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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

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Darling, You're The One I Want

Characters: Remus Lupin x reader

Summary: Remus adores his best friend, but that’s totally normal, right?

Word Count: 1999 words

Prompt: Fluff. Best friends. A fierce kiss. Falling asleep on them. Holding hands when stressed.

A/N: @the-abyss-gazed-back requested this little bit of Remus for my follower milestone celebration, and I am DEEP in a Hogwarts hole right now, and this one got away from me a little. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and if you do then please reblog!

“Remus, come on!”

Turning his head, a smile pulled at his lips as he spotted you sprinting down the hall towards him, Sirius and James right behind. It took him a moment to register that you were being pursued by at least six fifth year Slytherin students and his smile dropped as his eyes widened. It wasn’t until he felt your hand grabbing his as you passed by, that his body caught up to the situation and he found himself running by your side as your friends laughed behind him.

“Why are we running?” He asked in confusion, unsure quite how he was now part of this situation.

“Sirius.” That was all the explanation you offered, and it was all that he needed to know. Probably had something to do with Snape, but details could wait.

As you rounded a corner, he tugged you into an alcove hidden behind an intricate tapestry. Watching as you leaned back against the wall, trying to catch your breath, he couldn’t help admire the way your lips parted, a smile playing on them as you desperately attempted to stay quiet. It was moments like this he thought about how the two of you had become such close friends in the first place.

“I don’t think this stuff is working.” Peter frowned as he blew out a plume of smoke thoughtfully.

“I think it’s working just fine.” Sirius grinned, reaching over and plucking the joint from Peter’s fingers and taking another long drag. “This, my man, is the good shit.”

“You do know we will be in trouble if we’re caught here.” Peter frowned, glancing over to the side of the bridge, hoping a gargoyle wasn’t about to alert the prefects or staff to their presence.

“Yeah, it will be the location we get in trouble for, not the smoking pot.” James chuckled, taking the joint from Sirius as he leaned against the wooden frame.

“It is rather a long way down.” Remus hummed thoughtfully as he peered over the edge and immediately wished he hadn’t. Scrambling a little further back, he gave his friends a sheepish smile.

“You’re not supposed to be out here.” An unfamiliar voice stated, a hint of amusement clear in their tone, followed by a giggle as the four boys frantically looked around for the speaker.

“You gonna grass on us?” Peter asked indignantly, trying to hide his panic.

“Well, if I did that, then I’d have to admit I was out here too. Mutually assured destruction. Not sure I’m up for that tonight.” You appeared floating by the bridge having been out for a sneaky late-night flight.

“Ah, then we can be confident in your silence.” Sirius shot you a dashing smile, leaning a little further out on the side of the bridge.

“I won’t tell, if you don’t.” You returned his smile. “Goodnight, gentlemen. Don’t stay out here too long, they are due to walk the grounds in twenty minutes.” And with that you were gone.

The boys all leaned out over the side to try and catch a glimpse of where you’d disappeared to with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Who was that?” Remus asked in awe, his eyes squinting as he fought to spot you in the shadows.

“Not a clue, mate, but they’re cool. Come on, let’s finish this and get inside before we get in real trouble.”

After that encounter, Remus had spent weeks trying to track you down, catching glimpses of you in the corridors or across the gardens, but never catching up with you. He had started to feel a little like he was stalking you, but he was just so intrigued. This game of cat and mouse went on for a month, and then he literally bumped into you in the library and that had been it, you’d been best friends ever since. It was rare for one of you to be seen without the other, joined at the hip, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well, part of him would like it another way, but he would never acknowledge that because then everything would be ruined. Like right now, you had both been reading in the common room, in front of the fire, and he had slowly felt you leaning against him more. The weight of your head against his shoulder made his heart race, and he stole glances when he was certain you had fallen asleep. Remus would happily forego sleep if it meant he could just sit and watch you breathing with that peaceful look on your face.

Carefully, he shifted position on the sofa, laying down with your head resting on his chest. He reasoned that this was a more comfortable position for you, it definitely had nothing to do with wanting to hold you close at all. As the fire crackled, Remus brushed the hair from your face, allowing his fingertips to ghost lightly over your cheek. You were the most beautiful person he had ever met, and it was such a privilege to have you this close, especially knowing what he was. You never judged, never looked at him with pity. He adored you, that was why you were his best friend.

“You can not be serious.” Remus looked at his friends with a weariness that failed to hide his amusement.

“Come on, Mooney. Or are you scared?” James grinned, knowing that you would all end up joining in on this stupidity.

“It’s going to be bloody freezing.”

“There could be rocks.” Peter’s brow furrowed slightly as he gazed down into the water.

“Only one way to find out.” Sirius took off towards the top of the ledge, letting out a whoop as he leapt. The four of you rushed to the edge and heard the ‘splash’ when he hit the water. Holding your breath, you waited for him to emerge, laughing when he finally did.

“COME ON THEN!” He yelled up as he tread water, trying not to let on how cold the lake was.

Before anyone could say anything, James sprinted past and leapt.

“Bloody hell.” Peter grumbled, knowing he would never live it down if he didn’t do it now. Taking a few steps back, he began to run before launching himself off into the air, screaming all the way down to the water.

You took up position for a run up and Remus shook his head.

“You too?” He had hoped, rather vainly, that you would be the perfect excuse for him not to jump into the Black Lake in the middle of February, but now you were going to be the only reason he would do this.

“See you down there.” You grinned before heading to the ledge.

“Shit.” He sighed, chuckling to himself when he heard the chorus of ‘Remus! Remus! Remus!’ coming from the water below. “I am going to regret this.” He mumbled before taking the leap to join his friends.

As much as Remus felt you pushed him to be braver, you also prevented him from dying of stupidity. He knew this lesson would be tense, hated knowing that the whole class was about to learn how much of a monster he truly was, even if they didn’t realise it. His body was a ball of anxiety as soon as he opened his book to the page indicated. Werewolves. He was aware of glances from Sirius and James, very aware of Peter looking anywhere but at him. Heat began to creep up his neck and he stared at the page in front of him, wondering if anyone had stared words off a page before.

The lesson seemed to last an eternity, going into detail about how monstrous these creatures were, how sly and duplicitous. The idea that such a demon could hide in plain sight until the full moon sent a ripple of murmurs through the class and Remus ground his teeth, his jaw set as he forced himself to remain calm. Nothing good would come from him losing it right now. Gripping his thigh tightly, he dug his nails in to feel something other than the total humiliation and shame of knowing this lesson was about him.

It took him a moment to realise there was a warm pressure against the back of his hand. Glancing down, a little surprised, he saw your hand resting on his own. Turning his head a little, he looked at you from the corner of his eye and frowned slightly as you seemed to be watching the Professor rather passively. Twisting his hand, he felt your palm rest in his as your fingers interlaced with his own, giving it a light squeeze, and it felt like he could breathe. That simple contact made him feel less alone, like he was redeemable in some way because if someone like you was unafraid to hold his hand then he couldn’t be all that bad, right?

Your hand remained resolutely in his throughout the rest of the lesson, and he didn’t care that Sirius spotted it and smirked while raising his eyebrow suggestively. This had been a hard lesson, and knowing you were there for him made it lighter somehow. That was when he knew he was done for. He wanted more of these moments with you, more reassurance, more feeling safe. Remus wanted all the complicated moments and all the mundane moments to be shared with you, as more than just his best friend.

The lesson finished, but Remus kept hold of your hand.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He said earnestly, knowing he had to tell you while he still had the courage to.

“Okay. We can talk.” You gave him a reassuring smile and he quickly turned and shoved everything in his bag before taking your hand again and dragging you through the castle, looking for a quiet corner where nobody would bother you.

He didn’t stop until he got to a fourth floor corridor and pulled you into a small storage room, and then all his courage seemed to dissipate, leaving him running his hands through his hair and pacing.

“Remus? Come on, you can talk to me about anything. What’s going on?” You moved a little closer, tentatively reaching out for his hand once more.

This contact made him still as he looked at your hand in his. Suddenly it was all so simple. He didn’t have the vocabulary to even begin to tell you how he felt, but perhaps he could show you.

Without a word, he cupped your cheek and moved into your personal space so quickly you didn’t have time to register what was happening until your back was pressed firmly against a wall and Remus’ lips were devouring yours in such a heated, passionate kiss it stole your breath. As you gasped, he took full advantage and deepened the kiss, leaving your head spinning. This kiss was claiming and hopeful and desperate all at once. You weren’t entirely sure how long the two of you were kissing but when he did eventually pull back, he looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his lips swollen as he panted for breath.

“Bloody hell, Remmy.” You puffed, breathy giggles falling from you.

“I-I’m sorry.” He began to back away, but you pulled him close again.

“For what? For kissing me so thoroughly that you’ve ruined me for all other men for the rest of my life?”

“I was going to apologise for over stepping, but your reason sounds so much better.” He gave you a shy smile, not entirely sure he was reading the situation right.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to be the only person who kisses me from now on, just to prevent me being disappointed.” A smile grew on your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Darling, I would hate for you to be disappointed.” He hummed as he nuzzled your nose, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he leaned in for another kiss.

#Remus Lupin #Remus Lupin x reader #gndw fic

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fishwithtitz · 9 months

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The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 2

Summary: From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth. He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore x OFC / 8.5k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of oral sex, graphic depiction of manual stimulation, recreational drug use, alcohol, light gore

ao3 link

Chapter Two: Hook-up #2: The Den

Five hours. Five long, arduous hours of measuring, mixing, cooking, cooling, trimming, crumb-coating, frosting, and piping. I was almost certain that I had inhaled flour or powdered sugar at some point as my nose felt gritty and raw on the inside, but I tried my best to pay it no mind. I was on a mission.

It had been a few weeks since the house show at Thomas’ place (and the subsequent tonguelashing from Mary on the weather-torn roof), and I’d had done my best to try to write it off as the once-in-a-lifetime experience that I’d tried to originally pacify my nerves with.

It turned out that Thomas and Des had hit it off at the party, in more ways than one. I couldn’t say that I was necessarily surprised; Des was charming, alluring, and very persuasive when she wanted to be. Ever since she’d locked eyes on Thomas at the smoky bar downtown a couple of months ago, she’d known she had to have him, and to her credit, she’d accomplished it in record time. And honestly, I was happy for my friend. It had been a while since I’d seen Des so happy and free spirited while in the arms of someone she was so blatantly enamored with. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a tad bit jealous of Thomas and the hold he’d captured on Desiree.

Routinely, weekends had been spent just the two of us together - Doll and Des - curled up on my worn couch watching trash TV or engaging in parallel play as we sent videos back and forth that had us laughing so hard that we were covered in equal parts tears, mascara, and snot. Takeout or a drunken “do” meal (as I grew up calling them) of randomly delicious ingredients thrown together and cooked often followed, and both of us banked more memories than we could count of bonding through the sillied, domestic tasks we enjoyed together.

Not the past few weekends, though.

I got it, believe me, I did, but after the third night in a row that I’d been blown off for either a bar or a bedroom, I couldn’t help but be a little bit worn down at my best friend’s new love interest. To avoid being the ever-dreaded third-wheel, I denied Desiree’s kind offers of accompanying them out or to Thomas’ house, which unfortunately meant many nights of movies alone and crappy blue-box mac eaten straight out of the pot.

So when Des came begging for me to use my baking talents to make Thomas a custom cake for his 30th birthday (Puss in Boots eyes and all), I didn’t even hesitate to agree to the task. I missed my friend, and although I wasn’t looking forward to slaving over the black-metal themed confectionary after finishing a particularly grueling shift at work, I was happy to do this for her. “Besides,” Des had said, “it will give you a chance to do something you enjoy and live a little.”

So, here I was: my grandmother’s old apron tied haphazardly across my curved waist, melted chocolate and white icing smeared across my forearms and the backs of my hands, and the tip of my tongue perched between my lips in concentration as I finished piping the intricate Baphomet head and pentacle on top of the three-layer cake. I glanced up at the microwave clock and felt my stomach drop deep in my guts. The party was in a little over an hour, and I still had to pack up the cake, shower, and make myself look at least semi-decent before heading over. Taking a step back, I admired my work. It wasn’t perfect, but I knew that if I kept fussing with it I’d inevitably fuck it up, so I dusted my hands off with a sigh and left the kitchen to hurry through a shower and makeup routine.

After a way-too-quick rinse and a blow-dry of my hair in record time, I futzed through my closet to try to find something acceptable to wear. It was warm out, so I opted for a dark-printed swing dress and a pair of worn, black sneakers. As always, I lived by the motto of “comfort before style,” and I was fresh out of fucks to give.

I ran my curling wand through the long tresses of burgundy hair that hung down my back and framed my face before putting on a light face of makeup. It was too warm to wear anything heavy, and despite my annoyance of my freckled cheeks, I didn’t want to spend the evening wiping flesh-toned grease from my face every time I felt a sweat droplet dripping down my jawline. Simplistic it was, then.

I fastened my weathered St. Peter’s Cross necklace to rest on my decolletage and gave myself a quick once over before hustling into the kitchen to pack up the cake. After finding a cardboard box, some saran wrap, and multiple crumpled up balls of newspaper stuffed around the cake, I was off.

🜏🜏🜏

“Doll, you’re here!” Desiree swung open the front door with a cheshire-like grin, beckoning me in with the wave of her hand. I smiled at my friend, feeling genuine happiness for her excitement of both the party and for us finally getting to see each other. Awkwardly, I stepped into the home and followed her through the short hallway to the garage. “I want the cake to be a surprise,” she said in a low, nearly-whispered voice, ushering me out towards the outdoor fridge.

We set the cake on a lower shelf, still hidden by the recycled box I’d used to transport it in. She took a quick glance at the hand-drawn decoration on top and her eyes went wide before she all but pounced on me in a tight hug.

“It’s fantastic!” she squealed, holding me firmly before pulling back to look at me properly. “Doll, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so fucking rad. He’s going to love it.”

I flashed my own warm smile in response and chuckled. “Of course, Des. If he’s important to you, he’s important to me.”

We headed back into the house and Des led me out to the back patio, motioning towards a cooler propped against the sliding glass door as she stepped onto the eroded deck. I grabbed a random beer from the red and white Igloo and sat down in a nearby plastic chair, crossing my legs as I twisted the top off the bottle.

“Happy Birthday, Thomas,” I said as I leaned over, clinking the tip of my bottle against his own. At this point, Des had slid into the seat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she absorbed herself into the conversation happening around us.

“Thanks, Dahlia. Glad you could make it,” He replied as he tipped his bottle towards me in salute and took a swig, smiling politely before turning back to the chat we’d interrupted. I looked around and noticed that this party was definitely much smaller than the last one I’d attended here. There were only about ten other people, most of them acquaintances or friends from the music scene, and I recognized a few of them as Thomas’ band mates.

Leaning back in my chair, I took a long sip of my beer and allowed the warm air of the evening to envelop me. I had to admit, this was nice. It’d been a while since I’d been around friends with no expectations or masks to wear. I could just be me. I could enjoy the banter between the boys of which Metallica album was most iconic (and why according to Johnny, it was definitely Master of Puppets, because “zero skips,” of course), or how Mark was told by a coworker that it was “gay to wash your butthole” and how he found it completely fucked that one, he didn’t wash his ass, two, his coworker was homophobic, and three, Mark finally knew where the smell in the stock room was coming from. At some point during the story, Johnny had lit a cigarette which was now dangling dangerously from his lips, ash falling onto his jeans pocket as Mark animatedly told the tale. Suddenly, he patted the ashen pocket and his eyes went wide.

“Oh shit! I forgot to give you your birthday present!” Johnny fished a square (and slightly smushed) package from inside his pocket. It was wrapped in what looked like an old titty magazine, but I couldn’t be completely sure from my distance away from him on the patio. He leaned forward and plopped it into Thomas’ lap with a grin. “Happy 30th, dude,” he beamed with a salacious smile. “You’re officially a senior citizen.”

“30’s still young!” he defended with a glare, thumbs inching under the duct tape holding the wrapping together.

A snort was heard from beside him, and Greg, one of the guitarists from his band, muttered something to the effect of, “Yeah, for trees,” under his breath, which earned an even harder scowl from Thomas.

Thomas ripped the wrapping off and turned the slightly smashed box over in his hand. “Heat?” he questioned as he squinted at the brand on the box. He shook it a little and gave the parcel a quick sniff. “...is this a box of chocolates?’ His eyes looked at Johnny questioningly, but his lips were curved into a curious smile.

“Yup!” Johnny replied as he took another drag from his cigarette. “They’re kind of a present for the both of you.” He motioned to both Thomas and Des as he spoke, smoke rising from his hand.

“Are they spicy or some shit?” Thomas asked as he tried to read over the back of the box, picking at the plastic wrap covering.

“You could say that…” Johnny grinned, ashing the cigarette and taking another drag. “I figured that since you’re so old now, you might need some help getting your dick to work.”

I had been mid drink of my half-downed bottle of beer at his comment, and I found myself snorting as I swallowed, immediately causing the fizzy liquid to seep its way into my lungs. I coughed loudly, which luckily covered my laughter. Des and I both leaned over to get a better look, and I glanced at the small print at the bottom of the box:

“The high-quality chocolate that uses natural ingredients to increase your pleasure and boost your sex performance.”

“Are these aphrodisiacs?!” Des yelled out incredulously, eyes wide as she stared at Johnny.

All of my efforts to hold back my laughter were gone as I tilted my head back and dissolved into uncontrollable giggles. I couldn’t even formulate what Des was screaming at Johnny (although I knew it was likely something hilariously angry and defensive), and I beamed at the ridiculousness of the situation. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks, and it felt good to let go a little. Though, I’d never admit to Des that she was right…I’d never hear the end of it, especially now.

The conversation was cut off by a pounding on the door followed by three succinct doorbell rings. Des shot up out of her seat, yelling “pizza!” as she ran toward the door, tapping my knee on the way out as if to nonverbally ask for help. I grunted and rolled my eyes, begrudgingly getting myself out of the chair as I followed her. She must have ordered a ton of food if she needed two people to carry it out back, I thought.

Des swung open the front door and her look of excitement slightly fell, but she kept her smile in greeting. “Oh, hey Mary,” I heard from my place behind her.

Mary? I thought to myself. I felt my stomach somersault in my gut and I unknowingly bit at my bottom lip.

I hadn’t really seen Mary since the house show a few weeks back. Sure, he and Thomas had probably hung out, and if Thomas was socializing with anyone these past few weeks, Des had to have been there, too. However, she never mentioned anything to me. Then again, it would make sense that she hadn’t — I had never let her in on my evening hanging out with Mary (only that we had talked on the patio that night), and I definitely didn’t tell her about his shitty beer slushies and the eventual redemption arc of his head between my legs.

“...Do you need some help with that?” Des questioned as she moved aside, watching as Mary balanced at least three giant packs of beer while stepping through the threshold. The heavy boxes made the muscles in his arms appear permanently flexed, each limb framed by the cut-off sleeves of what was once a short-sleeve Morbid Angel tee. He was deceptively strong, and images of those arms curled around my legs as he dipped his face between my thighs ramparted my mind. I couldn’t help but watch as he moved swiftly through the house and out onto the patio.

“Nah, I’m good,” Mary grunted as he hurriedly beelined for the back door, pushing the crack of the door opening to the side with his foot as he slipped through with his contribution to the party. I subconsciously licked my lips and followed Des as she made her way back out to the patio with a sigh. Apparently, she’d really been looking forward to pizza.

The patio crowd cheered as Mary appeared and Thomas got up to help him empty a couple of the boxes of beer into the cooler. I slipped into my seat quietly, almost hoping to avoid his notice, yet watched as his hands smoothed out the cans of Keystone in the ice to ensure they fit when the lid was dropped.

He must have felt me staring, because his eyes shifted up towards me, quickly locking on mine. I felt my heart rate begin to staccato in my caged chest and I did my best to keep my face fairly stoic, though I knew it was futile. Those eyes like spring, of sage and straw, glued me into place.

“Hey,” he said, ever nonchalant as he finished organizing the brews and secured the lid. I looked down briefly, trying to mimic his cool behavior, and then flashed him a small, polite smile.

“Hi,” I replied quietly.

Mary took a seat on the other side of the patio (it was the only empty seat available) and struck up a conversation with a couple of the guys and their girlfriends that were nearby. I tried my best to engage myself in the exchange happening between Thomas and Chassie (another mutual friend of ours), but my mind was swimming with snapshots of my evening with Mary. I mentally shook it off, likening my response to my all-too-often loneliness and trying to focus on celebrating Thomas’ milestone birthday.

Not long after, pizza came, and we hovered both in the kitchen and the patio as we listened to Sabbath playing over the speakers and shot the shit with one another. The more beer I drank and pizza I ate, the more I loosened up, and I found myself reconnecting with some of the old friends I used to see at various venues around town. Mary weaved in and out of the conversations, but I did my best to pay him just as much mind as anyone else. He didn’t seem phased by me, and surely, I wasn’t phased by him, either.

I heard the door to the garage slam, and Des’ voice echoed through the kitchen landing. “Move it, out of the way, come on,” she said as she weaved through the couple blobs of congregated bodies, the cake box obstructing her face enough that she had to peer out from the side to see. I met her at the kitchen counter and helped her to unsheath the cake from the box, gingerly peeling the plastic wrap from it.

“Oh, god damn it,” she exclaimed as she stared at the top of the cake. I felt my stomach drop with fear that I had messed something up, but it was quickly abated when she continued her sentence. “I fucking forgot candles.”

Mark, who was unknowingly standing behind us, fished through his pocket before brandishing a cigarette. He held it between his lips and lit it before plopping it dead-center into the cake, the smoking stick appearing as if it was perched in Baphomet’s mouth. I let out another chuckle and Des shrugged.

Mark moved to help Des carry the cake, but she slapped his hand away playfully in an act of defiance and likely in worry that his drunk ass would immediately drop it on the floor. Though somewhat heavier than she expected, she slowly glided across the open kitchen and into the dining area. Chassie noticed and yelled out “Hey, cake’s lit!” and waved a few people in (Thomas amongst them) from outside to the dated dining table.

A raucous chorus of “Happy Birthday” rang through the room as Des set the pitifully smoking cake in front of a now front-and-center Thomas. I could tell he was trying his hardest to hide his smile, but as he looked at Des with softened eyes, it was obvious how touched he was at the personalized gesture. The moment was immediately broken when one of the guys belted into his own rendition of the song, singing, “Happy Birthday to you, you’re older than poo. If you were a horse you’d be made into glue!” which earned deep laughter from the majority of the room.

The cake was a three-layer round cake coated in thick chocolate frosting. A bright white Baphomet stared ominously from the center of a pentacle, while swirling piping lined the borders and edges. Thomas took a moment to study the cake, shaking his head in mock-annoyance at the song. As he went to blow out the “candle,” he stopped just short of the cake, eyebrow cocked, and slowly removed the smoking (and now ashen) cigarette from the middle of Baphomet’s lips. Mark took it from his fingertips and inhaled before licking the chocolate off the filter with a shrug.

The cake was cut quickly by Des and passed out on whatever dinnerware Thomas had laying around the house. It didn’t take long for only crumbs to remain on the cake board — a badge of honor that I took with silent pride.

After everyone enjoyed their cake, additional pizza, and sweaty cans of beer, Mark sidled into the kitchen to stealthily pour himself a shot of vodka and a chaser of soda. The bottle of soda that he’d found hidden in the fridge had been nearly empty, and as he drained it, realization lit his face. “Shit, Tommy, there’s one more present we forgot to give you!” he yelled out as he grabbed the bottle and ran out to the patio.

Empty two-liter bottle in one hand and a bag of bud that he had fished out of his pocket in the other, he looked at the crowd on the deck with a grin.

“Anyone up for grav hits?”

🜏🜏🜏

A small group of people crowded around the stained tub in Thomas’ spare bathroom — one sitting on the closed toilet lid clothed in a fluffy cover, and two others leaning up against the side wall. I sat on top of the builder-grade countertop, legs crossed, a shiver dancing against my skin at the feeling of the cold formica on the backs of my thighs.

