#and I have to move!!! i have to carry boxes and shit! down three flights! and I'm the last out my flat and other friends are busy!!

[sera-wasnever]

Owwwww :(

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (viii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : the triplets' birthday party is a perfect place for flirting, tension, and... well, matt and y/n's forte.

warnings : use of alcohol, weed and smut ( just a lil flithy icl ), beware that the word count on this ho is crazy - meaning i did not proofread!

mickey speaks : this took a MINUTE to get out im sawrryyyy. i tried to fit everything into one part and ended up rewriting almost the entire part last minute (which is most of the reason why this is very delayed), sooo hope you love??? bc i dont lmfao also the triplets r a couple yrs older in this (turning 23)

THIS IS PART EIGHT GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST!!!

"JESUS, matt. can you take this seriously, please?" chris scoffs, taking the dry-erase marker cap from its awkward spot between his teeth.

matt's not one to continue adding his opinion knowing it won't be listened to. he prefers to leave the impossible-to-get-a-word-in debating to nick and chris who have no problem yelling over each other to the point that they don't even know what the issue ever was.

so he's found comfort in sitting at the dining room table with his eyes firmly closed and arms used as a pillow for his head, leaving nothing but a dollop of his hair to be shown, or as he told chris "attempting to find peace for myself while living with you chaotic fucks."

"what could you possibly want from me?" matt asks without moving from his face down position, voice muffled and strained.

"i want you to fight for your opinion! don't you care about what we do for our birthday?!" chris stresses while nick rolls his eyes and falls into a bored stance, leaning against the dark marble counter.

matt finally raises his head causing his face to scrunch up and eyes to squint due to the sudden and bright change in lighting, "no? i actually don't give a shit, chris."

chris first feels the instigator within him sighing in defeat only for his pride to take center. he figures if nick has practically given up and matt cares so little, that gives him all of the creative action for birthday plans. exactly what he wanted.

his lips form a tight line to hide his satisfaction as he shakes his head slowly, unevenly wiping his hand across the magnetic white board (that he used to write the many ideas thrown around in his head, mistakenly thinking a visual would narrow things down for him and nick). “‘kay. then i’m getting nate to help plan us a house party and it'll be fucking perfect. because i care.”

౨ৎ

you've never been so grateful of your front door's placement this close to the kitchen. but carrying three cake boxes and a tote bag the size of your torso, desperately needing to put them down after traveling up three flights of stairs, will surely be the task that brings that gratitude out of you.

though when you arrive, your scrunched eyebrows and pouted lips are an apparent contrast to the enthusiastic vibe of your kitchen- with andrea moving her hips to the lines of spanish dancing in the air, waiting patiently for the sizzling indication of her fried egg's tenderness, and the use of pink lemonade-colored towels or handles on utensils (that made you and andrea way too happy during one of your first target runs as roommates) scattered around.

drea finally notices you when your metal keychain clanks against the countertop, "y/n!" her excitement slightly dulls with her widened eyes when she gets a better view of your face, turning the stove off and coming closer to hug you. "hi, good morning-ish. are you feeling okay? ...or, like, sad?" you silently accept her gesture and tuck your head in her neck while she caresses your hair with a sigh, "or both at the same time...?"

your response is a breathy sigh and pause before the words tumble out, "m'fine, i think. just overestimated myself a little with staying up so late." you remove your head from her neck and move backwards to lean against the countertop, fanning your hands to create a much needed breeze, "and i'm so hot, it's making me feel gross."

andrea peers into the clear plastic cutout on top of one of the boxes, "at least the cakes look nice."

a week ago you set your mind on gifting the triplets their own cakes for their birthday (thinking that sharing a day was already enough, no way would you want them to have to share and agree on only one cake). you easily gathered their cake preferences by sneaking it into any random conversations you'd have with each of them.

and after a week of planning and preparing, was it so bad if you wanted a fun night in with your roomie? andrea warned you several times to go to bed considering you'd be up at 5:30 the next morning, but you insisted that you'd be fine and asked her to help you clear the rest of the box-wine in the fridge.

you could tell matt was a little irritated that you chose rewatching episodes of a sitcom and "cheap ass box-wine" over sex with him (of course throwing the fact that his birthday would be arriving in only a few hours right in your face) but you pioneered and assured him that you'll make time for him the next day, while also sweetly reminding him that you too have a life outside of this exchange.

at midnight you sent the triplets a group message to congratulate. and a few minutes later you left andrea on the couch for your room, sending matt a birthday text of his own (because you did feel the tiniest bit guilty for rejecting him earlier) paired with a picture with your shirt lifted, hem tucked behind your teeth, and your boobs sat in a sheer bra with decorative white trimming and a bow in the center.

he didn't respond for almost an hour and you tried to not feel embarrassed or overthink his reaction at all.

you couldn't stand the giddiness that came over you (you'd blame it on being the slightest bit tipsy) when you finally got into bed to find his response gentle, in his own matt-kind-of-way, with your image loved and a grayed bubble text reading: "Very pretty, thank you"

"thanks, drea. they were a bitch to make." water drowns out your voice as you start to wash your hands in the deep sink. you run your soapy fingers over a small cut you got when dealing with an irritating cardboard box earlier, finding the stinging of the hot water a wonderful kind of bitter that further plays into your foul mood.

"mmm... i'm sure. but it's not like you can even tell. they almost look store-bought," she attempts to flatter you, turning her head from the packaged desserts to offer a smile.

when you're sweet you're the most ripe, juicy peach, eveyone knows this. but god, when you're feeling down you really are the most cranky, green apple that could force a pucker onto even the most undaunted. your face is dragged of any aloofness or sunshine with your dry response as she turns to resume her breakfast, "uh huh. you don't have to coddle me. i'll get over myself soon, i promise." you dry your hands.

andrea would argue she's not coddling only looking out for your well being- because she wants to and knows if she were neglecting her needs you'd be right on her ass as well, "okay...and did you eat?"

"just like, a bagel before i left," you open the fridge and let the door hang open as you walk across the kitchen to grab the cake boxes and set them inside. you make sure to mind your feet, noticing figaro nosily has his furry face lifted to sniff into the side door.

she strings some sarcasm into her sentiment, "oh yum." she pauses, letting the sizzle of the egg and (now faint) music linger in the air before she speaks again, "how about you go take a shower or do something that'll make you feel a little better?"

"you know i would but being around my favorite roommate is already making me feel sooo much better!" you deliver the dry joke with a smile and pick up figaro when you shut the fridge door with an accidental slam.

she turns to look at you over her shoulder as she grabs two glass plates for the both of you, scolding you like a mother (as she tended to transform into at times like this due to her essentially parenting her younger siblings) "y/n, you're only fighting yourself, go ahead now."

౨ৎ

matt can hear chris' voice only grow louder and pound against the hallway walls but assumes he is heading anywhere but the space that matt's in, deciding to continue brushing his teeth instead.

he'd only be so lucky on his birthday.

"but yeah-" chris interrupts himself to knock and barely wait for an answer before he walks into matt's sleek bathroom. "matt's here!" his phone is carelessly thrown in front of matt's face (with a frothing mouth and irritated eyes) before he has truly registered anything that has happened.

he truly wants to roll his eyes infinitely but when he sees his mother is the one on the phone, his grumpy front is quickly wilted and a glimmer kisses his spirit in a way only she could produce.

it's clear she hadn't expected matt to be in the middle of something as personal as brushing his teeth when she first sees him, "oh, hi matt!" she understands him well enough to know he absolutely hates this (this being chris unnecessarily close to him as he hunches over to keep matt's face in the camera) so she attempts to amuse him, "wow, you're really showing your age now, aren't you? just looking so put together and nice." she laughs to herself as matt tries to not smile whilst brushing, holding his index finger up to indicate that he would address her with words in only a moment.

"chris, honey, why'd you bring me to your brother when he's busy, anyway?! now we're just watchin' him brush his teeth and the angles you're givin' me are so awkward," she emphasizes her sentence as it goes on.

chris turns the phone back to himself, "because you told me to show him?!"

"no, i said 'where's matt?'" she corrects him in jest.

"okay, so am i incorrect in saying that there was an implication-?"

matt dries his face with a towel and grabs the phone scolding chris, "hey we get it, smartass-" he turns to look at her again with a smile, "sorry mom."

"mhm," she dismisses, "when's this party of yours starting?"

"soon i think," matt moves around chris to exit the bathroom, leaving chris (literally) in the dark.

"okay and how's your birthday been so far?" he smiles knowing how excited she's always been about these things.

"good, i don't feel any different. just doin' the same stuff, except today there's way more people sending me texts and pretending the care about me." matt places the phone against a bowl full of chips in the kitchen, waving when he notices chris followed him.

"get down here nick, mom's on the phone!" chris yells, coming into frame and leaning on the counter. "jeez, matt's masochism can't give any of us a break even on days literally made for our happiness. you hearin' this kid ma?"

matt shakes his head, pointing to chris with his handful of chips, "spell masochism."

chris' eyes pinch and before their mother or chris himself reply, nick is running over to them with a smile and yell of "im heree!!"

she's has the much-expected motherly urge to cry seeing her three sons (whom she rarely sees anymore) all in the same frame, "aw, hi nicky! just look at you boys...so sweet."

it only takes another second before she's crumbling in tears. their smiles drop as chris grabs his phone. they all begin spilling out the most comforting phrases they know to cheer her up.

౨ৎ

"okay people! cake is coming through! everyone move. move, move...precious cargo right here and your ass is in the way!" asha yells and shines her phone's flashlight into the faces in the crowded living room as she ushers the girls to the kitchen.

she earns a few glares that she happily dishes back and a few mumbles of "bitch" once she's walked past that has remi "accidentally" stepping on a certain people's shoes while following asha's lead.

the modern open kitchen hosts plenty of drinks and snacks as well as a worried nathan, who's shirt is barely on his torso from the amount of buttons he's undone since stepping foot in the wild space. "oh thank god the cake's are here," he sighs with a throw of his head before frantically moving a platter of chips and guac (that someone was actively eating from) and a few six packs from the island to the opposite counter, encouraging the girls to place them down with an awkward nod of his head and harsh blink of his eyes.

asha holds back a laugh at nate's odd vibe as she moves next to him, nudging his shoulder, "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing," his head whips to look at her, "well, i mean, think 'm just nervous." he starts slow but it seems he needed someone to finally prompt him to share such a frustrated rant, "like- chris comes to me and asks me to throw him the best party. yet he doesn't give me shit to work with besides his home to host it in-" he breathes, "and 'm feelin' all the pressure of planning a party right now but, you know, i just need things to go smooth and then i'll be fine..." he runs a hand through his hair, "you ladies don't worry about me." he fakes a smile and gives a small wave of his wrist to show just how "fine" he is.

coinciding with nate's rant, you've began to pour a hefty amount of vodka and lemon juice (you absolutely scoured the fridge for) into a large glass. you hand it off to andrea with a pleading "mix" as you lick the remaining lemon juice from your thumb and open cabinets to search for shot glasses.

you line up a multitude of shot glasses with various cities labeled on them as andrea pours the mixture in carefully. you immediately bring one up to nathan, "lemon drop?"

"yes, please. no way your a fucking bartender and baker?" nate's eyes widen as he receives the small glass.

"no, definitely not. just live with a girl whois always making her own drinks at home," you smile and grab your own glass as the rest of the girls follow suit.

"i need this right now," remi starts, "let's cheers to drea's DIY shit and nathan making it through the rest of the night!" she woops and the group all let out various chuckles.

"a-fuckin'-men!" nate leans to clink the small glasses softly before taking the shot quickly. he barely recovers from the shot before he's pouring more vodka into his glass and taking a second.

you get the best view of chris turning the corner and seeing you all (his reaction is more specifically for andrea) have arrived. his jaw hangs dramatically as he walks over but quickly turns to a big smile when the group all start to sing happy birthday to him. "stop it! stop it!" he jokes and begins to give out hugs and thank each of you for coming. he stops and squeezes you extra tight, bringing up the cakes sat nearby, "i know that bakery anywhere. thank you for my cake."

"of course, i had to," you smile.

"no seriously, you're fuckin' awesome, girl." you can tell he's already a little buzzed from the look in his eyes but you also know he's almost more truthful than ever when drunk.

you notice that when he leaves you to finally greet your roommate, it's very clear he's purposely left andrea last to ensure there would be no rush on his interaction.

the rest of the group leave them to their own world for a moment; as the two hug chris gives her a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering "hi, mi cariña (my darling)" an inside joke between the two of them as chris' struggle with speaking spanish never fails to make andrea laugh.

౨ৎ

"okay, okay, i'll do it," matt finally gives in, lifting himself off of the black couch with people piled on top of it. he hands his drink over to elijah smoothly and begins to playfully rub his hands together.

"'hold my beer' headass," elijah jokes placing the cup off on a side table next to him. matt stops any movement, turning his torso to look back at the boy and start to laugh while holding both middle fingers up.

"matt," erin taps him with the side of her arm twice to get his attention again, handing him the second wii remote in her hands. the screen appears extra bright in contrast to the dimness of the room which causes matt to wonder how the fuck anyone has managed to play just dance in this space without getting a sudden head rush or worse.

"okay, let's do timber because it's classic," she suggests.

"let's not," matt opposes, his hand covering his mouth to hide a grin before running his cursor over the other choices.

erin looks over to him with a blank expression, "i mean i don't care that much you can-"

"'m joking, we'll do timber," matt looks from her to the colorful screen to find the song once more.

when he notices she's stiil looking over at him with an unreadable expression, matt smiles big attempting to not laugh, causing his already-slim eyes to pinch a little extra as he turns to her, "hey e, the screen's right up there, you won't be getting much direction from starin' at me-" he breaks into obnoxious laughter mid-way through his sentence which earns him a small smack on the arm.

erin laughs a little now, "would you stop it? just click 'a' on your fucking remote."

he does as she says and looks to her as the screen loads, "thereee we go, you can cool down now, sweetheart."

as the two dance both matt and his friends make one-off comments and jokes about the many times matt almost fell (and would make sure to blame it on the rug or his shoes). they seem to be having such a great time that you don't know if you only being there for the final few lines of the song, watching erin ride matt's back as they spin in circles laughing, is fortunate or unfortunate.

the claps and whistles are wild when the two finish with a bow, the crowd around them only getting louder when matt teases that he's so hot he might have to take off his shirt, lifting it slightly then putting it back down and calling them pervs. you only shake your head and bite back a smile, hating how fucking charming he is when he allows himself to be completely lost in a good time.

matt would say you snuck onto the sectional couch- because a minute ago you weren't there and now here you are talking elijah's ear off and taking repeated hits of his blunt.

but you wouldn't say you snuck into his area, rather walked in a manner in which you'd be out of his and erin's way- of course not taking away from the birthday boy and his...good friend. so you're a bit surprised he slumps on the couch next to you and not in his original spot on the opposite side of eli, "sunnnyy," he huffs and leans his head back against the couch, "when'd you get here, huh?"

you turn to look at him and he smiles at you then looks up to the ceiling, "think an hour ago? maybe?" you hand him the blunt.

"cool, cool, cool..." matt repeats cutting himself off by placing it in his mouth. he's dressed so stylish and attractive you can't help but scan over him with your eyes; his jersey-style shirt showing off his armfuls of tattoos, baggy jeans, car keys hanging on a cheetah print clip attached to his belt loop, shoes that look straight out of the box, a matching hat that you honestly wish he'd take off, and his signature silver jewelry brightening his attributes in the otherwise dark room.

he makes the slightest "tsss" sound when breathing in the drug before speaking with smoke plummeting from his mouth, "you should dance next," he brings it back to his mouth for a final hit.

"mmm maybe...if lucas is up for it," you play with the metal can of a wine cooler that you hold on your bare knee as matt leans over you to hand an occupied eli his blunt back, his laugh trails smoke out of his mouth and into your face as he slouches back next to you.

"forgot you're fuckin, hilarious! holy shit." his hand makes its way up his own shirt to rest on his stomach as he giggles.

a smile grows on your face, "no seriously is he here?" you lift yourself up a little and pretend to look for the familiar face.

"stop that." matt chuckles and tugs your wrist gently. you almost get nervous this time when you look him in the eyes. when he's drunk, matt is so carefree and giggly in a way you rarely get to see. and now you’re starting to notice how the poor lighting makes his features appear arched and his face look carved into, yet the jagged becomes soft and fuzzy whenever the gumdrop-colored lights of the wii game hit his face with the beat of the song. he notices your staring and lets go of your wrist, "what's up?"

"nothing."

"excuse me everyone! i would like to give a speech! hello, i am giving a speechhh! everyone shut up, please!" nick projects his voice into the microphone- he stole from the karaoke machine -while standing on a dining room chair.

as people start to calm down nick speaks, "right, so, it's my fuckin' birthday!” he raises his arms and dances his fingers before pointing out matt, “and it's matt's fuckin' birthday, right over there! let's get some flashlights pointing over to my brother please!" matt’s face flushes as he covers his eyes from the sudden bright lights. you squint your own eyes from next to him and move closer to eli to avoid the flashes.

"and it's chris' fuckin' birthday..." nick looks around, "i couldn't tell you where exactly he is, just know that he is also here tonight!” the crowd roars, “anyway... i'm so- so happy to have you all with us tonight to celebrate. we turn twenty fucking three and... that feels so old saying it out loud. holy shit." nick cringes obnoxiously, slurring his next few words, "but i love my two best friends in the whole world: chris and matt, i wouldn’t wish to share a birthday with anyone else… and i love all of you thank you again. oh! and shout out nathan for holding this shit down! if you see nathan give him something... i don't know- money? a kiss? a drink? fuck if i know." as nick speaks cameron nudges him with a shot glass which he finally acknowledges, "and apparently this is a toast now so, you know, here's to getting older and having the most fun forever!" he raises the glass in the air and drinks it without further thought, inviting everyone to do the same while cheering and applauding him in excitement.

you raise your wine cooler and let out many cheers along with the rest, but of course matt ridicules you a little in jest, "really? you sit here and 'woo' while i'm going blind?!" he’s still wiping at his eyes, dealing with the aftermath of bright lights shining in his eyes; his vision tainted with faint blue and red splotches only for a second. you lean closer to him, attempting to see his eyes better while uncontrollably laughing.

"are you crying?!"

matt thinks you look really pretty even when you're quite literally pointing and laughing in his face. you move his hands away from his face and he widens his eyes dramatically, "look, no 'm not!” you shake your head in response, “does really it look like it?"

you notice his bottom eyelashes are slightly clumped and you move your hand closer, placing your thumb under his eye, "baby, that's damp!" you giggle and pull his hand close, using your thumb to draw a wet line across his tattooed wrist to prove your point.

he drags out his first word, "alrighttt. whatever! you got me, sweet girl. ‘cause god forbid i have the ability to cry?!” pulling away from you with a smile as he dries his eyes by rubbing them gently.

matt excuses himself with a quick "gonna go grab another drink or somethin'" before he does something irrational like kiss you in front of all these fucking people.

౨ৎ

you carefully open each of the packaged cakes, each revealing the boys' full names written in cursive with the uniquely styled and colored buttercream frosting you made that very morning. you used the same shades to make the puffed frosting border of the cakes, for an easy, soft garnish. remi follows behind you, lighting candles on the cakes as you go.

there's a chaos that comes with trying to gather this many (drunk) people in one area and capture their attention long enough to sing then cut cakes. it doesn’t help that the hosts are at their most unserious themselves; matt and nick both snickering and making jokes while holding onto each other while chris talks to one of his friends off to the side with his obnoxiously loud voice without regard for anyone around him.

“okay, people we’re singing!” nathan attempts to yell over the loudness of the crowded room. you and remi are then in the position of getting the attention of the birthday boys who can’t focus on the task at hand, leaving you both to snap your fingers and call them as if you were attempting to take photos of a stubborn baby.

you truly wish it didn’t irk you so terribly but you can’t help your annoyance when matt looks over to erin after she shouts from next to you, “matt, can you pay attention? your cake’s ready,” and he listens, moving nick off of him with a shoulder nudge and laugh as he approaches the row of cakes.

you recover quickly with a smile once both matt and nick’s eyes widen and mouths hang open in awe of your hard work, “s’perfect,” matt whispers to himself, now adjusting his hat to fit backwards.

“oh my god, the wax got in my cake! what the fuck,” nick whines and that cues drea to tug chris’ arm softly and urge him with a hushed, “chris ven aquí (come here)!”

and he's is down so terribly that he moves to where she wants him immediately.

chris is a known sap, especially when wasted, so he’s stood fighting the urge to cry when taking in the scene in front of him: his brothers and friends gathered together to celebrate their twenty three years of life together.

he tucks his lip into his mouth and looks down at the burning flame, slowly smiling when everyone around them begin to sing a rendition of happy birthday with all the charmingly bad high notes and run on “you”s but not forgetting to crunch all three names into a single line.

midway through the song, chris leans to hug matt in comfort while sneaking a reach into matt’s back pocket to grab the slim joint he just knew would be there. he grins to himself, “sweet! free j and free light,” placing it into his mouth as he leans over his cake to spark the joint hanging in his mouth with as much precision as possible. andrea shakes her head in confusion while filming on her phone beside to you.

“dude,” matt lets out a breathy laugh while waving his hand to clear the atmosphere of the potent smoke. sudden applause recognizing the end of the song and leading the three to blow out their candles.

matt gave up on birthday wishes a while into his teen years and nothing changes this year; he blows his candles out and claps along with the crowd before accepting his joint from chris for a few puffs of celebration.

you watch in amusement as nathan distracts the boys with shots to get them away from the cakes as andrea begins to cut. except no shot could beat the view of andrea bent over the counter like she is now, so chris is practically on top of drea with annoying whines of “i wanna see,” when she asks him to be careful and wait a second.

you, however, are actively searching for the spiked punch that elijah recommended when you run into erin and matt talking. they both look to you with different expressions as you squeeze yourself by them to get to the punch bowl.

you remind yourself that erin is your friend, not your enemy. nor your competition. meaning you also have to remind yourself that matt is some guy you fuck around with, not your boyfriend.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in while grabbing a plastic cup and using a small ladle to pour the peach colored liquid for yourself. instead of flat-out staring at the two, you take turns looking from them to your cup. you watch as they pose for a picture; erin taking his hat to place on her own head and matt smiling next to her. and another with her kissing his cheek as he laughs.

it’s upsetting- no, humiliating to you. and how especially humiliating that your first thought is whether he’ll dismiss you for erin when you ask him to fuck you later tonight? you blame the weed for getting you so worked up over minutiae interactions.

you’re brought out of your daze in the most humbling of ways: a sudden splash hits your bare foot and covers your black kitten heels in the sticky juice. “fuck,” you groan and place the ladle back into the punch bowl, taking a large sip of your overflowing drink as you look down at the puddle of pink you’re standing in.

you find a towel laying nearby and lower yourself to fumble and wipe your shoe.

“damn y/n, you like my punch that much?” a voice asks from next to you.

you look up and see lucas smiling down at you, “you made it?” you ask genuinely as he helps you rise to standing again.

“no,” he smiles and you roll your eyes, “but im wondering how you managed to spill any with this itty bitty fucking ladle?” he jokes, lifting the ladle and watching it pour the small bit of juice it managed to gather back into the bowl.

“i just wasn’t paying attention,” you laugh and sip your drink again.

“mhm…why’s that?” he squints his eyes down at you.

you tap two of your french tip fingernails against your skull, “so much is happening up here.”

“like what?”

“i don’t knowww,” you smirk and look away to take another sip of your drink.

