top five maroon five songs

you guys are killing me

again in no particular order: losing my mind, no curtain call, this love, wont go home without you, wake up call

Unlucky in Love

masterlist

Gif credit to @ogledalo-moje-duse​

Summary: Spencer is unlucky in love - until he isn’t.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive content

Word Count: 3.4k

           Spencer Reid is, by most people’s definition, unlucky in love.

           It wasn’t for lack of trying. In his early twenties, Spencer often caught himself fantasizing about being on the receiving end of some great storybook romance straight out of one of the classic novels on his bookshelf. On the rare occurrence where his mind was able to slow down long enough, Spencer would daydream about what his future partner would be like. Would they share his fondness for the written word, or his penchant for foreign cinema? Would they find his tendency to go off on tangents endearing and his less than fashionable style of dress charming? Spencer liked to think so, but the likelihood of finding someone who could accept him despite all of his quirks seemed low.

           But still he hoped, even though he knew hope was a dangerous thing. Hope gave life to the possibility of disappointment – and if there was one thing Spencer did not need more of, it was that.

           Spencer Reid was in love with the idea of love – obsessed with the idea of his soul intertwining with someone else’s. But with his thirtieth birthday quickly approaching and absolutely no prospective love interests in sight, Spencer was feeling more than a little disheartened. It certainly didn’t help that everywhere he turned, love was running rampant. Hotch had Beth, Penelope had Kevin, Jennifer had Will, and Morgan had… any number of possible partners. Emily and Rossi were both unattached, but happily so in a way that Spencer just couldn’t quite manage.

           It wasn’t that he didn’t like seeing the people around him happy – it was just that he couldn’t help but wonder when he’d finally get his chance at love.

           A month before Spencer’s thirtieth birthday, everything changes.

           When a member of Garcia’s victims’ support group goes missing, it’s all hands on deck at the BAU. It’s not that they’d give any less than one hundred percent on any other given day, but as with any case that hits close to home, everyone on the team is in a frenzy trying to put the pieces together. The thing that makes this case different is the fact that people from other departments are quick to lend a hand. It comes as no surprise to Spencer – Penelope is a social butterfly by nature. She made it her business to know and befriend everyone in the building. Her sunny disposition is hard not to love, and her current distress had garnered the support of more than a few non-team members.

           By the time the case wraps up, the bullpen is much busier and, much to Spencer’s chagrin, much louder than usual. The steady influx of people has Spencer’s head spinning and he can’t seem to focus on the papers sitting in front of him. What should take him thirty seconds to read has almost taken twenty minutes, and at this point the words on the paper are all running together. Spencer knows that it doesn’t help that he’s running on less than three hours of sleep, as evidenced by the frequency of his yawns. Worse even is the fact that his coffee cup is empty and no, he thinks, that simply will not do. With a sigh Spencer pushes away from his desk, bones creaking as he stands.

           With his coffee cup in hand, Spencer shuffles to the breakroom. He goes through the motions of preparing his drink, lazily stirring in the mountain of sugar before turning to leave.

           Spencer supposes that if it weren’t for the fact that he was horribly sleep deprived, he would’ve seen you walking down the hallway. But alas, Spencer’s alertness had been compromised by poor sleeping habits, and he isn’t aware of your presence until his body is colliding with yours and his hot coffee is dripping down the front of your blouse.

           “Ouch,” you whimper, and Spencer is immediately overwhelmed with guilt.

           “O-Oh my God, I am so sorry,” he splutters. Without waiting for a response, Spencer’s rushing into the break room and procuring a thick stack of napkins. The part of his brain that controls logical thinking is apparently overrun by the onset of his mortification, and in an act of absolutely panic, he begins to dab at the stains with one of the napkins.

           “I-I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m so so sorry,” Spencer stutters out, frantically attempting to blot the stain. “I’ll give you money for a new shirt. A-Actually, you should probably take this one off.  The best way to treat scalds is to immediately get the person away from the heat source. You should also run some cold water over it.”

           In his hurry to rectify his mistake, Spencer hadn’t managed to take a good look at you. When his eyes leave the stain in favor of looking at your face, he prepares himself to see anger there. What he doesn’t expect is for your face to be just as flushed as his, with eye brows raised in shock.

          Spencer also doesn’t expect this to be the moment he’s been waiting on his entire life, but one look into your eyes tells him this is it - this is your person.

           Stunned into a stupor, Spencer stills, eyes boring into your own. You’re even more beautiful than he’d dared to let himself imagine, but in all honesty that didn’t matter much. What matters is the fact that there’s a faint hint of smile lines etched into your skin, and your eyes are so inherently kind that Spencer has no doubt that you’re as gentle as you are alluring. Your benevolence is also evidenced by the fact that you hadn’t immediately begun to yell at him, and for that he is thankful.

           Spencer’s revelation renders him unable to form any semblance of thought, and before he knows it almost a solid minute of him gaping at you passes. You begin to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.

           “I, uh, appreciate the help, and you seem like a nice enough guy, but your hand is on my boob and I kind of make it a point to not let strangers touch the goods. So, if you don’t mind,” you stammer, looking pointedly at his hand that is still pressing a napkin to your chest. Spencer recoils as if he’s the one that’s been scalded.

           “I-I didn’t mean to, um, t-touch your -,” Spencer gulps, “- chest. I swear I was just trying to get the stain out. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he chokes out. Spencer had imagined the moment he’d come face to face with his person a million times, and none of his daydreams had accounted for the possibility of him giving her second degree burns and inadvertently copping a feel. His emotions fell somewhere between mortification and elation.

           “Mm likely story,” you murmur, lips upturning into a smile that has Spencer feeling weak in the knees. Spencer practically swoons. “Do you make it a habit to ask strangers to take their tops off, or am I just special?”

           Oh God, had I really suggested that? Spencer cringes and wonders what good an IQ as high as his was when it seemed to fail him at times like these. Speaking to women had never been a specialty of his, despite Derek’s coaching, and Spencer was floundering to come up with an acceptable response.

           You are the most special woman in the world, probably. Nope – too creepy, and Spencer definitely doesn’t want to scare you off. Not when he’s been waiting the better part of thirty years to meet you.

           I didn’t mean to insinuate that you should take off your shirt, but I also wouldn’t particularly mind if you did. Even worse – that would certainly earn him a stern talking to from HR.

           Spencer decides to go for the honest approach.

           “I-I’m not sure how to answer that.”

           His honesty draws a laugh from you, and Spencer loves the sound so much that he decides then that he’ll never tell a lie again. You shake your head at him and reach for the napkins that he still has clutched in his hands.

           “What’s your name?” you ask him as you continue his earlier efforts to sop up the coffee.

           It’s probably the easiest question he’s ever been asked. That doesn’t stop him from making a fool out of himself, though.

           “I’m Doctor Spencer R-Reid. Uh, I’m Spencer. Y-You don’t have to call me Doctor.”

           Someone please put me out of my misery.

           Your eyes meet his again and he can tell that you’re holding back a laugh.

           “Okay, then, Spencer,” you say as you discard the napkins in a nearby trash bin. “I’m Y/N.” You punctuate your words with an outstretched hand, and before Spencer can think better of it, the usual spiel come tumbling out of his mouth.

           “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss.”

           Your lower your hand and cock your head to the side.

           “Are you always this forward, Doctor Reid?” you tease him, eyes flashing amusedly.

           “I-I didn’t mean that we should kiss,” Spencer interjects, cringing at the way his voice has suddenly raised in pitch. “N-Not that I wouldn’t kiss you! I-I’m sure that kissing you would be really n-nice. I just meant that… you know. Germs.”

           Are you there, God? It’s me, Spencer. A hole opening up in the ground and swallowing me up would be great.

           To Spencer’s delight, you don’t seem offended in the slightest.

           “I cannot believe that they’ve been hiding you up here, Spencer Reid. I should’ve come to visit Penny years ago.”

           Wait – what?

           “You work here?”

           You nod.

           “I work on the floor below this one – sex crimes,” you explain.

           “For how long?”

           “Coming up on three years now.”

           Three years. You’d been right under Spencer’s nose for three years and he hadn’t the slightest clue. You’d parked your car in the same parking garage and taken the same elevator as he! How many times had your paths nearly crossed in the last three years? If he’d been just a little bit earlier or a little bit later getting into work, might the two of you met earlier? The possibility of it was maddening.

           “Oh, wow. I-I’ve never seen you,” Spencer mutters lamely. But miraculously, you don’t think he’s lame, if your response is any indication.

           “Nor I you, Doc. It’s a shame, too. You’re a funny guy.”

           Spencer Reid has been called a lot of things in his lifetime – funny was never one of them.

           “Y-Yeah. I’m a real riot at parties,” he deadpans.            “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” you hum, and Spencer really hopes that you mean it. “Would you mind escorting me to Penelope’s office?”

           Spencer nods, and the two of you fall in step together. Spencer’s wracking his brain again for something – anything- he could say to fill the silence. Thankfully, you don’t seem quite as inept at conversing as he, and you beat him to it.

           “You look a little young yourself, Spencer. How long have you worked here?”

           “Uh, I’ve actually worked here for almost eight years. I started when I was twenty-two.”

           Your eyebrows raise in shock.

           “Twenty-two, huh? That makes you – what? Thirty now? I wouldn’t put you a day past twenty-five,” you muse, and Spencer isn’t quite sure what to make of that. You must pick up on the conflicted look on his face, because you clarify. “That’s a good thing, Doc. I hope I look as good as you do when I’m thirty.”

           Spencer has to remind himself how to breathe.

           “I’m not thirty yet. Technically I have twenty-three more days. I could have a rapid decline in attractiveness by then.”

           Spencer’s not usually one to try to be funny, but she seems to have a good sense of humor and he wants to impress you in any way he can.

           “I guess I’ll have to swing back by in twenty-three days and find out.”

           The two of you come to a stop in front of Penelope’s office and Spencer tries not to look as disappointed as he feels. He doesn’t want your meeting to come to an end – not when there’s so much about you that he wants to know. He wants to ask about your opinion on books and obscure foreign films and most importantly, Spencer wants to know what you think about him. Did meeting him affect you in the same way it did him? Did you secretly wish to make this moment last, too?

           Spencer wants to say so much, but he can’t. He’s too awkward and too scared and too nervous to find the right words. So instead, he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

           “I’m sorry about your blouse. Can I please give you the money to buy a new one? I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

           “Absolutely not. It’s really not that big of a deal. Didn’t even really care for the shirt, if I’m being honest. Red really isn’t my color.”

           Spencer wants to tell you how wrong you are – that he’s infinitely certain that you’d look irresistible in any color – but he doesn’t.

           You reach for the door knob, and Spencer’s shoulders slump.

           “It was nice meeting you, Spencer.”

           And then you’re gone, and Spencer can’t help but think that he royally fucked up the most important introduction of his entire life.

--

           When Spencer envisioned how his life would look at age thirty, he’d imagined it being a lot different than it is now. He’d hoped to use his intelligence for something great – finding a way to cure Alzheimer’s had been his main aspiration. Yet, here he was, thirty years old with nothing more than three PhDs to his name. He’d accomplished nothing of great significance, and the idea of having wasted his intelligence was eating away at him.

           In short, Spencer Reid was in a bit of a funk.

           It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen you since that fateful day in the bullpen. Spencer had contemplated paying you a visit, but the lingering embarrassment over his actions kept him from reaching out. He didn’t think he could handle how badly a rejection from you would hurt, so instead he sulked around the office and wallowed in his own self-deprecation.

           Spencer’s birthday wasn’t something he tended to advertise. From a young age, he’d chosen to observe it silently. Usually, his mother would forget, and he never really had any friends to celebrate with, so the day was always rather unimportant to him. Perhaps he would order takeout and gorge himself on greasy food while he sat alone in his apartment. It had been good enough for him last year, and he supposed it would have to suffice this year as well.

           He made it a point not to mention it to his coworkers, and the day passed by just as any other day. By the time five o clock rolled around, Spencer was waving a goodbye to his coworkers and heading out the door. As he waits for the elevator, he debates on whether to order Thai food or pizza for dinner.

           Just as he settles on Thai, the elevator doors open.

           “Oh, thank God, I was worried that you had left already!”

           Before Spencer can get over the initial shock of seeing you, you’re stepping out of the elevator and into his space, an excited smile on your lips. And then you’re holding out your hand, and Spencer’s almost moved to tears when he sees you wielding a single chocolate cupcake.

           “I wasn’t sure if you’d like chocolate or vanilla better, so I went with my gut. I get the feeling you’re a chocolate kind of guy,” you say, eyes shining as you look up at him. “So, was I right?”

           “You brought this for me?” Spencer asks, voice barely above a whisper. He can’t fathom it – that you had spared him any thought past your initial meeting. Spencer had surely expected you to forget about him entirely. Either that, or you’d written him off as someone to be avoided.

           You nod.

           “Of course, I did. It’s your birthday. Everyone deserves something sweet on their birthday.” You pause, the smile dropping from your face. “It is your birthday, right? I didn’t miss it, did I?”

           Spencer is slow to shake his head.

           “N-No, you didn’t miss it. I’m just surprised you remembered.”

           You chuckled softly.

           “You’re very unforgettable, Doctor Reid,” you say, and Spencer’s heart flutters in his chest. “And you didn’t answer my question.” You gesture to the cupcake expectantly.

           “Chocolate is my favorite,” Spencer breathes out, raising a shaky hand and taking it from her. “I… Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. It’s not that big of a deal.”

           “Are you kidding me? You’re turning thirty. That’s a very big deal, Doc.,” you argue, and Spencer gives you a tentative smile.

           “If you say so.”

           “I do,” you smirk, before hitting the button to open the elevator doors. “So, do you have any big plans to celebrate?”

           The doors open and you and Spencer file into the elevator together– an event three years in the making.

           “Not really. I was just going to order some food and stay in,” Spencer says before taking a bite of the cupcake. It tastes wonderful – better than a store-bought cupcake could ever be. This cupcake was undoubtably made from scratch, and the thought of you taking the time out of your day to bake something for him makes him feel weak at the knees. Pair that with the way you’re looking up at him and Spencer worries he might collapse.

           “What kind of food?”

           “Thai,” Spencer says around the mouthful of cake.

           “Mm,” you hum. “You know – I happen to love Thai food. And I also happen to not have any plans for the evening.”

           Even Spencer, who struggles to decipher the simplest of social cues, can deduce that you are insinuating that you want to spend the evening with him. He’s thankful, then, that he had already swallowed the bite of cupcake, because there’s no doubt in his mind that he’d have choked on it. Spencer gapes at you, but your gaze is unwavering and your body language gives no indication that you were joking.

           “D-Do… Do you want to, uh, come over?” Spencer trips over his words more times than any grown man should, but in his defense, he isn’t exactly well versed in matters like this.

           “Do you want me to come over?”

           “Yes.” Spencer answers so quickly that it should be embarrassing, but it’s hard to feel anything but happy when you’re looking at him like that.

           “Then in that case, I thought you’d never ask,” you sigh dramatically, and then the door opens up and you link your arm with his. “You know, I was beginning to think I’d never see you again. I’ve been driving Penelope crazy asking about you, Doc.”

           “You’ve been asking about me?” Spencer asks, incredulous.

           “Absolutely. It’s not every day that you meet a guy who has the audacity to feel you up and ask you to undress within the first five minutes. I just had to know more,” you tease, and Spencer can’t help but laugh. Despite the cold air of the parking garage, Spencer feels warm – warmer than he’s ever felt and he knows that it has everything to do with the way you’ve pressed yourself against his side.

           “In that case, I’m very glad I spilled my coffee on you,” Spencer says and you let out a snort.

           “Yeah, I could’ve done without that part. And the part where you called me germy.”

           “I did not mean it like that,” Spencer insists. You hum and detach yourself from him, and Spencer instantly misses the contact.

           “Because it’s your birthday, I’ll let you off the hook,” you announce, making your way to the other side of his car, all while never taking your eyes off him. “And if you’re lucky, birthday boy, I might just be willing to test that theory of yours.”

           Spencer cocks his head to the side.

           “Theory?”

           You nod, and the smile that creeps across your face is the best birthday present he’s ever gotten.

           “You said you thought kissing me would be nice. I think we should find out.”

           Spencer Reid is, by most people’s definition, unlucky in love. But as he steals glances at you on the way to his apartment, his chest swells with a hope that maybe – just maybe – his luck is about to change.

HEY BESTIE ITS ME AGAIN! i was wondering if i could get a will request with angst. LOTS AND LOTS of angst about will and the reader seeming to always miss each other in sense of relationships and because of that the reader distanced themself from will so months pass by and they both are single then and they run into each other and eventually get into a fight bc he’s upset that they ghosted him and eventually have an angry love confession and happy ending?