Mark sat on one side of the tub’s edge while he fashioned some tin foil to place over the top of the mouthpiece of the cut-off soda bottle. Thomas sat across from him watching intently while his hands clasped onto the bag of pungent flower. Only a handful of us had been interested in the present Mark brought for Thomas ( Des had decided to stay out on the patio with the rest of the crew). I didn’t mind — the bathroom was small and it already felt pretty cramped with the amount of willing participants. Plus, I saw this as opportune bonding time for Thomas and I.

My eyes studied Mark’s fingers absently as he pricked holes into the tin foil and began to load the bowl with a mixture of shake and bud, packing it almost fastidiously, his movements careful as to not drop it into the water-filled bathtub. After he was satisfied with his work, he proudly handed the makeshift contraption to Thomas and extracted a BIC lighter out of his jeans. “Want to do the honors, birthday boy?” he asked as he handed him the light.

Thomas sank down to his knees and crouched over the tub, lowering the sliced bottle into the water so that only the top third was left unsubmerged. He held onto the threads of the mouthpiece as he flicked the lighter with a quick flit. The flame etched the surface of the weed, leaves and flower petals curling into charcoaled darkness as smoke began to simmer and swirl in the bottle's thick body. Thomas focused on making sure the bottom of the bottle's cut-off edge remained submerged but that there was enough room inside to collect as much smoke as possible.

When he was satisfied, he removed the flimsy silver bowl and handed it to Mark quickly before fixing his mouth over the neck, inhaling deeply as he pushed the bottle down into the water. The thick haze slurped into his lungs almost instantaneously and he all but shot up, the plastic bottle bottom dripping as his face contorted into discomfort. He let out a series of coughs before grinning wide at Mark.

"Forgot how hard that shit hits-" he started, head shooting to the side when the door bolted open and almost hit the man standing behind it.

"Oh fuck, sorry," I heard, and I lifted my legs from their dangling position over the bathroom vanity to hug my chest, hoping to avoid getting smacked by limb, body, or door.

Mary slipped into the bathroom, his golden hair stringing into his eyes as he turned to fasten the door shut again. He stood awkwardly in front of the threshold as he realized there wasn't much room in the bathroom for him to stand. Thomas reached up and opened the small window above the shower to filter out some of the smoke before inching his way past the person on the closed toilet and the few against the wall.

"I'm gonna find Des. Thanks for this, man," he reached across and clasped his hand with Mark's in gratitude, grasping into the handshake tightly before slipping past Mary and out the door.

I sat awkwardly on the countertop, doing my best to keep my legs folded and out of the way while still ensuring my dress covered my crotch and ass. I could feel the cold metal faucet pressing into my back and my butt felt like it was about to slip into the basin of the sink.

Over the next ten or so minutes, I watched from my uncomfortable position as a few more people in the bathroom each took their hits, most of them leaving directly afterwards to find some air in a less-cramped space. Eventually, only myself, Mary, Mark, and the guy sitting on the john (who I’d learned was named Jesse) remained. Mark gestured to me as he dumped the ash from the foil into the clear water of the tub and began to fill the bowl again.

I hopped from the counter, smoothing the skirt of my dress as I slipped past Mary and toilet man, eyes straight ahead to avoid any contact. As I knelt in front of the tub, I felt the cool tile lick at my knees and the heels of my feet dig into my bottom. Mark handed me the bottle and lighter.

I could feel Mary’s stare from behind me, and while I’d like to say he was decent enough to keep his eyes above the belt, I was certain he had snuck a glance at my ass as I flicked the wheel of the lighter. Shaking the perverse thoughts that bombarded my head, I pulled the aluminum from the bong and lowered my head, lips dancing across the mouthpiece as I inhaled deeply and fully while expertly submerging the bottle.

It was as if I licked a fiery raincloud. The smoke hung heavy in the alveoli of my lungs, pricking at the blood vessels and sacs, and I closed my eyes to keep them from watering. I rose up and exhaled, my hand softly pushing the 2-liter to Mark as I turned and gently pushed past Mary to exit. My head was swimming and I was doing everything in my power not to cough. I didn’t want to make a complete ass out of myself. Unfortunately, that also meant I was holding my breath.

I could hear the dull thud of the music playing through the speakers outdoors and unremarkable chatter punctuated the beat. I didn’t even recognize the feeling of my feet against the Pergo as I padded down the hallway and across the landing, down the carpeted steps, and right into the den, sinking onto the worn plaid couch with another weighted exhale. My head was spinning and my stomach wasn’t far behind. Maybe smoking after a handful of beers wasn’t my smartest choice.

Eventually, I lowered my forehead to the armrest of the couch and closed my eyes, lifting my legs up to curl under me as I soaked in the cool quietude of the empty den. I sat there for what my mind registered as an eternity. The calm doused my speeding heart and helped me to keep the heavy reams of impending panic from erupting in my chest.

I melted into the firm side of the couch, brow bone melding with the scratchy plaid material, and reached an arm out to ground myself against the side table. I'm not sure how much time passed —it could have been a few minutes or nearly a half hour— but my body was lulled into a calmer, settled state when I heard the slap of a remote against something firm followed by some quieted curses. The click of plastic buttons on the TV console tickled my ears.

Within seconds, sound from the TV began to ring out in the quiet den, the volume loud enough to hear over the buzz outside but quiet enough as not to startle me. I felt the couch slump next to me and the scent of cigarettes, weed, leather, and musk whooshed into my nostrils from the movement. I craned my head up to look at the man next to me. I'm not sure why. I already knew it was Mary.

"Assholes found lawn darts in the shed outside and decided to set up teams. Fuck if I’m gonna get stabbed," He started, bringing a bottle of water to his lips. My eyes trailed his form. His legs were crossed at the ankles, boots perched on top of the coffee table in front of us, and at some point during the night he had put on his leather jacket. He looked over at me and his demeanor changed from one of kind indifference to one of concern. "...you good?" he asked, turning to face me.

"Mmph," I mumbled, trying my best to sit up straighter against the pillowy back of the couch. I licked my dry lips and realized for the first time just how cottony my mouth felt. "Too high."

Mary let out a soft chuckle and the nerves that I had spent time pushing down into my belly threatened to peek through again at the warm sound of his voice. “Not surprised," he said with a shrug, eyes flickering to the movie on the screen before falling back on me, "I’ve never seen a chick take a hit like that before. You’re a pro.”

I wanted to argue with him. In a much more sober state, I would have denied his compliment and told him that getting the spins from smoking bud was not the sign of a pro, but at the moment, all that came out of me was the sentence "I am liquid garbage." I licked my dry lips again and inwardly groaned at the Sahara that was my mouth.

“It’ll pass.” Mary reached over and handed me the water bottle he had been drinking. I smiled, recalling the last time he'd shared his beer with me weeks ago out on the patio, and I took a couple of swigs. Capping the bottle, I handed it back to him, sinking a little further back into the couch as I began to watch the scene unfolding on the screen.

"What movie is this?" I asked after a beat, bringing my legs to cross in front of me as I snuggled into the pillows resting against the arm of the sofa.

Mary murmured his response, clearly focused on the film, and I didn't quite hear what he said. Or, if I did, I didn't recognize it. It looked like an older film (something I confirmed when I glanced across the room and saw the VHS cover thrown on the floor next to the TV console) and the quality led me to believe it was likely an indie film or B-movie. That seemed to track from what I knew about Mary.

We sat there for a while in a comfortable silence as the movie played in front of us. The lights of the den were off, but the incandescent kitchen lights shown in from the hallway, which paired with the glow of the TV made the details of the room fairly visible. We watched as the characters on the screen sculked down a dark alleyway, not a care in the world, and from my horror trope knowledge I knew that the action was about to start.

From my left, I heard the crinkling of a wrapper and the distinctive clunking noise of something bitten. Another wrapper crinkled and Mary brushed my arm with his own, his hand coming out in front of me.

"Here, eat something," he said as he handed me what looked like a square of chocolate. I felt my stomach tumble a little at the thought of something sweet, and I made a gruff noise in response, shaking my head a little.

Mary shook the chocolate slightly as if to double down. "It'll make you feel better. Settle your stomach."

I all but rolled my eyes as I grabbed onto the candy and muttered a noise of thanks. Typically, I'd argue with him that sugar was the antithesis of a sour stomach remedy, but his sweetness and ever-present thoughtfulness won me over. I snapped the chocolate with my teeth and as it melted on my tongue, I sank a little further into the couch cushions. It was good — a little more bitter than I expected, citrus-y, and not nearly as rich as I had worried about. Damn it, I hated when he was right.

Before I knew it, I had downed the whole square. Unbeknownst to me, Mary had watched with side-eyes and already had another square ready for me when I'd finished, which I accepted gratefully.

We remained like that, mere inches between us as we snacked on square after square of dark chocolate until barely any remained, absorbing the scenes of the movie unfolding before us. I felt warm and heavy and full in the sanctity of the cozy sunken room and the party outside lived far from the boundaries of my mind. Glancing at the table, I looked to see if I could find a wrapper or box to mentally note the brand of chocolate to buy it later, and I noticed a familiar smashed box laying open on the surface. Within seconds, the recognizable panic rose in my chest.

"Mary," I started cautiously, staring at the box, "where did you get those?"

I saw Mary shrug out of the corner of my eye. "They were in the kitchen."

I swallowed harshly. "So...you just…took them?" I said slowly, hoping to clarify that he hadn't taken what I thought he had. After all, Mary had shown up late. He wouldn't have known what they were.

This time, Mary turned his head to look at me straight on. The look on his face was relaxed and seemingly unbothered. "The box was all damaged so I assumed someone would throw them away. And Thomas is more of a Hershey guy," he reasoned.

At that moment, my heart fell out of my ass — partially because we had just eaten Thomas' entire birthday gift, but more so because of what we had eaten.

My face must have been a clear tell, because the long-haired man in front of me cocked his head in confusion. "Mary, those were, uh..." I tried to choose my words carefully despite the haze in my mind, "...those were fucking chocolates."

He laughed and looked at me with eyebrows raised and eyes wide, a look of ridiculing understanding on his face. "I know they were chocolates," he said with another mocking chuckle.

I grunted in frustration. "No, they were FUCKING chocolates!" I sighed and ran my hand through my long hair, tilting my head back as I searched for the right words. "God damn it, Mary, chocolates for fucking. Sex chocolates!" I looked over at him, my grey eyes widened a little in irritation, and studied his face for his response.

He shrugged, fucking shrugged, and leaned back a little further into the couch. "That shit is all marketing BS," he waved his hand and settled back in to watch the movie. I was certain he didn't notice me glaring daggers at him.

Despite my frustration, I followed suit and decided to distract myself with the film. I couldn't really decipher the plot (which I mostly attributed to my intoxication), but I began to deduce that it was some sort of slasher film riddled with horror cliches and gore.

My suspicions were quickly confirmed when the movie cut to an intimate scene between two of the side characters. As they moved against each other in the dark, clothing half-ripped off, lips trailing skin, and almost pornographic moans permeated the screen, I felt my stomach tighten. I wasn't typically the kind of person to be affected by sex scenes in movies or TV, but for whatever reason, I felt a rush of heat flood my abdomen and pull at my navel.

Shadows moved behind the preoccupied couple on the screen and I tried my best to focus on the horror element of the plotline. The murderer is in the room and is waiting for the opportune time to strike, I told myself in prediction, willing my eyes to study any and every small detail in the movie to keep the tugging at my core from building.

I licked my lips and let out a quiet breath, hoping to God that Mary didn't hear me. Anger started to prick at my gut. Was this a placebo effect? A side effect of weed and alcohol? Or were those chocolates the real deal? Regardless, I pulled my knees to my chest and did my best to not allow the movie to bother me (one way or another).

From beside me, I heard what sounded like a mix between a groan and a low breath. My brain told me to keep looking ahead, to ignore him, to wait until the movie was done and I was feeling better before finding Des and asking for somewhere to crash for the night. My impulsivity got the best of me and I slowly cast my eyes in Mary's direction. His eyes were slightly larger, the flickering light of the screen reflecting off the olive hue of his irises, and his bottom lip was just barely caught between his teeth.

He clearly felt my stare because his head pivoted in my direction. His gaze was nearly smoldering. I licked my lips, the wet sounds and moans of the TV punctuating our focus on one another, and I felt the air grow thick with tension that was practically palpable. My fixed stare drifted downward to look at his bitten lip and I shuddered as I noticed the reddened teeth mark against the soft flesh.

I don't know what overcame me. Suddenly I was lurching forward, my legs bent below me as I pushed into him, hand resting on the worn fabric of the band shirt below the jacket, knees brushing the fabric of his jeans. Our faces were inches apart and I could see the stubble outlining his chin and cheeks. His hand snaked up between us and grasped the back of my neck, and before I knew it, he pulled me into him with such force that I nearly lost my balance.

My lips crashed against his for the first time ever, and through the fog in my brain and body, I noted their firmness, how they were slightly chapped but still velvety as they moved against mine. I shifted to lift a leg over his lap and straddled him, both hands resting against him as his own free hand came to slot against the curve of my waist. The fabric of my dress floated around our conjoined laps and I tilted my head to the side to deepen our locked lips.

Mary groaned and the hand on my neck traveled down my back and over my ass before gripping onto the other side of my waist. With both hands, he held me firmly and pulled me down into his crotch. I could feel the rough jean fabric scraping against my inner thighs and seat of my panties. I let out a whimper.

Heat soared through my groin and had I been clear-headed, I would have laughed at the aptly-named chocolates, but I was too distracted by Mary's noises and his guitar-calloused fingertips now brushing up my thighs and oh god did he smell good (all leather, spice, cigarette, and earth). I felt my dress flutter up to the crease between my legs and pelvis and his hands came to cup around my backside. I let out a wanton moan into his mouth and he pushed his tongue against my lips, parting them as he ground himself into me.

Had we been completely alone in the house (or at least in a more secluded space), I couldn’t promise myself that I would have had any restraint against Mary completely taking me right there on the old sofa. However, a moment of worry panged at my core and I separated from him slightly, mere centimeters between us as we both breathed heavily.

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” I stumbled out, lips brushing against his own as I spoke.

Mary grunted in reply and pulled me in against him deeper. “Everyone is distracted outside," he murmured against my jawbone as he pressed slow, tantalizing kisses that flowed down to my neck. I tilted my head further to the side and fluttered my eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against my own, fingertips digging into the tines of his zippered jacket. His lips ghosted a sensitive spot on the curve of my neck and I felt electricity swim across my skin.

"I don't fuck people I don't know," I breathed out, feeling my own hips move against his now as if betraying my own words.

He let out a noise that registered somewhere between a groan and an "mmm" before detaching from my neck. One of his hands reached up to brush some rogue strands of hair that had fallen into my eyes, tucking them behind my ear as he brought our faces close together. "I guess we'll have to get to know each other better, then," he rumbled out, voice low as his thumb pressed into my jaw and pulled our lips together again.

The lights of the movie flickered behind us and screams from the victims of the story percussed our heavy makeout. I paid them no mind, but after the third scream and the sploshing sound of what I assumed to be blood, I could have sworn that Mary's kisses became more heated.

His hand trailed from my jaw and down to squeeze at my breast through the thin fabric of my swing dress, which earned him a moan from me in response, before he traced his fingertips down to the skirt gathered at my waist. He dipped his fingers low between the heat of my legs, swiping them once, twice up the crotch of my panties to feel the wetness gathered there. I felt him smirk against my lips and his nimble fingers pushed the damp cotton aside to graze my pussy. I let out a whimper into his mouth and he took this as permission to go a little further, stroking along either side of my inner folds with his pointer and middle fingers.

The muscles of my legs quivered at the sensation and I moaned a little into his mouth again, my tongue licking against his own almost lewdly as he rubbed his hand against me. He broke the kiss just barely, squeezing his fingers on either side of my clit. "Did you want me to stop?" he purred out as he languidly stroked.

"Please," I choked out, the tenseness of weeks without physical touch bubbling up in my abdomen and throat.

He began to remove his hand teasingly. "Please what? Stop?" he asked as he bit softly on my bottom lip.

I tugged my lip back from his teeth and opened my eyes to look at him imploringly. "Please don't stop," I practically begged before leaning back into his touch. He slammed our mouths together again and began moving his fingers with more speed and intensity, rubbing me up and down but being careful to never directly touch my most delicate spot. His teasing had me dripping for him, and right when I felt my frustration about to run over, he dipped his hand lower and slipped inside of me smoothly.

I let out a noise of complete pleasure against him, our lips breaking apart, and rested my forehead against his as my eyelids squeezed together. His free hand rocked me against him and he added another finger before curling them into me, pushing and stroking and prodding at my g-spot expertly.

"Mary..." I moaned breathily, and he grunted out in response as he leaned down to lick a stripe from my collarbone to my ear. Goosebumps pebbled my skin and I ground my hips into his hand, unknowingly pushing it into his swelling cock.

"I've been staring at you in that dress all night," he purred into my ear. The movements of his fingers began to speed up and I reached down between us to rub at my clit, but he beat me to the punch, his thumb reaching up to massage it at a teasingly slow speed. "How your tits were pushed up against your knees as you sat on the bathroom counter," he took in a sharp breath and I felt his inhale prickle the curve of my ear, "The way your ass looked bent over the bathtub, lips around that bottle. Fuck, I wanted that to be my cock."

I could feel the outline of his hardness pressing against me through his jeans, and images of his leaking cock being pressed between my lips made my gut flutter with need. I brought my fist up to my mouth and bit into it, groaning loudly and hoping that it was at least somewhat muffled. The desire pooling in the pit of my abdomen was threatening to break through, the dam nearly cracking, and I could feel each nerve of my pussy jolting with fiery synapses, just waiting to explode.

My head tilted back and I looked down at Mary through half-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. "Mary, I'm—"

He cut off my whine, his voice gravelly as he spoke. "I want you to cum on my fingers, babydoll. Just like you came on my tongue."

I felt the fire rage inside me and it was as if I lost complete control of my body. My hips writhed into him and my hand reached up to grab onto his shoulder for support, fingernails digging roughly into the leather of the battle jacket as I let out a noise of complete rapture. His hand on my hip darted up and quickly covered my mouth as he continued to fuck me with his fingers.

"Shhh, you didn’t want them to hear us, remember?" His eyes pierced into mine, pupils wide and blown with desire, and he watched every minute movement of my face as I came around him. Despite his sultry reminder, I keened against his hand, his skin tasting salty against my tongue and lips with each little noise. He pulsed me through my orgasm and circled my sensitive nub with increasing gentleness as I came down in his arms.

After a moment, he slipped out of me and brought his soaked fingers to his lips before making a show of sucking my slick from them. "You taste just as good as I remember," he breathed out with a smirk. I let out a shuddering breath, closed my eyes, and rested my forehead against his once more, our hair tangling in a mess of golden brown and mahogany tresses. I felt his dick pulse beneath me.

My mind shot back to our time together on the roof, and as I sat nearly puddled against him on his lap, I realized that I had yet to return any of his favors. With shaky knees, I pushed myself from him (earning me a brief look of concern) before I slid down his lap and onto the floor in front of him. The worry melted from his face as his eyebrows rose, and a grin stretched across his lips.

My hands slithered down the black denim of his thighs, ghosting the skin of the ripped knees, and I grabbed his shins to push them open. Settling between them, I reached forward to push his bullet belt up and pull at the button on his pants. It popped open with minimal effort and I gripped my hands onto the meat of his thighs as I leaned my face directly over his crotch. Taking the zipper in my teeth, I wrenched it down smoothly. The heat of his groin flushed against my cheeks and even without looking, I could tell he wasn't wearing boxers.

He quickly pulled his pants down from his hips to his knees and his cock sprung out, nearly hitting me in the face. While he was no Owen Gray, it was longer and thicker than I had imagined given his height, and I knew that it would be difficult to take him completely. Grasping onto the base, I flittered my eyes up to him and peered at his face through thick lashes as I licked the tip lightly.

Mary let out his own series of aroused noises and his hands grasped at the couch cushions below him. I smirked and knelt a little closer, back curving to highlight the swell of my ass as I took the tip into my mouth and sucked sparingly before letting it go with a pop. Mary whined at the loss of my mouth and I let out a small laugh, enjoying returning some of the teasing he'd put me through, before I grabbed the base and licked from his balls to his frenulum.

The dialogue from the TV just barely drowned out his heavy breathing and I surprised him by taking him into my mouth as deeply as I could without gagging, hand still squeezing around the base as I began to bob up and down. By now, the spinning nausea and hazy headspace was gone and I was feeling the more positive effects of the gravity hit, so I slid my other hand down to cup his balls as I took him a little more deeply into my mouth.

One of Mary's hands came to thread through my hair, grasping the burgundy locks with a tight grip as he helped guide me up and down his shaft. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the vein on the underside of his cock and he groaned out, lips spilling out the words "Fuck, just like that” as his hips quaked beneath me.

I continued to move my head against him, alternating licking and sucking, hollowing my cheeks and pulling lightly at his balls. I could tell he was close when his moans became louder and his arm started to tremble. Speeding up my ministrations, I looked back up into his eyes to see them closed, his head tilted against the back of the couch, and he started to jerk his hips up roughly into me. I relaxed my throat and stilted the gagging feeling the best I could, tears pricking my eyes as I let him fuck my face.

The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat and he let out a guttural noise, his other hand coming to grab onto my head as he thrust into my mouth. "Ungh, fuck, babydoll, you're gonna make me cum," he growled, and even with my recent orgasm, I felt wetness instantly pool in my already soaked underwear.

Seconds later, his hips spasmed into my face and he came roughly into my mouth. His salty spend pooled on my tongue and I swallowed around his cock before slowly sliding off with an audible "pop". A bead of cum dribbled down my lips and I wiped it with the pad of my thumb, popping the digit in my mouth to lap at it slowly while locking eyes with Mary.

He looked at me half-lidded, completely enthralled as I nearly devoured every drop of him, and I leaned back a little while shooting him pleased smile.

"I couldn't let you go through life without experiencing one of my blowjobs at least once," I said, nearly echoing his words from weeks prior. He instantly recognized this and laughed, one of his hands moving from my head to trace his thumb over the swell of my bottom lip.

"I don’t know what it is about you, dollface," he whispered. My heart leapt again at the nickname he'd assigned me and I hummed as I leaned into his touch before slinking up to sit next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear the clink of his belt as he carefully tucked himself back into his jeans, the sound of his zipper whirring briefly through the heated air.

His arm came to snake around my waist and we sat there in a comfortable silence, film credits dancing on the screen. I heard the sliding glass door open from the kitchen and footsteps clatter against the fake laminate flooring, but I didn't move from Mary's grasp. I was too tired (and too satiated) to care.

After a while, I felt his lips press onto my forehead and I opened my eyes again to look at him. He motioned towards the last chocolate square on the coffee table with a subtle flick of his head, a smile carved into his face, and broke the quiet.

“...you gonna eat that?”

#mary goore #mary goore x ofc #mary goore x oc #mary goore x female character #repugnant #repugnant band #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost bc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #my writing

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freesia-writes · 9 months

Text

Chapter 18: Unrequited

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance. COVER ART BY @zaana!!

Master List of Chapters

Author's Note: this was my first fanfic ever, y'all! :D I can see all kinds of flaws and things I'd improve, but it's still a fun read, in my humble opinion! ;) I did have to edit a bit though -- the number of contractions in Tech's dialogue in the first edition had me shuddering! ;) And it's amazing to flesh it out a bit more now that I've seen all of TBB S2; this was written in the middle of it!

ALSO — a fantastic reader, @ghostperson69, suggested two songs that fit the vibe of this chapter: “Hole in the Earth” by Deftones and “Cloud Nine” by Evanescence. 😍

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"Now," Terrik said, returning to Vel, "Perhaps you could use some fresh air?"

