chaosofmanyfandoms - Tumblr blog

chaosofmanyfandoms · 14 days ago

Text

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room.

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls.

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay.

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case.

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him?

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens.

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway.

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates.

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.”

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.”

“They cut my hair?” he croaks.

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…”

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows.

“You look different than the last time I saw you.”

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets.

Your fingers slip into his with ease.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves.

“Of course you can.”

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…”

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?”

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask.

“What…”

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes.

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?”

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap.

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says.

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.”

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.”

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously.

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing.

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again.

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks.

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap.

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.”

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek.

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.”

“But I do eventually?”

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly.

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.”

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says.

“Sort of,” Spencer says.

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then.

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks.

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?”

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks.

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.”

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag.

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it.

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer.

“Uh.”

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says.

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.”

“You dog,” Derek says.

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.”

“I do know you,” Spencer says.

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table.

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says.

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.”

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.”

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.”

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“We’re never apart?” he asks.

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks.

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze.

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks.

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too.

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.”

“We do?”

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.”

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.”

“How do you love?”

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day. “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.”

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says.

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh.

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.”

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger.

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Anything.”

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams.

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.”

“Who wouldn’t like you?”

“But did you?”

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.”

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.”

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?”

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily.

“What do you think?”

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh.

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you.

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock.

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly.

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?”

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.”

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile.

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?”

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?”

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on.

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space.

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss.

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely.

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him.

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!”

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.”

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.”

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?”

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.”

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.”

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.”

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.”

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

4K notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 14 days ago

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair.

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please.

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type.

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?”

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers.

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?”

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Mm-hm.”

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?”

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.”

“So you’re in need of company?”

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?”

“What are you drinking?”

“Cherry spritzer.”

“Can I buy you another one?”

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much.

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.”

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference.

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started.

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast.

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek.

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest.

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold.

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side.

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely.

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.”

“Yeah?”

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over.

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly.

“Just this.”

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.”

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything.

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows.

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear.

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone.

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back.

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee.

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are.

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?”

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?”

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.”

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.”

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder.

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed.

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone.

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can.

“Nowhere.”

“So where have you been?”

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose.

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek.

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders.

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs.

“You okay?” a voice asks.

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face.

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.”

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes.

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently.

“I’ll leave soon.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.”

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving.

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?”

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?”

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?”

“Just while I was waiting for you.”

“What do you do?”

“What?”

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror.

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.”

“Like, statistics?”

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly.

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.”

“And you’re good at it.”

“I’m good at math, yeah.”

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?”

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss.

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away.

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.”

“Me too.”

“And you’re okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing hurts?” he asks.

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.”

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb.

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day.

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.”

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes.

For a pause, you just sit.

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good.

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask.

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.”

”Really?”

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.”

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again.

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?”

“We might have to stand very close.”

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to.

—

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride.

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked.

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other.

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way.

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details.

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles.

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him.

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?”

“You wanna share?”

“Yes!”

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly.

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.”

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand.

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face.

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?”

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.”

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling.

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says.

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?”

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.”

“You know what shampoo I use?”

“I deduced it.”

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?”

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.”

“You distract me, too.”

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.”

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.”

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend.

“I like you too,” he laughs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Not just…”

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing.

“Should we go out, then?”

“We do.”

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.”

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight.

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly.

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.”

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.”

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.”

“And if I don’t?” he asks.

“Then we get married in Vegas.”

“You could meet my mom.”

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks.

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.”

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin.

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough.

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile.

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks.

“I can’t remember.”

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.”

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted.

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.”

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3

4K notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 22 days ago

Text

i just heard the phrase “if you wouldn’t trust their advice, don’t trust their criticism” for the first time and i don’t think i’ve ever needed to hear anything more

55K notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 3 months ago

Text

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: smut! slight sub/dom dynamics, i guess, i'm never sure, i just like being bossy. john gets topped, and i do mean topped!

A/N: i'm so sorry! i’ve been gone for ages! i've just got a million hyperfixations and they all take up a lot of energy you know how it is but but but hopefully this makes up for it

Chapter 11

Sweat beaded your skin, clammy and tight. Every breath you drew in was lukewarm and fetid, half someone else’s. Your feet hurt and your head was pounding and the floor was sticky beneath your new shoes, but you hardly noticed any of it.

John was pressed tight against you, and it was all you could think about, all you could bring yourself to focus on. His narrow body felt angular and hot; you could feel the heat coming off of him through his clothes.

It was Saturday night. The bakery had been yours for exactly six days. John had been yours for even longer. Now, pressed up against each other in a tiny Camden club, you could finally celebrate both.

The music was so loud, it had risen to a dull hum, pop music you were faintly aware of but didn’t know the words or the steps to. You weren’t being modest when you said you weren’t much of a dancer, but John didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hands hadn’t left your body since he pulled you onto the dance floor, and he had enough moves for the both of you.

It had been an exhausting week, but the kind of exhausting that left your muscles glowing and your chest full at the end of the day.

Universities had finally broken up for the summer, so John had a lot more free time, and he’d spent most of it hunched over Gladys’ desk, running through 64 Oslo Square's accounts. He’d made it his solemn duty to uncover exactly what kind of impact Alastair had had on the bakery.

John was right, that night he walked you home and off-handedly wondered how the bakery could possibly be struggling considering it never lacked customers and the area was so affluent.

It turned out Alastair had been funnelling money out of the business for months, ever since he met Gladys. He had sought her out, plucked her from the vine, and pressed her between thumb and forefinger, squeezing her for all she was worth with a vicious smile.

Now he was gone, the bakery had come to life again. John found money ferreted away in all sorts of places, stored away for hard times, or just in case things went south for Alastair. Luckily, John’s astute head for numbers and figures got there first, returning what had always been yours back to you, like transposing music for one instrument to another.

Before too long, 64 Oslo Square could raise its head again. You didn’t have to beg for new kitchen equipment. You didn’t have to pray for a pay-rise. The scarlet front door could be painted for the first time in years, Mickey didn’t have to worry about taking care of his young family, and Gladys could hire more help, allowing you your first night out in almost a decade.

You met after work. John went home to shower and get changed, giving you time to figure out what on earth to wear on your first proper date with the boy you’d fallen in love with months ago. You kept having to remind yourself that you hadn’t actually told him yet; something about John’s pretty green-grey eyes made you lose all track of time.

When he picked you up, John looked less than pleased. Laughing softly at his turned-down mouth, you slipped a hand over his shoulder and pulled him down to your height so that you could press a kiss to his cheek.

“Alright, New Boy?”

“Hi, love.” John sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry.”

Frowning, you ushered him into your flat.

“Already? We haven’t even made it out the door yet.”

You smiled, hoping to reassure him, and it seemed to work. But John still looked troubled despite the little smile he summoned in return.

“C’mon, then. What’re you sorry for?”

With another, frankly dramatic sigh, John flopped down onto your couch like a sack of potatoes. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, splayed outwards in a ‘V’, his platform heels digging into the carpet.

It had been a while since he’d been in your flat. John looked so funny, collapsed on your couch. He was so tall and gangly, he made all your furniture look smaller, and tonight he was dressed up to the nines, his hair perfect, huffing and puffing on your second-hand sofa.

“I was telling Roger about tonight, you know, asking where we should go because he- And now-”

“He’s coming too?”

“And Freddie.”

John looked so despairing, you had to laugh. He looked like a teenager who’d been told he had to bring his little brother along to a party.

“I’m really sorry. I did try to tell them this was our first proper date but they’d already started planning what they were gonna wear, and you know what they’re like, I- We can just make this a night out, this doesn’t have to be-”

“John,” You spoke his name softly, gently, settling down on the couch beside him with an easy smile. “It’s alright. I really don’t mind.”

“You sure? We could always go to a different club or something. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t notice.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I like your mates. And hey, you know, we can always lose them in the crowd.”

Brushing your fingers along the seam of his black satin shirt, you pushed your fingertips in, just below his shoulder, squeezing gently, reassuringly, insinuatingly.

“You said you’ve got moves,” you murmured, your fingers dropping to play with his hair. “You gonna put on a show for me tonight?”

John’s ever-steady gaze never wavered, even as you curled his pretty hair around your fingers.

“Maybe I’ll treat you.”

His voice cracked when you “accidentally” tugged on his hair.

“Ohhh,” You grinned. “Lucky me.”

And now here you were, moving against each other in the dark.

John really did know how to move. It just came naturally to him. The music flowed through his veins, his heart beating in time with the pounding bass, and all you could do was watch him and admire the nice boy who’d so softly changed your life.

He bought you a drink, then another, politely refusing your offer to get the next round in.

As predicted, you lost track of his friends almost immediately. You’d almost forgotten you weren’t there alone until John leaned down and murmured by your ear,

“D’you wanna get some air?”

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, the spark they lit in his dark eyes despite the low club lights. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to every touch, every look, just the proximity of him, the promise of his presence.

What he meant was, do you want to go home? And you did. You couldn’t imagine wanting anything more in all your life.

John’s back hit the bakery door with a dull thunk. Giggling softly against his mouth, you apologised over and over, half muffled as he tried to kiss you between laughs, reassuring you that it was fine while his big hands pawed at your hips.

He tasted so good, you couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from him for even a second, so you fished around in your bag for the door keys without once breaking the kiss.

After several shaky attempts (thanks to John tugging your bottom lip between his teeth) you managed to turn the key, and together, you fell into the shop.

Stumbling backwards in his stupid platforms, John clung to your hips for support as you guided him through to the kitchen.

The thought of getting the next door open seemed too mammoth a task to even attempt at that moment, so instead you backed John up against it, pressing your body as close to his as you could, until you had almost been consumed by one another.

The protruding angles and flat planes of his narrow body felt sharp and unfamiliar as you sank into each other. Your mind swam with the endless possibilities; running your hands over his slim chest, kissing across his stomach, your hands keeping him pinned down with the slightest squeeze at his hips.

Every niggling worry you’d ever had about being good enough for John, about being with someone for the first time in years, about trusting someone with all of you, it had all washed away. All that remained was a chest fit to burst with love, and a desire so strong, it was all you could do to stop yourself asking if you could just have him right there and then.

John could obviously sense where your mind was wandering to, even as he moaned softly into your mouth. He squeezed your waist, then your hips, kissing you so deeply, your knees threatened to give way.

“We can’t do this here,” he managed to gasp out between kisses. “Not in the bakery.”

When you huffed a little laugh, your warm breath fanned across his cheek and he couldn’t resist the shiver that slipped down his spine.

You smiled against his mouth, pointed and pleased with yourself.

“My bakery now.”

John groaned roughly at your soft, low voice, and again as your tongue pressed against his. He opened himself up to you, letting you take his mouth as you pleased, his breathing growing heavy.

He couldn’t decide where he wanted his hands, they were everywhere, in your hair, pressing into your back to keep you close, tugging at your hips, his touches waking up your body and making your head spin.

“It’s always been yours.” John’s dark gaze met yours. “And so have I.”

You laughed, airy and quick, hoping to disguise just how much that meant to you, but John knew, John always knew. The last thread keeping your doubt and your fear yolked finally snapped.

Taking your keys from your hand, John half-turned to open the door, his free hand still palming and squeezing at your hip.

You tripped up the stairs together, giggling and breathless in your eagerness.

“You have too many doors,” John muttered when you reached your flat. “It’s like a bloody funhouse in here.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, John.”

He pressed the keys into your hand then tucked himself behind you so that you had room to unlock the door. Or so you thought. A shiver ran over your skin when you felt John’s breath on your bare shoulder, then his lips against your neck.

As he mouthed at your hot skin and grazed you with his teeth, you shakily jammed the key into the lock, finally managing to wiggle it open just as John dragged his tongue over a spot that made you want to completely unravel.

There was no time to savour the ritual of undressing each other, neither you nor John had the patience for it right now. Instead, you practically tore his pretty satin shirt open, dragging the sleeves down his arms as you backed him up towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss.

“Oh God,” John laughed softly against your mouth when the cuff of one of his sleeves got caught on his watch. “Hang on, love. I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

“I know, but I’ve been wanting to do this to you for months. You can’t blame a girl for being impatient.”

“‘To me’?” John grinned as he shook off his shirt. “You mean ‘with me’?”

You just smiled and pulled him back down to kiss you.

Head still spinning from the nightclub, the rum in your blood, John’s aftershave, John’s everything, you hardly noticed him slipping his long fingers under the hem of your dress and pulling up and up and up, until you begrudgingly had to stop kissing him to let John pull it over your head.

“Oh, wow.”

It was all you allowed John before you planted both hands against his chest and pushed him into sitting on the edge of the bed.

You kicked off your uncomfortable shoes and got rid of your bra, and all the while John watched you with warm, full eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and for the first time in your life, you believed a boy looking at you.

“Yeah?”

Your movements slowed under his heavy gaze. Something about the look on John’s face made you want to take a breath.

When he raised his hands, you moved closer without a word, standing between John’s knees while he looked up at you in awe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your sternum.

When his fingers pressed into your bare skin, you tensed, sucking in a sharp breath.

John looked up at you curiously, his clever grey-green eyes so clear and bright.

“Sorry,” You smiled. “Not used to- It’s been a while. Not used to being touched there. Feels a bit…”

“What?”

John punctuated his question with a soft kiss pressed sweetly to the swell of your right breast. His other hand came up to cup the other gently, his thumb sweeping across you, circling and circling, his sharp eyes never leaving yours.

“The last boy…”

“The idiot?”

You smiled.

“Yeah, that one. He didn’t really like the way I looked.”

“What’s not to like?”

John frowned.

It wasn’t really question but you felt the need to explain.

“Kept trying to “help” me. Used to piss me off no end. Eventually, he stopped touching me. Wasn’t seeing him for very long but he was the last person…”

John shook his head, his brow furrowed, his funny mouth all turned down at the corners.

“I can’t believe you gave him the time of day.”

“Well, he had his own car...”

“Fair enough.”

John briefly smiled, then he shook his head again, as if he couldn’t even joke about it.

“I’m glad you’re shot of him. Means I get you all to myself. And to me, you feel soft…”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the middle of your belly, taking his time, dragging his teeth, his eyes closed to savour the feeling.

“And warm…”

Another kiss, this one to the left of your navel, while his fingers pressed into your hips and tugged you closer, until the tip of his nose was buried in your stomach.

”And inviting…”

Cheeks burning, you slipped your fingers into his hair, grazing your nails across his scalp.

“John…”

John’s stare met yours as his hands slipped round to squeeze your arse, pulling you closer still. His open mouth split into a grin before he bent his head to drag his tongue across your skin.

“You’re perfect. You’re so beautiful, love.”

It wasn’t often you were left speechless, but if anyone was going to manage it, it would be John Deacon.

You bit your lip, shaking your head to yourself, as you quietly watched him press more and more kisses down the centre of your stomach.

“Been wanting to touch you like this since the first time I saw you.”

John had spent so long thinking about kissing you like this, imagining how you would feel, how you’d taste, the lovely sounds you’d make, how your body would feel against his, and now he’d got his answers, he never wanted to stop.

