#early night for me tonight (i say fully knowing that midnight is not really considered early to most people)

[djarinova]

oh the moon looks beautiful tonight (like always) <3

[kyberphilosopher]

Cerise

Those are people who died, died Those are people who died, died They were all my friends and just died.

Word Count: 5736 Warnings: Crime, Weapons, Mentioned Murder of a R/pist, Crude humor.

Jason’s friend and roommate, another Gotham villain, is ordered to return to Task Force X.

ce·rise/səˈrēs,səˈrēz/ [noun] a bright or deep red color.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Let’s open up our story on a colorful note: Fuck Amanda Waller. 

Nobody likes her. You don’t like her. Jason doesn’t like her. None of the characters in this story like her. Arguably, none of the characters in your present universe like her, either. There’s a reason why people call her “The Wall”. It’s because that’s what it’s like talking to her. And that’s what it would be like trying to deny the request she’d passed on to you in her letter. 

It weighed on your mind briefly as you walk up the stairs of your apartment building. By the third flight, the weight’s pretty much disappeared. Sure, there’s anger at Waller for violating your agreement, but it’s so useless being annoyed with her that it washes away fast. So by the fourth flight, the whole thing is settled in your head to completion. You’ll go back to your Suicide Squad- or a Suicide Squad, considering most people Waller selects are idiots. Then you’ll do the job, and walk away bing, bang, boom. 

You tip your head politely as if in salute to the older woman, Mallorca, who occupies the apartment across from you. She returns a warm smile that raises her prominent and wrinkled jowls, igniting the fire in her warm brown eyes. “You need me to do your laundry again?” 

Of course an angel such as Mallorca would make such an offer. It’s not a bad offer, either. Your dark, silver lined chest plate is splattered with blood all over the front. It’s nobodies blood that doesn’t deserve it, as per your agreement with Waller. Just some perverted little prick who thought with his dick instead of his brain with the wrong girl. She looked frightened, and you saved her, and since the prick had just hit 18 (a fact you learned after rummaging around his wallet after), you had permission to bash his brain in. Hence the blood splattered vigilante armor. 

The first time Mallorca had seen such a sight, she had no reaction whatsoever. You weren’t sure what else you were expecting from an old woman living in a back alley apartment building, but it certainly wasn’t that. She offered no shock to your red masked, blood stained roommate either. Mallorca is simply an otherworldly being. And is that cocaine you see on the collar of her shirt?

“I got it,” you throw in return, rounding the corner so she’s at your back, and nearing the climb up the next and last flight of stairs. “Hey, is Jason home?” But when you turn around fully, Mallorca shows no intention of responding and has disappeared down your previous staircase. You clasp your hands against the sides of your thighs, “Oh, okay.”

You make your way up the final steps and stick a hand in a secret back pocket to fish around for your keys. You wince when you begin the rigorous task of tugging the lanyard free from the depths, which unfortunately fell near to your back hole. Then you slip the key into the lock and twist. 

Inside your apartment is near emptiness. There’s a couch, a rug, some windows, a TV, and to your immediate right is a small kitchen beside a hallway that leads to a bathroom and two bedrooms. You see the large plant you’d stuck in the corner is wilted and tinged brown, and the TV is playing some movie with the sound muted. No sign of your roommate, however. 

You toss your helmet and keys onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to search the fridge for a snack (that you know is not there) or perhaps some water. You bend down to peek an eye in, only to stand back up and close the thing. Then you pass over to the counter, and reach up to now peek an eye in the overhead cabinet. 

“You’re home early.”

You let out a short-but cathartic- scream, jumping as you turn around. You relax quickly. It’s only Jason, and your face changes from shocked and panicked to simply annoyed. 

The man at the other side of the room pulls his infamous red helmet from atop his face. Underneath is a classically masculine, handsome face with eyes that blend between green and blue. Black hair falls free in messy strands, accented by the one white tuft that you’ve claimed reminds you of a skunk. You tilt your head lazily in defeat. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Jason shrugs in his red hoodie and jeans, walking across the room to set the helmet on the coffee table. “Four. Any particular reason you’re home so early?” he flops himself onto the couch and kicks his feet up, crossing them tastefully next to the Red Hood helmet. 

You turn back around to continue the task of grabbing a cup from the top cabinet. “It’s been five, and I apologize for assuming I could do what I wanted in my own home.”

“If you have to ask me to stop sneaking up on you five times, you’re probably a really bad vigilante.”

“Fuck,” you mutter as you fill the cup with tap water. “That’s true.”

You turn around to face Jason. His eyes are already on you, illuminated by the blue glow from the television. They linger purely on your form for a moment, then they dip down to narrow at your armor. “Were you the one who killed that guy on the back of main?”

You furrow your brows and look up with pursed lips in thought. “Are you talking about the main diner or the main records shop?”

“Main diner on main street.”

“No, that was Azrael. This was by the records shop.” You raise the glass to your lips.

Jason snaps his fingers. “Oh, that guy. The kid?”

You nod and take another sip of the water. “He just turned eighteen, so you know. Free game. So, what do you want for dinner? Pick something good. I’m going back to the squad so I won’t be here for a few weeks.”

Jason’s brows furrow for a split second, then he perks up attentively. “You’re going back to the task force?” he repeats, though it sounds defeated and disbelieving. Distraught- is that the word you’re looking for?

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I got the letter-” you set the cup of water down and reach a hand into your pocket. Then you pull the crumpled envelope free of its confines and toss it onto the counter, “-today.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrow again. This time the movement is quick and curved and almost offended. “So, that’s it then?”

“What’s wrong, Jason?” you smirk. “Did you finally fall in love with your roommate turned friend? I always knew this day would come.”

“Uh, no?”

“Suit yourself.”

You turn back around and begin rinsing the cup out. Jason watches your back, something in his chest sinking. You weren’t his best friend. Besides living together, you weren’t really all that close. You were living a life a lot like his, running around at night as some antihero vigilante. The only difference was that you’d crossed paths with Waller and had managed to make it out of her system alive. Most antihero vigilante’s weren’t so lucky. Most of them died. But now you’re telling Jason right to his face that you’re going back. That you think you’ll only be gone a few weeks when it could just be forever. Sprayed with dark blood all over... what if it was yours?

“Actually,” Jason leans forward. His legs drop from the table and spread open, elbows resting against his knees with a hunched back. “Why don’t you pick dinner tonight?”

The glass clinks against the metal of the sink as you set it inside. Jason almost always picks dinner. Most of the time he chooses burgers or Chinese. Your apartments stove isn’t working, so eating from home really just means a BLT sandwich for the both of you. 

“Are you offering because you’re hoping I’ll choose that new steakhouse?” you smile.

“I’ll get you anything you want,” the man replies. “It’s on me.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Jason meets you on the roof of the building about an hour and a half later. You wanted to go with him, since you’d say his behavior is different from usual, but he was very adamant about you staying in. Jason even encouraged you to go ahead and pick your favorite movie to watch while he’s gone. 

When you told him you’d decided on the steakhouse option, you meant it ironically. Between the two of you, money could be described as ‘tight’. Going to a new place like that would mean saving for a while. Furthermore, you hadn’t even given him your order before Red Hood was gone. 

To his credit, looking at him now, you wouldn’t change a thing. The first bite of the food is phenomenal. The second bite is just perfect. Jason must have mind reading powers to be so aware of your taste in food- you’d thought he never noticed. 

He gets a steak, as predicted. Jason loves steak. 

Gotham looks most like itself at night, a view shared between the two of you. Two sets of legs dangle over the side of your building, both of which are clad in heavy boots and armored knees. Jason had decided to go out as his alter ego- a fact he thought he could keep from you by putting his hoodie under his leather jacket. 

“I saw you put your helmet by the door,” you tell him. “I know what’s under that sweatshirt.”

“No you didn’t,” is all he says back. 

The wind tickles the back of your neck. It ripples through the air in lazy waves, making Jason’s hair ruffle. The white skunk streak disappears and reappears between the darker-than-midnight-sky strands. Behind Jason, the moon is full and lonely. Its only company is the two of you. 

“Oh my god,” you stuff your mouth. “This is so good.”

“Hm,” Jason hums in agreement, stabbing his steak once again with a fork in his black to-go box. It’s the next movement of his shoulder that catches your eye. 

“Jason, is that cocaine, or powder donut dust?” 

Jason glances over at you. 

Your eyes linger on the white splotch of something in the wrinkles of red fabric. “Because I asked you not to eat them since there’s only two left.”

Your face slowly falls to one of horror as Jason stays still. With a face of steel, he finally says, “It’s cocaine then.”

“Then?”

“Look what I got you.”

Jason sets his box to the ledge beside him and leans down. 

“Worst subject change ever.” You take an angry bite of your meal in an attempt to both silence yourself and to make you feel better. Unfortunately as you pull away from the bite, crumbs attach themselves to your chest plate and stick to your fingers. “Crap. Jason, your dumb food is getting shit all over my stuff!”

When you look over, Jason’s orbs are already on you. His eyes pierce yours, almost unintentionally daring them to look away. The skunk strands glow this close. He holds two things in his hands. The first is a small, brown pot you could balance in the palm of your hand, filled with miniature yellow and red flowers. Scarlet tulips, golden sunflowers, and blonde alstroemerias. In the other hand is a Blu-ray copy of your favorite film. 

“Oh,” is all you can muster out. 

When was the last time the two of you had actually exchanged gifts? You weren’t lovers, or best friends. You were just friends. It had to have been last Christmas, when you had gotten him a TV subscription for South Park and a pair of socks. Jason had gifted you a new bedframe that he later helped you put together. 

A big smile reaches your eyes and makes your cheeks sore. “I haven’t been able to find this anywhere,” you say, taking the movie from his fingers. Your voice comes out pure and genuine. “Thank you.” Your smile grows even larger when you cup the pot of flowers with both hands. 

“All of the flower shops were closed,” Jason explains. “Those are plastic. They won’t die anytime soon.”

At that moment, you swear you could’ve kissed him. He’s looking at you like this is all nothing, like he didn’t just drop big money on dinner and flowers for you. Jason knew what food you wanted before you did. He knew your favorite movie when you can’t even remember saying a thing about it. When had any other man or woman been so thoughtful? So romantic? So caring?

You glance down to the film in your lap. “I didn’t think you payed attention this well.”

Jason’s brow quirks upwards. Something flashes in his eyes as he adjusts his position, seven stories up from the ground. “What kind of roomie would I be if I didn’t?” he asks. Something tells you there’s a shyness blooming in that broad chest of his. Jason’s eyes flit downward to the blood on you, before his head dips back upwards to lock a stare with you once more. “You smell nice,” he states.

You look up at him simply. You know your eyes are filled with pure adoration, and that it’s showing all over your face, but you don’t care. Your red hooded, drug pedaling, bat wrangling, gun toting equal roommate is your favorite person in all of Gotham at this exact moment. 

Behind Jason, a small bird flits overhead with a flash of crimson. “Hey, look,” you pat Jason’s shoulder. His eyes follow yours until they land on the floor of the roof behind you. “I think it’s a robin.”

“I know that bird,” Jason scowls. “That’s the son of the bitch that keeps waking me up in the morning.”

“Hm?”

You watch as Jason swings his legs over the side and pushes himself from the ledge. One hand reaches into the back of his pants while the other searches his leather jacket pocket for something. After a few seconds, he produces both a clip of ammo and a gun, which connect with a click. 

“Ah!” you yelp, placing both the flowers and movie on the brick before copying your friends actions and standing on the roof. Jason hasn’t shot yet, but the gun in his hand is aimed right at the little birdie. He’s got a clean shot. His face remains neutral and unmoving as you take your place beside him. 

It’s a full minute, and the robin is still alive and intact. He nibbles on a little crumb of bread. “He looks happy,” you think out loud. The air of Gotham goes quiet up on that roof, despite the distant sirens, music, and people throughout the city. “Are you gonna shoot?”

Jason’s finger lingers over the trigger. Even the slightest of a squeeze would set the weapon off at this point. The balls of your feet move to and froe, anticipating the bang you’re so familiar with. But then Jason lowers the gun completely, and the robin flies away at the movement. “Nah. He’ll feel the pain I dish out in the morning.”

“Don’t be sad,” you nudge Jason. “He’ll be back at six AM tomorrow to wake you up.” You turn to return to your beckoning food on the ledge. “Thanks for all this, anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” you hear Jason respond. “Hey Y/N?”

Jason watches you spin until you’re completely facing him. He can see the blood again. How it’s completely standing out against the darkness of your outfit. You look powerful, yeah. And you look like the antihero you’re labeled as. But all Jason sees is a corpse of a... of a friend. “Yeah?”

“You’re sure about this Waller thing?”

“Yeah?” you reply, as if it were obvious. The stain on you is so haunting it’s easy to think otherwise. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. It’ll only be a few weeks. I’ll be back before you know it. Then I can show you this sick ass movie.”

Then you go back to walking towards the ledge to retake your seat. But Jason remains standing. He watches as you, the person he thinks of naked so often, get comfortable, your back facing him. And, despite your word, Jason has the sinking feeling that some Suicide Squad mission isn’t the only place Amanda Waller will send you to. 

This time, Amanda Waller will send you to your grave.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This was supposed to be out on August 16th, for Jason’s birthday. But the concept came to me too late and I spent too long on it. Anyway, here’s some symbolism for ya.

Tulips symbolize unconditional love. Sunflowers symbolize adoration. Alstroemeria’s symbolize devotion. The reader describes the plant in their apartment as turning brown, suggesting it may share a similar fate as the reader as plants go brown when about to die. Robin’s symbolize optimism, a trait the reader displays towards the idea of returning to the Suicide Squad. Robin was also a former identity of Red Hood. Both of which could be why Jason decides to spare the bird. 

I’ll go back and proof read this in the morning.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet. 

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork. 

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face. 

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross. 

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it. 

Well, you love him for a lot of things. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.” 

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.” 

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.” 

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around. 

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.” 

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice. 

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.” 

“Can I do anything to help?”  

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”  

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young. 

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter. 

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away. 

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either. 

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles. 

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?” 

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option. 

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart. 

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer. 

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.  

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —” 

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.” 

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face. 

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness. 

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish. 

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.” 

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully. 

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?” 

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.  

“Except they’re babies,” you add. 

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

You swallow hard. “For what?” 

“Being honest.” 

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.” 

“Yeah. It really is.” 

He’s quiet again. 

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this. 

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here. 

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real. 

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.    

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe. 

You’re asleep before the next commercial break. 

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why. 

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.” 

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.” 

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.” 

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now. 

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up. 

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence. 

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black. 

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it. 

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator. 

This is crossing a line, and you both know it. 

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.  

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes.”  

Maybe you’re both trembling. 

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel. 

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.” 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

More Criminal Minds fic is here. 

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 10: One of those long-sleeved dresses

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: The pressure is on now that the government is negotiating with Escobar. The team decides to take the edge off, but when it comes to it, Javier can’t keep calm.

Warnings: swearing, angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, nudity, mentions of pregnancy symptoms, alcohol

Masterlist

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A/n: Hello sweethearts! My sincere apologies for going MIA, I had a really rough week with tonnes of deadlines, but accept this 6k plus chapter! Let me know what you think. Lots of love!

“He did what now?”, Connie questioned, brow quirked in amusement as she sipped on her wine.

You cackled along with her, fingers playing with the stem of a wine glass, which was filled with orange juice. “I’m serious, he’s surrendering his key this weekend!”

“Well would you look at that, Javier Peña settling down huh?”, she smiled, clinking her glass to yours, “I don’t know how, but you did it.”

“I’ll cheers to that, sister”, you gloated, the smile on your face just getting bigger and bigger as the night went on.

The boys were out together, leaving you and Connie alone with the baby. Olivia had been sound asleep for about an hour now and as soon as that baby monitor didn’t detect any fussy noises, it was go-time. How she got the drinks out that fast, you hadn’t a clue, but you weren’t complaining when she got out the chips as well. Seeing how you were back to work and she had a kid to take care of, you hadn’t seen one another a lot this week, but tonight you were just hanging out, catching up.

“How’s the clinic been?”

She sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch. “Sometimes I wish you would just quit and join me already. I swear they only speak in Spanish to spite me.”

You huffed out a laugh, only laughing harder as the two of you locked eyes. It was one of those moments that didn’t make sense, but was hilarious nonetheless. You clutched your stomach as a cramp threatened to come up. “Okay – okay, stop, stop, stop”, you yelped, struggling to catch your breath as you kept laughing.

Connie was wheezing at this point, doubling over as well, the rest of her red wine spilling into your lap. “Aha – shit that hurts”, she gasped, rubbing at her cheeks as they cramped up.

You took a few deep breaths, finally having stopped giggling away. In one swift motion you took the fragile glass from her hands. “Alright, alright, Murphy, you’re too drunk to keep this going.”

“Oh come oooon, it’s my house, I call last round!”, she whined, reaching for the bottle on the coffee table.

You jerked it away just in time, holding it over your head as she groaned and rolled her eyes. “Connie, I’m serious, you have a baby to take care of tomorrow, go get ready for bed.”

She pouted, dragging herself up off the couch as she slumped towards the bathroom. “You’re no fuuuun.”

Shaking your head, you walked over to the kitchen, rinsing the glasses and putting the half-empty bottle in the fridge while your friend attended to her business in the small bathroom. It was a little past midnight now, just about time for the guys to come back too, in fact they were a little late already. The three of you still had work in the morning, considering it was a Thursday night, but no-one other than you seemed to give it much thought.

Some stumbling in the general direction of the two backrooms caught your attention, drying your hands before hurrying your way over to the bathroom. Only there wasn’t anyone there. You peeked into the bedroom, seeing your friend sprawled out on top of the duvet, still fully dressed. Her husband could take care of that. She’d knocked the alarm clock over, successfully unplugging it from the wall in the process. You picked it up, putting it back into place before heading back into the kitchen. Being the good friend that you were, you filled up a glass of water and along with an aspirin, put it on her nightstand. She’d thank you in the morning.

Once back in the living room, you cleaned up the messes, stowing away the snacks in the cupboard and washing the dirty dishes in the sink. By the time you were putting everything back into its spot, clock striking past one, the door swung open. They were mid-conversation, Steve way too loud for your liking, drunk out of his mind. Well, they were married after all – you thought, thinking back of your passed out friend.

Javier seemed fine, supporting Steve as he guided him onto the couch, shooting you an annoyed glare halfway through. You rested a hand on your lower back, trying to ease the pain as you just watched the two of them, Steve’s hand grabbing towards you.

“She’s maaaad”, he noted, giving Javier a look.

You bit back a chuckle, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, instead just motioning towards the door. The other man understood, slowly nodding before throwing a balled-up blanket at his partner. “See you at the office, Murphy.”

He grabbed your coat off the hanger, opening the door as he waited for you. You pecked his cheek in passing, taking the coat from him as you put it on, the coldness in the hallway already making you shiver. “M’sorry hermosa”, he sighed slinging a warm arm around you.

“How much did you have?”, you asked, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked down to the lobby.

“About three, I’m good to drive”, he replied, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

 It was a difficult night, having to run to the bathroom every other half hour as either your bladder or stomach pestered you. Javier was sleeping soundly, his whiskey tending to have that effect. You’d hit him over the head if you didn’t love him as much as you did. The acid reflux was killing you, no matter how upright you sat. You were never touching orange juice again, you vowed, fuck that.

Javier woke up to you sitting up against the headboard, neck at an awkward angle as you softly snored. It was then he noticed the bucket by the bedside, empty, but still there as a precaution. He’d let you sleep a little longer, off to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast while he woke up fully. As he flipped his omelette you shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing your eyes as you stubbed your right into the couch.

“Motherfucker”, you exclaimed, pursing your lips in pain.

He grinned from his spot in the kitchen, winking as you flipped him an early morning bird. “Sit down before you break a leg.”

You plopped down on the chair, cradling your head in your hands out of sheer misery. You were exhausted and had an excruciating pain in your neck and back, not to mention how raw your throat felt, the acid reflux having left its mark. “Would you mind grabbing a coffee at work? I-I don’t feel particularly well.”

He put two plates on the table, sitting down next to you, resting a hand on your upper back. “Should’ve woken me up”, he mumbled, keeping hand there as he started digging in.

“Wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway. Thank you for cooking”, you smiled, starting on your own plate.

The rest of the morning was slow, Javier proving to be very helpful as he rinsed your hair for you. There was nothing sexual about it, just simply wanting to ease things for you. You’d been okay for most of the week, morning sickness seemingly gone, but last night’s shenanigans got you good. On top of that your jeans didn’t button, stomach starting to protrude a bit more in your ninth week. Whether it was the exhaustion, annoyance or a culmination of everything at this point, you didn’t know, but you broke down into tears.

“Corazón?”, he asked, barging into the room, cupping your face in both hands. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I-I don’t know really, just my jeans don’t fit and – and”, you couldn’t speak anymore, just crying it out, keening into his touch as his thumbs swiped the salty tears away.

He let go with one hand, bringing it down to the denim, softly inching it down your legs. “Weather’s nice enough today, why don’t you wear one of those long-sleeved dresses? Casual Friday was still a thing last time I checked.”

