#I almost want to do a language journal where I track what languages I use in a week

[linguenuvolose]

It is insane that I speak more Italian in a week than Swedish. Like, of course living in Sweden I still see and hear Swedish every day but I also use both Italian and English much more than Swedish for sure. It's also interesting because my job includes a great deal of bilingual text production and I always write the texts in Italian first so that my boss can approve them and recently I've noticed that I sometimes struggle to translate texts that I myself have written to Swedish, my native language. It's such an interesting phenomenon.

[kibblemode]

I know like nothing about any of ur ocs or works so, could you sum up telling me about whichever you want so I can ask more questions in person? Please feel free to make the ask as long as possible!

stares autistically...YAYU..galaxy quest is my Main ocverse bc its almost 11 yrs old now and its just been a default in my mind since i was 11-12ish but capitalist creepshow is a close 2nd with how fleshed out it is...my oc carrd has some good info character wise but its lacking on worldbuilding + plot stuff bc im insanely character focused and suck at that shit badly LOL, also the plot/episode page and number of seasons on gq's page is outdated bc i recently like completely redid the plot and havent updated it yet 😭 anyway u can have existing gq lore. sorry if this is weirdly worded and hard to understand im at work rn 😢 i also have a couple scattered tumblr posts on random important bits of lore/character stuff ill get them later. oh ya and toyhouse if u want to see whos who or whatever. a couple side characters havent been redesigned yet but ill get there eventually lol

gq is like. a 90s-2000s CN styled adult cartoon (i always sum it up as if futurama and chowder were 1 cartoon. BIG BIG influences from chowder especially with the voice acting my goddd )..its Planned to have 5 seasons, it used to be 4 but with the new plot i had to add one to fit it in without Completely starting over on every single season lol, also perhaps 1 semi canon movie and a small side series for a bunch of silly mostly canon fillers i couldnt fit into the show itself.

so like i said im bad at having a consistent plot, also words are hard for me so ur getting a Very shitty bastardized version of what i Do have.

Basically it takes place mostly on 2 planets, earth and alkaliba(i hate this name i made it up when i was like 15ish, i just cant think of something better rn😔) its initially in 2009, but actually this is like a Different 2009. bc basically there was a mass extinction like several hundred million years ago and everything just kinda started over but like only Slightly different (sounds stupid af out loud but just trust me ok) alkaliba had existed for a Very long time the next galaxy over and it just so happens that the planet is dying and all their natural resources are fucked. so melody (lenarrs mom) set up an agreement with alkaliba that they could borror resources from earth. (melody is thousands of years old, but thats a secret lol) also melody was from another dimension Also a very powerful sorcerer and kept most of her spells and whatnot in her journal But its written in her native dimensions language which nobody on earth (except lenarr) can read. anyway she used her magic to connect the 2 planets using a series of portals called stargates (again. subject to change, also they connect to a Lot of other planets besides just earth but whatever) that allowed ppl to easily travel between the 2. bc of this alkaliba Kinda "colonized" (FOR LACK OF A BETTER WORD) earth? and that was normal for a few thousand years.

anyway for s1 jump ahead to where canon starts (2009) tix is sent to earth by meredith (queen of alkaliba, tix is her son but u dont know that until later in s1 when they actually Go to alkaliba) to pretty much track lenarr down and convince him to use his powers he inherented from melody (lenarr is not aware of this at all) to pretty much save alkaliba (BIG SPOILER. THIS IS SOMEWHAT DISHONEST. sure lenarr could Choose to save alkaliba but that would result in the destruction of earth or it could be vice versa. it cant be both BUT youll see) so he find lenarr Completely by coincidence after lenarr offers to help him bc tix has never seen snow or ice in his life and is having Difficulty. anyway this is ridiculous that i havent figured this out after 10+ years but tix does Something to convince lenarr to go with him, bc obviously lenarr would be very hesitant to. a bunch of shit happens u know the drill 1st episode shit to establish everything. i could type out a full episode 1 plot but i don't particularly want to rn😢

s2-3 is just mostly playing toys w my characters and tix teaching lenarr how to use his powers (s1 finale is when lenarr starts to Get it but u know) also s2 is noodles villain arc and s3 has eugene in it which is so fun bc i really really like noodle and eugene is funny. OH AND THE MAIN VILLAINS. hydro is the Main antagonist but he has 5 other idek what to call them. henchmen????? that either work for him (griff, dimentia, derric) Or are loyal to him bc he practically saved their life (grem and pixie, also dimentia a little? its complicated) and while Yes hydro IS a villain and he IS evil, hes actually just trying to save earth bc in his mind alkaliba is actually like the typical alien invasion thing u see in movies (not exactly whats happening but it Is possible u could see it that way) he just goes abt it in the weirdest most fucked up way possible. also BIG plotpoint worth mentioning, grem and tix were dating for at least 3000+ years before tix left him for his (now deceased) wife, which grem is Extremely bitter abt. so hes obviously loyal to hydro bc hydro helped him escape his abusive father BUT hes also doing it for himself to get back at tix. (important note tix Was the asshole in that situation 100%, grem is actually right to be upset a little but probably not That much) anyway once lenarr tix and zach(forgot to mention zach is tixs best friend who tix brings along bc hes smart and good at strategizing, also bc tix is GAYYYYYY) get to alkaliba finally it is literally impossible to conceal the fact that tix is a prince there. and bc lenarr doesnt know the Real reason why hes there he doesnt think much of it, in fact he finds it weird that tix wouldnt tell him that.

jumping allll the way to s4 when the Actual shit goes down. this is where shit gets less in depth bc its Extremely new..this is when lenarr learns that hes being used to basically doom earth, u know. his home planet. (considering having either hydro or grem tell him, not in a nice way either) obviously he gets really upset abt this, Especially bc its been at least a couple years since canon started and zach and tix are basically like family to him at this point. he probably runs off idk. i need to think abt it more bc i JUST made this up but im considering recycling an OLDD concept from like early highschool gq where lenarr gets to visit melody in her home dimension. also forgot to mention. melody and lenarrs older brother ruben both committed suicide when lenarr was younger. melody only did it to go back to her home dimension, but ruben did it bc he got rlly depressed after melody died ÷(

anyway lenarr gets to see melody, its very sweet ÷) he talks to her abt his problem abd she gives him some kinda cryptic advice bc Plot. this changes lenarr basically, at this point hes mastered melodys spellbook and Now he can create his own spells or whatever. SO. he comes up with a way to make it so NEITHER planet gets destroyed somehow. this works bc lenarr is actually like twice as powrful as melody at his full potential. after this the main villains would most likely have their redemption arcs somehow i havent thought up What exactly happens yet. and for s5 its basically just me wrapping things up and playing with my toys freely...theres still active plot happening thats very relevant to the story obviously but its a liiiiitle less high stakes and thats all i got in regards to the main plot bc if i sat here and typed a detailed explanation of my fun fillers id be here for years

SOME GENERAL TRIVIA FUN FACTS DEVELOPMENT SHIT 4 FUNSIES TOO.

originally gq was Not supposed to be a cartoon nor was it an ocverse. it was a fucking spm fan spinoff i made up bc i was autistic af and 12. grem was my first ever oc that was Not a fursona and he was actually terrible like as a person. i mean hes kinda terrible now but not as bad

griffs name was changed a few years after i made him. it used to be falcon (STUPID AF BUT I WAS 12. REMEMBER THIS.) also i thought itd be funny for his name to be griff bc youd think its short for griffon but no its short for grifford. also texs and tiabia names were changed too. tiabis name was janette and she was actually originally an adult but i thought itd be better if she was 7

like 99.999% of my original designs and concept art + silly little comics of my villains bc it was just them when it was still a mario thing is lost media forever bc my mom accidentally threw it all away when we moved to a new house i miss it every dayyyy id do Anything to see it again..... the Only original stuff i have is from highschool and i fucking hate my artstyle then so its sad af...its just lenarrs finalized design (which actually barely changed since then) and MAYBE if i looked hard enough thru my old computers i could find zachs original design too? idk i dont feel like looking

speaking of the spm thing. dimentia was supposed to be dimentios little sister which is why shes named that (original i know) but i decided to take the name a different direction after it became its own thing

grem went through the most design changes by a huge margin, but imo derrics few redesigns were the most insane and drastic. pixie went through One change and it got reversed a couple years later LOL

some Stupid reasons behind design changes were 1. hydro used to have 4 heads, hence the dumbass wordplay on "hydra" but i got so fucking fed up with drawing them every time + i kept forgetting to so i just made him a regular dragon. and 2. griff has his mask bc i literally just kept getting mad trying to draw his face right. thats literally it. thats the only reason.

fun fact noodle was probably my least favorite oc before i redesigned him. i hated him SO FUCKING MUCH especiallyafter i came up with his villain arc. now hes my favorite toy and i lovie

HUGE props to my bff @/killer12345blog. hes literally my cowriter and theres a couple characters of his in the main canon that play a HUGE part (eugene, daffodil, and louise) also eugene was actually a joke character and i HATED HIM (AS PART OF THE BIT) but i randomly got really attached to him now hes the villain for s3😇

gq was actually RECENTLY renamed. it used to be H.I.D.E. dont ask me what it means or what it stands for idfkkkkk i thought itd come to me eventually but it didnt so i changed it bc w/o a meaning it was just dumb af

tix was originally very very small. like around pixies size. also gq was still a video game for a bit but it was like its own Thing by then. tix was intended to be the tutorial character kinda like tippi

also im going to go ahead and say this LMAO. the original alkaliban designs were Heavily inspired by homestuck bc thats what i liked back then. ive tried soooo hard to make it not as obvious but i feel like itll always be so so obvious 😭

im actually kinda considering having gq be 3d animated instead of 2d, stylistically if that were the case itd look kinda like. idk. do u remember that moomins cartoon they made a few years ago. like that. but i seriously doubt ill end up making it 3d anyway

i fucking hate musicals usually but my GOD are there a couple showtunes i want in there. jfc. i have a dedicated yt playlist of songs i want in gq Or relate heavily to certain characters/events. hi. speaking of i like to think gq would have a very 80s cartoon soundtrack like the one in labyrinth or something similar

tix and zach were originally Much younger. tix was like 19 or 20 and zach was 17 iirc? i changed that bc 1. dumb and 2. i wanted tix and zach to be in love i didnt quite like the age gap it was a little iffy

the origin of lenarrs name is kinda silly. i was having trouble coming up w a fitting name and one day after school we drove past a sign for lennar homes or whatever the companys called and i went AHAAAAAAAH!☝️🤑

i think noodle was originally brazillian, idr why that changed..also tex was japanese iirc

tix is like Billions of years old probably. its intentionally left unclear and vague but also IDEFK.

im probably forgetting LOADS of important shit but whatever....u get the idea + ive been typing for like 2 hours in between work shit

[askbensolo]

Journal Entry #48: Local Dude Already Hates the Job He Was So Excited to Get

Yeah. What the title says. It's been only a few weeks and I already hate my job. I don't know what I was expecting, really.

But...hey. The pay is higher than at my old position!

...That's my little mantra, anyway. I close my eyes, take a couple of deep breaths, and say, "the pay is better, the pay is better, the pay is better..."

Man...I don't know where to start. So...I guess I'll just start with the fact that upon starting this position, I was given my own text generation droid. And that already tells you a lot, right off the bat, doesn’t it?

I know I joked about that at my last job. But now it's not a joke—it's real.

Text generation droids are fairly new. Which is super weird, since protocol droids (and other droids capable of mimicking natural language) have been around forever. But, while natural-language droids use their speech abilities to communicate with us (and are so good at it they almost feel like other sentients)…they're not necessarily designed with the purpose of generating complex, or worse, creative, text samples. Threepio, for example, has no idea what to do when I ask him to freestyle rap.

And I have asked. More than once. Anyway—

My text generation droid at work is one of the Scribblr models. It's an SC-2 unit, so, I, uh...call her...Essie.

She also doubles as a personal assistant. And resembles a cute little humanoid lady, which I'm sure is sooo not sexist at all.

Only…about the size of a bottle of wine. She’s meant to fit on top of your desk, and she doesn’t move, which is weird for a droid. You have to pick her up and carry her if you want to move her around. But, mostly I just leave her in her charging dock on my desk. She communicates wirelessly with my work computer, and I can view her text generation outputs on the screen.

At first, I refused to use Essie's text generation function, because I, uh, you know, kinda wanted to WRITE, since that's what I thought I was hired to do—but my manager soon made it very clear to me that I could not possibly succeed in churning out the sheer quantity of content expected of me, without using Essie. Sooo...Essie and I are a team now. Unfortunately.

No—it sucks. It really, really sucks. What I am currently doing at my job cannot be described as writing. It's content generation, it's clickbait, it's mind-rotting sensationalist drivel for the masses, it's advertising and sponsored links and a never-ending battle to capture as much holonet traffic as possible—it's everything I hate as an artist.

But...hey. The pay is better!

Thepayisbetterthepayisbetterthepayisbetter—

Sigh. My hands are kinda tied. It's not gonna look good on my resume if I quit so soon. And I am not interested in starting a whole new job hunt, or crawling back to my old department in tears. So...guess I'm just...stuck here for a while. Me and Essie. Good ol' Essie...

The interesting thing about Essie is that I am 100% sure she is stealing my data at all times, recording my speech patterns when I talk to myself, tracking whatever little writing is actually being produced by me—because there is no other explanation as to why, instead of saying "Good morning, Ben Solo" like she used to, she is now saying "Yooo, 'sup buddy!" and "What's shakin’, my dude?"

She even said something was "wizard" the other day and...hooh, that made my heart flutter. Everyone else keeps telling me to stop trying to make "wizard" happen. But no. Not Essie.

I should probably be wiping her memory more often...but, honestly, I am way too amused by this. Today after lunch she said to me, "By the way bro, you have a stupid freaking meeting at three o'clock," and, ha—let me tell ya—it made my day. Fannie's lucky I still don't think droids are sentient, because, heh—well—if I did—wait, wait, no, actually I’m not gonna finish that sentence.

Ohhh, Essie! My bright light in a dark world.

...But I’m not becoming a droid guy. I’m not! Beebee-Ate and Threepio still drive me insane at home. And get this! You remember Sweeper? From my old office? Well, it turns out that every single department at the ChommSec Daily has also not updated their cleaning droids since before the Battle of Yavin, so it’s not the same Sweeper that’s on my new floor, but there’s definitely a Sweeper here, who I call Sweeper 2, and he is just as annoying as Sweeper 1. ARGH

[igotanidea]

Hello Devil : Matt Murdock x reader

request/ summary: what do you think about Matt/f!reader where they grew up together and were really close, but then Matt went to law school, but reader decided to study to become a journalist (or smt like that) in another city, so they kinda lost each other. Maybe reader wrote some articles about Daredevil and they met again in orphanage (like in the begging of the last season)

I changed the part about studying in another city but tried my best to stick with the rest I'm still taking tags.

masterlist

Warnings: angst, fluff, inuendo to smut, heartbreak, tears, indulging in the traumatic past, you name it.

„For God’s sake! Did you really think you could hide from everyone and pretend to be dead?”

“Sort of. Yes.”

“Unbelievable. Did you believe I wouldn’t track you down?”

“Honestly I was hoping you would give up.”

“You Murdock may be a hell of lawyer but on the other side of the room you are an idiot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop it. Just … stop.” I shot him a glance and even though he could not see it I knew he knew what was my face expression.

We were currently sitting in the St. Agnes’ convent hospital, my dumbass of a friend being beaten up to shit, bleeding on the bed, plastered from his toes almost the head and I was just observing.

“Why, Matt? Why would you do that to… to Foggy, to Karen, to me? I mean, come on! Do you even realize how sick and worried we were?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that! I know you do not intend to make it better so your words mean nothing!”

He just groaned in pain and closed his eyes.  Honestly I didn’t give a damn on how much suffering he’s been though. He put this on himself the very second he choose that vigilante suit over everything else that mattered in his life.

I knew Matt since I could remember. Even before this fateful accident that left him blind. He was always a protector. In primary school he was willing to stand up to the bullies and tormentors, even if at the end he ended up with broken bones and bruises all over his body. Must have something to do with his father being a boxer. Speaking of parents, since my were always busy with work and life stuff I was practically raised in the Murdock household which lacked woman’s hand. Or rather girl’s hand back at the time. I was a quick learner and soon enough was taking care of both Matt and Jack, helping them clean their messes when needed and patch them up. Me and Matt were inseparable, even after he lost his eyesight. Since then life was not easy on him. Jack Murdock was murdered in cold blood and father Lantom took him under his wings. Raised him as catholic. That was probably the first difference between us, since I was never into religion. However, I was also not an ignorant or troublemaker. Lantom was really smart man and I thoroughly enjoyed talking to him about, well, everything. Religion, life, economy, language. I suppose he had as much impact on me as on matt since thanks to him I got interested in literature and writing and when it came to choosing college and career path I decided to become a journalist. On the other hand, Matt wanted to be a lawyer. Given his big mouth and way to talk and twist words I wasn’t surprised.

“a lawyer, huh? That is ambitious.” I muttered. We were sitting on the park bench discussing how we imagine our future

“It just feels right you know, the way to protect the people.”

“Sounds like you Murdock. “

“And what about you? Journalism? I think you were always good at discovering the truth and hidden meanings.”

“Does that surprise you?” I grinned “we were raised together and you are not exactly a definition of open book.”

“Guess we both learned a lot from each other, right.”

“I can’t imagine you learning anything from me.”

“Don’t be modest. You showed me how to trust my guts. And how to control emotions. And how to think before acting..

“ Definitely failed at the last one” I took a sip of coffee and Matt smirked “maybe the law school will chasten that hot-headedness. Though I hope not. It’s who you are after all.”

“Thank you” he grabbed my hand and gave it a light squeeze “but now, that we are talking I need you to promise me something.”

“Shoot.”

“Promise me you won’t forget about me. That you will call and contact me and …. You know. I don’t want to lose you. You are my best friends.”

“I promise. You won’t get rid of me to easily.” I smiled laying my head on his shoulder

“ That was cliché, Ms. Reporter. If you want to succeed I suggest you start working on your stock of words.”

“Idiot!” I shoved him playfully.

5 years later we were both done with college. And about that promise….. I hoped it would work better but was counting for the worst, breaking contact included, so generally speaking it worked half-way. I called and occasionally came to visit, but it wasn’t as often as I wished. The last year was the hardest since I was a witness to some unexpected event. I scored an internship in New York Bulletin and took my job extremely seriously, trying my best to come up with the story that will make my career skyrocket. And then, almost like from-heaven-sent some vigilantes started coming to life. First, it was the Avengers. Captain America, Iron Man, Black Widow. Personally my favorite of them was Hawkeye – the guy was just doing his job, staying quiet, not showing off. But that was also exactly the reason why the chances of writing a story on him were like zero. Stark was much more available and I made it my personal mission to reach for him. It took a lot of effort but in the end was definitely worth it. My boss , the chief editor was pleasantly surprised of my uptake on the story and at the age of 23 I was confided with my own column in the newspaper. That was also the moment when my phone started to ring. A lot of magazines wanted to recruit me but I refused all of them. My current job was my home and I had too much of a good relationship with my boss to ever leave him.

“Fuck!” I muttered as I hear the phone ring again “Not interested!” I throw to whoever was on the other side, believing him or her to be another HR caller.

“That’s unfortunate. Did the soda water rush into your head already?”

“Hello counsellor. I may not be good at law but don’t those words constitute a defamation? How do you call it ….” I searched for the right expression “slander?”

“Someone’s been studying the vocabulary.”

“Took your advice, Murdock.” I smiled through the phone

“Seemingly it payed off.”

“And you are calling me to brag? “

“I’m calling to congratulate you. This is big, you know it. And I’m proud of you.” Some incoherent words came from the distance “Foggy is too.”

“Well, thank you both.”

“My friend!” Foggy grabbed the phone from Matt “this calls for a celebration, don’t you think. My treat. Josie’s?”

“Where else? Beer and dirty, sticky floor is a perfect sing I did not become too conceited.”

“Great! Meet us there at 9. Works for you?”

“Sure thing, see you there guys.”  

***

“To your success, redactor. Next step will be the chief editor if you keep the pace” Foggy raised a glass and me and Matt joined him.