You laughed as you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against your shoulders, giving yourself up to him. It was hard to focus, so you just let him press little kisses all over your body, round your hips, across your belly, down your thighs, until his fingers slipped between your legs and you gasped, electricity shooting through your veins.

Biting back a smile, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled it up between you, like you’d caught him stealing. The excited smile was wiped from John’s face when you leaned in close and murmured against his neck,

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

“‘s funny,” John stretched his long fingers out, splaying then relaxing them again, testing the strength and limit of your grip on his wrist. “I thought I was exactly where I needed to be.”

“‘Needed’?”

“Mm hm.”

“Not ‘wanted’?”

“The two get sort of mixed up when I look at you. You’re very- You make them, erm, homonyms.”

“I think you mean ‘synonyms’.”

“It’s hard to concentrate with your tits in my face.”

“Fair enough.” You smiled. “We’re getting off topic.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been talking?”

“John!”

He laughed when you batted his shoulder.

“Love, I can barely remember my own name right now.”

“You were getting ahead of yourself.”

“Actually, I do remember disputing that.”

“Of course you do.”

“What’s your point, love?”

“My point is,” You carefully placed your knee on the mattress beside John’s hip. “I didn’t say you could touch me there.”

John’s eyes switched excitedly across your face, but his easy smile faded as you straddled his thighs, settling in his lap.

You sighed and looped your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into his thick, dark hair.

“I didn’t realise-” John swallowed when your bare chest pressed against his. “I had to ask permission.”

Feigning confusion, you frowned quizzically, and all the while, you slowly grazed your nails across John’s scalp. He shivered against you, his muscles shifting beneath his pale skin.

“We’ve known each other for almost a year, John. Have I ever given you the impression that you’d be calling the shots here?”

There was a point in his neck, neatly positioned between his shoulder and his protruding collarbone. You could see the steady, perfect bass line of his heartbeat pulsing under his skin. It jumped when you rolled your body into his.

“Couldn’t help myself,” John let his heavy eyelids close, focusing on keeping his breathing even. “Did I mention you’re beautiful?”

You tilted his head back and kissed him, your tongue rolling over his, too riled up to wait for permission. You kept his chin up with your hand against his throat, the pad of your thumb pressing into his thready pulse.

Kissing John was unlike anything you’d ever known. Other boys grabbed at you, pressed selfishly into you, taking what they wanted and not caring how it felt for you. They were too rough, unimaginative, or simply just looking for a way to stave off boredom. But John…

As John’s lips moved against yours, it felt as if you were speaking the same language as someone for the first time in your life.

Skilled hands smoothed up and down your back, finding every part you wanted him to find, every part you wanted him to warm, as if he could read your mind. His lovely nose bumped yours whenever he turned his head and you could feel his smile every time you made an appreciative sound.

He was attentive, thoughtful, just like you knew he would be, just like he was when he played. He might look like his mind was elsewhere, but John was honed in on every note. He knew them all, he knew you too.

You must’ve shifted just where he needed you, must’ve slotted your body against his in just the right way, because John suddenly broke the kiss with a wet sound that made you swear under your breath.

He cut you off with a low, sonorous moan, his soft lips parting so you could see his pretty, pink, antagonising tongue.

“Just like-” He groaned again and this time his big hands found your hips, moving you so that you rocked against him just like he needed again. “That feels good. Shit-”

You could feel the hard outline of him through his stupid tight cord trousers. The friction alone was enough to send thrums of electricity through your body.

You hummed, pleased with yourself. You were admittedly a little rusty. Before tonight, you had half a mind to warn John just how long it had been since you’d been intimate with anyone, but it appeared you hadn’t lost the knack. Either that, or John was extremely receptive.

Beneath you, he moaned and let his head fall forward until his face was buried in your chest, his voice vibrating through you. All you were doing was rocking your hips into his, tugging on his hair, grazing your lips by his jaw. Yes, very receptive. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on him properly.

Then again, you had never dared to ask how long it had been for him either. You weren’t stupid, John had been with girls before you, at home, at uni. He’d never mentioned anyone. Maybe there was no one worth talking about. Anyway, everyone in your life seemed to agree that when quiet, thoughtful, reticent John finally did speak, the only thing he wanted to talk about was you.

You kissed him again, twice, three times, then squeezed his shoulder.

“Get comfy. I’ll stick some music on.”

You wobbled to the record player on unsteady legs and put on something soft and slow, warm and romantic.

When you came back, John had shuffled up the bed until his back was against the headboard. He looked so silly, sat there shirtless, his trousers and heels still on.

His sharp eyes followed you as you moved around the bed, but John wore an enormous grin, his face flushed, his slim chest heaving. He was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Did you mean to say that out loud?” John asked, his smile growing.

In an effort to mask your embarrassment, you wrapped your hand around one of his ankles and gently tugged him round until his legs were hanging off the side of the bed.

Giggling together, you hefted his leg up to your waist and pushed up his trouser leg.

“I love these shoes,” you murmured, admiring his black and white patent heels. “You’re such a bloody tease, Deacon.”

Sitting up on his elbows now, John raised his eyebrows as you started to unlace one of his platforms for him.

“You like them?”

“Like them? I’m trying to decide whether I should make you leave them on.”

You took off one shoe, then the other, dropping them to the floor so you could kick them under the bed. His trousers came off next, leaving you both in just your underwear.

You said it yourself, you’d known each other for almost a year now. That was a long time to wait to touch each other. John seemed to agree.

As you settled back in his lap, his hands immediately found your hips, pulling you down so that you could feel exactly what you did to him, and the infinitesimal strands holding the last of your reservations together finally snapped.

“You’re so pretty.” You murmured the words against his lips this time, so he knew you meant it. “I love your mouth so much.”

Curiosity sparked behind John’s eyes, and you wondered if anyone had ever said anything even remotely similar to him before.

With one hand resting on his narrow shoulder for balance, you took the other and dragged the pad of your thumb across John’s bottom lip, taking your time. They were a little chapped, he was always worrying them between his teeth, and a shade darker than usual tonight, bruised by your own.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to play with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

John’s eyes widened, his lips falling open as a soft moan escaped him, one you were sure was completely involuntary.

Beaming, you reached down between you and wrapped your other hand around him through his straining underwear.

Those eyes again, they gave away so much. John’s expression hardly twitched, but his eyes grew glossy and heavy as you worked him, purposefully slow, until he had completely melted into you.

“Goddd, feels so good…” His eyes rolled closed, his jaw slack. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

With the tip of your index finger, you grazed his bottom lip, then dipped in a little. John cracked his eyes open, you could feel him watching you with interest. Breathing shakily, you kept going, parting his lips to gently push your finger against his tongue.

“What do we say?”

John’s brow furrowed, summoning up a crease between his eyebrows that you couldn’t resist kissing away.

“Please,” he gasped out.

Your finger slipped into his warm mouth with ease. John immediately swirled his tongue around it, whimpering and moaning as he sucked gently, so needy for you that his hips bucked up into your hand

“Oh, dear…” you practically purred. “Someone’s eager.”

John groaned around your finger, his eyes widening when you added another. He squeezed your hips in time with every stroke of your hand, silently urging you to keep going while his mouth was occupied.

Once he’d got them nice and wet, you pulled back your fingers and drew your index along his bottom lip.

“Good boy,” you whispered, then popped your fingers into your own mouth to taste him with a moan. “You’re even sweeter than you look, my darlin’.”

John thought he must’ve died and gone to heaven. That was the only explanation for it. How else could he be here, with you, your lips against his and your hands anywhere you wanted them?

You kissed both his pink cheeks, then the corner of his lovely mouth, and all the while, you palmed him through his stupid tight pants.

John looked up at you like it pained him to not have your mouth on his properly, but your hand pressing firmly down on his hard length pulled his expression from agony to ecstasy.

“Love, if you don’t do something soon, I swear, I’m gonna-“

“What?”

You removed your hand, eyebrows raised.

John bit his lip, trying heroically to hold back, but he couldn’t help it. He let out a disappointed whine.

“Love…”

He bucked his hips, trying to press himself into your hand.

Satisfied, you carefully clambered off him.

“Mm, that’s what I thought.”

“Wait…”

John tried to pull you back into him but you distracted him with a deep, searing kiss, keeping his brain occupied so your hands could work.

Though he missed you being close to him, John couldn’t keep the grin from his face as you pushed him down flat on the bed, his head safely nestled against the pillows.

In his chest, his heart was pounding like a bass drum. He wanted to shout so your neighbours could hear. He wanted to run to the windows and declare to the whole city that this was the greatest night of his life. He wanted to tell the world that he was the happiest he’d ever been and he was in bed with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. But he settled for gazing up at you and thanking his lucky stars.

Kneeling beside him now, you took a moment for yourself to just enjoy the scene before you. It was selfish really but you thought John could stand to wait a few seconds while you took him in.

His long hair was spread out across the pillow, dark curls that took hours to set just right. You smiled to yourself.

He was a walking contradiction. He was such a low maintenance boy, so happy to do whatever you wanted to do. No fancy clothes, no ridiculous car, no expensive bad habits. But John cared about how we looked. He cared about doing well at uni. He understood music better than most and cared about Queen’s future. He just never made it anyone else’s problem.

It was only in the last few months that you’d really seen him open up. You couldn’t wait to discover the rest of him. ‘Easy Deacon’, they used to call him. Everything just came so naturally to John. You knew that wasn’t exactly true, but the thought of having a good, kind, lucky, sensible boy in your life, in your bed, might just be the most wonderful thing that ever happened to you.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about this,” you said.

John swallowed thickly when you pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then his sternum.

”Oh, yeah?”

He was still so slim, even after all your best effort. You could pick out each of his ribs as John sucked in a deep breath.

Kissing your way down his chest, you paused to rest your chin over his heart, trying to feel for it.

John’s head was thrown back, his jaw high and his neck exposed, so he didn’t see your fond smile, or the pang of emotion behind your eyes as you turned your head, aching to hear the rounded, powerful, thump thump thump of his heart.

It pounded harder than you expected. You could almost feel it pulsing against your cheek, strong and full and just for you.

“You’re having palpitations, Johnny.” You raised your head and caught his eyes. “You wanna stop and catch your breath?”

John exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, there was no humour in it. He obviously didn’t think that was funny.

“If you stop now, I think I’ll pass out.”

“Well, can’t have that.”

You kissed your way down his chest, taking your time, savouring the feeling of his hot, flushed skin against your lips.

You took note of every muscle twitch, your ears pricking at every sharp intake of breath. Learning what made the famously stoic and impassive John Deacon moan and squirm was going to be fun.

You peppered more kisses down his chest, taking the time to flick your tongue across both nipples, just to make John’s hips stutter. Face flushed, he groaned almost in protest, but didn’t move to stop you at all.

You pushed further, kissing your way down his stomach, until John was half giggling, half whimpering. He bit down hard on his lip, his long fingers reaching out and finding a home in your hair, where he tugged ever so gently, like he was trying to spur you on but didn’t want to risk making you stop again.

“Love, that…” John hissed through his teeth as you licked a stripe up his belly. “That tickles.”

You laughed softly.

“Does it? Sorry.”

“No, don’t b- Ohn…”

You looked up at John, the skin just below his navel still caught between your teeth. You let it go slowly, dragging at his skin, and all the while you watched his pretty face contort and soften, his teeth practically embedded in his bottom lip.

“Sorry, what was that?”

John huffed, his fingers tightening in your hair as you kissed down the front of his underwear, slow and hot, teasing him on purpose, drifting so close to where he desperately wanted to be touched, but never quite there.

Enough torture. You hooked your fingers under the waistband of his pants and slowly dragged them down his pale thighs, pausing only to place kisses on either side of his bony hips, and the contrasting softness of his inner thighs.

“Just relax, Johnny. It’s only me.”

You smiled against his skin, watching his face contort and shift as you tugged the waistband of his underwear down against him, a mean trick but worth it for the soft little noises he gave in response.

“I’ve got you, love. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

John whimpered, his chest rising and falling fast. His eyes stayed fixed on yours as you pulled his pants all the way down, until his aching cock was pressed against his stomach.

“Oh, hello,” You laughed, disguising just how embarrassingly turned on you were with a quirked eyebrow and a wobbly smile. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Despite his nerves, John huffed a little laugh too.

It had been a while since anyone had seen him like this. Somehow, it felt like the first time. You were the most important thing in his life, the most beautiful, wonderful person he’d ever known, it mattered what you thought, it mattered that you liked how he looked.

He watched you take him in, watched your pretty eyes cross his body, and for once, didn’t feel self-conscious under someone else’s gaze. John knew you wouldn’t care what he looked like but he couldn’t help blooming with pride, his cheeks prickling at the pleased look on your face.

John sucked in a sharp breath as your hand wrapped around him, moving up and down his length slowly, almost absent-mindedly, while you soaked up every new detail exposed to you, every new valley and slope, memorising every detail of his body until you could see him behind your closed eyes.

Then you squeezed him, testing the boundaries of his patience, and John lost all sense of bravado and decorum. He groaned, letting his head drop back against the pillow, panting now.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please…”

You tilted your head to the side, feigning obliviousness.

“Please what, love?”

“Just, please…” John moaned again, his hips pressing up into your hand, searching desperately for more pressure, friction, anything. “Please touch me. Feel like I’m gonna…”

You didn’t get to hear the rest, John’s eyes suddenly widened and he put his much larger hand over yours.

“Wait, this isn’t right. I should be- I should take care of you first.”

“What? Because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do?”

“No! Well, no- No, that’s not why I’m asking. I want to make you feel good. I should get you off first.”

Somehow, even though you had his dick in your hand, hearing John talk about ‘getting you off’ made you go all bashful.

“Why should you?”

“Well,” Looking oddly relaxed for someone in his position, John sat up on his elbows. “It’s just maths, innit.”

“Don’t say ‘innit’, you’re from Oadby.”

“I’m finally picking up the lingo. My point is, it’s maths.”

“Is it now?”

You smiled and sat back on your knees.

John’s eyes followed your hands as they left his body to drag across the mattress. Being cheeky had been a risky move and he’d miscalculated, you weren’t touching him anymore. He’d have to make sure it was worth it.

“I’m a bloke. You can cum again and again and again, but I get one shot at this. Two if I’m lucky… Three would probably kill me.”

“It’s tempting right now.”

“I’m just saying,” John’s grin was toothy and silly. He looked about the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. “I’d like to get a few in before I, you know, close up shop.”

“Well…”

You carefully placed your hands on either side of his body so that you could move over him. Placing your knee between his thighs, you leaned in close to murmur against his lips.

“How’s about I take care of you, properly. Like I’ve been thinking and dreaming about doing for… Hm, when did you start at the bakery?”

“30th January.”

“Right. Six whole months, John.”

“Almost seven.”

“Almost seven! Yes! Y’see!”

You kissed the tip of his nose, then his cheek, while John laughed softly, nuzzling his face against yours.

“How about… I take care of you. And then you can - what was it you said? - make me cum again…”

You kissed him.

“And again…”

Another soft kiss that made John’s whole body light up.