thank u sm bff

YOU WANT ANGST, I"LL GIVE YOU ANGST...in a fairly decent amount cause this was hard to write for some reason🙃 sorryyyy @poulterfilms

~~~~~~~~~~

Why did life have to be so hard?

You watched as Will got ready for his date that night, giddy and excited to be going out, rambling on and on about how nice this person was, who he met a few days prior.

You just smiled and nodded along, pretending that your heart wasn't painfully throbbing with jealousy.

You hated this feeling, longing. It was strange, you never felt this way before with Will. You've been friends with him as long as you can remember, seen him have plenty of dates with other people. So why did you suddenly feel like you wanted him all to yourself? It wasn't like you at all.

"So, what do you think?" Will asked, snapping you out of your thoughts, slowly spinning around to show off his outfit.

You plastered on that same fake smile that you unfortunately got into the habit of doing nowadays. "You look great, Will. You always do." You didn't mean to sound so sad, but it came out that way and you internally cringed.

Will cocked his head with a confused grin. "You okay?"

You nodded your head eagerly. "Of course!" You stood up from where you sat and quickly adjusted the collar of Will's shirt, struggling to pull away when he smiled at you. "I always have to fix that damn shirt collar." You chuckled weakly, forcing yourself to take a couple steps back.

Will copied your chuckle, turning around to do a once over in his mirror. "What would I do without you?" He joked, but you frowned for a split second before shaking your head.

"Well, don't wanna keep the lucky date waiting, right?" You patted him on the shoulder, maybe a little too hard since Will rubbed his shoulder with a grimace afterwards.

"You are absolutely right. I'll be off then, night, love!" Will placed a quick kiss to your cheek, heading out of his house, leaving you alone with the ghost of the kiss lingering on your cheek. The innocent, and most importantly, friendly kiss.

You looked around the living room solemnly, looking to your feet to see the two pups you were trusted to take care of while the owner was out of his date. Welp, at least I have his dogs to share my misery with...

You had no idea how you let this happen. You've always seen Will as a friend, and nothing more. You've both hyped each other up when one of you scored a date. Will has seen you off to plenty of dates and never had a problem with it, so why couldn't you do the same for him?

Unbeknownst to you, Will actually has had similar feelings. He didn't know how it happened, but he developed strong feelings for you. He clearly knew you didn't feel the same, and he had to sit idly by as he watched you be in and out of relationships with people who weren't him.

He's never been one to get jealous, but he'd definitely be lying if he said he never was jealous of your partners. He wanted to be the one to hold your hand, he wanted to be the one to open doors for you, to be the one you smiled at when he wasn't looking. He decided to move on, even if it was the last thing he wanted. But his respect for you trumped his lust that he felt at the same time, he just wished he could turn his feelings off.

You decided to hole up in your apartment after Will came back from his date, the date that went "extremely well." The "he'd definitely be seeing this person again" date.

You couldn't say you were devastated, for obvious reasons. You didn't want to tell Will you had feelings for him, and you didn't want to be selfish. You always felt selfish nowadays.

You just felt like a burden.

It was hard hanging out with Will, always having to hear about his new partner, how they're so nice and kind and caring and apparently so fuckin' amazing...it made you want to vomit. It made you not want to hang out with him as much anymore, but thankfully, that decision was made for you. Will didn't have time for you anymore, he really wanted to make his relationship with this new person work, more than he wanted to keep your friendship strong, you thought.

Eventually, you just stopped trying to initiate conversations. Will would text you, all the time really, he'd just be too busy to see you. Between acting roles and sending time with his partner, you'd only be with him through text messages.

An epiphany struck you one day: you deserved better.

You knew you were right, and that's why it made your choice to painful. You had to cut ties with Will, but you had no idea how you'd do that without breaking down.

You took the coward's way out, at least, you thought it was cowardly.

You simply just stopped replying to his text messages. But once he started to text you messages like "can we talk?" you thought you might give him a chance. You said you'd do it tomorrow, then tomorrow turned into the next day, then a week passes, then a month. You stopped thinking about it, you didn't want to think about it, because every time you did, the urge to contact Will got stronger and stronger. You wanted to move on. You needed to move on. But, you never could get him out of your thoughts completely.

Months and months go by, and before you know it, it's Christmastime.

You'd decided to travel around after cutting off contact with Will, mostly just couch hopping with friends, exploring the area to get your mind off how heart broken you felt. It was a good distraction, for awhile. But now that Christmas was soon, you had to go back to your home town; you did miss your family quite a lot. But you did feel that similar anxiousness after coming back home, thinking about Will and the "what ifs." Will always loved spending time with his family during the holidays, and you knew he'd probably be in town.

Just going outside to check the mail was nerve wracking to you, but you chuckled bitterly at your paranoia, it's not like he was going to show up at your house out of the blue. He wouldn't do that.

Your family really wanted a Christmas tree, a real one. You tried to use your allergies as an excuse to just stick with an artificial tree, but your parents were dead set on having a real tree. It wasn't exactly a lie, you used to get real trees, you just couldn't be around one too closely or else you get into a sneezing fit. But you really just didn't want to be out in the town, just in case.

But your family dragged you along to help pick out a tree anyway, in the freezing cold.

You idly kicked some icicles that were formed on the bottom of tree branches, smiling subtly to yourself as you heard the crackle of the ice hitting the concrete. You looked over to see your family still trying to decide on what kind of tree they wanted, and you remembered how indecisive your folks were. You were gonna be there for awhile...

"Y/n?" As if you weren't freezing enough, the voice that you heard from beside you made a chill go up your spine, causing you to sink down more into your coat.

You looked to your left, unluckily for you, seeing your former best friend beside you, an unreadable expression on his face. "Will...? Uh, w-what are you doing here?" You weren't sure if it was the cold that made you stutter, or just the pure nervousness and almost fear that you felt.

Will uncomfortably shifted on his feet, taking a deep breath before answering. "My, uh, mum wanted to have a tree this year. I'm guessing yours did too?"

You nodded curtly. "Yep."

The awkward silence made you want to curl up into a ball and throw yourself off a cliff.

"We should probably talk." Will said.

"Uh," You nervously rubbed your hands together, "I don't think that's a good idea..."

"Why not?" He asked bluntly, his expression turning cold.

You sighed. "I...well, I have to help my parents get this tree so..."

"Fine. I'll come by later."

"Wait-"

"See you tonight." And with that, Will walked away in a hurry, not giving you the chance to refuse.

You bit the inside of your lip hard, a coppery taste coating the tip of your tongue when you explored the small dent in your mouth that you created from stress.

You figured this day would come soon enough. Karma's a bitch, as some say. You thought you'd have a bit more time to prepare yourself for a confrontation, but the universe decided to be a jerk and sucker punch you in the face with your regrets.

You went home, feeling like a knife was twisting in your gut as you helped your family set up your Christmas tree in the living room, constantly glancing at the clock every chance you could.

Eventually, your family decided to leave the house once more, having bought tickets to a play that night, which you politely declined to go to. You weren't interested in yet another retelling of the Christmas story acted out by little bratty children who couldn't remember their lines half the time. No, you have somewhat decent standards.

You just sat on the living room couch with your family pet, staring at the clock, seeing the hands move slowly until it finally reached nine o'clock. You untensed for a moment, thinking that maybe Will decided to not come over. The loud ring of the doorbell quickly squashed that idea.

You opened the door, not surprised to see Will on the other side, his cold expression unchanged from when you last saw him.

You said nothing as you moved aside, opening the door wider for Will as he walked in.

The air felt thick, like there wasn't enough oxygen for both of you to be in the same room. It felt similar to whenever you pulled your blankets over your head when you were little and afraid of the dark, thinking that nothing can hurt you if you were completely wrapped up in the comfort of your duvet, but never getting enough fresh air to keep those blankets over your head, eventually having to pull the blankets off to breathe. You really wished you had a blanket now...

"Well?" Will broke the silence, looking to you expectantly.

You shrugged slightly. "Well what?"

Will chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "You know what, Y/n." When you didn't reply, he continued. "You stop talking to me all of a sudden, for months, not even telling me why. I need to know why, I deserve an explanation."

You sighed, looking anywhere but at him. "I just...needed some time away..." What a fucking lie...

"Some time away, really? That's your excuse? We were best friends, everything was fine, so what went wrong, huh? Why did you just up and leave everything behind without telling me?" You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself as his voice got louder with every sentence. "Are you even listening to me? Do you hate me now, is that it? I don't know what I did, please, tell me." He pleaded.

"Will..." You whispered, finally looking to him to see unshed tears in his eyes. "it was me, not you. You didn't do anything wrong..."

Will stepped closer to you, his arms crossed. "Do you have any idea how much it hurt to be ghosted by the one person you thought cared about you the most? It really fucking hurt. And now, you're just standing here like you don't even care."

"I do care, Will." You said softly, reaching out to touch him but he quickly flinched away.

"Then why did you leave? I want the truth."

"I wasn't happy...with myself...with you." You started, walking over to take a seat on your couch. "I felt alone. You spent all your time with your partner, you rarely had time for me anymore."

"Wait, my partner?"

"Yeah...the beginning of this year, you started dating that person, I forgot their name..."

Will shook his head. "It didn't work out with them, I'm not seeing anyone, haven't for awhile. But that's not the point. Why didn't you just tell me that you felt alone? You know I would've made time for you if that's what you needed."

You felt like you wanted to scream, frustration starting to consume you, but you settled for a muffled groan. "It wasn't just because I felt alone..."

"Then what?"

Fuck it...

"Because I hated seeing you date other people. I absolutely hated it. And when you started gushing about how amazing this person was, I felt like I wanted to bash my head in with a hammer." Okay, maybe that was a little exaggerated, but you got your point across.

"You didn't want me to date other people?" Will's heart beat rapidly in his chest, just the thought of why you possibly felt that was making him anxious to ask, "Why?"

You were scared to answer, afraid of his reaction. What if he hated you? That would be the worst case scenario, you'd rather die than have him hate you. But, you did owe it to Will to tell him the truth. The unfiltered, honest truth.

"We've been friends for as long as I can remember. We always told each other everything." You smiled weakly. "We'd always be happy for each other whenever we went on dates and found people that made us happy. But...there was a point where I realized that no matter how many dates I went on with other people, I never truly found happiness in those people. Because, I always thought about someone else...you." You looked up at Will. "You've always been the one person to make me truly happy. And I finally figured it out, it's not because you were my best friend, it's because...you're the one I always wanted to be with, Will."

Will took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to take in your words. "That night, when I was about to go on that date, you weren't yourself. You looked sad..."

"I didn't want you to go. I wanted you to stay with me." You wiped away a few fallen tears with your sleeve, sighing tearfully. "I was being selfish...really selfish." You frowned.

Will carefully sat beside you, looking straight ahead. The red and green lights placed crookedly on the Douglas fir being one of the only light sources in the room, illuminating your tear ridden face and causing a reflective shine to Will's glassy sorrowful eyes.

"I had no idea." Will said, being the first one to break the silence yet again.

"That was kind of the point." You sniffled, curling your knees up to your chest.

"...I'm sorry."

You furrowed your brows, looking to Will in confusion. "Why are you sorry? I'm the only one who should be sorry."

Will shook his head. "No..." He laughed sharply, clenching his fists in his lap. "It's funny."

"What is?" You asked, trying not to sound offended.

"I've spend years trying to get over my feelings for you, and you tried to do the same. Guess I'm not as intuitive as I thought."

You silently gasped. "Will? You...? Huh?"

Will smiled weakly. "I only started dating other people because I was trying to push away my feelings for you, and of course, it didn't work."

"Will, if this is some joke-"

"It's not. Have I ever lied to you?"

"...no. You've had feelings for me this entire time? And I punished you for it..." You said as you felt the tears well up in your eyes again.

"No, Y/n, no. You had no way of knowing, just like I had no way of knowing how you felt about me."

"I'm so sorry, Will. I never should've left."

Will quickly grabbed a hold of your hand, bringing it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "You're here now. It's okay...we're okay."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

Will smiled softly. "Of course. I've never been able to stay mad at you for long."

You frowned. "What if I deserve it?"

"No. No, you don't. It's all going to be okay."

You took a deep breath, trying not to burst into tears again as Will pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "What now?"

"Maybe it's too early to ask but...we could go on a date." Will chuckled weakly.

You looked back up at Will, trying to hide your growing smile. "Really?"

"If that's what you want."

You looked at the clock. "It's getting a little late, I don't think that many places would be open right now. We could go out tomorrow?"

"It's a date." Will smiled.

You sighed. "I really wish I would've talked to you about this instead of running away..."

Will shook his head, bringing his hand up to gently caress your cheek. "I shouldn't have raised my voice earlier. So now we both have something we regret. But it's okay, Y/n. I felt like running away quite a few times myself whenever you went out with someone else...or just hiring a hitman or something."

You laughed genuinely, playfully pushing Will's shoulder. "I think my family is gonna be home soon."

"That's my cue to leave, I take it?"

You pouted. "I don't want you to."

"Well, hey, we'll see each other tomorrow." He smiled.

You walked Will to your front door, frowning as he opened it. "I never used to be the clingy type with anyone."

Will turned around to face you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in for a warm hug. "It's all going to be okay. We're gonna do this thing right."

You pulled away with a huff, looking deeply into his eyes. "I really want to kiss you right now." You giggled.

Will grinned, replying to your statement by leaning in, delicately brushing his lips over yours before fully placing them onto yours passionately. You could truthfully say that the kiss made you weak in the knees, it was everything you imagined it to be and more. It was intoxicating.

The kiss quickly got heated, and you didn't know if you'd be able to stop yourself. Will grabbed at your sides, trying to pull you even closer than you were already, eliciting a quiet moan from you when he gently pulled on the roots of your hair. But you finally forced yourself to stop, trying to catch your breath.

"Sorry." Will quickly apologized.

"I didn't want to stop." You snickered, running your hands through your now tangled hair. "We haven't even gone on our first date yet and I already want to rip your clothes off."

Will blushed and grinned. "Guess we'll just have to save it for tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow it is."

~~~~~~~~~

I had trouble writing this, if you couldn't already tell. Ugh, I have no idea why the reunion bit threw me off balance so badly

only us - part one (daichi x f!reader x oikawa)

𝐚/𝐧: hi beans! i got this idea for a series listening to one of my favorite albums and i really hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! there is some canon divergence just for the purposes of the story: daichi is a detective, and oikawa is a pro-player in japan. as always, any feedback is greatly appreciated! enjoy! -leo

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After getting out of a long term relationship, Y/N is reunited with an old friend from college. Old feelings are reignited, but things just don't seem to work out the way that they should.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pining, mentions of infidelity in the context of a past relationship

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: slowburn, love triangle 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨: animal - annie eve

❝𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊'𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕. . .❞ ❝𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒊 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆. . .❞

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐔𝐒

‧₊˚✩彡.

The previous weeks had been what Y/N could only describe as a gravity-well, the center of which she was trapped in. She couldn’t outrun the heaviness in her chest, and her mind was all spinning circles and revolving doors that were moving too fast for her to escape from.

However, the pace of her career was relentless, and being a journalist meant that there was no time for her to take pause or wallow in the misery of a freshly-ended relationship—if she wanted to survive in her field, she would have to keep moving and moving and moving, with that gravity-well following overhead.

The soles of her shoes clicked softly against the linoleum tile of the Tokyo Police Department’s main office, her demeanor giving away none of the turmoil that was simmering within. She was polite and professional as she explained that she was a journalist there to speak to one of the detectives about a case she was working on, and to any onlooker, she might have even seemed cheerful.

She was led down a long hallway into one of the offices, given a seat in front of a large mahogany desk, and told to wait.

Y/N found that as of late, she hated having any sort of down-time that might force her into stillness. She couldn’t see the clock that hung over the doorway behind her, but she could hear it—she could feel it. It ticked monotonously, and with each forward stroke of the second hand, she felt like she was sinking further and further into herself. The heaviness in her chest crept up on her and became crushing as she was allowed time to think: about the sight of someone she didn’t recognize lying in her bed, lying in the arms of her partner. About the signs that she had been ignoring for the weeks leading up to it. About how silent her apartment was when she came home in the evenings when there was no one else there to fill the space. It had been months, and she was still trapped as though it had all happened yesterday.

She tapped her foot impatiently against the ground, challenging the slow rhythm of the clock as though the frenzied tempo of her agitation could force the seconds to pass faster.

Eventually, the door behind her swung open, and the detective stepped into the room.

“Excuse me for being so late,” came a deep and almost familiar voice from behind her. She stood and turned to face him, eager for something to snap her out of her trance, but was forced back into stillness as recognition settled over her. “Daichi?”

Sure enough, earnest dark eyes stared into her own, and for a moment, as a wide grin split across his face, the gravity-well that loomed over her finally seemed to let up.

He stepped towards her, both of them abandoning any semblance of formality. “Y/N, I can’t believe it’s really you. It’s been…” “Forever,” she supplied, flashing him a warm and sheepish smile.

“Yeah. Forever.” Daichi’s gaze was piercing as he took her in, staring for just a moment too long before moving to take his place behind his desk. He carded through a few files on his desk before pulling one rather decisively from the stack.

It was Y/N’s turn to stare, taking in the way he moved about his surroundings with relaxed authority, as though he knew exactly where he belonged. He hadn’t changed at all since college, not one bit. She couldn’t take her eyes away, even as he glanced up at her through his lashes, head still tilted down towards the papers in his hands.

She was stuck like that, lost in his dark and steady gaze, her heart seeming to stutter to life in her chest.

“L/N?”

‧₊˚✩彡.

“L/N! Don’t get too far ahead!” Daichi scolded lightly, fondness in his eyes as he watched Y/N skip ahead of him, carnival lights reflecting like stars in her eyes. Her joy was contagious to him, like a flame in his hands that he wanted to keep kindling and protecting.

“Stop being such a worry-wart, Dai,” she laughed over her shoulder. Her arms were wrapped adamantly around the plushie that he’d won her just a few minutes ago, a blue penguin that smiled vacantly no matter how tightly she squeezed him. “Do you think we could go on the Ferris Wheel? I bet we could see the whole city from the top!” He nodded, quickening his pace to keep up with her. They were walking side by side now, and Daichi had made plans for this exact scenario—he’d brush his hand gently against hers, and find a natural opening to intertwine their fingers. The only thing that stood in the way was the round blue penguin that she had named ‘Squish.’ He shot a sidelong glare down at the unassuming plushie that was currently occupying Y/N’s arms, mentally cursing the stupid thing for ruining his plans. “One ride on the Ferris Wheel, and then home, alright? You have a lecture tomorrow and you’ll be grouchy tomorrow if you stay out so late.”

Y/N turned to face him in mock-offense, sticking her tongue out and hugging Squish closer. “What? I don’t get grouchy!”

“Maybe ‘unpleasant’ would be a better wor—agh!” He broke out into warm laughter as her elbow collided softly with his side, and he held up his hands defensively as if to finally relent. “Alright, alright!” “I’ll have you know, I am delightful always,” she insisted, beaming triumphantly.

And there was that smile again, the one that felt like fire in his hands and made his mind go blank and his body feel like there was lightning inside. “Yeah,” Daichi agreed softly.

‧₊˚✩彡.

“And that’s the basics of what we have so far. Unless we have some sort of solid proof, I have no way to make the arrest. It’s been months and… Nothing,” Daichi sighed wearily, flipping the case-file shut and leaning back in his desk chair, a frown etched deep into his features. His coat was draped across the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, markers of the hours that had passed since he and Y/N had begun discussing the Suzuki case.

The department had been investigating Goichi Suzuki for years, with strong suspicion that his company was partially a front for drug-trafficking. Evidence had always been circumstantial, and leads seemed to disappear as soon as they turned up, frustrating even the best of the department’s detectives. Sawamura, however, had refused to give up.

“Daichi.” Her voice was clear, almost lyrical, as she addressed him. Her own concerns were momentarily abandoned as she worked to tether him, to pull him out of the frustration that she knew could be so crippling. “We’re going to catch him.”

“Right.” His expression seemed lighter now, lifted in determination and renewed confidence. “Well… That’s about all we can do today until you can speak to your sources. Thank you for agreeing to help me, Y/N.” It wasn’t what he was saying, so much as how he was saying it—nothing he had said, if repeated back on paper, would sound anything but professional and polite. It was the way that his eyes shone, and his voice warmed up to her like honey on a hot day that told her that his ‘thank you’ was more than just business. She was almost suffocated by how deeply she had missed him, but she knew what this was—she was starting to rebound. She had just gotten out of a relationship that had ended in a messy breakup. Of course her old feelings would be amplified, especially when he was being so damn inviting.

“Of course, Daichi.” She could only watch as he pushed himself out of his chair and circled around to the other side of his desk, then took perch on the front corner just in front of her, his body language now completely casual.

He tilted his head slightly as he took a closer look at her, his face scrutinizing but not-quite judgemental. “So. What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Y/N shrunk back beneath his gaze, suddenly much more conscious of how she was holding herself, what she was presenting to the world around her. Stop looking at me like that, damnit… Had she really made it so obvious that she was carrying around her own personal baggage? Great. She could add looking unprofessional to her ever-growing list of things to worry about. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been a long time, and you’re good at hiding it, but I still know you well enough to know when something’s bothering you. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… What’s the matter?” Daichi leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his legs.

“Well…” Y/N began hesitantly, suddenly unable to meet his eyes, “It’s a bit of a long story, but I just got out of a long-term relationship. It didn’t end very neatly, and I guess I’m still just... “ She trailed off, unable to find a word that could even begin to cover the regret, the doubt, the blame, the unfairness of it all.

“Processing?” he suggested, his tone much gentler than before.

“Yeah. Processing.”

His expression softened into a sympathetic smile, and he brought up an idle hand to scratch the side of his neck. “I’m sure you’ll make it through just fine,” he assured her. “You’ve always been strong.”

Just like it always used to be, Daichi’s reliability was enough to help uplift her, and Y/N found herself mirroring his smile easily, sinking into the comfort of having a friend that she could trust. “Thank you, Dai.”

Days and then weeks went by, and the pair found it easy to mask the tension with the guise of professionalism—stray glances and candid smiles could all be brushed aside as remnants of their old friendship, the foundations of which they had found were still very much in-tact.

Daichi felt a rush of inexplicable pride every time Y/N confided in him, though she only did so in fragments, each of which he remembered carefully to try and piece together later. He could tell whenever they landed on the topic of her last relationship that it was still sore, that he shouldn’t press too hard on a bruise that was still healing. He kept his growing contempt for her ex-partner to himself, though he entertained his own ideas of what he’d like to say to the man if they ever crossed paths. Sawamura didn’t care for unfaithfulness to begin with, but the anger that swelled inside him with each new detail that Y/N shared was almost unjustifiable. Or at least, it would have been, if she was just a colleague to him.

‧₊˚✩彡.

“Sorry for keeping you at the precinct so late.” Streetlights lined their path, showering the detective and the journalist in an unnatural orange light, which was broken sporadically by the brilliant glow of passing headlights that faded into dull red as they disappeared down the road. It had been almost 2 months since their first meeting, and the two had fallen into an easy rhythm, which they used to dance around the growing tension.

“Not at all,” Y/N assured him, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets as frigid air bit harshly into the exposed skin. “I think we made some really good progress today! The overtime was definitely worth it.”

