#anyway i totally would try to go to grad school but i would probably need to get another degree to get into the areas im interested in | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

etherrreal · 4 years ago

Text

“resentment”

Pairing: oikawa x fem!reader Genre: angst Summary: you used to love oikawa’s determination, his drive, his willingness to give his all and sacrifice everything to get the things he wants. now those are the same things that make you resent him. WC: 6,700 Warnings: lots of angst, explicit language, reader’s kinda petty but so is oikawa, relationship isn’t toxic or anything but it could def be better A/N: shoutout to @shadowkunoichi for this request! your ask gave me enough serotonin to last for the rest of the week <3 it’s also important to note that the moment i saw oikawa’s smug ass face on screen my brain and heart immediately went “this the one” so here’s some pain ft. my favorite setter -Dawn

The first few times Oikawa cancels your dates for extended volleyball practice, you tell yourself it doesn’t bother you. You’re disappointed, of course –you barely see him enough as it is, despite living together for three months, despite dating for a total of eight– but it’s not the end of the world. It’s just another compromise you have to make, and it probably won’t be the last.

That’s what relationships are about, anyway, you remind yourself firmly, whenever the silence of your too-big for one person apartment starts to get to you. Compromise.

You’re no stranger to compromise, either. You can’t be, not when you’re dating a pro-athlete. You know better than anyone how talented Oikawa is, how admired. He’s worked so hard, and you’re so proud of him. You may not know much about sports, but you do know that your boyfriend has an amazing career ahead of him.

And while the selfish part of you would like to keep him all to yourself, you also know it won’t always be possible, and you tell yourself you’re okay with that. You love Oikawa, and you support every single one of his dreams, even if doing so means you have to eat dinner on your own sometimes.

It won’t always be this way, you tell yourself. It’s just for now. And it definitely doesn’t mean he loves you any less.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It helps that he’s always sorry about it. You hear it in his voice whenever he calls you to tell you he won’t be home until late, see it in the guilty way his eyes search for yours through the screen when he FaceTimes you to let you know you shouldn’t wait up for him. He’s even more torn up about it than you are most of the time, blowing your phone up with apologetic voice notes and text messages with too many emojis.

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: babe 😔😔

[you]:: yes baby?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😔😔😔😔

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😩😩😭😭

[you]:: oh boy

[you]:: you’re not gonna be home in time for dinner, are you?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i don’t think so 😩😔 we have that game coming up so we’ll be practicing all night

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m so sorry baby ☹️☹️ but i’ll have to miss dinner again 😭😭

[you]:: it’s fine, i’ll just find someone else to share my chicken with

[you]:: speaking of, u have ushiwaka’s #? i wanna see something

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: STOPPPP 😭😭 i’m sorry!!!

[you]:: allegedly

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: stop 😭😭 i mean it!! i love you pls don’t hate me 😩☹️

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m really sorry babe ☹️☹️

[you]:: if ur apology doesn’t include dollar signs then i don’t wanna hear it

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: check ur email

[you]:: ??

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 👀😇

You check your email, and sure enough, there’s a gift card there to your favorite clothing store, along with a note that reads “financial compensation for putting up with me <3 also if u ever share chicken with ushiwaka i’ll cry and then die so pls don’t.” It makes you laugh so hard you forget about being upset with him in the first place.

[you]:: i was joking!! u didn’t actually have to send me anything u weirdo

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i know 😇😏😘

And when he does make it home that night with an apology on his lips, a bouquet of flowers, and a promise that he’ll make it up to you, it’s hard to do anything else besides forgive him. Because you know that no matter how crazy both of your schedules are, no matter how lonely you might feel without him at your side, he loves you more than anything, and you love him as much in return. And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re thankful to have successfully made it through your first year of grad school with just a caffeine addiction and minor bags under your eyes, but not having to attend your classes or meet with your professors over the break means you’re at the apartment a lot more. You still have your job, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore Oikawa’s absence.

It’s not just dates he’s missing anymore. It’s family events, outings with your friends, getaway trips the two of you planned weeks in advance.

You know it’s not his fault. He has things he wants to accomplish, goals he set for himself long before he met you. The Olympics are coming up, and he needs to be ready. You can’t blame him for staying late to get in some extra practice, or for having to attend events with his teammates and his fans instead of you.

You can’t blame him for any of it, at least not without feeling selfish and unsupportive, and somehow that just makes it worse.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to build up the courage to talk to him about it. You almost don’t want to bring it up at all, but after weeks of missed dates and apology bouquets, of waking up without him and going to sleep before he gets home, you crumble. You don’t think you can keep grinning and bearing it anymore, not without starting to resent him.

You confront him while he’s sitting at the kitchen island in the middle of your shared apartment. It’s rare he doesn’t have a game on the weekend, even rarer he gets to spend the afternoon with you. It almost makes you reconsider –will this ruin your time together?– but you hold fast. You know that if you don’t bring it up now, then you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that much more silent heartache.

Oikawa, for his part, does well to listen as you speak. He watches you intently, pretty brown eyes soft and searching, as you tell him about how neglected you’re feeling, how lonely.

You know he’s not doing it on purpose. You know he’s meant every single one of his apologies, and that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to be in a relationship with him. And you love how driven he is, how determined he is to succeed.

You just...you miss him. That’s what it boils down to in the end: how much you miss him. You miss him now more than that time he left to spend a month back home in Japan while you stayed in Argentina, despite the fact that you’re in the same country this time, despite the fact that you share the same apartment. It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s true.

“I know your career is important, and I would never try to get in the way of that,” you tell him, quietly, tiredly. There’s an exhausted air around you he’s never seen before, the kind of whispered sadness that breaks his heart. “But sometimes, Tooru...sometimes it feels like I’m dating a ghost. And I’m not mad at you, or angry, I’m just...lonely.”

You finally look at him, and the emotion in his eyes startles you. He’s actually tearing up –“you’re such a crybaby,” you like to tease him when his eyes water during sad movies, but you always comfort him anyway– and it’s enough to make your eyes fill with tears, too. He looks so sad, so broken, like knowing he’s hurt you –even if it’s been completely unintentional– hurts him too.

He’s quick to stand and walk over to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You return the embrace, resting your head against his chest while one of his hands moves to cradle the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, and you can tell by the way his voice shakes that he means it. “I know things have been crazy lately, but that’s no excuse for leaving you here alone. I never want you to feel like you’re anything besides the most important person in my life. I love you so much, and I promise I’m going to fix this. Things will get better, I swear.”

And in that moment, you believe him. You trust him, after all, and you know he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. So you let him mumble reassurances into your hair, let him kiss your breath away and shower you in the affection you’ve been missing for far too long.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, lost in him. Too easy.

He’s always been like that; charismatic and witty, magnetic and charming. It doesn’t help that he’s totally gorgeous, too. You knew, from the moment you met him, that if you ever let yourself fall in love with him, you’d be in trouble. It’s why you never took any of his advances seriously, at least not in the beginning.

But he was able to chip at your resolve with every teasing smile and playful wink, every reverent touch and whispered words meant just for you. He let you get to know him; the real him, not that flippant and perfect pretty boy facade he presents to the rest of the world, and so of course you fell for him, because how could you not?

Oikawa is stubborn and prideful, exhausting and even sometimes petty, but he makes you feel like you’re the strongest person he knows. He looks at you like you’re the only one he’ll ever want to see. He makes you laugh and keeps you on your toes, and you know right away –before you moved in together, before you told him you loved him– that you will never love anyone the way you love him, because no one else will ever be able to compare.

That’s why it’s so easy for you to believe him now. Because you know he loves you and that you love him, and the two of you are determined to make this relationship work. So when he promises that things will change, that he’ll be more present from here on out, you believe him.

It’s the first promise he’s ever made to you that he doesn’t keep.

For every event Oikawa does bother to make it to, he misses two more. Your parents, who adore him, wonder why they never see him anymore. Your friends start to ask if you even still have a boyfriend. You find yourself asking the very same thing.

You stop inviting him to events at your university and lunches with your friends. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment anymore, and you figure it’s easier to just save yourself from the inevitable. The apology gifts he gives you start to feel hollow, empty, just like your apartment. You stop opening them, letting them pile up in the corner of your living room. Eventually, he stops giving them to you.

You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if it upsets you even more.

The Olympics get closer each day. Oikawa’s practices become more intense and even longer than they already were. There are so many things he needs to do now: games to play, meet and greets to attend. Sometimes if he’s out too late he just doesn’t come home at all. The team sets him up at a hotel, and he stays there for the night instead.

It gets harder to catch his scent on his pillow where it lays beside you in bed, untouched and forgotten. It should hurt you more, but it doesn’t.

There’s an event being held back in Japan, promising a night of drinking and dancing and schmoozing. All the investors and international players and coaches will be there, and you promised a while back to be Oikawa’s plus one.

The vindictive part of you wants to cancel on him, just so he knows how it feels, but you decide you can put your pettiness aside for a few nights if it means free booze and food and a comfortable stay at some ridiculously fancy hotel. You wonder if that’ll be enough to fill the hole he’s made in your heart.

Besides, you want to remind him that you’re the kind of person who keeps your word, even if he’s not.

The flight is long and exhausting. So is finding your hotel and forcing yourself to get dressed, but you get through it. Oikawa looks unfairly stunning in his suit, but you try not to notice. He arrives at the party with you on his arm, wearing a silky gown that matches his tie and jewelry that glitters whenever it catches the light.

You’ve barely talked to each other the whole way here, but at the party, amongst his teammates, old rivals, and friends, you’re the perfect couple. You smile, laugh, and dance exactly when you’re supposed to. You play your role so well that no one notices how numb you are, not even Oikawa, even though he’s supposed to know you better than anyone else.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself at the open bar. Oikawa’s off mingling with god knows who, swamped by dozens of people who are always seeking his favor, trapped in his orbit. They praise his hard work, his tenacity, his determination. Once upon a time, you would’ve done the same.

But things are different between you now. What used to be Oikawa’s endearing stubbornness is now an outright refusal to meet you halfway. His determination to be the best has become an inability to compromise; his passion has become obsession. It’s strange to think how all the things that used to make you love him now just make you resent him.

But the liquor here is free and flowing so you knock it back like water, and it’s almost enough to make you forget your heartbreak, your anger. Almost.

All the drinking eventually sends you to the bathroom. You touch up your makeup as best as you can and wash your hands with one of the several different soap options, exiting the bathroom noticeably drunker than you were when you went in.

You’re off-balance enough that when you run into what feels like a brick wall but is actually just a tall, broad-shouldered man, you stumble and nearly fall over. He reacts quicker than you do, catching your elbow and steadying you back on your feet.

He asks you if you’re all right and you reassure him that you are. You swear you’ve seen his face before, but you’re too tipsy right now to bother to remember where.

“I appreciate the help,” you say sincerely, patting his shoulder. “But I promise I’m okay. Thank you again, really.”

He gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you, and he’s proven right approximately five seconds later, when you turn on your heel to leave and nearly fall over again. Once more, he’s there to catch you.

You try to convince him that you’re okay; you’re just a little bit tipsy from all the champagne earlier, but he guides you to one of the stupid velvet couches in the hallway and makes you sit down. He tells you to stay there and wait for him, and you want to protest but he’s already gone before you can make any real sort of argument.

When he returns, it’s with a bottle of water, which you sheepishly accept. He stays with you as you drink it, and your vision and stomach start to settle. You thank him again for all his help. He tells you it’s no big deal, and when he introduces himself as Ushijima Wakatoshi, you laugh so hard you almost spit water all over yourself.

Ushijima raises an eyebrow at you. “Is there something about my name that amuses you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” It takes more effort than it should, but you’re thankfully able to force yourself to stop laughing. Talk about ironic encounters. “It’s just– I’ve heard of you before.”

“Are you a fan of volleyball?”

You resist the urge to snort, sending him an amused smile instead. “Something like that.”

The two of you chat for a little while, and it’s a surprisingly pleasant conversation. You quite like his company, and you appreciate how he’s willing to keep an eye on you solely out of the kindness of his heart, just to make sure you’re really okay. It’s hardly necessary anymore –the water’s doing a great job at sobering you up– but it’s a nice distraction from the reason you started drinking in the first place.

Or it was, until you start to hear that very same reason calling your name from somewhere down the hall. His voice gets closer and closer, and you shut your eyes, bracing yourself.

“What the hell?”

You open your eyes and suddenly Oikawa is in front of you, eyebrows drawn together and lips pulled into a deep frown. You can only imagine what you look like to him right now, low-eyed and tipsy and sitting on a couch next to his oldest rival.

You can already see the anger in his eyes, the suspicion. He’s jealous, and it’s absolutely ridiculous because he has no right to be. Not after ignoring you for so long. Not after reminding you over and over again that when it comes down to it, you’ll always be second place to his career.

You haven’t been flirting with Ushijima, but now you wonder if maybe you should have. There’s a bitter part of you that wants to hurt Oikawa as much as he’s hurt you, even if it’s only for a moment.

Ushijima seems completely oblivious to the situation, which you’re sure just infuriates your boyfriend even more. He’s described to you in great detail how one of the things he finds most frustrating about Ushijima is how completely and utterly unbothered he is by everything.

“Oikawa,” the man closest to you greets, standing up. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ushiwaka.” The smile your boyfriend directs to his old rival is tight-lipped and void of any of its usual warmth. Oikawa’s gaze settles on you next, eyes narrowing even further. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is plain, dull, as you tilt your head at him mockingly. “Do I know you?”

“Stop being cute.” The way he practically snaps it makes it clear he doesn’t think you’re being cute at all. In fact, he actually looks pretty pissed, and you almost smile at the realization. As petty as he can be, it’s clear you’re better at this than he is. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”

Ushijima’s gaze slides over to you. “Do you know him?”

But you’re not looking at him. You’re looking straight at Oikawa, at the tenseness of his shoulders, the way he’s on the verge of fuming. Apparently, just the idea of you being alone with his oldest rival is more concerning to him than the fact that you’ve barely spent any time with each other in the past two months. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Of course.” You stand, closing the short distance between yourself and Oikawa. “He’s my boyfriend. My loving, devoted, perfect boyfriend.”

You place the hand that’s not holding your water bottle against his chest, perching on your toes to deliver a sweet kiss to his cheek. When you pull away, the stain of your lipstick remains, and you wonder if he can feel the resentment in it.

“I just forget sometimes, is all. You know, since we never see each other.”

You don’t bother to examine the look on his face. You can’t find it in yourself to care anymore. You turn to Ushijima instead, offering a tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you again for your help, Ushijima. It was a pleasure to officially meet you. Have a good night.”

You turn on your heel and walk away, down the hall and past several magnificent paintings, past any apology you would normally be ready to offer. It’s petty and deliberate, the kind of reaction you didn’t think you were capable of before this, but it’s all you have left. Oikawa doesn’t care, hasn’t cared for a while actually, so neither will you.

You don’t know what he says to Ushijima or if he even says anything at all, but you do hear his footsteps when he runs after you. They slow as he gets closer, but you don’t stop walking, don’t turn back to look.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What– what the fuck was all that back there, huh?”

You stop. Slowly, you turn to look at him, but you don’t say anything. You just stand there, watching, waiting, feeling absolutely nothing as you do.

“‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’” It’s a poor imitation of your voice, but the intention is there. “So what, I don’t spend enough time with you and suddenly it’s okay for you to flirt with someone else?”

You laugh without humor. “That’s what you’re stuck on? The fact that I had a conversation with him and not the part where I said we never see each other? You truly have a gift, Tooru.”

The frown on his face deepens, but the anger in his eyes softens a little, replaced by a hint of guilt. There’s regret there, too, over not keeping the promise he made to you. You would be more moved by it if you weren’t so completely infuriated right now.

He closes his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I’m not going to have this argument with you. Not here.”

“Where should we have it then, hm? In the lobby? At the hotel? We’re damn sure not having it when we get home, because you’re never fucking there!”

You don’t mean to scream at him, but that’s what comes out. You’re not sure which one of you is more surprised by it. Oikawa stares at you, wide-eyed and stunned, as if you’ve just slapped him, and you stare back, breathing hard. You’re so focused on each other you don’t even notice you have an audience until you hear a new, familiar voice speak.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi steps between you, concerned and cautious.

He’s the only one here, thank god, but his appearance reminds you that this is definitely not the time or the place for any of this. You shouldn’t care who overhears you, but as angry as you are, you’re not selfish enough to air out your relationship’s problems in front of all of Oikawa’s friends and colleagues. You still love him, after all, even if it’s hurting you to do so.

Iwaizumi casts a wary glance between you and his best friend, almost like he’s preparing himself to play the unwilling referee in what seems to be an inevitable fight. Any other time, you might’ve laughed at the look on his face, but not now. “Everything okay, you two?”

It’s not. It hasn’t been for a while, and right now Oikawa’s looking at you like he’s finally realizing that too.

The car ride back to the hotel is eerily silent. You and Oikawa share no words, no fleeting glances; you don’t even sit close enough to touch each other, not even accidentally. The ride up to your floor is spent in a similar fashion, a cold distance settling between you that’s never been there before.

Or maybe it’s been there for a while, and it took you screaming at him in the middle of a party for the two of you to notice it.

Miraculously, you make it into your room in one piece. The two of you remove your coats and shoes in that same suffocating silence. You make it to the bedroom without exchanging a single word, and he takes a seat on the bed while you sit in front of the vanity and begin removing your jewelry.

Another long stretch of silence later, and then he’s meeting your eyes in the mirror to ask, “Can we talk?”

You consider telling him to go fuck himself instead, but somehow you bite down the urge.