“well, i know you look sexy as fuck in this dress right now. look at you,” he wets his lips and offers his hand to you with a grin, showing off a few of his shining tooth gems.

you try to maintain your composure and not smile too big but it’s a challenge when he playfully gets you to spin slowly for him and show off the tiny strapless dress you have on as he “oouu”s and whistles to hype you up.

“mm, you like that?” you look up at him, blinking slowly.

he nods and chuckles, “you know damn well-” looking off to the side then gaining your eye contact once more as he wipes over his mouth with his hand, glancing over your body, “‘course i do.”

"good. we should dance then," you guide him to the living room with his hand still in yours.

౨ৎ

you hate to be the bitch on her phone at a party but you can’t stop staring at it. you tap past the story then go back to look again. you even rewatch it in the perspective of someone who hadn’t been there to see the photo taken to see how it would be perceived. hurting your own feelings knowing they could very well assume matt to be erin’s boyfriend with how close they’re standing and her lips against his face.

it’s very dizzying and ruining your high quite a bit, especially paired with andrea who continues to look to you to celebrate after every ping pong ball she throws whether she makes it or not.

you go to rewatch the story once more, only this time a text from matt slides down on your screen to interrupt your sulking:

MATT

Hey come here

Y/N

where???

MATT

Outside youll see me

you let andrea know you’re going outside for air before walking over to a glass sliding door to let yourself out.

you see matt holding a stick while looking down at his phone, fire pit radiating next to him, a mass of people surrounding it.

your arms wrap and hold onto your shoulders as you walk closer, feeling the breeze rack through your body despite the internal heat from the many drinks you've had over the course of the night.

as you approach, asha gets up from her spot on nick's lap to give you a hug, "y/n! hiii." she pulls away and her hands remain on your shoulders, "your cake was so delicious, i tried a bite of each."

"oh good, 'm glad." you smile.

she feels your hands, "are you cold, babe? come sit." she guides you over to the group of people sat around the fire. "you can take my spot, i'll stand," she insists and nick agrees smiling kindly.

you interrupt matt's texting to figure out why he wanted you here, cupping your hands to shout, "matt!" across the lawn from your spot atop nick.

he looks over and quips his head while moving closer, "hey, was just wonderin' if you'd try my s'more? nick thinks he makes them best." he smiles but you can't help but feel that there's a catch to this.

"always gotta prove someone wrong. yeah, i'll do it." you agree as he moves to grab the snack he'd apparently already prepared.

nick mutters, "don't let him bully you into liking his, and don't forget who's acting as your chair currently!" from behind you as you giggle into the bite that matt gives you, holding the smore in his hand up to your mouth.

you chew slowly and matt watches, chatter and crinkles of the fire filling the heated space. you finally nod your head and matt smirks, "so good, right?" matt asks and brings his hand to hold your face and wipe around the corner of your mouth, looking to his right with a smile then back to you.

you feel awkwardly and unnaturally sensual, moving his hand away from your face and searching for what he's looked over to, catching the eye of lucas, standing with a group of guys lighting up near a fence. so that is the fucking catch.

you lick your lips of any remaining marshmallow and shake your head, annoyed, "i don't know, it tastes normal and graham cracker is fucking stale." you look up at him and his face is adorned with confusion on your change of heart.

you feel too fucking weird about this. you wish you couldn't believe that he'd use your feelings towards him for some weird shit like claiming you from lucas, but it's not surprising in the slightest; matt wants his cake yet he'll always want to eat it too.

"yeah, nick wins." you pat the side of nick's thigh to grab his attention and tell him the news, making him cheer and bring you into his chest for a small hug.

matt's lips form the smallest pucker as he watches you get up and walk towards the house without further conversation.

"bye, y/n!" asha yells.

౨ৎ

matt lays flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling to try and organize his many thoughts when his door creaks slightly, allowing a roar of party chatter into his space before it shuts again.

he lifts only his head up to see erin stood with a small smile before letting himself fall back into his plush comforter, "hey, i got your shit in the first drawer over there." he points to a tall dresser across the room.

he listens to her shuffle around before finding a large bag of weed, coming close to him and placing a few folded bills in his front pocket slowly. she then moves so that she hovers over his dazed face, "thank you, are you sure you don't need anything else from me? it is your birthday..." she grins and runs a hand over his chest. he mimics her smile (intended in more of a mocking way than she takes it) and laughs softly.

"no, i'm good on that, e. you enjoy your doobies and shit," he continues to softly laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides before she thanks him again and gives him a small peck.

"happy birthday, matty!" she sings before closing the door to his room and heading straight to his bathroom next door to pee.

matt would say it hasn't even been four minutes since erin left him when you're stumbling into his room. he repeats his look up, only to soften a bit when he sees you make effort to move some of his shoes out of the walkway so that you don't trip, "hi, baby" he waves you over with his fingers and welcomes you as if you'll be staying for long, "lock that door for me." he figures if you came to see him after storming away like that at the fire pit you're either gonna spit your thoughts in his face or sit on his face, there's no in between.

"i found you," you smile and twist the smaller knob to lock the door from the rowdiness. you then make your way over to sit at the end of his bed and begin to fiddle with the straps on your tiny heels, "my feet have been achin' so bad," you look at him as you complain.

"mm, i'm sure."

when your feet are finally free from your shoes you place them on the ground and adjust yourself on the bed. you silently grimace seeing matt with his shoes remaining on his feet despite being on his bed.

he giggles when you begin to unlace them, "feel like a fuckin' princess."

you roll your eyes and begin to pull them off, "with the way you act you might as well be one."

"ouch? it's my birthday," he holds his heart while looking to you playfully.

you tilt your head and drop his second shoe right on the floor as you stare back at him, "oh, i know."

"right. what's wrong now?"

you run your hands along his legs as you inch up his body and hover yourself over his crotch, "nothing. everything's fine, right?" you adjust your hair away from your face.

"sure, uh huh," matt looks up at you and bites his lower lip while moving his hands to hold and squeeze your full thighs. he silently admires the way you fill that tiny dress and look down at him from this angle.

you look away for a moment then decide to put your full weight onto matt, muffled groan leaving his mouth. your lips curve up as you pull his bottom lip from his mouth with your thumb to replace it with your mouth, sucking and kissing it. your tongue runs over his lips a few times before matt takes hold of your head and pulls you impossibly closer to capture your mouth messily with his own.

the kiss is a filthy, drunken sight: noses meshing and colliding, tongues playing and licking, and moans escaping and ringing into the air desperately.

you pull away with a wet smack and whisper into his lips, "i've got another present for you..."

"mmm?" his eyes widen and he squeezes your neck gently, kissing you once more, "for real? like, more than this?!" his hand feathers over your ass, insinuating the way you're sat on top of him right now could easily be his best gift tonight.

"yes," you breathe then begin to giggle, "you're gonna lose your shit, i think."

his mind can think of a lot of things you could do to make him lose his shit, "damn, okay. well, show me. you got my stomach dancin' and shit." he holds you so that you stay put as he lifts himself to rest on his elbows.

your smile bites over your bottom lip now as you raise yourself from his lap once more. your nail taps against your upper thigh as you look down at him, "kiss, please?"

he doesn't have to move much, as your leg is already so close to his face. he keeps heated eye contact with you when he kisses and marks the skin you'd point to, causing small mindless noises to fall from your mouth as you play with his soft hair (that you unfortunately hadn't seen much of tonight).

when he's finished he looks up to you with his red, puffy eyes and wet lips as you thank him, "now...pay attention." you gently demand as you slowly move your dress up your body.

matt studies your movement in awe, eventually catching your gift in his line of sight. he knows you must think you're so sneaky when you only show a glimmer of your lacy white panties, with a cursive red "M" embroidered near the waistband, before quickly pushing your dress back down with an uncontrollable laugh.

matt's face morphs to express a million different emotions and he doesn't realize how loud his voice is when he speaks, "what the fuck?!" he looks up at you- with your head thrown back laughing -then back to your covered lower half. "what was that? hold the fuck on," you body is so loose with laughter that he easily grabs you and flips you onto the bed so that you lay underneath him, still squirming in your own giggles (yelling a few "matt!"s or "matt wait i can't breathe!"s).

his face is full of amusement when he firmly lifts your dress to get a better look at what you've done for him. "oh my god, 'm gonna pass the fuck out. look at you, sunny!" he rubs his eyes dramatically and shakes his head. "no, you're so bad."

"you like it?" you ask, licking over your lips and reaching your hands up to trace the small hairs prickling on matt's jawline.

"course i do, the fuck type of question is that?!" he turns his face to kiss your inner palm before bending closer to kiss your lips once more.

"happy birthday, matt." you say in between kisses, "there's somethin' else if you look a little more."

"really?" he immediately splits from you and looks to your panties once more, running his hands over your lower stomach. the cherry red joint laying against your hip and tucked into your underwear catches him by surprise but the stoner in him nearly cums on the spot.

he removes it from it's place and kisses you mumbling a reminder that "you're so hot" and "the marijuana bug must've bit you real bad" before he gets up to store it in his bedside table, patting the closed drawer and joking, "for when i miss you."

he stands above you for an extra second to shake his head slowly with a tut, but when you whine "c'mereee," he's hushing you and removing his shirt before crawling back on top of you.

your hands run across every inch of his warm torso as you both sloppily kiss, and matt's own hands curiously make their way into your underwear for a proper feel of your wet core.

he allows you to desperately grind your hips against his hand until he eventually decides he needs to taste you. he lowers himself to face your clothed pussy, tracing the "M" with a finger as he places his tongue flat against you and places pressure on your most sensitive area.

his finger once tracing, now moves to pull the tiny piece of fabric off of you. he looks into your eyes as he easily stuffs the cloth in his back pocket, mumbling "mine now" while moving his fingers through your sticky folds.

you cry out when he dips two fingers into you teasingly, over and over again, and another series of moans leaves your mouth when he begins to lick over your clit eagerly.

matt continues his efforts, spitting on your clit a few times to watch it drip down to where his fingers harshly move inside of you; his movements quickening while he watches.

and just before you cum you dumbly warn him, which makes him stop entirely. "no, matt. stop, please come back. please."

"shhh. don't start that shit, you'll cum twice on your day..." he unbuttons his pants, "plus, you know it feels so much better when you wait and have to chase it a few times." he smirks and nudges your clit with his finger once more making you breathe out a moan and close your legs around his hand.

he pulls away from you to finish undressing before laying back dowm in his tight boxers, "come take care of me, sunny. i need you."

"hm...and i needed you too..." you lift yourself up and pout as you climb off the bed and get closer to where he lies, turning and moving your hair away for your back, "unzip me, please?"

he does just as you say and watches you finish removing your dress in only one movement. when you climb on top of him he now gets a view of your tits directly in his face that has him humming and immediately feeling you up.

he kisses and licks the skin while you scratch at his scalp in the most sensual way. you reach behind you to dip your hand into his boxers, immediately coming in contact with his sensitive and slightly sticky tip. he tilts his head back with a groan as soon as you begin to stroke him beneath the fabric making a sinical smile form on your face.

you push the boxers further down his thighs to fully expose him as you bring your lips down to him again. his moans flow into your mouth when you repeatedly rush your movements then slowly circle his head.

eventually matt's eyebrows pinch in terribly tight and he grabs your hand, sighing, "god damn, baby. chill or i'll be cummin' before i'm inside you."

you roll your eyes playfully, "okay?" as you adjust yourself to align over his length, before sinking down on top of him.

"mmm, fuck." he encourages when you lift yourself and slam back down on top of him. you move his hands to hold your hips then spread your hands over his chest as you continue.

matt can't help but slap your ass a few times after discovering the way your muscles flutter around him so perfectly each time. but one smack in particular aids you to practically fall onto his chest whining, "matt i can't, please just-."

he immediately lifts your face to give him a much needed kiss before reaching to realign himself and hold onto you as he thrusts rhythmically into you.

moans sneak from your mouth and interrupt you from kissing and holding onto matt's neck, which only encourage matt until he's completely flustered and drilling into you sloppily.

matt can tell you're cumming by your all too and familiar broken moans. and once you harshly kiss him and ask him to let go in return he finally stills inside of you and groans into your soft shoulder.

a silence coats the room, leaving the overpowering music and talking of the party to linger through the air in a cloudy murmur.

matt keeps his arms around you while you recover from your high, staring at the ceiling of his faintly lit room in questionable thought.

and he assumes you must be doing the same; only he mistakes the wetness of your tears for his own sweat as you turn your head away from him to dissolve your embarrassingly shaky breaths.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list is in the replies ily!!!!

[gibsongirled]

THE LA DREAM !!

description: you move to los angeles and your neighbor is like really cute !!

a/n: i feel like some of the paragraphs in this encapsulates my feelings for los angeles

You thought that moving to LA was going to be easy.

And as you struggled to carry your boxes up the stairs, you took back your words and huffed out a breath of frustration. The boxes weren't even that heavy, but the third flight of stairs made you wobble as you reached the top. Curse LA and their trends to make everything unbearable. And maybe you were slightly to blame as you picked the one building where there were no elevators- but the rent was cheap, so you were willing to look past the small hassle of climbing up three flights of stairs - everyday - after a long day of work for the sweet low low price of an apartment not costing an arm and a leg.

"Woah, there!" The top box staggered and you heard a loud exclaim, a sudden flash of hands rushed over to steady your poorly made tower of boxes. You stumbled backwards - grateful that you were not on the stairs - trying to steady yourself and the boxes, one foot back to hold yourself up. It took a moment, but you and the boxes remained still and you let out a breath of relief.

“Thank you,” you let out a small laugh as the hands disappeared back to its owner, and you placed the boxes down on the carpeted hallway floor. You glanced back up. Holy shit, that guy with the hands is so fucking tall. Pale and four eyed with a charming smile that seemed to make your heart beat fast to the point where doctors could have mistaken it for arrhythmia. You straightened back up, holding out your hand for the guy to shake and your name spilled out, a smile finding its way onto your face.

“I’m Ted,” he parroted back your name as if he was sounding it out, his hand gripping yours with a firm handshake. Wow, he has nice hands. Really, really nice hands. He broke the handshake, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You never knew what to do with your hands. Do you mirror him and stuff your hands in your pockets too? Do you cross your arms? Do you just let them awkwardly hang by your side? The options were endless! “So you moving in?”

You settled on awkwardly placing your elbow on the top box, patting it like you would with a car. “Yep, right over here.” You nodded to where you stood. “What about you?”

“No way!” Ted’s eyes shone with pure unadulterated excitement- in a way, it kind of reminded you of a golden retriever. He jammed a thumb behind him, clearly showing off the door that was across from yours. “I live over there!” What a surprise. You moved to Los Angeles in pursuit of something great that you couldn’t get in your backwoods hometown and your neighbor gives off the vibes of a “boy next door” kinda aura that you cannot seem to shake.

“Ey, that’s cool!” You cocked a finger gun at him. What are you doing? He cocked one back. Oh cool, you’re not the only weird one here.

“Are you new to LA?” Ted asked, clearly seeing that you were very much out of place, unlike him. You nodded, giving him a wry smile and a slight chuckle. “Yeah, that obvious, huh?”

Ted gave you a shrug, “Just a bit.” Well, there was no sugar coating that was there? “I can give you a tour if you want? Show you all the places you’d get scammed as a tourist? You’d be surprised at how many places do that.” Now that was a fucking offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure there was a somewhat high chance that he was luring you into a trap and then murdering you in some alley behind a Macy’s, but name one murderer who gave off the somewhat calm vibes that this guy was radiating. Actually, maybe not. God, America was weird.

“I’d be totally down for that!” You exclaimed, internally giggling at the fact that you were going to see the best places to get scammed. And to get to know your neighbor, of course. But you knew where your priorities lay. Ted laughed at your eagerness and nodded, taking out his car keys. Your eyes followed Ted as he made his way down the stairs, he stood on the second to last step, glancing up at you.

“Would tomorrow be good for you?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 99.9

Pepito ends round 3 with a blast, but not the way he wanted.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Greatest in the Galaxy Part 9

“With Pepito’s amazing win, he has gained five points for his team, putting Earth at 18 points! Rory having placed second has earned three, keeping Irk at second with 13!”

The audience cheers excitedly as Pepito limps up to his team’s sky box. They’re all at the door to greet him and make sure he’s okay.

“That was amazing!” Dib exclaims.

“Kind of show-off-y,” Gaz comments.

“I appreciate the showmanship,” Zim remarks.

“You have solidified our place in first,” Tak says.

“Are you alright?” Squee asks.

“I’ll be fine,” Pepito replies as he sits at the table, wincing slightly. “That blast just took everything I had. Some rest and I’ll be good as new.”

“Let’s move onto the fight! Who will be the players for this round?”

Everyone watches the wheels as they select the next players.

“It shall be...Zinather of Irk, Olap of Swif’el, Piton of Techon-03, Flexor of Mus’ular and Pepito of Earth!”

The Battalion gasp with despair and look at Pepito.

“Well, shit,” he grunts and stands up.

“You’re not well enough to fight,” Shmoopy points out.

“Definitely not at my best, no,” he agrees as he stretches and winces. “Too bad we can’t order some MacMeaties takeout. But I still got this. I can still use my wings and my spear.”

“Zinather won’t go down easy,” Dib points out.

“Neither will I,” Pepito retorts, “and I won’t let that little snot get away with what he did to you.”

“Be careful,” Squee begs.

Pepito smiles warmly as he grabs his spear and heads for the balcony. “Don’t any of you hop in either if the fight starts going bad. It’s not over ‘til it’s over.”

Just like in the last game, he dives off the balcony and uses his wings to carry him to the middle of the arena, where the other players are already waiting.

“Now that everyone is here, begin!”

Olap, Piton, and Flexor, immediately back away to the sidelines while Pepito and Zinather stare each other down.

“You know, I noticed something in your fight with Dib,” Pepito muses, “you didn’t move from that spot once. I’m gonna do something about that.”

Zinather snorts. “You’re putting on a big show, but I can tell just by looking at you- you’re barely able to stand right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ll admit, giving that blast everything I had probably wasn’t the best idea, but...I don’t do anything small.”

Pepito flaps his wings and charges at Zinather at high speed, swinging his spear. Two of Zinather’s spider legs extend to block, but Pepito suddenly stops and goes around to strike at his back. Zinather’s other two spider legs block him just in time, knocking back his spear. The other two appendages stab back at him, but Pepito leaps backwards to dodge.

Once safely out of range, Pepito flies back around to Zinather’s front and charges again. Zinather’s spider legs lunge to meet him and the two clash, their blades clanging against each other as they strike and block.

One of Zinather’s spider legs thrust at Pepito’s stomach when his blade is parried. But before it can hit him, there’s a flash of red and Pepito leaps back.

Zinather freezes and glances at his suddenly damaged spider leg. He looks back at Pepito who is standing on the other side of the stadium, his newly-summoned tail holding the severed appendage. Pepito smirks before taking flight.

In the sky, he whips his tail, throwing the spider leg at Zinather. His working appendages move to knock it out of the way, but the severed piece suddenly starts glowing black and flies around the Irken.

Zinather glares up at Pepito, who points his fingers to direct the flight of the spider leg.

Zinather starts to retract his spider legs, when the severed piece shoots at him again, and he’s forced to block. It flies around him to his other side and Zinather’s spider legs swiftly follow to parry it. It pulls back and flies around to his rear, and Zinather’s spider legs barely keep up to block.

Pepito hovers overhead, directing all of the movements. He moves the spider leg fast and unrelenting, giving Zinather barely any time to react.

It charges his front and Zinather’s spider legs move to block, when it suddenly charges course and flies in from the right. His spider legs are seconds too slow to stop it and the severed appendage closes in on his face. Zinather bends his head backwards, barely dodging it.

The appendage comes back from the left. Zinather’s spider legs move to block, when Pepito suddenly comes up on his right. As the two attacks close in, Zinather’s spider legs struggle to keep up.

Zinather leaps backwards, dodging the severed spider leg and Pepito’s spear.

“Made ya move,” Pepito grins cheekily.

Zinather glares daggers at him. He retracts his spider legs and they’re quickly replaced with metallic tentacles, each with a different weapon on the end: a spinning saw blade, a sharp clamp, a laser shooter, and a mass of smaller tendrils.

“You know, the problem with you fighting twice in a row is everyone has already seen all of your attacks,” Pepito points out.

“It’s not a problem if I can’t be beat,” Zinather retorts.

The tendrils lunge at Pepito. He directs his spider leg to charge and follows beside it.

The spider leg is swiftly caught in the clamp and crushed. The multi-tendril tries to grab Pepito, but he catches it instead and rips it in half. Before he can have a chance to take control of it though, the laser quickly destroy it.

The saw, the clamp, and the laser bear down on Pepito. He creates a force field that blocks the laser fire, but the saw and clamp come around at him. He swings his spear and manages to sever the saw, but the clamp catches his left shoulder and chomps down. Pepito cries out in pain, grabs the tendril, and bites through it, severing it. The clamp falls lifeless to the ground and drops of darkened red blood fall next to it as Pepito’s left arm hangs limply.

“I have to end this now,” Pepito snarls. He plants his working hand against the force field blocking the laser fire and explodes it outwards, destroying the laser tendril and knocking back Zinather a few inches. When he recovers, he sees Pepito pointing his spear, black energy swirling around his body.

Zinather quickly retracts his severed tendrils and a large plasma cannon extends out of his PAK and takes aim.

“Rory’s was bigger,” Pepito comments as his energy converges on the tip of his spear.

Both weapons fire beams of different coloured energy- one pink, one black. They clash in the middle, causing an explosion that covers the whole arena and blinds the audience.

When the light fades and the dust settles, Olap, Piton, and Flexor are all lying on the ground, unconscious. Pepito and Zinather remain standing, glaring at each other.

“Ah, shit,” Pepito grunts before collapsing to his knees and falling onto the ground. Zinather glares down at him as he retracts his cannon.

“What a fight, folks! Zinather has taken the win, earning Irk a total of 18 points, tying them in first with Earth! But I don’t think Earth will want to give it up so easily!”

The Battalion quickly rush out into the arena and to Pepito. Squee and Gaz roll him over and Shmoopy gives him a quick look over.

“The wound on his arm can be easily fixed,” she explains, “but he is completely drained.”

“He needs some greasy food, stat,” Squee demands.

“Let’s get him back to the house,” Kio orders and gets him on a stretcher.

As the team leave the stadium, Squee stops when he notices Zinather once again with the Tallest, just like yesterday. The trio look at him and the Tallest wave cheekily.

Squee growls, a murderous feeling growing in his chest.

