentatively before he looks away. There’s a second where you debate staying where you are, but right now all you and Bucky had was each other and showing weakness to the rest of your tribe would lead them to strike at you again.
You swallow your pride and stand up with a purpose. You and Bucky would forgive each other and move on, there were no other options.
“Bucky.” You call out. His head whips around to look at you again. Surprise filters across his face as you wade through the water towards him. “Can we talk?” You ask about two feet away from him.
Bucky nods. “Of course.”
“Things got tense the other night.” You start hesitantly. You don’t really know where to start. You don’t want to take the entire blame to make him better, but you want him to know you truly did trust him. “We both got upset and I-“
“-I’m sorry.” Bucky cuts you off quickly. “I wasn’t trying to downplay your game, I’m just nervous. For both of us. If we don’t merge soon, I’m afraid it’s the two of us on the line.”
You smile up at him. “You gotta have more faith, Bucky. In both of us.” You emphasize softly. “We’ve made it this far without numbers, I’m sure we can do it again.”
A moment of silence before Bucky’s fingers intertwine with yours and he pulls you towards him. “I have faith in you.” He says softly. “I’ve just played a weak game, riding your coattails.”
“As long as you can admit it.” You smirk. Bucky snorts and pushes you away so you stumble into the water. You re-emerge with a spluttering laugh. “I was joking.” You push him back.
Bucky smiles with a shake of his head. “You and me, sweets?”
“You and me, Barnes. We work together, not just one or the other doing it all.” You smile up at him, your eyes squinting in the bright sun. “But if you’re mean to me again, I’ll send you packing.”
Bucky presses his tongue against his cheek, but you can see the smile he’s forcing back.
Bucky Barnes - Villain Tribe
“She’s stuck with me.” Bucky laughs. “I don’t… Til the end of the line, I hope.”
Day Twenty
“Bowling!” You cheer as your tribe walks up to the challenge, where two bowling lanes are set up next to one another. “I kill at bowling.”
Bucky laughs from behind you and he can see that even Natasha cracks a smile at your pure excitement. Some of the heroes, like Peter and Shuri, look excited at the prospect of bowling too.
“Heroes, getting your first look at the new villains tribe. Tony voted out at the last tribal council.” There’s a wave of murmurs as the heroes look at one another with wide eyes.
Everyone perks up when Jeff announces that todays reward is a feast. Bucky can feel his mouth watering at the idea of steak and vegetables cooked to perfection.
Even better, he can picture the clue wrapped in a napkin waiting to be found by a winning tribe member. “Hope you’re not lying, sweets. We could use a win.”
A bright smile is sent his way. “Promise, handsome.” It makes Bucky’s heart melt, the way you at him with sparkling eyes and upturned lips. He’s come to terms with the fact that he’s become a little infatuated with you.
Jeff goes through rules pretty quickly, considering it’s just basic bowling and Clint is up first against Thor.
“What do you think the heroes think?” Bucky whispers into your ear from behind you. He keeps a pointed eye on the heroes team, making sure they don’t see the two of you talking. He knows what you’ll say before you say it.
You know what Bucky’s doing too. He feels a surge of pride that the two of you work so well together. “That us girls are getting you boys out one by one. I promise they haven’t given up that theory.”
“You’re brilliant, sweets.” Bucky smirks to himself. Thor gets eight pins to Clint’s nine. The two of you cheer with the rest of your tribe before the next two take their places at the lane.
You lean back a little, your eyes still on the hero tribe as well and whisper, “Try to look pathetic. Like you know you’re time is coming. If we merge, they’ll try to recruit you and give us secrets.”
Shuri gets eight whereas Darcy gets nine pins. Bowling was the villains game, apparently. You cheer again, completely pulling away from Bucky. He immediately misses your warmth, but he knows too much associating and it could hint the heroes into what’s really going on.
You’re up next. You walk up to the lane with a bounce in your step, far more excited than Peter who looks nervously at the wooden bowling ball.
Bucky cheers when your wooden ball knocks down every single pin. “Strike!” Your voice rings out as Peter’s ball only knows down one pin.
When you return to your seat, Bucky squeezes both of your shoulders proudly. “Nice job, sweets.” He says quietly before standing up to take his own turn.
In the end, the villains win, sweeping the heroes in every round. It’s a moral boost, watching the heroes gather their things and take the walk of shame back to camp. The villains are led to a clearing in the jungle, where a small table filled with food is set up and a waterfall stands no more than thirty feet away.
“This is incredible.” You murmur in awe as you look around. Bucky watches you softly as you pull him towards the table by his wrist.
It’s almost natural, you pulling him. At least, it feels natural for him to follow you. It almost hurts how attached he finds himself to you, because he knows it’s all just a game to you.
This is what you do. Anything to win the game you love. Bucky’s not stupid, at least, he knows more than people think. He’s almost sure the people who watch at home will watch in disbelief as he falls into what everyone else tells him is a trap.
But when your hand finds his so naturally, your leg brushes against his thigh and you turn to smile at him brightly after the first bite of food, it doesn’t feel like a trap. It feels so real he almost forgets to breathe.
Maybe that’s why he’s been ignoring the piece of his mind that tells him the best thing to do would be to turn on your before the merge. Maybe you’d forgive him this early on. When the reunion if filmed, he could apologize and beg for a chance in the real world after you’ve had months to cool off.
It would be smart. Turn on you before you turn on him, but he won’t do it. He can’t. Not after you put your life in the game on the line and gave him the idol. He owed you and he couldn’t betray you. Bucky knew himself pretty well, the guilt would destroy his mind and in turn his game.
“Oh, Bucky.” You moan as you swallow down a bite of the steak on your plate. Bucky has the force himself to breath calmly and not allow his pupils to blow at the sound. “It’s so good. Eat!” You push your plate towards him and reach our for more food.
He takes a bite. “You’re right, sweets. This is delicious.” He moans around his second bite of steak. He’s sure even if the steak wasn’t cooked to perfection he would still find it delicious.
The two of you look at each other with smirks before letting out small laughs. Bucky reaches for the napkin wrapped to the right of his plate.
When he unfurls the white fabric, a rolled up piece of paper falls into his lap. He shoves it into the pocket of his shorts without a second glance, making sure nobody across the table had their eyes on him as he did so.
He turns to look at you, to see if you’ve caught what just happened, but you’re too busy eating the fest in front of you.
He’ll show you later. You’ll find it together.
Bucky Barnes - Villain Tribe
“This,” he holds up the small piece of paper with a victorious smile, careful to speak quiet enough nobody can overhear, “is our ticket to the merge. I just can’t believe my luck.”
Bucky is fidgety. It’s making you nervous as the two of you relax by the fire and listen to the crickets chirp and whispers among the rest of your tribe, which isn’t many anymore.
You can hear them vaguely. Natasha is asking Clint about his family, who seems to light up when he’s able to talk about them. Darcy sits with them, but she doesn’t say much besides a question here and there.
It’s relaxing, getting a break from talking about game play and plans. You feel like it’s been full speed ahead since day one and to just sit by the fire with Bucky in comfortable silence is something you didn’t know you needed.
You swallow thickly as you glance over at him. He’s twiddling his thumbs over his lap as he stares into the fire. The light casts an orange glow over his skin that makes your heart pick up a little bit.
“You okay?” You ask quietly. You lean towards him without really realizing it, but he doesn’t really seem to mind. “Your head is somewhere else.”
Bucky looks at you with a smile that makes you feel warmer than the fire. He knocks his knee against yours in support and gives you a reassuring look. “Nothing bad. I’ll tell you later.” He nods to the group near enough they could hear you if he spoke over a whisper.
You furrow your brows, but nod. “Tell me about home.” You urge quietly.
While you and Bucky had been working together for almost the entire game, you didn’t know much about his life. You knew what little things hr had mentioned on his first season, like what had happened to his arm and about his job.
“Like what?” There’s a handbook you get when you get chosen to be on the show, filled with rules you’re required to follow. One of the biggest ones being ignore the camera when you’re not giving a confessional.
It’s hard to pretend they’re not there. You know they keep people from admitting a lot about their personal lives. “Anything. Family. Work. Girlfriend.” You smirk when Bucky laughs.
“Promise I’m not out here disrespecting a girlfriend. I’m a good boy.” He looks at you with bright eyes. The words make you laugh loudly. “How about you?”
You shake your head. “No boyfriend at home.” You look down at the sand on your feet. “Guys are kind of intimidated of me. I know that’s shocking considering how mundane I come off.”
“The right guy won’t be intimidated by you. He’ll see how impressive you are.” Bucky states with an air of confidence.
The words make you smile. Something small and completely unlike you because it’s embarrassed instead of confident.
Bucky did something to you. Something you were so unused to. The way his smile made you warm and how butterflies fluttered in your stomach when he looked at you with those bright blue eyes. It was all unchartered territory, feelings you had never really let yourself have for someone. Especially someone you had planned on betraying when you needed to.
“The right guy, huh?” You ask quietly. Your heart racing and heat on the back of your neck. “Let me know when you find him.”
You and Bucky watch one another before you both look away. It’s a crafted choice of words, one that seems to make things settle gloomily between you two. “How about family? I remember you mentioning some sisters.”