“About what?” You take off your necklace, a pretty golden chain with your birthstone on it that he got you for your birthday. “About how I wasn’t flirting with Ushijima? Because I wasn’t, if that’s what you’re still so torn up about.”

“I know you weren’t,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. It’s a bit longer than you remember; that’s how long it’s been since you’ve really gotten the chance to look at him. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I do. You were jealous.” Your earrings are the next to go, another gift from him. He’s scattered himself into so many pieces across your life; you’re not sure how you’ll ever be free of him, or if you’ll ever want to be. “But you had no reason to be. I would never do that to you.”

“I know.” He looks down, fidgets with his fingers, meets your gaze again through the mirror. His tie is loosened around his neck, making him look disheveled in just the way you like. “I’m sorry.”

“Great.” Your tone is short, clipped, as you finally remove the last of your jewelry. “Is that all?”

“Please don’t do that. I’m trying to have a conversation with you here, so that we can fix this. I mean, don’t you want to talk about everything, especially after tonight?”

“I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Tooru.” You break your gaze from the mirror, turning to glance over your shoulder at him instead. “You know exactly what the problem is, just like I know you won’t do a single thing to change it. You can’t, because my feelings –our entire relationship– all of that stuff’s always going to come second to the things you want.”

The frown from earlier is back now, this time paired with a hard look, like he can’t believe you’re questioning his commitment, even though he’s given you dozens of reasons to do so. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” You rise to your feet, a dry, humorless laugh escaping your throat as you do. “Tell that to the countless dates you’ve missed. Tell that to the bed you hardly sleep in anymore, to all the times I’ve fallen asleep without you and then woken up only to realize you still weren’t there.”

The words feel heavy and bitter on your tongue, your anger growing the more you think about everything you’ve endured over the past few months, all the different ways he’s managed to disappoint you.

“There’s nothing untrue about it, Tooru. You just don’t care about me the way I care about you.”

“Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me I don’t care about you?” he demands. “Of course I care. I love you, dammit. How could you ever think I don’t?”

“How couldn’t I? God, have you seriously not heard a single thing I’ve said this entire time? I’m practically in this relationship by myself, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to change that!”

“You think I like having to leave you on your own so much? You think it doesn’t break my heart seeing the look on your face every time I have to tell you I can’t make it to all the things I want to be there for?” He’s on his feet now, hand jabbing at his chest, like if he could rip out his heart and show you the scars there, he would. “Because it does, okay? It makes me fucking miserable, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be there, Tooru!” You don’t know when you started crying, but you are. You’re yelling too, hands shaking, voice raw. “You’re supposed to be there when I need you, not make stupid promises you can’t keep! And even if you can’t be there all the time, you’re at least supposed to try!”

“I am trying! I’ve been trying this whole time, and you know that!” He sounds as exasperated and raw as you do, waving his arms around, red-faced and distressed. “You knew what my goals were before we started dating. I never hid them from you. You knew exactly what I wanted, you knew how hard I would have to work, how hard it would be for us, and you agreed to be with me anyway! You promised me you wouldn’t let it come between us!”

“Well, that was before I knew how fucking impossible it would be!”

There’s nothing productive being exchanged between the two of you anymore. You’re just screaming at each other. You call him obsessed and self-absorbed; he calls you needy and demanding. He tells you to grow up and stop asking for so much, and you tell him he’s chasing a pointless dream.

You’re not trying to compromise with each other, or trying to make the other see your point of view. You both just want to hurt each other, and you do.

You’re crying by the end of it; so is he, but you both refuse to admit defeat. It’s one of the many things you have in common: your stubbornness. You’re out of breath and hurting and there’s a small part of you that just wants him to hold you, but at the same time, you can’t stand the sight of him anymore.

You storm out of the room before he gets the chance to, looking back to catch him throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. You throw yourself onto the couch and opt to sleep there for the night, because you know that if you don’t, you’ll probably end up strangling each other.

Oikawa, for once, is wise enough not to follow you, but there’s a quiet voice inside your heart that wishes he did.

You wake up the next morning with a stuffy nose and a migraine. The price of crying yourself to sleep, you suppose. Your appetite is gone but you know that if you don’t eat anything soon the pain behind your skull will only get worse, so you force yourself to stand from the couch.

You step on something hard, eyes widening at the indignant noise of protest it lets out in response. You lose your footing almost immediately, toppling over onto the carpet. It’s everything you can do to throw out your hands and avoid smacking your forehead against the coffee table.

“What the fuck, Tooru?” You scowl when you realize it’s not a random object you’ve tripped over, but rather your own boyfriend, who for some inconceivable reason is laying on the floor beside the couch. “It’s bad enough we spent last night fighting– now you’re trying to kill me, too?”

“I could say the same thing to you!” Oikawa exclaims, returning your scowl with equal exasperation. He’s rubbing at his chest, a pout tugging at his lips as he groans. “You just stepped on my chest. I could have died.”

“Oh, bite me, drama queen.” You roll your eyes, preparing to stand up again, but then you notice the dark circles on his usually flawless skin, the messiness of his hair, and the fact that he’s still wearing his suit from last night, though the tie is gone and the first few buttons of his shirt are loosened. “...did you actually sleep out here? On the floor? Why didn’t you just sleep on the bed like a normal person?”

“I couldn’t.” He pouts even more, and when you nudge his leg with your foot, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It didn’t feel right without you. It never does. But it felt even worse after last night.”

It melts your heart, you admit. Just a little. But it’s not enough to make you forgive him or to forget your argument, and right now he’s looking at you like he knows that too.

Still, you feel the urge to remind him, “I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. Not just for what I said last night, but for everything I’ve done before that. I never should’ve made you feel like you’re asking for too much, because you’re not, it’s just…” He takes a shaky breath, leans his head back against the couch from where he sits beside you on the floor. “...it’s hard.”

He turns his body slightly so he’s facing you fully. He starts to reach out a hand towards you, almost like he wants to cup your cheek, but he seems to think better of it and lets his hand drop down between you. You almost smile.

His eyes are hesitant as they meet yours, apologetic. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, either.” You fiddle with the straps of your gown where they’ve slid down your arm. You were so exhausted and upset after your fight with him that you didn’t bother to change out of it. “...do you really think I’m needy and demanding?”

“Of course not,” he answers easily. “Do you really think I’m chasing a pointless dream?”

“Definitely not. Your dream isn't pointless, Tooru, it’s amazing, and it’s one I know you can reach.” Your hands brush where they rest between you. He tenses slightly, like he’s not sure you’ll want to touch him after everything, but you slide your fingers through his and watch as he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “I was just angry.”

“Me too.” He squeezes your hand, and you let him pull you a bit closer to him, let him press a kiss to the back of your palm. “I don’t want to fight with you. And I definitely don’t want to disappoint you anymore.”

“I don’t want to blame you or resent you anymore, either.” You inch closer and he lets you rest your head against his shoulder, resting his own against yours in return. A clock ticks on the wall behind you. For the first time in a while, it feels like the two of you are back in sync. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

It’s the million-dollar question, it seems. And it’s the one that, after weeks of heartache, of missing each other and blaming each other at the same time, he finally has the answer to.

When you return to Argentina together, everything changes. Oikawa’s determination goes back to being something you love, now that he’s putting it towards making sure the two of you get to spend time together. He’s at the apartment more; does his best to get to dinner on time, to attend outings with your family and friends, and to meet you halfway at fancy restaurants and magnificent museums and shower you with his undivided attention.

It’s not perfect. He’s still busy, so he can’t be with you all the time, but the effort is there. You see it now more than ever, and it’s all you’ve wanted.

It doesn’t last.

You spend three blissful months together, both of you putting in an equal amount of effort to make it work, to understand each other and support each other, even when it seems impossible. But Oikawa’s schedule becomes more and more unyielding as time goes on, and it’s not long before the cycle of absence starts all over again.

If you had to really pinpoint the beginning of the end, you’d say it’s the night of your presentation. The research project you’ve spent countless hours working on has finally been completed, and tonight you’re going to share it with the public; this thing you’ve struggled with since you entered grad school, this thing you’ve put your blood, sweat, and tears into, both metaphorically and literally.

It goes incredibly well, as your professors and mentors reassured you it would. Your classmates, friends, and parents are all there, and they get to watch and glow with pride as the room erupts into applause once you finish your presentation, knocking the whole thing out of the park just like they knew you would.

The only one who isn’t there is Oikawa, despite you telling him about this ages ago, despite it being written on the calendar hanging on your fridge. You know he texted you with some excuse, but you don’t bother to check which one it was this time.

It should hurt more. It should make you want to shout and scream, to sob and cry, but it doesn’t. The anger you felt before, the fury and heartbreak; it’s not there anymore. It’s gone. You’re not sad or upset or disappointed. You just don’t feel anything at all.

Your friends offer to take you out for the night to celebrate, but you politely decline. Instead, you make your way to the apartment you share with Oikawa, finding it emptier than it’s ever been before.

Months ago, you might’ve cried. Now you do nothing, say nothing, feel nothing. It’s just numb.

By the time Oikawa does make it home, you’re already packed. You’re sitting at the table, waiting, still as a statue. He greets you in a flurry of brown hair and frantic movement, an apology you don’t care to listen to fast on his lips. He whirls by you so quickly he doesn’t even notice your bags stacked next to you.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry! I know I’m late, but I’m here now and I promise I won’t be going anywhere for the next few–…”

It takes him a few moments, a couple of double-takes, but finally, he registers the silence around him, the sight of you at the table, surrounded by your things. For once, he has no idea what to say; you see it in the way he looks at you, the way he freezes, wide-eyed and almost afraid.

“My research presentation was today,” you start. “It went great. They’re going to publish it in a journal.”

You watch his face crumple right before your eyes, watch the way his shoulders slump. He looks more defeated now than during any of his previous losses, and so, so incredibly guilty.

“But I thought it wasn’t until–...but it was, wasn’t it? Oh, god. I– I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

You stand up. The smile you send him is tired and a little sad, but it’s not bitter, at least not anymore. You’re past that now. You’d like to think you both are.

“I’m so proud of you, Tooru. You work harder than anybody I’ve ever known. I just know you’re going to reach every single one of your dreams.”

You mean it, too. Oikawa has an incredible future ahead of him. You’ve always known that. Once upon a time, you believed you might be a part of it, but not anymore.

“...but I also know that I can’t be with you when you do. I can’t– I won’t be second place for the rest of my life.”

He’s incredibly stubborn, and this time is no different. He tries to change your mind, tries to convince you to stay, but it’s far too little and far too late. Too much has happened between you two, and you just don’t have it in you to be disappointed anymore.

You love him. You do. You always will, and you tell him so, too. But just because you love someone, you remind him softly, doesn’t mean you’re meant to be with them. You love him enough to let him go, and you’re hoping he loves you the same.

“But you promised you’d stay,” he whispers, more heartbroken than you’ve ever seen him over all of this, over you. “You promised we’d figure it out. And now...now you’re just giving up on us?”

You place your keys on the table. The clock in your– no, his kitchen ticks along. It matches the slow, broken beating of your heart. He’s run out of time, and you’ve run out of chances.

“That’s just it, Tooru. I have nothing left to give you.”

This time when you leave, you don’t look back.

Written by: Dawn

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa imagines #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #our writing #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst #dawn writes

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atlafan · 4 years ago

Text

The Good Life - One Shot

a/n: okay so we have business man!Harry, and co-worker Y/N, but also she’s the boss’ daughter???? friends to lovers???? smut??? not proofread????

words: 14.5K

If there was one thing that Harry hated, it was a spoiled brat. He hated when people got whatever they wanted without even working for it. If he ever had kids, he would teach them the value of a dollar. You, however, were an exception to that rule.

Harry steps out of his office, and smells his favorite scent in the world. There was this perfume you’d wear that smells like raspberries. You were officially home for summer vacation, and you had to be here visiting your mother, who was Harry’s boss.

“Carol, is Y/N here?” Harry asks his secretary.

“Yes, she came by to have lunch with Cheryl. She just finished grad school, can you believe it?”

“That’s incredible…so that would make her what? Twenty-three?”

“She turns twenty-four later this summer.” She smiles.

This was good, Harry was only twenty-seven, so that wasn’t that big if an age difference. Carol knew Harry had a crush on you, even though he had never admitted it. He’d been working at the company for five years, so he’s known you for a while now. He’s always kept his distance, though. You went to a private school in high school, and you used to come to the office in your uniform after school. You were a senior at the time, but Harry still felt weird being attracted to you at that time. And sure, Harry’s had a couple of girlfriends that he really liked, even loved. It’s not like he was obsessed with you or anything. He just…thought you were cute.

You and your mother come out of her office giggling. Harry stands up straight and makes sure his tie isn’t all out of sorts.

“Harry, good I’m glad you’re here.” Cheryl starts. “You remember my daughter, Y/N.”

“Sure, hi.” He smiles.

“Hi, Mr. Styles.” You smile.

“Oh, honey, no need to be so formal, especially now that you’re joining the team.” Cheryl beams.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Harry, I know you and I usually discuss new hires, but Y/N officially has her MBA, and well, she really wants to work here.”

“I have since I was a kid. I’m really excited.”

“She’ll be your new assistant. Gotta start her somewhere.”

“But…that’s Carol’s job.”

“Carol is the office secretary, not a personal assistant. You’ve been asking for one for quite some time. I thought you’d be more excited.” She raises an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry looks at Carol, and Carol just smiles nervously.

“I think it’s great.” Carol says. “But a girl with an MBA…that’s a little too entry level, don’t you think?”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t start her as an associate director.” Cheryl laughs.

“It’s okay, I know I need to work my way up. I have, like, zero experience. This’ll be my first real job, so I really don’t mind being Harry’s assistant. I’m good at answering phones and writing messages down.” You smile. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I didn’t think you would. This’ll be great. When do you officially start?”

“Monday. I was just coming by today to pass in some paperwork to H.R.”

Before the end of the day, Harry knocks on Cheryl’s door. She tells him to come in and he sits down.

“What can I do for you?” She smiles.

“So…why’d you choose me to work with Y/N? There’s plenty of people here that could use an assistant.”

“To be honest, Harry, I trust you. You’re close in age with her, you can give her advice on what it’s like just starting out. You were just a mail boy when you started.”

“That was when I was just an intern when I was still in school.” He chuckles.

“And we just loved you so we hired you. You’ve grown up a lot over the last five years, and you work so hard. I think she could really learn a lot from you. I’ll let you in on a little secret too, she actually asked if you needed an assistant.”

“She did?” He perks up. “I mean, uh, did she now?”

“Yes…I think she may have a small crush on you, but don’t mind her. If it makes you uncomfortable I can have her-“

“No!” He takes a deep breath. “No, it’ll be fine. She probably won’t like me much once she gets to know me anyways.”

“She knows you well enough. You’ve been to the house enough times for parties.” She laughs. “In fact, I’m hoping you and Amy will come skiing with us again this winter.”

“Oh, uh, Amy and I broke up.”

“Oh no.” She frowns. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “Just wasn’t mean to be, but I’ll totally come skiing.” He grins. “Could be dating someone else by then anyways.”

“Very true.”

Monday morning you show up bright and early. You had a nice light purple blouse on with a black pencil skirt. Your mom had taken you shopping for some new work clothes, and you loved them. You had stopped off at a coffee place and grabbed a ton of different coffees and doughnuts. You wanted to make a good first impression. Most people knew you as Cheryl’s littler girl, but you were almost twenty-four, you weren’t a little girl anymore.

Harry always went to the gym before work, and would eat his breakfast in the breakroom before changing. He stops short when he sees you bent over the table making everything look nice.

“Morning.” He says, and you stand up straight right away.

“Hi, Harry…uh, coffee?” You gesture to the table of assorted drinks.

“Maybe in a bit.” He scrunches his face at the drinks. “Any of those just black?”

“Um…no…do people actually like black coffee?”

“I do.” He smirks. “You’ll want to know that. As my assistant, I’ll expect a coffee on my desk every morning.”

“Oh, uh, alright-“

“Y/N.” He chuckles. “I’m just teasing, I can get my own coffee.” Harry shakes his head and reaches to open one of the cupboards. He pulls out a box of protein bars and takes one out.

“No doughnut either?”

“Hmm….” He peers over and sees a chocolate glazed. “Save that one f’me?”

“Sure!”

“Thanks, I’ll have it after lunch.” He slings his gym bag over his shoulder. “Now, I usually go change in my office, so, don’t come in.”

“I won’t…do you always go to the gym before work?”

“Yup, helps wake me up, gets me ready for the day.”

“Cool.” You smile.

Everyone else in the office was very quick to snatch up the things you brought in, gaining major brownie points. Your mom was happy to see you take a little initiative. For most of the day you sat in on various meetings. You and Harry didn’t even have much time to talk. He shares his calendar with you so you can see when he’s busy, and you share yours with him as well. You had a nice size desk right outside his office. You brought some things with you to decorate it, pictures of friends and what not. Right before lunch, a few people come over to Harry’s office, women. One of them is about to open his door, but you stop her.

“Sorry, Mr. Styles is busy.”

“It’s okay, I’m a friend. It’s almost lunch.”

“But he’s on a call.” Your eyes peer over to the screen where you can clearly see on his calendar that he’s busy.

She sucks her teeth and looks at the other women.

“Fine…guess we’ll see him later then.” She sighs and they all walk away. A few moment later Harry slowly opens his door.

“That was brilliant, thank you.” You turn to look at him. “Those three always try to have lunch with me, it’s pretty annoying. Now I have a barrier that they have to get through.” He checks his watch. “Gotta go. Have a good lunch.”