“You know what they say, counsellor, dream big.” I grinned and toasted ��to our success. Now, if I ever get in trouble while investigating for an article I suppose my two best friends would get me out, right?”

“Anytime. And since you work on the superhero stuff it might be more then less often.”

“So, anything in particular on your agenda now?”

“I;m thinking about focusing locally, hell’s kitchen . After all we have our own hero/vigilante. The devil of hell’s kitchen?”

Matt nearly choked on his beer but I did not took notice of his unusual behavior and neither did Foggy. At least at first, since after a second it was necessary to pat him on the back to avoid a casualty.

“What is wrong with you?” Nelson asked his partner in confusion

“Down the wrong pipe, I guess. You know what, I’m suddenly very tired, I think I’m gonna head home, but you two stay and have fun.”

“Oh, come on Matt!” I whined “Don’t be a party breaker”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You have to forgive a blind man.”

“Do I? Do we? What do you think Foggy? Should we let him get away with this one?”

“Not a chance. We’re gonna get back at him the moment he least expects it.”

“You like to keep me hanging, don’t you?” he smirked and started to walk towards the exit

“Hey, Matt, do you need a walk home?”

“Thanks searcher, but I’ll be fine. Don’t want to more of a celebration spoiler.”

“What did he just call you?” Foggy was confused by the nickname Matt used

“Honestly I have no idea “ I took a sip of a beer “but knowing Matt, it’s gonna stuck for good, so I better get used to it. Searcher. It has a nice ring to it after all.”

“Maybe. But Matt’s sudden leaving was strange.. .”

“No, Nelson. I refuse to spend the rest of the night talking about his shitty behavior. I want to get drunk, do some karaoke and then get more drunk.”

“We have a reputation now, my friend. Should be wise about what we are doing.”

“Please, Foggy. Just this once?” I made puppy eyes on him and after a while of hesitation he let go.

“shit, you make me break so easily. Must be the pretty girl charm.”

“I’d prefer term smart girl charm.”

“Well then, you are certainly both.”

***Have to H

I’m not sure how we ended up a bit wasted on the streets of New York, heading towards my apartment, laughing like no one could see us and like there were no tomorrow when we will have to go to work and act like adults. Nelson was a gentleman after all and made sure I got home safe, even if it was a bit of challenge for him. That was highly appreciated. As soon as I came through the door I feel on the couch and instantly fell asleep.

Barely couple hours later the alarm in the phone went off making me jump off the bed. I groaned feeling tense and numb, realizing it was not Saturday but simple, boring Wednesday. “Time to sober up” I thought to myself shaking off the blanket…. Wait. The blanket? I was absolutely sure I did not cover myself last night. Or maybe I just couldn’t remember? Perchance it was just my mind playing tricks on me? Was I going crazy? Was that the influence on my superhero column? Before I started spinning, thankfully the phone started ringing and I was more than happy to see it was Matt.

“Hey there, Murdock.”

“Morning sunshine. How was your night? Did you got home safe? Did you sleep well?”

“Where does this concern of yours come from?”

“It’s not concern. More like … sense of duty….”

“Oh, I;m your duty now? That is funny. I clearly remember it being the other way round” I smirked and somehow knew he could sense that even through the phone “But seriously, the night was good, the sleep however a bit short.”

“Did you use your magic blanket?”

“Yes. I mean it’s actually a bit strange…”

“How so?”

“I can’t remember putting it out yet this morning I found it on me…”

“you know, the alcohol kills brain cells, maybe it’s already affecting you.

“Haha. Very funny . Have a nice day counsellor, meet you later?”

“Not tonight. I … I will be busy with some stuff.”

“Ok, then how about I bring you some Thai or Chinese?”

“Not tonight.” His voice was stern and cold and that left me a bit suspicious. Was he hiding something?

“Look Matt, if you are having any lady friend over it’s fine. You can just tell me. Now or later, when you ready.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow” he hung up on me.

Fine. If that’s how it’s going to be, no pressure on him. Give him the distance.

*** “I’m putting you on Daredevil story” Ellison entered my office unannounced. Guess that’s what you get being chief editor

“That’s not new” I frowned “you already gave me that topic before, so….”

“There are some rumors around town”

“What rumors?”

“Some people might or might not have notices strange movement on the pier.”

“Like … like outlaws? But if we got that he is surely gonna be there”

“You are a smart one, aren’t you? Go there, check it out. BUT. Figure it out during the daytime, you hear me? Can’t risk you getting hurt or kidnapped kid”

“Please do not call me that” I rolled my eyes at him “And I get more chances if ….”

“No. Daytime. That is an official order. Repeat after me. Day hours.”

“Ok, fine, fine! Day hours.”

“Good. Now you may go. It’s your work after all so bring me something good.”

Oh, I will bring you something better than just good.

I really liked Ellison, cross my heart. As much as I hated going against him, I was not the one to back up on a good story. Daytime was fine. But I never promised to stay away at night, right? So, like a good girl I checked the pier and since nothing interesting good came up I prepared for some more research. 5 years of a karate class and a self-defence course could finally be used to something good. When the dusk settled in I put on a hoodie, some comfy pants and light shoes that made almost zero sound and prepared for my mission. The rumors were true. As I was hiding behind the lorry I noticed some men dressed like ninjas (what else?) trafficking something. Or rather someone – some poor girls, my age or maybe even younger. Shit! How sick was that? “Should I take action” I started thinking but before I could act on that thought some silhouette came from the shadows and took those men down one by one, getting the girls to safety. Here he was. The Daredevil. It would be unwise to just come out now since anyone could be watching so I tried my best to follow him as he fled the scene. If what I heard about him was true his supersensing would not leave me unnoticed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”  how he managed to be behind me despite the fact that a second ago I saw him in front was a mystery “Do not… turn around. Eyes front. Answer my question.”

“ok, fine, Jeez. I’m no threat. Just a journalist. I’m writing about you. “

“and why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. To show people you are not bat-shit crazy vigilante? That you protect people and not hurt them? Living proof I just saw.” I shifted a bit but he was quick to grab my hand behind me and force my gaze up.

“Do not turn around, girl. This is dangerous for you. Let it go now. No more following me. No more tracing my steps, you hear me?” Why was there something oddly familiar about his scent and the way he was holding me? It was not a tough, firm grip but rather a gentle and comforting hold. Like he really was concerned about my safety. “This is your last and first warning. Now. Get out of here.”

Do you think I stopped after that? Well, you are right, I did not. I wrote that first article and then another and another. At some point they started to become boring and I knew I had to put on my suit once again and take action into the field.

As the night came I was standing on the street wondering who, where and why might be in trouble. The most dangerous place at the moment was the alleged lair of a drug dealer who was also doing in sex-trafficking. If Daredevil shall appear anywhere that would be it. Being a committed reporter I walked right there, not without a bit of a trembling but trying my best to be invincible. It almost worked. Almost being the key word here. I was just about to sneak a peek thought the window when a sudden pain grew at the back of my skull, my vision became blurry and I lost consciousness.

When I woke up I was in a small room with a couple more girls hunched in the corner. The terror and fright on their faces make me feel helpless and stupid for falling into such primitive trap. My hands were tied on the back and I could feel my right eye swelling and my lip bleeding. Not really much chances of doing anything, even given my karate knowledge.

“Oh, she’s awake.  This little one is pretty” one of the man grabbed my chin forcing me to look at his masked face “we will get a lot of money for her.”

“get your hands off me, you….” a slap on the face made me go quiet. Just play it smart

“You think I’m pretty?’ I tried to talk at him while also working on untying my hands

“I think you talk too much, vajze”

“Wait, you are Albanian?” another slap on the cheek and I knew I would end up with bruises tomorrow. On the good news my shaking made the ropes loosen a bit so now it was an easier way to free myself.

“You are also smart one, aren’t you? So tell me, goxha, how did you end up here?”

“You step away from the girl, now.”

“Took you long enough devil!’ I yelled as he started to fight. It did not took him long with all those flips, turns, jumping and throwing punches along with tripping up to knock all the opponents down.

“Are you insane?” he turned towards me, untying my hands, which at this point were absolutely numb “why do you never listen? I explicitly told you…..”

“Watch out!” I yelled as another opponent came right at him from behind. Without thinking I took a swing, turned and kicked him right into the chest causing the man to fall down with a groan. Daredevil just stood there with no face expression. At least on this part of face I could actually see.

“I explicitly told you to stop your actions.”

“Wow, that felt great” I exhaled deeply grinning like crazy “All this adrenaline rush! I love it! I need to do it more often!”

“What did you just say?”

“I;m gonna write one hell of a story on this one, trust me, it’s gonna be great!”

“Searcher!”

“What did you just say to me?” I turned to face him my eyes opening wide “No. no, no, no, no. “ I took a step back realizing what was happening. The devil of hell’s kitchen did not seem to bother my disbelief as making sure no one was around he slowly took of his mask.

“Are you kidding me?! Is this some sort of twisted joke?! What the hell, Matt?!”

“I’m sorry” he grabbed my hand gently and put it on his cheek “you wanted the truth about Daredevil. Well, here it is.”

“And what am I supposed to do with it now?!” I spit “Wait. Does Foggy know? Or Karen?” I already get the chance to meet their charming assistant.

“No. And it has to stay this way. Knowing who I am, who daredevil  is makes them a target.”

“And what about me? Doesn’t that make me a target as well.”

“No. You perfectly work on that on yourself”

“Matt!”

“shh. Keep your voice down. It’s not safe here. I’ll get you home and we’ll talk, ok?”

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell him to piss off and  leave me alone. I wanted to call him a liar, a hypocrite and a martyr, but I just couldn’t. The way he was looking at me with those sad eyes and puppy face, damn him! The way he put a hand on my shoulder and the small of my back as we entered his apartment. The aftershock was slowly starting to kick it and I fell into some sort of numbness.

“Tell me” I demanded the second he made me sit on the sofa and handed a cup of chamomile tea. I hate chamomile but at this point I didn’t even care .

And so he explained everything. How it all started at college. How he believed it was his calling to help people in need. To support them. To protect hell’s kitchen from bad guys. 

“You are insane, Matt. Wasn’t it enough for you watching your father beaten up every night and now you do the same?”

“Do not speak about my father like that!” he hissed

“I hold nothing more but respect for Jack Murdock. He practically raised me. Yes, some of his choices were stupid, but he was a good man.”

“And you think I’m not. “

“You have learnt nothing from his mistake that is all I’m saying. You are waging a one-man war against the world. How does that feel?”

“Like I’m doing something and not just pretend to.”

“What are you suggesting, Murdock?! That my job is worth shit?”

“Well you said that.”

“look who’s talking. What happened to I want to be a lawyer to help people? Does law do not feel enough anymore”

“It doesn’t! You knew that if you were more concerned about real-life events and not just your hero part!”

“Well apparently heroes are a real-life events since one of them is in fact sitting in front of me!” I panted and at his moment I realized we were both standing up panting heavily with all the anger. “You are bleeding” I shot a quick glance at his chest, completely bared since he got rid of the costume.

“So are you” he pointed towards my collarbone and took a step closer “let me patch it up” he whispered calming down a little.

“Don’t; you dare” I tried to push him away but he was faster and grabbed both of my wrist holding them tight against his chest. We looked straight at each other and it was impossible to say who made the first move, but suddenly there was no space between us as his lips closed on mine. Matt let go of my wrist, his hands closing around my back pulling me close, despair, pain, fear and relief eminent in every move of his mouth against mine. I was not the one to keep him away as I arched my back and tilted head to feel him with every inch of my body and deepen the kiss. Letting go of all the anger and feeling of betrayal. Being with him, here, knowing what and who he was it felt right. We started to move against each other, his palms going down to my waist and thighs, holding them from behind, lifting me up and locking my legs around his waist. At this point I was caged between the bathroom wall and his bare, broad, bruised chest and it was so hot. I never knew how much I wanted him and clearly he did wanted me too. I shifted a little bit just to tease him and that little hardness I felt against his pants and that made him groan. But not a good groan, rather pained one.

“Murdock?” I took all of my strength to pull away, whining internally at the loss of contact “ You good?”

“Yes. More than good, honestly’ he leaned to keep kissing me but I stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“As much as I would love to keep doing this” I muttered throwing my head back on the wall and the pulse on my exposed neck made him groan “You are lying again I won’t make out with a twister. You are hurt Murdock so let me patch you up, ok?” I yanked myself free leading him towards the coach. “Sit.”

“I like that demanding tone of yours.” He gasped

“ Do you now?” I smirked reaching towards the first aid kit and pushing him down. “good to know” I straddled his hips while sterilizing and dressing his wounds, also teasing him a little with trailing the smallest of kissed along his temple

“You are going to be the death of me sweetheart.”

“that is another lie I hear from you tonight” I frowned tentatively “and do you know what liars deserve?”

“Why don’t you show me?” he flipped both of us over so now he was on top, caressing my sides but this sudden move, instead of bringing the heat back made him wince again

“I’m gonna show you. I’m gonna tuck you to bed and made you get at least 8 hours of proper sleep”  I pulled him up and lead toward the bedroom tucking this idiot I feel for.

“Can you stay with me?” He asked, his eyes half closed “I need you close .I need to feel you.”

“Just this once.” I muttered sneaking under the cover next to him.

“Liar” he muttered as his hand sneaked around my waist pulling me close, another cradling my head and resting in on his chest so I could hear his steady heartbeat “you feel so warm….” It did not take long for us to fall asleep.

***

 After everything that happened I was not sure what we were. Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Frenemies? Maybe I should not put a label to it. After all we were both in a different state of mind, full of adrenaline when we kissed so maybe…

“What is on your mind?” Matt asked leaning down.

“What? Nothing. Everything. Work I guess”

“And you call me a liar. I can tell from your heartbeat you are holding something back. Hey” he gently grabbed my chin while caressing the cheek “tell me.”

“What are we Matt? I mean we kissed and if it was not for your injuries maybe it would be more but was that  what you wanted or was it just the blood rush? Are you playing around with me?”

“Is that what you think?”

“the problem is I don’t know what to think. I mean I know you as a man with quite a collection of a girls hearts and ….”

“It’s not like that anymore. Not with you. Took me quite a while to understand but I do now. I want you. I… I feel something more for you. You are my home. I want to be with you but only if you want the same….”

“Idiot” I pushed him playfully like back in the times when there was no daredevil and no adult trouble “I know you can tell it from my heartbeat.”

“But I want… no, I need you to say it. With words.”

“I do want you, Matt Murdock. More than anything. And I can deal with the other one if that’s what it takes.”

“good. Because I don’t know what I would do if you turned me down” he kissed me gently.

*** It was 3 years of us being together. The happiest and most turbulent time of my life. Some days were just perfect and some other were a perfect mess. Some nights were … hot and intimate but most were filled with loneliness, fear of Matt’s being gone and tending to all his wounds. I never complained. Honestly at some point I even asked him to train me a bit so I could join him in his night shift and he did. Or at least he tried since our workout ended up quite differently with me writhing under him and begging for more. Just not really more exercising. And he gave me all I wanted, more than once since after training you need a shower and then a rest in the bed. So I never really got a chance to truly join him in his actions. I loved him. It was hard to say this and truly none of us ever used this particular words but it’s something you feel and show rather than talk. At least that was what I was telling myself since it was strange that after so much time together we did not have enough guts. I was soon about to regret skipping that.

On one particular daredevil shift Matt was buried under a collapsed building. There was no chance he could have survived this and that was what everyone seemed to believe in. More than that, they tried to convince me that was what happened and it was better for me to let go, keep the memories but also stop leaving in the past and feeding on hope that in some magical way he might return. The brain was the rational part, judging and focusing on facts and possibilities and rational approach. He was gone. The heart was stupid and hoped and felt and ached and wished. Something inside me was telling me that something was off in this story, in his disappearing. So I took on my own little investigation. I traced every step, every single detail of that fateful night with Karen and Foggy getting really concerned about my health. I never cared. Finally I was able to reach father Lantom. I knew he could not lie if confronted with direct question.

“My child. It’s wonderful to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Is he here father?”

“And who may you be talking about?”

“Murdock.”

“My dear, the Murdock I knew was buried in the cementery….”

“Please, father…” I begged him “ give my anything, I need to see him”

Father Lantom looked at me closely, sighting deeply upon seeing my pale face, pinched figure and sad face. His good heart made him surrender.

“come with me. Silently. He will not be happy about it.”

“Oh father, if you think I care about this dumbass being happy after everything he did….”

“You do, my child. Matthew has not been himself lately, this accident may have left him a bit more vulnerable so you might want to have that in mind while talking to him. Right this way” he pointed toward the hospital room when one of the nuns were silently moving around

“Sister Maggie.” I nodded my head to greet her

“Well, well, if it isn’t little miss self-reliant herself. You grew up.”

“I guess that what happens to kids at times” I smiled “but I’m still self-reliant, just not so little”

“You came to see him. How did you find out?”

“Like I said – self-reliant, sister. May I?”

“Please” she moved and let me pass inside. What I saw utterly broke my heart. Matt was laying on the bed, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, covered in bandages that couldn’t fully hide his bruises and fractures. From what Lantom mentioned something happened to his hearing and smell so he probably didn’t sense me coming inside.

“Searcher?” he asked faintly, his gazeless eyes moving around frantically.

“You idiot” I sat down on the side of his bed “I would beat you to a pulp if it wasn’t for your condition. What the hell were you thinking?! Why….?  I could not help the tears falling from  my eyes and down my cheeks. Despite having his sensed impaired he clearly knew something was happening as his hand started to move blindly, trying to find my hands and reach for my cheek to wipe them away. He tried but failed and I did not help him.

„For God’s sake! Did you really think you could hide from everyone and pretend to be dead?”

“Sort of. Yes.”

“Unbelievable. Did you believe I wouldn’t track you down?”

“Honestly I was hoping you would give up.”

“You Murdock may be a hell of lawyer but on the other side of the room you are an idiot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop it. Just … stop.” I shot him a glance and even though he could not see it I knew he knew what was my face expression.  “Why, Matt? Why would you do that to… to Foggy, to Karen, to me? I mean, come on! Do you even realize how sick and worried we were?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that! I know you do not intend to make it better so your words mean nothing!”

“But I am. I thought it would be best for all of you to just stay away from me. The only thing I came up with was to distance myself.”

“I still don’t understand why you believed faking your own death was the best way for that. Do you even realize what I’ve been through?!”

“I actually do!”

“Stop lying to me! You have no idea how ….”

“I love you!” he yelled and that took me by surprise.

“What… what did you just say?” I felt like the whole power I had just left me and plumped further into the bed for balance. Matt took this opportunity to find my hand and slowly put it on his cheek.

“I love you.” He repeated. “like a crazy man. So yes, I know what you might have been through. Being away from you was the hardest decision I’ve ever made but I had to. I really, really had to” now the tears appeared inside his eyes and I fight the urge to kiss them away.

“You didn’t have to Mattie” I sighed, my voice breaking “you know I love you too, we would have figured it all out.”

“I can’t keep you safe.”

“And I don’t need that from you. I never did. I needed and still need you. Only and just that. Not Daredevil, no vigilante, no hero. You, you idiot.”

“I love you “ he whispered again “And I’m sorry for everything. Please don’t leave me….”

“Against my better judgement …. “ I slowly laid down on the bed next to him and he carefully moved to make place for me “I’m gonna stay” he put a hand on my waist pulling me in, mindful of all the injuries “but it doesn’t mean you are forgiven. I will make you work for that”

“I’ll take whatever you decide to put me through. Just stay” he whispered with face inches from mine.

“Well, I’m still here am I not.”

“I love you” he said once again almost like after finally saying it once he could not stop himself anymore.

***

“This poor girl don’t know  what she got herself into.” Sister Maggie said to a man next to her as she watched two young people reunite

“She does. She always knew. And she is good for him” father Lantom retorted

“Perhaps. But is he good for her?”

“In some ways we might not understand. But they belong together. Always did, even as kids.”