Bucky nods. “A little sister. Her name is Rebecca.” He lets out a laugh. “She told me I wouldn’t last longer than a week out here. I remember seeing her on family day, I never thought I would miss talking to her as much as I had.”
The admittance makes you smile. You can vaguely remember the tight hug shown on screen when his sister had come running out. “She believe in you more this time?”
“I sure hope so.” Bucky laughs. “I like to think that they’re proud of me, my sister and mom. That they’re not too humiliated by me out here.”
Your hand finds his in the sand. “I think they are proud. I’ve seen a lot of guys on this show, none of them quite as good as you.”
It’s the truth. Whether or not fans labeled Bucky as a villain, he had been good the entire game. He hadn't turned against you and with only one small fight in your wings, he had been good to you.
"I'm sure Steve Rogers fans would disagree. Nobody gets sweeter than that." He gives you a self-depricating smile and his words let on more than he may think.
You shake your head. “Steve is sweet. As sweet as they come, maybe. Doesn’t mean he’s good though.” You swallow thickly and look down at your feet. “It looks like I ruined his game, like I took that million dollars from him.”
“It does.” Bucky agrees easily. You shrug. “Is that not what happened?”
You almost glance up at the camera man sitting a few feet away, but keep your eyes steady on the fire. “I will never deny that I screwed Steve over. I just… Steve had just as much to do with what went down before he got sent home as I did.”
Bucky nods slowly. “And you wanted to turn on him before he turned on you?”
Your eyes flash to his in surprise. You can’t really believe he understands that, not when so many people saw you as the villain who ruined Steve’s game. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause where neither of you say anything before you speak up again. “I cared for Steve. Maybe I played into the romantic bit too much, but I cared for him as a friend.” You say adamantly. “And I’m sad to have lost that friendship, but we both wanted that money and we both were going to do anything to get it whether he wanted to admit it or not.”
You look at Bucky with fierce eyes. “I made the move first because I knew if I didn’t that I would never make final council.”
The admission makes you feel a little lighter, but you can see the weariness in Bucky’s eyes. It’s like he has the thought of well if she did it to him…
“I guess there’s a lot that viewers miss out on.” Bucky finally says. “You and Steve haven’t spoken since?”
“No.” You shake your head. “We avoided each other at the reunion and after that there was no need to. I know how it looks and I don’t regret what I did. Not for one second.”
You know the words seem harsh. That they’ll only fuel the villain ideal behind your name. The words may even turn Bucky against you, show him that you’re here for you and nobody else.
His silence worries you too. Your mind swirling with thoughts of him betraying you or this being his deal breaker.
You take a breath. “I don’t feel that way about you.” The secret pushes itself past your lips and into the tense silence. “I truly hope we can make it to end together.”
“When did you get soft?” Bucky chuckles awkwardly and your chest tightens. The words aren’t reassurance you had hoped for and you seem to have worried Bucky more than reassure him.
You force out a laugh. “Soft? Don’t ever say that again.” You nudge him with your shoulder before moving to stand.
Bucky looks like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute. You try not to think about it too much.
You - Villain Tribe
“I was hoping talking about Steve would get him to trust me more, but it looks like he’s even more guarded now.” You rest your chin on your bent knees. “I’ll just have to be prepared for the worst.”
Bucky Barnes - Villain Tribe
“I want to tell her about the idol, but I need to start looking out for myself. I truly don’t think she’ll turn on me, but I just can’t gamble away my faith in the game like that.” He looks away, his profile illuminated by the moon. “I can’t.”
Day Twenty-One
The merge is around the corner. There’s no doubt about that as the competition enters it’s third week and there’s only eight remaining players.
It will be a battle of who has more people going into it, at least that’s what both tribes are thinking now since neither of them truly know who may flip if given the opportunity.
“Tree mail!” Natasha’s voice wakes you up a little more as you turn to look at her and Clint returning and the rolled up piece of paper in her hand. “Think it’s the merge?”
You shrug. “Let’s find out.” She unrolls the paper and frowns. Not the merge, you think a little disappointedly. You weren’t sure if you and Bucky could make it one more elimination if it came to it.
“Castaway, rate your tribe members from weakest to strongest as a group. Bring your rankings with you to today’s challenge where the rest will be explained.” Natasha reads aloud to the camp.
You all exchange glances, utterly confused by the instructions and unwilling to voice who is the weakest first.
“I think we’re all pretty strong.” Darcy says quietly. “I mean, we all have our strong suits. Does it say physically weak or socially? Mentally? How are we supposed to rank?” She sounds more agitated by the second.
You know it’s nerve wracking. Not knowing exactly what these rankings mean is horrible. Your entire tribe is left to fight it out over who is the strongest and weakest and they don’t even know the prize.
Will the weakest be sent home? The strongest pitted against the hero’s strongest in a fight for reward? Not knowing anything put a stunt in your tribe’s ability to figure this out.
“Let’s just vote for physicality.” Natasha says evenly. “Majority wins. That way it’s simple and we can prepare for the challenge. These are probably just for pairs in today’s challenge.”
Everyone agrees easily and Natasha decides to start with the strongest vote. “They’ll probably vote Steve or Thor the strongest. I say we make Bucky our one and Nat or I our two.” You declare.
Everyone glances at each other before nodding. “Okay so, all in favor for me as number two?” You ask and Bucky, you and Natasha raise their hands.
At you confused look Natasha smirks. “I don’t want to go against Steve or Thor if that’s what these rankings are for.”
The words make you all laugh and some tension is obviously lifted from everyone’s shoulders. “All in favor of Clint third?” Nat cuts in before you can say anything else.
The rest of you raise your hand in agreement. You can tell nobody wants to argue much about this and create an awkward environment at the actual challenge. “Then Nat, then Darcy.” Clint marks it on the paper before anybody votes, but nobody argues it.
Darcy Lewis - Villain Tribe
“I got named our weakest player and I guess I saw it coming. Two and two against one, I was never going to be voted the strongest. I just feel like I’m being severely underestimated by them all. Somehow I’m the odd one out when the plan for the last few tribals has been Bucky or Y/N.” She shakes her head in disbelief.
Steve Rogers - Hero Tribe
“I can’t wait to see how they did this. What they assumed. Heroes just have no idea if our rankings will help us or hurt us. It’s stressful.”
Bucky can’t contain his smile when he sees which challenge is set up behind Jeff. The walls, all different colors, have foot mounts attached to them that get smaller and smaller.
Bucky knows this challenge. Bucky has won this challenge. He turns his head to look at you and he knows you’re thinking the same thing he is.
The villains have this one in the bag. Bucky knows it, especially when Jeff explains that each competitor will go against their equal rank from the opposite tribe.
It’s obvious that being lighter will help more than brute strength especially as the foot mounts get smaller and smaller.
Bucky can’t help but smile as everybody takes the first steps towards the wall. The match ups seem to have worked in the villain’s favor today.
Bucky takes his place on the other side of Thor, who struggles almost immediately. While Bucky would definitely have a hard time, he knee this challenge and he was lighter than Thor.
You were matched up against Steve, who seemed less than thrilled when he realized how much lighter you were compared to him.
“You’ll stand on the first mount for ten minutes.” Jeff explains as everyone settles in. “This is for immunity. Now more than ever your tribes need this.”
Bucky knows that Jeff is right. This far in the game it becomes a battle of which tribe has more going into the merge. It didn’t matter if people thought they would flip or if there were other deserters. All that mattered was who appeared stronger going in probably got to decide who went home.
The villains needed the numbers going in. Bucky was sure that wanting to get rid of strong heroes would be the only thing that protected him post merge.
Thor slips off before they even make it to the second mount. “Villains gain a point, Bucky you can step down.” Jeff orders as Thor stumbles to the small table set up for them to wait at.
“That was tough.” Thor grumbles as he rubs at his bare feet. “Not my thing.” He smiles politely as Bucky sits beside him.
Bucky laughs silently as he turns his attention to the challenge. Nobody else seems to be struggling on their mounts, showing the game will continue on far longer than Bucky and Thor had.
Thor Odinson - Hero Tribe
“I’m embarrassed. They ranked me the strongest of our tribe and I lose first? It’s just humiliating, there’s no momentum for our team.”
Your feet are aching by the half hour mark. Jeff has moved you all to final mount to stand on until the last person falls off, meaning you could be here for hours.
You’re jealous of Bucky, who’s relaxing on the sidelines with Thor, Wanda and Darcy. Darcy had fallen after moving to the second mount, leaving both tribes tied with one point.
You can hear Steve groaning to himself. You assume he’s adjusting his stance and trying to hold on and you’re considerably impressed. Steve has stayed up much longer than you thought he would, longer than he had when you had played a version of this challenge on your season.
“You can come down, Steve!” You call out with a teasing laugh. “Nobody will judge you. I could do this all day.”
It’s silent for a moment, as everyone waits for Steve to respond. The two of you hadn’t interacted at all throughout the entire twenty-one days and there had been no reason to do so.
“I’m not losing to you.” Steve says in a cold tone. You could only imagine the cold blue eyes that matched and his steeled face.
You bite down on your lip to conceal a smile. The retort on the tip of your tongue. Something along the lines of you’ve lost to me before. You settle on a shrug he can’t see and call back, “We’ll see!”
Bucky Barnes - Villain Tribe
“She looks good up there. She’s not breaking a sweat. Everyone else has shaking legs and can’t hold still and it looks like she could do this all day. Steve can’t even see how good she looks, no way he wins this.”