“Thanks, you too.”

You go into Harry’s office and place the doughnut he had asked you for on his desk. When he gets back he smiles and picks it up.

“Wanna split it?”

“Sure!”

It looked so small in his large hand. You take the half from him and eat it happily.

“Come in around four, we can talk about your first day and what the rest of the week will look like. Sorry things have been so busy.”

“It’s okay, I feel like I’m already learning a lot.” You tuck some hair behind your ear. “I’m really glad I get to work for someone so chill. I was worried I was going to get stuck with Phil.” You laugh.

“Yeah, that would’ve been boring. He’s been here nearly thirty years. Think he has grandkids your age.”

“Gross.” You say and it makes Harry laugh.

At four you come into his office with a notepad. He had loosened his tie a bit, and his sleeves were rolled up.

“I’m really glad this place has A/C.” You say.

“Believe it or not your mum had to fight for that. It was before I started, but she made it happen.”

“Probably the hot flashes.” You start laughing and then you stop. “Sorry, TMI.”

“It’s alright. Didn’t think she went through the change yet.”

“Well, you know my oldest sibling is like…thirty-two right?”

“Ah, forgot you were the baby.”

“Hey.” You pout. “I may be the youngest, but I’m not a baby.”

“You’re the most fun. Your siblings didn’t even ski last year on that trip. They just sat around.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyways, let’s talk about your first day, how was it?”

“Good! I was a little nervous, but it was good. A lot to take in, but I’ll catch on.”

“Where do you see yourself going?”

“I want my mom’s job someday.”

“Ambitious.”

“I’m willing to work for it.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait a little while because when your mum retires, I’m hoping that spot’ll be mine.”

“Okay, so I’ll take your job in the meantime.” You smirk.

“Sounds like a plan.” He chuckles. “Anyways, you have a chance to look at my calendar?”

“Mhm, you have a lot of meetings this week.”

“That’s right, so I’ll need you alert for the phone. Oh, and some meetings I’d like you in on to take notes. Makes it easier for me to pay attention if I don’t have to have my laptop in front of me.”

“Okay.”

“This is your first real job, so I wanna make sure you know about burn out. You’ll accumulate time off, use it. Same with sick time. Mental health is important and you may feel overwhelmed at times. You’ll probably feel really tired by the end of the week. Make sure to check in with me about how you’re feeling. If there’s something you need, we’ll make sure you get it, okay?”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Just paying it forward. This can be a really great place to work, you just need to know the right people. You know Carol, obviously. She’s the best. Don’t be afraid to go to her for help. She was amazing to me.”

“Yeah, her daughter used to babysit me.”

“Right.” He clears his throat.

“I think you’re the only person here that never saw me with braces.” You laugh. “I think you came on when I was, like, a senior in high school.”

“Sounds about right.”

“You were always so polite. I couldn’t believe it. When I got to college I always hoped the boys would be like you, but they weren’t.” You shrug.

“Okay, well, I think that’s enough for today. Why don’t you head home?”

“Would you mind walking me down to my car?”

“Oh, well, I’m not done for the day yet. I usually stay until six just to wrap things up.”

“Okay, then I’ll stay too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“You’re not allowed to. Your day ends at 4:30.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But I could take the stroll down to the parking garage with you if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

“If you don’t mind, I felt sort of sketched out this morning.”

“I get here at the same time every day. You can just wait for me if you want in the mornings, and we can walk up together.”

“I’d like that.”

Working with Y/N was great. Harry absolutely loved it. You kept him organized and taken care of. You stalked the cupboards with his favorite protein bars, and had started picking up his coffee, just because you wanted to. He always praised you and told you how much he appreciated everything you did.

You were good at your work too. He could give you a project and you’d have it done within a couple of days. You were determined and efficient. He could definitely see you moving up fast, which sort of made him sad. He’d keep you forever if he could, but that would be selfish. He thought his little crush on you would be distracting, but it wasn’t. It almost made you get along even better.

Your mom always hosted a company Labor Day party. You had a huge backyard with a large in ground pool. You couldn’t believe how fast the summer went by, but you were happy to be in a routine. You loved this pool party, and now you were there as an employee. It was always catered with the best food, and your friends would come by. This year, though, you didn’t invite them. You wanted to seem professional with everyone. You even wore a one piece bathing suit with a little sheer skirt tied around your waist.

You were walking around, mingling, when you saw Harry walk in. Usually he brought some pretty date, but the only thing in his arms was a platter of food he offered to bring, and some beers. You were excited that he hadn’t gotten back together with Amy, or that he had met someone new.

“Harry!” You exclaim when you go into the kitchen.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“You don’t look dressed to swim.” You tease him.

“Not really planning on it this year.”

“But it’s so hot out.”

“Drinks will keep me cool.” He winks at you and cracks open one of his beers. “Does it ever get annoying to have so many people around your house?”

“Well, technically, this isn’t my house anymore. I moved into the pool house last month and started paying my mom rent. I wanted to have a little more freedom, you know? But it’s just her in this big place now so I felt bad wanting to fully leave. She said she’s putting the rent money in an account for me so one day when I do buy a house or something, I’ll have something to start with. Plus, it gets me in the habit of paying bills.”

“Look at you, becoming a real adult.” He nudges you and you both go outside. “You’ll be twenty-four soon, right?”

“Mhm, next weekend. I’m going away with my friends. I’m leaving early Friday, don’t forget.”

“Got it on my calendar.”

He smiles and walks away. Of course he does, he wanted to talk with the other, older people at the party. Your mother adored Harry, she always had. Your step-dad liked him a lot too. You were sipping on some wine while the sun was setting, and the party was dwindling. You go over to Harry who was backed into a corner by one of the ladies from finance.

“Harry?”

“Oh, hi! So glad you found me, how about a tour of the pool house?”

“Sure!”

“Excuse us, she’s been dying to show me all day.” Harry says to the woman. He grabs your wrist and leans in. “Walk fast, or she’ll follow.”

You giggle as you both basically sprint away. You key into the pool house and lead him in.

“Oh, wow, this is actually really cool.”

“Thanks! We sort of used it as a guest house anyways, so it didn’t need much work. Just some paint and new furniture. It’s like a little one bedroom apartment. I love it. My friends can come over and we don’t have to worry about being quiet or keeping anyone up. It’s been working out great for everyone so far.”

“I’m happy for you.” He says, looking around. “It’s nice having privacy, isn’t it? I remember when I had saved up enough to move out.”

“Do you have your own house?”

“Haven’t bought any property yet, no. Suppose I could, but I’m fine renting for now. My place isn’t small though.”

“How come you haven’t yet?”

“I don’t know, I just figured I’d buy a house with someone, you know?” He sits down on the arm rest of your couch. “I mean, what if I bought a house, and the girl I was with wanted a different house? I’d want to make it ours. I’ve always wanted to buy my girl the house of her dreams.”

“I thought you didn’t like buying things for people.” You smirk. “But I suppose that’s really sweet.”

“It’s one thing if it’s a gift. I just don’t believe in giving people every little thing they want. They should work for it, you know?”

“My mom was really good about that when we were growing up. She said no all the time. I mean, we were spoiled a little, but at least we’re not brats.”

“True, you could be way brattier.”

“Hey.” You put your hands on your hips.

“Just teasing.”

Just as you were about to step closer to him, your mother opened your door.

“There you are, people are leaving, and…oh…am I interrupting something?” Cheryl asks, a little too eagerly.

“No, mom.”

“She was just helping me escape from Beth in finance.”

“She’s gone.”

“Great, coast is clear.” He stands up. “Better get going myself. Thanks again for a great party. Sorry Ed had to be traveling.”

“You’ll have to come over for dinner next time he’s home.”

“Sounds good, love hearing his traveling stories.”

He gives your mouth a hug, and out he goes. You glare at your mother.

“I’m so sorry.” She says. “I did interrupt.”

“You certainly cooled things by saying that.” You groan. “I finally got him alone, we were talking about things other than work for once! He likes the way I decorated.”

“Honey…Harry’s a little older than you, and you’re fresh out of school. He may just be looking for different things, we’ve talked about this.”

“It’s not like I’m right out of undergrad. I have my MBA, and I’m doing really well at work.”

“You are, you’re doing amazing. Come on, help me say goodnight to our guests.”

Harry had already gone to lunch when you were packing up your things to leave early for your girl’s weekend. You notice a card on your desk. You open it and smile. A Visa gift card slides out.

Don’t spend it all in one place. Don’t check your email. Have a great time, and happy birthday. – H

You bite your bottom lip and try not to squeal. That was so sweet of him. You pack up your things and head out. You send him a quick text saying thank you for the gift and out you go.

He missed you the rest of the afternoon, but your thank you text made him smile. You told all of your friends about Harry. He had given you a $100 gift card, which was way too much. He had to like you, there was no way he would have given that much money to just anyone.

For Thanksgiving, your family did things a little untraditionally and went skiing. It was something your mother’s family used to scrape together to do, and she continued the tradition with you and your siblings. She bought a huge house in the mountains when you were young. Her friends would come too, sometimes Ed’s parents as well. It was just for people to get together for an entire week, and then share a good meal.

Harry and his girlfriend at the time, Amy, came last year. To be fair you had brought a boy with you too, but it was nothing serious. He would be joining again this year, and he wouldn’t be bringing anyone with him. The house had separate wings, so guests wouldn’t be on top of each other.

There were some other young people there too, along with your siblings and their partners. You were excited to spend time with so many people. None of your siblings wanted anything to do with the family business, which you couldn’t understand. You loved working for your mom.

“Harry!” You hear your mom. “How were the roads?”

“Not too bad yet, just a bit icy.”

“Y/N, help Harry to his room. Look at all the things he’s carrying.”

“She doesn’t need to-“

“Don’t be silly. I’m used to helping you.” You giggle.

You carry one of his bags to his room.

“Thanks.” He walks around and makes sure he has his own bathroom like last time. “Perfect.” He smiles. “I can’t wait to hit the slopes. Is your mum making that green bean casserole again for the holiday? It’s so good.”

“Actually, uh, I make that.”

“Really? Should have known.” He smiles. “Which wing are you in this year?”

“Oh, I’m right across the hall from you actually. My siblings have babies and I didn’t want to risk losing sleep. Is that okay that I’ll be so close by?”

“Definitely. I don’t know who else is going to be here, so it’ll be nice to have a friend so close by. Sure you don’t mind spending so much time with your boss?”

“You’re, like, the best boss ever. Don’t mind at all. Besides, you’re on my turf now.” You step closer to him.

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.”

You hear your name being called from down the hall and you sigh.

“You’ll ski with me tomorrow, right?” He asks before you leave.

“Only if you use the hot tub with me. Gonna need to relax after a long of day of hitting the slopes.” You wink and off you go.

Your mom and Ed make a huge dinner for everyone that night. People were drinking and having a great time. You all head to bed early so those that plan to go skiing and snowboarding, can.

The next morning you get all your gear on, and head to the kitchen. Harry was sipping on his black coffee.

“Should I have made that for you?” You smirk and fill your own mug, adding a little creamer to it.

“You’re off the clock, remember.” He takes another sip. “Want some eggs?” He points to the pan of scrambled eggs he made up for everyone.

“Sure! Thanks, Harry.” You beam.

You both share a nice, quiet breakfast together until everyone else comes racing in. Someone makes bacon, and breakfast sausage to go along with the eggs. Harry offers to drive you up to the mountain, no one really seems to notice.

You and Harry have a great day taking runs together. You stop off for a quick lunch at the lodge. Just as you were bringing over a couple of hot chocolates you see him talking to some random girls. You watch as he laughs along at some joke. You hated watching him flirt. He was too good at it. You walk over and hand him his hot chocolate.

“There she is.” He hooks his arm around you and takes the cup of hot chocolate. “Told you ladies my girlfriend would be right back.” He looks at you with a please help me face. “Thanks for the drink, babe.”

“My pleasure.” You kiss his cheek. “Who are your new friends?”

“Oh, we were just leaving.” One of them rolls their eyes and they all leave.

“Nice touch.” He lets go of you and takes a sip of the warm drink. “Mm, this is good.”

“They were bothering you?”

“They invited me to some party. They have to be in college or something. I told them I had a girlfriend. Sorry about that.”

“No worries, it was easy to play along.” You both smile at each other, and he blushes slightly. “Hope it’s okay that I did that.”

“Didn’t mind at all.”

After a few more hours, your legs were starting to get sore. You take a shower the second you get home, and you all eat another big meal together. Ed gets a fire started. Some people play card games. Harry even gets into a game of poker with some of the guys. You announce you’re going to get the hot tub started.

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” Your sister says.

Your mom watches as Harry gets up from his chair to go to his room to change.

“Janey, honey, stay inside, would you?”

“Why?”

“Because I think Harry’s going to join your sister…”

“So?”

“So, why not give them some privacy?” Ed says.

“Ah, I see, so you’re letting her work for you as a way to match them up?” She scoffs.

“No.” Your mother sounds offended. “I just think they’d make a cute couple, and it’s much more appropriate now, so-“

“Mum, she works for him…”

“There’s nothing against it in our H.R. policy. As long as they disclose things if they decide to date, it’s not a big deal. You also didn’t ski all day. You can use the hot tub tomorrow.”

You get a two piece on and throw a robe over yourself. You go outside to the back deck where the large hot tub was, and get the jets started. You slip your robe off and get in. A few minutes later Harry comes out with a t-shirt and trunks on.

“Alright if I join you?”

“Yeah! I basically asked you to yesterday.”

You look away as he takes his t-shirt off. You look at him once he’s in. You knew Harry was littered with tattoos. You’d seen him without a shirt on plenty of times. He’d been coming to your house and family gatherings for years. Your mom was really good at creating positive work environments where the boss didn’t need to be this person to be feared. She was a woman of the people, and that’s how you wanted to be. Harry had learned a lot of leadership skills from her, maybe that’s why he was such a great supervisor to you as well. You watch as a sigh leaves his lips and it makes you smile.

“What’s better than this?” He asks, looking at you.

“Not much.”

“Do your legs hurt much?”

“A little. I stretched quickly when I got home.”

“You looked great out there today, you’re fearless on those black diamonds.”

“Oh…thanks.” If your cheeks weren’t already flushed from the steam, they would be from his compliment. You knew he just meant your form and not necessarily your clothes, but still.

“Did I tell you that Paula invited me for Thanksgiving?”

“No!” You gasp. “You’re kidding?!”

“Nope.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Jocelyn did too, as if neither of them knew I hang with your family. I told them and they were shocked I wanted to go skiing with the boss again. Your mum’s like family to me at this point.”

“You also don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving.” You giggle. “Why go to someone’s home you barely know when you can basically just go on an early winter getaway?”

“Exactly! I don’t understand the women we work with, honestly. The second the picture of Amy left my desk it was like…I don’t know they stopped seeing me as a colleague and more like prey.”

“Does it bother you that so many women flirt with you?”

“It’s not just the women.” He smirks. “And no…not really. It’s mostly harmless. It’s not like they’re putting their hands on me or anything. And it’s not that none of them are attractive or anything.” He sinks a little further in and rests his head on the back of the cushion provided. “I just don’t want to date someone I work with.”

Your heart falls into your stomach. Why would he say something like this to you? You two sort of flirted at work, but mostly things were professional. He met you every morning to walk you upstairs, and he’d always bring you down to your car. Even if he was in a late afternoon meeting, he’d excuse himself at 4:30 to make sure you got downstairs okay.

“I mean, what’s there to talk about when you get home? I suppose if you work in separate divisions that’s not so bad. But the other person knows what you do all day. Seems a little boring.”

“But on the flip side, that person would know exactly what you’re going through and would be able to relate and understand your schedule. Why did you and Amy break up?”

“Uhh.” Harry has to really think about it. It was so long ago now. “We had started talking about moving in together, and she couldn’t understand why I would never try to get out of work earlier so we could go look at places. I stay late so I can leave my work at work. I would try to explain that to her. And then when I would come home early I’d have to be on my laptop answering emails. She didn’t feel prioritized, which I understood was annoying.”

“See? Someone you work with would totally understand.”

“She was also a couple years older than I am, and I could tell she felt like her clock was ticking.” He shrugs. “I wasn’t ready for all the steps she was, at the time.”

“You do tend to date a lot of older women.” You chuckle. “I think one time you brought a woman almost ten years older than you to one of our dinner parties.”

“I used to go out with a lot of divorced women.” He smiles.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I was young and it was easy to not commit to them. Some of them had kids and stuff, it was an easy out.”

“So you would date just to…fuck and then leave, essentially?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that, but I think deep down I saw it as a way that I could be with someone without fully needing to commit. Again, I was young and stupid.”

“You’re still young.”

“And maybe just a little less stupid.”

“Only a little.”

“And what about you? I think I’ve seen you bring every type of guy home with you. Jocks, artists, short guys, tall guys…”

“It’s easier to bring someone to family functions, you know how it is. Some of them were just friends. I never knew which things you were going to come to.” You say nonchalantly.

“Why would me being there matter?”

You realize now what you’ve admitted.

“You know, there’s a fridge out here full of wine, why don’t I-?” You start to get up, but he puts his hand on your shoulder to sit you back down.

“Just answer the question, Y/N.”

“Well…if we’re talking about being young…I obviously had a crush on you…back then.” You were starting to sweat, and it wasn’t from the steam popping out of the bubbles and jets. “I mean, what other teenage girl liked visiting their mom at work as much as I did? I remember the first time I saw you too, I came in after school to drop something off since I was able to drive myself, and I nearly passed out. You were talking with my mom and I felt too nervous to walk up to you. I never felt more like a child in my life. I gushed to my mom about you, and she told me you actually weren’t that much older than I was.”