You huffed out a breathy laugh, hiding your face in the safety of his shoulder. “God Javi, I’m such a mess. Are you sure you wanna move in with this?”, you asked half-joking.

“Stop that”, he groaned, lifting your chin to tangle his lips with yours. “You are the most gorgeous, smart, funny, beautiful, passionate and sexy woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Now put on that cute dress or I will throw you onto that bed and make sure you know just how riled up you get me.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, smiling as you did so, stepping out of your jeans before tiptoeing over to your wardrobe. He watched you as you slipped on the dress, fishing a pair of tights from your bottom drawer. You sat on the edge of the bed, rolling up the tights before slipping a first leg onto your foot, carefully hoisting them up, being mindful not to rip them with your longer nails.

In a passing motion, Javier vowed to rip them off of you later that same day.

 In preparation of new measures, you had to sit through another couple meetings and to say they were boring, would’ve been an understatement. You and Javier sat close to one another, Steve sat on the chair between the two of you. He’d noticed you were struggling to keep up, eyes drooping as the search block just went on and on. After about an hour, a break was announced, which was much-needed. Everyone got up as you remained seated, not entirely sure of what was happening, attention span completely missing.

Steve got up as well, leaving the room to fetch some caffeinated drinks for the three of you. But Javi stayed put, scooting closer as he cautiously touched your arm. “Hey, what’s going on?”, he hovered, spinning your chair around to face him.

You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a loud yawn. “’M just sleepy.”

“I know baby, couple more hours. Why don’t you take the couch in the office during lunch?”, he suggested, leaning back in his own chair.

“Hmm, wouldn’t be fair to the two of you, really”, you sighed, standing up to stretch your legs.

He stood as well, bringing you in closer to capture your lips in short-lived kiss. “Go walk around the office for a bit, it’ll wake you up. Steve’s bringing you some of that tea.”

“Thank you Javi, you’re a hero”, you praised, dragging him down for another kiss. “Be back in ten.”

You meandered your way into the restrooms, finishing up at the sink, dunking your tingling hands under the cold water. Once dry you put your cold hands up against your neck, hoping that the temperature shock would help you out of your drowsy state. It did to a certain extent, the icy cold feel of your fingers on your warm skin making you shiver a bit.

Fuck – you craved that sweet kickstart of coffee, but even just passing by the small kitchenette, the odour was too pungent, nearly making you wretch. You nose scrunched up in revulsion, you quickened your pace, hoping to get away before any nausea could settle in. It was then you felt the familiar hot liquid tickling down your chest, letting out a yelp as it scorched your tender skin.

“Shit – are you alright ma’am?”, an unfamiliar voice sounded.

You peeled the fabric of your dress away from you, to relieve some of the heat. “That’s gonna stain”, you joked, trying to divert your attention from the burn on your skin.

“At least it’s a memorable introduction”, he chuckled, dipping his head into the kitchenette to grab a hold of the tissue box. “Stechner, Bill, I’m CIA.”

You pulled a set of tissues from the box, stuffing these between your body and dress, trying to alleviate the two, creating somewhat of a barrier. As you dabbed away you told him your name, which resulted in a raised brow. “Am I wanted or something?”, you quipped, trying to rub some of the stains out of the fabric.

“You’re partnered with Murphy and Peña, are you not?”

“That I am, speaking of which, I have a briefing to rush to”, you laughed awkwardly, the look he was giving you nothing short of unnerving.

He gave you a smirk. “I do hope we run into one another again, ma’am.”

You shivered at the comment, hastily making your way back to the conference room. They’d already picked up again, conversation in full-swing as you cracked the door open, wordlessly retaking your seat. You got some looks, no doubt because of the huge stain on your front and wide-eyes.

You certainly didn’t feel sleepy anymore. The feeling now overtaken by one of discomfort and unease as your clothes clung to you, the tissues already soaked through. Steve handed you a cup of green tea, face contorting in confusion. You made a gesture of dismissal, it clearly not being the place and time for an explanation. But the meeting was cut short as Noonan was whisked away by her assistant, clearly a matter of urgency, if not emergency.

The two men directed their attention in your direction, tilting their heads almost synchronically. “Who the fuck is Stechner and why does he hate both of you”, you demanded, clearly not amused.

“Stechner? Oh that’s all Javi. Ya see, your sweet menace of a boyfriend has had some communistic tendencies in the past”, the blonde taunted.

“Murphy. Watch your mouth”, Javier warned, throwing his friend a death-glare.

Your mouth fell open in shock and something along the lines of amusement. “You slept with a communist?”

Steve and you shared a glance, both sputtering out a string of laughter as Javier just sat there, looking up at the ceiling. “That was years ago. Now cut your bullshit, both of you. Stechner’s just an entitled asshole.”

The two of you calmed down, catching your breath as Javier grew steadily more annoyed, giving you an angry glare. “Oh come on, at least let me laugh about your hook-ups!”

Murphy clapped Javi on his back, mumbling about getting back to work as he exited the room, leaving the two of you alone once again.

“Is that why you wanna get out of that apartment, get rid of the evidence?”, you continued mocking him.

He took a few strides towards you, placing a hand on the wall beside you, towering over you. With the proximity you could feel the soft tickle of his huffs on your lips as you stared up at him. “I’m warning you, hermosa, you don’t want to go there.”

Something about his tone made it difficult for you to determine whether he was being genuine or not. For fear of aggravating him, you decided to shut up and not press on it anymore. “Lo siento cielo”, you croaked out suddenly feeling very self-aware as he brought up his other hand to rest on the opposite side of your face.

He looked you over, gaze lingering on your dress. “Mi corazón, ¿te hizo daño?“ (My heart, did he hurt you?)

Words didn’t come to you, mind overtaken by his cologne and frankly how tempting his lips looked right about now. He cleared his throat, making your eyes dart upwards. “Yeah, yeah – I mean no! No! I’m fine.”

His lips were slightly parted as he indulged in the desperate look you gave him, fingertips softly stroking your neck. “Should probably change out of that dress”, he muttered, lips ghosting over yours, “unless you need some help.”

You couldn’t help yourself as you threw yourself against him, lips painfully colliding with his in a bruising kiss. His hands found themselves on your hips, drifting towards the curve of your behind. “If you don’t stop now we’re gonna get in a lot of trouble”, you cautioned, supressing a moan as his fingers squeezed your ass.

“Cierto.. pero quítate ese vestido, estás empapada”, he groans, slipping his hands under the skirt. (True.. but you need to take that dress off, it’s soaking wet.)

You nodded fervently, pushing your hips into his, panting: “Supply closet, spare t-shirts.”

With your hand held in his, he hauled you towards said closet, making sure to be quick, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. It had to be a quickie, unless you wanted the whole office to know. So you hastily slipped the dress over your head and Javi ripped your tights down, leaving a run or four in your hose. He forcefully shoved his trousers down his hips, taking himself out of his boxers.

You sat on top of some plastic bins filled with spare supplies, legs spread as he moved to stand in between them. There was no time to be gentle, only to take the edge off. He had to lean over a bit, notching himself at your entrance before slowly pushing, bottoming out. You let out a breathy whimper, which resulted in one of his palms clasping over your mouth. His strokes grew more and more aggressive, the need to be closer to you spurring him on even more. The muffled noises you made were enticing to him, almost as if you were begging him to keep going, show you just who was to be in charge. And so he did. His pace was on the verge of brutal as he drilled into you, the metal racks behind you squeaking and rocking along in rhythm with his tempo. When you head tipped backwards and your eyes closed he knew you were close. He moved his hand to replace it with his mouth, swallowing down the sweet, filthy sounds as you hit your peak, closing your legs around him, locking him into place as he came. His lips left yours with an audible sigh, his forehead resting on your collarbone as he caught his breath.

The two of you cleaned up in the small space, stealing kisses left and right. With every sweep of his calloused fingers across your bare thighs you felt your heart flutter. But eventually, after he found you a pair of joggers that wouldn’t fall off and a t-shirt that wouldn’t be too tight you got dressed.

“How’s it look? Everything you ever hoped for?”, you joked, showing of the baggy, nonchalant outfit.

He pulled you flush against his chest, smirking before embracing you. “Muy hermosa, corazón. You head out first, I’ll bring some lunch.”

With one last peck you left the closet, trying to act as normal as possible with your ripped tights and stained dress under your arm. The post-coital lethargy mixed in with the lack of sleep soon had you struggling to stay awake again. As soon as you plopped down in your rigid desk chair you felt the familiar heaviness settle in your limbs.

“Am I really that boring?”, Steve quipped, not looking up from whatever he was reading.

You straightened up a bit, rolling your shoulders. “Sorry Murph, didn’t really sleep last night.”

“I noticed you looking a little green earlier. Take the couch, I’ll move the boxes so you can lay down”, he offered, already getting up out of his chair.

“It’s okay really, I’ll just get another cup of tea”, you ushered, knowing fully well you were expected to type a whole report by the end of the day based off of someone else’s notes.

Steve walked over to your desk, snatching the notepad out of your hands. “You’re pregnant for God’s sake, go lay down or I’ll have Noonan send you home.”

After some more bickering you’d agreed to switch tasks and that you would be reading up on previous reports and strategy proposals while he’d type the report for you. But after barely three pages your eyes just shut on their own. When Javier came back about twenty minutes later, the folder, still clutched in your hands, laid on your chest, softly rising and falling. He nodded towards his partner, gesturing for him to come grab his lunch. Meanwhile Javier sat down on the end of your couch where your feet laid, carefully placing them in his lap.

“What the fuck do you do to her?”, Steve asked jokingly.

Javier took his lunch out of the plastic bag, replying without looking up: “I dick her down.” Later he added a quiet: “like you’re supposed to.”

When by the end of lunchbreak you were still out, Javier decided to stay put. With your legs resting in his lap he grabbed a hold of the folder on your chest, starting to intently read it. It was in that moment that Steve pulled the old polaroid camera from the bottom drawer, snapping a sneaky picture as the two of you just sat there, somehow entangled with one another wherever you were.

He put the picture in his top drawer, not wanting to interrupt your little moment as Javier rubbed small circles on your ankle, sunken in thought. Today would be the deciding day, and everyone was anxiously awaiting the government’s next move. Though they all knew in the back of their heads, that no matter the decision, it wouldn’t change shit.

It was just a little past one when the news got delivered, some fellow agent sticking their head in to tell them: Escobar’s deal was accepted. La Catedral would become a reality. Javier flung the files onto the ground, tipping his head back as he heaved a disappointed sigh. All those years of chasing, murder and devastating guilt just for Escobar to get away once again.

Steve took note of his partner’s annoyance and never related more. “We’ll get him eventually. For now, we take out the smaller guys. He might’ve won this one, but the fight ain’t over yet Peña.”

Javier rubbed his chin, the other hand still resting on your ankles as he tried to keep his cool. He just couldn’t stop thinking about everything he’d done, seeing the faces of those damn informants flash before his eyes with every blink. The shots he’d fired rang in his ears, making him gnash his teeth. His fingers wrapped around your leg in a bruising grip, only getting more and more forceful. You jolted awake, drawing for a weapon on your belt that wasn’t there, panting as you locked eyes with him. He promptly released his hold of your leg, instead moving to take a hold of your shoulders, steadying you.

“What happened?”, you asked, the scattered papers on the ground enough of an indication for you to know that there was something off.

His lips were pursed together in a thin line, eyes avoiding yours as you got up off the couch. “They agreed”, Steve explained.

Your mouth hung open a bit as you looked at your friend, crossing your arms in front of you as you gave an exasperated huff. “Of course they fucking did.”

 The two of you went home early that day, the car ride uncomfortably silent. You’d noticed the sheer rage and resentment in the way he walked. Without a word you’d taken the keys from him, climbing into the driver’s seat. He looked out of the window the entire time, not bothering to look at the road, or you for that matter. Whatever was happening in that brain of his had a vice grip on him and you weren’t sure if he’d let you help him out.

“Do you want to get some take-out?”

He whipped his head around to face you, noting the way your fingers flexed against the leather of the steering wheel. “What now?”

“F-for dinner. Do you want take-out?”, you stuttered, feeling small under his burning gaze.

A muttered “whatever” was all you were given, his eyes once again trained on the world outside of his window.

Not wanting to elongate the duration of the drive any more, you decided against it, knowing that you had some things left in the fridge. The walk up to your apartment was equally awkward and tense. But when his key didn’t immediately turn in the lock and he banged a fist against the wall, you knew what kind of a night it would be. You gently took the piece of metal from his hand, calmly unlocking the door before letting him in.

“Javi, baby, why don’t you grab a shower while I get dinner started?”, you suggested, setting down your bag by the door.

He kicked his shoes off, humming an agreement before shuffling off towards the bed- and bathroom. When you heard the shower turn on, you felt like you could finally breathe again. You’d seen him angry before, especially when dealing with sicarios first hand, but here, in private – in the comfort of the apartment, it was somewhat unsettling. You got out of the cupboards what you needed, and started washing some veggies while turning the tv on.

When he emerged from the bedroom, loose t-shirt and jeans, damp hair, you gave him a small smile. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple on his way to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer. “You smell nice”, you cooed, stepping closer to him as you reached for the glass of water.

“You’d hope so after using all of that bodywash bullshit”, he grumped.

“I’ve been reading up on those pamphlets the doctor gave me”, you started, turning your head towards him, “and it says the baby is about the size of cherry now.”

He gave you a look, shrugging his shoulders before walking off with his plate. “Not really in the mood for baby-talk.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Anything you’d like to talk about?”, you tried, sitting down on the chair across from his.

He shoved a large bite into his mouth, hunching over a bit. “Nothing.”

You stopped trying after that, just finished your plate and got started on the dishes. Javier brought you his plate and went to have a seat on the couch. You rolled your eyes, scoffing softly, clearly not amused with his antics. I he wanted to be like this about it, then you weren’t going to stick around for it. So when all of the dishes were put away, you headed towards the bedroom, not bothering to talk to him.

Stepping into the bathroom, you locked the door, putting his soaked towels in the hamper. As you cleaned up the water on the floor, you ran a bath, desperately wanting to assuage your aching spine. You wanted to talk to him about, but knew better. If he wanted to talk he’d come to you about it – right? Or was he pulling some reverse psychology shenanigans, really just wanting you to talk to him? Your head was spinning by the time you lowered yourself into the warm water, a pleasurable whine leaving your lips at the contact.

Once the water got cold you got out, wrapping yourself in the fluffy towels you laid out before slipping into some softer pyjamas. You got ready for bed, seeing how you were still exhausted and treated yourself to the “nice-smelling-expensive lotion” for once. By the time you stepped into the bedroom again, door still slightly ajar, Javier was still in the living room. Seeing how it was not even seven yet, you concluded that it would be too early to go to bed and that you could catch up on some housework first. So you emptied the hamper and headed into the kitchen, basket under your arm, trying to get to the laundry room.

Javier looked up from where he laid on the couch. He was on his fifth beer by now, but craved something stronger. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, his need for relief overwhelming at that point. His fingers trembled as he went to light it, closing his eyes in relief as the nicotine hit the back of his throat.

You shut the washer’s door, punching in the right controls before heading back into the kitchen. As you walked into the living space again, you noticed the plumes of smoke trickling upwards. With your hands on your hips you cleared your throat, successfully capturing his attention. “Thought we had an agreement on those?”

“It’s just one”, he groaned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Take it outside then, you have a damn sunroof, balcony and shared terrace, plenty of options”, you tutted, not putting up with his attitude.

He turned around to look at you, raising a brow at you. “Will you stop bitching already? It’s just a cigarette.”

“In case you forgot, pendejo, I’m still pregnant”, you retorted, marching over to grab a hold of the pack.

He stood up, burning cigarette pursed between his lips. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You yanked the balcony door open, throwing the pack over the railing. “You want your precious smokes, well go fucking get them.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”, he sneered, stepping out onto the balcony.

“I think it’s better if you go home tonight”, you said in a hushed tone.

He gave you an offended look, the smoke lingering in his breath as it fanned across your face. “Over a cigarette?”

“If you don’t want to open up to me then I can’t help you”, you explained, turning away from him.

His form towered over you as he stepped closer, chests nearly touching, a stern hand on your elbow. “Open up to you? And when exactly were you ever open with me? Because last time I checked I’m not the one signing a settlement because it’s convenient.”

“Let go of me”, you ordered, glaring into his eyes.

“You’re being unreasonable”, he pressed, grip on your arm tightening.

You tried to wiggle out, whining at the intensity of his grasp. “You’re scaring me Javier, let go”, you pleaded, voice shakier than before.

“You’re gonna listen first. You’ve been down here for two years and that’s barely anything. Compared to Murphy, to me, you’ve had it easy. Let me catch you up to speed, you haven’t killed anyone, you haven’t washed someone else’s blood off of your hands. You haven’t lost anything or anyone here. You, little miss perfect, have nothing to whine about. So when your boyfriend comes home after a rough day, let him have a drink and cigarette and maybe offer to suck him off.”

Tears had started forming in your eyes. This wasn’t the Javi you knew, even at his worst, this wasn’t the agent you were familiar with. It reminded you of that night where he showed up at your apartment, before he knew you were pregnant, when he fucked you and left. It made you feel sick.

“Who are you?”, you spat, untangling yourself from him. “I’m here for you every day, loving you, hoping to make you happy and this is what I get from you?” He didn’t say anything to that, just faced away from you. “If that is how you want things to be, then you need to leave.” Your voice started faltering, the emotion taking over. “I’ll be in my bedroom, if you want to talk whatever this out, then I suggest you join me and think about what the hell you need to say very carefully.”

His head hung low as you disappeared into the apartment, the sound of your muffled sobs stinging in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that harsh or condescending. He knew perfectly well what you had been going through both in and out of the field. Truth is, he was completely out of line and felt like a complete dick. It was a defence mechanism he had yet to get rid of. Javier wasn’t used to somebody helping him just because, that’s not the way things went here in Bogotá. There was always a catch, always something, whether it was money, power or information, there was always something.

You were his girlfriend, he knew that, he just wasn’t used to it yet. You telling him to leave the apartment – your apartment at that had angered him even more and made his reaction all the worse. He tried to take those vital deep breaths, trying to figure out a way to make it up to you. He remembered you complaining that your favourite ice cream flavour was always out in the store. So he got inside, put on his jacket and shoes and headed for the shops.

When you heard the door close, you cried into your pillow. It felt like a middle finger to the face and for a moment you thought that this could be it. This could be the time that he realised he wasn’t up for this. The following twenty minutes were the most painful ones yet. You thought you were hallucinating when the door cracked open again, shuffling out of your bedroom to see Javier standing in the doorway, plastic bag in hand.

“I – I uh, I went to get some stuff, so we can talk”, he stumbled, toeing his shoes off.

You cracked a small smile at him, beckoning for him to sit down on the couch with you. He grabbed some spoons from the kitchen before joining you. As he sat down you grabbed the tub of ice cream from the bag, eyes going wide. “Oh my God, how did you-“

“I asked them to set some aside last time we went”, he confessed, cracking the lid off for you. “Seemed like a good truce.”

You sunk the first spoon into your mouth, eyes rolling back as you moaned at the taste. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

He chuckled at the sight of you devouring the creamy goods, carefully scooting a bit closer. When you didn’t try to get away he slid an arm around you, pulling you against his chest. “Lo siento por lo de esta tarde. That was way out of line, I shouldn’t have said any of that.” (I’m sorry about earlier.)

“Shut up and try this ice cream, we’ll talk after”, you tutted, shoving a spoonful in his mouth.

The two of you ate the entire tub together, often interrupting the spoon shoving for a sweet, lingering kiss. By the time the tub was empty your legs were draped over his, head resting on one of his collarbones. He was just looking at you, tenderly caressing your cheek.

“I’ve done a lot of heinous shit just to get to Escobar.. so what happened today, it just set me off. It really shouldn’t have, I try not to let it come through when I’m with you but I slipped up.” You didn’t speak or interrupt, just let him say his piece while your softly scratched at his scalp. “I slept with those informants to get crucial information, intel that helped us a long way. But I also just slept with them to get everything out of my system. And then there was you and a month after we slept together I stopped seeing the other girls, even when they’d show up at my door. But there was this girl, a sweet girl really, that was so desperate to get out of here.. it didn’t end well and I couldn’t fucking protect her.”

“Javi, baby, look at me”, you cooed, shifting to straddle his lap. “That girl did what she thought was right, she wanted to escape. It’s not your fault, you did everything you could for her.”

He rested his head against your sternum, wrapping his arms around you to have you just that tad bit closer. “I’ve killed so many people, I’ve done so much fucked up shit.”

“Javier, you’re so much more than that. I adore you, I know you’re a good man. Good people do bad things, it’s the way things go around here. That day out in the small district, you nagging about my vest? You saved my life. And what we’ve got going on, us and this baby, it’s a good thing, something you deserve, Javier.”

He pressed a kiss to the left side of your chest, close to your heart. “You’re the one thing keeping me sane.”

“I try my best”, you chuckled.

“Stop being so amazing, I can’t take it”, he joked, kissing his way up your neck.

You grabbed a hold of his face, having him look up at you. “Javier Peña, I’m in love with you and all your quirks. But if you smoke one more cigarette in this here apartment, I will kick you out.”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @asta-lily @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​

[spencers-renaissance]

baby, you’re my new years’ eve

Summary: You and Emily are hosting a New Years’ Eve party for all of your friends, but she’s acting a little weird. You finally find out why when the clock strikes midnight.