It’s another close game, one that comes down to you and Steve battling it out for the last point.
You look great up there, and Bucky thinks it in the least flirtatious way possible. You always look great, but you haven’t broken a sweat in this challenge.
It’s obvious Steve’s muscle mass and height is working against him in this game, so Bucky’s impressed by him, just not as impressed as he is with you. You lean your shoulder against the wall in the most casual way possible and you make sure to not adjust your feet to often. All while Steve struggles to stay still. It’s clear from his flexing and pained groans that his feet are cramping and he can’t find a comfortable position at all.
Bucky’s not worried. While the rest of his tribe watches with bated breaths and the hero tribe chews on their nails, Bucky is relaxed.
It’s like it happens in slow motion too. Bucky watches with a small smile as Steve moves to adjust his grip just a little too quickly and his foot slides off the mount.
“Villains win immunity!” Jeff calls out as you step down from your mount. Your eyes find Steve, who’s laying with his back on the sand and eyes closed. The two of you watch each other for a brief moment before you smile at him.
“Good effort.” The words are genuine. “You did really well.” You hold out a hand for Steve to take and help him to his feet again.
Bucky watches the scene with interest. He knows it’s good sportsmanship, a friendly gesture and it’s one that may help you in the long run of the game. If Steve moves on from his resentment, he’s a number.
But Bucky knows he would be a number for you.
You - Villain Tribe
“My feet are killing me. My arms are dead. I’m exhausted, but this win is one of the best yet. I earned us this win. I beat one of their strongest players. And I’m safe for another tribal.”
Steve Rogers - Hero Tribe
“Now that we know what it’s like to win, losing is so much worse. That feeling of being so close and losing by an inch? I just can’t stand it. We’re better than them, I’m better than them.” He purses his lips and his blue eyes are filled with rage. “We can’t lose anymore people, not with a merge so close. They’ll knock us out one by one by one.”
Day Twenty-Three
“Buck.”
There’s a crate sitting in front of where your tree mail is normally put. You can’t contain your smile when you see the note attached to the lid. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Bucky smiles as you pull the paper off of the crate. “Expect some visitors today to unlock this crate and the clue inside.” You look down to inspect the crate and notice a padlocked strapped to it.
“We made it.” Bucky says quietly. “The merge. We’re so close to the end, sweets.” Bucky’s arms wrap around you and you giggle as he lifts you into a hug, you legs wrapping around his waist with ease.
“Nobody can say we haven’t played a good game.” Your hands tangle in his hair. It’s gotten longer in the twenty-something days you’ve gone. “You and I. To the end, right?” You ask again.
Bucky smiles up at you as his hands tighten around your hips. “To the end.”
There’s a moment, where the two of you just look at one another, where you want to kiss him. Then you think it’s not just a moment, it’s just you realizing that you’ve wanted to do it all along.
“We should bring it to camp.” You clear your throat and Bucky hastily drops you back to your feet.
You look up at him again. Your cheeks are warm with nervousness and another feeling you’re unused to. This feeling of adoration. The care you have for Bucky is unlike anything you’ve felt before.
You want to kiss him. You want to know what it feels like to have him in your arms and be in his with your lips pressed against his. You wonder what his stubble will feel like and if he’ll rest a hand at the back of your neck.
“We should.” Bucky agrees easily. He meets your eyes and the two of you share a look.
You wonder if he’s thinking the same about you.
Bucky Barnes - Villain Tribe
“Everyday I don’t tell her about my idol, I feel worse and worse. Especially as we become better friends. I just… I’m paranoid. I’m scared. I need this safety net.”
— ➶ —
notes -> hi! i cut this part into two because this felt like a strong place to finish the chapter (and i was already at 5k words) hopefully you’re not too upset having to wait for more of the merge.
thank u for reading this au if you are! i’m having so much fun writing about one of my favorite reality shows.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#james bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes writing#bucky barnes#steve rigers#survivor au
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Dancing with Strangers
This is by far the longest chapter, hopefully I’ve tied all the loose ends and come to a decent conclusion. Stay tuned fro more fics.
Part 1 - https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/648370506842701824/a-rose-by-any-other-name
Part 5 -https://egyptsblackrose.tumblr.com/post/654891313044635648/dancing-with-strangers-there-will-be-one-more-part
Part 6- The end, enjoy!
It had been eight months since your first meeting with Gojo Satoru and Kakashi Hatake. This had been the longest relationship either men had ever had, both as a three or on their own. It was also painfully clear how absolutely in love both men were with you, and you with them. The change in the three of you was as clear as day, never had anyone seen each of you so happy - is what you constantly heard from everyone you knew, and when you ran into a friend or relative of theirs… with a few exceptions.
The truth had come out about a month in that Gojo was the one with all the money. A ‘representative of his household’ had come to the apartment to visit and go over ‘matters concerning the family’. Satoru had been so laid back through the whole thing, smirking mockingly at the clearly uncomfortable (stuck up) old butler. He’d grabbed your waist as you were walking towards the door to leave, pulling you down and into his lap. It became clear that he wanted to mess with the man opposite him, even Kakashi seemed in on it because he kissed you sweetly as he walked passed.
Gojo wasn’t able to hide his bitterness when the man finally left though, burying his head into your neck and hugging you tightly. His father had been a politician and his mother a CEO of a successful company, he still had connections because of them and shares that were doing incredibly well. Not to mention their life insurance had been enough to set anyone for life.
“It’s not like I was close to them to begin with.” He’d muttered in a bored manner when you’d teared up at the mention of a Satoru toddler being left alone, surrounded by people who wanted to use him for money, power and influence. The butler was a man hired by his fathers old political party and the other share holders at his mothers company. They apparently weren’t best pleased with him settling for being a small time policeman, had hoped to mould him into their puppet to keep both their money making schemes going.
To cheer the three of you up, Gojo had taken the three of you on a spontaneous trip to an Onsen that one of his friends owns, up in the middle of no where. The beautiful, traditional building with modern interior was nestled on the side of a frigging mountain that could only be reached through a thick, ancient forest.
You were the only three guests, and the workers were even excused for the evening, so it felt like you were the only three in the world with the next person been miles away. Which you were insanely grateful for. Because Kakashi and Gojo had made it a completion between them on who could make you scream the loudest.
Three months later, Kakashi had appeared out of no where behind you while you were cooking dinner, wrapping his arms round you gently and kissing your neck soothingly. “Would you join me for a day out tomorrow?”
“Of course I will,” You giggled, shivering as his lips ghosted over the marks on your neck and shoulders, drawing invisible lines like he was drawing constellations. “Where are we going?”
Hatake was silent for a moment before he squeezed you tighter. “I’m going to introduce you to my father.”
To say you were nervous was an understatement, you had agonised over the right outfit for hours the night before, asking both Miku and Sakura for their help. You should have known better, they had spent the majority of the time gushing over your boyfriends and how serious it was getting between you. After all, no one had ever heard of the two most wanted bachelors introducing their conquests to their family and friends, or even going on trips with their lovers, let alone keeping their interest this long.
Finally settling on one of your favourite outfits; something simple, comfortable and trendy, you kept your make-up light and as natural as possible and called yourself ready. Meeting at their apartment, you were surprised to see Kakashi in his policeman formal uniform. God the man looked dashing. Wearing white gloves, black dress shoes, a smart navy suit, light blue tie, hat tucked under his arm and a smirk on his handsome face.
“Enjoying the view baby?” He teased.
You nodded dumbly, bitting your lip to try hide your smirk. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more handsome, you have to go devastate my heart like that.”
“Maybe me and Sato should wear these tonight then.” The suggestion had your thighs clenching, suddenly it was hard to swallow. Hatake chuckled lazily having seen your reaction. “Later baby girl, for now, we have somewhere to go.”
The cemetery was the LAST place you were expecting this day to take you. Kakashi stopped at his fathers tome stone and saluted. It was at least two decades since his fathers death. Kakashi Sakumo, Hatake’s father, had been a respected police detective, and his whole inspirational drive to become a policeman. When Hatake was young, his father had led a team in a drug bust against some of the biggest names in the Yakuza, but had chosen to save his men’s lives rather than capture the villains when things had gone wrong.
The ‘failure’ was a black mark against his name, and soon his was shunned by the media, his fellow detectives and the whole police force. The abuse became so bad, that he took his own life. From then on, Hatake had lived and grown up with Gojo who he was already inseparable with.
“For the longest time…I blamed him too.” Kakashi admitted quietly, holding onto your hand like a life line. “He had a duty to take those dangerous men off the streets, to make the city a safer place for the public, for kids who were in danger of either being hooked onto drugs or joining gangs. Instead he chose to save the lives of his team.” You were silent, what could you possibly say to ease his pain? “But now…” Hatake raised his head with a proud smile. “My views have changed. He didn’t want to chase glory, he just wanted to do the right thing and save lives. In that moment, they needed him, he saw that and did his best. He was willing to die for his men, he didn’t want to see all those family’s mourning for lives he could have spared. I can only hope that one day, I will be as brave as him.”
