#but i hate when drivers stop on busy roads expecting me to cross

[sandymybeloved]

by busy I mean cars in multiple directions or across multiple lanes, with fairly regular traffic, but still crossable (so not motorway busy)

[punkshort]

Seasons Change

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Miserable and lonely after Chucho drags him to the farmers' market in town, Javier's day turns around when he runs into you asking for his help.

Warnings: Javi being a little depressed/down on himself, fluff, meet-cute, tiny bit of possessiveness, flirting

WC: 3.2K

For @jolapeno & @goodwithcheese's fall challenge: I picked Javi P + Farmers' Market 🍂

thank you @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

-

Javier stared out the passenger window of his father's old truck, sulking in his seat with his arms crossed. The changing leaves blurred by on the side of the road: deep reds, bright yellows and oranges, and the occasional stubborn green. Fall was certainly in the air, so much so that he had to pull on his red checkered flannel before Chucho practically dragged him out the door, muttering to him in Spanish about how he never leaves the ranch and getting a change of scenery would be good for him.

But Javier didn't like to leave the ranch. He didn't like the looks he got, the whispers he heard, and especially hated when some stranger insisted on stopping him with a firm handshake to express how proud they were of him.

He always had to bite his tongue. He politely nodded and smiled, but inevitably the ride home was always filled with distressing images of innocents caught in the crossfire, or the shady deals he felt he had to make with the wrong sort of people just to get a lead. Every time he shook one of their hands, more blood transferred to his own palm, and now he felt like he could never get them clean.

But he couldn't explain all that to his father, although Chucho likely had some inkling. He must have noticed the change in him, the shift, when he returned home. When he asked his son why he didn't want to buy a place of his own, why he didn't want privacy, Javier replied it's easier, don't have to wake up so early and drive over to help.

But Chucho wasn't stupid. He knew Javier had nightmares, he saw the clouds in his eyes the following mornings, could practically see the weight pulling his son down around his neck.

Javier didn't want to be alone, but he was too proud to say it.

"Quit pouting. Maybe you'll meet someone," he offered from the driver's seat. Javi scoffed and shook his head.

"What? You're a catch, m'hijo."

"It's not that, Pop," Javi said, although a big part of him was beginning to wonder if he really did have anything to offer a woman anymore. "I know everyone in this town. There's no one here for me."

"You don't know that," his father replied sternly. "The farmers' market brings in customers from all over. You could meet the love of your life today."

Javi tilted his head and gave Chucho an incredulous look.

"You gettin' sick of me, Pop?"

His father laughed heartily and shook his head as he turned into the parking lot.

"You know I love having you around, Javi. Just wish you'd have a reason to smile more."

Chucho abandoned him ten minutes into arriving, claiming he wanted to check in with a couple friends from neighboring farms, and encouraged his son to wander around to see if anything interesting caught his eye.

Javi was beginning to think his presence at the ranch wasn't as necessary as he thought. When he left Colombia, he had expected to arrive home to a mess, but the ranch was in surprisingly good shape. Not only that, but his father was busy. He had to give his dad credit - he had a lot of friends and a hell of a lot more night and weekend plans than himself. Chucho was even casually seeing a woman he met at the pharmacy two months ago.

Javier was wallowing in self-pity when he heard a man and woman's voices a few feet away discussing which cheeses they should buy that would best complement the crackers they had waiting for them at home.

He glanced up and saw the man and woman holding hands and gazing at one another like they were madly in love. Something sharp twisted in his chest at the display, so he tore his eyes away to focus on a package of bread he held in his hands, doing his best to ignore that familiar twitch in his fingers, the one that wanted to lead his hand to his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there.

"Hey, buddy, excuse us," the man's voice said, cutting through Javier's fog. His eyes snapped up and after a moment of confusion, realized he was in the happy couple's way. He dropped the bread and stepped back with a tight smile, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned away.

It took all of thirty seconds to realize he was completely surrounded by happy couples picking out flowers, fresh produce, and unique trinkets sold by locals. He normally wouldn't care. His focus lately had been entirely fixed on his father and the ranch, surprising even himself that women were the furthest thing from his mind. But something Chucho said that morning must have gotten under his skin because on that particular day, he felt lonely. Out of place. Tainted.

He saw a few people doing a double take as they passed by, no doubt recognizing him and whispering to their partner about his exploits. And just like that, it all felt like too much. The sun was too bright, the scent of apples and cinnamon was too heavy, the laughter was too loud.

He didn't belong there.

Javier swiveled around on his heel, deciding in that moment he would rather wait by his father's truck for an hour than subject himself to... whatever was happening to him. He managed to take one step when a pair of arms wrapped around his bicep, surprising him when he looked down to find a pair of bright beautiful eyes staring back up at him.

"I need your help," you whispered, fingers digging urgently into his arm. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he scanned the crowd for danger. When you realized that you sounded a little alarmist, you quickly corrected yourself.

"Not like that. My ex is standing right behind you and I need you to play along because-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence and Javi hardly had a chance to process what you just said because the next thing he knew, your eyes flickered over his shoulder and you plastered a fake smile across your face.

"Charlie, hi!" you gushed, clinging to Javi's arm.

"Hey," a shorter man with light brown hair replied slowly, followed by your name. Javier repeated your name over and over in his head while Charlie's eyes bounced between the two of you, the gears churning. Even Javi could see the look of disappointment slide across his face.

"I've been thinking about you, wondering if you changed your number, but..." Charlie trailed off weakly. Then, for some reason, Javier stood up a little straighter when a flash of annoyance shot through him. Who the hell did this guy think he was? For all Charlie knew, you were in a loving and committed relationship with him. How dare he admit to trying to contact you with your boyfriend standing right there?

"Javier," he suddenly said, deepening his voice and stretching out an arm while simultaneously giving Charlie a stern look that said back off.

"Sorry!" you exclaimed from his side. "Charlie, this is my boyfriend, Javier."

Javi puffed up his chest and shook the man's hand a little harder than he usually would, secretly enjoying the look of discomfort on his face.

"Hey, man, nice to meet you," he replied, then Javi saw it. The flash in his eyes, the double take, the familiar look of someone trying to place who he was.

Javier cleared his throat and slid his arm out of your grasp, only to drape it protectively around your shoulders instead. Much to his delight, you leaned into his side and rested your hand on his chest, your touch making his heart unexpectedly flutter.

"Is there something wrong?" you asked Charlie innocently while batting your lashes. Slowly, your ex shook his head and forced an awkward smile.

"No, just... just happy to see you. Glad you're doing well."

"We're great," you replied. Javi's lips twitched and he had to look away. For just a moment, he wasn't the pathetic single guy at the Farmers' Market. For those few minutes, he was yours.

"Alright, well, I'll see you around I guess," Charlie said as he took a single step backwards. His eyes slid to Javi and he added, "Nice to meet you."

"Take care," he called after Charlie, his arm remaining around your shoulders until he slinked back into the crowd. You let out a huge sigh of relief and stepped out from under his hold, Javi's side instantly feeling cooler from the lack of contact.

"Thank you so much," you said, gazing up at him while you readjusted the bag over your shoulder. "You're, like, the only other person here without someone so I figured you were a safe bet, I hope you don't mind."

Javi smiled. So he wasn't the only one who noticed all the adoring couples. "Not at all. Is he bothering you? I know some guys down at the station-"

"No! Oh, god, no, nothing like that," you exclaimed with a giggle. "He's harmless, he just can't accept it's over, you know?"

"Yeah," he replied, but he didn't know. Not really. Not when he filled the past several years of his life with quick trysts.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, scanning his face for something, and then he felt that familiar churning in his stomach begin. You were about to connect the dots, about to recognize him for who he really was, so he dropped his gaze to the ground. But then your next question took him by surprise.

"How do you know people at the station? Are you a cop?"

He dragged his eyes up to meet yours again, searching for any sign that you were messing with him, but he found none. Just genuine curiosity.

"No," he replied, then awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "Well, I used to be, but not here. I work on a ranch now with my Pops."

"Oh, that sounds nice. How kind of you to help out your dad," you said with a sweet smile that held him in a trance for a moment.

"Uh, y-yeah," Javi stammered before tearing his gaze away. "Seems like he doesn't need me as much as I thought, though."

You laughed again, the sound like music to his ears.

"I'm sure that's not true. I bet you're very helpful. You helped me today, so, there's that," you reminded him, leaning forward a little bit and biting your lip playfully. Were you flirting with him?

"That was nothing," Javi replied sheepishly. His mind began to race, trying to desperately think of ideas to keep you around before it became clear his usefulness had come to an end. Then, to his delight, you came up with an answer all by yourself.

"Well, do you mind continuing to help me? Because I wanted to buy some pumpkins and a hay bale for my front porch -"

"Yes," he responded almost immediately. The eagerness in his voice made you both blush and you reached out for his hand.

"My hero."

He grinned and let his fingers lace together with yours, your warmth spreading to his palm as you walked hand in hand through the market. Javi couldn't stop smiling. He was still surrounded by couples, all the smiling and happy faces, but now he didn't feel so out of place. Now he blended right in with everyone else because he had you by his side, leading him around to different vendors to show him something you found interesting or strange. And in those ten short minutes, he realized he wanted to hear it all. He wanted to know why you wrinkled your nose when you passed by some eggplants, or smiled fondly when you saw some colorful homemade crafts.

You suggested getting some hot chocolate and finding a spot to sit down, something he felt foolish for not thinking of first, but at least he had the good sense to insist on buying while he waved you off to find an empty bench.

"So, Javier," you began, saying his name in a way that made warmth bloom in his chest. "You said you used to be a cop and now you work on a ranch. Is there a story there or were you just looking to shake things up?"

He squinted at you over his hot chocolate, like he was trying to figure out if it was possible you really didn't know who he was. But you just kept looking at him so sweetly, your fingers curled around the paper cup, your lips blowing air over the liquid to cool it down, giving absolutely no indication you were being dishonest.

"Do you really not know who I am?" he blurted out. Your eyebrows shot up and you cocked your head to the side.

"Should I?"

Javi smirked and leaned back on the bench in disbelief.

"No. Well, not necessarily. Guess I'm just used to it."

"Used to... people recognizing you?" you asked. He nodded and figured now he was in too deep, so he told you. He told you about Escobar and the Cali Cartel while leaving out a few of the sensitive details, details that still haunted him at night. He didn't tell you why he wasn't a hero, he didn't tell you about Los Pepes. He didn't tell you how all the pain and lives lost made hardly any difference.

He didn't tell you he felt like a complete failure every time he saw those damn boats cruise by the ranch.

"Oh," you finally murmured when he stopped talking. He chewed anxiously on his lower lip, waiting for your reaction. But after you took a moment to absorb what he said, you brightened up and shrugged.

"I'm so glad you're working on a ranch, now. It sounds much safer."

He slowly nodded in agreement.

"Except when the cows get hungry, they get a little pushy."

You giggled and a wide smile stretched across his face.

"Jav! There you are," Chucho's voice called from a few feet away, putting a quick end to both your laughter. His heart sank when he realized his time with you was about to end.

"Pops," Javi said in greeting. You both stood from the bench to face him, ignoring the mischievous look on his father's face when he introduced you. Javi pulled nervously at his hair when he ran his fingers through the thick locks, scrambling to figure out what to say after Chucho announced he was ready to leave.

"Wait, I promised I'd help carry the pumpkins and hay-" he began, grateful that he thought of something to prolong your time together. Your eyes dropped shyly to the ground and you lowered your voice.

"I didn't actually come here to buy that stuff, I was just looking for a reason to keep talking to you."

His father coughed into his fist and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll meet you at the truck, m'hijo."

Javi nodded and he may have said something but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. His heart was thudding too loudly in his chest at your confession. You liked him. You wanted to keep him around.

"Well, uh, it was great meeting you," he said, thumb and forefinger swiping over his mustache. You smiled up at him, murmuring your agreement and thanking him again for saving you from Charlie.

Do it. Do it, you coward.

But he couldn't. His nerves got the best of him and he took a couple steps backwards.

"Maybe I'll see you around," he said, cringing at how stupid he sounded. You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face when you gave him a little wave, then turned back to the bench to collect your bag and hot chocolate.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He shook his head at himself as he began to slowly walk in the direction of the parking lot. His hands balled up into fists at his sides, his anger and disgust with himself growing with each heavy step. He thought he knew everyone in town, thought everyone knew him. Or, at least, of him and his reputation. If it wasn't his work in Colombia, then the rest of the town would have remembered how he left Lorraine. He thought he had to hide away on the ranch to avoid the attention and scrutiny, and he was content enough to do that. But now? The thought of going back home to his quiet little life, knowing he would spend countless days wondering about you made him suddenly stop dead in his tracks and spin around.

He spotted you walking in the opposite direction, your off-white tote back draped over your shoulder, about to disappear into the crowd. Panic clawed at his throat and he broke out into a jog, calling your name as he made his way closer and ignoring the looks he got from strangers as he went.

When you heard him, you immediately swiveled around and broke out into a smile, looking just as relieved as he felt.

"Hey," he said, slightly short of breath when he slowed his pace to a stop in front of you.

"Hi," you replied, gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes he would dream about later instead of the nightmares that usually plagued him.

"I meant to - can I get your number? I'd like to take you out sometime, if you-"

"Yes!" you cried out excitedly, making both of you laugh. He handed you his phone, then wiped his sweaty palms over the backs of his jeans and watched while you entered your number. You handed the device back to him with a dazzling smile and he felt his nerves start to settle.

"I'll call you," he promised, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

"You better, Javier," you teased with a poke to his shoulder.

It might have been the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him or the sweet way you said his name, but before he had a chance to overthink it, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against yours. He felt you melt into him once the shock wore off, and his lips curved into a smile before pulling away.

"You taste like chocolate," he said softly, mouth still hovering over yours, and you giggled when you swiped the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.

"So do you."

He grinned and forced his feet to move, walking backwards a few steps so he could continue to smile at you like a fool until he finally had to turn around before he ran into someone, but not before shooting you a quick wink just to hear you laugh one more time.

As he walked through the farmers' market, already dreading all the questions Chucho would be firing his way the entire ride home, he looked around at the happy couples in a completely different light. His stomach no longer churned and his chest no longer ached when he saw them kiss or laugh, because with any luck, he might just find himself in their shoes soon enough.

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[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you��re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[nazyalenskyism]

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans

Summary: A Zoyalai fic based on the prompt: “Some angst and comfort. Some reunion after a very, very long time.”  send me a promt and i’ll write you a blurb

           “Do you see her?” Genya called out, scanning the waves of people disembarking the ships on her tiptoes. It had been months since Zoya had been stationed in the Wandering Isle, a position she had specifically asked him for before the war had ended as they walked through the streets of Ketterdam. Despite Genya’s insistence that Zoya not leave, the two of them had known that it was a necessity. They were too close to crossing a line that they couldn’t afford to, and they had silently agreed that distance was the only way to remedy the problem. Nikolai had known that leading the country into a peaceful era was going to be taxing, but he hadn’t imagined how difficult it was going to be without Zoya at his side. He had come to rely on her, not only for matters of the state, but for matters of the mind too, and ever since she’d left all those months ago, he’d only felt the discontent in his heart grow. He thought he could temper his want for Zoya if she wasn’t constantly at his side, but he’d come to learn that there was a reason for the famous saying, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, being so popular. Nikolai could hear his general’s voice in his ear, could picture the roll of her eyes at the confession, how she would threaten to call Tolya into the room so that the two could lament over forlorn poetry while she got drunk with Tamar, Genya and Nadia. Saints, he missed her.

            “It’s dropped anchor late,” Nikolai called back, slipping his timepiece back into his pocket, brushing his fingers against the cool velvet ribbon before turning to Genya. “And besides, it’ll take them a bit to disembark and--”

          “Nikolai,” Genya gasped in response to a sudden commotion at the gangplank. Nikolai’s head snapped up spotting the daub of blue silk descending down the plank, supported on either side by First Army soldiers. Zoya.           “Move,” Genya yelled, elbowing her way through the crowd, Nikolai hot on her heels. If the sickly pallor of her face and droopy lids of her eyes weren’t alarming enough, the way that she crumpled into his arms was and matted blood in her hair were. 

          “Commander Nazyalensky? Zoya?”           A low, unintelligible groan sounded from her lips and Nikolai’s heart dropped. What had happened to her? At Genya’s command, he laid Zoya out on the ground, letting Tamar assess her condition. Tamar’s hands hovered over Zoya’s form, and after a long moment, the Heartrender spoke. “She should be fine, but we need to get her back to the Dacha, we need more healers.”

          Genya grasped at Tamar as Nikolai carefully lifted his general into his arms, “is it that bad?”           “She’s lost a lot of blood, it’s a messy and difficult process that I don’t want to try in the back of the carriage. She should be okay.” 

          “She has to be fine. I can’t lose her too.” Tamar squeezed the other girl’s shoulder at the words before hopping into the driver’s seat with Tolya, briefing him on the situation while the others settled into the coach.           “Come on, Nazyalensky. Hold on a little while longer,” Nikolai whispered as they tore down the road, Zoya’s unconscious form limp in his arms, Genya’s shaking fingers curled into the blue silk of her kefta, as if she could force Zoya to stay with them.