Tags: fluff, nye fic, proposal, getting engaged, domesticity, romance, flirting, day in the life 

Pairing: Emily x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

It’s almost 10am by the time you get back from your morning errands, laden with bags and a dusting of snow decorating your coat. You shrug out of your coat and scarf, peel off your gloves, and kick off your boots as you venture further into the house you share with your girlfriend, a warm safe haven from the frozen wind outside. All the Christmas lights the two of you had put up together a few weeks ago are turned on, and the warm and happy feeling settling in your chest only intensifies when you shoulder the kitchen door open to see Emily awake and drinking a cup of coffee at the table.

“You’re up,” you smile, knowing that Emily likes a lie-in on her days off, and she damn well deserves it, too.

“You’re back,” she echoes, a matching bright smile lighting up her face. She’s still in her pyjamas, a dressing gown thrown around her shoulders, and her hair has been let down from its bun, a slight curl to it after having slept with it up. She looks absolutely beautiful, naturally.

“I am.” You walk further into the room and put your bags down on the kitchen counter, beginning to unpack them. “I picked up some stuff for the party tonight, but I also got you breakfast.” You grab a plate from the cupboard and load it up with the pastries you’d bought from the local bakery, sold to you by the baker who knows both you and Emily by name.

“Oh,” she gasps in delight. “Have I told you lately I love you?” She reaches eagerly for the plate to place it on the table before reaching around for a kiss.

“You have,” you confirm, amused, “you tell me every day, Em.”

“Because it’s true,” she nods with wide eyes through a mouthful of almond croissant.

Laughing, you grab yourself a plate and a few pastries before joining Emily at the table. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Mm, it was a bit broken,” she admits, not quite meeting your eye for some reason. “But I made up for it with a little lie-in this morning.” Emily never sleeps badly at home. She’s always said that sleeping in her own bed with you wrapped around her is the best sleeping tablet she’s ever tried, but you don’t dwell on it too much.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say sympathetically. “You could always have a nap early this afternoon. Need to be in the best shape for partying the night away.”

“Yeah, I might do,” she says, looking back up at you. “If I start to feel tired I’ll try and sleep. Anyway, how did you sleep, Y/N?”

“Like a baby,” you smile. “Woke up early so I thought I’d beat the New Years’ Eve rush to buy up the rest of the snacks. Plus, pastries for breakfast… can’t beat that.”

“You definitely can’t,” Emily says, a smudge of icing on her lip. “Thank you for doing that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, leaning over to wipe the icing off with your thumb, kissing her for good measure. “Icing,” you explain with a grin as you pull away.

“Ah,” she says knowingly, winking at you before leaning back in for another kiss. “Right, come on. Finish your breakfast and we’ll get on with the day.”

The rest of the morning is spent in the kitchen. You’d decided that as much of the food on offer at the New Years’ party the two of you had planned should be homemade as possible, which meant a fridge full of baked goods you’d already prepared but a short list of items that still needed to be made. It was a bit of an undertaking, but it kept you busy. Despite having known the rest of the BAU for years and having been fully incorporated into their family, you still get nervous before each gathering. Being surrounded by powerful, smart, successful FBI agents was always going to be intimidating, no matter how much you considered them your friends.

“Emily, please don’t stick your finger into the butter and then plunge it into the sugar,” you sigh, a little exasperated as your girlfriend shoves her greasy finger into her mouth for the third time.

“What?” she asks, pretending to be insulted. “It tastes good.”

“Yeah, it’s also not very hygienic,” you point out, rolling out the cookie dough.

“Oh, please, what’s a bit of my saliva when you kiss me everyday anyway?” she asks.

“Well, I might think that,” you reason, “but I’m not sure our guests will. Unless you’ve been running around kissing them, too?” You point your rolling pin at her accusatorily as you wait for her response.

“No!” she cries, kissing you in promise of her devotion. “I only have eyes for you, baby. By the way is it too early to have a glass of wine?”

You roll your eyes at that, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a fond laugh. “It’s 11am Emily,” you giggle. “What’s got into you this morning?”

“Nothing,” she says defensively. “I’m just… excited for the party later.”

“Hmm, okay,” you say dubiously, raising an amused eyebrow in her direction. “In that case, you get started on the samosas. Fry up the filling I prepared and roll out the pastry for me? Then all we need to do is put the chips in later on and set it all up.”

“Anything for you, baby,” she smiles, kissing your cheek before getting on with her assignment.

You work together with your ‘happy’ playlist playing over the kitchen speakers for the next hour and a bit to get all the food ready, and by the time the samosas are being fried, you’re both in desperate need of a sit down. “Right, let’s order something to eat and watch an episode or three of Parks and Rec before we need to get ready and set up, how does that sound?” Emily asks as you both begin the mammoth task of cleaning up the bombsite of a kitchen.

“I don’t know, Em, we have so much food in the fridge,” you say, worrying your lip at the decision.

“Yeah, but it’s all for the party tonight, you don’t want to eat it now,” she says, reaching for your hand and squeezing it comfortingly. “Come on, we’ll tidy up afterwards. I’ll order in some UberEats and we’ll relax for a little while. We deserve it after all this.”

“Okay,” you relent, offering her a grateful smile and letting yourself be guided to the sofa by Emily’s hand.

“You’ve done an amazing job at making all this food, sweetheart,” she says warmly, running a hand through your hair. “You should rest for a bit now so you can properly enjoy tonight, yeah?” She tucks a blanket around you and hands you the remote before she pulls out her phone to order you both some lunch.

Sandwiches eaten and two extra coffees polished off, you get started on setting up the house for the party. The leftover decorations from Christmas make the house bright and pretty enough, so it’s fairly easy to make the house look welcoming, but you still have to sort out the food and drink, move the furniture, and put away the valuables. Not to mention getting yourselves ready.

“Everyone’s arriving at 8, right babe?” Emily calls from the kitchen as you move the coffee table to the side in the living right.

“That’s right,” you call back. “But Spencer and Penelope will probably be here early.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Emily says, walking into the living room and leaning against the doorframe as you finish pushing the table aside to make the room more accessible.

“Does this look okay?” you ask, putting your hands on your hips as you survey your living room.

“It looks great, baby,” Emily reassures you, pushing off the door and pulling you into a side hug as you both look at the decorated room. “The Christmas tree is still up which makes the whole room look lovely, and the New Year banner is nice, too. It’s absolutely perfect for what we need it to do.”

“Okay,” you agree, turning to the side to press your face into her neck, kissing her briefly before pulling away again. “Let’s tidy away the expensive stuff and then go and get ready, yeah?”

“Y/N, there are like 15 people coming and nobody’s gonna get off their tits; we don’t really need to put this stuff away,” she promises, but it’s to no avail.

“Well, I’d rather be safe. Even tipsy people can do some damage,” you point out, putting Emily’s mother’s vase in the cabinet along with a few decorations from the mantle.

“Fair enough,” she agrees, heading into the kitchen to continue tidying up after your earlier cooking adventures. You join her a moment later and the two of you work quickly to do the washing up, tidy the counter, and put the dishwasher on. You’re soon looking at a spick and span kitchen, nearly party-ready, and you smile at your girlfriend in satisfaction. “Looks amazing, doesn’t it?” she smiles back at you.

“It does indeed,” you nod. “It’s only 4. You wanna sit down for a bit before getting ready?”

“Absolutely I do,” she says. “Wanna nap with me?”

“Please,” you sigh, grabbing her hand to lead her down to your bedroom. The two of you ditch the trousers and bury under the covers, setting a timer for an hour before promptly falling asleep.

“Want me to wash your hair?” Emily asks as you both stand under the hot jet of water. Your favourite part of moving in with Emily was definitely the shower; you’d moved from a flat with a from a tiny bath and shower combo unit to a beautiful house on the outskirts of DC with a large walk-in shower and the best water pressure you’d ever experienced; it was quite the upgrade.

“Only if I get to do yours afterwards,” you grin, leaning in for a rather wet and soapy kiss.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she says, spinning you round and pouring a generous dollop of shampoo into her palm, lathering up your hair as she massages her fingers into your scalp in a delicious massage. You can’t help but lean into the touch, just as you always do with Emily, making her chuckle fondly. “Feel good?”

You just let out a happy moan in response, sighing as the water washes the shampoo away and Emily quickly applies some conditioner. “Your turn,” you say, doing the same for your girlfriend as she sighs appreciatively.

You both shave your legs and underarms quickly before finishing up in the shower and towelling off next to one another in the spacious bathroom. “Right, it’s 5.30,” you say, checking your phone while Emily wraps her hair up, “so we’ve got like… two hours, probably, until Pen and Spencer show up.”

“Plenty of time,” Emily says breezily, waving her hand in your direction as you open the bathroom window to air out the humidity.

“Still, better to be early rather than late,” you say pointedly, grabbing Emily’s hand and dragging her away from her perch by the radiator and into the bedroom.

She hums as she drops her towel and peruses her wardrobe. When she turns back around with the dress she plans on wearing, you don’t bother to hide your blatant appreciation. After all these years you’re still somehow blown away with how sexy Emily manages to be. “Naughty girl,” she gasps in mock admonishment. “We don’t have time for that. Your words not mine.”

“Life’s tough,” you sigh heavily, walking over and squeezing her ass lightly, taking great pleasure in making her jump as you pull out the dress you’d decided on earlier in the week. “What do you think?” you ask her.

“It will look absolutely gorgeous, Y/N,” she promises, kissing your cheek. She passes you your bathrobe and pulls her own on as you both head to your adjoining dressing tables to sort out your hair. “Straight or curly?”

“Hmm, straight, I think,” you reply, “you know I love your natural hair. I’m gonna go curly though, so we’ll compliment each other perfectly.”

You put on some music and get ready together in tandem, and it goes about as simply as it can when Emily’s involved. You only have three make-up brushes chucked at you and her desk isn’t a total disgrace by the time you’re finished, so you take it as a win. It’s just gone 7 by the time you’re both dressed up to the nines and ready for the party.

“You look… breathtaking,” Emily says dreamily as she drinks you in, kissing you gently so as not to smudge either of your lipsticks.

“Thanks, Em,” you say shyly. “You look absolutely beautiful, too.” She’s wearing a gorgeous full-length black dress with a deep v neck line and a slit in the right leg. She’s a vision next to your colourful outfit and bright makeup, always complementing one another in just the right ways.

“Right, well, if we both look amazing, it’s time to set out the food, isn’t it?” she asks, winking at you as she leads the way out to the kitchen, shutting and locking the door behind you to prevent any stray party guests from wandering in.

The next hour passes quickly and soon guests are spilling through the door, brightening the whole house with their chatter and laughter, getting started on the wine and party food. Emily is marginally quieter than usual, but you brush it up to her just being tired, especially when she’s roped into a conversation with Hotch and Rossi and immediately perks up.

The whole of the BAU team is here, along with your best friends and the few Couple Friends you and Emily had made over the last few years that made you both feel far too grown up and sophisticated. Your friends quickly mingle in with the rest of the guests, though, which was your biggest worry, so with that relief you let yourself relax and enjoy the party.

Spencer and Penelope snag you into a conversation, plying you with champagne and the samosas you’d made with Emily earlier until you properly let go and enjoy yourself. “Wait, Emily made these?” Spencer asks, slightly incredulous at the idea of his most chaotic friend being even somewhat capable in the kitchen.

“She was supervised, don’t worry,” you laugh, biting into one delicious samosa after another.

“I wish I could cook,” Spencer says as he accepts another one from Penelope’s proffered plate.

“Aw, I’ll teach you baby genius,” Penelope grins. “But I once watched you try and put a croissant in the toaster, so you may be a lost cause.”

“Hey, that was when I’d first joined the BAU,” Spencer protests. “It was the first time I had a salary and could afford such luxuries, you can’t blame me for not knowing what to do with it.” His defenses fall on deaf ears, though, as you and Penelope laugh loudly at his expense. “Derek will defend me,” he eventually mutters before running off to find his boyfriend.

You and Penelope chat easily for a while, introducing her to a few of your friends as you orbit around the downstairs of your house. Eventually, you cross paths with Emily again, who still looks a little tense and quiet. “Hey,” you say, catching her arm and subtly drawing her to the side. “Is everything okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, plastering on a smile you know is fake. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just enjoy the party, okay? We’ll talk later.”

You can’t really enjoy the party when the back of your mind is continually worrying about your girlfriend, but you’re able to circle around the house a few more times, chatting with all of your guests as everyone tucks into the alcohol and food. Before you know it it’s nearing midnight and Emily’s in the corner of the kitchen having a serious-looking conversation with Hotch.

Tentatively approaching, you tap Emily on the shoulder. “Everyone’s gonna watch the ball drop in the living room,” you say. “You coming?” You try and smile as encouragingly as possible, taking her soft hand in yours.

“Yeah,” she says, looking a little flustered and you can see a little sheen of sweat on her forehead, “yeah, of course, baby. Let’s go.” She hands her glass of champagne to Hotch in a sort of weird gesture that has you furrowing her eyebrows, but nevertheless she grips your hand firmly and you swan into the living room which is already housing most of the guests, everyone chatting and laughing loudly. The sight of so many people you love and adore has you smiling warmly, and you press your arm up against Emily’s, resting your head on her shoulder as the 2 minute countdown begins.

“I love you so much, you know,” you whisper, just for her to hear in the loud, excited room. “I can’t wait to spend a whole other year together. I feel so lucky to have you.”

She moves her neck slightly causing you to lift your head and you’re met with a happy, excited smile, all traces of the nervous Emily that had been swanning around the party all night disappeared. “I feel even luckier to have you, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “You have no idea.”

You both lean in for a kiss which is quickly interrupted by Derek. “Bit early, ladies,” he calls across the room, “it’s not midnight yet.” He’s got Spencer curled up under his arm on the sofa, resting comfortably next to JJ and Penelope who have also cuddled up together. Hotch and Rossi are standing by the Christmas tree rolling their eyes fondly at their agents.

Emily responds with a purposeful middle finger and a well-practiced sneer, but Derek can’t reply because soon the room fills with a swell of noise as everyone starts to count down.

Everyone cheers as the new year is rung in, but as you turn to kiss Emily, you’re instead faced with her on one knee, offering an absolutely beautiful engagement ring. You gasp loudly, gaining everyone’s attention and everyone stops their celebration as a happy, expectant hush falls on the room, the TV’s celebration the only sound.

“Y/N, I can’t express how much I love you,” Emily starts, voice confident but you can hear the undercurrent of emotion written all over it. “All I want to do for the rest of my life is be with you. Ring in each new year with you, celebrate every Christmas with you, come home from every hard case to you, eat pastry for breakfast with you. You’re all I need to be happy, and you’d make me impossibly happier if you’d do me the honour of being my wife. So, Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my God,” you reply tearfully as soon as she’s finished, tears spilling down your face as she carefully pushes the ring onto your finger and stands up to hug you. Everyone around you is clapping and cheering and celebrating your love but your whole world is shrunk down to the two of you, Emily’s hands on your lower back, her ring on your finger, the press of her body up against yours.

Eventually though, you pull away and kiss her, turning to face your guests with the happiest smile on your face. Hotch is smiling proudly and all the events of the evening slip into place, so you turn to kiss Emily on the cheek fondly. Penelope is crying, naturally, as are most of your friends and everyone crowds round in excitement, congratulating the two of you.

When you finally get a bit of space later in the night, you ask Emily where she’d kept the ring all evening.

“In my bra,” she answers, grinning widely.

“God, how did I not guess that,” you smile fondly, rolling your eyes. You kiss her anyway, though, because she’s hot and you’re very much in love.

“I’m so fucking happy you said yes,” she whispers, keeping her head pressed closely to yours.

“Did you seriously think I would ever say anything else?” you ask, surprised that Emily could possibly think you’d say no.

“Well, I obviously had a feeling,” she admits. “But you can’t help but feel fearful of the tiny probability you’re wrong.”

“Well I didn’t,” you say happily, leaning forward slightly to kiss her softly on the nose.

“No, you didn’t,” Emily replies, gripping her hand. “I seriously love you so much, Y/N.”

“And I seriously love you so much, Emily,” you grin. “I can’t wait to call you my wife, but I’m dead happy with fiancée. That will definitely suffice for now.”

The guests slowly trickle out as the hours tick on, eager to leave the newly engaged couple to themselves. Penelope and Spencer make you promise to have a catch-up brunch in the next few weeks to which you eagerly agree, and Hotch and Rossi both congratulate you like they’re both you and Emily’s dads. Derek gives you both massive hugs and JJ follows up with much gentler hugs and congratulations.

“Tidy up in the morning?” you propose, making Emily’s eyebrows shoot up; you usually insist on tidying up there and then, but she quickly understands as you start to unzip your dress and walk backwards towards the bedroom.

“Tidy up in the morning, indeed,” she agrees, running after you.

“My fiancée,” you sigh happily as you enter your cosy bedroom, pausing to kiss Emily softly.

“Your fiancée,” Emily agrees with a wide grin gracing her lips, leading you to the bed as you both start off this next exciting chapter of your lives together in the most appropriate way you can imagine.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

[bopbopstyles]

Endlessly

RATING: R/smut, maximum angst levels unlocked

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

CATEGORIES: friends to lovers

a/n: this is part two to Residue, the camping!harry fic to which i owe so much. thank you for loving my little one shot, here’s what happens next! massive s/o to @havethetimeofyourstyles​ for beta reading, @bfharry​ for helping with concepts, and @meetmeinfleetwood​ for encouragement. much love xoxo

also i’m currently uploading a series called The Only Exception - i’d love for you to give it a read!

READ PART ONE HERE

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He was gone so fast that when the door shut it was quiet, the sound defeaning in your ears. You slid down, back hitting the wood of the cabinets and the metal knobs, but you didn’t care. Your arms collapsed around your knees, tucking them into your chest, and the tears threatening to break free fell, coating your cheeks in your regret. More than anything you wished none of this had happened, that you hadn’t ever asked him who the song was about, that he had never told you it was you, they’re all about you, the words echoing in your brain. You wanted it to be like it was before, unrequited feelings that might have been confusing but never caused you to question your ability to be around Harry. They never got blurred, never reached into the category of dangerous to your heart.

And here you were, crying on your kitchen floor over the last boy you thought would ever hurt you.

or

Y/N and Harry are really good at being friends, but the something more? Not so much.

Waking up in Harry’s bed never quite got normal to you. You had slept together before the camping trip that changed everything, but not like this. Before, you never woke up naked between his sheets, his arm curled around you in a vice grip that you didn’t understand how he maintained overnight, and him, fully naked, lightly snoring on the pillow next to you. Last night he had called you at midnight on the way back from a bar with some friends you didn’t know, smashed and begging for you to come over. You made him add a stop to his Uber ride to pick you up from your apartment and the minute you’d entered the car he had his hands all over you. He had ended up with his head in your lap, your fingers running through his hair, in an attempt to get him to calm down. By the time you were at his house, he was asleep and you roused him.

You had had sex last night, albeit nothing crazy since Harry practically passed out the minute he came, sweaty chest on yours, but you let it slide. He was drunk and tired and you knew he’d make up for it in the morning. A month and a half had passed since the camping trip, and the nights when Harry called you had numbered more than the nights when he hadn’t. You called him just as much, though, so it wasn’t a one-way street. But the difference was that you knew what you were feeling.

Harry was a fucking brick wall, though.

Usually you were good at reading him—you’d known him for long enough, seen him at his most vulnerable, done just about everything together. But in the weeks since your relationship had changed, you couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Because something definitely was wrong, and you weren’t sure if it was your fault or not.

The morning after no one mentioned anything, and neither did you and Harry. Not sure what was going on, or how you wanted to handle it, you kept your distance. You didn’t touch him in any way other than as friends, no PDA, no obvious signs anything had changed. And unfortunately, it had set the tone for the weeks since then.

He had insisted that he didn’t want to tell your friends yet. At first, you were okay with it—you got to have Harry in the privacy of your homes, your moments together fully yours without any peering eyes. But then you’d go out together and you desperately wanted to dance with him, like really dance with him, and you couldn’t. You couldn’t give him a kiss outside a bar or cuddle in the taxi with your friends. And more than anything, it severely limited who you could talk to about what was going on, which meant you had all of these thoughts and fears swirling in your head and no one to talk to about.

And it wasn’t like you were unhappy. Harry was one of your best friends and the sex was fucking insane; you had never had someone touch you like he did. But you also knew that you weren’t your happiest. You wanted more and you didn’t know how to ask for it without ruining the shreds you did have with him. You didn’t know if you could go back to what it was before, the friendship and none of the intimacy you now shared. The thought of him being with someone else made you want to vomit, the idea of someone else’s hands on his skin made your blood boil.

But he was a brick wall and you didn’t know what he wanted. So you stayed in the dark, knowing that at some point things would probably end but you tried not to think about that time.

“Y/N?” You turned your head from where you had been staring at the ceiling, your thoughts moving a mile a minute. “Fuck, my head. I think I drank too much last night.”

“No shit Sherlock.” You sat up when he pulled his arm from your side, his hands running down his face to try and wake himself up.