You are not ashamed to say you cried, standing there looking at the grave of the man who had made Hatake into the man he was. Into the man you loved. You bowed deeply and gave your thanks, promising out loud to take care of his son for as long as you were allowed. Kakashi’s own eyes watered at this as he pulled you close. You don’t know how long you stood there holding each other for, but it didn’t feel like long enough. Part of you thought it would never be enough when it came to the two amazing men who looked at you like you were their whole world.
After the visit, Kakashi had taken you to the old, more traditional part of town so you could go to his favourite restaurant. The two of you were the first to arrive and the last to leave, laughing so much to the point where you were both in tears. It was so light and care free, and you could see the weight just lift off of Hatake’s shoulders.
And when you both finally made it back to their apartment, Gojo was sat on the sofa waiting. Smirking. Also in uniform. That night, not one of you slept.
With your hands locked together in cuffs and blindfold around your eyes, you shook like a leaf in the wind as Kakashi took you from behind, Gojo at your front. If it had been anyone else trying to blindfold you and tie you up, you would have absolutely said no. As it was, Kakashi loved seeing you so vulnerable. So much so that he had stretched your arse as he’d enthusiastically eaten you out, and was now taking advantage of his VERY thorough prep work. He held a vibrator to your clit as he fucked your arse, Gojo keeping your mouth open and busy as he kissed you hungrily so they could hear your moans, squeezing and playing with your tits as he took your front just as roughly.
Not only did you squirt first time, your pretty sure you blacked out for a second. Not that the boys were deterred, they knew you’d tell them if it became too much. Besides, the sounds you were making; the moans, the wet squelching from how wet you were, it was the best yet. You couldn’t walk the next day though and had to ask Miku to record your lecture.
By the fifth month, Gojo and Kakashi had broached the idea of you moving in with them. It was a casual comment made in light conversation one Sunday morning, when they FIRST brought it up. Then it was Kakashi suggesting you keep more of your things with them, mostly because you would ask them to take you back to your apartment with the girls so you could get ready for the day, meaning you would leave earlier than they would like. Eventually Gojo decided they were being too subtle and would cling to you in the mornings, begging you to not leave and to stay with them.
“You guys remember that I’m living with two roommates already right? I can’t just up and leave them like that, they won’t be able to afford rent!”
“But beautifu~l! We want you here with us!”
“What our idiot means to say baby-”
“Hey!”
“Is that, you already spend so much time here, and we love having you with us. Our apartment is even closer to your Uni building! It makes sense surely, for you to move in with us. Or for us even to find a place together-”
“Wow, ok slow down there!” You butt in quickly, cheeks turning pink. Finally the boys had had enough of dancing around the subject and had sat you down to talk about it properly. Talking about moving into their lush apartment was one thing, but talking about a place together, was something else entirely!
Gojo pouted at you in annoyance. “What, you don’t want to live with us?”
“I’m not saying that!” You defended instantly, frowning at him. “I’m saying it’s a BIG step, and I get that you guys feel ready for it, but I don’t ok? For one, five months isn’t that much time dating someone, second, I don’t even have a job yet! And don’t tell me money isn’t an issue and I don’t have to pay rent cause God help me Satoru, I will get up and leave right now.” You threatened.
“Ok you two, lets take a deep breath and talk about this calmly ok?” Hatake soothed, squeezing both your hands. “Baby, if you don’t feel ready then that’s fine, we will not force you. But please know that when you ARE ready, we WANT you here. Ok?” Nodding in understanding, you started to relax. Gojo huffed and crossed his arms, but nodded in agreement. “And about you looking for a job and paying rent. We are not trying to baby you or the like, we just want to take care of you. We know you can take care of yourself but that wont stop us from WANTING to take care of you because you are YOURS. Understand? We love and cherish you, and if we can help you, we want to. If it was us in a difficult situation and you could help us, you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course, in a heartbeat.” You muttered with a slight pout.
Kakashi beamed. “It’s the same in our eyes.” And that had been the end of that…for the time being that is.
Just short of the six month mark, you had agreed to go out again with the girls for a night out. Kakashi and Gojo had encouraged you to go, promising that when they were done with their shift, they would come pick you up. They had even bought you a gift voucher for your birthday to buy a new outfit. You had been sure to send the boys a flattering pic of yourself all dolled up before you had left for the night, receiving such thirsty replies that no one would guess that you had spent the night before with them.
The night had been going perfectly, once again you were the most sober of the group, which you were now used to. You had a nice buzz going, there had already been so many laughs and the girls were excitedly giggling about the stories you shared on your boyfriends. (Of course the intimate, personal things you kept to yourself.) You had been to a few bars and your group agreed to end the night at the club you had met your boys in, ‘The Ninja Shrine’. Texting the two policemen still on shift, you let them know that you and your friends had arrived safely, were going to order your drinks and you would be eagerly waiting for them for a dance.
Gojo replied with multiple winky, smirky, and red with sweat drop faces. Kakashi was the only one to give you a verbal reply, promising to be there as soon as they could, and ‘ordering’ you to behave until they arrived. It made you smile, biting your lip. ‘No promises’ was your reply with a winky face, locking your phone and ignoring the bings that followed, knowing that would rile them up more than a reply.
Despite the clear teasing, you stayed against the bar, talking and laughing with your friends as you sipped at your drink. The girls did try convince you to dance with them at one point, but you were waiting a certain pair to join you. After all, dancing with the girls was fun, but it was even better when you had certain pairs of eyes on your body.
“Oh shit,” Miku cursed, suddenly grabbing your arm and turning you away from the door.
“What the hell-?”
“Don’t turn around!” Miku earned, holding onto your shoulders. “One of your boys’s old flings is here, and trust me you don’t want anything to do with her.” Looking subtly out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a pretty strawberry blonde with soft brown eyes and a confident smirk. You could clearly see her figure through her flashy outfit, her expensive designer shoes and handbag on show like she was on the Paris run way. “She was with them for four months, her names Claire Aoki, and she’s a psycho if you ask me.” Miku continued carefully.
Before you could react, the door opened once more and in came your two boyfriends, looking like sex on legs. Gojo wore a flashy designer get up with black jeans and dress shoes, a blue shirt and a leather jacket that you knew for a fact cost more than your joint rent with the girls. Kakashi was also in black dress shoes, black dress pants, a dark grey shirt and a lighter grey silk vest. Their eyes landed on you immediately and began smiling. You smiled back, beaming when they started heading your way.
They hadn’t made it two steps before they were stopped by Claire, her red manicured-nailed hands resting on their chests as she leaned in towards them, pressing her chest into their arms. Kakashi looked panicked, eyes widening as his eyes darted up towards you, then down to her and back. Gojo’s smile shrunk, it was still there, but it looked much more forced now as his blue eyes narrowed at the other woman.
Curious, and not worried at all, you leaned back against the bar. You turned to make yourself look as relaxed as possible, replicating the same look you had the night they had pulled you away from your friends to charm the pants off of you. Your head tilted and your smile grew as their eyes kept on drifting to you. Whatever Claire was saying clearly wasn’t keeping their attention.
Your smile turned to a smirk as Beast by Mia Martina started playing, slowly pushing off the bar as you headed to the dance floor, your friends following. Closing your eyes, you let the music take you away, body rolls moving slow, deliberate. You caught their eyes by dancing for yourself, but now you knew their weaknesses, the parts of you that they loved to tease and squeeze, you knew their bodies like you knew your own. And you fully intended to use that to your advantage.
“Keep your eyes on me,” You sang, looking both men dead in the eyes, smirking as their gazes struggled to meet yours, roaming your form hungrily like they hadn’t seen you in months. “Come here right now,” You continued, your hands reaching out to them, beckoning them to you. “Cause when the sun goes down the beast comes out,” Dropping to the floor, you straightened your legs so you were bent in half, slowly coming up and curving your back as you flipped your hair back gracefully.
“Take you down, down can you keep it up all night,” Smirking, you spun slowly as you exaggerated your hip swaying, making sure they got an eye full of your behind. “You all over my skin, I’m anxious, paint my body boy’s I’ll be your canvas.” Your head snapped back, showcasing all their bruises that they left from the night before.
Next thing you knew, two sets of hands were gripping you tight, one set on your hips and another on your upper thighs. “Da~nm Beautiful!” Gojo growled lowly into your ear, your grin stretching as you giggled, Kakashi ducking his head to bite your neck. “First you ignore us, then you go and put on a show like that for anyone to see. What are you trying to do, hu? You just want us to bend you over our knees don’t you?”
“Maybe I do,” You teased. “Or maybe I’m trying to prove a point to someone who was getting too handsy with what wasn’t theirs.”
“Oh? Someone was getting jealous? As sexy as you are ‘staking your claim’, doesn’t change the fact that your going to get your punishment when we get home, beautifu~l!” Satoru teased, his hand dragging up your body till his hand was at your neck, then he squeezed.
Kakashi let out a ragged breath at your moan. “I think we should get out of here.” Pressing himself harder into you, you could feel his impatience clearly through his pants.
You dared to look around you, eyes meeting with soft brown eyes glaring daggers at you with so much hatred. You would have been scared six months ago, you would have shrunk and shied away. But how could you now when Gojo and Kakashi were stood with you, hands all over you, demanding your love and attention, making you feel so treasured and powerful.
“Kiss me first.” You demanded. Satoru didn’t even hesitate for a second, pulling you into a searing kiss full of passion and desire. You faintly heard Miku and your friends cat call and wolf whistle somewhere near the bar, causing Gojo to pull away and chuckle. The opening was all Kakashi needed. His kiss was equally breathtaking, his movements slower and more controlled, but clearly as desperate to lay claim.