          The next few hours were a blur in his mind. As soon as the carriage stopped, the Tolya offered to take Zoya in his arms but Nikolai refused to leave, carrying her to his chambers. For once his head was clear of anything but the situation at hand. They’d lost so much, they couldn’t afford to lose Zoya. He couldn’t bear to lose Zoya.           He stood by the window as the healers got to work on his general, applying their training in the small science to replenish her blood and heal her wounds. Nikolai knew that the Corporalki were more than capable, but he knew as well as anyone the potential for things to go wrong, no matter how good the odds were. 

          Nikolai was brought a basin of water to wash off with, a stack of urgent letters, and the reports from the crew of the ship and their account of the events that had left Zoya in this state. Once he’d read the reports, he sent the letters away, nothing was more urgent than this.           After what seemed like an eternity, Tolya sent the healers away, stating that he and Tamar could finish the job themselves, but he knew the reason they did this. It was because Zoya would’ve hated to appear vulnerable before this many people, she would probably admonish them all after she woke up for having the audacity to view her in her injured state, despite being her closest friends. It was when they were alone, Genya in one corner of the room, Nikolai in the other, with the twins standing over Zoya when the silence was broken once more.           “You’re not allowed to let her leave again.”           He scrubbed a hand over his face before turning to Genya, “even if I tried, do you think she would listen? Zoya Nazyalensky takes orders from no one, we all know that.”           “Don’t let her look for reasons to leave. Give her a reason to stay. ” Before Nikolai could fully process the meaning behind her words, a low groan caught their attention. “Nikolai?”           I’m here, he wanted to say, but for the first time in his life, apprehension held him back.           “Where’s Nikolai,” she mumbled again, writhing enough to disrupt the twins’ work. He was at her side in an instant, sinking onto the mattress and taking her reaching hand in his.           “I’m here,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from face, watching the crease in her brow ease as she unconsciously leaned into his touch. Her movements stopped, her body relaxing back into sleep, and Nikolai felt his heart tighten at the way she curled into him.           He felt stares from their friends, but no one said anything aside from Zoya’s occasional calls from him whenever he stepped back to let the twins continue their work. Every time she called, he was there, brushing back her hair, holding her hand between his, murmuring words of encouragement he knew she wouldn’t hear or remember. Around twilight, Nikolai realized that his friends had left them, the quiet of the room felt suffocating now that they were alone. It felt wrong that she was the one injured and asleep while he watched over her, for months their positions had been reversed, and while he hadn’t missed being chained to his bed every night he had missed the time it had given him with her. She had been the first thing he saw in the morning, the last thing he saw at night for months, and he hadn’t realized just how much he missed what that particular practice of theirs had given him.           He slowly pulled his hand from hers, easing into a chair at her bedside. “I’m sorry I let you go,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment before he heard her voice.

          “Nikolai?”           “I’m here,” he replied, helping her into a sitting position, and filling up a glass of water for her before settling down himself.           “You’re really here?”           “I know it’s hard to believe, as handsome as I am, I’m not a dream.” He smiled at her irritated exhale, “long time no see, Nazyalensky. You’re looking as darling as ever.”

          “You look worse. Much worse than I remember.”

          “I know I must be devilishly handsome in your fantasies, but a day spent tirelessly at your bedside may have me looking a little worse for wear, I’ll admit.”           “Where are we?” Her dark lashes fluttered against her golden cheeks, voice hoarse but the colour seemed to have returned to her face.  

          “Udova. The twins said that you needed more Corporalki to help stabilize you. You lost a lot of blood.”

          “This is your ancestral estate?”

          “Given how my father is Fjerdan, I don’t think it’s technically mine.” 

          “You used to come here as a child?” faint amusement lit her eyes, “baby Nikolai reigning terror on everyone, or holed away in the library, reading books until you couldn’t see straight?”           “Both.” 

          “Of course, I would expect nothing less.” A lingering silence followed her words, neither sure of exactly how to proceed.           “How are you feel--”

          “You look tired,” her hand reached out, and before he could react, she was cupping his face softly, thumb gently stroking along his cheek. “Have you been sleeping?”           “Yes.”

          Her stern gaze met his eyes, “your lies don’t work on me.”

          “First you’re immune to my charm, and now my lies. Keep this up and you’ll put me out of business, Nazyalensky.”

          Zoya’s hand dropped suddenly, her whole body recoiling at his words, leaving him to shudder from the absence of her warmth. Was she so horrified at the mere idea of being charmed by him? Nikolai sank back into his chair, unsure of how to proceed. Zoya sat staring down stubbornly at her intertwined fingers, and he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed answers. “What happened out there? You almost died Zoya.”

          “I was protecting the crew.”

          “You were unnecessarily throwing yourself in harm's way and you know it. I got the report from the Captain, he said that they would’ve made it safely to port without your heroics.”

          “I had no choice! It was either me or them.”           Nikolai laughed humorlessly, running a frustrated hand through his hair, an action he had repeated countless times today. “That’s not true and you know it. Four years as Commander of the Second Army, of working with me and you couldn’t come up with an alternative? Do you get joy out of nearly getting yourself killed?”

          “No,” she hissed. “You would’ve done the exact same thing without a moment of hesitation, don’t act like you wouldn't have.”

          “It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done. What matters is that you shouldn't have done it in the first place.”

          “I’m a single soldier, I’m expendable. The intel we gathered, my unit, the crew, they weren’t. It was an easy choice, one I’d make again.”

          “For Saints sake, you’re not expendable Zoya!” he burst out. Why was she so convinced that she was? 

          “I was there to lead them--to protect them. If you’re worried about being down a general, you know there are more than capable replacements for me, Nikolai. ”

          “You’re not replaceable! I don’t need anyone else. I need you, Zoya!” The words were breathless, and once they were out he couldn’t reel them back in.

          His words hung in the air before she began to nod slowly, as if she had been expecting the outburst, “as your general.” It wasn’t a question, but it was. 

          “Yes, but it’s more than that.” Why was he having such difficulty saying it? How did he explain the all encompassing nature of his feelings to Zoya? Brave and beautiful Zoya, with her eyes hesitantly, maybe even hopefully trained on him?           Nikolai wanted  to take her into his arms and explain that ever since they’d been dragged into the Fold by Saints, he had felt a connection to her, that he could taste the ice wine they shared on quiet nights, smell her signature scent of wildflowers on the wind wherever she was near. He wanted to tell her that he felt a connection between them, as palpable as a golden thread binding them together, and wondered if she felt it too. Nikolai desired to tell her that at her departure, he had felt like the thread had been pulled and pulled until he couldn’t breathe, only for it to suddenly snap back like an elastic at the news of her return, an overwhelming sensation of longing overtaking his senses. He wanted to tell her that when he first saw her today, it had felt like someone had pierced his chest with a lance, an agony rivaling only what he’d felt when being impaled by the thornwood that day in the Fold, the same day he’d felt his fate be irreversibly bound to hers. He wanted so much, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward in his chair, uttering words he could never take back.

            “I want you. I want you all the time, Zoya.”

            “You want me, but will you have me? Are you not bound to your duty as king to choose the best person for your country?” To anyone else her face would appear impassive but he knew the way her eyes widened slightly, the way her lips parted, when she was holding her breath, afraid to hope that something was true. She wanted it to be true.

            “If my country and I are one and the same,”  he began, taking her hand in his, “then I shall only give it what it most deserves, and hope I am worthy of it too.”

            “Can you let yourself do that?”           “A king can do as he pleases, can’t he?” She turned away at those words, and Nikolai reached out, cupping her face and bringing her gaze back to him. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t stay. I thought we both knew what was right at the time, and it’s clear that we were both wrong.”           “Go on,” she whispered, her shining eyes locked on his.           “I don’t want you to leave again. I want you here, by my side, for as long as time will let me, if that’s what you want.”           “What are you proposing?” Her hand slid up to his and she leaned further into his touch.           “A coquettish courtship, a exuberant engagement, a whirlwind wedding and when all that’s said and done,” he angled his head towards hers, “hopefully many, many years of peaceful and quiet companionship.”           “Sounds perfect,” Zoya breathed, her gaze trained on his lips, “except for one thing.”           Nikolai pulled back, afraid that he’d alarmed her, “what?”           She wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards her, “you expect me to believe that a single moment with you will be quiet.”            “I can think of several ways you can shut me up if I ever get to be too much. I think you’ll find that I am easily--” Zoya crashed her lips against his, and despite the harsh words she always seemed to have readily on hand, he felt her smile against him. For once in his life, Nikolai let himself relax, knowing that the rest of the world would still be there when they were ready to face it, together.

[itsamejin]

goodbye || yoongi angst

Part 2

Summary: Yoongi watched silently as you exited the car and out of his life, but he can’t help but feel a sense of panic at the thought of you leaving him for good.

Warning: cursing, fighting (verbal)

Genre: angst

Premise: Yoongi drives off without you after a heated argument and now you’re gone.

Commission Request: @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom​

Word Count: 3,434 words

—

Yoongi doesn’t quite remember when this heated conversation started or how it really ended either. He just recalls how furious you were leaving the restaurant you two had reserved weeks before for your anniversary and how he was left to clean up the mess. Wine was spilled onto the white table sheets and he had to pay the waiter extra for leaving in such a hurry. 

Now here he was, driving silently with you sulking in the passenger seat. Even as he sat in the car, hands on the steering wheel, he couldn’t help but feel like you were the one driving with how closely you kept your eyes on the road. You glared at the view in front of you, paying him no attention. His throat itched to say something, anything to break this uncomfortable silence.

“Are you gonna stop being mad at me now?” he asks, annoyed with the little puffs of breathing you would make just to spite him. “Did you get it all out of your system yet?”

You had shouted in the restaurant, loud enough for the other patrons to hear and tense up at the sound of your voice. When the waiter had come to calm you down, you had stomped out of the restaurant. 

He was sure the conversation started on the topic of you possibly adopting a new pet, but it somehow morphed into a whole debate about his bad habit of staying cooped up in his studio until the break of dawn. You wanted him to spend more time with you and he wanted you to be more understanding. It was the same old argument you two had, rehashed into a different day. 

“Well you’re still being an asshole,” you start, rolling your eyes, “so I don’t want to fucking talk to you until you apologize.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. It always seemed to be his fault in situations like this and you always had to pout like a child to make him feel bad. He was getting sick of this- of trying to constantly figure out what you wanted from him. It’s like you two would try to communicate like all those other stable couples, but the wrong words would spill from your mouths each time. 

“We didn’t even get to eat,” he mutters under his breath, slightly hoping that you would hear him just to piss you off even more. If you wanted to be grumpy the whole way through then he too could play that game.

“You’re such a dick you know that?” you sigh, shaking your head at his words.

“How could I not when that was all you were screaming about,” Yoongi replies as he rolls his eyes. He yielded at a stop sign, making sure to still abide by the law even though he was fuming with frustration. “You made a fucking scene and embarrassed the hell out of us.”

You scoffed. From what you remember, he was the one trying to escalate the argument when you calmly tried to convince him of getting a dog. It was a rescue- a St. Bernard that would make a mess from time to time, but you were fine with taking care of it by yourself. He had said no so quickly and a little too disdained that you switched the conversation to something more light-hearted. You asked him a day when he wouldn’t be too busy to go on a date and somehow that had pissed him off even more. To you, it felt like he hated the sight of you lately.

“I ask you for something simple. ‘Hey Yoongi, we haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe we should go out more?’ But, no! You say the same fucking thing about focusing on your music like you haven’t been doing that for almost a decade. You’d think after three years of dating I’d be more of a priority by now...”

Yoongi grits his teeth. That’s not what he said back there and that’s clearly not what he meant either. He was frustrated that you changed the topic when clearly you two weren’t done discussing about the dog yet. He didn’t want to suddenly walk home one day and find some mutt lying on the apartment floor without his permission. You guilt-tripping him to go on a date with you so quickly after you demanded for a dog didn’t sit well with him either.

“It’s my job, you can’t ask me to just forget about my job just so we can go on dates with each other,” he sighs, attempting to calm his nerves by squeezing the steering wheel a bit tighter. “You know how sensitive I am about my work.”

You scoff in response.

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll always be the second choice. I know that by now Yoongi.”

Yoongi bit his lip and shook his head.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” he says, exasperated. “I would never pin you and my work against each other-”

“And if you had to?” you ask menacingly. “If I fucking asked you right now if you would choose me over your music, what would you say?”

Yoongi sighs deeply. This was not the direction he wanted this conversation to go in and this was not the direction he was supposed to be taking the car either. He glares at the GPS as it reroutes, avoiding eye contact with you simultaneously. 

“You know how fucking self-centered that question is,” he replies, venom laced in his voice. It felt like this conversation always comes back every few months, your words grating in the back of his mind until the next outburst would pop up. “I’m not gonna fucking answer. You know I’d actually really appreciate it if you would just get to the point and stop being a bitch.”

You scoff at him. There he goes again. When he was left speechless, he’d resort to calling you names and giving excuses. It didn't matter to you what the outcome would be, but you wanted to see this argument until the end.

“Yoongi, what is the point really?” you snide, crossing your arms over your chest as if forming a shield around you. “Is it how I said I wanted a dog because I was getting lonely at the apartment?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“You can get the fucking dog, I don’t care about the fucking dog [Y/N]-”

“Or is it how you ignored my calls when I had the flu so you can go drinking with your friends?”

“[Y/N] I literally apologized for that months ago, why the fuck-”

“Oh my god and how dare I ask for time with my boyfriend when I haven’t seen him properly in months, especially on our anniversary day!”

“You’re really pissing me off-”

“Or,” you raise your voice slightly, shifting in your seat as Yoongi slowed the pace of the car. “Was it when you accidentally called me while you were talking to Hoseok?”

Bingo.

Yoongi screeched the car to a stop. Your shared apartment was still miles away but he had stopped at a suburban block of townhouses to face you. His hands were shaking and he glared into the side of your head, beckoning for you to return his gaze. You refused, keeping the seat belt tightly against your chest as you stared at the night sky ahead of you.

“I said that when I was drunk,” he said slowly, intimidating you just a tad bit. “I thought we already went over this.”

You pursed your lips and shook your head, tears threatening to spill over your already puffy eyes.

“You can’t keep fucking saying ‘I apologized’ or ‘we went over this’ and expect me not to still feel hurt,” you say through trembling lips. “It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Yoongi adjusted himself on the driver’s seat so that he was facing you.

“Is that why you’ve been mad at me?” he asked seriously. “It’s not because of the dog?”

You sighed out of frustration, throwing your hands in the air.

“It was never about me wanting a fucking dog, Yoongi!” you scream. 

—

“Hoseok, can I tell you something?” you hear through a call from Yoongi that seemed more like a butt-dial the more you listened to his drunken voice. You kept trying to get a response from him, but it seemed like he was talking to someone else.

“Dude, you're fucking wasted,” you could hear the sound of his group-mate’s chuckle on the other side.

“No, like seriously,” Yoongi whined. “It’s about [Y/N].”

“Girl troubles?”

“Nah, she’s just being dumb lately,” you heard him mutter. A tiny part of you had felt hurt, but then again you two had argued a bit before he drank. You would complain about him similarly to your own friends, so you couldn’t really judge him for talking shit about you.

“What did you do this time?”

“It’s not me this time, bro,” he said through his laughter.

“Really? Then what the hell did she do?”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi said, slurring his speech to the point that you could barely understand him. “She hasn’t done anything and I still fucking find her annoying.”

Now that one hurt. It was no secret that Yoongi and you were going through a rough patch in your relationship, but to hear him talk about it in so much detail with his friend made you nauseated. It was an extremely uncalled-for insult and you weren’t sure if the tears that streamed down your face fully conveyed the ache in your chest.

“Relax, bro,” Hoseok says reassuringly. “Don’t say anything you’re gonna end up regretting later.”

“No, but seriously,” Yoongi protested. “Her voice is so fucking irritating lately and, like, I’m not even sure if I really like her anymore, you know?”

You could feel your heart crumble at the spot. No matter how bad an argument got, statements like that always went too far. How was Yoongi able to spit it out so easily?

“Okay man, we need you to sober up,” Hoseok sighed. “You sound dumb as hell right now.”

“Hoseok, I want to break up with her so fucking bad,” Yoongi sighed through the phone. “But like it’s been so long I feel like I should just wait it out and see if she wants to end things first.”

You could hear something drop from the other line.

“And now you’re on the fucking floor,” you hear Hoseok mutter. “Dude I think you butt-dialed someone. Oh shit-”

You took the phone away from your ear, not wanting to hear Hoseok apologize for stuff your stupid boyfriend said. You hung up the phone and wiped away your tears. Yoongi didn’t love you and you didn’t know what hurt more- the fact that he could say it while intoxicated or that he didn’t have the guts to tell you sober.