“And again…”

The rough pads of his bass-bitten fingers grazed your scalp as John slipped a hand back into your hair, keeping your mouth fixed to his, as if letting you move away would be allowing you, the night, that moment, to disappear.

Moaning softly into your mouth, John ran his tongue over yours, his eyebrows drawn together.

“You’re very persuasive.”

You grinned, feeling silly and happy and safe.

“‘s just maths, innit.”

“Mm,” John nodded and kissed you again, then pressed his nose to yours. “Sounds much better coming from you.”

“What was that about ‘coming?’”

“Oh-hoh, you’re on fire tonight.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we?”

You wrapped your hand around him and swallowed his surprised groan with a deep, slow kiss, matching the movement of your hand with your lips.

John shuddered beneath you, gripping you tight as your thumb absentmindedly swiped over the head of his cock.

Completely lacking all composure now, John’s hips jerked up into your hand, chasing a high you couldn’t wait to give him.

“You’re so fucking pretty, John.”

Cheeks tinged pink, he turned and buried his face in your forearm.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll-” He choked, his hips jumping into your hand. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Smiling, you leaned down to kiss him slowly.

“That’s kind of the point, pretty boy.”

The only sign that he’d heard and understood you was a keening moan.

John shut his eyes, his brow furrowed like he was concentrating, the same sweet little frown he got when he played the bass.

Your cheeks were starting to ache, you were so smiling so broadly. With one knee, you gently nudged his legs further apart, then hooked your hand under one of his knees so that his foot was firmly planted on the bed.

John opened his eyes but there was nothing behind them. He blinked at you, his mouth open, his pale, slim chest heaving. He had just enough wherewithal to ask,

“What..?”

Still smiling, you swapped hands, getting him off with one while you slipped the fingers of your dominant hand into your mouth.

John’s pretty eyes dropped to follow your hand as it fell between his thighs.

“Trust me?”

He bit his lip, eyes wide, when you circled his entrance, massaging it. You could feel his whole body seize up immediately, like you’d electrocuted him. Then, just when you thought he might ask you to stop, he said,

“Yes.”

It was only a whisper, so you made him repeat himself, just to make sure.

John nodded furiously, repeating ‘yes yes yes’ over and over as you pushed your finger against him.

John’s legs instinctively rose to hook around your lower body, his ankles crossing almost delicately behind you while he gasped and huffed, kneading at your hips to keep himself grounded as you gently worked him open with one finger.

You swallowed his hiccuping moan with another kiss, keeping him distracted, getting him used to the unfamiliar feeling.

“Relax, sweetheart,” you said, dropping your other hand to soothingly rub his thigh. “Just wanna make you feel good. Can you take over, sweetheart, while I..?”

Without loosing a beat, John’s fingers brushed yours as he wrapped them around his cock. You gave him one final squeeze before you let go.

You could wiggle your finger around now, and you worked a second in, twisting and scissoring, dropping little words of praise and encouragement when John began to grind down on your hand.

“Ohhnfuuck…” he moaned, his head flung back to expose his neck.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, watched his pulse jump under his jaw, and felt a swell of affection when John moaned your name. His tried to speak but his voice cracked, punctuated by sharp gasps whenever you pushed that little bit further.

“That’s it, pretty boy. That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

Keeping your fingers moving steadily, you bent your head and nipped at his belly, then his pelvis, making your way down until you could nudge his hand away with your nose.

John seemed to begrudge the thought of letting go but you kissed his fingertips, then the base of his cock, and he released himself with a frustrated whine.

“Love, I’m-”

You stopped him complaining by dragging your tongue up the underside of him. John completely melted under your touch, his voice wobbling uncontrollably as you swirled your tongue around his head.

“Sweetheart, please, please, please-”

“Please what, Johnny?”

“Please don’t stop, please please please don’t stop, feels so fucking good when you- Ah!”

Though your muscles ached, you couldn’t imagine stopping now, not with John begging like that, so you shifted the position of your hand.

“When I what, honey?”

The new angle made John tense up again, his wispy little fringe now sticking to his forehead. But then you took him in your mouth, licking him clean and sucking at his swollen tip, and his whole body went slack.

“Ohhhn, when you fuck me like that.”

You couldn’t help it, you moaned around his cock, long and half feral, the vibrations making John’s eyes roll back.

Still your fingers fucked into him, stretching and pushing towards a pleasure that John wouldn’t have believed was possible, and then you hit a sweet spot inside him that made his back arch off the bed.

“Right there,” he gasped out, eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling. “Right there, that’s it, right there, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please.”

”I won’t, I won’t. I’ve got you, sweet boy.”

He took himself in his hand again, squeezing and tugging. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Seeing John like this, completely at your mercy, his mind completely disconnected from his body, it made your belly twist. He was completely yours, this was all just for you.

John cried out, begging you to go faster, so you did, and his hand sped up to match your thrusts. He squirmed against you, rocking his hips so he was practically bouncing on your fingers now.

“Ohhh, love,” You beamed against his bony hip. “You gonna cum like this, baby boy? With my fingers inside you?”

John half moaned, half laughed, almost in disbelief.

“God, I fucking am. Love, I’m-”

You leaned over him to brush his hair back from his damp forehead and kissed him softly, only slowing your thrusting fingers so that you could crook them inside him.

“C’mon, love. C’mon, Johnny, cum for me.”

Always so eager to please. Your only warning was one last sharp jerk of his hips before he suddenly came with another broken moan. It sent a jolt of white-hot desire curling in the pit of your stomach.

John’s grip on your hips was so tight, he was sure to have left bruises, and all the while he whimpered and called your name, his face flushed and pink.

Feeling just as breathless, you kissed and kissed him until John’s body slowly collapsed under you. You carefully drew back your fingers, just barely biting back a moan when John weakly protested.

He pulled you close, but it wasn’t enough, so - still gasping and buzzing with pleasure - John carefully guided your arms out from under you so that you had to lay on top of him, your bodies completely intertwined.

“You’re-” John kissed you lazily, his mind still somewhere out past Saturn. “That was amazing. You’re so beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He barely knew what he was saying, he just had to let you know that you’d made him feel more than he ever thought possible. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else other than right here, right now.

Content and warm, you buried your face in his neck, catching your breath as John dragged his hands up and down your back.

“You were so good, John. Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

He smiled. He couldn’t believe you were thanking him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He couldn’t believe crossing the road to see about a job had led him to this. In bed with you, just before dawn, sweaty and sticky and exhausted and gasping for breath, John felt like he’d finally found the home he’d been looking for all his life.

“Yeah, well, it’s your turn next, sweetheart. Give me two minutes and I’ll do the same for you.”

“Just two? Look at you.”

“You’re very inspiring, what can I say.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing your thighs together at the thought.

You considered getting up to open the window and let in some fresh, cooling air. You wanted to help John get cleaned up before the next round. More than that, you wanted to lay back and let him kiss down your body, till he’d seen to the mess he’d made.

You kissed him again, slow and languid. There was no need to rush. You had all the time in the world.

The bakery was alive again.

Like a pot set to boil slowly, incrementally over time, you hadn’t realised how anaemic the place had become until it was too late. Almost too late. With Alastair gone and the summer at its peak, 64 Oslo Square was back to its former glory, a shining jewel at the far end of Kensington High Street.

You kneaded dough with motions you knew by heart. There was a rhyme and rhythm to it, a particular push of your hands, a drag of your fingers, a dig with the heels of your palms.

You rolled the dough between your hands, forming and shaping it like a potter at their wheel, until it was the perfect consistency to divide and drop into proofing baskets.

There was music in the air. Mickey’s old radio oozed out Diana Ross, Tony Orlando, Free and Bowie, and he sang along to every word. How he knew them all by heart, you’d never know, but he never skipped a beat.

Equally vocal was John. He was leaning against the kitchen island, where he was supposed to be making butter cream. Instead, he had his head in the book he’d just bought, a textbook he’d need for his second year. He’d been reading out passages he thought were particularly interesting, and you and Mickey had been trying your best to humour him.

John recited a particularly convoluted paragraph, and Mickey actually laughed at how ridiculously complex it sounded.

“Hang on, say that one more time?”

You brushed off the flour from your hands, watching it cascade through the air like gold dust in the morning sunlight.

“Yeah, no, sorry, sweetheart. You’ve lost us.”

John turned the book around and held it up so that you could see the page he was reading from.

“Here, have a look!”

“My love, that might as well be written in Greek for all the sense it makes to me.”

“Well, some of it is Greek. It’s Physics.”

Behind you, meticulously icing fruit tarts, Mickey snorted.

You shot John a wry look.

“Well, I walked into that one.”

John turned the book back to face him.

You watched him with a fond smile, then pushed the loaves you’d made into the oven.

He got this look on his face when he was talking about his studies. John was completely in his element. All the nervousness and shyness dissipated when there was simple, honest, unconditional science to talk about.

He shrugged, shutting the thick book with a heavy snap.

“I know it’s boring-”

“It’s not boring, John, I just think it’s wasted on us.”

“Don’t be daft, you’re the smartest person I know.”

“Ta!” Mickey chimed in.

You ignored him, though it was nice to see Mickey so cheery. The last few months had been hard for all of you, but he had a family to worry about, a newborn, a mortgage. Now Alastair’s heavy chains had dropped from your ankles, the bakery was making enough for you all to live a little more easily, and Mickey had started to whistle again, bright and cheery and carefree.

While the bread proved, you set about preparing tomorrow’s croissants.

“The smartest person you know besides you, you mean,” you said to John, picking up the conversation again while you went to grab the right ingredients.

“Well, what else am I here for? Aren’t I the brains?” John smiled. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Grinning now, you tapped his thigh as you passed by.

“Don’t forget the legs.”

“I thought that was you?”

“Ohh, someone woke up in a good mood.”

“Wonder why.”

John reached out and tried to pinch your hip but you just slipped out of reach.

Plunking flour, eggs and sugar down on the metal counter, you took a deep breath before falling into the pattern of a lifetime. It was all second nature by now, like the steps of a dance or the words to a favourite song. You’d never forget the moves for as long as you lived, you could probably make them blindfolded, with one arm tied behind your back. It was good to be back.

“C’mon then,” You nodded to the textbook in John’s hands. “What else you got? Anything that’ll get you mixing faster?”

John huffed, lifting himself up to perch on the edge of the counter.

“It’s thanks to this book that you even have a mixer.”

“Oi, watch it, New Boy. I’m your boss, remember.”

John grinned at you across the island. It was an almost challenging look. Come shut me up. Come kiss me. I know you want to.

“Can bosses get the sack for fraternising with the staff?”

Startled, you looked over your shoulder at Mickey. You’d almost forgotten you weren’t alone in the kitchen with John.

Mickey tugged a cigarette down from where it had been tucked behind his ear and flicked it up, catching it in his mouth just to show off. He raised his eyebrows at you, then at John.

“I only ask cos I got an earful this morning I’m not gonna forget in an ‘urry. It’d do me a favour if you were legally obligated to never, ever do that again. At least while I’m in earshot.”

Cheeks burning, you refused to look at John.

Images of that morning flashed through your mind.

You had to be up early to get the bakery warmed up, and John needed to get on his stupid bike and make his rounds. You’d flung out a sleep-heavy arm to silence your alarm, and in the time it took you to draw it back under the warmth and safety of the covers, John had moved on top of you.

Between soft, slow, drowsy kisses, he lazily slipped inside you, dragging his hips back and forward against yours as you gasped into his mouth.

You came clinging to his back, your ankles hooked around his hips, his tongue in your mouth and your name in his throat.

When you came downstairs together. Mickey had already started warming up the ovens. You had paused, momentarily startled. Mickey was early for once. But you brushed your surprise away and slipped on an easy smile. There was no way he would've been able to hear you, and there were a hundred perfectly innocent reasons why John could’ve been upstairs with you.

Idiot.

“Oh,” You pulled a face, aiming for apologetic and ending up at awkward. “Sorry, Mickey.”

He just laughed and headed out into the alley for his smoke break.

Turning to John, you grimaced.

“Whoops.”

Looking about as embarrassed as you felt, he held out his hand to you. John guided you around the counter until you were standing between his knees, his hands immediately resting on your hips like it was second nature.

“Alright, so your walls are thinner than we thought. Lesson learnt.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so noisy.”

“Me!” John laughed. “Can I take you out tonight?”

“Depends. Where you taking me?”

“Thought we could go to the pictures? Get some dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.” You kissed the tip of his nose. “And your electric stuff is very cool, John. I was only teasing you.”

Smiling like a cat curled up in front of the fire, John squeezed your hips reassuringly.

“I know.”

“Not just a pretty face, eh?”

John looked sheepish.

“Well, you know, you’re always saying-”

You kissed him once, twice, then his nose again.

“You’re very pretty.”

“No…”

John barely put up a fight. It was hard enough arguing with you at the best of times, he could barely concentrate when you were so close, your floury hands cupping his face, your lips so close to his.

“Yes! Twice as pretty as Roger.”

John let his head grow heavy, relaxing completely until all that supported him were your hands under his jaw. While you giggled at his exhausted expression, John shook his head

“Now you’re just being silly.”

Your heart felt so full, it threatened to spill over.

There had been a small worry, so small it barely warranted entertaining, right in the back of your mind. It liked to remind you that the dynamics of your relationship with John had forever shifted.

What if things felt different now? Under these new parameters, there would be no more longing looks across the bakery, no dancing and stumbling around each other, no more tension and uncertainty. What if the sudden expectations and roles made things awkward?

A smaller, even stupider part of your brain had even been afraid that John would wake up and - in the cold, harsh light of the morning - decide he'd changed his mind.

That particular worry was extinguished almost as quickly as it sprang into life. When John hooked one long, slim leg through yours and moaned into your mouth that you were absolutely perfect, you could have laughed at yourself for ever worrying if your mouth hadn’t been full of his name, then his tongue.

But no, here, alone in the kitchen where you came to know each other, looking and smiling at each other like you were the only two people in the world, you knew nothing good had changed. It made you wonder just how long you’d belonged to each other without knowing it.

“I mean it!” You laughed softly when you brushed your hand over his cheek and John pretended to nip at your fingertips. “You’ve got pretty eyes…”

You kissed a spot under both of his eyes, right on the apple of John’s cheeks. His smile pressed into your palms

“And pretty hair…”

“You’re so odd, love.”

“And nice eyebrows…”

John laughed, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“My eyebrows are nice?”

“And you’ve got a great nose…” You kissed it to prove a point, then grazed your fingertip along the outline of his bottom lip. “I love your funny little mouth.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“What’s so funny about my mouth?”

“Nothing!”

“My mouth works just fine, thank you.”

You grinned.

“I’m well aware.”

Shaking his head slightly, his cheeks tinged pink, John asked,

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“I really do, John.”

“I think you’re pretty too. I think you’re beautiful.”

John smiled softly as you leaned in to kiss him, and you could still feel him smiling against your mouth as you tilted his head back with one finger under his jaw.

He pulled you closer, his hands on the backs of your thighs at first, before they slid up and bunched up your apron.