When Hatake pulled away, Gojo effortlessly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, smacking your arse when you struggled. So you smacked his right back. Again, you couldn’t walk the next day.
By the end of the eight first months, you had finally landed a job interview and was offered the job on the spot, starting small but promised promotions if your work was up to standard. Around the same time your lease on the shared apartment with your friends was up, and you had finally given into your boyfriends hints and agreed to look for a place you could all afford together. What’s more, your graduation was less than a month away. Things were finally falling into place.
You had yet to broach the subject of your relationship status with your parents, though you were pretty sure they had figured out that you were at least dating someone by this point. Admitting that you hadn’t mentioned anything to your parents, you were nervous how the boys would react. But they had simply shrugged, nodded in understanding and reminding you that if you needed their help they were here for you.
Most importantly, you had a job you were doing well in, you were moving into a beautiful home, your friends were happy and doing well in their own fields, and you had two men who loved you unconditionally. You were sure everything was going to work out just right. And with Gojo and Satoru by your side, you could over come anything.
#y/n#you#my own work#gojo#satoru#gojo x you#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#reader#Kakashi#hatake#kakashi hatake#kakashi x reader#Kakashi Hatake x reader#smut#love story#final chapter
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An actual break | Gojou Satoru
Category: fluff
2.6k words; Beach date [4/6]
← Previous chapter | Masterlist
You haven’t been to the beach in months. So a car trip for hours, where you can blank out and peer out of the window to enjoy the wonderful and ever-changing scenery is amazing. Dipping your feet in the water or eating from food vendors or enjoying the warm summer sun on your skin. Perhaps getting a tan if the weather is perfect. This would all be perfectly enjoyable and possible.
If it wasn’t for work.
“[Surname]-san, why are you coming with us? You said you can’t fight.” Itadori calls from the backseat, nestled not-so-comfortably between Fushiguro and Kugisaki.
Wouldn’t it be better if Kugisaki is in the middle since she’s the smallest and the skinniest? The thought drifts into your head but you soon understand why. As soon as the words leave his mouth it’s met with a firm and resounding slap on the arm. Itadori’s yelp of pain is silenced under her hiss of “God, you’re so tactless! Now move over, it’s getting cramped with all of the bags.” Ah, she didn’t want to sit in the middle. And what bags? I didn’t bring any.
They keep their banter up and a quick glance to both Gojou and Fushiguro indicates that they have no intention of stopping it. Gojou is actually humming through the bickering. Why do I have to be the adult? He’s like, 5 years older than me. That’s literally what he said as the reason to drive instead of you.
“It’s fine, Kugisaki-san. I’m coming along because there’s been a lot of cursed spirit activity around here and I need to see if something abnormal is happening. I’m not going to get in the way of the fight so you don’t need to worry.” You send Itadori a smile through the back mirror which he responds with a quick nod, then a confused look.
“Isn’t that Gojou-sensei’s responsibilities?” The mentioned adult laughs and smoothly makes a right turn. You want to slap him.
“Normally, yes, but he insists on being insufferable.” You turn to face them, leaning onto the seat with a scowl. “The report he made was nearly illegible and last time something like this happened, and I had to sit down with him for 3 hours to complete it. Even then, he was going off topic half the time and trying to distract me. Itadori-kun, Kugisaki-san, listen to me. If he doesn’t do his work, you have to practically force him.”
“Doesn’t work.” Fushiguro comments while looking out the window. Gojou has the audacity to laugh again.
“We had a great time! You were laughing your head off by the time we were done.” A light tug on your shirt makes you sit back properly. The scowl stays in place.
“I missed dinner! And I missed the last episode of Haikyuu thanks to that!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take it up by buying you dinner, okay?” He must be kidding if that makes up for missing your favourite anime. Kuroo came and went thanks to him. The car comes to an abrupt stop just as you’re about to complain again. “We have arrived!”
Salt wafts in the air as the sea twinkles underneath the afternoon sun. It’s hot today, and humid enough to make your clothes stick to your skin, which is gross. Sunny and warm means a swim will be ideal, but you have to take care of the whole recurring curses thing first. Previous reports have said that they were all mid-level, so hopefully Gojou’s students won’t have that much of a problem taking care of them. That also means they, including you as well, might have the opportunity to relax for the rest of the day.
The actual spot is somewhere in the nearby forest, filled thick with trees and so large that even if someone went missing it would take ages to search. An ideal hunting place since a lot of people visit there. Numbers dropped quite a bit after the fifth person “went missing”.
The first task is to cover the place with a curtain. Since the place is so large and not encompassing the entire place was deemed too risky, large amounts of cursed energy is required. Hence Gojou’s efforts right now.
“[Name]-san.” Kugisaki calls you. “Are you coming in with us?” Her voice is tentative, like she doesn’t want to offend you. It’s kind of funny because she shows more respect for you than her actual teacher for some reason. Gojou complained about it before. She doesn’t know the extent, or more accurately the lack of, your powers and has a right to be worried. All she knows is that you can’t fight.
“Ah, I am coming in, but I’ll stay far away from the fight. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“And I’ll be right by her side!” Gojou snaps into thin air, linking his arm with yours. “Your personal bodyguard! But I’m sure you guys can handle this one.” Still humming a tune, he sends them along their way with a reassuring smile. You smile at Kugisaki and wish her good luck. Shooting Gojou a suspicious glare, she runs ahead to the two boys and starts whispering. They look back at the two of you and get into what seems to be an argument. A bad thing to do right before a possibly life-threatening mission.
You watch the group disappear deeper into the woods, fear gripping at your heart. This is actually the first time in the field after years of being tucked away in an office. Ken-chan specifically requested it due to your unique cursed energy situation. Apparently that was the first time he asked for a favour to the principle and he never asked for anything again. They can handle themselves, you’re sure, but Itadori already had a close call.
“Worried?” Gojou, on the other hand, sounds like he has no concerns in the world. Maybe that’s a testament to how much he trusts his students. It doesn’t alleviate your agitation. “It’s fine, we can just take a break here and if trouble comes, they can take care of it themselves.” You stare at him incredulously. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I’ll step in if something goes wrong. You’re all in safe hands.”
There is no one better than him in terms of fighting with cursed energy. How on earth someone like this gets imbued with endless power, you’ll never know. Sighing, you take a seat on a fallen log. The moss on them tickles your fingers. It feels nice, something to distract you from your brain being its usual bastard and thinking the worst case scenario. Gojou plops himself down right next to you.
“We can go see them if you’re that worried, mother hen.” Nudging his leg shuts him up. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on reaching out for their cursed energy. Eight signals flicker from where they went, three blazing stronger than the others. One of them is nearly blinding. Sukuna is on a completely different level. If there’s that much of a difference in energy, they’ll finish soon and come back to have fun for the rest of the day. God knows they need it.
Your eyes flit open and come face to face with Gojou’s blindfold. It causes you to fall backwards and you brace for impact with a little yelp. But Gojou’s arm surrounds your abdomen, lifting you into the air and onto your feet. Heartbeats thud in your ears thanks to the sudden adrenaline boost.
“Did I scare you?” His laugh is cheeky. “I’m bored… Wanna play 20 questions?” As usual, his train of thought is impossible to even attempt to follow. A window of hundreds of tabs wrestling to be the first all the time is probably what the inside of his mind looks like.
“Sure, why not.”
Fushiguro, Itadori and Kugisaki all perk up when they receive the news of a day off to enjoy the beach. Since it’s closed off to the civilians, it’ll be like a private party. Something to keep their mind off of another mission that’s bound to come soon.
While they run off to the beach, you go to talk to the park rangers for the paperwork. Gojou asks if you want company but someone needs to supervise the children. The process takes barely 10 minutes anyway.
When you come back to the beach, the trio is screaming in the sea while trying to fight each other. Even Fushiguro is laughing. Childlike innocence is beautiful and long overdue. Two huge parasols and towels are laid out nearby where they’re playing. Gojou is out of his usual attire and in a swimming trunk. His blindfold is still on. Is this what was in the bags?
Now that you look more closely at the students, they’re all in swimwear as well. Looks like you’re the only one that didn’t get a memo.
“Heya! Done?”
“No thanks to you, Mr The-Whole-Reason-I’m-Here-In-The-First-Place.” He laughs at the nickname.
“You should change.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit. Nobody told me and I was just thinking of dipping my feet.”
“Nobara brought you one. It’s in the bag labelled ‘If you look inside I’m going to kill you.’” Laughter comes out at the absurdity.
“Why did Kugisaki—”
“Because she wants you to relax. Now come on! Let’s have fun!” he pushes you excitedly towards the car. It’s really weird how someone your senior has more energy than you and his three students combined. Sighing, you trek back and find the bag. It really is labelled that, in caps. Kugisaki is a good kid.
There’s a bathroom nearby for you to change in. The wind is still pretty strong when you walk out but you’re saved thanks to the school jacket. There’s also a pair of flip-flops. Ken-chan must have helped since they all fit perfectly.