“So you’d come around more just to see me? You never said more than hello?” He smirks.

“I was way too nervous. You know I almost asked you to take me to my prom?! How embarrassing.” You laugh. “One of my friends took me, obviously.”

“I remember when you came to the office in your dress.”

“It wouldn’t have been so weird if we got together. I was eighteen my entire senior year.”

“You still had a lot of growing up to do. Eighteen legally means you’re an adult, but other than that you’re still just a kid.”

“I realized that the second I got to college. I had a major culture shock. I mean, I was able to do my laundry myself, unlike other kids, but I definitely learned that a maid wasn’t coming around to make my bed or take out the trash. I grew up even more in grad school when I had my own apartment. My mom paid for it, but still.” You shrug. “I was really on my own.”

“Are you happy you went to grad school right after?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I would have gone back if I hadn’t just done it. You have your MBA, right?”

“Mhm, got it a couple years ago through this online program your mum helped me find. It was the only way I was able to move up the way I did.”

“So…it doesn’t totally weird you out that I had a thing for you?”

“Nah.” He smiles. “It’s flattering.”

You may have been willing to expose yourself, but Harry wasn’t. How could he say he had a thing for you too? It still felt weird to him. There was a reason he kept his distance from you. Now, things were less weird. You were twenty-four and he was twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. You weren’t a child anymore.

“And it’s not weird to say this to my supervisor either?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“We’re off the clock, away from the office. Besides that, I won’t be your supervisor forever. You’re doing really well, you’ll move up soon.”

“Thanks.”

You desperately just wanted to lunge at him, throw your whole body and mind at him and have him fuck you right there in the hot tub, but the jets slowly came to a stop.

“Think that means we’re supposed to get out. Not supposed to stay in these things long.”

You watch as Harry stands up, your eyes following the droplets of water falling from his chest. He gets out and grabs a towel quickly. He picks up your robe and hands it to you. He looks in the other direction as you stand up and grab it from him.

“Fucking cold out.” He says and you start giggling.

You both go inside and go to your wing of the house.

“You looked away when I got out.” You say as you reach your doors.

“Pardon?”

“When I stood up and got out, you looked away.”

“I was just trying to give you your privacy.”

“Why?”

Now Harry was sweating.

“Because I’m not a guy who ogles women, okay?”

“Are you sure about that? I see the way you glance at me in the office. You’re always complimenting my clothes.”

“You wear nice clothes. Right now, you’re not wearing much, so I didn’t look.”

“My, what a gentleman.” You step a little closer to him. “I don’t mind if you look.” You whisper and then step away from him. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight.” He swallows hard as he watches you walk into your room. He goes into his room and locks his door. He wasn’t sure if you were playing a game, but he wouldn’t play it…not while on vacation with your family.

The next day he finds himself on the chair lift with your mother. You all had enjoyed a nice breakfast together before heading off to your various activities.

“Sleep well, Harry?”

“Yeah, beds are super comfortable.”

“You don’t mind having it to yourself this time around?”

“Not at all, I can really stretch out.” He chuckles.

“How was the hot tub? It working okay?”

“Uh…yeah…how did you know I used it?”

“Well, the second after Y/N left to go change you got up as well. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist.”

“She had mentioned it the night before. I asked her to ski with me yesterday, and she had said yes, but only if I joined her.”

“Right.” She smiles. “Was it just you two out there?”

“It was.”

“And how was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you enjoy spending time with my daughter? Outside of work, I mean. You both work so well together. You’ve helped her out a lot there, you’re almost like a mentor now. She’ll move up quickly. She’ll be your equal before you know it.”

“She’s very bright.”

“She is. Anyways, outside of work, you both also make a great pair.”

They both jump off the chair once they’re at the top of the mountain.

“What exactly are you saying, Cheryl?”

“I’m saying I’m okay with it.”

“Okay with what?”

“If you wanted to date her, ask her out, whatever, I’d be okay with it. She’s grown woman, she can make her own choices. I would just hope you two weren’t scared to go for it because of me.”

“Cheryl…I…”

“If you don’t like her like that, then I apologize for overstepping. I’m not one of those overprotective people that’s going to stand in the way. I just ask that if you two decide to date, you disclose it with H.R. and keep things as professional in the workplace as possible.”

Before Harry has a chance to say anything, she begins her run down the mountain. He was thoroughly confused. Had she essentially just given him her blessing and permission to ask you out? He wanted to, he really wanted to, but was now the right time? On a fucking family vacation?

After the tiring day of taking a crack at snowboarding, you realized skiing was definitely the winter sport for you. Harry had just finished showering and gotten dressed in a sweater and pair of slacks. You were hanging out in your room, just taking some time to scroll on your phone. You hear a knock on your door.

“It’s open!” You call, not looking up from your phone. You were laying on your stomach, with your feet hanging in the air as your knees were bent. Your door opens and you sit up immediately when you see it’s Harry. He leans in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“How was your day?”

“Good, I tried snowboarding.”

“That’s nice. I went skiing with your mum.”

“Oh, I bet she enjoyed that.”

“She did.” He looks you up and down and squints at your comfy clothes. “Get dressed.”

“Why? We don’t need to be fancy for dinner.”

“Yes we do, because we’re going out tonight.”

“Oh, well no one told me.” You say, annoyed that the messaged hadn’t been relayed. You suppose it made sense since you’d all be cooking a lot once Thanksgiving actually came around.

“You’re misunderstanding me.”

You stop short as you reach your dresser.

“Then explain.”

“You and I are going out to eat. I’m taking you out.”

“Why?”

“So we can be alone.”

Your jaw nearly drops. Both of your eyebrows raise at him. It wasn’t exactly the nicest way for him to ask. This was how he spoke to people in meetings sometimes so they knew he meant business. It always sent a surge through you to see him be so…powerful.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, you’ve got thirty minutes.”

With that, he grabs your door handle and closes your door for you. You were stunned, but giddy. You pull out a cute sweater and a pair of jeans to wear with a nice pair of boots. You fix your hair and makeup, and you’re ready to go. Harry was waiting for you in the living room. He had already told your mother he was taking you out for dinner, and she had told everyone not to make a big fucking deal about it. He hands you your coat and out the door the two of you go. He opens the car door for you, and then he gets in on his side to start driving.

“So, where are we going?”

“Do you remember that Italian place we went to last year? I’ve got a craving for pasta and bread, lots and lots of bread.”

“Skiing all day will do that to you.” You giggle. “Works for me.”

“Good.”

His glove covered hand reaches for your and he intertwines his fingers with yours, resting the conjoined fist on your thigh. He doesn’t look at you, he keeps his eyes on the road. This was his subtle way of saying that was, in fact, a date. You give his hand a little squeeze to let him know that, in fact, you were okay with it.

Once you’re at the restaurant, he opens your door for you again, and leads you inside. You stay close to him for warmth, it was freezing outside.

“Hello, how many?” The hostess asks.

“Two, please.” Harry says.

“That’ll be fifteen minutes. Here’s a buzzer. Feel free to grab a drink at the bar while you wait.” She smiles and he takes the buzzer from her.

“Wanna grab a drink?” You ask him.

“No, we can just get a bottle ordered for the table.” He notices your slight disappointment. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah, makes sense.”

You both wait awkwardly until the buzzer buzzes and you’re brought to a table. You take your coat off and hang it on the back of your chair, and he does the same.

“You can pick the wine.” He says, smiling. “I’m fine with whatever you like.”

“Well, I’ll wanna pick out something that would taste good with our meal. I was thinking chicken parm.”

“You know, so was I.”

“Perfect, then a bottle of red…some merlot maybe?”

“Sounds good to me.”

A waiter comes over with water and bread, and takes your full order. You butter your bread and take a bite.

“Mm, so fresh.” You say, and dab your mouth with your napkin.

“It’s delicious. I won’t even be mad at myself if I fill up on it.”

The waiter comes back with the bottle of wine and opens it for you both. He pours the glasses and leave you alone after. You both clink your glasses together and take a sip.

“So.” You say.

“So.” He repeats.

“Why is this happening?”

“Because…I-“

“I thought you didn’t want to date people you worked with.”

“You’re the exception.”

You were the exception for a lot of things. Harry only exclusively dated older women, and here you were three years younger than he was. He hated spoiled rich kids. But here you were, not so spoiled, but definitely rich. He hated brats, but here you were, knowing full well how much of a brat you could be if you really felt like it.

“Well, don’t I feel lucky.” You say, sarcastically with a smirk of your own.

“Do you not want to be on a date with me?”

“No, I do. I have for a long time, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He repeats.

“How long have you wanted to take me out for?”

“Too long.”

You smile and bite your bottom lip as he smiles and takes a careful sip of his wine.

“You know you’re cute, come off it.” He says.

“Oh, so you only like me for that fact alone?”

“Not true. I like a lot of things about you, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of listing them.”

Your food is brought over and you both thank the food runner before diving in. He watches as you elegantly twirl your spaghetti with your fork onto the large spoon so you don’t make a mess. He starts with his chicken.

“This is as good as I remember.” He says. “Much better company this time around though.” He grins and it makes you blush.

“I agree.”

It’s a good date, a really good date. You were able to open up to him about things you wouldn’t normally. You talked about what your friends were doing with their lives. He talked about his friends as well. Some of them were married, some of them were traveling. He was sort of just in the middle, and fine with it. You don’t finish all of your food, the plates were far too big, but you both wrap it up to take it home. Someone was bound to eat it. You’re both given minty chocolates and Harry squares up the check.

“Thanks for paying.” You say as you get your coat back on.

“Don’t mention it.” He says, taking your hand and leading you out of the restaurant.

When he pulls into the driveway of the large house, he only pulls partially in before parking, keeping the car on, heat blasting.

“What are you doing?”

“M’not ready to go in yet. Not sure I want our date to be over already.” He unbuckles and turns slightly to look at you. You unbuckle as well so you can look at him comfortably.

“Good thing it went well, could make the rest of the week pretty awkward.”

Harry laughs at that and nods his head. He grabs a tic tac from his console and pops one in his mouth.

“Want one?”

“Please.” You hold your hand out and he shakes the small container so one comes out. “People don’t value tic tacs enough. They’re the perfect little mints, you know?” You say, sucking on it.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” He leans his are on the steering wheel so he can rest his chin on his palm. He was smiling at you, just truly enjoying your company. “I have that thought at work nearly twenty times a day, and I never get to say it loud.”

“Well, you should. Nothing wrong with an ego boost, right?”

“Y/N.” He chuckles. “Why would I say something that could so easily make you uncomfortable?” His mouth forms into a straight line. “I would never want to make anyone feel uncomfortable where they work. Why do you think I keep my distance, physically? I never lean over your desk, or get too close to you.”

“I appreciate that a lot. You definitely make me feel comfortable.”

“Good. I’d feel terrible if I ever did something…”

“Harry.” You put your hand over the one he wasn’t resting his chin on. “It’s all good.” You smile. “You’ve always been really professional, and respectful.” You give him a reassuring smile. “But we’re not at work right now, so if you wanna get a little closer to me…I wouldn’t mind.”

“So, what you’re saying is…” He lifts his chin from his palm and gently cups one of you cheeks. “If I were to kiss you right now, that would be okay?”

“More than okay.”

He smiles and leans in. You close your eyes in anticipation, and smile once his lips are on yours. You always wondered if something like this would ever happen with him. It mostly happened in unclear, faded dreams. His hand gently moves to the back your neck to pull your closer to him. Your hands find the front of his jacket so you can also tug him closer to you. It was difficult kissing in the front seats of the car, but you were trying to just focus on the way he kissed you.

He sighs happily against you. You get a little carried away and take his parted lips as an invitation to gently bite down on his bottom lip. You let go of him and look up at him through your lashes. He doesn’t let you get to far away before he slots his mouth over yours, and you both essentially grope each other. The windows in the car were starting to fog as you both started breathing heavily, and you weren’t even kissing with tongue! Not yet, anyways. You both still easily tasted like Italian food, the tic tacs only helped a little. Harry could feel the front of his pants tightening and that was when he decided to pull away.

“Right.” He clears his throat and adjusts his jacket. “They’re probably wondering, uh, where we are so.”

Before you can say anything, he throws the car in drive and gets you the rest of the way up the driveway. He gets out and opens the door for you. All you do is smile. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. When you get inside various people are hanging around the fireplace. Some people are playing cards, and your mother was in the kitchen getting certain dishes prepared so there was less to do on Thanksgiving itself.

“Hey, you two.” Ed says, with a smile. “There’s some hot chocolate in the crockpot if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, Ed.” Harry smiles and takes his coat off. “Would you like some?”

“Please.” You say and hang up the coats.

Harry gets two mugs and fills them up with the homemade drink. Cheryl smiles at the two of you as you walk in and take a sip.

“How was dinner?” She asks.

“Good, we went to that Italian place we all went to last year. Still just as good, if not better.” You tell her.

“Glad to hear it.” She smiles. “Everyone’s just been relaxing. I think tomorrow we’re taking a trip out for a little hike, and then in the evening we’re going to look at those ice castles. They look so much better at night. Then taking a break on Thanksgiving of course. Too much cooking to do.”

“Sounds good, mum.” You finish your drink and stick the mug in the sink. “Think I’m gonna go get cozy for the night.” You give her a kiss on the cheek and give Harry a look before going to your room.

Cheryl smirks at Harry.

“What?”

“You had a good time, then?”

“Yes.” He chuckles and rinses out the two mugs. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, studying Cheryl. “What’s your angle with all this? Mum’s usually like me, but you’re really adamant about this.”

“As Y/N’s mother, I want her to be happy. She’s gushed about you for years, and well, you’re both at an appropriate age now, I think it’s fine if you date. I know you really well, Harry. You’re not the type to hurt a girl. Even if it didn’t work out, I know you’d still be sweet about it. I trust you with her. No other angle than I think you could make her happy, I think you could make each other happy. Things didn’t work out with my first husband, that’s why divorce is a thing. Ed and I make each other happy, I didn’t have that before. I see the way you two look at each other. You have something, and it would be silly to not go for it.” She puts her knife down that she was using to chop some vegetables. “I suppose it seems like I’m trying to pimp her out, doesn’t it?” She laughs.

“Little bit.” Harry laughs with her.

“Well, I don’t mean to. She can make those choices on her own.” She looks in the direction you had walked off. “Something tells me she’s waiting for you.”

“And you’re alright with that.”

“Well, maybe just don’t get busy while we’re all under one roof, but it might be nice to have an after date chat, don’t you think? Hang out a little?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. He makes his way down the hall where his bedroom is. He uses the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and then changes into some sweatpants. He puts a long sleeve bed shirt on as well. He opens his door and sees yours is a crack open. He taps on the door frame.

“Y/N?”

“It’s open.” You say, this time a little less loud. He opens the door and sees you on the bed in your pj’s, snuggled up. “Come in.”

He smiles and closes the door behind him. He sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Wanna watch a movie? This TV has a chromecast.”

“Great idea.” He climbs up the bed to sit next to you as you set everything up. You put an easy going comedy on.

You lean back and he puts his arm around you so you can both get really cozy. It didn’t take long until you both passed out. You woke up in the middle of the night with Harry’s arms wrapped around you, his pelvis pressed to your butt. He liked to spoon, he could sleep comfortably like this with you. You sigh and fall back to sleep easily.

Harry woke up before you. He presses kisses to your temple before getting out of your bed. When you turn over you feel where he slept was still warm. He must have gotten up to start his day. You were a sweaty mess after your hike. You couldn’t wait for the sun to set so you could go to the ice castles and see them all lit up.

Harry held your hand the entire time, he even wraps his arms around your chest as he walked behind you, pointing out different ways the lights hit the ice. It was very romantic. Or, it would have been if your siblings weren’t around with their kids. But nonetheless, it was nice.

The next day you all help cook and set up for a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. You sit right next to Harry, and he holds your hand under the table. You had driven up with your mom, but you opt to drive home with Harry the next day. You both were desperate to just be alone together.

“Do you want me to drop you off so you can unpack and all that? I can come grab you later if you want.”

“That’d be great, and I can just drive myself to your place if that’s easier.”

“Whatever works.”

He helps you get all your things inside, and after a few minutes of kissing, he leaves you to go take care of his own things. You shower and freshen up after unpacking, and then hop in your car to Harry’s. You weren’t sure what your evening would look like, but you didn’t really care. You were just happy to maybe do a little more than kiss.

You text him when you get to his place, and the doorman lets you in. You get into the elevator and head up. You knock on his door and he opens it, yanking you in and shoving you up against the wall next to the door. Clearly, he wanted to do more than kiss as well.

He had one hand cupping your cheek, and the other on the side of your neck to keep you in place. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His hands drift down your sides, and you feel yourself being hoisted up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you down the hall to his bedroom. You tug at his hair as your tongue slips into his mouth. His molds to yours as he sets you down. He groans into you and it sends a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Get on the bed.” You tell him. He sits down, but your shake your head. “Sit all the way back, I’m not kneeling on the hard wood.”

His eyebrows fly up when he realizes what you’re talking about. He quickly gets back further on the bed. You crawl on, and sit on his lap. He kisses on your neck while you roll your hips down on his. His hands slide to your ass to grope and squeeze at you. You nip at his lips before getting of his lap and settling between his legs. Your fingers fiddle with the button and zipper on his jeans.

“Is this okay?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Yes.” He breathes. “Do whatever you want.”