Her mind was racing, and she realized she hadn't actually thought through how to go about charming him once he actually did notice her. Thank the Maker, however, her prolonged silence worked in her favor, as Terrik took it as aloofness.

"I actually own the place," he said, in a thinly-veiled attempt to impress her. "There's a private garden balcony right outside where you can get a little break from all the riffraff that's been nipping at your heels all night." So he had noticed. She inclined her head a tiny bit, as if assessing him for a moment, before allowing a small smile.

"Lead the way," she said. He immediately offered her an arm, beckoning to a service droid as they strolled out of the dance hall and down a side hallway. Two large doors opened onto an elegantly curved patio that was filled with lush greenery. Trellises covered with creeping vines and purple flowers provided a living roof over the space, where exotic plants of all kinds reached toward the sky from their pots.

Vel inhaled deeply, calming herself with the rich array of floral scents. Terrik watched her chest rise with the breath, quickly averting his eyes when she looked back to him. A shiny black and gold service droid rolled out after them, carrying a spotless tray with an ornate glass bottle and two intricately carved glasses.

"Merenzane gold," Terrik said grandly as he poured a generous serving into each glass. He returned the bottle to the tray, took the two glasses, and offered one to Vel. She accepted it smoothly, alarm bells going off in her head, and watched as he waved the droid away. "Have you ever had it before?" he inquired casually.

"Of course," she said, swirling it in her glass but nearly spilling it out a side. She wasn't fooled by his question -- he was trying to determine if she came from money or was just trying to appear affluent. "But it's always a welcome sight. Although," she laughed lightly, "It often gets me into trouble."

"Well," he chuckled, "We'll have to make sure to keep an eye on you then, won't we?" He grinned at her, and she could tell it was the move that had melted an army of women before her. She needed to play it just right, leading him on just enough, and she gave a brief smile as she returned to her drink, taking a carefully small sip. She felt clumsy and tingly, and it took a disproportionate effort to keep her composure.

"There's plenty where that came from," Terrik continued, gesturing to her glass with his own and making a show of taking an exuberant swig. "No need to parse it out."

"I like to enjoy it," Vel said, cringing inwardly at the words that came to mind next, "You know, it's so smooth on the tongue. You miss out on that if you don't play with it a little bit first."

Terrik raised an eyebrow, although he was no stranger to this kind of talk. She was difficult to discern, however, and a refreshing change from the obvious, fawning sort he had become so accustomed to. He was never one to pass up an opportunity to connect with other well-to-do citizens, especially if the connection involved both money and pleasure.

She moved to the balcony railing and leaned on it gently, walking slowly to avoid stumbling and also to make her hips sway slightly more than usual. "So, what is it you do around here then?" she asked, putting a slight hint of boredom into her words as she waited for him to join her.

***

Tech lowered the macrobinoculars, laying on his stomach under the balcony railing, and turned to the team behind him. "They are engaged in conversation two floors below us," he reported, "But I am concerned about Vel's amount of inebriation. The attempt to blend in has resulted in more consumption than I believe she is accustomed to."

"This will be fun to watch then," Crosshair said silkily, leaning against the doorframe as he scanned the rest of the outside of the building.

"She'll be fine," Hunter said, "We just need to get into that lab."

"Why don't we just start trying doors?" Wrecker asked, sprawled on a lounge chair. "This is taking forever."

"We absolutely must avoid anything that could raise any suspicion," Tech responded, scooting back to peer over the edge at Vel and Jouren below them.

***

"A chemist! Really?" Terrik exclaimed, showing some genuine interest at Vel's made-up story. "And what did your father do in that field?"

"He worked for a refinery," Vel replied, finishing her glass of amber-colored trouble. "I used to love going to work with him and seeing all his potions. Especially the ones that would explode," she laughed, trying to balance the allure with just the right amount of brainlessness. It was becoming easier with each passing moment.

"Ah, a little evil scientist yourself, eh?" he teased, leaning closer to her now. "And what sort of nefarious plans did you concoct over the years?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," she answered lightly, tilting her head and demurely rubbing the back of her neck. He made no attempt to hide his gaze. "But I'm afraid I'd have to kill you if I told you my evil master plans." She had a quick internal argument over the ridiculousness of the whole situation, wishing she were still on the dance floor with Tech.

"Well... we can't have that," Terrik crooned, placing a hand on her lower back. She stiffened for a moment before forcing herself to relax, tipping her chin up at him with an unfazed confidence. From the balcony above, Tech felt his stomach lurch, and his grip tightened on the macrobinoculars as he pondered the implications of his physical reaction.

"No?" she asked, forcing herself to lean into him gently, taking hold of his lapel with her fingers, "Well then what should we do for fun around here?"

"I have a few ideas," he mused, reveling in the feeling of having her on his hook. "But I have a feeling you won't be impressed by the usuals." He traced a finger along her jawline, coming to rest on her chin, "Why don't you come with me?"

He turned, beckoning toward the door, and walked beside her, leaving his hand on the small of her back, slightly lower than before. Tech watched them disappear inside the building, then rolled onto his back, springing to his feet at once.

"I do not like this, Hunter," he said emphatically. "There are simply too many extraneous variables to trust that this particular strategy is a secure endeavor."

"You just don't like someone getting their hands on your girlfriend," Crosshair needled.

"She is not my girlfriend," Tech countered, "But that Pantoran is exhibiting a dangerous level of manipulative behavior, and I find his intentions difficult to discern and equally unwise to trust."

"He's probably taking her to the lab right now," Hunter said. "As soon as she activates the marker, you can do your job and the rest of us can go get her if needed. It'll be fine. Just stick to the plan."

Tech resigned, feeling displeased and unsettled by the anxious protectiveness rising within. He pulled out his datapad, confirming the program was ready to go, and hung it on his belt at the ready.

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#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tech #tech romance #the bad batch tech #tech x oc #slow burn romance #slow burn #tech fanfic #tech fanfiction

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spnae · 2 years

Text

Chapter 16 Have a Little Faith

As they drove along in Callum’s car, Faith soon realized they were headed towards his father’s pub, “Did you need to stop at the pub for something?”

“Ah, about that— I actually live above the pub.”

“So the other night—“

“Would have been way too easy to just take you upstairs. I’ve lost my interest in that kind of relationship.”

“Damn, I’m not sure if I should be impressed or insulted.”

“I’m hoping you go with impressed.”

“Seriously though, I get it,” she shrugged, as they headed towards the back of the building.

Callum unlocked a door that opened into a little entryway with a coat rack, a little bench and a large potted plant. Callum sat on the bench to remove his boots and set them on a little mat next to a pair of jogging shoes. Faith slipped off her shoes hesitantly. Callum chuckled, “Come on up, ladies first,” he gestured up the enclosed staircase leading up to his flat.

The stairs opened up to a nice sized kitchen on the left hand side of the flat with living room on the right and a dining set with a live edge table broke up the space. The table was already set for two with candles set in a cast iron candelabra. A short hall off of the living room led back to the bedroom with the bathroom situated in the opposite corner behind the kitchen, “It’s not much but it’s comfortable.”

The flat had clearly been renovated within the last five years. The kitchen was all new and done in white and shades of gray with a dark blue backsplash and a cluster of small blue pendant lights hung above a kitchen island. The countertops and the island were topped with shimmering black Quartz with flecks of white. Three black barstools with blue vinyl seats sat on one side of the island.

The living room was painted white with the exception of the exposed brick on the longest wall where his couch was situated between two windows. A TV and stereo system sat opposite of the couch. A monochromatic mural of a knight's helmet and stylized filigree in dark blue surrounded the entertainment area. There were a number of framed pictures on the walls, Callum’s watercolors no doubt. What really caught Faith’s attention were the three shelves in the corner, filled with trophies and ribbons.

“It’s really nice, did you do all the work in here?”

“Angus, my dad and my brother pitched in too. Mum helped design the place, especially the kitchen. She had a heavy hand in decorating too; I was a bit out of my depth on that one. Lucky she knows what I like. I keep telling her she’s got a hidden talent. My best friend did that,” he said pointing to the mural.

“I love it. It looks like a bad-ass tattoo.”

“That’s what she does. Bad-ass ink.”

“It’s really great. All of it. Maybe you should have your mom take a look at Buffy’s place.”

“It’s an idea. I’m going to hit the shower, there’s beer under the counter there and I put a few in the fridge if you’d rather have it cold. Make yourself at home. I won’t be long,” he pulled her in for a quick kiss, “definitely won’t be long.”

Callum quickly made his way through the kitchen and closed the bathroom door behind him Faith decide to take his advice and grab the beer from the refrigerator. She was getting more used to drinking it warm but she still preferred it cold. She took her beer over to the shelves of trophies that had caught her eye and realised that they were for multiple martial arts fighting styles. While most of the framed pictures on the walls were indeed various watercolors, the larger of these frames were in fact old MMA fight posters; featuring Callum.

“What else are you keeping quiet,” she murmured to herself.

Faith went back to the table and rummaged in her bag to pull out a lighter before lighting the candles. She ran her hand along the irregular edge of the table; as she did so the bathroom door opened. Faith looked up just in time to see Callum as he made his way to his bedroom.

“Nice ink” she said, catching a glimpse of the intricate Celtic knotwork tree on his right shoulder and bicep.

“No peeking,” he grinned.

“Damn, Boy, you’re a tease.”

“If you like that one, wait until you see the rest,” He called from the bedroom.

“Oh now, that’s not fair.”

“All in due time, Darlin’. Are you trying to tell me that little armband of yours is your one and only?”

Faith smirked, “I didn’t say that.”

Callum came out of the bedroom pulling a clean T-shirt down over his jeans, “So you are holding out on me, Lass.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see. I’ll play your game. I guarantee I have more scars than tattoos.”

“Those can be damn sexy too.”

“What about you? You got more than what’s peeking out from under your sleeves there?”

“No cheating.”

“We gonna eat or what?” she teased.

“Absolutely.”

Callum pulled the plates from the table and filled them while Faith grabbed a couple of beers for each of them. As they sat down Callum cleared his throat, “Let’s eat.”

“So how come you never said anything about your martial arts training?”

Callum shrugged, “Dunno, was a time I had girls fallin’ all over me just because I was competing. Guess I just didn’t want to take that route, especially when I found out what you teach. It’s common ground and all but still. I didn’t want you to think I was just boasting or some rot. And then with the slayer thing…”

“I’d annihilate you.”

“See that’s another thing, I’m way too competitive. Not sure if I could handle going toe-to-toe with you, Lass.”

“Afraid I’ll hurt your pride?”

He chuckled, “When you say ‘super strength’, exactly what are we talking about here?”

“I can throw a guy your size through a wall… kind of a favorite pastime; but I can’t lift my Volkswagen if that’s what you’re asking. I bet Buffy and I could do it together if we really tried.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she grinned, “Honestly I don’t really know. Not like I go around lifting stuff or weighing stuff before I lift it. Don’t know how much an I-beam weighs but I can lift one of those pretty easily.”

Callum set his fork down, “Really? Yeah I’m not taking you on. Don’t get me wrong, that’s wicked and all but I’m used to being in the ring. I want a fight where I got at least a 50/50 chance of winning,” he grinned, “It is pretty cool though.”

“It has its perks I guess, sometimes it can be a little hard to get past though. You know, just be a person?”

“And here I am asking questions.”

“Nah, I get it. You’re curious.”

“But sometimes it’s nice to forget about it for a bit too I bet?”

“There’s always alcohol,” she said, tilting her beer bottle towards him.

“I got plenty of that, and I can always get more.”

“Yeah, how is that, living over the pub?”

Callum laughed, “First thing I did when I took this place was rip up the floorboards and add sound proofing, it’s pretty effective.”

“Nice.”

“How’s the roast?”

“It’s really good, your crock-pot does good work.”

He chuckled, “Here I thought it was the beer and rosemary I put in.”

“Thought there was something different about it. So what did you think about Buffy’s little project?”

“Funny, you calling it little. There’s a lot of work to do but a good chunk of it is cosmetic. First she’s going to want to have the windows and that leaking fireplace fixed. But that’s… look I know you don’t really want to talk about your not-cousin’s future love nest.”

“Just making conversation. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know, maybe the elephant in the room?”

“Sex?”

Callum laughed, “Ok… Yes, we are gathered here today with the intention to join these two bodies in unlawful carnal knowledge.”

“Never had anyone put it quite like that before…” she laughed.

“I sort of meant the other elephant in the room. We’re trying to get to know each other here, we’ve both been on the wrong side of the law. Why don’t we start there?”

Faith put her fork down and rocked back in her chair a little, “Sure you want to go there?”

“Don’t have to, but I sort of think I’d like to know who’s not sleeping in my bed. I can start if you’d like.”

“Might not want me in your bed once you find out.”

Callum reached for her hand, “I promise I won’t judge.”

“Careful what you promise, you might have to break it.”

“I’ll go first. I’d been in and out of trouble for years scrapping and what not. Was a real hot head when I was a teen sort of cooled off a bit after I started competing but not much. Anyway, I was with this Lass, havin’ a laugh for a while. One night after a match, this bloke comes up to me ranting about shagging his girl. Said some nasty bits about her too which set me off. I nearly beat the guy to death. Would have done if Angus and a buddy of mine hadn’t pulled me off of him. Put him in a coma for about a week and he was in the hospital for a good long time. Did some time for that and been keeping out of trouble ever since.”

Faith poked at the last few bites of food on her plate and nodded, “Pretty standard stuff. Hope you’re ready to hear this, my story isn’t so standard,” she finished her beer, “Mind if I have another?”

“Sure, Lass,” he said, taking their empty bottles and bringing over fresh ones. Callum sat down across from her and waited.

Faith took a deep breath, “Not long after I got my powers I met Buff. One night we were out patrolling, it was a heavy night. We were kicking ass left and right. I was really into it and all of a sudden she’s trying to call me off this vamp… I staked him…” she took a sip of her beer, “Wasn’t a vamp. Buffy spotted the human and I didn’t… she tried to stop me and I didn’t.”

“With your job—“

“That’s not all. I got mixed up with a seriously shady politician. He was evil as hell but he treated me… nice… kinda like a father I guess. I worked for him, he protected me… did some pretty awful stuff in there. Made B my enemy in a really big way when I almost killed her boyfriend. I lost that fight, ended up in a coma for a good long while myself. Can’t blame her looking back on it now. But I sure didn’t see it that way when I first woke up. Did some more awful stuff, mostly to Buffy and friends and the new boyfriend. Went to LA, did some more awful stuff to the people trying to help me. Including Buffy’s ex, who incidentally is the same guy who’s now like my big-brother mentor-whatever. He just wouldn’t give up on me,” she took another drink of beer, “So, I ended up turning myself in to the police to keep him safe. I owe him everything. Took a nice long break from society after that. He kept visiting and calling the whole time I was in there. Didn’t get out until oh, about a year and a half almost two years ago when he needed some serious help. Been batting for the good guys ever since. Helped stop an apocalypse and now I’m just trying to be a better person. Teach these girls how to be better than me...”

“Well now… when you put it like that…” Callum took a long pull of his beer. He didn’t say a word as he got up and made his way to the kitchen.

“Callum, please… I—“

“Could use something a little stronger than beer I’d wager, yeah?” He asked as he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses.

“Cal—“

He held up a hand for silence as he poured them each a glass, “I know you like the stuff from the Abbey, but I really think you’ll appreciate this one,” he said casually.

“Wait, what? Aren’t you going to like kick me out or something?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I thought you’d be freaked out.”

“Not if you’re truly on the path to redemption. I told you I wasn’t going to judge. Besides, if all these people who were on the receiving end of all this can forgive you and give you another chance, why shouldn’t I give you a chance too?” Faith walked closer to him as he handed her one of the glasses.

“Thanks,” she said weakly.

“Look, I asked, and I should have known better… I mean I know your life is complicated and the way you’ve talked about your past… I should have realized it was more—“

“Screwed up?”

“Well, yeah, alright… but, Faith…”

Faith couldn’t look at him, she downed her drink and set the empty glass down, “Look, if you just want to call this whole thing off, I—“

Callum closed the short distance between them, quickly silencing her with a kiss. He moved one strong hand to her back and the other cradled the back of her head, holding her firmly. He kissed her like he needed her the way a drowning man needs oxygen.

Taken by surprise, Faith stiffened for a brief moment before melting into the kiss. She moved a hand up under his shirt feeling his well defined muscles. Callum grabbed her roughly pulling her up onto him. She responded in kind by wrapping her legs around him as he made his way over to the dining room table. He set her down on the edge of the table on the opposite side of their abandoned dinner. “God, help me Faith, I can’t care about any of that. I think I love you…” he gasped breathlessly, “Please stay.”

Faith felt the sting of tears in her eyes, “Why?”

“Don’t be daft girl, I just said—“

Faith started to push him away, “No I mean why— how can… how can you love me? I’m—”

Callum brought a hand up to her cheek, “You’re amazing, Faith.”

“No I’m not. Didn’t you hear what I said? After everything I’ve done— I don’t—“

“I’ve lost control, Love, I know what that’s like. What happened after… Look I don’t get all of it. I never will, I know that.”

“I glossed over so much, you don’t even know… you don’t know the real me, the person I was—

“Isn’t the person in front of me. When we learn from our mistakes we don’t become them. All you can do is move forward and keep trying to do better. That’s what I see in you, Faith. That’s what I saw in you when we first met. Even before you told me everything—“

“But I didn’t.”

“Faith—“ he took her hand in his, “You are who you are now because you want to be. You’re beautiful, soddingfunny, and the toughest person I’ve ever bloody met. I see what you’re doing with your life now, the kind of work you’re choosing to do and I think that’s incredible. I want to be with you; if you’ll let me.”

“Because you love me?”

“I—“

“Or was that just a play to get—“

“Hang on there. I meant what I said, I’m mad for ya, Lass… I just know I’m off my nut saying it when I did… going too fast, I know it… I’m rushing in like a fool and I’m not expecting you—“

Faith threw herself at him and Callum stumbled back hitting the wall near the hallway leading to the bedroom. “Don’t be stupid,” She kissed him roughly before pulling him around and down the hall.

“Damn, you really are strong.”

“I'm not even trying.”

“Good thing I can take a hit.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He grinned as he pulled her to him again, kissing her, “I take it you don’t have any complaints about going fast.”

“As long as you don’t mind being in uncharted waters.”

“I think I’ll manage,” he tugged at her dress and she allowed him to pull it off over her head before pushing him against the wall next to the bedroom door. They resumed the kiss, “I knew you had to have more than one,” he murmured, glancing down at a partially obscured underbust tattoo.

“You know the rules, I show you mine, you show me yours,” Faith pulled at his shirt and he yanked it off revealing a Celtic knotwork bear on the left side of his chest and wrapping around his shoulder, in addition to the Celtic knotwork tree of life on his right shoulder and bicep.

“Damn son, that’s some impressive ink,” she said as she ran her fingers over the intricate lines of the bear on his chest. She began to trail kisses along his neck and shoulder until she spotted another tattoo on his back, “Holy f—“ she turned him around roughly, “that’s intense.” Callum’s entire back was covered with one very large tattoo.

“You like it?”

“The artwork is incredible, but what is it exactly? Is this your Family Crest or a Coat of Arms or something?”

Callum turned his head to try to see her better, “Both actually, Ross Clan Crest on the top there with the family motto ‘Spem Successus Alit’.”

“Which means?” She asked as she traced the stylized letters stretching across the back of his broad muscular shoulders.

Callum grinned in appreciation as he answered, “It means ‘Success Nourishes Hope’,” he continued distractedly as she traced the tattoo, “So, eh, there’s the motto, and the Ross Crest combined with the Ross Coat of Arms.”

Faith continued to run her hand along the well defined muscles of his back as well as the artwork covering it. The Coat of Arms showed a knight’s helmet atop a large shield with three stylised lions on their hind legs. The artwork on the stylistic foliage at the bottom and Celtic knotwork at the top, surrounding the large tattoo blended it seamlessly into the tattoos on his arms and shoulders, “Damn, you’re making me want to get some new ink.”

Callum turned around grinning, “Maybe I can introduce you to the Lass that did these for me.”

“Your bestie that did the mural?”

“One in the same.”

“Maybe…” she murmured as she let her hands roam down and started unbuttoning his pants. Callum closed his eyes and sighed as she trailed her tongue down his chest. Faith paused again as she found another tatoo running along his left side towards the bottom of his rib cage.

She ran her fingers along the words as she read the writing, “‘Be happy while you’re living, for you’re a long time dead’, sounds like good advice.”

“Old saying, always liked it. That’s my newest,” he wove his fingers in her hair and pulled her back up. He kissed her neck roughly feeling the uneven skin under his tongue, “What’s this?” He asked, tracing the scar on her neck.

“Souvenir from the time I helped out that friend I was telling you about. When I got out of prison,” she panted as she moved her hands down to his pants again.

“Hang on, are you saying that Angel guy bit you?”

She backed up holding him at arm’s length, “He wasn’t himself, how do you know about Angel? I never said his name.”

“Spike. We had a chat about the whole soulful vampire thing.”

“Seriously? So he explained everything?”

“I doubt it, but it was enough to be getting on with,” he said, kissing her again.

“God damn you are so hot right now!”, she said as she resumed pulling down his pants and boxers, “Holy-“

Callum stepped out of his clothes as he backed the two of them into the bedroom. He pulled her closer to him pressing against her. Faith gasped, feeling him against her. She suddenly felt overdressed in her lace bra and panties and made a move to remove them. Realizing what she needed, Callum unfastened her bra with one hand and waited for her to shrug it off.

He eyed her with hunger in his eyes, “You’re perfect, Faith,” he took a breast in one hand rolling the tip between his fingers as he studied the tattoo there low on her sternum, a dagger and a black rose, “Now that’s sexy.”

In response Faith reached down, taking him in her hand. Callum made a gruff sensual sound as he tugged at the tiny panties still obscuring her body, “I want you Faith. All of you.”

“Say ‘Please’,” she added as she slipped them down and strode over to the bed. Revealing one last tattoo, a tiny broken-heart, located high on her right butt cheek. She crawled onto the bed slowly.

“Please?”

Faith turned, standing on her knees she beckoned him forward. Callum joined her on the bed kneeling as she was, he pressed himself close to her again as he held her. Faith tilted her head for a kiss and trailed a hand down to hold him firmly. Callum pushed her hand away gently, before cupping a hand to her. Feeling her with the tips of his fingers for the first time.

Faith moaned into his mouth as he gently played, slowly picking up pace. Faith broke the kiss, “I want you, Callum.”

“And how do you want me, Lass?” He whispered with a grin.

Faith laid back pulling him down with her. He gazed at her tenderly as he moved with her. Faith adjusted herself, inviting him in. Callum took his time working his way in slowly until he felt her body tense. He stopped and kissed her gently, “Are you alright, Love?”

“I’m, I’m fine, it's just for a second…” She trailed off and took a deep breath, “The last time someone looked at me like that, I ehh, wasn’t exactly myself. I kinda freaked out.”

“Your ex? That Robin bloke?”

“No, it’s a long story.”

“Listen, if you’re not ready… if you want to stop… I’ve got plenty of cold water. We can just watch a movie or something if this is going too fast for you.”

Faith looked up at his sincere face. He really meant it and he wasn’t angry. She shook her head, “Not a chance, I finally got you right where I want you,” she ran her hand over his naked form pressed into her and grabbed his ass. Then she tilted her head, “well almost, I do like to be on top,” she grinned up at him.

“I love a woman who knows what she wants,” he made a move to readjust but Faith stopped him.

“Not now. Why only ever get wild-cherry when there are loads of other flavors to try?” she pulled him back down for a kiss.

“Whatever the lady wants. Sure this isn’t too vanilla for you?” he grinned.

“We’ll and in some wild-cherry later,” she smirked as she wrapped a leg around him pulling him into her. She arched her back as she felt him respond.

“Always been more of a rocky-road kind of gent myself,” he added with a grin as he began to thrust.

Faith tilted her hips and dug her nails into his shoulders spurring him on, “Love me some rocky-road.”