[senor-plume]

Shovel (a short story)

  He called his wife on the phone. There was nothing else to do.  He had masturbated two times already that day. Not a thing on the television and besides it was raining out. Nothing inside, nothing outside.   She picked up and said hello. The second he heard her voice he regretted calling. He could have gone out and stood naked in the freezing rain. He could have swallowed a fist full of sleeping pills and unplugged the phone. He could have tried to get it up one more time and go for three strikes on hid belly. But he didn't. He called his wife and now it was too late to turn back. "How are you doing Marie?" A loud and long sigh came from the other end. He heard her suck in her breath and he braced himself. "Well, you know the guy downstairs is supposed to shovel the walkway. The motherfucker pays less rent than I do because he's supposed to help around this shithole apartment. I got home from work to find that not only was the sidewalk not done but the son of a bitch never got around to the driveway. I had to park on the street with all the other assholes who live on this godforsaken road. So I went to his apartment to find out why nothing had been done. You know me, Vince, you don't want to piss me off! So I go and bang on his damn door. Blam blam blam blam! His wife answers stinking of booze. That lady is fucked up. Do you remember the time she came up to my place when you were over fixing the sink? She started screaming at me to keep the banging down and I was like "listen lady, my fucking husband is over here fixing my sink and if you don't like the fucking sounds you can kiss my big fat clogged up sink of an ass!" Holy shit that was a riot! Anyway, she opens the door and I ask her why her fucking husband has not shoveled the sidewalk and all. I mean he had 24 hours to get the damned job done. Of course, I didn't say that! I just said: "hey, is Frank around? He was supposed to shovel and all." And then, you know what she said to me? You are not going to believe this. She said that Frank cut his fingers while slicing a fucking ham and got 66 stitches on his left hand! I almost shit myself! So, of course, I asked her how he was doing. Just to be human, you know? She said he was in the tub relaxing with a drink. And you know what this means? Don't you? This means that no one is going to shovel the fucking snow! I'm going to be parking on that street for weeks! Jesus Christ. Why me? Of all the places I could be living, I live in this stink-hole place with a sloppy meat cutter as the handyman idiot." "Why don't you call the landlord and let him know the walkway is not being cleared. I'm sure he would want to know."

"What do you think I am? An idiot or something! I called him. Of course, I called him. Jesus! I called him the second I got my boots off. He said that as long as Frank is laid up...that's what he said! Laid up! What a moron! As long as Frank is laid up that maybe I could shovel for a while. He said he would knock off 30 bucks from the rent. The fucking gall of that fat bastard! Who the fuck does he think I am? Some lesbian butch? I told him to cram it. I said he could stick that rickety old shovel up his over used asshole. That's what I said Vince. So help me, that's what I said. He couldn't believe it! He went silent. Then I said, "No way, Jose" and slammed the phone down. I nearly busted the fucking thing! Haha! So, hell, I don't know what to do. Hey, hold on for a sec."

He heard her put the phone down on the table. He knew that table well. He bought it about 5 summers ago at the local Kmart. He carried the damned thing stuck in some cheap box up two flights of stairs in a horrible heat. Dragged it into the kitchen and put it together by himself. Alone. A very big accomplishment for a man who needs instructions for a hammer. This was supposed to be a surprise for Marie. She had been bitching about the old table ever since she had moved in. She came home that night. Put her keys on the table and without even looking at Vince who was sitting in one of the chairs said: "Jesus, Vincent, where the hell did you dig this nightmare up? Kmart?"

But still, to this day the table sat there. In his old apartment. A testament to his failures. He lit a cigarette and as he placed the match in the tray he heard her cough into his ear. Then curse and then, much to his dismay began to speak again.

"My God. I finally got out of my dress. I don't know why the hell I still, wear this ugly old thing you got me. I do know this though, I have to shave my legs. They are getting mighty hairy. Hey, you still like my legs, Vince? You used to go on and on about how much you adored my legs. Back in the early days. Before it all went to shit. Ain't that right Vince? So, you still like them? Do you think about them when you try to fall asleep on that bed of yours? Do you?" "Yeah, I guess I do. I don't know. Sometimes, I guess." "You guess? You guess? What kind of answer is that? Jesus, Vince. You are and always will be a real twit. You know that don't you?"

"Yeah, twit with a capital T."

  An hour later they hung up, or actually, she hung up on him. Pissed off about something or other. He stripped out of his sweat soaked shirt and decided to have a beer or two. Topless at the kitchen table, Vince sat with the bottle of Miller and stared out the window. The rain had turned to a very light snow. The street lights were just coming on and soon he would have to get ready for work.

  What the fuck happened to me Vince thought. How the hell did I become a third shift jackoff with an insane soon to be ex-wife and a car in danger of being taken away by the bank? It was too much for him apparently as he stood up and with the bottle in his hand, went to the bedroom where he fingered through a stack of books on the floor. In fact, the room was surrounded by books. Like ropes in a boxing ring. All four walls tattooed three feet high with books of every color and size. In no particular order, one could see. He grabbed Albert Camus's 'The Stranger' and flipped through the pages. He put it down and turned around. He put the bottle on the nightstand and walked over to the corner by the window. He kneeled down and searched. After a while, he picked the book he wanted. Terry Anderson's memoir 'Den Of Lions'. He opened the book and found the bent corner and read:

"Prayers in the night hurled fiercely at an absent God; plea's, promises, bargains offered, but no answers."

He picked up a shirt laying on the bed and put it on.

  Eating a bologna sandwich alone at work, Vince sat reading the paper. More bad news. Unemployment up. Riots in Germany. Bombs in the Mideast. The president is still a moron and worst of all the paper yanked Doonesbury from the funny pages after a controversial strip. Garfield is not funny, it's downright depressing he thought to himself. What is this world coming to? He gathered up his empty paper plate and coffee mug. Walked over to the garbage can and threw them in. Shit was rumbling. His stomach felt ill, so he headed off towards the men's room.

On his way, he ran into Marcella. She just lifted herself up from the water fountain and spotted him charging down the hall like a moose. "Vince! Hey hey, you, Moose? How are you?" He slowed down. Stopped actually and greeted her in return. "Marcella. Fine. I am fine. Did you hear about Doonesbury? The paper axed it, man." "I know. I read about it this afternoon when I woke up. It's an outrage! It was always the first thing I'd read when I got the dumb old paper. Hey, you in a hurry? Got time to grab a smoke outside? I'm dying for a cigarette."

His bowels churned. Bologna and depression do not mix. His belly was bursting, screaming for relief. And yet, he said: "For you, my friend, of course. I could use a dose of Turkish gold myself. I just ate."

Marcella smiled and pulled at his arm. "Ok then, Mr. Moose, let's go smoke."

 Outside they stood on the truck delivery station. Pallets laid around them in the snow among the discarded cigarette butts. Just a sliver of moon hiding behind the clouds made it a dark evening. Or morning.  It was around 3 AM and it had stopped snowing. They stood there silently smoking. Vince looked up at the sky. He wanted to see stars but it was impossible. It was too cloudy. "I wish we could see the stars but it's too cloudy." Marcella exhaled a puff of smoke and laughed "What is it with you and the stars? Every time we come out here you always talk about the stars. Just why is that Vinnie?"

Vince flicked his camel into the air. It landed with a suicide grace. He watched it as it slowly went out in the snow. "I don't know. I think I just like things that are far away."

"Interesting Mr. Mooseman. What about me? I'm right next to you. I bet you don't like me, eh?" She smiled and poked her elbow into his side. She laughed. "Well, out with the answer Moosey!"

He stood there silent. He reached into his pocket for another smoke. Lunch break was almost over but there was time for at least one more. He would have to wait two more hours before he could use the bathroom though.

"Marcella, may I ask you a question?" "Sure...why not! It's Friday and I'm in a good mood! But you're not ducking my question are you?" "I'm glad you're in a good mood, Marcella."

He lit the cigarette and put away his lighter. His fingers were getting cold and he wished he had brought his gloves from the car. His head tilted up as his lips opened. "Marcella, do you shovel your own driveway?" She laughed. "No, no. My son does. He's good at it too. Every time it snows, he's on the job! What a silly question, Mr. Moose. Why do you ask?"

He took a drag from his smoke and flicked the half done thing onto the ground. He turned away and began walking back to the building. No reason, he said. Just simply curious.

He opened the door and felt the heat hit him hard. He had a minute left to punch back in. He walked quickly to the time clock. There really was no time to do anything else. --------------------------------

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Ohana

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer’s in love with his new neighbor- and her son that’s just like him

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: Typical CM stuff (Amplification specifically), Single Parent!Reader, slight angst

“Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten.” -Lilo and Stitch

~

Spencer remembered the day you moved in. He remembered you lugging boxes up five flights of stairs by yourself. When he saw you struggling with a heavy box, trying to find your key, he decided to be bold and help. 

“You look like you could use some assistance,” he said. “I’m, uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I live right across the hall.”

“Dr. (Y/N) (L/N),” you said.

“Here, let me hold the box for you.”

“Careful, it’s heavy,” you said, shifting it into his arms. 

Spencer was jostled for a moment from the weight of the box, which was labeled (Y/N)’s Books. “So, MD or PhD?” he asked you as you searched for the right key. 

“PhD, I’m too squeamish to be in the medical field,” you said with a laugh. It was the most beautiful sound Spencer had ever heard. “What about you?”

“What? Oh,” Spencer shook his head, focusing back on the conversation. “PhDs.”

You stopped sorting through your keys and turned to face Spencer. “Plural? Holy shit, are you a genius or something?”

Spencer let out a small laugh before saying, “Yeah, technically. But I don’t think intelligence can be accurately quantified.”

You finally found the right key and sighed as you heard the lock click. “Um, you can set the box with the others by the bookshelf.”

Spencer turned to see a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, much like his own, with boxes upon boxes of books in front of it. Some were labeled Academics, some had the same label as the one he was currently holding, and some had Oliver’s Books scrawled across the top.

“So, uh, where are you moving from?” he asked you, following the maze of boxes to your kitchen.

You offered him a bottle of water. “Erie, Pennsylvania. I got a job at Georgetown as an Associate Professor in the history department.”

“Oh, I guest lecture there every once in a while. In the criminology department. Uh, what’s your concentration?” Spencer took a sip from the water bottle. 

“Medieval and Renaissance history,” you said. “I get to teach fun classes like Medieval Weaponry and Warfare.”

“Well, maybe I can sit in on that class someday.”

You smiled at him and that was when Spencer knew, you’d worked your way into his heart and you were never leaving.

~

Spencer remembered the first time he met Oliver. It was 53 hours, 27 minutes, and 15 seconds since the day he met you. He was coming home from an exhausting case when he saw you trying to balance paper shopping bags in your arms while opening your door. A small boy, no older than 6, stood behind you with oversized headphones and a mobile gaming system. He had a huge backpack on his shoulders.

“Ollie, take the keys. Ollie. Oliver.”

“You need some help?” Spencer asked, setting his go-bag in front of his door.

“Spencer, hi! Um, some help would be great.” Spencer took the bags from your arms so you could open the door. “Oh, uh, this is Oliver, my son.”

“Your-your son?” Spencer asked. If you had a son, it was likely you had a partner. 

“Yep, he’s my boy.” You tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to say hi. The boy gave a small wave before going back to his game.

Spencer cleared his throat. “So, uh, where’s-where’s his father?”

“California. At least, that’s where he went when he left us.” Your hand was resting on top of your son’s head. He looked just like you. “Here, can you just set the bags on the counter?” you asked after opening the door. Oliver started down the hallway when you grabbed the loop of his backpack. “Not so fast. You know the rules. Homework first, then you can play your game again.”

Oliver groaned and handed you his game. You set it on the counter next to the bags of groceries. 

“So, you’re raising him alone?” Spencer asked you. 

You nodded and started unpacking the bags. “Yeah. You know, it’s been hard, but I can’t imagine life without my Ollie. He’s my heart and soul.”

~

Spencer and you became friends quite quickly. He told you about his job as a profiler, and you told him about working at the university. He would come over after cases and watch movies with you and Oliver. He’d help you put groceries away and he’d help you with simple tasks. 

He also picked up on Oliver’s eccentricities. He reminded Spencer of his younger self. He didn’t talk much about kids at school and he breezed through schoolwork. His interests seemed heightened beyond what could be considered normal for a kid his age. One day, Spencer decided to ask about it as inconspicuously as he could. 

The two of you were playing a game of chess when he brought it up.

“So, Oliver seems to be doing pretty well in school. What grade did you say he was in, second?”

“Yeah, the school bumped him up a grade. They wanted me to move him up to fourth, but I know how important it is to have friends your own age. And he already struggles to make friends.”

“He does? Why?”

You sighed, moving your knight. “Check. He was diagnosed as autistic when he was three. He doesn’t quite get social cues so it’s hard for him.”

Spencer moved his bishop and took your knight. “I’m sure his dad leaving didn’t help.”

“Well, he, uh, he never actually met his dad. Leo left me when I was four months pregnant.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You waved him off. “It’s fine. It was almost seven years ago. I moved on, and I learned to balance motherhood with college. I completed my undergrad when he was only a few months old and I worked on graduate school when he was a high-energy toddler. It just proved to me that I can do anything. Checkmate.”

~

Spencer was enjoying a rare day off on a Tuesday when his phone started ringing. He groaned, thinking it was Hotch with an urgent case. But when he saw your name on the caller ID, his face lit up. 

“(Y/N), hey!” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Ollie’s school just called me. He’s sick but I have classes and meetings all day so I can’t go get him and-”

“Are you asking if I can go get him?” Spencer said, cutting off your rambling.

“Yes! Could you, please? I’d be so so grateful.”

Spencer smiled, grabbing the spare key you gave him. “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you so much. There’s a spare car seat in the coat closet. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be picking him up. Thank you so much, Spencer.”

When Spencer got to the school, he was fidgety. He’d never spent time alone with your son before. And he wasn’t even sure if the kid liked him. 

He walked into the front office and said, “Hi, my name is Spencer Reid, I’m here to pick up Oliver (L/N)?”

“Oh, (Y/N) said you were coming to get him. If I could just see your ID?” the receptionist asked. Spencer nodded and pulled out his driver’s license. “Great, if you could just sign Oliver out on the clipboard here, you’ll be good to go.”

Spencer scribbled his signature on the clipboard and the receptionist got up to get Oliver from the back office. Oliver followed the receptionist, his backpack on his shoulders and a paper bag clutched in his hands. His face was pale and he was swaying slightly. 

“Hey, Ollie,” Spencer said.

“Hi, Spencer. Where’s my mom?”

“She got stuck at work, buddy. You’re gonna stay with me until she comes home, okay?”

Oliver nodded. “Okay.” He followed Spencer out of the school and climbed in the back of his car.

“Do you want me to put the window down?” Spencer offered, looking back at the boy in the mirror. When Oliver nodded, Spencer put his window down and pulled out of the parking lot.

After pulling into the parking garage, Spencer looked in the mirror again. Oliver was fast asleep, his head slumped against the door. Rather than waking the boy, Spencer unbuckled him and scooped him up in his arms. 

Oliver wrapped his little, sweaty arms around Spencer’s neck as he was carried inside. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was how much he cared for the boy, but Spencer pressed a small kiss to the side of his head. Spencer dug your spare key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, setting Ollie down on the couch.

After covering him with a blanket, Spencer dug around in your kitchen for some ginger ale and crackers. After setting them on the coffee table, he heard a small voice say, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Spencer noticed Oliver watching him from the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, handing Oliver the soda with a red bendy straw. “What do you mean, bud?”

“I know you like-like my mom. But you’re nice to me even when she’s not here. Matt didn’t do that. He called me names when Mom wasn’t around. He said I was weird.”

Spencer knew Matt was your ex from your time working at the Erie campus of Penn State. He was the first person you’d been with since Oliver’s father. And hearing how he treated Oliver didn’t sit right with Spencer.

Spencer sighed and looked at Oliver. “I’m nice to you because I like you, too. And I was a lot like you when I was your age.”

“You were?” Oliver handed the cup back to Spencer to set back on the table.

Spencer nodded. “People still think I’m weird. But being weird is good. How boring would the world be if everyone was normal?”

Oliver smiled. “It would be pretty boring,” he said.

“Get some rest, okay? It’ll help you feel better.”

You finally managed to sneak out of work and get home. When you opened the door, you saw Spencer sitting in the chair across from your sleeping son, reading a book. 

“Hey,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

“Hey. How is he?”

“He has a low-grade fever and he hasn’t been able to keep anything in his stomach. I’ve been having him nibble on some crackers but even that doesn’t stay down.”

“Oh, my poor boy. Thank you for staying with him.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for you, for both of you.”

~

The team got back from a particularly rough case dealing with kids. Hotch gave them the weekend off to recuperate. 

“Anyone want to go grab a drink?” Derek offered to the group.

“Or five?” Emily added.

“What do you say, kid? You in?” Derek asked Spencer as the younger man packed up his bag. 

“Oh, no, sorry. I, uh, I have plans,” he said with a smile before slipping out of the office. The team watched him hurry out of the building before sharing glances with each other. 

“Spence has a girlfriend,” JJ realized. 

“Pretty boy has a girlfriend?”

“Think about it. When does Spencer ever have plans? And when was the last time he didn’t stay to do paperwork when we were given the time off?”

“And he upgraded his phone out of nowhere,” Emily chimed in. “He went from one that had only the bare essentials to a smartphone he texts on all the time.”

“We need to find out who this girl is,” Morgan decided. 

Spencer had been keeping you a secret from the team on purpose. Not because he was ashamed of you, or embarrassed, but because he knew the team saw him as the baby and they would be invasive if they ever found out. He didn’t want them to scare you away, he loved you too much to lose you. Though, he hadn’t said it out loud yet.

~

You and Spencer were walking down the street, Oliver asleep on Spencer’s back, snoring against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck.

“You have no idea how excited he is for you to see his science fair project,” you said. “It was all he could talk about all week.”

Spencer smiled and adjusted the boy on his back. “I think I’m just as excited to see his project, especially since he wouldn’t let me know anything about it.”

You reached the apartment complex and you dug your keys out of your bag. “Are you sure you can carry him up the stairs? I can wake him if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine. I got him,” Spencer whispered, moving so that Oliver was clinging to his front rather than his back. He followed you up the stairs to your apartment. When you unlocked the door, he went straight to Oliver’s room and put the tired boy in his bed. He kissed Ollie’s forehead before flicking on his nightlight and leaving the room. 

“Oh, hey,” you said when Spencer came out of the room, “Is he still out?”

“Yeah. I think we might have put him in a coma.”

You laughed and kissed Spencer’s cheek. “Go get some sleep. I know you’re tired, too.”

“I’m not-”

“Spence, you nearly fell asleep at the movies tonight. Go.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. But not without a kiss goodnight.”

You gave Spencer a kiss before shooing him across the hall. When Spencer unlocked his door and flicked on the light, he saw his team sitting in his living room. 

“What the hell? What are you doing here? JJ, I gave you a key for emergencies!”

“This is an emergency!” Penelope said. “You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us!”

“Kid, please tell me she’s a single mother and you haven’t been keeping a family a secret from us for years,” said Morgan.

Spencer was still annoyed his friends broke into his apartment, but he couldn’t resist talking about you, especially when they’d already seen you. “Her name’s (Y/N), she moved in about a year ago with her son, Oliver. We’ve been dating for three months.”

“Spence, why didn’t you tell us?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked down at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “I didn’t want you scaring her off. I love her. I love both of them. And you guys can be intimidating.”

~

“Spencer’s coming to the science fair tonight, right?” Oliver asked you as you got him ready for school. 

“That’s what he said,” you told him. “And you know Spencer likes to keep his promises.”

“I can’t wait to show him my mold project!”

“Okay, kiddo, we have to go. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

Meanwhile, Spencer was in the conference room at work, worrying about the latest case they’ve been presented. Someone was releasing a new strain of anthrax in public places around the DC area.

But under his stress over the case, he was worrying about you and Ollie. Maybe that’s why he worked so much harder on this one. 

He and Morgan were sent to the suspect’s house, and Spencer entered first. Looking around, he noticed his mistake. When Morgan made his way to the door, he slammed and locked the door. 

“Reid, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer was infected. He knew there was a large chance he would die, but he couldn’t stop working. He needed to find the antidote. HIs breathing was getting heavier and he felt sweat dripping down his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Hey, Garcia?”

“Reid! Oh, my god, Derek told me what happened. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“That’s not important right now,” he said. “Um, can you- can you record a message for me? It’s for (Y/N) and Ollie.”

“Oh, uh, of course.” He heard her typing. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Spencer cleared the lump in his throat. “Uh, hi, (Y/N), it’s Spencer. Um, I-I wanted to let you know that, uh, I love you and…” he paused, taking a breath and blinking tears from his eyes, “and I’m so happy you let me into your life, into your family. And I want Ollie to know I love him, too. You- both of you- you’re my family.”

After that, things happened too fast. Spencer was being pulled out of the house and hosed down before being ushered to the waiting ambulance. He fell out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital. 

When he woke up in a hospital bed, Morgan was sitting by his side. 

“Are you eating Jell-O?” he asked, his voice cracking from being dry.

Morgan lit up with a smile. “Welcome back, kid.”

“Is there anymore Jell-O?”

Morgan chuckled. “You know, there’s some people here waiting for you.”

“What?”

Before Morgan could explain, you and Oliver burst into the room.

“Oh, my god, Spence!” You ran over and hugged him the best you could with the various medical equipment attached to him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you scolded. 

Oliver climbed onto the bed and curled up next to Spencer. “Yeah, don’t do that again,” he said. “How can I take you to Donuts with Dad if you’re dead?” He looked up at Spencer with his big doe-eyes and Spencer felt his heart break a little bit. 

“You-you want me to go to Donuts with Dad with you? Even though I missed your science fair?”

Ollie nodded. “I don’t care that you missed my science fair. I just care that you’re still here.” He looked up and Spencer and wrapped his arms around his torso. “I love you, Spencer.” He gave Spencer a light squeeze. 

Spencer smiled and ruffled his hair. “I love you too, Ollie.” He looked up at you. “And I love you, (Y/N).”

You smiled and gave Spencer a soft kiss. 

“Ewww!” Ollie squealed, making you both laugh. 

~

Spencer proposed to you about a year later. You’d both decided you didn’t want a huge wedding, just family and close friends. Rossi gave his backyard for you to use for the ceremony. It was simple and small, but it was special and wonderful. Spencer had flown Diana out, and you’d flown your parents out.

After the ceremony, Spencer announced that the both of you had a surprise for Ollie. He went inside Rossi’s house and returned with a manila envelope. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, in this envelope, I hold the most important document I have ever signed.” He opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. “This certificate certifies that Oliver B. (L/N) is the adopted child of Spencer W. Reid,” he read.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “What? You’re- what?”

“Remember all those Saturdays Penelope watched you while Spencer and I went out? This is what we were doing,” you told him. 

Oliver ran over to you and Spencer and wrapped you in hugs. The rest of Spencer’s team and your parents joined in. In just two years, your family had gone from just you and your son to more people than you knew what to do with. And that was more than okay with you.

~

“They may not have my eyes, they may not have my smile, but they have all my heart.” -Anonymous

[wh6res]

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic. 

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane." 

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears. 

"bitch," you mutter under your breath. 

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again. 

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?" 

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway. 

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?" 

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him. 

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath. 

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement. 

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year. 

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her. 

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" 

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living. 

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing." 

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done. 

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way. 

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement. 

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears. 

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend. 

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word. 

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel. 

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode. 

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information. 

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics. 

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve. 

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too. 

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today  —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?" 

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind. 

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head. 

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest. 

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!" 

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys. 

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history." 

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said. 

"do you really want to know why?" 

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart. 

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss. 

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone. 

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment. 

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day. 

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor. 

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down. 

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud. 

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand. 

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't… 

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper. 

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused. 

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going. 

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back. 

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video. 

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers. 

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples. 

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration. 

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin. 

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day. 

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder. 

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp. 

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time. 

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside. 

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home. 

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off. 

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung. 

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him. 

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with. 

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it...  but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you. 

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob. 

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face. 

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

[ladyrivia]

Spitfire (Chapter One)

Summary: Anya Donato, a seasoned agent in the DEA transfers from New York to Columbia to take down Escobar. Upon arrival, two particular men catch her eye, Javier Pena and Colonel Carrillo.