@somest1 @pinksirensong @moxkindagirl @stilldreaming666

[benkyoutobentou]

I Failed My 2022 Language Learning Goals- And Why That’s Okay

At the end of last year, and the beginning of this year, all the New Year’s hype surrounding language learning and goal setting got to me. On important thing: I’ve never been much of a goal setter. I wanted to set goals to stay on track with my language learning in 2022, and I had to research how to set goals; what was a realistic goal, what types of things are usually goals, things like that. The concept was almost completely foreign to me. Despite that, I sat down and wrote my goals. Some were easy, that I could complete early on in the year, such as finishing a TV show in Japanese. Some were more difficult, like finishing a novel in Japanese. Others were long term goals that spanned the whole year. I failed a lot of them, but I learned a lot, too.

At the beginning of the year, I started a language learning journal. I loved that journal, while I had the time for it. I had lofty ideas for it, such as writing reviews for everything I watched and read. It was fantastic output practice, but in reality the ideas that I had were just way above what I could realistically put into it, and that had nothing to do with my language abilities and entirely to do with my spare time. I’m a full time student who only studies languages as a hobby, and when things get tough, things like writing paragraphs per day in my second language are what get cut. This journal lasted probably about five months. I still think that it helped me improve my Japanese, though, and I would like to get back into language journaling, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Another one of my goals was to “finish” studying all vocabulary from the JLPT N3 level. By around February, I was about halfway through my list and it was looking like an easily achievable goal. Then I got bored. I’ve fought with vocabulary study throughout my whole language learning career and even written about it before (apparently what works for me is jumping from resource to resource. I’m currently loving jpdb), and this is just another example of that. I let myself fall off and just hope that the urge came back, but it never did. Ultimately, taking the JLPT was never a goal (hah) for me, although it’s looking more and more like a possibility now, so dropping this wasn’t detrimental to my language learning, especially because I study vocabulary elsewhere. And that’s really the point of this failure, in my mind. I don’t need to stick to arbitrary lists and just kind of hope they appear in my immersion. Immersion itself is studying vocabulary, especially when using other resources in tandem.

I feel like the biggest “failures” from this year’s goals were my monthly goals. One was to learn the lyrics to a song each month. I really enjoy this method of studying, but it died along with my language learning journal. Another goal, a big one, was to go through a chapter of my textbook, Tobira, each month. This goal was doomed from the start. The first textbooks I used to learn Japanese were the Living Language series, and I hated them. Add that onto the natural hesitance to start something new and you have a disaster waiting to happen. I think I started studying from Tobira in around June, far from my chapter-a-month goal. And as of writing this, I am on chapter three. I doubt it’ll move for some while. Lots of this was also due to time constraints. Most of my textbook study happened during the summer, and I think I only cracked it once or twice this past semester. I’m at a point where, while I do think studying through textbooks and other study resources is important for me personally, immersion has been my main focus, especially as it’s less time consuming and less mentally taxing than “traditional” study. So, although this goal was a bust, Tobira, and textbooks in general, are not things that are going to be leaving my language learning in the long term.

So why have my failures been important? People always say “learn from your mistakes,” and that’s exactly what I’ve done. For the most part, I feel that my main take away has just been to be kinder to myself. Even now I still have to remind myself to be easier on myself and what I want to accomplish. I don’t have all the time in the world, and even if I did, I still need to rest. I’ve learned my limits, and I’ve learned what works for me, and what doesn’t. I’ve learned that what you drop in one place, you can make up for elsewhere.

Of course, this isn’t to say that I don’t plan on setting goals for next year, but I do plan on having less intense goals and a lot less of them. After learning what has worked for me in this past year, I can adapt and shift my goals to be more reasonable and fit neatly within my capabilities while still working to improve my language learning journey.

[erodasfishtacos]

Adjustments

When Y/N is getting tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours.

word count: 5k

contains: sexual content, language, a dash of angst

It was still early but Harry didn’t mind. When he was on tour he craved sleep like no other. To be in his bed, spooned around his love, and no alarm set.

However, the deep desire for sleep is just a faraway thought now because he’d rather be sleep deprived and wake up to his curly-haired baby any given day.

He looks to you. Mouth slightly open, face stress-free, and peaceful. Harry hated coming home from tour to see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes from taking care of the baby all by yourself.

He constantly had to swallow back guilt. He tried to do everything to make it up when he was home.

Harry didn’t find touring as exciting and fun as he use to. He sometimes counts down the tour dates until he’s home.

Sometime he can’t wait for the concert to wrap up so he can sneak in a quick FaceTime before you lot head off to bed.

Sasha was two, her birthday near days away, and Y/N had been running around like a mad-woman trying to make sure her party would be perfect.

Y\N sometimes held herself to the exceptions of other celebrities wives. Ballon arches, custom cookies, and beautiful decorations.

However, unlike other celebrities, you did this all yourself. No event planner, nobody except Anne and Gemma.

Harry wants you to sleep as much as possible and allow you the luxury he gets on tour. Sleeping in until noon sometimes in the empty, cold hotel room with nothing else to do.

He can hear Sasha babbling incessantly from her little bed. The little yellow railings preventing her from falling out or escaping.

Harry heaves himself off the bed, tugging on some sweatpants that had been thrown off hurriedly when you’d told him you’d been wet for him since he walked in the door last night.

“Hi, hi little love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the door to her bedroom. The yellow flowers hand-painted from the wall setting the theme for the room.

Sasha was a good baby and an ever better toddler. However, almost as a little teenager, she sure did have her mood swings. They weren’t quite out of the terrible twos stage yet.

She wanted her mom as she stood there.

“No, mummy,” Sasha whines, tugging on Harry’s cross necklace with force after he scooped her up.

“Hey, we don’t do that. Remember we treat people with kindness.”

After a promise of chocolate chips in her pancakes, she agrees to help Harry cook you breakfast. 

It was messy and his bare chest was covered in flour. Not quite sure how the little girl had gotten it into her curls but they were managing.

Harry loved watching Sasha play with the cooking utensil. Smacking whisk around, looking quizzically at a spatula. 

It made Harry want to buy her a little play kitchen. He was surprised they didn’t already have one. He thinks they might have on in their New York City apartment that they haven’t traveled to recently.

He makes a point while Sasha is chewing at the pancakes to search to find one. He finds a same-day pickup at a local toy store and orders it.

That’s one thing he loved about making so much money. He could spoil you and the baby, his family with everything and anything they want or need.

Y/N always struggled with accepting gifts from Harry but as they years went on and they got married and combined bank accounts. (well she brought a hefty three thousand to the marriage, he graciously gave her full-access to his money). 

A few weeks after your wedding, when you went to an ATM to get twenty pounds out for a cash-only restaurant and when the receipt said you two had six-hundred thousand and some change in just one of your CHECKING account - well you nearly almost fainted.

You had been worried about the three pound service fee before seeing that.

Harry could sometimes get ahead of himself. He’s had disposable money since he was sixteen. Y/N would sometimes hum, asking if he really needs a fifteen-thousand dollar wool Gucci coat.

Y/N would make it a point that she doesn’t want Sasha to grow to be materialistic and spoiled. So Harry was scolded every once in a while when he gave into Sasha’s puppy dog eyes.

Maybe not the best decision but he planned to set it up when you were out for lunch this afternoon with a friend. Hopefully, you wouldn’t notice? If he strategically put it in the playroom.

“Mmm, what’s all this?” You murmur, tying your silk robe at the front. Just enough cleavage showing that Harry feels a twitch in his joggers. Sue him, basically everything his wife did turned him on.

“Pancakes, mummy!” Sasha giggles, syrup coating her cheeks and fingers. “Kissy?” Her dad had taught her that.

“Yes baby,” you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to her soft curls, avoiding her sticky mess. 

“Kissy?” 

You look up to your pouting husband with identical absurdly wild curls from bed. 

“Spoiled, you lot,” you tell him before padding over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Forever the horny teenager, his large hands finds your bum and pull you closer - deepening the kiss.

“Miss you s’much on tour, all I think about,” he whispers into your mouth. “Your tits, your cun-“

“Harry!” You laugh, smacking at his chest, “Can’t talk like that in front of the baby!”

“She didn’t hear,” he grumbles, giving your arse one last squeeze, “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you agree back, ignoring the pinch of arousal. 

—-

Sasha was putting up a fight when she realized that you were leaving without her. Grabbing at your leg as you tugged on a Gucci sneaker.

“I’ll be back soon, Sash,” you assure her but to no avail.

Her cheeks ruddy red and splotched. Tears staining them as she wails dramatically at the top of her little lungs. 

“I don’t know if I should go,” You sigh as Harry wrestles her tiny body off of you so you don’t trip.

“No baby, you need a break. She can’t hold you hostage,” Harry laughs as Sasha wriggles a little in his arms.

“Call me if you need me to come home.”

“I’ll be fine, now go, have a mimosa for me,” Harry smiles down at his daughter who is staring at you like you’ve just killed her beloved pet.

You can’t help but giggle at the glare, “so scary, missy. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

Sasha buries her nose into Harry’s neck. Her sobs more sad than angry at this point. Which makes your heartbreak a little.

—-

Sasha was getting impatient with her father. As he attempted to figure out how to screw on the oven door to the overcomplicated design.

She occasionally ran off with a piece he needed so it took much longer than he’d thought. But this thing was sophisticated, you pour water into a little tub and it runs through the faucet like a real sink.

Sasha gave her father a wide smile when he had finally told her it was all done. He helped fill the little shopping cart with plastic fruit and veggies.

She was babbling to herself happily, occasionally making sure her dad was still in the room with her.

Harry had grabbed his journal off the kitchen table and was scribbling down mismatched lyrics about how much love he was filled with.

His last two albums were nearly just songs about you. The next one was definitely going to include tracks about his baby.

When he hears the alarm sound and get shut off, he knows your home and he feels a little twinge of anxiety in his stomach.

Distraction? That should work right?

“Hi baby,” Harry greets, planting a kiss on your lips before squatting to untie your sneakers for you.

“Well hello there!” You look around surprised to not see your daughter toddling to you as well. “Is bug sleeping?”

Harry shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “Um, no. Just playing in the playroom right now.”

“Was she good?” You asks, noticing he’s changed clothes. He loved to laze around in joggers if he could. “Did you go out?”

“Just for coffee,” he covers, technically - he did grab a coffee for himself at a drive-thru. “How was lunch?”

“Good, mimosas were shit so I only had one. Missed you guys too much. So glad your home,” you sigh into his chest, basking in his tight arms around you.

“Only 73 more concerts to go,” Harry replies.

He can feel your shoulders tense at his lame attempt of a joke. It wasn’t funny to you, not in the slightest. 

“Just 73, huh?” You shoot back, untangling yourself from his grip. “Just another eight months away from your wife and baby.”

“Love...” Harry begins, swallowing hard. He was just as emotional as you when it came to it. 

You shake your head, swiping at the stray tear, “Just forget it,” you huff before trekking off to see your daughter.

Harry is cautiously trailing behind you with a bowling ball of nerves in his belly. 

When you walk into the playroom and see the new kitchen set - you stand nearly frozen in the doorway.

“Mummy! Mumma look at what daddy got me!” She chirps, standing to come to you. You easily lift her up and accept the plastic apple she hands to you proudly. 

You feel a tightness in your throat, “it’s so nice, baby.”

“Nice,” she repeats, “come play, mumma.”

“I just got home, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back in,” you promise with a kiss before placing her back down.

She seems satisfied with your answer and scurries back to where she had placed her babydoll on the countertop - feeding it.

“Can we please talk in the kitchen?” You asks, trying your best to keep your voice level in front of your daughter.

Harry dejectedly nods and follows you into the kitchen, dragging his boot-clad feet a little. 

“Look, I know your mad, lovie. But I just got the idea and didn’t think too much about it. Know y’don’t want to spoil her but-“

“Do you not listen?” You ask harshly.

He looks at you dumbfounded. Unsure of the question. It sounded like it was a trick question.

“You’re unbelievable!” You whisper-shout so Sasha doesn’t hear.

Harry feels himself getting defensive, “You’re tha’ mad about a bloody toy?  I’m her father allowed to buy her things too!”

“No, Harry. It’s not about that. It seems like your so busy with your job that you just tune me out on our calls.”

Harry’s brow furrows. That wasn’t true in the slightest. It was the highlight of his day to hear your voice and how it went at home.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Harry snaps, his voice a little louder. 

“Go into the storage room off the side of the garage.”

He gives you a confused look but obliges, after trailing through your maze of a house. He reaches the large extra room.

When he opens the door, his heart sinks. He immediately knows why you’re so upset with him.

A beautiful, hand-painted kitchen set is sat with a large pink bow in the room. The hutch saying in cursive, “Sasha’s Kitchen.”

It was her favorite colors - blue and yellow- with painted images of all her favorite characters like Peppa Pig and Blue from Blue’s Clues.

He remembers how excited you were on the phone that night - when you revealed her third birthday present and how perfect the artist had made it.

Harry had been listening -truthfully- but he was also nearly asleep after two encores of Kiwi onstage and a meet and greet backstage.

He felt like shit now. Disappointed in himself for ruining this surprise he knows you were looking forward to giving her in a mere few days.

But the excitement of another kitchen set surely would be lackluster now. 

“Baby, m’so sorry,” Harry says quietly, with guilt bubbling in his throat. “I was listening. I just...I forgot.”

“Nothing we can do about it now it,” you bite out. Disappointed at the ruin surprised making you prickle with anger towards your forgetful husband.

Harry begins to apologize once again but you don’t let him, “I need to put her down for a nap.”

— 

You drift off as well in your bed- taking advantage of Sasha being asleep in the next room over.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to fix this situation. He’s much too embarrassed to call his mum or sister who would just give him another earful.

He felt like being on tour has been mucking everything up. He loved his job, most days. But days like today - he wishes to never see a recording studio or microphone again.

Harry’s pondering all this when he hears a cry from the baby’s room. 

Sasha is stood, bleary-eyes with a sad frown as her father enters. 

“Sweet pea, what’s the sad face for?” He hums as he tucks her into the curve of his slim hip. Bringing her down onto the main level so you aren’t awoken.

“Daddy, kitchen?” She sniffles, pointing towards her playroom.

He shakes his head. Deciding the least he can do is bathe her so you wouldn’t need to later. She still had remnants of fruit pouch in her cheeks.

“No, darling. S’bath time. Then you can play,” he boots her nose. Snatching some clean baby clothes from where they’re folded and waited to be put away on the coffee table.

“No no no,” she whimpers angrily, shaking her head and smacking her arm against her father’s tattooed chest.

“Sasha Anne, no hitting, absolutely not,” Harry uses his firm father’s voice that he didn’t have to pull out very often.

“No bath, daddy, no!” She wails with all the dramatics of an A-List actor. 

“Hey, mumma’s sleeping. We cannot yell,” her father hushes her as he trails into the bathroom.

“Mean daddy!” She exclaims as he wrestles her into the tub. Splashing the water and wriggling away everytime he tries to cup water over her head to rid her of the shampoo.

“I know, I know, so mean,” he acknowledges sympathetically. A headache arising in the front of his skull from his baby’s high pitch noises and shouts.

After another fight into clothes, she’s still not happy when she’s sat in front of her kitchen. She throws the plastic toys around and whining anytime Harry moves an inch.

He’s feeling a little overwhelmed if he’s honest. With his worry about your precious argument and the unusual tactics of your toddler - he was stressed out. 

“Binky,” Sasha looks expectantly at her father.

Oh, good idea. She loves that.

Harry can’t find any lying around like usual so he digs through the drawers around the living room until he finds one.

After cleaning it off, he hands it to her and she pops it in her mouth happily. Her attention now direction back towards her new toy.

He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure how you did this alone so much of the time.

—

 When you finally wake from a fitful nap, you hear noise from the playroom. You’re still extremely frustrated with your husband but it’s less intense. Until...

Until you walk in and Sasha turns around, smiling around a binky you surely thought you’d thrown away.

Sasha was getting too old for a pacifier - even though she was just using it when she was really upset or at night.

You’d been binky-free for three weeks. And all the crying and tears from your daughter where now meaningless.

“Where did she get that pacifier?” You grit out.

You had told him multiple times you were weaning her off of it.

“She was fussy. I gave it to her, tha’ alright?” He asks cluelessly.

“Harry! I’ve told you so so many times that I’d been weaning her off of it. She just stopped crying about it a week ago!”

“I told you about this - just like the kitchen. God, you get so goddamn wrapped up in your career that you forget important things like this!”

“Baby...” Harry whimpers, hands up in surrender. “I keep, I keep messing up. I’m - I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I’ll tell you were your mind is, Harry. In the countries your traveling to, the concerts your performing at. You promised me...you fucking promised when we started trying for a baby this stuff wouldn’t happen!!”

Harry’s face crumples, “yo-you’re my everything, lovie. You and bug. None of this means anything without you. I’ll quit music, never write another lyric or sing another note if that’s what you want from me.”

He meant that fully heartedly too.

When he wrote If I Could Fly and write the lyrics, “I’ll give up everything, just ask me to.”

The fans, the producers, you - don’t truly know how much he was being truthful in the lyrics.

“I would never ask you to do that. I want you to do what you love but I want you to follow through for your family!”

At your raised tons, Sasha begins to whine, looking with wide, concerned eyes.

“Mummy?”

With that, you scoop her up. “M’going to your mums. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watches anxiously as you pack Sasha’s bag. He feels useless as he hands your her fruit pouches and crackers from the pantry.

As you snatch the car keys from the entry tables, Harry asks in a near whisper, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

“I’m lost too. I jus-just can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard for you to be away from us like this. I feel like a single mom sometimes.”

With that, you’re out the door and on your way to your mother-in-laws. 

For the first time ever, Harry had a fleeting thought that you’re going to divorce him. He knows it’s not just about the toy and the pacifier.

He hasn’t been home enough. As much as he tries, the FaceTimes don’t make the distance and time apart any easier. 

You have all the responsibility of this little human and your heart twinges on days you’re missing you husband and you constantly at met with his little replica.

Harry feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s only had a handful in his lifetime but this one was intense.

He grabs his phone and dials the number to his best friend. He really needed a shoulder to cry on right now.

“Hey mate! What’s good, big boy?” The Irish man belts into the phone only to be met with sniffles and tears.

“Niall, I don’t know what to do.”

—

Anne was expecting you. She had set up tea with little cake in the back garden. Sasha was excited to chase the cats around the greenery. Her cute jumpsuit sodden with dirt and grass stains in no time.

“I’m sick of being at home alone all the time with Sasha. I miss Harry too much, she misses him too much,” you croak, attempting to keep your tears at bay.

“I want Harry to continue his career and live his dream. Most people never get the chance he’s gotten. I-I just need him.”

“Oh honey,” she rubs my hand soothingly, “I can only imagine. I know I missed him fiercely to the point it was unbearable when he was sixteen. I still miss him too.”

“I...I’m going to sound like such a bad mother,” you take a deep breathe, “would I be a bad mum if Sash and I joined Harry on tour?”

“Do you think that’d make you a bad mum?” Anne asks softly, a small smile on her face.

“No, I don’t think. I’d be happier because I’d be with Harry and we could actually be a married couple 24/7. She would get to see her dad everyday.”

“I think you’ve found you answer,” Anne chuckles, pouring more hot water into your cups.

“It will be so stressful.”

“More stressful than it is now?” Anne replies.

“Nothing can be more stressful than right now.”

- -

The talk witdh Niall helped only a little bit but enough to not feel like he’s going to vomit every other minute.

He was worried you were going to come in here and ask him for a divorce because he couldn’t follow through on his promises as a husband and a father.

Harry was ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. He’s not above groveling and begging for you to stay.

It is dark when you pull in, toting in a sleeping child in your arms that you pass off to Harry who’s waiting at the front door.

He tucks his baby into her bed, tugging the blankets over her, and staring down at her sweet, cherub face for a little longer than usual before heading into your master.

You’re sat on the corner of the bed, biting your lip, and playing with you flashy large diamond ring as a force of habit.

“Baby...” Harry rasps, not touching you but kneeling down in front of you. 

“I can’t do what we’re doing anymore,” you begin, completely unaware that Harry thinks you’re about to ask for a divorce.

“I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I have to say, but I think it’s the best,” you swallow harshly, hoping he doesn’t shoot down the proposition.

“Please, I’ll do anything, lovie. Don’t leave me, don’t divorce me. I’ll do anything’ you want, sweetheart. Please, I need you. I’m so inlove with you.”

Harry is full on sobbing by this point, hanging his head against your knees as he attempts to catch his breath but finding it hard.