It was nearly two hours later when Faith and Callum kissed once more before Faith rolled onto the bed next to him. They were both still struggling to catch their breath. The moment she separated from him, she felt like something essential was missing.

Callum cupped her cheek in his hand and placed his thumb on her bottom lip, “What was that?” He panted.

Faith shook her head as she caught her breath. “Buffy tried to warn me,” tears stung at the back of her eyes but that was as far as they got.

“Bout what?” He asked as he tried to wrap his arm around her.

“She, ah… she has a theory about that thing that happens when we kiss,” Faith struggled to get her emotions in check, “I didn’t want to believe it, but after that, I don’t know what else to think.”

Callum turned onto his side so he could see her better. He pulled her closer to hold her in his arms, “What’s this theory, Love?”

Faith stared into his strikingly blue eyes, “She thinks it has to do with us being soulmates…. or something.” She said it quickly and looked away as though she was afraid she sounded crazy.

Instead, he just smiled, “Spike seems to be a believer. Is that your way of saying you love me too?”

“I— I’ve never been… in love.”

“Until now?”

“I kinda thought it might’a been the real thing with my ex, but I know it wasn’t. That didn’t feel anything like this.”

Callum ran his hand along her arm and down her side, “This being?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not good with feelings. Like, I seriously suck at the whole thing. It’s something I’m sort of working on. All I really know is that I feel like I’ve been hit with a ton of bricks and you make me wish we’d done this thing a long time ago. And I don’t just mean the sex. Even though; holy shit man. That was out of the freaking park.”

Callum grinned, “Glad to know it’s not one sided.”

“Don’t be an ass,” she paused for a moment, she ran her fingers along the Celtic-knot bear head tattooed on his chest, “Is it alright if I don’t know right now?”

He squeezed her gently, “Course, it is. Although if you ask me, I think you know exactly what it is we have here. You’re just having a hard time putting a name on it. Especially if we’re working with the soulmate angle,” he kissed her and they both felt the mild tingle that always occurred when they kissed, “Ya needn’t be afraid Lass.”

#fanfic #buffy the vampire slayer #bound #buffy fanfic #spuffy

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spencerreidsconverse · 3 years

Text

Bets With a Vegas Boy

summary: When Spencer and Reader make a bet with high stakes, their stubborn sides show, but when a consulting officer has his eyes on reader, Spencer has to step in.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: SMUT (breeding kink, daddy kink, a bit of degradation, semipublic sex,) unrequited flirting, criminal minds style violence, suggested cannibalism, reader has multiple tattoos

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: This took me forever to finish as I was on vacation! I hope you all enjoy it!

“Y/N, have you ever met Reid? You’re supposed to be smart, why would you willingly sign up for this?” You scoffed at JJ’s words. When Penelope Garcia is involved it seems that no news traveled slowly, proven by the entire BAU’s new knowledge of the bet you had made with boy genius after bickering about which of you was more clingy. “JJ, you really underestimate me that much?” She shook her head in disbelief “You know that’s not it, but come on Y/N! Seriously, he’s banned from every casino in Vegas! Why would you bet against that?” “JJ, he was banned because he can count cards. It’s not like we’re playing Black Jack for christ’s sake!” She weighed the idea for a moment and you could see the wheels turning in her head. “Okay that’s true, but still. He’s the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. I seriously hope whatever he has in mind for your forfeit isn’t as bad as yours.” You laughed, imaging Spencer in the predicament you were positive he would be in the thick of by the end of the week.

“I think he’d look good with one, you don’t agree?” JJ rolled her eyes as you both made your way out of the elevator towards the glass doors. “That’s not my point Y/N, don’t you think it’s a little harsh? I mean he’s not like you, how do you know he’d even want one?” You smirked, remembering the first time you’d met Dr. Spencer Reid. You had been brought on to the team a few short years ago after an implemented policy that required an even amount of field agents so there were partners for every investigation. You thought it was a bit condescending, requiring the most brilliant minds in the nation to follow the buddy system, but it gave you a job and for that you were thankful. It had its perks though, one of which being your immediate pairing with Reid. You were as young as him and not far behind in brilliance. What you lacked in eidetic memory and forgein language fluency, you more than made up for in marksmanship and street smarts. You and Reid got along fine, even if it was a bit tense at first. He was thoroughly convinced he didn’t need a babysitter.

“I’m a grown man! Why would I need to be watched every second of the day? The last thing we need is a liability.” you remembered the words like it was yesterday. You had been approaching him from behind, and overheard his rant. “Well, technically since we’re the same age, I’d hardly consider myself a babysitter. Would you trust your child’s care with someone their age?” Spencer had turned himself around so fast he’d almost fallen off the desk he was perched atop. “Y-you must be Agent Y/N! It’s uh nice to meet you?” He cringed at the tone of his voice, and you burst out with giggles before shaking your head. “Don’t worry Dr. Reid, I understand it must be a difficult situation for you. I mean, if I were the resident genius I wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea of being shown up either.” The dark-skinned woman who had previously been engaging him in his sour mood let out a surprised chuckle and you watched his face turn from embarrassment to shock and finally settle on disbelief. “Wh- Excuse me?” You felt your stomach begin to cramp as his reaction made you laugh further and you clutched your files against your chest. You fought to catch your breath for a few seconds before regaining your composure. “Excuse my reaction, Dr. Reid but I couldn’t resist. No hard feelings?” He nodded mutely and you saw a soft smile crack through his mock stern expression. You turned to introduce yourself to the woman next to him, Tara Lewis. You made small talk for a few more minutes while Reid scribbled away at his desk before Emily called all of you to the round table with a case.

Nerves had struck you then, and you stood frozen instead of joining Tara in her stride. “Y/N, everything okay?” You jumped slightly as you heard Reid’s voice from behind you. “Oh! Yes, sorry!” You moved out of his way, trying your best not to stumble over an empty desk and failing miserably. He stretched his hands out and caught you, much to your embarrassment. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you feeling ill?” You shook your head quickly. “No! No, I'm fine, really.” He looked into your eyes and you tried to ignore the sparks you felt deep in your chest. “Y/N you’re working with profilers now, lying that poorly will never work around here.” His joke succeeded in its attempt to lighten the mood and you let out a soft laugh despite your anxiety. “I’m just a little nervous I guess. I didn’t expect to have a case so soon.” He nodded and his thumb absentmindedly rubbed soothing circles on your sleeve. “I understand. We all felt that way at first. I won’t say it’s easy, but we’re all here to support you. Take a few deep breaths.” You did as he instructed and you felt your nerves ease as he consoled you. “That’s better. Besides, what could you have to worry about? You have the best partner here.” You laughed, and he released your arm. “I’ll meet you in there.” and with that he left you standing there trying to lock down the feelings he had just arisen in you. “Nice Y/N, crush on your partner first thing. What a great start.” you muttered to yourself

A few moments later you joined the rest of the team at the table and quickly reviewed the case, before lifting off 45 minutes later to a small town in Georgia. Everything felt like a whirlwind and you did your best to keep up. True to what Spencer had said, the team helped you get your bearings and by the end of the night you were making great strides along with the rest of them. It was near midnight when Emily dismissed you all to the hotel a few blocks away to get a few hours of rest. You were thankful, having poorly attempted to drown your tiredness with watery coffee from the small pot at the station, and you made your way to the hotel as swiftly as you could manage. When you were all gathered in the lobby, Emily handed out the keycards and it quickly dawned on you how the room assignments would work. You tried to shake off the thought and prayed that the night would go quickly. It made sense to just put the partners together, it made keeping track of everyone easier and allowed for quick communication between the team. You told yourself all the reasons it was logical as you made your way up to your room.

Spencer left you to your thoughts, but he could see how hard you were focusing. He unlocked the door and the lights switched on as you both made your way towards your beds. You heard him ask you something, and turned awkwardly to face him “Sorry, what’d you say?” He looked at you, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. “I asked if you wanted to shower first. Are you okay?” “Oh! Yeah, thanks. I’m okay, just thinking about the case.” You hoped you had lied better this time and were relieved that he seemed to buy it. “Just try to shut your mind off of it for now, I know it’s hard. Trust me, you’ll feel much better when you’re refreshed.” You nodded at his words and pulled some pajamas out of your go-bag. “Thanks Spencer. I’ll try not to take too long.” He shrugged you off “No worries, take your time.” You shut yourself behind the door and tried to shake the feelings out of your head. “Get a grip Y/N. You’re being crazy.” You scolded yourself before showering. You hurried despite Spencer’s insistence and quickly made your way out of the shower to dry yourself off. You applied lotion to your ink-covered skin and slipped on your shorts and t-shirt before drying your hair as fast as you could and making your way out of the bathroom. You dropped your folded clothes on top of your bag, alerting Spencer that you were done.

“That was fast, you really didn’t have to-” his words died in his throat as he looked up from the file in his lap and caught sight of your legs, covered in the intricate artwork that stretched across the skin. You tried to ignore his watchful gaze. “It’s no problem! I wanted to save you some hot water.” He thanked you quietly and made his way to the bathroom hurriedly, trying not to look at you again. You tried to fall asleep but you couldn’t get him out of your head. A few more minutes passed and he made his way over to his bed, trying to will the awkward tension out of the room. You both eventually managed to fall asleep without speaking another word.

The tension continued to grow over the next few months and the rest of the team were getting sick of watching you two dance around each other. You both denied any advances, shot down the chance to go out on any of the numerous blind dates members of the team offered to set up, and chose instead to trade glances across the bullpen and divulge your personal lives over breakroom lunches. Eventually, they made plans for a team outing and convinced you both to attend. Penelope made reservations at a nice restaurant, announcing that everyone just had to try their food. That night however, you showed up to Spencer waiting awkwardly at a table for two in the back corner with a sour face. “Where’s the rest of the team?” You asked him, taking the seat across from him. “Apparently they’ve all had to cancel. Luckily, the reservation was for two.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion and you made a mental note to scold Garcia. “Well, since we’re here I’m happy to eat. I’m starving.” Spencer’s eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly, agreeing with you. After an evening of great food and better wine, the rest was history, and you found yourself thanking Garcia the next day instead. You and Spencer had been dating for just over two years now, though he’d be able to count it down to the second you’d showed up looking angelic at the restaurant that night. You both complimented each other perfectly and you had a relationship stronger than either of you could have dreamed of.

“Hello?? Y/N are you even listening to me?” JJ’s words and nudge against your shoulder brought you back to present day and you snapped your eyes back to her face. “Yes! Sorry JJ I was just thinking… Anyways, we’ve talked about it before. He loves all of mine, and he’s talked about getting one. He’s just afraid of the pain, and too indecisive to choose what he wants.” You blushed softly as you thought about the many nights spent in your shared bed, Spencer tracing the black lines with his fingertips. He adored them and thought they made you especially unique, not to mention he found them extremely sexy. He favored the black sun on your ribcage, shaded to perfection. Even when you were clothed he would run his hand along the fabric that covered the piece.

“Well still, if you do happen to win, I can’t imagine he’ll go along with it.�� You smirked and shook your head. “We’ll see about that JJ.” You both sat at your desks, and began to work through your piles of paperwork. You were thankful there was no case that needed your immediate attention, but paperwork always made you feel like a nap by the time lunch came around. You pushed yourself away from your desk, and stood to find yourself nearly chest to chest with your boyfriend who had stood at the same time. “Oh, sorry Spence. I just need coffee.” You maneuvered your way around him, missing the way he would usually grab your hips to aid you. He followed you to the break room and you poured him a cup as well leaving plenty of room for sugar. Instead of handing it to him with a quick peck on the cheek however, you left it on the counter to be picked up. “You really think you can go a week without touching me?” You heard his voice from the doorway. “It’s already been 3 days.” You said uninterestedly with a shrug, and he eyed you suspiciously. “Okay fine, no. I just think I can go longer than you can.” You finally admitted, smirking back at him.

He grabbed the mug from the counter, adding several teaspoons of sugar before taking a sip. “We’ll see about that. You’re the one that’s always curling yourself around me.” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh yeah, like you hate it. You’re the one that’s always rubbing my back and holding my hand under tables. Even when we’re on the metro home you’ve got your hand in mine.” He narrowed his eyes at you and stuck his tongue out, making you chuckle. “Very mature Dr. Reid. I can’t wait to win.” He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by Luke who stuck his head in to alert you both of the new case you’d be working. You let out a long sigh. “So much for paperwork.” The three of you made your way to the round table and sat, Spencer curling his hand into a fist to keep himself from subconsciously reaching over to place his hand on your leg.

“So, we are assisting in a local case this time, with Washington state PD about a string of murders in the homeless community. However, there’s been hefty construction in their field office so they will be joining us here.” Penelope quickly took the lead after Emily’s announcement and filled you all in about the details. She ran through the few details the local PD managed to uncover on their own and the team had only managed a few minutes of brainstorming when a group of police officers made their way through the glass doors of the BAU. There were only a handful of officers which surprised all of you, and Emily led the rest of you out of the conference room, beelining her way to the chief. “Hello, Landon. It’s nice to see you again.” She shook his hand briefly. “Likewise Emily, though I wish it was under different circumstances.” “As do I. I’m sorry for the miscommunication, I was under the impression that your entire force would be joining us. Is that not the case?” The chief, Landon Bridges you now knew him as, shook his head. “We knew you had a pretty tight space and we have a lot of members. I brought a few people from each department and figured it’d be easiest to fill everyone else in periodically. We didn’t want to overflow your space and leave no room to work.” Emily nodded and rested her hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate the thought, thank you. This is the rest of my team. SSAs Jennifer Jareau, Luke Alves, Matt Simmons, David Rossi, Y/N Y/L/N, Drs Spencer Reid and Tara Lewis, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You all gestured as Emily quickly introduced you, and a short time later you were all acquainted and working throughout the bullpen. You and Spencer were just beginning to start the geographical profile when one of the Washington police officers, Kline, made his way over to you. “Pardon me agents, do you need any help?” You looked up from your section of the grid lines and smiled at him which he returned brightly, but before you could answer, Spencer dismissed him. Kline’s face fell slightly but he nodded and made his way over to where Tara and Luke were reviewing the last known areas of the victims.

You turned and stared at Spencer in disbelief. He looked up after a few seconds, feeling your eyes burning a hole through the top of his head. “Yes?” You glared at him harder, before railing into him in a hushed tone “Don’t ‘yes?’ me. That was insanely rude. They’re here to help us! Quit acting all high and mighty.” He stared back at you and you saw the stubbornness light up his eyes. “Why should I? We could solve this case twice as fast without them getting in the way.” He knew he was talking too loud, and was more than aware of Kline who was staring at his back with a sour look resting on his face. “Spencer! I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to fix it. You’re being an ass.” He rolled his eyes and you both let out a sigh before looking back down at the maps covering the desktop beneath you.

A few hours passed before you and Spencer finished the geographical profile, and you gestured Kline over to ask him a few questions about the area you’d narrowed down. Spencer noticed he had made his way to your side and bit his lip to keep himself silent. “Officer Kline, can you tell me anything about this area of the block? It seems like a lot of our victims were last seen in this area.” He eyed the map where red ink stained the paper and pondered for a few seconds. “Well, there’s not much out there really. A few older shops and some construction to the east” he gestured to the empty spot of land on the map “but nothing of real interest. We don’t usually get calls for the homeless population over here either. There’s not really much shelter so they don’t usually go towards this way” Your brow furrowed and you nodded, thanking him but before he could get another word in Spencer piped up. “Kline, if the homeless population doesn’t “Go that way” he mocked the officer in front of you, and Kline tensed up in response “then why are they all disappearing from the area? Does that make sense to you?”

Kline struggled to respond and you glared at Spencer before assuring Kline there was no need for him to pay Spencer any mind, excusing his behavior with a rambling about late nights and too little coffee. Kline walked away and you stared Spencer down for several seconds before making your way towards the main group to deliver the geographic profile, leaving Spencer to sulk. You continued to avoid Spencer until you were sent out to investigate the block you sectioned off with Emily and JJ. You opted to drive which left Spencer in the passenger seat, fuming at your silent treatment and JJ and Emily trying to fight the tension in the SUV to no avail.

You parked the SUV a few blocks away and the four of you walked the rest of the way to avoid raising too much suspicion. You were standing in the center of the unsubs hot zone when you noticed a line of people clustered in front of one of the more rundown buildings. The building had wide front windows that had been taped over with brown paper, as well as the glass doors. You and Spencer approached the group warily, trying to get closer to see the poorly written signs on the door.

“DISCOUNT MEAT - PRE-COOKED”

“12pm-12am”

You gestured Emily and JJ over and the four of you quickly aimed to disperse the crowd much to their displeasure. After several minutes of arguing and multiple badge flashes you managed to succeed and stood outside the door ready to investigate once the owner opened his doors. Fifteen minutes had passed without any sign of movement from the inside and Spencer began to shift anxiously, causing you to do the same. A few more seconds passed and you heard the locks on the door click, reaching your hand around to rest on your holster automatically. As soon as the door opened, Emily pushed through holding her badge and announcing the reason for your investigation.

The shop owner immediately demanded you leave and not return unless you had a warrant. “Actually, because this is no longer a registered business it becomes property of the town and therefore is subject to any kind of local or national investigation under Property law 14, sections 3a-3f go more in depth about the issue if you feel the need to verify.” Spencer explained the situation while sifting through the counter drawers, leaving the man to sit in silent rage while Emily and JJ questioned him. You bent over to fiddle with a padlock on a hollowed bench seat on the far wall and pulled one of the pins out of your hair to pick it. A few seconds of tampering later, the lock gave way with a satisfying click and you pulled the bench open. A rancid smell hit your nose and stomach before you could process what you were seeing. Body parts were wrapped in butcher's paper and poorly taped, and you fought to keep your breakfast down as you slammed the bench shut. Emily then stood the man up and cuffed him, while reciting the miranda rights. JJ followed her out and you followed her quickly, trying and failing to erase the memory from your mind.

Back at the office, the rest of the team and several of the officers had already begun processing the unsubs case and there was little left to be done by the time you returned. You filled out your files and quickly wrote out your account of the incident before heading to the breakroom for a cup of coffee. You pulled your mug down from the shelf and pressed your favorite individual pod into the machine and pressed the button to let it run. You were digging in the fridge for your creamer when a deep voice startled you

“Little late for coffee isn’t it?” You turned swiftly to find Kline standing in the doorway and you let out a small sigh. “When you work like we do, it’s never too late for coffee” You smiled and made your cup to your taste, taking a long sip. You expected Kline to just grab what he wanted and leave, but instead he continued to make awkward conversation despite you going so far as to begin scrolling through your phone. “So, that Spencer guy is really a piece of work huh?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead remained focused on your screen, telling yourself that he just didn’t get the chance to see the good side of Spencer like everyone else there had. “He’s really not a bad guy, he’s just had a long day. We all have.” Kline nodded but moved closer to you, so close that you could smell his headache-inducing cologne. “I’m just saying, if I had the opportunity to work with you every day, I wouldn’t waste my time arguing with you. I’d treat you right.”

You shifted uncomfortably, praying he would pick up on your uneasiness and back off but instead he moved to corner you against the counter. You tried to excuse yourself but your voice caught in your throat.

“Kline, I really overestimated you. I figured even a man as dimwitted as yourself would be able to tell when a woman isn’t interested but here we are.” Your head snapped up towards the doorway where Spencer was standing. Kline turned around and prepared himself to tell your boyfriend off when he froze. Spencer had the look in his eye that sent chills down your spine and made it very aware to Kline that there was no use fighting. He quickly left the room and you and Spencer held eye contact for several seconds before he spoke again “Meet me in the storage room at the end of the hall in 2 minutes.” His voice made your legs feel weak and you nodded, dumping the contents of your mug down the drain, keeping your pace in check as you slipped into the hallway.

You had barely unlatched the door when Spencer pushed it the rest of the way open and you felt yourself being dragged into the dimly lit space. You barely had time to let out a surprised squeak when you felt his lips against your throat, turning your noise into one of pleasure. His kisses quickly turned sharp, applying the expertly rehearsed amount of pressure to avoid marks but to still send shockwaves of heat to your core. “Spence” his name left your lips in a whine while he busied himself unbuttoning your blouse. “Spencer, you just lost the bet.” You felt a smirk grow across your face that disappeared as he hiked your skirt up to your hips while rubbing your clit through your panties. “Fuck the bet, Y/N. I’m sick of seeing you walk around here clueless. You know I’ve been all over Kline’s ass, little girl?” His voice dropped lower and he lifted you up to push you against the wall. “It’s because he couldn’t stop looking at yours.” You let out a moan as he pushed your panties to the side, slipping two of his fingers into you.

“Fuck baby, you’re so wet. Did me getting all protective of you turn you on? You like making daddy jealous?” You shook your head as well as you could manage, trying to keep your volume in check. “Answer me pet, or you’re not gonna get daddy’s cock in you like I know you’re desperate for.” You whimpered at his words “No! I-I wasn’t trying to make you jealous daddy I swear!” You stuttered as he began to spread you further with his fingers. He smiled against the exposed skin of your chest before removing his fingers. “That’s my good girl. You ready for daddy?” You nodded as he fiddled with his belt buckle, moaning in anticipation as he released his cock from his slacks. You bit your lip as he ran the tip over your folds, sucking in a harsh breath as he pushed himself deep inside you. He let you adjust for a moment while he sucked at your neck again. “Daddy, please move. Please, I need you.” He let his hips move, pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming you forward into the wall again. You let out a moan as he thrusted in and out of you. You felt like your skin was on fire, the lack of touch over the past days made everything more intense.

A few more minutes passed and you felt yourself growing dangerously close to the edge. “Spence I’m gonna cum” you felt his pace grow even more rapid and he circled your clit with his thumb. “I’m gonna cum inside you angel. I’m gonna fill you up with my kid. You want that huh? Want everyone to know that you belong to me, don’t you?” You moaned at his words “God yes, please daddy. Please cum inside me!” You felt his hips stutter under you and a familiar warmth as you finally climaxed. Your toes curled and your head fell back against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

“God Y/N that was amazing.” You let out a soft whimper as he pulled out of you and lowered you back down to your feet. He kissed you, pulling you closer than before. “I love you Spencer. Only you.” He touched the tip of his nose to yours and returned your words, while you both caught your breath. A few minutes later you both exited the closet, and tried to smoothly make your way back to your desks. Washington PD had finished the bureau required paperwork and had already left so things were much quieter.

You had just sat down when JJ looked up from her computer. “So Spence, whatcha gonna get?” His head snapped up and your cheeks flushed. “Wh-What?” he managed to stutter out. “From the diner? Garcia said she would run out and get dinner.” You both let out simultaneous sighs of relief and told her what you wanted, settling in for a long night.

The next weekend you had free, you found yourselves in one of your favorite spots. The low pitched buzzing added to Spencer’s anxiety as he tried to divert his focus to the bright neon signs. You held his hand, stroking it with your thumb as you waited for your tattoo artist and best friend, Vannessa, to finish Spencer’s design. You tried to distract him but before long she called you back to the table and you heard his breathing quicken. You helped him get settled on the table while Vannessa applied the stencil. She adjusted it until Spencer and you both approved and then she started. Spencer tightened his grip on your hand as she traced the lines while you murmured words of encouragement in his ear. Half an hour later, she was running Spencer through the after care process while wrapping his forearm up. You paid her and made your way out of the shop after thanking her.

Slipping into the driver’s seat, you watched as Spencer carefully maneuvered his way into the car, fastening his seatbelt and resting his arm against the door. The streetlight shining through his window highlighted his forearm perfectly, revealing the perfectly mimicked shape of a shaded black sun.