“Right…” he agreed absently, watching her in his periphery before sneaking a longer look. The streetlamps shone in her eyes like those carnival lights had all those years ago, and he was reminded of the flame in his hands, which now seemed to flicker just out of reach. He knew it was wrong of him to allow his feelings to be reignited, and on more than one count. She had confided in him the details of a traumatic breakup, not to mention the fact that they were currently acting as partners on a professional level. Logically, he knew all of these things, and Daichi had always been good at logic. It was how he kept his cool under pressure, and the reason that he was a detective at all—but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. The girl that he had once been in love with had fallen right back in front of him, like the world was handing him a chance on a silver platter. He’d be a damned fool not to take it.

For a moment, their staggered steps and the occasional passing car were the only sounds to ease the tension. The hum of the city, which Sawamura usually found comforting, was now taunting, like a thousand flies buzzing in the distance. Finally, Daichi spoke again, if only to keep himself from drowning in the silence that hung between them. “Let’s grab dinner, okay? It’s late and neither of us has eaten since we started working.”

Y/N’s response was delayed, and for the first time in weeks, there was an expression on her face that he found himself unable to read. Her pause couldn’t have been that long, maybe a second or two at most, but it was enough time for a simmering anxiety to sweep over him in a wave. And then she smiled again, and it set his mind on fire.

When they stepped out of the restaurant, it was like leaving a time-capsule. Cheap ramen after a night spent studying had been a staple of their friendship in college, and being there again had left them both feeling like the years had melted away around them. Things felt simpler, more carefree than they’d been in months.

“My apartment isn’t far from the train station,” Daichi told Y/N as they stepped back out into the cold. He could feel it, the haze of nostalgia slowly seeping through the cracks in the pavement, getting carried further away by each passing car. “I can walk most of the way with you.”

“Alright,” Y/N agreed tentatively, wrapping her coat tighter around her as they started down the sidewalk. She could feel that the pull between them was growing stronger, that she was starting to open up to him more and more and more, and she was scared that her old feelings for him would spin out of control if she let herself get swept away by the sentimentality that was swelling up inside her. ‘These feelings aren’t real. Rebounding. I’m rebounding.’ She could repeat it to herself as many times as she wanted, but she’d always been a shitty liar—even when it came to lying to herself.

“Can… Can I ask you something?” Daichi finally interjected after about a block and a half of silence. He sounded tense, nervous even, and Y/N could tell that he was preparing to approach a difficult subject—she didn’t have to be the detective to know what.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, counting the uniform lines in the concrete as she stepped over them. “Anything.”

He took a deep breath, hesitating as though he were expecting his next words to go wrong, but trusting that they were both comfortable in their friendship. “How… How did you find out that Takashi was cheating on you?”

The question hung heavy in the air, settling uncomfortably around her shoulders, and though it was a forward thing to ask, Y/N couldn’t say that it was totally unexpected. They’d been weaving their way through the subject for weeks now—it had only been a matter of time before they finally arrived here.

She was careful not to slow her pace as she formulated an answer in her head, still trying to mask some of the hurt that she was carrying with her. “Well… I had been travelling for work. It wasn’t a long trip, and I wasn’t far; just a weekend a few cities over. But, I finished my interviews ahead of schedule, so I decided to come home early on my last day.” Y/N was forcing her voice to stay even, pacing herself and trying hard not to let herself fall into the weight of her words. She realized now that she hadn’t told this story yet, hadn’t even really let herself process it.

She could feel Daichi staring, and she glanced to the side, knowing that she’d melt under his gaze. “When- When I got back to the apartment—our apartment—it was early afternoon. I didn’t see him anywhere so I thought that maybe he’d run out for groceries or food or, well—it doesn’t matter what I thought, I guess. I went to our room to put my things away and- and he-”

They had reached his apartment now, and they lingered on his doorstep, bathed in the glow of fluorescent lamps.

Daichi watched her with sorrow in his eyes, his gut twisting with the impulse to reach out to her as she began to cry. He was angry—angry at the one who had done this to her, angry at himself for feeling the way he did, wanting the things that he wanted.

“He was in our bed, and she was there too. And he- he was holding her like she belonged there, like- like they had done this a thousand times and-” Her voice finally broke against the lump in her throat, and her hands quickly moved to hide herself as tears spilled freely down the sides of her face. “And I’m not strong, because I just felt so- so stupid, Daichi. For thinking that- that I could ever mean something to someone wh-”

“Don’t,” Daichi interjected softly, finally finding the words to comfort her. Gently, his hands curled around her wrists and pulled them from her face, his own expression distressed as he took in the sight of her like this, overwhelmed by a hurt that she had been hiding and carrying with her for so long. “Don’t. You could. You do. Listen to me; whatever he did, whatever choice he made, it wasn’t about you. Trust me. Please.”

Y/N’s vision was still blurred by welling tears, but nothing could obscure the intensity that burned in Daichi’s eyes as he held her hands away from her face. There was an urgency about him that amplified his usual sincerity until she was consumed by it, by the feeling that she was safe with him.

“Daichi…” she whispered, her voice still watered down as they searched each other’s eyes, every moment leading up to this one playing back in their minds.

He pulled her close against him and held her like he was afraid she’d disappear, his arms tightening as she returned his embrace. He lost himself as she looked up at him with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, glittering with tears. Before he knew what he was doing, his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her wildly, desperately.

Y/N’s heart stopped as he started, but she kissed back, letting her mind run blank as he pulled her closer into him, comforted by the steadiness of his arms around her. There were sparks between them that she could no longer explain away, lightning that only accompanied love, indisputable proof that he was more than just a friend, that this was more than just a rebound. When he kissed her, she felt alive.

She could hardly breathe when he finally pulled away from her, his eyes wild and drilling into her with a burning intensity.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, just as breathless as she was. “Stay… Stay with me.”

Her back was against his front door, and she knew exactly what that look in his eye meant—it meant that if she followed him in, that this was for real. It meant that she was serious about him, and that he was serious about her, and that they were finally letting this happen as it should have all those years ago.

The words were on her lips when the images came flooding back, of her space in her own bed occupied by another, a stranger lying in the arms of the person who she had chosen to love, to trust. Daichi’s steadiness suddenly became uncertainty, and she found herself wilting away from him.

His arms fell away from her easily, and her heart sank at the tortured look that was written all over his face as she moved away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried her hardest to at least look him in the eye. “I-I’m sorry, Daichi. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“You’re…” Daichi cut himself off, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring down at his feet, a long sigh rolling off his lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” As Y/N turned away and headed for the train station, she was forced to reckon with her own conflicting emotions. Being with Daichi had felt so right, so safe, but the thought of taking that risk again, putting herself in a situation where a single person could hurt her so badly… If there was anyone in the world who she thought would never betray her, it was him—but that trust might only mean that she would have farther to fall.

Daichi watched her go, and though he wanted to scream as he watched her silhouette disappear into the night, he had become unequivocally certain that he truly wanted to be with her. It was what he had wanted for a long, long time.

‧₊˚✩彡.

Y/N had gotten into work that morning and immediately been scheduled to conduct a last minute interview—one of the writers for the paper’s sports column had needed to attend to a family emergency, leaving her to cover for him in his absence. She wouldn’t need to visit the precinct today, something she was almost grateful for. There was an almost unfathomable level of awkwardness between her and Daichi, and not having to see him made it that much easier to try to forget what had happened on his doorstep two weeks ago.

She stepped into the designated meeting room, notepad in hand as she slid into the seat across from the athlete that she was supposed to be interviewing. “Hi,” she began, giving him her usual professional hospitality. “I’m L/N Y/N, it’s nice to meet you— I’ll be interviewing you today.”

“Hello,” he almost seemed to chirp, leaning back into his chair and shooting her a charming, coy smile. “I’m Oikawa. But with a face like yours, I’ll let you call me Tooru.”

Don’t pretend then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: You take up the job as a healer to work at the order and fall in love with the ridiculously handsome head of house Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, drinking problems Word Count: 2,883

As (Y/n) made her way into the order’s headquarters; she couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d got the wrong address. Surely there were better places than this hell hole. Mrs. Weasley must have seen her as she came beside (Y/n) in a blink.

“(Y/n) dear! How are you?” she said as she practically engulfed her.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley.” (Y/n) told her with a smile.

“Come on in, let me introduce you.” She said as she ushered the young woman into what was supposed to be a dining room. She took in the morbid surroundings as she noticed people glancing towards her. She shook hands and greeted people trying to remember as many names as possible. To her surprise, most of them knew her. It was because of her recent interview for the daily prophet. (Y/n) was a passionate girl. She had always dreamed to be a healer. 

After graduation from Hogwarts she was off to Romania for 7 long years researching more and more about human anatomy. She had been a part of breaking several curses and discovering remedies and cures for various diseases. That was one of the reasons why her ex-headmaster visited her one day to come to work for the order. She had agreed readily, wanting to step up against the death eaters as soon as possible.

“Miss (Y/l/n), I hope it was a smooth journey?” Dumbledore said softly.

“Yes it was, professor.”

“Please, its Albus, you’re not my student anymore.” He said before turning towards everyone. “Lets begin the meeting, shall we?”

***

At the end of the meeting Dumbledore directed (Y/n) towards Sirius Black, owner of the Black household. She had read about him only in the newspapers, and she did not know what to expect. Dumbledore had told her about his story, his real one back in Romania. (Y/n) had felt saddened by the fact that an innocent man had to go through such unfortunate circumstances. She had met with Remus before coming to the headquarters and he had told her more about Sirius and their years at Hogwarts.

“Mr. Black, this is Miss (Y/l/n), the healer I was talking about. She would be staying here, so as to help directly.” Dumbledore said.

Sirius gave her a nod and a tight lipped smile. (Y/n) nodded back. She guessed he didn’t like to talk much.

***

Sirius woke up with a grunt. He honestly felt trapped these days. His colleges were all out there fighting, whereas all he did was sleep, eat, drink and repeat. He got up and brushed his teeth, taking a quick shower. He went down thinking about grabbing a bottle of milk and cornflakes. He hated the thought. Instead he was greeted with the smell of fried bacon and eggs. He saw (Y/n) wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, hair pulled up in a messy bun; moving through the kitchen. He smiled. She looked so cute. He had noticed her the day before. She had an innocent face and twinkling eyes. But there was definitely something sharp about her that seemed to draw him towards her. Sirius shook himself. What was he thinking? She was a lot younger than him and he was no longer the same boy, who could party and make his way through different women. Who in the right mind would even look at him right now?

“Oh, hi there Sirius! How do you take your eggs?” (Y/n) asked breaking Sirius’s chain of thought.

“You don’t have to do that.” Sirius said as his stomach grumbled, making him wince. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

“I love cooking actually. I was making it for myself and thought to make a little for you too.” She shrugged.

“Well, then half-fried” he replied scratching the back of his head. He went in and grabbed some plates.

(Y/n) hummed as she served him and herself some breakfast. Sirius let out a small moan eating the delicious bacon.

“Oh- this is so delicious” Sirius said with his mouth full making (Y/n) blush and let out a small laugh.

They ate rest of the breakfast in silence, which was majorly because Sirius ate a good and warm breakfast after a very long time. After he finished he cleaned both their plates and dishes used for preparation.

“Sirius, would you like to help me pot some plants?”

No. His first instinct wanted to say. Why should he? His brain provided. But what else could he do in this big miserable excuse for a house?

“Sure, why not? Nothing better to do anyway!”

(Y/n) beamed making Sirius feel a little flutter in his chest.

They went to an empty room where (Y/n) took out her supplies and a few books. Sirius followed her instructions as he set the very gross seeds in. He felt like a teenager working in the greenhouse again.

“Why did you become an amingus, Sirius?” (Y/n) asked after some time.

Sirius smiled. He launched into the story of his adventures as a kid. Making best friends, finding out the suffering of his dear friend, wanting to help. (Y/n) nodded and laughed along.

“You seem to have one of the best times at school. It was a very noble thing you and your friends did, Sirius. Reckless, yes; but noble.” Sirius barked out a laugh.

They spent rest of the morning chatting and laughing. Sirius didn’t remember a time where he connected so much with a person other than his best friends. Conversation flowed smoothly, he felt like talking to her was the most natural thing he did.

***

After that, Sirius would spend most of his time with (Y/n), sometimes helping her, sometimes just sitting in silence. Sirius saw little things about (Y/n) like the way she would light up telling about different curses she was so close to break, the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration leaving them plump and full; driving him crazy. Sirius had reminded himself over and over again that (Y/n) was young and deserved someone better than him. That didn’t help the way his stomach twisted in knots or his tendency to want to touch her whenever she was close.

(Y/n) seemed to be in a different yet same predicament. The more time she spent with Sirius, the more she grew to like him. His addictive personality that drew everyone towards him whenever he was around. Him being able to cheer her up if she ever felt down. And every single day it became harder for her to ignore the throb in her heart. At times she felt like he did like her back but mostly all she could think was how someone as handsome and smart and funny and charismatic as him could like someone like her.

“(Y/n) you need to rest!” Sirius said as he entered the dining room to find (Y/n) trying to clean the chandelier. He sighed. (Y/n) had the tendency to work until she was truly exhausted and Sirius could see it was taking a toll on her.

“I’m almost done” she whined as she continued with the cleaning spells making Sirius groan. He smirked, as an idea popped up in his head. He transformed into padfoot running towards her. He knocked her over and licked her face making her burst into giggles.

“Sirius stop!! Gross!” she said as she continued laughing. She gripped his forefoot and tackled him into the ground, placing herself above him. Sirius transformed back, his face red from laughter. As they slowly settled down next to each other, goofy smiles painted their faces.

(Y/n) couldn’t help it. Sirius was looking at her so adorably; she went forward and kissed him. She realized what she was doing and pulled back. Sirius looked blank. He didn’t know what to say or do. He knew he was not at all good for her, but in that moment all he wanted was to crush his lips into hers. (Y/n) on her part tried to breathe. She desperately wanted Sirius to say something, anything.

“I… I… I like you Sirius.” She said softly pleading to god that Sirius felt what she did for him.

“(Y/n)… I…” Sirius found himself unable to find the right words. He took too long.

(Y/n) tried not to shake. Of course he didn’t like her.

“Its fine” she stuttered. “I must have misread things.”

She tried to give him a small smile as she got up and left, leaving Sirius to wallow in his misery. He did the right thing, he repeated to himself as he descended into anxiety.

***

For the next few days, (Y/n) avoided Sirius. She would be sure to leave him whatever food she made for herself casting a warming spell on them. They would see each other once or twice and give a small smile but other than that nothing. No late night talks, no laughs over the little garden of medicinal herbs they created, no arguments over books. Sirius tried to give her space. He knew he’d hurt her but the thing was that he had become so used to her presence that he now felt like he was entering his dark hole again. He started drinking early, transforming into padfoot at times. It was like someone had finally given him something to live for and then snatched it back cruelly. He missed her, even though she was so close to him. It was much more than just physical attraction he loved her, her soul, her very essence.

At one such night, he frowned as he tried to drink from the now-empty bottle. He stumbled towards the cabinet trying to find a new one. As he fumbled for an opener he heard a voice behind him.

“Sirius, I think that’s quite enough for a week.” (Y/n) said concerned about his health. She knew Sirius had started becoming depressed easily, an aftermath of living in Azkaban for such a long period. She felt guilty for spoiling their friendship and then not talking to him for what felt like forever. It was torture for her too. She felt that maybe distancing herself would help her. But, seeing the toll it took on Sirius she felt ashamed.

“If 20th no, 21st no 20th” Sirius tried to count but his brain refused to respond. “Doesn’t matter. If the 20th drink is what it took to get you to talk to me I would have done it a lot earlier.” He smiled and then slipped falling on the floor with a thump.

(Y/n) quickly went towards him and picked him up. Sirius continued mumbling and (Y/n) couldn’t make out anything. She carried him to his room and gave him some medicine to stop the headache tomorrow. As she turned to leave, he grabbed her hand stopping her.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t” she tried to say but Sirius had already passed out. (Y/n) sighed, putting some blankets over him and turning to leave the room.

Next morning, (Y/n) was ready. She couldn’t let this friendship destroy. When Sirius entered the kitchen she took in a deep breath and gave him a warm smile. Sirius looked unsure. As he settled down to eat she started repeating the long rant she spent the entire night preparing but somehow could only get a few sentences out.

“Sirius, I like you but more than that; I value our friendship. You’ve been one of the best people to talk to and I can’t afford to lose you. I miss you, which is strange because you are in the same house as me.” she let out a laugh. “It will take time, but I would soon feel comfortable talking to you again. Please know that I don’t want to make you feel bad.”

Sirius smiled.

“Okay” he said.

“Okay.” She repeated.

***

After that (Y/n) and Sirius spent time together again. It wasn’t the same as before, but it was better for them both. Or so they thought. Sirius found himself itching to hug her again, to hold her close. It was torture even more so than before. It wasn’t just a passing infatuation and Sirius was reminded that every single time he was close to her. Every time she would smile, Sirius would feel his heart flutter.

It was soon to be Christmas and house was bustling with life and joy. Harry was there and Sirius felt at his best. Everything was going smoothly; Sirius had Remus, Harry and (Y/n) the most important people in his life with him. He couldn’t ask for more.

“(Y/n)! I hope you didn’t miss me much!” came the voice from the dining room door. It was Molly’s second son, Charlie, the one that worked in Romania.

“Charlie!” (Y/n) shouted as she launched herself into his arms making Sirius’s stomach twist. He clenched his jaw as she didn’t seem to move away from him. (Y/n) dragged Charlie towards him.

“Sirius, this is Charlie, my absolute best friend!” she said smiling.

Sirius forced a smile shaking Charlie’s hand.

Over the next few days, it seemed Charlie and (Y/n) were inseparable much to Sirius’s dismay. It was gut-wrenching. They always seemed to have an inside joke and he wanted to be the one (Y/n) had them with. They would be seen at the corner of the room giggling and laughing. Sirius was told that Charlie and (Y/n) were childhood best friends. The way they behaved, no-one wouldn’t be surprised if they started dating, even though that thought made him furiously angry. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. He was the one that pushed her away. But that didn’t stop him from feeling hot with jealousy.

It was the night before Christmas. Everyone had made efforts to prepare the big dinner. The twins had put on some music and Sirius had fun seeing his best-friend Remus dance with Tonks. Remus had a crimson blush on his face as his niece put his hand over her waist. It was about time Remus did something for himself.

“They’ll make an excellent couple.” (Y/n) said standing beside him.

“I think so too. But Remus thinks he’s too old for her.” Sirius said looking at her. She shook her head.

“What’s age anyway? I know Tonks is old enough to take her own decisions. If two people love each-other, does it really matter when the other was born or how many more years they’ve lived?” she said with a twinkle in her eyes and Sirius felt as if he should tell her, right then that he loved her; had for a very long time.

“(Y/n)!!! Come on I don’t wanna feel lonely between all these lovey-dovey couples, dance with me!” Charlie said taking (Y/n)’s hand. (Y/n) giggled as he took her to the middle of the hall with him. Charlie twirled her around the floor and she moved elegantly with him. They laughed swaying to the beats of music looking the happiest people in the world.

It all felt too much. Sirius excused himself as he left the room trying to calm himself. He wanted to scream. He tried breathing exercises wanting to control himself. After a few minutes he was able to compose himself and he moved to return back.

“There you are!” (Y/n) said as she came towards him. When she came near though they froze. He tried to move but couldn’t. He looked up to find a small mistletoe growing. He gulped.

“You’ll get out after you kiss!” said George as he ran away.

(Y/n) looked up at him hesitantly and bit her lips. Damn! Did she have to do that!

“Let’s just do a quick peck.” (Y/n) told Sirius as she tried to breathe. Her feelings for him had only increased and now this?

(Y/n) tiptoed and gave a peck on Sirius’s lips feeling the spell wear away. Sirius cupped her cheeks, moving forward and kissed her deeply, pressing his lips firmly against her plush ones. (Y/n) froze. As Sirius moved his head away from her she felt like she was in a trance. Those silver grey eyes seemed to convey so much emotion and she wasn’t sure she understood it all.

“Why?” was all she could croak out.