Itadori is being half-drowned when you come back. Fushiguro and Kugisaki are merciless when it comes to fighting. Gojou smiles as you walk into his line of sight. Scooting over to let you into the shade, he lies back onto the towel and stretches his legs out into the sun with a slight groan. You stay sitting up, watching the three children absentmindedly.
Sunlight tickles your feet. The sea breeze stops it from being too hot but it’s slowly getting stuffier under the jacket. Quickly discarding it, Gojou catches your eyes while you fold it up.
It’s impossible to tell if he’s awake or sleeping thanks to his signature blindfold, but this is the most relaxed you’ve seen him in years; hands folded behind his head and muscles completely loose. Small scars dot his body, probably gained from fights which he deemed insignificant enough to bother Shouko with or heal himself. In a way, it’s a reminder for all the battles he’s survived. Pretty easily too, you’re guessing. There’s a deep one on his stomach and your hand moves towards it for some reason.
Long fingers intercept your hand just before it touches the scratched skin, entwining themselves to you. One end of Gojou’s lips quirks up.
“I’m going to be embarrassed if you keep looking at my body, you know.” You immediately attempt to rip your hand back but he’s got you locked tight. He’s not even using Infinity. Heat threatens to explode your face because he’s been awake all this time and you’re going to die from shame. “If you wanted to touch me then you could have just asked.” Your fingers graze against the skin on his stomach for a split second but he loosens his grip and you will be damned if you don’t take that chance.
Gojou cackles, enjoying your flustered state, and he’s halfway to suffocation because he’s laughing too much. His instincts still allow him to move out of the way for your punch. Doesn’t stop him from laughing though. Even his students, who were screaming and playing like they didn’t have a care in the world, are looking at the two of you. God, where’s a hole for me to die in right now?
Eventually, his laughter dies off. He’s still chuckling though. His teeth glint in the light as he gives you a wide smile. A sense of foreboding washes over you.
“Up we go!”
“What?” Two arms hook under your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly into the air. Your body bounces in his arms every time he takes a step closer to the sea.
“Wait Gojou, wait wait wait wait!”
“Gojou-sensei wai—”
The water is freezing.
“Gojou Satoru, I’m going to kill you!”
“That’s admirable! I’m sure you can do it!” Fushiguro snickers as you swipe an arm at Gojou, who moves away effortlessly again. Hair is plastered to your face and this rage is not going to subside unless you rip the blindfold off his smirking face and dunk his head into the water. But he keeps dodging you, just barely, as if to taunt you further.
Exhaustion sets in quickly since moving around in water is a lot harder and anger eats away at your stamina. Just as you’re about to give up, Gojou’s face is slapped with a wave of water. Everyone looks to Kugisaki. She has the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.
“Pfft.” Fushiguro’s laughter breaks the silence. Itadori snickers at Gojou’s drooping hair. Soon everyone’s laughing. Then Gojou whips water that hits all three of them straight in the chest with a resounding smack. They immediately retaliate with a wave that you get caught up in.
It somehow turns into a students vs adults fight. Delighted laughter echoes in the air as everyone yells and shrieks when assaulted with icy water. There’s an unspoken rule to not use cursed energy, which is why your side is being pushed back. There’s no beating three excited kids when they’re on a holiday high.
Backtracking a bit to get away from the constant surges of water, you don’t realise you’re going deeper and deeper into the sea. A rock shifts underneath your feet and you’re plunged into the cold grips of the sea, not even given enough time to call for help. Panic overtakes your senses as you squeeze your eyes shut, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.
“[Name]!” Warmth engulfs you as Gojou lifts you out of the murky depth, worry and dread weaved into his voice. You blink rapidly as he gently brushes the hair off your face, and you see his eyes without the blindfolds for the first time. “Look at me, are you alright?”
They’re… indescribably beautiful. It’s the purest and translucent blue you’ve seen in your life, able to beat the colour of the ocean or the sky on its clearest days. It could compete with even the most exquisite sapphire locked up in a vault underground. And they’re clouded with concern and fear because of you.
“[Surname]-san!” Bringing yourself up by hugging Gojou’s neck, you see the trio wading through the water to you, dread clear on their faces. Itadori reaches you and rapidly asks if you’re fine and that he can’t possibly describe how sorry he is. It looks like he’ll dig his head into the ocean floor if you ask him to do it. Like he’s waiting for you to reprimand him.
But all that comes out is laughter, bright and childlike. They all look at you like you’re crazy. You have no idea why you’re laughing either. Maybe you’ve finally gone insane.
But being in Gojou’s arms, seeing his and Itadori’s face relax, brings you so much happiness. Tightening your arms around Gojou’s neck, you rest your head on top of his as he calms them down.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline from nearly drowning, maybe it’s something else, but your heart thumps rapidly into your ribcage, probably loud enough for him to feel.
Next chapter →
#gojou x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojou imagine#gojou satoru imagine#gojo x reader#gojo imagine#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru imagine#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk imagine#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#gojou#gojou satoru#fluff#series#female reader
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The Fame Game (Part Five) || Tom Holland
Summary ↠ You have a mishap with a washing machine, Harrison’s a bowling prodigy, and Tom... Well, Tom is actually quite nice..?
Warnings ↠ Alcohol consumption, reckless washing machine usage
Word count ↠ 4.6k
A/N ↠ And with this part, we’re officially halfway through the fic...? Omg. Crazy crazy. I decided to give you a fairly soft chapter before I start messing things up in parts six-eight, so you’ve been warned haha. As always, thanks so much to everyone that’s been reading and enjoying the story - means the absolute world to me. Enjoy! :D
FIVE: I Wanna Hold Your Hand (Y)
Your trip to London is going well until you have a little mishap with Tom’s washing machine.
It’s not your fault, really. You’d been all over the place - press engagement here, fake date there - and you hadn’t been thinking as you’d shoved your brand new, freshly-worn red dress into the machine, alongside a collection of Tom’s favourite white t-shirts. It hadn’t even dawned on you what you’d managed to do until you heard a very loud, disgruntled yelp come from the laundry room.
“What’s wrong?” You yell reluctantly, voice echoing through the large house. You’re very comfortable where you are - burrowed beneath a heap of blankets and cushions on Tom and Harrison’s squishy sofa in the living room. You’re a week into your visit, and it’s safe to say you have made yourself at home.
“Y/N! Do you not understand how a washing machine works?!” It’s Harrison. Immediately you feel trepidation creeping into your veins. “Come here!”
Shuffling guiltily, you slowly make your way to the laundry room. When you enter, you gasp as you see Harrison holding up a shirt you recognise immediately as Tom’s, stained a nice, bright pink.
“Oh no,” you mutter. Your hands fly up to your face. “Are they all like that?”
Harrison nods, humming. For all the irritation of his yell, he’s looking at you with an amused smirk on his face. “Seems like you’ll need to do a bit of grovelling. I’m just glad they’re all Tom’s, and not mine.”
You pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Great,” you mutter. “This is fantastic.”
You take a bottle of water as your peace offering to Tom, who’s out in the back garden messing around with a punching bag. When he sees you, he pauses his punches, throwing out a toothy grin in your direction. He’s shirtless, lower half wrapped in a pair of black basketball shorts, and he looks quite nice with his face flushed a rosy red and his brown curls thrown in every direction.
“Hi,” Tom calls out, stopping his assault on the punching bag. “You alright?”
You manage a tight-lipped smile as you pass him the bottle. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Are you?”
Tom looks at you sceptically, raising a ruffled eyebrow. “Are you sure?” He questions. “You look a bit… stressed.”
You deflate. It’s as if he can see right through you. “Fine,” you admit. “I did something bad, and you’re going to be annoyed with me, but before I tell you what it was, I want you to know that it was an accident and I feel horrible about it, okay?”
Tom tilts his head, laughing nervously. “Is it as bad as the time you told Ellen I was the worst celebrity in Hollywood?” You shake your head profusely, gnawing your lower lip. Guilt sweeps across you, but you’re too nervous to focus on that now. “Then it’s fine, Y/N. Just tell me what happened.”
It’s odd - how quickly your relationship has broken down into something so much gentler. When you’d stepped off the plane and tumbled into Tom’s arms a week ago, you’d been full to the brim with apprehension about your trip. But he’s managed to ease you at every point - offering you tea, a nice bed, and unlimited time with his dog Tessa (who really might be your favourite Holland now). He hasn’t goaded you, or teased you, or pushed you too far. Part of you wants to know what’s changed, what’s catalysed his change of heart, but a larger piece of you doesn’t want to open up that dialogue for fear of him turning it onto you.
Tom’s being nice to you, and without any digging comments to respond to, you’re being nice in return. It really is that frustratingly simple. The residual tension and anger that has been a part of your relationship for so long have dipped beneath the surface, and whilst you still feel them somewhere, bubbling away, your relationship feels looser.
Things between you are tender. Breakable and fragile, but like a tentative new beginning. You’re almost friends now - which is why you are so annoyed that you might’ve fucked it all up with one stupid mistake.
“I mixed colours in the washing machine and stained all of your shirts,” you blurt out. “I’ll buy you new ones.”
Tom takes a moment to process this, his face pinching into an expression of irritation. “All of them?” He repeats, his accent pronounced.
“All of them that were in the washing machine,” you mutter, kicking at the ground. “Maybe ten.”
His jaw flexes, and you prepare yourself for a harsh insult or a snarky comment. You haven’t heard any recently, but you can almost imagine it, your mind familiar with his chide remarks.