—

“Whatever I said that night wasn't me,” he said, trying to get you to face him. “You know that. I said it when I was mad at you and mad at myself and I will never say it again. I swear.”

You refused to even take a glimpse at him, grabbing your purse from the car floor and clutching it to your torso.

“I love you [Y/N],” he pleads. “I said that shit because I needed to get it out of my system. Please, at least... just look at me.”

You shake your head as you wipe away a tear from your eye.

“I don’t want to look at you,” you whisper solemnly. “All I fucking asked for was some time together and you think I’m ruining your career.”

He closes his eyes out of frustration. By now he thought you’d know the consequences of dating an idol.

“Because our relationship will ruin my career [Y/N], what aren’t you getting?” he replies. “The more dates I go out with you, the more people that watch us- the more people that criticize what we have.”

“Would that be so bad?” you say, finally staring up at him, but avoiding eye-contact. His heart clenched at the sight of you in pain. “Would it hurt you so much that we’re seen together?”

He shook his head.

“You’re twisting my words, I never said that,” he sighs.

“If you want to say you’re ashamed of me then-”

“That’s not what I’m fucking saying!” Yoongi screams, grabbing onto your shoulders to face him fully. “This isn’t just about us. I’ll be affecting the lives of so many people in my company, but I choose to still be with you despite the consequences because I love you-”

You detach yourself from his reach as your cries get louder. It hurt to hear him speak.

“This isn’t love anymore Yoongi,” you whimper, your purse falling onto the floor as you tried to breathe through the sobs. “You said it yourself, you’re annoyed with my fucking voice.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, stroking your cheek as you looked down at your lap. “You know I love you. I tell you all the time.”

You pushed his hand away from your face and looked up at him in anger.

“Do you, Yoongi? When was the last time you showed that to me?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. Why do you keep asking these questions.

“I’m making enough money to support us. I buy you gifts all the time,” he replies. Yoongi feels that he must’ve said something wrong as you verbally cringed at his words. “I’m literally paying for the fucking apartment we live in right now. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be doing all this for you to live a comfortable life!”

You scoff at his words. Clearly he thinks money solved all the issues in your relationship and that you should feel thankful for him being so “considerate”. You were sick with his reasoning, not really convinced that he even knew what you two were fighting about.

“Well how about this: I can’t fucking get a pet without asking for your permission; I can’t go out with you unless I wear something that conceals my identity; I can’t even fucking tell my friends or family that I’m in a relationship!” you scream as your sobs get louder and louder. “And I can’t even get you to spend some time with me without begging for your attention.”

His own tears had started to fall, staining the velvet seats of his car. You had looked so furious at the restaurant, but before him you were so very vulnerable. He can’t help but feel like he had broken you somehow. He realized then that he went too far- that maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut and let you air out your grievances.

“I’ll do better, I promise I will,” he says softly in an attempt to comfort you, patting your hair gently. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

You bring your hands to your eyes, crying into them as Yoongi tried to console you. It wasn’t working and you weren’t even sure if anything he could say would cheer you up at this point. 

“I don’t even know you anymore, Yoongi,” you say between sobs.

“Yes you do,” he replies, albeit a bit aggressively. “Stop saying shit like that. You know me better than I know myself.”

You shake your head as you clicked out of the confines of the seat belt which suffocated you, but not as much as his touch was.

“We should have never gotten together,” you say harshly. “If dating you was just gonna end in me hating myself I would have much rather not known you existed.”

He blinked back from the harshness of your words. Where was this coming from?

“You don’t mean that,” he says softly. “I know you don’t mean that.”

You pursed your lips. He was making it so hard for you to leave and like always, he found a way to get you back into his arms with little difficulty. You always listened to him, always at his beck and call. It was tiring being in a relationship with you being the one at his mercy.

“I can’t do this anymore, Yoongi,” you say, pushing him away as you reach your hand out to open the door to the passenger car. “I can’t spend the rest of my life feeling like I’m not good enough to be with you.”

He holds onto your wrist before you do so. 

“Just calm down,” he croaks. “Please.”

You shrug his arm off.

“I don’t want to,” you sob. “Just let me end this. Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to leave first so that you wouldn't have to feel like the shitty one in the end?”

An uncomfortable silence formed between you as your words echoed in his ear. No matter how many times he apologizes, it seems like you weren’t willing to forgive him.

“If you leave, I’m not coming to get you,” he seethes. “If you leave, that’s you telling me you’re giving up on us.”

The first time that night, you looked directly into his chocolate eyes and with a new sense of determination, you opened the door.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you say, exiting the car finally and walking away from his sight. 

He didn’t even notice how you had hesitated, how you secretly wished for him to beg for you to stay- that he would finally learn his lesson and apologize the right way. Without excuses and without pinning the blame on you.

Instead, Yoongi opted to punch his steering wheel and let out a groan as the pain in his fist formed. Were relationships supposed to be this hard? Was he supposed to fight for you every time you tried to walk out of his life? He didn't know anymore. If you wanted to come back then you would, it shouldn’t always be up to him.

—

Yoongi made it home safely, parking in front of your shared apartment, looking from his car window to see if the lights were on. 

They weren’t. 

Yoongi heaved out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead. You weren't home yet and it was the dead of the night. ‘You know what, whatever,’ he thought to himself, ‘it’s none of my business anymore.’

He had assumed you got a taxi ride back home, but obviously he was proven wrong when he walked into the dark apartment, cool from the lack of heating. He went through each room and you weren’t anywhere in sight. He sighed. Was this really it? Did your relationship just end because he wouldn't let you get that stupid dog?

He could hear you crying out to him that it wasn’t about the dog- that it was him who ruined the relationship. Yoongi ignored that voice in his head, in fear of guilt taking over his body.

Yoongi tried to quell his solemn thoughts with a few cans of beer on the lonely living room couch, but nothing really numbed the pain enough for him to stop visualizing your tear stained face. It was the way you looked at him so sadly, so full of disappointment. He used to be able to tell why you were sad, pinpoint the exact reasons, but now he wasn’t sure anymore. He opened the fridge, greeted by the anniversary cake you had baked for him just the night before. He cringed at the sight of it as it made him feel even more regretful with how the night’s events unfolded. 

Yoongi didn’t take the cake out and closed the fridge door. He didn’t know why it took a well made cake for him to realize that it was fucking stupid to let you walk out by yourself all alone. He moved to grab his cellphone to hopefully apologize and end the argument, but alas no answer. He tried several times again and nothing. He grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter and raced downstairs to his parked car. As he was about to start the engine, Yoongi saw from the corner of his eye that your phone was on the passenger seat. 

It was fully drained of battery and the purse you were clutching so tightly just earlier was on the car floor. Immediately, panic had overcome his body and he banged his head on the steering wheel for how careless he had acted. You were missing and in a part of town that neither of you were familiar with. He groaned out of frustration, no longer angry at you but with himself.

“Why the fuck did I let her go?”

—

A/N: Finally getting around to finishing my commissions. Sorry for the delay @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom​ , but hopefully you like this first part! Thank you so much for your patience and for requesting something that I was really interested writing about. You are a *star*. I hate writing about arguments because they make me sad but I love the angst that comes with the aftermath LOL. Who do you side with more? Was Y/N too stubborn or was Yoongi too insensitive? Let me know!

PS. Currently working on it’s you part 2. I’m really busy with personal life stuff so please be patient with me. I love y'all <3

[everybodyscupoftea]

won’t hold back

college isaac x reader

i’m back besties with the immediate follow up of born to run!

(warnings: cursing, light editing)

He finished his run first, of course he did, and by the time you got back to your car, huffing and puffing, a text was waiting on your phone. You pulled it out, hands shaking a bit and your face split into a smile as you read it.

I’m in parking lot west, meet me there?

Climbing into your car, you cranked it up, turning the heat up as high as you could stand, breaking out into a slight sweat despite still being cold as your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

I’m in east, just got finished so I’ll drive over

You backed out, heart pounding, and drove the few minutes to the adjacent parking lot. He was leaning against his car and waved at you when you turned in, not that he needed to because he was the only car in the lot. Parking next to him, you took one last deep breath and grabbed your hoodie off the back seat.

“Hey,” he murmured with a smile when you climbed out.

Waving shyly, you responded, “Hey.”

“Hungry?”

You nodded eagerly, “Starving.”

Isaac grinned, “I know a place if you trust me enough.”

Thinking back to the coffee shop he picked when you were first getting to know each other, you nodded, “Yeah, absolutely.”

After a pause and a speculative glance, he jogged around the car and opened his passenger door for you to climb in. When you hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed and he started to look uncertain, which you definitely didn’t want, he spoke, slowly, “Or did you want to follow me there?”

“No,” you reassured quickly, sliding in without any further concerns, “sorry, I was just caught off guard for a second.”

Isaac didn’t respond, shutting the door softly for you before heading back over to the drivers side, finally answering when he buckled in and cranked it up, “Why caught off guard?”

“Well,” you paused, unsure how much you wanted to admit. But then you heard your sister’s voice in your head go get your man and decided on complete honesty, “I was going to ask you out today, but I wasn’t really expecting you to say yes.”

He blinked a few times, hand freezing on the gear shift, “Why the hell wouldn’t I say yes?”

Ears heating up, you shrugged, “I don’t know, it just seemed like you were out of my league. You didn’t text me.”

“You didn’t text me!” he countered. Which you supposed was fair, but you’d been nervous. He was so attractive and outgoing and unattainable. He was so clever and good with words and you were just. Good at math.

“That’s fair,” you answered, “but I thought you might would have other, better options.”

“Well, you’re wrong, just ask my roommates.”

It was oddly reassuring, that his roommates had been putting up with the same thing your sister apparently had, and you couldn’t stop the wide smile crossing your face. Heart stuttering again, your palms got clammy as he pulled out of the parking lot finally, heading down the road toward the downtown area. 

Isaac parked outside a brunch place you’d passed a few times before but he’d gotten to check out yet, so you were excited. When he turned the car off, you waited for him to open the door for you again after catching his attempted discrete look in your direction.

“M’lady,” he spoke, pulling the door open and bowing slightly.

Giggling, you took his outstretched hand and stepped out, responding with an exaggerated accent, “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.”

He kept your hand, not that you wanted to let go, but your heart kicked up again, and you hoped that he couldn’t feel the sweat on your palm. If he did, he thankfully didn’t mention it, just swung your hands between the two of you, humming, as he led both you toward the door.

The brunch place was pretty busy, and the hostess smiled at the two of you, “Good morning, table for two?”

“Yep,” Isaac responded cheerfully.

“Inside or out?”

He looked at you, content to let you answer, and you shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me,” you turned to the hostess, “do you have a suggestion?”

“It’s more private outside, and we have heaters.”

“Outside,” Isaac confirmed without further pause.

She raised her eyebrows, lips twitching a bit at his hasty answer, and she marked something down, before speaking again, “Follow me.”

“Private, huh?” you teased when she was gone, menus spread out in front of each of you.

He shrugged, grinning, “Yeah, I want to get to know you well, not just eat together.”

And you didn’t really have anything to say to that, throat tightening at his honest words. It was quiet at first, both of you focused on picking something to eat and ordering before he finally took a sip of the tea he ordered, clutching the cup with both hands. Isaac leaned forward, foot nudging yours under the table, and you spoke up, “So, how are your classes this semester?”

He grinned, “You really want to talk about school right now?”

“No,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly, “but I thought it could be a good ice breaker.”

“Okay, I’ll humor you. They’re good, but I miss studying with you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you played with a string on the sleeve of your hoodie, “I miss studying with you too.”

“Have you been back to the coffee shop?” he asked.

Shaking your head, you reluctantly answered, “No, it felt like your space and I didn’t want to invade it.”

“I’ve been looking for you there,” he admitted, “I thought you liked it and might come back.”

 “I did,” you shrugged, “like it, at least. But the library and engineering building have become my home as of late.”

“Do you like the quiet?”

“Something like that. Less things for me to look at.”

Isaac hummed, “I get that. I like coffee shops because I feel like people are watching me and if I’m not productive, they’ll judge me.���

You snorted, “Well, that’s a way to pressure yourself into it, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” he nudged your foot with his again, “I normally like to be alone, but I wouldn’t mind some company every so often. If you can drag yourself out of your academic buildings to hang out with me sometimes.”

“No one I’d rather drag myself out of academic buildings for,” you teased.

Even though your tone was teasing, you were serious, and his smile confirmed that he realized that. You really liked that he picked up on your underlying meanings, it was something that lacked in your last relationship. That boyfriend needed things explicitly stated, which was fine, but a lot of your jokes were taken the wrong way or went over his head, and it caused a few fights.

Isaac took another sip of tea and leaned back in his chair, “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugged, eyes not leaving your face once, and you almost wanted to balk at the steady attention, “You decide.”

“Well, I’m not that interesting,” you started, only pausing when he made a noise in protest.

“I assure you,” he interrupted, “I’ll be interested in whatever you have to say.”

Squeezing your eyes shut for a second, pushing back against the sappy look desperately fighting to show on your face, you answered, “Okay, um, I’m from New York, but not any of the cities, more in the countryside. I have one sister and she’s pretty much my best friend.”

Isaac nodded, “Older?”

“Younger.”

“I had a brother, older,” Isaac told you, “but he died overseas.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I’m so sorry, Isaac.”

He smiled sadly, “Thank you. We weren’t really close, but it was still tough. Especially for my dad.”

“Are you close?”

Isaac snorted, “No, not even a little bit.”

It didn’t seem like he wanted to elaborate, so you decided to change the subject, “What about friends?”

His smile was small but pleased, “Stiles and Scott are my two closest. I grew up with them and they came here too.”

“Oh, that’s great,” you responded enthusiastically, “they sound like good friends.”

“They are most of the time. But sometimes they bully me. Like when I kept going on early morning runs to see this girl I liked instead of just texting her.”

You snorted, “Sounds like my sister.”

“I’m sure they’d get along then.”

“Sounds like,” you agreed, “we should never introduce them.”

“Amen,” he answered just as the waiter came over with your food. The rest of the meal was lighter, more focused on small talk than any heavy topics. You learned about his interest in drama and hatred of poetry. 

He ranted about the true villain in Hamlet for a solid five minutes, using his hands excitedly, emphasizing certain points by pointing his fork, and you were enthralled. Sure, you didn’t particularly care about Hamlet versus his stepdad, but by the end of his speech, you were more intrigued than before.

“I’ve never really understood poetry,” you admitted.

He nodded enthusiastically, “It’s so subjective. English teachers often teach it wrong. I want to change that. I want to help science brains like yours not hate English as much.”

“A very noble cause,” you joked, “but perhaps more difficult than you may think.”

“I don’t think so,” he mused, “because when we started eating, you didn’t know anything about Hamlet but now you have an opinion.”

You nodded, “That’s true, I suppose. Anyone who claims Hamlet is the true villain is incorrect.”

Isaac grinned, “Fuck yes.”

And then it was your turn to rant about physics and how the professors on campus made it ten times worse than it should’ve been. Isaac asked about some of the topics physics entailed, and to his credit, he seemed interested despite the boring subject.

“It could just be so much more pleasant, but the professors are so old and refuse to adapt.”

“A problem in English too sometimes,” he agreed, “but I’m hoping once I get to higher level courses, things will get more interesting.”

By the time he’d paid and the plates had cleared away, there were a few other tables of people around the two of you, and you knew it was about time to leave. You really didn’t want to, and it looked like he felt the same way.

“Ready?” you finally asked.

“I guess so.”

The walk to the car was quiet, and he didn’t hold your hand again, but your knuckles brushed his every so often. When you looked over, his ears were red and he was pointedly staring straight ahead. You reveled in the fact that a guy like him actually seemed flustered by your presence.

He dropped you off at your car and grabbed your wrist before you could get out, “Can we do this again sometime?”

You smiled at the slight shake in his voice, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Cool,” he beamed, “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. Text me sometime?” you asked, teasing him a bit even though both of you were guilty of not texting.

His lips twitched, “Or I’ll just see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

Suddenly, morning runs didn’t seem all that daunting.

[hyuniepot]

enigma || qian kun

e·nig·ma • /iˈniɡmə/ • noun

a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.

pairing || kun x reader

genre || college au

word count || 2,715

warnings || mentions of alcohol and smoking

author’s note || tbh this started out as a longer fic but... something in me really wanted it to end when it did. but maybe there could be a part 2 someday idk idk (also apologies for repeating text again, tumblr is rlly out to get me)

You’re annoyed.

It’s cold. Your shoes are soaked from walking through puddles left behind from the rain showers earlier in the day. Your best friend, Hana — the one who begged you to come to this party — was talking your ear off. Usually, dealing with her chatterbox self was easy, but you weren’t in the mood to talk.

“I think I’m nervous,” she says. “I feel like if I stop talking I’m gonna start freaking out! I mean, how am I supposed to be calm going to a party like this?”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you go to parties like this every weekend?” you question.