No warnings! Except maybe google translate spanish.. Enjoy!

The fierce Columbian sun shined through the windows of the airport, giving Anya a bright welcome as she trudged down the stairs to customs. She dragged her suitcase behind her, duffel thrown over her shoulder carrying the remaining items of her previous life that was not already shipped down to the Embassy.

“Pasaporte, por favor.” passport, please. Digging through the inner pocket of her jacket, she pulled out her passport and required forms, handing them over to the man who was clearly tired of his job. “Gracias señora..Donato.” Thank you Mrs..Donato. He looked over the forms, stamping them and entering something into the system. “Bienvenida a Columbia.” Welcome to Columbia. He gave a tight lipped smile as he gave back her documents.

“Gracias.” Thank you. Anya replied, shoving the forms back into the pocket and continuing what seemed to be the never ending process of transferring to her new station in Columbia.

Anya walked to the ARRIVALS sign, where she was told that an agent would be picking her up. A handsome man walked towards her, his dark brown eyes scanning over your body. Perv. Anya thought, straightening her back and preparing to turn down whatever offer this man had.

“Excuse me señora, did you happen to see an agent on your flight?” Oh. Of course. He wasn’t expecting a woman to be joining. Her eyes narrowed, giving him a glare.

“I am the agent,” Anya dug through your pocket once more, showing him the shiny DEA badge before putting it back. “Señor.” His eyes widened, realizing his mistake, opening his mouth to form an apology, but she quickly cut him off. “Not another word. Can we just go now, I’m tired and ready to get the hell out of this airport.” He nodded, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and walking towards the exit. Normally, she’d argue and snatch her bag back, but she was too tired to care.

He led Anya to his black 4 door SUV, with scuffs and minor dents in it, showing its age. Throwing her bag in the back, she settled in the passenger seat. The car smelt heavily of cigarettes, which wasn’t too different from the car she sold right before heading to Columbia. If you were in the DEA, you either had a drinking problem or a smoking problem, if not both.

“I’m Javier, Javier Pena.” He was still trying to recover from his mistake earlier.

“Anya Donato. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes were focused on the city as they drove off, trying to get a sense of the area that she would now be living in. “Got a cigarette?” She looked towards him.

“Yeah,” He took out the pack from his front pocket, opening the carton for her to take one. “Here, lighter is in the console.” He grabbed one for himself and waited for Anya to finish lighting yours before handing the lighter to him. She took a long pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds before breathing it out, rolling down the window half way to allow fresh air to replace the smoke.

They smoked in silence, letting the nicotine settle her nerves.

“So.. where’d you transfer from?” Javier had never felt more awkward in his life. He normally always knew what to say, but with you he was at a loss.

“New York. Got tired of the snow and the cold.” She felt a smirk form on her face when she looked at him and said, “And I think you boys needed some help down here.” He looked at you, lips twitching into a grin

“Saying we’re incompetent?”

“Perhaps.” The banter eased the awkward vibe in the car, the two continuing to smoke while Javier pointed out places, whether it be a bad neighborhood, a good dive bar, or what she was most interested in, the best food choices.

“And here we are, home sweet home..” The car pulled into the Embassy, the security guards at the gate recognizing Javier’s car and immediately let him through. “I think the ambassador already left for today, I think they said something about a meeting.” He shrugged, clearly having not paid attention. “Let’s get you checked in here then we can get you set up at your new place.” He chucked the cigarette on the ground when he got out of the car, leading to the entrance of the large building. She opted to throw your cigarette butt into the trash can, grumbling something about littering.

“Pena!” A southern drawl called out. “You were supposed to pick up the new agent, not hire a new prostit-” Javi silenced him with a look.

“Agent Anya Donato,” She stuck out her hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I’m Steve Murphy.” He shook her hand.

“No harm done, you aren’t the first to assume.” Anya gave a pointed glare at Javier.

“Well, uh, welcome to the team.” Steve gestured to three desks pushed together in the bullpen. “That empty one is yours.” The group meandered to the desks, Anya plopping down in the uncomfortable office chair.

“Tomorrow we’ll have Carrillo get you your gun and fitted for Kevlar. For now you should get acquainted with our favorite narco.” Javier lifted a large box labeled ESCOBAR, putting it on the desk in front of her. Anya sighed, sitting up in her chair and taking the top off the box, finding it filled to the brim with papers.

“Where’s the coffee?” Her northern accent came out with the last words.

“The caw-fee is over there.” Javier mocked her accent, snickering when she flipped him off before retrieving a cup of shitty office coffee.

~

Hours passed, Javier was clicking away on the typewriter, Steve meandering around the office, retrieving information from the different intel groups that were scattered around the building. Anya’s eyes were starting to strain, the words becoming blurry on the paper. She snatched Javier’s cigarette box from where he placed it on the far corner of the desk, he got tired of taking it out every time she wanted to steal a cigarette.

“Don’t you have your own?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

“We’ve been over this Pena, I would’ve brought my own but Uncle Sam would’ve gotten pissy about it and I haven’t exactly had time to go get my own, nor do I have a car to do so.” Anya took a puff, then quickly took a swig of coffee. Not even 24 hours in and she was already returning to her bad habits.

“How many cups have you had?”

“..4..” She mumbled around the cigarette before looking up at Javier, eyebrow raised again. “Maybe 7.”

“Shit, Donato, how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

“You’ve been pouring over those papers for hours, why don’t we head out of here and go grab a drink with some of the guys?”

“You sure they’ll want me interrupting boy-time?” It was Anya’s turn to raise an eyebrow, she normally isn’t one to turn down drinks, but given the reaction she got upon first meeting her new partners, she wasn’t exactly excited to have to repeat that experience so soon.

“Of course, you’ve already interrupted it here,” Javi gestured around. “C’mon, I’m sure the trip down here wasn’t exactly easy. A few drinks could do you good.” He was pretty much begging her to come along at this point, he wanted to spend more time with her, get to know his new partner before they had to go guns-blazing into some drug lord's hideout.

“I guess so.” Anya put the lid back onto the box, downing the rest of her coffee and throwing it into the trash can near their desks. Javier quickly finished what he was typing before slinging his jacket on.

“You ready Donato?” She nodded and followed him back to his car.

~

The drive to the bar was short, the time filled with her asking clarifying questions about Escobar. Arriving at the bar, there were already other police vehicles parked. When she turned to ask him, he said, “We go here pretty much every night, it’s a good way to wind down.”

“Ah.” Anya and the New York DEA department had a place similar, except it was a 24 hour dinner/bar combo. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She can’t afford to get emotional, especially when she’s the only woman on a team full of men. The second she shows emotion it’s over. Everything she’s ever worked for, benched and it being chalked up to being ‘too emotional’.

They exited the car, Javier leading her to the usual spot that him and Carrillo liked to sit. It was a corner booth, allowing them to monitor everyone coming in and coming out.

“Why isn’t Steve here?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows at the realization that Steve wasn’t with the group, but she saw him leave shortly before they did.

“He has a wife, Connie. She’s a sweetheart, I think you two would get along.”

“You barely know me.”

“We’ll that’s why we’re here, aren’t we?” Javier gave her a smile, and she couldn’t help but give him a slight grin in return. Approaching the corner booth, Anya noticed a man already sitting at the table, but he stood up upon seeing the two walking towards him. His stare was intense, she could tell he was trying to get a read on her. He was undeniably handsome, but in a different way than Javier. Javier was charming, definitely an expert in flirting and wooing a woman. The stranger was just… hot. His uniform fit tightly around his biceps, a 5 o’clock shadow sculpting his face, a watch decorating his arms that she wished were—

Get a grip, Anya. She cursed herself out in her own head as she ogled at the man.

“Carrillo, cómo estás?” Carrillo, how are you? Javier greeted the man.

“Quien es tu amiga?” Who’s your friend? Carrillo ignored his question, nodding to Anya.

“��Recuerdas que mencioné que íbamos a conseguir un nuevo socio?” Remember me mentioning we were getting a new partner?

“Soy Anya, Anya Donato.” I’m Anya. She could tell that the man was surprised that the new partner was a woman, him continuing to analyze her every move.

“Colonel Carrillo.” His hand dwarfed Anya’s when they went to shake hands, they were warm, she could feel the calluses formed by years of hard work. Javier gestured for them to sit, him sliding in next to her and Carrillo sitting opposite of them. There was already a bowl of peanuts at the table, broken and discarded shells in a bowl next to it. Carrillo had obviously been munching on some before they arrived.

The waitress came by, dropping off menus and taking drink orders. The men had ordered whiskey.

“Aqua y…” Anya thought for a moment, deciding what drink she was in the mood for. Glancing over the menu, she decided to go with a classic Columbian cocktail. “Refajo por favor.” Water and a Refajo please. Carrillo and Javier gave her a quizzical look. “What? When in Rome..” She grabbed a peanut and cracked it while looking over the menu. Anya leaned over to Javier. “What’s good here?”

Carrillo was captivated by the woman. He certainly wasn’t expecting her when Javier said him and Steve were getting a new partner. While she was shorter than the two of them, she carried herself with the same confidence, even while having to look up to meet his eyes. He watched as she glanced over the menu with her big brown eyes while ordering her drink, the slight shade of pink that crossed her cheeks when they questioned her drink choice. Carrillo slightly tensed when she leaned over to Javier, a sense of jealousy sparking. Reúnanse, Horacio. Get yourself together, Horacio. He cussed himself out in his head.

“If you’re looking to try something local, you could try the Bandeja Paisa. It’s our National dish.” Carrillo grabbed another peanut as he spoke, cracking the shell with ease. He watched her fidget with the peanut in her hand while she looked for the dish on the menu.

“Yeah, I’ll try that. Thank you Carrillo.” Anya gave him a warm smile as she pulled back from Javier, placing the menu on the edge of the table so it was easier for the waitress to grab when she came back. The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and took their orders, Carrillo got a steak and Javier got a burger.

Anya finally attempted to crack the peanut, finding herself unable to. Carrillo noticed and raised an eyebrow, glancing at the peanut then back at her. She tried playing it off as if she was just fidgeting with it.

“Son of a bitch.” Anya muttered under her breath after a couple more tries. She could throw vicious punches, down a man twice her size in hand to hand combat, but she couldn’t crack a damn peanut.

Javier watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed her struggling with the peanut. It was cute watching her try to play it off when Carrillo noticed, but he could see the pink return shortly there after. Javier had snuck off earlier to read her file, the ambassador had given it to him and Murphy days prior, but they didn’t bother reading it, assuming it’d be another guy like them. He read about her work in New York, how she helped take down some Cali Cartel members. Anya would go in undercover, taking down sicarios in club’s bathroom in a dress and heels when she would lead them back there for what they assumed to be sex.

After watching her suffer with the damn peanut for a few more moments, he reached down to grab it, easily cracking it and handing it to her.

“Thanks.” Anya muttered, the blush returning to her cheeks, redder than before. She munched on the peanuts while she grabbed another, yet again failing to crack it on her own. Javier chuckled and helped her crack it again. This repeated until they had a cycle of Anya handing him a peanut and him cracking it for her, dropping the peanuts into her hand and putting the shells in the bowl.

The spark of jealousy returned in Carrillo when he watched Anya finally relinquish the peanut to Javier. Es un puto maní. Para. It’s a fucking peanut. Stop. Carrillo returned to insulting himself in his own head, but he couldn’t help s small twitch of a smirk when Anya’s blush returned to her face.

“So tell me about the Rumpus Room.” Javier asked Anya while he cracked yet another peanut for her.

“That shitty place? Finally decide to read my file, asshole?” Anya snorted and took another sip of her drink.

“Call me an asshole all you want but I’m the one cracking your peanuts, gringa.” Javier waved the peanut in front of her.

“Gringa? Come up with something original, lindo.” Pretty boy. She swatted his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Wonder where you learned that one,” He gave her the unshelled peanuts. “You gonna tell us or what?” He took a sip of his whiskey.

“Nothin’ much to say,” Anya said between crunches. “Awful place, smelled like cat piss.” She scrunched her nose. “Wasn’t anyone high profile, just a trafficker of theirs. Put on a tight red dress, strutted into the club and I had him in an instant. Practically drooled over me.” She shook her head. “We danced a bit and I whispered some..” Anya was worried of the reaction she would get, her plan worked well, but some think she’s promiscuous and a whore for how she took down these men. “Something dirty in his ear and led him to the back. Disarmed him quickly and just beat the shit out of him. Nothing special.” She practically chugged her drink, trying to ignore whatever reaction the two men had.

Well, there certainly was a reaction in their pants.

“In a dress and heels,” Javier whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Best not.” Anya let out a sigh of relief, neither of these men seemed to care about her unorthodox methods.

“You went in there without a weapon?” Carrillo’s fists were clenched, how could her superiors put her in such a dangerous position?

“Can’t hide much in a skin tight dress,” She shrugged, finishing off her drink. “Though I did hide a knife in my bra. My boss didn’t know about that.” A smirk came to her face. Carrillo did not find any of this funny. No backup or weapons, what if they had caught onto her? Over his dead body would he send—

Para, para, para. Stop, stop, stop. Carrillo pleaded with his mind once more as the waitress returned with refills and their meals.

The rest of dinner was filled with exchanges of stories, both men finding themselves enamored with the lively stories Anya told, the alcohol and time spent together making her feel more and more comfortable with the two. She was hungrier than expected, digging into her Bandeja Paisa.

“My god Carrillo!” Anya praised Carrillo for his recommendation, which was something he definitely wanted to hear again.

It was about midnight when Javier noticed Anya starting to slump, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with her.

“I’m okay seriously, I feel fine.” She felt the alcohol hitting her.

“You’re clearly tired, c’mon carñira, it’s time to get you home.” He groaned when he realized her apartment was empty, that was something they were meant to do before she arrived.

“Qué es?” What is it? Carrillo noticed the look on Javi’s face.

“Her apartment is empty. We were meant to get the essentials moved in before she arrived but with everything—”

“Bendejo.” Idiot. Carrillo muttered. “Ella puede quedarse en mi casa esta noche, tengo una habitación de invitados preparada.” She can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room set up. Javier eyed him, jealousy blooming in his mind. “Que? Quieres que duerma en la misma cama donde te follaste a las prostitutas?” What? You want her sleeping in the same bed you fucked prostitutes? Javier knew he was right, he wasn’t prepared for someone to stay over.

“My Spanish is good but I think I’m a bit drunk, fill me in?” Anya seemed to sober up a tad after nursing her glass of water.

“I may have forgotten to set up the furniture in your apartment..”

“You can stay at my house tonight, I have a guest room.”

“Oh. Yeah that.. that works, just need to grab my bags from his car.”

“Consider it done.”

~

“There you go. Take care of her.” Javier gave a slight glare at Carrillo, warning him if anything happened to her. Stop it Javi. You just met her today. She isn’t yours. “Goodnight, carñira. See you tomorrow.” He shut the back door of Carrillo’s car, where he had brought her bags over.

~

The drive to Carrillo’s house was quiet, Anya looking out the window and gazing at the city’s lights.

Upon arrival, he insisted on opening her door for her, wrapping his hand around her waist to make sure she didn’t trip up the stairs to his house. He knew she wouldn’t trip, she knew she wouldn’t trip, but neither said a word and played along with the excuse.

“Make yourself at home, here’s the guest bedroom,” He opened a door on the left. “Sorry about the boxes in there, work seems to follow me home.”

“Oh no worries, I’m the same.” The evidence boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, all of them combined was definitely taller than her.

“Bathroom is through that door,” Carrillo pointed to the door on the opposite wall. “And that door is my room, so if you need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She nodded. There was an awkward pause between them, before Anya spoke.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Not a problem, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here rather than a hotel in the city.” Or Javi’s apartment. Both of them knew the unspoken words. She did pick up a few words from their earlier conversation, something about in the same bed as fucking prostitutes let her everything she needed to know about Javi’s habits. “Goodnight, Anya.”

“Good night, Carrillo.”

[raysofcrosby]

Give us the preview bestie 👇🏽👇🏽👇🏽

hehehehe i also have ethan’s reaction typed up too if we want that 🤪 but without further ado, here it is💛

*wltay bonus chapter spoiler beneath the cut—unedited of course*

She shut the drawer and walked into her and Matt’s bathroom, leaning against the bathroom counter and staring down at the box as she exhaled heavily, opening it and tilting the three tests out of the box and into her right hand. Suddenly, she felt that same fear she had back when she was 17, even though she was older now and her situation was different. Caroline wasn’t a 17, almost 18 year old high school senior whose boyfriend was going off to live and play hockey in another country. She’s a 28 year old woman with two degrees, a successful job and is set to get married in two weeks.

But standing in right now holding the box of pregnancy tests, she was more nervous than scared. Her and Matt had talked about having another baby, but were going to wait until after the wedding to actively try for one. That gave them enough time to settle down and unpack in the house they’d bought in the same neighborhood that Gio and Lauren live in and came highly recommended, just at the end of the season and were set to move into in August.

Which meant that they weren’t going to try for another baby until that August and September time frame, which would put them at a summertime delivery, where Matt wouldn’t have a 50/50 chance of being away for a game or God forbid, a long road series in the States or anywhere else in Canada.

Yet if any of these tests said positive, then that meant they could be sitting at a much earlier time frame— depending on how far in the pregnancy she was…if she was even pregnant. For all she knew, the stress and fatigue she’d felt really were from dealing with school and finalizing the wedding details. And that sudden craving could’ve just been her body saying “hey, calm the fuck down and have some ice cream and fries,” instead of “hey, lol…you’ve got a baby in here!”

“Hey, we paused it for you cause I know how much you love Tim Riggins,” Matt laughed, walking into the bathroom, his right thumb pointing back over his shoulder as he stopped in the doorway “What’s that?”

“I bought it at the gas station before we picked you up.” Caroline handed him the box, still clutching the three tests in her right hand as she draped her left arm across her stomach. Matt turned the box over, his eyebrows furrowed until they raised as his eyes skimmed the pink front.

“Have you taken them yet?” He asked, lowering the box as he looked at her.

She shook her head, sighing heavily. “I’m 28 years old. I’ve been here before…” she looked at him, a frown on her face. “So is it bad that I’m absolutely terrified?”

He placed the box down onto the counter and walked in front of her, stepping close and trapping her in front of the counter as he reached up and cradled her face. “You’ve got me this time,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “I’m right here and I’m not leaving. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“This...it’s earlier than what we wanted,” she whispered, looking down at the tests in her hands. “We’ve got so much stuff to do to get settled...if these come out positive and I’m pregnant, then–”

“Then we’ll just have to shake it up,” he replied, getting her to look at him again. “There’s nothing that can’t be pushed back and we’re not doing this alone, Care. We’ve got our families, we’ve got friends here to help us out. We’ve got this...so stop psyching yourself out and pee on the sticks, okay?”

Caroline laughed and nodded, standing up and resting the tests down onto the counter, before standing in front of the toilet and turning around. “Can you get me a cup?”

“A cup?” Matt asked, furrowing his brows. “Don’t you just pee on the sticks? Why do you need a cup?”

“Because it’s three different tests and each needs to be peed on for a certain amount of seconds, Matthew. And who’s to say I know how long I need to pee for,” she sighed, looking at him. “Please, just get me one of those plastic cups from the pantry or something?”

Matt nodded and walked out of the bathroom, sliding the door partially closed behind him. Caroline unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down along with her underwear before sitting down on the toilet, awkwardly waiting for Matt to come back.

“Okay one, Ethan’s FaceTiming Melody and says to tell you hi,” Matt said, pushing the door open before walking into the bathroom and closing it behind him. “And two, here’s your solo cup.”

Caroline took the cup and looked at him. “You’re staying here?”

“I mean…yeah? You peeing in front of me isn’t something that bothers me. I’ve literally been inside-“

“Okay but please just…wait out in the bedroom or something? Just so I can pee in peace without you staring at me.” She sighed.

“Sure, I’ll let you pee in peace,” he laughed, walking over and kissing the top of her head before walking back towards the door, sliding it open and walking into their bedroom before sliding the door closed.

Caroline tried not to think about how nervous she was or how stressed she was going to be if she was in fact pregnant. Instead, she focused on their upcoming wedding in two weeks. How everything back home in St. Louis was prepared and all of their stuff for the wedding had already been shipped down. Now all they needed to do, was make sure their mail was redirected for the summer, their fridge and freezer were empty and make sure they were at the airport in two days time to catch their flight.

She folded up some toilet paper, placing it onto the counter before resting the cup on top of it, then moving to finish up before going on to washing her hands. Her hands weren’t even shaking as he unwrapped each pregnancy test and unfolded the instructions, making sure using this cup was an okay method to do.

One by one, she dipped each test into the solo cup, holding it for the allotted time before resting it back on top of the instructions until all three tests were done. She rid of the cup, pouring it into the toilet before flushing and tossing it into the bathroom trash can, reminding herself to empty it before they went to bed.

She washed her hands one more time before she walked over to the door and opened it to see Matt leaning against the wall just outside of it. “Permission to come into the bathroom now?” He smiled, standing up straight.

“Permission granted smartass,” she laughed softly, rolling her eyes.

“How long does it take for a result?” He asked, leaning against the bathroom counter and looking down at the three tests.

“They’re three different tests,” she said, reaching behind him and grabbing the box, turning it around. “The digital is three minutes, the rapid test is 45 seconds and the early result is a minute.”

“Oh shit,” he huffed, looking at her. “Do you just want to wait the whole three minutes before looking at them all? That way if there’s a mixed result we’ll know?”

“Yeah, that’ll probably be best,” she nodded, crossing her arms as Matt pull out his phone.

“Three minutes starting now,” he said, starting the timer and putting his phone down on the counter before grabbing her hands and leading her out of the bathroom and over to the bed. “And we’re waiting out here so you don’t stress yourself out staring at the timer.”

Matt sat down first, reaching out and holding her hands again as he pulled her closer and she stood between his legs. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, his hands coming up the backs of her thighs.

“Just how I can’t believe I might be pregnant. I’ve never missed a shot, and we’re always careful about having sex near the time period where I’m set to get a new shot.” She sighed, resting her hands on his shoulders before moving them down his back. “And if we do, we use a condom just to be sure.”

“Maybe you’re not pregnant and you’re just stressing yourself out,” he shrugged, tilting his head up at her. “Why do you think you’re pregnant anyway?”

“I was craving a milkshake and fries.”

Matt snorted. “That’s it? All this panic because you wanted a milkshake and fries?”

“It was one of my top cravings when I was pregnant with Ethan,” she pouted, linking her fingers together at the nape of his neck. “But I’ve always been stressed, exhausted, a little achy-“

“You also just wrapped up your first school year here while planning a wedding in St. Louis and I literally had to carry you to bed last week because you fell asleep grading extra credit assignments on the couch.” He laughed, fingers brushing against her thighs. “Maybe your body is just telling you to relax a little and indulge in some sweet and salty treats.”

She slid her left hand down beneath the collar of his shirt, fanning them out across his back as her right hand fiddled with the chain of his necklace. Matt’s gaze still on her own as she sighed. “What are you thinking about?”

“What we’re going to do if you’re pregnant or not,” he said, shrugging.

“And? What’s that?”

“Well, if you are pregnant, then once E goes to sleep we’ll celebrate in our bed,” he smirked, wrapping his hands around her thighs before tugging her onto his lap, her knees on either side of him as he rested his hand on the curves on her ass and placed soft kisses up the side of her neck. “And if you’re not, once E goes to bed we’ll come right back in here and spend all night trying until you are.”