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foreverfallingforthestars · 3 years

Text

Shining in the Darkness

I've had to rework this plot about 3 times because I started this earlier this year and then restarted it a few weeks ago and then re-restarted it yesterday lmao I hope you guys like it

Word Count: 1699

Read on AO3

Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Day 13 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Florist/Tattoo shop AU

~~~~~~~~

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned, “look at them pretending to be all high and mighty with their all-black, emo, punk tattoo shop.” She turned away from them in annoyance, instead taking in the bright and beautiful flowers around her.

“I mean, I hope you didn’t expect a tattoo shop to be all sunshine and rainbows,” Elide laughed as she wiped down the counter where bouquets were made.

Aelin sent her a withering glance. “You’re only saying that because you’ve been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Dark ever since they started moving in.”

Elide sent her a sweet smile in response. “As if you haven’t been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Blond? Plus, this is the perfect opportunity to go get that tattoo you’ve been talking about for ages.” Elide gasped and suddenly pointed the rag at her, “You should go by and give them a welcome present! It’ll brighten that dreary place up too!”

Aelin glared at her, “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Uh-huh, sure, kick your favorite cousin out for having such a brilliant idea.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her, “Aedion’s going to take offense to that. Technically, you aren’t even my cousin.”

“I don’t care, and Aedion can suck it,” Elide cackled. “Go get them one of the potted plants. Probably a succulent or two, since it doesn’t look like they can keep anything else alive,” she said as she walked into the storeroom to take inventory.

Aelin sighed as she turned back around to watch the two men wipe down the clear glass panels and windows of the store. Her floral shop, Kingsflame Florals, was right across from The Cadre, a tattoo shop that was apparently opening tomorrow, and she was understandably frustrated at how everytime she looked out her own shop’s glass panels, she saw the dark and gloomy exterior of The Cadre. There was enough darkness in her own brain over the last few years after her parents had passed away that she didn’t exactly need to see it constantly as soon as she looked out of her shop, but Aelin also knew that it was strictly her problem and that she really couldn’t take it out on the shop owners.

Elide was right, though. The only decent thing about the entire place was the fact that there was a Mr. Tall-and-Blond, except his hair glinted so brightly under the sunlight that it looked almost like platinum silver. Even from across the street, she could see his muscles rippling under his black shirt as he wiped down the windows, (this man did not care about the burning sunlight, and she had no idea how he could bear it), and Aelin could see the vague swirls of a tattoo down his arm and on the back of his neck. If she was being honest, she wanted to go see the design up close, maybe get some inspiration for what she wanted, but did she really want to deal with all that doom and gloom?

As she chewed on her lip, she decided that maybe her parents were worth facing that - and she would never admit it, but Elide was onto something with giving them succulents -, and so she turned back around and picked up one of their potted succulents that was there especially for the store. Aelin grabbed their water sprayer, gave it a few spritzes, fluffed her open hair, smoothed down her blouse, and walked out the store.

“Hey, neighbor,” she called out as she crossed the road. Aelin was definitely feeling slightly intimidated by how black everything was, but she could deal. She was out of her emo-depressed phase after her parents had died, and a black tattoo shop couldn’t change that.

The dark-haired man wasn't there, but the man with the silver hair turned around, and she was weirdly excited to realize that he had bright green eyes. It was like a surprise of sorts - the man who seems to prefer black had silver hair and green eyes, exactly the opposite of his personality. He was incredibly attractive, though. Gorgeous eyes, pretty hair, sharp jawline, and the tattoo swirling up his neck, almost creeping up his jaw.

“Hello,” he responded, a slight tilt to his words thanks to an accent. Aelin blinked at first, trying to remember how to breathe again because holy crap, the man was suddenly even more attractive, and this was so not fair.

She put on her best, charming smile as she responded, “Welcome to the street. Your shop looked a bit too doom-and-gloom so I decided to bring over some flowers from my shop!”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the plant in her hands. “Doom and gloom?”

“Well, yeah, your entire shop is black, which is quite an achievement honestly. How do you make something so dark when the front part of the shop is entirely glass which lets all this sunlight in?” she joked, but from the way his lips turned down into a scowl, she figured he didn’t exactly share the same sentiments.

“It’s a tattoo shop,” he stated in a manner-of-fact tone, “so yes, it’s a lot of black.”

“Um, right,” she awkwardly responded, her bravado effectively gone, “I just wanted to come by and give you a succulent to keep at the desk. I’m Aelin, by the way, I own Kingsflame Florals.”

He looked down at the plant again before looking back up at her. “I figured you owned the shop, but I’m Rowan. You can come in, if you want, and show me the prime location for that so it doesn’t look all doom-and-gloom.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not at all,” he responded with a wry smirk on his face. He opened the door to the shop, and she followed him inside, immediately blasted with the cold air from the air conditioner.

She took the chance to look around the shop, and she was taken aback by the variety of designs posted around the walls. There were the simple designs like flowers, birds, dreamcatchers, and butterflies, while there were also insanely intricate designs of swirls and lines that created abstract art and distinct images, and all of it was just pure talent.

"These designs are beautiful," she breathed, setting the succulent down near the computer.

"Thanks," he replied, leaning an arm against the desk. "Interesting?" he asked, and Aelin could tell from his expression that he expected her to say no.

"Yes, actually," she replied with satisfaction as she watched Rowan's eyes widen slightly. "My cousin says that your shop opening up here is a prime opportunity for me to get the tattoo I've been talking about for ages."

"What’s stopping you from becoming our first customer then?" Rowan asked. Aelin shrugged.

"Lack of inspiration, I suppose?"

"Any ideas about what you want it to be?” Aelin shook her head, to which Rowan continued, “A reason behind getting the tattoo might help with the overall design.”

"We're not that close for me to share that part of my life with you."

"Really? I'd say these past five minutes makes us best friends," he spoke, leaning into her, mischief shining in his eyes.

Stifling a snort, Aelin rolled her eyes. “You should already know my tragic backstory then.”

“Same for you, Ms. Flowers,” he responded.

“No, but you see, I never claimed to be your best friend.”

“Ouch, that hurt,” he responded, a hand covering his heart with fake pain. Aelin’s lips quirked upwards at that with the realization that they had been leaning into each other during that entire conversation, and she was flirting with this man. She hadn’t even noticed how dark everything around her was because within that darkness was this man with bright green eyes that reminded her of pine trees from back home and silver hair that glowed like the moon,

“Fair enough,” she laughed lightly. “It’s for my parents. The shop was actually my mom’s idea for something to keep them busy after they retired, but they, uh, died in a car accident a few years ago. They never got to open it, so I did,” she said, looking out the clear panels to her own shop. It was years of hard work and pain, but she’d gotten through it. “I always wanted to get a tattoo, but now it’s more for them.”

She looked back at Rowan and was surprised to see that there wasn’t any pity shining in his eyes. No, it was understanding and compassion. He understood her decision, and it wasn’t something a lot of people were able to relate to. They would simply pass it off as a nice gesture she wanted to do, but it went deeper than that. It was a way to ensure she would never be separated from her parents, and from the way Rowan had let himself smile genuinely in front of her, she knew he understood.

“The tattoo you were staring at earlier,” he started, pointing a finger at his neck, and Aelin flushed realizing that she hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she was, “is about my wife and daughter that had passed away, also in a car accident. I understand your need to connect to them, so how about I draw something for you? You can take a look at it and make any adjustments as needed, but I can help you start off with something.”

Aelin looked at him, and she slowly exhaled a breath because maybe this was exactly what she needed. “Okay. I wanted it on my ribcage, if that works?”

“Yeah, of course, just be aware that you will have to at least take your shirt off,” he teased, and Aelin was so shocked that she barked out a laugh.

“Wow, Rowan, at least buy my dinner first.”

“Happily,” he replied.

Aelin sent him a bright smile, and she knew that she was never going to live it down from Elide that she had gone to the tattoo shop with the intentions of giving the grumpy men a succulent and had instead left with the man’s phone number and a beautiful tattoo design amazingly created with Old Language letters and a Kingsflame flower.

#rowaelin month #day 13 #rowaelin #aelin x rowan #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #floral/tattoo shop au #romance #comedy

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runawaymun · 3 years

Note

Hi there! You said you take requests. I'd be happy with an imagine about Elrond x reader drinking tea together (h/c). It could be a herbal tea or just something ordinary. Pretty please! Ofc if you feel like writing it. (If not it's ok too~)

Elrond x Platonic!Reader - Cozy

genre: hurt/comfort/fluff warnings: none, except for enough saccharine fluff to give you cavities for: @ramyun-monster reader pronouns: neutral/they/them

You would think that Imladris, of all places, would be conducive to a good night’s sleep. The air off the mountains is almost always cool and crisp, the roar of the Bruinen contributes pleasant white noise, the crickets sing in the rose gardens, and time itself seems to flow unhurried and unhindered. Still, tonight, you’re finding it difficult to relax. Your thoughts keep wheeling around in your head without any particular pattern, bringing up unpleasant memories and lambasting you with all the things you’re putting off: the little tasks that need doing, the appointments you have to keep.

It’s pointless to keep lying in bed glaring at the ceiling (even if it is a really beautiful ceiling). Plus, you’re developing a headache. You peel back the blankets and drag yourself out of bed. The library sounds nice. You’ll head there and try and relax, and hopefully later you can try sleeping again. It isn’t terribly late yet. The moon is still low. You’ve got time.

As an afterthought, you grab your journal from the desk by the window. Maybe if you write down everything that’s bothering you, you can stop thinking about it. The floor is cold under your bare feet, and you slip into a pair of house-shoes before heading out of the guest room you’re staying in.

You take the stairs down to the first floor and find yourself in the library in no time at all. It’s empty this time of day save for the librarian --a dark-haired Noldorin elleth who you think (if you’re remembering correctly) is named Iûldis. She gives you a good-natured wave but doesn’t try to make conversation. You return her wave and head past the towering bookcases of ancient tomes and scrolls to a secluded corner that you’ve grown to love.

The library smells of ink and parchment and vaguely of petrichor sifting in from the open windows. You stop on your way to pick out a book to peruse. The corner you like is comprised of an intricately carved cedar desk and a ridiculously plush reading couch flanked with matching reading chairs. It’s the couch that you settle into tonight, placing the little book on the end table and curling up against the armrest to write.

A pleasant half-hour goes by, but you’re still no sleepier than you began and only marginally less scattered. You set aside your journal in favor of the book. Outside, clouds obscure the moon and rain patters on the terrace. The air turns chilly with a new easterly wind. You shiver and tuck your legs up a bit tighter. That pesky headache still hasn’t gone away. The cold is giving you goosebumps but you’re reluctant to go back to your room just yet.

You catch a whiff of lavender and lemon balm just as someone sets a teacup on the table by your elbow. When you look up, you’re met with a soft smile, warm gray eyes, and an expression that hovers halfway between concern and humor.

“Riveting reading?” Lord Elrond asks. He’s holding his own cup balanced on a tray in one hand and he has a book tucked under his arm.

Before you can get up to give him a bow he puts a hand out to stop you.

You hurry to say: “I didn’t hear you come over, my lord. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be.” He has a thick blanket slung over his arm, and he holds it out to you. “It is a bit cold for you tonight, is it not?”

You blink and take it, wrapping it around your shoulders and snuggling into it. It’s fluffy and pleasantly heavy, just the right thickness. “A little, yes. Thank you.”

He inclines his head with a little smile and gestures with his teacup to the reading chair next to the couch. “May I join you?”

The first dumb thought that accosts your tired brain is why? Thankfully, you stop yourself before blurting it out loud. He probably has a million things to do so you can’t imagine why he’s bringing you tea and blankets.

...And he’s still standing there, patiently waiting for your answer.

“It’s your house,” you say. You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice.

“So it is. Still, I find it polite to ask before imposing myself on someone else’s reading.”

“You’re not imposing,” you say at once. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of an imposition. If you’re honest, you’re absolutely delighted that he’s here asking to join you, offering tea. Ever since you came to Imladris and he offered for you to stay, you’ve admired him. But you’re practically a nobody, and definitely a nobody when compared to him, so you’ve never really worked up the courage to do more than say hello or a few jumbled sentences to him. This opportunity is way too good to pass up.

He sets his tray with its steaming cup of tea on the table between you and takes a seat in the reading chair, placing his book on his lap. There are two spoons on the tray and a few ginger biscuits on a pretty plate and a pot which, as he opens the lid, proves to be filled with honey.

“Would you like some in your tea?”

You still can’t really believe this is happening. You nod.

He spoons a little bit of honey into your cup and lets you stir it in. Adds some to his own, and says warmly: “I always find that a little bit of lemon balm and lavender is the perfect cure for restless nights.”

The two of you drink your tea and demolish the biscuits, listening to the rain make music on the roof. He asks you some questions about yourself and where you’re from and seems genuinely interested in your answers, so you’re happy to give them, and he even answers some questions about himself that you’ve been dying to ask him for ages. The time passes by, the rain lets up, and you finish your cup of tea. Before you know it, you’re getting tired. You’ve forgotten all about everything that was bothering you earlier and your headache is completely gone.

He bids you goodnight with a knowing smile and you go back to your room with that heavy wool blanket wrapped around you like a cloak --and you don’t find it at all difficult to get to sleep.

#elrond x reader #elrond imagine #lotr imagine #lord of the rings #And Rohan Will Answer! (Requests)#whOOPS this got HUGE #but this was such a nice prompt thank you!#gif warning #and the gif isn't mine #elrond

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imalwaystiredzzz · 3 years

Text

C3: Sisyphus happy. Yan Zhongli x Reader

Warning: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationships.

< Sisyphus happy. chapters >

“You are still the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told.” ― Nikita Gill, (Persephone to Hades) Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths and Monsters ══════════════════════════════════

Step by step by step. Any more and you would collapse, exhausted to the very core of your soul. You’d give anything to stop, to sleep, to rest on a shade of a tree. In this realm, there is no god. There is only the boulder upon your back and prisoner set to carry it and the nightmare of this is that you can’t.

The dreams flow like the sands of time, holding for a moment and gone the next, blown by the wind, unforgiving to anything. Not even you.

“You should rest a bit more,” Zhongli would say, picking a dress that you would be wearing from an extensive wardrobe that he got you after moving to your new house while you sit on the dresser feeling as if this has happened before.

The white silk easy and comfortable on the skin in this summer heat is welcomed with open arms and you smile at him as thanks. While it is as simple, fitting for someone in your standing, the traditional embroidery, intricate symbols of the land decorated by the long body of a dragon, made it fashionable and familiar yet never having worn it before. A perfect fit on your small frame Zhongli would admire without looking, busy brushing your (h/c) hair. “I would dare say that it would even be better if you simply relaxed indoors with this heat.”

“Isn’t that like asking you to skip the day and stay with me.” You would slyly comment after he is finished, holding his hand and giving you the shubi(comb) to be kept in the drawer. Yet another gift that he has given, your lovely husband never failed to spoil as even a simple comb is adorned by jewels and a symbol of the geo.

“Trust me dear, I’d rather see your face than have another conversation with Barbatos.” He brushes a strand and kisses your forehead before going to the kitchen so you may prepare his tea. You chuckle, thinking back to the nights that he would complain, long and trouble about his flighty acquaintance from the city. The drunkard from Mondstandt, who shirks his duties and plays around. ‘A disgrace to the arts,’ he would even grumble.

Even in summer when the sun is high with its sweltering long days and short nights, the mornings have never changed. You slowly and carefully put the leaves on the pot, as Zhongli talks about a child that he has recently taken in. “I do not know how to handle a child, and he seems to be suffering from chronic pain…” His voice, drawled in the background like static in your head; everything slowing and blurring like an oncoming headache as you notice something in the bottom of the pot.

The city who was protected by the god of geo, had loved and adored him, to the point that they would engrave it on their crafts it seems, you think staring at it wondering when exactly did Zhongli get this yixing teapot. It seems as if a long time has passed, so long that even you have begun to forget.

“Zhongli, when did we get married again?”

He stops and as if time had known a master so did the world. Neither the creak of the wood as he stood, nor the pads of his familiar footsteps and the shift of his clothes make a sound.

The walls have ears and the earth keeps your soul, the wind whispers as you begin to suffocate in his presence, the whole house feeling familiar yet foreign, like the back of your husband as he walks away.

Your heart is filled with regret, the sound of a closing door has resumed the ticking of a clock, while you are left in the kitchen, thoroughly alone with an empty cup and unfinished tea, left to pick up pieces of your routine with a question left unanswered. You stare at the catalyst of this disaster, only to find a plain pot and a headache from trying to remember what you were looking for.

It's always in summer, when uncomfortable heat makes your joints hurt and head light, that an unusual day occurs, it is as if you were dreaming, and any moment you would soon wake to begin the day all over again. Yet you don’t and you hate this season even more.

It ends with you retreating to the garden, welcoming and always familiar with it’s peaceful quiet where you find yourself in solace. “This is solely yours,” Zhongli once said, the first and last time that he has stepped in the garden that he had made especially for you.

Here you are safe. Here the plants sprout from the ground and nurtured to life with your own two hands are a pillar to your reality. Here, you are (y/n)(l/n), a simple herbalist and the ache from being under this heat on your skin that turns red, the pain in your bones as it creaks from crouching to be near the ground, the soil and leaves in your hands is familiar.

It is with plants harvested and crushed to medicine, intricately and methodologically, where you find yourself.

You are (Y/n) (l/n). You are a herbalist as was your father and mother whom you clung and learned from their hip since you understood how to speak, and you try to remember what permeated the air as they came home in the dusk.

Did your mother’s warm hands perhaps carry the scent of flowers from all the Qingxin petals or had your father smelled of miasma from the dying?

The mountain with its afternoon air, for the first time, never felt so lonely that you had wished for the sun to come down for any company.

“Maybe we should visit my parents.” You say while eating Jewelry soup, an offering of sorts for whatever happened earlier. He is quiet again, sighing when you spoke before he replies, “I’m unsure if you can make the trip, you are aware how sickly you are, right? I would have loved even to show you an opera.”

“What if they visit us, instead?”

“(y/n), you know how they’ve grown old, I’m worried for their fragile bones.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. Something whispers in the back of your head as you stare at him, gouging for any hints that it is indeed a lie, yet his impassive face and sharp amber eyes brimming with sympathy tells otherwise; then there it was again a deja vu moment as if you’d had this conversation before and you are drowning in your own head.

“Maybe one day when you are feeling better.” He kisses your hand, tender and long, holding it tightly as if it was painful to let go, as a silent apology. It pulls you out and grounds you, immensely thankful for his presence thinking where you would be without your husband?

“I’m sorry. “ Guilt overwhelms your heart and you do not tell him that you barely remember your parent’s face, rather you opt to look at the hands that clasp yours, like a prayer as he sighs almost like a hiccup to his impassive facade, and you think that he is simply exhausted from work and the long journey it takes everyday, simply because you needed to be here lest you compromise your health. Everything, everything he does is always for you, yet here you are pestering and giving him another headache when home is supposed to be where one rests their weariness.

Tonight, it is you who blows the candles and let the house dissolve into the pitch black, until you are blind and all you can do is feel and hold his weary body against yours. Your husband who is always unmoving, adamant and akin to a pillar rather than a person who knows how to hide his emotions in little cracks, feels like a stranger in your arms as he silently falls apart, yet still speaks no words and hides his face in the dark.

And then you sleep, closing your eyes as another season passes, like a dream blurring in and out of focus. Forgetting the tiniest details, but Zhongli.

Your dear husband who is the only constant. Your dear, beloved husband is always there smiling and telling you stories about memories long passed and if you looked in the corner of your eyes, he looks at you like you were too.

You are (Y/n) (l/n).You are a gardener. You don’t know nor understand why those words repeat in your thoughts like a broken prayer of a sinner who has long been abandoned by his god. It is whispered like a plea, filled with sorrow and regret. The weight of these emotions bore on your fragile shoulders as if you were carrying a boulder on an uphill road and yet you cannot stop your steps.

#TiredZ Sisyphus happy #yandere zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #zhongli x y/n #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin imagines #geshin impact #yandere zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

Text

Be Your Man

A/N: I know I say it every time, but seriously, thank you SO MUCH for your requests, anon or otherwise. It means the world to me that you trust me with your visions. Here’s a requested fic inspired by the song “Be Your Man” by Rhys Lewis! It’s angsty and has the slightest hint of smut if you look really hard. As always, there are no physical descriptions of the reader! I hope you like it - I cried at the end lmao.

It’s not proof-read so I apologize in advance!! I really hope you like it.

_______________________________________________________

Being with the bard was, in a word, comfortable.

His connections ensured you always had a soft bed in a warm inn waiting for you at the end of the day. His reputation and acclaim afforded you a higher status among villagers, scholars, and even knights. Everyone loved his music and adored his visits. With him, you were always welcome.

With him, every day was a gift and every evening a celebration. With him, you never found yourself in harm’s way. Never felt the gnawing pull of hunger or the ache of thirst. He never left your side and you had no reason to leave his. And he loved you, he really did. He showed you everyday, through his songs, his words, his touch.

You were his sun and you were, for lack of a kinder word, comfortable.

That isn’t something you were used to, being comfortable. Your life had been tumultuous from the start and you had hardened yourself accordingly. Everything you had you’d earned as a journeying blacksmith; working whatever you could to make a sale. Now though, having access to any workshop, material, or tradesman the continent could offer, you were at the height of your craft.

But still, nothing could ever compare to the blade you forged for Geralt.

It was stunning, perfectly balanced, crafted from your best steel and iron Geralt had been gifted from the mines of Mahakam. The ornate curve of the hilt took you days to perfect and the faceted garnet you’d set within the pommel shone brilliantly with a clarity that royal houses across the continent would envy.

“It’s exceptional,” he murmured, completely in awe, while examining your work, “how you manage to make your blades look so intricate without sacrificing quality, I’ll never understand.”

You bit your smile to keep yourself from gushing as you watched him wield the sword as if it was an extension of him. And it should be, as you crafted it with him in mind.

“Whoever buys this will be one lucky bastard,” he said as he came out of a mock-parry and pirouette.

“Oh, I’m not selling it!” you said, shaking your head at him as he sheathed the weapon.

“What? Y/N this could get you four maybe five hundred Novigrad crowns! Did someone commission you for it?”

“No, no, it’s a gift.”

“Y/N you are far too generous.” He admonished, attempting to hand the sword back to you.

“Hush, it’s for you.” You say, laying your hands over his, your eyes sparkling.

Gods the way he looked at you then. The way his face softened when you laid your hands over his, how his breath hitched when you took a step towards him. Your bodies so close, eyes flitting from his hooded lids to his lips, and when you finally –

“We’re just about there, darling!” Jaskier sang, pulling you out of your reverie just as the familiar ache began pulling at your lower belly.

“Ah! Y-yes! Wonderful!”

“Well look at you, you’re blushing! Are you remembering the last time we were here?” He teased flirtatiously, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“Mm you know me well,” you lied, quickly taking his hand in yours to get it off your thigh. “How much farther, would you say? I’m starving.”

“Not too long, darling.” He said softly, glad that you were watching the forest with rapt attention, and praying the sting of your deflection wouldn’t be too obvious should you turn to meet his eyes. You didn’t turn to look at him though, and that filled the bard with both relief and immense sadness.

Jaskier wasn’t a fool, he recognized your guilt, sensed the way your heart longed for another. But every now and then, when it was just the two of you, he was sure he saw joy in your eyes. You loved him, maybe not quite as he loved you, but he was certain you loved him.

She just loves him more. He smiled at you sadly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand in silent resignation.

“God, I fucking love these beds!” you sighed blissfully, rolling onto your back. The pair of you had meant to get your room and then head out into the village to find work but you hadn’t been able to ignore the fire the earlier memories had ignited.

“Careful my sweet, or I’ll start to think you’re only with me for the fine accommodations.” Jaskier chanced, hoping you’d finally say the three words he so desperately wanted to hear you say, and see that you meant it.