You had half a mind to pull away and check over your shoulder, just to make sure Mickey wasn’t about to walk in on you. You could hear Gladys a mile away, so you didn’t have to worry about her catching you, but you’d never live it down if Mickey had to bleach his eyes as well as his ears.

John brushed his nose against yours sweetly, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. He was so handsome when he was like this, all relaxed and confident and putty in your hands.

“That thing you did,” he said quietly. “Last night.”

You hummed, only half listening as you leaned down to kiss him again.

“Think you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I don’t think I do.”

John raised his eyebrows and you bit back a smile, feeling somehow simultaneously sheepish and proud of yourself.

You’d been waiting for him to bring it up, but when he didn’t say anything last night or this morning, you wondered if maybe he didn’t like it. His body certainly reacted positively, but sometimes there was a disconnect, a barrier, between what was felt physically and what was felt emotionally.

“Is that something you’ve done before?”

“Maybe.” Though your cheeks burned, you kept up your grin, never wanting to give away just how much John flustered you. “Or maybe I just saw you there, all wet and desperate, and couldn’t help myself.”

John’s eyes widened a fraction, like he couldn’t believe you would dare to say something so outrageous within a few feet of your colleagues and countless hungry customers.

Bending his head, he let his forehead rest against your chest, his hands tense on your hips.

“You’re terrible,” he grumbled, the sound muffled against your apron.

You couldn’t resist, you slipped your fingers into his thick hair, combing it through and playing with the odd curl.

He really was so wonderful, a ridiculous mix of pretty boy and handsome mechanic. There wasn’t anything John Deacon couldn’t do. He played every part so well without ever not being himself, and he was all yours.

“Did you like it?” you asked, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

John quietly huffed.

“I think that was fairly obvious.”

“Because we could do it again. And more, if you like.”

John raised his head.

“More?”

You kept your hand in his hair, grazing and tugging his curls around your fingers. It kept you grounded, kept you from pulling back and changing the subject and apologising for even asking. It wasn’t exactly embarrassing, just a lot to say out loud, especially with John looking at you like that.

“Yeah, you know…” You shrugged, fighting back a smile and losing. “I could use more than just my fingers.”

“Oh.” John’s eyes widened a fraction but that was all he gave away. “Would you… Want to?”

“Yes. Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

The tension between you was building again, a push me, pull you of daring looks and lingering touches, toeing the line a little more with every word passed between you.

“I…” John opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, “I trust you with me.”

There was a flicker of nervousness in his grey eyes but no hesitancy, no uncertainty.

Even just thinking about it left your mouth feeling dry, and from the way John’s fingers tightened on the backs of your thighs, threatening to slip up under your dress and beyond, he was thinking about it too.

“Still can’t really believe it,” he said softly.

“Well, you know, it’s not that uncommon. You’d be surpri-”

“No, I mean,” John laughed softly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Can’t believe I’m here. With you.”

“Oh!” With a grin you brushed back his hair and tucked it behind his ear for him. “Well, I’m very glad you decided to stick around, New Boy. Well, not so new anymore.”

John hummed and leant his head in your hands again, nuzzling his cheek against your palms.

He’d gone all soft on you. You tried to pinpoint exactly when that could have happened, but came up empty. He’d always been sweet but recently, perhaps over the last few weeks, John had shown a vulnerability that he’d hidden behind clever words and smiles.

When did give himself over to you? Welcoming him into your little family had done wonders for John’s confidence, giving him somewhere that he felt safe and secure, where he had a set role and no doubt that he belonged.

But when had he become yours? When you were one of six people in the crowd to see his band play? When you took him into your home and patched him up, offering him love and comfort and a warm place to sleep? Or maybe it had been immediate, when you sent a stranger home with food just because he looked cold and hungry? Or maybe it was only recently. Maybe seeing how his friends welcomed you into his own odd little family had been the final nail.

Running your fingers through his soft hair, you knew you wouldn’t ever know when this started, when John had solidified himself in your life, but you were oh so very glad that he did.

The bakery door opened. You barely registered it, just a faint chime in the back of your head. You almost, almost ignored it. But something about the sound sent goosebumps shivering up your arms and down your back. Something told you to look up and pay attention.

Through the kitchen doorway, you could hear familiar voices. The same customers came by every day, or weekly, you knew them all by heart. They knew you as you knew them. There was a warmth there, a rare connection for this part of the city.

One voice, cold and discordant, cut through the rest like a bow pulled too sharply across violin strings.

Without taking your eyes off the kitchen doorway, you squeezed John’s hands, then gently let them go.

“Hang on, love.”

Heart thudding, you made it to the doorway just in time to catch Alastair moving round the counter towards Gladys.

Immediately, a coppery taste rose under your tongue, like blood, adrenaline. Your hands balled into fists and you didn’t know if you were afraid or furious or just shocked, but you froze in the doorway, unable to move any part of you apart from your wide eyes.

“Gladys, love,” Alastair smiled like an anglerfish as he drew closer. “You have to give me another chance. I was just trying to do what’s best for you.”

The bakery door closed behind the last customer, you caught the movement out of the corner of your eye. The shop was empty, apart from one woman, seated at a table in the corner, busy fussing over her baby.

“You’re being ridiculous, love. You know I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you. I just want to help-”

“Alastair.”

You stopped him with his hand raised in the air, reaching out to Gladys, fingers curled inwards like claws. The big bad wolf.

“What the hell are you doing here.”

Alastair slowly dragged his gaze away from his target. His lip curled in irritation, almost like you bored him. You were just something to scrape off the bottom of his custom-made Italian leather shoes.

The sound of his name caught John’s attention. You felt his chest against your back but he didn’t touch you, just kept close, keeping watch but never interfering. Still, it meant there was now another man in the room, and Alastair’s attitude shifted accordingly.

He straightened his long back, pulled back his hand and tucked it behind him. His mouth shifted into something more friendly but his eyes he had less control over. They stayed cold and steady and fixed on you.

“There you are.” He tried to smile but didn’t understand the mechanics. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot, darling. But now everything’s out in the open, I really think we can come to some kind of agreement. I mean, you’re sitting on a goldmine here, sweetheart.”

Behind you, John scowled.

“Don’t call her that.”

Alastair pretended not to hear him.

“You don’t even know what you have here.”

You caught Gladys’ eye. This place was just as much her home as it was yours, if not more so. She bought a tiny corner of a bomb-stricken street, fixed it up, loved it into living, and filled it with good things to feed her community.

Until recently, until Alastair, she’d never had a day off, she’d never called in sick, she never complained or argued or admitted defeat. The fire that burned in her had been dampened but never snuffed out, and now it was back, roaring and clawing past the bars of its cage. And she’d passed it on to you.

“I do, actually,” you said, and Gladys smiled.

Alastair laughed drily, humourlessly, and there was no doubt that he thought you were beyond stupid, that you were all beneath him, that he understood the world better than any of you ever could.

“Honey, in ten years, this city is going to look completely different.”

He took a step towards you and you felt John tense.

“Twenty, thirty years down the line, this space will be worth triple what she bought it for. More than that. If you give it to me, I can talk to the right people, I can get you a good deal. Sweetheart, I can make you rich.”

“Alastair, I’ve been waitin’ a long time to say this: get the fuck ou’ of my bakery.”

Frantic now, he turned his gaze to John.

“You, you’re the boyfriend, right? Can you talk some sense into your girl? She’ll listen to you. You’re a smart bloke, I can tell. You can see what they can’t, right? C’mon, you and me, we know we can’t leave decisions like this up to- Well, a couple of girls playing business. We both know it’s too much for them.”

“Skip asked you to leave,” John said, terse and stern. ”Much more politely than you deserve.”

When Mickey came to see what was going on, Alastair took a step backwards. A smart move but not nearly quick enough.

Without a word from any of you, Mickey immediately understood what was happening and knew what the situation demanded.

Alastair raised his hands, his warped smile trembling at the corners. He shrank back as Mickey made his way towards him.

“Michael,” He shook his head, his cold eyes darting everywhere. “Michael, you-”

“Oh, mate.” Mickey grabbed Alastair by the scruff of his spotless jacket. “You’ve just made my day.”

Struggling against Mickey’s grip, Alastair cried out to Gladys, his hands wrapped uselessly around the much larger one dragging him out the front door.

Together, you watched Mickey throw Alastair onto the pavement, ruining his nice suit and removing him from your lives forever.

You looked up when you felt John slip his fingers through yours. Drawing in a soothing breath, you squeezed his hand back.

“Well,” Gladys turned to you with a smile. “I think I’ll stick the kettle on. Anyone want a brew?”

Master List

22 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 5 months ago

Text

- Ao3 masterlist -

ao3

In progress:

Completed:

Microfics:

145 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 6 months ago

Text

~Masterlist

Well, now that I’ve actually started making a number of things, I figured I’d have a master list to organize the fics.

*~* Breakfast Club *~*

The numbers denote the “Chapter”/the order they go in. The .5′s are like companion pieces to the previous one.

Brian x Fem!Reader Series:

Canon Prologue (1)

Midnight Sun’d Prologue (Brian’s POV 1.5)

New Week, New Friendships (2)

Head Over Heels (2.5)

Don’t Need You to Rescue Me (Platonic!Bender-Aside 3)

As You Walk On By (4)

Hell Week (5)

Man, You are SO Screwed (5.5)

Show Night (6)

Pain in the Ass (Platonic! Bender-Aside 7)

We Are Not Alone (8)

It’s Not a Reflection on You (9)

Knowledge Bowl (10)

Electric Blue (11)

Good Boy (12 -mild Smut-)

Crazy (13)

Set Me Free (Unrequited AU Benderxreader)-Idk its weird but it’s this particular series’ reader SO it goes here.

Think Twice (Follow-Up to Set Me Free–WIP)

Let’s Go Back to Bed (Aged-Up/Fast-Forwarded Smut)

Brian x Fem!Reader One Shots

Head Over Feet

Brian x Gender-Neutral!Reader

Incidental Sleepover (Request One-Shot)

Bender x Fem!Reader

Two Worlds Collided

Misery Business

Stacked (*Smut*)

Broken

Set Me Free (Unrequited AU Benderxreader)- same as the one linked above in Brian’s list, but also belongs in this set.

*~*STRANGER THINGS*~*

requests open for Fred, Steve, Eddie

Fred Benson x Fem!Reader

Worth a Shot

Hellfire (Requested)

Fluff Piece Part One

Fluff Piece Part Two

Strange Love Part One (Requested)

Fred Benson x Gen Neutral!Reader

Conversation Starter

Impressions Part One (Requested)

Happy to Help (Artist!Reader x Fred–Requested)

I Burn, I Pine, I Perish (Requested)

Meeting/Dating Would Include (Blurb/Imagine)

Blinded Me With Science (Fred Benson x Reader Series)–FKA “Crazy For You”

Blinded Me With Science (Chapter One)

Blinded Me With Science (Chapter Two)

Blinded Me With Science (Chapter Three)

Blinded Me With Science (Chapter Four)

Blinded Me With Science (Chapter Five)

Blinded Me With Science (Chapter Six)

Fred Benson x Male!Reader

Basketball Interview (Requested)

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

Teenage Dirtbag

*~* Stephen King’s IT *~*

Hold My Cold and Tired Heart (Richie Tozier x Neutral!Reader)

If You Leave: Part One (Chapter 1 Richie Tozier x Neutral!Reader)

If You Leave: Part Two (Chapter 2 Richie Tozier x Neutral!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™”: Intro (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™”: Part One (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™”: Part Two (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™”: Part Three (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™”: Part Four (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™”: Part Five (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™:” Part Six (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™:” Part Seven (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

“Untitled Poly Reddie Smutfic ™:” Part Eight (RichiexEddiexFem!Reader)

I Think We’re Alone Now (Reddie)

*~* Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark *~*

Room For One More (Chuck x Reader)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven (A/N: Honestly, you could START here. It’s the movie’s opening Halloween; reader becomes more gender neutral in reference from here on out).

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten (*mild/implied smut*)

Chapter Eleven (*mild/implied smut*)

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

~Spooksville~

Electric Love (Watch xFem!OC)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

225 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 6 months ago

Text

I cannot believe there's absolutely no way to watch free shows and movies anymore, there are too many paid streaming platforms and pirating websites have viruses and ads preventing you from watching it uninterrupted((.)) id rather follow the rules and purchase media moving forward because it is too inconvenient. Seriously, free and no ads or viruses with 1080p streaming is DEAD.

151K notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 6 months ago

Text

A Slip of the Tongue

Prof Remus x Male Prof Reader

Warning: Fluff, minor flirting

Summary: You agreed to help your crush/college with his class demonstration when something unexpected is said

------------------------------------

As the new herbology professor Y/N had never anticipated to become a helping hand in a DATDA class, it certainly wasn't part of the job description when he applied. However over the last three months he had become increasingly close to another new teacher, Professor Remus Lupin, and it was in fact this specific teacher who had roped him into the lesson.

If Remus's kind eyes and crooked yet warm smile weren't enough to persuade Y/N, the simple fact of how helpful Remus had been in aiding him in his own classes had certainly put him in a position of owning Remus a favour. Y/N had been very grateful each time Remus had helped him carry bags of soil into the green house or stay up late to repot his plants while listening to Bowie on his old gramophone. Y/N particular enjoyed those evenings. Remus always seemed happy and keen to help despite seeming to be rather tired and fragile for at least half of every month. Y/N felt like there was something Remus wasn't telling him but didn't want to push Remus just yet, currently settling to giving Remus a flask of herbal tea made with his own mint leaves whenever he noticed Remus looking extremely deflated.

All these previous encounters had made it impossible to say no when Remus had strolled into the green house yesterday evening, resting his tall body on the door frame and asked if Y/N would assist with his next practical lesson. Y/N now found himself in the DATDAs class room leaning against a wall, arms folded over his sweater vest and tie, nodding and smiling at the few students who said hello to him.

"Morning all, yes Good Morning. Everyone come to the center of the room now" called out Remus. It took Y/N by surprise seeing the rather quiet man he knew command a room to such an effect. All his students stood eagerly in a group waiting for what Proffesor Lupin would say next.

"You have all made excellent progress in your studies, I am really impressed! Now, in today's lesson you are going to test your skills against an opponent" on this last word Professor Lupins eyes glided towards Y/N still leaning against the wall. As all the students turned to stare at Y/N, his own eyes widened, this caused Remus to let out a soft chuckle. Taking a few steps back Professor Lupin lifted a white cloth up to reveal a medium sized pot with an overgrown vine like shrub. "Professor Y/L/N, if you would please" Lupin outstretched a hand in Y/N's direction inviting him to come forth.

Y/N briskly approached where Remus was standing, his work boots scuffing across the wooden floor boards slightly. Once standing next to the older Professor Y/N become highly aware of their height difference. Remus looked down at Y/N from the corner of his eye and gave him a comforting smile.