You roll your eyes. “Sure,” you sigh. You spot a huge house coming into view with lights flashing from the inside and floods of people entering. “So, whose house is this?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure,” you sigh. You spot a huge house coming into view with lights flashing from the inside and floods of people entering. “So, whose house is this?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure,” you sigh. You spot a huge house coming into view with lights flashing from the inside and floods of people entering. “So, whose house is this?”

“Johnny’s,” Hana replies. “His parents own this place, but whenever they’re out of town, he uses it to throw the best parties at least once a year.”

“How cliche…” you mumble.

You finally enter the house alongside Hana. The loud music and all the smells immediately send you into sensory overload. Hana grabs onto your hand and leads you into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey!” A guy with brown hair greets Hana as soon as she walks in. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Johnny!” she grins. “Sorry for the wait, I took way longer getting ready than I wanted.”

“No problem, the party's just getting started! So I’m assuming this is the friend you were telling me about?” Johnny turns his attention to you. His gaze is intense.

Hana nods. “Yep, dragged them here with me. I just knew I had to, parties like this are always the best.”

Johnny nods, grinning slightly. His eyes are still burning into you. “She’s right. You’re gonna have a blast.”

You nod and smile just to be polite. Your eyes dart around the room trying to avoid Johnny’s. They’re like daggers. Hana grabs two drinks and before either of you have a chance to say anything, nods to a nearby doorway.

You follow her into the other room and take a seat next to her on an empty sofa. It doesn’t take long before she gets distracted again.

“Oh! Doyoung! Yuta!” she waves to two boys across the room. They both turn to her and smile before making their way over to where you were both sitting.

“Hey,” Doyoung says. You knew him pretty well, you had a class with him and a few mutual friends as well. “Didn’t know you guys would be here.”

You shrug. “Always expect the unexpected,” you joke, taking a red cup from Hana’s hand. You take a sip, cringing from the overwhelming taste of alcohol. You’re not sure why you expected it to taste good. But you had to tough it out and wait until you were buzzed enough to think the alcohol tastes good.

“You guys playing beer pong later?” Yuta asks, sitting down next to Doyoung. “I mean, we need a team we know we can beat,” he says, laughing.

Hana rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the invite, but no. We’re both terrible,” she says. “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Speak for yourself…

Out of the corner of your eye you see the front door fly open. A tall guy enters, both hands carrying cases of alcohol. Two other people are behind him; you only recognize one — Ten. He was known as “the hot exchange student from Thailand” for a few months before anyone you knew got the guts to talk to him just to find out he was a sweetheart. You had only talked to him a handful of times.

Everyone cheered as the person entered. You assumed it was Jaehyun since multiple people yelled his name. He beamed from all the cheering, dimples appearing on either side of his cheeks; he looked cute, there was no denying it.

Ten weaves his way around Jaehyun and makes his way to where you were sitting, the other boy following behind. Ten picks up a cup from the table. “God, finally I can drink. Jaehyun made me his designated driver as soon as I got here.”

“Is that your drink?” you ask. You were really hoping he didn’t just grab a random cup.

Ten takes a drink, shrugging. “Should be. Looks like it. I told Lucas to guard it but,” he sighs. “He’s nowhere to be seen. As usual. I should know better, asking Lucas to stay still at a party is impossible.”

He puts his arm around the boy standing behind him. “This is Sicheng, by the way. I think you know him, right Yuta?”

Yuta nods. “Yeah. We have a few classes together. Hey.”

Sicheng grins. “Hi, Yuta.”

Sicheng didn’t look like a party person. He looked like you; someone who was dragged to this party by their much more outgoing friend.

“Anyways. It was nice seeing you guys. We need to go find Lucas and Kun.” Ten says. And like that, Ten disappeared into a pool of people surrounding the area where you sat.

You didn’t know either of the people he listed; you were getting more and more used to that.

Jaehyun finally makes his way towards you, still carrying the cases of alcohol. He looks at Doyoung and Yuta and nods towards a group of people behind him. “Beer pong’s starting. Taeyong and Taeil want to take you guys on first.”

Doyoung downs the rest of his drink. “Got it. Let’s go win our first game of the night, Yuta!” They both get up and run out of the room.

“Hey, Jaehyun,” Hana smiles.

Jaehyun smirks. “Hey. It’s been awhile since I saw you last, how are you?” he asks.

“Oh, you know. The usual. Trying to survive my classes. This is my friend by the way, the one I was telling you about.”

They really must enjoy talking about me, huh?

You smile. “Hi.”

Jaehyun nods. “Nice meeting you finally. I’d give you a proper greeting, but,” he raises his arms. “Kinda busy.”

“Right!” Hana says. “Sorry for holding you up.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’m kinda stalling going back into the kitchen, Johnny’s an hour ahead of me. He’s on the road of getting shitfaced,” he chuckles. “I’ll see you guys later, maybe.” he walks away from you and Hana and into the kitchen.

“Okay, let’s go.” Hana stands up and grabs your hand, almost spilling your drink in the process.

“Where?” you ask, getting up from your seat. It takes you a few seconds to collect yourself from almost tripping and spilling your drink.

Hana drags you through a group of people. “To watch the beer pong game! I’ll bet you five dollars that Yuta and Doyoung will lose.”

Everything went as per usual.

You weren’t even surprised as you stumbled up the stairs and through an unfamiliar hallway, praying to find an empty room you could lay down in.

After the first beer pong match (which Yuta and Doyoung lost, so you owed Hana five bucks), you lost Hana, but you stayed with Doyoung and Yuta for a while. You drank too fast and it all hit you at once. You felt nauseous and your head was pounding from the loud music that had been blaring for hours.

You open the first door you see. You see two people in bed. You slam the door shut. “Sorry…” you apologize, squeezing your eyes shut.

You shake your head and continue your way down the hallway. One door is open. You poke your head in, looking around to make sure it was empty and that no one was in the bed. It was empty. You enter, turning on a lamp next to the bed and sitting down on it.

You close your eyes in an attempt to try and soothe your head, but it’s pointless. You were burning up. Were you running a fever?

There’s a balcony connected to the room. You make your way to it and open the doors, the cool air instantly hitting you. It feels amazing. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You smell something familiar in all of this unfamiliarity; Cigarette smoke. It’s unmistakable.

You open your eyes, nearly jumping out of your skin when you see a figure standing on the leftmost side of the balcony. “Shit!” you cry out.

The person just looks at you, cigarette in between their fingers. They blow a puff of smoke before turning their head.

You put your hand on your chest. “Sorry. You scared me.”

“Don’t worry.” they say, sighing.

You step onto the balcony and go to the right, sitting down on a chair. “Um… and sorry for… intruding on you, I guess. I just needed some air.” you say softly. You look towards them.

“It’s alright.” they reply. They turn their head towards you, taking another puff from his cigarette. “I’m Kun.”

The name was familiar. “Kun…” you repeat. “You know Ten, right?”

Kun nods, chuckling a bit. “Yeah. That asshole brought me here knowing I absolutely hate parties.” he sits at a chair identical to yours on his side of the balcony. “I’ve been up here the whole night. I took my chance to hide once he left.”

You grin. “Nice. I don’t blame you. I’m… not much of a partier myself.” you say.

Kun taps his cigarette, small ashes falling from it. He catches you still looking at him. “What? Want a smoke or something?”

You shake your head. “No, no thanks… I don’t smoke.” you tell him.

“Hm,” Kun shrugs and takes another puff. “What are you scared of?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Cancer.”

Kun scoffs. “I’m not talking about the cig. I don’t care that you don’t smoke. I’m asking you what you’re really scared of.”

“Oh,” you say. He actually wants to have a deep conversation within five minutes of meeting. That might be a record. “I don’t know…” you cross your arms. Now that you had cooled off, the air was no longer relieving. “What are you scared of?”

“There’s a reason I asked you,” Kun replies, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with his shoe. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Oh, come on.” you laugh. “Everyone has a fear, tough guy.”

“Really? Then why won’t you tell me yours?” Kun asks.

You pause. “Because I can’t think straight,” you admit. “And… I have a lot of fears,” you add softly.

“Like what? Death? Bugs?” Kun leans back in his chair.

“I’m scared of death.” you admit. “I don’t really like needles either… or the dark.”

“You have pretty reasonable fears.” Kun replies. “A lot of people tell me they’re scared of those things.”

“But not you, right?” you joke.

Kun shakes his head. “No. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m scared of. I’m not scared of death. I’m a smoker for God’s sake. Needles are gross but I wouldn’t say I’m scared of them. And I have no problem with the dark.” he explains. “Are you scared of the dark or the things in it?”

You think. “I guess the things in it. It’s the unknown.”

“Is that why you got scared when you saw me?” he asks.

You hesitantly nod. “Yeah. That’s the shit I hate.”

It falls silent. “Do you wanna go home?” Kun asks.

You almost get whiplash from how fast he changed the subject. “Depends,” you reply. “Are you trying to get me to come home with you, or…”

Kun chuckles and shakes his head. “No. I’m being serious. I can walk you home, I was planning on leaving after that cigarette.”

“Oh,” you feel your face get hot from embarrassment. “I guess… I live on campus though.”

“I do too,” Kun says, standing up.

“You do?” you join him. “I’ve never seen you.”

“I have morning classes and I don’t do much besides homework in the afternoon so… I’m not out of my dorm a lot unless I’m in dire need of food. Maybe that’s why?” Kun steps back inside and you follow. He closes the balcony doors.

“Yeah,” you had afternoon classes and you had the same schedule as him when it came to after school activities. You had probably passed him without realizing it. “That sounds about right.”

You follow Kun out of the room and down the hallway towards the other side of the house — there was a way to the back door from another staircase. You and Kun were able to leave the house without anyone noticing. Hana would be pissed if she found out you decided to ditch, but you knew she’d be too drunk to get mad. That was for tomorrow.

“Do you know Johnny or Jaehyun?” Kun asks. The party atmosphere slowly fades away.

“Not really. Mutual friends,” you reply. “I came with my friend who knows them pretty well.”

“Ah,” Kun nods. “I’ve known Johnny for a few years now… but you know, every college kid wants to be friends with the party animal so… I don’t get surprised anymore when everyone I meet somehow knows him.”

You chuckle. “I had no idea about all these parties…” you tell him.

“Lucky you,” Kun pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one. “I’m always dragged to these things, I end up enjoying them but sometimes but other times, like tonight, I’m just not in the mood. I just wanna sleep.”

“Ditto.” you reply. “Those things are bad for you, you know.” you tell him, as if he hasn’t heard that phrase a million times before.

“Really?” Kun asks, exhaling. “I had no idea.”

The smell of the smoke makes your headache return. But at the end of the day, it’s his body; there’s no point in shaming someone’s addiction.

“Sorry,” Kun sighs. “I know it’s rude to smoke on your face.” he takes one finaly drag before dropping the cigarette and putting it out.

“It’s okay.” you reply. “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.” you didn’t know why, but you felt the need to apologize.

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Kun laughs. “I’ve heard much worse from strangers. Ten is so dramatic about it I have to shower before I see him or he’ll tell me I smell because of the tobacco smell. I’m kinda used to it,”

You giggle. “Sounds exactly like Ten.” you say softly.

The walk back to campus was much shorter than the walk to Johnny’s — at least, it felt that way. Maybe because Kun wasn’t talking your ear off and making your blood boil at the same time.

“I’d love to chat more but, I think this is where we part ways.” Kun says, opening the doors. “I really gotta get to bed because I know Ten’s gonna call me in the morning and yell at me to come pick him up, so…”

You grin. “I’ll probably be in the same predicament,” you tell him.

He nods. “Goodnight.”

You return his nod and start to make your way back to your dorm, but something stops you. “Wait,” you turn to ask Kun if you could have his phone number or if you two could see each other again soon, but he was completely out of sight.

That is when you realized you didn’t want Kun to be a stranger.

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (prologue)

word count; 2398

summary; while in the field, mitch encounters a hostile force who almost takes him out, and accidentally finds himself tangled up in something far more advanced than he’d ever imagined.

notes; this is the prologue to a new series, and it’s a pretty dark one. there will also be a lot of triggering themes, so watch out for that!

warnings; violence, slight gore, reference to torture, death, reference to mental & emotions abuse, possible suicidal references, reference to self harm, reference to branding, reference to brainwashing & manipulation.

Mitch would be dead, if it hadn't been for the quick thinking of Stan. Another agent in the field was unexpected, a target that had training that far exceeded his own, he really stood no chance. Up against him or Stan, even both of them together, she would have come out on top. 

Whoever the girl was, she was one hell of a fighter. 

With his hands on his knees, he lifted one to brush at his forehead, wincing at the blood along his hairline as the cut stung, and he wiped the back of his hand across it, red smearing his skin and the cool air sweeping across it for only a second, before he was feeling blood begin to build up along the gash once again. With a sigh, he searched around for his gun, one that had been knocked from his hand only a minute into the fight, and he located it sitting under some knocked over tables in front of a little street coffee shop. The roads were empty now, not even the honking of horns or screaming of civilians, the man you’d been protecting having achieved in his mission of setting off a bomb, and he glared at you as he clicked the safety off and checked it to be loaded. 

Holding up the weapon, he aimed it at your head, feeling zero remorse as he closed his finger over the trigger, squeezing down and releasing the bullet, only a second after fingers had wrapped around his own and jolted his aim to the side, the metal pinging off of the cobblestone walkway as it cracked the tile it landed on, clattering away across the quarter. 

With a growl, he spun to face the man, his mentor fixing him with an equally stern and hard gaze as it had always been, especially in the first few weeks that he’d been in his training, all that time ago. “She helped kill people today, Stan. She was going to kill us.”

“We aren’t executioners. We take her back with us, we get information out of her.” He snatched his hand back from the man, grunting an agreement before clicking it back to safety and tucking the device into the back of his pants. “You know as well as I do that she was a hired gun. She was protecting him, so much so that she was willing to die at your hand to let him get away. I want to know who hired her, she’s our lead.”

He knew it made sense, it was perfectly logical, but he hated the way you were cooperative in this, he hated that the woman at his feet had allowed such things to happen, and he fought hard to suppress the wild anger he had worked so hard to learn to contain and control back down. Instead, he spat out the blood in his mouth with a grimace, stepping over you to walk back towards the car and making sure to drag his foot across your body to plant a rough kick into your ribs, not that you reacted in your unconscious state, but it made him feel a little better. 

Instead, he did as he was told, opening the trunk of the car and fishing around in the toolkit for the duct tape before making room to stuff you inside a minute or two from now, and he looked at the bullet holes along the side of the vehicle, rolling his eyes with an angry huff. He wasn’t exactly gentle, your arms behind you back and sealed up tightly before attaching you ankles together too, and sealing one over your mouth for good measure, should you wake up on the journey to the safe house. 

By the time he had you loaded into the back of the car and fastened in, Stan was already sitting in the driver’s seat, the engine running as he waited, and the second he was within the car, it was starting up and peeling away from the scene, calling Irene to explain the situation. He didn’t bother to listen in, barely perking up to add his input, before he was resting his head back against the window, the adrenaline coming down and revealing to him just how much his body ached all over. 

He was sore and covered in cuts and bruises, he could already feel it under his clothes, every rub of the fabric against somewhere that was pained, and he couldn't wait to get into the shower, dismissing Irene alongside Hurley from the second they’d arrived at the isolated little home. You were still unconscious when he opened the back of the car up, much to his relief because he knew wasn’t feeling like starting another fight as you resisted, and slung your body over his shoulder to carry you inside, taking the tape with him. Stan had a chair set up, in the middle of the room read for you, and he tossed Stan the roll of tape once you were slumped into it, before making a beeline to the bathroom and calling the first shower.

He barely hesitated, only pausing to grab a change of clothes from his bag, before finding himself switching on the hot water, and peeling his clothes off of his body, stepping under before steam has even begun to fog the mirrors. A groan bubbled up from him before he could stop it, sounding out in the bathroom as the tension immediately soothed just from the hot water, body practically melting into the tub as he eased himself of the aches, and he had to force himself not to fall asleep in the comfortable heat and relaxation. 

Instead, he busied himself with scrubbing down; blood, dirt and grime washing away into the drain as he watched it go, scrubbing a hand through his hair and the colour only darkened as it washed away. The cuts would sting each time he got soap or hot water within them, but once the runoff was going clear instead of red and grey, he was beginning to see where he was grazed and cut, and where he was simply beginning to bruise. He knew he couldn't stay too long, using up all the hot water before Stan had a chance to get in, and as tempted as he was in the will for amusement purposes to leave the older man to shower in the freezing cold, he wasn’t that cruel.

He towelled himself down, and pulled on his boxers, finding the cream from bruises and ointment for his cuts, making sure to take care of himself and place gauze over the worse once, before finally pulling on sweats and a fresh t-shirt, scrubbing at the longer strands of his hair and making a note to get another haircut, before stepping back out into the main room. 

“Leave me some hot water?” He smirked, the thought he’d once had flashing across his mind once again, but he nodded as Stan scooped up a towel and change of clothing for himself. “Good, I won’t be as long as you were, princess, but if she wakes up while I’m in there, just knock on the door.”