“Wait--come back, missy.” He pressed a line of kisses up your spine, his favorite thing to do to get you back into bed with him for some shenanigans.

You looked at him. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

He furrowed his brow at you. “Called ya. Picked you up. We came back here, had sex.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Of course he didn’t. “You fell asleep on me literally the second after you came.”

“What?”

“I’m serious.” You pull away, pushing off the mattress. After that you just wanted to start the day, you didn’t have the energy for this.

He grabs your hand though, forcing you to turn and look at him. “I’m sorry I was too drunk to make you come, baby. Can we have a re-do?”

It would be so easy to say yes to him--he was damn hard to refuse when he gave you his puppy eyes. But you really didn’t want to give into him that easy. He should be forced to wait after last night. “Not really in the mood,” you tell him, holding fast. “And you smell like beer.”

“Y/N….” He said, drawing out your name, but you just shook your head.

“I’ll start some coffee, you go shower.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, nodding at you. “Kissy?”

It was moments like these that him not being all the way yours hurt the most. When he acted like he was yours, that you were his. Because you were his, much to your disappointment. You pecked a kiss to his lips, giggling against your will when he tugged you back for another. “Harry…”

“Fine!” Finally he released your neck from his hand and you got out of bed, pulling on a shirt of his from his drawers. He grabbed at your ass, barely visible under the edge of his shirt, and you swatted at him. He was so fucking cheeky in the morning.

In the kitchen, you started a pot of coffee, playing BBC1 on your phone as you watched the coffee drop into the pot. You could hear Harry’s shower upstairs, the subtle humming of a Top 40s song he’d been obsessed with lately. It was moments like this where the line between what you were doing (what were you even doing?) and dating blurred, and you didn’t really know how to clarify it.

You leaned against the counter, your cup in your hands, and stared at the countertop across from you. Last week he had fucked you on it, both tipsy after a night out, your clothes littered on the ground. You had always had memories in his house, but now they were a different sort. Somehow, in the past month and a half, the memories of his house were associated with places you’d had sex, places you had cuddled and kissed, places your clothes had laid. And the prospect of coming into his house and still having to see them but not being able to act on your feelings was one you didn’t like considering.

“Where’s mine?” You looked up and Harry stood in the doorway, shirtless except for his sweats. You nodded to the cup next to you and he smiled. His arms boxed around your body as he reached for it, leaning against the counter with his hip to look at you. “You okay?”

No. “Yeah, fine. I should go—got some errands to run today.”

“Oh. Uh, okay. Want a ride?”

You shook your head. Any more time with Harry would have you further in your head than you really wanted. “I’ll Uber. We’re going to that party at Nick’s tonight, right?”

He blew on his coffee, always scared of it singing his tongue. “Yeah. I can come grab you if you want.”

“No, I’ll take the tube. Thanks though.”

You knew he could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t push it thankfully. He just nodded and let you gather your belongings, waiting for you in the hall to let you out. He kissed your cheek and you reciprocated, stepping out into the warm summer air without a second glance.

//

The party was in full swing when you arrived, eyes panning immediately for Harry. Most of the other people coming were Nick’s coworkers, people you had met but didn’t exactly know, but Harry was your safety blanket. He was also always painfully on time, hating the idea of someone waiting for him and didn’t mind being the first to arrive. Knowing him, he was probably 15 minutes early.

You found him in the kitchen making a gin and tonic, speaking to who you thought was another DJ at Radio 1, Nick nowhere to be found but you weren’t surprised. He looked good, as usual, a white button up tucked into flared black pants, a pair of sunnies pushed up on his head and his rings glinting in the kitchen light. You painted his fingernails a few days ago a rosy pink and the color was still on, albeit a bit chipped from playing guitar and cooking, knowing him.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you, the reaction turning your gut. You were still feeling weird after this morning, a sense of uneasiness lingering despite all you had tried (a bath, a cry with your friend Jordan, a bowl of pasta). “Y/N!” You made your way over, accepting the arm he offered around your shoulders, and the drink he shoved into your hand. The gin and tonic he had just made—your favorite, something he knew well. “Y/N, this is Miles. Works with Nick. This is Nick and I’s friend Y/N.”

The word friend jolted you for a second, although it wasn’t anything new. He’d been introducing you like this for years, and had continued in the past month. There wasn’t ever a discussion about it—the consistency in what he called you. It just…never changed, and you didn’t bring it up. “Nice to meet you.”

You sat in the conversation for a bit longer, engaging where required to seem like an attentive member of the chat, but in reality your mind was focused on where Harry was brushing his fingers up and down your back, his hand having drifted from your shoulder. He did this sometimes—touched you when he knew no one could see, the two of your backs facing a wall. Usually it had your skin on fire, but tonight you didn’t want him touching you after calling you his friend. “Have you seen Nick?” You asked him, pulling away just enough so his hand dropped away.

“Uh, yeah, out in the back.” His gaze drifted over your face, trying to understand the change in pace, but you didn’t give him the time to analyze it.

You said goodbye to Miles and walk towards the back, pulling open the sliding door leading to the back patio. Nick was holding court, as usual, to a circle of people who were all laughing hysterically. Yet again, as usual. It was exactly what you wanted—something to entertain your mind, maybe even pick up your night. You had been thinking over last night constantly and you couldn’t put your finger on what it was that pissed you off so much, but it had and you couldn’t shake it. Slipping in between Annie Mac and another one of Nick’s friends who you didn’t know, Nick’s eyes caught yours and smiled, not pausing in his story he was telling about interviewing some celebrity.

Annie turned to you and asked about work, which you happily answered, enjoying having something to chat about. Eventually, Nick finished his story and the group dispersed, him making his way over to you and Annie.

“Did you find Haz?” He asked, giving you a peck on the temple like he always did. “He was lookin’ for you earlier.”

You nodded, lifting your glass. “Present from the bartender. He was talking to your coworker—Miles?”

“I’m going to go say hi,” Annie said, squeezing your elbow. “Talk later?”

“Love to,” you replied before she walked away, leaving you and Nick alone.

Nick gave you a hard look, one you knew well—it meant he was about to give you some truth, free of cost. “What’s wrong, Y/N? Look pissed off at someone.”

And he was correct, unsurprisingly. “I’m fine. Thanks though.” It’s not like you could tell Nick—he was specifically one of the people Harry and you hadn’t told.

“Bullshit. What’d Harry do?”

You twirled the cup in your palm. He always saw through your shit, every single time. “How’d you know it was Harry?”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “The first thing he asked when he got here was where you were and then watched the door like a hawk. Could tell somethin’ was up.”

“He was a dick,” you said, hoping that would cover the bases. It was the general idea, without specifics.

“Not surprised. What happened, love?”

Well you couldn’t exactly tell him that the two of you had sex and then Harry fell asleep before you came, forgot about it in the morning, and made you feel like shit without even realizing it, could you? “It’s nothing. Just need some time to stew in it.”

Nick eyed you, probably deciding whether to push or not. “Well, I’m always here to talk, you know that. Love you both to pieces but sometimes the two of you can be so thick.”

This time it was you who was confused. “What?”

“Fuck,” he mumbled, eyes falling to the ground. “I—nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Usually Nick was one for some gossip, but it seemed this wasn’t something he wanted to dig into, even though you were intrigued by his meaning. Had Harry said something to him? Or did he actually know what was going on, but chose not to say anything. “Ok. Well I’m going to go get another—want a refill?”

“Love one,” he told you, hand to your back. “Lead the way, mi’lady.”

//

You stood in the hall, pressing Confirm on your Uber ride, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You knew who it was before you even turned around, Harry’s cologne permanently imprinted on your brain. The entire night you had tried to avoid him, not wanting to have to hear him introduce you as his friend all over again, but it seemed he had found you anyways.

“Heading out?”

You nodded and eyes fell to his lip, which he had bit slightly. “You too?”

“Was about to call a car. Want to share?”

Your was heading to your apartment, where you had a bottle of wine and a warm bath waiting for you. “I’m heading home.”

He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “I—could I come over?”

The correct answer would’ve been no. Keep the distance you’d established, let your thoughts collect and calm before you put yourself in a situation you knew wouldn’t be good. But unfortunately, you had never been good at saying no to him. “Okay,” you told him, and changed the number of seats in the car from one to two.

He fiddled with his phone as you waited, trying to talk to you but your brain was working a mile a minute, trying to figure out what you wanted to do tonight. Did you want to do anything? You supposed you could just let him sleep on the couch. But would he be offended? Was this the path to the end of your friendship? The icy distance between you was so cold you tensed when he placed his hand to your back when the car pulled up, something you knew probably bothered him. You couldn’t help your body’s reaction, though.

At least you didn’t have to keep him busy in the car ride. The Uber driver recognized Harry immediately and asked him a slew of questions, all sweet ones, and asked for an autograph for his daughter who was eight and a huge fan. You just watched in silence, the interaction one you had seen time and time again, but this time it made you annoyed—you wanted to stay mad at Harry, but he made it so hard when he did shit like this.

The lock slid shut on your door and you toed off your sandals, your bag lying on the hall table and keys in the dish, letting Harry follow behind you to the kitchen. A neutral space, one without obvious seats that would require close proximity.

“Water?” You asked him pulling down a glass for yourself before grabbing the bottle of filtered water from your fridge.

“Yeah, thanks.” He rested against the counter opposite you, shirt unbuttoned one more button than it had been at the party. You didn’t know when he had done that, but the sight of chest, the tips of the swallows, made you turn away and pay attention to the task at hand.

Suddenly, his body was behind yours, breathing in your ear, inches away from you. It was consuming, the feeling of him close to you. Usually, you would twirl around and smash your lips together, probably happily let him have his way with you on the floor of your kitchen. This time, though, it made you falter, water jug hitting the countertop.

It was silent in your flat besides the faint sound of honks and sirens from the streets below, so Harry’s breath in your ear was all you heard. That and the sound of your own heartbeat, clattering in your chest. “Y/N.” Your name on his lips was a question, an obvious beg. “Talk to me, please.”

“Nothin’s wrong,” you said. You didn’t want to have this conversation, because you feared it would mean the end. The end of everything between you, and you didn’t want that.

“Bullshit. You’ve barely looked at me since this morning, ignored me at Nick’s, and I can see the wheels turning in your head. I did something, but I don’t know what, and I need you to talk to me.”

He needed you to talk to him? That set you off, the anger boiling inside of your chest, body whirling around to face him. “You want to know what’s up? Fine. You begged me to come over last night—begged—and then when I did, you fucked me and fell asleep, not a second thought as to me and what I needed. This morning you had no memory of it, acted like it was normal and completely fine. But me? Harry, I felt fucking used last night.” The word slapped him in the face, body flinching at its intention. But the minute it was out, it felt right. That’s how you felt.

“Fuck, Y/N, I didn’t know—“

You held up your hand, cutting him off. “But that’s not even it. And I know this might spell the end of us, but I cannot take the song and dance anymore, Harry. You introduced me tonight as your friend, meanwhile I’ve been in your bed nearly every night for the past month and a half.” He was staring at you, his words like whiplash, but you didn’t slow. You needed to get it out before you lost your nerve. “And I’m fucking done. If that’s all this is going to be—me warming your bed and making you coffee in the morning and pretending like nothing’s happening when we’re around our best friends, I’m done.”

Harry was quiet, eyes flickering between yours as your chest rose and fell, adrenaline pouring through your veins at your confession. When he finally broke the silence, his words were a broken record in your ears. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, I thought we were fine—“

“Get out.” The words punched him in the gut and you didn’t care. It was past apologies and he knew it. You knew it and you weren’t going to stand for it anymore. “Get out, Harry. Get out of my apartment.” He didn’t move though, and the anger was coiling in your belly, the tears searing behind your eyes. “Get out!” You screamed at him, finally forcing him into action.

He was scrambling to grab his things, one last look at you before he was out of your place, the door slamming shut behind him.

He was gone so fast that when the door shut it was quiet, the sound defeaning in your ears. You slid down, back hitting the wood of the cabinets and the metal knobs, but you didn’t care. Your arms collapsed around your knees, tucking them into your chest, and the tears threatening to break free fell, coating your cheeks in your regret. More than anything you wished none of this had happened, that you hadn’t ever asked him who the song was about, that he had never told you it was you, they’re all about you, the words echoing in your brain. You wanted it to be like it was before, unrequited feelings that might have been confusing but never caused you to question your ability to be around Harry. They never got blurred, never reached into the category of dangerous to your heart.

And here you were, crying on your kitchen floor over the last boy you thought would ever hurt you.

//

Harry knew he was an idiot, but that wasn’t news. In most of his relationships he had been an idiot in some way or an another, but this? This was the worst it had ever been. It had taken every ounce of his soul for him to tell you the truth of how he felt, and not he had dug himself into a hole of avoidance with the girl he loved.

It was true.

He loved you.

He had told you before, but not since that first time. The words had been caught in his throat and he hated that. Because his feelings hadn’t changed, only grown. It drove him crazy that it had taken you yelling at him to get out of your apartment, him hurting you (and himself) tor realize it, but at least he finally had.

It had settled for him when Camille texted him a few days after your fight. He was pissed off and sad, alternating between running miles on his treadmill, trying to outrun his own thoughts, and lying in bed watching Love Island re-runs because you loved watching it and it made him think of you. It was unhealthy and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. And then Camille texted him that she was in town and thought of him, and the part of him that still wondered if they would ever get back together overpowered the part of him that was smart, and he replied.

They ended up talking that night over a glass of wine in a tiny bar they used to frequent when they were together and in London, and when he looked at her, he didn’t feel anything. The only thing he could think about was you, about how you had held him when he cried and helped him piece himself back together, and here he was in front of Camille and felt nothing. You would probably be proud of him in a way, but at the same time, the reason he wasn’t feeling anything for Camille was because his emotions were yours. His heart belonged to you. And he told Camille because he had to tell someone, and she listened, surprisingly. Told he was an asshole, which was something he frequently had told himself over the past few days, and to get over himself and talk to you.

And he had every intention to. He kept picking up the phone to call you, opening your contact and hovering over the message button, but then he realized he didn’t know what to say. Not because he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what not to say. He had so many things he wanted to say there was no way to write you a text or call you and most likely leave a voicemail. He had enough to fill an entire notebook with, write an album of songs, a symphony even, of his feelings and thoughts about you.

Because he was in love with you. Hopelessly, endlessly, in love with you.

He felt it in the very depths of his soul and he never wanted to forget it. He didn’t want to get over you. He didn’t want to have to stop talking to you, to scrub the memories of you from his home, which were everywhere he looked. To wash his clothes that you wore so many times that the scent of you finally left them, to return your belongings that had ended up in his closets and counters. To put the photos of the two of you in a box and hide them, to stop buying your favorite wine at Tesco, to avoid your favorite bars and restaurants so he didn’t have to see you. To wonder if you’d be at a party and if he should go, because he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

He didn’t want to do any of that. He wanted to love you, to bask in the feeling that came over him when he saw you, to linger there and let himself burn in the sunlight that was you. Anne told him he was a hopeless romantic, but for you, he had all the hope in the world because he could see you being together forever. And to lose you…the thought was too much for him to bear.

All of that brought him to your door, the rain coming down in sheets around him, his shirt and pants soaked through, shoes squeaking on the stairs as he climbed to your apartment. He knew the building code by heart, not even having to ring your apartment to get inside, which he was happy for. He wanted one less place for you to refuse him entry. He pushed his hair back, the droplets flickering over his skin, and wondered what he looked like right now. Probably a bit on the crazy side.

But that was okay with him, because he was. Crazy for you.

He stopped in front of your door, 2A and the knocker staring back at him, mocking him, wondering if he’d have the guts to do it. Your face popped into his brain, and he wondered what you were going to say. He had a speech prepared—one he had figured out as he drove here, mulling over the words and their meaning, over analyzing it all to make sure he said exactly what he wanted because if he got in the door he couldn’t risk fucking it up again. Before he could stop himself, he rapped the knocker on your door, stepping back and taking a deep breath.

The wait was the worst part. The wondering if you would open the door at all. He knew you were home—saw your lights on from the street and your bike locked up outside. He played with the hem of his tour tank top, trying to squeeze out the water in the material.

And then all of a sudden he heard the hinges of the door squeak and you were standing there in shorts and an oversized shirt, glasses on your nose and hair up in a ponytail. It made his heart ache to see you after so many days apart, especially days spent thinking of nothing but you.

“You’re wet,” you said bluntly, taking in his appearance.

“Raining out,” he replied, eyes fluttering over your face, trying to take in your demeanor. You seemed on edge, which was understandable, but not angry. Exhausted, maybe, judging from the look in your eyes. “Can I come in? I—I need to tell you something.”

He didn’t you wanted to talk, so he just said tell you something. Because if that’s all it was, that’s all it was, but at least then he’d have been open and honest with you. Laid it all out there, bare and vulnerable. “Yeah,” you said after a beat, opening the door wide enough for him to slip through before shutting it behind him, sliding the chain in the lock.

Standing in your apartment was surreal to him, the rugs and warm lights and books scattered on every surface possible, a big piece of art he’d given you for your birthday last year over the sofa, the faint smell of cinnamon. You stress baked, just like him. He wondered it you did cinnamon rolls, one of your favorite things. His eyes flickered back to you, leaning against the back of your couch and staring at him, waiting for him to speak. He took one step forward so he was farther into your place, and then opened his mouth, the speech he had prepared flowing easily from his throat.

“I love you,” he started, the catch in your breath making his heart skip a beat. “I know I told you on the trip, but I haven’t said it since, and I think for the same reason as why I didn’t call you my girlfriend. I think my brain had built up for so long what it would be like to be with you that when it actually happened I didn’t know what to do. How to be your boyfriend, how to date you, how to be with you like I’d always thought. So I just reverted to what I knew, but with the added sex.

“And that wasn’t fair to either of us. It eroded all the things I love about our relationship—how we talk about everything, how honest we are. Made me feel like we were pretending in front of each other, but I didn’t know how to stop it after it had been happening for so long, you know? And the prospect of fucking it all up and losing you was worse than letting the in-between thing just stretch out. So I just didn’t say anything, even though it was eating away at me.

“I thought you were fine with it, actually. You never said anything, so I thought we were fine, generally speaking. But I know now that was bullshit not only because you told me, but because how could you have been fine with it? I had told you I loved you, confessed all these feelings, and then told you I wanted to keep it all a secret because I couldn’t get my own brain in order. I think that I thought if we told people it would be real, and it being real frightened me to bits.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the droplets coating his rings. “I know that all probably makes no sense to you, but what I’m trying to say, Y/N, is that I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you.” He laughed nervously, his heart seizing. “I don’t know how to not love you. And I don’t want to stop—I can’t lose you, not again. I need you, even though I know I’ve been shit to you these past weeks. So I’m here and I’m begging you to forgive me, to let us try this out properly. To be my girlfriend, tell all of our friends and family, do it for real this time.”

The silence stretched between them for a second, then two. His eyes stayed on yours, gaze locked as you processed his words. And just when he was about to open his mouth again, to tell you he would leave, you were crossing the distance between them and your lips were on his, an answer to his question.

Kissing you was like returning to an old friend. It felt right in every part of his body, the way you leaned into him, the way you curled your fingers through his hair and touched him, hands on his chest. His lips chased yours, desperate for anything you would give him, a stray dog begging for scraps. His hands wrapped around your waist, holding you close, sighing at the feeling of your warm skin on his.

Your lips parted and returned, lovers in a well-rehearsed dance. A song they knew all the words to.

Your hands pulled his wet t-shirt over his head and he tugged at your now damp one, kisses to the rise of your breasts that made you arch into him and gasp. Your sounds were music to his ears, a chorus he had been dying to hear again. You stumbled over one another’s feet as he moved you to your bedroom, desperate to see all of you. He knew you felt the same from how you pulled at his hands, tugging him into your room and flipping on the light by your bedside, the soft glow allowing him to see shadows of your bodies on the walls.

“Y/N,” he breathed against your neck, “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you replied, tugging hips to yours and rolling against them sinfully. “Need you.”

That had him moving faster than he thought possible. He shucked off his pants, then yours, leaving you in a pair of blue cotton underwear that he ripped without a second thought. You yelped but he didn’t care, he’d buy you another he whispered to you, a promise he had no intention of breaking. He’d buy you the world, no matter the price.

Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him onto the bed, body bouncing. Quickly he clamored back, gaining more space for the two of you and you followed, a lion on the hunt. You knees pressed to either side of his hips and rolled softly, a groan flying from both of your mouths before they met again.

He pulled at the clasp of your bra, needing to see you bare for him and it was a sight he had missed desperately. Leaning up, hands holding your chest in place, he rolled your nipple into his mouth, a cry falling from your lips that spelled his name. “Fuck,” he murmured into your skin as you rocked over him, bare clit on his dick. “Can feel how wet you are, baby.”

“All for you,” you said, your words a whimper that had him groaning and suckling on your nipple immediately. He loved every moment with you, but these ones were near the top. When he had the raw, unfiltered you, witnessing your body respond to every thing he offered you, taking and taking and taking. And he didn’t mind. You had given him the opportunity to love you and that was enough for him.