"The elemental world can be an essential asset when coming to poisons and remedies" Remus said addressing the class, "however when battling agaisnt another these elements can be used to casue great harm, whether that is fire, earth, water, even plants". Catching on to what Remus was getting at Y/N took out his wand and focused on the vined plant. With a deep breath through his exhale Y/N began to wave his wand up and with wordless magic and vines began to grow thick and long. With each flick of his wand the plant grow bigger in the direction Y/N waves his wand, as if he was a puppeteer and the vines were being controlled by strings. Turning his head Y/N caught Lupin watching him intently with an impressed smile across his face. This makes Y/N blush and frown as his focuses on his casting.

Proffesor Y/N had come to terms which the fact he had a small (major) crush on the other Proffesor. But chose to keep this to himself for now, it simply didn't feel appropriate in their professional context and anyway he was certain the handsome older Proffesor only saw him as a platonic college.

Proffesor Lupin instructed the class to take turns attempting to defeat the living viens Y/N controlled with the spells they had been learning. Y/N did his best to both allow the students to get a few good shots in but keep them on their toes as well, swishing the veins through the air as if they were cloth. "A confident stances is key" Lupins voices made its way to Y/N, realising that the taller man had walked behind him. He could almost feel Lupins breath on the back of his neck which made the hairs on his neck stand up.

"Take note of Proffesor Y/L/N's posture, shoulder pulled back and arm stretched out" while Lupin talked aloud he raised his arm up to match Y/N's, swaying it as the same time as Y/N did, their hands nearly touching. "Effortless flicks of the wrist and yet a strong grasp at the base of the wand... a rock hard grip", despite saying those last words aloud Lupin had leaned down enough that his lips were agaisnt Y/Ns ear as he said so. Y/N's eyes widened but he kept his gaze straight ahead, pretending he hadnt just heard these sinfully sweet words. Why had Remus said that? Had he meant to, was it a mistake? Slip of the Tongue? Surely that dosent imply which I think it dose"

The rest of the class goes by, each student getting a turn to challenge Y/N's casting, as the students leaves they all thanks Y/N for such a fun lesson, and he takes each compliment with a joyful smile. In a matter of minutes the classroom is empty just leaving the two Proffesors alone. "Was truly exquisite to watch you" Remus said, leaning against his desk with his hands in his cardigan pockets. Y/N's nervous nature instinctively brushes his hair back out of his face while letting out a weak laugh, his mind still racing over the words Remus has uttered behind him. "well I'm just happy to have been able to help, if you need assistance in your next class please feel free to come find me" and with a brief smile Y/N chose to turn on his heel and start to walk out of the room, before he says or dose something he'll regret.

"Of course, yes ... well actually" Remus trailed off and then spoke up against just before Y/N exited through the door way, causing him to turn around. Lupin suddenly looked incredibly bashful and looked down at the floor with every other word, " we'll see Y/N I was actually hoping the next time I could see you would be tonight.. after dinner". "Oh I see, do you need some extra help grading papers or something" Y/N asked innocently. "No ... I, I just wanted to spend some time alone with you" at the end of the sentence Remus' eyes stared deep into Y/N's from across the room. A sense of longing and desire swirling in them, Y/N was completely taken aback for a moment. Could this really be happening.

He took a deep breath which transformed into a light chuckle, "Yes Remus, I would like that very much". Remus' thin lips press tightly together and a smile stretches across his face. Y/N mirrors the smile before he walked out of the room "I will be sure to give you a more in depth demonstration of my rock hard grip then" called out Y/N as he walked down the corridor, as he does he could hear Remus let out a soft chuckle.

176 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

Crowley x Reader Masterlist

Link to my Master Masterlist

Keep reading

114 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos

❀ Premise: You get injured on the job and Kaz loses his mind about it. When you are on the mend, both of you learn what it means to start on a journey towards healing ❀ Word Count: 2,338 ❀ Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Gore, Blood, & Violence, Kaz beats someone to death with his gloved hands, Infection of A Wound, Hurt/Comfort

It was supposed to be an easy job. Break in, forge some documents, destroy some others, and you're done. It was a trap, but everyone knew that going into it.

Still, you weren’t expecting this much effort to go into killing the crows. You’ve been trying to stay out of the line of fire, aiding the various crows when they call out for help. You’re on your way to helping Inej heal a minor wound when it happens.

You feel the knife before you see it. Of course, target the healer you think to yourself, trying to wrestle your attacker off you before they're able to rip the knife back out of your body. You fail, like you thought you would. A bullet whizzes past your head, hitting your attacker in the head, and killing them instantly.

"You're bleeding?" Jesper yells, as if he's never seen you injured before.

"That tends to happen when you get stabbed!" You yell back.

Another bullet flies past you.

You place your hand over your wound, trying to heal yourself enough to remain useful. Instead, your hand pulls away from your hip covered in blood.

"I need to leave." You say, flashing your bloody hand.

"Y/N! This way, quickly!" Nina yells from behind Jesper.

You stumble forward, trying to keep yourself from falling over. The pain isn't too much, but the blood loss… somebody has to stop the blood loss.

"I've got you," Kaz says, appearing on the side opposite the wound, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Thanks, Kaz" You state.

"There's a safe house nearby," He reassures.

"I know. I've healed you there many times before." You reply.

You make it out of the building, but not before losing at least three pints of blood. You’ve got a headache, and your dizzy, and you’ll probably pass out in a very short amount of time.

“Where did Nina go?” You ask, starting to slow down a little.

“Making sure the safehouse is still safe.” He says.

“Oh. How’d she get that far ahead of us?” You question.

“She’s not bleeding out,” Kaz states.

“Sorry for bleeding out on you,” You say, words starting to slur. You aren’t sure how you’re still walking. “I’ll keep my blood in my body next time.”

“We’re almost there,” Kaz replies, barely managing to stay upright himself, as most of your weight leans against him.

“Quickly!” Nina shouts, urging the both of you into the safe house.

“I think I need to lie down.” You say, slowly collapsing to the floor. Blissful unconsciousness greets you shortly after.

“Brekker, help me get her to the table,” Nina commands.

Kaz is no longer consciously aware of what’s happening around him. He’s able to follow most of Nina’s directions, but he’s not physically there. He’s retreated into his mind, where the emotions begin to fester.

The inside of Kaz’s mind is a series of mazes, locked doors, dead ends, and brick walls. They are defenses he built for himself, to protect him whenever something terrible happened. The more trauma he endured, the more complicated it became for him to express his emotions. And then, one day, the only emotions that he would allow to emerge from his skull were anger and rage.

He looms over your unconscious body, eyes sharp as knives, covered in your blood. If he ever finds the man who did this…

“BREKKER!” Nina shouts, snapping him out of his disassociation. She’s kneeling by your unconscious body, trying her best to seal your wound while being flooded with Kaz’s emotions. “You aren’t helping.” She runs her hand through her hair, frantic. “If you don’t calm down I’m going to have to kick you out of this room. Do you understand?” Your wound is beginning to unseal itself as she loses concentration.

Kaz swallows his emotions, pushing them back into the pit they had suddenly erupted from. “Yes,”

“Good. Now let me focus,” Returning to your wound, she’s able more or less seal it- at least enough that the bleeding stops completely.

Were he a different man, he may have kept vigil over you for the days that followed. Watched over your unconscious body, thinking of all the things he wanted to say to you when you woke up. To apologize for having fell for an obvious trap. Were he another man, he may have dabbed at your head with a cool towel, trying to quell the fever that arose. Held your hand. Prayed for your return. But Kaz was not another man.

He was the Bastard of the Barrel. Dirty Hands. And he was going to kill every single person who had anything to do with that cursed job. At least, he would have, had the other Crows not been there to ground him in reality.

Kaz leaves the safe house, heading straight back into the fight. To be honest, he’s not in much better shape than you, but the adrenaline keeps him upright and the rage keeps him deadly. A bullet lands in a pillar beside him, but he ignores it.

Inej approaches him while he is still beating up the man’s corpse. Everyone who tried to kill them is dead.

He feels a fist land on his back and turns around to meet its owner. And then the rage takes over. Have you ever wondered how many times you have to hit someone before they're dead?

Kaz knows the answer, but he passed that number a very long time ago.

“Kaz,” She says, quietly. She places a hand on his shoulder, but he continues.

“I think he’s dead,” Jesper deadpans.

Slowly, the punches start to slow down, until he finally stops. He stands up, shakily, absolutely covered in blood from head to toe. He is still too angry to notice that he’d been crying. Jesper and Inej notice, but say nothing.

“Let’s go,” Inej says, handing Kaz his cane.

Nina is sitting with a cup of tea when they arrive back at the safe house, staring deeply into the cup.

“How is she?” Jesper asks.

“She’ll live, most likely,” Nina replies, glancing towards the group. Her eyes narrow as she sees Kaz covered in more blood than he left with. “It’ll be a while before she recovers.”

“We should plan our next move,” Kaz states, though he really means he should plan their next move. Which is revenge, of course.

“It should start with changing your clothes.” Nina retorts.

Kaz gives Nina a look.

“Don’t you look at me like that when I just saved the person you love,” Nina hisses, letting go of her cup of tea and slapping her hands against the table. It rattles, splashing some of the tea. “You know she wouldn’t want to see you like this,” She mutters, returning to her tea.

“I think washing up’s a good idea. Anybody disagree?” Jesper asks the room of severally traumatized people trying desperately to not let their emotions take over.

He does not get a response. Instead, the crows each find themselves going separate ways within the house, giving each other time to process what has just occurred.

XXXXX

“Kaz?” You ask, barely making out his figure in the dark room.

“I’ll go get Nina-” He says, standing up.

“No- stay. Please.” You plead.

He sits back down in the chair at the far end of the room.

“Come closer,” You beckon.

He moves to the chair beside your bed- the one the others had been taking turns using. The one Jesper sat in, recounting his day, pretending like you were awake. The one Nina sat in while she re-examined her work, taking the bandages on and off a wound that shouldn’t still be leaking. The one Inej sat in, drip-feeding you water so you didn’t dehydrate while you slept. Each of them had their own little task, their thing they did to make them feel like they were helping you heal.

Kaz just stared at you from afar, terrified. He knows what dead people look like- what they feel like- and for a while, you didn’t look much better than them. Tonight is the first time he’s ever sat in this chair. The first time he’s felt safe enough to do so since you got stabbed.

“Can you check the wound?” You ask. “I’m not strong enough to take off the bandages…”

“Are you sure you don’t want Nina?” He replies, already slowly peeling the covers off your body.

“So she can make it worse? No. I don’t need Nina for this.” You respond.

Hearing you quip again makes him feel better. The fact he has to touch your skin to take the bandages off, however, is a different kind of battle. The gloves are there as protection, as they always are, but he worries they aren’t enough.

“Kaz” You breathe.

“Y/N?”

“Deep breaths. In for five, hold for three, out for five.” You coach.

He nods. In for five, hold for three, out for five.

The first layer of bandage is off, still a pristine white.

In for five, hold for three, out for five.

A light pink and yellow mixture lightly coats this layer.

In for five, hold for three, out-

“Kaz? What is it?” You ask.

He could vomit- he might, even. This last layer of bandages is almost soaked, with a yellowish outline surrounding a red center.

“I knew I had an infection,” You say with a weak sigh.

He looks away as he peels this last layer off, trying to pretend he didn’t see it at all. Your skin is raw, irritated, and angry. It hasn’t gotten enough air.

“Is there puss?” You ask.

“Yes,” Kaz replies, trying to look anywhere but at the wound.

“Of course. Go get Inej. We’re going to need someone with a strong stomach.”

He nods and gets up to leave.

“And do me a favor- wash your gloves. There should be another pair in the cupboard.” You call after him.

As he comes out of the room, the rest of the crows are waiting.

“She’s awake,” Kaz states, holding the bandages in his hands.

“What did she say?” Jesper asks.

“She needs someone with a strong stomach.” He looks at Inej and cocks his head back toward the door.

“Infection,” Nina states, her lips quirking upward in disappointment.

“You did the best you could,” Jesper tries to reassure. “It was enough to keep her alive.”

“That remains to be seen,” Nina says.

Inej spends the next few minutes making trips in and out of your bedroom, carrying in clean bandages, carrying out bloody clothing, carrying in clean water, carrying out a bucket of- well. Finally, she exits the room for the final time, carrying more used bandages.

“How is she?” Kaz asks.

“Better. She was able to clean up the infection, but it will take her a few days before she gains enough strength to heal her wound completely.” Inej states.

“Did she say anything else?” Nina questions.

“I’m sure you’ll get an earful later, Zenik.” Jesper teases.

“She wanted to see Kaz,” Inej responds. “If you’ve changed your gloves.” She adds.

Kaz nods and enters the room after Inej leaves.

“Hi,” You say, sleepily. Cleaning up the infection took a lot out of you.

“Hi,” He mirrors, sitting in the chair next to your bed.

“Can you give me some water?” You ask.

He nods, bringing the glass up to your lips. You take slow, long sips, trying not to upset your stomach. When you stop taking sips, he pulls the glass away from your mouth.

“How long do you think you’ll need to recover?” He questions.

You laugh, and then you wince, because you really shouldn’t be laughing right now. “About a week. They missed my vital organs. Why do you ask?”

“I need to know how long my healer will be out of commission,” He responds like all you are to him is a means to an end. You would have believed that, once.

“You’ve been crying,” You point out. You don’t point out the new dark circles under his eyes, or how he looks paler than you’ve ever seen him.

“I’ve been sick,” He says, deflecting.

“I will be okay, Kaz. I promise,” You say, wanting to caress his hand. You aren’t strong enough to do it, and the gloves would prevent him from feeling your touch anyway. If he would even allow you to touch his gloved hand.

“Nothing like that will ever happen again,” He says, through gritted teeth.

“You can’t promise that. Not in this line of work.” You reply, searching for answers in his eyes.

“It won’t happen again.” He repeats, and you see the cracks starting to form. “I- I can’t let… I need.. I…you,” He stammers, trying not to cry.

“I’m alive. I’m here.” You say, “Touch me. I’m here,”

Kaz’s breath is shaky as he reaches for your exposed arm. He traces up and down your arm with a gloved finger in slow, repetitive motions.

“That’s it. Now breathe,” You instruct.

His breath slowly begins to stabilize as he breathes in while his finger moves down your arm and out while it moves up. Eventually, he’s calm again, and he works up the courage to lay his hand on top of yours.

“I will heal,” You state. “So- so will you. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to take a long time, but… we’ll heal.”

You don’t expect he’ll ever be able to touch someone without that protective barrier- that’s more a part of him now than it is something that needs to be fixed.

“You should rest,” You tell him.

“So should you,” He retorts.

“If you aren’t going to leave, at least take a blanket,” You state, wanting to hit him with a pillow.

It doesn’t take long for both of you to fall asleep. You, safe in your warm bed, healing from a wound that you just received. Him, asleep in a chair, just starting to heal from a childhood full of trauma.

789 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

mission successful // set it up part two

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Requests

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x gn!Reader

A/N: Part two!!! This feels a bit more rushed than the first part but I hope it still lives up to your expectations <3

You can find part one here!

Summary: While attempting to set their best friends up with each other, the reader and Kaz notice that another issue appeared at the horizon. But nothing an undercover job won't fix, right?