“Ha! Shut up, Jask.” You laughed lightly, snuggling into his arms where you couldn’t catch the disappointment in his eyes, and where he couldn’t see the sadness in yours. Don’t go there, Y/N, you thought, Jask is Jask, and he loves you just fine.

“Why don’t you let me,” you whisper, peppering his neck and jaw with kisses between words, desperate to get your mind off your witcher, “show you how much I love you?”

“Aa-euhm…” Jaskier let out a breathless squeal as your hand creeped between his thighs and he let himself be lost in your touch. Maybe, he thought, good enough could be enough.

You’d given up on the idea to go out to find work long before the sun had set on the village, but that surely didn’t keep work from finding you. The pair of you had barely settled yourselves at the table when you were recognized and showered in contracts.

“Please, madam, I know it’s not the priceless blades you normally work with, but my pots and pans are in desperate need to be replaced –”

“Of course, miss Eldridge,” you interrupted the inn’s owner gently, placing a light hand over hers to calm her nerves, “it would be a pleasure to help you. I’ve recently been working with new casting molds, and it would be an honour to sell you my first.”

“Oh, my! Thank you, Y/N, thank you!”

“No, thank you – this stew is easily the best we’ve ever had! It would be a crime if you weren’t able to keep serving.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” she laughed humbly, giving your arm a squeeze in thanks before walking back to the kitchen.

You were beaming as you watched the woman practically skip back behind the heavy wooden door.

“What? Why are you staring?” you asked Jaskier, bringing your beer up for a long sip.

“I love watching you work; you shine like the stars on a winter’s night.” He said, reaching over to hold your hand in his.

“Ugh, Jask,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose at his poetics. “You’re such a cheeseball,” you teased him lightly, as you’d done many times before, but this time something flashed in his eyes.

“Hey! I know you were never showered in compliments when you were with Geralt, but-”

“What?!” you interrupted, practically spitting out your last sip.

Jaskier merely leaned back in his seat and gave you a one-shouldered shrug. You could tell he was trying to be aloof but in the six months you’d been together, the topic of Geralt had been a like a landmine. Someone always got hurt, actually, you both ended up hurt.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m not wrong here, love.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jask. It was a beautiful sentiment, really! I’m just – y-you know how I am with this kind of stuff.”

“I know, dear” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his drink.

“I adore your work,” you added, your nerves heightened by his apparent sense of calm, “I’m just not… always comfortable being the subject.”

“My expressions of love make you uncomfortable now?” he scoffed, looking up at you with big, sad eyes.

“No! No, Jask. T-that’s not what I meant!” you put your drink down and scooted closer to him to take both his hands in yours. “Jaskier, please… I love you. This is how I love, it-it’s who I am, it’s how I am. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll be your star.”

Jaskier only shook his head slowly as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve seen you in love, Y/N. I believe you love me,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze, “but you’re not in love with me.”

“That isn’t true, Jask.” You whispered, blinking back heavy tears. You held his hands so tightly now, as if afraid he’d just disappear into thin air before you.

“It is though, and that’s okay.”

“Jaskier…”

“You know, you always use my name,” he said, nodding slightly as he thought, “not always my full name, but alas.”

You opened your mouth to disagree but couldn’t bring yourself to use a pet name, and so your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish. The bard looked at you knowingly with his large, knowing eyes, full of love but still heavy with sadness.

“Jaskier,” you finally conceded, feeling yourself crumble under his heavy gaze, “what’s happening?” you asked, your voice coming out of you like a strangled whisper.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I can’t lose you too.”

“‘Too’.” He repeated flatly.

You wanted to comfort him, to correct him, but nothing was coming to you. He wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him now.

“Why are we doing this now, Jask? I thought we were doing okay. I thought we were happy,” you finally managed to ask, your voice shaky.

“Look, I’m,” he tried, his own voice breaking despite himself, “I know I can’t compare with him.” He waited a beat to see if you’d interrupt him with a correction and when you didn’t, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I know how you feel. How you’ve… been feeling. Y/N, Geralt is here. He walked in not long ago, and he’s sitting at the back the of bar.”

Everything went blurry. You could tell he was still talking to you it was like your ears were stuffed with cotton – everything was muffled but too loud. You were going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Every inch of you was screaming to turn around and look for him, but you were frozen in place like a deer who’d spotted the archer and heard the bow snap but just stood stock-still and let the arrow hit.

“Y/N,” Jaskier pulled your hands closer to him, pulling you back to reality along with them, “I made the decision that I’m okay being your second choice,” he swallowed thickly before continuing, “but now I need you to make a choice.”

You felt as though you’d just been struck. He was looking at you with too much kindness, too much understanding, too much compassion. Holding his gaze made you feel as though a knife was being twisted into your chest, but you were so afraid that if you looked away, he’d leave you.

“My dove,” he says softly as if reading your mind, “I love you and no matter what you chose I’ll be there for you, always. I just want you to be truly happy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to keep more tears from falling, but upon feeling him get up to leave the table, your eyes shot open and you let the tears fall.

Very softy, Jaskier cradled your face in his hand and gave your forehead a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“I’m going to head upstairs… I’ll see you up there?” he whispered hopefully.

You nodded up at him wordlessly and let the tears fall as you watched him head up the stairs.

Left alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your cheek until you tasted blood to keep yourself from openly sobbing. The bustle of the inn allowed you some sense of privacy, which you appreciated, but it also exacerbated your loneliness. Letting out a shaky breath, you poured the rest of your drink into your mouth and swished it around to wash away the blood before swallowing.

Jaskier knew. All these months you thought you were the only one hurting, the only one who felt the weight of the witcher’s memory, but you were wrong. Gods were you ever wrong.

You felt terrible, and far too sober. You quickly swiped at your tear-soaked face, picked up your empty stein and turned to make your way to the bar.

But then you saw him.

He was alone, as always, wearing the thick wool cape you loved. The hood wasn’t up so you could see that his snow-white hair was a mess of knots. His eyes were fixed on his drink, so you were saved from meeting his gaze. Gods, you’ve missed him, and fuck he looked good. And tired. Your heart broke at the sight of him.

Then he looked up at you and your breath caught in your throat. His rich, golden eyes were looking straight at you… and they were vacant. He was looking through you, not at you; he didn’t remember you or care to, and your already broken heart shattered once more.

I am nothing to him, you thought somberly, exchanging your empty mug for a full one. You took a deep, shaky breath and downed your beer in one go, slamming the stein back down decisively. But I’m everything to him, maybe that will be enough.

Before heading up the stairs to where you knew the bard was waiting, you allowed yourself one last look at Geralt, only to find he wasn’t at his table anymore. Seems the fates had decided for you, your thought, letting a hollow laugh escape your lips.

The staircase wasn’t especially long, but the trip up felt unending. You took every step slowly, allowing yourself these brief moments of grief over the official loss of your witcher before you committed yourself fully to Jaskier. No more daydreams, no more longing, no more imagining his large, strong arms around you while the bard’s sinewy frame enveloped you.

You had just about convinced yourself that you’d made the right decision when you spotted him, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“G-Geralt,” you breathed, feeling yourself smile despite yourself.

“Y/N.”

“What, um, how – uh, hi,” you stuttered, needing to look up at the ceiling to keep yourself from completely melting under the burn of his gaze.

“Hm,” he hummed, taking a hesitant step towards you, “still the wordsmith I see.”

“Hilarious,” you retorted, falling effortlessly back into your habits. “I’m happy to see you’ve still got my blade,” you said, nodding to the sword behind his back.

“Of course,” he breathed, now dangerously close to you. “I take you with me everywhere.”

“You mean my blade?” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“No.” he said, his eyes boring into you, sparking the flame you’d spent so long trying to tamp out. “Are you here with him?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“You know I am.” You replied defensively, irrationally angry to hear him bring up the bard.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” you spat, but seeing the way Geralt’s eyes softened knowingly at you, you couldn’t help but to backpedal your aggression. “He’s Jaskier, you know? All silver linings and sunshine.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured, casting his eyes downward as he remembered his friend’s almost insufferable positively. “And you? Are you happy?”

“Geralt…” you practically groaned, crossing your arms to keep the heat radiating off of him from taking over you.

“Are you?” he insisted, reaching over to let his warm, calloused fingers ghost over your forearm. The feeling lit your body on fire and left an obvious layer of goosebumps in their wake.

He was standing so close to you know, you could smell the leather, cedar, and smoke emanating off of him, just like it always had. You could feel his breath on your face. Despite yourself, you looked up at him through your lashes. His proximity was intoxicating, inexplicably comforting.

“This is cruel… you’re being cruel…” you whispered, wiping stubborn tears away but not taking a step in any direction, unable to risk his leaving if you were to move.

“Y/N…”

“He loves me, Geralt, so much.” You insisted, almost like a mantra.

“But are you happy?” Now he was whispering. He sounded sad, his deep gravelly voice melting over you like sunlight after a frozen night.

“Geralt –” you warned, shaking your head.

“Answer me.”

“No. I-I’m not.”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I’m not happy.” You conceded, the truth of the statement washing over you as you heard yourself say it.

“Me either.”

You looked up at Geralt then, letting yourself take in the sight of him in full; his eyes, big and sad and fierce as ever, his brows furrowed, creating that deep crease you so desperately wanted to reach up and soothe, his mouth, his lips. You were barely inches from each other now, all you had to do was tip your chin, stand a little straighter…

He closed the gap between you then, his lips crashing into yours hungrily. You fully surrendered yourself to him, reveling in the feeling of his body against yours and you let yourself be happy, insanely, deliriously happy, for the first time in months.

***

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, his head in both hands, and sobbed. His broken breath echoed around the empty room, sporadically drowning out the sound of his best friend kissing the love of his life on the other side of the door.

She was never mine, he thought as sobs broke through him.

She was never mine.

71 notes · View notes

walkerismychoice · 3 years

Text

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 36

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X Olivia, Hana X OC Lydia

Rating: NSFW (I didn’t intend it but it just happened

Summary: Liam finally clears the air with Constantine, and we go to the Fire and Ice Ball at Lythikos, the final social season even before Liam chooses his future Queen.

A/N: Umm, I don’t even want to know how many years it’s been since I updated, but it is with the encouragement of you readers that I was compelled to finish. My tag list is probably way outdated and I’m sure I’ve missed some poeple who’ve asked to be tagged along the way. Feel free to let me know either way if you want to be tagged or removed from the list.

Tag List: @khakie4 @dreadpirateemma @ritachacha @blackcoffee85 @choices-fanatic @boneandfur @butindeed @simplyaiden-blog @bobasheebaby @traeumerinsworld @theroyalweisme @umccall71 @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @enmchoices @jadedpixiescribbles @withice @viktoriapetit @mfackenthal @drakesfiance @drakelover78 @speedyoperarascalparty @silviasutton1989 @krisnicjack @devineinterventions2 @choiceswreckedme @notoriouscs @blackcatkita @hamalu @akrenich @drakewalkerfantasy @jamielea81 @andy-loves-corgis @jlouise88 @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @i-miss-trr @dragonball-luver @gkittylove99 @lovingchoices14

Word Count: 2861

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

“Hello, Father.” Liam greeted Constantine as he walked into the hospital room. He noted the King's color was back to normal and he seemed in good spirits.

"My son, I knew you'd come!" Constantine reached towards Liam with arms outstretched.

Liam just shook his head and held up a hand to stop him. "This is not that kind of visit. I'm here because I know... I know everything."

"What-" Constantine choked out before a coughing fit ensued.

Liam fought the instinctual urge to comfort his father. "Enough with the theatrics. I know about Madeleine...about you threatening the show if they didn't help her win...as if me choosing the woman I plan to spend my life with is some political game to be won."

"How did you find out? I gave strict orders that my demands were confidential."

Liam scoffed. "Seriously? I just told you I found out you tried to have the producers manipulate me into marrying a woman I don't love, and that's all you had to say for yourself?"

"You have to understand," Constantine pleaded. "Madeleine is what's best for Cordonia, and what's best for Cordonia is what's best for you."

"Unbelievable!" Liam felt the anger rising in his chest like a simmering pot ready to boil over. "You may have told yourself that to feel better about choosing your commitments to Cordonia over happiness, love, family... Maybe you’ve lied to yourself for so long you’ve actually started to believe it, but it's one hundred percent bullshit. I know I'll be a more effective leader if I get to choose the woman I want by my side, and that woman is Olivia."

Constantine's jaw dropped and there was a long pause before he gained his composure to protest. "Absolutely not. You know her family's history. I'd rather have you on the same page as me, but I am still King-"

"Save your breath," Liam shut him down. "You should know that your perfect candidate Madeleine has displayed some behavior quite unbecoming of a future queen, and it is all on film. I know Cordonians are generally flexible with their views on monogamy, but I don't think Madeleine sleeping with the host of the show while she's trying to compete for my affection will look good in anyone's eyes. She has been eliminated from the show and is no longer in the running. That leaves only Riley aside from Olivia, and I know you know what's going on there."

Constantine's face fell momentarily in resignation, but then he perked back up again. "Well, then you can bring back someone else. Kiara is quite lovely and is fit to play the part."

"Enough!" Liam practically shouted much too loud for the thin hospital walls. "Not that I owe you an explanation, but Olivia is stronger, smarter, and more capable of ruling a country than anyone you could hope to pair with me. You seem to forget that I am the son who stuck by you and am now the rightful and only heir to the throne. Your reign is coming to an end, and you have no choice but to accept my decision."

Unexpectedly, Constantine's demeanor changed, a sly grin creeping across his face. "My boy, I've always been a bit worried you were too soft to be king. However, seeing you stand up for yourself today gives me hope. I still don't approve of your choice, but I will no longer stand in your way."

Liam shook his head and let out an incredulous laugh, reeling from Constantine’s sudden change of course. "Bastien will take you back to the palace. We can talk more when I know it's not just the medicine that's gotten to your head."

-----

“Well, this place certainly explains a lot about Olivia.” Riley mused aloud as she scanned the ballroom. Ornate floor to ceiling windows with deep alcoves were surrounded by walls with intricate, gilded accents leading up to a hand-painted ceiling measuring at least 3 stories high. The grandeur of the space was both intimidating and beautiful at the same time, much like its owner.

“Has she shown you all the toys in her armory yet? That too says a lot about Olivia," Drake chuckled at his own joke.

Riley laughed along. “No, but she does constantly remind me she keeps a dagger hidden under her skirt. Are you sure Liam knows what he’s in for?”

"Heh. Better him than me, that's for sure. Liam's warm and fuzzy exterior can make him seem like a pushover, but he can hold his own when it matters. Olivia needs someone who can roll with her mood swings but still call her on her bullshit when needed."

"You know, I admit I had a little trouble wrapping my brain around Liam choosing Olivia, but when you put it that way, it makes sense. Now I suppose I need to find Kat so I can figure out if I need to dance with Liam or something. Ugh, I cannot wait until all these balls are over.

Drake almost doubled over laughing. "Oh, Bennett, I hate to break it to you, but this shit never ends. Next will be the coronation, then some charity gala, Liam's wedding...the list goes on. Welcome to your life as a noble woman."

Riley stared ahead blankly as a giant wave of realization washed over her. It was all so much, so fast. She'd never had time to think past the next day to consider this was all ending soon, and then what? Did she stay with her new-found family and live this life that was still foreign to her in so many ways? What about her life in New York? Sure, she didn't have much going on at the moment, but she still had her aunt Susan and best friend Sarah along with some good friends at work like Daniel. Becoming a therapist was still one of her goals, at least it was until the day she left for Cordonia. Now everything was so unclear, and she could hardly breathe.

Drake must have noticed her face looking some kind of way because he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to an open doorway to a nearby balcony. "Why don't we get you some air before you go off and do your thing for the show?"

Once outside and around the corner of the wraparound balcony, Drake pulled Riley into his chest, holding her securely, and she was almost instantly calmed. All the what-ifs fell away, and it was just them. All she needed was the be with him, wherever that turned out to be, and everything else would fall into place.

But what if Drake didn't quite feel the same? They'd been talking as if they'd be together indefinitely, but in reality, they'd only known each other two months. The anxious fluttering in her chest started up again.

Drake pulled back to look her in the eyes. "Riley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. You know, we're both still half American. We can move back to the states....or uh, I mean you can move back to the states if that's what you want." His eyes darted bashfully to the ground.

Riley's face lit up, the nervous thumping in her chest giving way to excited butterflies. "I like the sound of 'we' better if that's what you really meant. You'd really move back to the U.S. with me? I mean I've hardly had the chance to think about what I want, so that may be irrelevant, but you seriously see a future with me?"

"I do." Drake smiled earnestly. "I'm sure anyone who knows me will think I've gone mad, but whether it means being in New York City and putting up with cramped apartments and way too many people, living a quieter, simple life in Texas, or stealing moments away at dreadful Cordonian events such as this, I know we can make our own happiness...together."

"Wow, the Drake Walker I met two months ago would not believe what's coming out of your mouth right now." Riley touched the back of her hand to Drake's forehead in jest. "Are you sure you aren't running a fever?"

"Haha, very funny." Drake swiftly but gently pushed Riley back again the stone wall. "I'm not feeling ill, but I know how to make your temperature rise.

"You pushing me against duchy walls is becoming a thing, huh? Must have really enjoyed the almost public sex last time."

"Possibly," Drake teased as he slipped his hand through the side-slit in her icy-blue gown, gently gliding his fingers up her thigh. Riley braced herself as Drake neared the place she wanted him the most. Goosebumps gave way to a burning need before she remembered where they were.

"Wait." She pushed a hand against his chest. "We're not exactly alone here, and we've gone to such lengths to keep this under wraps. Someone could walk out here at any moment."

Drake shrugged. "I know it may be a bit reckless, but honestly at this point, I don't care. I just want you."

Riley opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out before Drake swooped in for a searing kiss. She instantly melted into him, Drake continuing his earlier action and deftly plunging two fingers inside her, his eyes widening slightly in surprise when he noticed there was no fabric barrier to work around. A strangled moan escaped Riley's throat as he stroked the exact spot he knew always left her at his mercy.

Drake pulled back with a satisfied grin. "Do you want me to stop? Just say the word and we'll go back in right now."

Instead of answering, Riley yanked him by the collar and crushed her lips to his. Drake responded by hoisting her up and over to the balcony. He perched her atop the railing, one hand grasped firmly around her waist and the other making quick work of undoing his pants.

Teetering on the narrow ledge two stories high, Riley clamped her hand tightly to the railing on either side of her and Drake noticed. "I've got you Bennett, no need to worry. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm just doing my job after all," he said with a smirk.

She smiled at his reference to what was now an inside joke between them. But all joking aside, he always made her feel safe. She released her grip, flinging her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Drake eased his cock free and Riley could tell how hard he was just by sight, the skin stretched taught from his perfect proportion of thickness and length. He lifted her dress and she couldn't wait any longer. She pulled him in and he took the invitation to thrust inside her. Even as wet was she was, his size created just the right amount of fullness and friction to take her breath away.

Riley moaned and gasped with each thrust, which in turn seemed to turn Drake on even more. The thrill of being up so high with nothing but him to hold her only added to her excitement and when he began rubbing circles over her clit with his thumb that was all it took to push her figuratively over the edge. She tightened around him everywhere, her orgasm eliciting immense heat and pleasure with every pulse, resulting in Drake picking up his pace until his own release followed shortly thereafter.

Drake carefully set Riley down before putting himself back together. "I'm almost a little disappointed we didn't nearly get caught this time."

"If I don't get back in there immediately, that's still a possibility." Riley had no idea how much time had passed but it was probably more than she thought. "Fuck, Kat is going to be pissed." Riley straightened her skirt and started towards the ballroom door.

"Wait!" Drake puller her in for a quick kiss. "I love you. Just so you don't forget."

Riley rolled her eyes but smiled. "You know you have nothing to worry about. If Liam's charms haven't wooed me yet, I think you’re safe. But I love you too. Now go do your job." She smacked him on the ass before hustling back to the ballroom, Drake following shortly thereafter.

As expected, Kat was frantic when Riley found her. “Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to meet up with me twenty minutes ago?”

Overhearing Riley’s scolding, Olivia smugly sidled up next to them. “I mean, I didn’t mind getting extra time with Liam, but you know Jo and Kat and there ‘ratings’, Olivia said while gesturing with air quotes. She scanned Riley from head to toe and then glanced over to Drake on the perimeter. “Ugh, I can tell you exactly what, or rather who she was doing. Gross. I guess that just makes my position more secure, but really, couldn’t you have waited until after my ball to fuck him?”

Riley sheepishly smoothed her hair and adjusted her dress. “I just needed some air, that’s all. I was having a moment.”

Olivia scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to call it. Although I still cannot fathom why you chose Drake, I suppose I should be a little easier on you for eliminating yourself from the competition and allowing Liam to break free of his distraction of the shiny new object.”

“Aww, Olivia, that’s so sweet. Next thing you know we’ll be best friends,” Riley replied sarcastically.

“I don’t know about friends...but I do dislike you less than the rest of them.” Olivia tried and failed to hold back a smile.

“I’ll take it,” Riley said with a laugh before turning to Jo. “Okay, now tell me where I need to be.”

Jo set Riley up with Liam on the dance floor. It still wasn’t hard to pretend to be into Liam because it wasn’t all pretend, but there was no lingering pining between them.

“Well, I spoke to my father this morning.” Liam spun Riley around and brought her back to face him.

“Finally!” Riley exclaimed. “How did that go?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it to be completely honest, but it went surprisingly well. I told him I knew everything, and he no longer had a say in my decision. He tried to argue with me at first, but somehow something I said made him respect me. He still may not agree with my choice, but I think this is finally all over! I am free to choose who I want without any threat or blackmail hanging over my head.

Riley pulled Liam in and hugged him tightly. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, and for all of us.” The weight on Riley’s shoulders was suddenly ten times lighter. She hadn’t let herself think too deeply about how much was at stake, but now that the air was clear, she realized how stressed she had been. “Now all that’s left is for you to tear my heart to pieces on national television, and you get your fairy tale ending.”

Liam chuckled. “I’ll try to let you down easy.”

-----

Drake stood in his usual position off the side of the dance floor. This may not be the last of these events he’d have to endure, but at least it should be the last time he’d have to stand on the sidelines watching Riley dance with someone else. He was secure in what they had, but it still didn’t stop that twinge of jealously seeing her and Liam together talking, touching, and having fun. But it wasn’t a bad thing that his best friend and girlfriend get along so well. Girlfriend...that’s the first time he’d used that term for anyone he’d “dated”, even if only in his head. It was hard to believe everything was falling into place.

Drake took his eyes off Riley to scan the perimeter. What he saw didn’t immediately register as out of the ordinary, but then he quickly recalled this person walking towards the dance floor wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Bastien, check out three o’clock.” Drake altered Bastien via his radio earpiece. “How did she get in here without security clearance?”

“I don’t know.” Bastien replied. “I’ll check with the other guys to see who let her in. Keep an eye on her.”

Drake watched in concern as Madeleine marched towards the dance floor. She’d been banned from the rest of filmed events after her stunt. Not wanting to let her cause a scene, Drake was about to stop her from getting any closer, when she pulled out an unmistakable object. She had a gun and it was pointed right at Riley and Liam.

Before Drake could alert the rest of the team, people started to scatter. He heard a familiar click and knew he had to disarm Madeleine immediately, but it was too late. A shot went off and he didn’t hesitate. Drake dove between the bullet and his two best friends on the dance floor, and that would be the last thing he remembered before he hit the floor.

#QOMH #TRR #drake x mc #ns*fw #playchoices fanfiction #the royal romance #my fic

54 notes · View notes

hanii-rose · 3 years

Note

Hi there! I would first like to say I’m a huge fan of both your art and your writing~ your posts make my brain release the happy chemicals ♡

If it’s ok I was wondering if I could request Garou with a shy s/o who works up the courage to surprise him by wearing lingerie?? (〃ω〃) only if you want to tho of course

tysm, ily!

✯Lingerie Fever✯

Garou × Fem!Reader