“Harry!” You murmur in confusion “baby, look at me, please?”

It takes him a moment to meet your eyes, your face is soft but wrinkled in concern. 

“What are you talking about? Divorce?” You choke out the words. Never in a million years would you willingly agree to part from your husband.

“I know I’ve been fuckin’ up. I can’t bloody figure out how to balance shit. I’ve not followed through and neglected you n’ the baby. I’m a bad husband and a bad dad.”

“Hey,” you said with force, bringing your hand under his chin so he has to keep eye contact. “Do not ever say something like that again. You are the best husband and father. You provide for us. You love us more than I’ve thought possible. You’re perfect for Sasha and I.”

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Harry chokes out, letting his ringed hands rest on the tops of your thighs. His diamond wedding rand flashing in the light.

“Oh, H. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean with you.” You chuckle lightly, “how could you ever possibly think I’d leave you, pet?”

He shakes his head, “it’s because y’too good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you hums, running a hand through his curls. “I know how to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything f’you,” Harry would agree to jump off The Empire State Building for you without a second thought.

“The baba and I are going to join you on tour. I know we agreed it’s be too much but I can’t imagine it can be any harder than this.”

Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s if you’ll have us,” you whisper coyly, excited by his reaction.

“Yeah, baby. It means I get to fuck you every night,” Harry growls pushing you back and up into the bed before crawling on top of you.

“A teenage boy, I swear,” you giggle, flushed just thinking about how much more time you’ll have together. 

“S’it so bad I want t’fuck my wife? That I’m so bloody gone for you that I’d do anything f’you?” He presses against your lips before demanding entrance.

“You can have me in your bed every night,” you agree, letting his tongue twist with yours with fever and urgency. 

“Mmm, only groupie I’ll ever need.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, allowing him to slip your shirt over your head and attach his lips to your collarbone.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every country - like we did when you toured with me before the bab.”

When he tosses your bra across the room, you gasp at his mouth finding your nipple instantly. Nipping and suckling at the sensitive nerves with intent.

His hand doesn’t waste anytime, skillfully unbuttoning your jeans and zip with one hand before cramming his large palm inside to cup you in his hand.

“Only pussy I want, fuckin’ made for me,” he groans at the warm wetness he feel through the thin underwear. The tips of his fingers stroke over your clit with confident movements.

“Stop teasing!” You whine, wriggling out of your jeans and panties in one go. Harry is still completely dressed above you - which shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

“Don’t know how I thought you’d ever leave me. Y’fucking obsessed with my cock,” he laughs - sure of himself now.

“If you don’t touch me, I swear-“

“I’ve got you lovie, best wife ever, y’know? Just wanna please you,” he promises the damp skin on your neck, landing nips and bites that will surely leave a mark. 

“Then please me,” you demand, your tone a higher pitch than usual for your arousal.

You’re rolling your hips upwards to meet his jean-clad center. The friction feels delicious against your sensitive nerves.

Harry takes hold of your hip with one hand to halt your grinding, his other hand finding your heat and without hesitation - slides two thick fingers into you.

“H, yeah,” y/n moans, rolling her hips down to meet his hand. Her arousal coating his knuckles and he can’t describe how sexy that is.

He curls his fingers towards the top of you tight wall, finding the little spongey spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering.

“Oh, did I find the spot, love?” Harry teases like he doesn’t know. He’s been an expert in pleasuring you for the past eight years. 

“Yes baby, m’gonna come,” you nearly slur with pleasure. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your heated folds in relief.

“Only gonna let you come - if you promise me you’ll come again f’me.”

“I will, H. I wil-“

“Ssh, s’okay. Give it to me, my love,” Harry croons sweetly, leaning to suck a nipple as he speeds up his minstrations. 

Your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, your hips meeting his curled fingers on every thrust as he pushes you over the edge, “fu-fuck,” you moan, trying your best to keep your voice down.

“Tha’s it. M’wife looks so fuckin’ gorgeous when she’s coming on my fingers. Need you on my cock,” Harry grunts, removing his fingers and working to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

He’s positioning himself at your entrance with intent, wasting no time pushing in. No matter how many times you took him - it was always a stretch but it was immensely pleasurable.

“Love you, love our family. Can’t wait f’you two to join me on tour,” Harry pants, attempting to keep his thrust slow and meaningful but he was so turned on he was already becoming sloppy.

“S’going to be so nice. Spend everyday with my husband,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your feet on his bum. You can feel the muscle flexing from his thrusts.

“Yeah, never get tired of hearin’ that word.”

“Husband?” You giggle, “we’ve been married for five years.”

“Still can’t believe you agreed to,” Harry murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple as he becomes more determined. His thumb finding your clit and giving it hard, tight rubs.

Harry could have anyone he wanted. Millions of people lusted after him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he only wanted you. But in moments like this, you never questioned it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, biting his full bottom lip.

He growls, “hush up. Let me fuck you, yeah?” 

With that, the only thing that leaves your mouth is whines and gasps as he hits your spot on every fluid thrust with a determined thumb on your nerves.

“Cl-close,” Y/N shutters, legs quivering with sensitivity and arousal.

“Baby, baby wait f’me, m’close,” he begs against your skin, licking and kissing wherever he can reach. He speeds up his movements and you fell him tensing up, his mouth dripping open in an o shape and his eyes squeezing shut - his telltale sign.

You allow yourself to let go at that point and ride out the waves of intense climax with him as he weakly thrust a few more times until he lays his weight on top of you.

“The bubby is going to love South America,” Harry smiles into your mouth. His large palms massaging at your shaky, wet thighs.

“I think she’s going to love being with her daddy more,” Y/N replies, a hand coming to cup his jaw in a slow, languid twist. 

—

Thanks so much for checking it out :) PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS!

[presidentkamala]

Ok 2022 wrap up. First the good:

* killed it at work and on schedule for a huge jump in salary in january 2023

* finally let go of the worst years of my life by *gasp* leaning in2 and committing to my present self???

*moved to a banging new apartment WITH kitchen island

*volunteered for midterm campaigns

*went to chicago, cincinnati, honolulu and st. louis

*READ like 80% more this year than last year (the bar was the like 2 books i picked at and didnt finish last year but still improvement)

*more consistent with skincare routine

*hit 50k in my one savings acct in accordance w financial goals

THE BAD:

*didnt learn a new language, instrument, to code, pottery, or anything. Was grinding at work and not much else

*health took a backseat: too much doordash no fitness plan or even much activity

*didnt make any new friends

*stagnated in other areas. No volunteering for causes i care abt or even at community garden. mUST CHANGE THIS IN 2023

*struggled to stay consistent with much of anything. Scatterbrained for most of the year

THE UGLY:

*lost all muscle tone due to nothing other than lack of care

*no motivation. No real direction. No real sense or vision of the future i want and am working towards. No effort in the places where it counted

*phone and screen addiction. BIG TIME. losing hrs to this that i should be using to get out there and meet ppl and actually improve my quality of life LOL.

*deep-seated suspicion that im not well-liked at work bore out late this year. Not super pleased since that's been my main focus. Probably connected to this other stuff.

*loss of basic intellectual curiosity. In complete survival mode for the first 8 months of the year. Self is almost unrecognizable in many ways.

THE RESOLUTIONS:

I've spent the month of december devoting myself to prepping for the big three resolutions that i feel will have the biggest impact on my immediate health and wellbeing. I did a recipe plan for every day of december and gave myself a zero doordash/restaurant rule but no other real restrictions on what recipes i make and that's gone super well in terms of re-integrating cooking regularly back into my life and even enjoying it! I think in february im going to start paying more attention to making sure im incorporating the plate method to ensure im getting the right proportion of protein veg and carbs into my diet but for now its all about finding recipes that taste good and that i can sustainably replicate etc. I've been doing a lot to make sure im brushing my teeth and doing my skincare routine at least every morning so im going to start bumping up my evening care in January as well. I also downloaded the none2run app to get me up to a 5k which at least lays out the calendar of what i need to do and im on week 2?? I think of the beginner exercises before starting the runs in earnest. I've deep cleaned my apartment and kitchen and have been regularly washing my clothes and doing the dishes instead of letting it all pile up. All of these changes in routine have been gradual over the last 5 weeks or so but its already paying dividends and i love the idea of prepping for resolutions and planning them out so i don't lose track as the year progresses:

*Journal at least once a week (minimum 52 entries by this time next year)

*Develop nourishing recipes you actually enjoy and can replicate. Limit restaurants to once a week (non-holiday) or 3 times a week (with holidays)

*complete none2run 5k.

*sign back up for barre classes at least once a week (non-travel)

*on work travel, complete youtube pilates vid at least twice a week

*this is the year to tackle skin texture and pores. Set up derm appt in January

*complete liftoff program for beginner weightlifting beginning in June.

*volunteer for minimum 2 hrs each week. For anything.

*volunteer for dems at least once this year.

*SEE A FUCKING PSYCHIATRIST

*take one extra-curricular class

*check in quarterly on goals

*take one international trip

2023: We are being specific and intentional!!!!!

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood/violence and language Genre: Action with a lil bit of fluff Warnings: Lil bit of blood Notes: There's an unnamed character in here who may or may not end up as recurring in my stories. I don't really have anything in particular planned for her, she's kinda just here to fill a role/allow for some easter egg type shit in the next chapter. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1, Pt. 2

{Wounded Love 3: Bloody Valentine (No, not that Valentine)}

“Mother Miranda, I must insist, if these lycans stray any further they might start feasting on the village as well! Pray tell, who will you use for research then? We can’t just-... Forgive me… Mhmm. Yes, I understand. Of course… Have a good night, Mother Miranda,” Lady Dimitrescu said, before setting her phone down with a loud thunk. Her hands shake a little, and for a moment you worry that her vanity won’t survive the coming moments. Then you make eye contact with her reflection, giving her an encouraging smile, watching as her gaze softens. “I’m afraid there’s nothing she can do, my dear. I cannot allow Heisenberg’s negligence to go unpunished, but we will have to take care of it on our own, without Mother Miranda’s support.”

“Is that wise, love? To go behind her back like this? I can’t imagine she’ll be terribly pleased if we cause chaos for one of her favored few,” you replied, clicking your tongue as you thought things over. Again you see anger cloud Alcina’s face, though she makes sure not to direct it at you.

“We are not the ones who started this mess,” she reminded you, through clenched teeth. “But we will be the ones to end it, one way or another. I don’t care if I have to gut that wretched man-thing and bring Miranda his corpse as proof of his incompetence! He has shown his lack of loyalty hundreds of times… and now he will pay.” Gulping, you rise to your feet, wanting to comfort your girlfriend. While you had understood that your injury angered her, you hadn’t (until this moment) realized the sheer intensity of that rage. How much blood would be shed before this was over?...

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

Crimson drips down the beast’s side, across matted fur, before hitting the wooden floor. A stench as awful as you had ever found filled the air, only made tolerable by the nearby presence of scented candles. What a mess, you think, glad that you wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. Why had the girls insisted on bringing the damn thing inside? Couldn’t they have simply snatched a few teeth from its jaw as a prize? Somehow you doubted that the thought had even crossed their minds. Violence was a passion of theirs, and they preferred their trophies to be as large as the effort they put into getting it.

“How close to the path did you find it?” You asked after finishing your examination of the lycan. Next to you, the eldest daughter is rapidly taking notes in a leather-bound journal. Both of her siblings stand near the fireplace, hands held out next to the flames, needing to warm up after being outside for so long. It wasn’t even that cold of a day, with temperatures averaging around eighteen degrees celsius. All the snowfall from the prior week had now melted. While you knew of the family’s weakness, you also knew that they had bundled up before leaving, and had even taken a torch with them in the hopes of using it on a lycan. Their powers had taken somewhat of a hit, temporarily, but not nearly enough to prevent them from killing a single lycan.

“Heard it howling almost as soon as we left the castle. We couldn’t smell it until halfway to the village, though. Once we could we tried to track it, only for the stupid thing to come charging at us. Must have been eight, maybe ten, meters away by the time we collided,” Cassandra answered. There’s a bit of a shiver to her voice, and you can’t help the rush of sympathy you feel in response. Being out on the path, wearing little more than a dress and scarf, had been absolute hell for you. Even if it was warmer outside now, you imagined that being weak to the cold just about made up for the difference. “There was a little more howling once we started walking back here. Louder, if not closer. Heisenbitch isn’t even trying to keep these fucking things in check.”

“Cassandra, language!” Came a voice in the distance, making everyone present look up at once. Strutting down the stairs was a clearly miffed Alcina, eyes narrowed, body tense. “Did you three really have to bring the mutt inside? Surely you advocated against this, Bela? Or did you think I wanted new bloodstains right by the entrance, where everyone can see them?” Next to you Bela winces, but doesn’t respond, too worried about angering her mother further. “And you, my dear, what on Earth are you doing on the floor? You should be resting, in an actual chair, if not lying in bed awaiting my return. There’s enough for me to worry about without you limping around on a useless leg!”

Now it was your turn to wince.

“Please, love, I know you’re stressed, but I can still help. Given enough time I could help ascertain these things’ weaknesses. At the very least I could pass on what I learned during my fight with one,” you pleaded. Then you tried to stand up, wanting to prove yourself, only to stumble, barely avoiding a faceplant- and only doing so because of Bela’s quick reaction time. She helped you to your feet, letting you lean on her, then lead you towards a bench. Begrudgingly you sit back down. “You’re only doing this because I got hurt. Helping you in your endeavor to avenge me is the least I can do.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Alcina snapped, now just a couple meters away from you. Even with that space between you, her presence was intimidating, and you almost felt like a child being scolded. “Were you to get hurt again, how would we avenge you? If you fall by your own hand, there will be naught I can do other than lock you away somewhere without any dangerous elements. What sort of existence would that be for you? I simply can’t allow it, no exceptions.” At this you pout, feeling rather disappointed. It’s not as if you were asking to carry a gun and shoot Heisenberg yourself! Not that you would be opposed to doing so, of course. “Try to put yourself in my place, my dear. Could you live with yourself if you failed to protect me?”

“I suppose I could not, love. Very well, I shall simply root you on from here, and kiss away any injuries you return with,” you replied, at last giving in. Then you found yourself smiling… and on the receiving end of a very soft forehead kiss. “Nothing will separate us, my love. None can tear apart that which the universe has stitched together.”

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

“Like I said, my Lady, I already want him dead. Did you really think that your family was the only one to suffer because of his machinations? I know half a dozen people who would love to put a bullet in that fucker’s skull, bare mims,” the huntress said, white teeth showing in her half-smirk. There was an odd coolness to her voice, like this whole ordeal was just another job, and you couldn’t help but feel uncertain about her. Could she really be the solution to Alcina’s problem? You couldn’t even judge her arsenal, considering she had been instructed to come unarmed. After all, she was a hunter of monsters, with a sizable history to her name. If not for her hatred of Heisenberg, you would never have felt comfortable letting her come within two hundred meters of your girlfriend.

“How can I be sure that you’ll succeed? The last thing I want is to have that wretched man-thing come crawling out of the filth he lives in, angry and coming for vengeance,” Alcina responded, scrutinizing gaze locked on the huntress.

“Didn’t Duke give you my file? Or at least read the good bits out loud? I’ve been in my fair share of scraps, with all sorts of bioweapon mutant freaks. Besides, I don’t plan on leaving any receipts behind. If he manages to survive, which is already one hell of an if, there’s no way he can prove that you asked me to do it. Considering he’s already seen my face, and knows I want him dead… yeah, he won’t bother accusing you, not when I’m in the picture, and certainly not when you’ve got such a big reputation for following Mother Miranda’s word down to the very last letter. So, you gonna make this official, or what?” The huntress asked, gesturing her arms wide. Although you’re still not convinced, Alcina nods quietly, seeming ready to make her decision. Regardless of how you feel about the stranger in front of you, you’re more than willing to support your girlfriend in whatever she planned.

“Very well, huntress. Show us just what you’re capable of.”

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

Flames licked at her heels, even as she charged forward, tickling like hot breaths against her skin. Behind her half a dozen lycans roared and screeched in unison. Smoke and ashes flew upwards, into the air, but could not poison her lungs, not when she had come prepared. Still, the mask was not as easy to breathe in as she had hoped, making her chest heave with effort at each intake of air. Good thing I’ll be gone soon, she thought, sparing a glance behind her as she ran. Dozens of trees were aflame, and countless glowing eyes watched from between the branches. They wouldn’t be there for much longer, not with what she had done.

Soon enough an explosion would shake the Earth. Then, finally, both the lycans who had killed her father and the man who desecrated the remains would be dead. And if a certain countess happened to pay her for her services? All the better, really. Funerals could be expensive, especially in such a remote village. More than that… there was no guarantee that she’d be able to outrun Mother Miranda on her own. A little money would make the flight out a hell of a lot nicer.

Assuming she made it that far. There was another scream behind her, this one more human, though somewhat warped by mechanics. It wasn’t a pained cry. No, it was filled with rage. Clearly Heisenberg had come out of his lair, hearing the fireworks, finding his scrap metal and werewolf army in chaos. From the sound of things- metal against metal, electricity crackling- he was coming her way.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” She muttered, desperately trying to get to higher ground. Even if the lycans succumbed to the overwhelming fire, it wouldn’t be hard for their leader to overcome. But the huntress was still too close to her explosives to risk activating the detonator. Just a bit farther, she thought, ignoring the way her lungs ached. Rocks kicked up with every step, loud enough to be heard from a distance, and made traction harder to keep. In the end she had to scramble to get up the side of a short cliff. A few scrapes appeared on her hands, making her curse under her breath.

But with one last movement, pulling herself up with both arms, she was finally far enough to be relatively safe. In one clean second she turned around, pulled the detonator out of its pouch and clicked the trigger. Just like that, a forest blazing turns into a mushroom cloud of pure hellfire. The setting sun makes for a beautiful backdrop, and the sight almost brings a tear to the huntress’ eyes. For a few moments she just enjoys the view. Then, without hesitation or remorse, she starts to walk away, mentally congratulating herself for a job well done.

Until something shoots past her head with terrifying speed. Before she can react another sharp piece of metal flies past her, grazing her arm, and there’s a blood-curdling roar from behind her. Then she’s running, fast as she can, pulse pounding harder than it ever has. One hand goes to the rifle on her back, pulling it out as quickly as she can. The area is rocky, with plenty of outcrops, perfect to hide behind (assuming there weren’t any hidden metal deposits). Quickly she ducks behind one, crouching to keep her head out of sight. Mere milliseconds later another metal spike slams into the ground just beyond her cover.

In the distance, more screams pierce the air, and something heavy drags itself across the ground. It almost sounds like a tank rolling through the woods. The thought alone worries the huntress, but she had never been one to let her fear control her. So she double checks her rifle, adjusts the scope, and pops out of cover. Less than a second later she has her target in her sights. It’s Heisenberg, for sure, more metal than man, but dripping with red. One press of the trigger sends a bullet straight for his ugly head. Unsurprisingly, it’s not enough to pierce his cranium, instead making him mad as hell.

Which is why automatic guns were invented, probably. The huntress holds the trigger down this time, though briefly, before dashing to the next piece of cover. She repeats the process a few times, hoping to kill the man before he could climb the cliff she stood on. If he managed to get up there with her… no, she couldn’t think about that, not now. She had to focus.

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

Hidden among the trees, the Dimitrescu sisters watched as plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Even though they had been aware of the huntress’ plan, they hadn’t expected this much carnage. It was certainly exciting! But they really couldn’t see much from where they were. Getting closer was probably a horrible idea, and yet Cassandra shared a meaningful look with Daniela. A split second later they were forming a swarm, rushing into the trees, leaving their elder sister to yell after them.

“Mother’s going to kill me,” Bela said, before rolling her eyes and following. Maybe she could at least keep them out of trouble?... Probably not.

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

Metal hands wrap around the huntress’ throat, squeezing hard, but do not twist or otherwise break their prey. No, Heisenberg does not intend to end this that quickly. This rodent had taken so much from him, set his plans back by decades. He was going to kill her slowly. When she still fights back, pulling a knife from her boot and trying to stab whatever she can reach, he does little else but laugh. It’s a crazed cackling that echoes through the surrounding rocky hills.

Just barely loud enough to drown out the sound of insects buzzing.