You grin and slide your hand inside his jeans, palming him above his boxers. His head rolls back from your touch alone. It was something he’s wanted for so long. You tug his jeans down, he lifts his hips to help you, and you get them all the way off. You lift his shirt slightly to kiss on his tattooed stomach as you work your way down. You tug his boxers down and his hard dick springs out, slapping against his stomach. Your eyes grow wide and you look up at him.

“Jesus.” You say under your breath as you start to rub your thumb over his tip.

“Fuck.” He breathes as his head rolls back again. He felt like he was being pampered.

You let go of him, only for a minute, to get some spit on your hand. You start pumping him up and down, slowly at first. You gets yourself settled on your knees, leaning forward so your ass was in the air, and you kiss his tip. He looks down as you swirl your tongue around him before sinking further down on his hard dick. You couldn’t take all of him, even if you tried, so you pump what won’t fit. One of his hands slides down your back and down to your ass to squeeze at you. His other hand works through your hair to hold it back for you. He moans out when you swallow around him and really start bobbing your head up and down.

“Feels so good, Y/N, fuck.” His hips buck up involuntarily, causing you to gag slightly on him. “Sorry, babe.”

You squeeze one his thighs to let him know it’s okay. Your eyes flicker to his tiger tattoo, and if you weren’t sucking him off you’d smile at it. Harry was so interesting. You couldn’t wait to learn everything about him. Like right now, you couldn’t wait to learn how he tasted, how he really tasted.

“Oh god, fuck, I’m gonna come.” He says through gritted teeth. “Y/N, you don’t have to, ah!”

One of your hands slides up to his throat. You just needed him to shut up for a second so you could focus on the task at hand. His eyes were wild while he looked down at the scene before him. Your little hand wrapped around his throat while you sucked on him vigorously. You move up to just suck his tip while his come shoots into your mouth. You suck and suck until he can’t stand it anymore. You pop off him and let his throat go free. You make eye contact with him while you swallow.

“You…you didn’t have to do that.” He says, while trying to get his breath.

“I know, I wanted to.” You wipe the corners of your mouth, and tug his boxers back up. He winces slightly from the sensitivity.

“Alright.” He lifts his shirt up overhead and pins you down, you giggle at his sudden movements. “Your turn.” He unzips, your pants, but you stop him.

“I can’t.”

“Wh-why not?” He pouts.

“I got my period this morning.”

“Of course.” He sighs and hangs his head.

“Sorry.” You giggle and runs your hand through his curls.

“It’s okay, know you have no control over it.” He sits back up against the headboard and pulls you into his arms. “That was really nice, thank you.” He pecks your lips and you smile.

“My pleasure.”

“Want me to order something for dinner? I haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping yet.”

“How does Chinese sound?”

“Perfect.” He kisses you again before getting off his bed. You lay back and sigh. His bed was really comfy, you could get used to this.

Monday morning everyone was feeling refreshed from the holiday. You and Harry drove separately since you still finished work earlier than him. He walks you upstairs like always, only this time before he goes into his office to change out of his gym clothes, he gives you a kiss and a pat on the bum. He knew he had to be careful, though, not too much PDA in the office.

Once he was changed he comes out of his office. You had his coffee ready to go like always. He takes it happily, but decides to speak up.

“I wanna start getting my own coffee.”

“Why?” You frown.

“I feel weird with you doing that kind of stuff for me now that we’re…involved.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” You smirk.

“Hanging out, dating, whatever.” He shrugs. “Getting me coffee doesn’t fall under the umbrella other tasks as assigned.”

“But it did before?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Only because it was an excuse to have a nice chat in the morning.” He smiles and sips his coffee. “You understand what I’m trying to say, though, right?”

“I do.” You smile at him, and then bite your lip. “Um…when do you, I mean, should we…”

“Let’s see how things go before we go to H.R., yeah?”

He could read your mind, and it gave you some relief.

“Okay.”

He winks at you and goes back into his office. He had a ton of emails to answer from being off last week.

“Y/N?” He calls for you and you go right in.

“Yes?” He shoots his eyes at you. “Mr. Styles.” You grin.

“If I forward you a few emails, could answer some people for me? I hate to make you the middle man, but some of this doesn’t need my attention.”

“Of course! Happy to help.” You smile.

“Thanks you.” He smiles back. “Would you mind closing my door? I have some calls to make.”

You nod and close the door behind you. He forwards you about ten emails, but you didn’t mind. It gave you something to do. You worked fast, so you often would get bored. He’s in and out of his office once his calls are made. When noon finally rolls around he comes out of his office and drums his fingers on your desk. You were standing up, thanks to having that kind of desk, and had your earbuds in. You raise an eyebrow at him and pause your music.

“Yes?”

“It’s lunch time.” He grins.

“So it is.”

“Would you like to join me?”

“Where?”

“Just in my office.” He shrugs.

“Alright.” You smile. “I just need to heat my food up.”

“Great, come in when you’re all set.”

You go to the breakroom to grab your good. You lean on the counter next to the microwave as you wait for your food to heat up. Paula and a couple of other women walk in.

“Oh, hi, Y/N.” She says.

“Hi ladies, have a good Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, it was good. Probably not as good as yours though. Must be nice to go skiing.”

“It’s an old family tradition.”

“Well, it’s not just family though, is it?” She scoffs and grabs her good out of the fridge.

“Everyone that goes might as well be.” The microwave beeps and you grab your food. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all.” She shrugs and puts her food in the microwave. “Must be nice, is all.”

“What?”

“To just get everything you want all the time.” Another woman says.

“I don’t…I work really hard for the things I have.”

“Right, must be nice to just pay mommy rent while you live in her pool house.”

“She’s alone a lot. My step-dad is a pilot, he’s not home with her when she’d like him to be. I wanted to move out and she asked me if I’d want to live in our…you know what? I don’t owe any of you an explanation. You can just be bitter.” You scoff and leave quickly. You go right into Harry’s office and sit down with a huff.

“Everything alright?”

“No.” You shake your head and angry stick your fork into your lunch. “There’s a bunch of bitches that work here, and I’m annoyed.” You sigh. “You don’t think everything’s been handed to me, do you?”

“I think you’ve lived a very blessed life, but your mum’s done a good job raising you. I’ve seen you act like a real brat before, but I wouldn’t call you spoiled or anything.”

“Gee, thanks.” You roll your eyes.

“Tell me what happened, what’s going on?”

“Paula and her crones were a little rude to me in the breakroom.”

“They’re just mad because I don’t pay them the time of day, and they’re jealous you work for me. I’m sorry you’re getting the brunt of that.”

“It’s okay…maybe we should go to H.R. sooner then. If they find out about anything before we disclose…they could just make it worse. The whole thing just feels so high school, it’s fucking stupid. Grow up.” You shake your head and take a bite of your food. You look at him. He had his chin resting on his palm, smiling at you. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just cute when you get all fired up.”

“You think everything I do is cute.” You chuckle.

“You got me there.” He takes a bite of his own food. “We can go down a bit before you leave for the day if you like. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable with anything. And…I mean…do you want me to talk to your mum?”

“About what?”

“I can tell her that the other women have been rude. I can tell her what they’ve said to me before too. Or I could just straight up talk to them myself. I don’t care.”

“Let’s just go to H.R. first.” You take a sip of your water. “I don’t wanna add fuel to the fire.”

“Fair enough.” He sighs. “So, how would you like to come over tonight? I have stuff to make this chicken and noodle dish in my instant pot. Only takes like thirty minutes once it’s altogether.”

“That sounds amazing, but I can’t. I make dinner with mom on Mondays. We make a big casserole that we can have during the week. You could come over if you wanted. You know how much she loves when you come over for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be, please, come to dinner.”

“Alright.” He smiles. “Um…” His voice gets a little quieter. “How’s your, uh, are you still, um…?”

“Yes, I still have my period.” You chuckle. “I promise, once it’s done, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” He stands up from his desk and comes over to you. He cups your cheeks in his hands and leans in to kiss you. Just as his lips were on yours, there’s a knock on his door. “Jesus Christ.” He groans. He walks over to the door and opens it. “Yes?”

“Hi, Harry.”

“Oh, hi, Jennifer.”

“I came by because I have some of that pumpkin br-“ She stops when she sees you sitting. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Just a little lunch meeting.” You say, standing up. “Lots of emails and meetings to get through this afternoon. Mr. Styles wanted us on the same page. Excuse me.” You stand up and look at him before leaving.

“Leave it open, please.” He says to you and you nod.

“Anyways, I brought you that pumpkin bread you like so much.”

“Ah, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” He takes it from her and he puts it on his desk.

“Well, you raved about it last year, so I made sure to make more.” She blushes. “How was your break? You went skiing with Cheryl’s family, right?”

“Yeah…it was fun. I get along well with everyone.”

“Must be nice to be so close with the boss.”

“I suppose.”

“Anyways, um, do you have plans Friday?”

You hear her ask it, and your eyes widen with rage. You never really realized how much people through themselves at him.

“Uh, well, this is sort of awkward, but I’m sort of seeing someone, and I’ll probably be seeing them Friday, sorry.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Harry.” Her face goes red. “I had no idea.”

“Well, that’s the funny thing about having a personal life, it’s, uh, personal.”

You can’t help but laugh when you hear him say that. You clap your hand over your mouth so they don’t hear you. You watch Jennifer leave his office in defeat. He comes out to you.

“I’m so sorry you had to hear that.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” You shake your head. “So, you’re seeing someone, huh? I wonder how long that’ll take to spread around.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Very funny. What did you want me to say, that I have a girlfriend? Haven’t really had that conversation yet have we?”

“Conversation about what?” Your mom says. “Harry, we have a meeting in five, get your laptop. Phil’s in on this one.” She rolls her eyes. “Hi, honey.” She smiles at you.

“Hi.” You smile back. “Can Harry join for dinner tonight?”

“Course he can, happy to have him.” She looks back at Harry. “Let’s go.”

Harry grabs his laptop and follows your mom.

Around 4PM, Harry grabs you so you both can go see Mary in H.R.

“Hi you two.” She smiles. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Mary, Y/N and I are, uh, seeing each other.”

“Oh! Well, that’s great. Is it serious?”

“It could become serious, it’s still new.” You say. “We just wanted to do the right thing and disclose it.”

“And did this start on company property?”

“No.” You say at the same time.

“Alright then, let me get the forms. Y/N, you know things could get sticky with Harry being your supervisor.”

“I know, we’ve discussed it.”

“And…your mother…?”

“She’s thrilled.” You say with a smile.

“Alright, here you go. Fill these out and bring them back to me tomorrow morning.”

“Can do, thanks Mary.” Harry smiles.

Harry walks you out to your car and gives you a quick peck on the cheek goodbye. He tells you he’ll be over around seven for dinner, and you tell him to bring something to sleep in.

“Wait, so has everyone in our office hit on you?” Your mom asks Harry as she spoons him some lasagna. “Why did you tell me before?”

“It wasn’t really a big deal.” He shrugs.

“It’s bound to get around that he’s seeing someone, and it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone finds out it’s me.”

“Well, then, they’ll just have to deal with it, won’t they? We’re all adults.” She shakes her head as she sits down. “If anyone has an issue, they can bring it up to me.”

Everyone takes a bite of the lasagna.

“Mm, well done, Y/N.” Your mom says.

“Yeah, it’s delicious.” Harry smiles at you.

“Thanks.”

After dinner, you and Harry say goodnight to your mom and head out to the pool house. You settle in on your couch for some TV and much needed snuggles.

“Does your mum ever leave to visit Ed on his routes?”

“On the weekends sometimes, why?”

“Well, if you don’t wanna be alone on the property, you can always stay with me.”

“Aww.” You kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks.” You shift yourself so you can straddle his lap, and bury your head in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around you and rubs your back.

“Feels nice to just do this.”

“Mhm.” You nuzzle into him further.

“Comfortable?” He chuckles.

“You have no idea.” You kiss his neck and sigh. “Wanted this for so long, Harry.” You kiss his neck again, and linger a little this time.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna get me all riled up, and I can’t do anything to you that I want to.”

“I could just take care of you again, I don’t mind.”

“But I wanna be able to take care of you, Y/N.”

You lift your head so you can look at him.

“Just a few more days, then I’m all yours.”

“Can’t wait.”

“So…do we really have plans Friday night?”

“Sure.” He smirks. “Anything you have in mind?”

“I need to go to the mall to do some holiday shopping. Feel up to it?”

“The mall on a Friday after work?” He raises his eyebrows. “You’re serious?”

“I’m an expert shopper.” You peck at his lips. “And if you come with me you’ll get a reward.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

Friday after work, you and harry drive out to the mall. Everyone at work seemed pretty cool the rest of the week. Maybe a memo went out? You tried not to question it. All you could focus on was how cute Harry looked in his suit while walking around the mall with you. You at least had the sense to change.

“Let’s see, mom’s been looking for a new baking set, so let’s stop in at Crate and Barrel, first.”

“Sounds good.”

Harry basically just follows you in and out of a ton of different stores. He’s a perfect gentleman and carries all your bags. You insist you can carry some, but he tells you you’re crazy, and you just keep walking. Eventually you walk by a Victoria’s Secret. You hadn’t shopped there in a really long time since it was super overrated, but a wicked idea comes over you.

“Harry, are you getting hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Why don’t we go to Chipotle? Just have something quick? I need to stop into a couple more stores. You know what I like form there, right?”

“The tacos.”

“Exactly, why don’t you head in and I’ll meet you, yeah?”

“Works for me.”

You watch him walk away before going into the store. Your period ended Wednesday, but you two hadn’t had time to get intimate. You look at a few things, and fine a cute little turquoise set that you think he’d like.

“Would I be able to buy this and then go change into it?” You ask the woman at the register.

“Of course, miss.”

You find Harry in Chipotle, and scarf down your tacos. He gets everything you bought into the car and off you go.

“Mine or yours, babe?” He asks.

“Let’s go to yours. Your bed is so comfy.”

“So is yours.” He rubs his hand over your thigh.

“I do my best.” You chuckle. “But I’d definitely rather go to yours tonight.”

He smiles and takes the exit for his apartment. You tell him the bags can just stay in the trunk for now. You both get upstairs, and he sighs with relief when he gets his tie off.

“Just gonna change.” He says to you.

“That’s a good idea, I’ll do the same.”

You follow him in and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Where’s your bag?”

“Oh, I just figured you’d be give me something to wear.”

“Sure!” He turns to his dresser. “Do you want sweatpants, shorts, just a big…” he turns back to you and his jaw drops when he sees your lingerie. “When…where…what’s happening right now?”

“Why do you think I sent you off to get food?” You stroll over to his and run your hands up his chest. “Do you like it?”

“You look incredible. Been dreaming about this.”

He wraps his arms around you and kisses you. You moan when his hands run down your back and down to your ass.

“I’m gonna treat you so well, make you feel amazing because you don’t deserve anything less.”

He lays you down on the bed and strips down to his boxers. He hovers over you and kisses down your chest. He sucks on the fleshy area that’s spilling out of the top of your lacey bra. His hands move around your to unhook it, and he gets it off of you all the way. He sucks on each of your nipples, swirling his tongue around, really putting a show on for you.

“You always smell so fucking good, I love your perfume.” He says as he kisses down your stomach.

“I knew you liked it.” You run a hand through his hair. “I just had to keep wearing it.”

“Drives me crazy. It’s the sweetest smell in the world.”

He sucks a nice bruise on your hip while his thumb trails over the lace material of your panties. He could see that you’re wet for him already, he can feel it to once his thumb pushes gently inside. You groan while he does it.

“Please, don’t tease me, Harry.”

“But that’s the best part. Gotta really make sure you want it.”

“I do, I swear, please, just take them off.

“You went to all this trouble to buy these for me, shame for them to go to waste.” He kisses you through the material and your hips buck up towards his mouth. “So reactive.” He smirks.

“You know, I could easily just go home and do this myself, so if you want to-“

“Don’t be like that.” He pouts and hooks his fingers into his panties. “I’m simply trying to savor the moment. I’m about to see this precious little cunt for the first time. You have no idea how honored I feel.”

He slides your panties down your legs and tosses them aside. He kisses both of your knees before spreading your legs apart. He gazes at you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Harry.” You giggle and kick at him. “Stop it.” You were starting to blush.

“Can’t help it.”

He gets settled between your legs and spreads you apart with his thumbs. He uses his fingers to rub around your already slick folds. He sucks the same fingers into his mouth and it makes you bite your bottom lip. His middle finger runs along your center before slowly pushing inside. You gasp when you feel the cool of his ring hit you. He pumps it in and out of you, just trying to gauge how tight you may be.

“When was the last time?”

“When was the last time what?” You grunt.

“You’re really tight, not complaining, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I don’t know, um, I can’t really think right now while you’re doing that.”

“Alright.” He takes his finger away from you completely and you whimper.

“The last time it was someone, and not just one of my dildos was over the summer, alright?”

“When do you use the-“

“Not that often, only sometimes. I’ll fucking let you use one on me sometime if it means you’ll just keep working me over, please, Harry.” You pout at him.

“Can’t say no to that can I?”

He uses both of his hands to keep your legs open, and he dives right in. He licks all around you and sucks on your clit harshly.

“Oh my god.” You tug at his hair just as hard it makes him groan against you.

You feel his teeth graze over the little nub, and it makes you clench around nothing. You wanted his fingers again, but he needed his hands on your thighs to keep you open. He pulls up from you.

“Ride my face.”

“What?!”

“Come on, come sit on my face. I’ll fuck you with my tongue, it’ll feel great.”