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: Cursing, feelings, Kaz being a little bitch, pining, mention of his touch aversion

“Toss the hat. It makes you look like a criminal,” you joked, soundlessly slipping into Kaz’s office with the intention of asking him if the outfit you had chosen was good enough for the annual University Sponsor’s Ball. Instead of finding him sitting in his chair, doing some last-minute preparations, he was already busying himself with adjusting his unusually vibrant getup. Well, if one could call him trading his black vest for an emerald green one unusually vibrant. You had to admit, he was very nice to look at.

“I don’t remember asking for your input.” His eyes remained fixed on his own reflection in the dirty dressing mirror as he buttoned up the rest of his suit.

“What? No scolding for entering your office unannounced today?” you asked, almost sounding disappointed because he broke the habit.

“I figured you wouldn’t listen anyway, so what’s the point in wasting more time on reprimanding you?” He was acting hypocritically and he knew it. One moment he talked to you as if your company was a burden to him, and the next, he considered begging you to stay just a bit longer because he couldn't handle the empty feeling your absence gave him. It was something he couldn’t quite make sense of. And maybe he didn’t want to. Perhaps some things were better left unopened.

“It’s always so lovely talking to you, Kaz. Really the highlight of my day.”

“Many people tell me that,” he answered sarcastically, hoping he wasn’t currently working on never making you want to speak to him again after all of this was over. “Shouldn’t you be…” The words died in his throat when he eventually turned to look at you.

Even though you had been part of the Crows for years now, he had never seen you look this elegant. Nina had been tasked with making sure that you looked your absolute best, and now he wasn’t sure whether he should thank her, or curse her for succeeding. The job only seemed to get more difficult by the day.

“Shouldn’t I be where?” you asked sceptically, getting slightly worried about how he was acting today.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs with the others?” He corrected, walking over to his desk and hoping that you wouldn’t ask any further.

“Oh, yeah. But Nina and Matthias are Saints-know-where, Inej is in her room doing her prayers and Jesper is helping Wylan get ready, so I figured my presence is not really needed. And I wanted to ask you if this outfit is appropriate or not. It’s a bit… much, in my opinion, but Nina was very insistent on having me wear this.” You let your back lean against the cold wall behind you, waiting for some sort of positive response from him that would help you feel like less of an idiot.

“You came to disturb me because you wanted to know whether I like your outfit? Don’t you have literally anything else to do?” he said, possibly a bit too harshly. He wanted to take the words back as soon as he saw the hurt expression that washed over your features for just a split second.

“Saints, you really can’t wait for all of this to be over, can you?” This was not how he wanted to make you feel. “I was aware that you didn’t think of me as a friend, but I didn’t think that you disliked me this much. I’m going back to the others, we’ll see each other later.” With that, you disappeared into the hallway, your footsteps echoing in his office until you went down the first flight of stairs.

Why did he have to react this way? He wanted to believe that it was the stress that made him act like this, but deep down he knew better. Since he had agreed to helping you with your weird little matchmaking ploy, he couldn’t logically deny the feelings he had for you any longer. The more time you spent with him, the more you occupied his mind. He should have been glad that all of this would hopefully be over after today’s mission, but he really wasn’t.

Having to spend the whole evening essentially glued to your side seemed to make matters only worse. Especially after the way you looked at him before leaving. This would surely be the death of him.

“Someone looks happy,” Jesper remarked cynically as he saw his friend’s brooding expression. Kaz had stayed behind the others, his pace way slower than usual - presumably because the cane he had to rely on was a hundred times flimsier than his usual one. “Did you and Y/N have a fight? I would have thought that you and them would be inseparable right now.”

“Not every feeling I have is connected to Y/N.”

“But on the rare occasion that you have feelings, it’s very closely related to them,” the sharpshooter pried, really trying to wring the last piece of patience from his boss.

“Don’t you have your own entanglement to take care of?” Kaz noted slyly, fully aware that his friend knew exactly who he was talking about.

“Yes, but I am very skilled at multitasking. And you look like you’re in desperate need of some divine intervention. Said divine intervention being me,” Jesper rambled on, not granting Kaz any chance at enjoying a calm walk towards their destination. “So, what’s going on?”

“I don’t see how this should concern you.”

“I don’t see how me telling you about my crush on Wylan concerned you, yet you still listened.”

“Involuntarily. You just came flying into my office and started telling me about it. I didn’t ask,” Kaz corrected, the impulse to drown himself in the canal next to them getting stronger the longer he spoke.

“That’s past the point. Something happened between you and you’re clearly not taking it well, which is pretty shitty considering that you have to pretend that you’re happily married for the next few hours.”

“I said something I shouldn’t have and I doubt that they have taken it well,” he admitted, surprising not only Jesper but himself for being honest for once.

“And why is that affecting you so much?” Kaz knew exactly what he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear him say what he had been dreading to verbalise for so long.

“Because they mean something to me.” He let out a vocal sigh that buzzed in his ears for quite a while after. He didn’t pay any mind to the way his friend’s eyes almost doubled in size as the significance of his words settled in.

“Tell them that then,” he almost squealed, having to adjust his volume in order to not attract your attention. “Tell them that they mean something to you and that you’re shit at expressing emotions and stuff. They know that you’re a bit emotionally stunted, so I doubt that they’d hold a grudge against you for too long. But you need to be honest with them for this to work.”

“You first,” he rebutted - a bit childishly, but that didn’t disconcert him.

“Oh trust me, I will,” Jesper assured smugly, his eyes fixed on the redhead. “This doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. Give them a chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Focus on the task at hand, Jesper.” Kaz deflected, just wanting to get through the evening without adding you to his long list of problems.

Even though he had expected you to give him the cold shoulder after the way he spoke to you earlier, you acted as if you genuinely were utterly besotted with him. You laughed at his jokes, called him pet names and all in all behaved like a doting spouse would. However, every little interaction between you left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Underneath all of your feigned sweetness, you still emitted a strong sense of hurt.

As much as he wanted to dwell on these thoughts for just a bit longer, he had a job to do. You had already chatted up quite a few wealthy merchant couples and dreadfully monotonous university officials, but speaking to the rector of the university was something both of you needed to be very careful with. He and his wife were sitting across from you at one of the dinner tables alongside the edges of the grand auditorium after Kaz had sweet-talked them into joining him in a conversation on the international relations of Ketterdam University.

Everything went perfectly. Well, almost everything.

Barely anyone would assume that the two of you were a couple if they would simply look at you without hearing you speak. Neither of you had touched the other for the entire evening, and it began to create suspicion between the chattering hens that were the merchants’ wives. He was glad you hadn’t initiated any sort of physical contact, knowing that his touch aversion would have given him absolute hell if you had, but you needed to do something if you wanted to stay out of the brutal gossip that was already roaming around the room. Putting all the unwanted attention on you now wasn’t favourable at all.

And he couldn’t even blame them. You were sitting on the same divan, and yet it felt like you were miles apart.

“Lean against me,” he whispered once the headmaster and his wife were busy chatting with another pretentious couple. You stared back at him guardedly, your eyes drifting from his face to his ungloved hand.

“Kaz, I won’t. You-” you tried to interject but he dismissed you quickly.

“We look like we’ve just been introduced to each other. At least pretend like you’re enjoying this. Don’t think about me. I know what I can take.”

Without saying anything in response, you scooted a bit closer to him, slowly letting yourself lean against him. His breath hitched once your body met his, the closeness giving him goosebumps. It wasn’t as bad as he had anticipated it to be. The waves stayed at bay and didn’t reach further than his ankles.

In a sudden rush of bravery, his hand snaked around your waist, gently resting over your hip bone. You wanted to block him - to tell him to stop torturing himself. But the couple turned their attention back to you before you could open your mouth, so you were forced to slip back into the role of the loving partner that you were not at all uncomfortable with.

“Aren’t you two such a lovely couple? It’s very rare to see people this young who already found someone they seem so enamoured with,” his wife cooed, her brass bell-coloured hair fell into her face as she cocked her head to look at you adoringly.

“Oh, why thank you.” Your hand moved to press his thigh briefly, attempting to keep him focused on something different from the contact of your bodies against each other. His own hand squeezed your waist in a silent reply. It felt almost domestic. “Trust me, I’m so thankful to have met him. I never thought I’d ever have the luck to meet someone this trustworthy and loving. He can be quite difficult sometimes, but that’s just what you deal with when you love someone.”

Your words stung - especially after his conversation with Jesper - but he tried to stop his expression from betraying his feelings. What you said sounded so honest. So unfiltered that they nearly sounded true. But, of course, that was only what he wanted to hear. He wanted to believe that he had a chance. That any of this could eventually be real someday. It was just wishful thinking though.

“And I’m thankful that they’re willing to put up with me,” Kaz replied, his voice as gentle as ever. “I’m not the easiest man to deal with, I’m fully aware of that, but they make me want to try. They were likely one of the best things to happen to me in a very long time.”

He felt you tense up next to him, giving Kaz the notice that he was overdoing it a bit.

“Oh my days, may you always think of each other like that,” the woman across from you swooned, flashing her husband a smile that must have been saucy like twenty years ago.

The conversation about international relations resumed, going on for what felt like at least another hour. For the entirety of said hour, he didn’t let go of your waist, occasionally changing the strength of his grip whenever things began to become uncomfortable. You noticed but chose not to intervene.

When the talk was coming to an end, more and more people stopping to have a chat with your conversational partners, you noticed a group of uniformed men in the crowd. Uniformed men that were a bit too vigilant to be plain guests. You felt your mouth go completely dry when you recognised who they were.

“Stadwatch,” you hissed into Kaz’s ear, his eyes meeting yours in an instant.

The Stadwatch didn’t usually frequent university events. They had other duties to fulfil and they were rarely ever needed at campus events anyway. No one had expected them to be here. Not even Kaz. Once they would spot him, things would stop going as smoothly as they had been up until now.

“They can’t see us or else we’re not getting out of here unscathed,” he whispered, a foreign look of panic spread across his face.

“Oh you don’t say?” you shot back sarcastically.

“Kiss me.” The request left his mouth before he could even properly think about it.

“What?”

“If they see us, we have to get away as soon as possible. I won’t be able to outrun them in a room full of people without my proper cane. But if the only thing they see is a couple simply minding themselves, they won’t bother to look at us any longer than they need to,” he explained hastily, his gaze constantly flittering towards the approaching men, whose eyes scanned the auditorium acerbically.

“Kaz, what about-”

“Y/N, just do it.”

You were rendered speechless for a second, not wanting to cross his boundaries any further than you already had. Neither of you could claim to be just friends if you went through with this. However, once you saw the urgency of the situation, you knew that you needed to move.

With one hand on his shoulder, you tugged him towards you, hesitantly pulling him in. You gave him the option of stopping, his lips hovering close to yours for a moment. But he didn’t take it, instead, closing the distance between the two of you - pressing his lips against yours tentatively.

Kaz’s mind was running wild. Not only was he overwhelmed by the fact that his skin was touching yours, he also couldn’t quite fathom that he actually was kissing you. He had imagined kissing you before - a thought that was quickly shooed away whenever it appeared. But truly going through with it had never been on his list of possibilities. Admittedly, the pictures accompanying the feeling of your lips on his weren’t pretty, yet he attempted to push them away as best as he could.

You were alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

He repeated the sentence like a mantra. It seemed to stop the waves from advancing over his knees, so he just continued reciting the sentence inside his mind.

The kiss didn’t last more than a few moments, nonetheless, he wasn’t sure whether his body could handle the surge of emotions that rushed through him. His skin felt like it had been set aflame, while his head was entirely clouded with the overwhelming feelings the kiss had created.

“We should leave,” you breathed out, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him to his feet.

Without saying goodbye, both of you sped through the crowd, not caring what the other guests thought of you. On your way out, you almost ran into Inej and Nina who were more than relieved to see that the two of you were alright. Albeit a bit perplexed by the way your hand was still clutching onto his sleeve.

“Saints, what took you so long?” Nina asked lowly. “We were close to dragging you out there ourselves.”

“My apologies, we were a bit occupied,” Kaz hissed back, nodding towards the Stadwatch officers.

Matthias, Jesper and Wylan were waiting for you outside of the university building, all three of them a quivering bundle of nerves. Jesper’s shirt had been buttoned up very carelessly, whilst Wylan’s hair looked a complete mess. Matthias looked like he was about to murder someone, but that wasn't unusual. Without them having to say a word, you knew that your plan had worked. You didn’t ask them about it directly though. At this point, all of you just wanted to get back to the Slat.

“What is it now, Jesper?” Kaz sighed as the Zemeni boy entered his office with a proud smile. After everything that went down today, he just wanted to spend some time alone, pushing away all of the thoughts that plagued his mind on his way back. He knew that he probably should talk to you, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

��Wylan and I are a thing now,” he basically beamed, rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet whilst looking at Kaz expectantly.

“About time. We thought we’d have to watch you pine over one another until we’re old and gray.” He noticed his mistake as soon as he finished the sentence. His mind had betrayed him once more by giving you this much of a role in his life.

And even though he hoped that Jesper would be too elated to care about his boss’ slip-up, he knew that this was far from reality. His eyebrows threatened to shoot off of his face as he turned Kaz’s words around in his mind.

“We? Who is we? Am I missing something?” he questioned inquisitively.

“No one. You’re not missing anything, Jesper.”

“I’m not letting this go that easily. Who is we?”

“Y/N and I.” He avoided Jesper’s gaze, hoping that he would just let it go this once. But of course, Jesper was Jesper - incredibly obnoxious and lacking any sort of critical thinking.

“Y/N and you? What does that mean? Did you know that Wylan and I liked each other?”

“Don’t be dense. Neither you nor the merchling is necessarily good at keeping a secret for longer than needed. We just couldn’t watch your feelings impact the team like this without saying anything. You could have been done with all of this way sooner had you just caught the broad hints you were giving each other,” Kaz clarified, omitting the fact that you did more than talk.

“Wait, you didn’t just talk about us, did you?” For fuck’s sake, why couldn’t he be this attentive when it came to doing his job? “The coffee date - that was your plan all along! You never intended to take me on a job, and Y/N never intended to go to that café with Wylan. It was all just an elaborate scheme to get us to go on a date! And the fact that you paired us up for the last mission wasn’t just pure coincidence either. You planned all of that! Which was also why Y/N didn’t have a set role in the plan. It wasn’t your main objective. You set us up!”

“Are you complaining?”

“Saints, you smug bastard. Hell, both of you are smug bastards! I suppose that’s why you work so well together,” Jesper laughed, continuously shaking his head in disbelief.

“I suppose that’s why we don’t,” Kaz muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to be audible. But somehow, the Zemeni boy still caught his comment.

“What do you mean? I thought you told them?”

“I didn’t,” he rasped out, his eyes regrettably landing on your chair. A chair you would probably never sit in. At least not for the same reasons you used to. “I couldn’t.”

“Kaz, please don’t tell me that you just awkwardly sat next to them without speaking to them the whole evening. That’s a new low - even for you.”

“It was far worse than that,” the gang leader groaned, letting a hand run through his unruly hair. He considered telling his friend to leave, however, the need to get him off his case persisted. “We kissed.”