Tom releases a breath. “It’s fine,” he says finally, defying all of your expectations. “Mistakes happen.”
You raise your eyebrows. “I’m really sorry,” you emphasise. You watch as Tom flicks off the lid of the bottle and starts to chug the water, using his other hand to card through his messy brown strands. His sweaty hair sticks to his fingers.
“It’s fine,” he repeats. Tom even throws in a bit of a smile to ease you. “I need new shirts, anyway.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Even better if you’re the one paying.”
You roll your eyes, releasing a breath of relief. “I knew you were only dating me for the money,” you tease, gasping dramatically. “You’re just a gold digger!”
Tom clutches a hand to his heart, and you find your gaze briefly flittering over the defined lines of his muscular chest.
“I can’t believe you listened to those rumours about me,” he responds, his voice equally as performative as yours. “I thought you were better than this!”
You descend into a round of giggles together, and Tom’s deep, hearty laughs are like music to your ears.
The following day, you find yourself walking down Carnaby Street, hand wrapped in Tom’s. Your other arm carries an array of heavy shopping bags. Despite halving your purchases with Tom, the bags weigh heavily on your arm, the tight lines of the handles pinching at your skin.
But you don’t care - not really. You’re too busy listening to Tom as he tells you about the last time he’d been down this street - last Christmas, with his brother Paddy, apparently.
“-Yeah, so that’s how he bullied me into spending five hundred quid on his present,” Tom finishes, pausing as you laugh. “He’s such a sneak.”
“Paddy seems nice,” you say. You’ve got a broad smile on your face as the warm spring sun beats down across your skin. It’s the first properly sunny day since you arrived in London, and it feels like the sun’s come out, just for you. “Your whole family seem lovely, actually.”
“Harry’s a bit of a twat,” Tom says, “But the rest of them are alright.” There’s a brief pause, and you glance over to see him looking at the ground, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks up at you, nerves visibly in his eyes. “Would you want to meet them?”
You swallow back the apprehensive lump that forms in your throat. “Your family?”
“Well, my parents and Paddy. You’ve met the others already. We’re planning on going bowling tomorrow night if you want to come with us.”
“You’d want me to meet your family?”
Tom shrugs. “Yeah. They want to meet you.”
Your eyes widen, and you stop walking. Around you, shoppers and families pass you by, trailing up and down the busy shopping high street. Tom pauses, turning to face you, his thumb brushing casually across the back of your hand as he stares at you curiously.
“Don’t they hate me?” You ask tentatively. You both know why his family might think of you unfondly. Your family certainly doesn't view Tom in a positive light.
Tom shakes his head, a bit of an awkward expression curling over his face. It gets uncomfortable now whenever your past is brought up. It seems both of you would rather skate around the topic than address it. You know avoidance is a bad idea, but pretending your relationship wasn’t built on resentment and crossed wires is easier than addressing the elephant in the room. Whenever you think about your history, it makes you feel angry - there are a lot of unforgiven sins hiding there, but you’re trying to bury them. You’re trying desperately to move on, but you can feel them following behind you like an anchor you don’t want to acknowledge yet. You can’t quite shake the feeling that this tactic of avoidance may, eventually, blow up in your face.
“They’d like to meet you. You’re going to be a part of my life for the next three months, Y/N, and… And I’d like to think we are, uh, sort of friends now.”
You nervously bite at your lower lip, giving him a soft nod. “Yeah. We’re friends,” you confirm, mouthing the word tentatively. Friends sound nice, and your smile grows in strength when he squeezes your hand tighter. “I’ll come tomorrow. Thank you.”
Tom steps nearer, and surprises you by pressing his lips to your cheek. The skin warms at his touch, and you end up with a stupid grin on your face when he steps back.
“Thanks, Y/N. You’ll have a good time, I promise.”
And you just about believe him.
You’re glad that your days are filled with interviews and press junkets, because your nerves about spending the evening with Tom’s family still manage to build up, even with a thousand other things on your mind to distract you. It reaches the point where Harrison offers to tag along too, just so you have someone else to cling onto if it all goes awry.
“You’re being a bit ridiculous about this,” Harrison mutters. You’re leaning up against the counter of the desks at the bowling alley, waiting on your bowling shoes. He’d come to pick you up from your last interview, and together you’d come to meet with Tom and his family at the alley.
“I’m not being ridiculous,” you reply, eyebrows arching. You kneel on the floor, your fingers nervously unpicking your laces. “I just want to make a good impression. Is that so bad?”
Harrison joins you, the ring on his finger glinting as he starts undoing the straps of his shoes. “No,” he agrees, “But you really don’t have to be this cut up about it. They’ll love you.” He glances up at you, blue eyes glinting sceptically. “Since when do you care, anyway? I thought you don’t like Tom.”
You release a shuddering breath, shaking your head slightly as you stare at the patterned carpet. “Tom’s fine,” you find yourself saying. You stand up quickly, head spinning as you grab your shoes and place them on the counter. You rest on your elbow and look back to Harrison, who’s looking at you with an annoying smirk on his mouth. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You guys bought matching shoes,” Harrison states it like a fact as he reaches up to poke the toe of your new shoes. “I saw the same pair on him earlier.”
You bite at your lower lip, shrugging. “We went shopping together. He took some of my fashion tips.” You don’t like the direction the conversation is taking, so reach out to elbow Harrison. “Tom’s finally recognised that I’m far more fashionable than him.”
Before your friend can respond, the bowling attendant returns with your bowling shoes and the conversation is swept away, just as your new white Converse get hurried back and shoved in a cubby. Harrison changes the subject as you both slip on the squeaky bowling shoes, and then he’s leading you up to the end of the bowling alley, where Tom and his family are waiting for you.
Your first impression of the complete Holland family is their volume. They are loud, even as they’re split across two low, plastic bowling benches. Three either side, all six meeting in the middle with their voices clamouring together. Even as you and Harrison approach and you’re spotted, the conversation simply escalates - the topic of chat seeming to be which brother can lay out the most prominent greeting. It’s almost overwhelming, and Harrison seems to sense that as he’s quick to reach up and give you a discreet pat on the shoulder.
“Hello, everyone,” Harrison greets, exchanging a fist bump with Harry. You linger back, not entirely sure of your place within the fold until Tom’s mum rises from the bench and greets you with a kiss on the cheek.
“So good to meet you, Y/N,” she says warmly. “I’m Nikki, this is Dom, and that’s Paddy. You’ve met the rest of this noisy lot, I think?” Her eyes twinkle with comfort, and you feel yourself exhale.
There’s an exchange of pleasantries for a few minutes, and once you let go of the fear that Tom’s parents and younger brother might have gone into the meeting with chips on their shoulders, you’re able to relax. You end up gravitating towards Tom, who’s stayed sitting down on the bench, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watches the scene unfold. Tonight he’s in a black t-shirt and a chequered shirt, wrapped up in a pair of tight black jeans. Instinctively, your eyes skim around the rest of the alley, and you note the way you’ve already been spotted by a group of young men a few aisles down.
“Hi,” you say, voice soft. Your lips spin into a smile as you meet his eyes. “We’ve already been recognised.”
Tom’s eyes lose a little of their shine, but he opens up his arms and tilts his head towards the empty spot beside him. “C’mere,” he urges, and you’re quick to comply.
It’s easy, now, to slip into your role as Tom’s girlfriend. It’s almost second nature as you sit beside him and let him wrap an arm across your shoulders, and it feels normal as he kisses your temple and squeezes you closer. It feels nice.
“Hey.” Harry’s drifting over before you can get too comfortable, his nose scrunching up. “You guys aren’t on the same team. Y/N, you’re on the wrong bench.”
Tom releases a deep sigh, and the vibrations rumble across you. “Harry, lay off it,” he mutters.
Harry just crosses his arms over his chest, sharpening his gaze. “No. Y/N’s on my team, and I want us to win. That means none of this is allowed to take place,” he drags his finger between you and Tom, and you chuckle.
“Are you competitive, Harry?” You ask him, already shrugging off Tom’s arm.
“Definitely.”
“Good.” You stand up, grinning at Tom’s younger brother. “Me too.”
But before you can walk away, Tom’s grabbing at your hand and pulling you back, standing as he brings the back of your palm up to nudge against his lips. He meets your eyes, his gaze swirling with something indistinguishable, and your skin feels warm in each place he kisses. He’s still a respectful distance, given how close you are to his family, but he kisses your cheek before whispering into your ear, “There’s no chance you’re winning this, Y/N. Game on.” He pulls back to smirk at you mischievously, and you chuckle in response.
“Game on indeed, Thomas.”
You’re not trying to be mean, but you do think the division of the teams is slightly unfair. On Tom’s side is him, Harrison, Sam and Nikki - facing off against you, Harry, Dom and Paddy. It goes well for the first few rounds, and you’re keeping up evenly with Harrison, who’s quite the proficient bowler, but you have a loose cannon in the way of Paddy. You’d decided to play without the guard railings lining the lane, and you sit through round after round of him tossing the bowling ball straight into the gutter.
When it reaches round eight and your team is down fifty points, you decide to offer him some pointers.
“Have you thought about twisting it- no, more like this?” You’re standing up beside Paddy, staring down at the lane together. The ten pins at the end glisten beneath the fluorescent lighting, highlighted a bright, winning blue. You’re itching to grab the ball from his hands and throw it yourself, but you’re trying to play nice.