His hand found its way down your body, a torturing path that had your squirming in his arms, before his fingers brushed your clit. You arched into him, breasts flushed with his chest, head lolling into the crook of his neck. He played you like an instrument he knew by heart, knowing exactly what you needed. A slow circle, then fast swipes clockwise, a pinch to your clit. A teasing brush to your slit, his name on your lips before he pulled you into him again. He got distracted with your lips, but you didn’t seem to mind. You found your own pleasure, rolling your hips over him repeatedly, the wetness of you driving him insane.

The feeling of you over him, completely bare, was enough for him to come right there and then.

“Love,” he said, throat gravelly as he spoke. “I—I’m going to come if you keep that up and I want you to come before I fuck you.”

But you shook your head, lips pressing into his jaw, where a brush of stubble had grown over the past few days. He knew you liked it, how it felt against your skin, something to remember him by. “I just want you,” you told him, eyes meeting his. “Want to come with you.”

His head dropped back because those words brought him to the brink. “You’re a dream,” he whispered, pulling you down with him before rolling you over. “This okay—like this?”

You nodded, pushing his wet hair back so he could see you better. “I like it like this. Know it’s simple, but I can see you.”

He knew exactly what you meant. “Me too.” Without meaning to, he shifted his hips and his tip brushed against your clit, a wanton moan exploding from your chest into your bedroom. “Ready, baby? Ready for me to show me how much I love you?”

Your arms locked around his neck and you nodded, capturing his lips in yours again. “Show me everything,” you whimpered when he brushed against you again, teasing both of you. “Everything, Harry.”

His name on your lips did it. Reaching a hand down, he found his dick and he moved so he could brush your slit, your head tipping back. “Look at me,” he said, and you looked back at him, chest rising and falling. And with that, he pushed in slowly, letting your walls capture every inch of him.

Watching you when he pushed into you was one of his favorite things. Could take photos of your face like that for hours, put them in an art gallery because it was art in its finest form. “Oh my god,” you panted, hands scrambling at his back, his shoulder blades, searching for purchase. When you found it, your fingernails dug into his skin and he hissed, loving that he would have marks of you on him tomorrow.

With that, he pulled out and then back in, watching you as your jaw dropped open. “Feel me, baby? Am I deep for you?” The words tumbled from him without a thought. Somehow having sex with you just made his brain melt away—he wasn’t like this with other people, but with you, he wanted to tell you everything. Wanted you to know every thought on his brain.

He rested his head on your chest, your hands drifting from his back to his scalp, tugging on the hair and a moan ripping through his body. His hands rested next to your shoulders, helping him find strength to push in and out of you at a rhythm that was both not enough and everything all at once. “Need more,” you moaned. “Please, H.”

Your wish was his command. He drew back before slamming into you, hips meeting yours with a smack that had your legs coming up around his waist for better access. Hands met skin as you held on, your body moving up and down on the duvet  as he pushed into you. His lips missed your skin, so he rectified it with a nip at your collarbone, sucking into your skin harshly, leaving a mark for tomorrow that he would top up in the morning. It would be like a tattoo on your skin, reminding the world that you were his. Finally.

“So deep.” Your words made him see stars. He was close already, he was close before even entered you, but the feeling of being so deep inside of you was making him teeter dangerously on the edge.

You yelped when he pressed deeper, brushing against the spot he knew you loved. “Never gonna make you made ever again,” he said, words a jumbled mess in his brain. He could feel the sweat between your bodies and he loved how your skin stuck to each other, not wanting to part. “Promise, Y/N. You don’t deserve that.”

“Then keep fucking me and make me cum, maybe I won’t be mad anymore,” you said and your words made him slam into you.

“Yeah? Want me to make you come?” He wanted to you see you finish.  He knew you were taunting him but he didn’t care, it made him work harder for your orgasm, it a prize he desperately needed tonight. “Gonna make you come baby, promise. Need it. Need to feel you squeeze around me, fuck you’re so good, need to feel you come for me. That’s all I want, love. All I want is you.”

You pulled his head, lips meeting and he rocked into you, teeth gnashing as he brought you closer to your release. He caught your moans in his mouth and sent them right back, a tinge of his own mixed in. Lips fought for dominance as he cradled your head in his arms, holding you tight to his body. He wanted to have you close when you came, wanted to feel you shake against him.

When you did, it was tidal wave that he felt before he heard it. He felt you clamp down around him, your spine arch. Then, he heard the shrieks from your mouth, the ones made up of purely his name, Harry a chant on your lips. It had him coming to his own release immediately, the feeling and sight of you finishing around him, eyes wide and staring into his, knowing he loved watching you. He slammed into you, hips stuttering as he shot into you, ropes of come painting your walls that had goosebumps covering his skin as he shivered.

It took him a few beats to regain his breath and when he did, you were running your fingers down his spine. He loved it when you did it, the feeling of you impossibly close in more ways than one.

“I love you,” you said, voice hoarse in his ears before pressing a kiss to his nose. “Endlessly.” You pulled him flush on your skin, forcing him to let go and let you shoulder his weight which he knew you didn’t mind. Quite liked it actually.

His fingers wove through the strands of your hair scattered on the bed that had broken from of your ponytail. “I love you too.”

“We’re going to do this, huh?” You asked him and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he told you and you giggled in his ear. Giggled. He loved that sound, the childish glee in your voice. “Want to show you off, show everyone you’re mine.”

He went to pull out of you, but you held him fast. “Can you just, stay here for a second?”

His gaze shifted to your eyes and he nodded. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He rolled slowly, taking you with him and keeping himself sheathed inside of you. It felt impossibly close, like he was inside of your skin, and it was everything he needed. After being apart from you for days, and even before that not having you like this—your heart, mind, soul—it was a euphoric feeling.

“I’ve got cinnamon rolls for the morning,” you said out of nowhere.

He brushed a kiss to your shoulder and felt you smile against his skin. “One of the many reasons that I love you.” You nuzzled into his neck and he sighed.

He was home.

talk to me about Residue here | masterlist here

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

“Ugh.” The Doctor’s head flopped face-first onto his desk. “Someone give me something, anything, to do but this paperwork. If I see any more black text on a white background, I’m going to get dusted.”

As if sent from the heavens at his request, Whislash walked into his office. “Doctor, can I borrow you? I could use some he- Everything alright?”

“It is now that you’re here. What can I do for you?” He sprung to his feet, as if he hadn’t just collapsed into a pile of annoyed tiredness.

“I just want you to help me carry some things.” Zofia smiled at his initiative - already putting on his coat before hearing her request. “Car’s at the loading dock waiting for us. You’re just dying to get out of here, aren’t you?”

Oh, she had no idea. “Jessica’s off on an assignment for Closure with her girlfriend, so I don’t have an assistant.”

“I thought you liked doing bookkeeping, Doctor?” The Kuranta flashed him a teasing smile as they left the office.

“That’s like saying Magallan likes snow,” he grumbled in response. “She’d hate being buried in an avalanche as much as I’m hating the amount of ones and zeros I’ve seen in the past four hours.”

Four hours? That number didn’t sound right. “It’s only eight o’clock now...you started work at four in the morning?”

“Yeah? I’ve got strength training in the afternoon with Sid, and I teach a night class on strategy, so if I don’t start the day early, something’s not gonna get done.”

“Oh my.” [translator’s note: “Oh my” means “Ara ara”] The ex-gladiator (by a fancier name, but a gladiator nonetheless) stopped in the hallway, grabbing the Doctor’s arm when he took another step. “On second thought, I’ll get the girls to help me with that later. None of it’s groceries, so it can sit.”

He sighed. “Well, if you don’t need me for anything, then-”

“That’s not what I said, Doctor. You’re coming with me.” Whislash’s right hand tightened around his wrist, and she led him off in another direction.

“You’re not worried about me, are you?” It certainly seemed like it. “I thought I was a burden-beast to you.”

Zofia shook her head. “If I’d known you were working that many hours, I would’ve gone easi- no, that’s a lie, but I would’ve been a bit more understanding. Honestly, it’s not healthy to keep that up for long.”

“It’s just my daily rhythm. You get used to it after a while.” From what Kal’tsit had told him, he’d almost always been like this.

“Well, you’re going to have to find another one.” The Kuranta and her captive were passing by Engineering, heading towards the barracks. “Luckily, you know someone who’s made all kinds of schedules in her day.”

The Doctor smirked. “If you want to talk training regimens, you’ll have to find Sid-”

“I will, but right now, you and I have some things we need to talk about.”

“Whislash- wait. Why are we...” He stood, dumbfounded, at the door to her room as she unlocked and opened it. “You brought me to your dorm?”

She pulled him across the threshold and closed the door behind them. “I don’t have an office, and I need something to take notes...Besides, if we’re going to relax, I want something to drink.”

“It’s not even time for lunch yet, though.” That didn’t seem to stop her from sitting him on her couch and walking to a small liquor cabinet.

“A glass of wine won’t hurt anything - you can ask Hibiscus about the health benefits, if that’s why you’re worried.” Zofia smiled at him. “I think you’re focused on something else, though, aren’t you?”

Definitely - Maria had told him stories that started with “one glass of red wine,” and they never went anywhere RI’s fraternization policies would like. “I’d like some water, but I can’t drink. Dr. Kal’tsit’s orders.”

“That’s fine. Like I said, this is for me.” She poured herself a glass of wine and left it on the cabinet while she got him his water.

“Alright, then.” The Doctor sighed. “So, you want me to work less?”

The Kuranta looked back at him, eyes focused on his hood. “No, you need to work less. What do you do between that shift and your training?”

“Eat lunch and walk to the gym.”

“...And?” Nothing. Whislash couldn’t believe it. “Doctor, do you really not have any time between lunch and eating?”

He didn’t think lying would help him here. “Sid and I eat together, walk to the gym, and talk until our food’s settled. Training starts there and goes until I’ve done what I need to for her to let me go, then I change clothes and either get ready for that class or, on weekends, go back to my room to get some extra sleep.”

“Wait, so outside of not having to teach that class, your schedule doesn’t change? That’s more than a 60-hour week including those training sessions, Doctor.” Not even Dobermann was that brutal on her trainees-

“More like 80,” he clarified. “I go in closer to midnight on the weekends.”

It took her a moment to recover from that - after bringing him his water, Zofia drank her first glass of wine like a shot before pouring her second and setting it back on her table. When she’d stopped herself from storming off to get Amiya for a proper intervention, she fully collapsed into the couch. “I know who my next project is going to be, then.”

“Project? Whislash, I’m-” The Doctor stopped when she turned to look at him.

“I know what being a workaholic is like.” The wine glass was back in her hand, resting just below her lips. “Honestly, it’s because I’m such a busybody I want to do this for you. Before we came to RI, I had Maria to fuss over, and even Margaret before...Now that they’re settling in just fine, though, I don’t have someone who needs me anymore. Hearing you talk about how ‘easy’ working yourself to death is for you doesn’t worry you at all?”

Well, if she put it like that. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”

“You, that’s exactly what it is. And, even if it seems fine now, if you don’t take the time to stop and enjoy yourself and the people around you, you’ll regret it later...”

“Speaking from experience?” He didn’t receive a reply as they each took long sips from their respective cups. As the Kuranta went to pour her third glass, he set his drink down and slid off his hood. “You want me to enjoy some time with you, then?”

Whislash managed to stop herself from dropping either glass or bottle, but it was a close thing with her left hand. “Are you trying to get me to make a mess, Doctor?”

“I’m serious. That’s why you brought me back to your room, isn’t it? Wanting me to make some free time, talking about ‘enjoying the people around you,’ mentioning that you feel aimless without someone to take care of - isn’t that where you were taking this?” It was a bit of stretch, considering they didn’t talk much, but if he knew anything about the ex-gladiator-

“Yes.” It was that wine made her honest. “I really am worried about you, but it’s...It’s not all selfless, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The Doctor slid his water along the coffee table as he moved into her space. “It’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I just wished you’d said it before those two glasses of wine.”

“Like I said, I needed to relax for this.”

“I get that,” he replied, “but now I’m going to have to call Sid and tell her to take the night off.”

The Kuranta set everything down to look him in the eye. “Because…?”

“Because it’ll be lunch time before that alcohol’s fully metabolized, and I’m not taking any chances with HR.” Especially since Amiya was in charge of that stuff.

“HR- Oh my.” She nonetheless leaned forward, a smile spreading across her face with every millimeter closer she came to him. “I’d be more than happy to give you a workout tonight, Doctor.”

He smiled back before standing up. “I’ll be looking forward to it. Right now, though, I need to get back to those reports; should only take an hour or so.”

“Don’t you still have another fou- three hours left now?” Not that she wanted him to leave, of course, the math just didn’t check out.

“One hour for paperwork,” the Doctor replied, “one to get ready, and one to talk about this new schedule you think I should be on. After that...I’ll be all yours for as long as you want me.”

[make-an-ass-of-me]

Midnight

“Shift over,” Jaskier said, accompanying his command with a playful shove in the small of Geralt’s back.

Geralt groaned and wriggled himself across the bed wondering why inns never catered for travelling companions. There was always only one bed…

“I thought you were looking for another bed tonight,” he grumbled.

“It’s a rare occurrence, but I do fail to find bed mates occasionally.” Jaskier lay down beside him and pulled the covers over himself until he had all of his share and some of Geralt’s too. “Besides, I thought you’d come here looking for a whore.”

“I changed my mind.”

“I’m not surprised with the prices here. Not that I ever pay, so what would I know about the price of a fuck? Still, I understand this is an expensive bawdy house.”

It was expensive there and they’d paid Jaskier a good amount to perform on top of his tips, plus the usual night’s bed and board. The sheets were clean which said a lot about the quality of the place.

Geralt paused and debated whether or not it was worth responding to Jaskier. He wanted to sleep but he hadn’t passed two words with anyone all night and Jaskier was always chatty, even at inappropriate times like this. Geralt was hungry for human contact, it was true.

“There’s nothing to kill around here,” he said, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “My purse is full enough but you already got me the bed and the meal.”

“Am I to provide you a lover too?” Jaskier quipped, quickly adding, “No, don’t answer that. Don’t get my hopes up.”

If he meant himself or a whore it didn’t matter. Geralt couldn’t respond to that. He never let the conversation go in that direction, not with Jaskier.

After a moment’s silence Jaskier propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Geralt in the dark.

“I suppose we could share a woman. I mean, we’re already sharing a bed and you don’t do men so…”

They could share a woman. They could share a man.

“A whore’s a whore, male or female. They’re all capable enough.”

“Really?” Jaskier choked. “Well I have learnt something new about you tonight. Only took a decade too. I could ask if they’ve got one of the men free.”

“It’s midnight, you’re not bringing a whore into the room now. Can I sleep?”

“Of course, sorry, you’re right, it is late.”

Silence. Geralt closed his eyes and tried not to think about what Jaskier would look like with an eager lover between his legs. Male or female, they both had mouths and surely it would go that way. Mouths are cheaper than arses or cunts after all.

Then, “I just have one question.” Jaskier hadn’t even moved. He was still staring down at Geralt.

“At midnight?”

“No, it’s not important.”

“Goodnight then.”

“But I do wonder.” Another pause.  “Aren’t you going to ask me what?”

“You’re the nosey bastard, not me.”        

“Well, you tell me you bed men and then expect me to not have any questions and just go to sleep next to you. I’m curious, that’s all.”

Geralt opened his eyes and sat up. Jaskier was right, this needed to be dealt with. “I won’t rob you of your innocence if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“No?” Jaskier almost sounded disappointed and Geralt definitely didn’t want to deal with that.

“I’ve managed to avoid it the other hundred nights we’ve shared a bed, haven’t I? Now, can we please go to sleep?”

“Yes.”

Geralt lay back down, using the opportunity to reclaim a little of the covers he lost when Jaskier got into the bed. He rolled so his back was to Jaskier, signalling the conversation was over.

Jaskier lay down too and for a moment there was blissful silence. If Jaskier had wanted to discuss anything but this Geralt would have indulged him and been secretly grateful for the company. As it was, he’d just created a problem for himself and he’d deal with it in the morning.

“It’s just I don’t understand why you’ve never responded to me.”

Geralt audibly groaned, manners be damned. “In what way?”

“Well, I’ve been flirting with you shamelessly since we met and you ignore me.”

“I don’t ignore you.” He could be ignoring Jaskier now and he’s not.

“You don’t encourage me either. I’d given up on you.”

No he hadn’t. Geralt still noticed the comments and the looks even after ten years of friendship. He did ignore them. Jaskier was companionship when he needed it, but he came with temptations Geralt wasn’t prepared to give in to.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” he asked with a sigh.

“But it’s awkward now so we may as well talk about it.  You owe me that as your best friend.”

“We’re not friends.”

“That’s what you always say and yet here we are sharing this bed. I was your friend earlier tonight too when the innkeep fed us. I’m your friend when it’s convenient.”

“So why ruin it for a quick fuck?” Geralt hadn’t meant to say that, let alone for it to come out so quickly or so harshly. “Jaskier, I’m sorry—"

“You’d prefer a slow one?” Jaskier asked. “Look. I know you like sex or you wouldn’t spend good coin on it. So tell me why you’d rather throw money away than have an arrangement with me.”

An arrangement. It wasn’t like Geralt hadn’t considered it. In the early days he tried to avoid Jaskier because he considered it a bit too much and it had taken time to become easy with Jaskier and easy with the idea that he could withstand the temptation. At first it got harder every time, but eventually it became second nature to live off stolen looks and fleeting thoughts of happiness. A part of him even enjoyed the thoughts, because he knew he could flirt back with Jaskier and it wouldn’t be met with revulsion. He just couldn’t allow himself to do it.

“Have you considered I might not fancy you?” he asked.

“Preposterous! If you like men you’ll like me.”

Geralt couldn’t have expected any other answer from Jaskier. “You are ridiculous,” he muttered.

“I’m re-evaluating all the times you’ve looked at my cock when I’m bathing.”

He had stolen the odd look but he didn’t think Jaskier had noticed. “Can we please just go to sleep now?” Geralt growled, feeling the skin of his face flush hot.

Jaskier was silent a moment, then he said, “All right.”

For the next ten minutes Jaskier shifted about the bed, sighing and huffing and generally being a nuisance, but he didn’t say a word to Geralt. Geralt wished he’d lied and pretended he had no interest in men, but he wasn’t the lying type and with anyone but Jaskier it wouldn’t have prompted such a response.

Of course it was Jaskier, who Geralt knew better than any man alive, and he’d still told him the truth.

After a while Jaskier said, “You can’t sleep?”

“Not with you talking.”

“I wasn’t talking.”

“Jaskier.”

“All right. Look, just tell me honestly what’s wrong with me.” He sounded so wounded.

Geralt sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I just don’t have relationships.”

“Oh. Well, I was expecting a fuck, not a relationship.” Jaskier chuckled softly. “You do like me, don’t you?

“Fuck off.”

“No further proof needed. The way you growled that I can tell there’s a chink in your armour.”

“Shut up. I’m not going to sit up all night while you play with me.”

But Geralt didn’t leave the bed.

Jaskier rolled over and placed a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “You could lay back if that’s more comfortable.”

“Jaskier!”

“What? I’m just offering.” He withdrew his hand but replaced it a moment later, squeezing Geralt’s shoulder gently. “It doesn’t have to be a relationship,” he said softly. “One kiss. Give it a try.”

He would have given it a try years ago if he intended to actually see this through. It wouldn’t be good for either of them and Jaskier ought to know that.

“If I kiss you, I won’t put up with you kissing anyone else afterward.”      

Jaskier’s hand gripped him a little tighter. “Who says I’ll want to kiss anyone else after I’ve kissed you?”

“You will. I can’t give you what you want. I just can’t.”

“You’ve given me a decade of companionship already and I fully expect a decade more whether or not you kiss me. You might as well.”

Jaskier pulled gently and Geralt rolled onto his back. Their eyes met in the dark, Jaskier’s shining in the moonlight.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He leant over Geralt and placed the softest, sweetest kiss on his lips. “There,” he whispered. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?

“No. That was far too easy.”

“Easy enough to kiss me again?”

Jaskier leant back over but this time when he kissed Geralt his tongue demanded entrance and his hand roamed down to Geralt’s chest as he pressed his body against his side.

When Jaskier finally pulled back, Geralt said, “I’m not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?”

“You don’t sound like you mind that too much now.”

Geralt didn’t mind at all.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

I also find very funny that I said Jon would take care of Sansa in the next chapter and everybody’s mind just went straight to the gutter. Honestly guys... This has a M rating... LOL

***

Chapter 3

Sansa woke up feeling confused and groggy. Her body felt heavy and she was convinced someone had given her poppy milk the day before. She remembered having a headache, so she’d probably had some before going to bed.

But… Why couldn’t she remember doing that?

Sansa sat up on her bed, and noticed she was alone. Jon must have left for his morning training, even though she couldn’t remember him coming to bed.

She looked out the window and saw it wasn’t as early as she’d thought it’d be.

How long had she slept?

That was when she remembered! She’d fainted the day before.

Oh Seven, how embarrassing.

She’d been dealing with that headache and then she argued with Jon and fainted! It’d been before the midday meal… Had she slept all this time?

The door opened and a maid entered. “Your Grace!” She smiled at Sansa. “I was coming to wake you up.”

“How long have I slept?” She wanted to know.