“Fuck that guy!” Someone shouted, right as a sickle descended upon the monstrous Heisenberg’s neck. The first slice isn’t enough to sever the connection, which is why it’s immediately followed by a second, from another sister, then a third, from the eldest, that finally does the job. Just like that the hands release from the huntress’ throat, and she gasps for air. Coughs leave her distracted as the sisters move to surround her. “Good thing we wanted to see the show up close and personal, eh?” Daniela asked, twirling her sickle with a little giggle.

“You idiots are just lucky I followed you,” Bela added, glaring at her sister. Internally, she was relieved that the end result was a success. Still, she worried about what her mother would think, and certainly didn’t intend to voice her satisfaction at delivering the killing blow. “Now let’s get back, before mother assumes the worst and comes to get us herself.” Sighing, she extends a hand to help the huntress up. Though their mutual enemy had been defeated, there was still much to be done. Who knew how Mother Miranda would react? Who, if anyone, would take Heisenberg’s place? There was plenty to be unsure about, and Bela let her mind wander the whole way back, hoping that things would only get better from here...

[astranva]

Not One of Them.

// masterlist //

Word Count: 9.9k

Category: Fluff, single mom!Y/N

Warning: Some strong language. Slight mention of abortion. Not proof-read.

Note: time-skip to when covid-19 is dead ok

Summary: Harry is lyrically stuck, Y/N is the new big songwriter. She’s also a single mom to a 4-year-old girl.

Early italics are flashbacks.

..

When you’re a young mother, the world isn’t always the kindest, especially when no partner is in the picture.

While you were young, having had baby Faith when you were only 21, you applauded yourself for years for the effort you poured into raising a child alone – with the help of family and friends, and too many books and videos, but you get the point.

Faith wasn’t a mistake, you hate it when anyone even dares to imply so, but she was unplanned. You were in a toxic on-and-off relationship for 3 years, at some point believing that it might have been an open relationship because of the amount of times you caught your ex-boyfriend flirting with women and men right in front of you.

You had done your part after knowing that you were pregnant after one drunken night that led to a rough make-up session. You approached your ex, sat him down and broke the news;

“I’m pregnant.”

“Whose is it?” He had asked, face falling.

Yours scrunched up in anger, almost disgust at the implication. “Yours, you dumb-fuck! I don’t sleep around while I’m in a relationship like some people.” You had emphasized.

He ignored your comment, releasing a sigh. “You aren’t keeping it, are you?”

You were never against abortion. You were never against planned pregnancy. You had freaked out alright on your own when you were confirmed pregnant, but something inside you told you to hold on to the human inside of you, to that little bundle of oblivion – a little bundle of faith.

It was when he asked you that one question, his tone almost sure that you would abort the child, that you felt angry tears pool your eyes. “I am.”

He wasn’t ready to hear it and his wide eyes showed that, “Wh-What do you mean you are? I can’t have a fucking baby! This wasn’t supposed to get this real!”

“This real?” You had chuckled bitterly, “You stay with me for 3 years, fuck me over more than I can count then you always come crying for me, then tell me it wasn’t supposed to get this real?” You stood up, draping your bag over your shoulder, “I’m having the kid, Will. It’s over between us and-“ you gulped, swallowing back the tears as you pointed at him, “I never want to see you again.”

“You bet your fucking ass you won’t.” He had grumbled, tearing eye contact to look somewhere else but your death glare before you left.

 Besides the university halls, Will had managed to stay out of your sight and you were grateful for that. Pregnancy was a roller-coaster, one you definitely screamed during all ride of, but nothing and nobody prepared you for the moment when you gave birth to your little love.

Your roommate and best friend, Cece, had driven you to the hospital and notified the rest of your family and friends, and you were glad that during that very period of time, you had someone beside you.

It was when you held your little love that it all faded away; the pain, the loss, the confusion, the fright – everything faded away the moment your skin made contact with your daughter’s, watching her with pure love and admiration.

You hadn’t picked a name before that moment, only nodding and smiling to the showering of recommendation from people, but one name wasn’t recommended, not even mentioned.

“Faith. You’re my little Faith.”

“You’re looking a little sick, honey. Have you been eating well? You overwork yourself-”

“Mom, mom,” you laughed quietly, tearing your eyes from watching your daughter play with her cousins before looking at your mom beside you, “I’m alright. Last project was challenging, that’s all.”

“Who were you writing for this time?” your mom asked with pride and excitement, curious to know the name of yet another big celebrity her daughter had been working with.

“Adele.” You smirked as you sipped your juice, hearing your mom gasp with a hand to her heart before letting out a small squeal.

In her dungarees and sandals, Faith ran towards you, making you set your juice aside to welcome your daughter in your arms. “Mommy, did you see me win Tag?”

“Yes! You were amazing!” You hyped your daughter up, pressing a sloppy kiss on her cheek, making Faith giggle.

With Faith standing between your legs, talking to her grandma, you checked your watch. “Ah, shoot. I better get going.”

“Will you be here for bedtime story?” Faith asked, looking up at you as you slung on your tote bag and held your car key in one hand before kneeling in front of your daughter.

“I will be, baby. Don’t give Nana a hard time, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“I love you.” With one last hug and a kiss on her cheek, you smiled at your daughter who clung to your neck, pressing a sweet kiss on her cheek.

“I love you.” Faith replied, moving to stand with her nephew after waving at you as you left.

“Call me at any time if anything happens or if you need anything, Mom, yeah?” You said as you walked towards the door, your mother following behind.

“Wouldn’t want to disturb your wo-”

“Mom.” You stressed, turning to look at your mom, “Nothing like that. I’ll get going. Thank you for watching her.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. You know I love spending time with little Faith more than anything. Drive safely, honey.”

//

“Hey, Andrew, got you a donut.” You beamed as you approached the studio’s receptionist, a 19-year-old intern.

“You’re an angel.” Andrew sighed in contentment as he opened the box containing his donut before looking at you, “Just adopt me. I guarantee I’ll be the best brother to Faith.”

You laughed, “Think having a 19-year-old son will make me feel old. I’ll pass.”

“Dammit.” Andrew shook his head jokingly. “Meeting with Jeffery Azoff, huh?”

“Yeah, do you know if he got here yet?”

“Like 3 minutes ago.”

You checked your watch again, finding that it was just on time for your scheduled meeting, feeling glad that you weren’t late.

“Alright, I’ll see you on the way out.” You waved at Andrew who nodded at you while raising his donut before you set off down the hall and into the elevator.

Walking out and down the hallway, you approached the room you had agreed to meet Jeffrey in before knocking softly, hearing a distant “come in!”

Gently opening the door and sticking your head inside, your eyes moved to the couch where 2 men looked up at you; one was Jeffrey – you had seen pictures of him from when you worked once with his father – and the other was, undoubtedly in your mind, none other than Harry Styles.

“Y/N?” Jeff asked, him and Harry standing as you walked in and closed the door behind you, approaching them.

“Yes,” you smiled, reaching for a handshake which he had happily accepted, “It’s great meeting you.”

Harry’s eyes were set on you, a small smile on his face that did everything but mirror the surprise he felt. He wasn’t sure why; he didn’t have any expectations but he certainly didn’t expect to see someone as radiant as you were.

You looked at him next with a polite smile as you reached for a handshake, “Pleasure meeting you. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

And God, his stomach flipped and his face flushed at the comment, feeling shy under your gaze as he shook your hand, “Thank you so much. Can say the same about your work, you’re very talented.”

“Thanks!” You beamed before motioning towards the couch, the 3 of you sitting down; Harry and Jeff on the couch, you on a chair across from them. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks. Had the biggest cup of coffee just before coming here.” Jeff replied.

You turned to look at Harry, smiling and nodding when he raised his bottle of water.

“Alright, let’s get into it,” you leaned forward, “How can I help you?���

Jeff looked at Harry, signaling for him to talk.

“I know it hasn’t been a year since I released Fine Line,” Harry moved his hands as he talked, looking at the carpeted floor underneath him before looking up at you, “But I’ve been writing ever since but- something is missing. Something is wrong. I wrote 9 tracks so far, all of them are unfinished because I just feel like they’re missing something. I have the idea, have the concepts, sometimes I have the tunes,” he counted on his fingers, “But I can’t finish one song. It’s like I’m, like,” he shrugged, trying to find the right word.

“Stuck?” You suggested, staring at him with an assuring expression which he found soothing.

Harry’s body slumped, tilting his head slightly as he looked back at you and a soft, small smile made its way to his face at how you understood. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Yeah, stuck. That’s the word.”

“I get you,” you assured him, “Do you guys have any sort of deadline?”

“No, not really, no. Not yet.” Jeff shook his head.

“Great,” you clapped, your eyebrows going up, “Do you have any of these tracks’ lyrics now?”

“Yeah, lemme just-“ Harry reached beside him, holding his tote bag to take out his journal.

“Hey!” You grinned, grabbing his attention and making him look at you, seeing you holding out your tote bag to him.

You matched; right on the fabric in the middle was an illustrated design of a small cactus plant pot.

“I have the same one!” You looked down at yours before looking at him, Harry mirroring your actions before a grin broke out on his face.

“Well then, Y/N, it’s set. These will be the best songwriting sessions of the century. It’s fate.” He said dramatically in a joking manner, making you laugh quietly as you set your bag aside and he fished out his journal.

Flipping through the pages, he handed you his journal so you can see one of the songs he had half-written, watching as leaned back on the comfy chair, holding the journal in your hands and reading.

It was excruciating. Harry grew nervous, feeling funny in his stomach and he tried to convince himself that it might be the salad he had eaten prior to that meeting, and not that he was nervous you’d think he was the worst songwriter to-date.

He watched your eyes, taking notice of how you didn’t skim through the words, but read them carefully and taking your time to do so.

“This is really beautiful, Harry.” You said softly, eyes still on the page before looking up at him, oblivious to the breath Harry let out, “Really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, discreetly wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

“Not much damage really. The concept is clear. Post-breakup song.” You said, handing him his journal.

Harry nodded, confirming.

“Are the rest like that, too?”

“Not really,” Harry shook his head, “Figured that the last album had too many of that.”

You nodded, “Yeah, I understand. Just- I say take your time, honestly. I’ll help you with the songs you have, maybe we’d get inspired along the way to write new stuff, too, but you don’t want to force anything, you know? Sometimes some lyrics just aren’t meant to be, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded.

“Don’t you worry,” you gave him a smile, “It’ll all work out.”

“Well, so do we have a deal?” Jeff asked with a smile, opening his arms.

“I’m in.”

Maybe it was because you said that as you looked at him, or maybe it was because he knew of how crazy talented you were – he had spoken to his good friend Ed Sheeran a week prior and Ed had sworn up and down on your talent and how “bloody lovely! Like a little bird” you were – or maybe it your smile – hell, it might be a combination of all that, but Harry was ecstatic to work with you.

“I’m very excited to work with you, Y/N.” Harry had said with a smile of his own.

“Likewise, Harry. It isn’t that common to find artists as real as you are.”

God, what was with your compliments that had him blushing?

“It’s a pleasure, Y/N,” Jeff, too, had said. “Let’s talk busi-”

“Let’s do that over lunch.” You pointed at him, standing up, “My treat.”

“You always this friendly with clients?” Harry joked with an amused smile, staring up at you.

But your smile dropped and instead, your face twisted to worry. “Oh God, I hope I’m not stepping boundaries. It’s just always a good idea to warm up to each other and- I’m sorry, you probably think this is unpro-”

“Hey, hey, no,” Harry was quick to stand, holding his hands out, “I didn’t mean it like that. I genuinely think you’re friendly. Half of the songwriters I worked with were strict and- Shit, no. Lunch sounds wonderful. Really wonderful.”

He felt like an ass. A proper one. He hadn’t meant to make you feel like you were too friendly but that didn’t turn out as well as he had thought.

“We’d love to, really. Besides, it’s probably a great idea that you and Harry know each other so the sessions can go smooth.” Jeff added, standing up.

At this, Harry found himself smiling when the smile returned to your face. “In that case, there’s a place nearby that makes amazing sandwiches and desserts.”

Jeff’s mind was squeaking from its gears working. There weren’t many people on this planet who were purely kind, and it was something he admired in Harry. But at that moment, Jeff knew he had met one more person who was genuinely kind, just like his best friend and “client” – he hated calling Harry that – and it was proof when you insisted that you could give them a ride to and from the place instead of them following behind you or using the GPS, Jeff sitting in the passenger seat during the ride to the place while Harry sat at the back.

The place was a 5-tabeled one, nothing big. One wall was decorated with polaroids of customers, the waiters and waitresses, the chefs, and another with colorful stick-notes with messages from customers. It was a lowkey place, one that Harry hadn’t visited during all his trips to the studio until that moment.

“Hey, Y/N!” The woman behind the counter beamed as she waved.

“Hi, Soph! How are you?”

Soph stood from the chair she was sitting on, taking a few steps back to show her pregnant bump, putting one hand to it, “Ready to pop!”

You had motioned towards a table to Harry and Jeff who were quietly watching the interaction.

You gasped, “Look at you! And you’re still coming to work? What a queen.”

Soph shrugged, sitting back down, “Got mouths to feed and a self to pamper.” She said before waving at Harry and Jeff, “Hello, gentlemen.”

Jeff waved with a smile while Harry added, “Hello! Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Styles.” Soph replied.

Harry liked it. The no-freaking-out. How homey it all felt.

“Rick will be with you in a sec.” Soph said.

You, Harry, and Jeff sat on the circular table, both Harry and you hanging your tote bags on their chairs.

“You come here often, huh?” Harry started the conversation, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward.

“You have no idea. You’d think I don’t know anywhere else.” You chuckled, “Been coming here ever since I was in college.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up in surprise, “Really? How long ago was that?”

“Graduated 3 years ago, first came when I was 19 so that’s about 6 years.”

“True loyal customer you are.” Harry said.

“What did you study, Y/N?” Jeff asked.

“Music composition. Was the disgrace of the family.” You joked, “Definitely had no idea the entire time if I would actually work or not.”

“But look at you now, one of the best.” Harry motioned towards you.

You waved him off with a bashful smile, “None of that. I still have no idea what I’m doing most of the time, I just get paid now.”

“Who even knows what they’re doing now?” Harry rhetorically asked, “We’re just, going with the flow.”

“Word, sir. Word.” They heard, the 3 of them turning to see the waiter – Rick – by their table.

Harry laughed, “Right?”

“Absolutely. I don’t remember the last time my plans didn’t get fucked. Just riding now.” Rick shrugged.

Harry raised his fist up for a bump, Rick bumping his fist into Harry’s.

Time seemed to pass as Harry and Jeff let you order for them, talking about the music industry and sharing funny stories while at it, as well as you had discussed your own business as you ate the club sandwiches and sipped on the iced tea.

“What are you doing?” You asked with a funny face as Harry took out his wallet after you had asked for the check.

“Paying?”

“Yeah, no. Said it’d be my treat.” You pointed at him, raising one eyebrow with a smile.

“Come on, I can’t just let you pay for us on the first day we meet.”

“Let’s at least split the bill.” Jeff suggested, watching as you shook your head.

“Absolutely not.” And with that, you stood up and walked towards Soph, paying for the food.

“How much do you want to bet that something will happen between the both of you?” Jeff asked quickly with a smirk, looking at Harry with a knowing look.

Harry’s eyes widened, tearing his gaze from being on you to his friend and manager, “What?”

“How much?”

“I just met her.” Harry tried to reason with him, finding Jeff to be bizarre and irrational. Hopeful, but irrational.

Jeff only gave him a shrug, “That’s a first.”

“That’s enough rom-coms at night for you, Jeffrey.”

At the sight of you walking back towards them, they both stopped talking and instead, smiled. “All sorted.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. You really didn’t have to.” Harry stood, slinging his tote bag on his shoulder.

“I wanted to. Please don’t mention it.” You had smiled as you replied, the 3 of you putting back your chairs. “Bye, Soph!”

“Bye, sweetie!”

“Congratulations again on your pregnancy and good luck.” Harry put both hands together, pursing his lips into a polite smile at the woman behind the counter.

“You’re a sweetheart. Thank you, kind sir.” Soph joked, tipping an imaginary hat at him to which Harry responded to by holding up the tips of his imaginary skirt, putting one foot behind the other in a curtsy making you giggle.

With no spoken words, Jeff was quick to get into the backseat, pursing his lips to stifle his laughter at Harry’s face, who looked at him with wide eyes and an expression that screamed “What the fuck are you doing?” but he got into the passenger seat nonetheless, oblivious to the light shade of red that visited his cheeks but aware of the heat his face seemed to radiate.

The ride back to the studio wasn’t quiet. The radio was on for some background music but you and Harry were too engaged in a conversation to take notice of the songs playing. Anyone could have asked you what even started the conversation of French toast and you wouldn’t know how to reply because none of you knew how you suddenly began talking about French toast.

“Have you tried soaking the toast in lemon?” You asked, tone excited and face breaking into an eager smile.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, “Haven’t, no. How good is it?”

“God, it’s,” you shook your head, almost closing your eyes in delight as if you tasted the toast that moment but refrained because you were driving, “It’s so good.”

So what Harry secretly wished the ride was longer? He wanted to talk about French toast. That was definitely why.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure working with you.” Jeff said, “Thank you for the food.”

“It’s no problem.” You smiled at him, turning around to look at him once you were parked.

“I’ll wait for you in the car.” Jeff said, patting Harry’s shoulder before getting out of the car.

Harry took a breath, slapping his hands against his thighs, “Well, that was fun.”

You nodded, looking back at him with a bashful smile that you mentally scolded yourself for; why were you getting bashful?

“Is it alright if I take your number from Jeff?” Harry asked quickly, “Uh, so we can schedule meeting up for the sessions.” He quickly added, “The writing sessions.” He nearly cringed at his addition and he guessed you caught on because you giggled quietly before straightening your posture.

“Actually, Jeff has my business number. Maybe you can just, take my personal one so I can reply faster. You know, the sooner the better.” You cleared your throat, nodding to yourself.

Harry’s lips stretched into a side smile as he looked at you before he coughed and nodded, “Definitely. The sooner you reply, the sooner we meet. For the writing sessions.”

“Yeah and I can give you the lemon toast recipe.” You said before your eyebrows rose up, “For business purposes, of course.”

Harry’s smile widened at that, holding out his phone for you to take after he unlocked it. “I’d love that.”

You typed in your number before handing his phone back to him, watching as Harry glanced down at it before your phone began ringing, “And that’s mine.” He said, watching you unlock you phone and type before you locked it back.

“Then it’s settled.”

“I’ll text you.” He smiled before opening the door and standing out, ducking to look at you, “Next time, lunch is on me.” And with that, Harry gave you a wave before closing the door and walking away, only giving you a smile over your shoulder and another wave before getting into the car with Jeff.

After getting some snacks from the grocery’s with a shit-eating grin on your face, you drove back to your mom’s to pick Faith up.

You stood on the other side of your car, watching the door open before you saw Faith, her backpack on her back with her grandma standing behind her.

At the sight of her Mommy, Faith was quick to grin before running to you and into you arms as if she hadn’t seen you 4 hours ago.

You hugged your daughter, pressing a kiss to her hair as you did. “Did you have fun?”

Faith nodded before she pulled away from the hug, still keeping her arms around you, “What about you? Did you have fun, Mommy?”

You almost blushed as you remembered, opting to reply a simple reply instead of getting into details. “I did. Ready to go?”

//

After giving Faith a shower and giving yourself one, too, you and Faith were sat in the comfort of your cozy apartment, sitting on the couch and watching The Greatest Showman for the umpteenth time seen as it was Faith’s favorite. With her cheddar cheese and lettuce sandwich in her right hand and favorite dinosaur toy in the other – a “Megalosaurus not a T-Rex, Mommy” – Faith was cuddling into your side while one hand of yours played with her wild hair as the other tapped absentmindedly on your phone’s screen, eyes set on the television.

“And if it’s crazy, live a little crazy.” Faith sang along with Hugh Jackman, eyes wide as if she was seeing the movie for the first time.

“You can play it sensible, a king of conventional.” You joined her, peppering kisses on her cheek causing her to squeal and giggle.

As Faith sang along with the song, you opened your phone’s camera before switching it to video, flipping the camera so that it was the front one. You started recording, the screen showing you your face as you smiled with pride, tilting it so Faith was shown as she sang, unaware of you recording.