“I love you. Have for a very long time. I felt I was unworthy; didn’t deserve you. Lets be real, I’m a fugitive.”

“Wrongly charged” she interjected.

“Fine; wrongly charged and old. I don’t have a job and I possibly couldn’t take care of you but I can’t. I cannot pretend to not want to hold you or kiss you or call you mine. I cannot pretend that I don’t get jealous whenever I see another man make you laugh when I should be the one doing it. I cannot pretend that you drive me crazy like never before even though I spent years in Azkaban. I am being selfish but I want you. I-“

(Y/n) put her hand over his mouth making him stop.

“Then. Don’t. Pretend.” She said smiling as she hugged him so tightly he felt air leave his lungs but he didn’t care as he hugged her back with the same fervor. They pulled away only to pull each other in a passionate kiss.

Charlie’s whistling broke them away.

“About time” he shouted as Sirius snuck an arm around (Y/n)’s waist.

A/N: Let me know what you think!

saving jacob (pt. 3)

i AM rewriting new moon scene by scene to erase smeyer’s sabatoge of jacob as a character to favor edward, as well as wildly changing the lore about the wolf pack and making bella less pointlessly rude to jacob, and you CANNOT stop me

(previous chapter)

bella wakes up to a screech like nails against her window, and all she can think is victoria.

all she can think is not charlie—she stumbles to the window, wondering. maybe if she goes with her quietly…maybe if she jumps…

and then jacob’s voice is whispering bella!—ouch, dammit—bella, can you hear me? and her racing heart trips into aching.

bella! he hisses again, and for a second she presses her face into the wall and considers going back to bed. she could shove a pillow over her head and fall back asleep. ignore the noise. easy.

ignore jacob—let him wait for a reasonable hour, to talk to her like a normal person. (let him walk away again…)

but it’s jacob.

he’s her sun, her safe harbor, and as stupid as she knows it is, just the sound of his voice is already winding soft around the edges of the hole in her chest, so she drags the window open.

for a second, bella can’t make the pieces add up.

he’s in her tree. edged out so far along a branch that it’s bobbing wildly—oh god, if she doesn’t let him in, he’s going to fall. he’s going to be catapulted straight into the sky.

she chokes on a laugh—

can i come in? he asks, voice so determinedly light that suddenly bella is sure this must be a dream.

which means it can’t hurt to let it play itself out…

so she throws her hands up, steps away from the window—and barely catches her scream. because jake doesn’t inch further along and grab the windowsill, or something simple—no, he’s standing on the branch as it bounces back and forth.

he’s going to fall, she thinks wildly, and then he jumps—

and lands on her bedroom floor with a quiet thud.

for a heartbeat, they freeze in unison, waiting. the silence from charlie’s room is damning—then he grunts out a snore, and bella nearly crumples with relief.

jacob just smiles. it’s small, but giddy and careless and so him. bella’s heartbreak crashes back. he told her this was over.

he told her to leave, like he didn’t know it would break her entirely if she did. like he didn’t care. and now he’s back, (through her window, just similar enough to him for the million differences to hurt), like nothing happened.

like she didn’t just cry herself to sleep over this boy...

she crosses her arms, and tries to tell herself it’s out of anger instead of a useless, pathetic need to keep herself from flying apart. what do you want?

he looks at her, smile fading. (her throat goes tight—all his happiness disappearing, her fault this time, and she can’t take it back. can’t be kind, because if she tries she’ll fall apart entirely—)

i...i know me being sorry doesn’t change anything, he says, wary. and you still have every right to be mad at me, but…i am. sorry, i mean. i wanted to say that.

bella bites down on a laugh, feeling too much to feel anything at all. great. thanks. was there anything else, or did you just want to—to make yourself feel better about it before you never talk to me again?

he flinches, eyes darting back to the floorboards. she can’t help realizing how young he looks, crouched this carefully on her bedroom floor. he’s wearing ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s far too big for him. his hair is long and loose, leaves tangled through it. part of her aches to sink down next to him and pick them out—

yeah, i mean no, there’s. there’s more. he swallows—and then he stands, just the slightest bit too fast. bella tenses.

but he’s raking his hands through his hair, gaze bouncing everywhere but her, and doesn’t seem to see the flinch. i thought of a way to explain and i…i had to try, at least.

oh, you can explain now? she manages, around the tangle of panic and anger and stupid, stupid hope.

his eyes lock on hers. look, bella...haven’t you ever had a secret that you couldn’t tell anyone? one that isn’t really even yours to tell?

her thoughts fly to them—

her chest aches. she clutches tighter at her ribs, and this one jake sees.

his eyes flicker, somewhere between sympathy and bitter, awful pity. yeah. it’s like that.

so what changed? she doesn’t mean for the words to be as soft as they are—but his face lights up, and she can’t bring herself to regret it.

i realized i don’t have to tell you, because i already did! so if you remember that, and guess what’s going on, well…no one can be mad at me! they never even have to know that i helped.

he’s so goddamn happy again, electric with it, and suddenly bella can’t breathe.

she digs her palms into her eyes, trying to lose herself in the ache. she’s so tired. she just wants it to be easy, for once—of course she should’ve known better. of course it’s another mess. another stupid fucking mystery for her to sort through.

because she can’t just love what’s good for her—

woah, bella! jacob’s hands are warm, closed suddenly, gently, around her arms, and she realizes she’s swaying.

she’s aching to collapse into him, she realizes, now that he’s given her that slightest hint of steadiness.

you okay?

she chokes on a laugh, and lets herself topple forward against his chest.

just—just for a second.

(his shirt is unbearably soft against her cheek. it smells like him, like the warm air and grease of the garage, like tree sap, and a little bit like sweat. she reaches up and tangles her fists into it, clutching as hard as she can. she can feel the heat of him blazing through it, and his heart, hammering—)

why on earth would i be okay? she gasps.

oh. um—um—hey. hey, bells. his voice wobbles a little, but his hands settle on her back, keeping her pressed up against him. hey. i gotcha.

and then he’s moving, easing the two of them down side-by-side onto her bed. i gotcha.

bella lets herself stay there a second longer—just until she can breathe again, in uncertain time with his steady inhales—and then she leans away.

jacob lets her go, and keeps his eyes on the tangled blankets, like it’ll keep him from seeing her scrubbing away tears.

okay, she breathes, finally. already, the cold is seeping back, and she pulls her knees up to her chest and lets her throbbing head sink onto them. okay. i’m—i’m sorry, jake, but i need a little more help than that.

okay… he bites his lip for a second, forehead furrowed—bella’s fingers twitch, itching to reach up and smooth out the tired crease between his dark eyebrows. she grits her teeth, clamping her hands around her ankles instead.

okay! he repeats, straightening abruptly. bella—do you remember, that day on the beach, the stories i told you?

the quileute legends?

he nods, eyes bright again. she tries not to wince at the memory of her pathetic attempts at flirting.

exactly, he says, urgent enough to shake her back to the present and his earnest gaze. do you remember what they were about?

the c—the cold ones, she stutters—her chest is tight, memories tearing old wounds raw.

shutters slam down behind jake’s eyes.

before that? the words are cautious, and guilt twists icy through her stomach.

i’m—i can’t, jake. she locks her eyes on the comforter, tracing patterns through the purple. it’s not enough to keep her from seeing the way his face crumples. i’m sorry.

he laughs quietly, deflating, and rakes a hand through his hair. i guess i could see why that’s the only story you remember.

his shoulders are slumped almost casually, but bitterness his voice. bella digs her nails into her leg, hard enough to hurt.

if you just—just give me some time, jake. i’m sure i could…

yeah. yeah, of course. his grin is crooked, words still twisting slightly off of sincere, and bella’s misery is so thick she could drown in it. i should go anyways. embry promised not to tell, but his guard shift’s over soon, so…

guard? she manages around the lump in her throat. jacob freezes halfway through getting up—then snorts.

yeah. guess you get another hint after all.

she squeezes her eyes shut, searching desperately for the rest of the memory. there’s a piece just barely missing, so close she can taste it—but her head is pounding full force now, exhaustion and guilt beating away any chance of focus.

what if we ran away instead? bella doesn’t realize how desperately she wants to, until the words slip out—and then it batters her, more than she’s wanted anything for a long time. just you and me—what if we left home, left all of this behind?

she can’t bring herself to open her eyes, but she can feel jake next to her, painfully still, for the longest heartbeat of her life.

it’s not something i can run from, bella. his voice is rough—and again, she can’t untangle the knot of emotions making it so. but i would run away with you, if i could.

the words hang in the air for a second, and then his footsteps creak gently towards the window.

jake, wait! bella scrambles up, heart hammering, before she can even really process what she’s doing. he turns around, and she slams into him.

for a second, his hands hang limp by his sides, and bella can feel him trembling. tensing, like he’s going to push her away—

and then he inhales shakily, and crushes her into a hug in return. for a heartbeat, they are suspended perfectly…

i should let you sleep, he mumbles into her hair, grip loosening far too soon. bella clings tighter for a moment—she isn’t ready—

i hate this, she whispers, and his tired laugh hums through her.

i know. but he pulls away nonetheless, turning towards the window—and then he pauses, and throws a glance over his shoulder. you can figure this out though, bells. I’m sure you can.

yeah, she says. yeah. i’ll—i’ll call you.

he grabs the sides of the window, about to hoist himself out, and panic flares through bella again.

jake! he looks back again, eyebrows raised this time. just—just go out the door. please?

he rolls his eyes, but his smile is soft, and he backs away from the window. if charlie wakes up, i’m blaming you.

he slips out quietly. bella watches him ease the door closed—and then she keeps watching, frozen to the floor. she listens to charlie’s snores, for far longer than she needs to—until her head is spinning and her hands ache and she’s swaying on icy feet—

it’s long enough that when she crawls back under the covers, she tumbles immediately into an eerily familiar dream about a forest…and a wolf.

(next chapter)

tagging @effervescent-hoe (let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged in updates!)

Cruel Summer, Elorcan Missing Scene

cruel summer masterlist

AN: Surprise Elorcan Missing Scene! Ever wondered how Elide and Lorcan officially got together? Wonder no more. For those who need slight refreshing -- this starts at Sam’s 4th of July yacht party. This is my first time writing Elorcan, so plz be gentle with me. 

Elide is drunk. Not just a little drunk, but a lot of drunk. She sways on her feet, and she wishes she could blame the unsteadiness she feels on the boat she’s standing on, but she knows this massive three-story yacht isn’t so much as moving an inch.

Dorian laughs at her as he pulls her unfinished glass of sangria out of her hands. He downs the rest in one gulp, making the girl next to him giggle. Dorian has already completed his mission tonight. He and this girl disappeared into a bathroom an hour ago and came out looking rumpled and happy.

Elide is extremely jealous. It’s not that Elide hasn’t had the opportunity to find a man on this boat. In fact, it’s teaming with potential suitors, but she isn’t interested in any of them. She keeps thinking of the same dark face over and over.

It’s been a month since she and Manon began their plan, but Lorcan still hasn’t made a move. And Elide is beginning to give up hope that he likes her, too. After all, he’d have asked her out by now if he did, right? She should really just forget about him and hook up with someone on this boat. She looks around and stumbles slightly.

“So, what now?” Dorian’s girl asks. Elide searches her brain for her name but draws a blank. Katherine? Kaitlin?

“Anything you want, Kaltain,” Dorian says. Ah, yes. Kaltain. Elide tries to focus on the doe eyed brunette, but she can’t. All she can think about is how much she wishes Lorcan would kiss her. She’s harbored this crush for as long as she’s known him, and she’s starting to get desperate.

“Just call him,” Manon says with a long sigh.

“Who are we calling?” Nehemia asks, twisting her long pink braids over her shoulder.

“Elide’s coworker slash crush.” Elide watches as Manon wraps her taloned fingers around Nehemia’s waist, and Elide knows her friends are waiting on her to find someone, so they can take their new friends home. She should just put them out of their misery and tell them it’s not going to happen.

“I can’t call him,” Elide pouts. “I texted him earlier, and he didn’t even reply.”

She holds up the phone for Manon to see. She texted him a simple, “What are you up to tonight?” and he never replied. Only, when she holds up her phone, she realizes that he has, in fact, responded. She can’t believe she didn’t notice.

All my roommates are all at parties, so I’m enjoying my empty apartment.

The text is accompanied by a picture of a beer resting on his coffee table, and on his TV in the background is Community.

“El,” Manon drawls. “That is the clearest invitation to come over I’ve ever seen.”

The text is from three hours ago.

“You think?”

Dorian and his girl both nod, and Elide feels a rush of confidence. Lorcan isn’t the most outgoing guy in the world. Maybe Manon is right. This is his way of asking her over.

“No, I can’t…” Elide talks herself out of it. What is she supposed to do? Just show up on his doorstep, and hope he invites her in? She could never. But Manon tells her that’s exactly what she should do. And if she doesn’t, she’s a goddamned pussy. Elide’s mouth drops open. She hates that word. Manon and Dorian chant it together, until she finally tells them she will go to Lorcan’s, if only to stop making them call her a pussy.

Manon gives her a tight squeeze as she practically pushes Elide into an Uber, and Elide knows there’s no turning back anymore.

By the time she arrives at Lorcan’s doorstep, she feels invincible. The perfect amount of buzzed. She can do this. Manon was right. She needs to be as brave about her love life as she is with everything else she does.

She knocks on the door, three tight raps. She hears shuffling on the other side of the door, and Elide attempts to fluff her curled hair quickly before it opens. She belatedly realizes she should have looked in a mirror before showing up to profess her feelings, but it’s too late now.

A squinting Lorcan answers the door, only wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants. His hair is mussed from sleep, and there are pillow marks on his cheek.

“Ellie?” he asks, clearly confused. “What are you doing here?”

Elide feels warm as her eyes roam his broad shoulders and bare chest. She begins to say something, but her legs sway without her permission as her gaze moves downward. She stumbles forward, and Lorcan gasps and reaches out for her. He steadies her by her waist, and Elide’s mouth drops into a small circle at his touch. He’s never been this close to her before. He smells like sleep and leather and earth and something just a tinge sweet.

“I love when you call me that,” she says, staring up at him. Her lips are loose and her filter is gone, apparently. She’s intoxicated not only by liquor, but also his scent.

As Lorcan helps her stand, his eyes narrow. “Are you… drunk?”

“No…?”

A loud hiccup erupts from her chest, giving her away, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.

Lorcan sighs and runs his hand through his long hair. “Come in…”

He ushers her into his apartment, and Elide takes a look around. The apartment is mismatched and sparse, clearly belonging to a bunch of twenty-something year old single men. The centerpiece of the room is the large leather couch, which faces a big screen TV.

Elide makes her way to the couch and collapses onto it. The well-worn leather squeaks loudly beneath her skin, and she moves again just to hear the noise. It makes her giggle. Lorcan returns with a large glass of water, and Elide graciously takes a large sip. She is thirsty, she notes to herself as her eyes wander across Lorcan’s bare skin again.

Lorcan stifles a yawn, and Elide reaches out to brush her hand against his flushed face. “Were you asleep?” she asks, and Lorcan grabs her hand and puts it down on the couch between him as he nods. But Elide notes he doesn’t pull his hand away from hers.

“It’s the middle of the night, Ellie,” he says with a low chuckle. “So…” He clears his throat as Elide twines her small fingers with his large ones. She loves how big his hands are. She wants them inside her.

Elide feels hot at the thought and takes another sip of her water.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Elide asks.

A small smile tugs at Lorcan’s lips as he leans back into the couch to mirror her position. “After you finish your water, then we can go to sleep,” he says.

“I’m sleeping here?” she asks, her eyes wide with feigned innocence, and Lorcan laughs outright.

“It’s too late to drive you home, and I don’t trust ride shares,” he explains. But it sounds like a convenient excuse. And Elide is so excited by the prospect of them sleeping together, she tilts the glass upward and chugs the rest of it in three large gulps.

She places the glass down on the table with a flourish. “Finished!” she announces happily. She stands too quickly and stumbles again. Before she can regain her footing, Lorcan is lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder.

“Oh!” she exclaims, surprised by her new angle. His hands clasp the backs of her bare thighs, and her arms drape over his muscular back. From this angle she has a pretty good view of his backside, too, and it does not disappoint.

“My room is too far down the hall for you to walk,” he says. “I don’t trust your feet.” Elide’s only reply is to giggle as her hands drift down to his lower back, tracing patterns on his skin with the tips of her fingers. “Ellie, knock it off,” he chastises her, but Elide ignores him, fascinated with the feeling of his warm skin beneath her hand. She uses her finger to trace out EL + LS in a heart onto his back, and she watches as he shivers.

His bedroom is dark, and neither bothers to turn on the lights. Elide thinks she knows what’s about to happen, so she gets a head start, pulling her dress over her head and tossing it onto the ground.

Lorcan crashes into something in the darkened room and turns around, swearing as he rushes to his dresser. “What are you doing?” he hisses, and Elide falls into his large bed, immediately burrowing under the covers.

He throws a shirt onto the bed, and Elide slides it on over her head. She’s swimming in the giant t-shirt, but she doesn’t care. It smells like him. She takes a long sniff and inadvertently moans.

“Goodnight,” Lorcan stutters, trying to leave the room, but Elide calls out for him, confused.

“Where are you going?” she asks. She can’t process what’s happening or why Lorcan is running away from her.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” he explains, but Elide reaches out for him and grabs his arm. He pitches forward, unprepared for her grasp. “How are you this strong for someone so tiny?” he says with a laugh, and Elide says she doesn’t know. She’s too distracted by his proximity and his smell and being in his bed. All she wants to do is put her lips on his. Making her move, she leans up to kiss him, but he turns his head, so she makes contact with his cheek instead. He stands, suddenly, and takes a large step away from his bed.

Elide feels like she’s going to cry. Never has she been so outwardly rebuffed. She’s going to murder Manon for suggesting this. Lorcan doesn’t want her here. More than that, Lorcan doesn’t want her.

“Goodnight,” he says again, and this time, he doesn’t look back as he flees the room. Too tired to cry, Elide closes her eyes and hopes she remembers nothing about this night when she wakes.

An unfamiliar alarm blares loudly in the distance. Elide reaches to silence it, but it’s in the wrong spot. Everything is wrong, in fact. What she’s wearing. The room she’s in. The pounding headache attacking her skull. None of it is right.

It takes her about five seconds to remember everything that happened the night prior, and she throws the covers over her head, wanting to hide. She now has to work the rest of the summer next to the man she literally threw herself at. And he rejected her. She’s never drinking again.

“Elide,” Lorcan’s voice calls out, but she refuses to emerge from the covers. She’s going to hide here forever and die before ever facing him again. But Lorcan has another plan, so it seems. He peels his covers back, and she looks up at the ceiling to avoid having to look at his smug face. “It’s almost time for work,” he says, and Elide shakes her head.

“I’m not going…”

Lorcan puts his hand to her forehead, and she shivers beneath it. “Are you still not feeling well?”

Elide forces herself to sit up and glares at the man in front of her. Despite her raging hangover, she unleashes all the pent up frustration she wasn’t able to release last night. The rest of the summer be damned, it’s going to be awkward no matter what she says.

“Of course I’m not feeling well!” she huffs. “I came over here last night after years of being too afraid to tell you I liked you, and you rejected me! I know I’m not your type, or whatever, clearly, but… am I really that repellant that you wouldn’t even kiss me? I feel like I was owed a pity kiss, at least.” She grumbles. “I’m never going to work again, because I can’t ever look at you again. And you know what?” She’s clearly just getting started. “I’m pretty awesome, so this is absolutely your loss. You could have had all of this, Salvaterre—” She motions to herself. “But no more will I pine for you. I get it. Message received. Whatever.”

Lorcan is silent, and Elide closes her eyes, unable to face even more rejection in the light of day. So she’s shocked when she feels his hands on her cheeks. When she opens her eyes, Lorcan is staring at her, his dark gaze filled with determination.

She breathes nervously as Lorcan leans in and presses his lips to hers. She can’t believe he’s finally kissing her. Though his hands are rough against her face, his lips are soft and pliant. She moves her hands into his long hair and tugs him closer. He sighs into her mouth, and Elide feels like her whole body is on fire. She’s wanted this for as long as she’s known him.