“What?” Some of the crows that had been sitting on the ledge outside his window maniacally scattered away, startled by the sudden boom of Jesper’s voice. “You kissed them? It seems like Nina does owe me five kruge now.”

“That doesn’t mean that I told them that I liked them.” If it had been humanly possible, the sharpshooter could have collected his jaw off of the floor by now. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that the Bastard of the Barrel finally did what everyone else thought you had been doing for the entire time anyway without telling you that his feelings weren’t just strictly platonic.

“How badly did you mess up?” he sputtered, sitting down in the chair next to him since he was close to passing out because of the mere stress this situation was causing him.

“Very.”

“Elaborate.”

“The Stadwatch showed up and we had to act fast. Somehow asking them to kiss me was the only idea I had to keep them from seeing us. They were clearly uncomfortable with the kiss, and we have been avoiding each other ever since coming back to the Slat. I don’t think they’ll ever be able to look me in the eyes again.” Jesper’s grin grew wide as he processed his words. This was way better - and equally way worse - than anything he could have imagined.

“You desperate prick,” he chuckled. “Obviously kissing them was your first thought when you needed to look for a way out. If it had been me and Wylan in your situation I would have done the same.”

“But I am not you. I should have come up with something different. I don’t act on the first impulse that shoots through my brain.”

“But you did. And now you hate yourself for going through with it and not being able to hide your feelings for them anymore.” This was probably the first true assessment Jesper had ever made concerning his friend’s emotional landscape.

“What do you suggest I do then?”

“Are you seriously asking me for advice now?” the sharpshooter replied quizzically.

“Don’t push it.”

“Go talk to them. They either absolutely hated it and will never speak to you again, or they feel the same and are just as emotionally constipated as you.”

“Come in,” you called towards the door, while you were still busy trying to get that damned corset off. It had been a nice addition to your already over-the-top outfit, but now it only proved to be a complete nuisance. You just couldn’t manage to take it off.

You had expected Jesper to waltz into your room, boasting about how he quite literally swept Wylan off his feet during their makeshift ‘date’. But instead of an erratic sharpshooter, you were met with a surprisingly hesitant Dirtyhands. He entered wordlessly, shutting the door tightly behind him as if he wanted to keep out an unwanted guest.

Something inside you told him that you needed to brace yourself for one of the cruellest rejections you would ever have to face. He was about to tell you that the kiss meant nothing and that everything going on between you was just merely work-related. Maybe you should have pretended to be asleep.

“You’re still wearing the clothes from earlier.” His statement sounded unsure. As if he wasn’t quite certain that this absolutely extravagant outfit and a corset wouldn’t be your usual clothing choice to wear to bed.

“I have no other choice. This corset is holding me hostage. And I didn’t want to bother the others.” You reached behind you again, fiddling with the knot that only seemed to grow tighter the longer you tried to untie it. “But I’ll have to resort to asking them eventually if I can’t get this saintsforsaken thing to open.”

“Let me,” he proposed meekly, taking a few steps towards you to highlight the sincerity of his offer.

“You don’t have to. I’m sure I’ll figure it out somehow.”

“It’s ridiculous watching you flop around like a fish on land. Let me put you out of your misery,” he tried again.

“Okay.”

You turned around, showing him the entangled mess you had created by not being able to see what you were doing. With steady hands, he got to work, immediately feeling at home with having some sort of puzzle to solve rather than having to face the dreaded conversation. You felt his fingers brush over the fabric of your clothes occasionally, his touch brief but gentle.

“What did you come here to talk about?” You broke the silence, causing him to pause his mission momentarily. He hated that you brought the reason for his visit up while he was still so close to you. But somehow, not having to be face-to-face with you granted him at least some sort of dignity.

“I wanted to talk about earlier.”

“How far back earlier?” you snorted bitterly.

“I didn’t mean to be so harsh on you this morning if that’s what you’re referring to. I understand that I had no right to talk to you like that.” He loosened the last few ribbons that kept the corset pressed against your torso, allowing you to take it off in one swift move.

“That sounds an awful lot like an apology coming from you.” You tossed the piece of cloth to the side, turning to fully look at him again.

“That’s because it is. But don’t get used to it. I don’t want you to become spoiled,” he quipped. “Even though I have to…acknowledge one more thing.”

“Don’t let me stop you from pouring your heart out.”

“The kiss…” he began, closing his eyes to focus on the weight of the things he was about to admit. “It wasn’t completely pleasant - for obvious reasons - and it definitely wasn’t ideal. But I don’t regret it.”

“So you’d be fine with putting it past us and accepting that it was a mean to an end?” In all honesty, you had no idea what he was trying to tell you.

“No, that’s exactly what I want to avoid.” It took him a second to catch himself again. “I don’t think we can act like nothing happened today. I can’t.”

“Are you planning to kick me out of the Dregs?” You sounded a bit more hurt than you had intended to, but the prospect of him forcing you to leave the people you had considered family was not something you took lightly.

“What? No, of course not. Y/N, just listen to me for a bit, okay?” He really wasn’t doing himself any favours, was he? “I would never fire you because of an issue I caused. No matter how lowly you may think of me, I’m not doing that.” He waited for the shock on your face to subside before continuing. “I don’t dislike you. I never did. And I don’t think I ever could. But that’s precisely what’s making this so difficult for me. Everything I said about you at the ball was the honest truth. As honest and truthful as I can be.”

He watched as you started to follow what he was saying.

“You love me? What- How? Why now? I don’t understand,” you faltered, eyes searching his face for an indication that this was all some insensitive joke he was making.

“I have for quite some time now. I just never wanted to admit it. Our ‘entanglement’ with Jesper and Wylan brought all of that back to the surface, I suppose. And I don’t think that I would have been able to act as I used to before if I hadn't told you eventually.”

“I meant what I said too,” you retorted, enticing him to raise a questioning brow. “I do think that you can be a huge asshole sometimes, but I’m willing to put up with it if what you say is genuine.”

“You’re willing to put up with it?”

“Saints Kaz, I’m trying to tell you that I feel the same, quit acting so thick. It makes me like you a little less.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure that I love you? Pretty much. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to kiss you. Or going as your date for that matter.”

“Does that mean that we should thank Wylan and Jesper for being the reason we finally realised that?”

“Absolutely not. Jesper is enjoying his victory way too much for that. Not knowing that they didn’t do all of that by themselves is probably the best choice.”

“About that…”

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light

Kaz Brekker: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @juneberrie @writingmysanity @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @brekkers-desigirl @fall-writes

Misc: @4-ravener-7

226 notes · View notes

chaosofmanyfandoms · 7 months ago

Text

a deal is a deal // set it up part one

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Requests

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x gn!Reader

A/N: I have no words or reason for this fic. I watched the movie 'Set It Up' recently, and I just knew that I had to write a fic inspired by it. I didn't intend on indulging in it this much, but this fic will definitely be a two-partner since I have written almost 10K words and I can't possibly post that monstrosity in good conscience. I absolutely love the concept of matchmaking and fake dating, so consider this fic one huge clusterfuck of tropes I enjoy. And I hope all of you can enjoy it too <3

You can find part two here!

Summary: Wylan and Jesper are helplessly pining over each other, and everyone is starting to get sick of it. Especially Kaz and the reader seem to have suffered enough under their friends' behaviour. So of course, the only reasonable conclusion is to set them up.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 5.0K

Warnings: Cursing, feelings, Kaz being a little bitch, pining, mention of his touch aversion

“Unless you saw someone cheat at Three Man Bramble, I don’t appreciate you spying on paying customers.” You were close to falling off your barstool when Kaz’s voice materialised beside you all of a sudden.

“For Saints’ sake, Kaz!” you hissed at the darkly-clad man leaning against the bar to your left, a certain look of amusement accentuating his features as he saw the way you panickedly held onto the counter. He shook his head at how easily startled you were. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that. I was dangerously close to knocking you out.”

He raised his brows, throwing a telling glance at his cane, and then back at you. Sneaking around wasn’t exactly his speciality. At least not during the main business hours of the Crow Club. He preferred to make his presence known.

“Didn’t I just tell you to stop prying?” Kaz repeated nervelessly when your eyes returned to the card’s table you had been staring at for about half an hour now. Not that he would know how long you had been sitting here. It’s not like he had been watching you during said half an hour. He had other - a lot more significant - tasks to tend to, rather than wasting his time by letting himself get distracted by you.

“Shush,” you silenced him quickly, craning your head slightly towards him to get a better view of your stalking victims. “I’m not spying on paying customers. I’m spying on Jesper and Wylan. That’s as far away from paying customers as it can get.”

“And why exactly would you do that?”

“Jesper went right to the gambling tables after we came back from the job earlier, and he has stayed there ever since. I assume you can guess who has been standing right next to him for just as long? Our little merchling is so in love, it’s painful to watch,” you whispered excitedly, completely ignoring the fact that Kaz was not one to necessarily care for dull relationship gossip.

“I should stop giving you this much time off if this is how you choose to spend it,” he grumbled, subtly following your gaze to watch the terribly awkward scene between the two Crows. Not because he genuinely cared about their immature ways of expressing their emotions, of course.

“Don’t be such a grump, Brekker,” you snorted, giving him a playful eye roll. “Admit it, they’d make such a cute couple! They could probably even compete with Nina and Matthias - don’t tell her I said that.”

“Judging by the fact that Zenik and Helvar were blood-sworn enemies before they fell into their…situationship, that won’t be such a difficult task.”

“See! You think they’d be a great fit too! What a shame one is just as oblivious as the other,” you sighed, twirling around the few remaining ice cubes that floated around in your drink.

“And you think staring them down will help ease their obliviousness?” Your head turned to face him fully, a mischievous glimmer present in your eyes. A glimmer he really didn’t like.

“Help me,” you blurted out.

“Help you with what?” he asked, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Oh, uhm, I have no concise plan yet since I thought you’d just immediately say no to me asking you for help. What I know is that I can’t watch them tiptoe around their feelings any longer. I need to do something. And you are precisely the right person to help me with that.”

“What exactly makes me the ‘right person’ to help you with getting these two idiots together?”

“Think about it. I’m Wylan’s best friend, you’re Jesper’s best friend - don’t you dare deny it! Together we can get all the intel - all the important information on how they feel about each other. It’s perfect! We could set them up and they wouldn’t even notice our involvement.”

“Absolutely not,” Kaz answered determinedly, choosing to not indulge in your childish games any longer. “As long as it’s not affecting their job performance, their relationship is none of my concern. I have more important things to do than worry about their problems with intimacy.”

“Come on, Kaz. Please?” you pouted as the man in question already shifted to head back to his office again.

“No, Y/N. They’ll be fine without our interference,” he tactfully ignored your overly dramatic plea.

“Alright, alright,” you mumbled, watching him leave with a hint of disappointment settling in your chest. “You’ll regret it eventually.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Jesper, you’ll need to- Jesper? Jesper, focus,” Kaz ordered, having to pry the sharpshooter’s eyes away from the window for what felt like the hundredth time today. He, Inej and the lovesick Zemeni boy had been working on the details of a minor upcoming job for over two hours, seemingly not making any noticeable progress. It was safe to say that this issue was instantly accredited to Jesper, whose mind appeared to be somewhere completely else.

Even though Kaz didn’t want to admit it, he did regret not taking you up on your offer of trying to get the two together. It had become more and more evident that they were too blind to see that their feelings were mutual, and Kaz was starting to get sick of it. Why couldn’t they just act on their feelings and spare everyone around them the pain of having to watch them act like insecure little kids? What did they have to lose? It was ridiculous, really.

Kaz knew that he was close to losing his patience. And his composure would jump out of the window soon after if things didn’t change.

“Sorry boss,” Jesper apologised hastily, sitting up a bit straighter and at least acting as if his attention was back on the mindless scribbles in front of him. “I was just a bit lost in thought. The…weather is so pretty today, after all.”

The weather in question was a mixture of dark gloomy clouds and the occasional rain shower - a typical day in Ketterdam, but definitely far from pretty. Maybe the weather that Jesper had in mind was ginger and able to play the flute, Kaz thought.

“We should probably leave this here,” he let out a huffed breath, meeting Inej’s confused glance.

“What? But the jo-”

“The job can only work if everyone is on the same page,” he interjected Jesper’s unnecessary attempt at defending himself. “You can leave - both of you. I’ll see what I can work out on my own.”

“Are you sure you won’t need any help with this?” the Suli girl asked hesitantly, waiting for her friend to give them another task instead of just letting them off the hook this easily.

“No, it’s fine. Go,” he nodded towards the door, his eyes following Jesper, who was already on his way out. Before Inej could do the same, he decided to give her one last task. “Inej? Tell Y/N to come up here in the next five minutes. I need to discuss something with them.”

“You wanted to see me, boss?” you questioned as soon as you entered Kaz’s semi-tidy office space. When Inej told you that he wanted to speak to you, your heart almost sunk to the bottom of your stomach. People being called up to speak to Kaz rarely ever got out with their dignity still intact.

“Sit,” he demanded, his gaze never leaving the papers on his desk as he motioned for you to sit in the chair across from him.

“Kaz, if this is about th-”

“Don’t start. Whatever you were about to tell me has probably not been brought to my attention yet, so I won’t allow it to occupy my mind until it pops up on its own. Now sit.”

You carefully obeyed his request, slowly sinking into the offered chair while your eyes still remained fixed on the man in front of you.

“He has become absolutely insufferable,” Kaz sighed, letting his fountain pen drop out of his hand and finally acknowledging your physical presence with a defeated glare. “I didn’t even think it was possible for him to become even more intolerable.”

“Who exactly are you talking about?”

“Who do you think I’m talking about? Our favourite bawdy flirt-gill has been acting like an infatuated teenage girl and it is driving me mad.”

“Oh! You’re talking about Jesper!” you let out a stifled laugh upon seeing his tired expression. “So you’re basically admitting that I was right about us having to intervene?”

“I’m merely admitting that there was some truth to what you were saying. Don’t get it twisted and don’t get used to it,” he corrected dryly. “And wipe that self-satisfied grin off your face. I didn’t call you up here to bask in your supposed victory.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do about it?” you replied sheepishly, fully aware that you were dangerously close to testing your limits.

“I’m agreeing to whatever you had in mind as long as it stops Jesper from acting like this.”

“Consider it a deal.”

“When I told you that I’m agreeing to whatever you had in mind as long as it stops Jesper from acting like a dotty puppy, I didn’t mean that you were allowed to barge into my office whenever you please,” your boss grumbled, watching you stumble through the door like you had one drink too many.

“Good morning, Kaz, it’s lovely to see you too,” you dismissed his very obviously spiteful remark, walking right up to the chair you had dubbed yours. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our two problem children and I had an idea.”

“Oh, so miracles do happen,” he jeered, letting himself lean back in his chair as he watched you get comfortable.

“With all due respect - which isn’t a lot - go fuck yourself.”

“I’ll consider it once you’re done telling me about that magnificent idea of yours.”

“Okay, so, Wylan just stopped me in the hallway to ask whether I want to get coffee with him next Friday.” A waterfall of words began to tumble out of your mouth, giving Kaz quite a few difficulties following what you were trying to say. “So, wouldn’t it be an absolute coincidence if Jesper would also go out for a coffee on Friday? It would be such a nice change of pace for them to spend time with…different people - other than us.”