He lays back with his head on the pillow and gestures for you to come to him. You shrug and straddle his face. You gasp when you feel his tongue on you again. You grip at his head board, and your eyes roll into the back of your head when you feel the slight scruff on his chin rub up against you. He gets his tongue inside you, and you essentially start riding it. His hands grip your hips, pressing bruises into your plushy skin.

“Oh my god, Harry, holy shit.”

The bed was shaking at this point. You thought you might be hurting him, but when you looked down his eyes were closed and he looked like he was in pure bliss fucking you with his tongue.

“Fuck, oh my god, fuck, fuck!” You scream as you feel your release come.

You feel Harry suck on your cunt so he doesn’t miss a drop of anything. He slowly lifts you off of him so he can get some air. His mouth, chin, and a little of his nose were wet with your slick.

“Sorry.” You use your hand to clean him up.

“Don’t be.” He licks his lips. “You taste so fucking good, could do that for hours.”

“How about you use your dick instead?”

“You’re ready for that? We don’t have to move that fast if you don’t want to.”

“Harry, I really want you to fuck me. I’ve wanted you to fuck me for five fucking years, please.”

He grabs you by your throat and pins you down on the bed.

“No need to beg, darling, all you had to do was say you wanted to.” He lets you go and kiss your lips. He stands up off the bed and takes his boxers off. “See, I’m getting nice and naked for you.” He smirks. “Do I need to use a condom or…?”

“Nah, I have an IUD. Wanna feel you.”

He smiles and gets back on the bed. He pumps himself a couple of times and spreads you back apart. He pushes inside you and you can’t help but moan loudly. You’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long, and so has he. It’s incredibly satisfying.

“Ngh, you’re so fucking big, it feels so good.” Your head rolls back as he bottoms out.

He starts moving slowly as he buries his face in your neck. He sucks on your soft skin and lets it go with a pop.

“Fuck.” You breathe.

He snakes a hand between the two of you so he rub at your throbbing clit. You knead one of your own breasts, but he swats your hand away so he can do it.

“You just need to tell me what you want, want you like, and I’ll do it, okay?”

“Okay.”

He dips his head to suck on your nipple and your hands move to his back to dig your nails in. You start tightening around him when you feel his fingers rub your clit with more precision.

“Oh, shit. Oh my god, Harry!” You were panting. You felt like your heart was going to beat out your chest. Your back arches when you come again.

“Feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He fucks your through it, and wait for your to calm down before pulling out. You whimper at the loss of him. “Don’t worry, got a nice position for us I think you’ll like.

He sits up against the head board, and gets you in his lap, facing away from him. You were on his dick again and it felt amazing. You back was flush with his chest, and your head was on his shoulder. His tongue was in your mouth while one of his hands was rubbing your clit in rhythm with his thrusts, and the other was snaked around your chest to keep you in place.

His mouth leaves yours so he can kiss on your neck and shoulder. He looks down at the way he’s rubbing you and then at your face. Your head was rolled back into his shoulder and you were biting your bottom lip.

“Feels good, babe?”

“Feels amazing.” You tighten around him.

“Wanna come together?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, just hold on for me.”

He stops rubbing you, and moves both of his hands to your hips. He moves you up and down faster so you were basically bouncing up and down on him. He was hitting your g-spot perfectly.

“Harry, fuck!”

“Hold on, Y/N.” He groans. “Almost there.”

“Harry, please!”

“One second.”

All of the blood in your body was rushing to your ears, you felt like you couldn’t hear anymore. Your vision was starting to go blurry as well. He nips at your earlobe and then you feel his breath on you.

“Come for me, baby.” He whispers and that’s when you let go.

You feel his warm come shoot up inside you. You cry out as your orgasm prolongs. It was so good, so very good. You both slowly catch your breaths from the ordeal. Your legs felt like gelatin as you stood. You desperately needed to pee.

When you come back out he tosses you a large t-shirt. You giggle and put it on, and then crawl into bed with him. He throws his arm around you as you snuggle up to his chest.

“I don’t wanna sound clingy, but I hope you know, I’m never letting you go.” You say, pressing kisses to cheek, neck, and chest.

“Lucky for you, I like clingy. M’not letting you go either.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you both get settled into a goodnight’s sleep.

After basically staying in bed with Harry all weekend, you found it difficult to concentrate at work. You had so many scenarios in your head, but the one you wanted most was for him to bend you over his desk, but he made it clear with you that the office was off limits. He explained that he didn’t want to do anything to risk losing his job. You had to respect that.

The holidays came and went. You each got each other something small since you had only been together for about a month, but you spent the New Year together and it was just wonderful. Most people at work knew you were dating Harry. It was hard not to when he’d randomly get you flowers to keep on your desk, or when he might steal glances of you during a meeting.

Once summer came around again, and you had been there for an entire year, you were up for a promotion. You were excited because it involved you having your own office, but you were sad that you wouldn’t be handling things for Harry anymore. You had to train a new assistant, and you were even less thrilled when you saw it was just some girl fresh out of her undergrad. You thought you’d be jealous, but you watched how Harry was with her. She was to only call him Mr. Styles, and he did the same things with her as he did with you. He never got too close, the door was rarely closed if they were alone together, and a picture of you was front and center on his desk. No room for funny business.

He loved staying over at your place, and swimming in the pool with you, especially at night, and especially when your mom was away. You could get away with skinny dipping, which meant getting away with getting fucked in the pool. You’d cook together and hang out almost every night.

“Hey.” He says to one Saturday afternoon as you both were laying out by the pool.

“Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Harry.” You chuckle. “You say it like you haven’t been saying it for the last six months.” All he does is pout at you. “I’m in love with you too.”

He smiles and goes back to facing front, taking a sip of his drink. Life was good, life was very, very good.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #friends to lovers #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #business man!Harry #pls tag if you reblog #feedback is always appreciated

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alexplayssimsnstuff · 5 years ago

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Bella Goth Disappearance FINALLY Solved!

Back in the day, I had originally subscribed to the theory that Bella was abducted by aliens that were set on her by the Caliente’s who then murdered her when she returned, and so I went in the game to do a walkthrough as to how I came to that theory. That’s when I found that I WAS WAYYYY OFF, there is a whole ass rabbit-hole here, and like a total Alice, I fell in it.

And, after 16 years of wondering and imagining different scenarios, I finally found out the truth. Turns out, we were ALL wrong, and the truth has been staring at us in the face the whole time.

Just as a warning, this is VERY dark and bleak and depressing. Bella wasn’t dealt a good hand, guys. What happened to her was all sorts of MESSED up.

Just for clarity, I do base this off of events that happen in the official sims storyline, because while the game is ultimately up to us to live life as we like, go ahead and do whatever with your game, there IS a story being told here, but in a way that doesn’t conflict with our own free will. It’s ingenious, really. This goes with the main Sims games released for PC and Mac. However, the console versions do provide a lot of insight to further details and situations. Specifically the Sims 2 for PSP, and the Sims 3 for the Nintendo DS.

So, first off, it has been verified what happened to her: In 2014, Twitter held an AMA for the SimGurus just before the release of the Sims 4. Someone asked the following question, and SimGuru Sarah responded.

It was later confirmed that Bella Goth of Lunar Lakes IS the Bella Goth of Pleasantview. She does look like the rest of the ghosts there with pale skin and yellow hair and eyes, and with that in mind, you can see for yourself…

That’s her, alright.

Okay, if she died on Lunar Lakes, there are still questions that need answers:

1. Did she ever go home?

2. Does her family know what happened to her?

3. How did she die on Lunar Lakes?

Well, she died of old age, that can be found out easily enough, but I found the answers to the other two: Kinda and no.

So, just to recap, I’m gonna review Bella’s life as we know it canonically.

Bella was born to Simis and Jocasta Bachelor of Sunset Valley. She grew up the road from her childhood best friend, and later, husband, Mortimer Goth, with her older brother Michael. She always had a sense of the macabre and dark and was known as “the best dressed girl in town.” Even then she wore a red dress. A more child appropriate red dress, but a red dress. She just came from an average suburban family who had a fascination for the not average. She’s still a child, and not a Goth yet. She still goes by the surname Bachelor.

Twenty-five years later, she shows up in the Sims 1 with her childhood best friend and now husband, Mortimer Goth, and they have moved into their own home, and have a daughter, Cassandra. Her in-laws moved out of their home in Sunset Valley and moved into what would later become the Goth House of the Sims 2 in the beginnings of what would be known as Pleasantview. Unless you got her a job, she was a housewife, and she was known to be athletic, elegant, and friendly towards her neighbors. I remember her often being the first to come and say hello to any new Sims I’d move into the neighborhood. Her brother, Michael, is also in town, however, there is no acknowledgement of them being siblings. A family tree system didn’t really exist in the Sims 1, and I’m sure they didn’t even think to make them siblings back then, but the fact remains that they have no relationship at this point in time. The only reason why it’s known that Cornelia and Gunther Goth are Mortimer’s parents is because it straight up says so in the bio. That and their names are the same, but anyway.

So far, things are simple.

That’s because in the 25 years between the Sims 1 and 2, a series of events occurs that really makes things interesting.

Michael joins the science career track. One can assume the reason why he settled into domestic living years after Bella had done so was because he was at grad school. Because he was graduated from grad school, he gets a jumpstart in the career and climbs the latter a lot faster than Mortimer does.

1. Scientist Sims contribute an invention into the Sims world. Michael’s invention was cloning technology. He cloned himself, and a test subject: Skip Broke.

a. Even though he died before it happened, arrangements were made so Brandi could be the next test subject and the first female subject, and when you start Pleasantview for the first time, she is pregnant with her own clone. The baby is always born a boy.

b. Michael’s clones have a 100% rate of being male, genetic identicals to those they were cloned from (Brandi’s just being a boy rather than a girl) and so far, a 100% rate of dying at the same time as the original. They are genetically identical, but wear different clothes.

2. Michael and Bella don’t really have a relationship in their adult lives because Michael leaves Pleasantview early on while Cassandra is still a child and moves to the city.

3. Mortimer follows after Michael, and invents the age reversal serum. Bella is the first test subject, and, the day of her abduction, she takes the serum until she reverts back to being a brand-new adult. Probably to allow herself to fit in her red dress as strikingly as she does, I don’t think an elderly woman could pull that off.

4. Cassandra enters private school.

5. Around this time, Gunther Goth dies. Bella, Mortimer, and Cassandra move out of their home and in with Cornelia to be with her in her last stages of life.

6. Michael marries Dina Caliente. It is speculated that, because of the age gap, they only marry for Michael’s money. But it is worth noting that Michael was Dina’s first serious relationship and she didn’t begin to cheat on Michael with Don until years later just before Michael died.

7. Alexander is born.

8. Shortly after Alexander’s birth, Cornelia dies at the same time Michael does.

9. Dina inherits Michael’s estate and moves in with Nina. They then move to Pleasantview.

10. Don follows them and moves the next day.

11. Bella goes to introduce herself to her new neighbor, Don. They get along, and Don gets the wrong idea and puts the move on Bella. Bella rejects him. He then runs off to go be with Kaylynn and is not there when Bella is abducted by aliens.

12. Bella is never seen again, but shortly after her abduction, a UFO crashlands in Strangetown, and reports that Bella is in Strangetown start rolling in. But, spoiler alert, that’s not the real Bella.

Then, after Bella’s abduction and before you start Pleasantview for the first time, the following happens:

1. Mortimer and Dina hit it off rather fast, and marriage is definitely in the picture when the game first starts.

2. Cassandra, Mortimer, and Alexander all age up on the same day 2 days after Bella disappears.

3. Cassandra goes to Don’s house to find out what he knows about what happened to Bella (jack squat since he wasn’t there) and that’s where they meet for the first time. Don tries to seduce her, probably not knowing who she is, and Cassandra, as much as you gotta love the girl, is naïve as all hell and thinks she won the jackpot and falls for Don quickly.

4. Alexander goes to private school

5. Mortimer retires

6. Cassandra gets engaged the VERY day the game starts.

That is an important thing to note because people like to speculate that Don had something to do with Bella’s disappearance because he made the moves on her mother and they were engaged and he didn’t want to jeopardize that by Bella opening her yap. This is NOT the case because Cassandra was still a teenager when Bella vanished. Don may be a hoe, but he isn’t a pedo. Chris Hansen doesn’t need to be called for this one.

Another important thing to point out is that it’s not known if Dina and Nina knew Bella. At least, not well, since it can’t be established if Michael and Bella had a relationship at all. Despite the fact that they were friends when they were younger, Mortimer has no memories of Michael, and neither do Cassandra or Alexander. They never met their uncle.

ALSO, yes Dina and Nina do have alien ancestry. Their father was a result of an alien abduction pregnancy. But he was born human, so they’re not part alien. Which means they didn’t order ANY aliens to go and kidnap anybody. Why would they? They don’t know her. Not even normal alien sims do that, y’all are just racist.

It’s also worth noting that Mortimer is COMPLETELY fine with Bella being gone. He’s not heartbroken and he isn’t desperately trying to find her like the game tries to suggest. He’s strangely cool about it.

Why is Mortimer fine with Bella being gone?

Because they are no longer married and haven’t been since around the time Alexander was born.

And THAT, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, is the BIGGEST part that y’all need to just remember. If you can only take one thing away from this part, take away the fact that they’re divorced. It’s S U P E R important.

Now, it is possible to bring Bella back with the Tombstone of Life and Death. She’ll only stick around for a short while because she has a death token that activates when you save the lot, go into Pleasantview, and reload the Goth House. She’ll disappear. Interesting to note that if she’s in the middle of doing something, like talking with a sim or cooking food, she doesn’t disappear completely until she’s done. She does turn see-through and it kinda glitches out…it’s really creepy. Give it a try, you’ll see what I mean. But when she’s done, she’ll disappear, and you’ll get a notification saying she died somewhere else and her spirit has returned to where she was buried.

However, if she dies this way, you cannot resurrect her with the resurrect-o-nomitron. It doesn’t matter who tries it, where they are, or anything. Grim acts like he doesn’t know anything about Bella being dead and even if the Sim COULD resurrect a sim, Bella is not listed.

Since we know Bella is buried in Lunar Lakes, this means she died sometime between the week of her abduction and Cassandra’s wedding where the game starts.

However, while you have Bella in your household, you’ll find she’s brought back with no personality points. She has no memories besides what happened to her children after the first load of Pleasantview. So let’s say that between loading the game and bringing back Bella with the Tombstone, Cassandra gives birth to twin boys. Bella will come back with memories that Cassandra had twins, and she will even know who her grandchildren are. (I use this example because in my most recent Pleasantview playthrough, Cassandra had twin boys named Hendrick and Caspian with Don Lothario.)

Bella will have NO relationship at all whatsoever with Mortimer. You can see before you bring her back on the Goth family tree that they are not married at that point, and Mortimer and Bella start their relationship over as acquaintances. If you let them progress their relationship naturally with no cheats, they actually fight a lot and do not get along at all.

Now, any townie and NPC created before Nightlife will have their turn-on and turn-offs randomized. But it seems to constantly make it so that Bella is never attracted to Mortimer and Mortimer is RARELY attracted to Bella. This is a consistent thing. Interesting to take into consideration.

It’s clear to me, at least, that there were some problems boiling up for some time before Bella vanished.

--they get divorced at around the same time Alexander is born

--they do not get along at all

--Mortimer is completely fine after Bella’s disappearance and isn’t the frantic husband he’s marketed to be at this point in time.

--Mortimer gets into a relationship with Dina Caliente extremely soon after Bella vanishes.

--If Bella does come back and Mortimer is still alive, they naturally do not get along at all.

Which is weird, right? They were always shown to be this desperately in love couple who couldn’t live without eachother. I remember them having a good relationship in the Sims 1.

Also worth noting, Bella is a romance aspiration sim. In the Sims 2, they tend to hoe around a lot. There are a few other adult sims in Pleasantview who are also romance aspiration sims.

1. Don Lothario (the epitome of the romance aspiration)

2. Nina Caliente

3. Daniel Pleasant

4. Skip Broke was also a romance aspiration sim when he was alive.

What is interesting is that while for the most part, romance aspiration sims like to hoe around, there is one exception to this rule so far: Nina Caliente. Nina Caliente’s only romantically involved with Don Lothario. Unless you have another sim start putting the moves on her, then it’s a whole other story. If it were a thing back then, Nina would have been a soulmate romance aspiration while the others would have been serial romantic aspirations.

Bella COULD have been the same way, but that wouldn’t make any sense with the myriad of problems with her relationship with Mortimer.

So, in conclusion, Bella had an affair. Mortimer found out about it, which caused them to, at the least, separate for a while. Then, Bella became pregnant with Alexander, which would have brought up an important question—who is Alexander’s father? Once Alexander was born, and as he got a little older, it becomes clear that he resembles Cornelia, therefore verifying that Mortimer is indeed his father. This would have caused them to try their relationship again, and Bella would have turned down Don in good faith to Mortimer.

Who did Bella have an affair with?

Don wasn’t in town yet, and they hadn’t met. Neither did she meet the Caliente’s yet. Which leaves two possible contenders for Bella’s secret lover: Daniel Pleasant and Skip Broke.

On one hand, Daniel was Bella’s neighbor. She knew the Pleasants, and was friends with Mary-Sue. Daniel had an affair with Kaylynn going on, so he definitely could have some action on the side with Bella, too. My only reservation on that would be that I couldn’t imagine her doing that to her best friend. But then again, she did have an affair on her husband, so who’s to say what her morals are.

Then, there’s Skip Broke. This one makes the most sense to me, personally. While she wasn’t close with Michael, that doesn’t mean she completely avoided him altogether. She would have heard about Michael’s cloning experiments and could have met Skip that way, or she came to say hello and that was how they met. There is a theory going around that Brandi found out Skip was cheating on her, and that’s why she killed him and took his insurance money.

