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drawlfoy · 3 years ago

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detention retention finale p.1

masterlist (read parts 1-2 here!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no this series is from my original idea however i did take inspo from quite a few people (credited at the bottom of this)

summary: gryffindor y/n is put to the test when she tries to use her detentions with draco malfoy to get close enough for him to share his secret. unfortunately, things are never as simple as they seem. (set in 6th year)

warnings (plz pay attention to these this time): blood, violence, mild gore, mentions of wanting to throw up, you’re just kinda not having a great time during this chapter. also, kinda dark!harry trope here. it is a little ooc, i know, but it was what worked and so i ran with it. also, i play around with the timeline of events that occur in hbp so just expect that

a/n: the long awaited p1 of the finale is here! the second half is almost entirely written save for a few scenes, and i expect to get that out in the next few days (so much less than a week). i really appreciate you all being patient--i wrote and rewrote the potion scene about 3-4 times because it just wasn’t the vibes that i wanted, but i’m semi happy with how it turned out and at this point i’m just gonna go crazy if i keep trying to restructure it so here we go. all the loose ends will b tied up in the last part and y/n is finally gonna catch a break ;) so as always lmk what you think!

word count: 8.7k

here’s a spotify playlist inspired by this fic!

tags: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell @yiamalfoy @crystalox @dracoismybabey @dreamcxtcherr @decaffeinated-turtle @marrymetheonott @felicityofbakerstreet @daedreamss

enjoy >:)

Snape’s stores were much more difficult to crack than she’d expected. She’d managed to steal one ingredient from there once, but back then all she had to do was disengage the multiple jinxes that guarded the door. Since, unfortunately, her slimy old Potions professor appeared to have felt a compulsion to fluff his nest and redecorate. A new painting was hung on the door--one of a large raven with beady, intelligent eyes that followed her as she walked past as inconspicuous as she could, no doubt preparing to fly off into the painting’s grey sky to alert his master. Her father had something similar to this in front of his Gringotts vault. She resolved to speak with him over the break to try and find a way in.

Not like she’d had any chance to execute her plan, anyways. It had been two weeks since Y/N had so much as had a simple interaction with Draco. Every time she tried to talk to him, he turned his attention away from her, offering her a disinterested sniff in response or just outright pretending like he didn’t notice her. Pansy Parkinson seemed to take joy in this development, though she was hardly getting anything on her end save for a few dry looking conversations as Draco’s body angled away from her.

Without the “distraction” of friendship and genuine human connection, Y/N had plenty of time to emotionally free-fall into an internal moral crisis. She supposed that Draco wasn’t expecting her to keep up her end of the deal now, just as her Gryffindor friends had given up on trying to make her useful. Physically, nothing was stopping her from walking right up to McGonagall during one of her detentions and telling her that Draco Malfoy was making an attempt on the headmaster’s life. But was it really worth it? Every time the thought crossed her mind, all she could think about was the way Draco looked when he talked about his mother, the way a shiny film glazed over his eyes and his eyebrows knit together.

She’d made a promise. Too much was at stake. While she had failed her friends, she was at least not going to fail Draco...not when the rest of the world had betrayed him.

Y/N was slowly sifting through thoughts like those when Katie Bell stepped foot into the Great Hall for the first time in a month. Her legs, slightly wobbly from being on bedrest for the better half of November, carried her down the aisle towards the trio of Y/N’s now ex-friends. Her soliloquy was interrupted by the familiar sound of Harry’s voice as he spoke, hushed and rather quickly, to Katie, his hands animated and his frame bent slightly lower so he could speak quietly. It didn’t take much imagination to discern what the topic of their discussion was as their eyes flickered over to the Slytherin table. She managed to hear a few snippets as the wind from the owls blew in and carried it towards her:

“Malfoy--”

“Was it?”

“...remember?”

Katie, lips pressed into a thin line, shook her head. Harry bit his own lip and swung around to look at a blond figure further down the aisle. Draco. He was staring at the meeting, his body entirely frozen while he took it in.

Oh, Draco.

Before either party could say anything, he was already turned around and speeding off outside of the hall. She swallowed; Harry and the rest of her Gryffindor peers were conversing and not casting a single look her way. Taking a deep breath, she got up from her seat, leaving her half eaten toast behind.

It didn’t take long to locate Draco--Myrtle’s bathroom was hardly a minute’s walk away from the Great Hall. He was in the same position she saw him there last, his head hanging over the sink basin while his body heaved.

“Draco,” she called out.

He snapped around, his eyes wild and his hair slightly wet at the tips. It occurred to her that he’d splashed his face with water. “Come around again for a formal Katie Bell confession?”

“No!” she exclaimed. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get herself past the doorway. Not when his wand was raised at her like that. “I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he snarled. “Do you really expect me to believe anything you say?”

“Please,” said Y/N. “Please let me explain.” Despite the sting of his words, she couldn’t help but feel some degree of relief when she realized that he was finally speaking to her again, finally acknowledging her again.

He let out a huff of disbelief. “This isn’t about you. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether or not you explain. You lied to me. You put my family in danger, me in danger. And for what? A date with Potter?”

“What?” All the air left her lungs as she stared at him. “It was never like that!”

“Save it.” His tone, a bitter blend of vileness and defeat, echoed off the stone of the bathroom floor. Y/N was overwhelmed with the urge to run up to him and just beg him to forgive her, but the fire in his eyes and the angry twist of his mouth told her that that wasn’t an option. Instead, she slowly crept towards him. His eyes blazed as she neared him holding her hands up. “Please, Draco. I’m begging you.”

His composure slipped, his wand shaking slightly in the air while he caught his bottom lip on his teeth and stared at her with a look she couldn’t quite place. She was just about to ask him about it when a pair of footsteps stopped right outside the bathroom.

“I know what you did, Malfoy!” Harry appeared, brandishing his wand and pointing it at him with conviction. “You hexed her, didn’t you? Katie?”

Draco sucked in a wheezy breath, struggling to stand up entirely straight as he held his wand at the ready.

“You’re not even gonna deny it?”

“Let me guess, Y/L/N couldn’t get a confession out of me so you’re here to pick up the slack?” Draco finally snarled. “How cute.”

“Shut up!” roared Harry. She’d never seen him look so furious before. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do,” he said menacingly, the usual cool confidence she associated with him slowly reappearing in his demeanor as he twirled his wand around his fingers. Y/N finally let out the breath she was holding as Harry zeroed his focus on her.

“And just what are you doing here?” he hissed. “Hermione was right, huh? You were with him the entire time. I can’t believe I expected anything different from you.”

Despite the fighting nature of the words coming from one of her best friends, she couldn’t help but glance at Draco as confusion briefly rippled through his features.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was being shunned by her friends for not telling them anything.

“I was just checking on him!” she wailed.

Visibly unsatisfied with the answer, Harry just scoffed and aimed his wand at Draco. “You’re going to confess what you did or I’m going to make you regret it.”

Harry wasted no time with firing off the first spell--a weakly cast Stupefy that hardly missed her head as Draco’s Protego ricocheted it in her direction. She yelped as she dodged it, smacking into the side of the stall door and falling on the ground unceremoniously hard. Frantically, she dug through the pockets of her cloak to locate her wand, but she was too late. A flash of light was headed her way.

Instead of it smacking into her chest with the force of a curse, the green light spread around her, creating a shield-like sphere. She met Draco’s eye’s briefly in shock.

He’d cast a protection spell on her. In the middle of a duel that she was hardly formally a part of, he cast a protection spell on her.

“Diffindo!” The puddles from the eternal broken faucet glowed red as Harry parried Draco’s attack. It again went flying in her direction, breaking through the shell of the Fion Duris charm. In a stroke of luck, she rolled out of the way. A light blue flash followed from Draco--a nonverbal.

Finally. Y/N managed to close her hands around her wand, mind racing with thoughts of who she’d disarm first. Her wand had just begun to point towards Harry as the aftershocks of a Levicorpus charm slammed her to the ground once again, her wand bouncing on the cobbled stone once before rolling under the stall door. Y/N swore. “Harry, stop it!”

Harry was clearly losing composure. Despite his magical talent, the speed at which he was rattling off curses compromised his control...and his aim. Draco sent a few Fion Duris and Protego Maxima charms her way, but it still didn’t help when Harry had completely lost it.

Things turned for the worst when his Tergeo actually sliced Y/N--just barely, but enough to draw a significant amount of blood in her wand arm. Even if she wanted to try and find her wand behind the toilets, she wasn’t even sure if she had the strength to fire off anything.

Her cry of pain prompted Draco to immediately turn his attention from Harry, angling his body towards her instead, an indistinguishable expression etched into his face as he took in the bloodstained white sleeve of her arm.

Under normal circumstances, Y/N would’ve swooned at the fact that he willingly forfeited the duel just to check on her. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and Harry’s rage-filled expression and clenched jaw reminded her of this as he reeled his arm back and shouted out, “SECTUMSEMPRA!”

She didn’t think about it. To her credit, there really was no time to think. The cracking crimson light flashing towards Draco’s distracted figure was enough for her to launch herself at him with the intent of knocking them both to the ground--but she was too late, far too late. Glowing red light encased her entire body for a few tense milliseconds before she crumpled to the ground.

The Sectumsempra curse felt like every single nerve ending in her chest was being massaged with a sharp knife. Hot, sticky blood filled her mouth as she blinked, glassy-eyed and dazed, up at the ceiling. Distantly she could hear familiar voices over her body. There was a wet warmth that bloomed on her chest. She managed to glance down at her midsection to see an array of deep, short slashes scattered across her torso.

“Am I okay?” Her voice sounded tinny and funny to her. A pair of light gray eyes came into her vision as she managed another breath. “Draco? Is that you?”

If he leaned closer, she couldn’t tell. His face was beginning to swim in her vision, blending in with the glass ceiling. Finally, a familiar voice, albeit strained and cracking: “You’re okay.”

She felt something shaky brush past her cheek and the coolness of metal rings dance over her skin.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re going to be okay.” He sounded so far away for someone who was leaning right over her. She could see out of the corner of her eye a figure, cloaked in dark robes, raise its wand and recite an unfamiliar incantation. The metallic taste in her mouth began to subside as she felt the warm stickiness of her own blood seep back into her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for but doing it anyway. She thought she could feel the warmth of someone’s fingers softly cupping her face, but it could’ve been the heat of the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. In that moment, she was overwhelmed with the desire to just be held, to not be lonely. “Please don’t go,” she begged.

The last thing she heard was a tense, “...Okay.” Then everything went black.

Y/N spent the majority of her break obsessing over the last memory she had of Draco--the startled way in which he gazed down at her as she bled out in Myrtle’s bathroom and felt his soft hands brush the hair away from her face. It was almost as if there had never been a problem between the two of them, like he’d forgiven her at that moment, but she knew that wasn’t true. Their last Potions class together had made that very clear. While he, thank Merlin, wasn’t letting Pansy hang off him like he did in 4th year, he still pointedly ignored her even though she had to nearly hobble into class. So why had he looked so worried if he didn’t care? And why, whilst surfing the high of a cocktail of pain potions, did she feel like she remembered someone with light blond hair at her side in the hospital wing?

“And you’re sure your bandages are comfortable?” Her mother interrupted her train of thought,, the plate of ethically-sourced willowbird lying completely untouched in front of her.

“Yes, Mum,” groaned Y/N for what had to be the hundredth time of her Christmas break. “I told you. Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey made me their top priority over the last week of school. They say that I won’t even need them come January.”

Mrs. Y/L/N hummed as she delicately picked through her salad.

“I can’t believe that Potter boy’s nerve,” said Mr. Y/L/N from the foot of the table. “Hexing his own friend like that?”

“Dad, he didn’t even know what it did!”

“Exactly! What kind of person does that?”

“He’s just stressed,” Y/N mused, though she was personally a tad miffed at the fact that she’d been brutalized by someone she once considered her best friend. “And he was a little angry at me. He thinks I’m in cahoots with Death Eaters.”

“Ridiculous.” Mrs. Y/L/N vigorously shook her head. “Anyways, dear, no relation to the previous topic: I ran into Minerva at Wurgie’s the other day while I was shopping for gifts. She told me something very peculiar. Is it true you’ve become friends with the Malfoy boy?”

Y/N paled. Dealing with the backlash of Hermione, Harry, and Ron had been bad enough, but her own parents? Over the winter holidays? “Draco?”

“Yes, unless the Malfoys have another son I’m not aware of.”

“Well…” Y/N searched her mother’s face for any sign of animosity but found nothing but genuine curiosity. “Yes. We both had det--I mean, we were partnered for a class project together in Potions. He seems to have grown up a little.”

Oblivious to the slip up, her mother nodded. “Interesting. I was actually quite close with Narcissa myself back in the day. The Malfoys certainly don’t have a great track record of picking the right side, but we were two quaffles in a case throughout our schooling.”

“You knew Mrs. Malfoy?” asked Y/N, her eyes wide. “I had no idea!”

“Of course, we disagreed on the pureblood values and traditions that should be followed with children,” continued Mrs. Y/L/N, “But despite that, she was always kind. I hope she’s faring well.”

Y/N gulped as an idea slowly began to form in her mind. “Er, Mum, actually...Draco told me some things about...well, his mother.”

Both of her parents perked up.

“So you know how you guys always talk about how the Order owes you a favor for the time you went undercover in the first Wizarding War?” asked Y/N. They both nodded. “Do you think...we could cash that in right about now?”

A month later, Y/N stood in front of the painting that hung on Snape’s door, frowning at the raven that stared right back at her, daring her to try and open the door. In all the excitement of Christmas and explaining to her relatives that she’d nearly been murdered by her ex-best friend in a haunted bathroom, she had completely forgotten to ask her father how to distract a charmed guardian painting, and it’d hardly be beneficial to owl him during a busy work month. It was still completely up to her.

The dungeons sent a certain chill through her bones as she ran through possible plans, prompting her to tuck her hands into her pockets and shiver so hard that she didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching.

“What are you doing down here?” came the snotty, posh voice that she knew belonged to Pansy Parkinson.

“Parkinson,” Y/N greeted, snapping her head up to see that she didn’t come alone. Draco strode next to her, though he wouldn’t look at her directly. “Come for a rematch?”

Parkinson pulled out her wand and scoffed. “Wasn’t planning on it, but if you’re offering…”

“Pansy!” Draco hissed, yanking her away and forward. “We have places to be. Don’t waste your time.”

“But--”

“She almost got killed by Potter, like, yesterday,” he continued in a hushed voice. “Do you really want to make that worse?”

Parkinson sent her one last sour look before she was dragged off by Draco (who still refused to make eye contact with her). Y/N slumped against the wall, wincing as one of her injured spots bumped against a protruding stone. Why was he ignoring her? He’d protected her during the duel. He was even the one who stood over her as she lay crumpled on the floor.

A lump began growing in her throat again as she realized just how lonely she was. With her friends gone, all she had now was...her owl, Edison? Yes, that was it. Edison and Hannah Abbott, who clearly was just letting her sit next to her for meals out of pity. Y/N wished that she had the strength to sit alone and just say fuck it so she wouldn’t have to be the kickstart to a bleeding-heart Hufflepuff’s philanthropy career, but she was already beat down enough as she was. Sitting alone would just seal the deal in her new life as a social reject who dreaded classes where the professors let you choose partners. It was like she was a shy first year again, too nervous to talk to anyone and instead sitting alone at the breakfast table, praying that she’d make friends with someone, anyone, even though she was too afraid to figure out how.

And then came Ron, the sweet ginger boy who she’d met once when she went to a wizarding play with her dad. He’d plopped into the space next to her one day, eyeing the untouched plate of toast in front of her.

“You gonna eat that?” he’d asked. Y/N had just stared, mouth agape that someone was actually talking to her. “Hey, you’re the Y/L/N girl, right? My dad works with yours.”

Without waiting for her reply, he’d just popped the piece of toast in his mouth and continued talking at her as if they were old friends. Before she knew it, she was getting swept up into the social swirl of Harry Potter and his friends, helping them as they made their way through Hogwarts and took on the challenges brought upon them by Voldemort and his cronies. For once in her life, Y/N felt like she actually belonged.

And she’d thrown all of that away.

“Y/N?”

An unfamiliar, dreamy voice sounded from a little further down the dark hall, snapping Y/N out of it. She hadn’t even noticed, but she’d slid down to the ground and tucked herself into a ball. When she touched her face, she felt wetness on her cheeks. The raven in the painting made some kind of weird cackling sound.

“Who’s there?”

A girl in Ravenclaw robes, strange eyeglasses, and shockingly white-blond hair that rivaled Draco’s stepped into sight. Luna Lovegood. She’d seen her a few times--mostly during the Dumbledore’s Army meetings they’d both attended last year--but had never had a private, one-on-one conversation with her beyond the time that Y/N threw a protection charm to protect her from Bellatrix’s Avada Kedavra at the Ministry and she’d thanked her.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone,” said Luna as she settled in next to her, crossing her legs. “Isn’t Snape’s raven lovely?”

“I suppose so,” mused Y/N.

“His name is Marvin,” continued Luna, “and he always listens.”

“Huh?” Y/N balked, giving Luna a funny look. No wonder they call her Loony Lovegood she thought. “It--he can...talk?”

“Oh, yes,” said Luna, apparently not noticing her confusion. “Marvin is quite the conversationalist, to be honest. Snape is a very fortunate wizard to have him in his possession.”

As if to accent her point, Marvin crowed a few times.

“I was actually coming here to have a chat with him about you,” said Luna. “I think it’s terribly unfair how your friends are treating you. I thought that Marvin might know what to do. He always seems to.”

“Luna,” Y/N murmured, not expecting the way that her eyes began to swim with tears. “You...you really think so? I’ve been feeling so awful about what I’ve done…”

If she seemed taken aback by Y/N’s emotional outburst, she didn’t show it in the slightest. “Y/N, you just care about other people. And you know what it’s like to be lonely, so I understand why you didn’t want to leave someone alone when they felt that way, even if it was Malfoy.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling over.

“My mother had this saying about kindness,” said Luna softly. “She told me that it’s easy to be kind to people you already love. But you can really tell how caring someone is by how they treat those who are different.”

Marvin made a sound that was eerily similar to a jackhammer in the background.

“Thank you,” managed Y/N, letting the girl pull her into a hug. “I...I can’t say that enough. I really needed to hear that.”

“I know,” Luna replied wistfully. “I’m sure your friends will come around, too.”

“I sure hope so.” She swallowed, giving her a small smile as Luna squeezed her hand.

“Marvin is such a funny bird.” Luna shifted onto her feet, creeping towards the painting. “He loves shiny things. Now that I know the spell that weakens the barrier between the natural and painted world, I like to give him things sometimes. If he likes it enough, he’ll fly off to his flock to gloat to his murder for the rest of the day. He’s so proud.”

Something clicked in Y/N’s head. Was this her answer as to how to distract Marvin?

“It’s Transcendere, if you were wondering,” continued Luna, making to walk away. “Just in case you wanted to know. I can’t imagine why you’d need to, though. Anyways, I’m off to meet with Snape over a few questions on the exam. I don’t imagine he’ll be around here for the next hour!”

Before she could even thank her, Luna was already gone and down the hall. Y/N felt her pockets frantically, trying to find one thing that might appeal to the raven. He looked at her expectantly.

Her only piece of jewelry was her family ring, and apart from her obvious personal ties to the object, something told her that giving Snape’s guard bird a concrete identifier as to who broke into his stores would not be wise. So that left….She reached into her pocket, taking out the glittery quill that Draco had gifted her last fall. Giving it one last look and closing her fist around the feather one last time, she thought about how much she wished to go back to the simpler time.

Marvin made a little chirp, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Transcendere.”

The quill poked through the canvas and into the scene, slowly changing so it fit the art style that the painter used to bring the raven to life. He wasted no time snatching it out of her grip, giving an appreciative gargle before he took off, flying away into the grey sky.

She was in. A quick Alohomora charm opened the door, and Y/N made quick work of deactivating the jinxes that guarded the entrance and was happy to see that he hadn’t changed anything else with his security measures. Finding the potion was easy, and before she knew it, she had reset all the security charms, shut the door, and made her way all the way up to the Gryffindor tower with the vial tucked firmly in her pocket.

Getting Draco alone was the hardest part of her plan. Every time she saw him, he was either surrounded by a gaggle of Slytherins or darting off down side corridors that she could never quite locate. Carrying around the vial of stolen potion was getting increasingly stressful, too, especially now that their DADA class with Snape was coming up. He had to have noticed that his stores were broken into at that point, but given that he hadn’t stopped a meal yet to berate the student body on the importance of integrity and “keeping one’s grabby hands to themselves”, Y/N assumed she was somewhat in the clear. On the bright side, Y/N was enjoying mealtime much more now that she was eating with Luna. Her new friend even convinced her to go to the library with her one night to study--something that Y/N was not too familiar with.

They’d left right before the library closed, going their separate ways. Something crossed Y/N’s mind as she realized what day it was--Saturday. Draco always worked on the cabinet on Saturdays, and of course he wasn’t going to bring his friends along with him.

Quietly, she sank down next to the stone wall at the entrance, waiting for Draco to exit. She waited, and waited, and waited. Y/N was just beginning to wonder if Draco had switched his schedule around when the telltale sound of stone bricks scraping against each other snapped her to attention.

Draco looked more frazzled than usual as he stepped out of the newly-constructed entrance, his hands shakily running through his hair and his tie out of place. Y/N felt a sudden pang of guilt at the thought that she was going to add even more stress to his night.

“Draco,” she said, standing up and teetering at the sudden motion.

He started at the sight of her before setting his jaw and turning to continue a walk down in the opposite direction.

“Please,” breathed Y/N, jumping forward to latch onto his wrist. “I need to talk to you.”

He immediately snatched his hand away, his scowl deeping in his features. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, though sheer exhaustion seemed to replace the usual venom in his voice. “If you’re here to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.”

“But--”

“I don’t have time,” he repeated once again, desperation seeping into the edges of his tone. “I don’t have the time to figure out whether or not I can trust you again.”

“Then let me make it easier.” Y/N reached into her pocket, producing the potion vial that had miraculously not been shattered after she’d carried it for so long. Draco arched an eyebrow. “Run a diagnostic spell on it. I want you to know that I’m being completely honest.”

“Y/L/N, I told you, I don’t want--”

“Please, Draco,” she pleaded, holding it out to him. “Just do it for me. If you do it, we’ll be even for what happened in Myrtle’s bathroom. I’ll leave you alone if you tell me to.”

He sucked in a breath, begrudgingly casting the spell. The vial glowed and cast a bright emerald light on his surprised features. “How did you get that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” rushed Y/N. “Just ask me anything. I’ll take it if you want.”

He looked like he was about to leave her in the corridor alone, so she did the only thing she could think of--uncorking the vial and downing it all in one go. It went down like water, hardly feeling like anything. She was surprised. Wasn’t it supposed to feel more compelling?

“Y/N, you are such an idiot sometimes,” he growled, but he turned back to her anyway. “Okay. Fine. Did Granger put you up to talking to me?”

“No. Harry did,” answered Y/N, the words coming spilling out of her mouth without her even thinking. Draco’s briefly softened expression immediately hardened.

“I suppose that answers it then,” he snapped. “I’m not sure what that was supposed to accomplish.”

“Ask me something else!” cried Y/N. “Something you don’t already know the answer to.”

His silence was evidence enough that she was maybe, potentially, possibly getting to him. Something twanged in the pits of her stomach, reminding her of the time that she’d eaten bad fish in Greece and was sick for days, but she cast the thought aside for just a moment as he finally responded.

“This is ridiculous,” he clipped. She waited, turning the empty vial over in her hands. Finally, after a few agonizing moments of silence, his voice sounded again. “Why are your friends mad at you?”

Just as she was about to tell him, the tell-tale sound of footsteps and a cat’s meow echoed down the corridor. Filch. Panic-stricked, Y/N launched herself in the direction of the Room before a hand closed over her forearm and pulled her back.

“That’ll take too long,” Draco whispered, so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck and had to try not to shudder. Without waiting for her response, he yanked her into the broom closet across the corridor and softly shut the door.

It became fairly apparent that the broom closet was perhaps not the best hiding space for two adults, a fact that Y/N quickly noticed as she realized that the only place she could comfortably place her hands was lightly on top of Draco’s chest. His own hands pressed into the wall on either side of her head as he used it to push himself as far away from her as possible. When her eyes flickered up, she could see in the dim light that he’d shut his eyes. She couldn’t blame him--when she ran the plan through in her head, it rarely ever included getting stuck in a tiny broom closet together, and it never crossed her mind that it could happen before he’d even forgiven her.

“I heard something too, my pretty.” Filch’s voice floated down the corridor as he neared them. She sucked in her breath, intent to hold it. She wished that she could cast a Silencio on the broom closet, but there was no way to be able to do that in such close range. Plus, she was quite preoccupied with the churning in her stomach that was getting significantly worse.

Filch’s steps were getting louder as he called out, ��Anyone there?”

“Yes,” Y/N let as a tortured, strangled whine. Realization flickered across Draco’s face as his hand shot out to clamp over her lips. She tried not to focus on how warm and nice his skin felt touching her and instead on the fact that Filch was still walking.

The footsteps finally paused outside of the broom closet. Y/N could feel Draco’s heart racing under her palm. She vaguely registered that her hands had long since curled into fists, clinging onto his shirt.

“Anyone in here?”

“Mmph,” responded Y/N, hardly able to enunciate anything over the death grip Draco had on her face. This only made the lurching in her middle worse, so bad that she felt like she had bile rising in her throat.

“My lovely? What’s that?” A cat’s meow rang out from across the corridor. “Over by the Charms classroom?” Another meow. The sound of quick shuffling would’ve come to Y/N as a relief if she didn’t feel like she was about to puke the entire contents of her stomach up on Draco Malfoy’s hand.

“Thank Merlin.” Draco exhaled. Y/N could feel his shoulders relax under the grip she had on his shirt and took note of the fact that he smelled very strongly of that stupid rich scent in her Amortentia, something that was somewhat difficult when the cramping in her stomach had gotten so bad that she could hardly stand up straight.

Then he let his hand drop.

“They’re mad at me because I didn’t tell them about you.” The words came spilling out so fast and without prompt that Y/N felt like she was out of body, watching someone else speak for her. “I couldn’t ever bring myself to hurt you like that because even though you’ve been mean to me and my friends and I technically have no reason to want to protect you, I still do and it’s just so complicated because I thought I was just being a good person or whatever but honestly now that I think about it f it came down to it I would choose you over anyone else here and that’s scary and ohmygodIcan’tstop--” Y/N managed to suck in a small breath as the magic in her system propelled her forward, barely catching the widened eyes of Draco, “--It’s been so hard being away from you and I understand why you’re angry at me and I’m such a hypocrite for being upset that you were a Death Eater when I didn’t tell you why I started talking to you in the first place but I couldn’t just confess to you when I finally had a reason to spend time with you and I didn’t want to fuck it all up but I did and Draco please help I can’t stop I want to so badly you were never supposed to know all of this I thought that it would just make me tell the truth not everything--”

“I know,” His hand came up one more time, covering her mouth and muffling her voice. Without being able to move her lips, the words died down once again while the waves of nausea and agony hit in their place. Draco’s face had once again adopted that unreadable, somewhat sad expression as he moved his free hand so he could thumb away the tears that were collecting on her cheeks. Her fingers twisted into the soft fabric of his button down as she choked back a sob against his hand. “I know. That was really fucking stupid, even for you. You do know you’re not supposed to take more than an ounce of Veritaserum, right? This is going to take forever to get through your system. You just have to let it run its course. I’m sorry.” The potion was closing in around her throat as she blinked up at him through tear-ridden lashes. “I hear Filch escorting a student to McGonagall. This is our chance to get out.”

Y/N nodded as best as she could without loosening his hold on her, and they were creeping out of the broom closet and slowly making their way down the hall as silently as possible. He was to her right, his left arm slung around her shoulder so he could keep her quiet without sacrificing too much of his balance. He pulled her away from the direction of the Gryffindor dorms.