“I am not asking Jesper to go get coffee with me,” Kaz replied laconically, giving you a dissatisfied look in an attempt to convey that he was not too fond of your musings.

“I am not asking you to get a coffee with Jesper - Saints, that man is going to think that you have a thing for him. We don’t even have to leave the Slat for this plan to work.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

“Please explain to me again why specifically I have to join you on that job?” Jesper bemoaned as he followed Kaz down the stairs. He was not in the mood for playing his boss’ bodyguard today. He wasn’t even in the mood to leave the Slat. It didn’t help that a certain merchling had been occupying his mind for the entirety of last week, pushing every coherent thought to the furthest corner of his brain. “Can’t you ask Inej? Or Matthias? Or literally anyone else? Wait, why don’t you just ask Y/N? You two seem to be getting along surprisingly well recently.”

“Y/N is already busy,” Kaz objected skilfully. “And having a normal work relationship is not the same as ‘getting along surprisingly well’. Flush these thoughts out of your system immediately.”

“I’m just saying,” Jesper snickered, putting his hand up in front of him defensively.

“Kaz? Jesper?” your cheery voice greeted them as soon as they entered the living room area. Wylan and you had been lounging on the couch for quite some time now, simply chatting about life - and love, even though Wylan refused to give you too much information on his ill-fated crush. Of course, you had ulterior motives for staying that long, but your friend didn’t know that. “What are the two of you up to?”

"We have a job near Fourth Harbour," Kaz replied sternly.

"And he's forcing me to come with him," the sharpshooter groaned, his eyes drifting towards the timid boy sitting next to you, flashing him a cocky wink. "What are you up to? Whatever it is, it looks like a lot more fun than whatever Mister Ruin-My-Mood has in store for me."

"Jesper," Kaz warned, throwing you a quick glance, wordlessly asking you to take over.

"We wanted to head out for coffee and some sweet treats later," you mused, watching Jesper's expression turn sour.

"Won't you look at that, Kaz? This is what other friends do in their spare time," he grumbled.

"Hey, why don't you two just go and grab a coffee?" you offered, your gaze wandering between the two soon-to-be lovebirds.

"Us?" Wylan stammered, his finger pointing from him to Jesper, who looked equally as befuddled.

"Yes, you. Jes clearly isn't in the mood for going on a job today, and I haven't been on a proper one in ages," you suggested, giving your friends an encouraging smile.

"You genuinely want to join Kaz on a job with just the two of you? Like willingly?" the Zemeni boy joked, nudging your shoulder with his elbow.

"I'm sure I'll manage. Kaz?" You gave him an expectant look, watching as the ghost of a smirk flashed over his lips.

"Fine," he rasped, causing Jesper to break out into a wide grin, whilst Wylan looked a little short of horrified. "Maybe now we'll actually get some work done."

"And maybe we'll finally get some peace and quiet, won't we? I haven’t gone out just to get coffee in such a long time.” His attention turned to the young merch, whose head had turned as red as the soles of Jesper’s shoes.

“I’m sure you will have the loveliest of days,” Kaz deadpanned, gesturing for you to follow him outside into the hallway.

“Enjoy your day!” you called before quickly exiting the living room, leaving Wylan alone to deal with his crush. You could have sworn that he mouthed the word ‘help’ before you crossed the threshold to the corridor.

“That worked way better than I had expected,” he uttered, barely loud enough for you to hear his words clearly.

“I told you it would work,” you bragged, earning a disapproving headshake from the man standing next to you. “You’re not the only mastermind in this team.”

“So what’s the next step in your plan then?”

“We could just stay back here and wait for them to come back. I’m sure they’d tell us if something happened between them.” You locked eyes with him again, the intensity causing goosebumps to spread over his arms. “Or we could get out and follow them. Just to make sure that they’re alright of course.”

“I’m not following them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kaz said as he watched you gape at Jesper and Wylan who were currently sitting on the terrace of the café you had pushed them to go to. You found a corner table at the bakery across from where your friends were sitting, giving you the chance to stay unnoticed while also being able to see whatever was going on between them.

“This is fun,” you hummed, leaning a bit further forwards to flash Kaz a cheeky smile, which was slightly hidden by the obnoxious fake roses in the middle of the table. “Don’t you want to see how this will turn out?”

“No.” You frowned at the impassive tone of his voice.

“You didn’t have to join me, Kaz.” He didn’t. He knew that. As a matter of fact, the pile of unfinished documents on his desk only seemed to get higher by the minute. Yet, against all his better judgement, he still abandoned his work in an instant just to go and see whether your plan was working or not. It was foolish to agree to it, however, for some reason, he still did. He was going insane - he was sure of it.

“I don’t trust you to not fuck this up on the first chance you get,” he stated after a short moment of him just staring at the empty space beside your head.

“You trust no one, yet I don’t see you holding Matthias’ hand whenever you let him go on a solo job - well, metaphorically holding his hand.”

Before Kaz could defend himself, the waitress approached your table, bringing over both of your drinks. She had a sickly sweet smile on her painted lips that made him want to bash his head onto the table. He resisted said urge in order to not make a scene though.

“I’ll assume the black coffee is for you?” the woman joked, eying Kaz’s grimly-looking outfit from head to toe, silently accepting the cup and placing it in front of him. She handed you the drink you had ordered and turned around to attend to the other guests. “Feel free to call me over in case you need anything else. Enjoy your date!”

Kaz almost choked on his own spit when he heard that. This was not a date. Not in a million years would he consider this a date. He attempted to seek some sort of confirmation that you shared his sentiment, but when he looked at your face, you didn’t even seem to care about the waitress’ atrocious assumption.

“What is it?” you inquired lowly on taking notice of his slightly bewildered expression.

“She thinks that this is a date. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“… No? Why should it have?” Kaz mentally thanked his luck that Nina wasn’t around. If she had been here to hear the way his heart was running wild she would have probably thought he had a heart attack.

“This is not a date.”

“Yes, I’m very well aware of that fact,” you let out a breathy chuckle in response to that. “And that’s exactly why it doesn’t bother me. I know that this isn’t a date. You know that this isn’t a date. So why should it matter what some random waitress thinks?”

“Oh…” For some odd reason, your answer disappointed him. This wasn’t a date, so you were right to say it. But something inside of him was beginning to make itself known.

“Oh no,” you muttered, your gaze back on the people you were actually here for. He did the same, regretting it immediately as he saw the uncomfortable scene playing out in the other café.

Wylan and Jesper were sitting across from each other at one of the tables on the terrace, giving you the perfect view of every interaction between them. But instead of them looking like the happy couple you had imagined they would be by now, Jesper was frantically collecting paper napkins, trying to help Wylan clean up the massive coffee stain that had formed a deep brown blotch on his previously neat beige sweater. And to make things even worse, the clumsy sharpshooter had taken matters into his own hands, pulling the flustered boy closer to him by the collar, whilst wiping a dry napkin over the mess he made - his face a mixture of despair and complete distress.

“Idiots,” Kaz sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to spare himself the embarrassment of watching them any longer.

“Maybe we should put them in a situation they’re more acquainted with the next time.”

“Are you familiar with the concept of knocking?” He was close to jumping out of his skin when the door to his office flew open without a warning, only for it to be you standing on the other side with two cups of tea in your hands. He hastily caught himself, acting as if you hadn't just scared him shitless. It was way too late for any person with even an ounce of self-preservation skills to enter his space without giving him any sort of notice, but of course, you just had to be the exception.

“Are you familiar with the concept of locking your door if you don’t want to be disturbed?” you quipped, not waiting for him to give you permission to enter before waltzing right over to his desk. The mug was quickly placed in front of him and you threw yourself into ‘your’ chair.

“This may be the Barrel, but some of its inhabitants still possess the basic manners of announcing their presence when they intend to bother me in my own office.” Kaz eyed your offering suspiciously, pulling the cup towards himself as if he feared that you might have spiked its content. “What is this?”

“Tea?”

“I know that it’s tea. I'm not dense,” he said, a bit annoyed now.

“Then why are you asking?”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Kaz, you’re not a toddler. You know what to do when someone places a drink in front of you.”

“Why are you bringing me tea, Y/N?”

“That's an adequate question. I had another idea on how to get Jesper and Wylan to admit their feelings,” you began, enticing Kaz to internally question every single decision in his life that made him end up in this situation.

“And you needed to bring me tea to make me listen to that idea? You're either about to drug me into submission or you’re finally attempting to kill me.”

“Sadly neither - yet. But I had the idea while making tea. And I would have felt bad if I went up here without offering you something to drink too,” you replied meekly, a faint blush settling on your cheeks.

“I hope your idea isn’t tea-related. We shouldn’t bring the two dimwits near anything that's spillable anytime soon.”

"I solemnly swear there are no liquids involved in my idea. At least not explicitly," you assured.

"That better be the case. Let's hear it then," he muttered, begrudgingly taking a sip from his tea whilst waiting for you to collect your thoughts. It startled him how good the drink tasted. He hated that you knew exactly what tea he liked and how he liked to have it.

"You still haven't finished splitting us up in groups for the upcoming heist, have you?"

"If you hadn't dragged me along to play matchmaker, the plan would already stand," he grumbled, looking at the stack of blueprints he had yet to analyse for possible security risks.

"Then I'd like to make one suggestion. How about we - well, you - pair Jesper and Wylan together? We're all pretty familiar with jobs like this, so that shouldn't be an issue. Maybe having them work alongside each other could give their relationship just the push it needs."

Kaz looked like he was about to throw himself out the next best window. It was one thing that you had inserted yourself into the majority of his spare time like an unwelcome flu. Now you were also trying to insert yourself into his work? You were really trying to break him down to bits. And maybe he should let you.

"Please, Kaz. I'll even help you with all your boring preparation and mapping out. I genuinely think this could work," you put forward, knowing that the likelihood of him agreeing to this plan was close to non-existent.

"I'll allow it," he said, averting his eyes to look at basically anything else just to avoid letting them land on you.

"What?"

"Have you gone deaf? I said that I'll allow it," he repeated.

"Kaz, I swear to every Saint you don't believe in, I'm so close to kissing you - you’re amazing!" you exclaimed jokingly, a wide grin on your face.

"Do it and find out what ditch you'll end up in," he threatened, but you were too excited to care about the murderous look on his face.

After almost a week of scheming, scheduling and planning in the security of Kaz’s office, you had finally managed to put together a plan that would ensure two things. The success of the job. And the fact that Jesper and Wylan would be staying at each other’s side the whole time.

“I think we can pull this off,” Kaz muttered, visibly still very much in thought.

“You think we can pull this off?” you asked, absent-mindedly twirling one of his pens around your fingers.

“No.” He swiftly snatched it back, putting it down and giving you a self-assured grin. “We will pull this off.”

A few days later, all the Crows had gathered in the cramped attic space, more or less eager to hear about the plans for the upcoming mission.

“Please don’t tell me that we’ll have to go through all of these blueprints again,” Jesper whined as he saw the stack of layout plans that sat at the edge of Kaz’s desk. They had been on jobs in the University District before, so the quite hefty pile of blueprints wasn’t completely unknown to them. More than one evening had been spent slaving over them, spying out every minuscule detail that could give them any sort of advantage. But these plans were new - updated. And everyone dreaded having to do the whole ordeal of looking at them for a second time.

“Y/N and I already went through them, the annotations should suffice. Not much has changed,” Kaz answered, unaware of the suspicious glances his nonchalant comment created. It was well known that you avoided mapping out blueprints like the plague, so this revelation did raise some brows.

“Y/N and you?” Nina and Jesper blurted almost synchronously. They had noticed your absence from their usual evening get-togethers, simply chalking it up to you being under the weather or something. What they hadn’t expected was you sneaking away from them because you went to spend time with the Bastard of the Barrel. Now that they knew the latter had been the case, they had some certain thoughts on what the reason for these nightly visits might be - none of them strictly work-related.

“Congratulations, you have a basic understanding of auditory information processing. Yes, Y/N and I.” Kaz allowed his gaze to shift towards you. It felt odd to not have you sit in front of him, energetically discussing plans and ideas while the noise of Ketterdam’s streets seemed to have fully vanished underneath the sound of your voices. He hated to think that way, but he had grown used to having you around. Whether it be you staggering into his office to propose another utterly insane plot to get your friends to date, or just you keeping him company with whatever talk you could offer. The thought of this routine being ripped away from him once Jesper and Wylan realise their feelings are reciprocated filled him with more dissatisfaction than relief.

“Since when does Y/N care for analysing blueprints?” The Heartrender asked slyly.

“I don’t. It was my forfeit,” you replied before Kaz could. “We had a bet on how much money Jesper would be able to lose in a span of three days. Let’s just say that Kaz really does know you better than I do, Jes.” A lie. A good lie, Kaz thought. The only reason why you would spend your evenings talking to him would probably be the loss of a bet. But that didn’t make the pull on his heartstrings hurt any less.

“Rude,” the sharpshooter pouted.

“Anyway,” Kaz deflected, returning to his actual intention of this meeting. “We also took the liberty of assigning groups and tasks. So I’d advise you to listen carefully.” He adjusted the paper in his hands, letting his eyes fly over your jagged handwriting for the millionth time. “Helvar will pose as a guard - big and brawny with little to think about. One would say it’s the perfect fit.” Matthias let out a dissatisfied grunt at that comment. “Nina and Inej will keep an eye on who leaves, and who enters. And if there is anything suspicious you will alert me.” The two girls gave him a court nod, content that they were able to work together again. “I will attend as a guest. It’ll give me enough time and trust to hopefully get some information on the new ware shipments that are supposed to arrive the week after the ball. Our main objective is getting intel. Any other material acquisitions are just perks. And finally Wylan and Jesper.” The two boys stared at Kaz with an uncomfortable expression. He had never paired them up before. Why was he starting now? “Since the majority of university personnel will be present at the ball, you’ll take care of breaking into the administration’s office. I need some precise data on the involvement of the Council in sponsoring the university.”

“What about Y/N?” A brief pause followed Inej’s simple question.

After all these hours of planning, you had forgotten to add yourself to the equation. You had been so focussed on giving the two lovebirds some alone time that your absence went completely unnoticed. Both of you felt utterly stupid. How could you have missed that?

“They’ll be my date,” Kaz answered a bit too quickly, not letting the thudding of his heart betray his stone-faced expression.

“My condolences.” Matthias gave you an apologetic but calm look, whilst everyone else in the room seemed to be utterly shocked by their boss’ comment. Even you had to suppress the state of absolute shock that had threatened to spread over your face when he referred to you as his ‘date’. Saints, he himself didn’t believe the words that had just slipped out of his mouth.

“I’ll need someone to chat with the merchant spouses, or else I’ll lose my mind. Their presence can buy me enough time to get the information I need,” he explained, but the majority of his friends were too busy interpreting way too much into this situation to acknowledge his reasoning.

Maybe choosing Jesper as a partner would have been easier on his poor heart.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light

Kaz Brekker: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @juneberrie @writingmysanity @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @brekkers-desigirl @fall-writes

320 notes · View notes