When he eventually pulls away, he’s breathing hard, and Elide just has to ask, has to know. “Was that my pity kiss?”

Lorcan shakes his head as his hands return to her face. “You’re so stupid, Elide Lochan.”

“Gee, thanks,” she deadpans, but she can’t help but smile as he kisses her again.

“I wasn’t going to have our first kiss be with you drunk,” he says, smiling shyly. Despite his tan skin, she can see a rosy blush spot across his cheeks and nose. “You made it exceedingly hard, for what it’s worth. I nearly cracked like… three times. But, I would never take advantage of you in that state,” he assures her, and Elide’s heart blooms with affection for the giant man in front of her. “So, that said,” he begins again. “How do you feel about me taking you out tonight?”

“Pretty good,” Elide says quietly.

“Just pretty good?” he asks nervously.

“Really good,” Elide clarifies. “Excellent.” She smiles broadly. “And, hey, since we already have the first kiss nerves out of the way, now we can full on make out later.”

“Ellie…” His blush darkens as he chuckles to himself. But when he looks back at her, his eyes filled with desire, she knows that’s exactly what they’ll be doing later.

Maybe she doesn’t have to murder Manon after all.

~*~*~*~

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10 and 24 for the festive prompts :)

(please excuse me while I hang my head in shame, for this was 1: received last year, and 2: still didn’t manage to appear before Christmas this year.) 🤦🏼‍♀️ Best laid plans really do be elusive, huh?  @ Anon, I'm sorry this is so late, and I hope you’re still around! ♥️ 

Prompts - 10: I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween! and 24: Secret Santa is bullshit. 

(for the sake of this story and b99′s vague timelines, this is set pre-manhunter and post-casecation).  (ao3)

all the lights are shining (so brightly everywhere) 

Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la lah, la la lah lahhh …

Amy sighs, tapping her feet - sadly, trapped in a curled up shoe, and does her best to ignore the jingle that comes from its dangling bell.

Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la lah, la la lah lahhh …

Christmas Carols have always been a favourite of hers, forever singing along to the melody despite being told by many that she really shouldn’t.  They were joyful and uplifting and reminders of everything wonderful about the holiday season.  But tonight, she’s been standing post for three hours, listening to Z-List celebrity covers of sacred songs of hope; and as a result has spent 85% of her time hatching a plan to find the source of the music and put an end to everyone’s misery.

Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la, fa la la, fa la lahhh …

Jake’s off-key singing voice filters in through her earpiece, and a tiny smile finds it’s way onto her face.  

“Troll the ancient yule-tide carol, fa la la la laaaa, la la la laaa! … Wait, troll?  That can’t be right!  Hey Ames, do you think trolls celebrate Christmas?”

Knowing that answering would blow her cover, Amy remains quiet; nodding slowly both to the beat and her husband’s question as the track fades away and a new atrocity begins.  

Seriously, she needs to find out where this music is coming from.  

From underneath her undercover position as Head Elf of Candy Cane Lane, Amy shifts uncomfortably, resisting the urge to tug down the tinsel edged skirt that hovered just a little too high for her liking.  She wanted to burn the bra she had chosen to wear tonight (digging into her ribcage like it did), save for the fact that it was very expensive and very beautiful, and very much worn this evening with the sole purpose of seducing her husband.

Work had descended into pure madness in the past fortnight, with both her and Jake’s schedules descending from holding relative similarities to polar opposites.  And maybe it was the surplus of romantic movies on every single TV channel, or the scores of advertisements reminding her that the holiday season was for being together with loved ones (for Jake Peralta was most certainly Amy’s Loved One) - either way, Amy had begun to miss spending nights alone with her husband something fierce.  

Tonight’s plan had been so simple, it had barely required a binder.  Wait until it’s nearly Jake’s finish time, don sexy lingerie, cover up with comfy clothes and go pick up her unsuspecting husband from work.  Let him unlock the door when finally home, then jump his bones right there on the couch - giving Jake just enough time to discover the red lacy set and look at her the way he always manages to do - like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.  Then, sexy timez.  Lots of sexy timez.

And it had all been working so well - until she’d shown up at the precinct unannounced (Jake being too distracted to notice the text she’d sent him), and immediately found herself getting wrapped up in a sting her old squad were devising.  

In a spark of true evil, one of Brooklyn’s most elusive drug runners - Art Akemi - had invented a new way to dodge any of his drug shipments from being discovered; deciding to build candy canes around the narcotics so that to the unaware eye, they would appear completely innocuous.  

Unfortunately, one of his most recent handovers had gotten mixed up with actual candy canes, resulting in several innocent members of the public ending up in hospital with mysterious drug overdoses.  It had taken the 99 and their neighbouring precincts days to piece together Akemi’s plans, and just this afternoon Rosa had been given a lead that suggested a handoff with the kingpin and one of his henchmen would be happening at Santa’s Village that very evening.  

It was brazen, to set up an exchange of illegal narcotics in a public access area - particularly, one frequented by children and families alike - but also completely on brand for someone like Akemi.  The squad needed to work fast, and work smart; running through the finer details of their mission when Amy had arrived.    

And yes, perhaps her FOMOW had reached an all-new peak as she listened to the detectives speak, and perhaps she hadn’t really thought about what she was volunteering herself for - but the next thing Amy knew she was Holly the Christmas Elf, toes squeezed into surprisingly curly shoes as she fielded questions from children and waited for any signs of wrong-doing.   

It has been twenty-five minutes since Santa had disappeared to ‘feed the reindeer’ (aka disappearing to the back docks for a quick drag of a cigarette), and just as Amy was beginning to wonder if a search party needs to be called, she feels a gentle tug on her hand, looking down to find a little boy no older than five gazing up at her with awe.

“D’ya think Santa is busy making da presents?"

His eyes are wide - filled with the kind of awe that every child seems to get when they are lulled by the magic of Christmas - and as Amy crouches to match his diminutive height, she can’t help but notice how the unkempt curls on his head remind her of a photo with a similar aged Jake that Karen had once shown her.

(He had been mid-discovery of a fairy garden, one built by his Nana and immediately claimed as his own, and the sheer joy in his face had made Amy’s heart swell, even years later through the faded colours of an oft-cherished photograph.)

“You know, I bet he is.”  Scanning the crowd for that familiar mixture of red and white but coming up blank, she turns her attention back to the little boy.  “Santa’s magic like that, don’t you think?”

The child’s nod is so enthusiastic the tiny curls on his head begin to bounce, turning quickly as his searching father calls out his name.  “Just a little longer, and you can tell him all of your wishes, okay?”

“Da elf said Santa’d building da presents Daddy!”  The child runs back towards his father’s outstretched hand, and Amy gives the adult an understanding smile as he lifts his son back into his arms.  From his undercover position at a nearby popcorn stand; Jake catches Amy’s eye as she returns to her earlier position, giving him a tiny smile when he throws her a wink.  

The topic of parenthood - of them trying to have a baby, one day - had been mentioned by both more than a few times since their anniversary; and the regular use of the word when rather than if ignited a sense of hope in Amy that made her stomach flutter every single time.  While the enormity of it all still scared Jake - still scared Amy, if she were to be completely honest - what always seemed to remain after each conversation was the understanding that even if it scared them: together they’d figure out how to get through it.  

(Last month’s arrival of Miguel’s baby girl Adamaris, and the sight of Jake cradling her in his careful arms, had definitely not helped, playing on a loop in Amy’s mind for several days after their visit.)

“Nothing beats a bit of Santa magic, hey Santiago?”  Jake’s tone is light and playful, and only serves to remind Amy just how much she’s missed talking to him these last few weeks.  

Rolling her eyes slightly, she tucks her head downward, playing the pretence of adjusting her costume as she speaks into the hidden mic.  “Ha ha, Peralta.  Santa is magic, especially to cute kids like that one.  No way was I going to be the one to burst the Santa bubble.”

With a stuttered gasp, Jake slaps a hand against his chest, and a passing stranger gives him the side eye.  “Wait a minute.  Are you suggesting that Santa is fake?!”  

“Santa is real, Peralta.  As is this very real mission to take down Akemi.  Time to focus up.”  Terry’s firm tone breaks through the earpiece, busting into Jake and Amy’s conversation, and a sheepish grin breaks out on Jake’s face.  

“Right you are, sarge.  This is Super Serious Santa Shutdown Situation.”  Shoving several pieces of popcorn into his mouth, Jake waits a beat before continuing.  “Ames wasn’t wrong, tho.  That kid was a cutie.”

The unspoken addition of but ours will be cuter lingers between them, and Amy feels her skin warm up under Jake’s faraway gaze.  

Maybe this bra was going to come in use after all.  

Rosa’s voice cuts through the unsaid, her tone steady as she moves in closer from her position at a nearby payphone.  “Heads up - Santa’s back.  And it looks like they’ve swapped out their player.”

Immediately switching into detective mode, Jake shields his face from the new Santa’s sight as he passes, already very aware of earlier (unsuccessful) run-in’s with the kingpin.  “That really looks like Akemi.”  

“Santiago, can you get close enough to confirm?”

Handing out Christmas tree shaped cookies to the children milling around her position, Amy glances up just in time to catch the replacement Santa as he walks into the village.  With the cocky swagger of a man who rarely pays any consequences for his actions, this version of Father Christmas looked paler and far more arrogant than the man wearing the costume earlier.  

Pushing past the waiting children with barely any acknowledgment of their tiny hellos, New Santa pauses on his way to his plush red throne; snapping his gum and giving Amy a very jolly (read: creepy) once-over with his eyes.  Glancing quickly in Terry’s direction, she gives a subtle nod.  Akemi’s case file has landed on almost every detective in New York’s desk at one point or another, and she’d recognised that hard gaze anywhere.  

“Well, well, well … don’t you look good enough to sit atop my Christmas tree.”

Acutely aware of their audience, and knowing that the red and white striped stockings covering her legs would definitely be restrictive if she needed to go full ninja on Santa’s ass, Amy quickly chooses to plaster on a bright and shiny grin.  “So glad you’ve made it back from the North Pole, Santa.  We’ve got lots of excited children just bursting to see you!”

“Yeah, whatever.”  Akemi leans in, an unwelcome mixture of tobacco and sweat washing over Amy, and it’s all she can do to not recoil in disgust as he lowers his voice.  “I’m only interested in one thing, lady, and once I got it I’m outta here.  But don’t you worry, there’ll be plenty of room on my sleigh for you.”

“Ok.  I don’t give a damn about any Christmas magic, Ames.  If he tries to make you kiss him under that mistletoe, I swear to god I will punch Santa right in the face.”

“Cool it, Peralta.”  Terry’s clenching jaw is almost audible in his response, and Amy takes a slow and calming breath, safe in the knowledge that her squad most definitely has her back. 

“Right.  Yep.  Cool it.   Cool cool cooling it.”  Each member of the team watches from their position as Santa saunters over to his seat, throwing several finger guns to waiting mothers as he goes; and Jake lets out a snort of disgust.  “So … has everyone gotten their Secret Santa present organised yet?  Rosa, you need some shopping tips?”

“No.  Secret Santa is bullshit.”

“It’s a fun holiday tradition that you are definitely participating in and if you picked my name I’d really love a voucher for that sneaker store on 28th.”

“I don’t have you, Peralta.”

“Yep.  No problemo.  Just saying.  In case you do.”

To her right, Amy notices Terry’s unmissable frame break through the crowd.  “Heads up, guys.  Looks like Santa’s buddy has found his way into the queue.”  With his wooly beanie and scores of shopping bags clutched in his hands, their sergeant blended in relatively easily as just another father doing some last minute panic shopping; but they all knew one flex of his oversized muscles would break that facade fairly easily.  

A silence falls over the comms as they watch Santa breeze through child after child, giving them barely any attention as his target draws closer; and slowly both Jake and Rosa close the gap from the other sides.  

Pulling out a poorly wrapped parcel and handing the gift to Akemi, the unshaven man at the front of the queue feigns surprise when Santa reaches into the sack next to his throne, handing the supposed stranger an oversized bag of ‘candy canes’.  

“There’s the exchange.  Boyle, can you confirm you got the footage?”

“With a beautiful slow zoom that really captures the thrum of festive anticipation hovering amongst the crowd, sarge.”

Cringing slightly, Jake shakes his head at Charles’ description as his eyes follow the bag of candy canes, their new recipient now walking at a steady pace towards the exit.  “We’re going to lose this guy if we don’t move now.”  

“Go, Peralta.  Diaz, you run backup.  Amy and I will take care of Santa.”

With a grin, Jake breaks into a fast walk, already focused in his pursuit.  “Alright, taking down a bad Santa in a public environment.  Now it feels like Christmas!”

“We’re going to wait until Akemi has left the village, Peralta.  You know, try not to break a bunch of children’s hearts?”

“You do you, Terry!”  

*

*

There are still remnants of festive glitter in Amy’s hair as she and Jake walk up the stairs of their apartment building several hours later, both of them slightly weary from the hours of paperwork and debriefing that took place after Santa’s Village.  

“Boy, bet thats the last time you come to the precinct and pick me up on your night off, huh Ames?”  The apology is obvious in Jake’s tone, and Amy glances over her shoulder to give him a reassuring smile.  Even if it hadn’t been in her original plan, she still got to spend the night hanging with her husband (although in a slightly different capacity than originally planned), and she was choosing to count that as a win.  (A small win, but a win all the same.)

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m really sorry you got pulled into all of that, babe.  I just didn’t see your message in time, or I would have … hey, Ames?”  The touch of his hand against her forearm is gentle, pulling her in with the quiet strength she knows her husband to possess, and Amy turns towards Jake without hesitation.  His eyes search her face, immediately seeing through her concealed defeat, and he really is the only one for her.  “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.  I just …” she feels a blush rush over her cheeks again, suddenly feeling ridiculous as she thinks of how to divulge her secret plan.  The underwire from the damn bra digs into her skin again as she squirms, and if tonight has taught Amy anything, it’s why lingerie like this is only designed to stay on until your partner rips it off seconds after reveal.  

“Babe?”

“It just feels like forever since we’ve had a night at home, just the two of us.”  Jake’s brows knit, and Amy leans in to rest both hands against her husbands chest.  “And I know that work has been crazy lately, and that it’ll eventually calm down again, I just … I’d sorta planned on tonight going differently once you were home.”

“Oh god, and instead you ended up in a glittery elf costume with a creep leering at you.”  Left hand slapping against his face in shame, Jake shakes his head in obvious frustration. 

“I mean, we can mainly blame my FOMOW for that, babe.  It doesn’t matter, really.  If I hadn’t been there, you might have gotten home even later so when you think about it, it’s way better we - mmfph -” the rest of Amy’s argument stops in it’s tracks as Jake pulls her in for a kiss, the gentle but insistent press of his lips against hers casting any other thoughts far to the side. 

The familiar touch of his hands as they roam against the outline of her butt causes Amy to melt entirely in Jake’s arms, resting her arms against his steady shoulders as her fingers slide into his hair.  This - these tiny moments where the world seemed to fade away and all she could feel was Jake - was what she’d been craving for weeks.  

Jake sighs against her lips, letting her tongue slip into his mouth as he shuffles ever so closer to her, and maybe he’d been missing this just as much as she.  

“So,” Jake whispers as he pulls away from the kiss, leaning in to brush his lips against Amy’s once more.  “Time to get this night back in track.”  Another kiss.  “What kind of plans did you make for us, Santiago?”

“Lets just say … the lingerie I’ve got on under here is going to blow your mind, Peralta.”

“Going to blow your mind, title of our sex tape.”

Amy nods, biting her lower lip as she steps out of Jake’s embrace, gesturing towards their apartment.  “But it’s also really uncomfortable.  C’mon, let's get inside before it ends up in the dumpster.”

Jake’s footsteps echo behind Amy’s, hands landing on her hips as she digs for the keys.  “I’m declaring it now, Ames.  Tomorrow night we’re both leaving early and staying in for movie night at home.  Phones off, popcorn, everything for the full movie experience.  We can watch Die Hard and Love Actually and Nightmare before Christmas …”

Amy’s nose crinkles at the last movie, unlocking their front door and tugging her husband through as it swings open.  “Didn’t we watch that last one for Halloween?”

“I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween!”

“Jake …”  

“Christmas is literally in the title, babe!”

Pulling him closer, Amy takes a leaf out of her husband’s handbook, silencing him with a definitely not PG rated kiss now that the risk of being discovered by a neighbour had slimmed to none.  

Jake’s arms wrap around her middle in response, holding Amy close as her fingers begin to trace the edge of his buttons, and she lets out a sigh of satisfaction that finally her initial plan was coming to fruition.  

Next time, though, she might add a sub-section into the binder about potential diversions, and how to avoid them (not join them) - FOMOW be damned.  This stuff was way more fun.

sticker fic:

brought to you by the sticker ficcers, @xojo​ and @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover​.

the narrated version:

"Morning, Sunshine." Says Dean. "Some coffee?"

"SCREW YOU." Says Sam. His glorious hair is wet.

"How dare you!" Says Dean. His mouth's the O-shape of offense. He's also putting on the dead guy robe for some reason.

"BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!" Sam bitchfaces. In his eyes, is a glint which says, as he does - blah, blah, blah, blah. Then, he casts down his gaze. "Well, you are kinda butch."

Dean's eyes widen. His eyebrows don't rise. Instead of surprised, he looks shocked. Then he smirks, and quickly grows a stubble. With completely black eyes, he says. "I'm a demon."

Crowley appears, smirking. "Hello, boys."

"ASSBUTT." Castiel bellows. 

No one had known he was there.

"What's wrong with you?" Says Crowley, after quickly growing a stubble as well.

Castiel folds his arms. It makes the trenchcoat look fitted. You know, like a liar.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, tucking his hair behind his ear at supersonic speed. No one knows when it happened. But he's Sam Fucking Winchester, so they know it did.

"I don't know!" Dean scratches his ear. He does not know the question was for Castiel. He makes his eyes as sad as they can be - and they can be impressively sad. One eyebrow strays up, floating on a cloud of misery. "I never was."

Sam looks alarmed in a V-neck. 

This is important information. Absolutely integral.

"Cat's out." Says Cas. He's rude, because his lips do a rude thing. And because of what he said. His eyes mock tragedy.

"Shut your face." Dean points. Pointing is rude. He does it anyway. While he does it, Sam grows bangs. "Oh god."

He lies down on the floor.

"Don't say that to me." Says Sam, with dimples of depression. He buries his face in his hands. Must feel pretty, the author conjectures.

"Come on." Dean says. He's frowning, and on a park bench. He looks closer with concentration and develops a double chin. Then he gels his hair really quickly and adds. "You look like a baby."

"SCREW YOU." Says Sam. His hair is wetter. His head is wet as well. Then he dries it with a whoosh no one notices, and looks away in disdain. He is in an open collared shirt. The author hopes you take note of these plot points carefully.

Dean shrieks.

Dean cries at a mirror.

Dean scowls, unimpressed. Ironically, his scowl is impressive. Moreover, it deages him.

Cas shrieks too. His eyes scream horrifiedness. His nostrils flare. You could see his molars, if you tried. The author tries.

Dean looks at a corner. "I don't even care anymore."

Charlie pokes her head out of a yellow car. Not enough is visible to be ugly, but readers are advised to assume it's ugly. "What's up bitches?" She's wearing a seatbelt. Gays are awesome.

"Kind of in the middle of something." Says Dean. His forehead has creases which have no right being pretty. They're pretty.

"I know. I was surprised too." Says Cas.

No one knows what he means.

Sam, suddenly lit in a green light, shows that he doesn't know what he means. He doesn't wait for an explanation, and raises his hand. "That's enough, uh yeah, thanks."

Sam is rude, beautifully.

The author is very helpful with pointing out plot points, as ever.

"You done?" Says Claire and her french braid.

Chuck is there now. He has an extremely white mug. It could have coffee inside. It could also have poison. The author does not identify as a journalist, and is not required to be unbiased.

"Do you have any bacon?" Says Chuck. He has curls. They hide the evil under.