“Not happening,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing past her ear. He was so close. She shivered. “Filch went that way. Plus, I need to keep an eye on you until you’re back to normal.”

She nodded again. By some miracle, they made it to the Slytherin dorms without much of a hiccup beyond the awkward shuffle down the stairs. “Purity,” muttered Draco, prompting the cobblestones to rearrange themselves into a door. “Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Y/N scoffed behind his hand. The Slytherin common room was, thankfully, entirely empty, but very eerie and cold. She tried to open her mouth to tell him that he’d obviously drawn the short straw when it came to lodging, but when she felt his palm tighten over her lips, she was reminded that that wasn’t an option.

“Here we are,” murmured Draco, his voice still low and careful as he led her to the end of the hall of the boys’ dormitories. Something other than the effects of the Veritaserum she consumed set off the butterflies inside of her once again when she thought about the fact that she was really going to see Draco’s dorm room. His door, black and heavy, was completely unblemished apart from the silver numbers of his room.

Before she could think any further, he turned the knob and spun her so he was looking right down at her. “The less you talk, the longer it’s going to take for you to be normal again. Try not to be too loud, though. I wanted to sleep tonight.” With that, he released her once again.

“You have really nice hands,” she blurted out, immediately clapping her own palm over her mouth again.

“Oh.” An uncharacteristic blush rose in his cheeks.

Squeezing her eyes shut and steeling herself for whatever was about to come out of her mouth next, she let her hand fall. “I--I actually think I can control some of what I say now.” She took one more breath in to check. “Yeah. Thank god. It’s not just...coming out of me anymore.”

“I’m not too surprised,” he said. “You were on quite a roll back there in the broom closet.”

“So, um…” She shuffled her feet. “Are we good now, do you think?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone willingly down two state terrorist interrogation sessions worth of Veritaserum just to apologize to me. So, yeah, I guess. I think you should probably try and get some sleep. Chances are it’ll wear off some by tomorrow morning.” With that, he rested his hands on her shoulders and steered her towards his bed.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, sinking down onto his black silk bedding and meeting his eyes.

He shrugged. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything before you sleep?”

“I’d really like it if you held me until I fell asleep,” Y/N said so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to look away from him. He blanched, his eyebrows raising but his lip quirking up.

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were going to ask for water or something.”

“Draco, please don’t be mean,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out. I would like some water, though.”

“Your wish is my command,” he drawled, disappearing into his bathroom before coming out with an empty glass that he cast a quick Aquamenti into. “Go slow. I really don’t want you coughing up water on my sheets.”

“Me neither,” she said between sips. “Merlin knows I’ve embarrassed myself enough already.”

When she finished, she handed it out to him. “Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this. I mean it.”

He snorted on his way to put the glass away. “Of course you do. That’s the beauty of Veritaserum.”

“You’re actually funny sometimes, you know,” she said.

Draco smirked at her again. “Veritaserum. You’re doing wonders for my ego tonight.”

While he was doing whatever he was before getting into bed, Y/N went ahead and slipped under the sheets, rolling over onto her back so she was closest to the wall. She felt the bed slightly dip to her left and a throat clear.

“What is it now?” muttered Y/N.

“You know, it’s really hard for me to do what you asked when you’re on your back like that,” he said.

“What?”

“Like, do you want me to be on top of you or something?”

“What are you even talking about?”

Draco huffed and reached his hands out to grab her shoulders once again, turning her to face him. Before she could register what was happening, she felt his own hands come around under her arms to rest on her back. Her head lay on the swath of skin between his shoulder and his collarbone, and she could feel the quickening of his pulse. “There. Honestly.”

“This is really nice,” Y/N blurted out, physically cringing when she realized that in her position she couldn’t easily cover her mouth.

“Yeah?” She could feel the laugh rattle through his diaphragm.

“Yes.” Y/N huffed. “Stop asking me questions. This isn’t very kind of you.”

He let out another light laugh, his fingers moving to thread through her hair. “Is this okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted--” Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, silencing the words that were about to come out of her mouth. “Oh, my god,” she said after she resurfaced. “I think I want to take a vow of silence after this is over.”

Y/N could hear his smile as he offered her a, “What a load of good that thought is doing you now.”

“Please, just knock me unconscious until it all goes away,” she groaned.

“Stop demeaning my work,” he said, mock offense creeping into his tone as he continued to card his fingers through her hair in soothing motions. “What do you think I’m trying to do? If you want me to give you blunt force head trauma, then just say so. Sheesh.”

She sighed dramatically. “At this point, maybe.”

“Seriously, though, are you feeling okay? That was a lot of Veritaserum,” he murmured.

“I’m just feeling mortified right now,” she answered.

“You still need to tell me where you got it.”

“Oh. I stole it. From Snape.”

All at once, Draco dropped his hands and pulled slightly away so he could gape down at her. “You did what now?”

“Yeah,” she said, confusion creeping into her tone. “It really wasn’t that hard, you know. I’ve done it before.”

“When?”

She felt another lurching sensation. All of the questioning was starting to make her stomach turn again. “I was a second-year. Harry had to brew Polyjuice Potion and he needed an ingredient we couldn’t find anywhere else.”

Draco let out a low whistle. “At twelve?”

“Eleven. My birthday hadn’t come around yet.”

“That’s…” He’d shifted so she wasn’t pressed up to him, catching his lip between his teeth as he thought. Y/N hadn’t made much notice of this development as the growing pain in her midsection grew. “That’s quite a lot for a kid.” The way his hair glowed in the soft moonlight made her heart twinge. It looked so soft. Y/N noticed that she’d been staring at him for far too long without saying something when he blinked, planning on opening her mouth to apologize or crack a joke when instead:

“I have the biggest crush on you.” The words left her lips without any prior consent, the consonants and vowels forming before she could even think.

He was completely frozen in place, his expression entirely unreadable.

“Oh, god, and now I’ve ruined it all because I know you said that I didn’t have a chance that one time in detention and you don’t see me like that and I’m pretty sure you’re with Pansy and even if you weren’t I’m not enough for you and I wish I hadn’t taken this stupid potion but I know that I’d do it a hundred times over if it meant that you would trust me--”

Her words stopped abruptly as Draco silenced her--not with his hand, but by placing his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and shy, more of a question in nature than a statement. Her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt as he pulled away, a rather frazzled and deer-in-the-headlights look etched into his features.

She was speechless. Absolutely, completely, irrevocably speechless. Despite the insistent gnawing of the Veritaserum at the lining of her stomach, she could only manage to blink owlishly up at him, mouth agape.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low.

“Ehm…” Her lips refused to move. Draco frowned, dropping his hands from her sides and sitting up straighter. Something impartial washed over his features, turning his expression from hurt to uninterested, like he’d woken up from a pleasant nap and was snapped back to reality. His legs pulled away so no part of her body was touching him.

“I--er, didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I just wanted to make you quiet again, y’know, before you said anything else you regretted. And I thought that...kissing you would shock your system enough to make you stop talking.”

Her cheeks turned a violent red as she realized the depth of his statement. “So you...don’t see me like that?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair once, took in a deep breath, and dropped his gaze to the comforter. “You should go to sleep. Hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.”

At the very least the potion was beginning to settle in her stomach as Draco’s breathing turned slow over the next hour or so. She didn’t know all too much about the mechanics of Veritaserum, but at this point, she had almost nothing left to confess anyways.

Y/N tore her eyes away from his sleeping form, turning around to face the wall. His bed was soft. And it smelled like him, like the perfect blend of black tea and sage and snobbery that was in her Amortentia. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished to be anywhere but there. When he kissed her, it felt like he wanted her. Yes, of course he was timid, but she’d thought he was just nervous. But what was there for him to be nervous about? She’d already confessed under literal truth serum. He knew how she felt, and he didn’t even say sorry for kissing her and telling her he didn’t mean it like that. He still didn’t want her. Of course he didn’t when Pansy Parkinson in all her obnoxious Slytherin perfection was right fucking there.

She was just beginning to feel sleep tug on the strings of her consciousness as she felt her hair get tucked behind her ear by a warm hand coming around from behind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s better this way, you’ll see. It wouldn’t be fair if I...if it was different.” Despite his words, he let his fingers brush over his jaw as he moved closer, his shoulder lightly pressing into her back.

At that moment, there were so many things that Y/N wanted to say, ranging from “I am never going to live this moment down because I’m positively lovesick over you” to “I am going to beat you up for kissing me and then telling me it didn’t mean anything after I confessed.” Two schools of thought, neither of them perfectly encapsulating the true essence of her feelings. Her most traitorous thoughts told her to stay still and enjoy the final moments of affection she’d get from Draco, but she’d given into impulse a little too much that night.

He must’ve noticed that her breathing had changed because he suddenly shifted his weight onto his free arm, keeping his hand poised by her neck.

“Please stop touching me.” The words that came out of her mouth sounded much more pathetic than they did in her head, a voice crack finding its way into the final syllables. He jolted away.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought you liked it when I touched you.”

“Yeah, before you told me you didn’t feel the same way,” she mumbled. “I really would appreciate it if you didn’t make me rehash that again. Today has been humiliating enough. I’m not looking to set a record or something here.”

She’d thought that her quip was pretty good, but Draco remained completely humorless. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. It was stupid of me to act on impulse like that. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Never meant to--” She stopped in her tracks, instead letting out a sharp huff. “Nevermind. I don’t want a fight right now. I just want to sleep.”

Much to Y/N’s horror, her throat began to tighten up again with the tell-tale coming of tears. The next breath she exhaled was embarrassingly shaky and loud, and the movement that it sparked in Draco was even more mortifying. He made a small sound of sympathy. “C’mere, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I know that must’ve hurt you.”

Undecided between feeling pissed and just wanting to forgive him, she slowly sat up and faced him. His arms were out in a motion of invitation, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.” The Veritaserum in her system didn’t care much about her emotional turmoil, much to her horror. Y/N began to turn away, a watery scowl fixed firmly on her face, but Draco’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“If I...wanted to be with you,” he began, his tone careful and clipped, “It would never work. Okay? Trust me when I say it has nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong.”

“I kind of did.”

“Yeah, well, we both did. But I don’t want you to think that I, er, never thought about it.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure what the underlying meaning of that was.

“So... “ He motioned again with open arms. “Do you...want to? I’ll play with your hair again until you fall asleep.”

Y/N stared at him, completely astonished. “Why? If you don’t see me like that, then why?”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight anyways,” he said softly. “And I want to help you feel better.”

She opened her mouth with the hopes of a biting retort coming out, but instead she was met with silence. Against her better judgement, she set her clenched her jaw and gave in.

His arms were wrapped around her in an instant as she tentatively settled back into his chest, her hands lightly rested on his shoulders. Despite the humiliating previous events, it didn’t feel awkward, especially when Draco’s long fingers slowly threaded through her locks and brushed past her neck. A small, forbidden sigh of contentment left her lips when he let his touch linger over the back of her neck. His deep, slow breathing and the steady beat of his heart began to lull her to sleep.

The next morning, she was able to lie convincingly enough to Draco, telling him her name wasn’t Y/N Y/L/N and that she was 80 years old. Confident that she wasn’t about to spill all of his secrets to the student body, he told her she was free to go.

“Draco?” she asked poised by his door.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’ll see you much after this? You know, now that we aren’t Potions partners and don’t have detention together anymore?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll see you around at pureblood functions or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tried not to think about the implications of pureblood functions still existing in the future after this. What kind of world did Draco think this would turn into? “But this is probably it, right? The last time I’ll see you like this?”

She didn’t even need to see his nod. She knew. That’s why he offered to play with her hair despite not even liking her--it was his way of apologizing for roping her into this, for tricking her, for shutting her out, for the Sectumsempra curse...for everything. His way of apologizing before they parted ways.

final a/n: ty for reading! first off, congrats to the anons that guessed veritaserum. that shit took me forever to write bc i had such high expectations but it turned out to be quite the challenging scene since i still had to juggle draco’s conflicting emotions/distrust and the fact that i really wanted him to make her feel better fjdkas; i thought i’d mention someone who helped me write this (even tho i don’t think they realized how much they helped lmao)L i’d like to thank my 🌟 anon for giving me some inspiration. i was struggling with the first half of this story in terms of pacing for quite some time but found some help in an ask they sent me mentioning how they related to y/n feeling lonely/would like to see luna and neville mentioned. unfortunately, i haven’t quite been able to fit neville in yet (and i’m not sure if i can without it seeming just like a random extra bit of story that isn’t helpful to the plot), but hearing some affirmation that y/n’s loneliness was something that actually resonated w them really helped. it made me realize that the isolation from her friends/draco didn’t have to just be a logical turn of events for the plot to proceed in a sensical way and instead could be used to explore y/n’s character. i hope you all enjoyed! i promise the stuff w her dad and the order will be cleared up next chapter

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you

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andromedasstarship · 4 years ago

Text

in the stars - chapter 3

photo credit - unknown

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader

warnings - canon-typical criminal minds violence, stalking, depictions of murder/violence, angst, verbal fighting, drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking (cigarettes)

summary - “If you’re upset over how I ended our relationship, that is completely separate from the dealings of the case and I expect you to be able to conduct yourself appropriately.” Aaron said and you thought this was what ‘seeing red’ meant

a/n - hi besties! im so sorry this update took so long! i really wanted to make it perfect and was struggling with putting this together. to make it up this chapter is a whopping 5.9k words so uh enjoy lol!

masterlist // series masterlist // read it on ao3

chapter 2 // chapter 4

-----

You had to physically stop yourself- gripping the desk chair beside you so hard your knuckles turned white- from following Aaron out the office door and demanding he make sense of the whole good cop- ha!- bad cop show he’d been putting on since the two of you had been horribly reunited outside of the police station.

This had been the second instance of him implying or accusing you of somehow worsening the case. And he hadn’t even been in LA for over 24hrs. It wasn’t fair, you thought, angrily grumbling to yourself about all the different ways you’d love to give him a piece of your mind. If he’d been a regular man, that you’d never met before, you probably wouldn’t consider his current behavior to be so- out of pocket? disgraceful? insulting?- offensive. You knew he had a reputation for being...,a hardass on the job, but that didn’t mean he had to go overboard in his treatment towards you. Maybe he wasn’t going overboard, maybe this was just how he treated every- you weren’t sure exactly how to define yourself in the case- witness? Maybe this is just what his team expected in terms of his behavior towards people he didn’t know.

But he did know you, he knew you quite well. He knew you well enough to know you’d never purposely attempt to slow the case down. Even without his fancy profiler skills, you were certain Aaron Hotchner knew every little thing about you. Or at least he used to.

And while Aaron may know everything there was to know about you, you were beginning to doubt if you actually knew anything about him. As expected, over the past two months the case had been taking an extreme toll on you; constantly looking over your shoulder and worrying that someone was lurking behind every corner. What made it worse, was that it was yet another situation that required you to keep a secret. You ‘had’ the officers at the station and your agent, but besides them you were dealing with this completely on your own. Making the situation about yourself felt wrong, but you couldn’t even begin to explain how hurt you felt at Aaron's accusations that you were somehow more part of the problem than you were a victim. Yes, you hadn’t gone up to him and explicitly told him how badly you were hurting, but it’s not like it took a genius- or a profiler- to reach that conclusion themselves.

It hurt, to have someone whose validation you had once- still did- crave so much, suddenly act as if you were a ‘bad guy’. Maybe you were being dramatic, you thought. Maybe you were overreacting and reading far too deep into such short interactions. On the other hand, you reasoned that it was perfectly acceptable to have feelings. Before you could delve deeper into that mental tirade, a sharp knock on the doorframe grabbed your attention. Looking up, you saw JJ leaning halfway into the room.

“Sorry,” you said, awkwardly letting go of the chair, “I uh, got caught up with uh, just you know, thoughts about the case!” Smooth. You tried to put a cheery tone in your voice. You tried to subtly study her reaction as you walked over to her and it was clear she wasn’t exactly buying into your sudden happy attitude. She didn’t press you though, something you were grateful for. Instead she just moved out of the doorframe, letting you join her in the hallway.

“The rest of the team has split up already, would you like to start in the basement?” JJ asked. You had only spoken to her a couple times, briefly at that, but you already found great comfort in her presence; you could see why she held the position, her ability to comfort and connect with others was unbeatable. Definitely need to send JJ a case of wine as a gift.

You nodded dumbly, joining her in the hallway and taking her down towards your basement. Internally, you guessed the little ‘tour’ would only take an hour tops, considering all the little spiels you’d have to give about each room.

You felt a bit like when you went through airport security or when a police car was on a road you were driving on. That sinking feeling that somehow you were going to get in trouble even though you knew you didn’t have anything to hide. Damn Aaron. His apparent lowly opinion of you was definitely messing with your head. Oh well.

As you lead JJ towards the basement, you could vaguely hear the other agents throughout the house. A door opening here or the sound of papers rustling over there. You hadn’t exactly asked how they would be able to tell if something was missing or out of place. But honestly? You didn’t really care what the team did in your house, as long as they figured out how the unsub had gotten in there.

You’d already come to terms with the fact that the unsub had managed to steal your clothes and jewelry, but you just couldn’t shake the fact that he had gotten into your house. Part of you secretly wished he had pick-pocketed you on a busy street or was stealing stuff off a film set instead. It would’ve been equally as bad and creepy and horrifying, but it would’ve been worth still feeling safe in your own house.

Smacking the lightswitch on the wall behind you, the entire basement became illuminated. “So,” you started, really drawing out the word, “this is the basement. It’s technically one big open floor, but well,” you gestured lazily with your hand, “you can see it’s kinda still split up. There’s a movie room behind those doors right there.”

JJ stepped ahead of you, walking towards the high windows in the basement. You watched as she ran her fingers along the window edges, carefully going over each one. “Do these open?” She asked, turning back to look at you.

You quickly shook your head. “They’re mostly just for, like, decoration purposes.” You responded, giving a slight shrug. “I um, I’m not down here much unless I’m having people over. And those stairs we came down are the only way to get in here.” You added, thinking that’d probably be helpful.

JJ gave you that nice smile again and started towards the movie room. “I’m just gonna look in here real quick and then we can go back upstairs, okay?”

You stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, rolling back and forth from your heels to your tippy toes, awkwardly playing with your hands in front of yourself. You knew her movie room scan wouldn’t take wrong, there were zero windows in there and no other point of entry besides the door she had walked through.

Just as you expected, JJ came back out no longer than five minutes later. Once she got closer to you, you turned slowly on your heel and started back up the stairs. “We can start upstairs and then meet the rest of your team on the main level?” You offered.

“Lead the way.”

“There’s um, two ways to get upstairs. There’s that main staircase you saw in the foyer and also there’s a ‘servants stair’ in the back,” you said, making air quotes with your fingers at the ‘servants stair’ part, “I have people that work in the house sometimes, but it’s not an actual designated staircase for anyone.” You explained, unsure of why you were feeling so anxious.

“Why don’t we go up using the second set of stairs? Since I’ve already seen the main set.” JJ said.

You nodded dumbly again, and walked in the direction of the back stairs. Once upstairs, you gave the same room spiel to JJ about six times. This is ‘x’ room, yep those windows can open, nope no one regularly comes into this room, yes the balcony doors do lock from the inside.

Just as you thought earlier, the little tour took just a couple minutes under an hour. You and JJ were standing in your kitchen, both of you leaning against opposite countertops. According to JJ the whole team had agreed to meet up in your kitchen once they were done with their scans, so it seemed that you two were the first to finish. Also expected.

You were lucky you hadn’t run into Aaron the entire time. At times you could vaguely hear his voice coming from another room and all that did was pull on your heartstrings and remind you of when the two of you were together. Aside from the sadness factor, you still weren’t sure you could trust yourself to not yell at him as soon as you saw him again.

“That’s funny.” JJ said amusedly-more to herself than to you-, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What is?” You asked. She had moved from her spot by the countertops, to standing in front of your liquor wall, staring up at a bottle you couldn’t quite recognize from your position.

“Oh, just Agent Hotchner? Out there,” she said, gesturing broadly out to where the rest of the team might be, “he loves this brand of scotch. We joke sometimes that he’d pick it over us if he was given the choice. But apparently it’s super difficult to get. He started getting lucky a few years ago and found a way to buy it, but recently I guess that luck ran out and he hasn’t been able to find it anymore.”

Your eyes went wide at that. Yes. That scotch was super difficult to get and it was ridiculously expensive. And yes, Aaron loved the stuff. The two of you used to constantly argue over money. He hated that you were always the one paying for everything and had created a ‘rule’ that you weren’t allowed to buy him any gifts. Of course, you managed to find a way around that rule and found that this specific scotch was his gift achilles heel. So, you used to send him a steady supply while also keeping a bottle at your place for the rare occasions he was over.

“Oh?” You squeaked.

“Yeah, it’s super rare or something. They only make so many batches a year don’t they?” JJ asked, turning back to look at you.

You quickly pulled your emotions in when she turned towards you, just giving her your third dumb nod of the day. “Yep, super hard to get. Super super hard. I uh, got as a gift once, I don’t even like the stuff.”

“You should tell Hotch. I bet he’d pay pretty well for it.” She said with a laugh, shaking her head. Definitely will not be doing that.

----

Upstairs, Rossi and Hotch were looking through your upstairs office. While your downstairs office was more work based- you stored scripts and had meetings down there, etc.-, your upstairs office was used for your more ‘personal’ work tasks.

“If the unsub is taking her clothes, we might have better success scoping out her closet. See the potential entry and exit points from her room that the unsub must be taking.” Rossi proposed.

Hotch nodded at that, putting down the stack of fan mail he’d been flipping through, trying to find any repeats or ‘creepy’ letters. He made a mental note to have Reid come and read through the piles of other mail you had neatly stacked around the room.

Your attention to fanmail had been one of the things that had quickened the process of him falling in love with you. He had had his doubts in the beginning of you relationship- he had stereotyped you for sure-, your age and status giving him somewhat valid concerns that you’d be insanely disconnected from the normal world. You’d proved him wrong in many ways since the beginning, but one of those ways had been the many days you’d call him from this room, reading through every single letter you were sent and always making sure to send a small note back.

“Good idea, let’s go.” Hotch said. He walked out of office and didn’t think twice, his body automatically walking towards the room a few doors down from your bedroom. You didn’t keep your closet in your bedroom, you had actually put a little couch and sitting room in your bedroom closet space. Instead you’d taken an entire guest room and converted it into a full dressing room/closet that was a better fit for your needs.

As Hotch went straight into the room, he missed the narrow look Rossi was giving him from the doorframe. It only took a couple minutes, but eventually Hotch looked up, cocking an eyebrow at Rossi. “Are you going to come in?” He questioned.

“You knew her closet wasn’t in her room.” Rossi noted, amusement clear in his voice.

Hotch’s face paled, before he steeled his emotions back over. “I saw the clothes while walking past earlier and made the deduction.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she Aaron?” Rossi teased, clearly finding a lot of enjoyment in this conversation.

“Dave,” Hotch groaned, running a hand over his face, “just, not now okay?” He asked, the desperation clear in his voice.

Rossi certainly didn’t have the entire story figured out, but he wasn’t dumb either, he could piece things together. As much as he’d love to keep busting Hotch over this, there was something about how gentle he had been with you in the conference room and his current clear discomfort that persuaded Rossi otherwise. Rossi grinned at Hotch and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“So, we know the unsub doesn’t have to necessarily be quiet, her room is at least what, 3-”

“Four and across the hall.” Hotch huffed out, not looking up to meet Rossi’s eyes.

“Four and across the hall away. So he doesn’t need to sneak past her if he’s coming in at night...”

----

Back in the kitchen, you turned your head at the sound of the back patio doors opening, showing Morgan and Spencer. Guess they’d be the second pair done with their house tour.

Just as you were about to open your mouth and offer the two of them something to drink, you noticed the rather grim expressions on both their faces. Upon better inspection, you saw Spencer was tightly gripping on to a dirty journal.

“What’s that?” You asked curiously, trying to get a better look at it.

“I found this uh, journal out by the edge of your property line. I think it may belong to the unsub.” Reid responded, giving you a tight lipped look.

It was terribly cliche, but you couldn’t help but gasp at that. Your eyes going wide and your mouth hanging open.

“I flipped through it, there’s nothing that clearly identifies him, but it seems like he was keeping track of your comings and goings. As well as keeping a list of the things he took from your house, we can cross check that list with-”

“Can I look at it?” You interjected, a morbid curiosity consuming your mind.

Reid gave an unsure glance at the two other agents in the room. “I think it’d be better for the rest of the team and I to look through the journal first, and make sure there’s nothing uh...upsetting in it.”

----

With the new revelations that the unsub had managed to break into your home multiple times, the team decided it would be best for at least one of them to be with you at the house at all times; during the day they would assign a plainclothes officer to discreetly sit watch. It was comical, the way they decided on the watch and then promptly assigned Aaron the first shift of the night.

You wondered why he agreed to it, knowing he could’ve easily pulled a seniority boss card and taken himself out of any and all future watch shifts as well. He probably didn’t want you to get closer with any of his agents, should you accidentally say something a bit too personal. He also probably assumed that with the late hour of the night, you’d immediately be going to bed or at least locking yourself away in your room for the rest of the night.

The team had stayed hours after their first walkthroughs of the house, the new list and notes from the unsub giving you all a better idea of what to look for. You had gone through the list of clothes and jewelry in front of the team, giving them a base description of what you assumed the unsub had meant, whether or not you had considered it missing and where you thought you’d last seen it in the house.

Unfortunately, whatever Aaron had been banking on wouldn’t be happening. You hadn’t been able to shake the sinking feeling that your house was no longer a home anymore. It was painfully cheesy, but you knew that trying to sleep would be futile. Nor did you really feel like being ‘alone’ in your room. That didn’t mean you were going to strike up a conversation with Aaron or ask him to play a board game or something, but you wouldn’t be shutting away from the rest of the night.

After the team left, you had gone upstairs and changed into a more comfortable outfit for the evening; just your trusty sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You were now walking back down the stairs and towards your kitchen; you grasped a lighter and your emergency cigarette pack in one hand. As you made your way into the kitchen, you could feel Aarons eyes on you from wherever he was seated in the living room. You pointedly ignored him, instead setting the pack and lighter down, freeing your hands so you could mix yourself your favorite drink.

Once your drink was prepped, you balanced all your things in your hands and made your way back through the living room and out the grand French doors that lead to your backyard. You walked over to one of your lounge chairs that overlooked the pool and had a beautiful view of the sky and bright lights of the city. You turned on one of your favorite playlists and made yourself comfy in the chair, lighting up one of the cigarettes.

With the first inhale, you felt your body relax. It was a horrible habit- you knew that-, but if there was ever a time to stress smoke, you reasoned it was probably now. Over the sound of your music, you faintly heard one of the doors open again, but you didn’t bother turning around.

“I thought you quit.” Aaron said, quite literally coming out of the shadows. Even though you didn’t turn to look at him, you could perfectly imagine him in your mind; probably leaning up against one of the legs of the cabana, arms tightly crossed and a deep scowl on his face.

“I did.” You replied plainly, blowing a steady stream of smoke out of your mouth. Using your free hand you picked your glass back off the chair side table, twirling it slowly. As you took a long sip, you could hear Aaron walk closer, not quite coming into view yet.

“Drinking and abusing substances in response to a traumatic situation is widely frowned upon.

“Thank you Surgeon General,” you said, rolling your eyes before adding, “no offense Agent, but right now, I don’t really think it matters.” You didn’t even bother attempting to argue that you were on your first drink and first smoke.

“It matters, when my team will be counting on you tomorrow. The expectation is that you’ll be a useful and legitimate resource.” Aaron said, voice tight.

“Do you really think I’m dumb enough to actually believe, that you believe that a single drink is going to render me useless?” You asked, finally turning your head so you could give him a pointed look. When he didn’t answer you rolled your eyes again, turning back away from him. “It doesn’t matter, Agent, I’m unavailable to be a resource tomorrow.”