Caroline rolled her eyes, trying to shove him back. “You’re so annoying,” she laughed, trying to wiggle out of his arms as he blew a raspberry against her neck. “Matthew!”

“Might not want to do that,” he laughed, holding her tight in his lap. “I really don’t want to have to walk back out into the living room with a raging boner, where our 10 year old son is currently waiting to finish the show.”

“Speaking of raging boners,” she sighed, leaning back against his arms hugged around her waist. “That book my Dad told me to order? The one that’s by the same Doctor who wrote that care and keeping of you book I had when I was 10, but this one is for boys puberty? It came in the mail and is currently sitting by the front door, waiting for you to open it and present it to your son.”

“Oh, now he’s my son?” Matt laughed, groaning soon after. “Do we really have to? I mean he’s only 10-“

“10 and already needing to wear deodorant, Matthew. Boys start puberty at 11, but can start as early as 9. He hasn’t asked any questions yet, but I think it’s best if you just sit him down one day and go over the book.”

“Why don’t we go over the book, hm?” He smiled, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’m sure he’ll want the mom support there.”

“I’ve already dealt with 4 year old Ethan asking how to get his penis to go back to being floppy, Matthew. At the breakfast table, with my parents and Andrew sitting there.” She smiled, patting his shoulder. “I’ve done my duties of awkward boner talk, now it’s your duty as his loving and supportive father. Besides, I doubt he’ll be comfortable asking me any questions. He still can’t be around me in his underwear unless he has shorts on.”

Matt pouted, sighing. “Fine. Tomorrow we’ll go out and have a fun guys day before I ruin it with your puberty book. Or I could pull an ultimate embarrassing dad move and do it on the plane,” he smiled.

“That’s guaranteed silent treatment,” she laughed, kissing him. “But Ethan’s pretty good with body talk since my Dad’s a pediatrician and I’ve always answered questions as appropriately as I could whenever he did ask. He just won’t want to talk about it with me.”

“Yeah, well I-“ Matt’s generic iPhone sound erupted from the bathroom, signaling that the timer was done. They both looked over towards the bathroom before back at each other, Matt’s hands moving up towards her lower back. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, kissing him one more time before sliding off of his lap and standing up on the floor with his assistance. Matt grabbed onto her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers before bringing it up and kissing the back of her hand.

They walked into the bathroom, Caroline stopping just before they reached the tests and turned around, looking at him. “I take one and you take one? Should we pick up all three?”

Matt laughed. “Relax. We’ll each grab one, then, if needed, we’ll pick up the third.”

Caroline nodded, staring at the tests before picking the one up on the left, Matt reaching for the one in the middle as they both looked down for a result. Caroline had picked up the digital test, because her answer was staring right back at her.

YES

“Did you get a defective test?” Matt asked, furrowing his brows. “I thought the lines were supposed to be super faint or something.”

Caroline looked over at his test, seeing the bolded second line before grabbing the last test on the counter and seeing the same result. “No, they’re not defective. That just means I’ve got some serious hCG levels going on.”

“So you’re pregnant?” He asked, looking up from his test.

Caroline nodded, turning the other two towards him and laughing quietly. “I’m pregnant.”

Matt exhaled softly, blinking as he stared at the three positive results before the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. “You’re pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: David Rose voice: Oh, my god!

Words: 3200

Warnings: dude

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: First: Thank you to @bastila-ren and @elmidol for their beta-kindness.

I'M ALIVE. I got super burned out at my job, took 5 weeks of FMLA, got incredibly depressed, but now I'm back! Very thankfully, my COVID symptoms were extremely mild. Thank you very very much for your well-wishes and your concerns.

I wish I could express enough apology for my lack of activity, but hopefully uploading a chapter is thanks enough. You all have been so supportive and kind to me. I am SO thankful and appreciative of everything y'all offer me!

(as a side note: I know some people do not like dude, that it throws them out. I am very sorry, but in the politest way possible: I am not going to stop using it. I like it too much.)

I also hope you enjoyed the chapter! God I wonder what's going to happen next chapter. I just don't know.

Love you all so much <3

“Piece of shit.”

Growling, you tugged out another panel from the silencer’s dash. At this point, about a dozen slats of buttons boxed you into the pilot’s seat, crowding you in the cockpit. All of them looked flawless upon inspection, and this new one was no exception. Wires were attached and the circuits were complete, every switch was grounded. You’d gone over a handful of systems already, trapped in this cockpit for hours. The silencer’s refusal to function made no sense. There had to be something you were missing. 

The memory of smoke and flames licked at the perimeter of your mind. Yeah, there was a lot you were missing.

Pain burrowed, opened a well in your chest, and you shook your head, rubbing your tired face. There wasn’t time to think about anything else. Sitting forward, you started reattaching the panels to the console. You needed to focus on this.  Even though the answer to where you’d go and what you would do once you were finished remained nebulous. Even though you were now apparently unknown and unloved by almost everyone in the universe, including the one man you’d waited on for months. 

You caught a sigh in your chest, exhaling into your palms, shutting out the urge to cry. Crying right now was a waste of time. You still had about fifty systems to check, and you’d only read through about half of Kylo’s post-flight novella. Swallowing, you grabbed your datapad from the seat and flipped to the report, forcing yourself through the urge to skim.

It wasn’t like you weren’t interested. Normally this sort of thing was like a buffet for your freakish little brain. But you kept tasting embers on your tongue. Kept seeing your crew--completely unarmed, helpless fuel outpost workers--drowning in destruction. Kept hearing Hux’s voice: Multiple Resistance fighters… Heat gripped your neck, clogged your throat. Multiple fighters for a tiny station. Multiple fighters against three soft, fleshy bodies.

The First Order was not your creed; just your employer. The machine of war had always been an inconvenience to the prestige of working on elite starfighters. You knew that the loss of three cogs was nothing to that machine. In the past, it’d been nothing to you too. But you’d never eaten meals or laughed with or supported those lost cogs when they’d cried. This loss wasn’t just to war. This loss was horrifically and uniquely yours. 

“Stop.” You shook your head, tossing your datapad back on the seat. You’d finish putting the console back together, then you’d figure out what to do next.

Jaw tight, you grabbed another panel, and your grip slipped. The sharp edge sliced your palm where the wood had lanced you earlier.

“Fuck!” You dropped it and clutched your hand, seething while you tried to squeeze away the agony. Everything from your fingers to your wrist throbbed, and your chin quaked, tears burning your sight. “Fuck! Fuck!” Snarling, you kicked the panels at your feet. “Fuck!”

The thin cut felt like a sobbing gash. You tore off your jacket and wrapped the sleeve around your palm, wincing when you tightened it to the wound. 

“Stupid fucking panels!” you growled, kicking the panels again. “Stupid fucking ship, stupid fucking Kylo, stupid fucking Resistance!” The final kick dented a panel, popped off a shiny button. “Gods!”

You covered your face in your jacket and screamed until your throat crackled, until your lungs were dry. Head spinning, you drew in a breath and screamed again, stomping the floor until dizziness dropped you into the pilot’s chair. Warmth glowed at your cheeks, leaked down your back. Tremors rippled to your toes as you took in a long, steadying breath, exhaling in reluctant relief. 

You considered sitting there forever. But it only took two seconds for you to remember how Kylo also sat in this chair thinking of and dealing with everything that wasn’t you before you grunted and climbed out of the cockpit. 

The rest of the hangar seemed wholly unconcerned or otherwise ignorant to your tantrum. Wiping your eyes, you hopped to the ground, wagging off the lingering fury in your limbs. Maybe you just needed a walk. You cleared your throat and kept your hand clutched to your chest, the whispering ache pulsing in rhythm with your heart.

In all the hours you’d been in the cockpit, the Steadfast had continued to orbit Orinda. Xi-class shuttles whirled beyond the hangar entrance--probably staffed with crew collecting reconnaissance from whatever the Resistance left behind from the attack. Your feet carried you to the fuzzy blue edge of the magnetic shield’s barrier, meters from vacant space. A quiet hum resonated from its perimeter through your soles. 

You gazed into the galaxy. Orinda was a glimmering grain of sand, adrift in the celestial trenches. A fuel outpost turned graveyard. An acceptable casualty of the Resistance. Another home where you couldn’t return. That whispering ache rumbled to a hiss and cast itself over your skin, raking it over with misery, with exhaustion. Your chin quivered. The only place you could think to sleep was the silencer. Eyes falling to the floor, you turned back to the hangar.

“My quarters.”

You squealed and jumped, clapping your hands to your chest. Feet away stood Kylo Ren.

“Shit!” you said, exhaling in relief. “How the hell do you do that?” When he said nothing, you continued, “Like, sneak up on me like that.” 

“You’re not perceptive.”

You frowned. “Okay, well…” He wasn’t wrong. You sighed, shrugged. “Anyway.”

Kylo stepped forward, assessing you in your tank top, scrutinizing the tourniquet you’d made of your jacket. “Your hand.” 

“It’s fine,” you said, holding it behind your back. “Your quarters?”

His stare lingered on your exposed shoulders, on your neck. “Stay,” he said. “Until the silencer is repaired.”

“That could be as early as next cycle.” 

“Given your skill, yes.”

It was difficult to look in his direction. Every worn nerve screamed for his touch. “And then what?”

“You’ll depart to another station.”

You tried to flush the pain from your voice. “So,” you said, “you want me to stay with you through, like, one cycle, and then leave.” You looked to the ceiling in faux-consideration. “Cool. I think I’ll pass.” 

Kylo’s eye twitched. He moved closer, tone icy. “You have nowhere to sleep,” he said. “I…” He paused. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me you prefer the silencer.”

“Well,” you replied, “I’ve never fucked the silencer. I never told the silencer how I felt about it. The silencer has never treated me like a stranger who just walked off the plains of Lothal.” You tapped your chin. “So, yeah, I prefer the silencer.”

He grit his teeth. “You’re no stranger.”

“Sure could’ve fooled me!” A couple of heads turned in your direction.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “It apparently takes very little for you to be fooled.”

“Excuse me?” you replied. “Run that by me again, Supreme Leader?”

“Now your hearing fails you.”

“This is great.” You offered a false smile. “This conversation is going really well.”

Kylo snarled, shoulders bunching with restraint. “You speak this way and then question why you’re unwelcome,” he replied. “Deaf and foolish.”

“Oh!” A frustrated laugh escaped. “Okay, then. Talk to you later, Your Excellency. I need a nap before I keep trying to fix your dumbass ship.”

Shaking your head, you folded your arms over your chest and stormed past him, anger blurring your vision. Stupid fucking asshole--

You made it three steps before a warm leather glove grabbed your shoulder, and you stalled, goosebumps shooting to your hands. Kylo spun you, your face inches from his, your breath fleeing and forgetting to return. His lips trembled, his jaw tightened, his gaze boring into you before it met the floor, seeking to stare anywhere else. The pressure of his fingers was firm, then floating. And then he swallowed, grip crushing your shoulder, his eyes finding you again. 

No one else in the hangar would’ve known, looking at him. But this Kylo Ren was familiar to you. 

This Kylo Ren was terrified.

“I don’t…” His voice was a feather in the air. “You are…” He averted his attention, stiffening. “You have a home.”

Your chest swelled. Water stung your eyes. “I do?”

“Yes,” he replied, utterly sincere. “But not here. Not now.”

Hairline fractures crept into your heart.

“Kylo.” Your composure cracked. All of you wanted to melt, to disintegrate into his being and know each word trapped on his tongue. There was a reason you could not find him, that he would not unfold himself to you. “Please. Why do you want me gone so badly?”

His lips parted, as if he were about to speak--and he paused. He drew in a breath through his nose. “Complications,” he replied. “Factors you do not understand.”

You stepped closer, throat tight. His breath brushed your nose. “Tell me, then.”

Kylo huffed, shifting on his feet--and his face froze. His limbs locked, muscles taut. His gaze widened, fixated on something over your shoulder. Air leaked from him, like time was slowing to a close. You blinked, looked behind you. But nothing was there. 

Frowning, you cleared your throat. “Kylo?” He didn’t even acknowledge you. “You’re really just going to leave it like that?” 

His pupils were pinpricks.

It wasn’t like you were heartless. You knew that he was attempting wasn’t easy. But what you were feeling wasn’t a sail on a skiff either. You didn’t just deserve more. You needed it.

“Okay,” you said, backing out of his hold. “This was nice. But I have a TIE fighter to repair. So.” He didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. “Whatever.”

You turned--Kylo’s focus flicked to you. His mouth dropped, like there were words he wanted to and couldn’t speak. Instead, he remained silent, fury simmering in his gaze while you pivoted away. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t think you had to.

When you arrived at the silencer, you clambered into the cockpit, like it was a hole you could hide in until he disappeared. Shame, stubbornness, or surrender--you imagined one of these was responsible for why he didn’t pursue you, but you didn’t care. This ship repair would be your parting gift to him, and you could take off, probably spending the rest of your life wondering how you’d managed to fuck up your affair with the galaxy’s most ineligible bachelor.

Loose panels still swarmed the pilot’s chair. You sighed and put on your jacket, settling in and throwing your feet on the dash. Your hand thumped with irritation as you closed your eyes.

Just a couple of hours. That’s all you needed. Then you’d keep working like the foolish little--

Clank.

You yelped, flinching in your seat. 

Clank.

Heart fluttering, you scanned the cockpit before realizing the noise came from outside the ship.

Clank.

It was behind you. Someone was messing with the refuel port. Or the solar lines. You couldn’t tell. Grumbling, you scrambled out of the chair and hoisted yourself up the escape. If they were fucking up this stupid ship even further--

Clankclankclank.

“Hey!” You popped your head free. “Will you...”

For a split second, you’d thought Kylo had decided to rip the solar line access open and tear into his own power supply. But then your vision focused. The man crouched over the ship was a different intimidating masked man dressed only in black. Your stomach twisted. It was the one from the Buzzard. The one who’d shoulder-checked you.

“Kuruk.”

His head whipped in your direction, the talons of his predator’s gaze gouging your chest. He pulled his hands free of the solar lines, his gloves greasy with reactant.

“Lieutenant.” 

Previously you’d thought absolutely no one but Hux could spit that word with that degree of acidity. But if Hux spat it like acid, then Kuruk hocked it--dragged it up through his throat and sputtered it like necrotic phlegm. 

You crawled onto the dorsal plane with the coordinated majesty of a blurrg, trying not to heave  and ruin any level of authority you might have tricked him into thinking you maintained. When you’d made it to both feet, you straightened, as if you did this all the time, and moved toward him.

“What are you doing?” 

“Repairing a starfighter.”

You snorted. “Really,” you replied. “Tearing out a power supply is repairing?”

Kuruk jerked his arm, wrenching free another line, spewing collector dust into the air. “Closer to repairing than sleeping in the cockpit.”

Heat rushed your spine, swathed your neck. “Yeah, well…” You examined him, watching as he cocked his head to avoid the blinders attached to his helmet. “At least I can see properly when I work on a ship.” 

“Magnification’s built into the visor.”

More heat, this time crackling in your cheeks, drying your tongue. “Look,” you said, “this is my job. I don’t need amateurs screwing it up for me.”

He paused, turned his gaze on you again. “Amateurs?”

You shrugged. “In comparison, yeah, probably.”

Kuruk leaned on his heels, wiping his gloves on his jacket. “I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do.” This man looked like a weapon. Not an engineer. “What experience do you have?”

“It’s called the Night Buzzard,” he replied. “You might be familiar with it.”

You paused, brow raising. “You…” It was impossible to restrain your laughter. But he didn’t move. “You’re kidding. Right? That’s a joke.”

Kuruk’s hands tensed.

“Dude, that ship’s the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” you replied. “Did you modify it with a boiled chokeroot?”

His head tilted. He rose to stand, so controlled he looked to be fighting gravity. “I can do more work with a boiled chokeroot than you can do with an entire Star Destroyer’s worth of resources,” he drawled. “Lieu. Tenant.” 

The hair on your nape stuck straight, your pulse leapt to the ceiling. But the knowledge that Kylo was within thinking distance abated your fear. 

“Might wanna get one then.” You grinned. “You’re not making much progress here without it.”

He stared, filthy fingers furling into fists--and then relaxed, the tension sloughing like reactor slime from his frame. Silent, he returned to a squat, rending more lines from their channels. For some reason, a tiny, irreverent part of you was disappointed. 

No, that was a lie. You knew why you were disappointed. But this man wasn’t the one you wanted to be taunting into a wild sexual rage. Exhaling, you crossed your arms. 

“It’s still my job,” you said.

“And I’ve been told that once it’s done, you’ll be gone.”

“What?” You gawked. “What the fuck? You, too? I didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Debatable.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re mad because your Master didn’t want you to disrespect an officer.”

“No.” Kuruk’s attention snapped to you. “You’re loud.”

Blood drained from your face. “I’m…”

Moments blinked in your memory like a holodrama. Like how you’d spent the entire time aboard the Buzzard thinking about Kylo slamming you against the dashboard and breaking your pussy open. How you’d mentally undressed him, verbally taunted him, physically ached for him. How you’d blazed with hatred for him and stoked it with longing. And how you’d just noted that you were desperate to wind him into a state of frenzied lust so he’d wreck you entirely.

“Oh, fuck.” You glanced at the hangar’s entrance and wondered how quickly you could hurl yourself into the vacuum of space. Speaking of hurling… “Oh, fuck.”

You couldn’t spare Kuruk another glance. With shaking hands, you fumbled your way to the ground, steadying yourself on your weakening knees. There was no way you were going to spend another minute on this ship trying to fix a starfighter while getting thought-eavesdropped by multiple men, one of whom seemed hell-bent on doing your job for you anyway. 

All you needed to do was find General Hux and get him to reassign you to another station. You’d figure the rest out later when you had time to process your myriad of losses and crippling rejection. You held your breath the entire trek to the command center, only releasing when the doors opened and you spied Hux at the head of the room, briefing someone on something you didn’t care about. 

Wiping your forehead, you trudged over to him. Hux’s gaze darted between you and the other officer, his brow furrowing as you approached.

“A moment,” he said to the man. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Yeah, it definitely sounded worse out of Kuruk’s mouth. “Can I get a new station? I, uh, I need a new station.” The officer peered at you in horror. You coughed, standing at attention. “General. Requesting a new assignment, sir.”

Hux’s lips pursed, his eyes narrowed. “The silencer is already repaired?”

“Uh, no. No, sir, it’s not.” You stared at your shoes. “Still requesting a new assignment. I believe my work here is complete.”

A pause hung in the air. Hux observed you like you were a recently apprehended criminal. He sighed. 

“Dismissed, Captain.” He waited for the man to depart before turning to you. “What do you mean, your work here is complete?”

It was hard to find the appropriate words. “I mean. Uh. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“No.”

You groaned. “Okay.” A long breath, flooding your lungs with air. “Well. My services are no longer required. My presence is redundant. I cannot return to Orinda. I’m requesting another station.” You exhaled. “Sir.”

Hux’s pink face pinched together. “Something happened with Ren.”

Warmth flushed your neck. “Uh, no--”

“Lieutenant,” he said, like the words were thorns on his tongue, “I unfortunately believe your insight and skill may still be of use to the First Order.” 

“Sir?”

“The TIE project has been approved. You may be just the person to manage it.” 

You balked. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea--”

“No?” Sharp green eyes pierced you into silence. “I thought you might leap at the opportunity, considering how cruelly the Resistance slaughtered your staff.”

Your heart clenched, your chest speared with pain. Better TIE units wouldn’t save them. But you could at least ensure their loss wouldn’t be in vain. Though you’d never supervised an undertaking of that scale before, the excitement of a challenge glittered in the distance. Glittered, then dimmed under a brooding, Kylo Ren-shaped shadow.

“Well…”

Hux glanced away, gazing through the thick panes of transparisteel, as if offering you any more praise would blind him. “Go to the Supreme Leader. Inform him of my plans.” He offered a slight shrug. “If he disagrees, then so be it. We’ll find you a new station.” The thought was left unfinished--he seemed very confident Kylo would not disagree.

Too bad you disagreed with him. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand. Where might I find the Supreme Leader?”

Hux frowned. “Am I his keeper, Lieutenant?” 

A brief, blissful image of your fist connecting with his chin flashed through your mind. You shook it away.

“No,” you said. “No, sir. I’ll find him. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Shooting him a glare, you pivoted on your heel, marching out of the command center. All you needed to do was find where Kylo Ren might be by searching the entirety of this huge Star Destroyer. That would be easy.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - I Know That You’re Scared (Part 2/3)

Continuation of ‘Because Hearts Get Broken’ - see my masterlist for it :)

Synopsis: She’s trying to move on. He’s still hoping for a chance

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angsty, bruh, but with a sprinkle of fluff and a hopeful (??) ending

Warnings: swearing, emotionally distant mindset... can’t think of anything else, really. 

Word count: 3656

Heartbreak isn’t loud. Y/N doesn’t even know if it had a sound what it would be like. Like glass shattering against the ground? Or maybe like a book being ripped and shredded apart, memories of time spent together ruined. Or maybe it'd like the crackle of a fire, as it slowly but surely crept up and turned everything into charred remains before it became nothing but ash and was carried away by the winds.

        No one in her family talked about feelings. If they did all they received back was ‘suck it up. That’s life’. After that, it was time to move on. So, when she got together with probably the most open-hearted person in the world, it was almost laughable.

        Y/N had always been the friend others went for advice, relationship or not, but she herself never asked for one, simply because she didn’t wanna bother anyone. Not that she thought the others were bothers. It’s just having grown up in a household where emotions were basically suppressed, opening up was quite impossible. 

       Then came Harry. Perfect, impossible, loving, sweet, kind, ridiculously open Harry. God, she just wanted to punch him because no one should be that nice. 

        January 2nd, 2020 he’d called her up, having gotten Y/N’s number from Sarah (after ages of pleading, because as much as Sarah sometimes couldn’t handle drunk Y/N, she’d defend and protect her until the very last breath), and they set up a coffee date.

        Slowly but surely, they spent more and more time together and seeing as her job had her based in LA for a while, visiting Harry was no problem. Then the pandemic hit, and on March 18th the whole stay-at-home order was issued in California. 

        Y/N was in a panic. She was meant to leave LA in ten days, and the hotel her company was paying for had been paid until the 28th. With all flights getting rapidly cancelled, she was scrambling to get one, but even her firm was unable to get her a seat. That’s when Harry had called up, his tone a worried, urgent mess as to if Y/N was alright and what her plans were.

        Of course, him being him, he immediately offered her a place to stay.

        “We don’t even need to stay in the same room, there’s like five other guest rooms you can take up,” he tried to joke, and ease her tension.

        “Fuck, Harry, just rub it in how rich you are.” Y/N cackled, and when she heard him laugh in the background, her heart did that stupid fluttery thing she’d grown so used to. 

        It took a little persuasion from Harry’s side, and reassurance at least seven more times, that Y/N wouldn’t be intruding on his space, and he was more than happy to spend the quarantine with someone else, instead of being alone, and that in no way her taking over a room or two would limit him and his own artistic endeavours. So, apprehensively Y/N packed her suitcases, grabbed an uber, wearing a mask the whole time, and drove to Harry’s place.  

When Y/N saw the gated community and the palace he was living in, the inside of her cheek was practically bitten in half. They’d barely been together for three months, and now she was basically moving in with him, but given how it was either live with Harry in a fucking mansion or walk across the country to New York, she took the first option. 

        As much as Harry loved on her, pretty much shagging her brains out every possible second, and loving on her until her cheeks hurt from smiling, the anxiety about the whole situation never left.