“Almost a whole day.” The maid told her simply.

“What?” Sansa sprung from the bed. “A whole day?”

“Almost.” The maid pointed out again. “It’s hardly an hour later than you’d normally awake, Your Grace.”

“Oh no! I have so many things to…”

The maid seemed uncomfortable now. “You see… Your Grace… The King…”

Sansa’s head snapped in the girl’s direction. “What has he done?” She asked.

“He asked us to prepare you a bath and breakfast.” The maid hurried to explain. “And that after that he’ll come see you.”

“But I have things to do.” Sansa insisted.

“The Maester and Lady Arya have divided your morning tasks between themselves, Your Grace. They’ll take care of it.”

“Sam and Arya?” What was going on? “Can you tell…” Sansa took a deep breath in. “Can you ask the King to come to see me as soon as possible?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The girl left and Sansa took a deep breath in. What were they all doing? Sam and Arya were now doing her work? What was Jon even thinking?

She needed to calm down. Besides, a bath did sound like a good idea; she still felt a bit groggy.

The water was deliciously hot when she entered the bath, and it smelled like lavender. The bath did wonders for her, especially when one of the maids came back to help her wash her hair.

When she was done, she went to her sollar to find a meal waiting for her, full of her favorite things.

Sansa wasn’t sure what this was all about, but she sat down and started eating. Jon arrived a bit after that.

“Sansa.” He sighed in relief, a small grin on his lips. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. What is going on?”

Jon cleared his throat and pulled a chair to sit down. “You fainted yesterday. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Sam said it was because you were exhausted.” Jon explained to her. “And it makes perfect sense. You’ve been acting as my hand and mistress of the Keep. You should’ve told me you were overloaded.”

“I’m not.” She protested. “I can do both.”

“You don’t have to.” Jon insisted. “I know you’re doing your best, but I don’t want you to do this at the expense of your health. I would like you to consider working solely as my Hand, and passing the running of the keep to someone else.”

That gave Sansa pause. “You want me to remain as your Hand?”

“Of course.” Jon’s tone was serious. “I need you by my side. I know you were raised to be the lady of the house, but I’d rather you work solely as my Hand.”

Sansa lowered her gaze. “I thought you’d prefer the other way around.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Sansa.” Jon sighed. “If you want to stay as my Hand, I’d like that very much. However, if you’d rather take care of the keep…”

“No.” She was quick to say. “I do prefer being your Hand. It’s been… Difficult doing both.” She confessed.

Jon reached out and held her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You also have many things to do.” She explained, eyes on their hands.

“Even if I do… I’ll always worry about you, Sansa.” His thumb was making circles on her hand. “Especially when you faint and I have to grab you.”

She blushed. “Oh please. Is this what happened?”

Jon chuckled. “It was very heroic of me. You should’ve seen it.” He teased lightly.

She laughed. “I’m sure it was.”

They sat in silence for a while. Jon cleared his throat and got up. “Sam and Arya are taking care of your duties for today. Your only work for now is to think of someone that can take over the managing of the keep. Besides that, try and rest. Do whatever you want.” He paused. “Unless it’s more work.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that an order, My King?”

Jon leaned over the table, plating his hands on its surface, as he looked into her eyes. “Aye. That is an order.”

After he left, Sansa sat there, completely shocked and more than a little bit excited.

***

It had been a long while since Sansa had been able to enjoy an idle day. Her first business was finding someone else to run the keep, but it turned out to be way too easy. Davos’ wife -Marya - had come to the North and she was really competent. Sansa would pass to her these duties.

After that was done… Sansa still had a lot of free time.

At first, she’d thought she’d have nothing to do and would spend the day bored.

It wasn’t the case.

She embroidered -something she loved doing and hadn’t been able to do for a while -and talked to the women around the keep.

It was nice talking and just being around other people.

In the end, the day passed fast.

It was as if she’d blinked and then she was supping with her family.

Jon had arranged an intimate dinner for them. While they normally supped in the main hall with others, tonight it was only the Starks, Sam and Gilly, Davos and Marya, and Tormund.

They were laughing and talking and things were great.

Sansa wondered if she’d been so tired lately that she hadn’t been able to enjoy simple things like this moment. After everything they’d been through, it’d be a waste to not appreciate these moments to the fullest.

She’d almost forgotten why they’d fought so hard to protect the North. They’d done it for their family, the people they loved.

Sansa didn’t know how long they were talking and drinking, but at some point she rested her cheek on Jon’s shoulder.

“Sansa?” His thumb caressed her cheek. “Are you tired?”

“I didn’t do anything the whole day.” She pointed out.

“I think Sansa’s drunk.” Arya commented, looking amused by the idea.

“I’ll take her to bed.” Jon said getting up and helping Sansa do the same. “Thank you all for the help today.”

“It was our pleasure.” Marya smiled at the King.

Jon guided Sansa through the hallways as she laughed for no reason.

“You look happy.” He commented, a fond smile on his lips.

“It was a great day. I didn’t know I needed this.”

“I’m glad you had the chance to rest.” They’d reached the door to their room. “I’ll get someone to help you out of your dress.”

“There’s no need.” She told him as she dropped her cloak on the bed. “If you can just untie the back for me, I can take care of the rest.”

Jon paused. “Are you sure? Because…”

“I don’t want to wait. Come on, Jon!” She gave him her back, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “Just do this.”

Jon could do this. It was a really simple task. Once he loosened the ties he’d wait somewhere else for her to finish getting undressed.

He took off his glove and started pulling at the laces of her dress.

“Jon?” Sansa called softly.

“Sansa?” He called back, a grin on his lips.

“Thank you for today.” She told him, her voice low and intimate. “I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

“I didn’t know anyone needed this.” Jon admitted. “We’ve been working non-stop for so long, Sansa… And you… You’ve done so much, sacrificed so much for us.” Jon had finished his task and it was time to leave, but… She was there and the night was so quiet… “I wish I could give you the world, Sansa, but -unfortunately- this is all I have to give.”

Sansa was quiet for so long, that Jon feared he’d said something amazingly stupid and she was wondering why she had to…

Sansa turned to him suddenly, arms going around his neck. Jon realized her intent a second before her lips were on his and she was pressing her body against his.

Jon couldn’t believe she was kissing her like this, with all the candles still burning and because she chose to.

And he knew all her kisses, the sweet ones, the careful ones and the hungry ones. When she kissed him like this -open mouthed and urgent - Jon knew they’d have a long night, because her desire fueled his and they would end up stuck on this never ending circle.

Jon really liked those nights.

However, she’d never kissed him in the light like then; Sansa never allowed him to even touch her before the candles were blown out. But she was kissing him, pulling at his clothes and biting his lower lip.

Her urgency made Jon lose his control and, before the thought had fully formed on his head, he was pulling at her clothes.

They’d never been this clumsy before. Clothes got stuck halfway and Jon almost fell down trying to take off his boots. They were both in an insane hurry, like they feared this would end if they didn’t get it done. As if it was a spell that would end by midnight and they’d never know what could have been.

Jon hadn’t even finished taking off his clothes when he picked Sansa up and dropped her on the bed -less charmingly than he’d have wished for. Sansa herself still had some clothes on, but he just had to do this, because he was terrible with words, but maybe like this she’d know how much he loved her.

She had to… Right?

He peeled her stockings and small clothes down her legs, before he kissed the inside of her thighs, brushed his beard against the sensitive skin.

He felt Sansa’s fingers grabbing at his curls as he drank from her, his name a prayer on her lips.

He’d have spent another hour -or three -doing just that, but Sansa pulled him up, bringing his lips to hers, uncaring that her taste was still on them.

Jon’s shirt was thrown away, his pants merely lowered enough to be out of the way, since Sansa wouldn’t let him get too far.

Jon pushed inside her, feeling her hot body receiving him.

“Jon…” She mewled sweetly.

Jon grabbed her waist and rolled them both, so he was on his back and Sansa was on top of her. “Jon!” She screeched, making him chuckle.

He sat up on the bed and cradled her face as he brought her in for a kiss. “Today you can have whatever you want.” He promised against her lips.

Sansa caressed his cheek. “Even you?” She asked.

“You always have me, Sansa.” He assured her.

There were tears in her eyes when she kissed him and Jon was mesmerized by them. Even after he helped her out of her shift, he couldn’t look away from her eyes.

That night, as Sansa took him, Jon had the mad hope -for the first time ever -that Sansa might love him as well.

***

Notes: Next one is the last one ;)

[kpopfanfictrash]

...Click (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: edging, oral (female), g-spot stimulation, squirting, jjk is a troll

WC: 2,151

Summary: You have been dating your boyfriend, Jungkook, for a few months; hovering right in that sweet spot between falling and fallen. Based loosely on the premise of this tweet, as retweeted by @johobi (asldfjas):

“Mm,” you groan, wiggling into the sheets of your mattress. “There, Jungkook, there… ah, that feels good.”

He looks up, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs. “Yeah?” Jungkook exhales, licking his lips. The lower one is wet, due to the rather lengthy amount of time he has been eating you out. “Do you want to come, or…” He trails off, arching a brow.

The TV flickers behind him, casting your room in a dark-blueish glow. You two were watching a movie when Jungkook first arrived. It had been a crappy week before that, full of annoying customers and extended hours at work. You were looking forward to eating disgustingly unhealthy food, drinking half a bottle of wine and falling asleep before midnight.

Jungkook changed your plans, intercepting at the door with a bag full of Thai food and his own bottle of wine. Literally – you met him at your door. He had been texting you prior, asking what you were planning on ordering tonight and what time you were getting off work. Despite the stream of questioning, he ended up at your apartment way before you did, camped out in your hallway when you trudged up the stairs to your walk-up.

Not that you were unhappy to see him, of course – just the opposite. It is early on in your relationship though, and Jungkook has never seen you like this before. Grubby and annoyed, shoving spicy wings in your mouth with your head on his shoulder. Luckily, he does not seem annoyed by this fact; instead, he seems to be smiling whenever you glance at him to check.

That was earlier in the night though, before you popped in a movie to relax on your bedspread. At some point, Jungkook placed his arm around your shoulders. You honestly cannot remember when. He can be so cute about things like that – hesitant, as though he thinks you might shrug him off. The idea is laughable, given the fact you have let him do much more, uh, intimate things to you than that.

God. For Jungkook, you seem to have broken all your rules – haven’t you? Before, you always gave yourself a five-date requiem. Five dates before you decide to sleep with a guy but with Jungkook, you found yourself pressed to the wall in a heavy make-out session shortly after the end of the first date. He was just so perfect – a mix of endearing and dangerous, with his dark bed-head hair and that worn leather jacket. You caved entirely after the second date, barely making it through dinner before you dragged him back to your apartment and fucked him into your bed.

Shivering, you are brought back to the present by Jungkook’s hands sliding over your knees. Somewhere in the middle of the movie he began mouthing down the slope of your neck. Jungkook’s kisses are nice; soft and insistent with just the right amount of pressure. You hummed and leaned into him, allowing further transgression and before long, he was shifting to lie between your legs, kissing up the skin of your thighs.

The leggings you wore are now bunched on the ground; your underwear has disappeared as well, flung somewhere across the room. Jungkook keeps inching your t-shirt higher, exposing your stomach. You giggle when he does this, since your bedroom is cold. His mouth is warm, though, wet and open against the curve of your skin. Jungkook really loves eating you out – this is something you learned the second time the two of you had sex.

The first time, everything was frantic and hurried. You slammed his back to the bed; he flipped you over mid-way to fuck you hard from behind. The second time was slower, lazier and that was when you realized Jeon Jungkook is whipped for pussy – yours, in particular. He loves to eat you out, gets hard from you dripping and messy before him; he could do it for hours and shit, if you don’t love to indulge him in that particular fantasy.

Take now, for instance. Jungkook has been lying between your legs for over twenty minutes, eagerly eating you out while you become gradually whinier. At first, everything was fine. His lips were soft, pressing kisses into your skin and ghosting over the more sensitive areas. Then, he opened his mouth, occasionally flicking his tongue while you shifted against him. Now, his tongue is fully involved, dragging up and down your folds while you groan.

You are soaked; you know this due to the arousal slipping between your legs to pool at your ass. “You’re ruining my sheets,” you groan, throwing one hand over your face.

He chuckles, breath tickling your body. “Nah, you are. Does that mean you want to come?”

You peek at him quickly from under your arm. “No,” you mumble, shifting your hips. “I like it when you do this.”

Jungkook’s eyes glint, teasing. “When I do what?” he murmurs, dragging a finger down your wetness. You shiver when he slips this slowly inside, stretching you out and readying you for his cock. “You like not coming until I say so?”

“Mmph,” you grunt, shifting to try and push him in further. His finger is not nearly enough, not with how wet you already are. “I like anything you do to me, yeah.”

He grins, curling his legs underneath him to sit up on your bed. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls, straining his t-shirt while he pushes a second finger inside you.

“Oh,” you moan, legs jerking upwards.

Jungkook slowly circles your clit with his thumb, leaving his other fingers buried knuckle-deep inside. He bends, brushing a kiss to your hip and then, inexplicably, snorts.

Your eyes fly open. “I – Jungkook?” you mutter, uncertain what is happening. If there was a funny part of the movie, you definitely missed it. Honestly, it would be vaguely insulting if he were still watching the movie.

He looks up, lips pressed together in a guilty attempt not to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he grins, unable to help himself. “It’s just…”

He still rubs your clit, one finger slipping in and out of your body and fuck, it is hard to care what he finds so hilarious when he is turning you into such a dripping mess. 

“What?” you grind out, groaning as you tighten around him.

“This motion,” Jungkook explains, nodding to his hand. “It’s just like holding an iPhone, you know? When you wanna take a screenshot? With my thumb here,” he strokes, “and my finger inside you, it’s like –”

“Oh my god.”

“– like I’m taking a screenshot of your pussy.”

“Oh, my fucking god.”

“……..click.”

“Jungkook,” you gasp, snapping your legs shut on his hand. He pauses, eyes wide and innocent and – fuck, why is he so adorable? – you laugh before you can help it. The motion starts in your chest, a weak giggle escaping and before you know it, you are concave with laughter. “You’re so horrible,” you groan, cracking up.

Jungkook grins, tackling you backwards on top of your bed. He sloppily kisses your face, undoing his jeans with one hand in between your legs. “Please, can I fuck you?” he begs, eagerly rutting against you. “Please, please, pretty please?”

“Ugh,” you groan, wrapping your arms around his neck and opening your thighs. “Fine – get a condom. To be honest,” you murmur, kissing his neck while he rolls one onto his length. “If we’re continuing said metaphor, I don’t feel like you take a screenshot unless you hit my g-spot.”

Jungkook pauses, wide-eyed. Holding his cock in one hand, he rubs this against you while considering the challenge. “Babe,” he whines, looking down with almost a pout. “This isn’t fair. Now, I wanna try it – but also… I really wanna fuck you.”

“Hm,” you muse, arching. You brush his chest with your breasts. “Better make a decision, baby.” At his tortured expression, you laugh. “It’s okay,” you murmur, dragging your hands down his back. “You can try that out later.”

Jungkook nods, tongue poking his cheek. Not waiting any longer, he thrusts deftly inside you. You gasp when he bottoms out, feeling split by the motion. Honestly, if you were not so wet, it would be almost painful. Jungkook’s eyes glint, a slight smirk on his lips because he knows how big he is – you enthusiastically praise this fact about him, especially on nights when you drink.

It is a game to you. Stand next to him in the club, whispering how good his cock would feel down your throat. Tease him until he snaps, grabs your wrist and drags you out of the bar. Then, once you are home and sober, you worship his cock with your tongue until he comes down your throat. 

Jungkook shifts inside you now, staring with narrowed eyes, as though he is waiting for something. His hand strokes your side, pushing up your t-shirt as his cock thrusts forward. To be honest, you are not sure what he is waiting for – arching on the bed, you grow impatient.

“Jungkook,” you moan, wrapping both legs around his waist. Hurriedly, you drag your hands down his back. “What are you doing? Fuck me.”

“Mmh,” he exhales, sounding out of breath. His ass clenches beneath your fingers, searching for – something. Staring at your face, Jungkook cocks a brow. “I will, I just…” Shifting again, he props himself up for greater leverage, changing his angle until suddenly –

“O-oh,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. He has done it. Jeon Jungkook, the great, the mighty, the idiotic, has found your g-spot. With your hips lifted like that, it presses his giant cock to the front of your walls. The sensation makes you shake, overwhelmed as he slowly withdraws.

Then, Jungkook pushes back in. The noise alone is enough that you moan because fuck, are you wet and fuck, is he good at this. His cock hits your g-spot again and, seeing the way your eyes flutter shut, he breaks out in a grin.

“There?” he asks smugly, knowing he’s found it.

“Mhm,” you groan, tangling his hair in your fingers. Yanking his ear to your lips, you say, “Now, move.”

Jungkook obeys, thrusting with an eagerness that betrays how badly he wants you. His hips snap forward, hitting your ass as you start to see stars. The sensation is overwhelming, even more when Jungkook throws your legs over his shoulders and fucks you like that. His hips are hard, unrepentant and you can do nothing but lie there and take it. Your g-spot is intense and the pleasure builds quickly, sending you spiraling.

“Oh,” you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets, his hair, yanking him closer. “Fuck, Jungkook. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah, you are,” he grunts, hair plastered sweatily to his forehead. “I’ve never felt you like this before – you’re so fucking tight, babe.”

“You’re so good,” you moan, barely able to speak – he is fucking you so hard, nothing seems to make sense. “God, I love your cock. You can say whatever weird shit you want about my pussy being an iPhone – just keep. Fucking. Me. Oh!”

Jungkook grins, kissing you messily – he continues to laugh, making your teeth knock roughly together. You nip his lower lip in response, arching your back. “Stop laughing, you ass!” you groan.

“Sorry, I’m trying!” Jungkook huffs – only to furrow his brow, adopting a look of intense concentration which has you swallowing hard. Both your bodies are sweaty, making every inch of your skin tingle; alive and on fire.

He pulls back, watching his cock thrusting in and out of your body. “Shit, babe,” he whines, grabbing onto your hips. “I wish you could see how hot you are. You take my cock so well.”

Newly invigorated, Jungkook bends, trapping your leg between his chest and yours. He continues to fuck you like that, fingers slipping between your legs, rubbing your clit and making you shake. “C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, watching your face. “Come for me. I wanna see you squirt, like you did last time I did this.”

You moan, closing your eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his cock, the building pleasure and his fingers dancing over your front. It is too much, too tight and wet and perfect and – unable to take it, you come. Gasping his name, you lose control for a moment. Body shaking, you feel yourself squirt, all over Jungkook’s dick and onto the sheets.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he gasps, dropping down to his elbows and fucking you rougher. He chases his release, hard and fast as you begin to wind down. When he comes, his entire body clenches and you grin, pressing kisses to his shoulder until he collapses against you.

“God,” Jungkook moans, breathing hard for a moment before pulling out of your body. Rolling off your bed, Jungkook ties the condom in half to toss into the trash. “That was amazing. You’re amazing,” he groans, pushing a hand through his hair.

“And you’re amazingly weird,” you giggle, collapsing backwards while Jungkook rolls onto the bed.

He grabs the blanket around your ankles, pulling it up to curl into your side. Since you began dating, you learned Jeon Jungkook is a cuddler. Never did you imagine that you would be, as well but for him – well, it seems all your rules have been broken.

The movie continues to play in the background, though neither one of you watch it.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[exosmutfactory]

Something Bout You

gif not mine 🌹

— Pairing: You & Baekhyun

— Genre/AU: smut,

— Word Count: 3.7k

— Rating: 18+ (M)

— [ Contains: you’ll find out  ]

❥ Sub Baekhyun because the woman behind this blog is a switch 💀💀 let’s go

ღ♥ღ♥ღ♥ ღ♥ღ♥ღ♥ ღ♥ღ♥ღ♥

Your best friend was having a party-a very 'suit&tie stuffie event' if you must admit. Attire requirements ranging from borrowed floor-length gowns to personally tailored suits. Housed in a grand ballroom supposedly used on an occasion for the Queen of Wisconsin or whatever, you don't know and you don't want to know. In fact, you don't even want to go.

But you have to, for one reason and ONE reason only.

To be the wing (wo)man as your bestie aims to woo her every-so-posh coworker; Kim Minseok.

Honestly, if your best friend didn't already call dibs on the guy, you surely would. With his midnight black hair and intense cat-like eyes, Minseok is an eyecatcher. Hell, all he has to do is walk into the room and nearly all inhabitants turn to him.

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. 'I have a mission,' you remind yourself, sighing at the state of your hair. You quickly put it up in a bun, loose curls of your hair hanging down in the front. You consider putting on a bow until you remember the type of party you are actually going to. 'Right,' You roll your eyes, reaching for a tube of red lipstick instead.

Since you are going to such a formal event, you will try to look the part. Putting behind your usual comfortable/girly pinks and long sweaters for bold reds and a sleeveless dress. A dress so sleeveless that it fits like a vest, fully showcasing your slim arms and prominent collarbones..

Are you being a wing woman or a man stealer?

Shrugging, you look for your trusty black heeled boots, slipping into the 3-inch heels with ease. You need your 'morning after' foot pain to be as minimal as possible.

Checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you nod; satisfied, and head out for the event.

Getting there proves to be difficult as the GPS in your car fancies telling you where you have to make your turn at the last possible second. But you being you, you left a little early in case something this ridiculous was unfortunate to happen. It hardly lessens your urge to curse at it though.

Finally getting there, you pull up to the place; eyes widening at how grand it actually is. 'Did she say the Queen of Wisconsin or the Queen of England?' Either way, you are left in awe.

A little while after handing off your 'baby' to the safety of a car-boy, you make your way across the grassy lawn and lift your flowy skirt while going up the marble steps.

Two men are there to check your ID and open up the double doors; revealing how the building looks even more stunning in its interior.

Stepping inside, you immediately stop your friend, greeting every guest that walks in. She calls out your name as you swiftly make your way over; not missing the sigh of relief she gives while wrapping you in a light hug. "I'm so glad you could make it. Look, he's right over there."

You pick up a glass from a tray going by and nod, taking a sip as you skillfully eye the handsome man engaged in conversation with another–

Holy shit.

You nearly choke on your drink while eyeing the redhead next to Minseok. While Mr. Kim rocks a white suit, this man sports a turquoise one; the light in the room reflecting off of it in a magnetic way. Judging from the other ladies around also to seemingly take notice of the stunning man, you know you aren't alone. And you know one other thing too:

You need a closer look.

So, taking the hand of your protesting and panicky friend, you move closer to the two men.

They don't notice you at first, 'Thank goodness,' You think, turning to your still jabbering friend. "Vic. Listen."

She goes quiet, taken aback at the serious look in your eyes.

You gesture towards the redhead as discretely as possible, "See him?" She nods, so you continue, "I'm getting that tonight."

Her eyes widen to the size of saucers. "Really? You like Baekhyun?"

Baekhyun. The name triggers a memory. An annoyingly attractive man who teased you for confessing to being a dom at a small 'Truth or Dare' gathering.

Clenching your jaw and looking back at your friend, you nod curtly. She smirks as if being able to read you, patting your shoulder, "Go for it, babe. Just stay by my side as I woo Minseok, okay?"

All you do is smirk in response; straightening your posture before continuing to make your way over to the stunning duo. Your friend not far behind.

Minseok is the first to notice you, a polite smile on his face. "Ladies." He nods in acknowledgment, gesturing to the man next to him. "This is Byun Baekhyun, as you may know."

"Oh of course," Victoria gushes. "Who wouldn't know the co-director of one of the biggest designer brands."

Minseok nods, though an odd look crosses his face; you squint slightly to catch the flicker of jealousy in his eyes. "Of course." He claps a hand on the back of said man in a rough manner, nearly making the latter spill his drink. "Baekhyun is a hard-working man."

Victoria nods, "Although," She looks down in a shy manner; peeking up at him under perfect eyelashes, "Working as the chairman for Lotto Inc is extremely admirable."

Minseok's eyes widen in surprise, "Oh?"

'She's got him,' You think, 'Hook, line, and sinker.'

Vic giggles flirtatiously, hooking her arm with his, "Of course."

Leaving them to their own conversation, you focus on your meal for the night; already finding his eyes on you. He takes the courtesy of speaking first.

"So," He looks at you from head to toe, eyes lingering on predictable places. You could scoff at how he shamelessly licks his lips. He takes his time dragging his eyes back up to yours, "Are you hoping to catch a new victim tonight?"

You smirk, keeping your eyes locked on him, "I'm looking right at him."

He raises a brow, trying to play it off as if your words don't affect him. But the tremble of his hand and struggle to swallow as he sips his drink isn't failed to be seen by you.

"And what if I don't want to be the prey?" He challenges, eyeing you with significantly darker eyes.

You chuckle deeply, taking your sweet time to sip at your own drink; thriving off of the impatience in his eyes. "Well." You hum, speaking lowly, "There is no being the predator with me, baby. I hunt." You take a step closer, relishing in how he gulps, "And you." You chuckle about a foot away from him, leaning closer to set your glass down on the table behind him.

You can tell he's buzzing in anticipation; body nearly crying out for you to take him. Before you lean back, you don't fail to brush your lips against his ear; humming as he shivers. "I make sure to take full pleasure in my every meal." You lean all the way back, taking notice of his blown pupils and heaving chest.

He continues to watch you with those dark eyes of his, not making a single move. You take a look around and notice that your friend and her crush have already departed with a sigh, yet still managing to send Baekhyun a polite smile. "Well, it was nice seeing you I guess–"

A hand grabs your wrist, "P-Please." A whisper. In the sweetest of tones. You want more of it. You want more of him.

Turning back to Baekhyun you have to gulp yourself at the look of desire in his eyes.

Right then and there you finally decide. You see him. You like him. And you want to make him yours. Even for just one night.

With your mind made up, you take hold of his hand, tugging him roughly. He stumbles forward with a yelp, grabbing your waist to stabilize himself. You pull him close, your own hand resting heavily on his hip while your other moves to his back. "He's feeling a little unwell," You say, waiting until the onlookers look away; understanding overshadowing the jealousy in their own eyes. You take a peek to see how Baekhyun's doing, his face resting in the crook of your neck.

You brush your lips to his ear again, biting down on it hard and soothing it when he gasps. "Come." You take a step back, taking his hand again and walking back to a hallway you saw earlier.

Baekhyun follows you closely behind; breathing heavily down your neck. You are two seconds away from ordering him to stop when he starts leaving wet kisses down your neck; opting to shove him off instead. He whimpers, confusion written all over his face when you look back at him; holding his hand even tighter and walking farther into the unknown.

After trying a few locked doors you come upon an open one, pushing it farther to reveal a king-size bed. Cream curtains and silk sheets. You smirk, 'Perfect.' 

Turning around, you pull a hesitant Baekhyun farther into the room, pressing him into the ajar door. He yelps as it slams, moaning shamelessly in your mouth when you pounce on his. His hands grab on to your hips and he yelps again, blinking at you after you spank his thigh in warning.

You lok right back at him, "No touching without permission."

Not surprisingly, he nods, letting his hands hang by his sides. You hum, more than pleased, leaning to peck his lips, "Good boy." He beams under the praise.

Chuckling, you slowly walk backward, pulling him with you. At the last second you switch your positions, pushing a surprised Baekhyun to the bed. He lands with another yelp and you nearly roll your eyes. 'Seriously? Shouldn't he expect this by now?' Although one look at how wrecked he already is, you remember that he is a first timer. His soft lips already rosy and swollen, palms digging into the sheets and the look of pure lust in his dark brown eyes.

You make a noise. "Look at you.." Shaking your head you trail your eyes farther down his body, tsking at the strain in his pants. "Already so wrecked and I've barely touched you."

Baekhyun whimpers, palms twisting in the sheets as you take a step closer, leaning your knee on the bed, "P-Please–"

You press your finger to his lips, "Hush baby boy." You look him over again, seeing the light shine of sweat already covering his forehead, "Let's get these clothes off of you, hmm?"

Baekhyun bites his lip and nods, aiding you in taking off his coat and black turtle neck.

You make a pleased noise as more of him is revealed. "Damn baby, why do you hide all this?" He whines as you lightly run your nails down his chest, flicking his nipples playfully. He hisses at that and you chuckle, tapping his knee. "Pants too."

The man has the nerve to blush, lifting his hips as you climb off the bed to properly take the offending material off. Your eyes widen when his cock immediately stands up to attention, the head a flushed pink. Narrowing your eyes you look up at a red-eared Baekhyun. "Going commando, hmm?" You lean forward, spitting on his dick and taking it in your hand. "Had plans to get lucky tonight?"

"Y-Yes," He whines, lifting his hips as you squeeze him tightly. "For you!" He chokes out. You slow down your ministrations, letting him talk. He gulps at the stare you give him, "I-I was hoping to get lucky," He says softly, "With you."

That leaves a flutter in your chest, one you ignore by ghosting your lips over his tip, humming as he groans, jerking when you teasingly lick his slit. "Hoping to get lucky with me, huh." You chuckle, savoring his salty taste. Peeking up at him you feel powerful at the desparte look in his eyes.

"Y-Yes." He insists, twitching in your hand, "All for you."

"What a good boy." You hum, taking him into your mouth. Baekhyun nearly keens, head thrown back as you take more of him in.

"F-Fuck." You never expected him to be so sensitive. And vocal. But then again, that explains how loud he is 99% of the time. "That feels so good. Y-You feel so good."

Feeling him throb in your mouth you go all the way down on him, swallowing around his head once before pulling away; his whine near piercing as you wipe your mouth. "Hush baby. Mistress doesn't reward brats." You stand up, trying to unzip your dress only to remember that you needed help putting it on in the first place. Noticing the frustrated look on your face, Baekhyun sits up, "N-Need help?" The eager to please look on his face is borderline cute.

You smile, "Yes baby." You turn around, noticing how hot your own skin is as his fingers lightly brush your back. His breath hitches when the dress pools at your feet.

You smirk, you could get high off of the effect you have on him. "Thank you, baby," You coo, turning back to him and climbing into his lap. Baekhyun gulps yet keeps his hands at his sides. You sit right on his cock, feeling it twitch through your lace panties. You rock against him to test the waters and Baekhyun squeezes his eyes shut, whimpering. You can tell how much he wants to move by how his thighs tense.

"Look at you." You coo, cupping his cheek, "Being a good boy and staying still without being told to."

His eyes flutter a little, sucking in a sharp breath as you move again without stopping; slowly grinding. "M-Mistress."

"Hmm?" You kiss up his neck, nibbling on his ear as he moans, "What is it, baby."

"C-Can you–" He moans loudly at a particaly hard grind, shaking a bit.

"You stop, looking at him as his whole face goes red; the blush even covering his chest. "What do you want, baby. Tell me."

"Please." He whines, looking into your eyes withhis pleading ones, biting hard on his lip, "Please ride me."

You hum, whispering into his ear while grinding against him again, "Good boy." You sit up and slowly unclasp your bra, throwing it away. "Eyes up here." You say sternly, finger on Baekhyun's chin as he gulps, nodding quickly.

Continuing to grind again, you run your hands down his chest; reaching for his needy cock when he starts whining again. Finally deciding he had had enough, you pull your panties to the side, slowly stroking him as you brush him between your folds.

Just before you sit down on him, Baekhyun calls your name, grabbing your wrist.

You look up at him. "What." You snap impatiently.

Baekhyun gulps. "Y-You aren't properly prepared yet, Mistress." He daringly meets your eyes. "It'll hurt."

Something in his tone brings back that light flutter to your chest and lets him help you wiggle out of your panties and properly straddle him again.

Baekhyun's eyes start to drift, but they snap back up to meet yours; wordlessly asking for permission. You feel bare under that look as you nod, goosebumps covering your heated skin as he drinks you in.

"Beautiful." He breathes, hands twitching in the sheets. You silently grab his wrist and place his hand over your breast.

Baekhyun hums, softly palming your chest while leaning to lick your other nipple. You can't help but shudder; stuck between moving closer and pulling away. Your cheeks heating at your sensitivity. The moment he wraps his lips around it, you let out a sensual moan, tangling your hand in his hair.

Baekhyun looks up at you, running his unoccupied hand up your back before firmly grabbing your waist. Next thing you know, you feel a breeze and warm sheets against your back; looking up at a panting Baekhyun.

"I-I know you want to ride me. Just–" His hands slide up your inner thighs; gaze focused on what's in between. He licks his lips like a starved man and kneads them, pressing quick, sloppy kisses down your body. You try your best not to squirm, but the second his tongue is pressed against your slit, your hips buck with an embarrasingly high pitched squeal.

Baekhyun gets a good grip on your thighs, having to hold you down as you continue to thrash; moaning lowly when you tangle your hand back in his hair and roughly pull.

"You're so responsive." He breathes, whimpering as you tug his hair again. He sucks your clit into his mouth and groans, the stimulation pulling a needy moan from your throat.

God, how to tell him that you've never been gone down on before... Maybe you shouldn't. His ego is already quite large already...like his cock.

You try to get a look at his leaking member, nearly whimpering yourself at how flushed its gotten, leaving streaks of precum on the sheets. A familiar tension builds in your stomach.

"B-Baekhyun." You gasp, trying to close your legs when he easily slips two slender fingers into your wet core; pumping them quickly.

"Hmm?" He hums, brows furrowed in concentration as he crooks up his fingers; kissing up your thigh when you nearly shout. "Yes? M-Miss." He gulps, taking in your sexy glare as he keeps hitting your special spot.

"I-I." You pant, eyes shutting and back arching as that wave of pleasure threatens to wash over you. "I want to cum on your cock."

Baekhyun pauses and you down right near yell at him even though you told him to stop. His eyes run over your body, drinking in your flushed, panting form. As if realizes something, the look in his eyes shift; dark but with an innocent gaze as he looks up at you again. "I-I want you to cum in my pretty mouth." He breathes, licking his lips as you clench around his fingers. "I want to taste you. I want it. Please." He starts moving his fingers again, watching in awe as your legs start to shake.

You hiss at the pressure quickly building in your abdomen again, throwing your head back when you can't take meeting his innocent gaze anymore. "F-Fuck." You grunt, tears in your eyes as he sucks harder on your clit, flicking it wickedly with his tongue. "Fuck!"

Your thighs close around his head, and he keeps going; extending your orgasm as you cry out and shake beneath him.

Wait.

After a few moments, you jerk with sensitivity, not being able to look away as Baekhyun gently pulls out his fingers; sucking on the digits with an obscene groan. Your cheeks flush at the sinful act.

Baekhyun looks up at you and smiles, holding your waist again; flipping your positions. "Whenever you're ready," He leans up, whispering in your ear. "I'll be a good boy."

You nearly gawk at him, raising a brow. For someone who seems so dominant, he sure is making a mess out of you right now.

Okay. Enough of the foreplay, you are both near to cumming (again) at this point.

You take his angry red cock in your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing him to your entrance. Your breath hitches as you slide down, biting hard on your lip while Baekhyun moans his loudest one of the night. You're still so fucking sensitive, and the way Baekhyun is begging you so sweetly to move with his swollen, pouty lips has you clenching hard around him.

"I-I'm gonna cum." He breathes, hands resting on your hips as you start to move.

You tsk at that, spanking his thigh. "You better not." You gasp when he thrusts up into you, hitting your spot so good your thighs start trembling again. "Not before me."

Baekhyun hums, kissing up your neck as your pace quickens and biting your ear. "I want Mistress to cum again." He pulls another gasp from you with a sharp thrust; softly stroking your curves with his slender hands. His voice turning deeper and huskier as he throbs inside you. "You look so pretty cumming for me."

"Fuck." You swear, bucking your hips into his when he slides a sneaky hand down to roughly rub your clit. "Shit. Baekhyun."

He grunts in reply, holding firmly on to your waist and shifting, pounding straight into your gspot.

"Baekhyun!" You scream, squirming on top of him as you come hard, your head resting on his shoulder. Through your orgasmic haze, you feel his chest rapidly moving against yours, his hands holding you tight as he chases his release.

You use the last of your strength to clench tightly around him, pressing your lips to his ear. "Come for me Baekhyun. Come inside. Fill me up."

"F-Fucking hell!" The man cries, thrusting as deep as possible into you. You gasp at the feeling, a flush falling over you again at the warm spurts of his satisfied lust inside you.

Baekhyun slightly moves your hips back and forth, as if trying to coat your walls even more. You clench around him again and he groans; head dropping to your shoulder. "If you keep moving like that Doll, I'll want to go again."

You blink at the endearment, sitting up as he softly rubs your back. "What if I want to?" You mumble, looking his prettily wrecked form over; running your hands down his chest.

Baekhyun gulps and you feel him stir slightly inside you, making you smirk. You chuckle, nibbling on his ear and grinding again, "How bout you show me what you're made of, hmm?" You taunt, circling your hips.

Baekhyun's eyes take on a near sinister look as a sinful smirk forms on his lips. He flips you back over and you gasp, whimpering as his half-hard member nudges your spot. He brushes his lips over your neck and growls in your ear. "Gladly."

[artemuerto]

Selfish— or Part 2 of another Mob Boss with another moodboard.

original moodboard here

Part 1: On a Whimp—

Read on AO3

Selfish—

He rose up still drunk on sleep. Peter wasn’t used to yet but enjoyed it anyway. Whether was dark and warm past midnight or the early cold mornings, he found peace in it.

Shoeless feet brushed gingerly on the soft rug while the small click of oxfords were heard in the room. The door opened to the spacey bathroom and Peter was soon surrounded by floral essences of Lavender and Lillies.

A smooth and caring touch was left in his hair and Peter couldn’t help but sigh lovingly, not in all his short time living this live he could get used to the alluring promises of forever.

Mister Stark was still on his working clothes. The only clear difference of his appearance was the lack of a tie and the golden twins at his sleeves, in fact, the white of his sleeves were now slightly pink and splashed over, rolled up so Peter had a view of his bare forearms and the pulsing veins flooding with rage.

He wanted to comfort while the other man had other plans. Striping Peter from his nightgown in sweet touches. First the silky pristine top, the spaghetti stripes rolled down his shoulders bringing tickles and making the boy chuckle loud enough to be heard in the room. Stark leaned over to smell the scent of apples from Peter’s hair and a tint of his own shampoo; Peter started to crave his smell the nights Tony spend too long out from the state.

“Mister Stark—“ Peter tried again to gain his attention but the man shushed him sweety with a kiss on his forehead, a silent order to let him be. Both would find peace afterward. Peter nodded wordlessly and took a step forward. Stepping on Stark’s shoes, Peter went up to his fingertips by the time Stark sank his fingers on the hem of his frilly shorts and pushed them down.

Peter hid his face in the man’s neck feeling shy.

“You’re Perfecto, Bambino.” Stark praised him and reassured him. To him Peter was an angel.

His underwear for the night were simple white panties that hugged his cheeks to roundness and was soft to his fingertips, he almost felt disappointed at the lack of sweet patterns, feeling accustomed to the tiny details the made the clothing purely Peter.

“Grazie.” Stark felt his heart soared in a sense of pride as Peter talked, the boy had taken a liking for learning Italian so he could understand Tony at random times when the words would escape him.

The undergarments went down and promptly Peter was moved to the bathtub.

The water was warm but he still felt the change in his skin giving him goosebumps, Tony had him siting at his chest so Peter couldn’t see his face. Mr. Stark’s hands went to his hair, getting it wet and ready enough for shampoo. Peter melted under his touch trusting him with his soul, the man would never hurt him.

He lashes became sparkly with water as Stark cleaned him and only then Peter notice the different coloring he was sitting on. Long lost was the clear and bubbly seam of water, left only a not so strange but still not familiar pink hue. Mister Stark had his hands dirty.

The man was kneeled in front of Peter, his gaze was still dark and controlling and now the Peter knew what to look for, he could see the lonely drops of blood under his nails.

Peter turned to face him and taking his rough hand in his, the boy cleaned Stark earnestly and was rewarded with a slow smile.

No. Peter wasn’t used to be awaken at odd hours, hours where mr. Stark would have been working. And that meant, screaming, threatening, hurting and punishing other people, people who deserved it.

The hours where the man was drained to exhaustion and one of his ways to coping with the murder thoughts was to touch him, to bath him and clean him as if that way the man stripped down his own sins.

And Peter would gladly drink them all only to see the man smile again.

Tony wrapped him in a fluffy towel and carried him to his room. Out were expose three different pajamas Peter could choose from before going back to sleep. Tony was going to dressed him careful and thoughtfully, spread him in his sheets and let him take as much space as the boy wanted, which usually meant staying nested near his body even when the bed was big enough to fit four to five people.

Peter let the Mafia Lord rest between his legs and hugged him to his chest, he would never say it aloud but he worried for the older man. An older man carrying the weight of the world in his shoulders ready to do the impossible for his family and the people he cared about. Peter was lucky to be one of those now.

Tony could drown in his need for revenge, pride and lust for blood anytime, but one look at Peter and everything else would ease into background. Tony wanted only to see Peter.

Tony wanted to give him the world.

And of that meant tearing the world down. So be it.

—

‘Jasmine’ was still the same but also different. Soon the place had become a safe space now that they knew they could trust each other.

Stephen was always glad to see Peter once again even by the hand of Stark, but soon any dark thoughts were forgotten with one of Peter’s smiles.

Bucky saved him a place next to the bar, Peter no longer was a simple ornament, a pretty bird to fawn over. Now, he mixed and served next to mr. Barnes with the only unusual outcome of having pats on his head by the people who knew him.

Natasha was delighted to see him again. Gushing how much ‘Jasmine’ wasn’t the same without his lithe flower. The woman was there for business, someone had required her services and she had to touch point. Get to know her client even before considering the offer.

It was a really good fucking offer.

Peter giggled attracting some attention. Some expected, some unwanted; he had grown up accustomed to the demeaning stare and bland comments about his mere existence. How much he was nothing but dirt underneath their shoes not even worth cleaning.

He never really paid attention. Peter knew he was in safe hands, Dr. Strange —as he liked to refer himself— never left him out of his sight, Bucky was near him all times and misses Romanov tucked him under her wing before he was even conscious.

He was in safe hands.

Now, to those hands, he could add some more. A pair of hands that he could love, caress and admire.