“What do you mean, unavailable?” Aaron asked. He finally walked into view, sitting down on the chair next to you. He positioned his legs over the edge facing you, resting his elbows off his knees.

“What do you mean unavailable?” You said mockingly- the alcohol in your system and stress of the day emboldening your behavior. You paused for a moment to take another drag from your cigarette; Aaron didn’t miss the way you turned your head further from him during your exhale. “You have your job Agent, I have mine.”

“There is a dangerous free man out there with a special interest in you. He’s not only managed to break into your house but is also murdering surrogate women in place of you,” he said, voice growing louder as he went, “and you think you should go to a film set? How immature and irresponsible are-”

“Stop doing that!” You cut him off, snapping your head to face him. For a brief moment, you were taken aback by how close he’d been sitting. “Stop painting me to be some dumb self centered girl. This is the fourth time today.” You said, staring him hard in the face, neither of your breaking eye contact. He always looked so good with a beard- stop that.

“I��m trying to do my job and protect you,” he paused, eyes scanning your face, “I couldn’t handle anything happening to you.” In that moment, his voice was so painfully honest and it almost made you want to agree to do whatever dumb rules he had for you.

Almost.

Instead, you swung your legs to the side of the chair opposite to him, standing up in a quick blur of motion. “Stop doing that too!” You exclaimed, running your free hand over your face. You took a long drag from your cigarette, placing one hand on your hip. Aaron was giving you a genuinely confused look and you just wanted to wipe it off in one big swipe. “Stop doing some weird little bait and switch between acting like I’m a diva and then trying to end it with some vaguely little sweet comment.”

“You actually think I don’t care about your safety?” Aaron asked, the faintest bit of hurt in his voice. He stood up as well before continuing. “You think this isn’t a difficult case for me?”

“You do not get to do that!” You said angrily, pointing a free finger out at him. “You are not allowed to try and make yourself a victim in this story while you simultaneously make me part of the problem. How the hell can you see yourself as even remotely ‘good’ when you left the way you did?” There it was. Maybe it was immature, dragging the breakup into the argument, but the days’ tension- not to mention the months of bottled up emotions- was finally snapping inside of you.

“If you’re upset over how I ended our relationship, that is completely separate from the dealings of the case and I expect you to be able to conduct yourself appropriately.” Aaron said and you thought that this must be what ‘seeing red’ meant.

“Do you treat all your witnesses like this?” You were full on yelling now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Is this your version of appropriate conduct, Agent Hotchner? You’ve proven to be nothing but incompetent! You can’t even see two inches past your own fucking face to consider this from my perspective!”

Your words had their intended effect. Aaron’s face fell for the briefs of moments before years of bottling his own emotions took back over. You had to give him some credit for keeping it, outwardly, more together than you were. “I won't fight with you over something as trivial as this. You’ll report to the station in the morning with the rest of the team.” He ordered, voice dangerously low.

“I have to work!” You exclaimed, putting heavy emphasis on each word.

“Going to work isn’t safe. Do you understand that? Your stalker is well acquainted with your schedule, you need to step away from what’s expected of you. It’s dangerous-”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, shaking your head, “are you even listening to yourself? Your job is dangerous every single day, hell you didn’t even step away when the job was dangerous specifically to you! How am I supposed to take advice you can’t even follow?” At the end of your sentence, you angrily stubbed out your cigarette in the ashtray, leaving the butt in the tray.

“This isn’t about me.” Aaron snapped, voice loudest it’d been all night. “I’m trying to keep you safe. What part of that don’t you understand?” He asked, giving you a tough look. You found yourself at a loss for words and he took your silence as an opening to continue. “I can’t stand to see you get hurt.”

“Are you finally understanding how exhausting it was to love you!” You blurted out, the words catching even you by surprise. You forcibly blinked back the tears forming your eyes. “That this, is how I felt each time you were called away on a case?”

Aaron was equally as shocked, his mouth opening in vain a few times as he searched for the proper response. “I made sure you were properly aware of the risks and demands of my job before we started our relationship.” Bad answer.

“And I never complained,” you replied, a defeated tone creeping into your voice, “not once, did I?”

“If you’re going to accuse me of hypocrisy, you should recognize it in yourself. You were equally if not more in demand than I was.”

“I thought you liked that I was so ‘in demand’!” You said, the frustration growing again. “What was it you always said? You liked not having to worry about me alone at home, waiting up for you.”

“You’re coming to the station tomorrow Y/N. Final order.” Aaron repeated, completely ignoring your last statement.

“You know what,” you said, the fight in your voice gone, “I don’t have to put up with this and your lame attempts at trying to be a good guy. I’m not having this conversation anymore.” You quickly leaned over to swipe your cigarette pack and glass of the little table.

“Are you actually going to run away from this?” He asked, almost as if he was trying to bait you back into the argument.

You scoffed loudly, staring him dead in the eyes. “You did.”

You angrily walked around him, nearly stomping the entire way to the door. As you were halfway into the house you paused for a moment, not even slightly turning your head back towards him. “Blankets are still in the same spot in the living room.” You said, slamming the door behind you as soon the sentence left your lips.

-----

The next morning, promptly at 8am, an email from your agent was sent to Aaron. It was incredibly petty and inherently personal, but to an outsider it was nothing out of the ordinary for someone of your status. Aaron was near furious, as expected, but even in his stubbornness he could see you had the high ground. Long story short, the email plainly stated vaguely threatened that if your work schedule were to become an issue for the team, you could easily send a ‘spokesperson’ from your team to deal with any and all future communications. Y/N 2, Aaron Hotchner 0.

Back at your house, you were having a lovely morning. The victory tasted sweet in your mouth as you got yourself ready for the long day. Sometime around 4:00AM Reid had switched out with Aaron and the two of you were currently in your kitchen; Reid sitting at one of your countertop stools while you stood over the stove. After being angrily informed by Aaron that you wouldn’t be required to come into the station with Reid, you decided to make a simple breakfast for the two of you. Reid had wanted to leave sooner, but he was also under orders to not leave you alone until you were safely in your own car and on your way.

You weren’t sure how he felt, but you thought you and Reid got along quite well. He was the closest in age to you and even though he didn’t really seem to understand any of the little jokes or references you made, there was still some level of mutual understanding there. It didn’t hurt that he was quite easy on the eyes as well, of course he wasn’t Aaron by any means- stop that!

Over breakfast, you spent the entire time answering Reid’s many questions about various actors and actresses he was a fan of. Lucky boy, you thought; as all the people he mentioned were quite nice even when the camera was off. What was it that people said about never meeting your hero?

He graciously offered to do all the clean up, as you had cooked, which gave you a bit of extra time to make sure you were ready to go. When you both were ready and Reid had confirmed the plainclothes officer was positioned on your street, he helped you to your car.

With one hand on the top of your car, just as you were about to sit down, you stopped and turned to Reid. “I enjoyed breakfast, would you please tell Agent Hotchner how sorry I am that my schedule’s gotten in the way?” You asked, giving him your sweetest smile. It was another petty move and Aaron was sure to see right through it; the team had amazing skills at reading people, you knew that, but you were an equally talented actress. “I’ll make sure to let you guys know when I’ll be back at home tonight.” You added, before sliding into your car. Reid closed the door gently behind you, waving from the outside of your garage as you pulled out and drove off.

-----

Case wise, the next two days were quiet. You had won the ‘going to work battle’ by a longshot and happily went about your scheduled days. Aaron hadn’t taken another watch shift since the argument, something you were grateful for. It wasn’t until the fourth day, that the case started to pick up again.

“Agent Hotchner?” A young officer stepped into the conference room, holding out a thick manila envelope. “This was just dropped off at the front desk, addressed to you.” That certainly captured the entire team’s attention; every head turning, as if off on a swivel, to face the officer.

“Who dropped it off?” Hotch demanded. ‘Who dropped it off?” He repeated, an added aggression in his voice.

“Some kid! Some kid dropped it at the front and left before anyone could get a word out!” The officer said hurriedly, raising one of his hands up in a meek surrender.

Hotch stepped up to the officer, easily snatching the envelope out of his hands. “Assure that my technical analyst has access to your entire security feed. Now.” He ordered, not giving the officer as a second glance. “Morgan, call Garcia and make sure she accesses those tapes and identifies the kid immediately.”

Hotch went back to standing in front of the long table in the middle of the room, setting the envelope down in front of him. “Gloves, I need-” A pair were placed in his outstretched hand by Reid before he could finish. “I don’t want anyone touching anything that comes out of here without gloves, understood?” He said, not looking at anyone in particular. His focus, completely drawn to the angry penmanship that spelled out his name. After quickly pulling his gloves all the way on, Hotch grabbed the envelope again, internally shoving down his emotions before ripping off the top edge in one clean pull. Nothing could have prepared him for the way the envelope was overflowing with hundreds of photos of you. He tilted the envelope and they all came falling out, covering the table in front of him. Reid mentally estimated there were over five hundred photos of you- some seemed to be cut, some looked to have writing and designs on them- and there were even a few slips of paper thrown in the mix.

“Hotch, Garcia managed to grab the plate from what the kid drove off in. She's running it-” Morgan said, his sentence running off as he took in the table full of photos. “Holy shit.” He said quietly, making his way closer to the table as well.

Hotch reached down, picking up the closest photo to him. There you were, standing on a boardwalk with your hand blocking the sun from your eyes. You looked beautiful- stop that. As Hotch further studied the photo, he picked up a second one, taking another good look. It struck Hotch and the team then, the majority of the photos were grossly intimate; as if the unsub had taken them by himself. Hotch’s stomach twisted when his eyes fell on a photo that looked like you were posing for it, throwing a big smile and peace sign up at the camera.

“Did Garcia get any hits on any scorned lovers?” Emily asked, holding up a photo of you and a man. The face and body of the man had been aggressively scratched over and cut up, but Aaron had a sinking feeling it was of him.

“Yea, I got another potential ex photo right here.” Reid said, holding up another picture. In this one you had clearly been looking up at someone, but the photo had been crudely cut up to exclude whoever it was.

Morgan held up one of the slips of papers, giving it a confused look. “You lost Aaron?” He said, reading off the paper. “What’s the reasoning for singling out Hotch rather than someone closer to her age like Reid” He questioned, not expecting anyone to answer.

“I got one of Hotch’s face scribbled over. He must’ve gotten the photo online.” Emily added, holding up a professional headshot of Hotch. “Is anyone seeing photos of the rest of us? The unsub could see all of us as interfering with his connection to Y/N.”

Hotch’s stomach was twisted in all different directions. He knew the moment of truth was coming and was internally cursing himself for not coming clean sooner. But that paled in comparison to the sickness he felt over the unsub clearly being someone who had such personal access to you. He was certain that some of these photos dates back years. The idea that whoever was doing this had been so close to you, for so long, could’ve brought him to his knees.

“Hotch…” JJ said, her voice accusatory. She looked up at him, face a mix of confusion and a hint of betrayal. She held up another photo and the entire team went quiet. This photo was clearly taken at a distance, but there you were looking lovingly up at a man who was certainly Hotch.

Hotch had one hand clenched tightly on the edge of the table, taking a deep breath before he looked up at his agents staring expectantly at him.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you all,” Hotch started, running his free hand over his face, “I met Y/N five years ago and we were together for three, until I ended things.” He was sure someone had audibly gasped at that. “I know you all may have various concerns over my proximity to the case and are valid in any anger you may feel towards me. But right now, I need to go call Y/N and make sure she’s safe.”

Hotch didn’t give anyone a chance to reply, instead whipping out his phone and near running out the door. Leaving a team of confused and shocked agents in his wake.

-----

a/n - of course, thank you all for reading. it means the world to me! also just the quickest of shoutouts to @kylorendrip and @ssahoodrathotchner who both constantly put up with my writing complaints and all the random ideas i bounce around their dms on the daily.

taglist - @mac99martin @iwaizumiee @kylorendrip @hqtchner @lieswithoutfairytales @ssahoodrathotchner @midsummernightdream @weasleylovers @evans-dejong @itsmytimetoodream @yoshigguk @28cnn @cuddlyklaus @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yallgotkik @sunflowersandotherthings @alexrodriguez1269

no permission is given to copy or republish my writing on any other platform or account. if you see this story outside of my blog or my ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own nor claim to own criminal minds or any of the character involved in it.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #hotch #aaron hotchner/you #aaron hotcher/reader #'stori writes #in the stars #aaron hotchner fanfiction

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winter-soldier-vibes · 4 years ago

Text

You just have to keep trying (Sebastian Stan x reader)

You just have to keep trying

Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: eating disorder(various behaviors and ‘mantras’), negative self talk/worthlessness, panic attacks/anxiety

Word count: 4268

Summary: Sebastian and Reader are dating, and while Sebastian is away filming, some comments get to you. You start developing eating disorder behaviors, and a concerned friend reaches out to Sebastianw.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, it was really hard for me to write and I had to take a few days for myself before I could finish it. This one is really personal for me to write, and I don’t mean to be insensitive towards anyone. This is just written based on my personal experience and what I think would help me. If any of you are struggling with anything mentioned here and you need someone to talk to, relate to, or rant to, I’m all ears. This isn’t something to go through alone. Also I know this may seem like an unrealistic solution and it’s not always this easy, but this is fanfiction and I used some phrases that helped me. It’s often never as easy as reassurance, but it does help. Again, I’m sorry if this is triggering or insensitive to anyone out there, I just really enjoyed writing it and imagining someone caring as much as I wrote here. Stay safe.

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

It wasn’t easy dating an actor.

There was media attention, often unwanted, in every corner of your life. Interpretations of everything you did, said, and posted. Comments of your relationship, what you say, what you wear, what you also don’t say. Assumptions were made about your entire life and you just wanted to scream at them to shut up. They didn’t really know you, and they’d do anything for a headline.

But it was all worth it to you. You loved Sebastian very much, and wouldn’t trade what the two of you had for the world. He was everything you wanted. But the goddamn media were ruthless.

He told you to ignore it. And you tried and were successful for a while. But eventually hearing the same shit over and over again just ate away at you. Now it was easier to believe them than it was to believe yourself.

Somethings were less bothersome than others. You knew your love for Sebastian was real, and no headline ever made you doubt that. It was the critiques on you, and everything you did and said, that really got to you. Specifically when it was targeting your appearances.

You never had a problem with your confidence. It never really occurred to you that your appearances mattered or would matter, so you didn’t really focus on it. But it was different now. Suddenly everyone cares and is saying that you should look different, that you don’t deserve him, that you weren’t good enough. And on top of that there were the comments of everyone reading these articles and posts.

Currently you were scrolling through Instagram. Sebastian was God knows where shooting for a new movie. He had been gone for a few weeks and you weren’t sure when he was coming back. You were scrolling through a bunch of old photos of the two of you together. You loved all of these when they were taken and posted, but now was a completely different story.

More than half of the comments were negative, and 75% of those were directed towards you. You didn’t think it would bother you like it was, and you intended to only read a few before moving on. But it was a wormhole - as much as you wanted to stop reading you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

There were tears in your eyes but you didn’t really care. You wanted the honest truth of what people thought about you. Sebastian told you their opinions didn’t mean anything, but after a while you thought he was just being nice.

What does he even see in her?

What makes her so special?

God she’s disgusting

He could have anyone, why her?

Anyone else hate this chick as much as I do?

The last one had over 300 likes.

You finally put your phone down and got up, making your way into the bathroom. You studied yourself in the mirror, looking for every possible flaw that was there. And you found a lot of them. It hurt, but you needed to do this if things were going to get any better.

Your hips were too wide, waist not pulled taut enough, a bit of flab here, too thin there… everything seemed out of proportion to you. Your skin was a mess, your hair was flat and dull, it just seemed like everything was wrong. No wonder people were tearing you apart and saying you weren’t good enough. They were right.

This was the start of something very new for you. You decided to take things into your own hands, make yourself better. You had heard how celebrities went on crazy diets to lose weight for a role, and you wound up pulling inspiration from them. It started fairly small and almost harmless. You were counting calories and doing more cardio. It was fine.

But then it wasn’t.

It became much too addicting, much too fast. It started slowly. There was one day where you had an extremely busy schedule and you ended up forgetting to eat and before you knew it, it was 9 pm. You really did intend to eat something, but then it occurred to you that you could just...go to bed.

You started skipping meals, loving the way that hunger made you feel. You felt more focused, more alert, just overall stronger. You kept telling yourself that hunger makes you stronger, and that eating was for the weak. And you wanted to prove everyone wrong, and if denying some hunger was the way to do that then so be it.

Sometimes you would indulge in your body’s cries for help, eating anything you could. But as soon as you realized what you were doing, panic would overtake you. The first time you frantically tried to find an option, which eventually led you to the bathroom hunched over the toilet. After that you threw up anything you ended up eating, no matter how small.

You took weight loss inspiration quotes to a dangerous level. Anytime you would walk to the fridge you would tell yourself that ‘fat lasts longer than flavor,’ or ‘minutes on the lips forever on the hips’. After that it wasn’t that hard to walk away.

You were working out a lot more too, and found that addicting. You pushed yourself until you basically fell over from exhaustion. Then you would give yourself a break. But absolutely no rest days. You didn’t deserve them. Not yet, at least.

You stopped going out with your friends. They would invite you to a bar or dinner but you would always decline. It was easier that way. You were losing weight of course, and rapidly at that. You didn’t see it, you saw things that still needed work. But your hair was beginning to fall out, you were always tired, and just generally felt like shit. You were never overweight in the first place, so your ribs were beginning to just out, and you could see your hip bones for the first time in your life. But this only egged you on. It should have scared you, but you liked it. You thought it was progress.

You hadn’t seen anyone in weeks, and you had been doing this to yourself for months. You would still talk to Sebastian on the phone most days, and text on the days you didn’t. You didn’t dare tell him about any of this for fear he would try to stop you. You weren’t good enough yet. That was all that you really wanted. You would give everything you had just to feel like you were good enough.

Eventually, your friends started getting really concerned. Denying a girl’s night here and there was nothing to worry about, but weeks of near radio silence prompted them to come and check on you. One day they knocked on your door, and you padded over to it, still in your workout gear.

They nearly passed out when they saw you.

You were gaunt, dark circles under your eyes, pale, and just...smaller than you were. You weren’t hiding behind your usual baggy clothes that kept you warm, exposing how much weight you had lost. You thought everything was normal, but they were absolutely freaking out. This wasn’t you.

“Are you okay?” y/b/f/n asked after a few moments of stunned silence.

You shrugged. “Yeah. why wouldn’t I be?”

They swallowed. “Y/n, you look...sick.”

You rolled your eyes, frustrated. “Gee, thanks.” That did absolutely nothing for your self esteem. “Look, I’m fine and I have work to do. So thank you, but please just leave.” You shut the door on them.

They stood there stunned for a few minutes outside the door, worried as hell about you. Eventually they decided to leave, but they couldn’t stop thinking about you. They sat in their car, trying to think of what to do. But then they remembered something.

A few years ago when the two of you were getting serious, Sebastian had given them his phone number in case something happened to you while he was away. They had never had to use it before, but now seemed like an appropriate time. They scrolled through their contacts until they found him, and started typing.

‘Hey this is y/b/f/n. Something’s wrong with y/n.’

Within a couple of minutes, he called back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry filling his voice.

They sighed. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t heard or seen her in a few weeks and I went to check on her today and she’s just…” they shook their head. “She’s lost a lot of weight. She looks sick, Sebastian. I don’t know what’s going on but I barely recognized her when she opened that door.”

On the other side of the line, Sebastian was freaking out. He was in between takes on set, but he walked off to a more private place to have this conversation. “Did you try to talk to her?”

“She said she was fine and shut the door.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. Sighing, he said “Alright. I’ll tell the director something came up. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thank you, y/b/f/n.”

“Thank you.”

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

The day continued normally for you. You worked out some more, busied yourself with different things around the house, avoided eating like it was poison. Your usual routine. You hated what you were doing to yourself. You wanted to stop but you just didn’t think that was an option yet. You thought you had to get to a certain image, a certain weight, or just reach some kind of destination before you tried to change. But you weren’t there yet.

You tried to sleep, couldn’t sleep, tried again, and then eventually gave up and settled for the 1 hour you were able to get. You got ready for your day as normal: workout gear and to the gym. When you came home, you showered and went to lie down again. You were so exhausted but you didn’t feel like there was anything you could do.

You don’t know how long you were there, but the sound of a door closing brought you back into awareness. You sat up, confused as to who was here. Sebastian always told you when he was coming home.

“Y/n?”

You perked up, knowing it was Sebastian’s voice. You practically ran into the main room to hug him. He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, immediately stiffening. “Oh my God,” he whispered. Underneath your sweater he could feel your bones jutting out and you were smaller than he remembered. He had only been gone for about 2 months, what the hell had happened?

He pulled back a lot sooner than you would have liked. But when you looked at his face, you were surprised to see him looking at you extremely concerned. “What’s wrong Seb?”

He looked you up and down and shook his head a little “What happened to you?”

You smiled a little, oblivious. “What do you mean?”

“You - you’ve lost so much weight. You look sick, yn, just - what the hell happened?”

You looked away for a second, stepping back and crossing your arms. You didn't know what to say. Sebastian stepped forward and grabbed both your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. Gently but firmly, he asked again “Y/n, tell me what happened.”

You shifted your gaze away from him. “I just wanted to be better.”

Sebastian felt his body go cold. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, not knowing what to tell him. You didn’t even know the answer yourself. He sighed. “This isn’t because of some stupid reporter, is it?”

Your lack of words and the tensing of your body was enough of an answer for him. “You know that they are trained to rip people apart? They don’t know what it’s making you feel. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you! You could literally have anyone you wanted, I just don’t understand why you chose me! I don’t understand why you’d want me, just….” you shook your head. “I’m not good enough.”

He stayed silent for a few moments, not knowing what you meant. He had no idea you felt this down on yourself. “What do you mean?”

You looked away from him again. “Sometimes I just don’t understand. You’re absolutely perfect in every single way and then I'm just here. I don’t get why or how you could love me.”

He closed the space between the two of you and hugged you again, firmly but not as tightly as usual. He was afraid he would hurt you. He felt tears pricking his eyes as well. His girl, his y/n, was wasting away because she didn’t feel good enough for him, when usually he thought it was the opposite. It broke his heart knowing that you had done this to yourself for him or some ignorant reporter. You were crying because you thought this would be the end of it. You didn’t think it was possible for him to love you after something like this.

“Babe, listen to me. I need you to hear me out here. I love you so much. I love you for who you are, who you were, and everything you could be. And nothing would ever change that. You are absolutely perfect to me no matter what. And because of that it breaks my heart to know what you’ve been doing to yourself. You don’t have to change, especially not for me. Hurting yourself like this cannot be an option, okay?”

Tears had begun to fall from his eyes and you were shaking in his embrace. “I’m sorry,” you choked out. You felt him shake his head before he said “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Your heart was melting. “Why are you so nice to me?” you asked quietly.

He let out a shaky breath, trying his best to hold it together for you. “Because I love you more than anything. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

You buried your face further into his chest, letting out another sob. He tightened his grip on you and kissed the top off your head, scared you would disappear at any second. He swallowed back his own tears, knowing he needed to be the strong one here.

“Please, y/n, let me help you.”

You nodded into his chest, feeling a sickening sense of relief and terror. To be honest you were mostly petrified as to what was to come. You had spent months telling yourself you deserve to starve, and you still believed most of it. You knew deep down it was a problem and you wanted to let Sebastian help you, but you were so scared of disappointing him or yourself.

By this point, it was early afternoon. The two of you spent a few hours on the couch, you curled up to him and his arms protectively around you. He kept telling you how much he loved you and how you were beautiful, and you would do your best to believe him and ignore the voice in your head telling you it was all a lie. In all honesty you got more distracted as time went on. You knew he would want to make you dinner and you couldn’t ignore the anxiety growing more as the time went on.

You weren’t going to bring it up, and you were just waiting for him to. He was nervous to bring it up too. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable or trigger you, but there was no way that he could let you skip another meal. You had already gone far too long without eating anything. He shifted in his seat and tensed a little, and you sighed, knowing what was coming.

“So...uh..”

“I don’t know,” you finished for him. You looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure what I’d want or even could eat. It’s so stupid trying to explain it to someone else…” you shook your head and closed your eyes. “It makes sense in my head but it doesn’t when I say it out loud.”

He sighed a little, brushing your hair with one of his hands. “It can be something small,” he said gently. “I’ll be here the whole time.”

You felt tears in your eyes again as you brought your hand to your stomach, running it down your ribcage, feeling the divots. It was a nervous habit you had developed whenever you thought about eating, and you cursed yourself for doing it now. “It’s embarrassing Seb.” you said quietly.

Sebastian didn’t stop his movements, looking down at you. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked, feeling so helpless in this situation. He wanted to take all of your pain away but there isn’t a quick way to heal the mind. He had learned that himself a long time ago. You shrugged, not knowing the answer yourself.

You took a deep breath. “Nothing’s going to be easy Seb. I think it’d just be easier if you chose something and then just sit with me or something. I don’t know… God I feel like an idiot right now -”

“Hey,” Sebastian stopped you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever you need babe.” He gave you a smile before he stood up, and you curled into the corner of the couch, bringing your knees to your chest. Your heart was pounding and your mind was racing. You had no idea how you were going to be able to do this, you could barely eat on your own out of shame, how were you expecting to eat in front of the man you loved?

Meanwhile, Sebastian was trying to think of something that would be easiest for you to eat while still providing sustenance. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but he also didn’t want to enable you.

Eventually he came back out with two plates of food, one holding less than the other. (Insert whatever you want here for the meal). He gave the smaller portion to you with a small smile and you were trying your best to hide the trembling of your hand as you took it from him. You ended up counting the calories with the blink of an eye before you could stop yourself, and cursed your mind because you didn’t think that there was a way that you could eat that much. Even if you knew logically you burned more calories in your workout that morning.

You begna bouncing your leg up and down, tears building once again. You didn’t want to disappoint him, but you couldn't stop the anxiety building inside you. “I’m sorry,” you said shaking your head and covering your mouth. Your breathing was becoming uneven, and your heart rate was increasing as well. Which only made you more anxious.

Sebastian moved both plates out of the way before wrapping his arms around you again. You were so embarrassed, having an anxiety attack around something as stupid as food. You felt so weak and stupid. Your leg was moving uncontrollably at this point, and you barely had any control over your breathing anymore. Your hands balled into fists and you buried your head into his chest out of shame.

You kept trying to spit out apologies but you couldn’t catch your breath long enough to do so. He just tightened his arms around you, hushing you whenever you tried to speak. “Y/n I need you to try to breathe with me, can you try that? Just try to match mine.” He started taking deep breaths, chest rising and falling slowly and you tried your best to match his. It took a few minutes but eventually your breathing evened out. Once the panic had washed away you started crying harder, more out of shame and embarrassment than anything else.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s so stupid -”

“It’s not stupid y/n.” he said gently but firmly. “It’s okay to be anxious.”

You shook your head against his chest. “Not when it’s about something as silly as food.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. Thoughts don’t make sense all the time, but that doesn’t make them fact. You’re just having a rough time right now, but beating yourself up over it is only going to make it harder.”

God, you love this man.

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, him rubbing a hand through your hair gently like before. He knew you had always liked that. You closed your eyes, wanting this moment to go on forever, but knowing you would have to eat something at some point.

“Do you think you could try to eat something? Please?”

You took a deep breath before nodding again, pulling away from him. You grabbed your plate and played around with it for a minute or so before you began eating. You wanted to make Sebastian happy, but you were terrified as well. You didn’t exactly know why, logically speaking. You had thoughts running through your mind of weight gain, but you also knew logically that one meal wouldn’t cause it, and that you were too skinny anyways.

You knew that logically. But your mind wasn’t exactly a logical place to be right now.

You weren’t able to eat everything, but you ate more than you thought you would be able. To. you apologized for the nth time that night, and Sebastian stopped you before you could finish. “Don’t be. I’m proud of you.” he said with a smile as he brought the plates to the kitchen. He was nervous to say the least. You hadn’t eaten much, but again, it was a start. Everyone needs to start somewhere.