You stood in front of the pristine glass window of the only adult shop in your district, wishfully eyeing the beautifully assorted contents on the other side of it. The pretty little store mannequins stood proudly, in poses you could never pull off, wearing provocative attire, some adorning cuter variations while others had more sexy designs.

This whole situation was strange. People passed by behind you giving you strange looks as you wiggled anxiously near the store window.

You were too occupied to notice their stares, too invested in your own thoughts to care about your surroundings.

Your lover, Garou was out at work, earning a living for the two of you which left you home alone. With nothing to do but watch mindless television, you had opted to go for a little outing.

•••

You had gained an interest in intimate apparel on a lazy Monday, after your boyfriend had left for work and you stumbled upon a romantic advice blog while leisurely surfing the web on your laptop.

'How to Make Your Boyfriend the Happiest in the World!'

Having nothing interesting to do, you clicked on the link, intrigued by the title. The first few tips it gave were fairly ordinary.

'You can only touch a man's heart through his stomach!' or 'Men love complements on their hair and outfit'. Nothing too surprising came up, until you had reached the absolute end of the blog. Suddenly, you found yourself flustered at the blush inducing words on your screen.

'A man cannot resist a woman in erotic attire...'

That last little tip had sent you into a shameless daydream as you thought about it more and more. You? Dress up in sexy clothes for Garou? Was the room getting hotter or were you just overheating?

But the more you pondered on the shameless idea, the more it started to occur to you that the only time you ever dressed up for him was on Valentine's Day and even then it was just a cute dress or a pretty frock.

But nothing sexy...

•••

You squinted and stuck your tongue out, trying to read the price tags from outside of the store but had no luck. The numbers were way too small.

A clerk, while dusting inside the shop noticed your strange behaviour and ran over to open up the door. She watched you peculiarly for a few seconds before speaking.

"Uh ma'am, if you're looking for a set you should come inside. We have a lot to choose from!"

You jumped in surprise and frantically waved your hands in front of you, blabbing out no's.

"Ack- I uh, no no. It's ok! I was just looking!"

The shop lady smiled and gestured for you to head inside with her. Her brown bob bounced as she jovially explained.

"If you were looking, you were obviously interested. Come in and I'll show you some that'll really suit you!"

You gulped and hesitantly nodded, following the saleswoman into the store. Walking through the doors, your eyes landed on the exquisite bras and panties. You gasped quietly, unable to comprehend the sheer erotic beauty of all of them.

"A-a-are these...real?"

The woman chuckled at you, her hand coming up to stifle the noise.

"What a silly question! Of course they're real."

You scratched your neck, embarrassed at your naivety and lack of knowledge about erotic clothing.

"What's your name?"

You blinked a few times and shyly answered.

"O-oh, I'm Y/N."

"Well Y/N, how about you take a look around. I'll be right here behind the counter waiting for you when you're finished."

You shyly nodded, flashing her a small smile.

You took a deep breath, making up your mind.

'Ok Y/N! No more shyness! Just choose one you like! Garou will love it too...right?'

You shook your head and continued to observe the clothes.

A tall skinny mannequin with her hand on her hip, wore a black, lacy set, crotchless and sexy. A bit too sexy for you...

The one next to it, a shorter bustier dummy adorned a pink satin nightie, white lace around the edges but showed off too much cleavage at first glance. Whoa, that's a lot of exposure!

Another one that caught your eye stood in the middle of the room, a spotlight highlighting it's intricate features, obviously the most beautiful one in the store.

An adorable white baby doll two piece, satin bows and tulle flowers lined the tips, strings to tighten and loosen twisted up the front. Two innocent little ruffle crew socks came with the stunning set, perfecting it.

Your eyes sparkled in awe, your brain screamed 'this is the one!'

Your mouth agape, you eyed the pretty mannequin, looking for a price.

"This is your first time buying, isn't it?"

You broke out of your trance, turning to look at the saleswoman with a sheepish grin.

"Y-yes. I've never really had the um... interest in these sorts of things..."

"Ah, I see. Well, did you find the one you want?"

You nodded your head, avoiding eye contact with her.

You hesitantly pointed to the one you liked and spoke.

"I r-really liked that one. Is there one in m-my s-size?"

You could barely speak without stuttering, much too shy.

"Of course. You have good taste for a first-timer. It's pricey but worth it."

You took a deep breath and shakily asked for the price.

"That one's our latest model, inported all the way from (foreign country). It costs more than most of the other ones here."

You took in the information, still curious to see if you could afford it.

"It's 12000 yen. But I assure you, the price isn't the only thing that's high quality."

You slumped your shoulders, already defeated at hearing the cost of the pair.

"I-its so much for a bra and underwear..."

You whined quietly to yourself, dejected. Who would carry around so much money. You'd have to hit up an ATM somewhere, but the nearest one was four blocks away.

The day wasn't getting any brighter either and you'd have to be home before Garou to avoid any awkward questions about your whereabouts.

You sighed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

"C-can I come back for this one next week?"

You bashfully played with your fingers while asking.

"Well, it's an exquisite piece, I'm not sure if I can hold it off for you for more than a day or two..."

She apologized but you assured her it was not an issue. Looks like you'd have to buy it earlier and hide it in your shared closet, at least until the time was right.

You had returned home a while back, changed into one of Garou's white t-shirts and began preparing for dinner. Garou had come home not long after you, completely oblivious to your little outing. You had decided against telling him, it would only lead to unwanted questions.

While stirring the curry pot, your thoughts went back to that stunning piece that awaited you in that lingerie store. It was so pretty, you wanted it now. Not just for Garou but for yourself as well.

As of now, Garou rested peacefully in your bedroom, so very tired from working so hard. He's the sweetest guy you'd ever met, well after you had gotten to know him.

To others he might look like a brute, scary and standoffish, but to you...

He was perfect. Flawed, but perfect.

Putting the lid back on and turning off the stove, you quietly made your way to where Garou slept, tip-toeing over and standing next to where he snored.

He looked so relaxed, it almost made you want to curl up next to him, but then nobody would eat that amazing beef curry you had prepared. You'd have to wake him up, you almost felt bad.

Nudging his shoulder with your hand, you tried pushing him to stir him out of sleep but he stayed snoring, turning around and hiding his face with his arm.

You internally groaned. This time you tried quietly whispering him awake.

"G-Garou... Garou, wake up."

He whined ruggedly, and shifted again turning back to you, still asleep.

"Don't you want dinner?"

He sleepily shook his head, too tired to verbally respond.

You rubbed your face with your palms aggressively. He's just so cute!

You looked at him with adoration, a gentle smile gracing your lips. He's not waking up anytime soon, might as well give him a little kiss.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you lowered your head downwards and placed a sweet peck on his cheek, giggling to yourself as you rushed to the kitchen to set the table and let your boyfriend sleep for a few more minutes.

You took out the silver forks and spoons, washing them and readying them to place on the dinner table next to the served plates of curry and rice.

"All this time we've been together and all ya' give me is a kiss on the cheek?"

Came a familiar voice, deeper than normal.

"O-oh, Garou! You surprised me..."

You whispered shyly, clutching the silverware closer to your chest.

"D-dinner, I mean... I made curry for dinner."

"Sit, I'll get you a glass of water..."

Garou seated himself down onto his usual chair and waited for you to completely get the table ready.

"That colour. It looks good on ya'..."

After shakily pouring water into Garou's jug and your cup, you finally took a seat, straightening yourself out.

"Thank you, Garou..."

You thanked, happy that he thought you were appealing.

"How was work?"

Garou shrugged, same old, same old.

"And you? What'd you do?"

You played with your food, pushing the curry around with your spoon, cutely shrugging, not speaking one bit.

"Yer' actin' awfully weird. Somethin' wrong?"

You shook your head and gulped nervously, shifting your line of sight from his face to your plate. Clearing your throat, you took a large spoonful and chewed, trying to avoid answering his question.

"Yer' so cute..."

Garou's voice retained its deep pitch, possibly becoming even lower than before.

"Ya' know, I just woke up so I ain't fallin' asleep anytime soon..."

You swallowed the mouthful and tilted your head, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

Garou raised a brow, smirking.

"We could..."

...

After the realization of what he actually meant hit you, you snorted while taking a sip from your cup, falling into a coughing fit in your seat. As soon as the coughing stopped, you spoke, surprised at his suggestion.

"W-what? I-ok, uh..."

"We don't need'ta if ya' dont wanna..."

You calmly shook your head and reached over the table, placing your petite hand over his.

"N-no, I mean we can... that sounds, that sounds good..."

You bashfully confirmed, smiling, avoiding his gaze.

"Well then, start chewin' faster cus' once I'm done, there won't be any time to finish yer' food..."

Your flushed, your body becoming hot as you fidgeted in your seat.

You took a deep breath of air before pushing open the glass doors, entering the building.

That morning, after Garou had gone off to work, you picked up your keys and your purse, running to the bank to withdraw just enough money for the lingerie piece you liked.

Today, you were going to buy it!

You had been prepping yourself up for it since last night, thinking about how much better the night would've been if you had worn something like that. Not that it wasn't amazing without it, it was. With Garou, it always was, but you wanted to contribute to his pleasure too!

You spotted the woman from before and slowly walked up to her, tapping her on the shoulder.

She looked up from her leaning position over the cash counter, took out her earbuds and cast you a knowing look.

"So, you're here for the set I presume?"

Nodding, you fidgeted, shyly smiling in excitement.

"Thought so..."

The woman led you to the changing rooms and you followed.

"So your partner, what're they like?"

"W-well, he's very strong and cool..."

You shyly twirled your hair, while walking, going deeper into the store.

"And...he's really handsome and c-cute."

"He's also smart... sometimes..."

The saleswoman chuckled and halted in front of the changing room door.

"Sounds like a catch."

You chuckled softly. Yes, yes he is.

"I'll bring some sizes and colors over, tell me which one fits best and we'll pack it up, kay'?"

"Thank you. You're so kind..."

"Don't mention it."

The woman promptly left to go fetch you every variation of the babydoll set, and you excitedly tried on each one.

After going through what seemed like thirty different colours of the same piece, you finally found one that suit you just right, and it was in a colour Garou actually appreciated you in.

You absolutely loved it!

You stood near the register, happily paying for the lingerie. The woman proceeded to securely pack it for you, chuckling at your eagerness.

"Stay confident in this piece, it really suits you!"

She pumped you up, giving you a boost of confidence that you really needed. This feeling was so amazing, like nothing could ruin your day!

It was so empowering!

Is this how men feel?

Vigorously bowing, you thanked her for her service and enthusiastically pushed open the shop doors, exiting the establishment.

A couple of days had passed since you had purchased the fine piece of clothing, hiding it meticulously at the very back of your closet, where Garou could never find it.

You contemplated whether tonight was an appropriate time to wear it. It was a glorious Sunday and Garou had come home an hour ago from mingling among his colleagues. The boys had held some get-together today and he was invited, acting as if it was something dreadful but secretly, you knew he was excited to have friends.

Garou laid under you on the bed, sprawled out, taking up most of it. You laid on top of his chest facing him, one of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him.

"Garou, did you have fun with your friends today?"

He gave a single affirmative nod.

"What did you guys do?"

He shrugged, explaining bluntly.

"Sat around with a case of cola at the bridge..."

"Had a drinking contest, which I won."

Obviously.

"No one can finish five cokes in ten seconds like you can."

You could feel Garou smirking as his arm around your waist got tighter and his free hand came to squeeze your cheek.

"You know it, sweetheart..."

He left an airy kiss at your temple and you happily wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I missed you a lot today."

You sheepishly admitted, burying your face into his chest, revelling in his scent.

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about ya' either..."

✯✯✯

You lifted your head to face him, interested in what he had to say.

"Believe me when I say I was itchin' to come home..."

Oh, his voice just lowered in tone. You gulped.

"All I could think about was you under me."

"Y-you're just saying that!"

Garou chuckled, his chest shaking under you as he did so.

"Now, why would I do that?"

"Because you like teasing me!"

He snickered, pulling you into a make-out session, tongue and all.

Before things could get too heated, you sat upright on his belly, hands pushing on his chest to keep him down.

Now would be the perfect time to show him the lingerie...

"What's wrong! Not feelin' it today?"

You shook your head and carefully got off of him. You opened up your wooden closet, slipping out the plastic bag that contained the special clothes.

Garou quirked a scruffy brow, confusion evident on his chiseled face.

"What the hell are ya' doin?"

You didn't answer. He'll find out soon enough.

"W-wait here, please..."

Garou obeyed your timid command and waited, sitting up at the edge of the bed, hunched over.

A considerable amount of time had passed and Garou pondered on whether to go look for you. What's takin' so long? Did you faint or somethin'?

You stood in your bathroom, adorning the dazzling lingerie, checking yourself out in the tall standing mirror. You thought you looked pretty good. You hoped Garou would appreciate you too...

Heaving out a nervous sigh, you anxiously strode back to your bedroom, stopping in front of the doorframe.

Garou heard your shuffling footsteps and looked up, eyes going from bored to shocked in a matter of seconds.

"Wha-what's all this?"

His voice sounded light, fluttering almost. His eyes stayed wide and shimmering and mouth hung open. Garou's cheeks began turning warmer, a darker shade than usual, catching your eye.

You shyly fidgeted near the door, fingers nervously twiddling in front of you.

A smile graced your features and Garou outstretched a hand and you placed your palm in his. He pulled you closer to him to see everything in better detail. You stood in front of his seated form holding his hand.

"I, I thought you'd like it so I..."

You murmured softly, glancing at his face to see his reaction.

"Yeah, I do. Ya' look...."

He bit his lip, looking you up and down. His free hand circled your hip, admiring the intricate lace that hung around your panties.

"...I can't say."

His hand glided over your stomach, fingers wrapping around the cup of your designer bra.

"Feels so good to touch."

You turned warmer, shuddering at his fluttering brushes.

"I-I want you t-to touch me..."

A meek sigh left your lips as he squeezed and rubbed your breast, his other hand keeping you still by your thigh.

"C'mere."

You gently sat down next to him, the mattress springing as you did. Bringing your fingers to his lips, he kept his nose pressed against them.

"This is a dream..."

"Yer' a dream..."

Garou's eyes watched as the netted flowers at the edge of your bra tickled your skin. He observed curiously, your movement, the shudders and mewls as he held your shoulder closer to him, squeezing and massaging your chest.

Your own fingers glazed over his semi-erect bulge and Garou groaned in satisfaction.

"It's been so long since we last did it..."

His statement prompted a chuckle and you replied.

"It's only been a few days..."

Garou's cheeks darkened even more and he wittily responded to your claim.

"A few days too many."

He kissed your neck, slowly trailing downwards until he reached your exposed shoulders, nipping at the soft flesh.

"Yer' too much for me."

He expressed everything lightly, his voice a mere whisper in your ears.

But, as if a switch had been flipped, his personality suddenly no longer remained tooth-rottingly sweet. Instead, emerged a growl from his throat, after which he let the most obscene words leave his mouth.

"Yer' tits look so good that way..."

He kissed the exposed surface of your breast, his eyes immediately darting to yours to capture your reaction.

You sighed in pleasure, his kisses and touches becoming more lewd each second.

Now, he sounded serious and much more domineering.

"Damn, those panties are too small for yer' ass!"

You took everything with humility, accepting his shameless complements.

It wasn't until his last statement that you felt really embarrassed.

His voice commanded you, instructed you deeply and slowly.

"Now, get on that bad and don't move until I get back with the camera..."

✯✯✯

Safe to say, Garou was really pleased with you that night. The two of you had gone at it till the break of dawn and now laid peacefully in each others embrace. Garou had stopped at nothing last night, having you so close in the clothes you were wearing just for him.

He had thought you looked absolutely ethereal in that babydoll piece, looking so innocently sexy. It was enough to keep him going for hours without end.

The two of you had definitely explored each others intimacy that night, broke some limits but enjoyed each other nonetheless.

After that experience, Garou demanded more and you happily provided. He couldn't get enough of you.

••End••

Bonus:

Garou carefully eyed the extravagant sets of garments lined up in front of him, some bolder and some more modest, all with different patterns and sizes. Holding a plastic bag containing your tasteful set of lingerie, he treaded deeper into the shop to look for a new one for you.

He wondered which one would suit you, pondering on the idea that you would want a sexier variation this time.

The establishment he walked through was the only one in his city, a rather renowned one at that. He didn't even know a store like this existed where he lived.

For now, he remained confused on which one he should get. They all seemed good and he thought virtually anything looked good on you. He was so lost in thought, it took him a while to notice someone had tapped him on the shoulder.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

A saleswoman stood behind him, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, got anything like this but in this exact size?"

She asked him familiar questions about his lover and he answered shortly, somewhat annoyed at her prying.

The woman smirked, showing him almost all of the lingerie that the store had, especially the ones that would look good on you.

By the time Garou was done looking through everything, he had already found one he really liked and was in the process of purchasing it at the front desk.

The same woman kept a constant smirk on her face while scanning, removing the tags and packing the clothes up.

Garou hurriedly thanked her and pushed open the front door of the store, ready to depart.

Just then, a voice from behind him spoke out, making him turn his head with surprised eyes and a pretty pink blush on his cheeks.

"Say hello to Y/N for me!"

_________________________________________

Ahhh, finally it's out. Now, I sleep. Nah jk I have other ones to finish ಥ‿ಥ

#garou #garouonepunchman #opm garou #garou x reader #garou x fem reader #female reader #garou x s/o #s/o wears lingerie #reader wears lingerie #shy reader #shy s/o #garou x shy reader #garou x shy s/o

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alottanothing · 3 years

Text

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

��You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

#Beautiful Stranger Series #Merriell Shelton x Original Character #Merriell Shelton #Snafu Shelton #HBO War #The Pacific #The Pacific Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction

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inb4belphienaps · 3 years

Text

crying over spilt milk

warnings: none word count: 2285

“Truth be told, I’ve been having these dreams. Dreams almost of another life, a past life perhaps. One that I’d lived and seen and breathed through at some distant point in time.”

I read over my words, holding the letter in my hands.

“They are, by far, the most intricate and detailed dreams I’ve ever had. Usually, I don’t remember them. But these…these feel too real, too specific, too thought out to be anything except something akin to memories of a bygone era.”

I recall a few of them with some difficulty. That was always how dreams worked, like trying to grab mist with your bare hands and having nothing tangible left as evidence.

“Shall I confess?

They have now become a source of entertainment for me, having increasingly rooted themselves in my mind, to the extent that I find myself looking forward to (for lack of better phrasing) the ‘next installment’.

It’s bizarre, I’ll admit. How eager I am to get to sleep as soon as the clock shifts from afternoon to evening, when the hour hand turns to six and I wonder if I’ll see him again…”

as you slowly float back up to the surface, the first sound that hits you is the singing of birds. their bright and cheerful chirps filter in with a hint of irony. though they're pleasant, quietened by the curtains hanging over the windows, it means that it's still rather early.

there's a chill in the air and you turn over under your duvet, tucking your feet in further towards your knees, eager to keep the warmth on your skin. and yet, you open your eyes, not needing to blink any sleep from them. oddly enough, you're more awake than you'd thought. whatever dream you'd been having is far from your mind as you bask in the scattered sunlight dancing on your walls.

such serenity ignites a type of mild excitement in you. and with that in mind, you will yourself to get out of bed.

you draw back the curtains and glance outside, looking out at the landscape, where the sun is shyly peeking over the hill. dawn is only just breaking and as you open a window, a gust of wind greets you, sending a rush of floral scents your way.

you can place notes of rose and lavender, and maybe honeysuckle too. the scenery is beautiful, and you lean against the ledge to admire it. clear skies and waves of green, dotted here and there with reds and pinks and yellows. there's a calmness to the color and vibrancy. something you hadn't stopped to feel in a long time.

it stays in the background. while you pour yourself some tea and sit down for breakfast, and when you turn on the radio to the crooning of some ballad you can't quite place. and even as you set about doing the laundry, humming every now and then to a tune only you seem to know.

the basket you use is one you've weaved yourself (in an attempt to be impassioned by a new hobby). it's small and sturdy and it does the job. you wonder whether it'll last you, hoping that if it breaks, it'll at least do you the favor of waiting until it's empty.

though it doesn't take long, you're startled to see the sun in the sky as you step onto the gravel path, basket in hand. it seems to stare down at you and wink as clouds roll overhead, creating capering shadows on the field as you start hanging the wet quilts one by one.

a couple of bees follow you around as you go about your business. and when you stand still to breathe in the smell of freshly washed linen and admire the warm glow cast on those sheets by the light, a butterfly flutters past.

it brings with it the distant ring of a bicycle bell. you look to the east where a man in uniform comes riding up the hill and the smile on your face could bring shame to the flowers lying near your feet.

"good morning", he says, slowing and stopping a foot or two away from you. he tilts his cap and you note the way in which his fringe barely covers his right eye.

"good morning", you reply. "it must be exhausting having to make that trip every day."

he laughs. it's sweet.

"i don't really mind."

in his hand he carries a metal basket and neatly arranged inside are six glass bottles full of milk.

"how many would you like today?", he asks, and you have the urge to tell him you'll take everything he has to offer. but of course, you don't say this aloud.

"just the one, please."

as he picks up one of the bottles to give to you, you swallow your spit and gesture towards your house. the shadows continue to dance above it, making it seem fluid despite its usual rigidity.

"can i get you something to drink? a coffee, perhaps?"

he appears taken aback, eyes widening a fraction before he smiles, and you feel your heart leap into your throat.

"i'd like that very much. a coffee sounds great."

you momentarily freeze, having expected him to refuse your offer. and then you're taking the bottle of milk and your basket back inside as he follows after you. you turn back to him as he enters and the sheets you'd hung flail slightly behind him, almost like a set of wings.

"cream and sugar?"

"um, no. but could i trouble you for some ice?"

an iced americano, you think. placing your basket on the floor and leaving your bottle on the kitchen counter, you busy yourself with preparing his beverage.

"my name is belphegor, by the way. i think you should at least know who it is that's been delivering you your milk."

you pause, having taken a mug out of the cupboard, and meet his gaze. his tone sounds a little indignant. were you simply being sensitive?

"it's a pleasure to officially meet you, belphegor."

the both of you exchange a shared laugh (the sudden bit of formality is embarrassing). he's the first to look away, breaking the eye contact that has goosebumps erupt on your skin. hm, perhaps you were overthinking things. only, the problem is that you're not sure you have any ice in the fridge.

"were you listening to music?"

"yes- oh", you say, confused at the static that greets you. "the program must've finished."

he glances at the radio and then at you. in your bid to locate the instant coffee you have, you don't notice.

through a strange coincidence, you find it sitting pretty on the top-most shelf of the pantry. you frown, wondering if you'd placed it there by mistake.

belphegor is about to open his mouth to speak again when he sees you reach upwards, fingers brushing across the jar mere centimeters out of your grasp. you're on your toes, leaning forward, barely balancing as you try your hardest to take it.

the man remains silent, watching you with a detached type of curiosity.

darn shelves, you think, as you stretch as far as you're physically able. still, the glass slips from between your fingers and you resort to stepping on a sack of flour. right as you grab it, the corner of the sack slides out from underneath your foot and you gasp, knowing all too well how this was going to end.

but there's a hand on your shoulder and a solid chest against your back, and a pleasant voice in your ear that suggests otherwise.

"so much trouble for a coffee."

his breath tickles the nape of your neck and you twist around to thank him, unprepared for the amused expression painting his face. from here, you can see every freckle, every eyelash, and every stray hair left untamed by his cap.

"you okay?", he asks, too close and quiet. too intimate that you forget yourself for a second.

"i'm...i'm fine."

those furrowed brows of his make you think twice and you place a hand to his chest, marveling in its warmth. you can feel his heart beat. it's steady, unfazed by whatever silly accident had happened just now.

"thanks", you mutter, swiftly removing yourself from his arms (firm and inviting). "i'll uhh...i'll make your iced americano, shall i?"

he doesn't say anything as you take a spoon and measure out the ground powder. and the silence lingers as you bring a pot of water to the boil. your thoughts, however, are that much louder, that much more pronounced. you were never one to invite strangers into your home. why was he such an exception?

"you can stop staring."

belphegor chuckles and you hate the fact that you can't ignore it. his laughter, it twinkles, and it has you looking at him all over again.

"i was keeping an eye out for you. in case you decide to make a habit of falling while i'm here."

you scoff, opening the fridge door to remove the ice tray. six cubes blink up at you and you ease three out, popping them into his mug in rapid succession. it's a tad violent and some of the coffee sloshes out onto the counter.

"thank you for your concern. but it's really not necessary."

he walks towards you, and you remain fixed on his bowtie, hoping to avoid being trapped by his alluring purple irises.

"if you say so."