“More to the right?” The youngest Holland asks, looking up at you inquisitively.
“Yeah. And when you’re throwing it, try to look at the pins. Keep your eyes on the prize.”
“Eyes on the prize,” he repeats slowly. Paddy steels himself with a deep breath, and you shoot him a reassuring smile.
“Go on, champ,” you encourage, stepping aside. You can feel the eyes of the group on the two of you, and give him a wide berth as Paddy approaches the line. You watch him play around with the heavy ball, weighing up his options, and then your breath hitches as you watch him implement some of your pointers. He moves fast - arm swinging, hair flicking, and then…
Strike.
A round of cheers goes up around the benches, and Paddy turns to you, ecstatic. “Did you see you?” He boasts, face flushing with a proud grin. “Look what I just did!”
You walk over, meeting him in with a big high five as you beam. “Well done,” you congratulate. Paddy runs off to his family, and Tom wanders over, next in line to take his shot. Beneath the UV light, he’s glowing. The tips of his teeth gleam a weird blue as he smiles widely at you. “You see that?” You say, teasing, “That’s what I call star power. My team may lose, but I take full credit for nurturing such a young talent.”
Tom laughs, the sound deep and hearty, and with the hand that isn’t holding a bowling ball, he reaches out and rests it your shoulder. His fingers feel warm against your shirt, and as you drift nearer to him, the comfortable scent of his cologne tickles your nose.
“Quite impressive, I have to admit,” he concedes. “We’re still going to beat you, though.”
You shrug happily. “Whatever.” You lull into the comfortable thought that you don’t really care about the outcome of the match - it’s just nice to be spending so much time around so many good people. “Bring your best, Holland. I’d like to see you try to win.”
“A round of drinks for the losers, as promised.”
It’s with a sombre tone that you walk back to the booth, three pints of beer balanced precariously in your hands. Harry trails behind you, grasping two. As you place the large glasses down on the sticky pub table, some beer sloshes down your fingers, causing you to screw up your nose as you shake it off.
“Cheers,” Sam says, voice dancing with amusement. Harry slams a glass in front of him, eyeing him hard.
“I still don’t believe the machine worked right,” Harry mutters. He slips into the booth beside Harrison. “There’s no way you guys won with mum on your team.”
Harrison scoffs. “Stop being such a sore loser!” He exclaims, poking at Harry’s side. “We won fair and square. Have some grace and respect for yourself and get over it.”
Harry opens his mouth as if to respond, but you reach down to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “We’ll get them next time.”
He nods, eyes determined. “Definitely.”
You realise you’re still standing at the end of the table, and look to the bench on your left. With Harry, Sam and Harrison crammed there, your only option is to slip down into the booth next to Tom, who’s making quick work of his pint. He quirks an eyebrow as he sees you staring, eyes shifting suggestively at the free spot beside him until you sit next to him.
As conversation picks up around the table, Tom rests an easy hand over the back of the booth, the tips of his fingers coming down to rest over your hair. Time slips by and he plays around absently with a few strands of your hair, shifting it around, fiddling with it - never hard enough to hurt, but present enough for you to feel it. In response, you rest a hand on his knee.
It’s interesting to observe Tom as the night draws on. He’s got several quirky characteristics to him that you’d never been aware of before. You realise he’s actually quite funny - always exchanging small sarcastic quips here and there with Harry and Harrison - but he also seems to know where the line is. When the conversation grows darker and Sam opens up about something close to him, Tom leans nearer, eyes full of concern and love for his brother. He speaks in soft, warming tones that you’ve never heard before, and they’re like assuring melodies to your heart.
It’s interesting to see him show such care and consideration towards other people, because for so long, those qualities had been absent when it came to his interactions with you. You wonder if that was just because you’d been a dick towards him and he’d retaliated, or if maybe there’s always been something else hanging in the air between you - the type of emotion that doesn’t come out around family or friends.
As you relax by his side, Tom shows you many redeemable qualities, hidden away so close to the surface that you’re surprised you’d never seen them before. Your only explanation is that before - before this trip, and truly getting to know him - you’d been too reactive to notice them. Your past conversations had been coloured very differently, and you wonder how much of your history would be different if you’d seen this version of Tom, all those years ago, at the BAFTAs. The thought irks you, and you can’t help but think that you’ve wasted so much time fighting with him when you could’ve been chatting, easily like this, as friends.
“Excuse me? Hi?”
You’re slightly tipsy as you look up to the side, realising you’ve been approached by a few people who look at you and Tom like they’re fans. You’ve inched closer to him, with his arm wrapped around your shoulders and your side snuggled up against him. You think it must be quite convincing, how much you look like a real couple.
“Hello,” Tom says, tilting his head to look at them. You can’t see him, but you can almost feel the perplexed smile on his lips.
“Um, sorry, this is probably really weird. We just saw you guys and wanted to say that you’re a really cute couple.” The fan looks at her friend, and they giggle together. “Are you guys planning on getting married? I think it’d be, like, the best wedding ever.”
Across the booth, you watch as Harry whispers something into Harrison’s ear that makes them both laugh. You throw a scowl towards them before looking back to the fans, taking Tom’s silence as a window for you to respond.
“Not at the moment,” you tell them sweetly. “We’re just seeing how it goes.”
You omit to tell them that in three months, you won’t even still be ‘dating’ Tom. You try not to think about how that fact rests uneasily in your chest.
“Aww.” The friends share a few pouts. “Could we get a picture with you both?”
There are a few rounds of photographs, then you come to the group decision that it’s time to pack it in and head home. You’re just glad the interruption came after you’d been in the pub for a few hours and not earlier. It’s always a risk being in public, but you’d assumed you’d be somewhat safe buried in the corner of a small London pub. You should’ve known by now that you can only remain anonymous for so long.
There’s a bit of a walk to the car park, and Harry takes it upon himself to tease you.
“So, where are you guys going on your honeymoon?” He asks, imitating the fan. “How long until you have kids? You’re both so sweet. Couple goals-”
“Shut up, Harry,” Tom grunts. He’s right beside you, your hands tangled up. You exchange an expression of frustrated amusement, and Harry barks out a laugh.
“Sorry,” he mutters, sounding the opposite. “It’s just funny.” He looks back at you, scrunching up his nose as he realises you and Tom are holding hands. “You know there isn’t anyone around out here. You don’t need to pretend.”
Feeling a little embarrassed by how easily and instinctively you’d reached to claim Tom’s hand, you let his fingers fall away. You shiver as the dark London wind whips around you, and your hand feels cold.
You and Tom walk in sync, trailing behind Harry, Harrison and Sam. There’s a silence between you that feels almost tangible - stretched tight with unspoken words and observations. Eventually, he breaks it.
“It was really nice seeing you with Paddy earlier,” Tom admits. You glance to the side, noting the way his hair has fallen out of the loose gel he’d combed through it earlier. Chestnut curls frame his face - spreading out across his forehead, and you get the sudden urge to card your fingers through the strands. “He likes you.”
“He’s a nice boy,” you reply, smiling. “Got pretty good at bowling after I helped him, too.”
Tom chuckles, nodding. “You’re a good teacher.”
“I try.” There’s a soft silence again, and you nudge his arm. “Thanks for inviting me along,” you say. “It’s been nice getting to know everyone.”
“Any time.”
It’s cold. It’s really cold. Your hand aches - too used to the warmth of Tom to feel content hanging alone.
“It’s so chilly,” you voice, shivering for effect. Tom glances at you, his brown eyes glowing in the dark. “I think my fingers are going to drop off.”
Tom chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Mine too.” He brings up his hand, flexing his slender fingers. Halfway through the action, he pauses, suddenly gaining a distant look in his eyes. “Do you want to, uh…” He offers you the hand, quirking an eyebrow. “Just if you’re cold, we could..?”
You bite your lip, keeping the smile at bay. “Okay.”
Your fingers tangle together, and the moment you feel his warmth against your palm, you feel better. Tom’s thumb brushes tentatively across the back of your skin, and though you’ve held hands on numerous occasions, this time it feels different.
It feels different because it isn’t forced. You aren’t holding him because you have to - you want to. And that’s the kind of different that would make your head hurt if you weren’t so distracted by the way his touch ignites a glowing warmth in your heart.
Your hands rest comfortably between you, and Tom leans nearer, tilting his face so he can lay a gentle kiss to your temple.
“Get warm soon, darling,” he whispers, keeping his mouth near your ear. His breath against your skin makes you shiver.
Maybe it’s the drink, or the cold air, or the fatigue, but there’s a moment before Tom pulls back that your eyes find the slopes of his lips, and you wonder, briefly, what it’d feel like to kiss him without the eyes of the public resting on you. You wonder if it’d be different, like it is to hold hands now. Would he be gentle? How would it feel to share a kiss like that?
Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when you open them, he’s moved away. Your heart clenches.
“Thanks, Tom.”
↠ NEXT PART
please let me know what you’re thinking!!!! ask box is open and I am dying to know your thoughts! :D
series masterpost and the taglist can be found in my pinned post!
#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland x y/n#tom holland series#Tom Holland fanfic#yippee kayak#enjoy my friends#this truly is the calm before the storm...#tfg
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