Harry was worried about his mom and sister, Y/N was scared of what was happening in New York. So, when the state boarders opened, immediately, although reluctantly, she flew back to her apartment and her dying plants, but never forgetting to FaceTime with Harry. But they couldn't stay away long from one another.

        Which is why they decided, given how she was able to work from home now, and Harry could do so as well, they’d fly over to one another every two weeks, quarantine together for the next two weeks, and then fly to the other place. Her boss actually loved the idea that Y/N was so willing to go back and forth between the two cities, so all her flights were written off as business expenses, not to mention when she said she wouldn’t need a hotel, he was more than thrilled to let her be in LA whenever she wanted, as long as her work got done.

        It seemed funny to her now, that before Y/N couldn’t wait to get back to the sunny state of Cali. Now when she had to fly over (which was just a couple of times since the breakup), going through JFK security made her sweat, and landing was a vomit-inducing action. And the last time she’d gotten back to the home-base state, she’d actually thrown up, Harry’s last words ringing in her ears.

        It’d been three weeks since Sarah’s New Year party, and three weeks since she’d spoken to him although he still kept calling. Every morning she’d wake up to a couple of notifications of missed calls, and each time she’d listen to the messages; it was all the same – I miss your voice. And every time she’d listen to it, her thoughts were exactly the same. You could say it was almost pathetic as to how many times she’d listened to his albums, just to hear him sing. Almost like he used to do right before she fell asleep.

        But Y/N had no one else but herself to blame for it. She’d been the one to call it quits, she’d been the one who walked out of his apartment, and the one who decided she wouldn’t fight. 

        Now, she was sat by her small magazine table, documents spread out in front of her as if a tornado had rolled through, while an apple and cinnamon candle spread its delicious scent through the air. 

        Y/N would only admit it once because, well, the proof was all over the apartment, but she was very lazy when it came to taking away the Christmas décor. It made her feel warm and comfy. And it reminded her of Harry. How when she’d woken up after their first date, already in the new year, he still had colourful fairy lights strung across the curtain rods, giving everything a soft, cosy glow. 

        He’d also been the one who convinced her that a real Christmas tree was so much better than a plastic one. 

        “Yes, it’s a hassle,” he’d said through slurred words as they’d slinked away from the partying crowd after the countdown was done, and each of them had taken three shots of vodka. “But it’s so worth it. Smells like a fucking forest in your room. Like proper Christmas!”

        And although she’d spent this holiday season alone, Harry had been right. Just like he’d been right about Y/N.

        She tapped her pen against the glass surface and readjusted her position on the floor.

        “This is the periodic table, noble gases stable, halogens and alkali react aggressively,” Y/N hummed as she highlighted the incorrect parts of the paper in front of her. “Each period will see new outer shells, while electrons are added moving to the right.”

        Just as she was about to start off the second verse, her doorbell rang, and her stomach gurgled in response.

        “Ugh,” she groaned to herself. “Pasta come to fuckin’ mama.”

        But when she opened the door, she wasn’t greeted by the Uber Eats delivery man.

        “Harry.”

        Y/N was taken aback. She didn’t expect him to visit her, especially not so soon and especially to fly out to New York (as much as he was most likely there to do other stuff as well, her gut told her he was there for her). 

Sure, she hoped that one day they could be friends, if not acquaintances, he was too important of a person for her to lose completely from her life, but that was looking like five years into the future.

        “I bring gifts.” He raised his hand where her boxes of food hung in a paper bag. “Can I?”

        “Uh, yeah, of course!” She shook her head to clear it from the shock and allowed Harry to enter into the warmth of her apartment and escape from the cold January air.

        “I was on my way up when the delivery man came in, and I recognised by the boxes it was yours.” The smirk on Harry’s face was something Y/N loved to see, but usually, she liked to also wipe it away. Preferably with her own lips. 

        She let out a small scoff, not waiting to see if he followed inside, as she scurried to the adjacent kitchen and grabbed two plates, while he opened up the white cardboard containers and allowed the delicious smell of spaghetti Bolognese as well as a carbonara waft into the air. Y/N had wanted to eat the latter at some point during the night when the munchies hit, but she supposed Harry was probably hungry as well. “Maybe there’s someone else here, who likes Italian.”

        “Probably, but only you would order from the shittiest Italian restaurant just because they have pesto and parmesan bread.”

        “Hey!” She slapped his arm. “They’re not shit. They provide me with everything I need – calories, carbs and bread.”

        “What more does a person need?”

        “Exactly!”

        Both of them let out small chuckles and then settled down on her couch to dig into the meal. They ate in silence, and despite Y/N’s initial shock, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, they were sitting pretty much shoulder to shoulder, as she watched Harry re-read the spread-out articles on the table and use her marker to tick some stuff that could use re-wording. He had a knack for words, after all.

        “I uh…” He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins provided by the diner before clasping his fingers together and looking at the woman sitting next to him, as she slowly set her empty plate on the small cupboard beside the sofa. “I was hoping we could talk.”

        Y/N hung her head. She should’ve known he wasn’t here to just check-in and have some dinner. “We already did. Twice might I add. What makes you think this time the ending will be different?”

        “Third times the charm?” Harry let out a little laugh, and she rolled her eyes. “Look, I didn’t wanna leave everything the way I did. I – I said some pretty shit things.”

        Y/N fiddled with her thumb. ‘I had,’ Harry’s words echoed in her head. ‘Only she didn’t trust that I loved her the same.’ “Nothing that was untrue though.”

        “See, that’s where I think both of us are wrong.”

        That was not what Y/N thought this conversation would be whatsoever.

        “I – “ He cleared his throat. “I know I said I didn’t think you trusted me that I loved you enough. I think you know I did – do.”

        If Y/N still had any food in her mouth she would’ve choked on it, as she bit back the rising lump in her throat, but instead of interrupting him, she let Harry continue. “And honestly, it’s not your fault that it fell apart, ‘s my fault too. I pushed you to do something, you didn’t want to, weren’t comfortable with, when you told me not to… just because I wanted to feel important, ‘nd because I wanted to get a role in your life you weren’t ready for yet. And I’m sorry for doing that. I should’ve never forced you.”

        “Harry…” Y/N was at a complete loss. “I – I don’t really know what to say.”

        He took her left hand in his and clasped it, finally able to properly say what'd been eating away at him. “During the New Year party, I didn’t go about it the right way. I was just – I was just still so hurt, and I wanted you to hurt the same because… it didn’t seem like you cared at all, which I know you did… I know you loved me, and…” He took in a deep breath. “I hope that you still do. At least enough to give us another chance. We can take it at your pace,” he instantly added, knowing how she’d react, expecting the sigh and the almost tired and resigned ‘Harry’ that escaped her lips. But he’d say everything on his mind. “You can take how long you need to feel like you can trust me with what’s bothering you.”

        “Harry,” she repeated, but it didn’t seem like he was about to stop.

        “But I think we can do it, and we can do it right this time. We know where we stand, we won't make the same mistakes.”

        Y/N’s hand came to rest against his cheek, and he practically melted, engulfing her palm with his as to not let her touch leave his skin for even a second. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

        “Look, I know, you’re scared, and the thing is, so am I. I don’t want it to end like that or end. Period. But I do want to try again.”

        And if nothing but to humour him Y/N asked, “And if it does end the same way?”

        “It won’t.” He was so sure of it, she had to laugh.

        “Harry, the big difference between us is – you like to talk about your feelings. You like to go through them and stuff. I don’t. I feel… icky when I even think about talking to someone of what I feel. We’re just too opposite.”

        “Opposites attract.”

        “No,” she pointed a finger at him, stifling her laughter, though Harry seemed not to be hiding his smile. “Do not use science against me.”

        He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I’m not, I’m just supporting my point with facts. Scientific facts, that you can’t argue against.”

        “I mean…” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno… Maybe it was a good thing we ended it when we did. It was ten months – almost ten – amazing months, but… can you imagine if we’d gone so far as to think about moving in together, and then it fell apart? That would’ve been a whole different kind of a mess.”

        “Do you love me?”

        Y/N sighed, resting her cheek against the couch while she smoothed away his brown locks from his face. “Of course, I do. Don’t think there will be a time in my life I don’t.”

        “Then that’s all I need.”

         “Is that really enough for you?”

        “Yes.”

        And there was no lie in that single word. Did he want for Y/N to feel comfortable enough with him that she talked about whatever concerned her, however small? Of course. But he also wanted her to be comfortable enough to be herself. If that meant her keeping things to herself, and trusting Harry to support her decisions, it’d be enough.

        Her Y/E/C eyes hadn’t left his green ones, and they only widened as he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to hers.

        “Haz…”

        Fuck, how he’d missed her calling him that. It wasn’t an exclusive nickname by any means, but when it came from Y/N’s mouth, it was the sweetest sound in the universe.

        He was her Haz when he broke a plate, he was her Haz when she threw her head back as pleasure exploded through her body, he was her Haz when he took her hand in his to quell her anxiety, and he was her Haz when he gave her tissues as they watched a movie, and she couldn’t help but cry each time a dog or cat died (or a dragon, but he was a sobbing mess as well because ‘Dragonheart’ messed with them both).

        His lips were so close, and just as they skimmed over her own, Y/N’s phone rang making her physically spring back, eyes like saucers.

        “S – Sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to find the annoying device between the cushions. It was Sarah’s name that lit up her screen.

        “Hey, what’s up?” Y/N started, voice trembling and shaky. God, when had she suddenly gone so out of breath? And why was her head so dizzy, as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster?

        “Yeah, he’s here,” she replied, eyeing Harry. “Yeah, just a sec,” and Y/N handed him her phone with a quiet ‘why’s your phone always dead?’

        ‘Didn’t know it died’, he said, but that was untrue. He’d turned it off so this sort of a situation wouldn’t happen; so a call or text wouldn’t interrupt him at the most critical moment. He had to give the universe a proper talk once he was done.

        “ ‘Ello?” 

        Seconds of silence passed, and Y/N didn’t like how weird it was, so she took the empty plates and put them in the sink to soak.

        “Now?”

        She could see the frustration rise in Harry as his forehead creased, and he let a hand rake through his hair. “Fuck’s sake… yeah, I’ll be there in ten. ‘S alright,” he sighed. “Not your fault Sarah. Tell Jeff not to worry, and that I’m not dead.”

        With that, he pressed the red button and ended the call, drumming his fingers against the screen. God, he really didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not after he’d been so close.

        “Uh, work?” Y/N asked, arms crossed in front of her as if she was protecting herself from the answer. 

        “Yeah, sorry. I uh a meeting from tomorrow got rescheduled for tonight, like right now because there was some sort of an emergency from the label’s side."

        “ ‘S alright, I get it. Showbiz never stops.” Y/N motioned to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

        There were a couple of times in his life Harry wanted to give himself a beating. Once when he was six and Gemma had told on him after he’d broken a favourite vase of their mothers, he decided to get revenge and destroy her favourite plushie. He’d never forget the tears Gem had cried, and how absolutely heartbroken she’d sounded. He vowed although he was the little brother, to never ever let anyone hurt her like that, and if someone did, they’d meet their maker sooner rather than later.

        The second time was when he was still a teenager, One Direction on the rise, and it had gotten to his head just a little bit more than it should’ve. He’d gotten really messed up at a party (which Harry shouldn’t have even been at). The disappointment on his mother’s face as she scolded him through FaceTime was gut-wrenching enough to make him promise to always know the limit.

        And Harry guessed this was the third time.

        He could’ve said no to the meeting. Jeff was there and so was Sarah and Mitch. The three of them could handle it for him. It’s not like he would mind much whatever they came up with if it had given him the time to settle things with Y/N. 

        “It was great to see you, Harry.” She brought him out from the thoughts as she unlocked the door and opened it for him, bringing her jumper sleeves over her palms to hide from the cold outside air. “Really. I – I missed you, and honestly, I’m glad we got to talk. I uh well, take care. And say hi to Sarah from me please.”

        “I – “ he took hold of Y/N’s wrist before she could turn away. “I’m holding a small concert in a week. Here in uh in New York. It’s for charity… I want you to come.”

        “I umm… I’ll have to check if I’m free, but yeah. I will. Thank you.”

        “ ‘S no problem… Sarah missed you like crazy now that you’re not in LA as often… ‘n yeah. Anyway. I’ll put your name on the guest list, so just bring some ID, and they’ll let you backstage.”

        “Okay,” she whispered and gave him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll really try to come.”

        “Yeah.”

        And he was going to go without doing anything else. Harry truly was. But as he released her wrist, going to the stairs, he gave Y/N one last glance back, and it was like his feet had a mind of their own, as they carried him back to where she stood by the still open door, grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips to hers. 

        He expected Y/N to push him away, but to his very huge delight, she didn’t. Instead, her fingers wove through his hair and her legs almost on instinct rose so he could take her by the thighs, wrap them around his middle and press her against the doorway. 

        The groan that Harry swallowed from Y/N only ignited the fire that’d been burning ever since he met her, but it wasn’t the destructive kind, like the ones that leave nothing but charcoal behind. It was warm. Safe. Like the light of a fairy light. Like the embrace of home.

        “Come to the show,” he muttered against Y/N’s lips, as they broke apart, and he set her down on the ground, not letting go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “I’ll wait for you.”

        With that, he left because if he didn’t, he’d make sure Y/N would be unable to walk for a week.

        And Y/N watched him retreat while her brain fought with her heart.

        What was it he’d sung in ‘Golden’, as he’d twirled her in the sea of bodies and glitter a little bit more than a year ago? ‘Loving is the antidote?’ 

        Maybe love was the antidote to her fear.

        She closed the door.

        And smiled.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I’ve been listening to ‘Fine Line’, ‘The Periodic Table Song’, ‘Welcome to the Christmas Parade’ (Welcome to the Black Parade mix with All I Want For Christmas) and ‘Rasputin’ Boney M remix exclusively... I feel like a complete crackhead... :D

Decided to tag also those who wanted a part 2 but didn’t necessarily ask to be tagged :)

P.S. I guess there will be a part 3???

P.S.S. if you wanna be added to a tag list drop me a message :)

[willowbird]

Second ask, can I also ask for andriel proposing (not sure who proposes but plsss)

You bet you can lovie 🔪🧡🦊

-----

The woman on the other side of the counter wouldn't stop smiling at him. Usually, when Andrew glared back at unwelcome overtures of friendliness, all smiles dropped and people did better about leaving him the fuck alone. This particular saleswoman was eerily unaffected.

"We just got a new collection in that we haven't had a chance to set up in display case if nothing here has caught your eye," she suggested now, gesturing toward what Andrew assumed was the back room with an even bigger smile on her face. "You seem like a discerning man. Nothing but the best for your special someone, am I right?"

She wasn't wrong, but Andrew was not about to tell her that. The last thing he needed was for her to start cooing or something. This was why he shouldn't have waited for the last minute to do this and should have just ordered the damn thing online.

A part of him was tempted to wait on it just so that he wouldn't have to go through the pain of ring shopping in person, but the only reason he'd waited so damn long was because he kept second-guessing himself when he knew better. He'd first thought of it almost a year ago now when Neil had first signed on with the San Diego Wolverines, putting him on the opposite end of the country. It had been a gut impulse. He'd wanted Neil to have something not just of his but of them. He'd instantly shut down the embarrassingly romantic thought and hadn't allowed himself to think of it again until a few months later when he finally got to see Neil in person for the first time since the week before summer training.

Well, until Neil had to leave after a too-short visit just before summer training. Then it had been all he could think about for weeks. Every Skype call, every text, every glimpse of Neil playing on the tv.

It had even gotten to the point where he had even fucking brought the idea up to Aaron. Yes, Aaron. He'd called him while watching the playback of one of Neil's games just after the little idiot had antagonized both on-court backliners of the opposite team into going after him. He'd ended slammed against the wall then the floor multiple times, but his partner striker had also managed to get three goals while the backliners were distracted. Neil had limped off the court but not before flipping off the other team and the cameras. Once he was led back to the benches, Andrew got to watch as Neil pulled out his phone - likely to type out the text that had been waiting for Andrew when he'd finished up his own game.

It isn't bad. I'll ice it tonight. Promise.

Because Neil knew that Andrew watched at least the highlights of all his games. He knew that Andrew would see the brutal takedown. Would see him hobble off the court. Exy was a violent sport and mild injuries were common enough - but he knew that him goading and then being taken down by two backliners each double his size would worry Andrew. So the first thing he'd done, before even attempting to insist he wasn't too hurt to finish the game, was text him.

Watching Neil get fussed over by the team's medic, Andrew had dialed his brother.

'I think I want to marry him,' he'd said without a greeting.

'No shit, sherlock. About fucking time,' had been his brother's response.

That had been a couple months ago. And he'd put it off. He'd tried not to think about it. Tried to talk himself out of it.

And in the end, here he was, standing in front of a display case of wedding bands and engagement rings at an airport jewelry store while the saleslady smiled at him like he'd just told her he was going to name his firstborn after her.

Andrew checked his watch and sighed, then nodded at her, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture with one hand. He didn’t have long before his flight would be boarding and nothing in front of him was jumping out as being particularly exceptional. He knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers, him having left this to the last minute as he had, but he may as well see all the available options. 

The woman beamed at him in a way that was quickly getting on his nerves, then quickly scurried off. She returned after only a minute or so, carrying a moderately sized black case. “I’ve got to say, this is probably the most stunning collection we’ve had in. I saw it in the catalog and hoped it would be sent to our store, too.” There were maybe twenty rings in total, and he had to admit -- they were more elegant than most of the others on display. Simple with just small details in etching, stone lay, or shaping to set them apart from each other. There was also a variety of metal colors, from yellow gold to rose to platinum and a darker metal Andrew didn’t know enough about jewelry to name. 

Andrew considered all of them carefully, dismissing the flashier styles and the cumbersome solitaires. He had done a little bit of browsing online in between those flashes of panic uncertainty, and he knew Neil. His partner’s taste wasn’t really a factor, as he didn’t exactly have any (his interest in Andrew being the general exception), but his lifestyle was. With that in mind, Andrew said without looking up, “I will also need a matching chain.”

“A chain?”

Andrew ignored her for the time being as he ran his thumb over a dark-metaled band with a single thread of rose gold running through the center. He plucked it out and took a closer look, imagining it on Neil’s hand and diligently blocking out the rush in his chest at the visualization. Right now was the time for a practical mind. He did not have the time to wallow in any emotional repercussions to making this purchase. 

“This one,” he finally said to the saleswoman, showing her the ring and quoting Neil’s size. “And the chain as well.”

“Oh, of course! Excellent choice. I’m sure your sweetheart will love it.”

Andrew grimaced. “Trust me, he is anything but a sweetheart.” If it surprised the woman at all that he was shopping engagement rings for another man she didn’t show it. She only continued to beam at him, chuckling like he’d made some joke instead of a blatant truth. 

Ten minutes later he had a little black velvet box tucked into his pocket as he made his way back to where most of his team was milling about. Static whirred in the overhead and then a smooth female voice announced it was time to board.

"Flight 87 to San Diego is now boarding in Gate G9." 

For once Andrew wasn’t sure if the swooping in his stomach had to do with the upcoming flight or the weight of a future sitting in his pocket.

-----

Andrew had begrudgingly accepted that he enjoyed playing exy now that he was on a professional level and things were more interesting. He liked working together with his defensive line and the other goalie to form themselves into an impenetrable unit, and he even got along with most of his team. Or, at least, he and most of his team had an understanding.

It was an understanding that allowed them to be at the top of the league and give Andrew the space he needed to not feel smothered. They worked together as a team, and Andrew was always invited to their bonding nights. No one pressured him to actually show and when he did decide to participate no one made a big deal of it. He was permitted to interact on his own terms.

It was a good setup, and so he'd already told his team that he wouldn't be there tonight for whatever after-game dinner they had planned. They also knew that he would be returning to Pennsylvania separately, and only two people were stupid enough to ask about why more than once.

The game went about as expected -- in that Neil’s team lost spectacularly but not without putting up a fight. Even though they lost, Andrew could see Neil brimming with bright, furious energy in the last quarter of the game. He was having the fucking time of his life, and every single time he attacked the goal Andrew caught glimpses of his savage grin.

In the end, it wasn't enough, but Neil was still wearing that smile when they all lined up at center court for handshakes. If Andrew held a bit longer and tighter to Neil's hand when it was their turn, no one seemed to notice.

"You were incredible tonight," Neil said to him once all was said and done - the press handled and both teams showered and dismissed. They were walking across the stadium parking lot to where Andrew's rental was parked. Neil exclusively relied on his bike or public transport and Andrew had not been willing to put up with that bullshit while he was in town.

Andrew snorted. "If you ask me to wear my goalie mask during sex I am going to call it quits, junkie. Contain yourself."

"Wait, is that an option?" Neil stopped walking completely and turned sharply toward him, eyes wide.

Unamused, Andrew shot him a look and kept walking without bothering to dignify that bit of stupidity with a comment.

Neil didn't lag behind for long, laughing brightly as he jogged to catch up. "Joking!" he assured as they reached the car. "Of course I'm joking. The mask would get in the way and, if I'm being completely honest - which I try to do these days - I like being able to see your face."

There was once a time when Andrew would have pointedly kept his gaze turned away so he couldn't see the look he knew was on Neil's face at that moment. Or he would have shoved Neil away, nailed him with a scathing remark, distracted him somehow. It hadn't even been all that long ago, not really. He'd been afraid of what that look meant, cautious of the sentiment it implied, panicked at the threat of what might happen if he let Neil in.

Tonight Andrew did not look away. Instead, he turned his head and basked in the light of Neil's eyes like a cat in the sunlight. He met his gaze and soaked him up, let himself settle into that warmth. If Neil was surprised by Andrew's tolerance it didn't show. He just tilted his head and smiled until Andrew finally lifted a hand and shoved his arm just enough to get him moving.

"Get in the car, you maniac. Let's get back to your place."

Neil chuckled but relented without comment and got into the passenger seat. Andrew hadn't even gotten the car started when he felt Neil's gaze on him again, warm and enveloping like hot chocolate in the bitter winter. Again, Andrew turned to look at him. Again, he basked - just a little.

This time, Neil's expression shifted just slightly, the edges of pain tightening around his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Neil's hands curl into fists on his lap.

"I missed you," Neil said quietly, and his voice was tighter than it has been a minute ago. There was a hoarseness of emotion to it that rang in tune with the hollow place in Andrew's own chest.

A hard swallow, then Andrew lifted a hand and cupped Neil's cheek. He brushed his thumb over the scars there, tracing them. He didn't say that he'd missed Neil, too. He didn't say that each day waking up without him near was like waking up without a leg, leaving him aching and frustrated as he had to relearn how to move and function when a vital part of him was too far away to touch. He didn't say... Well, he didn't say anything at all.

Instead, he leaned his forehead against Neil's and took a slow breath in. He waited until he felt Neil do the same, and then they exhaled together, mingling their breaths as proof of their proximity. He felt the warmth of it on his cheeks and another loose and rattling piece inside his chest settled into place. He kissed Neil once, just briefly, on the lips, and then dropped his hand and pulled away to start the car.

-----

Neil's apartment was only a short drive away from the stadium, but traffic dragged it out unnecessarily. They had ordered food ahead of time and swung by the restaurant on the way to pick it up, which added another ten minutes to the drive but it was better than waiting on a delivery. 