and he takes a sip. and you find a cloth to wipe the spilt coffee with.

"it tastes good", he says. "maybe i should ask you to make me one every morning."

"tough luck", you reply, glancing at him as you clean. "i'm afraid this is the last of my hospitality."

besides, you didn't have it in you to continue acting an utter fool around him. something about his self-assuredness serves as the antithesis to your nervous energy, fueling it further to the point that you're doubtful about whether he'll return tomorrow.

"is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?"

oh. nevermind. that question makes you want to slap the handsome smirk off his face.

you give one last swipe of the counter, as if to stand your ground, and straighten up. yet it only leads to disaster.

the lonesome bottle of milk that you'd put atop it, comes crashing down onto the tiles, spraying its contents along every surface and scattering glass shards in its wake. the knot in your stomach tightens and you refuse to acknowledge the man who hasn't budged an inch.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"what am i going to do with you?"

as you stoop down to gather the glass, he mirrors you.

"i can-"

"it'll be faster with the two of us."

apparently, it's your turn to watch him. you slow your movements as you focus on his hands, how meticulously they pick up each broken shard and how conflicted you feel about him doing as such. in your daze, the edge of a particularly sharp fragment digs into your thumb and you flinch.

"fuck-"

he reacts before you do, tossing the glass he's holding into the bin and taking your hand in his to help you remove the fragment.

"this might sting", he mutters. that was the last thing on your mind. did this man have no sense of personal space?

the fragment is tossed out with the rest of what used to be the bottle and you're about to reluctantly thank him for a second time until he's bringing your thumb up to his mouth.

"wh- what are you doing?"

he suckles gently on the cut, putting a stop to the bleeding, and you're rendered speechless. when he speaks, all you can think about is his lips.

"can't you be more careful?"

"not with you here, no", you say, finally admitting to the reality that was beginning to suffocate you. you can't pay attention to anything other than him.

"figured it out, have you?"

"figured what out...?", you ask, leaning in as his voice drops to a whisper.

"you have a crush on me."

you stare, perplexed, and you tear your eyes away from his mouth to look at him. there's a secret lingering in his facade. of words unspoken and confessions kept hidden. what does he know?

"prove it", you mumble, perfectly aware of how ridiculous a demand that was.

except he obliges, closing the gap between the both of you and meeting your lips with his own. they're soft and as you snake your hands around his neck, his cap comes loose, falling to join the mess on the floor.

neither of you care to address it and he pulls you back up, hugging you to his front and wrapping his arms around you. it's intoxicating. bitterness lingers on his tongue and there's the faint taste of cigarettes. but you're kissing him like someone starved. or perhaps someone parched.

sparks fly beneath your eyelids and rouge caresses your cheeks. (or was it the ghost of his palm against them?)

there's a need, an intensity to the way he grips you and the way clenches his jaw when you tug at his hair. you match him blow for blow, digging your nails into his shoulder and moaning softly into the kiss.

when you part and rest your forehead against his, you're not the only one who's out of breath.

"belphie", you whisper and the look on his face is a mystery in itself – surprise and longing, haphazardly hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"thank god i brought another five bottles with me, huh?"

#yeah move along it's another belphie piece shut up #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me fluff #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #belphegor x reader #belphegor x gn reader #my writing 🐇

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notabloodmage · 3 years

Text

Anders Clinic: early Act 1

hello! i am handers trash! here is the first time my hawke helped Anders around the clinic! thank u!

The clinic was crowded today. There was another fever burning its way through Darktown. Anders was stretched thin as it is, with very few volunteers in recent days to help him keep the clinic running and safely hidden. As it turned out-- operating for free meant that help was hard to find. His mana was low, even with the extra reserves that Justice granted him. The clinic was overrun with patients-- his little corner of Darktown a filled with a cacophony of retching and the groans of the ill. He shuffled tiredly, but with purpose, from patient to patient. He was grateful that Justice wouldn’t let him rest until the job was done. It wasn’t good for Anders, sure, but it helped save the lives of all these people, so it had to be worth it, right?

“Uh, Anders?” A familiar voice broke through the crowd. Hawke was… unexpected. The little rogue had weaved her way through the crowd somehow to make it to his side. He didn’t even look up from his work to greet here, focusing on blue fade-energy pulsing at his fingertips.

“Sorry, Hawke, but I really don’t think I can be of any help to you today,” Anders said balefully. He was knelt over an old woman, a Ferelden refugee not unlike the rogue before him.

“Er, actually, I was wondering if I could help you…”

That made him look up, and the sight was so beautiful it made his head spin (or perhaps it was the fact that he was going on 50+ hours without sleep).

Hawke was looking down with her signature crooked grin, brow cocked with concern at his appearance. She wasn’t wearing her armour like usual, he’d never seen her without it before, all that tan freckled skin in the open. She was wearing a casual peasant shirt with a hastily lased collar and simple trousers torn at the knees. He snapped his eyes onto her warm brown gaze to keep them from wandering. Her eyes always had a twinkle in them, somehow, like she knew something you didn’t.

She just had a way with people, Anders supposed, even the woman he was treating seemed to relax at her mere presence.

And more than that, he realised, she may as well have been handing him a pot of gold. She was holding out a basket of fresh picked herbs. Elfroot, Embrium, Blood Lotus-- everything he could possibly need to treat this flu. She beamed when he looked up at her incredulously.

“Bethany is here too, somewhere-- healing isn’t her speciality but Father did teach her the basics. And I may not be a mage, but I do know my way around a cauldron.” She winked down at him, turning toward the back of the shop. “You do have a cauldron, right? Or at least a pot I can cook with?”

“I… What?” Anders gaped--half-convinced the exhaustion had finally gotten to him and he was hallucinating. Hawke giggled.

“A cauldron, Anders, so I can make some healing potions for these people. Father used to make this awful potion for us whenever we were sick, it tastes like the void itself but it always works! I’m not as good as he was but I do know the recipe!” She looked back at him quizzically.

“There’s a cauldron on the fire near the back, miss.” One of his other patients, a young boy who had been in the clinic before spoke up for him.

Anders still couldn’t believe this was happening. This couldn’t be some kind of stress-induced hallucination, could it? Hawke wasn’t really just sweeping in to solve his problems again was she? First with Karl and now this...

“That’s… I…”

Before Anders could fully process the situation he was whisked back into his work.

The sunset bled the day into night, the work still hard but going significantly more smoothly now. He’d bumped shoulders with Bethany a few times throughout the day, who’d always given him an encouraging smile before returning to her work, she may not have been as adept as he was at healing but she did better than fine. Her proficiency with the elements kept the fire burning and kept them supplied with clean water so Anders could focus solely on his healing abilities. The atmosphere of the clinic had changed, it was no longer so frantic, and although he felt as though he was about to collapse with exhaustion, Anders was cautiously optimistic. With all the help they’d been able to give it looked like most of the refugees would actually survive this.

Plus, Hawke wasn’t kidding. She did know her way around a cauldron. Between patients Anders caught glimpses at her slicing up herbs at an alarming speed, Anders hadn’t considered that he proficiency with daggers would translate to something as mundane as chopping up potion ingredients. She’d brought more than enough, too. With this potion a little goes a long way, she’d assured him, and she proved herself right. Sip after agonising sip of the sludge-like fluid had patients perking up already. She’d even been able to slip in a lyrium potion or two to keep Bethany and Anders running late into the evening.

She hummed a cheery little tune to herself as she stirred away, serving patients with a smile and a joke. She made it look so easy, but she had to tired by now...

The clinic finally began to slow around midnight, most of the patients had cleared out and those that remained were asleep. Hawke had sent Bethany home before sundown-- Leandra got nervous when Bethany was out late, apparently-- so it was just the two of them that remained, in the back of the clinic. Anders was warming himself by the fireplace, hands gripping his mug tightly to keep them from trembling with exhaustion, as he sipped the tea Hawke had pushed into his hands. It smelled like like home somehow-- Ferelden.

Mint, fennel and elfroot, sweetened with honey.

Hawke bit back a yawn, she was sat on a stool, scrubbing out his old cauldron-- he’d gotten it second-hand after he’d set up shop down here.

Her curly brown hair was tied back with a white rag, and at some point she had lost her overshirt, leaving her in tight camisole. Anders tried desperately to ignore how it gave him the perfect view of the way her chest heaved as she worked. Her toned, tanned arms were in full view, every inch of her skin patterned intricately with freckles. Sweat dripped down her neck into the valley between her breasts and Anders cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

“Thank you for today, really. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.” He fixed his gaze on hers once more. She was smiling at him with something that looked like admiration her amber eyes, and he didn’t know if that terrified him or turned him on.

Maybe both.

“I can’t believe you do this every day… I don’t even think I can stand back up…” Hawke leaned back, setting the cauldron aside so she could stretch, letting out a sweet sound of satisfaction at the relief on her sore muscles.

Anders nearly cursed aloud when Justice forced him to avert his gaze.

“It’s not always this bad…” He stammered out, as Hawke stood focusing his eyes on the hearth, where the fire had burned down to coals. She was looking at him again. He could see it from the corner of his eye, she was studying him intently, it seemed.

The silence hung over them--warm, wanting, and not quite comfortable.

Anders wanted to thank her again, but he couldn’t find the words. He still couldn’t believe she’d come at all. Completely unprompted, unasked. He’d asked her a few hours in what she was doing there and all she’d said was that Varric told her was busy at the clinic and she wanted to help. She didn’t say how she got the herbs or found the time, in her busy schedule though, and Anders thought that maybe he should ask if he could pay for those... not that he could afford them, he thought bitterly.

The silence was broken by Hawke bursting into a fit of giggles.

He looked at her, brow creasing. She was… Odd. Always smiling, always laughing at something or other. She’d tripped over her feet on the way up the Chantry steps that first night they’d met and he could’ve sworn her laugh echoed through all of Hightown, far too loud for someone as small in stature as she. In that moment she’d put him at ease, and even though his meeting with Karl went as terribly as it did she stuck by his side, even inviting him out on jobs with her in the days after, knowing full well that he could use the money, and time out of Darktown.

Her eyes glimmered with mirth as she turned to him.

“I just realised I never told you my name.”

Huh.

So she hadn’t.

It was strange, given how much they’d been through together in the, what, few weeks? Since they’d met? Anders found himself laughing alongside her.

Maybe they were delirious-- maybe the fever had finally caught up to them-- but Maker did the two of them laugh. A gross, hard day full of grief and sickness that had left them both worn and covered in vomit and the pair laughed themselves to tears.

Justice was confused. Anders was laughing. Why was Anders laughing?

Anders didn’t quite know the answer himself, but he figured it didn’t matter as Hawke extended a hand to him.

“I’m Minerva Marian Hawke, and you are?”

He took her hand in his. His handshake was a little too firm in an attempt to disguise how his hands were trembling.

“Anders. Just Anders.”

“Just Anders, hm? Coooool~” She grinned, voice regaining its familiar teasing quality. He couldn’t help but return her grin. “Well, Just Anders, I’ll come by tomorrow, okay? I think it’s time to get some rest. Both of us, okay?” Her eyes flickered over him, an expression of genuine concern on her face. Anders didn’t know what he’d done to earn such kindness from her, but he couldn’t deny the way it made his heart pound in his chest.

She smiled her farewell and turned to leave.

“Goodnight, Minerva.” Her name tasted sweet on his lips. “And thank you.”

#we r VIBING #my chronic pain is acting up like mad so i can't work but at least i can write fics and play dragon age ajshfdvbjkadsvfhasdfs #my writing #ok to rb #handers #f!handers #female hawke #dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #da #anders #anders dragon age #anders x hawke #act 1 #bethany hawke #varric tethras #it's abt the mutual pining babey!!!#slow BURN!!!!

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olivinesea · 3 years

Text

In the Golden Dark

a/n: Having never done any ship writing before I’m just going to jump feet first into the deep end with a little Hotchreid for you today. It’s nice. No warnings except maybe some angst because we are who we are. Probably the softest thing you will see from me so enjoy the moment. Completely unnecessary disclaimer that I would find this relationship wildly inappropriate in real life but thank god we’re out here in the lawless fiction of the internet. And you’re getting full on song lyrics bc Hotchreid is nothing if not decadent af. There’s more but I’m impatient so here’s the first bit. ~ 2.7k

what the hell am I doing here in the golden dark? feeling like I’m someone else who looks the part I built up barricades to block my heart cause I don’t wanna fear you

He leaned back in his chair, reaching his arms up and clasping his hands behind his head, arching his back slightly. With his eyes closed it could be any time of day. He inhaled deeply and pretended for a moment that he was nowhere. He even gave himself a few extra seconds, indulging in the quiet that was the office at night. If only he could feel so peaceful in the right moments—before sleeping perhaps. When he opened his eyes all he could see was the reflection of his office light in the black windows. There hadn’t been daylight for hours. He’d switched off the overhead lights in favor of the small desk lamp that pooled the light only in the area of immediate relevance. Everything beyond its reach faded in and out of existence as his focus fell deeply into the forms in front of him.

He pressed his elbows back as far as they would go, pulling up slightly on the base of his skull, stretching out a day’s worth of stress, countless hours spent bent over report after report. He never could have imagined that saving people would require so much paperwork. Reducing the chaos of the lived experience, the searches and the takedowns, the intricate patterns of dozens of personalities layering choices upon one another; it turned out to be quite difficult to do. It took him hours to wrap up cases, even with everyone doing most of their own reports. Which, through no fault of their own, wasn’t always the case. He usually ended up siphoning off a fair number of those reports in addition to his own.

He didn’t mind, he needed to go over everything, needed to make sure that any possible negative feedback that came back would fall to him and he would be prepared if it did. His team were his responsibility, he would be neglecting his duties if he didn’t ensure that things were handled properly. None of them needed the headache of administrative errors. He was good with details, good with forms, good with protocol. He would happily be the filter that saved them all the trouble of little errors even if it hadn’t been part of his job.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was eleven o’clock on a Wednesday and everyone else had gone home hours ago. Only the late night janitorial staff wandered in and out occasionally, nodding at him in silent greeting as they reset the offices to give the illusion of an endlessly renewable supply of fresh starts. People that didn’t stay late never gave this transformation a second thought. They left the office with full trashcans and small debris scattered on the old carpets, only to return the next morning to find a place untouched by human presence, metal fixtures shining and glass doors free of oily fingerprints. That was just how the world worked for them, generous with new beginnings. People who lingered knew better, that effort was put into the effect. Beginnings were never easy, never flowed so inevitably as the set and rise of the sun.

Hotch had been working late for many years, long before he was even in the BAU. He had learned in law school how to brew the coffee strong enough to stay up all night if need be. How the indoor lighting changed without the support of daylight, tinting the world a thin sickly green color without the natural light to round out the fluorescence. He only got worse about it once he joined the Bureau, the stress of the job causing old habits and old secrets to float to the surface. He compensated by working the hardest, doing the most, never allowing anyone to see him need things that other people needed. He could handle this job, this was all he ever wanted after all. To save the world. Or maybe, more modestly, to save the world of a few.

Now, with Haley gone, Jack with her, somewhere well out of his disastrous reach, there was no reason at all not to fully give in. No reason not to let his insomnia at least be productive. To let the latent self destruction that fueled his actions at least have a positive impact on the people he cared about. He could do that at least.

He rubbed his face with his hands, he was getting loopy. There was no reason to be letting his mind wander so far, there were still reports he could get through. Perhaps, as unlikely as the idea felt, he could even get ahead. He looked back down at the paperwork, letting his feet settle flat on the floor. The letters swam in front of him and he sighed, rolling his pen beneath his thumb, considering. He could probably make it another hour. He could get another pot of coffee into himself. He cast about for his mug, finding it empty on the shelf behind him. He sometimes kept it there to prevent his reports from acquiring telltale dark rings. Rolling back from the desk, he hooked the handle with two fingers and headed out to the kitchenette.

Wrapped up in making plans for what he could finish tonight and what could be left for the morning he was startled to find a light still on in the bullpen. He was certain everyone had gone home long ago. They’d each passed by his office, offering him an out as they made their ways home—perhaps their exit could be the motivation he needed to break out of his office, to head towards his own home. What they didn’t realize was that home was not better for him. Work was far better, far safer, with tasks to complete, a purpose. If he was smart he would stay at work forever.

So he waved to them as they checked out, giving them small smiles that, though imperceptible to strangers, they recognized as both apologies and well-wishes. He knew they worried, that they didn’t like to see him tied to his desk late into the night. They thought it was one of his many methods for making himself suffer but he didn’t have the heart to tell them that this was him making a good decision, this was him trying his very best. In his experience, nothing good happened at home.

He thought he remembered everyone leaving, each goodbye. But every day was the same and they all bled together so he must have missed one because he cannot deny the light down below. As he walked down the stairs, confused by the discovery that he was not as alone as he had been imagining, his tired vision focused better. He could make out dark blond curls and a darker sweater hunched over the desk in the middle of the room.

“Reid?” The name came out as a croak, he hadn’t spoken in hours and probably hadn’t had any water in that time period either. He cleared his throat and said it again, louder and closer to the other man than before. Reid’s head snapped up, expression as guilty as a child caught out of bed.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, eyes wide.

Hotch frowned, not because he was upset but because he was still a little disoriented and his muscles fell back into the most familiar actions.

“I—“ Reid ducked his head and started pushing papers together on his desk, shoving them haphazardly into a file folder. “I was just…” he trailed off, not really having intended on explaining himself. He was simply also startled and reverting to the familiar.

Reid explained compulsively, able to handle the world when parsed down to facts and numbers. He didn’t have a fact for why he had stayed so late, only a feeling and that he didn’t know how to explain. Nights had been particularly lonely recently so he had allowed himself to stay later and later, getting lost in his thoughts at his work desk. Even without people around there was a sense of occupancy, their faint impressions lingering in the air. Plus there was always Hotch up in his office. He didn’t actively think about him or what he was doing but he liked knowing the man was nearby. Hotch’s solid presence always made him feel more secure, less concerned with whatever might jump out at him from the shadows overlapping the world and his mind.

He couldn’t tell Hotch that, was far too embarrassed to admit that sometimes, even with all the lights on, it was too dark in his apartment. No matter the illumination, he couldn’t quite dispel the unease of the night when he was alone. It wasn’t always like this, sometimes he had enough brightness to spare. Recently, however, things had been hard. So much had been going on, he couldn’t quite pinpoint why but he knew he felt uneasy. Too much had changed, there was too much risk that the floor could still fall out beneath him at any moment. And it hadn’t been so long since he’d escaped the consequences of his kidnapping, his addiction, that he trusted himself to be able to manage too much more uncertainty. Backsliding was always a risk and right now the world tilted at a frightening grade. So he let himself stay late in the safety of familiarity, sometimes working but more often not, idly rereading the books he had brought in and forgotten around the office. Tonight he had actually started to doze off, which contributed to his shock upon being discovered.

Hotch continued to frown at him, watching as the thoughts raced across Spencer’s face. He noticed how deep the shadows were beneath his eyes, the way darkness pooled in the space below his cheekbones, as if they were concave impressions filled by seawater. He knew Spencer didn’t eat enough, was all too familiar with the ways too much coffee and not enough calories pinched the skin and exposed the fine lines of capillaries beneath the surface.

“Sorry,” Spencer repeated.

He looked genuinely ashamed and it made Hotch a little sad. Couldn’t Spencer see that he was just as guilty of whatever it was he thought he was doing wrong by being here? He made a conscious effort to soften his expression, to show the warmth he felt for the younger man. After having spent his entire life masking his emotions, protecting himself one of the only ways he could, it wasn’t always easy to show his affection. Especially not at this time of night, when all he could do was cling to his walls and hope to find himself still on solid ground when the sun rose. Spencer wasn’t looking at him, too caught up in his own maze.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Hotch said, trying a different tactic. He was smart, he knew not to make it a demand or a comment on Spencer’s health. It was only an invitation, firm enough for Spencer to know he meant it, that it was not just a pleasantry or an obligation he’d rather avoid. A hand extended, an offer of easy company to pass through a little more of this unwanted time. Spencer looked up from where his fingers were worrying at the corner of the file in front of him and smiled shyly. Hotch smiled back, a real smile that scrunched up his dark shining eyes.

“Give me five minutes to close up,” he said and turned back toward his office. As he packed his briefcase, his heart felt like it had been wrapped in a soft blanket. He didn’t bother questioning it—who didn’t like finding someone to commiserate with when they’d only expected more of the lonely dark?

Their late night meals became a regular occurrence. Not every night but once, maybe twice a week, they found themselves the last ones in the office. They fell into a rhythm, each learning to read more from the other’s subtle cues. They almost always went to the same place, a 24-hour diner near the office with deceptively strong coffee and a seemingly endless variety of pancakes. Hotch rarely ordered food, though he encouraged Reid to get anything he wanted. He accepted bites of whatever the younger man ordered, happy enough to reciprocate the excitement over strawberry rhubarb or cinnamon blueberry pancakes.

They talked about inconsequential things, mostly Hotch listening as Reid spun out information on whatever topic was on his mind that day. Reid, for his part, made mental note of the things Hotch responded to and had opinions on. Spencer sought out more information in that vein to bring up. He loved to talk, sure, but what he loved more was to discuss. During the day there was rarely time to let his thoughts wander so freely. It was a dream to have someone there, following along and challenging him with questions, building up new conclusions.

On the nights that followed difficult days, when they were both too stubborn to order anything of substance, they drank their coffees and avoided looking at each other too directly. Those nights they were both tied up in their own thoughts, islands separated by more than just distance, but there was something undeniably pulling them together. It was probably just the natural consequence of having opposite dominant sides but they mirrored each other perfectly across the table. Once, they both happened to reach for their mugs at the same time and the backs of their hands brushed against each other. They each noticed but responded differently. Hotch repressed any reaction, pretending the quick touch of bony knuckles and cool skin hadn’t registered. Maybe it hadn’t. Reid, on the other hand, jumped as if shocked, sloshing the hot coffee into a puddle on the table. This only flustered him more and he yelped at the sting of the liquid and the sting of embarrassment. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before. But here, in this nowhere time they’d constructed, it felt different. In his mind that brief touch became nails dragging across his skin, impossible to ignore. But he pretended the mug was too hot and Hotch didn’t argue, quick to assist with napkins and sounds of agreement to accompany Spencer’s half-coherent excuses.

When their meals were done, mostly cleaned plates of syrup and crumbs stacked to one side, they hesitated before standing up. Hotch always offered to give Reid a ride home, Reid always declined, insisting he could get there himself. This led to Hotch giving him a doubtful look and insisting that it was no trouble. Reid, secretly wanting a ride the whole time, struggled to argue for his self-sufficiency a little longer before giving in. It became a silly thing, both of them knowing exactly how the argument ended but they held onto it for some reason. It was a part of their ritual now, an important piece of the night. It kept this, whatever this was, contained, strictly occasional, random even. Not something they planned for, not something they looked forward to.

Hotch waited for Spencer to get in the door of his building before driving away. He knew it wasn’t necessary, Spencer was a grown man and a trained FBI agent with a weapon. Still, it made him feel better to see him safely inside. Sometimes he thought he would feel even better if he could walk Spencer all the way to his front door. But he knew that would be asking too much. As it was, the nights when they shared this extra hour or two together, extended further by the drive home, had been giving him more than he could have imagined. He wouldn’t dare impose himself further. The brittle excuse of safety would crumble if he were to start following the other man inside. He was not ready to find out what that would mean. He smiled unconsciously as he drove to his apartment. For now, it was enough that he had found companionship on these late nights when he would otherwise be slowly, meticulously, working his way into the grave.

~Part 2~

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #hotchreid #beginnings

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