He hadn’t told you that he had come home in the middle of shooting to check on you. He didn’t tell you that he had initially said he’d be gone for a week before pushing it back even further, realizing you needed him at the moment. You were more important to him, and he honestly didn’t care if he got fired. He’d find another job at some point.

He stayed with you for the next few weeks, helping you in every aspect. He made sure you deleted all social media apps on your phone, so you weren’t inclined to look at toxic comments. He helped you tone down your time in the gym and take rest days. He made sure you ate something at each meal. It started out small, and gradually he helped you to eat more. He sat with you through all the panic attacks and tears, and the times you would lash out at him. He never took it personally.

There were slip ups. Times where you snuck out at night to go for a run, or when you would find yourself throwing up after the anxiety got to be too much. He wouldn’t get angry with you, just offer you a sad smile and hug you. You would apologize and he would assure you it wasn’t your fault. “It’s not going to be perfect, you just have to keep trying.”

He would never stop telling you that you were beautiful and how much he loved you. You couldn’t help but feel like a burden to him at first, but as time went on you began to believe him more and more.

Months later and it was still a daily struggle. You had bad days, slip ups, and days where you just wanted to quit. But Sebastian never left your side through all of it, and eventually you were able to pull yourself out of your own darkness. You were able to catch yourself in your negative thoughts before you descended too far down the wormhole. You were starting to feel happy again, more like who you had been.

The two of you were watching a movie, laughing over some funny line that had been said. There was popcorn in between the two of you and you just felt happy. After a few moments, you looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

He smiled back down at you. “For what?”

“Helping me believe in myself again.”

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian x reader #comfort #eatingdisordercomfort #tw eating disorder #tw panic attack #tw anxiety #tw anorexia #tw self hate #sebastian stan comfort #fluff #imagine

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mytrashs-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Drunk On You- T.H.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: SMUTTTTTT. Please do not read this if you’re under 18. The Smutty part is between this signs: [...] so if you want to skip over the smut, you can, but it won’t make much sense. Also... There’s A LOT of swearing.

Summary: You’re a virgin and you’re drunk so you send a risky DM on instagram.

Word Count: Almost 6k... she’s thicc

A/N: I cannot tell you just how much I enjoyed writing this! It started as a 2 am inspiration punch and then it took me three weeks to finish it. It’s my first time writing smut, so I don’t know if that part’s good, but I like it and I really hope you do too. (Please if you do like it, reblog it so it can be read by more and more people).

Masterlist

(Gif isn’t mine and I couldn’t track the author, so credits go to the owner)

Fuck this shit, you’re 22 years old, you’re in college and as much as you enjoy leaving fratboys with blue balls in the middle of a party, you need to get this over with. You’re tired of waiting for the “right guy”, if you keep on doing that you’ll end up virgin for your whole fucking life. But where the fuck can you find a guy that’s not gonna judge you for being a sad, drunk virgin in the middle of a tuesday night? Being drunk and alone at your dorm was pathetic enough…

So you scroll through instagram for a while only to find out there’s no right suitor for the job, but in the heat of the moment you notice that Tom Holland, yes the scrawny white boy that looks 12 and plays Spider-man has just posted a shirtless picture and boy, he does not look 12 anymore. So you slide into his DM’s just for the shit and giggles:

“Hey, Tommy boy!

You probably get millions of DMs like this every second of everyday, but fuck, I just wanted to say that you are extremely hot and I am extremely virgin and I’m also drunk, so I thought I’d write you to ask for a massive favor.

Would you have sex with me just to take my virginity away? Ok, thanks.

Bye!

P.S. I think you’re great in your new film.”

And yes, you did press send to that, but of course you don’t even remember writing it in the first place the next morning while getting ready for your 9am class, so your daily routine goes on as normal.

But then, while you’re making your best effort not to fall asleep while your professor talks about some depressed artist that beat his wife and was super sexist, but was somehow excused because he made some decent poem, you hear the unmistakeable ping of your phone, which can only mean that you got a text, so you go to see it, because that is far less rude than falling asleep during class, but you were surely not ready for what was showing on your phone screen.

All air, and life to be honest, left your body for a second, you double checked, and then triple checked and yes… Tom Holland had wrote you on instagram’s direct messages.

“Holy fuck” you only realize you said that out loud when the three people closest you turn to look at you and shush you, but you’re still in shock and still have not opened the message, but maybe it’s not a great idea to open it in front of everybody, specially your professor, so you figure the bathroom will be the best place to do it.

You lock yourself in a stall and sit down, get your phone out, take a deep breath and open the instagram message. My God, you were not expecting what your screen showed:

“Haha, this is too cool to ignore! I happen to be in your area right now… Give me a call and I’ll make it happen ;)”

And yes, his phone number was there too. The phone number of THE Tom Holland! like… WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! What are the odds of him actually reading your DM? And the odds of him replying? And the odds of TOM MOTHERFUCKING HOLLAND agreeing to be your first time?! Someone up there must be having a good laugh.

But it would be rude to chicken out now, right? One does not simply say no to fuck with a Marvel actor. You gotta do it. It's your holy duty. So you reply with a simple “Looking forward to it” and you get your shit together before returning to your class.

You think about texting him while you walk to grab some lunch, but what do you say to a celebrity that agreed to deflower you?… Wait. Holy shit! You’re actually gonna have sex with Tom Holland! He’s super ripped! And you’re gonna see and feel all his bits and pieces… honestly, your panties got a bit damp just thinking about that. This is gonna be fun.

You decide to shoot the text while waiting for your iced coffee. “Hey, it’s (Y/N) from instagram. Are you serious about the thing? If so, when are you available?”

And that’s when the game begins, cause he replied almost instantly and you decided he’s just another fratboy playing around, so you played along.

“I’m dead serious, babe. I can do it tonight.”

“Nice. That’s how I like it… what time are we talking about?”

“9 ish, maybe 10.”

“Gotta give me an hour… also, it would have to be at yours, cause I live in a dorm that I share with another girl.”

“You could ask her to join…”

“Haha. Nah, this is all for me to enjoy.”

“And you will. 9:30 sounds good for you, babe?

“Perfect.”

“I can pick you up. Send me your location and I’ll go there.”

“Nice. I’m liking it already.”

“You’ll like it even more.”

You go about your day with a stupid smile all day, nervous and excited for what’s gonna happen later. Paying attention to class? What is that? Concentrating on your due projects? You don’t know her. All you can do is think about the things that man might do to you later.

Wait… you gotta shave. Also, should you go buy some nice underwear? It overwhelms you how unprepared you are and you run, abandoning everything you had to do that day to go get ready to have sex with a super hot celebrity.

You shaved, exfoliated, bought nice underwear, picked out a sexy outfit, you even tried to work out a little to look a bit more toned for him. You allowed your most extra self to come and shine, and you definetely enjoyed the process.

“What are you getting ready for? It’s wednesday. I doubt there’s any interesting party. Oh God! Do you have a date?” your roomate asked as soon as she saw you posing a skirt for the mirror when she walked in.

“I think so… I don’t know. I’m gonna meet this guy I met on instagram.” She gave you a corncerned look, but you were definetely not gonna tell her the details, that’s extremely private, it’s rude to tell people about celebrities intimate life, even if it’s with you. He didn’t mention anything about keeping it secret, but it would do a lot of harm to freely go around saying that he likes having sex with fans. It would ruin his privacy completely. At least from your part, you can guarantee no one’s ever gonna find out.

True to your word, you sent him your location an hour before the time you arranged and he called you, yes. HE CALLED YOU at 9:30p.m. on the dot to tell you he was outside and it took you a second to process the call, so much that you couldn’t voice anything more than an “Okay”… that basically ruined your super confident text attitude, and this was over the phone, would you even be able to get inside his car? The nervousness really hit you like a truck the second you hung up the phone, and your roomate noticed, but she didn’t say anything.

After taking a few deep breaths and counting to ten trying to calm yourself down, you get your purse and walk down the hallway and the stairs of the dorms and by the time you get to the main door, your legs are shaking like crazy and your palms are a little sweaty, so you gotta calm down again and remind yourself that this man is just a regular human being and that nothing has to happen if you don’t want to. And just like with tequila shots, you stop thinking and just go for it.

As soon as you see the car, you walk confidently towards it, and as he rolls down the window you can see it really is him, but you don’t let his face tear your confidence down, so you slightly smile and get in the car, it’s an extremely fancy car and you’re sure you’ve never set foot in anything this luxurious, honestly there’s no doubt that the seat your ass is resting on right now could easily be worth your entire college tuition and student loans. Okay, maybe that is an exageration, but it sure looks expensive.

“Hey, nice to finally meet you in person… I’m Tom!” he smiles in a polite and friendly matter, and you can see there’s a hint of nervousness in his smile aswell and that eases you a little because it confirms that he’s just as normal as you are.

“I’m (Y/N), pleasure to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to do this. I know it’s super weird and all, and I was definetely not expecting this outcome when I sent that message last night, but I’m grateful regardless…” you’re rambling, but he doesn’t seem to mind, he looks amused even. When you finally stop talking he drives away and you fall into a slightly uncomfortable silence, until he turns the music on and you recognize the song so you start humming along, and he joins, but other than that, there’s not much talking on the way to the apartment he’s staying at temporarily right now.

The place looks expensive, but it’s also very simply decored, it does look a temporary thing, but it also looks like a place where a single chaotic youn man exploded, so there’s empty beer bottles here and there, clothes literally everywhere and dirty dishes in the sink… but it does smell like cologne, very manly aswell… being at his place sets a whole new level of anxiety, because this is just so intimate. You’re inside his little world, his safe space, and even if it’s just for a brief moment you’re just happy that he agreed to do this with you.

“Do you want anything to drink? I have wine, beer and a spare champagne bottle from the other night… or just water. Please make yourself comfortable, sorry about the mess, I really don’t like cleaning.”

“That’s alright… you should see my dorm during finals week, that’s a whole other level of messy, haha… and wine would be great, thanks.” You’re slowly calming down and trying no to overthink about what’s about to happen and forget about the reputation of the man you’re doing it with, because the fact that he’s famous doesn’t mean he’s less human and maybe glorifying him for his job is a little rude from you. So you sit down in the couch, right next to a thrown blue hoodie, hold on a second… this is the one from Spider-Man: Homecoming, the one with the emblem of the highschool, shit, this is a historical piece of clothing for the cinematic world and you’re sitting right next to it. Shit, there goes all the progress you had made in the last fifteen minutes.

When he comes back with two glasses of wine in one hand and the bottle in the other one, you help him put down the stuff safely because he looks so stressed carrying the things and it is a small funny moment, before he sits down right beside you and it becomes impossible to get your words to come out of your mouth. So he takes the lead.

“Listen, I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of predator, okay? I don’t know why I agreed to do this, but it was not to take advantage of you, so if at any point you feel uncomfortable and you don’t wanna do this anymore, you can just tell me and we’ll call this off, okay.” He puts his hand on you knee to reassure you and it does make you feel better, and you relax into your seat and just nod a little before speaking.

“Thank you” And it comes out like you’re breathing out in relief, and that’s when he leans in to kiss you and you take a deep breath before corresponding and taking the last step to seal your lips together.

Your mind just goes blank and you forget what you were nervous about in the first place, kissing Tom is not that much different than kissing any other guy, except for the fact that his lips are softer than most guys’, but this one does have to take care of himself, it is literally part of his job and it should not be that surprising that a guy takes basic care for his appearance, but it is nice.

[…]

The kiss moves in a nice rythm and his hands start sliding from your knee to your waist and he pulls you closer to him and your hands find their courage and go to the back of his neck and so you’re also pulling him in, and all you want is to have him closer, as close as you can possibly have him, and when his hand moves down to your ass, you take that as the perfect moment to throw your leg over so you can straddle him and now both of Tom’s hands are on your ass and you grab onto his shoulders for leverage, and just because you need to breathe in properly, you let your lips disconnect and you see him beneath you.

His hand comes up to move your hair out of your face and you stare at each others eyes for a second and it doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore, so you smile at him for a brief moment, but being apart from his lips feels terrible right now so you lean back in and his hand is in your head and he’s pushing you closer to him, and your hands just slide down to his chest, you play with the chain he has on for a second and he smiles into the kiss, but then you move your attention to the buttons of his shirt and start undoing them.

You take your lips to his neck and he becomes super responsive, you find his sensitive spot quite quickly and he moves you closer to him so you feel his lenght rubbing against your core and it makes you go undo the buttons faster, before you know it he’s taking the shirt off and throwing it to the floor, when his hands are free, he takes advantage and lifts your blouse and you put your arms up to give him easy access. You’re glad you rush bought that set of nice underwear, because Tom’s eyes visibly fill with lust at the sight of the barely there lacy piece covering your breasts.

He touches your chest ever so lightly it gives you goosebumps, he traces a path to your breasts but he stops right before getting to them “Can I?” he whispers, looking straight into your eyes, and there’s something so sexy about him seeking your explicit consent, it makes your panties a little wetter, you nod lightly and he goes ahead, tracing the shape of your breasts with his fingers, like he wants to get familiar with them, he takes one of your nipples between his fingers and applies a little preasure on it, and then on the other one, he’s taking his sweet time before cupping them and pressing his lips in the space between them, and your hands respond to that by taking his hair and pulling lightly and he moans into your skin and it makes you shiver.

He keeps leaving wet kisses on your nipples and sucking on sensitive spots and you can swear it will leave marks, but who cares, you’re just over the moon with everything that’s happening and you just want more and more. He takes one hand to your ass again and he holds it tightly, using the other hand he slides to the edge of the couch and just like it’s nothing heavier than an empty box, he stands up, and you gasp because frankly you were not expecting it, he laughs a little and gives you a reassuring smile.

“I just thought we’ll be more comfortable in my room.”

“Okay, then.” You find it so odd that he’s so unbothered while carrying your full weight, like you’re not exactly the lightest woman in the world, but you won’t deny that being so close and personal to his biceps like this, it’s something you could get used to.

He takes you up the stairs, and along the corridor, once you reach the door, he turns the knob but decides to kick the door rather than opening it like a normal person, but you can’t complain because every moves looks hotter than the previous, and when he lays you down on his bed and stays hovering above you, you just can’t handle it and you kiss him again, your legs hug around his bum to bring him closer where you need him and he takes the hint, he pushes your skirt to your stomach and before he does anything else, his seeks your consent “Is this okay?” he asks, “Yes.” you say loud and clear and he rubs his fingers on your core, and it feels good, but your panties feel like a concrete wall, you just need to feel his fingers, his everything all over your body, so you arch your back and unzip the skirt and he pulls it down and throws it to a corner of the room.

He takes a second to look at you in just your underwear and you feel exposed, but he’s looking at you like you’re some sort of Goddess, he kicks his shoes off and goes to undo the button of his jeans, and it looks so slow and you need him now but you watch him and when he slides down the jeans and you can make out the shape of his member. You feel a little overwhelmed with the view in front of you, and you take a moment to take it all in. His face is crowned by (now) very messy curls, his eyes that used to be brown are practically pitch black by both the dim lighting and lust, there’s freckles all over his nose and cheeks, but they’re barely noticeable, his jawline is the most defined you’ve ever been near to, but even though there are a lot of strong features in his face, he looks almost childish and innocent… until you drop your eyes to his chest, that is.

Every single muscle in his chest has some sort of definition, he’s not as ripped as in the movies, but then again, he’s not super dehydrated and over exercised right now, and he still looks more muscular than any guy you know, his abs are defined, there’s a visible V marking the path from his hips to his member and it is stupidly making your mouth water. He has black Calvin Kleins still on, but that’s the last piece of clothing he has on, and the anticipation is killing you.

He takes you by the ankles an pulls you closer to the edge of the bed and he spreads your legs open and gives you a devilish smile before leaning back in to give you a quick yet intense kiss on the lips and he slides down to your neck and chest again, but he keeps making his way down your body towards your bellybutton and it gives you goosebumps everytime he gives you even a peck or a light touch, you’re shivering with every touch.

“Relax, love… if you want me to stop you can just say it, okay?” He says looking up at you and you nod, you breathe in to calm your nerves down, he waits for you, when you’re finally ready you nod at him again, he gives your waist a light squeeze, smiles at you and places a kiss to your stomach and keeps kissing you lower, until one of his hands goes to your thigh while the other teases the waistband of your panties, hooking one finger on it, he starts pulling it down painfully slowly, you lift your bum to make it easier for your panties to leave your body, once Tom strecthes them to throw them to some part of the room, you sit up to take off your bra and he looks intently at you while you do it, so you smile and lock your eyes to his just to make it more interesting, and you also take your sweet time unclasping the clips, and Tom starts to get impatient, you can see it in his smile, but you enjoy playing with him so even when you do unclasp both clips, you keep the piece on and he puts his hands on his hair in exasperation and you just laugh, enjoying this small moment of being the one in charge, but you give in and take the lacy bra off and throw it to him, he catches it and throws it to the side.

You’re completely naked in his bed and he’s taking the view in. “You’re very beautiful, you know?” he says and you feel the blush creep up to your cheeks, but you smile and thank him regardless, he smiles back and leans back down, he kisses one of your thighs and then the other one, before he does anything else he looks up at you, once again looking for any signs of hesitation “Are you sure you want this?” he asks from his position and when you nod, he dives in.

He presses a light kiss into your folds and you immediately feel electricity emmiting from your core. Needless to say it’s your first time recieving an oral, every sensation is new, you can’t even tell if he’s good at this or not, but for you, it feels like the best sensation in the world, his tongue dances over your clit and you just grasp the sheets for dear life and when he sucks on it you swear you could come right there, but you manage to hold it for a little longer and he keeps going, it doesn’t take long for him to introduce one finger inside, the moan you let out is just obscene and he seems to love it, because he moans too but the vibrations that it sent to your clit make you lose it and you come yelling his name like your life depends on it and he guides you through your first orgasm of the night with his mouth and finger still pumping in and out.

“You’re dripping wet, you know that?” He tells you once you’ve calmed down and have regained your ability to function like a human being, you smile at him, trying to speak, but that function has not come back yet. He kisses you in the mouth and you can taste yourself in his mouth, you start relaxing into the kiss, and he starts tracing gentle circles on the skin of your stomach and you turn your body so can be face to face and your leg happens to feel his dick, and it feels impossibly hard, so you try to relieve the pressure by stroking it with your hand, but when you get your hand down his waistband, Tom stops you “If you touch me now, I’ll be the biggest dissapointment of your life.”

“You forget that I’m a virgin… I have nothing to compare you to.”

“Still… I’ve got my pride.” he finishes as he gets up and rumbles in a drawer of his nightstand, he finds the condom and shows it to you. “Do you want to do this?”

You take a deep breath, there’s nothing you want more than do it right now, but it sure makes you nervous, still you give him verbal consent “Yes, I do.”

That’s all he needs, he stands up completely and takes his underwear off, it happens quite fast, but you do get to apreciate his dick in full exposure, not that you’d know, but it sure looks like it’s gonna be hard to fit that inside of you, and you panic a little and Tom notices and chuckles while he slides the condom on, “It’s gonna be alright, I’ll make sure of it.”

He crawls back to the bed and hovers above you, his hand go to your core again and he slowly introduces one finger into you and starts pumping in and out slowly, he stays looking in your eyes, watching your every reaction, you’re moaning slightly, when he notices that you’ve gotten used to the sensation, he adds another digit and the pressure feels uncomfortable, but he notices so he waits for you to get used to the feeling before he starts pumping it, you bite your lip as you enjoy his movements, moans coming out of your mouth to the rythm of his fingers, when he starts stretching you by doing scissor motions with his fingers, the feeling increases and it is a lot more intense so you hold onto his arm, he’s still looking at you, wanting to be sure that you’re okay and staying alert to see any signs of discomfort in you, but you like it so much.

He takes his fingers out and the emptiness is just overwhelming, but when you see that he’s trying to align himself to your entry, you relax and stress at the same time. This is real. It’s gonna happen. Actually it’s happening at this moment. He looks at you again and lifts his eyebrows in question, you nod lightly and you hold on to his forearm and his neck in preparation. He pushes slowly in, it hurts a little but it’s not that bad, Tom sees you wincing and stops, waiting for you to get used to the new feeling, when you do, he keeps pushing a little. The rythm goes like that until he’s fully in.

You can see he’s having a hard time trying not to hurt you, it’s clear that he just wants to go for it, but you’re grateful he’s containing himself while you get used to the feeling of being so full right now, when you’re ready, you nod at him and he pulls slightly out, waits for you, and pushes back in. The rythm is slow at first for you to get used to it. At first it feels like too much, but the more he thrusts into you, it starts being not enough.

His grunts and moans sound heavinly to your ears, and whenever you are brave enough to just open your eyes and see him, his face is just so beautiful, he has a frown in his face out of concentration and self control, you’re admiring him when he opens his eyes and they meet yours, it’s such an intimate moment, it makes you blush a little bit, you caress his cheek and hair, interlocking your fingers in his curly locks, he lets out a soft moan in pleasure.

The pace gets faster and stronger and you’re getting closer to your high with every thrust, he’s hitting a point inside of you that you didn’t even know existed and it’s a whole new level of pleasure, it’s even making you feel like the world is spinning, you grab onto his back and scratch as you try to keep it together, he moans loudly and stops and pulls out suddenly.

“Get on all fours for me, love.” he tells you and you comply, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed so he can fuck you while standing up off the bed, you try to arch your back to give him better access, he slides in easier now, and the sensation changes completely, he’s hitting another point that feels even better in this angle, the pleasure doesn’t let you stay stable and your arms can’t keep you up, so you press your face to a pillow and you can’t stop moaning his name, your high creeping up from your stomach once again.

“T- Tom… I think I’m gonna…”

“Wait for me, darling, I’m right there with you.”

His thrusts become sloppy and arythmic, he goes faster, his grunts louder with each thrust, your names falls from his mouth a lot more now, and his is the only word you can say at this point. You come first with an incredibly loud moan of his name. The feeling of you reaching your orgasm around his dick is enough to send him over the edge too, your name being dropped with a loud grunt, he squeezes your breast and rests his head on your back when he comes down from his high, both of you panting. You stay like that for a moment, but then Tom pulls out and goes to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

[…]

You lay in the bed completely naked, but you do feel more exposed now that the moment’s over, so you cover up with a pillow and think about what just happened, relishing on how good it was, you figure this was the best idea you’ve had in a while, even if the most ridiculous but it worked out pretty well.

Tom comes back soon after and hands you a water bottle (because he apparently just keeps water bottles in his bathroom), you thank him and he lays in the bed with you. “How was that?” he asks you in some worried matter, like his whole career depended on your answer, you look at him and smile at him like he’s crazy, you had two orgasms, isn’t that enough proof that you liked it? when the anxiety becomes aparent in his face, you give him the verbal confirmation. “Of course I did, wasn’t it obvious?” you say while trying to hide your face, he takes your arms to stop you from doing so.

“Y/N! Don’t hide! It was actually really good for me too, and I’m happy you had a good first time, it’s cool.”

You smile at him bigger now, getting more comfortable now, and he leans to leave a kiss on your forehead, and you lay there just chilling for a while. Checking the clock in Tom’s bedside table you realize it’s almost 2 in the morning, you haven’t talked about this, but you think it’s not a good idea to stay the night, maybe he has things to do tomorrow, and you do have a class at 9, so you start to get up to recolect your clothes.

“Where are you going?” Tom asks in a whiny tone, he was right about to fall asleep before you got up.

“I think it’s time for me to leave, it’s quite late and I’ve got class tomorrow.” you reply with a slightly sad tone, just for the drama.

“You don’t have to go. There’s no way I’m letting you take an uber and I’m too lazy to get up and drive you… so stay, I promise I’ll take you to your front door tomorrow morning, alright?” also, he gives you mad puppy eyes to convince you, but you still move around the room trying to find your underwear, just to not be naked anymore.

“Okay, just let me put some clothes back on, cause this is weird.”

“Can you throw me my underwear, please?”

“Yeah, just let me try and find them.” You throw them at him once you find them among the mess and they land straight in his face, you just gotta laugh at it and he just rolls his eyes at you and puts the thing on jokingly bitching about you being rude to him and you just laugh at him while you walk back to the bed.

At some point, Tom goes to retrieve your clothes and the wine from the living room while you just scroll through your phone absent mindedly, you half read the tweets and just ignore the instagram posts you see until he gets back and gives you your barely touched glass of wine and lays back down next to you.

You stay there for a while just talking and drinking, actually getting to know each other, you tell him about your major in college, how hard it gets sometimes, and you even tell him about why you had never had sex before. He tells you about his work, his family, the things he wants to do next… he does tell you a little tiny spoiler of the future of Marvel, which you had to swear you wouldn’t reveal to anyone ever and it would be a secret you take to your graveyard. It’s a nice pillow talk, you’re laying in the bed, facing each other, his hand is lazily resting on your waist, yours playing with the chain on his neck. This is likely even more intimate than the sex itself, and it’s nice.

When you do finally fall asleep, is in that position. Wine bottle completely empty in the floor, clothes laying around, only sound in the room being the light snores of Tom and heavy sleep breathing. You’re extremely comfortable and relaxed, long forgotten how nervous you were before this happened. You could get used to this.

Your slumber is ruined when the alarm goes off at half 7 in the morning, you feel tired, but you get your clothes back on anyway, Tom takes a little longer to fully wake up, but he keeps his promise and throws a pair of sweatpants and a white shirt, he also throws a hat on just to not deal with his morning/sex hair, for the same reason, you also just put your hair in a messy bun.

He actually parks the car and walks you back to your dorm, it’s quite early, but there is some people around the hallways anyways and it makes you a bit anxious thinking you might get him in trouble if he does get recognized, but he seems relaxed and unbothered about it anyway.

“I had a lot of fun. It was really nice to get to know you… call me up if you ever want to do this again, okay?” he tells you with his hands stuck in his pockets, it makes you smile how cute he looks.

“Thank you, Tom. I really enjoyed it… thanks for not being weird about this whole thing.”

“That’s alright. Okay, take care and don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Okay.” He gives you a last kiss on the cheek before you get inside your dorm to get ready for class, and he goes back home, and that is it.

Months go by without you ever talking to or about Tom, you just assumed that was the end of everything you lived with him and it is a lovely and super hot thing to remember, but there's nothing more to it.

Bing

Your phone goes off in the middle of the night. You were studying, so you weren't talking to anyone. As you check the notification, you freeze just like you did the first time you saw his name on your screen.

"Hey! I'm in your town! What are you up to?"

Tagging some people to avoid the flop:

@caeruleum-in-caritate-lupus, @softstarkk, @peterparkerbabyy, @dottirose, @legit-fandom-trash, @carostar2020, @appreciating-chase-brody, @mvmakki @madmadmilk @hollandrecs @starksparker @sunshinehollandd

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callmeelle22 · 3 years ago

Text

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see��down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry allen

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probably-writing-x · 5 years ago

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Unintentional beginnings

Arón Piper x Reader

Request by anon: hey! i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write an aron piper x reader one where the reader is a “fan” and sliedes i to his dms and they talk for a while until aron asks her out on a date which is where they meet for the first time and instantly realize they’re made for eachother? thank you so so much 🥰🥰

Gif is not my own

Requests are closed🤍

You hadn’t thought much of it when it first begun. You’d simply started a new show on Netflix after you’d finished something else and you’d landed upon Élite. It sounded interesting to say the least but you hadn’t expected this. Now, you were halfway through the first season on your first night of watching the show and you’d already been onto Instagram to follow all of the cast. You were engrossed!

Now, it had only taken you a week and you were already coming to the end of season 3. Omar and Ander had rapidly become your favourite thing about the show as you watched with tears in your eyes at the prospect of their long awaited reunion. You had already rewatched the scene three times when you decided to pull out your phone and snap a photo for your Instagram story. It was a photo of the laptop screen in front of you, with your solo glass of wine and the blanket covering you - with the caption ‘these boys have officially killed me!’. You also didn’t think much of it when you’d tagged Arón and Omar in the photo - they’d never see it anyway.