Even with the detour for food and the press of traffic slowing them down, the drive itself didn’t actually feel long. Neil carried the conversation, picking up from their last phone call as he talked about his teammates and the strange little hole-in-the-wall diner he’d been frequenting lately or the stupid pictures an overly enthusiastic Matt Boyd had sent him from the pro backliner’s recent trip to the zoo. (“Twelve, Andrew. He sent me twelve pictures of what I’m pretty sure were all of the same ostrich. Ostriches aren’t even that interesting.”)

They split up briefly as they got to Neil’s apartment, Andrew to drop his things off in the bedroom and Neil to unpack the food onto actual plates. Andrew hesitated for only a moment as he parked his suitcase, then crouched before it and unzipped the pocket where he’d stowed the ring. He had no big plan for this. There were no flash mobs waiting around the corner, no puppies with cute ribbon collars, no scheduled flyovers that would drag a banner or write a message in the sky. Andrew didn’t do grand gestures. He did not buy into commercialized love. He also was very aware of who his partner was and knew very well that Neil was the same in that regards. 

Neither of them needed that, wanted it, or - frankly - even understood it.

But Andrew knew that he did want Neil in his life. He knew that he wanted him as his partner. He knew that he wanted him as his husband. It wasn’t something that he and Neil had every really talked about and there was a very real chance that Neil would say no - not because he didn’t want to be with Andrew, because Andrew knew that he did, but because Neil already had an impression of what marriage looked like and it was not a good one. Perhaps if they were different people, with a different sort of relationship, that would have made Andrew table the idea altogether.

But they weren’t other people, and their relationship was theirs and theirs alone. They were Andrew and Neil, not anyone else, and even if he knew nothing else, Andrew knew that even if Neil did not want to marry him, his asking wasn’t going to hurt them.

So he didn’t have any big plans. He hadn’t hired singers or put together a collage of their relationship. He didn’t invite their friends and family or light candles or spread out flower petals. He didn’t even get down on one knee.

Instead, Andrew took that little box in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and directly to the living room where Neil had set their dinner on two tv trays in front of the couch as he fiddled with remote to put on one of their favorite seasons of Hell’s Kitchen. Neil smiled over at him when he heard him coming. 

“Hey, perfect timing. Did you want to start right at the beginning or skip to episode two since we watched the first episode last week? I kinda want to start right at the beginning.”

Andrew shrugged, which Neil took as agreement and turned back to the tv to select the first episode. 

“Pause it for a moment,” Andrew said as he sank onto the couch beside Neil, though he kept his gaze on the frozen flames on the screen even as Neil turned to fully face him. He always did that - always gave Andrew his full and undivided attention even when he had no idea what Andrew wanted to say. For Neil, it was always just enough that Andrew wanted to say anything at all. 

A hiccup of nerves spasmed suddenly and uncomfortably in his chest, but Andrew batted it away. All he was doing was asking a question. Just one more to the hundreds of thousands that he had already asked over the last several years. This question was no different. It meant nothing more and nothing less than any of those other questions. 

So Andrew asked it the same way. 

He turned and met Neil’s eyes, then revealed the box without any particular flourish or grandeur. He watched as confusion smoothed to surprise then understanding as Andrew opened the box to show the ring inside. 

Then he said, “Yes, or no?”

He had meant for the words to be casual and even, but they came out softer than he intended. The hand that held the box was shaking, too - which Andrew only noticed when both of Neil’s hands cupped under it. 

Neil looked from the ring up to Andrew’s face and, like he always seemed to be able to, read more there than anyone ever could. Those blue eyes warmed to summer, his smile turning soft and filled with a sentiment that did not, could not, have a description in any of the languages that Andrew knew. Andrew didn’t know what Neil saw when he looked at him like that. He had never asked and probably never would. He wasn’t sure he was ready to know, wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. 

“Andrew,” Neil said, his voice just as quiet, and Andrew realized he was holding his breath. “You know it’s always yes with you.”

Something terrifyingly wonderful seized Andrew’s chest and squeezed. It dried out his throat and beat heavy drums in the center of his chest. It took too much effort for Andrew to nod his acknowledgement, and his hand was still shaking as he plucked the ring from the box and revealed that it was on a chain. “So you can keep it with you,” he said in explanation, his voice coming out a bit too hoarse. 

“I want to wear it now.” Neil’s voice wobbled. He laughed as they both tried and failed to unlatch the clasp several times before getting it - both of them with hands too shaky to get it on the first try. 

Then Neil was wearing it, and he was smiling, and there was this glow in Andrew’s chest that he didn’t think would ever really fade. 

[moldisgoodforyou]

without you by my side

i thought i posted this already APOLOGIES !!! 

wordcount: 2.4k

_____

Sophie had barely talked to Rafe in the first two weeks she was in Spain, suddenly being consumed with a week-long orientation and then going straight into her internship, juggling her Spanish lessons and trying to just get by in an unfamiliar city. She’d texted him a few updates here and there, and had FaceTimed him briefly in her first week, but most of her spare time was spent getting to know her roommates and checking off random errands.

The time difference made things extra tricky, but Rafe made it a priority to talk with her, no matter where he was. When they finally got a chance to talk, she called him, grinning when the call connected. “Hi!”

He grinned to himself too, feeling warm just from the sound of her voice. “Hi, you. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d be so busy.” She worried her lip between her teeth and he shook his head quickly, although she couldn’t see him. “It’s alright, I knew you had things to do. Don’t stress about it. I want to hear about Barcelona, tell me what you’ve done!”

Sophie beamed and launched into an excited description of everything - her students in her classes, her new coworkers, how she got assigned to a cool project and how she got drunk on a two dollar bottle of wine that was ‘the best she’d ever had.’ Once she told him everything, she paused, letting silence fill the air.

“That sounds awesome, Soph.” He smiled, then frowned hearing her pause. “All good?”

“Yeah, just. I wish you were here. Um, I wear one of the shirts you let me take to bed, and I just realized it doesn’t really smell like you anymore. Washed it too soon, I think.”

Rafe let out a small sigh and clutched his phone a little tighter. “I can send you another one.” His voice had a teasing lilt to it, but he was dead serious.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s stupid.” She spoke quickly and he could distantly hear a few sniffles, then when she brought her phone back to her ear, voice nearly cracking. “I’m okay.”

“Wait, are you crying? Sophie...” He trailed off and she could hear the frown in his voice. He closed his office door so he could talk to her more freely, without having to keep his voice so quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just miss you a lot more than I thought I would.”

He immediately pressed the button to facetime her, smiling when she picked up, then instantly dropping it once he saw her teary cheeks. “I can change my flight and come visit sooner. I’ll do it, angel, you know I will.”

She smiled a little at the pet name, swiping her sleeve over her cheeks. “I know, but it’s fine. Once I get into a routine I’ll be okay, everything’s just a little jarring.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. “I thought I knew Spanish and turns out all I can really manage is where’s the bathroom and hello. Everyone speaks so quickly, I feel like an idiot.”

He grinned. “You’re not an idiot, baby, you’ve been practicing for this for months. Just don’t go around telling anyone else te amo.”

She sniffled a little as she laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Hey, how’s home? Have you gone surfing or something yet? Any big parties?”

He shrugged. “It’s alright. I think there’s a party this weekend, but.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. Feels kind of strange without you by my side.”

“Aw, Rafe, you miss me.” She teased, fully aware she was in no position to poke fun, as she’d just cried over missing him two seconds ago.

He paused and glanced away for a second, not wanting to guilt trip her in the slightest. He just wanted to be sure she enjoyed her trip without having to worry about him. “You know I do.”

“I miss you too.” Her face dropped a little and she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop herself from crying again.

“I want you to have fun though, okay? I’m only a call away, and I’ll see you soon enough. Three months will fly by. Easy.” He told her, almost trying to convince himself. Just the last two weeks alone had dragged by for him, especially with how quickly he’d had to leave all his friends in Columbus once the frat house closed for the summer.

“Two months and two weeks,” she corrected. “We’ve made it half a month already.”

He laughed and flipped the camera briefly to show his calendar pinned up behind his desk, little numbers scribbled onto each square. “I know, I’ve been counting down the days.”

“That’s sweet.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and he frowned, narrowing his eyes. “Hey, where’s your ring?”

Sophie instantly blushed and grabbed her backpack, fumbling through it until she found the ring box lying haphazardly at the bottom (and brushed off a few crumbs before showing him). “Here! It’s right here, I have it, promise.” She quickly flipped open the box and slid it on her finger to show him.

“Do you not like it? I should have asked you before, I -”

“No! I love it, no, it’s not that.” She reassured him quickly. “I’m just really worried I’m going to lose it, like on the metro or walking to work, and I can’t have that happen. So I carry the box with me.”

“Oh.” Rafe sat back in his chair, thinking. “How about I get you a chain?”

“A chain?”

“Yeah. You can wear the ring on the chain, like a necklace, when you’re not wearing it on your finger. And when I come visit, we can take it in to Cartier and get it resized, if you need to.”

“No, it fits perfectly, I’m just nervous.” She smiled. “A chain sounds like a good solution.”

He nodded and wrote himself a reminder to order one and have it shipped to her apartment in Spain the second they were off the call. “You got it.” At a knocking on his door, he hesitated before glancing over for the source. “Hold on one second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Rafe stood and opened the door, letting his dad in. Ward strode in and dropped a stack of papers on Rafe’s desk, regarding him with annoyance. “You need to go to the printing company right now and get these flyers fixed. Half of them have the ink fucked up and the phone number’s wrong on all of them.”

“You said I got a half hour lunch break.” Rafe replied evenly, not glancing at the papers - that were the secretary’s responsibility, not his.

“You can get a lunch break when you pay closer attention to the details.” Ward fished his card out of his wallet and slapped it on top of the stack. “Grab me lunch while you’re out. Don’t be long.” He turned to leave, but paused upon seeing Sophie waiting on the facetime call, Rafe’s phone on the desk. “Who is that?”

She froze, hair hiding her face a little, and wasn’t sure if she should hang up or not. Rafe made the first move and flipped the screen over so his phone was facedown on the desk. “I was talking to Sophie. Remember, I told you she’s in Spain, so the time difference -”

“I don’t care.” Ward interrupted. “Don’t let some girl distract you from work.” (Rafe swore he hadn’t acknowledged that Sophie was his girlfriend once.) He left abruptly and kicked out the door stopper as he went, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Rafe winced and took a breath before flipping the phone back over. He looked defeated, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” Sophie gave him a small smile but her heart was racing, embarrassed about how easily Ward was able to dismiss her. “Call me later, if you want? I’m staying in tonight.”

He glanced at the door again and cocked his head a little to catch the sounds out on the hallway, just giving her a nod and a forced smile before ending the call.

___

Rafe only had a week back in Columbus before he had to pack up and head back to the Outer Banks for one last summer. He had resigned himself to the fact he’d be going home, but was mainly fine with it until he learned Sophie wouldn’t be coming home too. Ever since then, he’d been dreading it - the beach days, country club and even his friends at home weren’t worth the amount of time he’d have to spend with his dad at work.

His dad had been preparing him over the last few years to take a high position in the company, and Rafe had never protested it, just figuring he wasn’t meant for anything else. It wasn’t until Sophie sent him a few links for internships in downtown Columbus that he began to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was capable of more. He ended up applying to five internships in whole, not sure if he could handle too many rejections. Other kids in his major already had at least one, sometimes two internships under their belt, and Rafe’s resume with work at his dad’s company and a couple leadership positions in his frat didn’t exactly measure up.

He was rejected almost immediately from a couple internships, but interviewed for the three others based on a few strong recommendations from his professors. No matter what, he had to return to the Outer Banks and get some extra clothes and furniture to haul back with him for his senior house, so he settled on going back for a little while he waited to hear back from the other companies.

Later that night, he called her back after getting berated by his dad at work and taking the blame for two other interns’ mistakes. It was late, nearly one am for her on a Tuesday, but she picked up anyways, anticipating the call. “H’lo?” Sophie mumbled into the phone, half-asleep. 

“I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m sick of it.” He confessed immediately and she sat up in bed, concerned. “What? What’s wrong, baby?” 

“It’s my dad, I swear to fucking god. I have to get this internship, Soph, it’s the one excuse he’ll take for me not working for him.” Rafe huffed, trying his best to calm himself down, shaky fingers pressing the Facetime button. 

She picked up right away, the lag in wifi barely interrupting their call. “Breathe, Rafe.” 

He nodded quickly, taking a few shallow breaths, then frowned as he saw the pillow marks pressed into her cheek. “Fuck, did I wake you up? This fucking time zone shit -” He cut himself off, knowing he was just angry with his dad, not her. 

Sophie shook her head. “No, um, was just scrolling through social media and laying down.” 

It was a blatant lie, but Rafe accepted it anyways. “You need to sleep earlier.” 

She shrugged, not wanting to share that she couldn’t sleep that well without him sometimes. “I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.” 

“It’s just.” He paused and propped the phone up, then pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “He puts so much pressure on me, all the time. I’m supposed to take over this company and I don’t even know if that’s what I want to do, I’m a business major just because he told me that’d be a good idea, it’s just -” Rafe took a breath, trying not to get himself more worked up. “It’s a lot.” 

Sophie frowned, catching herself reaching toward the screen for a moment in an attempt to comfort him. “You’ll get the internship in Columbus, I know you will.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do know that. You need to think more highly of yourself, Rafe.” 

He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. “Kinda hard when no one else is thinking highly of me.” 

“Rafe.” She caught his attention with a stern tone, frowning. “That’s not true, not in the slightest.” 

“A little bit.” 

“You’re a loyal friend, you’re generous, you’re smart. I know I can always count on you. You just need to be nicer to yourself.” Sophie encouraged, smiling when he gave her the tiniest hint of a shy smile. 

“You don’t need to say all that.” He countered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I know. But I mean all of it.” She got up from her bed, taking the phone with her. “Hey, go look outside.” 

“Why?” 

“Just go look outside.” 

He furrowed his brow but followed along, bringing his phone to his bedroom window and walking out to his balcony. “What am I supposed to be seeing?” 

“You see the moon?” 

“Yeah.” 

She flipped her camera briefly, showing the glow of the moon in the sky over the city. “It’s the same moon, okay? We’re seeing the exact same thing.” 

“Okay...” He trailed off, confused. 

“It’s almost like I’m there with you.” She paused. “Kind of. We’re not that far apart.” 

“Four thousand miles.” He argued, getting more miserable. “God, I miss you.” 

Sophie nodded with a frown, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know. I miss you too, baby. I’m sorry your dad is being so shitty.” 

“He’ll hear you.” Rafe half-teased, glancing around just to make sure he wasn’t down below on the deck or nearby. 

Her jaw set, stubborn. “Good. When do you hear back about the internship?” 

“In a couple days, probably. I had the final interview yesterday and they’ll give me a few weeks’ notice before I need to move back.” He opened his mouth, about to add another self-deprecating comment, but stopped himself. “It went okay.” 

“I’m sure you were fantastic. Model candidate.” She grinned and he just ached for her even more. “It’s late for you, isn’t it.” 

“Um...a little. But I can keep talking if you want. Any time.” She promised, hiding a yawn behind her hand. 

He shook his head, smiling. “Go back to bed, angel. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Don’t be, I’m glad I got to talk with you again.” Sophie paused. “It’ll be okay, Rafe. I know it.” 

“Yeah.” He agreed just to appease her. The last thing he wanted her to be doing when she was in Barcelona was worrying about him. “Love you. Sweet dreams, Soph.” 

“Love you too.” 

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal

[sgtbradfords]

I just had an idea and I don’t think anyone wrote about it yet 🙈

SE2E12 when Lucy takes down that guy at the speed dating place

Any chance you would write something on that?

Lucy shutting down, nayla and Harper not being able to help her and having to call Tim to come and help

This turned out really cute and I am kinda happy with how it turned out... I hope you enjoy anon! :)

Lucy Chen thought they would be going to a bar or a club for her first girl’s night out with Nyla Harper and Angela Lopez. But no, what the two officers had planned was so much worse.

Speed dating.

As soon as she read the white words on the hideous pink sign, her fight or flight response kicked in. She wanted to run but knowing her two friends, they would never allow that. She tried talking her way out of it, didn’t work. So, she took the only option left, being to rope them into their own scheme.

‘Trust your judgement.’ They said. ‘Control the environment.’

‘Bullshit.’ Lucy thought as she took a seat, a sip of liquid courage coursing through her veins.

The night had started off decent, easily picking out the creeps to be vague to and actively ignoring the weirdos who sent a shiver down her spine. Though, she was not much better, as she came off a little too forward with the men that sat down in the seat across from her.

The buzzer sounded, announcing the end of the night as she and the last prospect, Isaiah stood. He told her he had a good evening, to which she off-handedly agreed. She heard him before she could see him as he reached out, pulling at the loose thread on her sweater.

She reacted instantly, his hands were moving towards her and all she could think about was the last time a set of unwanted hands approached her.

Lucy had him on the floor with his hands secured behind his back in eight seconds flat, Nyla and Angela running over when Lucy laid him out.

“Hey.” Nyla told her placing a hand on her shoulder, bringing her out of her daze. “You’re ok. It’s alright.”

She could hear the shrieks of people being startled around her, Angela’s voice foggy as she spoke to the man she just laid out. Her breathing increased rapidly, adrenaline coursing through her veins as her heart pounded in her chest.

Lucy never heard the question that Nyla was asking as she pulled out of the hold the other woman had on her arm. Her body moved on it’s own accord, her feet carrying her quickly, returning her to the car she had vacated not even an hour earlier, pulling on the handle of the car, sitting down in the passenger seat before she hit the automatic lock button, locking the doors.

“Hey, Chen?” said Nyla as she knocked on the window.

Lucy took a shaky breath to steady herself, focusing on grounding her mind.

“Lucy?” Angela asked as she pulled on the handle of the locked door, hitting the button of her car, unlocking it.

Lucy’s right hand hovered over the switch panel, pressing the button to lock the doors back.

Angela hit it again, only for the occupant of the vehicle to lock it back.

“Seriously. What do we do?” she asked looking over the top of the vehicle.

Nyla pulled out her phone, her thumb scrolling on the screen before pressing the glass, moving the phone to her ear. “Hey. You busy? Yes, I know you’re off duty. We’ve kinda got a situation. I mean kinda like you’ll find out when you get here. We’re in the pay by the hour parking lot on 42nd street. You can’t miss us.” She said before ending the call, placing the phone back into the back pocket of her jeans. “Well, this has been an experience.”

“He on his way?”

Nyla nodded, leaning back on the car. “Relax, she’s not going to budge.”

Angela glanced into the car, standing between the car and the one next to it, keeping an eye on the woman sitting in the passenger seat.

“You meet anyone interesting?”

Nyla snorted, telling Angela about the guy who got up and ran from the table holding a hand to his mouth, and the one she thoroughly grossed out, telling her the stories she had told them.

“What about you?” Angela had just asked when a familiar truck pulled in off the road.

Tim Bradford pulled his truck into the parking lot, stopping at the automated machine to pay for parking, grabbing his ticket before pulling up behind the car he knew all too well. He put the vehicle in park, pressing the button to roll down the passenger side window. “I’m not going to be your DD Harper.”

Nyla walked over to the truck, resting her arms on the sill of the window. “We may have done something stupid.”

“Define stupid.”

Angela walked over, joining Nyla as she looked at the driver guiltily. “I may have pushed Lucy too hard.”

Tim’s face dropped, concern quickly taking over before he could mask the emotion. “What did you do?” he asked as he unbuckled, opening the door of the truck.

Angela shared a look with Nyla, “We may have gone speed dating.”

Tim stared her as he rounded the truck. “You what?”

“She agreed, after some encouragement and bribing.”

“Speed dating.” Tim said as he ran a hand over his face. “What happened?”

“She had a loose string on her shirt and one of the imbeciles tried to pull it without telling her.” Nyla began telling him.

“Then she laid him out. It was impressive really.”

“Not the point Angela. Listen, we tried to calm her down, but she ran out of there and locked herself in the car.”

Sighing Tim moved towards the driver’s side of the car. “Unlock the car.”

Angela hit the button, Tim opening the door simultaneously, getting in behind the wheel before he pulled the door close.

Lucy stared ahead as the vehicle shook, her training officer sliding into the seat next to her, his chest against the steering wheel as his left-hand moved to his side, fumbling with the buttons on the side of the seat.

“How the hell does Ang drive like this?” he grumbled as the seat began sliding all the way back, his long legs slowly unfolding. “So, what happened boot?”

Lucy held a hand to her face, her elbow resting in-between the glass of the window and the door as she continued staring ahead, watching the things moving around the outside world of the vehicle.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“Are you here as my boss or as my friend?” She asked, moving her hand down from her face as she began to wring her fingers.

Tim thought for a second, hesitating before answering. “Friend.” They were friends and they were coworkers but somehow, they were also more than that, their working chemistry setting the base of their friendship outside the four sides of the shop.

“I thought I was ready.” She sighed.

“For?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Something more.”

Tim nodded. “It’s only been two months boot. Your recovery isn’t something that will fix itself overnight.”

Lucy somberly let out a lone laugh. “Like hell it will! I’m tired Tim. I’m tired of the pity, I’m tired of the looks, tired of it all. I just want to put it behind me, live a normal life.”

“I know.” He whispered. “But neither one of us has a time machine Chen.”

“Tim, it wasn’t-“

“Don’t. Don’t say it wasn’t my fault. I’m the one who- I almost lost you Lucy.” He told her, his voice cracking at the admission.

“We talked about this the other night. What happened was neither here nor there and both of us are going to have to move on from it sooner or later.”

Tim knew that his rookie was growing restless, the outcome of those twenty-four hours still eating away at her. “I think… what you need, is to find an outlet.”

“An outlet.” She stated, turning her head to face him.

“Something that takes the stress off, where your thoughts disappear and I don’t mean paintball, something a little more strenuous.”

Lucy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Isn’t that what sex is for?”

“That’s not a healthy outlet.”

“And what, Officer Bradford, is your healthy outlet?”

“I have a few, one of them being running.” He told her shrugging. “I try, every day, to run. In the morning, in the evening, doesn’t matter. If you hold onto the shit that we see on the job, you’re going to implode.”

She nodded. “So, what would you suggest?”

“Everyone’s different, you just have to find something that works for you.”

Lucy mulled over his words, silence enveloping the car before she took the opportunity to speak. “Thank you.”

“I would say anytime Chen but you’re making me miss Thursday night football.”

Lucy shoved his shoulder. “I’m sorry for ruining your Thursday with my insecurities.”

Tim flashed her a smile. “We all have our days boot. I do have to say that I wouldn’t mind seeing the video of you putting this guy in his place though.”

“What, so you can critique me?”

“No, so I can see you laying this guy out on his ass.” He said with pride in his voice. “Then critique you.”

A knock sounded on the driver side window. “If you two are done with whatever this is,” Angela said, gesturing between the two “we would like to get out of here.”

“Find an outlet boot.” He said as he pulled the handle of the door, his tall frame exiting the car. “You three text me when you get home.”

“Awwwe look Ang, I think he’s worried.” Nyla teased as Tim walked back towards his waiting truck, the man raising his right hand up the air as he flashed his middle finger.

It took several days and shifts to find what he was talking about, but as she wrapped her hands in tape, a bag of sand hanging in front of her, she took the advice given to her to heart. Lucy couldn’t help the smile that overtook her as she replayed the conversation that followed the disaster that was the other night as she began hitting the swaying bag. ‘Find an outlet boot.’

“Bring your elbow up.” A voice spoke from a few feet behind her causing her to jump.

“Giving boxing advice now are we Officer Bradford?”