He sneered in the older man’s direction, but let him go, and the door closed, leaving him alone with the woman in the chair. He was certain Stan would have already followed all of the formalities, but he decided it wouldn't hurt for him to check you over himself, and so he made sure to pat you down with what he could reach, checking for anything that you could use to escape or fight back. He even checked your hands, and under your tongue, no hidden razor blades or sharp objects, and he eventually deemed you to be okay. Pulling up his one chair, he set it backwards, straddling the seat and resting his arms over it, balancing his chin atop them, before staring at you intently. 

He didn’t like you, but you were a mystery. No matter how many time she had insulted you or goaded you, you’d never once spoken back. You didn’t fall for the temptation to lash out with words like every other person he’d fought had, and you didn’t have the same sinister flash of pure evil in your eyes that he was s used to seeing. There was no hatred, malice or anger when you fought, only determination, but your eyes had been blank as you worked, as though you were simply working, nothing in the situation being of any gain to you.

Stan came out of the bathroom, steam curling out of the doorway as he did, and Mitch turned to offer him a quick look, catching the raised brow he received in response, and letting his thoughts flow freely from him.

“Don’t you think she’s a little odd?”

“What do you mean?” Stan was leaning on the edge of the counter that connected them to the kitchen, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth, before crossing his arms. 

“She didn’t react. I looked into her eyes, there was nothing. Nothing. No anger or hate or pure joy at killing, it was like there was nobody in there. A robot, not a person. It was more terrifying than facing someone who took pleasure in killing.” He sighed, both of them snapping up to look at your from the first twitch of your leg, a foot sounding out across the carpet. 

“Guess we’re about to get some answers. Maybe that’ll put you at ease.”

He huffed doubting it would do anything other than anger him further, but your eyes were opening to look at them both. He expected fear, a sudden jolt as you tried to free yourself, looking around for escape exits and a way to get free. Maybe some glaring, growling out curses under the tape and making a show of trying to seem defensive, but you didn’t.

Instead, you took a single deep breath, keeping your gaze fixed on the carpet before you as your hands flexed out behind your back, cracking your knuckles and stretching your muscles, but then falling flat, and you almost seemed o relax into the chair, slumping your body weight over it but wincing when you pressed against something that must’ve hurt. 

He shared a look with Stan, his confusion only growing, but Stan shrugged a little, before flipping out the blade on his pocketknife, and moving towards you, the scare tactics beginning, but you never even flinched. Not when he peeled the tape from your mouth, not when he pressed the blade to your shoulder with the threat of pushing it through. Threats didn’t work, shouting didn’t work, it didn’t even work when Mitch had filled the tub with cold water and held you over it in a threat of dropping you within, and still, you were unmoving. 

They had thought through every option they could to get their answers, without ever physically harming you, and do Stan had decided to resort to mind games. He filled up a glass of water at the sink upon watching you swallow down thickly on what he assumed to be a dry throat for the fourth time within the last minute, and he made sure to make a show of preparing it. He clinked a spoon against the edge of the glass once, taking his time in preparing it, before bringing it out to you and offering it up to your lips, an almost friendly smile on his lips. 

You leaned in, taking a large gulp of the water without hesitation, drinking down almost half of the glass, much to both of their surprises, and his eyes widened when Mitch turned to him.

“She didn’t even smell it for traces, or taste test. She doesn’t care.”

They were just regrouping for a discussion when you finally spoke up, the sharp intake of breath making their heads snap back toward you, and your eyes were glued on Mitch’s own, a cold and empty gaze that sent a shover rocking along his spine, and goosebumps rising on his skin. 

“Units must not return without assignment success.” His brows furrowed, jaw dropping a little as he turned to face you more fully, and he frowned when you didn’t speak up again, but he gave you a chance, your tongue flicking out to lick over a busted lip as you tried to clear your throat. “Termination in the field, or termination at base. You must terminate the unit.”

“Oh, fucking hell.”

“What? This gibberish mean something to you?” When he looked back at his superior, the man was a little paler, eyes wide like saucers and jaw hanging wide, and Mitch had never seen this look on a man’s face before. “Hurley?”

Instead of responding, he moved to crouch in front of you, holding your gaze intently. “What is the name of your company?”

“Unit cannot comply with your request.”

He let out a ragged sigh, flicking out the blade once again and Mitch got to his feet quickly, fearing that Stan may actually gut you like a fish in his anger, but he circled behind you, cutting away the material of your shirt around your neck and letting out a loud shout at what he found. Stumbling over his own feet to get a look, he found a tattoo, branded into your skin with a symbol he didn’t recognise, but it would seem Stan did.

“I heard rumours from the higher-ups, notes on previous cases as eye witness results, but it always just seemed like a myth.” He seemed almost shocked, and Mitch has no idea what was going on, but he felt like he was drowning in the thoughts flying through his mind, his head pounding with all the new information he was processing. 

“Does that mean something?”

“Yeah, it does.” 

“And what are we supposed to do with her, then?” Stan let out a groan, and you shifted a little when the seat jolted as the older man kicked at the chair leg angrily, but you never looked back at them, your expression never shifting from the same haunting emptiness you’d held continually since he’d first laid eyes on you.

“Call Irene, tell her we have a Nocturnus agent in play, and that she’s alive.”

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (12/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know Icicle? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, andyou went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. "Local news. I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - everywhere?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. Becca’s Reading or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment…"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. "Can you share what you saw, Clarke?"

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You are."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

"Clarke," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?"

"What? That we lasted hours?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her at all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window.

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 2

Fandom: SVU / Chicago PD

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: mentions of kidnapping

Word Count: 1,513

Summary:  When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. Soon these new partners find themselves staking out a potential location for their suspect, getting to know each other to pass the time.

Tags: @inlovewith3​ //

“Chicago or New York, a stakeout is stakeout,” you yawned, checking your watch through tired eyes. It was coming up to 2 am and while you wanted nothing more than to be asleep, all your intel pointed to O’Connell conducting his business after midnight.

Carisi couldn’t agree more, sat next to you in the drivers seat as you watched bar O’Connell reportedly owned. The place was dark, scaffolding to one side of newspaper covered doors. Apparently, apparently this old run down building was his newest investment, and you’d thought it was a good a place as any to conduct private business, especially the kind involving a missing child that an entire city was out looking for. 

Voight and Benson had agreed, you and Carisi had found yourselves parked just down the road, undercover car largely obscured by a hedge and fence. Hours combing through files at his desk had cumulated into this, swapping intel between both units as you all tried to figure out and navigate your new temporary partnerships.

“What is this guy, a vampire or something?” Carisi half joked, half complained. You were both wearing your vests, but had since ditched your police jackets, the heat making both of you more tired that you’d like. The night had brought little relief from the Summer sun that had been beating down all day, the leaves on the hedge barely conveying any signs of a breeze. 

“Maybe I was wrong about this,” you admitted after a moment, watching yet another car that wasn’t O’Connell drive down the street and into the distance. None had stopped outside the bar, no one had even walked close to it except an elderly couple on the other side of the street.

Carisi glanced your way for a long moment, watching as you worried your lip as you thought about Logan. You didn’t know what was going through his mind, but he’d been torn away from his entire life by a man he barely knew, and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if you didn’t get him back tonight.

“You trust your gut?” Carisi asked, the question giving you pause. Gut instinct had always been something Voight valued in his Intelligence Unit, you had to trust yourself and those around you if you were going to make it through the day, and catch the bad guy. 

“I do,” you told him with conviction. With limited information and limited time, you could afford the luxury of spending days checking out each of O’Connell’s potential locations, it was now or never, and every fiber of your being was telling you that this was the place.

“Well okay,” Carisi replied, “then we stay put. The rest of our units are checking out other possible spots he might show tonight, we’ll get him.” He gave you a reassuring smile and reached into the bag by his feat, pulling out a tupperware box.

You had to ask. “How can you be so confident? I mean the Special Victims Unit, you guys do this kind of thing all the time, I’m not sure I could remain as optimistic as you.” He chuckled at that, offering you what looked like home made cannoli from the box as he thought over your question. You thanked him, devouring the sweet treat a little too eagerly, it tasted great and you hadn’t eaten in hours.

“I have faith, without it I don’t know if I’d have been able to do it for as long as I have,” he answered honestly, “what we do makes a difference, protecting those who need it the most and making the world a little safer, you just need to think about the ones you’ve saved, not the ones you haven’t.”

“But these cases... I mean we deal with the worst people, but you deal with the worst of the worst,” you continued. All the cases in Intelligence that stuck with you were like the cases SVU dealt with all the time, but despite the years he’d spent doing these cases, Carisi still had such a light and hope about him.

Antonio was your partner, and friend, you’d take a bullet for him in a heartbeat, but you’d seen what years on the job had done to him. The divorce, the drugs... it weighed on him, you could see it in his eyes. It had obviously occurred to you that Intelligence wasn’t your average unit by any means, but this different perspective was more refreshing that you expected.

“We also catch the worst of the worst, most of the time,” Carisi countered and you grinned. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, helping yourself to some more food. He regarded you for a second before adding: “you haven’t been a detective long have you?”

You shrugged, “couple of years, moved out of uniform as quickly as I could though, barely got the promotion before Voight offered me a spot in his unit.” You thought back to those early days, how excited you’d been to be offered the job, everyone knew about Intelligence and its reputation, you’d jumped at the chance to be a part of the unit and hadn’t looked back since. 

“Give it some time, you’ll find the right mentality you need to process these kinds of cases,” Carisi assured you, eyes flicking back to the deserted, half lit street. You could tell he was just as worried and determined as you were to save Logan, but he also had a calm about him right then that you really wished you could master.

“These are amazing by the way,” you told him, cannoli in hand as you tried to steer the conversation away from the serious edge it had acquired, “did you make them?” 

He smiled, eyes lighting up a little. “Yeah I did, family recipe. I like to make them on long stakeouts, keeps the blood sugar high and the spirits up.”

“Well I am going to have to cozy up to your family then if you all cook like this,” you laughed, thinking about your own family, and then thinking about Logan’s as the laughter died.

“So what about you, you cook?” Carisi asked and you pulled yourself out of your worried thoughts.

“Me? Nah, not so much. I mean, I used to, but I never seem to find the time anymore,” you admitted. Working in Intelligence was pretty demanding, worth it, but still, there was only so much take out a person should eat, and you’d definitely surpassed that limit getting back from work after all those late nights. 

“Order some of your pie pizzas instead?” He teased and you feigned dramatic insult.

“Oh really? You had to go there?” You laughed, “keep your paper pizzas alright, Chicago knows what it’s doing.” Carisi shook his head and you knew it was an argument neither of you would concede, but you’d found yourself getting pretty comfortable in the car. 

“Forgive me if I don’t take the word of someone who only once got a connecting flight through here, have you ever actually had proper New York pizza? Because I’ve had Chicago’s attempt,” he pointed out, causing you to pause with your mouth half open, knowing that you didn’t have anyway to dispute that.

“I- shut up,” you replied like a middle schooler and soon you were both laughing. Carisi was easy to talk to, not just with his clarity about the job, but his welcoming personality too. 

“You should try it before you go back to Chicago, after we wrap this case,” he suggested and you offered a little shrug to say you’d think about it just as another car was driving down the road. 

You were instantly alert as you noticed the car beginning to slow, both you and Carisi switching gears into police mode as the car pulled up outside of the bar. Gotcha.

You waited with bated breath, one hand resting on the handle of your door while the other inched towards your thigh holster. Carisi radioed in a potential sighting, both ready to go at a moments notice as three figures emerged from the car. Two taller, male, the other quite clearly a child. 

While the dimly lit street prevented you both from making a clear ID, the plates on the car matched the ones seen leaving JFK. You and Carisi nodded to each other, this was it. Carisi confirmed the sighting and you were ordered to hold your position unless absolutely necessary, with Voight placing pointed emphasis on your name as he relayed the instructions.

You clenched your jaw, hating waiting as they all went to the entrance of the bar, knocking before being let it. There were other people inside, maybe O’Connell himself. Part of you wanted to go in right now, finish it, but you didn’t know how many people were inside, or how armed they were. Waiting for back up was the only option for now, so you reluctantly sat tight.

“We’ll get him,” Carisi insisted, noticing your tension, just as ready to spring into action as you were.

[clumsyclifford]

If you are still taking prompts could you possibly do a combined 98 and 83 for jalex? Your writing style always makes my chest so warm! :))

hello !! sorry this is so late, i finished it but then got super stuck in my head about whether or not it was any good so i didn’t post it for, you know, four whole months. but in the interest of getting rid of some inbox prompts i’ve decided it doesn’t matter so i hope you like this. based on a true story lol :)

read it here on ao3

-

Alex is just settling in to watch some Game Of Thrones when his phone rings. It’s Jack, and his silly contact photo flashes across Alex’s screen. Without a second thought Alex answers.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Alex? Are you at home right now?” Jack sounds kind of panicked. Alex is immediately on high alert. His spine stiffens.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Oh thank God,” Jack mutters, and then with increasing distress, “I just dropped off my parents at Reagan and I was on my way back and I was driving on Clara Barton Parkway because that’s where the GPS told me to go but I’ve never driven on this road before and there are no signs and I didn’t, I couldn’t, I thought— I was—”

“Hey, take a deep breath,” Alex says, rising to his feet. “What’s going on?”

“I drove the wrong way and then had to swerve off the road and I hit the wall and I’m freaking out,” Jack says in one breath. The consternation in his voice only grows. “I’m— the mirror came off and I haven’t tried to start the car but I’m literally facing the wrong direction and I’m really fucking scared. I know this is so fucking stupid but—”

“Okay, deep breath,” Alex says again. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you. Just sit tight, okay? You want me to stay on the phone?”

“No,” Jack says in a small voice. “Actually I’m gonna hang up so I can cry because I think I’m in shock right now but I’d rather get it out before you get here.”

Alex chews his lip, feeling his heart speed up at Jack’s obvious alarm, but there’s not a lot more he can do. “Okay,” he says, already shoving shoes onto his feet. “Text me your location?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me if—” He hesitates. “Yeah. Just, if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Jack says again. “See you soon. Thanks.”

“Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

The call drops. Alex grabs his keys and is out the door and driving away before he remembers he never turned the TV off.

-

In the end, Alex doesn’t need Jack’s location. He’s impossible to miss. His is the only car that’s pulled over on the grassy shoulder, and it’s definitely the only car facing into the traffic.

As soon as Alex spots Jack’s car, he shifts into the left lane and puts on his hazards. A few feet away, he slows to a stop. Other drivers are going to hate him for blocking the left lane, but they’ll just have to deal. 

Through the front window Alex can see Jack, staring out at him, wearing an abject expression. Alex turns off his car, gets out, and walks over. 

The damage is bad, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. At least the car is still mostly in one piece, excluding the right-hand mirror, which, true to Jack’s word, has been torn off and is now hanging from the side. A small dent on the front shows where the car had hit the wall before Jack had managed to straighten out. Alex pulls at the driver side door and swings it open to reveal Jack, clutching the steering wheel.

“Hey,” Alex says carefully. “You okay?”

Jack looks at him. He’s clearly been crying, although he isn’t now, and red rims his eyes. “Yup,” he says, sniffing. “Awesome. This has just been the best day ever.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Alex says, holding out a hand. “Come on. Get out. You won’t get hit, my car’s blocking traffic like the asshole I am.”

Jack laughs wetly and takes Alex’s hand. As soon as they’re out of the car he flings his arms around Alex’s shoulders. It’s more or less the response Alex had expected, so he just returns the hug as steadily as he can.

“I’m the biggest fucking stupid fucking moron in the world,” Jack says into Alex’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I drove the wrong way.”

“No, you were right about the signs,” Alex says. “There’s, like, nothing that says anything out here. They really need to up their signage game.”

“I’ve never driven the wrong way on a road before,” Jack mumbles. “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified than when I realized. There was a car coming straight at me. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So, um, crashing the car into the wall was not ideal, but…”

“You definitely handled this as well as you could have,” Alex says encouragingly. “Given the situation.”

Jack just groans and pulls away. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here just because my dumb ass—”

“Hey, cut it out,” Alex interrupts. “It was an honest mistake. Everyone makes those. Not your fault.”

“It was literally my fault, Alex.” Jack gives him a pathetic look. “I thought it was a one-way two-lane road and when the road split in two I panicked and shifted to the left lane. Which turned out to actually just be this lane.” He gestures at the road upon which Alex’s car is parked. “One that goes in the other direction.”

“You’re a good, smart driver,” Alex says firmly. “There wasn’t a sign, that’s not your fault. And you drove the wrong way on a road and managed to not die, which is the most important thing in my book.”

Jack sighs. He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t keep harping on it. Instead he says, “I think one of the tires might have blown out when I swerved. I hit the curb pretty hard and then I heard something but I was kind of in panic mode so I haven’t gotten out of the car to check.”

Alex wanders around to the other side of the car, which is flush against the wall — the noise barrier, Alex is pretty sure they’re called, although in his opinion a wall is a wall — and peers at the front right tire. “Oh, yeah,” he says, grimacing. “This one is blown out.”