"No." Jack says, blank faced for some reason. "You back off. Old man."

"Back off." Says Sam, in a slightly greater font size. One (1) lock of hair strays from his perfect mane, and falls on his face. It's still perfect, the author assures. Then Sam quickly gets shot, and his forehead pierced with metal rods. It's clearly for the vibe. Because Sam says, "I will destroy you." He does not say it periodlessly.

"Yeah. That's right." Says Jack. He pouts, because he's right. He can, because he's Jack.

Sam looks proud of him with a spotted blue tie and shiny, conditioned hair.

The author loves him very much.

part two, if you're the kind of person who wants it:

Rowena purses her lips, ending up with dimples of discontent.

"Balls!" Bobby cries out. Then he takes off his cap for some reason before adding, "Were you ever nice?"

"Shut up!" Dean yells over his shoulder. He fixes her with an offended stare - as if not shutting up would be offensive on her part.

"I hate to interrupt." Says Rowena, interrupting. "What the hell is this?" She looks appalled. Perhaps she's realized she just interrupted.

He's excellent at delivering backhanded insults like that. The author is proud of his newfound subtlety.

"Gun. Mouth. Now." Dean simply reaffirms Bobby's accusation - because he's awesome like that. "Shut your face." He also says, pointing at them all, to further illustrate his paternal figure's point.

Crowley plants his chin in his palm, and looks at the floor with an unreadable (the author swears she tried) glint in his eyes. "Kill me." Perhaps they're tears.

"Oh, they don't miss me." Cas lets out, matter-of-factly, as he sips from his teacup of coffee.

"I think this was just a minor misunderstanding." Sam steps in, and brings puppy bangs with him to solidify his statement.

The author tries and fails to survive staring at them.

Dean clicks his tongue, and manages to resemble a squirrel to a T. Or an S. Everyone's entitled to spell words differently, English is a weird language.

Sam looks at Dean, irritated. "Make it stop." He grits out, clenching his jaw. He's replaced the bangs with sideburns. They have more potential to seem irritated.

"Maybe." Cas pouts, inexplicably.

"What?" Dean sounds positively aghast - but it's toned down from the years of practise from being in the poetic kind of love with the only angel in the world for him - and thus, only shows up in his eyes.

"You don't understand." Cas picks up a salesboy by his collar. He's so whimsical, the author completely gets why Dean's head over heels for him. Cas keeps everyone - especially salesboys who don't get him pie - on their toes.

"You look like a baby." Dean informs him, all laugh-lines and dimples. "Okay, all right." He says next, gruff, trying to smoothen out the curve of seeming like a goner for Cas.

Cas shoots him a discouraging look. "Ouch." He bites his bottom lip, and closes his eyes - and everyone in a seven mile radius ends up pregnant.

True story.

Also, Narendra Modi shows up, namaste-ing the phenomena that is Cas.

"Shhhhit!" Cas squints. He knows a thing or two about horrible, prejudiced political leaders, from an alternate universe Cas's experiences.

"Oh god." Sam adds, regrowing bangs really quickly.

Modi whispers into his phone, eyes trepidly on everyone in the room, and a hand covering his mouth.

Dean stares, unimpressed. Or so it seems until he says, "You gotta teach me how to do that."

Modi shoots the universal gesture for OK at him.

"I will stab you in your face." Dean declares, with parted hair and an office tie. "I'm gonna get my gun." Now he's got sleep-floofed hair and the dead guy robe. Threatening Dean Winchester sure is impressive like that.

(Maybe he'd wanted to learn right away, and took Modi's OK as dismissal.)

(Meh.)

"Maybe you could be a little less... Lord-ly?" Sam cuts in, with his best lawyer impression. Nobody's sure who it's directed to - Dean, the Indian PM, Cas even? - but it doesn't matter because his eyebrows curve like parentheses of reasonability, hair tucked completely behind his ears - and everyone listens to this Sam.

"OKAY." Dean mumbles, sticking a needle in a doll. Or so, the author assumes he's doing.

Sam stares at him blankly for a beat, and then sighs into a smile. His hair's now long enough to curl magnificently at his neck. "You're too precious for the world." He strangles out, basically choking on the sentiment as he grabs Dean, and smushes him into a hug.

Cas smirks, smug.

"Oh, you." Sam pulls back enough to suddenly be in a maroon cardigan as he gazes at his brother through spectacled eyes of adoration.

Dean pulls him in then, bringing Sam down to his height - and Sam's hair escapes the ponytail grandly enough to fall over his face in perfect, messy locks.

The author's already weak heart stutters in her chest, and proceeds to give up entirely.

"Oh. No." Cas exclaims. Probably not for the author, but it's a sweet, borderline necromance-y coincidence. And then, unexplanably, he tilts his head and furrows his brow. "The whore."

Dean sighs, and facepalms. Sam changes into a grey button-up, and looks away into the distance.

The author daydreams too hard about being looked at like that, and loses it entirely.

Fin.

Hello, I have a fanfic prompt... I think. I was told.on twitter to send it to you this way. Apologies if I've done this all wrong. Shottmacher and Karamel get drunk, go to Vagas and get married. I love your stories! Thank you for all you write.

This is... very long... and I’m sorry it took so long but I hope you like it.

A marching band was having a full dress rehearsal in her skull.

At least, that was the best that Kara's sluggish brain could offer as an explanation for the throbbing pain. Not even the blissful comfort of the very fluffy pillow underneath her head could help with that... or muffle every sound in the world which was really annoyingly loud right now.

Groaning, she forced her eyes to open only to almost immediately squeeze them shut again when blinding light was her reward for her efforts. The stabbing pain made her headache worse and elicited a pitiful whine out of her. Why had she woken up again? And why couldn't she just go back to sleep and escape all this suffering?

She tried, pulling her pillow out from under her head and using it to shut out all the light and sound, but it was no use; both the pounding and racket persisted until she finally gave up and attempted to brave the morning even as she did her best to remember how the hell she had ended up like this. Eve had suggested going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate Winn's recent promotion and both Mike and Kara had naturally agreed since they wanted to mark the occasion with their close friend.

Unfortunately, everything after they had checked in to their hotel was a blur. There were drinks – which would explain the almost lethal hangover she was having right now – and some gambling... Mike had won a tidy sum in a lucky streak at the roulette table... More drinking... Then nothing.

God, why did she feel like she was forgetting something really important?

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she raised her left hand to press it to her still throbbing forehead-

-only to get momentarily blinded by an unexpected glint on said hand.

She squinted uncomprehendingly at the glint and blinked a few times in the hope that it would help.

Then she realised what she was looking at with a sense of dawning horror and her hangover magically vanished.

Dread descended upon her as she began noticing other things like how she was naked under the sheets... and, as she turned her head slowly to her side, that there was someone else in bed with her.

Usually, she took every opportunity to ogle her boyfriend's very nice bare chest which sometimes doubled as her pillow... but Kara found herself struggling to do that this one time.

Mostly because her attention was focused on a shiny item on the ring finger of his left hand – a certain item that was identical to the source of the glint on her own left hand.

All of a sudden, Kara had a very strong sinking feeling she knew at least one of the events that had happened during that giant hole in her memory.

“Mike.” She shook him with as much energy as she could muster. “Mike, wake up. WAKE. UP. RIGHT. NOW.”

A pained groan was the first sign of life that he gave, and just as she had several minutes ago, he blearily opened his eyes for a split second only to snap them shut again. “Kara? Oh god, why is it so bright in here?”

There was a small sympathetic part of her that wanted to give him time to get his bearings and all that but it was vetoed by her panic. “Mike, look at your left hand.”

“My left hand?” he echoed confusedly even as he sluggishly lifted said hand to his face. “What about-” He immediately fell silent when he realised what was around his ring finger and with wide eyes slowly turned to face her again.

She wordlessly held up her left hand.

Those blue-grey eyes she loved so much got that little bit bigger.

“Oh,” was all he managed.

“Yeah. 'Oh',” she repeated dryly.

Before their monosyllabic conversation could go any further, they were startled by the sound of a stampede approaching the connecting door linking their hotel room to its neighbour. Kara only had a second to realise what was going to happen and dived back under the sheets with a panicked squeak before there was a telltale beep and the connecting door was thrown wide open.

Standing in the doorway with a thunderous expression was none other than Eve who managed to look threatening even when she was clearly wearing nothing but a sheet. Behind her, a pale-faced Winn was squeaking her name while his hands maintained a desperate grip on the towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist which was similarly quite possibly the only thing he was wearing.

“TELL ME,” she all but roared at Kara and Mike who flinched at the assault on their already suffering eardrums. “TELL ME YOU TWO DIDN'T GET MARRIED WHILE YOU WERE DRUNK LAST NIGHT.”

Rendered mute by fear of their impending deaths, Kara and Mike slowly held up their left hands even as they attempted to disappear into the bed.

Dead silence followed.

Then Eve let out an unholy shriek that caused the other three present to clap their hands over their ears. (In Winn's case, he ended up dropping his towel but luckily no one was looking and he managed to cover himself back up again before anyone noticed.)

“ANNUL THAT.” The way she was pointing at the couple in bed along with her expression brought to mind some mythical god who was about to bring down divine retribution on their puny mortal heads. “GET THAT ANNULLED IMMEDIATELY. I REFUSE TO LET THE TWO OF YOU GET DRUNK-MARRIED IN VEGAS WHERE I MISS THE CHANCE TO BE A PROPER MAID OF HONOUR AND CAN'T RECORD EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF THE OCCASION. GET DRESSED.” She whirled around to pin her own boyfriend with her deadly gaze, causing him to let out a terrified squeak and shrink into himself. “WINN. COME WITH ME. WE'RE GOING TO FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN UN-MARRY THEM NOW.”

With that, she slammed the connecting door shut, leaving Kara and Mike blessedly alone once again... technically speaking, at least.

“E-Eve! W-Wait!” Winn's piteous voice could still be heard on the other side. “We got married too! What are we going to do about that?!”

Kara wanted to feel sorry for him, she really did, but her own situation felt dire enough and with the way Eve was behaving about the whole thing, every moment of respite was welcome.

Her thoughts on what she was supposed to do next were interrupted by a wretched groan coming from her side and she turned to find Mike staring at his ring with an utterly miserable look on his face.

“Man,” he muttered dejectedly to himself as if he'd forgotten she was right there, “I can't believe we got married of all things...”

His words were like a bucket of ice cold water that had just gotten dumped right on her head. They'd been dating for over two years already and had even moved in together – mostly in the name of convenience but still – so there had been moments where she had tentatively thought about and even occasionally daydreamed of where she saw their relationship heading.

Apparently he didn't share her sentiments.

Suddenly she wished she was anywhere else and even cursed Eve for having suggested they come to Vegas in the first place.

“Right.” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears and she turned away from him so that he couldn't see that she was on the verge of crying. “Since it's clear you hate this so much, let's just hurry up and get it over with.”

“What? Hey wait.” He sounded confused as his hand – his left hand of all things – wrapped around her arm, stopping her from leaving the bed and gently trying to coax her into looking at him again. “Kara, what's wrong? What did you mean by that?”

Blinking away her tears, she reluctantly turned back towards him and tried to maintain a facade of relative indifference. “You've made it clear you don't want to... to be married to me so it just makes sense to get... It'll probably be easy to undo so we should-”

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Hold on.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged his free hand down his face. “Kara, why are you saying stuff like that? Where are you getting all this?”

His obtuseness made her snap despite her desire to escape her current situation without creating a scene. “You just implied a minute ago that getting married to me was like... like... the worst thing that could have ever happened to you!”

“What? When did I imply that?!”

“It's the way you said, and I quote, 'I can't believe we got married of all things'!”

“That's because I wanted to do it properly, okay?!���

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of them just stared at each other in complete silence.

“...W-What?” Kara barely managed to get out, unsure she'd heard him correctly, and watched as he pulled his hand back and dropped his head in regret.

Mike said nothing for a long time and she was just about to ask him to clarify himself when he finally spoke again. “I've been trying to find the right moment to propose to you for the past month.”

Her heart did a weird flip-floppy thing. “Y-You have?” she stuttered.

He nodded, the very picture of misery. “But something would come up every single time I'd worked up the courage so I kept thinking that I should just wait for the next moment to come except that would get ruined too somehow and then I started wondering if you'd even say yes-”

“Yes,” she blurted out in a rush.

That stopped his rambling in its tracks, and when he lifted his head to finally meet her gaze his expression was one of confusion. “...What?”

“I would've said yes.” The lead weight in her stomach had turned into a swarm of agitated butterflies by then. “It wouldn't have mattered if you'd asked in a fancy restaurant or our living room; I would've said yes.”

Ever so slowly, the disbelief on his face turned into awed wonder. “You would?”

If she smiled any wider, she was sure she was going to pull a facial muscle she couldn't even pronounce. “Well, I obviously said yes while I was drunk as a skunk last night, didn't I?” she pointed out as she waved her left hand in the air.

The grey in his eyes gave way to blue as he started grinning teasingly at her. “In all fairness, you say a lot of crazy things when you're drunk.”

“Wh- I do not!”

“Oh really? What about that time you started claiming you were secretly an alien with superpowers?”

“T-That's a lie and you don't have any proof to back that up!”

“Sure about that? Because I think Winn recorded it so all we need to do is ask him...”

“Mike!” Blushing with a mixture of embarrassment and put-on anger, she smacked him but to no avail because that just made him laugh out loud. When she stepped up her efforts, he simply grabbed her wrists so that he could pin her to the bed and kiss her until she forgot why she had been mad at him.

She didn't, however, forget their overall situation.

“Let's get this marriage annulled,” she murmured when they had caught their breaths.

His eyes snapped wide open and he pulled away, stunned. “What? But I thought-”

“I meant it,” she insisted, wriggling one hand free of his now loose grip so that she could cup his face. “But I want it all done properly too. I want to actually have and remember every moment of getting married to you instead of it just being the result of some black-out drunk decision-making in Vegas.”

He smiled again, the happiness in his eyes brighter than the sun. “I want that too.”

It had seemed impossible and yet somehow she found herself even happier than she had been less than a minute ago. “Good.” She pulled him in for another kiss before playfully shoving him off. “Now get dressed. The sooner we get this marriage annulled, the sooner we can get married for real.”

(He proposed within the week and the wedding was a beautiful ceremony worth remembering from start to end.)

(Eve was naturally the maid of honour.)

So here’s the thing.

Of course I love The Old Guard. Like, of COURSE I do. It is everything I like and everything you all have gotten used to knowing I like, from found family to unconditional love to the yummy yummy historical tidbits. It’s going to have a truly Great fandom.

But watching it was not, for me, some huge revelatory experience in media because - well, I’ve written it before. Many times, in scattered pieces, across a lot of my fic. And what made me cry last night when I finally watched it was that it’s the spitting image of an epic vampire story that I wrote, over a decade ago, with Rio (@aumerle-that-was​).

Who is now dead. Recently dead. [I wrote a post about her here.]

The Barrens will most likely never make it to publication. It’s huge, and unwieldy, and full of unnecessary crack because I was an 18-19-20-year-old virgin when we were spending the most time on it. But it’s 232,761 words of memories, of laughter, of love, and, as I mentioned in my previous post, of me learning how to write at all.

I miss her. I wish she was still here, to see The Old Guard and love it (GOD she would have loved it). I wish she was here so she could write the most beautiful, unbearable, Italianate fic of Joe & Nicky that anyone could have ever imagined. They deserve a gifset set to her Coldplay “roman cavalry choirs” singing. 

Here’s some tiny images of what we wrote, focusing on various characters (including one called Rio, of no relation; this epic started, if you can believe, as a football/soccer RPF AU). I’ve picked out some character moments rather than historical bits, but fair warning that there’s mention of some nasty/upsetting stuff.

*

It was the need to eat, and the need to live, and the need to go on, and it was, as the last sliver of sun splintered on the deep blue of Capri's sea, utterly unendurable, because he knew that he would, he would get up, he would go on, he would feed, and he would keep living. He would keep living, and the grief and anguish in his mind would keep on with him, the raw, still-bleeding edges of the severed bond breathing with him, and the new fear and hatred he had learned keeping him company with them.

He would just refuse to think, that was all. That couldn't be so hard.

It couldn't.

*

He closed his eyes, and swallowed, shutting down memories and envy and misery at once, and drew a deep, unnecessary breath before he looked out at the Mouth of Truth again. He walked over to it slowly, and put his hand in. "I don't miss you," he said. "And you needed to die." Robin whined sadly behind him. The Mouth stayed open.

*

Things were shutting down, blowing out like lamps at night, and all he could think was thank God, because he didn't want this anymore, couldn't stand it, and he thought it might be his life that was guttering out like a candle, and it was really too much effort to care, because peace.

...but as bad as dying was, it was nothing compared to waking up again.

Fingers were tapping him sharply on one cheek. "'Ey. 'Ey, come on, wake up."

He opened his eyes. And immediately shouted out in a mix of pain, terror, and absolutely overwhelming confusion, because his head hurt so badly he thought he just might have been brained with an axe, and when he struggled into a sitting position it was to the realization that his clothes were soaked with blood, and that just couldn't be good at all. His hands shot to his throat, but when he found that there was nothing there - no torn flesh, no blood, no wound, no nothing - all he could let out was a horrified sort of squeak.

There was the odd laugh again, and it didn't help at all to realize he could feel it now, as if he was tapped into the other man's amusement like some barrel of watered beer left running.

"Very good," the man's voice rumbled, making him jump again, because he didn't just hear it, it was like it was in his ear. "Now then. Follow these regles" - a piece of crumpled paper was thrust into his bloody palm - "and you shall be just fine, yes? Yes. I think you shall be fine." And then the man stood, stepped over him, and opened the door, pushing Rio's nerveless legs aside as it swung on its hinges. "I think I had better go. Too much - commotion. Bonsoir!"

"And fuck you," Rio managed to croak with some vehemence, feeling the amusement fade out and vanish, as though it had never been there at all. If it weren't for the way his head felt and the state of his hands and clothes, he'd have thought he'd dreamed it - got coshed, maybe, and dreamed it. The crumpled piece of paper was telling him otherwise. The slightly-mangled syntax was bad enough without it apparently being straight out of a child's fairy tale.

Never kill when you drink. Never go out in the sun unless you have strength enough. If it is possible, no churches. NEVER TOUCH SILVER. Run from Hunters, do not fight. Be polite when you use your mind, otherwise it will hurt.

Bonds of love are forever.

*

He had got as far as the steps when the world began to shatter, as though cacophony could be made into feeling, sending him in a kind of sideways fall against the stone balustrade, and wondering how he had never known there was this much pain in the world, because it was worse even than the night he had been left to bleed his life out on a London street, worse than silver, worse than anything he could begin to think of as comparison. It was the utter definition of agony, and all he could think was that he needed it to stop, it had to stop, before his mind fragmented and splintered along with it.

It came to him, distant and heartwrenching, that this was what Cruyff had meant by letting go, that he had to withdraw or risk going irrevocably mad, but - fuck, fuck, how could he let go of everything, Cruyff was everything, it was impossible that he should be - imposs -

He fell against the wall, toppled onto his knees, and screamed.

*

“And if you want immortality for someone, the last thing you want is to find yourself becoming a murderer. Unless you're Marco..."  he trailed off with a sigh, and shook his head. "Marco seduced a girl in Babylon --"

"Babylon --!"  Rio gaped.  Babylon didn't even exist any more, God, what sort of timescale were they talking about here?

"He went with Alexander," Gullit said patiently, "and if you want to know more about that, read a book."

*

Gullit bristled and snarled without actually saying anything, giving Rio the distinct impression that the master vampire was more of a real wolf than Robin would ever be. "Go on then," he snapped. "Tell me to my face that you will be able to wake up tomorrow night and do what you have to do. That is all the time I will allow you - and I will know if you are lying."

Rio swallowed.  He thought of silver, and the way it burned even when it wasn't a knife, thought of how it tainted everything, how the thought even of being there one more second alongside that pain was almost impossible.  He thought of how it was now his knife, how he had earned the pain and the ability both, and owned them by name and by right.