Maybe I’ll do another thing on that because the Skip Broke incident happens to be another rabbit hole altogether.

So, we know that Bella had an affair with Mortimer and things weren’t going so well between them at the time of her disappearance. We know that the Calientes and Don are completely innocent, at least as far as her disappearance goes. (And Nina is innocent altogether, she just loves Don and is completely oblivious to the fact that he’s doing her sister and two other women. She is ALSO a victim here, you guys. Give some love to Nina Caliente, she needs it.)

She dies sometime in the week between her abduction and the first time the Goth household is booted up from old age on Lunar Lakes despite the fact that she was a brand new adult again thanks to Mortimer’s reverse age serum.

Then a UFO crashlands in Strangetown and shortly thereafter reports of Bella Goth being in Strangetown start swarming around.

And yes, this Bella is a clone—there are subtle facial similarities, she is not in the family tree at all for the Goth house, but other than that, she’s structured exactly like the Real Bella goes as far as her outfit, her personality, and her aspiration.

(The Wiki says it’s her despite the fact that it’s been verified she’s not, and it also has MANY discrepencies, saying she’s related to the Curious Family and they appear on her family tree, which is incorrect because Strangetown Bella’s family tree is COMPLETELY EMPTY.)

So, clearly, when Bella was abducted, something went wrong. But what?

Well, why would the aliens even abduct her in the first place?

They tend to go after sims who are wealthy, high-skilled, good-looking, popular, anything like that. Bella was ALL of those things. She was the epitome of the perfect sim to the aliens. They practically worshipped her and their queen took her name and appearance. (This is referenced several times, specifically in the Sims 3.)

So, if something were to go wrong, why would the aliens worship her unless she had been being watched for some time before her abduction?

And what went wrong that caused her to lose her memories, her skills, her personality, her youth, everything?

Aliens also do not abduct children, the elderly, and pregnant sims because their experimentation could go drastically wrong.

She wasn’t a child, and reversed her age so she wouldn’t be an elder for quite some time—

So the only thing that’s left is that she was pregnant when she was abducted and that was why things went wrong.

She wouldn’t have known this, and neither would the aliens—it’s possible that the baby was conceived that day, which helped Bella in the case where Don was hitting on her—she wouldn’t go cheating on Mortimer if she were trying to rekindle their relationship and they had made it to woo-hoo that day.

Also worth noting is that there IS another Goth on Lunar Lakes who happens to look exactly like Bella.

Anyone recognize her?

This is Mathilde Goth.

She is the long-lost third child of Mortimer and Bella Goth.

No, they don’t appear on eachother’s family tree, but they wouldn’t if Bella died shortly after giving birth to her and Mathilde was put in the orphanage.

Mathilde looks almost identical to Bella with the exception of her blue eyes. She also has a preference for blue where Bella preferred red.

Mathilde has no idea where her mother came from and the fact that she has a family on Earth who is just as oblivious to her existence as she is to theirs.

What happens to Cassandra and Alexander after they find out about Bella’s death?

Remember how I said scientist sims end up inventing something?

Cassandra’s invention is time travel. She makes a time machine and the first use is to send Don to the future after her, Dina, Nina, and Kaylynn find out that he was playing all of them. She then goes on to live her life. We don’t know how that looks yet, but she never finds out what happened to her mother and that she has a younger sister.

Alexander is greatly affected by his mother’s death. He has no memories of her being abducted by aliens. Normally toddlers remember things like that so it’s odd that he doesn’t when the rest of his family does. What he does remember is her disappearing, Mortimer being okay with it and getting together with Dina really fast after she vanished, and then finding out that his mother was dead.

Alexander is a child prodigee. He’s a smart kid. So, he would go with any other conclusion someone would go with that limited information: he believed Mortimer killed her.

Well, Cassandra still has her time machine after she uses it to get rid of Don. And as we all know, Alexander’s name shows up in the Sims 3 a few times despite the fact that he doesn’t exist yet. And, according to the Goth family tree, it’s not a family name of an ancestor of his, he is the only Alexander Goth.

Once again, we’re going to reference a console game. This time is the Sims 3 for the Nintendo DS. Alexander actually makes an appearance, and this time, he’s not alone: he’s married to a woman named Cecelia. The family bio says that their gloominess is BECAUSE of Mortimer. Alexander dyed his hair orange. Probably he was trying to bleach it and didn’t know what toner was. He doesn’t have that great of a relationship with Cecelia, as a matter of fact, she has a better relationship with Don Alto than she does her own husband.

Back in the realm of the PC games, Alexander wrote two books when he went back in time to the continuity of the Sims 3:

Baron Graff Van Gold, which comes with Supernatural,

And then there’s the one that appears in the base game.

Murder in Pleasantview.

To string it altogether, Alexander remembers her being gone, then learning she died. He suspects Mortimer was the one to do it but he never actually talks to his father about it. He doesn’t know anything about the abduction, if anything thinking it a ridiculous rumor. He grows up, gets married, and decides at some point in time to go back in time to try and prevent his mother’s death. So he and his wife go into the time machine and try to go back to when it happened, but instead get sent back wayyyy too far to when his parents are still children. What happens to the time machine? It breaks. He’s stuck in a period of time where Time travel wasn’t a thing and no one really knows how to help him and he sure as hell doesn’t know himself. Effectively, he’s stuck there.

So, he writes A Murder in Pleasantview to tell the story of what he thinks happens to his mother. He doesn’t know it’s really all for nothing, but at the same time, it is because of what ends up happening as a result. A result he probably didn’t even know would happen.

See, A Murder in Pleasantview is a best-seller. It blows up the world of 50 years before his time. Every bookshelf has a copy of this book, standard-load. Sims would have read this, and would be influenced accordingly. They would have made better decisions, not wanting this tragic thing to happen to them.

And yes, it does literally take the world by storm. Better decisions in the past truly make for a better future.

This is where the Sims 4 comes in. It is a different continuity, but it is different because they are aware of what Alexander believes to have happened to Bella. This would be why their personalities are so completely different, why the age gap between Cassandra and Alexander aren’t so extreme, why the Goths are so much more reclusive.

Alexander did something that inadvertently changed the future, eliminating himself and his circumstances entirely. He vanished suddenly, probably in a series of events identical to Back to the Future, where he is then allowed to live his life as a child with his mother in the picture, having no idea what he believed happened to her, nor knowing the truth. He erases his little sister altogether, but he can’t be blamed for that since he didn’t know she even existed.

What happened to his wife? Did she get erased like Alexander did?

No, actually she died. She tried repairing the time machine, failed, and was electrocuted to death as a result. She died young and is buried in the Goth mansion’s graveyard, confusing future generations because no one knows where she comes from because she has the surname Goth but they can’t find her on their family tree.

Lolita Goth was the wife of Alexander Goth.

Yes, it says she’s single, which means one of two things happened:

Either she tried repairing the time machine one last time after Alexander vanished and died,

Like Alexander’s marriage to Cecelia, they didn’t have the best relationship and they ended up getting a divorce, then, possibly with Alexander still around, did the same and died.

She clearly wanted to go back home to her time and wasn’t happy with Alexander for being stuck there.

And it makes sense that she would have been electrocuted with the time machine because there are no other objects in the Goth Mansion that would result in her electrocution.

Which would ALSO explain why the Goths of the Sims 3 can’t figure out who she is. You can’t list a descendent and their wife on your family tree if they don’t exist yet, can you?

Tragedy is just par for the course in the Goth Family, it matches their dark and dreary macabre air. But Bella’s story is just really extra sad. Imagine trying to repair your failed marriage, going to meet a new neighbor only for him to put the moves on you without invitation, then get abducted by aliens where their experiments go wrong, causing you to lose your memories, your personality, your youth, and then you find out that it went wrong because you’re pregnant, which you didn’t know about that either, and your kidnappers take a tissue sample from you, and then drop you on a strange planet far from home where you have no way to communicate to them that you’re there, but you don’t remember anyone but your children anyway, leaving you to have a baby you didn’t even know existed when you were abducted and live just long enough to name her?

The truth has been staring at us in the face since 2014, but we all missed it. Me included for the longest time. It’s been 16 years since Bella went missing, and we all had theories and ideas, but THIS is the truth, and it’s really. Messed up. Yeah, I found out what happened to Bella, but do I like it? No, not at all. Bella deserved better, and so do her children. Mathilde especially. She grew up in an orphanage never knowing she had a family who would have loved her so very much, only to become a mailcarrier on her home planet. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a mailcarrier, don’t get me wrong.

Dina Caliente is innocent, but seriously? Bye.

Nina Caliente is innocent, and really deserves better.

Don Lothario is innocent, but yet he sucks.

Mortimer Goth used to be my favorite out of the Goth family, yes, even over Bella. But after learning everything about him I have mixed feelings about the guy. I don’t blame him for not trusting Bella, and I don’t blame him for wanting to move on, but jeez, at least show a little genuine emotion, Morty, she was your childhood best friend, and, if nothing else, the mother of your children.

There was no plot to get rid of her and swipe the Goth fortune.

It was just poor timing on the alien’s end, and bad luck altogether.

So, yeah.

That’s what happened to Bella Goth.

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rosieblogstuff · 2 years ago

Note

For the ‘Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing’ ask game: 1, 3, and 18

What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Anne McCaffrey's Pern. 👍 I wrote Pern fanfics from middle school through grad school, which was kind of just when my fanfic friends all migrated to other hobbies (like original fic writing). That was a very different sort of fanfic experience though! Picture me and my nerdy teen online fanfic pals getting out our rebellious teenager vibes by.... publishing our very own fanzine that we didn't invite any adults to. 😂

3. Do you write fics from start or finish, or jump around?

Weellll I TRY to write from start to finish. I MEAN to write from start to finish. Sometimes after I get a bit in I realize it needed more beginning, or whatever. Writing an ending before i get to the end is usually a disaster in the making. Seriously, every time I write an ending before I get to the ending, I end up veering off in a different direction in the middle and having to just write a different ending. 😂

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Ahhhhhhh that's a tough one. I'm cheating and going for a whole fic, the crossover that I wrote after swearing i'd never write a crossover, "4 Times the LAPD Didn't Pull Jack Over + 1 Time They Did" which comes to mind in part because I was just binging the new season of The Rookie this week. I wrote the first scene of the story probably like December last year, but I didn't know what I'd do with it or where the story could be going. Then I saw there was a "Crossover" prompt coming up for one of the challenges and decided I'd finish the story... but I was tearing my hair our trying to come up with enough near misses for the 4 Times (I wanted it to be 5 times, but I ran short on good ideas & time). I knew the climax of the story needed to be when Jack finally got pulled over but then I spent forever trying to figure out how that would go down, and it didn't really come together until I had Nyla seach the trunk of the car. I really amused myself with details that probably no one else noticed, like every time someone says "Oh it must be the DEA?" or "Were they from Homeland Security?" they're naming a totally different federal agency (at one point I had a list of possible federal agenies and was checking them off one by one 😂). Not to mention I probably spent an hour reading about the history of RC Cola. Anyway, at the last minute I figured out exactly how to end the story and it's still one of my favorite of my own things. 👍👍👍

#ask games #thanks for the asks!

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scabopolis · 4 years ago

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Congrats on 600 followers!!!! How about Logan/Veronica and "Are you doubting my acting skills?" and/or any one of your 76 Danielle/Henry modern AUs?

Oh, Sarah, I’d do anything for you! I will eventually write a Danielle/Henry modern AU and it shall be dedicated to you, but for now, here is some Logan/Veronica friends to lovers inspired fake dating setup shenanigans.

--- Title: look at me like you like me Fandom: Veronica Mars Pairing: Logan/Veronica (side Wallace/Parker) Other Characters: Wallace, Parker, a frequent switching of tenses b/c this is barely edited. Additional Tags: Should be a multichapter probably, friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, Wallace sees all and knows all Word Count: ~1,800 ---

Sitting at brunch, her plate piled high with pancakes, Veronica Mars wonders just how long her best-friend thought he could get away with this. Logan Echolls (said best-friend) is currently walking slowly back and forth in front of the restaurant as he talks on his phone. He isn’t speaking, which means his mother is in the middle of a persuasive monologue. And everyone at their table knows what that means.

“Charity gala?” Wallace asks.

“My money’s on a distant relative’s wedding,” Parker says.

“His parent’s anniversary is coming up,” Veronica says. “Could be their own party.”

“What will they celebrate?” Wallace asks. “Ten years of sleeping in separate rooms and ignoring one another’s affairs?”

“Regardless, I’m ready,” Parker says.

Okay. Apparently Veronica’s isn’t the only one thinking about Logan’s go-to family event strategy. “You think he’ll ask you?”

Parker frowns as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Veronica draws a line in the air, connecting Wallace and Parker. “Well, for one, you’re married now.”

“The people at these parties don’t know that,” Parker answers.

The woman has a point. Veronica turns to Wallace. “And you’re okay with this?”

“We’re living on two teacher’s salaries. If some wealthy man wants to be my wife’s platonic sugar daddy, who am I to stop him?”

“I wanted to buy a new dress for your brother’s graduation anyway,” Parker says.

“See! Perfect plan.” Wallace and Parker seal their agreement with a kiss and Veronica focuses on her pancakes. She cuts off a large bite with more force than strictly required and shovels the pancakes into her mouth.

She isn’t sure why this whole conversation needles her. Something about Parker’s certainty, Veronica supposes. That it is going to be Parker who Logan calls on. To be fair, Parker and Logan’s arrangement pre-dates Veronica’s friendship with either of them.

By the time Veronica met Parker their first year of grad school, Parker and Logan had been friends for four years. The pattern wherein Parker pretended to be Logan’s girlfriend at any and all society events his mother required him to attend was already well-established. Even after Veronica and Logan met, and it was quickly evident the two of them were destined to be platonic soulmates for the rest of their lives, it was still Parker that Logan turned to for help in these situations. Which, fair. Parker possesses levels of grace which Veronica can never hope to achieve.

Veronica is much more apt to give a Hollywood director in his fifties judgey facial expressions when he introduces her to his barely legal wife. (A real thing that happened at an Echolls family BBQ. At least it still makes Logan laugh all these years later.)

It just didn’t occur to Veronica that it would always be Parker. Especially now that Parker is married. What is going to happen when she and Wallace decide to have a baby? How will they prevent word of Logan Echolls’ pregnant girlfriend from making the tabloid rounds?

No. This is ridiculous.

“She’s definitely not listening,” Wallace says, disapprovingly.

“Some sort of fugue state?” Parker suggests.

“Could be.”

Veronica sighs. “What are you two talking about?”

“I wanted to know if it was all pancakes in general you seek to destroy, or if this one in particular had done something to upset you?”

Her first instinct is to glare at Wallace. And then at Parker when she sniggers. Introducing the two of them to one another is the worst decision she’s ever made. But then she looks down at her plate. Sure enough, at some point she traded in eating her pancakes for cutting them into smaller pieces and then smushing them into the maple syrup. They no longer resemble an edible object.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Sure,” Wallace says, taking a well-timed sip of his coffee. His expression is all smug and knowing.

Veronica is saved from additional Wallace stares and Parker sniggers by the return of Logan. He slides his phone into his blazer pocket and sits down beside Veronica, resting his arm on the back of Veronica’s chair. This is nothing new. Being best-friends with Logan means being comfortable with his rather tactile nature. But the look Logan’s action invites from Wallace is new. Veronica wants to spit at him. (Wallace. Not Logan.)

(Portrait of grace, indeed.)

“What happened here?” Logan asks, gesturing to Veronica’s pancakes.

“Nothing,” Veronica says. “What happened out there?”

Logan’s fingers still from where he is lightly tracing the contours of her shoulder. “My mom and dad are renewing their vows.”

For a moment all movement at their table ceases as they each take in this information. This despite Veronica's keen awareness of the fact that her guess was eerily close to being right.

“I’m sorry. What?” she asks.

“That was about my reaction,” Logan says. “Want my bacon?”

“Yes, please. They can’t be serious.”

Logan slides his slices of bacon onto Veronica’s plate. “Serious about drumming up some positive PR, absolutely. Aaron was spotted looking a little too friendly with a married co-star. So, he and mom are going on a romantic getaway to Italy. When they get back they’ll do a backyard vow renewal.”

“Logan—”

The man in question holds up a hand, stopping Parker’s softly spoken entreaty.

“No. I can’t do the talking about it thing right now. I can’t feel anything about it right now. What I need is a wedding date.”

“Of course,” Parker rushes to answer. “Just tell me when.”

“The weekend of June 11th.”

“Absolutely. Deal,” Parker says, nodding enthusiastically. “Consider it—,” she trails off, her gaze somewhere over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Consider it, what?” Logan asks.

“—Not something I can do.”

“Why not?”

“That’s graduation weekend,” Parker explains. “I’m the faculty speaker.”

“I’ll buy you shoes, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Logan says. “This way I can get very drunk and not feel bad about it.”

Logan’s arm returns to the back of Veronica’s chair. This time his hand sort of hangs over her shoulder and curls around towards her clavicle. It makes it impossible to ignore details about Logan’s hands — the surprising delicacy of his fingers, the length of them, the weird knot on one of his knuckles.

“I’ll do it,” Veronica says.

“Do what?” Logan asks.

“Be your fake girlfriend for the sham vow renewal. I can do it.”

She refuses to look at anyone at the table. Not Parker. Sure as hell not Wallace.

(Seriously. Does he know something? Was it that night they all played King’s Cup and the two of them stayed up talking until 3:00 AM? Did she say something she wasn’t supposed to?)