Only 12 seconds into the video, a message pop-up had your eyes traveling to it, falling on a text preview from none other than the young man you were with that day – Harry.

‘Hey, Y/N. Sorry to bother but would you be able to send me that lemon toast recipe? Might treat myself to it tomorrow morning. Sorry for the bother. :) Harry’

After stopping the video and opening the text and reading it, if it weren’t for Faith, you wouldn’t have known that you had a grin on your face.

“Why are you smiling so big? Did Auntie Cece send a picture of her cat?” She had asked, looking up at you with curiosity.

Looking down at her, you laughed slightly at yourself. “No, she didn’t.”

“You look happy.”

There were many things you loved about your daughter, many things you were in awe at. As only a kid, Faith was one of the most empathetic people in your life and that moment as you both cuddled on the couch was proof.

With a matching grin, Faith’s eyes twinkled with glee at the sight of her smiling mom, curious to know the reason.

“They aren’t singing This Is Me yet!” Faith added, knowing that the both of you usually laughed and giggled while singing that song, only because you always sang it so dramatically and at the top of your lungs.

“Just happy you’re finally done with the sandwich because now I can do this!” And with that, you tickled her, Faith breaking into laughter and giggles as she tried to stop you.

5 minutes later, Faith was back to watching the movie while you typed a reply.

‘hey, harry! it isn’t a bother 😊 i’ll write it down and send it in a moment :))’

‘Thank you! x’

And you wrote it down and sent it to him, adding little notes, too just to make sure that he perfected the toast.

‘let me know how that goes for you :) x’

‘Will do, love. Talk to you soon. Goodnight :) x’

‘goodnight, harry x’

As if your little love took that as a sign, you looked down at her as you felt her body grow heavier against you and noticed her breath get steady, seeing her eyes closed as she snoozed.

Carefully, you turned off the television before holding her with your arm so she didn’t fall down as you stood, bending to carry her before kneeling a little to grab her fallen dinosaur, letting out a tiny groan as your back ached.

Tucking her in her bed, you sat beside her for a moment, brushing her hair back softly before bending to kiss her forehead.

“Story?” She sleepily asked, struggling to open her eyes.

You chuckled, “You’re already asleep, nugget.”

She hummed, still struggling to open her eyes, “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You smiled before standing up, walking towards her small vanity and turning on her star light lamp.

Just as you were out of the door, you lingered, turning to look back at your daughter, “Was I really smiling big?”

In her sleepy state, Faith managed to reply. “Very big, Mommy.”

You chuckled to yourself and shook your head before walking out and towards your own room.

//

Harry felt like a kid. He was too excited that morning to get up and get on with his breakfast, wanting to deny that it wasn’t because he wanted a reason to text you, but who was he trying to lie to? No one, he was alone.

He followed the recipe, chuckling and laughing to himself during some moments when he was about to fall for some mistakes before reading your notes and saving his toasts, as if you were sitting right there and monitoring him.

His playlist was playing from his phone that he held in his hand, and he was humming along as he placed the two toasts on a plate before adding some powdered sugar to them and grabbing his juice.

Before eating, Harry had taken his time in taking a picture of his breakfast, thankful for the natural light his kitchen window was giving for his little photoshoot.

He was just as much nervous as excited as he sliced up a piece before taking a bite, taking his time to taste his work and his eyebrows shot up and he blinked twice in surprise.

It was so good.

While eating another slice, Harry held his phone and opened his messages app, going to your contact.

Attaching the best picture from his breakfast photoshoot, he added a text with it,

‘Tastes incredible! Would have burned it to coal if it weren’t for your notes hahah x’

And he put his phone back on the table, open at your messages as he continued eating while listening to music.

He was mid-sip of his juice when you replied and Harry hated how excited he got because the next thing he knew, he was having a coughing fit that had him go tearful before finally calming down.

‘looks incredible, too! oh trust me, i know. burned a fair amount of toasts on my own so i decided to spare you the damage. you’re a quick learner :)) x’

That morning, you and Harry exchanged multiple texts, drifting from his breakfast to how you both wished to have dogs.

It was around 4 when you were driving back with Faith from her gymnastics practice when Harry called, thankfully just as you were unlocking the door to your apartment.

“Hey.” You smiled to yourself as you answered, taking off your shoes by the door beside Faith’s before closing the door behind you, watching as Faith went to the bathroom to wash her hands.

“Hi,” Harry, too, was smiling to himself as he held the phone close to his ear, “I was walking around and I found this tiny restaurant that reminded me of where you took us yesterday and, apparently they make the best Italian pizza. Was wondering if you wanted to grab pizza with me and we can talk about, you know,” he chuckled, “The sessions.”

You thought, mind instantly going to who would watch Faith as you went before your eyes fell on your daughter who came back, whispering to you if she should wait for you in the bathroom seen as you were on the phone.

“One second,” you said to Harry before moving the phone from your ear and muting the sound, “Yeah, baby, do that. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

You unmuted, “Hey, sorry about that.”

“No worries.”

He was growing nervous at how you were yet to reply to his suggestion, having already had been nervous enough to suggest and call in the first place.

“Pizza and talking sound lovely.”

He released a breath, smiling to himself. “Great, great! Pick you up at 6?”

“Sure, yeah. 6 is great. I’ll go now. See you soon, Harry.”

“See you soon, Y/N.”

You didn’t trust strangers to watch your daughter, didn’t exactly trust strangers in your house unattended, too. It’s why at times when you couldn’t drive the 40-minute drive to your mom’s, your best friend, Cece, was always your go-to and that was especially nice because she also lived two buildings away.

Cece’s job was one from her home, making food and delivering it to people while she managed her business on her own through social media and it was why most of the time, she was home and always happy to have her goddaughter keep her company.

After calling Cece to make sure she was okay with babysitting Faith for some time and her assuring you that she was, you prepared dinner for your daughter after giving her a shower.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving, baby?” You asked as you sat with Faith while she ate the pasta you made her.

It wasn’t frequent of you to leave Faith for anything but work. Maybe for a night out with some friends every now and then but you always went out with them for 3 hours tops before you began feeling guilty for leaving your daughter and going back to get her so you can spend time together instead.

And it wasn’t like you were frequently going on dates either. Cece had pushed you into it when Faith was 2, and you did go out a few times with different people, all whom you never heard of whenever they knew that you had a daughter and then you decided that maybe the single mom life was just too welcoming of you.

Hell, you didn’t know whether you should call having pizza with Harry a date. It wasn’t, was it? Not that you’d mind but it was for business, wasn’t it? Strictly business. Or maybe it wasn’t and that was fine by you- and now you were beginning to feel like a teenager again. Great.

“Mommy,” Your 4-year-old huffed, rolling her eyes, “I’m a big girl. You should have more fun.”

You couldn’t believe that you were getting advice from a 4-year-old, especially your daughter, but you deserved that.

“When did you get so big?” You rhetorically asked, “Thank you for being understanding, Nugget.”

Faith smiled at you, kicking her legs as she ate. “Where are you going?”

Now that question you weren’t prepared for, as much as you thought about it.

You couldn’t risk telling too much to Faith, knowing that she got excited over new people and couldn’t risk disappointing her if Harry ended up being, well, not one to stick or friendly to kids of single moms.

But at the same time, your daughter was your best friend. It was because of your honesty with her and how you acknowledge her and treat her that she was an understanding and empathetic person who could hold a conversation.

“Well, you know Harry Styles? The man who sings Canyon Moon?” You asked, knowing that that song was on her top favorite songs list after she had heard it once on the radio as you were driving her to her practice.

She nodded, “The pretty man with drawings?”

She had been curious to see the face behind her favorite song and once you showed her a picture, her smile got big and she had said that he was “very pretty” and had “nice drawings that she wanted to color in” meaning his tattoos.

You chuckled, “Yes, that one.” Again, Faith nodded. “Well, I’m helping him with his songs and I’m going to have dinner with him tonight.” You said, crossing your arms on the table.

Faith dropped her fork, looking at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, causing you to laugh heartfully at your daughter. “Mommy, really?!”

You nodded, opening your phone’s camera to record her, Faith not caring.

“Mommy you’re meeting Harry Styles!”

“I am,” you laughed, “Are you happy?”

“Very happy I’m going to cry!” She gasped, “Can I see him? Please, Mommy, please!”

“I don’t know, Nugget. I might have to ask him.”

“Do you think he’ll say no?” She frowned, “I can wear my Harry dress!”

And by her Harry dress, she meant the Fine Line black tee you had bought her, and even though it was sized small, she was only a toddler so you had resulted for her to wear it as a dress after you had trimmed it and its sleeves and had your mom fit it as tight as she could without damaging it. Needless to say, whenever your daughter wore the oversized tee dress, you had to snap multiple pictures of her because she always looked too adorable and fashionable in it.

“I don’t know what he’ll say but I’ll ask him. And yes, you can. You always look adorable in it.” You smiled, still recording her.

“Can you tell him I love his songs? I love Canyon Moon so much an-Oh! And Sunflower, too!” She grinned, “Are you going to show him this video?” Faith asked as she looked at you.

You shrugged, “You want me to?”

She nodded excitedly before looking at the camera, “Mr. Harry, I love you very much, sir. I hope I can see you but Mommy said she’ll ask you so please say yes. Make Mommy happy, not sad. Goodnight, sir.”

Your heart might have as well exploded that moment as she waved before you ended the video.

As if he was waiting for you to finish, your phone began ringing the moment you stopped recording, finding Harry calling you which made you instantly pick up the moment Faith began eating again.

“Hey, do you like strawberries?” He asked, the moment you picked up.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion but a silly smile took over your face nonetheless, “Uh, yes?”

“Alright, great. I’ll see you soon. Bye!”

//

To make matters easier, once Harry had texted you that he was 2 minutes away, you grabbed your bag and left your apartment and into the elevator before walking outside your building, just in time to see a yellow Ferrari Dino pull up.

You smiled at him, watching as he parked before getting out, “Did I keep you waiting for long?” He asked as he approached you.

“No, just came down.” You answered, watching as he reluctantly slightly opened his arms. He was a hugger.

You wrapped your arms around him in a greeting hug, taking notice of how good he smelled. Just as good as he looked; he was in off-white textured knit Wales Bonner polo, paired with his Gucci flared denim pants and off-white Converse. Nobody should be allowed to look that good in casual clothes.

It wasn’t like Harry’s mind wasn’t doing flips at that moment, too. Instead of smelling like overpriced perfume, you smelled like coconut and roses; a refreshing smell that made Harry’s smile deepen enough for his dimple to make appearance. You, too, were in casual clothes; violet colored cropped culottes, a white tee tucked inside, white sneakers on, a black and white cross-bag and your hair was up in a messy ponytail that was kept by a hairband but you wrapped a black and white head bandana around the band just for the looks.

You looked effortlessly beautiful.

You both walked to his car, Harry opening the door for you before grabbing something from the passenger seat before you sat – a bouquet of strawberries.

“Didn’t know what type of flowers you like so,” he said before extending the bouquet towards you with sweetest and giddiest smile, “Hope that’s okay.”

You almost melted, your face changing to a pout as your head tilted to look at him while you accepted the bouquet, “This is so nice of you. Thank you, I love it.”

Alright so you don’t get strawberry bouquets to people you aren’t going on dates with, right?

The ride to the little pizzeria was nice – comfortably nice. You had shared the strawberries there and your stomach did a thousand flips when you offered Harry one only to have him open his mouth,

“I’m driving.”

And then he opened his mouth again, biting the strawberry you offered with your hand, laughing when it was about to drip on him if it weren’t for your fast reflexes – thank motherhood for that – as you held out your other hand beneath his chin.

By sharing strawberries, you mean you ate some as well as fed Harry some.

You both mentally took notice of how conversations flowed so effortlessly between you, as if you had met years ago and not just a day. Hell, even the texts were random and messy as well as entertaining and fun.

The drive wasn’t a long one, only about 20 minutes before Harry was parking in front of a place called ‘La Pizza’.

You both went outside the car, you waiting for Harry by your side as he walked towards you.

You might as well have melted right there and then when you felt Harry’s hand, very gently, on your back. It was very gentle, you almost didn’t notice and you felt that he was just making sure that he wasn’t making you uncomfortable but it was a reflex action of his. Nonetheless, you appreciated the concern and decided to show him that it was okay to touch you when you touched his arm as you both walked through the door.

Harry gulped, feeling hot as you touched him and he almost scolded himself because it only lasted for a second, yet there he was, getting flustered already. What the fuck was going on with him?

A waitress greeted the both of you, smiling widely as she motioned for you to follow her inside the place.

“There are more tables on the roof, would you want to check that?”

Harry looked at you the same moment you did at him, both of you nodding to each other to say that you wouldn’t mind.

“That would be great, thank you.” Harry said, smiling politely at the waitress who nodded and walked in front of you with the both of you following her up the stairs, Harry’s hand now more comfortably on your back as he walked behind you.

The roof was beautiful; cliché but beautiful fairy lights of small globe bulbs hung above the place, only 3 tables there, each at a good amount of distance from each other.

“Would you want to sit here or downstairs?”

Harry looked at you, you giving him a nod. “Here would be fine.”

The waitress nodded before guiding you towards a 2-chaired table. Harry had sat you down first before moving to his chair.

“Thank you.” You both said in unison as the waiter placed 2 menus in front of the both of you.

“I’ll be back to take your orders.” She smiled before leaving.

“Looks good.” You smiled at him before looking down at the menu.

“Didn’t know they had a roof.” Harry said, “This saved me.” He chuckled.

You looked up with confusion, “Saved you from what?”

Harry shrugged, now growing nervous. “Uh, wasn’t sure if taking you out for the first time here was chivalrous enough because it felt too casual, like a friends thing and not a date but now here seems right.”

He wished the ground he was on would split and swallow him whole. Wished to crawl up a hole and cry.

There were things he was practicing on on the way to you; like how he would hide that he was a nervous wreck, how he was excited to spend time with you, how he knew almost every single song you worked on, and finally, how he wouldn’t spill that he thought that was a date, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

You were amused. Contrary to how Harry truly felt, you thought it was nice that he was straightforward.

“Figured this wasn’t too casual the moment you gave me the strawberry bouquet, Harry.” You smiled, assuring him that you were okay with this being a date.

Looks like it wasn’t business after all.

Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow, “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

You laughed, “Yes. Don’t think I was ever given a bouquet of fruit so yeah. Really nice.”

You both went through the menu, commenting on some plates and ingredients as you did and contemplating together.

“Maybe we should just get two pizzas and share, so we can try more than one option.” You suggested.

“Good idea.” He agreed, “What do you think of Quattro Formaggi?”

“Ooo, yes.” You then pointed on another topping, “Pizza Melanzane?”

“Yes.” Harry closed his menu with a nod.

Shortly after, your waitress came back and took your order before leaving.

“Finished a song yesterday.”

Your eyes widened as you took a sip of water before putting the glass back down, “Really?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. A new one.”

“You mean you wrote a new one? Not finished writing one you already had?”

Again, he nodded, putting his arms on the table. “New. Very much new.”

You grinned at him, “That’s amazing. What is it about?”

Alright maybe he didn’t think that one through. He did write a song the previous night and he was proud of it and his gut did tell him that it would make it to the list of his next album, but telling you about it on your first – and he hoped it wasn’t the last – date? Well, not so ideal.

“It’s about opening up to someone new. Trying love again and unraveling yourself to the other person.”

Maybe it was because of your situation, but your breath hitched in your throat.

“You know when you get fucked from an ex and love as whole and you think that you don’t want to go through that again and you, like, close off,” Harry explained, “And it’s like you’re immune to feeling any sort of love or interest in anyone after that. Sure, maybe some sexual attraction here and there, but never something wholesome, you know?” He motioned with one of his rings clad hands as he talked, “But then you meet someone and you feel like a teenager or something,” he chuckled, “And it’s a nice feeling, it’s wonderful, that you start thinking that, hey,” he tilted his head, “Maybe I can do this again.”

You were speechless.

You were a woman of words, hell, you worked with words, but right then, you barely remembered the alphabets.

“You- You get me, right?” Harry asked.

You broke out of your trance, nodding absentmindedly, “Yeah, yeah, I,” you paused, an airy chuckle leaving your throat, “Man do I get you.”

He smiled in amusement, “Relatable?”

“Too much, you had me by surprise.” You answered honestly, releasing a breath.

It wasn’t a surprise to Harry that somebody broke your heart; it was always the good ones who got their hearts broken and got fucked over, always the givers.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of shock at who would possibly have you at arm’s length, with the ability to kiss and cuddle you, and decide to break your heart?

See, maybe Harry had just met you but you know when you meet someone good. Someone kind. Especially when you’re in an industry that is full of shitty people and too many cold snobs.

“When was it?”

You understood his question, understanding that he meant to ask you about when your heart got broken – when somebody fucked you over.

“5 years ago.” You answered, “You?”

“2.”

“Cheers.” You joked, raising your glass of water to clink it to his, chuckling when he did clink them.

“5 years is a long time.” He commented, gentle with his tone as were his eyes.

“It is,” you agreed, “Got over him, really.”

“You met someone after?”

His question made you think again of your answer, causing you to giggle before correcting yourself, “Got over him as a person but not over the whole thing.”

Harry chuckled, “So no.”

You shook your head, “No. Didn’t have the heart to.” And even though your sentence carried double meanings, you took a mental note of that same sentence just for future songwriting sessions. “What about you? Met anyone after it?”

“Not really,” he shook his head, “Friends set me up with some people but it never went further than a day.”

“You don’t click?”

“No,” Harry answered before a small smile made its way to his face, “I didn’t.”

Your face grew hot, breaking eye contact to glance beside you for a moment.

“How long did it take to write that song yesterday?” You asked, turning back to look at him, growing more flustered to see that he was already looking at you with the same smile.

“Think 25 minutes.”

Your eyes widened, “Inspiration really did hit you, Harry, huh?”

“Grabbed the journal and guitar and I just ran to the studio at home, and it just,” he shrugged, “Happened.”

“Let it keep hitting you like that and we won’t be working together.” You said with a smirk.

“Then I’ll purposely distract myself whenever it hits me so I can see you.” Harry was quick to reply, a smug smile of his own on his face.

“Oh my God.” You whispered under your breath, shaking your head as you covered your face, hearing Harry laugh before feeling his hands on yours, guiding them down.

Shortly after, your waitress was back with your orders; both pizzas looking mouthwatering.

You and Harry decided against utensils, exchanging slices with your hands and granted, as Harry had said, they did make the best Italian pizza.

//

After the pizza and paying, you and Harry had grabbed ice cream from the parlor right next to the pizzeria before sitting in the car, remaining parked as you laughed about everything and anything.

“And I had no idea that Paul McCartney was right behind me the entire time. It was awful!” You finished, laughing more at how hard Harry was laughing at your story.

“Would’ve changed my name and moved out of this planet if I were you.” He teased you as he regained his breath.

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed, rolling your eyes at him.

Harry laughed, reaching out to place a hand on yours, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Embarrassing shit happens to me everyday, too. On stage is the worst.”

You tried to ignore the tingly feeling that rushed within you at his hand over yours, but good heavens, you were a goner. “The falls?”

“At some point I thought it was good my tour got postponed because I see myself falling during most of the songs. Imagine Watermelon Sugar, I’d be a clown.”

You laughed, “Probably so,” you teased him, batting your eyelashes jokingly when he feigned shock, “But really, you’re an amazing performer. I actually have been to one of your shows once.”

Harry’s eyes widened and as did his smile, “No way.”

You nodded, “The one in Glasgow in November.”  

“You’re telling me that we were in the same room and-“ Harry paused, shaking his heads as he let out a chuckle of disbelief, “Wow. Alright. Did you have anyone with you?”

“Was just me and Faith.” You answered nonchalantly, only realizing once you did before your looked intently at Harry.

“Is that a best friend?” He asked, “Did they enjoy the show?”

“She did, yeah. Very actually,” You chuckled, remember how surprised you were at how 2-year-old Faith at the time was actually very interested and was dancing in your arms the entire time. “And she is my best friend at some point but she’s my daughter.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting but you definitely weren’t expecting Harry to grin excitedly.

“You have a daughter?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, a small smile on your face as you inspected him, “I do. She turns 5 in December.”