He thought, deliberately, of the scars on Ed's body, of the look in his eyes that first night at Stevie's, as though the world were a place of ash and horror and nothing good could even be imagined.

He thought of Gullit, whose sons were dead and had no-one to lay claim to him or who he could be part of but Marco, and who carried on, scarred and limping and casting his damn spells, trying to earn something Rio thought just might be the forgiveness of the twice-dead.

"Yeah," he said then, looking straight into Gullit's dark, hot eyes.  "I could."

"Could you really," Gullit said thoughtfully.  It wasn't, terrifyingly, anywhere near a question.

*

I can make no predictions, so consider this an indefinite promise: you are not going back.

Rio's mind turned into a perfect, careful blank of pure incomprehension.

Back here? he ventured, because if that was it, he really didn't understand, since how not coming back here was anything but good was absolutely and completely beyond him.  How he was supposed to feel anything but thank-you-God about even the idea of never coming back here was apparently a mental leap he was incapable of making.

There was a snort of derision, the horrid sound failing to arouse even a twitch of amusement from anyone. No, Rio, Gullit whispered. He had to live with the possibility of never - that his pain would never end. And now you’re going to live with it too. You’re going to live with the thought that you might never kill Marco... and, due to the extremes of unpredictability this world - and especially Marco - goes to, you’re going to live with the idea that you might never see, or be able to love, Edwin ever again.

He wasn't sure if he was being manipulated, or if it was real, but the sense of something that wasn't even grief – that was beyond grief, was nothing as human as grief – was shocking and immediate and all-consuming.  It was the knowledge that the last memories he might ever be able to make that were his own – even now, as his brain stuttered in a void, he knew that what he had seen here was not his for the taking – the last memories he could truly take for himself would be the look of joy in Ed's eyes, and the clean-cut Roman profile of the vampire who had been able to give and be all he had ever wanted.  The last memory he might ever be able to bring out of his mind in all the days that were his to pass from now until the end of some infinite horror was one of loss.  

It was devastation, wilderness, wasteland, the barrens.

It was exile, and eternity, and Christ! Laurent had given him no such thing as a gift of life, he had given him a curse.

Bonds of love are forever.

And without the ability to love, with only the bonds, with only shackles for his heart and soul worse than those that lay open in front of his mind's eye – with the only thing he had always known suddenly ripped from him and held up to the clear light of unforgiving truth, and shown as worthless, forever didn't seem like any kind of promise at all.

*

He had only recently started getting used to the concept of communicating with his mind, and what glimpses he had gotten of Ruud's had only convinced him that there was more in there than he could ever possibly hope to understand - so he didn't try. But he did know that London was important, and that something was going to happen, so he finished packing very carefully before moving on to Ruud's things, which were still scattered carelessly around the room (a rarity, because normally the captain was as neat as a pin). "You don't deserve this," he heard Ruud say quietly, and he shrugged without looking over his shoulder. "Well. I'm alive, sir." "No you're not," Ruud said - not unkindly.

"I'm here?"

"Yes," Ruud said. He sounded exhausted. "You are. Hooray for you."

*

"Give me one solitary fucking reason why I shouldn't throw you through this wall."

Ruud didn't have the energy to come up with something honest. "Goodwill towards your fellow man?"

He ended up flat on his back in the remains of what had been a parked cab instead, but he was pretty sure it hurt the same amount.

"Fellow man? You don't count," Rio said, sounding horrible and raspy from somewhere off to the side, as Ruud blinked away some interestingly-coloured sparkles and waited for his leg to heal up the nerve-endings enough for things to start being excruciating. "I'm not sure you count as a fucking vampire, you shit."

"No," Ruud grunted, swaying up to a seated position just in time to get punched in the face and fall back again with a broken nose, and the sparkles deciding to take up permanent residence behind his eyelids. "I don't. Tell me how he is."

Rio's skull-face didn't look any better in lamplight and through floating small pinpricks of fake stars. "Sorry, was that you asking for something?"

"Yes," he ground out, lifting a weary hand to his mouth and shoving a crooked incisor back into its place. "And you're going to tell me. I don't care if you feel like disembowelling me, though don't get any ideas - you're going to."

"I'm off disembowelling for the next century, don't worry yourself," Rio growled, and that was the nastiest way Ruud had ever got an answer in his life, and knowing he'd deserved it didn't help at all. "Fuck's sake. How do you think? You left." Right, so apparently git stood for Great Incompetent Tosser.

*

"Like you what?" the man said, getting right to the heart of Rio's inadequacy in the same death-warmed-up voice, and put a shaking hand down against the floor to try and pull his rag-covered body out of the bunk. "He said it would save me. Are you saved?"

Maybe he would just use the hook on Laurent, instead. "Um. Not - really, no." He hoped like hell the man wasn't talking about in the sight of God, because that was one can of worms Rio was never going anywhere near. "He made me, though, too. Just like he did you. So we don't die....yet." Life, Laurent had told him, and hadn't that been a terrifyingly unfunny joke? Rio didn't want to have to use the word 'vampire' among all these living corpses, but he was getting a nasty feeling that between necessary obliquity and whatever arsing terrible explanation Laurent had buggered off after giving, he was going to have to.

He straightened up without the help of Rio's hands, and for the first time Rio could put a face to the voice - he was Rio's height, and big, or should have been were it not for the thinness of his limbs, wrists and forearms Rio could have encircled with two fingers end-to-end, and a broad, now-pinched face which spoke of a starvation perhaps beyond all else Rio had seen, because he knew without even asking this man had not known, at least not consciously, to drink, and yet the strength of the vampire would have kept him from expiring even had he begged for it.

Laurent would have fed him, though. Laurent would have let him know at least what it took to keep going - wouldn't he? Perhaps not, any kind of feeding here was a death sentence to the donor, willing or not, and considering Laurent's one and only set of instructions, Rio guessed that the bastard had just been hoping for the best to work itself out - and in the meantime, what the fuck was he going to do? "Means you're my brother," he said at last, because that was what mattered, in the end, wasn't it, that was why he was here, why he'd ended up in a kind of Hell no-one had even thought of until now, not even the living dead. "An' I'm Rio." He'd first introduced himself as who and what he was so many lifetimes ago that he was amazed it still struck a chord of memory inside him, hearing his voice in the little hut as though he were back in the room in London, wondering why he'd saved a vamp who didn't even have the sense not to kill. "It's - we're gonna be all right. Honest."

Stray Kids As Fanboys

Request:  @sy-zygy-zacker

Member: Strays Kids

Plot: Can I please have a Stray Kids scenarios where the roles are switched and you’re an idol while the members are your fanboys?

Genre: fluff

Note: should I make another one where they’re idols yet a fan of you and is your significant other? Also I made them friends in this dog if they’re mentioned in each other’s that’s why

[ Masterlist ]

[ C H A N ]

•Sorry did you hear something?

•oh wait that was Chan already arranging a cover of your newest song

•this boy is a dedicated coverist and some day hopes you’ll notice one of them

•and when you do he will actually die no lie

•other fans will probably demand a collab tbh

•but he’s also a really soft stan, that stays up just to watch your lives

•like sleep who? My ulti is calling me

•would rather go to a fan meeting and have a casual conversation with you

•but still would get lit at a concert if he had the chance to go

•gets flustered and soft when other fans ship him with you or say how they believe he has the talent to collab with you

•if he goes live on Instagram he can go on and on about how much admires you and your talent

•probably also as your music playing has background music 25/8

[ W O O J I N ]

•a real chill and lowkey fan that everyone can get along with

•and is also that one fan you can’t tell is a fan until you look into his phone

•or hear him singing one of your songs

•but he’ll post him singing one of your songs ever once and while on his instagram

•isn’t really keen on collecting albums only the ones he really likes

•and he keeps them safe and sound far from the little monsters *cough* maknae line *cough*

•probably also is the type to get decent seats at the concert like not VIP but also not the far way seats

•truly admires your talent and is probably the main reason why he stans

•but also cause he’s a whole ass hoe for you but you didn't hear that from me

•like not to be nsfw but just cause he’s a lowkey stan doesn’t mean he doesn’t rant about how much he wants to hold your hand and cuddle with you

•and if he does feel like going to a fan meet he’s totally the soft most sweetest stan

[ M I N H O ]

•I don’t know what it is about him that makes me believe he’d end up being your backup dancer (note the sarcasm)

•like he went from being a bts back up dancer to being one of your backup dancers

•and even though he tries not to show it half of the time he got heart eyes for you

•but it never gets weird because you both know how to joke around

•and mostly because you can count on walking in on him dancing’s to your dances but crackhead ver.

•uwu’s everytime you give him a signed album or when you want to take a picture with him for your instagram

•Literally that one fan everyone wishes they could be

•probably posts some shit like “Dreaming to take a pic with your fav, can’t relate”

•he doesn’t even need tickets to your concerts dafuq

•might visit you during fansigns because he missed you

•d*spatch is also ultimately confused with his relation with you

[ C H A N G B I N  ]

•super soft stan but will have absolutely no problem clowning on some of your wardrobe decisions

•probably calls you dumb but only cause he loves you

•occasionally has soft hours for you

•and when he does he goes off sis, like a whole as spam story with paragraphs about how much he adores you

•”I am: devastated they’re so cute” to “why do I stan an idiot”

•is super shy and awkward during fan meets and might just use his aegyo voice on accident

•blushes so hard when you hold his hand

•and can barely answer your questions he’s so captivated

•still claims he’s a hard stan

•is also probably that one stan that performs your songs with a hairbrush in his bedroom or bathroom

•also isn’t too crazy about merch so if he really wants an album he’s gonna buy it

•otherwise he’s really saving for those VIP tickets bro

[ H Y U N J I N ]

•another pretty chill fan but it’s a bit more obvious that he’s a fan

•only because all his friends know he’s basically in love you

•one mention of your name, or look at you and he’s a shy boi uwu

•will probably get caught staring at you during a concert or fan meet with just a huge smile on his face

•and if you ask if he’s shy during a fan meet because he’s not saying anything, and make eye contact with him, he will look away shyly and freeze (y’all know how jinyoung caught his fanboy stare yeah like that)

•his friends laugh at his “misery” which is basically him uwuing at how soft, talented, rude, etc, you are

•tries to hoe around but somehow always gets pulled back to you for being his ulti

•but that’s okay because he’s the absolute softest for you

•hides his stack of merch in his closet because he doesn’t want to admit he has a problem

•probably knows all your dances and if theres back up dancers he’s gonna learn they’re part

•cause you never know man life might just be fair 

•lowkey dreams of dancing next to you one day

[ J I S U N G ]

•that one fan that yells at everyone to shut up when you have a comeback

•will actually scream, cry and go through a rollercoaster of emotion only to tweet “my wig is snatched”

•it’s hard to tell if he’s a soft stan or a hard stan

•but you’re the reason for his lack of sleep, sudden drop in grades and poorness

•that one fan that’s scream crying the lyrics during a concert

•and will probably act like nothing happened afterwards

•usually the one fan screaming in your comment section

•but then tries to act cool and chic during a fan sign but is just shy

•even though he’s a lot softer for you than he’d like to admit

•dies a little in happiness when you touch his hand and won’t wash it till Chan forces him oops won’t wash it till Chan forces him oops 

•probably owns more than just your official merch

•that one fan that will literally throw money at your management

•if he’s home alone you can bet he’s jamming out to your songs probably breaking his back

[ F E L I X ]

•he’s the one that makes meme/crack videos of you

•it’s his job to catch every one of your meme faces

•but that’s the reason why he stans and loves you even more

•besides the fact he could totally go on about why he loves, stans and appreciates your goofy ass he really likes your music

•and is probably that one fan that captions his instagram story with “don’t touch me” over a picture of him staring off into the distance when you have a comeback

•he’s not really afraid to admit that you inspire him and that he’s totally in love with you

•if he ever had the chance to go to a fan meet he’d be  super soft and smiley the whole time

•probably might even give you a small plushie that has one of your meme faces on it

•giggles like a little school girl if you hold his hand

OH or if you mention how much you love his freckles uwu

•either way you’re both whipped for each other after it

[ S E U N G M I N ]

•makes it a know fact that he knows all your songs, eras and dances

•that one bis that will correct fans and starts it with an “actually…”

•really though he’s a soft stan that’s just trying to make covers for his fave

•but if a hater tries some shit he’ll cut a bitch

•still a really cute and shy fan tho

•he gets really excited when he meets other fans of you

•doesn’t wanna admit he probably fanboys more than he’d like to

•stutters when he sees you during a fan meet because wow your so kind and funny

•is a little too shy to have soft hours on his instagram story but when he does it’s the purest most fluffiest

•probably owns all of your albums digitally and physically

•and super proud about it but literally no one is allowed to touch them 

•not even woojin

[ J E O N G I N ]

•the softest stan everyone wishes they are

•is the type of fan to post a fan picture of you on his story admiring how pretty/handsome and soft you are uwu

•and probably gets shipped with you because of it

•isn’t really that crazy for merch but might treat himself with an album or two

•if he ever got the chance to go to a fan meet he’d probably get you a cute little plushie in hopes you can keep it

•also gets really shy and can't stop smiling because he can’t believe he’s meeting his fave

•is a caring little bean and will ask if you ate or rested well •you might as well just be whipped because he’s just so cute

•might post small covers of your songs on his social

•if he’s at a concert all he’s either hyped asf or admiring you

•honestly the purest stan you could ask for

📖 sweet, sweet fate by @bottomlinsons Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind. 🌷 Everywhere And Nowhere by @2tiedships2​ Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food." "What has he given you?" Liam asked.Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though." "Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school." "What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?" "I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you." Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

📖 all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie “Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible. That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself. But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.  Or, a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together. 🌷 Baby Honey by @bringmetheharry “Lou, did you see these little baby tea boxes I found yesterday?” He tossed one towards Louis and watched as it thumped Louis in the head. Louis groaned and reached for the little box, rolling it around in his hands, “If you’re about to make a joke about me. I strongly suggest you don’t.” Harry frowned and bounced his tea bag in the water watching the liquid darken, “M’ not! I just thought the baby tea boxes were cute.” Louis’ eyes narrowed and he looked at the tiny boxes, and back at Harry. Harry watched, he could see the wheels turning inside of Louis’ mind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Louis looked at the box once more and back at Harry Or, After four years of Marriage, Harry discovers he is expecting. He could go home and hand the ultrasound photo to his amazing husband, Louis. Or… he could have some fun with this. Only Louis catching on to all the hints Harry is dropping. Or is he? 📖 Do You Wanna Ride by @phd-mama When Liam’s attractive new business partner wins riding lessons with Harry, hilarity ensues. 🌷 Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanylarrytears A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they’re forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue. 📖 the act of making noise by @suspendrs “Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.” It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?” “Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”  Or, Louis’s famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont. 🌷 Laundry Room by @thelovejandles The third Wednesday of the new year, Louis finds himself in the laundry room, just as he was the last Wednesday and the one before that. He’s doing pretty well with his New Year’s resolution. The only problem so far is the company he finds in the laundry room. It seems that it’s just him and one other boy who’ve chosen late Wednesday nights as prime laundry-doing time. That wouldn’t be a problem except for who the other boy is. He’s seen this boy around; it’s hard to miss the long-legged, long-haired dream that lives in Louis’ complex. He likes to wear very sheer shirts and very high boots; he is incredibly fucking gorgeous and yeah, Louis’ noticed him but he’s never spoken to him. Until tonight, apparently.  Or, Louis and Harry are both students living in the same apartment complex. They end up having the same laundry night and time. Louis can’t stop staring at Harry and he can’t figure out why Harry consistently points out Louis’ inside-out shirts, and his untied shoes, and messy hair. Enter slow burn-ish flirting, banter, awkwardness, and a lot of laundry. 📖 your rainbow will come smiling through by @hazkabaan When harry isn’t working at his stepfather’s cafe, he’s trying to make swim captain and trying to finish all his coursework on time. when he’s not doing any of those things, he’s talking to the boy he met on the oxford hopefuls subreddit. when they decide to meet, he’s elated. he finally gets the chance to meet the boy he’s been crushing on! when the day comes to meet his prince, he learns that his online crush is none other than louis tomlinson, captain of the football team and friend of his terrible stepbrothers. now harry has to decide whether telling louis the truth is the right choice or if it’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie.  Or, a cinderella story au 🌷 Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now by @allwaswell16 Louis is having a personal crisis, a third Valentine’s Day being single. Unless he meets someone this week at the high end department store he works at, he’ll be stuck going to Niall’s Valentine’s Day party–again.  Or, the one where Harry mistakes Louis for a mannequin. 📖 Falling For Me Won’t Be A Mistake by @all-these-larrythings Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn’t know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he’s ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him. 🌷 Latching Onto You by @reminiscingintherain “Wait a sec,” Harry interrupted. “Zayn and Liam?” “Yeah, my best mates, who are getting married?” Louis said slowly, slightly baffled at the question. “This is a gay wedding?” “Is that going to be a problem?” Louis asked, his voice losing its friendly edge and taking on a decidedly icy tone.  Or, the one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends’ wedding. 📖 Face Your Fears by @sadaveniren Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing. 🌷 streetwise hercules by @bottomlinsons “I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”  Right.  This is Harry’s part.  Or Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to scare away his one night stands. 📖 Counterbalance by @louandhazaf Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class. 🌷 cut your teeth on my heart by @turnyourankle (WIP) Louis has worked as a security officer for years, but he’s handed his first opportunity to be team lead. The assignment is nothing like what he expected. Harry has spent years trying to distance himself from the pressure of the Twist name and legacy. But it’s going to be hard to avoid when his mum hires him a bodyguard. 📖 wild love twisting all over for you by @angelichl Harry and Louis meet on the set of a video.

Memories Past

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Kris x Reader

Summary: The last thing Kris wanted was to move on. He was perfectly content wallowing in his misery while pretending everything was okay. But when you come walking into his shop with a broken down car, he realizes the thing he’d been avoiding the most just might be the cure he always needed. He just couldn’t believe that it’d been you all along. Kris had been your best friend when you were kids before he’d moved away without a word of goodbye. Now nearly fifteen years later, you run into him again by pure coincidence. The memories come rushing back to you, stirring something inside. A childhood crush shouldn’t upend your picture perfect life, but sometimes, destiny has other things in mind…

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I Final

**

Kris was leaning up against his car waiting for you when you got out of class. At first, when you saw him, you tried to keep your walk at a normal pace, but the excitement couldn’t be held back anymore. Breaking out into a run, you practically jumped into his arms when you finally reached the car.

After giving you a deep, loving kiss, Kris pulled back and greeted, “Well, hello, there. Miss me?”

You shrugged, trying to play off your enthusiasm. “Just a little bit.”

“Let’s go,” Kris chuckled, opening the car door for you. You slid into the passenger’s seat and waited patiently for Kris to round the car and jump into the driver’s seat. All day you’d been eager to see him, to get alone time with him after having so many double dates and group outings with the other pack members.

Your stomach growled at you, making Kris laugh when the sound reached his ears.

“I’ll take you to dinner,” he promised. “I just have to stop by the shop real quick.”

“Weren’t you just there?” you asked with a frown.

Kris shook his head. “Nah, I left a few hours ago to go home and shower.”

“Which I very much appreciate,” you teased. Kris was much more attractive when he didn’t smell like motor oil.

While he looked like he really wanted to say something snarky back, he simply sighed. He intertwined your fingers before kissing the back of your hand.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he drove to the shop. You stayed behind in the car as Kris ran inside. Brian waved at you from under the hood of a Toyota before going back to working on the engine. You trailed your gaze to the sign above the garage, taking you back to that first night when the truck driver had brought you here.

The word “Lang” seemed so familiar to you and yet you couldn’t put your finger on it. It had nothing to do with Kris’ name, so how did you know it?

When Kris got back in the car, you turned to him and asked, “What does ‘Lang’ mean?”

“You don’t remember?” he laughed.

You shook your head. “No. That’s kind of why I’m asking.”

With a nostalgic look in his eye, Kris explained, “It means ‘wolf’ in mandarin.”

Oh. Oh.