And absolutely not Logan. She scrapes the edges of the smushed pancake with the tines of her fork.

“Veronica.” Logan’s voice is soft, but she detects a hint of incredulity. Which, maybe she’s wrong and he isn’t her best-friend and he doesn’t know her very well, because it raises her hackles.

She drops her fork. “What? Why not?”

“Look, I love you. You know I love you.” Veronica ignores the little skitter of her pulse at Logan’s words, furrows her brow, and concentrates on being offended. “And you know me better than anyone.”

“But?” She prompts.

“But,” he says, “you don’t really—”

Before Logan can finish, she comes up with a dozen ways to complete the sentence. There is plenty she doesn’t have —the class, the patience, the height, the sweetness, the glamor, the—

“—look at me like you like me,” Logan finishes.

“Wait. What?” Veronica’s eyes dart from Logan to Wallace to Parker. Neither one of them appear surprised by Logan’s words. In fact, Parker is faintly nodding in agreement. “Of course I like you. You’re my favorite person.” She thinks about this. “When you’re not being a total asshole.”

“I know that. But, your face makes it look like you want to slap me most of the time.”

“Because I do.”

“It’s just not the most conducive to convincing my mother to not set me up with the daughter of whichever producer she is trying to impress.”

“I’ll change my face.”

“Change it?”

“I can look like I like you.”

“Really?”

“I’ve been in love before, you know.” Veronica’s hackles are now standing at full attention. “Are you doubting my acting skills?”

“I would never,” Logan says.

“Good. Because I could be the sweetest goddamned fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.” Veronica turns to Parker. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I’ll even use pet names. Schmoopsie. Snuggle muffin. Sweet cheeks. What’s your preference?”

“My preference is none of them.”

Still, despite his words, Logan seems to consider it. Veronica takes the time to nibble on one of the slices of bacon from Logan’s plate. If she isn’t mistaken, Parker and Wallace kept shooting each other, what they probably believe to be, covert glances. What are those glances supposed to mean? Does Parker know something too? Damned married couples with their telling each other things.

“My mom does love you,” Logan eventually says.

“See, I already have a leg up,” Veronica says. “And I can absolutely rock a floor length gown.”

“Can you?”

“I was on homecoming court senior year.”

“You were?” She’s not certain which of the voices speaking in unison sound more shocked, Logan’s or Parker’s, but regardless she is deeply offended. She’ll look classy and hot as hell and that will show them.

“Yeah,” Wallace says, “Keith still has the picture hanging up in his house. It’s hilarious.” Veronica glares at him. “Hilarious, because of how great you look. Obviously.”

“I don’t want to make you do this,” Logan says.

Veronica doesn’t have time to question why he would make Parker do this but for some reason wants to spare her.

“Hey.” She reaches up for the hand still draped over her shoulder and laces their fingers together. Logan looks down at her. His eyes are all soft and heavy lidded; like they sometimes get when he’s sleepy.

(She’s also noticed they can kind of look like that when she’s ranting about a coworker. Or, that one time she helped her dad install a fence and came over to Logan’s place after. Her hands were full of splinters and Logan was so careful and gentle, removing each one with a very expensive pair of tweezers.)

“This is going to suck. Isn’t it?” she asks.

He nods. “Yeah. I think it will.”

“Then let me be there for you.” He doesn’t say anything. “I’ll work on my face. Promise.”

That gets him to crack a smile. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then great.”

“Great.”

“Did I just get replaced?” Parker asks.

Veronica shrugs. “I like nice shoes too, you know.”

Logan gives her hand a squeeze.

Oh. Look at that. She didn’t even notice they were still holding hands.

#vm fanfic #lv fanfic #veronica mars #logan echolls #logan x veronica #p: logan x veronica #otp: the one person #lavellenchanted #never stories

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

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Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell.

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen.

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit.

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale.

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it.

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people.

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess.

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up.

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over.

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him.

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff.

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself?

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain.

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts.

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness.

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class.

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot.

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range.

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle.

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor.

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity.

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt.

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon.

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on.

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight.

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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inkofamethyst · 2 years ago

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November 28, 2022

TWO MORE WEEKS TWO MORE WEEKS (I suppose it’s more like three if you count finals, but I trust that I should be able to skirt myself out of two of them and my take-home final shouldn’t take all that much time and I can (probably) write an essay in two days easy-peasy. It’s more like there’s only two more weeks of work work.)

As exciting as that would be, there’s so much that I have to complete in the next two weeks it’s almost insane.

I watched a tiktok the other day which was like “I take walks through the woods because they’re good for my mental health... not at all because I’m microdosing a flight response” and.. I try my very best not to take everything I hear on that clock app as truth but.. that one.. it’s either a really good joke, or I have some looking inward to do. My response to feeling overwhelmed is, in fact, to briskly walk around campus by myself at night for an hour or so. Hm.

I remember when I was first figuring out this whole grad application thing and freaking out about forming a potential project because I didn’t really know what I wanted to do, but I think the truth is that most applicants fake it and put down something, fully expecting to revise it in the future. And that’s okay! I’m totally making stuff up the whole time but that’s absolutely fine. [Edit: Actually, no, this sucks, I feel like an idiot and I hate that this one school is asking me to propose a whole project, like,,,, huh I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point]

Though, I was planning on submitting all of my apps today, and my transcripts have still not come in??? Like I need to upload them myself and there’s been a sending error or something and I’m kind of pressed because I told my recommenders that it’d be done today and for some reason that’s not happening and I’m a little peeved.

Today I’m thankful for tricolor Christmas pasta! A few weeks ago I saw it at the store and it looked too cute to not buy and you know what? I haven’t had shaped pasta in years but it’s fantastically festive and terribly cute.

I’m also thankful that I went out with some people after choir practice tonight. Not to eat, just to hang. I’ve been stressed all day about getting this application in and really just needed some chill time away from it. It does mean that I have a lot to do tonight (exam, proposal draft, discussion board, and application essays all coming up hhhhh I’m only going to work on two of those tonight but still) before I can go to sleep but you know what? So be it.

And I suppose I’m also thankful that I still have a buffer period of a few days for this transcript thing and that I should still be okay... yeah. I will have to inform my recommenders of the delay, but at least I should still be able to get it in before the deadline. I feel so anxious right now that I can’t even bring myself to eat... I hate this. One thing I can look forward to though is that after my first round of apps are in, I can celebrate with a new episode of Welcome to Night Vale on the first (coincidentally also the day of my evo exam :/).

Lastly, I’m thankful that the email (at least, one of them, anyway (...I’m probably just not going to send the other ones and just risk it)) I’ve been procrastinating for a month or so and finally sent today got an immediate response with no fuss, no hassle. It was amazing and much needed.

Wait hold on one more: I’m also thankful that I’m not continually feeling down anymore like I was a few weeks ago. Sure I’m nervous about this first round of applications, but I don’t feel, just, dead. I suppose this means I’m also also thankful that I’m doing better mental health-wise than I was at this point four years ago, though “My head hurts; I want to go to bed soon.” is too relatable of a sentiment for how I’m legitimately feeling at this point in time.

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big-wet-cas-eyes · 4 years ago

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wings: day 3 of @starrynightdeancas 's 2k followers celebration ✨ (ao3)

when i saw the wings prompt, i didn't think i would end up writing meet cute au, but here we are (wc: ~2000)

Thursdays are Dean's favorite day to be at conferences. Usually, there's only a partial day of events, and some people skip it altogether. Once the conference is in full swing, he'll be busy bouncing from talks to lunches to happy hours to dinners with people he only sort of knows. But on Thursdays, he can breathe.

Conferences certainly aren't his favorite part of being a professor. He's kind of a homebody, so the travel and socializing is a little much for him, especially when air travel is involved. But he does like exploring new cities, so he makes the best of it.

That's how he finds himself wandering around downtown Thursday evening. The streets are bustling with the after-work crowd.

Dean pauses when he passes one of those huge angel wing murals that he sees all over the internet. There are a couple of teenage girls standing there posing and giggling. Dean chuckles, and once the girls run off, he snaps a picture of it. His best friend, Jo, loves gimmicky tourist things like that, so he sends the picture off to her, along with a wish you were here text.

"Excuse me, would you mind taking my photo? If you have a moment, of course," a deep voice asks him. Dean looks up to see a man standing there, looking at him hopefully and gesturing behind him toward the mural. He feels his jaw drop open for a second when his eyes rest on the man's face. He's gorgeous. Dark, messy hair and piercing blue eyes that make Dean feel like he's melting into a puddle.

But Dean raises his eyebrow slightly when the question registers in his brain. This guy doesn't really look like the type to want a picture in front of a cotton candy-colored mural of angel wings. He looks to be about Dean's age. He's wearing a full suit with a trench coat on top, despite the summer heat. He realizes he's still staring when the guy clears his throat.

"Sorry for bothering you, I'll find someone else," the man says with a slight nod before beginning to turn away.

"No, no, wait, I'll do it!" Dean says, feeling bad for basically ignoring the guy while checking him out. "You just surprised me. Took my brain a second to process."

The man smiles at him. "Thank you, I appreciate it," he says, handing his phone to Dean. The camera app is already open.

Dean gives him a small smile back. "Not to be weird about it, but you don't really seem like the angel wing mural type."

"Ah, I'm not," he says dryly. Sensing Dean's confusion, probably, he adds, "I sent my daughter a photo of the mural earlier. She's been bombarding me all day with requests that I take a photo in front of it."

Dean smiles wider at that. The man's eyes light up as he's talking about his daughter, and Dean's smitten by how cute it is. "Totally get it, man. If my niece was old enough to text, she'd probably do the same to me." He thinks of little Mary, running around the house in a princess dress and fairy wings as Eileen tries to catch her. Maybe he should take one for her, too. "I've got you." He glances down at the guy's chest and adds, "Take off your badge first."

"What?" the man asks, clearly confused.

Dean pulls his matching conference badge out of his pocket. The lanyards attached to all of the badges this year are a horrid shade of neon orange. "This," Dean says, shaking it slightly, "Take yours off for the picture."

"Oh… thank you," he says, pulling off the lanyard and shoving it into a pocket of his trench coat. He walks in the direction of the mural. He turns and faces Dean, mouth in a straight line.

Dean snaps the photo and frowns. The dude doesn't look happy, despite the joy that was in his eyes when he mentioned his daughter. "Smile, dude! This is for your kid!" Dean says loudly.

The man huffs slightly, but then his mouth splits into a gummy smile, eyes crinkling at the edges. The smile is infectious, and Dean can't help the one that spreads across his own face in response. He takes a couple more photos before he gestures for the guy to come back over. He does and Dean returns his phone.

"Mind taking one of me? Looked at it long enough that I want to send one to my niece anyway."

"Yes, of course," the man replies, taking Dean's offered phone.

Dean smiles and poses (hands on his hips, like a superhero), and there's a good chance the picture captures the laugh that comes out when he hears the other man chuckle.

He walks back over and retrieves his phone. Then, he offers his hand for a handshake. "So I guess we're in town for the same conference. Dean Winchester. It's nice to meet you."

"Castiel Novak," he replies, grasping Dean's hair and shaking it firmly. "It's nice to meet you as well." He pauses for a moment, and his eyes widen with something that looks like recognition. "Dean Winchester. I just read your new paper, Bradbury and Winchester. It was fascinating."

"Hey, thanks, man," Dean says with a grin, "but if I'm being honest, almost all the credit for that one should go to my grad student, Charlie. She's the best."

"Well, it's a testament to your teaching that one of your students can produce such excellent research," Castiel says, and Dean blushes at the words. "I would love to be able to teach like that someday."

"Are you not a professor?" Dean asks. Maybe he misjudged the guy's age.

"No, I actually only recently completed my doctorate. It took a little longer than I'd hoped, but I had to take some time away from schooling for my daughter." Dean nods in understanding. A handful of people he knows had a baby during graduate school and it definitely did not make the experience any easier for them. "I'm beginning a postdoctoral fellowship at the University of Kansas next month, though."

"Oh, no way, that's where I teach!" Dean says. When he sees the glint of amusement in Castiel's eyes, he says, "But you already knew that. Because you just read my paper."

"I did. Different department than you, though. I'll be working with Professor Cain."

Dean smiles. "He's great, you'll like working with him." Before he can continue, Dean's stomach decides to punctuate his sentence with a loud grumble. "Uh, any interest in grabbing dinner? I'm starving, and I'd like to hear more about what you do if we're gonna be colleagues soon."

"Sure, I'd like that, Professor Winchester," Castiel says.

Dean scoffs. "You're uninvited if you call me that, Cas. Just Dean."

"Dean. Okay, let's go," he says, a small smile curling at the edges of his lips. They walk for a while, chatting a little about food and the city until they stumble upon a restaurant that sounds good to both of them.

Once they've ordered, Cas pulls out his phone. "I hope my daughter appreciates the picture," he says, swiping at the screen as he looks through the photos Dean took. He might have gotten a little carried away; there's a bunch. "I don't want to receive another photo of her pouting at me."

Dean chuckles. He pulls out his own phone to send his mural photo to his brother and sister-in-law. Cas also took a few, but he selects one where he's laughing extra hard. Took this for Princess Mary, tell her I love her, he texts to accompany the photo. "I'm sure she'll love it. How many pouting photos did you get?"

Cas hums, tapping a few times on his phone as Dean watches. "It appears… six." He turns his phone around to Dean. The name at the top of the text message thread reads Claire🐝 and he can already see two of the pictures. Cas's daughter, Claire, looks a little older than he expected. That, combined with the heavy eyeliner, doesn't make her seem like the kind of kid that would beg her dad to take a picture with an angel wing mural. Cas scrolls slightly and Dean sees a slew of please dad and you gotta! text messages, interspersed with more pictures of her frowning. It's kind of adorable.

"How old is she?" Dean asks.

"Fifteen," Cas answers. Dean opens his mouth, but closes it again when Cas continues, "I know, I don't look old enough to have a daughter her age. I get that a lot."

"Sorry," Dean mumbles. "No need to explain, I was just surprised."

Cas shrugs. "It's okay. Accidental pregnancy with my high school girlfriend back when we were both trying to convince ourselves that we were straight." Cas immediately blushes. "Sorry, too much information. I had already switched out of professional mode for the evening, and I forgot that we technically work together."

"You're in good company. No judgment from me. You won't be the only one out of the closet when you get there." He winks and then grimaces internally. He hadn't meant to start flirting.

Cas's eyes widen and then soften. "Thank you, Dean. I'm glad I haven't made a total fool of myself." His phone buzzes on the table and he picks it up. He smiles that wide, bright smile again, the one that Dean can't help but match. "Claire loves the photo," he says, turning his phone around. It's another photo of Claire, but this time she has the same bright smile on her face as her dad.

"She really wanted you to take that picture, didn't she," Dean says with a chuckle.

Cas nods. "She did. She's a sweet girl."

"Why's she love angel wings so much? She doesn't really… look the type, I guess," Dean asks, his curiosity finally winning out.

"The eyeliner phase is new. She's always loved angels, though. Her mother used to tell her angels were watching over her every night before bed, and I think that stuck with her."

Dean smiles. "My mom used to say the same thing to me. Definitely sticks with you," he says, as he pushes up the sleeve of his shirt. He holds his arm out to show Castiel the angel wing tattoo on his forearm, his mom's name and the dates she was alive in the middle. "Got this for her a few years ago."

Cas reaches out, brushing the edge of one of the wings. Dean shivers a little at the touch, but mostly just because of how soft and gentle Cas's hands are. "It's beautiful, I'm sure she would appreciate it," Cas says. "I think Claire's mom always said it because I'm named for an angel. Claire calls me her angel when she's feeling sentimental." Dean's not sure if Cas realizes that he's still tracing the edges of his tattoo. Honestly, he doesn't mind. The contact feels nice and he feels surprisingly drawn to Cas. His hand stays there until their food arrives.

The conversation shifts slightly, becoming more casual. They talk about their research, the talks they're planning to attend during the weekend, and a little bit about the university Castiel will soon call home. It's comfortable. Cas is really nice and interesting, and Dean's excited that it looks like he'll have a new friend when the school year starts.

A little voice in the back of his head hopes that he'll end up more than a friend, and Dean thinks the feeling might be mutual when Cas grabs his hand on their way back to the conference hotel.

#dailydestieldelights #destiel ficlet #destiel au ficlet #deancas ficlet #deancas au #my writing

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this.

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf.

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month.

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing.

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.”

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening.

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.”

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her.

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd.

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar.

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all.

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk.

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her.

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time.

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered.

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks.

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs.

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too. Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing.

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.

Annabelle was good with disgusting things.

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope.

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face?

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine.

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever.

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work.

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice.

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement.

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song.

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that.

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was.

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t.

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength.

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes.

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow.

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better.

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him.

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death.

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off.

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did.

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing.

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food.

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes.

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better.

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately.

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims.

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist.

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time.

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time.

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power.

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had.

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head.

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did.

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped.

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks.

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met.

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it.

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [[email protected]]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had.

And a week later, she took it.

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read:

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone.

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story.

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face.

Sounds like fun.

#AROACE ANNABELLE RIGHTS #tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #web!jon #realized while writing evilcon that annabelle was seven while jon was twelve #and that their sibling relationship must be a NIGHTMARE #anyway i'm trying to convince myself not to write a web!jon agnes and gerry fic where its basically a leverage au #and i am failing miserably #so i wrote this instead of that #GRIFTER!JON AND IN THIS ESSAY I WILL #my writing

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