You finished the season, went to bed that night in your flat, and only just about heard the notification on your phone at 2am. It made you jump awake, never being much of a deep sleeper anyway. You groaned and rubbed your eyes to try and make the screen more clear. But, sure as hell, you definitely bolted awake when you saw Arón’s name on the Instagram notification that had just come through.

He’d replied to your story.

‘Glad to know I’m doing my job well ;) x’

You had to blink a few more times to make sure you weren’t dreaming what you’d just seen. Though the whole process had to be reset again when you saw the notification come through that he’d followed you back...

There’s hardly a reply you can think of that would sound good enough.

‘I was talking more about Omar x’

That was okay? Right? It would come across okay?

It’s like a gut wrenching relief when you see him typing back - ‘Can’t blame you for that! I’m not actually as moody as Ander is x’

Somehow, you roll over in bed so you’re laying with your stomach flat against the mattress and you reply, and so does he, and you reply again... and you find yourself texting each other back and forth for the entire night - only noticing the time when the sun starts to rise outside the window of your flat.

‘You’ve really fucked up my sleeping pattern here x’

You smile at his message and reply - ‘Likewise x’ just as your eyes start to drop and you can no longer fight off the urge to fall asleep against the warm comfort of your bed. Was it possible to fall asleep with a smile on your lips?

- - - - - -

When you wake up later in the day, it’s already mid afternoon so you’ve only got a few hours left of sunlight - yep, definitely fucked up your sleep schedule.

You clamber out of bed and make yourself a coffee to drink on the small balcony outside of your apartment. It’s only then that you bother checking the notifications on your phone. To even more of your surprise, Arón has liked a bunch of your recent posts from your feed. He’d even commented on a couple of them with witty, mocking comments that all made you giggle like a school girl with a crush. How on Earth had this happened?!

You reply to one of them and it already feels odd to be flirting with him in the public of the digital age.

Then, you find a voice note from him left unread in your messages.

“Afternoon, sleepyhead, since you fell asleep and ignored me. Either that or I got a bit boring but I can’t see how that would work. Do you fancy watching a film with me later?”

And that’s how it all started. You’d set up films at the same time and FaceTime as you watched them to discuss. It sometimes took a few tries to get it to work properly but it was always worth watching Arón get more and more frustrated with his dying laptop.

It continued in that way for at least a few more weeks before you started to question things. You didn’t live far from each other, and yet you’d never actually made any plans to meet. Maybe this was just how he wanted it to stay, this oddly committed and casual setup you had going. But you’d found yourself cancelling plans to spend time on the phone to him and it seemed silly to do if this was all it was going to be. Though, as Arón had managed to do far too many times, he surprised you yet again.

“Yeah, I should take you there one day,” He laughs, “I think you’d love it.”

Silence falls between you as both of you realise what he’s said at this late hour over another FaceTime.

“Would you... maybe want to go with me?” He suggests, shifting in the bed so he was laying down with a pillow tucked underneath him.

You tuck your hair behind your ear as though he was right in front of you, not just through a screen, “Yeah, Id love to.”

“Great, are you free tomorrow?”

- - - - - -

At four pm the next afternoon, you’re grabbing your keys and rushing out of the house to get your taxi and make your way to the destination he’d told you about. It was to part of the set where they filmed some of Élite. For some reason, you’d got onto the topic yesterday. He’d told you that it wasnt the most attractive of places but it had rapidly become one of his favourites because of the scenes they’d filmed there.

When you arrive, you can tell what he means. It’s simply a graffiti struck bridge overlooking the water. But when you see who’s waiting on that bridge, no other appearance matters. He’s taller than you expected him to be and he’s wearing a big jacket and a cap that make him look disproportional to what you’d expected after seeing him on FaceTime. Hes already more handsome in real life and you envy it instantly.

“Here you are, my biggest fan!” He calls out to you as you approach him from the bottom of the steps as he stood at the top.

“Something like that,” You roll your eyes.

How had watching a Netflix show ending up in you now being on a date with one of the main cast?! Wasn’t this any fan’s dream?

“Hi, finally,” Arón smirks when you’re in front of him, “Seems weird to not be seeing you through a screen.”

You laugh, “Better or worse weird?”

“Better, definitely better,” He assures you, “Shall we?”

He starts walking across the bridge as you find yourself impossibly distracted by his appearance and presence, rather than looking at anything around you. You’d somehow also managed to zone completely out as he speaks up to catch your attention.

“Seems like you made the right decision to watch my show.”

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 11 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: omg HI u lovely lot i’m so sorry this update took so long!!! thank you all so much for your lovely feedback on the last chapter and for being so patient with me. hope this chapter’s worth the wait- it’s BLACKPOOL BABEYYYYY!!! will Vanessa and Brooke get that perfect score???

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

21st November 2020

“Someone was havin’ some nasty-ass sex this mornin’.”

Vanessa watches Crystal almost spit out the water she’s currently glugging down after their full cast dress rehearsal. If she hadn’t just finished her own bottle Vanessa would’ve probably done the same. Akeria’s comment is casual but Vanessa knows her enough to work out its intentions; she wants to know who’s banging, specifically who did so in the last eight hours.

Crossing her legs, Vanessa thinks back to the day she’s spent with Brooke Lynn so far. Obviously the events of the morning are still playing on her mind, fresh and still searing hot like lava. But after that it was almost as if they had been on another date. They’d headed out into the crisp, bright morning and grabbed breakfast at a nearby cafe, where the tables were sticky and the menus were stained and the ketchup bottle had rings of old sauce around the outside. They had both ordered matching fry-ups and Brooke had tried black pudding for the first time, claiming it didn’t taste as bad as it looked.

“If we get picked for the tour just wait. I’m gonna make you try haggis when we get to Glasgow. It’s fuckin’ horrible,” Vanessa had teased her, Brooke fake-gagging and making her laugh.

Then they’d had a walk along the beach, the cold stinging their faces and the wind whipping at their hair and making Vanessa wish they could just hold hands without the fear of being caught by someone videoing them on their phone. It had still been nice to share it with Brooke, though, and before they’d had to be at rehearsals they’d gone to the arcade and played on the penny falls machines, Vanessa laughing at Brooke as she got way too excited because “it’s like real life Tipping Point!”.

And now Brooke is sitting beside her, calm and composed as Akeria brings up the sex that Vanessa is still recovering from which was apparently so noisy and loud that it managed to wake her up.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Gigi says all too quickly, which piques Vanessa’s interest and makes her wonder why she’s so quick to rush to denial.

“Nope. Neither,” Jan shakes her head, the clear attempt to make her face look impassive not fooling Vanessa in the slightest. Narrowing her eyes, Vanessa casts an eye over a guilty-faced Monique and Monet.

She’s starting to question whether or not she and Brooke were the only ones that got some action this morning.

Brooke herself has got a small smirk on her lips as she opens her mouth to speak. “How did you guys not hear that? It was so loud. Sounded like somebody having the best sex of their life.”

Vanessa almost chokes on her own tongue in her desperate attempt not to react. Akeria is nodding emphatically.

“This morning? I must’ve been out for my run,” Jackie shrugs nonchalantly. She’s got the best poker face out of them all.

“It was somebody really whiny,” Brooke adds casually. Vanessa slowly turns her head and narrows her eyes at her. Brooke raises her eyebrows, tilts her head innocently. “You hear it, ‘Ness?”

Vanessa kind of wants to melt because she that’s how she feels every time Brooke calls her that and she loves it, but also she’s winding her up too much and Brooke must know Vanessa wants to clap back about how Brooke wasn’t complaining at the time, or how whiny she’d been when Vanessa had been teasing her with her fingers and whispering in her ear.

“Jeez, I mean, I must’ve been in the shower.”

“No, I think you would’ve been able to hear it.”

“What name’d they call out?” Asia shrugs. Brooke’s reaction is visceral- Vanessa watches her give a sort of panicked cough.

“What?”

“Well. You girls hear ‘em yell a name? That’ll give a lot away.”

Most of the girls are silent and holding their breath. Crystal, Gigi, Jan, Jackie, Monet, Monique, Vanessa, each one hoping their own worst or best-kept-secret isn’t spilled. Even Brooke who was gleefully winding Vanessa up moments ago has fallen mute and is looking at Akeria quietly. Vanessa’s brain is flicking through a rolodex of snapshots of the morning she and Brooke shared, trying to pinpoint any specific moment where either of them had begged the other just a little too loudly.

Akeria, for her part, gives a sniff and a shrug. “Hmm. Nah. Just moaning.”

“Well whoever it was, I hope they had some lovely sex,” Crystal babbles, her face guilty as sin as she finishes buckling up her dance shoes. She’s laughing nervously as she desperately tries to move the conversation along. “God, when will this band be ready? Like, how long does it take to tune a trumpet? Right?!”

Monique enthusiastically jumps in and agrees, and the conversation is dropped. Although Vanessa still tilts her head at Brooke questioningly and, as the girls become embroiled in a new conversation, she leans into Brooke’s side and whispers to her.

“If you think I ain’t gonna make you pay for that later, you’re wrong,” she murmurs, keeping her eyes trained on the other girls.

“Cute that you think you’re going to make me pay for anything, it took me what, two minutes to make you crack?” Brooke replies, and Vanessa can hear the smile in her voice. Vanessa, once again, can’t resist (it’s becoming a theme) and she turns her head to meet Brooke’s eyes, the twinkle in them still sparkling relentlessly.

“Whiny? Really, bitch?”

Brooke tips her head back casually. “I know we’re dancing to Let’s Get Loud but you know that’s just a song title, not an instruction, right?”

Vanessa tries to stifle a giggle, attempting to maintain her unimpressed charade. When Brooke looks at her again the endeavour fails, and they both end up laughing together. As their laughter dies down, Brooke sighs and Vanessa watches her pick a little at her outfit. They’re both in co-ordinated showgirl costumes- Vanessa’s green, Brooke’s pink- and even though Brooke objectively looks incredible Vanessa can tell she doesn’t feel entirely comfortable.

“Hey. You good?”

Brooke sighs. “This is just very…out of my comfort zone. I’m a TV presenter, God, I’m pretty sure the BBC would rather I was just a floating head half the time. No limbs, no boobs, no butt, no skin. Maybe a skeleton, actually. I’m just not used to getting my legs out. Or…anything out, really.”

Vanessa feels herself frowning in concern, a little embarrassed at how quickly she rushes to boost Brooke’s confidence. “Hey, listen. If you don’t feel like you’re fuckin’ sex on legs after this morning- shit, scratch that, every damn day- then I’m not doin’ my job right. You look perfect.”

Under the orange lights of the ballroom and the sparkle of the glitterball Vanessa swears she sees Brooke blush a little. She smiles and touches Vanessa’s arm gently. “Remind me what I did to deserve you?”

“Nothin’, you just ran off with my heart on that induction day an’ never gave it back,” Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. Brooke grins and Vanessa wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss her right there and then, in fact she swears that Brooke’s edging closer to her and maybe they could just give each other a small kiss, maybe everyone else would be too distracted, maybe-

“And here we have one couple who keeps saying that they’re Definitely Not Romantically Involved With Each Other At All,” comes a voice, and Vanessa realises who it is as Yvie sits herself down on the chair beside her, filming a video on her phone. Vanessa covers her face in embarrassment.

“Delete that,” Brooke says, and just by her tone Vanessa can tell she’s rolling her eyes.

“Why? Too on the nose?” Yvie laughs, and as Vanessa looks up again she can see Brooke fixing her with an unimpressed glare. Yvie sighs, sulks and stops filming. “Fine! Fine, God. But you know if you had nothing to hide, you wouldn’t want me to delete it.”

“Listen, you just think everybody is as loved up as you are because you’re so happy with Scarlet. How is she, by the way? She coming up to watch you or has she got filming?”

Vanessa relaxes, impressed with Brooke’s ability to steer the conversation off course as Yvie is happily distracted by talking about her girlfriend. While Yvie speaks about Scarlet and gushes about how amazing she is and how lucky she feels to be with her and how she never thought she’d find a girlfriend through a TV dance show, Brooke makes sure to bump her knee a little bit against Vanessa’s with each new compliment, a little gesture that speaks so many words without Brooke having to say anything at all and lights Vanessa up from the inside out, so much so that she feels like the glitterball hanging from the ceiling, sparkling and dazzling.

Rehearsals soon end and the girls all move into the green room backstage to chat about nothing in particular, laugh at the top of their lungs like teenagers at the back of a bus, and eat tiny amounts of pizza that they’ll finish after their performance when it’s cold. Vanessa’s heart is so full she feels as if it might burst because she’s here, she gets to dance in the tower ballroom on the biggest TV dance show in the country. Okay, she’s danced here before- for competitions and showcases- but tonight she’s getting to do it with Brooke. Vanessa feels silly for having that mean so much to her. They’ve only been seeing each other for about a fortnight and she shouldn’t feel this deeply, but every time she tries to self-regulate and pull her feelings back Brooke ruins her plans with a smile, or a burst of laughter, or a squeeze of her shoulder or her leg that turns Vanessa to jelly and puts her right back in her feelings again.

Again. As if she could ever possibly be out of them when she’s with Brooke.

It’s not long until the audience all file into their seats and the ballroom lights go down, and Vanessa’s heart is almost beating out of her chest as Brooke gives her a quick kiss on the cheek for luck in the dark of the heavy curtains backstage. As she makes her way to the middle of the dancefloor with the other pros ready to begin their dance, Vanessa can’t even bring herself to wonder if anyone saw the moment they’d just shared because under the hot yellow lights and the huge glittering orb hanging from the ceiling and surrounded by the ornate gold that seemed to decorate every inch of the ballroom, Vanessa simply feels giddy and light just like any other infatuated girl.

“Live from the Tower Ballroom…this is Strictly Come Dancing!”

The music from the band blares, the audience breaks out in cheers, and even though she’s in Blackpool Vanessa feels as if she’s home. The pro dance this week is full of joy and sparkle, and as she dances Vanessa’s smile reflects on the faces of the five other girls she’s dancing with. It’s not her performance smile, nor is it a fake one; her face is radiating genuine joy, sunbeams that she hopes light up even the living rooms of whoever’s watching. When Brooke and the other celebrities join them for the last part of their dance Vanessa gravitates towards her and they snap together in hold. She can feel the excitement pulsing through Brooke’s veins as she takes her hand, and they’re smiling at each other with such ferocity that they end up giggling for the last section of the dance. On the final beat of the song they all freeze together, and Vanessa rests her head on Brooke’s chest as she relaxes. There’s golden confetti raining down on them and a little piece nestles itself in Brooke’s blonde locks of hair that Vanessa never wants her to brush out.

“Blackpool,” she hears Brooke murmur above her, so nearly inaudible she’s panting so much.

Vanessa looks up at her, cheeks hurting from her grin. “Blackpool.”

The girls all run off to get changed into their individual dance costumes they had worn before. Vanessa is glad that Brooke seems a little more confident in her outfit; she doesn’t know whether her new-found self-assuredness is down to Vanessa’s pep talk earlier or the adrenaline rush of performing, but she’ll take happy Brooke over nervous Brooke whatever the reason. Brooke looks the best out of all the girls- okay, Vanessa knows she’s biased, and in fairness everyone looks amazing. Crystal and Gigi are done up as little astronauts for their Salsa to Cosmic Girl, huge perspex space helmets over their heads with their faces covered in glittery highlight and little stars. Asia and Akeria look like early 00’s girlband members in matching green camouflage cargo pants and black bodysuits. They’re doing some sort of cool thing with aerosol cans for their Commercial dance to Scandalous and Vanessa’s promised Kiki that she’ll get into a good position in the auditorium to watch them both.

Although as everybody begins to dance, Vanessa slowly becomes less excited and more nervous. She mentally repeats each couple’s score in her head like some sort of meditational mantra- Yvie and Jaida 29, Akeria and Asia 37, Jan and Jackie 36. They range from unthreatening to panic-inducing, and as she and Brooke make their way backstage while Crystal and Gigi’s VT plays, Vanessa can feel the anxiety climbing in her throat, can feel her feet shaking in her shoes with every step.

“Hey,” Brooke stops suddenly in the darkness, her tone concerned and a little worried frown set on her face. “I can feel you worrying. What’s the matter?”

Brooke is beginning to thread her hand in Vanessa’s own, and she accepts. She already feels it grounding her, but her breathing is still shallow and her stomach is still in knots. “Just these scores…fuck, Brooke Lynn, I want us to be on top so bad. I want you to be on top so bad.”

“Yeah, you seemed to like it earlier,” Brooke winks at her, as Vanessa instantly realises what she’s said. She splutters a laugh, clamps her hand over her mouth in case they’re picked up over the microphones even though Vanessa knows there’s no way they could be. Brooke’s smile softens as she takes Vanessa’s other hand, swings them a little.

“Look. Do I care about being top of the leaderboard? Sure! But this, this whole thing has become less about the competition for me and more about getting to dance with you every week. Knowing we can go out there and be amazing no matter what the judges say, knowing I can showcase your amazing choreo and bring it to life, and being able to show you off and watch you be talented and incredible and clever. If we get the scores, we get the scores. But even if we don’t I want you to know that there’s nobody else I’d rather dance with, nobody else I’d rather be sharing this journey with. You’ve made it so special for me just because you’re you.”

Vanessa feels herself lean into Brooke’s touch as she takes a little curl that’s framing her face and tucks it behind her ear. She can feel something tumble and fall gently inside her- maybe she’s developing more feelings or maybe it’s a barrier breaking, she doesn’t know- and in that moment she throws caution to the wind and pulls Brooke in, their lips meeting softly as Crystal and Gigi start their dance through the curtain beside them. Vanessa’s heart thuds in her ribcage as she thinks about the fact that that’s all that’s separating them from the ballroom and the cameras and the millions of viewers. If the curtain were to fall…

She melts into the kiss and she can feel her anxieties melting away; Brooke is a gentle wave on the shore and Vanessa is sand and the occasional broken piece of shell, shifting under her and allowing herself to be drawn in. As Brooke pulls away Vanessa pouts her lips in disappointment, so Brooke gives her one, two, three little pecks before stepping back for good this time.

“Better?”

Vanessa can feel her pulse racing, but this time it’s excited nerves rather than anxious ones. She fixes Brooke with a little smile. “Yeah. Better.”

“Okay. That being said, let’s go get that top spot.”

The audience cheer Crystal and Gigi, and Vanessa’s skin prickles as she realises she and Brooke Lynn are dancing soon. They make their way to the wings where they’re met by a runner who eventually shows them out onto the floor. Vanessa takes a deep breath in her spot on the lacquered wood underneath a spotlight. She looks over to Brooke who’s on a little plinth, all lit up with a wall of halogen bulbs behind her, and gives her a little wink and a thumbs up. Brooke looks just as nervous as she is, but the smile she gives Vanessa goes some way to reassure her.

And then, a few seconds which feel like minutes later, the commentator’s voice booms overhead.

“Dancing the Cha Cha Cha…Brooke Lynn Hytes and Vanessa Mateo!”

The halogen lights behind Brooke blind Vanessa as she looks at her, suddenly confident and poised, a huge smile on her face on the stage. She looks like a real professional. Fuck, Vanessa’s so proud of her.

“Blackpool!” Brooke yells as loud as she can. “Let’s…get…loud!”

Pyro goes off behind the wall of light as the music starts, and the audience screeches as Brooke descends the stairs and practically runs to Vanessa, holding her hands tightly as they start their dance with matching smiles on their faces. A cha cha cha is a technical one, all about the footwork and arms, and they can’t really hide behind their obvious chemistry this time. But they’ve worked hard, so fucking hard, and Brooke can do it without a single mistake, Vanessa knows this.

Vanessa jumps up into a lift, Brooke holding her in her arms and spinning her round and making her giggle involuntarily. Maybe Brooke is right, Vanessa thinks, as she is gently deposited down and they jump back in hold again. Maybe none of this matters any more; the competition, the scores, the TV show. Maybe all this has to be is Vanessa dancing with Brooke and having fun, the pair of them growing closer with every passing second, and Vanessa coming dangerously close to falling for someone again with every passing day.

As Brooke faces forward and Vanessa does the same, then drops to the floor and wiggles her way up Brooke’s legs, it also occurs to her that it could also be about the great fucking sex they’re having. Well, have had. But Vanessa knows there’ll be another time, maybe probably very soon judging from the way Brooke’s now gliding her hands down Vanessa’s body.

She can’t let her concentration wander, however, so Vanessa’s brain is back in the game as they step, twirl each other round, Brooke dips her confidently before they go back to stepping quickly again, twirling effortlessly into a New York. As the horn section from the band blasts, Vanessa gauges the audience reaction. They’re cheering and clapping along and the judges are leaning forward, engaged and impressed. Even Bianca’s got a little smile on her face. In spite of everything, Vanessa feels her heart begin to rise.

“Ain’t nobody gotta tell ya what you gotta do…”

As the song ends, Vanessa holds Brooke’s hand as they whip out their final party piece- Brooke drops to the floor in an effortless split, and the crowd raises the roof. Shangela is screaming from her position behind the judges’ table and Brooke is screaming too as she swings her legs round and stands up, crushes Vanessa in a hug who’s already got her own arms out waiting for it. Vanessa mutters praise into Brooke’s chest and she can feel her planting a kiss to the top of her head in response, their little tradition that she’s glad Brooke hasn’t stopped.

As they cross over to Michelle Vanessa is grateful that Brooke is carrying the interview, as she can hardly speak out of her own gripping nerves. She knows that dance went well, she knows it’s the best they’ve ever done it. So when Michelle hands over to Shangela, Vanessa isn’t sure that she breathes for roughly ten seconds.

“I…thought…” Shangela starts, and Vanessa’s lungs almost give out. “…that that was the best we’ve ever seen you dance, Brooke Lynn.”

The audience erupts and Vanessa looks up at Brooke and beams, squeezing her tightly and refusing to let go. Brooke’s eyes are still on the judges as Shangela’s compliments continue. “Your footwork and your synchronicity with Vanessa…it was all just so, so polished, I mean a lot of celebrities when they come on this show, they can find the syncopation really difficult and you just- I mean it was like asking you to count to ten! You had a great night tonight, well done.”

The audience cheer her comments, and then it’s Kennedy’s turn to give her feedback.

“Yeah, I agree with Shangela. You are at your peak in this competition, and that was your best night yet. That was absolutely flawless, I just…I don’t have anything left to say at this point.”

Vanessa’s breath is heavy and laboured, trying to calm her rising hopes at all this praise Brooke is receiving. After Kennedy is Laganja, and she’s practically on top of the table as she yells about the pair of them, how much chemistry they have and how faultless Brooke’s performance was and how their Cuban breaks were perfection incarnate.

“And if this doesn’t get the score it should-” she finishes, shooting Vanessa’s pulse through the roof with a catapult. “- then I’m leaving the show!”

As the audience laugh and applaud Laganja’s comments, Vanessa feels Brooke’s grip on her waist tighten as it reaches Bianca’s turn. The crowd is silent, and if Vanessa squints she can see Brooke’s rapid breathing beside her.

Come on…come on…

The whole room seems to hold its breath. Bianca’s face is impassive as she opens her mouth to speak. “I couldn’t fault that if I tried.”

Vanessa’s face drops in shock and she feels Brooke lurch beside her, the levels of praise they’re receiving from Bianca Del Rio hardly registering. The audience is almost deafening at this point and Vanessa’s ears are straining to hear the rest of the judge’s comments.

“The Cha Cha Cha…I mean it’s a fun dance, it’s a cheeky dance, but it’s so rarely a showstopper, and that just stole the show. Shangela is right, there are so many things that meant you could’ve butchered that entire dance- hello, you’ve got one of the best Latin specialists in the country coaching you, hard not to be a little intimidated- but you took it all in your stride and it was like watching a fish swim, the effortlessness of it all. But one of the things I loved most about it all was just how much fun the pair of you were having. It was like neither of you seemed to realise that you were dancing in a competitive setting, and it felt as if we were all here to watch you on tour or something. Really well done tonight, Brooke Lynn, you did yourself proud.”

As the crowd claps for them both and Michelle sends them up to the Divinatorium, Vanessa clutches Brooke’s hand tightly. She sneaks a look at her as they run up the stairs and giggles as she finds Brooke’s eyes already on her. As Divina talks to them both and Vanessa feels Akeria squeeze her shoulder from behind her, she can barely concentrate on anything as her whole body vibrates in anticipation. Vanessa does manage to tune in, however, when she hears her name mentioned.

“Bianca did say it must’ve been intimidating for you to have Vanessa coaching you on a Cha Cha Cha- did you feel the pressure this week?” Divina asks Brooke, and Brooke just laughs, puts an arm around Vanessa’s waist and pulls her close.

“I mean there’s always that little bit of pressure when you’ve got someone like Vanessa coaching you, because she’s so talented and perfect at what she does,” Brooke smiles down at her, and Vanessa’s heart feels completely stuffed full of affection. “But she’s never intimidating, and she never puts pressure on me. In fact she puts way more pressure on herself, which she needs to stop doing, because look how well we both did tonight!”

Vanessa feels herself blush and all she can do is wrap another arm around Brooke’s waist as Divina continues to speak.

“Well, Brooke Lynn, I can confirm the judges’ scores are in. Let’s see what they thought.”

And then there’s the all-consuming feeling of holding her breath and gripping Brooke’s side as if she’s her lifeboat. Vanessa’s heart is just going and going and going because maybe, maybe, maybemaybemaybe…

“Will the judges please reveal their scores. Bianca Del Rio.”

“Ten.”

“Kennedy Davenport.”

“Ten!”

“Shangela Wadely.”

“It’s a ten!”

“Laganja Estranja.”

“TEN!”

They have done it. Forty out of forty.

Brooke has wrapped herself around her like an octopus with half its limbs cut off and is screaming in much the same matter. Vanessa can feel her nails dig into her back, a few tears drop down onto her shoulder and something inside her just breaks, and before she knows it she is simply holding Brooke and crying and Brooke is doing the exact same to her. The cheers from the other couples on the balcony turn into awws, and a box of tissues is shoved towards them. Vanessa soon realises that Divina is attempting to talk to her so she takes a tissue, sweeps it under both her eyes quickly.

“Sorry…that was a big reaction, it just meant a lot to the both of us. Brooke Lynn’s been working so hard every week so to get that sort of acknowledgement means the world to me. I just want everyone to think she’s as amazin’ as I do.”

As Divina reads out their voting details then signs them both off, everyone claps and Vanessa takes Brooke’s hand again. This time her grip is gentle as if Brooke will crumble apart on contact. When Brooke pulls her into her dressing room, there’s not the fire and heat that there had been last week; instead they hold each other softly, and Brooke rubs her back slowly while murmuring quiet, affectionate words into her hair in between pressing kisses to her forehead.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says after a pause, and Vanessa’s stomach does a bungee jump.

“Stop it,” she replies quietly, if only to deflect from the fact that she’s thinking the exact same thing about Brooke but doesn’t dare say it back; she’s scared to say it out loud because the last time she felt this way about someone it all ended up in heartbreak and hurt and mess.

“It’s true,” Brooke insists simply, but she doesn’t push it or overdo it- her statement is her statement, and Vanessa’s glad she’s letting it be.

The perfect score, being top of the leaderboard, everything Brooke’s said to her tonight- Vanessa’s on cloud nine. That is until the results show is filmed, and one of Vanessa’s worst fears about being on the show comes true.

“I can now reveal that the second couple in the dance-off and joining Yvie and Jaida are…”

Drum beat. Drum beat. Vanessa’s ribcage is tight and constricted, and she daren’t let herself relax even though their scores were so perfect, even though they did exactly what they’d set out to do because maybe their fans could get complacent, maybe they didn’t vote as much this week…

“Monet and Monique.”