Harry only seemed to get more excited at the news, which made your heart flutter at the sight of.

“Do you have a picture?”

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled more then, eager to show him your beautiful girl before unlocking your phone and opening your photos album, only to find the most recent addition to it – the video. “Hey, actually, she wanted me to show you something.”

You gave Harry the phone to watch better, most of the time keeping your eyes on him. Harry’s cheeks sported a shade of red at how highly your daughter spoke of him, laughing and giggling to himself as he watched.

“Nooo, I won’t say no. I’d love to meet her.” He cooed, continuing to watch.

As the video ended, Harry handed you back the phone, “Please let me meet her. And what’s that Harry dress?”

And so you told him about your adventure with the tee, to which his heart seemed to grow a thousand times more at.

“I wasn’t aware kids loved me, I’m sorry you couldn’t find her size.” Harry frowned, feeling genuinely bad.

“Hey, no,” you assured him, putting your other hand on his – that was still resting on yours – “Don’t worry about it. You don’t exactly sing the alphabetics, Mr. sex-inspired-my-last-album-and-I-made-it-on-shrooms.”

Harry giggled, shrugging at you.

You both talked some more, only about Faith. Harry’s eyes were wide with admiration when you told him about how you raised her alone – also assured when he realized that the father wasn’t exactly in the picture even though his heart broke at that – and he showered you with compliments of how brave you were to raise a kid alone.

“Think I should head back now. I still need to pick Faye up from my best friend’s.” You said, leaning your head on the headrest as your body was turned towards Harry, his hand sandwiched between yours on your thigh.

“Can I help?” He asked, “Only if that’s okay. I don’t want to be crossing my limits.”

Your eyes searched his, growing emotional at the man in front of you. “Are you sure?”

Again with the double meanings.

That time, Harry noticed, his face softening as he looked back at you. Softly and ever-so-gently, he leaned to press a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’m sure.”

As he drove, you and Harry held hands on your thigh, the both of you singing along to Fleetwood Mac on your way.

As you gave Harry directions, he was absentmindedly rubbing your hand with his thumb. If you would have told him that he was doing that, he would have denied it; not because he wanted to deny it, but because it felt too natural that he didn’t realize he was doing it.

“Right here.” You pointed at a building, “She’s two buildings away. You can go, it’s a short walk.”

“I’ll wait for you here.” Harry said, parking before turning to look at you.

“Harry, seriously, you can leave if you want. I’m right there.” You pointed at your building.

“Nonsense, love. I’ll wait here.”

You sighed in contentment, giving his hand a squeeze before getting out of the car and into the building.

“Why did you not tell me that you were on a date with Harry fucking Styles?” Cece whisper shouted as soon as she opened the door, “Knew from Faith, you shit.”

“Because you’d overr-“

“He could be the one!”

“-react. You’d overreact and plan our wedding.” You teased your best friend, “Where’s Faye?”

“Won’t you come in for a drink?” She asked before turning, “Faith, it’s your mom!”

“Can’t. Uh,” you cleared your throat, “Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Some- No fucking way!” She exclaimed, muttering a “sorry” when you hushed her, “He-Harry is downstairs? Are you shitting me?” Cece excitedly asked.

You couldn’t stifle the smile on your face as you nodded.

Cece was about to talk some more before Faith appeared beside her, her backpack hung on one shoulder as she rubbed her eyes.

You knelt down, hugging her. “Hey, Nugget. You sleepy?”

Faith only nodded, wrapping her arms around you as you carried her, feeling her rest her head on your shoulder and you instantly knew that she slept.

“I’ll text you, alright?” You whispered to Cece.

“You better.”

Carrying Faith as well as having her backpack in one hand, once Harry saw you, he was out of the car and rushing towards you, taking the bag from your hand.

“Thank you.” You smiled thankfully, noticing how he walked beside you and guided you to the car, opening the door for you and sleeping Faith before closing it as gently as he could.

The lack of backseats made Harry place the purple backpack on his lap as he drove towards your building, a seconds drive.

He stopped the car and was out of his seat the moment he parked, slinging the bag on his shoulder before helping you out, taking your bag for you, to which you quietly thanked him for.

“Um, you can place the bags on my shoulders or something.”

“I can help you upstairs, come on. It’s no problem.”

You knew he was set on it and you let him, mostly because of how surprised you were that there were people who didn’t cringe and run the moment they knew the other person had a kid.

Harry did all the work; opened the building’s door for you, pressed for the elevator, pressed your floor number and had even taken out your keys once you told him to to unlock the door.

“Come in, come in.” You whispered.

Unsure of what to do, Harry walked inside and mirrored your actions by taking off his shoes before lingering.

“You can follow me.” You whispered again, turning around for a moment to look at him with a smile.

A quick take of the apartment was what Harry could do as he followed you, feeling an emotion of comfort and coziness engulf him as he did.

You were never less thankful for yourself for every time you changed Faith into pajamas before taking her to Cece’s, because it only made the process of tucking her in easier.

Harry had helped you by moving the covers so you could place Faith in bed before he stepped back, letting you tuck her in.

He smiled, watching how you seemed to shift around her or even when you just talked about her, like she was the most important person in your life and he knew that she was exactly that.

Faith was beautiful, and more often than not, you were glad that she got most of your looks and not her biological father’s because it only meant that he really was out of your life.

Harry noticed it, too. She had your nose, your lips, your facial outline, and your hair color. And from what he had seen in the video from when Faith was awake, she had your eye color.

You placed a kiss to her forehead before turning around, your eyes falling on Harry whose eyes were set on Faith with a ghost of a smile on his face.

His eyes came up to you and you noticed that he was still holding on to Faith’s backpack and was wearing your crossbag across his own chest.

You smiled as you grabbed the backpack from him and putting it aside on the floor before looking at him.

The only light in the room was from the hallway, making the room dimmed and making the both of you in a much more sentimental moment.

“They usually run away when they find about Faith.” You whispered, stepping closer to him, “Now is your cue.”

Harry’s eyes were on yours until they glanced at your lips, and butterflies erupted in your stomach at that.

“Thank God I’m not one of them, then.” He replied gently in a low whisper before he leaned closer, shamelessly looking at your lips.

It was you who took the final step, closing the minimal space between you by placing your lips on his.

His hands went to your waist as yours went to his neck, feeling him kiss you back softly but eagerly before pulling away from less than a second to tilt his head, getting a better angle before his lips were back on yours.

“Mommy?”

Pt. 2 

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela​ is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself. 

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence. 

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal. 

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left. 

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold. 

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.'  You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse. 

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back. 

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips. 

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope. 

'Not here,' he replied. 

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure. 

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter. 

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening. 

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years. 

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree. 

He frowned and nodded. 

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him. 

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.' 

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?' 

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.' 

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.' 

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.' 

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.  

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.' 

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.' 

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive. 

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?' 

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?' 

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.  

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…” 

 “Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door. 

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there. 

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?” 

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

 "Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze. 

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said. 

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry. 

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could. 

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light. 

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice. 

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head. 

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.  

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request. 

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied. 

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was. 

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second. 

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her. 

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered. 

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered. 

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful. 

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him. 

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted.  And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper. 

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers. 

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable. 

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer. 

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

--

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

--

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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@revunant​

She kept thinking about how she didn’t have any other option. She did. And it wasn’t even in the metaphysical sense, in which every person has the option to either do or not do something. She really did have other options—a countdown to an inheritance, a spot in a group home, a godfather in the next state, a pair of estranged grandparents in the old country.

But Katie didn’t like any of those options, because it meant inaction. It meant having to bide her time, and letting the trail get cold. The bloodstains were already old (Hosed down, too), but they were still fresh in Katie’s head. She still heard that awful drip, drip, drip when she closed her eyes, and it pushed her brave the airport, train station, and boat docks by herself—tagged as a minor instead of having any father or brother to act as her shepherd. She only had herself to hold as the languages and signs became stranger and stranger to her foreigner ears and eyes.

She was supposed to go to her grandparents, but it was so easy to change her tickets. She had direct access to terminal computers, and their passwords were worryingly simple. At one point she almost considered leaving a note behind, explaining how making your password “1234!” as a major train station was asking for cyberterrorist attacks.

Just like how she was supposed to be accompanied by an advocate, but there were so many switch-offs between all the different international borders. She was just about 17 years old, and each one was less and less interested in holding her hand. One old man had even turned his nose up at her, explaining how she already would’ve been a woman in his day and age.

She had given him the slip, ditching her minor tag, too. She’s not sure whether she was nailing the grown up act, or if the ferrymaster in the next town over didn’t care about her age as long as she was paying him double, but she was on her real mission, now: finding Pieter.

She didn’t know where he was exactly. He had told her about his ship before, though—when she was still small enough to sit in laps and ask for stories. Her dad had said a few things about it, too, and even kept some notes in one of the few journals Katie managed to snag from his labs before detectives took it over.

It was only thanks to her keen memory, the Holt curse to observe any and all things, and a strange mix of investigative work and blind faith that Katie had any sense of direction.

Eventually, those things paid off, and Katie found herself trudging through a bog. Unless, you were supposed to call them something else when you were in the middle of nowhere Scandinavia? Katie was pretty sure bogs were just a Florida thing. Or, was that swamps? Okay, she was getting off track here, because she was finally looking at Pieter marvelous all-terrestrial ship (Which she confirmed by looking between it and her dad’s sketches a good 20 or 30 times), and she was realizing that she hadn’t ever thought of what to say.

What about.. “Hello! I’m the runaway daughter of your murdered colleague, and I want you to help me solve it, because I think the cops are part of a conspiracy.”

Oh god. Just awful. Was that the best she could do?

Okay. She probably should’ve used the 7 hour flight to Dublin to sort her words. Or at least workshopped a few things on the ferry out of that Finnish city she never figured how to pronounce.

If only compelled by the enormous stakes of her stunt, she keeps trudging through the boggy puddles until—in a moment of pure floundering—she knocks at the main doors. As if it were a typical home. 

“Ah, geez,” she mumbled to herself, shifting her duffel bag as she wrung her hands, “what if he isn’t even here..?”

[embrassemoi]

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb! 

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”  

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

[starlost-andfound]

we’re still okay // d.j.s

Inspired by the song ‘Track 9’ by Alexander 23

Summary: Daniel loves making music. The lyrics, melodies and harmonies are all like a language to him. When he was with you, all he wrote about was you. Now that you’re gone , the language that was once native to him has suddenly become foreign.

W/C: 2.077 K (Approximately)

Warning : Angst, implications of death of a loved one

A/N: Hi hello, please listen to ‘Oh No, Not Again!’ the EP by Alexander 23 because it’s a masterpiece, please and thank you.

Hey

It's been a while since we've talked

Daniel sighed quietly, staring at the wall across him in his room. The dark room, illuminated by a soft glow of the sunlight peeking through the blinds. He cuddled her pillow close to him, the remains of her scent, barely there. Recently he had been spending a lot of time in his room, in the dark. His sight had begun to adjust and he immediately picked on the form of the picture frame on his desk, an image of him and his lover looking back at him.

He sighed shakily. He turned away from the picture he loved and hated with a burning passion, as the sound of the door opening caught his attention. He turned to see his visitor. His brother, Christian shuffled into the room.

“Hey buddy,” he smiled softly. Daniel turned back around, facing the wall again. His lips trembled and he shut his eyes tightly, holding in his tears.

“I made breakfast, if you want to come out and eat.”

Silence.

Christian cleared his throat, “You haven’t eaten, Daniel. I know you're hurting but-Please, just eat something. Do it for me, at least.”

When he got no response, Christian sighed. He picked up the dinner plate on Daniel’s bedside table, the food untouched and cold. When the door finally shut, Daniel sighed in relief, a quiet cry leaving his lips. He pressed his face into the pillow, the cloth, absorbing the stream of salty water as it fell.

His fist gripped the pillow as he tried to quieten down, muffling his soft whimpers. He gasped for a breath in between his cries, his hands furiously brushing away his tears. Daniel cursed under his breath, pulling himself out of bed and shuffling to his bathroom where he splashed his face with cold water. He stared at his reflection, pain and sorrow etched in the bags under his eyes and red cheeks.

I see you made it all the way to "Track 9"

So thanks

For listening to all my thoughts

I used to give 'em to you straight

But now you wait for the release date

Recently, Daniel spent a lot of time in his room, so when he stepped out of his room that afternoon, the surprised looks from his brothers didn’t go unnoticed. He ignored their failed attempts at subtle stares and headed for the kitchen. He rummaged through the fridge, searching for something to eat.

His appetite sparked at the sight of an apple and he picked it up, snatching a bite of it as he closed the door and walked back to his room.

“You wanna watch with us?”

He stopped and turned to his brothers who sat and watched The Office on the TV. He gulped, looking at the screen and back at his brothers. The Office was her favourite show. He swallowed the bite of the apple he had taken, the piece hurting to swallow with the growing lump in his throat.

Daniel stormed back to his room as tears pricked his eyes and he slammed the door shut, resting his head against the cold wood. He took a deep breath in and exhaled. You should have just stayed in your room.

He didn’t come out for dinner that night, just like the previous few nights. Just like the last few nights, Christian or Tyler always passed by his room to give him his dinner. His head perked up from his bed as the door shut behind him and he craned his neck to see what was on his plate that night. Mac and cheese and nuggets, his favourite.

“Why is that the only thing you eat?”

Daniel looked up from his plate with a smirk on his face, “What do you mean?”

Y/n grinned, “Baby, you practically live off mac and cheese and chicken strips!”

Daniel giggled, “Nuggets, babe, gotta get it right if you’re going to call me out.”

Daniel sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head back onto his pillow. His hand reached out for the pillow next to him, tugging it closer. He rested his head against it, cuddling it close to him. He inhaled, smelling her fading scent. He almost finished using the perfume in her perfume bottle. The shop didn’t have any more in stock.

And you're probably wondering where are all the songs about us?

I hear 'em in my head, but I can't write 'em down 'cause

Once the pen's to paper, then it's really, really over

And I'd much rather pretend that maybe we'rе still okay

Daniel tiptoed across the hallway and into the living room. He walked past a sleeping Kobe with a soft smile and opened the backdoor, shuffling to the studio. His nose tingled at the stuffy air as he turned on the lights in the room. His finger swiped across his table where his music equipment was laid out, picking up a layer of dust.

He pulled out his chair and sat on it with a sigh. Daniel reached behind his computer, pulling out a journal, his song book. His hands delicately flipped through the pages, stopping at his last song in progress, the unfinished lyrics singing back to him in his mind.

“What you working on, baby?”, two arms wrapped around Daniel’s shoulders from behind and he turned his head to see y/n.

He pecked her cheek, “Just a lil something.”

Y/n smiled and kissed his shoulder before resting her head on it, “Can I see?”

Daniel nodded, passing his journal to her. Y/n skimmed the contents of the page as Daniel briefly explained he had yet to finish some parts. He noticed the soft blush which tinted her cheeks when she looked up at him again. “Is this….about me?”

Daniel smiled bashfully, “Maybe?”

“You wrote a song...about me?”, y/n repeated.

Daniel nodded and scratched his head, “Everything i write is practically about you….do you um..like it?”

Y/n looked up at him , frozen for a second before wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I love it so much, and I love you.” She looked up, a lovestruck smile on her face, “I love you so so much.”

Daniel pressed his forehead against hers, their noses brushing together, “I love you too, my love, forever and always.”

She never got to hear the song. The lyrics, melodies and harmonies remained unseen, unheard. A song meant for his lover,  that was so abruptly cut off by a sudden loss. It didn’t seem right to finish a song for someone who would never get to hear it. Daniel’s vision grew blurry and he wiped his eyes. His fingers brushed across the lyrics on the page, and he closed his eyes, imagining she was here.

I really hopе that by the fall

We'll find the peace we're missing in the missing pieces

Oh yeah

And I hope we look back at this song

As the beginning of the rest

And not the ending of the mess

Days when they had picnics at the park in their hidden spot, were always Daniel’s favourite. He would rest his head on her lap, y/n talking about her day while brushing her fingers through his hair. He loved the tranquility and the warmth of th emoment.

“You’re so pretty, did you know that?”, y/n whispered, her fingers playing with his hair.

Daniel looked up with a small blush on his cheeks, “Thank you baby. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Y/n smiled, kissing his forehead, “Thank you, bubs.”

Daniel smiled, reaching up his hand to caress her cheek, “Can you read to me?”

Y/n giggled, “Since when have you enjoyed reading?”

“Since you’ve read to me, your voice is soothing.

Y/n smiled and picked up the novel she had been reading recently, flipping to the page she left off. “Should I start from the beginning?”

Daniel shook his head, “No, it’s alright. I just want to hear your voice, I like to hear you talk.”

Y/n pressed another kiss to his cheek before starting to read, flipping past the pages as Daniel listened attentively. As she read, he plucked a daisy on the grass, stretching his hand to lace in her hair, behind her ear.

Y/n shot him a smile before continuing to read, her hands going down to play with his hair. Every now and then, after a couple of pages she would lean forward to place a kiss on Daniel’s forehead.

After a while, Daniel said, “You missed a spot.”

Y/n looked down at him, putting the book to the side, “Oh?”, she smirked, “And where’s that, hmm?”

Daniel smirked, sitting up before pulling her in for a kiss.

“Right there.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “You’re so cheesy”

“But you love it,” Daniel grinned.

Y/n shugged playfully, “Eh”.

“Hey!” Daniel’s fingers poked her side, causing her to giggle. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and tickling her.

“Daniel!”, y/n shrieked with laughter, “Stop it!”

Daniel laughed, “Just admit it!”

Y/n struggled against his grip before giving up, “Fine! Fine!” She gasped for  a breath as Daniel halted, waiting for her to speak.

“I love it.”

“Love what?”, Daniel asked.

Y/n hesitated a moment before speaking, “I’m in love with you.”

Daniel froze, processing her words, “You are?”

She nodded, cupping his cheek, “I am in love with you, Daniel James, so much.”

Daniel’s face broke into a grin and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down to lay down on the mat as he peppered her face with kisses. Y/n giggled, “Dani!”

Daniel lifted his face, looking at her with nothing more than admiration in his eyes, “I’m in love with you too, so so much.”

But now you're

Probably wondering where are all the songs about us?

I hear 'em in my head, but I can't write 'em down 'cause

Once the pen's to paper, then it's really, really over

And I'd much rather pretend that maybe we're still okay

Daniel tapped his pen against the page, small flicks of ink replacing the absence of ideas. Write it for her. He dropped his pen and turned to his keyboard, his fingers dancing across the keys. A mismatched tune echoed in the room after Daniel played the wrong chord and he started again. When he couldn’t find his rhythm, he huffed in frustration, trying a different scale of chords.

He slammed his hands onto the keys, a violent note resonating through the room. Daniel tugged at his hair, trying to calm himself down. He turned and picked up his ukulele, tuning the strings, hoping that this would bring him somewhere.

It was like déja vu as Daniel couldn’t find his rhythm. He set the small instrument aside and picked up his journal. He browsed the pages, searching for any unfinished songs he could work on. Maybe that can get you somewhere. He turned a page, reading the title of the song, Love Song. He immediately flipped it over, ignoring the pang in his heart. Yet, the next page held another name which hurt to read, Fallin’ Into You.

It was as though everything was against him, trying to haunt him. Every page he turned had her name written all over it in melodies and drabbles of chords written in the margins. Every song was about her. Daniel turned to the last used page, the last song he wrote about her.

The one he never finished.

The one that slipped like y/n, through his hands.

He glared at the crossed out words and angry scribbles on the page, pulling the last straw. A sudden anger filled his veins and Daniel yelled, ripping out the page and throwing it to the ground. His hands gripped the sheets in his notebook, yanking them out. His knuckles turned white as held each page, tearing them out. He threw his notebook across the room. It hit the wall with a slam.

Daniel threw his hands on the table, pushing the stationary off the edge. The containers clattered across the floor as he raged across the room. He kicked the couch, a strangled cry leaving his mouth as he fell to the floor. Daniel gripped onto the couch cushion, pulling it down with him as sobs wracked his body.

He hid his face in his hands, clutching onto the pillow tightly as he broke down. He was tired and hurting. Everything ached and the weight of it all was too much to bear. Daniel leaned his head back against the arm rest, crying silently as he looked at the wreckage he caused.