“Fuck,” Jack groans. “Of course it is. This has officially been the worst day ever.”

“Okay, easy,” Alex says, returning to Jack. “Have you called Triple A?” Jack shakes his head. “Alright, well, that’s the first step.”

“You didn’t— I’m sorry I made you come,” Jack says mournfully. “I just didn’t— I don’t know. I panicked.”

“Jack,” Alex says, reaching to tilt his chin up. “Stop. I don’t mind. I’m glad you called.”

There’s a pause, the kind of pause that lingers in the air and feels both impossibly long and short at once. Jack’s eyes are a deep, warm brown. They hold Alex’s gaze for a moment, and then dip to the ground again. Alex’s hand drops back to his side.

“I’ll call them,” Jack says quietly. “Just…wait with me, please?”

“Of course,” Alex says. “I can be this jackass as long as you need.” He nods at his car, which is still very much blocking the lane. The road is pretty empty at this hour, thankfully; Alex can’t even begin to imagine what might have happened to Jack had he driven straight into busy traffic. Thinking it almost makes him shiver.

“Thanks,” Jack says, biting his bottom lip. “One day I’ll stop making idiotic mistakes for you to fix, but obviously that day is not today.”

“This isn’t an idiotic mistake, and if you say that one more time I will kick you.” Alex raises his eyebrows. “And I’ve made plenty of idiotic mistakes myself. New Year’s Eve last year? You remember that?”

“I don’t think that’s the same.”

“Yeah, it’s way, way worse. This is so much less fucked up by comparison. It looks bad now, but soon you’re gonna tell this story at parties. You’re gonna seem super badass.”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, it’s so badass to drive the wrong way on the road.”

“I’m just saying don’t beat yourself up,” Alex says gently. “It’s okay.”

Jack swallows, nods. His gaze jumps up to Alex’s for just a second before flitting elsewhere. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Alex says, and he means it. His lips quirk in a smile. “Now call someone to tow your car, god damn it, or we will both die on this parkway.”

As Alex had hoped he would, Jack laughs a little. Something seems to lift off his shoulders. “Yes sir.”

“Attaboy,” Alex says, humming as Jack lifts his phone to his ear. He takes a seat on the curb, legs semi-crossed on the paved road.

When Jack joins him a couple minutes later, their shoulders touch. It has to be on purpose, because Jack doesn’t shift or move away. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Alex, and Alex wonders if this is kind of what it feels like to drive straight into traffic, except he knows if it is he’d never dare swerve. The crash could kill him. Or it could be the best thing that ever happens to him. And that might just be worth the risk.

[gethappy80]

ELVIS COSTELLO FAN FIC PART 1

  Penny stopped short on the concrete as her eyes scanned the busy London road, they lit up as she saw a cab approaching. She waved frantically grabbing the handle to force the driver to stop.

"I'm sorry, I'm really late!" Penny begged before giving the driver the address and didn't even notice the wide eyed man on the other side until he spoke up.

"You're going to the capitol office too?"

"Uh yeah... I'm sorry, It's just my first day there and I'd hate to be late and I need the job and-"

"It's ok, don't worry, I'm sure they wouldn't get rid of you just because you're late" he held his hand up and chuckled at her forwardness.

"Where are you from?" He stared at her intensely, studying her almost.

"New York" penny smirked and fixed her sleeve.

"Oh alright, so you're new here"

"Yes... like 3 weeks ago" he nodded and ran out of questions.

The rest of the cab ride was silent, but it was only 3 minutes. When they both got out she ran to the door and he held it for her then both awkwardly waved at each other as they separated.

*2 months later*

Penny sliced open the third box of the day to reveal posters of a geek armed with a jazzmaster guitar, which was the usual for her since starting at Colombia records. she recognized the geek known as Elvis Costello, who was on the record label. She picked up the phone and called his manager to request the representative of the band to come in and approve the box of merchandise.

He agreed,

she hung up and swung the box to the side.

Soon enough a short man in glasses, a suit and Cuban heels turned up and spat the words

"what do you want?"

they hit her in the back of her throat like nails and rendered her speechless. If they were in a less formal setting, she would have no problem laying hands on the man because of his attitude, but alas she just closed her gaping mouth and waited.

"are you just going to stare at me?" his words still sharp.

"I'm waiting for you to drop your attitude" penny stabbed back and crossed arms. She was already skeptical of him and hoped they wouldnt have to work together much.

He gulped and darted his eyes around her because someone as new as Penny was already calling him out. Usually people let his attitude knock the wind out of them and even got excited about his rudeness... one perk of being a slimy rockstar... or so they said. He was still new to the title and preferred songwriter when he wasnt talking down to people.

"I'm sorry... what did you call me in for?" he said in a much softer voice and the apples of his cheeks turned a red tint... or maybe penny just wanted them to.

"thank you... you have to approve these posters" she swung the box up on the desk again and pulled the flaps with fraying ends back. She noticed how he winced at the sight of himself and chuckled.

"maybe not all rock stars are vain" she thought to herself. 

"yeah they look alright... is that it?" he raised his eyebrow.

"sign here" she handed him a pen and paper.

Before she knew it, he was out the door again. She thought he was strange, but thats what she expected from a guy called Elvis, so she shrugged it off.

she almost didn't realize he was the one In the cab with her when she first started working here only 2 months ago.

. . .

"you'll never guess who marched into the office this week," penny smiled before taking a big gulp of her drink.

she found herself in a local bar with some a new friend nick, who also gave her the job at the label he was signed to, Colombia records.

"oh yeah, who?" he did the same and took the last of his drink.

They would often find themselves in this pub on Friday nights just talking about their work week since they knew little else about each other. They were always trying to one up each other with how bad or how good their week was.

"some angry wimp Elvis Costello" penny rolled her eyes and nick stayed quiet.

That angry wimp was nicks friend, and nick was his producer. He knew Elvis wasnt a mean guy and the angry young man as they named him was only mean to press and the public. Why he was rude to Penny, Nick didnt know.

"the one in the enormous glasses?"

"yup, thats him... you know him?" pennys eyes narrowed. She was only teasing and nick knew that so he just nodded in response.

"yuck" she made a sour face, and he burst out laughing.

. . .

nick woke up the next morning knowing the perfect way to cause mischief on Monday.

"you want me to what?"

"hold on to it, someone will be by to pick it up" Nick explained to Penny again as he handed the note to her. She rolled her eyes and agreed to do what he asked.

Nick rushed out with a thank you and left Penny to wonder what was going on. He was acting different but to be fair penny didnt know him all that well so she just put the note to the side.

That afternoon Elvis walked in to pick up the note that nick had left him, although he has never left a note for him before.

Penny looked up at the man in glasses once again and rolled her eyes.

"hello again" Elvis tried for an awkward smile and Penny returned it.

"I'm here to pick up a note my mate left me," his eyes darted around the area.

"your mate?" Penny tilted her head and her voice sounded harsh.

"yeah. my friend. He left a note, didnt he?" Elvis raised an eyebrow, Penny could also see that he had a gap in between his front teeth because of the way he bit his lip.

"Nick, hes your friend? Like you two are good friends?" Penny interrogated the now almost frightened man on the other side of the desk.

Elvis honestly didnt like how this was going and it seemed so far he could do nothing right with penny.

"Yes, Im good friends with Nick Lowe" he looked down at Penny who in a matter of seconds of an eye roll and an exhale went from argumentative to defeated.

"Alright well heres the note" she shoved her arm out to him and he took the note gently

"Thank you Penny" he took a half step back and flashed a proper smile now. All she could do is a half a smile. Elvis considered asking her what she had against Nick but with how the last two conversations went with her, he decided against it.

That Wednesday the same thing happened, and it left both Penny and Elvis suspicious.

"What did he say to you when he gave you the note?" Elvis shifted his weight to the other leg with a click of his heel and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Nothing just to hold on to it and that someone would come and pick it up and before I could question him he left," Penny sat back in her chair and threw her arms up.

"Yeah well, the notes arent saying anything important so you could just throw them out when he gives them to you," Elvis shrugged his shoulders.

"Sorry for all this" he added and his voice was much quieter

"Dont be, its ok" Penny smirked at how quiet the angry young man could be.

there was a silence between them, a potential conversation that lingered maybe.

"Ok, well I'll get going" He picked up the paper and left with a slight wave.

Penny didnt know why but she wanted to know more about Elvis and if maybe since he is Nick's friend she could be friends with him too.

[bbaronpiper]

Darkness

Hi guys! here’s another story I wrote for you. This one’s a bit personal. My demons are stronger than me tonight soooo. yeah. I didn’t go into details but I dunno maybe it may trigger yours a bit too. so please be cautious and don’t continue reading if you feel it may trigger you. love you all! Night! I’m off to bed <3

I hope I lived up to your expectation anon. Also sorry to the lovely anon who requested fluff. I promise I’ll write yours after this. <3 

i already know its gonna break my heart but can u write a fic with either 23 or 35 from the angst prompt list? thanks so much ❤️

23.”How do I make you love me again?”

35.” Can I have one last kiss?”

not my GIF. Credits to @anderaron​

Aron Piper x Reader

Your life is a fucking routine and you’re getting tired of it. Every day you wake up, go to your 9 am to 5 pm job, pass by the grocery or fast food chain for your dinner, go back to your apartment, eat, watch TV then go to bed, wake up the next morning and do it all over again. Every. Damn. Single. Day.  You never felt genuine happiness and you’re convinced you probably never will. Yes, you smile and you laugh but you always had this darkness in you which goes a long way back in your childhood days. It’s a feeling of emptiness.

Until he came along. Yet you never considered him as your knight in shinning armor. You hated the thought that women needed men to save them. No, women are built strong, they can save themselves and besides you’re not sure if you want to be saved. However, you can’t deny the fact that Arón spiced up your life. He brought different kind of positive feeling without even trying and for a moment, you forgot about this certain darkness of yours. You bury it deep inside you as an unfamiliar, pleasant feeling emerged.

You met him in a photoshoot as you were working in a production house but this was way before his career took off, before Elite. The “simpler times” as he used to say.

“You wanna go for a drive?” he asked you smiling.

“as long as I’m driving” you stick out your tongue at him. He never let you drive not because his car is expensive as shit but because you are a reckless driver.

“How about no?” he said almost laughing and put his arms around you as you both walk to his car. “I Have a few on my bucket list that I haven’t crossed yet” he winked

You just laughed at him and pinch him on the arm earning a low “oww” from him. You love watching him drive though. The way his arm muscles flex a little every time he shifted gears. His short glances from the road to you as you sit beside him. The way he put his arm behind your seat when he’s backing up. Damn. That shit turns you on more than he knows.

You both found yourselves at Cerro del Tio Pio Park. Both of you love going up here enjoying the nice quiet time it provides not to mention the beautiful view of the city lights. Arón may have loved this place a bit more than anyone. He always come here every time the noise in his head gets too loud for him, get some steam off or just enjoy the sunset with you.

you felt his hand rest on your thigh. you looked at him and saw he had a small smile playing on his lips while looking forward, straight at the sun as it sinks down.  You then place your hand on top of his.

“Arón”

“Hmm?” he answered still looking at the sky.

“Te quiero.” you said simply. Blush slowly creeping in on your cheeks. He looked at you and grins. “I think I love you moooorrrreee than you love me” you played trying to get a little something from him.

“Nahhh. That’s not possible. Yo te quiero mas.” (I love you more) and with that he leaned in to give you a kiss.

His kisses are passionate most of the time. so passionate that you always get lost in it as you feel yourself melt. Your hand traveled up to his neck just behind his ears, deepening the kiss. This goes on for a few minutes before you both pulled back gasping for air. You see him smiling at you hinting at something. You rolled your eyes, laughed and nodded yes knowing he’s asking you to make love with him. He then got out of the car and went to your side.  Imagine having sex in a two- seater car. Damn right.

“Uhh. It’s tight in here” he said not knowing how to position himself.

“yeah I heard that before. Just last night, I think?” you laughed relieving the words he said while he pounds into you the night before.

“whatever, Y/N. you know you loved it too” biting his lips as you see his growing bulge. He sat on the passenger seat lifting his ass up a little to help you get off of his pants and he did the same to you. you positioned yourself on his lap, your legs draped on either side of him and kiss him. His hands traveled down your pussy and played with your clit, rubbing circles making you moan in his mouth.

“Gotta wet you first bebe” he said in between kisses. You didn’t respond as the pleasure took over you. “you like that huh?”

“hmm” again, no words just moans.

“words Y/N” he demanded as he pushed two fingers inside you. you moan in pleasure at the sudden feeling. “Y-yes” you stammered. You buried your face deep into his neck as he moves his finger faster and curled it. he pulled out completely after a few pumps making you groan at the loss of touch. You decided to play him again and started to rub your pussy against his length a few times. Earning a low moan from him“You like that baby?” you said mimicking his words earlier. You then positioned yourself on his tip. As you were about sink down on him, you stopped and got only a few inch of him in. “words, Arón” you said close to his ears. He just grunts in return growing impatient and put his hands on your waist and slammed you down into him. You screamed his name so loud you think you startled the birds on the tree.  “Si, I liked that” he teased you.

He lets you adjust for a few seconds. Your nails dug into his forearms as you feel him stretching you out. Damn, he’s huge. You slowly rise up and sink down again slowly. Moaning his name while doing so. Repeating this until you had the urge to go faster.  You looked at Arón as he watched his dick disappear and appear inside your pussy. You cupped his face making him look at you while you moan his name. he smashed his lips into yours silencing you while his hand grabbed your left ass cheek and the other went down on your clit again rubbing it fast. “Cum for me Y/N” he then licked your nipple, sucking and biting it lightly and soon enough you felt your pussy clench around him “Oh, fuck.. fucckkk.. fuck.. Arón!!” and cum on his dick. He slammed into you a few more times before letting himself go. You both collapsed on the seat catching your breath. His arm automatically went to your waist holding you tightly and the other at the back of your neck. Your foreheads pressed together savoring the moment.

But this was almost a year ago. If you only knew then what you know now, you would’ve hold on to him a bit longer that night.

You lied on your bed watching him sleep, your hand placed on his chest caressing it slowly with your thumb. Contemplating on how you’re supposed to tell him. Tell him that the darkness within you resurfaced and you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were not sure if it was because of your busy schedules, the months being away from each other, his constantly partying leaving you alone in bed or it’s just that there’s really something wrong going on with you. Nevertheless, it’s back. You felt it once again: The emptiness, you thought was long gone.

“Good morning princesa” his husky voice broke you out of your thoughts. You just smiled at him in return. A smile that didn’t reach your eyes and he knew right there and then that there’s something wrong. He turned to face you completely. Lifting your chin up. “A penny for your thoughts?”

You opened your mouth just to close it again. Not knowing where to start. Arón knows you had issues like this and he always understand and helped you with it just as you do to him. Your chin starts to quiver but you’re trying your best not to shed a tear. When Arón noticed, this is when he start to be more alert and awake.

“C’mon baby, you can tell me. I’m here” scooting closer to you.

“we need to break up” you said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

“What’s that baby? try that again but slower.”

“Arón” your voice starts to tremble. “I think we should break up”

He looked at you with what seems like forever not saying a single word. It took him a lot of strength to sit up on his side of the bed, with this back turned on you, rubbing his hands on his face like he always do when he’s frustrated. You then sat up on the bed too resting your back on the head board. Afraid of how’s he gonna react.

“No” his voice muffled as his hands are still on his face.

“Arón-” he cut you off

“I said no” his voice stern still had his back turned on you.

You knew he loves you. and you love him. With everything you have. But you didn’t wanna drag him down with you nor ask him to save you from this. So you had to lie, you know it’ll break him but it's for the best.

“I don’t love you anymore” looking down on the sheets. Your fingers fidgeting.

He instantly turned his head to you. “Que?” his face has a mixed look of shocked and pain. “Don’t say that baby. Tell me you’re lying Y/N”

“No, Arón. I’m sorry but it’s the truth” you heart breaks at every word. The look on his face killed you. you wanted to take it back but you know the damage has been done.

“How? Why? When? What the fuck Y/N?” questions after questions after questions. He just kept on throwing them at you and you couldn’t comprehend. Everything went into slow motion and you couldn’t hear a word he says, you’re too focused on the pained expression on his face. Your Arón. You broke him. You couldn’t give him answers. you just sat there looking at him with tears streaming down your face.

“Y’N!!!” he screamed, frustrated. You were startled and afraid. “answer me! ” You’ve never seen him like this.

“I’m sorry, it has to be this way.” You stood up from the bed. Went to your shared cabinet and starts to load your clothes on your luggage. Your tears are now streaming down your face like a waterfall. You couldn’t stop it but you tried your best not to make a sound which made it difficult to breath. He can’t see you like this. He would see through you and your plan wouldn’t work. You’ll just fall back into his arms again in one snap. He sat there on the bed as his leg bounced up and down, looking at you as you packed your things. Unable to grasp the reality.