Vanessa’s guts feel as if they’re plummeting to the floor. She breaks away from Brooke, cranes her neck and looks over at her friend whose spotlight has changed colour leaving both Monique and Monet bathed in a sickening red. Monique had told her their dance hadn’t gone great- they’d performed directly after her and Brooke, and the pressure of having to follow their perfect score had rattled Monet to the point where she’d made too many basic errors- but Vanessa didn’t for one second think they’d land in the bottom two. Monique catches her eye, gives her a helpless, sorrowful smile, and Vanessa feels her eyes fill with tears.

As the other dancers are led up to the Divinatorium to watch the couples, Vanessa and Akeria gravitate to each other like little magnets, take each other’s hands with grave faces and emotional eyes. Brooke rests a hand on her shoulder and leans down to whisper to her.

“It’ll be alright. Yvie got under 30, God love her. She’s great, but Monet’ll overshadow her. Monique isn’t out, don’t worry.”

Brooke can usually say all the right things to calm Vanessa down, but not this time. She, Akeria and Monique had been so excited the moment they found out they’d all have partners this year, and Vanessa remembers the drunken pact they’d made after the launch show that they’d be the last three standing in the competition, the best of the best. It had been a silly joke, but watching as Monique takes to the floor and holds Monet in her arms, it’s never meant so much to Vanessa to have her friend share this journey with her.

As the music begins and Vanessa watches Monet and Monique glide across the ballroom floor effortlessly as the sparkling glitterball casts its mirrors over their bodies, she feels Brooke wrap her arms around her from behind and rest her chin on her head. Without thinking they fall into a soft sway and even though Vanessa’s heart is still in her mouth- because the two girls can’t leave the competition yet, it’s not their time, and she, Monique and Akeria have to be in the final together- Brooke’s gentle rocking manages to ground her and calm her without her even having to say a single word. Vanessa thinks back to what she had said backstage, how much Brooke had completely lit up her heart, and she wonders if she truly meant it all. The song’s lyrics drift into Vanessa’s consciousness as she watches Monet lift Monique gently, spin her around like she’s the dancer twirling around in a music box.

“What you say you can’t take back, no takebacks, don’t take that back…‘cause your words mean the world to me…”

Vanessa feels like laughing. Ain’t that the truth.

Monet and Monique finish their dance well with only a couple of noticeable faults, and then Jaida and Yvie do their Tango once again. It wasn’t too strong the first time and the clear pressure that comes with being in the bottom doesn’t help Yvie, as she makes a few visible mistakes. If the judges have eyes, Vanessa knows they’ll save Monique and Monet. Then again…stranger things have happened on the show.

Michelle consoles both pairs as they take their places under another spotlight each on the dancefloor. Monique and Monet’s hands are joined together tightly, and Yvie has her arm around Jaida’s shoulders, a light smile of defeat on her lips as if she knows the result already.

“Judges, I am now going to ask for the name of the couple you want to save and take through to Musicals Week next week. Starting with Bianca.”

Bianca shuffles a few papers and fixes both couples with a calm stare that flips Vanessa’s internal organs. “Well Yvie, I think you’ll agree that there were a few mis-steps there that couldn’t really be ignored, and Monet, conversely, you managed to elevate your performance in the dance-off. So tonight, I’m saving Monet and Monique.”

Vanessa feels Akeria squeeze her hand, her grip damp from the nervous sweat on her palm.

“Shangela.”

Shangela frowns, a pained expression on her face. “I mean it’s hard, because both dances had some errors here and there. However I’m going to go with my gut and the person I think deserves to stay and improve is Yvie. So I’m saving Yvie and Jaida.”

Vanessa lets go of Akeria’s hand, brings both of her hands up to cup her cheeks and exhales heavily. As Kennedy is head judge her vote holds the most weight on the panel, and so Michelle next comes to Laganja.

“Yes, as Shangela said, neither was a perfect dance. But I personally think one couple managed to improve on their initial performance, and so tonight I’m saving Monet and Monique.”

Brooke squeezes Vanessa’s waist and holds her tightly as finally, Kennedy makes to cast her vote. Vanessa feels ill. She can only imagine what’s going through Monique’s mind as she stands in her character shoes, gripping Monet’s hand with her gaze very firmly locked on the floor.

“For me…it comes down to the connection between one couple in particular, and the emotion and the storytelling behind their routine. The couple I’m saving…is Monet and Monique.”

Vanessa melts out of Brooke’s arms and instead turns to hug Akeria, holding her as tightly as she’s holding Vanessa back and feeling her heartbeat through her chest. Vanessa feels Brooke put a light hand between her shoulder blades reassuringly, and the double dose of human contact helps bring Vanessa right down to earth from the rafters her sky-high anxiety levels had perched her up in. When the show ends, Yvie and Jaida share one final dance, and the others are allowed to invade the dancefloor and say goodbye, it’s not the eliminated couple Vanessa runs to but her cherished friend instead. Akeria joins them and the three of them hold each other and shed tears, relief not even being able to cut it.

It’s Yvie’s idea to go for drinks after the show- she’s happy even though she’s been knocked out, though Vanessa thinks that’s got something to do with the fact Scarlet has travelled up to watch her after all. So it’s a pleasant feeling when Vanessa finds herself clambering off the emotional rollercoaster she’s been strapped into all night and instead beginning to take on a more mellow form of happiness induced by the three pornstar martinis she’s managed to knock back so far. Even though they arrived at short notice the dancers and celebrities have all managed to secure a huge booth near the back of Revolution, where it’s dark and private and everyone else is too glammed-up and full of flavoured shots to notice a huddle of TV personalities. Vanessa looks fondly over at Brooke who’s dancing with Yvie, Scarlet, Jaida and Jackie who collectively are making her wonder how they’ve managed to lose the co-ordination and grace they show on TV every Saturday. Gigi and Crystal are on the other side of the booth, sitting close and having what looks to be a deep, meaningful heart to heart, and Jan, Monet and Asia are nowhere to be seen (either smoking area or bathrooms is Vanessa’s best guess).

Vanessa cheers as Monique returns to the booth with Akeria, carrying a stick of shots and a huge fishbowl of purple liquid respectively. The pair of them squash themselves down beside Vanessa and they grab a shot class each, toasting to them all surviving another week in the competition.

“I can’t lie, my heart was in my damn asshole when Michelle said your name,” Akeria points at Monique, her turn of phrase making Vanessa snort out half her drink.

“Excuse me! You were the one panicking? I was the one that had to dance the damn thing all over again!” Monique clutches at her chest incredulously. Vanessa wiggles her eyebrows at her friend.

“Well ain’t it lucky you and Monet have that connection that managed to save you.”

Akeria jumps on Monique’s bashful expression like a cat on a mouse. “Yeah, how’s that situation goin’? Seems okay by the looks of things.”

“We had a long chat on Tuesday,” Monique brushes a bit of hair out of her face and looks at her lap. “I was honest with my feelings and so was she. Turns out she actually really likes me back. Crazy, ain’t it? My actual real-life celebrity crush likes me like that.”

Vanessa and Akeria squeal excitedly, and Vanessa sips from the fishbowl as Akeria asks where this leaves them both.

“Well, we’re both just focussed on the competition just now. Need to beat both you bitches, don’t we?” Monique sticks her tongue out, tinged blue from all the cocktails she’s been drinking. “But we’ve been doin’ more cute stuff, not just all the nasty shit. She came round to mine the night before we got the train up here an’ we had some wine and watched a movie an’ just talked an’ cuddled.”

“Ugh, puke. I don’t know what’s worse, havin’ to hear about your rehearsal-room bangin’ or havin’ to hear about all the diabetes-inducing shit you do now you’re both all in your feels,” Akeria gags jokingly, and Vanessa chuckles as Monique pushes her friend, unimpressed. Suddenly, something seems to occur to Akeria. “So wait. Was it you two I heard this mornin’ then?”

Vanessa’s tipsy and she doesn’t want to keep Brooke a secret any longer, at least from her two best friends. So as Monique shakes her head, she grimaces and gives a slow shrug.

“Uh…I think I can answer that.”

Akeria blinks at her and Vanessa can practically see the cogs turning in her brain. Monique gets there first though, and she emits a high-pitched shriek that soars above the speakers and makes Gigi and Crystal jump about twenty feet in the air from across the booth. Vanessa frantically shushes her, and that’s when Akeria catches on.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Lord Jesus. It was you an’ Brooke Lynn, wasn’t it? Tell me I’m right,” Akeria grabs Vanessa’s wrist, shaking her so excitedly and violently that even the table manages to shake too.

“You sorted your shit out? When?! Where is Jesus!” Monique squeaks at a pitch that, if Vanessa couldn’t make out herself, she would be convinced only dogs could hear.

“God, okay, it was after that night I came and stayed at yours. You know, when I kissed her and then she got weird with me and I told you both about it on the group chat,” Vanessa explains, starting from the very beginning. “Anyway it was that week we did the Argentine and it’s hard not to feel a way when you do that kinda dance, y’know? So it ended up happenin’ again an’ we actually talked this time. She told me she had this big crush on me, an’ obviously I felt the same. So…yeah. We’re…well, not together, but we’re a thing for sure.”

In the midst of Monique’s excited reaction, Akeria narrows her eyes. “What, when you did that Tango? Girl. That was what, a whole-ass week ago? More? Why’re we only just getting told about this?”

Vanessa pulls a face. “Well, we’re both trying to keep it low key. You know what happened with Kam, an’ I don’t wanna get too invested too fast. Plus if it gets into the papers…”

“That’s fair. Got it, girl. We’ll keep it all secret,” Akeria reassures her instantly, taking her hand and leaning into her side in her tipsy state. “This is dead cute, though. I’m happy for you, babe.”

Monique gasps in outrage. “Oh, so when Vanessa gets a girl it’s cute but when I get a girl you gag?”

“Yes. Because Vanessa don’t bang her girl on the rehearsal room floor,” Akeria frowns at her, and Vanessa explodes a laugh. She’s so full of love for her friends, and she’s beyond glad that tonight’s been her night. So when their song comes on over the speakers and Akeria starts yelling it out in her own off-key way, Vanessa drags them both up to join the clump of girls already on the dancefloor, and when she dances over to Brooke’s side she can’t help but feel a little warmth flow through her veins as Brooke’s vision sparkles at the sight of her.

They all end up dancing til closing time, and as they spill out onto the streets like the club has coughed them up Vanessa has to fight the drunken thoughts her mind is producing that are urging her to take Brooke’s hand on their walk back to the hotel. There could still be a camera anywhere, even at one in the morning, and Vanessa doesn’t want to risk the small beginnings of whatever it is she and Brooke are sharing.

Still, when they’re back in their hotel room they’re free to act as affectionately as they want, and Vanessa has never been more glad of the fact they’ve been given a double bed as they fall back against the mattress, giggling and kissing each other like the worst kind of honeymoon phase idiots the world has ever seen.

“Can’t be bothered to put m’ pyajamas on,” Brooke murmurs, her speech impeded by the espresso martinis she’s been drinking and the lethargy that’s rapidly taking over her. Vanessa laughs softly, turns over onto her side and tucks a strand of hair behind Brooke’s ear. Her lipstick is faded, one of her eyelashes is sticking up at the side, and there’s a little patch of smudged eyeliner at the corner of her eye, but Brooke’s still perfect to her.

“Jus’ sleep naked,” Vanessa says, attempting to sound seductive but getting betrayed by the yawn that escapes her mouth mid-sentence. Brooke laughs.

“You really know how to charm a woman into bed, Ms. Mateo,” she teases her, tapping her lightly on the nose with her finger. Vanessa bares her teeth at her, biting at the air and causing Brooke to dissolve into giggles.

“You’re a mess.”

“Hey, so are you!” Brooke laughs incredulously, and Vanessa has to concede. She watches as Brooke sighs wearily, sitting up against the pillows and pulling off her lashes one by one. Brooke leans over the side of the bed for the packet of makeup wipes in her bag and Vanessa can’t help but smack her butt that’s sticking in the air. Brooke responds by launching the makeup wipes at her, hitting her square in the face and causing the pair of them to burst out laughing again.

Vanessa takes out two wipes and hands one to Brooke, and somehow the pair of them end up taking each others’ makeup off, their hands swiping at each others’ faces haphazardly like faulty windscreen wipers on an old car.

“This is the worst facial I’ve ever had,” Vanessa jokes disdainfully, and Brooke waggles her eyebrows.

“I’ll give you a facial later.”

Vanessa snorts ungracefully as Brooke breaks out into a ridiculous grin and ends up with the makeup wipe in her mouth. “Shut the hell up!”

They eventually end up in their pyjamas, but not before Brooke gives Vanessa the world’s worst striptease (Brooke attempting to take her pants off but instead getting them caught around her ankles and falling onto the floor, rendering Vanessa incapable of speech during a laughing fit that lasts a solid five minutes). Vanessa’s not sure what time it is when they finally turn off the lights, get under the covers and sleepily wrap themselves around each other, but she knows it’s pitch black outside and the seagulls are silent and she can just about hear the waves crashing onto the beach if she listens hard enough.

She’s so busy trying to hear the sea against the shore that she doesn’t register Brooke is saying something until she hears the tailend of her sentence, only aware Brooke’s lips have been moving against her skin when they stop.

Vanessa stretches a little. “Hm?”

She feels herself melt as Brooke pulls her closer, hugs her tighter and shakes her head a little. “Doesn’t matter. Night, ‘Ness.”

“Night, Brooke Lynn.”

It’s only once Vanessa is ever so close to falling asleep that she feels as if something was missing, like she wanted to say something more- but the words elude her and she is too tired to think too much about it, so she lets herself be carried off to sleep in Brooke’s arms, comfortable and relaxed inside and out.

#rpdr fanfiction #ortega #bet you look good on the dancefloor #strictly au #lesbian au #branjie #background momo #background scyvie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #akeria davenport #monique heart #monet x change #yvie oddly #jaida essence hall

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ericsonclan · 4 years ago

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Peppermint Kisses

Summary: Clementine comes home to find Louis has set up quite the sweet surprise for her.

Word Count: 1000+

Read On A03:

“I’m home!” Clementine called out, not looking up from her task of removing her winter boots, scarf, gloves and coat. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold of the world outside. Winter had definitely come in full force by now, just in time to kick the Christmas season into gear. She and Louis had already talked about getting a tree this weekend and setting it up next to the piano. The thought of their first Christmas in the apartment together made her heart pitter patter.

“Welcome home, babe!” Louis’ voice came from another room. “You like what I’ve done with the place so far to get us into the Christmas spirit?”

“What you’ve done?” Clementine yanked her other boot off with a grunt before finally looking up at the apartment. Her mouth immediately dropped open in awe. There was mistletoe everywhere. More mistletoe than she had seen in her entire life. It covered the counters and the top of the piano, bunches of it tucked amongst the knickknacks on the bookshelf and a garland of it draped across their TV. Every nook and cranny that could contain the sprigs did.

But that wasn’t nearly the end of it all. The biggest star amongst the decorated items was the ceiling. It must have taken Louis the entire morning to get all of the mistletoe in place, with dozens upon dozens of sprigs placed within inches of each other, making it impossible to take a step without finding oneself underneath the mistletoe once more. The green leaves and white berries of the mistletoe shone prettily in the glow of the myriad of twinkle lights Louis had also put it upon himself to arrange round the room and intertwine with the mistletoe upon the ceiling.

“Oh my…” Clementine breathed, at a loss for words. “You did all of this yourself? Her fingers trailed the leaves of a stray spring upon the edge of the kitchen counter. “Are these all real?”

“Real and delivered fresh this morning,” Louis strode out from their bedroom with a smile. A single spring of mistletoe was attached to one of his dreadlocks. “And all put in place by yours truly. It was quite the labor of love, but I think the final effect was more than worth it,” He extended his arms proudly, looking round the mistletoed room with dramatic verve.

Clementine felt a chuckle escaping her lips. “Leave it to you to make our first Christmas memorable in a way I never could have predicted,”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” Louis took Clementine’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently before offering a cheeky wink. His smile soon disappeared though, replaced with surprised wonder as Clementine leaned in to place a kiss upon his lips. A goofy grin took the smile’s place as he looked down at Clementine, his arms sliding naturally round her and tugging her closer.

Clementine gave a playful smile of her own to her boyfriend as he held her, her hand sneaking up to teasingly poke the sprig of mistletoe in his hair. “I guess that’s one down, a thousand to go,”

“Oh, there’s not that many. Not quite,” Louis inclined his head toward the couch. “Wanna watch Muppet Christmas Carol together while we snuggle under the new blankets I bought?”

Clementine’s eyes widened in surprise. “You bought new blankets?!” Without waiting for confirmation, she scurried over to the couch, wrapping herself in a massive maroon one with a happy sigh.

“Yep! Black Friday deal,” Louis settled down beside her in his own evergreen blanket before rummaging through both blankets to find her hand once more. Clementine started up the movie, dimming the lights as the opening credits began to roll.

“Peppermint?” Louis offered with a whisper, holding out a large bowl chock full of them. Clementine took one and popped it in her mouth before letting out a surprised squeak as Louis found her lips once more, stealing a quick kiss. “That’s two,” he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows as he took a peppermint of his own.

That gave Clementine an idea. “Pause the movie. I’ll be right back,” She jumped up from her blanket nest, scampering toward the bedroom without an explanation. Louis was rather confused, but he didn’t have to wait long before Clementine reemerged carrying something in the hand behind her back. Rejoining Louis on the couch, she snatched up a bowl filled with mistletoe from one of the side tables then revealed what was in her other hand: dozens of clear elastics. She smiled at Louis’ puzzled expression. “You look so sweet with one in your hair, I figured why stop there?”

Louis’ expression mirrored hers as he looked into her girlfriend’s eyes. “Clementine, every day your genius astounds me more and more,”

Clementine rolled her eyes at the effusive compliment. “You can turn the movie back on. I’ll get to work bedazzling your hair,”

“Or shall we say “bedecking” my hair?”

Clementine cupped Louis’ cheek, placing another kiss upon his lips. “That one’s free. Now turn around a bit so I have a better angle, you weirdo,”

“Your Christmas weirdo,” Louis cooed happily, throwing Clementine one last flirtatious smile before starting the movie back up again.

It was an Everett family Christmas tradition to watch Muppet Christmas Carol every Christmas together. Last year when Louis had spent Christmas at the Everett house and watched with them he’d immediately fallen in love with it. He’d watched it again with A.J. the next morning and again the following night on a casual Christmas date with Clementine. His love for the film had been so apparent to everyone that Lee had ended up gifting Louis his own copy on Christmas day. This was their first watching of the season, but surely not their last. They’d watch again with Lee, Carley and A.J. next time they went to visit and Clementine was sure they’d be watching it together again and again until she insisted on spacing things out with another film.

As Louis sang along with the first song, Clementine began the task of placing the mistletoe artistically throughout her boyfriend’s hair, one for each dreadlock. As soon as a new mistletoe was placed she would give Louis the accompanying kiss, much to his continued glee. The process continued through the first third of the film, up to the point that Scrooge met the Ghost of Christmas Present. Her job done, Clementine settled deep in the confines of her blanket, grabbing yet another peppermint to enjoy.

Louis looked over in the middle of “It Feels Like Christmas”. Without stopping his singing he pulled Clementine into his arms, wrapping his blanket around the both of them snugly. Clementine felt her heart melt at the gesture. Nuzzling against her boyfriend’s shoulder, she let out a happy sigh. This Christmas was off to a wonderful start.

#clouis #twdg #fanfic #ericsonclanchristmaschallenge #twdg christmas #twdg louis #twdg clementine #ericson's diner au

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creationcitystreet-em · 4 years ago

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His Southern Belle 4

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 4

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (face claim: Rose Leslie)

Word count: ~1375

Chapter summary: Maddi meets someone new.

Warnings: none

January 4, 1934

I was walking out of school at the end of the day when one of the boys from an older class came up to me, “Hey, your name is Madeline, right?” He was tall and largely built, slightly more than Bucky but overall the same size. A handsome smile accompanied dark brown eyes and light brown hair.

“Yeah! Sorry, I don’t believe I know your name,” I told him and he just shook his head with a chuckle.

“No worries, I’m John Kinney.”

“Well it is great to meet you John,” I said with a slight nod of the head and a smile on my face.

“Can I walk you home, Madeline? I don’t want you feeling lonely on your way.”

“That would be very kind of you,” I tell him with a slight smirk. “and please call me Maddi.”

“Well, Maddi, I have seen you around school before and have thought you were just the prettiest girl I have ever met.” His forwardness made me blush stronger than I ever had before. “I would love to take you out to dinner sometime or maybe to a movie.”

“I don’t know,” I replied as we walked down the street. “I just met you and know nothing about you. Should I trust that it would be a nice date out?”

“You can surely get to know me then and even a little right now if you wish. I promise I will show you a wonderful time and get you home safely before your parents even have a chance to worry.” I kept quiet about my parents, I didn’t want to tell him too much about me before I knew if he was someone I did fully trust.

“Alright, I guess I’ll give you a chance. I’m free this Friday night if you want to go out to the diner near our school?”

He smiled bigger than before which I found to be actually very adorable. “I’m glad I’m walking you home now so I’ll know where to pick you up!” We walked the rest of the way in polite conversation where he tried to guess where I was from based on my accent, and I tried to guess what sport he loved to play. I was the successful one with getting baseball on my first try. We made each other laugh and before we knew it we were outside my building.

“This is where I say goodbye,” I said as we stopped by the door.

“Already? I’m glad I will get that date on Friday or else I feel cheated out of getting to know you more.” He still had that smile on him that kept me blushing.

“I look forward to it, John.” I went inside and could not wipe the huge grin on my face. He was incredibly charming yet still a gentleman and I just couldn’t believe I had a date with him. I already felt like I was counting down the minutes that I would get to talk with him again and it made me roll my eyes at how easily he was able to make me feel like this.

January 5, 1934

“John Kinney?!” Megan said with a look of complete shock on her face.

“Yeah, what? Is that bad?” I asked a little nervous at her reaction.

“Oh it is certainly not bad,” Helen told me.

“John is just about one of the cutest guys at this school,” Alice stated.

“And he’s two years older than us!” Megan added.

“Yeah, I mean you’re gorgeous so it makes perfect sense. I would give anything to go on a date with John Kinney,” Alice seemed like she was in a dream as she spoke.

“What is he like? I’ve never actually gotten to talk with him?” Helen asked.

“Well, he is very funny and charming. The entire walk home he was nice and made me feel like I was safe with him, and yes he is also very handsome.” The three girls just squealed at the information and we continued to talk about him and what the date might be like. After a while, I told them I was going to go find Steve and Bucky to finish lunch with them. I met them at their usual table and said good afternoon to them both. They smiled back in response.

“Maddi do you want to go see a film with us on Friday?” Bucky asked me as Steve kept eating.

“I can’t actually, I have a date that night.”

“What?!” Steve questioned with shock.

“Is it really so surprising I would have a date?” I asked him curiously.

“No, I mean of course it’s not, but I just-” He stuttered trying to respond and became very red and Bucky decided to speak for him.

“I think he means to ask with who.”

“John Kinney,” I told them both.

“He’s two years older than us, Maddi!” Steve said finally finding his voice again.

“I am aware of that, and he was also very nice to me yesterday in walking me home.” Bucky and Steve gave each other a look which made me suspicious. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, we just want to make sure he’s worth dating you. I have not really talked to him before but he seems to be very liked,” Bucky responded.

“You two don’t need to go all protective on me, I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s only one date. I’ll see how it goes, so there is no need to worry about his worthiness just yet,” I said with an eye roll. Steve stayed quiet and Bucky reminded me that they were my best friends and I should expect nothing less but worry about me from them. “I appreciate that. He’s a nice guy, I promise.”

January 8, 1934

The rest of the week went by and I spent time with my friends and occasionally John but the times with them never seemed to match up. Friday came around and John met me outside my door to take me to dinner. He had a bouquet of flowers for my mother but I told him quickly that I live with my Aunt and Uncle. He did not question it and I appreciated that, he simply gave them to my Aunt and promised to walk me home at a reasonable hour. We left and had a nice talk on our way to the diner.

“If you don’t mind me asking, you clearly don’t have a Brooklyn accent so where are you from and why did you come to this old dump?” He chuckled and I smiled at him before biting my lip in deciding how much I wanted to talk to him about.

“I’m from Tennessee and I moved here because both my family there died in a storm we had last summer.” He quickly lost his smile and took hold of my hand.

“I’m so sorry, Maddi.”

“It’s fine, really. I miss them but no need to get all worried.”

“If you need talk ever I’ll be ready,” He gave me a sad smile and it just warmed my heart at how he truly cared how I felt. I changed the subject and asked about his favorite things to do and we went back to laughing and having a really wonderful time.

He walked me home after we ate and as we neared my house he stopped and turned to me. “What is it?” I asked him.

“I really like you,” he said.

“I really like you too,” I reply with a smile as I hold his hand. Just then he pulled me into a kiss and it took me by surprise. I knew he was a forward person, but I was not expecting that. I slowly kissed back and it felt nice, I had never kissed anyone before. It didn’t last long and we pulled apart.

“Be my girlfriend,” he told me and I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.

“Okay,” he still had his hands lightly on my waist and kissed me quickly again after my response. We finished the walk back to my apartment and I could not stop smiling as he had his arm on my waist the whole way.

Next Chapter

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chrome-xo · 5 years ago

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Halloween Night // Spencer Reid

Note: this took longer to start writing than I wanted to so sorry to the anon who requested it for taking so long ; also a halloween request aaaa I love halloween ; I am so so SO sorry that this took two weeks to write, but I was going through some stuff and didnt have any motivation

Warnings: none

Requested by anonymous

Growing up, you adored Halloween. Not only did you get free candy that your family normally wouldn't get for you, but you got to pretend to be someone else for a whole night. Pumpkins everywhere and scary movies to spare were also upsides to your favourite holiday and even as you grew up your love for the spooky day never ceased. You knew that when you reached the age to start dating and getting serious with someone else they'd have to have at least the same passion for Halloween as you did, if not more. If they weren't going to stay up and carve pumpkins with you while singing the monster mash were they really worth it?

When you started dating Spencer, it was a February and so Halloween was ways away. To your delight, by the time the first of October had rolled around and Spencer was already putting up Halloween decorations you knew he was the one. All throughout the month you and Spencer could be found in either your apartment or his, snuggled under a blanket and watching a classic Halloween film.

Unfortunately, by the time your first Halloween together as a couple came up Spencer was sent away on a case. You tried not to think too much about it as you ate a few slices of pumpkin pie and handed out candy to kids who came to your door, hoping that you'd be able to spend the day with your boyfriend next year. You did end up watching a few movies together when he got home, but the effect of it wasn't the same as watching them on Halloween night.

By the time your second Halloween as a couple came around, you were sure you would finally be able to have the perfect night with your boyfriend. Alas, you could never have things the way you wanted. Spencer was called for a case on October 30. One day away from not ruining your perfect night. At this point you were frustrated. Sure, you had spent the majority of your Halloween's alone but now that you had Spencer you didn't have to spend it alone, yet you were.

Spencer had apologized profusely and you assured him it was fine every time the word 'sorry' passed through his lips. After all, he didn't choose when to be called on a case. You stared at Spencer's text of 'Happy Halloween. I love you.' as you started up the first movie of your Halloween marathon, feeling a small tear slip out although it was quickly wiped away as if it had never fallen.

By the time your third Halloween rolled around, Spencer was sure to book Halloween and the days surrounding it off. If a case were to come up, he told you, they could call him from wherever they went. Nothing was going to stop him from spending your favourite holiday together. While this assured you that Spencer would be spending the night with you, he did let slip that he had something different planned for the night.

"What are we gonna do, Spence?" You tried cornering him, but he only stepped around you with a wide smile.

"Something special to make up the years we missed." His words did nothing to hint at what you two would be doing for Halloween.

"Please? You're making me go through a lot of emotional trauma right now." You pouted at him.

"Of course I am, dear."