Now you remembered. Kris’ mom would call him “xiao lang” all the time. “Little wolf”. You chuckled to yourself, thinking of the fact that the truth was in front of you all along. Memories of his mother’s voice cooing at him with those words echoed in your ears.

“I’ll take that look as you remembering now,” Kris chuckled.

“Yeah,” you sighed happily.

“Alright,” Kris put the car in drive and glanced over at you, “what do you want for dinner?”

**

You wished this bathroom was big enough to pace around so you wouldn’t be forced to just stand there and not stare as the timer ticked down on your phone.

For the past few weeks, your entire body had been completely off. A few times you’d woken up in the morning to run to the toilet and empty out your stomach. It wasn’t every day and afterwards you’d be just fine, able to go on without worrying about whether or not you were getting sick. By the time you were through your second class of the day, you’d nearly forgotten about it.

But it kept happening.

And then you realized you were late. Very late. According to your calendar, almost an entire month had gone by since your last period. The only reason you hadn’t noticed was because between class and spending time with Kris, your mind simply never drifted in that direction.

You had no idea what would happen if those two little lines showed up. How would Kris react? Would you have to put your master’s degree on pause? Would Kris be excited? Or would he freak out?

The timer on your phone began to yell at you, saying it was time. Taking a deep breath, you flipped that little plastic stick over. Still holding on to it, you crumbled down to the floor. With a thud, you leaned back against the wall.

Well, shit.

That was your first reaction. But then that initial shock and panic gave way to giddiness. Kids had always been in your future plans; the first one just came a little earlier than expected. And you’d seen Kris interact with children at the shop or when you were wandering downtown. He certainly had a way with them. You could only imagine how he would be with your own.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you dropped the stick into the little plastic bag you’d grabbed earlier before stuffing it in your back pocket.

Slowly, you climbed up the stairs to the main floor of the farmhouse. Kris was in the living room playing video games with Baekhyun and Chanyeol on the main TV. His focus was on the big screen until you stepped into the room, then he looked to you, his wolf-mate senses tingling. Noticing the way you were chewing on your bottom lip and shifting from foot to foot, he stopped paying attention to the game.

“What is it?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you replied a little too quickly. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Kris glanced at the other two wolves who were still concentrated on the game. “There’s not really any such thing as privacy here, baobei.”

You huffed. “Okay, can we at least feign privacy? Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Kris swiped the controllers from the other two wolves’ hands.

“Hey!” Baekhyun whined.

“Get out,” Kris ordered. “We can finish playing later.”

Grumbling back and forth, Baekhyun and Chanyeol shuffled out of the room. Kris patted the space next to him on the couch, but you continued to stand.

“What is it, baobei?” Kris frowned in concerned. Butterflies in your stomach went off whenever he called you that. It made you feel special as none of the other mates were called that pet name.

You took a deep breath, preparing for whatever reaction Kris might have. Finding the words to say it out loud was much harder than you’d expected.

“Kris,” you started, “you know how I haven’t been feeling well lately?”

He nodded. “Did you finally go to the doctor?”

“No, not yet.” Although, now you were going to have to go. For a very different reason. You opened your mouth to say it, but instead, out came, “Kris….”

Your handsome mate knit his eyebrows together. “(y/n), what is it?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Clank! Clankclankclank.

The controller fell from Kris’ hands, hitting the coffee table before dropping to the hardwood floor with a clatter.

“W-what?” he stuttered.

Pulling the plastic covered stick out of your back pocket, you handed it over to him. The mark on your neck that displayed to the world that you were Kris’ mate was barely healed and here you were, already carrying a tiny, bean-sized baby.

You handed the stick over to Kris, who stared at it opened mouthed. “You’re really pregnant.”

“SHE’S PREGNANT!”

“Damn it, Baekhyun!” Kris threw the stick down and started stomping towards the hallway. You caught him by the arm just in time.

“Kris, just let it go,” you urged. “They would find out soon, anyway.”

Turning back towards you, Kris stared down at your stomach, placing a shaky hand right over your belly button. He laughed, softly at first before growing in volume. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he picked you up and twirled you around as you squealed.

After putting you down, Kris kissed you deeply.

Footsteps alerted you to a new presence and as you pulled apart, Junmyeon stepped into the living room from the front parlor.

“Uh, what’s going on?” he asked, looking back and forth between you and Kris.

Before either of you could answer, more footsteps thundered in from the kitchen. Almost all the other wolves came tripping over each other into the living room.

“(y/n) has a bun in the oven!” Jongdae blurted out.

Junmyeon’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

You nodded bashfully.

Rubbing his face with his hand, Junmyeon groaned. “As if this house wasn’t crowded enough.”

Looking up at Kris, you felt a little guilty. It really was crowded in this house with so many bodies and now you were about to bring another one in. One that would take a lot of attention and time. But seeing that spark in Kris’ eye, that gleam of happiness and excitement for the future, all guilt melted away.

Who would have known that the little boy and girl that were attached at the hip would come to this point so many years later just to create a family of their own? It was the fairy tale ending to your beautiful little love story.

omg can u do brianna / aquaria using the #6 prompt?

Sorry, life got busy. I’m going to put some triggers here at the beginning because it is a sensitive subject, so trigger warning: miscarriage, mild description of blood. (Another sorry bc this is on mobile so I couldn’t do a jump.)

“I lost the baby.”

After landing, Aquaria saw five missed calls and a string of texts from Monet that made her forget her luggage and find the nearest taxi:

Call me when you get off the plane.

I’m with Bri in the ER.

Get to NYP fast.

The few seconds felt like hours before Monet finally picked up the phone.

“Hey, babe.” She sounded exhausted, several people talking in the background.

“Monet what the fuck is going on?” Aquaria asked. The driver was able to get from LaGuardia to Astoria in 6 minutes but it wasn’t fast enough.

“I just went to get some water when she yelled my name, and I ran back to find her cradling her stomach and her pants soaked with blood. She almost collapsed in my arms as I helped her down the stairs and into the car. I honestly don’t know what happened. We were just talking about the shower and watching The View...” Monet kept talking- stuttering with a shaky voice, but Brianna’s symptoms gave Aquaria goosebumps. She knew exactly what was happening, and the thought almost made her sick.

“...and I think Bri will be okay, but I’m just really worried for the baby, and I wish I didn’t have to say this over the phone, but I’m so scared, Aqua, so scared.” Aquaria sat back in her seat, stuck in traffic on the RFK bridge, trying to take the news in.

They tried getting pregnant for years, ready to start a family after moving back to New York when Aquaria’s residency finally finished. She remembered scrolling through catalogs at the sperm bank, looking through every detail of the donors: eye and hair color, frame, blood type, trying to find the perfect one. When Bri’s test came back positive a few weeks after the incrimination, they sat on the bathroom floor and cried, holding each other and Brianna’s stomach. It was a baby girl. Three months until the arrival of Olivia Grace, and they were ready to give her everything in the palm of her hand, until now. Now, they would have to return the clothes they bought. They would have to donate toys and gifts. Somehow, they would have to break the news to friends and family. Most painful of all, they would have to live with the loss of their entire world.

“Aqua? You still there?” She didn’t want to be. She wanted this to be a nightmare, waking up delirious on the plane. She wanted to find her wife asleep on the couch, not in a hospital bed. She wanted to send photos of Brianna’s stomach to her mother for updates. She wanted a family. For once, she wanted a family. She was angry- angry that something so terrible was happening to her wife, a woman so pure and full of life, and angrier that she wasn’t there to support her.

“Yeah, yeah I’m still here. I should be there in ten minutes. Call me if anything changes.”

“Okay, babe. I’ll be in the waiting room when you get here. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She practically jumped out of the taxi into the emergency room. The reality kicked in as the automatic doors slid open, seeing Monet full of relief and misery: no birthday parties, no learning how to walk, no bedtime stories, no pointless fights as she grew up, no first love, no graduation, nothing. For the second time, Monet had to catch someone as Aquaria collapsed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I’m so sorry, Aqua.” Monet swayed back and forth, brushing Aquaria’s hair as she wept into her shoulder. “I wish this was just a bad dream, I really do.”

“I know,” Aquaria whimpered hysterically.

As she expected, Brianna was doing fine. She lay sound asleep, a dose of IV Tylenol pumping through her arm, blonde hair tied into a bun, blanket covering her legs and hospital gown. The doctor scheduled her discharge for a few hours.

Aquaria watched her slow breathing, scrutinizing her chest rise up and down, her brow furrow, her fingers twitch, and couldn’t help but notice the dried tears outlining her cheeks. She heard a sharp inhale through Brianna’s nose before she finally opened her eyes, blinking frantically before a yawn and stretch. Her arm almost hit Aquaria in the face when she realized someone else was in the room. It startled her until she registered the face- her beautiful, exhausted, and disappointed wife, eyes blistered and puffy, a painful smile on her face.

“Hi, sweetie.” Aquaria grabbed her wife’s hand and squeezed it gently, feeling tears start to well in her eyes again. Brianna was quiet. She rubbed Aquaria’s knuckles with her thumb and bit her lips. It was easy to tell that Aquaria knew, but she felt the need to tell her, almost as a way to admit it to herself.

“I-“ she sniffled, “I lost the baby.” She felt like she was sharing a dark, guilty secret, almost embarrassing. Her voice choked as she began to cry, covering her mouth so other patients could hear the sobs. Aquaria rested in the crook of Brianna’s arm and wept with her. For a few short moments, time stopped. She couldn’t hear heart monitors in other rooms or nurses and doctors talking outside, only Brianna’s heartbeat and hitched breath.

The doctor came in about an hour later and gave discharge instructions: mild pain medications, rest, and strong recommendation for therapy. Aquaria did most of the talking, mostly because she understood the jargon, but also because she didn’t want Brianna to get overwhelmed. She called Monet that they’d be leaving soon, and that she’d be over tomorrow to get anything Brianna left at her apartment.

“Thank you for everything today. I’ll come over if Bri left anything at your apartment tomorrow.”

“No worries, babe. I can even bring it over to you if you want to stay at home with her. You have all of my love,” Monet replied.

The cab drive home was as uncomfortable as expected. Aquaria knew this would be an adjustment for the both of them, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t face together.

warm, tingly feeling | p.p.

pairing: reader x peter parker 

prompt: soulmate AU (you get cold the farther away they are and hot if they’re close)

summary: when y/n became friends with ned leeds, she wasn’t expecting to find her soulmate as well 

warnings: none

a/n: this is my submission for @notimeforthemessenger’s writing challenge. congrats, love 🦋

this is late and it sucks. out of everything i’ve posted, i like this the least, i think. some day, i might make this into a mini-series with some alterations, who knows?

Wrapping your sweater tighter around you, you entered through the doors of Midtown, the loud chatter of the high school students immediately entering your ear. You tried your best to ignore the constant murmur, hurrying into the classroom hosting your first class of the day. Your soulmate must have been further away than ever before because you were absolutely freezing. The class started filling up and you noticed, much to your dismay, that your usual lab partner, Peter Parker, was absent. You glanced around with envy, noticing your classmates in t-shirts, skirts and dresses. Admittedly, it was kind of silly to wear a thick sweater with the sun shining outside, but it wasn’t your fault that your soulmate had traveled.

When you turned sixteen, your body temperature was adjusted according to your soulmate. The further away from you they were, they colder you felt. The closer, the hotter. It was a huge game of hot and cold until you ended up finding the one. When you were younger, you loved the concept of being paired with someone that was perfect for you on all levels. Going a whole year without finding your soulmate quickly changed that romanticized idea. There was no guarantee that you would find your soulmate as soon as you turned sixteen, but it was still incredibly discouraging.

The class was uneventful. You were so cold that you had to physically keep your teeth from chattering, and it was getting very tiring. During your second class, you sat with Ned Leeds. You knew he was close friends with Peter, the two of them practically joined at the hip, but you never took the initiative to talk to either of them outside of school. When you asked about his empty seat from this morning, Ned informed you that Peter was out of the country due to this Stark Internship. You just nodded, the two of you continuing to chit-chat seeing as you were already finished with the assigned classwork. Ned had never been this talkative before and you figured it was because he didn’t have anyone to talk to when Peter was gone. A minute before the bell rang, he invited you over to his house to finish a LEGO figure Peter had promised him to help build before he was asked to leave. Having nothing better to do, you said yes.  

As the day continued, you found yourself regretting accepting Ned’s offer. It wasn’t Ned - quite the contrary, actually. Ned was awesome; he was everything and more you could want in a friend, and you had no trouble understanding why Peter liked him. You did want to hang out with Ned and help him build his LEGOs, but by the time the last bell rang, you were exhausted. You had been shivering all day and your muscles were sore from being tensed up. Nevertheless, you ignored your own misery and met up with Ned outside the school gates. The two of you made your way to his apartment, the conversation flowing easily. 

The next day, Ned greets you happily when you enter the classroom. The two of you had been building LEGOs for hours the night before, and you surprisingly had a lot in common with him. You had briefly wondered if Peter was anything like Ned. A part of you hoped so because Peter You take a seat in the empty chair next to him, offering him a small smile. Dropping your backpack to the ground, you pull out your notebook and place it on the table. With a huff, you lay your arms down on top of the book, resting your head on your forearms. Ned frowns, looking at you.

“Are you okay?” 

You nod. “I was freezing all night. Wherever my soulmate is, I hope he gets back to New York soon because it’s cold as frick.”

“Oh,” Ned purses his lips. “Sorry?” 

“It’s okay. It just sucks. What about you? You’re always wearing short-sleeve shirts. Do you know who your soulmate is?”

Ned is about to answer but is interrupted by the teacher greeting everyone. Clearing your throat, you straighten, giving him a look to let him know you would finish the conversation at lunch. The class goes by slowly, and your next class seems even slower. By the time lunch rolls around, you’re ready to go home and cuddle up underneath a heap of blankets while watching a movie. The cafeteria is annoyingly loud when you enter but you ignore it, weaving your way through the students until you reach Ned’s table. He looks up from his comic book when you sit down, grinning widely. The two of you start a conversation and you remind Ned to tell you about his soulmate-situation. 

He explains that he has a fair idea who his soulmate is, but that he’s too nervous to talk to her. He points her out among the other Midtown students and you can’t help but smile. You tell Ned that she looks beautiful and he agrees a little too quickly, his cheeks heating up at the realization. You leave the subject alone and Ned seems grateful, but you make a mental note of bringing the subject back up another day. You decide you’ll try when Peter comes back because you assume he’ll help you set up his best friend with his possible soulmate. 

The rest of the day flies by - luckily for you - and before you know it, you find yourself tucked in among three blankets while waiting for Netflix to load To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. By the time it reaches the scene where they go on their ski trip, you’re fast asleep and for the first time in days, you don’t feel like you’re about to turn into an icicle. You welcome the slight warmth with open arms, enjoying your current dream about meeting your soulmate. 

When Monday rolls around, you’re brave enough to wear high-waisted skinny jeans and your Vintage Star Wars shirt. You and Ned had been texting almost the entire weekend and you were genuinely looking forward to hanging with him at lunch. Your texting consisted mostly of you urging him to ask out his soulmate or him asking you questions about the Spanish homework. You had tried asking the occasional question about Peter, finding it incredibly strange that he was missing so many days of school, but Ned admitted that he was just as clueless as you. 

Ned is sitting at his usual table when you enter the noisy cafeteria and you send him a wave, maneuvering your way through the very talkative students. With a huff, you sit down and begin rummaging through your backpack for the leftovers you had brought for lunch. Ned is already munching on a sandwich, which you admit look a lot better than your leftovers from last night’s dinner. You lean over and steal a chip from the open bag, quickly consuming it before Ned can say anything. 

“Hey,” Ned draws out the word, pouting in mock-hurt. 

You shrug. “Sorry, I’m hungry and couldn’t resist.” 

Ned turns the bag of chips around so the opening is in the middle of both of you. You thank him for his generosity, taking yet another barbeque chip and popping it into your mouth. You shift uncomfortably, suddenly wishing you had at least brought a pair of shorts. You’re warmer than you had felt in almost an entire week, and you come to the conclusion that your soulmate has come back from wherever they went. 

“You look warmer today. Soulmate’s back in town, huh?” Ned observes, giving you a playful wink. 

“I guess so. It feels nice and all but even just wearing jeans is hot.”

Ned’s eyebrows furrow. “If you’re that warm, your soulmate must be going to Midtown, too.” 

You push his statement away, not feeling like dealing with the whole soulmate thing at the moment. When you were younger, the moment when you find your soulmate had been everything you could think about. Now, although you still wanted to find him, you weren’t obsessed with the thought anymore. You’d find him when you find him. Before you can ask Ned how he did on the Spanish quiz you had in second period, you notice another figure sitting down at the table. Furrowing your brows, you glance up to inspect the new guest. 

“Oh, yeah, Peter’s back,” Ned shrugs innocently, a wide grin growing on his face. “Y/N, this is Peter. Peter, this is Y/N. She kept me company while you left the country.” 

You send Peter a quick smile before returning your attention to Ned. “That’s all I was good for? Should I leave you alone now?” You feign to be hurt by his words and it’s difficult to contain your laughter when Ned frantically shakes his head. 

“No! Please, don’t - I didn’t mean it like that. I’m your friend. We’re friends,” Ned stutters helplessly. “Right?” 

“Ned, she’s joking,” Peter informs his best friend with a small chuckle before leaning across the table with his fist extended. You finally let the string of giggles escape you, giving Peter the fist bump he was waiting for.

You ignore the gentle electric feeling, brushing it away like it’s nothing. Because it is - nothing. The corner of Peter’s mouth curves into a hesitant smile and you return it quickly before going back to your leftovers. You listen in on their conversation, finding the sudden warmth in your body difficult to ignore. Peter stops mid-sentence about his trip to Berlin with Tony Stark, and you glance at him curiously. He quickly shrugs off his flannel, running a hand through his messy hair. 

“Is it just me or is it really hot in here?” Peter asks, taking a huge sip of his chocolate milk. 

“It’s not just you. I’m really warm, too.”

The two of you shrug and you try not to think about the warm feeling of safety and adoration spreading through your body. You can’t quite pinpoint if you’re imagining it or not, but Peter’s smile makes you feel even warmer. You pray that your cheeks don’t look as red as they feel. You listen closely as Peter picks his story back up but the two of you stop a moment later, finding Ned’s sudden silence strange and uncharacteristic. You glance at your new friend, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

“You guys are- I think you might be soulmates,” Ned mumbles and you share a confused look with Peter. 

“I don’t think-” Peter starts, but Ned interjects him quickly. 

“Think about it! Y/N was freezing when you were in Berlin, like, she literally fell asleep with three blankets. Now, you’re both sweating your butts off when you’re right next to each other,” Ned shares his observations and now that he’s saying it aloud, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched. “My mom told me that when you touch your soulmate for the first time, you’ll feel a tingling feeling or something. Did either of you feel something?” 

“I-I mean-” you begin, not entirely sure on how to explain it or to comprehend the new information.

“Y-Yeah, I did,” Peter admits softly. “When you touched me, I felt warm. You know, how you feel warm if you crush looks at you or when you watch videos of puppies?”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what feeling he was describing. You look at Peter and suddenly it’s as if you’re looking at him for the first time. You had never noticed how beautiful and sincere his dark eyes were before, or how soft his hair was. Possibly because you had never been this close to him, but seeing him like this made you wonder how Peter didn’t have half the girls at Midtown lining up for him. Ned claps his hands together, barely able to contain his excitement. 

“This is awesome,” he breathes in awe. “My two friends are soulmates. You guys better mention me at your wedding because if it wasn’t for me, you guys would’ve been too dumb to realize what was right under your noses.” 

“It’s a little early to talk about a wedding,” you joke, ignoring the blush making its way to your cheeks at the thought of calling Peter your husband. “Besides, I barely know Peter. I think we should start there first.” 

“Y-Yeah, no weddings just yet,” Peter chuckles before meeting your eyes. 

“Well, you both agreed to help me build my new LEGO figure today, so how about we start there?” Ned asks, his grin wide enough for the corner of his eyes to crinkle. You and Peter both nod, still not breaking eye contact. 

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