Tim shrugged off the bag on his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. “No but, I would rather you hit the bag properly than have a bummed wrist tomorrow and us get into a shootout.”

Lucy jabbed the bag. “Sounds like advice to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you want my help or not?”

She stopped the swaying bag, grasping it with both hands. “Fine.”

Tim stepped closer, moving into her line of sight as he stood next to the bag. He began critiquing her, Lucy adjusting her stance and positioning countless times as he began placed a pair of boxing pads on his hands. “Enough with the bag. Hit me boot.”

“What?” she said in astonishment. “I’m not-“

“You will Chen, hit me.”

Lucy took a swing at him, missing him as he ducked. “Again.” He ordered.

She forcefully swung her right arm, her throw landing on the soft padding. “Good. Again.”

They kept it up, Tim counteracting her throws and punches, throwing in his own punches that she successfully blocked for the most part.

“See? Outlet.” He told her as he pulled a bottle of water from his bag, taking a sip.

Lucy began unwrapping her wrists, wading the tape into a ball. “Thanks, Tim.”

“You’ve got a mean right hook but your uppercut could use some work. We’ll meet back here in two days boot.” He told her, gathering his bag, moving towards the door.

“Don’t I spend enough time with you already?”

Tim turned around, smirking. “Two days boot.”

Lucy sighed, turning around mumbling under her breath. “He’s lucky I like him.”

“Heard that!” he yelled as the door closed.

[nitewrighter]

First Meeting of Genji and Tracer maybe?

I haven’t forgotten all the kiss prompts but I wanted to gear-shift to something a little more punchy!

-------

“I don’t know about this…” Genji mindlessly brushed his fingers along the handle of Ryū-Ichimonji as he walked down the hall, “I’ve never really thought of myself as a teacher...”

“You said you wanted to get off the bench,” Reyes walked alongside him, both hands in the mono-pocket of his hoodie. He had a way of carrying himself that made it easy for the eye to scan past him, despite being head of Blackwatch, but Genji drew the eye, bare skin and metal, and stark black, white and red prosthetics, and so in their walk virtually all Overwatch staff in the hallway gave them an unnaturally wide berth, first a natural reaction to Genji’s appearance, then a flinching recognition of Reyes. “This is the best Jack and I can do for you,” Reyes went on, “Besides, she was in the RAF before this, so it’s not like she’s coming into this with no combat knowledge.”

‘The best Jack and I can do for you,’ Genji glanced away from Reyes, his eyes narrowing in thought, So you show Jack one hand with me, while keeping the other behind your back with McCree. I’m the ‘accountability’ agent, but McCree and Moira... they’re still Blackwatch. They’re still working. His ‘real’ agents. Genji wondered where McCree was now. Was it an ‘errand’ this time or a ‘vacation?’ It wasn’t as if it was sanctioned by Jack either way, but it wasn’t like Jack would look too closely or question it so long as the cyborg ninja was accounted for. 

“Hey,” Reyes spoke and Genji was forced to pull himself out of his bristling silence, “Being a part of Overwatch isn’t just cutting through shit with a sword. You have to show you can work with people, and not just Blackwatch.” Reyes gave a short snort, “Though, let’s be real, saying you worked with Blackwatch is a bit of a stretch.”

Genji kept his eyes fixed away sullenly. “So she’s not the only one learning, here,” he mused. 

“Now you’re getting it,” said Reyes, smiling.

“You don’t know when Blackwatch’s suspension is ending, do you?” Genji’s voice was level but it wiped the smile from Reyes’s face in an instant. 

“Can’t say that I do,” Reyes flicked his own eyes forward, down the hall, “But that doesn’t mean I’m sitting on my hands, Shimada. You can believe me when I say I’m working on ways to get you back out there, because Talon’s only going to get bolder while we’re wrapping ourselves in red tape. But you have to show me, Jack, and all these UN pearl-clutchers you can adapt. Do you understand?”

“Mm,” Genji gave a single nod as they exited two automatic doors out to the training area, where a cluster of training bots where doddering around in various directions.

“Had ‘em cue up your usual warm-up,” said Reyes, putting his hands on his hips, “Think benchwarming got you soft?”

Genji gave a short scoff before drawing Ryū-Ichimonji from his back, but Reyes could hear the smile in his breath beneath his faceplate.

----

“Wow... Blackwatch!” Tracer’s eyes were wide as Mercy and Winston stood next to her in the elevator, “I heard all about the--I mean, everyone heard about Venice but--blimey! Are we sure it’s all right?” 

“We’re approaching this as a sort of... rehabilitation from suspension,” said Mercy, “And don’t worry, I’m very well-acquainted with your future teacher and I can assure you that Genji Shimada holds himself to a very high standard as an agent.” 

“I know that but....I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of that ninja stuff,” Trace glanced down at the chronal accelerator glowing in her chest, “This thing doesn’t exactly make it ea--easy to sneak around.” A brief ripple of glowing blue chronal feedback bloomed around her on the word ‘easy’ and her shoulders bunched up self-consciously, “Sometimes I don’t know if I can pull off that... speed-up thing I did back with the prototypes...”

“The accelerator reacts to your nervous system,” Winston chimed in, “We can worry about safely discharging the chronal distortion later, but it’s perfectly safe and stable as it is right now! All you need to worry about is keeping a cool head!”

“Cool head,” Tracer said firmly, “Right.”

“But if anything feels wrong you should tell us immediately,” Mercy quickly added.

“Gotcha, gotcha,” said Tracer, nodding. The three of them stood in a nervous, excited silence for a few seconds.

“Is he nice?” Tracer asked, looking at Mercy, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can deal with the ‘tough love’ types, but I guess I’m just not really sure what to expect with all this Blackwatch stuff...”

“Oh he’s wonderful,” said Mercy beaming as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, “And I think, while both your situations are very unique, he’ll definitely understand what you’re going through. He’s basically had to re-learn how to coordinate his body, too!”

Tracer’s shoulders slumped with some reassurance as they stepped out into the open air of the training area, “Well that’s a relief,” she said, with a lopsided smile.

“Oh yes. He’ll be a great teacher. He’s patient, and attentive, and really quite funny once you get to know him, and he’s very---”

Mercy was cut off by a snarling, roaring, cybernetically warbling scream as a red, white, and black blur rushed past them on the training grounds. Tracer, Winston, and Mercy watched in some combination of awe and terror as Genji Shimada tore through a batch of training bots like a hurricane. 

“Very--um...” Mercy’s words turned halting as Genji dove and slid under one bot and became a whirlwind of blades and kicks, slicing up the training bots closing in on him, before sending the poor training bot he had dived under into the air then springing into the air himself. His wires whipped around him as he twisted in the air, sending the training bot flying back with a kick that made it shatter against a wall. 

“Very--” Mercy tried to regain her composure and speak quickly but winced as she was cut off again by the screech and clatter of metal, the loud scream of a broken vocal box on one of the training bots as Genji jammed both sword and wakizashi into it before ripping it outward and rendering the training bot an explosion of broken metal parts. Mercy looked sharply over to Tracer, whose mouth was hanging open in a petrified gawk.

“He’s very...” Mercy was trying to eke words out of herself as Genji sliced off the head of one training bot with his sword then stabbed it through with his wakizashi before pivoting and smashing another training bot’s head with the skewered head of its compatriot. “...enthusiastic?”

Genji’s breaths were ragged and his forearms were quaking with how hard his hands were gripping his sword and wakizashi, surrounded by the sparking broken bits of training bots, his shoulders rising and falling with his breaths. Tracer, Winston, and Mercy all flinched to attention at the sound of clapping next to them and looked to their right to see Gabriel Reyes stick his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistle shrilly before clapping some more.

“Attaboy, Genji! Still got it!” Reyes called out to Genji and Genji seemed to pull himself out of a blood-drunk haze (or at least the robot-destroying equivalent of a blood-drunk haze), looking over his shoulder and then flinching to awkward attention himself as he noticed Reyes was now accompanied by Mercy, the gorilla, and... the newbie. 

His student.

Who looked about ready to either throw up or piss herself or both from what she had just seen him do.

Reyes was still clapping and smiling obnoxiously, Genji awkwardly lifted his wakizashi (smaller sword was less threatening, right?) and gave a small wave.

“Uh... yo,” he said.

“Er--excellent form, Genji!” Mercy raised her voice so he could hear her but it came out as a squawk, her desperation to try and diffuse the situation obvious in every intonation, “Very... efficient!” She had that ‘everything is going wrong but for the love of god be strong, Angela’ deliriously forced smile on her face, which he had seen both at 3 AM in the lab and at press conferences going down in flames.

“Thank you?” said Genji, sheathing both his sword and moving to walk toward them but then stumbling over a piece of broken training bot. He quickly recovered, straightened himself up to full height and walked briskly over to them before giving a stiff bow.

“So glad you could join us, Oxton,” said Reyes, turning to look at Tracer, his hands on his hips.

“Reyes?” Mercy’s voice was steel wire-tight, “May we speak?”

“Sure, Ange, what--” Reyes started but Mercy grabbed him by the loose sleeve of the hoodie and practically dragged him through the doors of the training area’s control room.

“Wait, shouldn’t we--” Tracer started feebly after them but the steel doors of the room slammed behind them. Tracer, Genji, and Winston all vaguely made out the muffled sounds of Mercy yelling at Reyes on the other side of the doors. 

“What were you thinking?! What was that?!”

“What are you yelling at me for? I just thought he should get a little warmed up and the newbie should get some idea of--”

“Some idea of what?! We’ve only barely scratched the surface of the effects the chronal disassociation is having on her physical abilities and you’re throwing up these warzones like---”

“Hey, I just set up his usual training bot session, Doc, you got a problem with Genji’s style, you take that up with him--”

“I don’t have a problem with Genji’s ‘style’--! I--Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing---! Is this some other play?! Are you--”

Winston cleared his throat. “We should probably...”

“Right..” said Tracer a little sheepishly.

The three of them edged away from the steel doors. Genji glanced over at Tracer, who didn’t seem to know whether to even look at him as they walked themselves out of earshot of the argument.

“So you’re the new recruit from the flight program,” said Genji, folding his arms and trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Ah...y-yeah!” Tracer blurted out. She cleared her throat and stuck her hand out, “Lena Oxton! Callsign Tracer! Reporting for du--” blue light suddenly flared brightly around her from the glowing object on her chest and she seemed to catch herself, clearing her throat, “er... reporting for duty,” she said extending her hand again, which had somehow jerked back to her side with the blue glow.

Genji moved to extend his organic hand, found that that would be awkward with the hand Tracer had chosen to shake with, then hesitantly extended his prosthetic. She shook his hand so hard it jostled up his whole arm before she caught herself and withdrew her hands to her side, clearing her throat.

“Ah so that’s...” Genji started.

“Yeah it’s a thing,” said Tracer, glancing down.

“Well...” Genji gestured up and down himself, “This... is also a thing.”

“I can see that,” said Tracer with a bit of a nervous giggle. They both gave a glance to Winston. 

“Oh!” Winston perked up and started unconsciously signing as he spoke, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Winston. I’ll be on the science team overseeing Tracer’s condition with the chronal accelerator. Along with Doctor Ziegler. So we’ll be watching while you’re training together!”

“I see,” said Genji, “And you’re...”

“From the moon,” said Winston.

“From the moon,” Genji repeated, both of them silently agreeing that they didn’t have to go into the ‘gorilla’ part of things. He glanced back at Tracer. “Look--” Genji started but then caught himself, “I--if I scared you back there...”

“You didn’t scare me!” Tracer blurted out.

Both Genji and Winston gave her steady looks and Tracer stiffened her shoulders slightly, “I mean... y’know it’s... nothing I can’t handle. Really!” she put her hands on her hips and huffed, “You’re pretty tame compared to some of the things I’ve seen,” she said. She was trying to inject an adventurous sense of swagger into her voice, but her youth undermined a lot of that. 

Genji tilted his head slightly, studying her, and she made eye contact but didn’t sustain it for too long. He was used to that at this point. The red eyes were off-putting for a lot of people, but then his eyes flicked to Winston, then down at the chronal accelerator glowing in Tracer’s chest. There was something simultaneously familiar and alienating standing in their presence, and hearing the faint muffled sounds of Ziegler and Reyes arguing on the other side of the door, there was a spark of kinship between the three of them. Three people who wouldn’t have any place in the world without Overwatch.

“So how do we start?” said Tracer.

“Start?” said Genji, “Now?”

“Well, Doctor Z said you already went through all this stuff to re-learn coordination with all your...” Tracer gestured up and down at him, “Whatnot. And I figure, the sooner for me, the better, right? So lesson one, Teach! Let’s hear it!”

“Uh...” Genji rubbed the back of his head.

“Perhaps you could begin with assessment?” Winston suggested, “Establish what level of combat training Tracer should start with?”

The fastest way to do that is sparring, Genji thought and he got a horrifying mental image of Ziegler and Reyes emerging from their argument in the control room only to walk in on him punching Morrison’s beloved time-hopping newbie in the face.

“The first step to training is.... establishing the training space!” Genji blurted out. He vaguely remembered some lectures from his Shimada clan trainers indicating something similar, but the force that propelled those words from his mouth were more of the ‘70% panic’ variety.

“Establishing the training ground?” Tracer tilted her head.

“You can’t train in a cluttered space,” Genji pointed at the countless broken bits of training bots strewn across the training grounds, “You can start by cleaning those up.”

“...isn’t that your mess?” said Tracer.

“Who’s the teacher here?” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Right! Of course! Sorry!” said Tracer with a sharp salute before zipping off in a blue streak. Genji flinched hard at how inhumanly fast she moved and she seemed to catch herself as well, skidding to a halt on her heels. “Winston!” she called out excitedly, “Did you see that!? I did the thing! I did the speedy thing again!! I didn’t even think about it!! You’re such a good teacher, Genji!”

“I know,” said Genji, trying to look off stoically as Tracer zipped around the training grounds, picking up broken training bot bits and laughing between flashes of blue light.

“...you don’t know what ‘the speedy thing’ is, do you?” said Winston, very quietly.

“No,” Genji replied, also very quietly.

“You’re making this up as you go along,” Winston said flatly.

“It’s called ‘adapting,’” said Genji. He could still feel Winston’s eyes on him, skeptical. “I can adapt,” Genji said, mostly to himself as Tracer threw a bunch of training bot parts into a recycling bin with a loud clatter.

[shewillreadyou]

Haven’t met you yet

As always. I hope that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

A/N: This is a TRR AU. Liam is already married, but see’s Riley and wants his cake. If the readers are receptive this might turn into more than a mini series.

Disclaimers: Most characters are property of Pixelberry

Warnings: NS*FW (+18) don’t read this fic if you’re a minor; period.

Word Count: 1887

Prompts: @wackydrabbles prompt #88 “I meant every word.” will appear in BOLD

Pairings: Drake & Riley

Song inspiration: Haven’t met you yet -Michael Buble

Be Kind: Hit the heart button, leave a comment or reblog. It makes a writer so so happy. 

A replay of the Royal wedding of King Liam and Queen Carsyn of Cordonia was playing in the background as she packed her clothes in the small carryon. She giggled when they kissed. Although it was rumored that the king was into black women, something seemed off when he kissed his bride. She had watched this wedding a half dozen times and still couldn’t really put her finger on it. She was headed to New York to stand up in the wedding of one of her sorority sisters. After landing her dream job in Dallas, Riley couldn’t wait to meet her sorors in New York to celebrate. After all, Norah was about to marry the man of her dreams and Riley was truly happy for them. 

There was currently no man in Riley’s life and no prospects. Maybe she’d meet someone in Dallas or maybe she was destined for the life of a career woman. Maybe there would be no happily ever after for her. She turned out the lights in her new downtown Dallas apartment, and grabbed her carry on dragging it to the door as she headed to the airport. 

She opened the door to see her latest amazon purchase on the door mat. She took a moment to retreat inside to open the box. She was hoping it was delivered before she had to head out. Her pink Bedroom Kandi toy was still packed away lost in the sea of boxes crammed into her guestroom. She knew that she would not survive this long weekend in NYC without some form of sexual entertainment. She was disappointed when she opened the box to find her new toy was smaller than the picture made it look. Her flight left in 2 hours and her uber was downstairs so she shoved the disappointing toy in the side of her bag and headed down.  

After the uneventful three hour flight, she finally landed at JFK. Mack was supposed to pick her up from the airport. She stood to the side as people herded to baggage claim to send a quick text. A group of men came from the opposite direction. One was this tall, very attractive Asian guy who looked alot like King Liam. He was with a few other men but there was one in particular who caught her eye. He was beautiful, he had dark hair and the most beautiful blue-grey eyes. The guy who bore resemblance to King Liam smiled and winked at her, while his brooding friend who definitely glanced at her, kept moving. She was snatched from her day dream when Mack texted to say she was outside. 

They checked into the Crown Plaza in Manhattan, freshened up and changed into their little black dresses before meeting the girls at a local rooftop lounge for appetizers and drinks before the bachelorette party. 

The sounds of Dua Lipa’s “Don’t start now” played in the background and encouraged a slightly inebriated Lauren to shake her body on the empty dance floor. Still licking the wounds behind a very fresh break up she intended to use this weekend to drink her troubles away and vowed to nail a stranger. 

The hostess seated a group of gentlemen at the table directly behind the ladies giving Riley, who never sat with her back to the door the best look at the group. It was them. The men from the airport. When they were settled, Riley’s eyes met with the Asian guy’s who was smiling and licking his lips. She rolled her eyes and turned to Kourtney. 

“So, how is Gabrielle, is she two now?” 

“Yes, she’s great. Busy, but great. That was real smooth. You have an admirer.”

“Ugh, I saw those guys in the airport when I landed. He smiled at me then too.”

“But now there are two of them looking at you like you’re a steak.”

Riley coyly glanced at the group again, this time noticing the dark haired man looking. She blushed and turned back to Kourtney right as the server approached with a whiskey sour, complete with a phone number written on the cocktail napkin. 

“How did he know what you drink?”

“Girl, I have no idea. Should I drink this?”

“Sure, they wouldn’t have served it if it had been tampered with. But the real question is are you going to call him?” 

“Me? Noooo. What would I say?” 

“What do you have to lose?”

“Wait, you have never dated a white guy before have you?” 

“Well, no. Not that they aren’t attractive. I just never had one interested. Not all of us find our Prince Harry.” 

“You do now. Besides, Chris is no Prince Harry, but he does treat me like a queen. I have always wondered if there are people who would rather be alone than to date outside of their race. Chris is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I definitely would date outside of my race if it were the right person. He is gorgeous, I’m still not calling this guy. He’s going to think i’m desperate.”

“You are!”

“I am not!”

“When was the last time you got laid? Mack told me about your toy.”

“Remind me to kill her later. It’s been 8 months, 3 weeks and 5 days. But who’s counting?”

“Exactly,” Kourtney cackled, drawing the attention of the men at the next table. 

Maroon 5’s, “Moves like Jagger” started to play as they continued to chat.

“May I have this dance?”

Riley was disappointed to find the King Liam look alike.

“Thanks, but my feet are killing me.”

“That’s too bad,” he said as he flashed her a sexy smile.

Just then she glanced across the rooftop to see him whisper something to his brooding friend. In an instant the guy with the beautiful eyes headed over and slipped the DJ a tip and whispered something in his ear before heading Riley’s way. 

“Kourt, shit! He’s coming over here what do I say?”

“Don’t. Let him do the talking.”

 He held out his hand and smiled at her and she was sure her panties were ruined.

“Hey, did I get your drink right?” he asked placing her hand in his.

“Actually, yeah you did. Impressive.”

Just then the DJ changed the song to Silk Sonic’s, “Leave the door open.”

The stranger pulled her to her feet.

“Let’s dance.”

His scent was intoxicating, his arms where strong and she could get lost in his eyes. He held her with a familiarity that made her feel at home in his arms.

“So are you going to tell me your name?”

“Drake. And you are?”

“Riley.” 

“We don’t have to talk right now. Let’s just dance. Just use my number when you’re ready.”  

“Their bodies swayed slowly to the song before her friends pulled her away to the next leg of their night.”

Two weeks later

After a very long weekend in New York, Riley was back in Dallas. She had been there for almost a month and hadn’t met anyone at all. Well, there was Will from work. But she doesn’t date co-workers and she is pretty sure he is gay. In her freetime she goes to the gym, and eats at new restaurants  a few times a week, which leads her back to the gym. After a particularly long work day, circuit training and an hour on the treadmill Riley came home and poured herself a very large glass of wine. She filled the tub, lit some jar candles and grabbed her toy and the romance novel that she was currently reading.

She was soaking in bubbles up to her neck when her phone rang, it was Kourtney. Out of all her friends she probably checked on Riley the most. She dried her hands and pressed the speakerphone button.

Hey Kourt,

Hey Ri, what’s new?

Not a thing, work, the gym, dinner, wine repeat.

That’s sad. No human interaction?

Not really. I’ve hung out with Mack and Ben twice but I always feel like a third wheel. 

Remember when I told you to call the guy from the rooftop?

Yeah. 

I meant every word.

I will think about it. I gotta go. Early morning. Love you.

Whatever, I know when I hit a nerve. I love you too.

Three days later

Riley was as lonely in Dallas as they come. She thought about online dating but wanted something more organic. Kourtney’s words lingered in the back of her mind. Maybe she was right. Riley had nothing to lose by reaching out to the handsome stranger who sent her the drink in NYC. She decided to take the plunge.

The next morning Riley sat on her balcony reading the paper and sipping amaretto flavored coffee when her phone rang.

Hey Mack! 

Hey, I am running into church and I know it’s short notice but Ben is out of town next weekend and my college roommate is getting married down in Waxahachie. Please tell me you don’t have plans and you’ll be my plus one.

I’ll have to check my planner. She laughed.

Who am I kidding? I don’t have plans. Free booze, food, and maybe a groomsmen to have a fling with. Count me in…

Yay! She squealed. I will pick you up Saturday morning and we can ride down to the ranch together.

Saturday

The doorbell rings and Riley grabs her clutch and the wedding card she got for the newlyweds before heading down to meet Mack. They catch up while they take the 30 minute drive out to the Walker Ranch where the ceremony is to be held. Mack talked about feeling like an after thought when it came to her boyfriend. Riley mentioned the need for human interaction, more specifically from a man and how the one man she met in New York lives in Europe. When they arrive Riley takes in the vast land and the beautiful event space. 

“Savannah’s family owns this ranch? Wow, it’s massive.”

“Yeah, I know at one time they were really struggling to keep things afloat. But it definitely looks like they are doing well for themselves now.”

“Right? I love when family businesses do well. It’s really a gorgeous day for an outside wedding. But we should probably take our seats. The ceremony will be starting soon.”

Mack led Riley to a couple seats on the bride's side. Before long a very serious looking groom and an officiant that Riley could only describe as a King Liam look-a-like stood under a wedding trellis decorated with blush colored blooms. The violinist started to play a beautiful arrangement as the attendants began to descend the aisle. 

“All rise and receive the bride.”

They guess all stood and turned to receive Savannah. She was a stunning bride. Then Riley laid eyes on those hypnotic blue-grey eyes. She instantly broke out into a sweat. She couldn’t ever mistake those eyes for someone else’s. He was as beautiful as the first tine she saw him. She swallowed hard and her mouth went dry. Her heart seemed to be pounding out of her chest, she was shaking when she gave Mack’s hand a firm squeeze. 

“What’s wrong Ri?”

Before she could answer, his eyes met hers, he bit his lip and her knees buckled. 

“Um Ri?”

“It’s Drake from the rooftop in New York..”

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