As Halloween night grew closer, your excitement only grew. While Spencer refused to give any clues, you had done some research to events happening around town on Halloween night. There was a concert for some band you had never heard of, which was unlikely. Scrolling through the events, you eventually grew tired of looking and simply submitted to the fact that you wouldn't figure it out until Spencer brought the two of you to wherever he was planning.

The day of Halloween had you waking up way earlier than you wanted to. Spencer had woken you up bright and early so you could get a head start on Halloween activities before you had to leave. You spent the entire morning carving pumpkins and baking some cookies together, making the time fly by.

Eventually, the sun went down and Spencer had told you to dress warmly. That meant wherever you were going was outside, you carefully deduced. You dressed as warmly as you could, finishing with your coat and a scarf that Spencer had knitted for you one Christmas before the two of you were finally ready for your first Halloween together.

"Are we there yet?" You questioned constantly, not knowing where you were going.

"Not yet." Spencer had answered patiently every time.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour of driving, you pulled into a dirt parking lot outside of what looked like a farmer's field which was decorated for Halloween. There were only a few other people parked in the lot which told you this wasn't a very well known place to spend Halloween night at. You walked hand in hand with Spencer towards a makeshift ticket booth where Spencer paid for two tickets, you still having no idea what you were in for.

"Is this a haunted maze?" You questioned.

"Nope."

The two of you approached the entrance into what you had guessed was a maze but supposedly wasn't. When you finally entered, you couldn't hold in your gasp as you took in the sight before you. Hundreds of Jack'o'lanterns surrounding a path which took you deeper into the field, the pumpkin's designs growing more intricate the further down the path you went.

You were quick to hug your boyfriend before grasping at his hand and tugging him towards the first pumpkin. The two of you were silent as you looked at all the pumpkins and walked down the path, although you could feel Spencer fidgeting more and more the closer to the end you got. Perhaps he was nervous you didn't like his surprise?

"I love this, Spencer. And I love you." You assured him, pulling him into a quick kiss.

"I'm glad you liked this, I love you, too." Spencer stopped the two of you as you reached the end of the path. "I actually have one more surprise for you."

You weren't sure what could top his last surprise, but you were excited nonetheless. What looked like one of the workers approached you with a pumpkin in hand, the carved side facing away from you so that you couldn't see it. They handed the pumpkin to Spencer who thanked them before the worker walked away.

"What's this?"

"Y/N, this has been a plan years in the making. This would've happened last year but I was called away on a case and I knew I couldn't do this any other way. Mostly because I knew everything had to be perfect. So, I'm going to jump straight to the point because I can't wait another year to ask-"

Spencer turned the pumpkin around to face you and you read the words that were delicately carved into the side of the pumpkin and lit up by the candle inside.

'Will you marry me?'

You could feel the tears start to fall from your eyes as you nodded quickly, pulling Spencer into a kiss above the pumpkin. He was quick to put the pumpkin onto the ground so he could pull you into a tight embrace.

"Oh!" Spencer exclaimed after you had broken from your hug. "Almost forgot."

He pulled a velvet box from his coat pocket and was quick to slip the ring from inside of it onto your finger. You paid no attention to the design of the ring as you pulled your fiancé into another kiss, still crying.

"Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"We better get married on Halloween."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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wedontbelievetv · 4 years ago

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Bucky AU - What Should Have Been (1124 days)

This is the first ever one shot i’m posting, a bit of a war period bucky piece. Hope you enjoy :)

Word Count: 1.92k

There was a moment when she looked in the mirror and gazed at her own reflection, in which she contemplated the existence of his memory in her mind. She never thought she would be able to forget his face; she had accepted that his gorgeous eyes and unforgettable grin would be imprinted in the backs of her eyelids for the entirety of her life. But it had seemed these past 912 days had gradually diminished him inside her mind.

The empty years without him had been hard. After 17088 hours without him, she began to realise she had forgotten what he looked like. There were photos of course, but hearing his name brought to life some beautiful and painful memories with an attractive yet blank faced man named Bucky.

It was heart breaking, to say the least.

He knew it would be a long battle, the duration of his fight unpredictable; plans highly likely to change, locations to be altered. They had endured the excruciating discussion of their relationship while he was gone. It wasn't fair to ask her to wait. Evidently, leaving was one of the hardest things they both had experienced. She was left with her heart low in her stomach and a crumpled, tear-soaked old photo of him, young and grinning at the camera for some posed photograph. He was Bucky then, before he had grown into his thick uniform and adapted his formal identification of Soldier James Buchanan Barnes.

It seemed now that she had forgotten the image of both of those men.

The Bucky she knew to remember was bright, reckless and unbelievably caring. She wondered if all his time away from the rest of the world had changed him in any way. Perhaps his exposure to the brutalities of war had stiffened him, created a harsh, mortifying barrier between him and anyone to ever get close to him again.

Although she no longer knew his image, she still waited, in hopes for the day he would return so that she may end her suffering of wondering...imagining the differences in character he may have formed into.

Despite their separation, she hadn't moved on. Even in her young age, she was never even tempted to explore a man or woman outside the realms of her Bucky Barnes. She clung to the memories of their dreams together. Their created hopes to scope through the giant world they lived among, to escape the business of Brooklyn and see the types of lifestyles they were missing out on.

While they dreamed they settled for adventures and mischievous outings in their own little world. He would meet her outside of the diner she worked at, only after bugging her for the last two hours of her late shift. He did so for her company and the free french fry or two she'd throw his way every few minutes. There, they'd bundle up and stroll casually further into town, where the lights were seemingly bright and dim at the same time for the small, cheap area they resided in. Only after eating endless cones of peppermint ice cream would they both feel satisfied enough to eventually wander to his or her home, and then their own separate ways.

He was more than respectful of their space. In fact, the difference in their relationship compared to others of his in the past was the slow pace they shared on the physical side of their relationship. Strangely for him, he didn't mind one bit. It seemed each time she so much as smiled in his direction or laughed by his cause, he experienced a world of satisfaction and warm pleasure that was undoubtedly better than any sweaty night spent in a strangers bed like he used to.

They had met lips once or twice, however.

At a crowded event at the drive-in theatres, a sappy comedy played over the projection. He didn't remember one moment from the film, perhaps because his eyes were fixated on her the entire the time. Cramped in his car, she rested her head against her hand and propped it up on the car door. Each time she laughed, her eyes lit up and that warm fluttering erupted inside Bucky's stomach.

Every now and again she would look back over at him, feeling his gaze never leaving her.

"You came to watch the movie, not me, Buck." She teased.

To this, he only smiled and briefly took a look at the projected screen through the windshield before returning back to his previous position.

"This view is much more worth my money." He breathed.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled and shuffled a little closer to him, maintaining her view on the caricatures on screen. Something inside of him yearned to be even closer, to taste the lips he had been dreaming of for months.

He took a breath, and reached out with his thumb and forefinger to gently tug her chin to face him.

Her eyes seemed giant, staring up at him in confusion, but she couldn't help the small smile gracing her lips each time she looked at him.

"Hey?" She said.

And suddenly, his heart lurched, as he simply leaned a little forward, closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers.

It was everything she had also been dreaming of. He tasted of raspberry soda and salty popcorn. A mix she never realised would be so addicting. Their moment was so simply perfect, she found herself dissecting the unbelievable softness and plump nature of his lips.

As they pulled away, she stared, breathless up at him. "What was that for?"

He chuckled, "I don't know why we haven't done that before." Before pressing his face against hers and meeting lips gently once again.

There was something about the fact they had never been physically intimate that left their relationship waiting to be fulfilled and finished. Despite their separation while he fought on the line, an empty space remained in her life, in hopes to be filled once again by his presence.

Perhaps the fragmentation of her mind was giving her a sign. A signal to continue her life without James Buchanan Barnes. Although it seemed impossible to replace him. Being left with her thoughts was a dangerous thing.

Her mother's advice drifted into her mind; warning her of missed opportunities to gain a husband of which she needed in this day and age. Nearly once a week her friends began announcing their engagements to be wedded in several months; brightly shining diamonds seemingly mocking her each time they boasted the freshly cut rings on their left hands. And the home around her crumbled a little further each time she soaked her pillowcase with tears when the loneliness encompassed her.

Several weeks later, on the 958th day without him, she met a man.

Serving him in the diner, he ordered coffee and biscuits casually when she came around to serve him. As she approached him with the mug, he looked up at her smiling and nodded, a wide grin almost too big stretched politely across his face. From back behind the counter she watched him a little more, his apparently freshly cut hair shining in the afternoon sun. What intrigued her, however, was the overwhelming amount of sweetener packets he began to dump into his cup. One after the other, he tore the stick, poured, and stirred to mix.

She couldn't help but oddly smile to herself, before she approached him several minutes later to check up on his order. He had said everything was fine, and gave her another small smile and nod, before paying and leaving, and coming back the next day to repeat the routine.

On one of those repetitive days as she came to take his order, he paused, looked into her eyes and asked to take her out on a date.

The rest was behind them. They created their own dreams; of being wedded, buying a property and starting a family. He wasn't interested in travelling and exploring foreign lifestyles, he wanted to focus on his own with her as his wife.

His name was hesitant coming out of her mouth.

On the 1050th day, on the 25220th hour without him, she finished up her shift at the diner. He was there to tip her as he took a final sip of his coffee. She smiled, tilting her head and pressing a peck to his cheek in thanks, before grabbing her bag and his hand and trotting out the back exit like usual.

What she didn't know was a forgotten face sat in his car outside the exit to surprise her like he used to a long time ago. As he saw the door begin to open, his heart raced, and he re-adjusted his grip around the bunch of red roses in his hands. He propped open the car door, stepping one leg out as he saw her for the first time in three years that felt much more like a long, insufferable lifetime.

She was even more beautiful than he could remember. Her hair was styled differently, much longer now, and the work uniforms had changed, he noticed. She appeared the same, small yet confident woman he had left behind all those moments ago. His heart fluttered uncontrollably, a zoo full of animals stampeding to his rapid heartbeat and stomping his nerves deep in his stomach. His gaze followed her figure as she stepped out fully in front of the door to the building and his smile grew wider than it had ever been before.

That's when he noticed.

On the 21st minute of the 26982nd hour, of the 1124 days he had been loving her, his heart stopped as he viewed an unfamiliar man clasping the hand and following the lead of her towards another unfamiliar car.

His smile faded, the flowers loosened in his grip, as he dropped back in to the car seat and stared, transfixed on her like usual as she interacted with a stranger the same way they too used to do, so long ago. He watched as she smiled up at her new interest wearing a new bright shade of red on her lips, leaning against their vehicle for a moment or two.

That was when she stood on her tip toes and leaned into him, pressing their lips together, and crushing every ounce of hope Bucky felt to once again be in that position himself.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He sat, frozen and staring, as the couple leaned against the car and talked a little more so closely together, before he pulled his car door shut and turned the key in the ignition.

There was a voice in the back of his mind, resembling hers like he remembered; soft and gentle. It pulled at his heart, telling him to stay and talk to her, to at least ease her conscience that he had survived his years away from her. The voice tugged, begging him to confess how it was out there. That the pain he felt in their separation was far worse than any injury or war experience possible.

But he breathed out, and kept the voice shoved deep down. Ignoring its pleas but instead embracing the memory of her soothing voice that he accepted he wouldn't hear again.

So he took off the handbrake and released the brake pedal, taking one last final glance at the love of his life, before rolling out of the car park and driving away.

#avengers #bucky barnes #bucky #sebastian stan #bucky oneshot #bucky imagine #steve rogers #avengers imagine #marvel

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iamanartichoke · 6 years ago

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This started out cute and turned angsty - in other words, classic Charlotte. I’ve left a lot of the logistics vague on purpose so the setting and ship potential is entirely up to you. The only thing I can say is that it’s not in the Sanctuary ‘verse. Also, sorry this took me like six months to fill but, if you’re still around, anon, thank you for the compliment and I hope you like this!

Word Count: 2406

“Should we wake him?” Valkyrie whispers.

Thor shakes his head. He’s already reaching into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. “He doesn’t sleep enough,” he replies as he checks to make sure the sound on his phone is off. The last thing he wants is for the camera shutter to audibly click. “He needs the rest.”

“Apparently. You think he just collapsed, or was this a deliberate choice?” Valkyrie wonders aloud.

“Probably a combination of both.” Thor angles the phone just so, the camera focusing on Loki’s adorably relaxed features. He presses the button to take several shots in a row and then he grins at Valkyrie. “Blackmail,” he adds, tucking the phone away.

“You’re such a big brother,” Valkyrie says with an eyeroll. She smacks his bicep.

“Yeah,” Thor agrees. Then he puts his fingers to his lips, which earns him another eyeroll. “Come on, before he wakes up.”

Valkyrie casts one more look at Loki, who is curled up underneath his desk, head resting against the drawers on the right side, arms folded tightly. “Give me your jacket,” she says, tugging on Thor’s elbow.

“What?”

“He looks cold,” she explains. “Don’t you think?”

“Loki’s never cold,” Thor responds but he shrugs out of his denim jacket anyway. He hands it to Valkyrie, who kneels down just enough to place the jacket over Loki’s body, carefully tucking it around his shoulders. Loki doesn’t even stir.

“That’s worth another picture, I think,” Thor says.

* * *

Two weeks pass and Thor nearly trips over Loki as he leaves his study. “Son of a -” Thor grouses, but he cuts himself off when he realizes that Loki has fallen asleep sitting up. He’s leaning against the wall in the hallway just outside of Thor’s study, legs outstretched, arms folded. His head has lolled enough to the left that his dark curls are partially curtaining his face.

Thor shakes his head. He considers pulling out his camera, but decides not to. He considers waking Loki, but Loki really doesn’t sleep enough. Besides, he looks so peaceful. What Thor can see of his face is relaxed, lips slightly parted, his breathing even and deep. Sleep takes a hundred years from his features, Thor thinks; it erases the worry lines around Loki’s eyes and mouth. Poor Loki.

They were supposed to meet for dinner, Thor remembers. It is unlike Loki to wait outside in the hall rather than barge into Thor’s study precisely at their agreed-upon time. Thor wonders if he should be worried about that.

Instead of dwelling on it, Thor lowers himself down to the floor next to Loki. He sits down close, angling himself so that he can catch Loki’s lolling head on his own shoulder. “Let’s sit awhile,” he says softly, stretching his legs out alongside Loki’s while he listens to Loki breathing.

* * *

“I think Loki is ill,” Thor says to Valkyrie, a week later. They are sitting together at the dining room table, finishing up lunch.

“What makes you think that?” she asks, lowering her whiskey bottle.

“Look at him.” Thor nods in the direction of the den, where Loki is stretched out on the couch, fast asleep.

“Looks normal to me,” Valkyrie says, after craning her head around to peek at Loki. She takes a large swallow of her drink. “Seems like he prefers sleeping in the daytime, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s the point. I hear him at night,” Thor admits. “Pacing around in his room, in the hallways. Talking to himself.” He’s heard Loki wake himself up with screams, too, though he keeps that to himself. “He’s not sleeping normally.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s ill, though,” Valkyrie points out. “Have you asked him about it?”

Thor snorts and shakes his head. “I know what he’d say: leave me alone, Thor, I’m fine.” Thor’s voice dips effortlessly into an imitation of the just-this-side-of-irritated tone Loki often takes with Thor. “He acts like it’s a crime to care about him.”

“Mm. Well.” Valkyrie sets her bottle down and leans back in her chair. “We can keep an eye on him, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Thor blows out his breath and casts another look in Loki’s direction. “Let’s do that.”

* * *

A month goes by before Thor finds Loki asleep again. This time, he goes looking for Loki because Loki was supposed to have met with Tony, only he hadn’t shown up. It was just as probable that Loki had simply ignored the meeting, but Thor worried that it was more than that.

Sure enough, he scours the house until he comes upon Loki in the bathtub. Not taking a bath - the bathtub is empty and Loki is completely clothed. He has the shower curtain drawn and the lights off; the only reason Thor finds him is because there is the very soft sound of snoring that catches Thor’s ear.

“Loki, what the hell,” he says when he finds his brother. He is torn between exasperation, worry, and a flicker of amusement. The bathtub, really? “Loki!”

Loki stirs a little and lifts a hand, waving it tiredly at Thor. “Go away,” he says, without opening his eyes.

“Did you forget about Tony?” Thor asks. “Why are you in the bathtub?”

Loki barely lifts his shoulders. “It’s comfortable.”

Thor rolls his eyes. “You’re so weird.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, because this is even better than Loki sleeping under his desk, and Loki still hasn’t opened his eyes. Thor snaps a couple of photos and then says, “Come on, I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I hate coffee.”

“No one hates coffee.”

“I do. I love tea. It’s like you’ve never even met me before.” Loki drapes an arm over his eyes. “Go away.”

“You don’t love tea,” Thor corrects. He pushes a hand through his hair and then sighs, perching on the edge of the bathtub. “You like it better than coffee, but you don’t love it. You love hot chocolate, but there’s no caffeine in that and the sugar’ll just make you sleepier.”

“Okay, so you have met me,” Loki concedes. “I do love hot chocolate.”

“With marshmallows.”

“Mm, yes. Can I have some?” Loki lowers his arm and finally opens his eyes. He blinks up at Thor slowly, tiredly. “Please?”

“I’m not serving it to you in the bathtub,” Thor replies.

“Spoilsport.” Loki sighs and rubs his eyes, and then yawns widely. He looks like a tired kitten, Thor thinks, with hazy eyes and sharp teeth. Thor would try to snap another picture if he thought he could still get away with it. “Okay, fine. I’m getting up.”

Thor stands and reaches out a hand to Loki. It speaks to Loki’s exhaustion that he takes it immediately, allowing Thor to pull him up. “We’re going to have to reschedule Tony,” is all he says.

“Yeah, yeah. I think the world will keep on spinning,” Loki returns with a grin.

* * *

Thor, Loki, and Valkyrie are in the den, the lights dimmed as a movie plays on the television. It’s some kind of action film that Tony had recommended, but Thor has lost track of the plot. He isn’t even sure a plot ever existed. Just a lot of explosions.

He’s been fixated on the sight of Loki and Valkyrie on the couch. Rather, he’s fixated on how relaxed and pliant Loki is. His head is resting on Valkyrie’s thigh and she’s absently running her fingers through Loki’s dark curls. In his armchair, Thor feels a strange combination of loneliness and jealousy. He didn’t even think Valkyrie and Loki liked each other very much.

Valkyrie catches Thor’s eye and she lifts an eyebrow as if to say, what?

Thor nods in the direction of Loki’s head in reply.

Valkyrie rolls her eyes. “He’s sleeping,” she whispers and, when Thor double-checks, he notices that Loki’s eyes, indeed, have drifted closed.

“Since when are you so touchy-feely with my brother?” Thor whispers back.

“He has nice hair,” is Valkyrie’s reply.

Thor makes a face at her. He doesn’t like this development, and he doesn’t know why. Loki does look peaceful, though, and it’s late enough in the evening that perhaps Loki will sleep through the entire night. Thor decides to let it go. He turns his attention back to the movie, but every so often, his gaze drifts back over to the tableau on the couch and he feels the faintest twist in his gut.

* * *

Thor is not sleeping so well these days. Twice in the last two weeks, he’s been woken up by Loki screaming. Both times, Thor got out of bed and went to Loki’s door, but he lost his nerve when it came time to knock. He doesn’t know why.

Most nights, though, it isn’t the screaming that wakes Thor. It’s the sound of Loki’s footsteps through the walls, in the hallway, Loki’s soft voice as he mutters to himself pulling Thor into consciousness. Thor worries more than he sleeps. In the mornings, Loki looks disheveled and bone-weary.

“You don’t look so great, either,” Valkyrie points out, when Thor mentions this to her.

“That isn’t the point,” Thor says.

“Thor, just talk to him.” Valkyrie’s patience seems to have worn thin. “Figure out what’s wrong. Clearly, it’s something.”

“He won’t tell me,” Thor insists.

“You haven’t even tried,” Valkyrie snaps.

Thor has to admit that she’s right. What is he afraid of? Being rebuffed, certainly, but Thor’s spent his entire life being mindful of (and reacting to) Loki’s mood swings. Getting snapped at is not the end of the world. It’s more than that, Thor thinks. It has to be.

The opportunity comes when he finds Loki curled up in an impossibly small ball underneath Thor’s bed. It is again Loki’s snoring that gives him away - soft, even, hardly a bother yet noticeable in the silence - or else he might have slept there forever and Thor never would have noticed.

When he peeks underneath the bed and he realizes what he’s seeing, he starts to laugh and wants to cry at the same time. “Loki,” he whispers as he stretches out on the floor beside the bed. He reaches one arm under the bed and pokes at Loki’s ribs. “Loki.”

Loki flinches awake, jerks upright, and promptly slams his head into the underside of Thor’s bed. “Ow,” he yelps. “Goddamn it, Thor.”

“Goddamn it, Thor?” Thor repeats incredulously. “Goddamn it, Loki! What are you even doing under there?”

Loki averts his gaze. He stretches out as much as his limbs will allow, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “It’s comfortable.”

“That’s what you said about the bathtub.” Thor hesitates and then reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. He opens his camera and flips to the pictures he’s been taking of Loki’s various napping spots, and then shows Loki the screen. “This is starting to get weird, even for you.”

Loki scowls ferociously when he sees the images of himself. “You took pictures of me?” He swipes for the phone, but Thor pulls it away. “Delete them this instant.”

“No. I like them.” Thor neglects to mention that his original intent had been blackmail. It seems silly now. He hides the phone away again. “But this random napping is weird, Loki. What’s going on?”

“Naps aren’t weird,” Loki protests.

“Yeah, but underneath my bed?” Thor lifts his eyebrows and then, since he’s come this far, takes a deep breath and presses on. “I know it’s more than naps. I hear you at night, wandering around, pacing. I know you have nightmares.”

“Shut up,” Loki growls. He presses his cheek to the hardwood floor. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re scared,” Thor continues. “I just don’t know what you’re scared of.”

Several tense beats pass. Thor stares at Loki, watching the way the shadows throw Loki’s features into sharp relief. It occurs to Thor that when he looks at the pictures of Loki asleep, he likes them because he never gets to see that soft tranquility grace Loki’s face. When he is sleeping, there’s an innocence about him that Thor thought lost long ago.

In Loki’s waking moments, that innocence is nowhere to be found. Awake, Loki is perpetually on the defensive; time and pain and loss and grief have chiseled his features to stone. He doesn’t relax even for a second. He is cracked glass - sleek and cold, impenetrable on the surface yet always waiting for the one wrong tap that would shatter him to pieces.

Thor feels an enormous sadness wash over him. Maybe this realization - confronting how wrecked Loki truly is - is what has scared Thor away from pushing too hard. He doesn’t want to shatter the glass - yet, silence is its own weight pressing on the crack. Given enough time, the glass might implode anyway.

“Please, Loki,” Thor murmurs. “Tell me.”

Loki’s green eyes glint sharply, and then suddenly it is as if all of the fight drains from him at once. He closes his eyes and exhales a breath. “At night, when I sleep in my own bed …” he begins, “I feel … exposed. Defenseless. Each night, I tell myself this is the night I’ll feel safe. It never is. And I’m tired, Thor. Really goddamn tired.”

“You feel safe in small spaces,” Thor guesses.

Loki nods, meeting Thor’s gaze head on. “Yeah. In small spaces. Or near you ... or Val.”

Val? Thor thinks, but lets the comment pass. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know,” he says. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with it. Really deal with it, you know?”

“Yeah.” Loki sighs.

“I’ll help,” Thor offers. “If you want.”

“How?”

Thor doesn’t know. He still doesn’t know what happened to Loki to make him so frightened; he can’t fight the demons he can’t identify. He can try, though; maybe if he tries hard, Loki will trust him enough to tell him the truth, and they can fight the demons together.

For now, he simply offers a tiny smile and reaches under the bed, feeling for Loki’s hand in the dark. “I can start by getting you out of there,” he says.

Loki looks wary. He looks exhausted. But mostly, he looks at Thor with something resembling the old hero worship. It’s faint - just a glimmer behind the eyes, like something long buried starting to stir and come back to life.

“All right,” Loki says finally as he accepts Thor’s hand.

#tumblr prompts #thor #loki pokey artichokey #loki fic #thor fic #thor pov #brodinsons #valki #thorkyrie #thorki #or any combination you please #sleepy loki #overuse of the word 'soft'#loki has a sweet tooth #light angst #tw nightmares #tw ptsd

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byebyebyler · 5 years ago

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A Stupid Fight - Byler

They were in the middle of a stupid fight. They both wanted to forget about it as soon as it had started, but instead, it ended with Will slamming the door to their apartment as hard as his small body could manage.

Mike sighed, running a hand through his wild curls. He looked blankly at the pieces of paper in front of him, scribbled with ideas that his mind formulated in the middle of long nights, making him jolt wide awake and wake Will in the process.

Will.

“It was supposed to be good news,” Mike mumbled to himself, “Not the start of a fucking argument.”

Mike had gotten an offer that he couldn’t pass up. The couple’s comic series has been pitched to be turned into a full blown Hollywood series of movies. He was super excited about it, and he was especially excited to tell Will since it was both of theirs, Will being the illustrator.

He was hoping Will would be as happy as he was. Obviously nothing was set in stone, but he wanted to answer the movie company as quickly as possible to ensure it could still happen.

They could pick up their entire life and shift it across the country. It was an exciting new stage of Mike’s life, and he wanted to share all of it with Will.

Will, on the other hand, wasn’t leaping at the idea. Living even in New York City, it was too far away from Indiana for Will. He was very family oriented and liked visiting his mother and Hopper over breaks from work and holidays. Mike totally understood that, but he couldn’t and didn’t want to move without Will.

“We’ll still see them on holidays and stuff! We can call!” Mike had assured him enthusiastically, smiling widely at his boyfriend.

“Mike, it’s not that easy. My mom needs me to be close, she doesn’t want anything to happen like... before,” Will whispered the last word, reluctantly looking up at Mike’s worried eyes.

“Will, I’ll be with you every single day. Nothing will happen, alright?” Mike promised him softly, holding Will’s hand to comfort him. Mike pressed a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away to smile gently at Will. “Think of it: we could buy an actual house, that’d be awesome. It’ll be way better than this shitty apartment, and we can maybe get a cute dog or something. We’ll have a office to share, you can have a place for all your fancy art things-“

“Mike, what if I don’t want that?” Will said so quietly that Mike could hardly hear him.

“I get that you don’t wanna move, Will, but I don’t wanna-“

“No. What I mean is... what if I don’t want this huge Hollywood success. It’s our work together, I don’t want our names or work to be associated with a horrible movie. Then, horrible sequels too.”

Mike furrowed his eyes, looking at Will with confusion on his face. “I’m sure we’ll have a say in everything concerning the movie-“

“How much say? Will we see the script, will we not? Will we be able to have a say in costumes, outfits, or sets? Will they even fucking let us because we’re together?” Will asked, his voice shaking but getting louder with every question.

“Will,” Mike said, trying to calm him down with a soft voice. “Things are better in California, you know. There’s always gonna be people like that in life-“

Will scoffed, shaking his head. “So, you’re just telling me to accept that?!” He challenged Mike with a look of disbelief on his face. “Really? After everything I’ve been through- after everything we’ve been through?”

Will went over to the kitchen, grabbing his jacket violently off of the counter. He put it on quickly, looking utterly frustrated and upset. “You know what, Mike? I’m sorry I have to ruin your big Hollywood dreams, but I can see the reality in some of these things. I’m not gonna work with anyone who thinks that our relationship is gross or disgusting so much so that they don’t want us to be involved in making our work become a reality.” He reaches the door, watching Mike stay put near the couch. “I’m gonna go take a walk,” he finally said, slamming the door before Mike could respond.

Mike shook his head, playing out the previous events on a loop in his mind. He felt horrible. He felt guilty that he hadn’t listened to Will the way a boyfriend of years should’ve. He sighed again, lifting himself off of the couch.

He knew Will needed space, and he wanted to give him that, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how things ended.