A soft ping from his phone took his attention away as he weakly reached for the device in his pocket. He lifted the screen, seeing a pop up notification from his Photos App.

[Photos : Memories - 1 Year Ago Today]

Curious, Daniel unlocked his phone, clicking on the banner to direct him to the app. The application opened to an image of him and y/n with the scenery of the pier behind them. They wore the biggest smiles on their faces as they stared at the camera. While Daniel’s gaze was focused on the camera, y/n’s was looking directly at Daniel, a huge smile on her face.

Daniel whimpered, wiping his eyes to clear his vision and zooming in on the picture. He looked at y/n one more time before hugging his phone and the cushion close to his chest.

We're still okay

[holylulusworld]

Welcome back

Title: Welcome back

Square Filled: A/B/O AU

Ship: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Meg 2.0

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: angst, ABO, ABO dynamics, smut, unprotected sex, scenting, psychic!reader, true mates, language

Summary: Back from Purgatory you and your alpha need to find his brother.

Word Count: 2k+

Written/Created for @spnaubingo​​

2020 SPN AU BINGO Masterlist

Sequel to Purgatory

“It’s not that far, sweetheart,” Dean stops in his tracks, checking on you once again. “We will rest when we reached the clearing over there,” pointing toward a place far away Dean wraps one arm around your waist. 

“No monsters around, only a few animals, harmless.” While Dean looks at the makeshift weapon he brought with him from Purgatory you interlink your fingers with his, smiling when he brings your hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“We can make it, Y/N. Only a bit longer. If we find a car, I know where to go. First, we need to find a phone, though,” you can hear the tremble in Dean’s voice but remain silent.

“Your brother, he’ll be happy to hear you are back.” Dean presses his forehead to yours, inhaling your scent for a moment. “I hope he likes me, alpha.”

“Sammy will love you, Y/N. He is the best. I bet he tried anything to find me and Cas. God, he must be so worried.” You nod, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s scruffy cheek.

“Let’s go, alpha. I want to meet your brother…”

“Dead too,” Dean grumbles, dialing another number. “I don’t get it,” your alpha sighs, ending another unanswered call.

“What’s wrong? Did he change his number?” Worriedly watching your alpha rummage in the gloves department of the car he stole you feel he is getting nervous. “I bet he’s alright, Dean. Maybe he lost his phone, happened to me more than once.”

“Problem is, we’ve got two numbers for emergencies like this, okay. Whenever we got parted or didn’t know if the other is still alive, we call the first number, let it ring thrice, and hang up to call the other number,” impressed you nod, smiling as Dean dials the next number. “Sammy does not answer at all, sweetheart.”

“Do you have a hideout? A place you would use to stay safe?” Dean starts the engine, giving you a sad look. “He’ll be okay, Dean. Nothing happened to your brother, promised. We will find him and you can tell him anything happening over the last year.”

“We hid in a hunting cabin before I ended up in Purgatory. If we find Sammy anywhere it is there. Maybe his battery is low or crap,” Dean’s hands tremble when he speeds off while you pray his brother is safe.

Whitefish, Montana

“I don’t understand,” looking around the cabin you blink in confusion. “Why should your brother leave all his things behind?”

“I got no clue, sweetheart. Dad’s journal, Bobby’s too, we never leave this behind, not even on the run.” Dean feels his throat tightening, as fear takes over and he believes something must have happened to his baby brother. “I can’t believe he left everything.”

Tossing and turning on the mattress you cannot find sleep. Used to sleeping on the ground or in a cave you fail to find rest. 

You slowly sit up, rubbing your tired eyes hearing voices coming from the other side of the cabin. Instinct kicking in you use your powers, but all you can sense are your mate and another human.

Dean talks about spending a whole year in purgatory, running for his life, and losing his friend, the angel. You can hear the sadness in his voice and decide to introduce yourself to his brother.

“I can’t believe you are here,” Dean walks toward the refrigerator taking out two beers when you step out of the small bedroom. “Most of your numbers are out of service, Sammy. I had the feeling you tried to ghost me.”

“I didn't get your messages, Dean,” you walk into the room, standing behind Dean’s tall brother as Sam starts explaining he ditched his phones and your breath hitches in your throat feeling Dean’s anger.

Whilst Sam exclaims he is not hunting anymore and that he quit the family business you step further into the room, looking at your alpha who needs all his strength to tame his anger.

“Dean,” whispering your alpha’s name you look at Dean who balls his hands into fists when his brother admits he did not look for him. Instead of trying to get Dean back, he dropped everything and ran to live a normal life.

“I am still the same guy, Dean,” Sam looks at his big brother, hoping he will not be too disappointed. He only kept his promise and now, he feels the pit in his stomach grows.

“Great for you, I am not,” Dean walks away, opening the door to leave the hut, slamming the door shut, making the wood vibrate.

Blindly running after your alpha, you call his name, scared he will do something stupid, like hurting his brother or himself.

Dean is pacing behind the cabin, slowly losing his patience he’s balling his hands into fists, murmuring curses.

“Alpha,” you whisper, slowly walking toward your mate. “You need to calm, Dean. Let me help you.”

Dean is on you in a blink, burying his face into your neck to inhale your scent to calm his raging anger.

“Need you, omega, need you so much,” he purrs, softly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “I feel calm with you.”

“Have me, alpha, let me help you,” you move your fingers through his hair, gently playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck while your alpha just holds you against him, scenting you.

“Y/N,” Dean murmurs, feeling your hand palm his cock. “I need my omega, need my mate.”

At the same time as you press soft kisses to his neck, nibbling at his skin Dean is impatiently freeing his cock, whining when you press your face into his neck.

“Need you too, Dean,” pressing your lips to your alpha’s you feel his hands on your ass, groping it roughly. Without hesitation you jump into his arms, hold tight onto his shoulders whilst he shoves your panties aside to carefully line up with your entrance.

“Dean,” you whimper, feeling full only seconds later, savoring the burning sensation of the wide stretch.

Dean is purring in response, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You cling to your alpha, loop your arms under Dean’s to let your hands grasp for his shoulders. All you can do is hold tight onto your mate when he starts to move inside of you.

“Alpha,” Dean holds your gaze, smiling when your face contorts in pleasure. “You feel so good, Dean.” He moans at your words, burying his face into your neck, desperately clinging to your body as the pressure builds in your core with every quick thrust he gives you.

“Need you, Y/N,” he whines now, wetting your neck with his tears and you instinctively move one hand to his head, gently stroking his hair to calm the alpha. “My omega, mine.”

“I am here and will not leave you, Dean. Please, I need you,” he is panting now, arms wrapped tightly around your trembling body, desperate to push you both over the edge.

“You’re my ray of hope,” he mumbles when you tighten around him, gripping his cock tightly. “Next time, I’ll knot you good.” Laughing you nod, feeling his cum run down your thighs.

Dean does not pull out for a heartbeat or ten, rather holds you in his arms, pressed against his body. He is panting heavily, hating he showed weakness after being a fierce warrior for all his life.

“You know, you’re damn scary. Those monsters at the Purgatory whispered your name in fear,” you press your lips to his forehead, hoping Dean will calm now. “I have the strongest mate I could wish for.”

Sam still sits on the couch, waiting for his brother to return when you walk back into the cabin, squeezing your mates’ hand tightly. “Hi, I am Y/N, your brother saved me at the Purgatory.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sam’s eyes land on your claiming mark and he knows, his brother did more than saving you. “Can I have a moment with my brother, please?”

“Of course,” you peck Dean’s cheek, letting your touch linger before you break contact to move toward the small bedroom. “I’ll be waiting in our room, alpha. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Did you bring a monster back here, Dean? You changed,” Sam frantically moves his fingers through his hair, glaring at Dean. “You mated with her too!”

“She’s not a monster, Sam. Y/N is human, just like us, but hanks to Crowley she ended up in Purgatory,” Dean talks back, gritting his teeth. “So, yes Sam. I mated with her as Y/N is my true mate. If you do not want to be a hunter any longer or my brother, go back to that woman and leave me alone. I got a mate to take care of.”

Dean walks toward the bedroom, grasping for the door handle. He hesitates, taking a deep breath before he looks over his shoulder at Sam who looks like a kicked puppy. “We see each other in the morning, or not. Your decision, Sam.”

Curled in Dean’s side, one arm draped over his waist you nuzzle your face into his chest.

Dean is wide awake. His instinct, the warrior will not let him sleep. He is used to almost no sleep and being awake for days so he can barely find it in him to close his eyes.

“You need to sleep, Dean,” murmuring the words you snuggle into his chest. “You’re so warm and comfy. I never felt safer, alpha. Nothing will happen to me with you by my side.”

A smile crosses Dean’s face when you pat his back, insisting he needs sleep too. “Sleep, alpha, or you can’t protect me. I cannot sense any monster. There are none out there, not even close.”

“My little monster detector,” Dean pecks your hair, humming when you hook one leg over his thigh. “You’re warm too, soft and caring. If anything good came out of my time at that place, it’s you and our bond. No matter what, we belong together,” whispering the words Dean softly kisses your hair.

“Together, I like it,” sleepily mumbling the words, eyes fluttering close you slowly drift into sleep. “You and I, Dean.”

“I am sorry our first time was rough and pretty public. Next time, I’ll be gentle and take my time, omega. I will show you I can be the mate you deserve,” you are fast asleep, but Dean keeps on whispering promises before he allows himself to fall asleep.

“Morning,” you chirp, offering Sam a cup of coffee, “I am glad you stayed Sam. Dean, he’s not completely back. A part of him is still at that place, mourning the loss of his friend. He’ll need us both to come back.”

“Did he force you?” Sam looks at the healing mark at your neck, waiting for your answer. “I mean, it must’ve been hell being trapped in that world. I would understand if you let him,” Sam gasp when you backhand the tall hunter.

“Dean did not force me to do anything,” you purse your lips. “This place was hell, rough, deadly, and bloody, but your brother is a good man, a good alpha. Don’t you dare to talk about my Dean like that again.”

“Whoa, already at each other’s throat?” Dean snickers watching you point the butter knife at his brother. Dean’s heart swells as he heard every word, but Sam was not completely wrong – Dean thought the same.

“I clarified I defend my mate at all cost, and,” you feel the air shift, “someone’s coming, a strong being.”

“Sammy,” Dean grasps for his gun while Sam grabs the demon knife, ready to attack anyone coming through the door. “Stay behind, sweetheart.” Your alpha shoves you behind his back when the door flings open.

“You are hard to find,” Meg smirks, winking at the brothers who glare at the demon. “What? Aren’t we friends, boys? You know, I had to free myself. Not nice to keep me hanging. Now, are you ready to get the boy back and kick Crowley’s ass or not?”

“She’s strong, but needs a rest,” you whisper, fisting Dean’s plaid. “I can sense more demons coming closer. At least five, maybe more.”

“Well then, let’s hit the road,” Meg exclaims. “We find Kevin, beat Crowley into a pulp and have a nice manicure later.”

“I guess we are back in the game,” Sam nods at his elder brother. “Meg is right, we should leave before they run us over.”

“Ready if you are Sammy,” Dean grasps for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Y/N and me are close behind.”

Tags in reblog.

[mandohasmyheart]

The Beskar Guard // 1.

Masterlist  AO3

Chapter One - The Landing

The Razor Crest rocked and swayed as the Mandalorian within swore at himself for braving taking on those Imperial ships without back up. Not that he would have been able to get some in time, but still, he could have alerted the locals in the surrounding areas of what laid ahead. Whatever they had hit in the back of his ship had cut off his radio, not allowing him to send out the proper beacons or alert the local landing bay that he was coming in hot.

At this point, he was simply hoping for anything other than a hostile welcoming.

With a silent prayer, he was able to land the large ship in one piece without losing too much of the engine to his left. And from the looks of his surroundings, he could make out that there were various life forms moving about the bay, but none seemed all too concerned with his arrival. Taking a moment to collect himself, he reached for his valuables while making sure he had all the appropriate weapons on hand should he need them. He was often a target on his own, despite what he was currently chasing down.

Making sure the tracking fob was tucked away, he opened the back platform and made his way out into the unknown that was Savareen. He was greeted with nothing but sand and the chittering of something to his right. When he turned, he noticed there was a line of formal looking cloaks stepped forward, almost as if they were coming from the shadows. Instinct took over and Din reached for his pistol about ready to draw it forward when a soft, level voice came through the quieting chaos around him.

“There is no need for violence,” the shadow spoke, stepping forward even more while the others stayed back. “We know why you are here and we can help.”

—-

“Ha, I win again Zoros,” you smirked at the blue alien across from you while happily leaning forward and pulling all the credits forward. “At this point, you might want to just start tossing these things my way before the game even starts.”

The alien threw down his hand of cards before standing and muttering something in his foreign language. Despite your father always harassing you about the importance of learning the languages of the galaxy, you never really felt the need. Especially if all you needed to know what how to tell someone how much you were kicking their ass at cards, the money spoke for itself.

Busying yourself with counting, you waited for your next victim to make its way.

“Y/N.”

That familiar icy tone had you frozen in your spot, the cool credit warming in your palm as you stared ahead, not daring to turn around to the look of displeasure that would have graced his face, just as it always did when he found you anywhere but the palace. “Rafan,” you said slowly, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the slick credit still in your hand.

“Your father is requesting your presence.”

Of course he was, there was only ever a reason that Father’s right hand man came looking for you in the middle of the night. “Tell him he can wait until the morning.”

All the hustle and bustle of the underground card game seemed to fall silent as you felt the firm grip of a cold metal hand on your shoulder. “I have orders to take you in with force if I need to,” his voice continued to stay calm and collected as if the two of you were just talking about the weather. “I don’t think you want me to do that in front of your new… friends.”

Stealing a look around, almost every single being that was squished in the tight quarters of the room had their eyes on the man behind you. Not that you blamed them, Rafan was the kind of man that demanded attention. He was also the reason that you knew that your cover was totally blow with this crew. There would be no card games in the future for you here.

With a sigh, you threw down the credits and stood, aggressively shrugging off the hand on your shoulder before turning to face the man of the hour. Despite having known the man your whole life, the scars that riddle the stern look on his face always caught you off guard. His dark skin drew out the blueness in his eyes, the way they reflected the sky on a warm day while the scars along his right cheek and across his left eye gave way to the fact that he had seen some things. Even more when you caught a glimpse of his mechanical hand under his long robes.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” you said with a sigh, shoving past the man and out into the cool night.

Rafan managed to stay quiet while he trailed behind you. The walk through the bazaar at this time of night was an easy one with very few citizens wanting to be caught by the things that went bump in the night, so you really didn’t need the escort back home, but knowing your father, he had probably insisted that you were not to leave his line of sight.

As the oversized palace grounds came into view, the lush green grounds standing out in the sandy bleak city, Rafan finally spoke the obvious. “This is the third time this week alone,” he said in that calm tone of his. “Your father is not pleased.”

“Is he ever with me?”

There was a humorless chuckle from him. It gave you goosebumps as it reached your ears. “When you focus on your studies and know when you should stay quiet, he is always so thrilled.”

Thankful that he could not see the large eye roll you just gave, you squeezed your mouth shut while passing through the grounds, noting that several of the guards took a glance at you and stilled briefly before shaking their heads. Something was different tonight, usually everyone was at attention and concerned about your walk of shame back to the royal chambers, but everyone seemed to be little bit more relaxed? Was that possible when your father reigned with a sense of stern control?

Entering the main hall, the air felt different. It was not the kind of thing you felt like you could explain to anyone who asked, but it swirled and tightened with every breath in your chest. It was almost growing thicker as you approached the heavy doors that led to where your father would be waiting with that bored look of disapproval at his one and only child. The one that was supposed to have spent the night studying her politics and having been tucked into her bed chambers with a guard outside the door several hours ago.

“Ready?” Your escort asked as he side stepped around you to stand before the doors.

“Ready to get it over with.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he gave you a knowing smirk like he knew something you didn’t. Once more, you stomach twisted with uncertainty at the unusual behavior surrounding you, but you held it together as the sturdy doors lurched forward with a loud groan. Sure enough, your father was wide awake, his evening robes flowing across his large seat at the head of the hall as he glanced up from the book in his hands like he was just doing some light reading.

He eyed you, his tired gray eyes glancing at your choice of common robes before looking over at Rafan. “What was it tonight?”

“Just cards,” he answered disinterestedly.  

“Thank the stars,” he said sarcastically before he turned his attention back to where you were standing waiting for whatever punishment that was going to be thrown your way. “Have anything you want to say for yourself?”

That thickness still settled in your chest, so you only were able to give him a small shrug. “I was bored and couldn’t sleep.”

Despite the look of exhaustion that plagued his face, you caught the ghost of a smirk at your answer. “Naturally.”

Now it was your turn to give a small smile at your father. One of few things the two of you shared was insomnia in varying forms. He used his to catch up on the important things that came with overseeing the planet of Savareen or reading the latest political journal while you used yours to see what was so exciting outside of the palace walls - the very walls you had been confined in for the last twenty or so years of your life.

The two of you held eye contact for no more than a few seconds before he cleared his throat and gave a nod towards Rafan, silently releasing him from his babysitting duties. It was quiet as his steps echoed out the hall and the doors closed with that familiar groan so that it was just the two of you. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you focused on how dirty your hands looked in the bright lights, something that would surely get a lecture during one of your lessons tomorrow.

“You know I don’t want you sneaking out,” his voice came out gentle, but stern. “Something could happen to you.”

“But nothing did.”

He stood from his spot, those robes hanging off him heavily as he took the steps down to meet you were you stood shifting your weight back and forth on your heels. “That doesn’t mean it won’t always be the case Little One.”

You knew he was right and that he was just simply concerned for you. Ever since what had happened to your mother, he did not waste any expenses at keeping you safe - one of the many reasons you were rarely given the privilege of getting out of the palace grounds. Sometimes it was suffocating, but having known what your father had been through you couldn’t blame him. Which is why sneaking out made it so much easier than having to have fight after fight for basic freedom.

His eyes continued to roam your face as you remained silent before him. “I think it’s time for a change,” he finally said, turning away from you and nodding towards something off to the side of the hall.

“A change?” You asked, your interest suddenly peaked at your father doing something different. He was a man of habit and old ways, ones that were considered very out of date, so the mere suggest of something new excited you more than it should.

“Yes,” he nodded once more, “a much needed one I think.”

Just as you opened your mouth to inquire more, a shadow moved forward from the spot your father had been facing. A large man stepped into the light, his armor reflecting the glare was almost blinding as he moved to stand beside your father. He was much broader than your frail old man, he towered over him with the thick layers of protection. The way he carried himself, his silence and overall demeanor was all you needed to see to know just what this man was.

“A Mandalorian?” You asked in a quiet gasp, your mind running through all the varying information you had learned of them over the years. “What’s he doing here?”

His covered face tilted to the side as he looked you over, despite not being able to see what was underneath, you could feel the way his eyes raked over your frame in silence. Taking a step forward, your father answered clearly, “He’s here for you.”

Your stomach dropped. If you remembered correctly, Mandalorian’s were known bounty hunters and damned good ones at that. “Me?”

The look of terror must have been clear on your face as he gave a low chuckle and a soft smile. “No, my dear child, he is here for you as your new guard.”

“Excuse me?”

Now the man of silence stepped forward, his throat clearing before he spoke. “I’m having some ship trouble,” his voice came through the modulator and moved deep into the pit of your stomach. “I might be stuck here for awhile and while inquiring for some work, I was made aware I was needed here.”

“As my babysitter?” You asked halfway towards the Mandalorian and your father. “I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

A knowing smirk crossed over your father’s lips once more. “Oh Maker,” he said like you were still a youngling running around with a dagger, an accident waiting to happen. “You need to be kept safe.”

Something in his tone was both soft and fierce, it was the kind of thing that you knew you couldn’t argue with, despite ever fiber of your being screaming at you to do so. Squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath to make sure you could sort your thoughts clearly, you thought about how the armored man said he was having ship problems, most likely meaning that he would be sticking around just long enough to get it fixed and being on his way again.

You could do that. A couple weeks tops with the bounty hunter.

“Okay,” you finally said, letting yourself relax enough to shoot the strange man a smile. “Welcome to the shit show.”

—