He then stood up and walked out the room probably to smoke. You continued to pack your things pacing from the bathroom to the bedroom gathering your things. your heart was pounding in your chest you can almost hear it. You know you had to do this quickly as you felt that you’re about to breakdown. You were zipping your luggage when he walked back in the room. You slowly stood up and turn to face him only to see him inches away from you. his eyes red and his cheeks are flushed.

“How do I make you love me again?” he whispered while he searched for your eyes hoping for a slight chance he has with you. His hands went to touch both of your forearms with his thumb caressing your skin. Desparation evident in his eyes.

A stab in the heart. That’s what it felt like when you heard his words. But you believe you’re doing this for him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat “You’ll always have a special place in my heart, Arón” his looked down as he shut his eyes tightly. Not the answer he wanted to hear but he knows there’s nothing he can do to change your mind now. He lost you.

“Can I have a one last kiss?” you can feel the pain in his voice and all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and tell him you’re sorry. That you change your mind and that you love him dearly. But unfortunately, the darkness in you won. Again.

You closed the gap between you, cupped his face and kiss him with every passion and love you have in your body and he did the same to you. You can feel his hiccups from crying but he continued to kiss you, never wanting it to end.  You both pulled away but he refused to let go. so he place another quick kiss on your lips and said. “I have never loved anyone this much in my life but if this is what you really want, I’ll give it to you. I love you too damn much.”

You wept. You cried in his arms as he did to you. you were standing in the room holding onto each other for the last time and you never felt this kind of sadness in 3 years you’ve been together. But again, you had to. you pulled away pushing his chest lightly.

“Thank you for everything Arón. Te quiero but this is for the best.” You sniffled and wipe your tears. trying to limit the words you say because you had to get out as soon as possible and drown yourself in your own tears. You then grabbed your luggage and begun to walk away when you heard him say…

“Maybe for you Y/N, but not for me”

[huntertales]

Part Two: Angel of Mercy. (Heaven Can’t Wait S09E06)

Episode Summary: When Dean gets a call from Castiel about a possible case dealing with spontaneous human combustion, the older Winchester decides to investigate–on his own. The reader decides to tag along. She doesn’t take no for an answer when Dean shares his odd hesitations on letting her work on a hunt with Castiel. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,514.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You suppose the different ways Cas could have ended up after going his own way might have been worse than where he was today. The angel-turned-human was blending into society without much trouble. Sure, he was a little awkward. Didn’t get most things like etiquette and social norms. You hoped he picked up enough knowledge from the few years he spent among humans. So far from what you could tell, he was doing okay. It made you breathe a little easier in some kind of reassurance that he was able to do things on his own without any help from you and the boys. Much as you wanted to lend a hand on this journey to make sure he was all right. 

In some way you understood a little too well the vulnerability of learning how to live on your own. You struggled to find your own footing after your mother passed away. John was unreliable in any way. He took the boys and went on his way after making sure the legal aspects of you living on your own were cleared. Occasionally he checked on you to make sure you were still alive. He taught you some tricks on how to protect yourself from monsters. But he never taught you anything useful in life. Basic skills on how to be an adult. Your mother might have planned out your life for when you turned eighteen, thinking she had a few years to help teach you to live without her. Things never worked out that way. A demon threw a wrench in her plan and screwed everything up. 

Angels, demons. Whatever kind of creature it was, they always somehow managed to screw everything to hell. While the circumstances were vastly different compared to the situation Cas was dealing with, it all boiled down to the same thing. The lifestyle you relied on, the normality that you didn't realize you depended so much on, vanished. You had to deal with the loneliness and responsibilities of being an adult. You were forced to grow up quickly and learn how to be an adult, Cas had to learn how to be...human. Learn the things that were second nature to you. The proper importance of daily hygiene and when to eat—and what to properly eat. Things he never had to worry about before. 

Somehow Cas learned enough to have made it this far without his fellow siblings sniffing out where he was. He found his footing and blended with society. He was just another average human working a day job. From what you were able to observe from the distance it seemed like Cas was just another average working waiting on people. Maybe a little more on the stranger side. No matter what, Cas had a slightly awkward charm to him. He was doing all right. But you weren't satisfied with a distance observation. 

Cas was behind the counter tending to a customer with a little too much enthusiasm for a retail worker. The woman was a little weirded out from the thumbs up he gave after handing over her lotto ticket. She forced a smile of her own before being on her way, letting the next customer in line step up. Which turned out to be two familiar faces the angel didn't expect to see. You offered the guy a smile from the look of shock that crossed his face. Dean wasted no time making things awkward when he pretended to be another paying customer. 

"I'll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols." Dean said. 

“What are you two doing here?” Cas asked in a quiet tone of his voice. His body language drastically changed from the customer he tended to before. All of his friendliness seemed to have vanished for his friends who drove all the way here for him.

"Gee, it's nice to see you, too, Cas." You replied to the angel's rather frigid and distant greeting with a bit of hurt in your voice. 

"It's Steve now." The angel corrected you. You furrowed your brow slightly when he gestured to his nametag pinned to his hideous blue vest he wore. You forced yourself to bite back a laugh from the reality of the situation. Heaven's most fierce and loyal soldier was now working at a gas station. "And...you both surprised me."

"Well, the feeling is mutual." Dean agreed with the angel. He offered little support for the struggle Cas had to go through in order to keep himself safe. He found all of this comical as yourself, but he didn't have the restraint to keep his feelings well hidden. The sight of his friend working in retail was all too amusing not to pass up the chance to poke fun at the situation. "I  mean, I knew you had to lay low from the angel threat, but, uh, wow! This is some cover." 

Cas didn't find the way you and Dean were handling what he had been doing very helpful. He moved a few steps down the counter so the three of you could continue this conversation away from any lingering ears. "My grace is gone. What did you expect?" Cas asked. "Do you have any idea how hard it was? When I fell to earth, I didn't just lose my powers. I had nothing. Now...I'm a sales associate." The angel tried to see the silver lining of things at what he was able to accomplish on his own. You and Dean weren't as enthusiastic as him for the way he was living his life compared to the way it could be. 

A delivery driver briefly interrupted your conversation so he could get Cas to sign off on some products. "I'm responsible for inventory, sales, customer service." Cas scribbled down the fake name he'd been going by and thanked the driver before continuing on of all the things he deemed important. You never liked to stick your nose up at the hard work people do for whatever job they might do, but seeing this was...pathetic. “I keep this place clean and presentable. And when my manager’s busy, I even prepare the food. 

"Wow." Dean didn't even try to hide his opinion on what he thought of this whole thing. "So you went from fighting heavenly battles to nuking taquitos?"

Cas must still be learning how to read between the lines of what people say to the tone of their voice. He didn’t understand that Dean wasn’t being supportive from the way he spoke his words. The angel still smiled, like he was proud of himself. “Nachos too.” 

You and Dean silently agreed this whole arrangement was not working out. But the angel refused to see things from your perspective. He thought what he was doing was perfect. It might be for any fellow normal human. Not for an angel like him who had done so much. He couldn’t waste out the rest of his days working nine to five and waiting on people. You wanted him back on the road with you and the boys. Trying to get his grace back and fix his home that was up in heaven. Cas continued on working, refusing to keep entertaining this conversation standing idly while he got paid. 

“This is not you, man. You are above this.” Dean tried to talk some sense into the angel while he stepped out from the stockroom carrying a box full of products. “Come on.” 

“No, Dean. I’m not.” Cas said. He set the box down on a shelf and gave you the real reason why he refused to budge on his new life. The simplicity of it all was comforting to him. “I failed at being an angel. Everything I  ever attempted came out wrong. But here, at least I have a shot at getting things right. I guess you can’t see it, but there’s a real dignity in what I do—a human dignity.” 

“Hate to interrupt you guys, but, Steve?” You looked over your shoulder when you heard a female voice jump into the conversation. A woman stood with a mop and bucket at her side, from the familiar vest she wore it was clear she was one of Cas’ coworkers. “Customer had an accident in the men’s room.”

“I’m on it.” Cas said. 

“Oh, and tonight—seven at my place work for you?” She asked a vague question that made you wonder what they were talking about. Cas nodded his head, and the way his lips stretched into a smile helped connect the dots. She returned the smile with one of her own. "You're the best." 

You picked up enough social cues to realize what was going on. Dean had a feeling himself of what was brewing between Cas and his coworker. “That’s what this is about!” You softly nudged the angel in the arm and smiled at him. Cas responded with absolute confusion at what you were hinting around. “Come on. The girl.” 

“No, Y/N. It’s not.” Cas said. You rolled your eyes and raised your brow from what he was trying to deny. Either that, or he was too naive to understand what his friend was hinting around. Cas was even more clueless when it came to things as romance. Poor fella nearly got himself killed after being led to bed by a pretty face. "Nora—she's a very nice woman, I'm pretty sure she's not a reaper intent on killing me, and she's asked me out. That’s something humans do, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, my dates used to end when I ran out of singles. And I can’t tell you the last time Y/N and I went on one.” Dean said. Your love life as hunters meant your chances of dating were rare to almost none. The world ending and angels falling out of the sky put a damper on your relationship at times. But for someone like Cas, who was trying to live like the average person, they were. Dean had to agree with him on that. “Yeah, that’s something that humans do.” 

Your conversation was briefly stopped at the sound of Dean's phone going off. He stepped away to take it when he recognized the number from the sheriff you spoke to at the first crime scene. It allowed Cas to tend back to his job to work on stocking the shelf 

“There was another kill—over at the high school.” Dean informed the both of you. “You comin’, Cas?” 

“I wouldn’t be much use.” Cas mumbled. “I don’t have my powers.” 

“So? I’ve had powers and not once did they help me with hunting.” You said. “Dean’s never had powers and he manages to do just fine.” 

“Both of you are hunters.” Cas said. 

“And you’re a hunter in training, remember?” You reminded the angel.

“Yeah.” The angel replied with the least enthusiastic tone he could muster up. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t willing to get back into the game. “Dean said I sucked.” 

You huffed out a breath from Dean's abrasiveness and turned your gaze over to the man. Your hardening expression made him suddenly regret his words spoken in the past. "I didn't say that." Dean tried to back himself out of the corner he put himself in. But he struggled to do so when you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for his response. "I said that there was, uh, uh...you know, 'room for improvement.'"

“Come on, Cas.” You said. “For old time’s sake.” 

Cas let out a sigh of defeat, deciding to agree with the plan after all. “All right, my shift’s over in five minutes, and my date’s not until later, so…” 

“Attaboy!” You cheered, lightly slapping a hand on his shoulder from seeing him hunting again. “Dean, go make yourself useful and get the car.” 

“Not just yet.” Cas stopped the man from heading out the door. You and Dean gave the angel a confused response from the interruption. It seemed you forgot Cas was still on the clock. “I have to clean the bathroom.” 

“Have fun.” You said. You tried to hide the grimacing expression that wanted to cross your face at the idea of what he had to do. While Cas made his way over to the mop, you called out some friendly advice. “Make sure to wash your hands afterwards.”

+ + + 

The three of you arrived at the crime scene a short time after Cas finished up work. You and Dean flashed your badges to the officer keeping an eye on the scene after you ducked under the police tape guarded off the crime scene. A crowd of high schoolers gathered around to figure out what was going on. Cas trailed behind the both of you, still wearing his vest after you told him to take it off. Thankfully nobody said anything. The angel went off to explore the scene while you and Dean headed over to the sheriff who was speaking to a teenager who looked to be distraught at what she witnessed. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest and cheeks stained with tears as she retold the story of what happened to the sheriff.

“One second we’re talking, and the next, she just...stops.” The girl explained the situation that led to all of you here. “And then everyone in the cafeteria freaks, rushing and pointing out the window, at—” She couldn’t finish her sentence from the sob that escaped her from the grief she was feeling. Your expression softened as she placed a hand to her mouth to keep the noise from escaping. ��Could—Could that really be her?”

The school bus that was helping block out the crowd of students was also covered in the same bubblegum pink shade you saw at the previous crime scene. Unfortunately what killed the four previous victims striked again. 

“And nobody saw anybody else at the crime scene—a man, woman, anything unusual?” You asked her, hoping she might give you some kind of lead into figuring out what might be to blame for this. The girl responded by shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. Your next question you approached in a softer tone. “Your friend, was she possibly depressed?” 

“Depressed?” She repeated your question, not sure what you meant. 

“Any thought of suicide?” You explained a bit more bluntly. 

“Ew. No.” The girl responded in the most teenage way possible when her expression scrunched up at such a thought. “I mean, she was kind of bummed that dick-bag Travis broke up with her in front of the whole school.” Dean gave her a curious expression at what she meant by kinda bummed. “Like more bummed than when she got a ‘C’ on a quiz, and less bummed when her parents split up. Kinda...bummed.” 

The girl's tone of voice shifted into anger at the strange questions you were asking her. You figured you weren't going to get much else out of her from what she told you. You felt a slight nudge to your arm from Dean to get your attention. He nodded his head for you to follow him after discovering Cas was nowhere to be seen. You looked around yourself, but the angel disappeared. You excused yourself with a small smile before heading with Dean to find where your friend wandered off to. 

Cas made his way back to the Impala after scoping out the crime scene himself. It seemed whatever happened caused some sort of distress in him. You started to grow concerned when you found him with both hands on the hood, his body hunched forward and head hanging low. 

"Cas, what's wrong?" You asked the angel, your tone growing with concern. 

“I’ve seen this before.” Cas said. You and Dean exchanged a glance at one another from the sort of twist you weren’t expecting. It prompted you to ask him where, leading to a creature you would have never suspected. “In heaven.” 

"What?" You tried to hide your frustration from the mention of his siblings possibly to blame. But it didn't come much as a surprise to you. All sorts of angel activity had been sprouting up all over the country since the fall. "Are you saying an angel did this?"

“It’s no ordinary angel.” Cas mumbled. He fell silent for a moment, at the overwhelming energy around him. The angel might have been stripped of his powers that rendered him vulnerable as a human, but he could still feel the presence of his fellow brother. "Dean, Y/N. This is bad. This is very bad.”

You quickly moved the conversation elsewhere when the topic turned into something you didn't want a civilian or a cop to overhear. The three of you got into the Impala to further discuss what Cas discovered. And what this might mean for the rest of this town. 

“On the battlefields of heaven, there was a special class of angels, the rit zien. It's enochian for 'hands of mercy.'" Cas explained to you and Dean about the history of his fellow siblings. The one who were to blame for these murders. "They function like medics. They tended to the wounded. They healed those who could be healed, but for the mortally wounded, those who were past saving, the rit zien's job was to put them down."

“But the granulated bodies?” Dean asked. 

“This was their special ability.” Cas went on to tell you more. “They had this way of smiting that was so quick and so total that it rendered death virtually painless.” 

“Yeah, but these aren't wounded angels that they’re vaporizing,” You noted the key difference between the angels’ victims and who they were trained to take down. “they’re pepole.” 

“Right. I don’t know. The rit zien home in one pain, like it’s a beacon to them. So, when this angel fell to earth, he heard the victims’ cries, their anguish,” Cas started to piece together the reason why all these people were targeted. Pain was pain to this angel. They weren’t able to tell the difference. “Same as he’d hear an angel’s in heaven. He’s continuing his heavenly work down here. One suffering human at a time.” 

“Yeah, but this last victim was not suffering.” You said. The highs and lows of being a hormonal teenager with their fluctuating emotions was something you and Dean were no stranger to. Both of you had been the victim’s age what felt like many years ago. You knew there was no correlation to the depressed and suicidal victims he killed before. “She was just a normal, moody kid.” 

“But he just got here. The ebb and flow of human emotion—guys, I’ve been on earth for a few years, and I’ve only begun to grasp it.” Cas said. He put things into perspective at what this might mean. You slowly began to realize that everyone in this town was at risk. “To him, pain is pain.” 

“So everybody’s fair game?” Dean took a wild guess at what the angel was hinting at, Cas nodded his head. The older Winchester let out a scoff as he rolled his eyes from the furthered complications about this case. "All right, well, we got to stop him."

“You and Y/N have to stop him.” Cas corrected the man. 

You furrowed your brow slightly from the angel's response. You leaned over in your seat to catch a glimpse of his face when he turned his head to look forward. A familiar expression you'd seen before crossed his features. "You're scared."

“It’s different now, Y/N.” Cas admitted to you. “Everything feels different.” 

“You’re right.” Dean thought to himself for a few seconds before agreeing with the angel. Cas was doing fine on his own, he needed to worry about the safety of yourself with the other angel hitching around in your body. It was how things needed to be for now. “All right, Y/N and I’ll track down this kevorkian wannabe, and we’ll put him down.” 

“Okay.” The angel mumbled. 

“Stay safe, please. I don’t want to worry about you every second of the day.” You told the angel. You flashed him a farewell smile, thinking this was where your paths together ended. “Go on that date, all right? You deserve some happiness for once. Hell, live a normal life if that’s what you really want.”  

“Okay.” He repeated his response again. You gave him a funny look from how he was acting. Dean turned on the engine and looked over to the angel. A few seconds passed and Cas continued to sit in the passenger side, causing Dean to wonder if he was going to go his own way. “I need a ride.” 