He walked over to their shared office, smiling at the rough sketches along with finished pieces scattered all over Will’s desk. Mike could list thousands of good qualities of Will’s but neatness wasn’t one of them.

Mike opened his own desk’s drawer that they had named the Drawer of Everything Needed at Some Point when they had first moved into their apartment. He smiled, picking up the small velvet box he kept hidden in there. He had bought it on a whim one day several months ago. A simple silver band that he knew would suit Will. He had only glanced at it a few times since purchasing it, but this time it was the most meaningful.

He was waiting for the right moment. But, as his thumbs stroked the velvet material of the box, he was fearing it would never come. Especially not after the way this fight left them.

Sighing, Mike shoved the box far back into the drawer like he had done so many months ago.

Will, instead of being cuddled up close to Mike, was out in the brisk cold air of Central Park. Him and Mike didn’t live too far away from the park, but it seemed miles away that February night.

He was stuck in his thoughts. He didn’t want to be disagreeable, but he wanted to ensure that moving across the country would be worth it. Will wanted a say in everything, he wanted a say since he was the one who designed Mike’s characters. He felt like that was only necessary.

But, he also felt that if the actors or people working on the movie figured out him and Mike were together, it would destroy everything. The comics wouldn’t sell, the movie would be gone, everything would shatter.

“A gay comic book writer and his boyfriend who draws the pictures,” Will mumbled to himself, kicking some slushy snow into the street.

Once in the park, he sat on one of the benches. It was freezing cold, and that only made Will miss Mike more. Mike was basically a human furnace, heat radiated off of him.

After contemplating the long walk back to their apartment, Will waved down a taxi which brought him to his building a lot faster than he wanted to be. I should’ve walked. What if Mike’s upset? I basically crushed his dreams, should I walk around the block until midnight? I could do that...

He generously paid the taxi driver, wondering if the man could be bribed into driving Will to Jersey. Maybe Indiana if he was up for it. Anything to avoid Mike’s hurt gaze that Will worried about the entire cab ride. Too soon, the taxi was gone, and Will was left to either freeze his ass off outside or go inside and possibly be broken up with Mike.

He hoped for the best, that Mike would just be mad for the night, and ran up the stairs. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, and instead took the stairs two at a time.

He reached the apartment quickly, digging into his pocket for the keys. After moments of panicking, Will found them and slowly unlocked the door.

All of the lights were still on, and Mike was sitting on the couch. His head turned when the door opened, and he couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Will,” Mike said, walking over to the door to stand in front of his boyfriend. “You’re freezing.” His smile melted into a frown, taking his jacket quickly.

“I love you,” Will told him, smiling and happy that he wasn’t upset. “I’m sorry,” he said once Mike had him wrapped tightly in a hug. “I’m sorry. I totally overreacted. I should be happy that your work is possibly going to be a movie. That’s amazing.”

Mike stepped back and leaned down to kiss Will. “It’s /our/ work. You worked as hard as me on your famous drawings-“

“I’m not famous,” Will quickly corrected him, ducking his head as a blush formed on his cheeks. “I love you, dork.”

“I love you more,” Mike responded, holding onto Will’s hand while trying unsuccessfully to hang up Will’s jacket in their closet. After failing multiple times, he threw it onto the counter, Will rolling his eyes at him. “And, I’m not mad, if anything I wasn’t listening to what you were saying. I’m sorry about that, and I should’ve asked all of the questions you had. They’re important. They’re important to you, that makes them important to me.”

Mike continued on, walking them over to the couch. “And, honestly,” he sunk into the couch cushion, smiling as Will instinctively curled up into his side, “they should be important to me nonetheless. I never want to put you in a situation where either of us could be hurt in that way. And, obviously I want my boyfriend on set at all times. I want to be able to hold his hand while we watch actors mess up lines all day long. Besides, you’re the creative genius behind all of the illustrations, so you especially should be the one watching from behind the camera.”

Will interlaced their fingers together, squeezing Mike’s hand. “I don’t want you to be hurt either. Or us. Or the movie because of some anti-gay writers or producers or directors trying to keep everything from us.”

“I’ll call them first thing tomorrow. Everything will be figured out for us I’m sure. If that’s what you want... you know, if you wanna go to California.”

Will shot him an uneasy glance, relaxing as he felt Mike’s hand squeeze his. “I’m still not sure about that... I don’t mean to be like that — all disagreeable and stuff — but I’m sorry-“

Mike pressed a kiss against the top of Will’s head. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. I wasn’t listening, and we both know I do that a lot. I’ll ask about relocating the filming locations, how about that?”

Will smiled, wrapping an arm tighter around Mike’s torso. “And, we can always get a dog here in our shitty apartment, right?”

Mike laughed into Will’s hair, nodding along to his words. “Yup, our shitty little apartment.”

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agentdagonet · 5 years ago

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Echoes, Ch. 24

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 1516 1718 19 20 21 22 23

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

Eggsy couldn’t help himself- he knew that he was pressing where he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but push anyway. He’d heard from his mum about Harry’s visit, and she’d sounded so damn happy that he just couldn’t help it. He’d reached up onto his toes and hugged Harry tightly the next time he’d walked into the house, squeezed around his neck and tucked his head between Harry’s jaw and shoulder, right against his collarbone.

Harry had frozen for all of a breath before bringing his arms down to Eggsy’s waist, squeezing just as tightly in return. He didn’t ask what the occasion was, or try to pull away after a minute because that’s how hugs normally went; instead he simply rested his cheek against Eggsy’s hair. Eventually they parted, shared a small smile, and went back to their normal routine.

Something had changed, then, but neither of them ever spoke about it. Their fingers brushed more often while doing dishes, their shoulders brushed constantly while walking to and from the shop, they ended up falling asleep on each other more often than not during evening films. Maybe it was just a final barrier falling and making them feel more comfortable- but Harry knew it wasn’t so much a final barrier as it was that some unspoken rule that had been tossed out.

Eggsy leant into his shoulder when they sat near each other, he relaxed when Harry clapped him on the shoulder (unlike when Percival did, which had resulted in wide eyes and stuttered breathing) or guided him into a room by the small of his back. And maybe Harry was encouraging Eggsy’s exploration with non-romantic physical affection for his own ends, but where was the harm? It wasn’t as if the two of them weren’t touch-starved, or touch-wary, between Eggsy’s childhood and Harry’s loss of physical control, it was a wonder they let anyone near them at all.

Two puzzle pieces that kind of fit- like pieces of the sky, you could put them together on their own, but when you try to attach them to the rest of the picture you’d discover it’s the wrong combination of bloody blue tiles. At least, that’s how Harry reasoned his lack of active communication. He just let things start happening, didn’t reject anything offered, and rationalised that if he said something it would all fall apart because of the things that made them different.

He should have thought more of Eggsy, the determined little shit, because it was obvious that he was up to something. He began escalating the types of touch he would use, going from the faintest brush of fingertips to resting his hand wholly on some portion of Harry’s body; from that to pressing into the places that stored the most tension, seeing what made Harry react.

It had taken him nearly a month to catch on, and once he did he couldn’t unsee it- but he also didn’t want to stop him. So he let it be, and soaked in the attention as if it were going to stop because after almost dying you don’t take anything for granted if you can help it.

On one rare morning, where they both were home and resting with no obligations, Eggsy came down the stairs looking particularly ruffled. He yawned loudly and rubbed at his face, and when he made it to where Harry was sat at the table he dropped a kiss on his head as he passed by. He didn’t stop his progress to the kitchen, and Harry didn’t dare turn to see if Eggsy realised what he had done.

Harry didn’t even think to return the gesture, but eagerly awaited the next opportunity Eggsy had to do it again. If there was, indeed, anything beside respect and devotion between the two of them, from both directions, then Eggsy needed to be the one to make the first move. Not only was Harry technically his superior, but he was several years his senior and Harry would have felt lecherous making the opening move. But, Eggsy’s actions- planned and non- were indicative that he had ideas, even if they weren’t advisable from the common person’s judgements.

But when had they ever truly cared about the opinions of the outside world, anyway?

But Harry was getting ahead of himself- by a good kilometre- because these were shy or unconscious glances and infrequent touches. There were so many things that needed to happen between there and where Harry’s thoughts were heading. Patience, he told himself, if it’s going to happen, it will happen- it’s not as if he’s going anywhere.

And that, in and of itself, was a new thought process. Being aware that someone had decided you were worth spending time with was different than spending a life together- but they’d already fallen so far off the usual, acceptable, path that what did it matter? They could never do more than hold hands or clasp arms and Harry would be satisfied as long as their home remained such.

Harry went on a solo mission to Antigua, what should have been a quick pick-up went sour within the first 24 hours, and ended up with Harry sporting several bruised ribs, seventeen stitches scattered about his body, and an overnight stay in medical. Surprisingly, it was the first serious injury he or Eggsy had gotten since their house became a home- which meant it was uncharted territory, and Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he was so nervous about. He’d been injured, before- he’d been in medical overnight, before- but this was the first time for him since Kentucky.

Eggsy didn’t run into the room when he arrived, but he did close the door fully behind himself and rest against it for a moment after. He looked to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and then approached the bed- and it was lucky that Harry hadn’t required a heart monitor, because it surely would have given him away. Eggsy sat in the chair Merlin had sat in for debrief, though he pulled it closer, and lifted Harry’s hand in his own- lightly kissing the top of it before rubbing his thumb over the same spot. As if to rub the affection into his skin completely.

‘You’ve got to either stop this shit or give me a bit of warning, luv.’ Harry blinked slowly, as if doing so would freeze this moment in his memory, and huffed out a laugh.

‘You and I are both fully aware that those options are equally impossible. But, I’ve made it home once again in, relatively,’ Harry glanced down at himself before shrugging a shoulder slightly, ‘good condition.’

‘Your stitches say otherwise.’

‘I have all my limbs and have lost an insignificant amount of blood- rest assured, these are entirely superficial wounds.’

‘Harry, bruises are superficial- you got stitches and your ribs are fucked. Tha’s why you’re in medical instead of at home.’

‘The ribs are bruised, actually; and Merlin’s being a stick in the mud about letting me home-’

‘He ain’t letting you go anywhere he can’t see you for a bit- always been more sensitive than he’ll admit.’

‘You don’t say?’ Surely Eggsy, in his far more limited experience with Merlin than his own, hadn’t managed to get Merlin’s number that easily.

‘Well, yeah- you shoulda seen ‘im when you were gone. Oh, he put on a brave face, but he was so quiet. And he was a right arse about makin’ sure everyone was rested and eating and shit. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone embody that nurse lady from the Harry Potter books like he did;’ Eggsy chuckled, ‘the Lake was so confused when he started goin’ on about proper nutrition and REM cycles and shit- Rox and I made sure he actually listened to himself every once in a while. Managed to glue ‘im to his chair once, and just… rolled him into medical for a check up.’ Harry laughed, imagining his usually-stoic friend struggling to remove himself from the predicament while keeping some semblance of dignity and authority intact.

‘Yeah, it was funny in the moment, but… lookin’ back and all it makes me wonder- the fuck was wrong with Kingsman before V-Day, Harry?’ Eggsy’s eyes had gone hard, the thin line of his mouth so at ends with his youthful face. ‘It was like no one knew that anyone else cared about them- that they had value outside of mission parametres. Outside of their job.’ He spat the word, and Harry was caught entirely off guard by it.

‘Chester King was very purpose-focused, Eggsy, to put it kindly. The vast majority of Knights never became familiar with one another outside of respect for one another’s skills, and emotional connections have always been construed as a weakness by those of higher stations. If it couldn’t be used to further the agency, then it was unnecessary. The Lake’s betting pools are far more the exception than the norm- their sense of community has been fostered in the shadows for the past twenty-odd years. If it weren’t for the circumstances of Chester’s demise- and those of his ilk- I’m certain that the trend of emotional segregation from one another would have continued seamlessly from one Arthur to the next.

‘I’m not certain of how to explain it to you, Eggsy, but Kingsman has never been about a group uniting to face a common threat, or defend a common goal, in my experience,’ Harry frowned and shook his head, ‘Kingsman was always about individual people being sent to settle individual problems that just happened to be facets of the larger goal. There were only a handful of people in the history of the agency that demanded to work with certain people, and very rarely were there Agent/Handler pairs in the fashion you’re accustomed to.’ Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses as he did so.

‘So, what you’re saying is that no one knew that they were important as humans outside of their fuckin’ skills because Chester King was an enormous prick?’

‘That’s about the sum of things, yes.’

‘If Merlin figures it out, can I go back in time and kill him all over again?’

‘Once was quite enough, Eggsy- but you can rewatch the footage ad nauseum, if you’d like.’

#dagonet writes #echoes fic #kingsman #kingsman fic

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ruinedthatfriendship · 5 years ago

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All Fall Down

A/N: This is the last Dimon fic I ever wrote, according to the save date on the original file. Fittingly, it’s also the last fic I have to post out of my old drafts.

In which Demi handles the aftermath of That Episode from the UK X Factor, everyone cries, and Simon gets the hugs he deserves.

After a while, lies become truth. If you absorb a lie long enough, live it long enough, put effort into convincing everyone it is real, eventually you convince yourself. Eventually you forget the naked truth, replace all of the raw reality with a shiny film of fantasy, and it becomes real.

It becomes real, but lies are always only ever made out of the thinnest glass. And sometimes all it takes is one shot to bring everything down around you.

For Simon, that one shot was a well-meaning singer from Billingham, the setting was a televised audition, and the broken fantasy suddenly raining down around his ears was comprised of just two little words: I’m fine.

He was the furthest from fine he’d ever been in his life, and his only goal in the world at the moment was keeping himself from falling apart entirely at the judges’ desk. But every word of that damned song was a perfectly aimed knife to the heart, cutting him into ribbons over again.

Because Lauren was gone. And Demi was long gone. And his mum--his mum, the sweetest woman he’d known--was gone.

He’d been numb since he got the news just days ago that she’d passed. He’d gone on to do the show anyways and waved off any concern because he was fine, he didn’t feel anything, and maybe that just made him as much of a heartless bastard as Demi had screamed in their last fight. What kind of man couldn’t mourn his mother?

No, he wasn’t heartless. He had one, and his grief had only been dormant, and this bloody song was a sucker punch.

His mind flitted suddenly to Demi’s old lyrics as he discreetly swiped a finger beneath his eye, almost bursting out into paradoxical laughter. I just ran out of band aids, I don’t even know where to start...you never really can fix a heart.

And she was gone too, making a life for herself without him, happy without him, better than ever. Thriving and singing and sober and, last he’d been able to bring himself to check, very much in love with a man who was not him. I’m jealous of the way you’re happy without me.

And Lauren was so far gone now. She’d left when Eric was barely six months old, with a shrug and a sad little smile and a promise to stay in her son’s life. She really hadn’t, and the whole of raising an entirely unplanned child had fallen to Simon. Who was, perhaps, the most well-meaning and least-prepared combination possible for a father.

And it had been his mother that he’d called when Demi left, tears in her eyes but yelling in anger, slamming the door on her way out. “Mum”, he’d announced unceremoniously on the phone, swallowing hard and trying for unaffected. He failed miserably. “I’ve cocked everything up.”

And it had been his mother that he’d called when Lauren left him, dryly asking for parenting advice and completely beating around the bush that time until she’d wrestled out of him that he’d failed, again, that he’d chased off a second good-hearted woman and was doomed to a miserable existence of living with himself.

And now she was gone too. His fists were clenched in his lap, he was trying so damn hard to keep it together, and he had some horrible Frankenstein mash-up of the Labyrinth lyrics and Demi’s running around in his brain, threatening to choke him. He was jealous of her death, and that didn’t make any sense; he didn’t want to die, there was Eric to think about after all. He was jealous of her somewhere he couldn’t get to, she was beyond his reach. Forever.

“Take it to a vote,” he murmured to Cheryl, and briefly congratulated himself for keeping a steady voice long enough to confirm the third yes for the young singer.

And then he stood, his body warring from second to second between utter numbness and heart-shattering grief, and made his way off of the set as calmly as he could, the other judges following at a hesitant distance.

He could hear Cheryl, speaking louder than she thought she was. “I don’t know what to do, do I go...should I let him go?”

And again, he wanted to give into bitter laughter. There’s nothing you can do. But Simon knew that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to stuff back inside the hysterical sobs currently stuck in his chest, and he was Simon Cowell and he wasn’t going to cry. Certainly not where anyone could see him.

So he wordlessly waved off his staff and tossed his microphone at one of them, and got onto the back of a golf cart in wretched silence, staring down at his hands in his lap and his wrists, unmarked.

Demi had always had a sixth sense for when he was upset, even if he tried not to tell her. And without fail, she’d take his hands and reflexively trace her Stay Strong script on his wrists, a source of comfort to herself she was passing on to him.

God, he missed her. And it was his own fault she was gone, he had no one to blame but himself for any of it.

***

In the airport in London, beneath the hoodie of an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of dark glasses, just in case, Demi was biting the inside of her lip absently, waiting for her bag on the carousel.

She’d come with just the one, a little overnight bag with next to nothing in it, took a commercial flight and sat in economy, and done it all without thinking. And now here she was, alone, because she’d stupidly decided to ditch her bodyguards and fly out without warning, with no idea what the hell she was doing.

She’d come for Simon, but that was about as far as that plan went. Simon, who had a girlfriend and a son and plenty of work, who wasn’t expecting her. Simon, who she’d screamed at and slammed a door on, and spent the next months of her tour sobbing her eyes out in bathrooms.

What was she even going to say when she saw him? How was she supposed to explain that Marissa had taken one look at her devastated expression when someone accidentally mentioned him, rolled her eyes, pointed at the door, and said exasperatedly, “Oh, just go get him!”

How was she supposed to explain that she’d almost turned around in LAX, but two women were gossiping next to her and that was how she’d heard about his mum and it had only solidified her spontaneous decision?

She knew she wasn’t exactly welcome at the best of times. And better yet, how was she even going to find him? Knocking on the front door wasn’t exactly an option.

Spying her plain black bag, she yanked it off of the belt with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, making a noise of frustration and walking out to the street, waving down a cab awkwardly.

On the scale of every bad decision she’d ever made, this one was pretty close to the top. Demetria, what are you doing?

Without thinking, she gave the driver Simon’s London address, only panicking after he’d turned the second corner. This wasn’t going to work. This was a terrible idea. She was going to kill Marissa. It wasn’t even Marissa’s fault for finally intervening in two years of Quietly Sad Demi. Jesus Christ.

Demi’s stomach was all anxious, terrified butterflies by the time she paid the cab driver and got out onto the curb, letting her bag drop to the ground next to her feet.

It occurred to her then that she had nowhere better to go, and no idea what the code to his gate was anymore, and this was quite possibly the stupidest situation she’d ever gotten herself into.

She dragged her bag the few meters over to lean up against the gate around his property, bracing one foot up behind her and jamming her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She’d chosen this outfit on purpose, to avoid standing out and catching any attention, but Demi was well aware that she probably also looked like a random vagrant lurking outside Simon Cowell’s house.

She contemplated ringing the bell, but odds were against him being home anyway. That, and doing so would actually summon him if he was. For all her ridiculously hasty arrival, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to see him again, and get punched in the chest with all of those emotions all over again.

She wasn’t ready to rip open old wounds, wasn’t ready to play visitor to his happy little family. But she wasn’t strong enough to turn away, couldn’t stop herself. After all this time, she still needed him, and she thought that just maybe, if there was ever a time for him to need her again, this was it.

Demi wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, scrolling through her phone and sending a few panicked texts to Marissa--as of yet, unanswered--when his car pulled up. She looked up, startled, already trying to retreat further into the depths of her hoodie, but Demi squared her jaw instead. It was only Simon. And she was Demi freaking Lovato, and she wasn’t going to be afraid of this.

She pushed herself slowly off of the gate, tucking her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans, tilting her head slightly as she tried to peer inside of the car he hadn’t even bothered to park properly. Between the tint of his windows and her sunglasses, she couldn’t really see much, just enough to make out the silhouette of his head, slumped forward on his arms against the steering wheel. Oh, Simon.

Her reaction was just instinctive. Demi didn’t think twice about pushing that hood back and stripping off her sunglasses, shaking her dark hair out and walking toward him.

He opened the door before she got close, wearily unfolding long legs and slamming the door shut for all he was worth, not sparing a glance for the small woman coming up the sidewalk. His white shirt looked wrinkled and his eyes were red, lips pressed together tightly, and Demi’s heart clenched, a lump already forming in her throat.

She opened her mouth to call to him just as he finally glanced her way, and their eyes locked. Simon froze completely, and Demi started running.

He didn’t catch her, didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but stand there while she crashed into his chest and hung on, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.

“What in the bloody hell,” he finally said hoarsely, and she wondered how much he’d been crying.

She tilted her head up, propping her chin on his chest, and smiled gently. “Hi, Simon.” It may have been a stupid greeting, but there would be time to kick herself later. For now, there was enough on her plate. Simon blinked at her rapidly for a long moment, long enough for Demi to worry if she’d really shocked his poor old man heart too much, and she watched his eyes well up again. “Baby,” she whispered almost involuntarily. It wasn’t pity, it wasn’t reflexive sympathy, it was just love. Love that she’d never stopped feeling, not when it came to him.

And that was enough. Simon lurched forward against her, his arms coming up around her ribs tight enough to ache, and he buried his head in her shoulder with a heartbreaking sound tearing from his throat that she’d never heard before.

Demi just let him hang on for a long moment, breathing evenly against his vice grip, one of her hands running soothingly over his back. “I don’t know how to get inside,” she finally murmured calmly. “Come on, I’ve been out here for like an hour.”

Simon didn’t appear to have heard her. “I’m sorry,” he choked out against her skin, shaking against her.

Demi felt her own eyes stinging, and bit the edge of her tongue stubbornly. Now was not the time to fall apart. “Shh, come on, Si, let’s go inside.”

She took a step backwards, pulling him with her, and carefully pried herself out of his grip, keeping one of his hands in hers to tug him along.

He keyed in something and let her walk up to the house with him in tow, his free hand over his face. He wasn’t sure she was real yet, had no idea what to make of her sudden presence here. And she was simultaneously a relief and making everything worse, and she was only going to break him further when she left, but all he could do was hold onto her, feeling like a lost little boy.

They made it as far as the staircase. Demi wasn’t really sure what had just happened, but she was suddenly sitting down halfway up the stairs with Simon beside her, turning into her body and giving into heart wrenching sobs once more.

Demi’s lip quivered, and she hugged him tighter. “Baby,” she whispered thickly. One of her hands found his, and she rubbed her thumb across the inside of his wrist absently, her other arm hugging him tightly against her. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

For some reason, that little gesture only broke him further. He was mumbling something into the grey material on her shoulder, words that broke her heart when she finally understood them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Simon, shh,”

“It’s not okay,” he returned heavily, and Demi winced. She’d assumed that his apology was unconnected to losing his mom--what could he have to apologize for there? But it was still a thoughtless reply, given the circumstances.

“No, not really,” she whispered, rubbing soothing patterns across his back. “It’s not okay, and it sucks, but you’re going to get through it. I promise.”

Simon just sniffed, hugging her tighter. “She’s gone, Demi.”

Demi’s voice broke too as she replied, squeezing his hand as a comfort to both of them. “I know, Si, I know. I’m so sorry. And I wish I could have met her, but I know how wonderful she was. And she loved you so much.”

His mum’s love wasn’t really something he tended to question, but in a moment of weakness, he still found himself returning softly, “How would you know?”

Demi sniffed, and let out a little laugh, shaking her shoulder enough to dislodge him and force him to meet her brown eyes. “Because I love you. And if she could see half of what I see, she’d love you just as much. And she was your mum,” she emphasized the British variant with a smile, “which means she definitely knew you way better than I do.”

“Demi…” Simon mumbled, the only thing he knew how to say anymore. Just her name, just her touch, just her.

She seemed to realize the implications of what she’d said, and drew back a little. “Is...is Lauren home, Simon?”

Simon’s face clouded, and he glanced away from her. “No,” he said simply. “She’s not.”

Demi swallowed, biting her lip hesitantly. There was more to that story, she could tell, but now wasn’t the time. “These stairs are not comfortable, Simon,” she said instead, trying for a little of her teasing brattiness.

It worked, and she saw the darkness recede from his eyes somewhat. He stood slowly, holding both hands out to her, and pulled her to her feet, leading her the rest of the way upstairs.

He went to his bedroom, Demi following on his heels, and ended up standing in the middle of the room, looking lost.

Demi sighed, and perched on the edge of his bed. “Do you want to take a shower?” she finally suggested, when he didn’t seem to gain any more direction.

His eyes flicked to hers. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right here,” Demi nodded firmly, gesturing to the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon seemed to doubt that very much, but the slump in his shoulders and curl of his spine spoke of defeated acceptance, like he knew she’d leave and had given up on doing anything about it.

“I’ll be right here,” Demi whispered again, and waited for the door to the ensuite to close completely behind him before she launched herself at one of his pillows and screamed briefly into the white fluff.

There was so much pain contained in that man, more than she could attribute to just his mom, and she wasn’t even sure that she wasn’t making it worse. Demi would have given just about anything to strip it away from him, bring back the Simon she remembered from so long ago, laughing behind his hand at some contestant on the stage, holding her hand beneath the table.

She just had to have faith that they could get there again. Together. And it started here, with her promise to stay, which she had no intention at all of going back on.

Demi pulled her hoodie off over her head, leaving her in just a dark green tank top, and let herself lie back on the bed she’d stayed in once before, smiling in spite of herself at the familiar, quintessentially Simon scent surrounding her.

She’d just taken a nearly twelve hour flight, crossed multiple time zones and then emotionally exhausted herself with Simon. Demi didn’t think twice about slipping between his sheets and hugging the pillow, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar smell of cologne and mints and cigarettes and the shampoo he always used, thinking that maybe, in spite of everything, she was almost coming home.

And that was how Simon found her nearly an hour later, when he finally dragged himself out of the bathroom, fully expecting to be greeted by an empty house. She had to be too good to be true, didn’t she?

Instead, his brat was curled up asleep, holding onto his pillow and looking surprisingly peaceful, all things considered. Relief flooded him, and he bit the end of his tongue as he moved to his closet, refusing to cry again. Now that he’d opened the dam of emotions, stopping it was harder than he’d thought.

But a sleeping Demi wasn’t a reason for tears. It was a reason to just climb in with her.

She woke to Simon slipping his arm around her waist from behind, a soft smile spreading over her lips as she turned over her shoulder to see him. “Hi,” she murmured, still sleepy.

“Hey, brat,” his voice was still a wreck from crying, but steady, the familiar nickname making her relax. If he could joke, they’d be okay.

Simon pressed a soft kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder, tucking her body against his. “Thank you,”

Demi just shrugged, smiling up into his face. “Where else would I be?”

His eyes clouded slightly, and he looked away from her gaze. “I am sorry, Demi. For everything.”

“I don’t really care about that anymore,” Demi said softly, biting her lip. And maybe she was supposed to, and of course they’d have things to figure out, but if his mom’s death had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t want to waste any time being angry about the past.

Still, as much as she wanted to just melt into his arms and fall all the way back into him, in every sense of the word, there was something she needed to know. “Simon,” she sighed, wondering if the answer was going to damn them completely. “I need to know, babe. Where’s Lauren?”

He exhaled, his breath tickling the hair at the base of her neck. It took him a while to reply, and when he finally did, it was simple. “She’s gone, Dem. She left...I haven’t seen her in a year. Eric’s with a sitter while I’m at work.”

Her immediate relief that she wasn’t in their bed right now was tempered by a rush of fury, that Lauren could leave, that she could abandon her son and walk away from the best man she was ever going to find.

“I’m sorry,” Demi said finally, slowly, lacing her fingers with his over her ribs. “For her, really… She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Simon just held her tighter and pressed his lips to hers, moving on top of her with a familiar weight as she deepened the kiss. And Demi knew without a doubt that whatever else happened, in that moment, she’d made it home.

#dimon #demi lovato #simon cowell #fanfiction #the very last dimon fic #or apparently maybe not

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