You had to stifle a chuckle from the favor he was asking of you. Cas managed to find a job on his own and was adapting slowly to human life, but it seemed there were still some things he needed working on. Getting there might be a slow and steady process, yet you had a feeling Cas would be just fine on his own. 

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[spookyhalloweennights]

A Story of Origins (Sam: SFW) Pt.1

Revisiting my first post/first monster I ever wrote about... Sam the demon, we’ll be exploring his backstory a little more in this series! To read the first post about Sam, click here. If you like this work and want to read more, check out my Masterlist!

The bookshop was usually quiet this time of night, the only thing I really had to do yet was to reshelve the books that customers no longer wanted. I sighed softly after finishing up the last transaction of the night, there was little to do until the store officially closed for the night. Glancing outside, I took note of the raindrops that raced along the windows from the storm earlier and I could only hope that it had stopped raining as I had forgotten my umbrella at home. 

The owner of the bookshop, a sweet old lady who went by June, had made the final announcements over the intercom that the store was closing in five minutes at 8 ‘o’ clock. It took a moment before she had appeared beside the register, the mix of brown and gray hair giving her hair the coloring of rust. For as old as what she was, she didn’t seem to have aged past the age of fifty. She sighed softly before glancing up at me, patting my arm she moved towards the door. 

“I’m going to go check the air. Chase the remaining people in here out. I’d like to leave a little early tonight. Let’s hope that café has their shit together tonight and gets done on time at least.” She grumbled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket and her lighter. She walked towards the door and pushed through it while I giggled quietly at her antics. 

I waited a few more moments, hearing the blender going at the café. When it stopped and a couple walked out the front doors, only then did I begin to make my rounds around the store. Hearing a couple of girls giggling, I walked back towards the board games section. Spotting the group sitting crossed-legged on the floor around one of the games we had, I walked over to them and gave them a look that got most customers out of the store. 

“The store is closed, please leave.” I said in as best of a firm voice as I could manage, the girls merely scoffed in response. 

“It’s not even eight yet!” One responded while the others nodded in agreement. “We’re not leaving until it’s actually closing time.” 

“Alright listen, this can go one of two ways, you can get up with your friends here and leave peacefully. Or I can get the cops across the street and have them escort you out while writing you up for theft considering I saw little miss art theft earlier taking one of our artist pencil packs.” I crossed my arms while the girls grumbled in response. 

“Fine.” The leader of the group spat at me, making a very big dramatics show with the rest of her group getting up and leaving. I paused the one and held out my hand expectantly, the girl rolled her eyes and placed the pencil pack in my open palm. I merely nodded in thanks and watched as they left before checking the other areas of the store before even acknowledging the mess they had made. 

Luckily there were no other customers, I poked my head out the doors and informed June that the store was empty. Watching as the smoke rose from the burning end of her cigarette. She sighed, breathing out a cloud of smoke and nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Just do the reshelves, Lorenzo wasn’t feeling well today so I wanna get done as soon as possible. I’ll have Rose deal with straightening up tomorrow. Besides, you’ve done well tonight.” June said simply, I could see the worry etched into her features. Lorenzo was her husband, a sweet old Italian man that oftentimes still struggled with speaking English. 

“Sure thing, there’s only one area I’m going to straighten. Those girls were messing with the board games and I’d really hate to have a big mess like that lying around.” I responded as I ducked back into the shop. 

As I walked back to the board games again, I paused at the café to see how they were doing and if they were going to need any help tonight. Haley, the café barista, had told me they didn’t so I left them be. I sighed softly as I noticed several other messes in the store that I had wanted to pick up, but knew that if I messed around for too long June wouldn’t be too happy with me. 

Spotting the game that they had left on the floor, I quickly made my way over to it but then froze. Of course a bunch of teenage girls had to mess with a Ouija board… I sighed, kneeling down to gather the contents, but just as I was about to clean it up, the planchette had begun to move on its own. The small heart shaped piece of wood dragging across the board from where it had been resting in the corner. I watched in a strange sense of fear and interest as it had dragged itself over to the ‘M’ on the board. The piece then moved to ‘O’, and then right over to the ‘R’ before I had finally decided to do anything about it. 

“Not today demons, not today.” I whispered as I snatched the piece of the board and put everything back into the box before placing it back on the shelf. “I don’t even know why we sell these things.” I huffed quietly, though it was probably because most people didn’t consider them dangerous. 

After having put the Ouija back into the box and on the shelf with the other ones, I finally got to reshelving the pile of books left on our customer service desk. While the store was a small business, it flourished enough for us to give the store occasional upgrades like our own search system while retaining that locally-run charm. Besides, being the only bookstore in town tended to draw people when they needed something in a pinch. 

I caught sight of movement out of the corner of my eye and sighed in irritation, thinking that it must’ve been a customer that had managed to avoid me until now. But when I looked around the corner of the bookcase, there was no one there. Chills had run along my spine and caused goosebumps to rise the length of my arms. A feeling of unexplained fear had begun to bubble in the pit of my stomach. 

I finished reshelving the unwanted books as quick as possible before informing June, the café was still working so she had to stay longer but she had let me go for the night. After I had grabbed my bag from the break room, I left the building with the sense of fear still raging on in the back of my mind. The only saving grace I had from it was when I spotted the police car pulled up in front of the building, a smile spread across my face as I spotted the orc leaning against the side of it. 

“Ya’ need a ride?” Nash asked, his long black hair that reached his knees was braided back so it only reached the middle of his back now. His smile welcoming as he eyed me from the tops of his glasses. 

“Yes please. I don’t feel comfortable walking home alone tonight. There’s something going on.” I responded as he opened the passenger side door, sliding into the car I placed my bag on my lap. 

Nash had slid into the driver’s seat and started the car up before slowly driving along the roads. I had met him when I had first started working at the library several years ago, and we had become fast friends. He worked in the neighborhood and made sure to check on all the local businesses at their closing times, offering rides to employees who needed them. His hazel gaze met mine as he glanced over at me. 

“What made ya’ uncomfortable?” His voice was deep, deeper than what was considered the norm for his kind paired with a heart of gold he could have anyone falling for him in an instant. 

“Ouija board, some girls were messing with it and then when I had gone to clean it up, the piece that spelled out the words began to move on its own. I didn’t let it spell anything coherent but there was just… I don’t know, it was just weird.” I sighed, half expecting him to laugh at me for being ridiculous. 

“I’m surprised they still sell those things.” He grumbled to himself before sighing. “Well, it’s done now, if anything happens that you can’t handle just let me know? I’ll put you in contact with an old friend of mine.” He said as he pulled into the driveway of my house.

“Of course, thanks for the lift Nash. I appreciate it.” I said as I leaned over to give the orc an awkward hug. “Tell the missus I said hi!” I called out after climbing out of the car and onto my porch. 

“Sure thing!” He responded as he backed out of the driveway and drove back down the street, I watched him leave for a moment before turning to unlock the door to my house. 

Once inside, I tossed my bag onto the couch before making my way into my bedroom. I grabbed a pair of fuzzy pants and a plain t-shirt out of my pajamas drawer and slipped into them. I sighed in content as I climbed underneath the weighted blanket I owned, once my head hit the pillow it didn’t take too long for me to fall asleep. 

It was well after midnight when I blinked awake, a looming sense of fear clutching me and making it hard to fight off the feeling of dread that was beginning to boil. I glanced around my room before my gaze landed on a figure hunched over in the corner, there were no distinct features on it’s paper white skin. The veins that ran along its body were midnight black, its hands were elongated and its fingers were more like claws as they were so long. It’s skin turned to an ash grey color right as each finger started. There was nothing on its face, no eyes, no mouth or anything. It was simply just a vague humanoid shape. I tucked myself back under the covers, pinching my arms in hope that it was all a dream. 

When the covers were ripped away from me and one of its clawed hands placed over my mouth to keep me from screaming, only then did I realize it definitely was not a dream. The terror taking hold of me as I stared up at it. 

“Morsel.” It spoke in several octaves at once, darkness finally creeping into my vision before the world around me went black.

[psychemeanscure]

PART 4 { I think I forgot to tell this, but I guess I just have to mention it now. This story is purely fictional. Places, names, things may or may not be related with each other. Nor to do harm. Just be reminded that this is all fiction. In case a sensitive issue might arise, since I only rely to what google give me as well. Hehe. Anyway, happy reading :)}

“Boss! I got the de--- Boss?”

He’s too preoccupied by his thoughts that even the voice of his people can’t even get through him, for he is still moved from the yesterday’s happenings. “Boss.” Another hoping call for him, and still no response indeed.

-

“Okay! Can we talk about us, now?”  

His first word the moment he ended the settled deal by call with the Spanish gambler as he steps in the driver’s seat facing her who’s already waiting from the passenger seat. “Shut up. I’m still not in the mood for you, Jang Taeyoung.” Thus he starts the engine as they continue to bicker throughout the ride.

“Come on. Is this still about the prompt proposal? I told you, even I has no clue about it as I thought we’re going to deal with the gun transactions only.”

“Exactly. And it’s your fault.” crossing her arms again as she looks by the window instead. “Tss. You accusing bulldozer. I should have sided the old man instead. I could have enjoyed his humor better than you do.” And that made her turn her head to him. “Well, just make sure to inform me if you plan to betray me soon.”

“Jeez. You really can’t distinguish a joke, are you? What do you think of me? Low-cost? Tss. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to clasp a hand with that geezer, either. I hate him even.” Curious from what she heard. She starts to ask him the usual. “Oh, wow. That’s new. What makes you decide that easily, though?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. As expected, you’re too focus of revenge that you’re unable to see his suspicious look on you.” And it made her forehead crease. “What?” received a shrugging shoulder from him then. “He keeps watching you the whole time whenever your eyes are not on him. Like he had something to remember by you. And it’s too fishy. Too fishy something. I hate it.”  By gripping the steering wheel, he accelerated their phase from the broad road of Seoul while she had to deal with his daydreaming assumptions. “Can you stop your dreaming haughtiness like as if we were even a thing? Tú apesta.”

There she is finally with her curses as she had to roll her eyes up because of him. Yet in the other side, he’s just simply excited to play his cleverness on her again. “Ooh… So you are open considering us as a thing, huh? That hasn’t slip in my mind, though. Shall I say my pleasure, then?” only to receive a glare coming from her.

~

“Send me the details tomorrow. I’ll get back to you once I finish all my meetings.”

Her firm business remark after they went out of the garage, snatching back her car key from him. Went straight to the entrance door to enter her passcode but frowned after realizing that he still around, nor even calling his assistant to fetch him. “What? You’re not leaving? Don’t tell me you’ll somehow get me obliged to call assistance for you?”  yet, he was just there just few meters from her standing, both hands in his pockets while giving her a meaningful stare as if contemplating his words to say to her. 

“Nah. I’m just going to do this.” And he did it, indeed. Occupying the remaining distance between them, swiftly cupping her cheeks by his hands as he deeply claims her lips with wholesomeness. Kissed her under the night sky of darkness and only moon as their witness. 

She was left off-guard that even the sudden tiptoe of her feet is oblivious on her sane, and when she was about to protest, he already pulled away. “You’re too stubborn to talk about your indebtedness from me a while ago. So why not a surprise paycheck will do.”

“Good night, my sweet volatile.”

His last whisper on her ear before guiding the still struck her inside her premise. “Joder esta! Get yourself together, Sung Eunyoung.” She ends up scolding herself indeed after closing the door of her apartment as she was still on her doorstep gripping the doorknob with so much vigor. Heart’s racing with bafflement. She doesn’t want to assume any from him for she knows what kind of man he is, but… “But that look. Mierda!”

She blurts it out indeed. That certain look he never gave to anyone, not until today. Not until with her.  

-

“Boss!”

With one last hope from his assistant, he finally snaps back to reality. Turning his head to face the owner of the voice. “U-uh?” his absentminded out of sane answer still, only to be handled a catalog envelope to his hand. “The details you requested Boss.”  As he only checks what’s inside and thank him. “You may go, Jae.” His final bid indeed but seems to confuse the latter. “Uh. Boss? Should I send it also to Ms.--- “

“No, it’s okay. I can handle.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Thus the assistant went out just as he wanted. While he was left smirking, swirling on his swivel chair with a silly thought in mind. A silly move he always enjoys.

~

The sound of a thrown golf ball elopes the entire walls of her personal sports room for she just finished a previous meeting calls only to receive another incoming. Thus she had pause for a moment and accept it from her smartwatch again.

“Yes, Director.”

“Yes, the honor is mine. I hope the girls on standby made your day, though.”

“I’m glad to hear that. In fact, the prospectus you sent is quite my interest.”

“Oh no. You don’t have---“

Her conversion cut off by a sudden barging from a person she already knew. She almost cusses if only she’s not fast to realize that she’s still conversing to someone over a call, that even the caller had to ask if there’s something wrong. She composes immediately somehow, except that her glaring eyes were darted to the unwelcome visitor though.

“Anyway Director, thank you for trusting your business on us.”

“My pleasure. Expect the response of my secretary by Friday.”

“Yes, please.”

With one last bid of goodbye and a put off of her bluetooth earbud, she indeed fuming mad imposing the great Jang Taeyong who’s just comfortably sitting on the couch. “Didn’t I tell you I get back to you once I finish my meetings? La mierda. You almost ruined everything!”

“But I did not.”

Only to receive a quirky statement from him anyway, that she had no choice either but to entertain, occupying the opposite seat from him. “What now?” thus he showed her the catalog envelope his assistant gave a while ago, while she starts to check the moment she received it only to groan after learning what’s inside. “You really don’t listen, are you? I told you to just send me the details. Email, Jang Taeyoung. I don’t have to see your face just for this.”

“Ah. Uhuh… So that’s what you mean by that? You should have been more specific. Shall I say sorry?”

His quirky answers continue even he always do understand her sentences. And just by looking her unconvinced gaze, he knew she knows as well as he does. “Forget it. You’re here anyway. And since you’re here, better elaborate this asustando papel for me instead. That’s the least you can do.”

Her mocking words indeed by which only made him a cringing brows. “You, woman. You’re always pulling me down. Tss. Fine.” As much as she wants to laugh by his sudden yield, she chose to suppress it anyway. Thus, he started after some fixing with his suit.

“Zilo Alcaziar, the troublemaker son of Veeros Alcaziar. An elite from underground Castellón, Spain. If not with his father’s power he could have rot in jail because of its involvement in many drug activities such as cocaine, cannabis, MDMA and his most favorite…” he intended to halt his words to see her expectant reaction. “What?” her impatience indeed.

“Heroin.”

“Esta mierda! And he’s only 20?! Don’t you dare tell me that it’s even included to the said transaction?”

“Uhuh. Sadly, Yes. No doubt his father is trying to be a good Samaritan for his son.” And so he swears, if only curses can kill. He’s probably the first on the list for he is currently catching every kind of curses from her mouth right now while she takes a deep breath preparing for another information that may stress her somehow. “Okay. Fine. What more should I have to suffer to hear?”  

He can’t help to sneak a laugh by her witty-like remark that he follows anyway and proceeds to another information for her. The rest of their conversation then just became a constant throw-catch disputes of details or rather been said, a matter of question and answer bickering between a lion towards his lioness.

“When was that again?”

“Next month is his arrival. Together with the second cargo entailed of powders obviously as what I have told you. The old man said it will be the same process with the guns next week, so by dawn I and my boys must be on the port on time.”

With the look of her brushing her face. He knows she’s starting to get lost from her thoughts, frustrated. “Dios Mio. A father who’s even letting his son involved. Urgh. Do you really think I can absorb all of this, Jang Taeyoung?”

“Then you better not. You don’t need to get involved with the transactions though and just leave it to me. It’s too dangerous. You do trust me, right?” scoffing from what she heard, she had no choice anyway. “Are you sure?” only to be responded by his groan. “You only reciprocated my question, Sung Eunyoung. I said, do you trust me?” seeking for affirmation from her, she knew his being serious right then that only thing she could do is sigh.

“I should, is maybe my right response to that, Jang Taeyoung. Don’t force me.”

Giving her a stern look doesn’t work somehow, so he gives in anyway. “Fine. Even that isn’t the answer I’m expecting.”  

“Whatever. Can we just end this for today? I had enough headache already.”

As she stands up, picking its golf club from a stand bag, after deciding for another round of play. “You too, should go. I had enough of you as well.” But the latter didn’t even get a hitch to move from his seat and were just watching her from behind. “It’s so unfair. You have your own sports room while I don’t.” his set of grumpiness indeed. “Then get one. You have all money to do that. Why bother patronizing mine. As if you’re into sports. Your sports room will be useless anyway.”   

“Tss. Bulldozer. Who says I don’t? And I love bowling!”

With a hit from the golf club, she finally heard the shut of the door, left by a grumpy still Jang Taeyoung. For she only gives in a deep sigh, still remembering yesterday. She really has to be careful around him. Does not like to admit, but…

“He’s the death of you, Sung Eunyoung.”    

Reminding herself certainly.