Tony’s hands were made of iron. With a clenching fist and a deadly grasp, everybody feared for his life pending within those hands. Anyone but Peter.

Bucky let him know it was time for him to serve drinks at the upper state. The hidden floor used only in special occasion.

His shiny shoes squeaked against the floor forgotten to the soft lullaby of music, a tray rested on his hand, careful walk and timid steps leaded him behind a heavy curtain and wood double doors.

Knocking smoothly he waited for instructions.

Mr. Rogers opened the door for him, nodding in silence Peter greeted the man and gazed over the room to know their occupants. Dr. Strange was sitting far from the window, legs crossed in a comfortable sofa, mr. Rogers kept his place close to the door. There was a man sitting on the other sofa next to Strange, a man he didn’t know.

The unknown face was serious. Short and well-kept hair, the beard wasn’t long but thick, Peter question if it would feel as smooth as Mr. Stark thrim one underneath his hands however any second thought was soon forgotten as Mr. Stark himself caught his attention.

“Please, come in.” Peter held his need to smile feeling pleased and after a second or so, left the tray in the table by the man.

“I gotta say, this was not what i expected.” Said the man as Peter served four cups of tea in pearl white cups decorated with hand painted drawing of living flowers. Peter kneeled fully in the soft rug and for moments his movement was in doubt, had he understood wrongly? Those were not his orders?

Strange came forward and patted his head to ease his worries.

“I know it’s unconventional although I personally taught Peter the art of Japanese tea parties and is as important as the discussion we’re having.” Peter nodded along the doctor’s words and continued to serve each cup with care and love.

Peter felt the weight of a stare, so curious as always, he looked up thinking he was going to find Mr. Stark eyes but instead he took in a pair of interested piercing blue eyes.

“How silly of me—“ Mr. Stark roamed shortly as Peter walked to give Steve his cup. The smiled grateful, they had been drinking most part of the evening and his stomach was glad of a changed. “Please, let me introduce the new member of the Stark Industries.” Tony circles his desk and stayed on top of it with a loose grin between his lips. “Quentin, meet Peter.” The boy stopped his actions to stand and come closer to the man whose eyes sparkled with an upsetting glamour.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Quentin smiled with a short nod and repressed a twitching eyebrow from going up in interest. So this was the mysterious boy he had heard before.

A well-hidden boy who had stolen Stark’s heart. Some say the man let the boy rule on top of his shoulders.

Well, at least the boy was easy on the eye so he could sympathize with the older one.

“Peter, this is mister Quentin Beck.” Peter grinned looking pleased like a cat who almost got the cream and went back to attending the men around him. Now going step by step on what he was doing and why. Strange looked proud.

“Usually the head of the family would be the last person to be serve.” Stealing a amuse smirk to Mr. Stark, Peter went up to the man and left his cup untouched on the desk. “But today we are here to celebrate you Mr. Beck.” Quentin wasn’t going to lie, he felt a tingle of arousing glee at being addressed in such ways by the little beauty.

The sound of pouring tea was heard with such clarity that Quentin should have been more worried about it rather than staring at Peter as the boy opened the kettle’s lid to extract fresh petals of flowers and served them gingerly.

Steve look at his empty cup, did he just—?

“Tonight we honor you with a special infusion to make you feel comfortable.” Peter placed the cup in the man’s hands and waited for him to drink bits. The soft and sweet floral scent had a taste of honey. “We have to treat you like you are...” Quentin finished his drink in short soundless sips. “The man who’s trying to steal from the Stark Family.”

Beck’s eyes went wide and his hands trembled slightly, short after his heart started beating fast and his breath was unable to even out. One of his bands rose to his neck useless. The cup rolled down the carpet.

Peter caught Tony’s eyes almost guilty.

“I’m sorry.” Cleaning the rug was going to be a pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Steve will take care of it.” Speaking of Steve—

The poor man was petrified in his place, his eyes never leaving the lifeless corpse of Beck laying in the sofa, from outside nobody would have thought the man was dead, only comfortably sleeping if you didn’t notice the lack of movement in his chest. Steve has also finished his drink and sure was waiting his turn.

Peter moved closer to Steve and took both of his hands into his own.

“You’re okey, Cap. Nothing is going to happened to you.” The man released a heavy breath he didn’t know was keeping in and his legs failed him for seconds, leaving him kneeling in front of the boy with his forehead against the soft clothed tummy. “I would never hurt you, Cap.” Steve laughed in guffaw and finally relaxed his shoulders.

“Please, don’t ever do that again, Boss.” He was talking to Tony but gazed up to find Peter. “It’s not good for my health.” Peter giggled in content and caressed the man’s hair as an apology.

Mr. Stark moved from his seat and thought what to do now.

They had work ahead.

By the time Jasmine was close and the body was being moved Peter came close asking for time to see the man better and touched his beard. With a displeased disappointment he realized it was not even close to the feeling he had when closer to Mr. Stark.

Tony lifted a brow questioning and Peter shrugged.

“It doesn’t feel the same.”

“To what?” Peter hugged himself to Tony’s waist and hide a shy smile.

“To you.”

Peter watched as the body disappeared in Bucky’s hands.

“They should know better than to touch what’s mine.” He breathed easily as all trail of Quentin Beck began to erase there in the middle of nowhere, hidden in open landscapes.

Back at the manor Peter stood half naked, only a robe covering his body as Tony applied lotion to his legs.

“And tell me master Peter. What’s yours?” The tint of amused sarcasm was not invisible to Peter and for moments he had the decency to look embarrassed, his cheeks lighting up in color. “The money? Or is it the gun? Are they yours baby?” Tony left the robe on the floor and started to slowly dress the boy in delicate silk shorts.

Peter rose up to his tippy toes and hugged Tony by his shoulders.

“The money is yours. You made it. You earned it. You bled it out.” Peter wanted nothing more than kiss the man in his arms. “Your guns are yours, your designes, your ideas.” Tony held the boy closer and kissed his neck. Peter standing on the bed while he stayed with his feet on the ground, the boy seem taller. “You wanted to know what’s mine...”

Peter could have said so many different things. Jasmine, the club. The house Strange had given him, the car Natasha gifted him for his birthday, so many other material things he had over the years. Yes, Peter had other things but worth killing for was only one.

“You. You are mine. And I won’t let anyone take you from my side.” Good answer.

If Peter was selfish for wanting to hurt anything or anyone who could take Tony away.

He was a madman willing to destroy the world only to see him happy.

“Don’t touch what’s mine.” Said the clever boy once pointing a pristine gun to a man’s forehead once and pulled the trigger the second Tony was to his side.

[trulymadlysydney]

Somewhere In Time: Five

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

-Haruki Murakami

Previous Chapters HERE

tw: Death, Loss of Parent, Harassment

***Please Do Not Repost Without Permission***

7:25am, January 3rd, 1925

Roni did the right thing.

She knows she did the right thing, and yet she cannot shake the guilt hanging over her head and the anxious twisting of her stomach every time she thinks about what happened last night.

It isn’t guilt for Oliver, it’s guilt for Harry.  And for some reason, that is the hardest part.

It’s raining in New York today, which seems fitting given Roni’s current state of distress.  She’d hardly slept at all through the night.  Harry’s room had felt particularly freezing last night, and Roni couldn’t seem to bury herself far enough under the blankets. She isn’t a crier usually, but she’d finally drifted off around midnight when her emotions had gotten the best of her.  It had been a restless sleep during which she’d woken up several times, and each time came with a painful new reminder of why her heart felt so unhappy.

It isn’t fair that she’s here.  It isn’t fair that she’s here with him, and he’s so beautiful and kind and generous, and it isn’t fair that for the first time in her entire life she’s feeling something completely unexplainable and new.  She almost wishes she didn’t even come here to begin with-- almost-- because everything feels so twisted and weird.  It isn’t right, but it isn’t wrong either.

And above all else, Roni really misses her mom.

There had been several instances throughout the night in which Roni had considered opening the door just to go talk to Harry, but what would she even say?  Especially the later it got, she didn’t want to wake him-- if he was even sleeping at all.

After Roni had told Harry that she couldn’t kiss him-- despite everything in her screaming at her to do it-- he’d sighed.  She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from him, but she figured that no matter the reaction, it would’ve hurt just as much.  He hadn’t backed away immediately, and Roni could feel his lashes flutter against her skin.  

“You can’t.” He’d repeated, and it wasn’t a question.

“Harry, I’m sorry--”

He held up his hand to stop her as he took a step back.  “Don’t.  Don’t do that.  Don’t apologize.”

“I really want to, it’s just--”

“You can’t,”  Harry repeated, a sad and almost bitter smile creeping across his face.  “I get it.  You don’t need to tell me twice.”

Roni felt completely at a loss for words as she watched him back away from her.  “Harry, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?  I’m not doing anything.”

Tears welled in Roni’s eyes at the same alarming rate that Harry’s smile grew sadder. She gave him a sad shrug, shaking her head as she tried to come up with any words.  

“I’m so sorry,” she’d whispered.

“Stop.”  Harry had prayed Roni didn’t hear the crack in his voice, but of course she had.  So he cleared his throat and tried again.  “Veronica,” he said, slowly and pointedly.  “Don’t.”

It was too late, however, when the first tear rolled down Roni’s cheek.  Despite how desperately she’d wanted to run to Harry and, at the very least just hold him for comfort’s sake, she knew that wasn’t a possibility.  Not now.  Not when he looked so hurt and dejected.  Not when he was begging her not to make this any worse than it already was.

So she’d only nodded her head.  “Okay.”

They’d stood there like that for the next few moments, just eyeing one another and daring the other to move.  In the end, it was Harry who broke the stillness first-- walking to the couch to unfold the blanket he’d been using.  “I’m going to bed now.”

“Do you want to take your bed tonight?”  It was a pitiful offering, and Roni had known that the moment it had escaped her lips.  Even Harry shot her a look, as if that were the most absurd thing he’d ever heard in his life.

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”  Roni had felt like an idiot the entire time they were speaking, but for some reason that seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. So she’d swallowed down a sob threatening to bubble out, wiped at her runny nose, and croaked out a soft, “Goodnight then.”

He hadn’t reciprocated the well wishes.

Now, here Roni lies.  Her body physically refuses to sleep any longer, but she knows it must not be any later than seven.  She’s usually an early riser, yes, but this feels ridiculous.

Her ears prick when she hears a stirring in the kitchen.  Is Harry awake, too?  Had he gotten just as little sleep as she had?  Is he feeling the same?

Roni weighs her options for a moment, going back and forth over whether she should leave him alone or go talk this out with him.  She hears the kitchen sink begin running, and ultimately her curiosity gets the better of her.  So she slides out of bed and makes her way over to the door.

When she opens it, she’s surprised by the sight of Harry fully dressed down to the shoes, washing a glass.  He glances over his shoulder when he hears her, and only offers her an unbothered, “Morning.”

“Good morning.”  Roni steps timidly out into the living room, wrapping her arms around her chest.  “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”  Harry finishes washing the glass and places it on a mat beside the sink.  He turns to face Roni with a polite smile as he begins shimmying into his coat.

“It’s early.”  Excellent conversation starter.

Harry nods.  “It is, yeah.”  He stops suddenly and looks at her somewhat worriedly.  “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

The fact that Harry still seems concerned about such a small thing as that warms Roni’s heart just the tiniest bit, and she smiles weakly back at him.  “No, I was awake.  I didn’t get much sleep last night.”  

“Mm.”  Harry begins doing up the buttons of his coat.  “Neither did I, I’m afraid.”

Roni wants to mention the elephant in the room just to get it over with, but Harry seems in a bit of a hurry, so she tries again with the casual conversation.

“Where are you going?”  

“I’m going into town,” Harry replies nonchalantly.

“For what? The bookshop is--”

“--is closed today.  I know that.”  Now he is looking at her, and she wishes he wasn’t.  He softens just a touch when he sees her looking sadly back at him, and he sighs.  “I think I just need to clear my head a bit.”

Roni wants so badly to say something, but she knows that this is for the best.  They do need some time apart from each other after last night, even though every fiber of her being is screaming at her to do the opposite.  She wants to make use of the time she has left here-- however long that may be-- and spend as much of it with him as she can.  But he needs a moment away, and so does she.   So all she can manage is a soft mutter of, “Take your umbrella.  It’s raining.”

Harry nods in somber agreeance, and begins walking, only to stop moments later as if he’s just remembered something.  “Oh, by the way.”  He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded up flyer.  He gently tosses it onto the table and nods towards it.  “Found this this morning as I was taking the bins out.  I figured you would be interested.  I’m not sure if it’s useful or not,  but it may be a start in the right direction to find you a way back home.”

His words make Roni’s heart both sink and flutter with excitement, and it’s the most bizarre feeling she’s ever experienced.  She walks over to the table to get a better look at the discarded paper.

It’s a flyer with a black background, and a yellow crystal ball smack in the middle of it.  In a strange yellow font the name “Miss Violet LaRue” crosses the top half of the paper while words like “love,” “future” and “destiny” float ominously around the ball.  There’s a short description at the bottom of the flyer, describing Miss LaRue’s practices of fortune telling, palm reading, tarot, and “answering some of your deepest life questions.”  Roni beams up at Harry as the puzzle pieces begin connecting in her brain.  “Harry, you’re a genius!”

He smiles back at her and offers a humble shrug.  “Like I said, it may be something.  But it may also be nothing.  But at the very least, you’ll have a better sense of direction when you see her.  Oh and,” he nods towards the flyer again,  “you’ve got to go see her this afternoon.  She isn’t open tomorrow.”

Roni frowns as Harry makes his way through the room.  “You aren’t going with me?”

He speaks over his shoulder at her as he opens the door.  “Think you need to go alone, Veronica.  It’s what’s best.”  He pauses, then adds.  “The address is on the flyer.  You’ll have no trouble finding it.  Take the spare key under the mat.”

His words feel like another blow to the chest, but again she understands his reasoning.  So she smiles and gives him a nod.  “Alright.  See you tonight for dinner?”

For a brief moment, Harry seems almost completely himself again.  He shoots her his beautiful dimpled smirk and nods.  “See you tonight.  Don’t take any wooden dimes, yeah?”

Roni has no idea what that means, but she figures with the amount of slang she’s thrown over Harry’s head, she can let this slide. Harry begins leaving, but just as the door is almost fully closed behind him, he swings it open again.  “Oh, Veronica?”

“Yes?”

“Your breakfast is in the refrigerator.”

----

It doesn’t take Roni very long to get ready for the day, but what does take a while is working up the courage to leave the apartment.  Harry had made it feel so easy the past few days, and being by his side had made the entire ordeal painless.  Of course she knows her way around the city but not like this.  Things are different now.  People are different.  She’s wandered the  streets solo plenty of times in the 90s, but now just the thought alone makes her feel like she’s drowning, and if she thinks about it too long she knows she’s going to send herself into a panic attack.

It’s one of those situations where she knows she just has to go for it.  Planning and overthinking are her specialties of course, but on the other hand she can recall several instances of spontaneity that had ended up as some of her favorite memories.  Granted, she doesn’t necessarily expect roaming the streets of 1925 New York to become a fond memory passed down through the ages, but still-- what a story.

So with a final look in the mirror to ensure that she looks the part and a deep, shaky breath that she prolongs to stall time, Roni takes the flyer and Harry’s spare key and makes her way out into the damp, cold afternoon.

It’s no longer raining, but the sky is still full and threatening. The moisture in the air clings to Roni the moment the door closes behind her, and she tries her best not to become overwhelmed already at the differences in the world around her.

Everything smells more of wet pavement than of the cigarette smoke and motor oil she’s used to in the 90s, and instead of honking horns and screeching tires against the wet ground, she hears people in the distance actually talking and laughing with one another.  Nearby, a radio plays through an open window.  

As Roni descends the steps, her legs feel like jello. She knows she shouldn’t be nervous, and she attributes these nerves partly to her whole situation with Harry.  Nothing about that situation feels right, but she isn’t sure how on earth to fix it.  All she knows is that last night, laughing with him, being close to him, being around him in general-- that was the most right she’s felt in a long while.

She reaches ground level and picks up the pace with her walking.  Harry had told her she wouldn’t have too much of an issue finding the place, and she trusts him.  The layout of the city is exactly the same, so if she goes by landmarks rather than business names, she should be alright.

No one seems to pay Roni any mind when she turns onto a busier street.  Not that she was expecting them to, of course, but it’s comforting to know that she blends right in.  Aside from the occasional muttered greeting from a few passersby,  Roni goes almost completely unnoticed.

Until she doesn’t.

It’s ten minutes later when Roni begins to suspect she’s taken a wrong turn.  It’s twenty minutes later when she realizes she definitely has.

The buildings no longer look familiar, and it’s making her increasingly more flustered with herself.  She could have sworn the building for Ms. La Rue was on the corner of Seventy-Second and Hall, but now that she’s here she knows she’s made a big mistake.  The block is empty-- more of an alleyway than a block anyway.  Laundry hangs forgotten on lines between brick buildings, and it feels like nearly every house has been abandoned.  It’s so strange to her how one street over, the city seemed so full of life and joy.  Now it just feels desolate and cold.

“Hey doll.”  A deep voice brings Roni out of her thoughts, and she turns to see a man staring back at her.  She doesn’t like the look in his eyes, and she tenses when he removes the cigarette from his mouth.  “What’s a pretty gal like you doin’ on this side of town, huh?”

He’s an ugly man through and through.  He’s in a white tank-top, with a beer belly suspended over his dress pants. A thin mustache lines his upper lip, and his eyebrows are peppered with white hairs.  When he smiles, his teeth are yellow.  He seems the perfect caricature of a sinister man, and Roni’s gut tells her he is not to be trusted.

He takes a step towards her, and Roni instinctively takes a step back. “Sorry, I--I think I’m lost,” she says, and she hates how timid her voice sounds.  Why did she even apologize?

The man fake coos, closing the space between him and Roni completely and eyeing her like a hawk.  “You sound scared, baby doll.  You scared?”

He reeks of cigarette smoke, and Roni can’t stop the involuntary cough from escaping her lips.  “No,” she lies.  She doesn’t get it, if she were home she knows she’d be able to stand her ground with no problem.  But now, in a place where she feels small enough as it is, she isn’t sure what to do.

“Can tell you’re lost though,” he says, after another long drag from his cigarette.  “You smoke?”

“No, I--”

“That was a joke,” he chuckles, flicking ash onto the pavement.  “Can I help you find where you’re going?”

Roni gulps down a lump in her throat.  “I mean… maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeats through another laugh.  “You’re cute, baby.  Got a name?”

“Tanya.”  It’s the first thing Roni can think of, and she doesn’t like the smirk on his face when he hears it.

“Well, ain’t that pretty.  Almost exotic, huh?”

“No, it’s not.”  Roni’s growing increasingly more impatient, and slightly more brave.  “Look, if you’re not gonna help me--”

“Woah woah woah, slow your roll, baby doll.”  He tosses the cigarette onto the ground and stomps on it with his shoe. “If you behave yourself we’ll get you out of here no problem, yeah?”

He puts his hand on her lower back, but she pulls away immediately.  He only chuckles, closing the gap again.  He nods his head towards the flyer in her hand.  “What’s that?”

“Oh, uh--”  Roni isn’t sure if this is information she should divulge or not. On the one hand she knows he could help her, or at the very least point her in the right direction.  But on the other, does she really trust this man to know where she’s planning on going?

He takes the flyer from her hands before she even has time to finish contemplating, and he squints as he holds it close to his face. “This where you’re headed?”

Roni only looks up at him with wide eyes and clenched jaw.  She’s clearly afraid, but if he sees her apprehension he pays it no mind.  He instead barks out a laugh.  “You believe in this junk?  Magic and all that?”

“I don’t know,” Roni says, mustering up as much courage as she can.  “That’s what I was going to find out.”

“Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing.”  The man tosses the poster with a chuckle and it lands pathetically into a puddle.  Roni winces, and he wraps an arm around her-- tighter this time.  “Tanya, what do you say I show you some real magic?  Think you’d like that?”

“No.”  Roni tries to make her voice firm as she tears herself out of his grasp.  She isn’t this girl.  She’s not the type to cower, especially not in front of a man like this.  She clenches her fists at her sides.  “Don’t touch me.  Leave me alone.”

“Ooh, you’re a feisty one aren’t you?”  He’s got a smirk on his face that terrifies Roni, and he saunters slowly towards her.  “Come on, doll.  What’s the matter, you got a boyfriend or somethin’?”

Roni begins walking backwards, too afraid to turn her back on him.  “I said leave me alone.”

Of course he doesn’t listen to her.  She wasn’t exactly expecting him to one way or another, but the fact that he’s still advancing towards her makes her feel smaller and smaller with every step.  “Does your boyfriend know you’re out here all alone?” He taunts.  “Hm?  Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be alone out here.”  His smirk deepens and his eyebrows twitch with his words.  “You know there’s bad guys out here.”

Roni stumbles a bit over a loose piece of cobblestone and nearly loses her footing. The man only chuckles.  “Oh!” he says with a grin.  “Careful now.”

Roni feels a thud, and she’s worried that she’s got herself backed into a wall-- only the wall is warm and pliable.  She whirls around and comes face to face with someone she is instantly thankful to see.  

“Harry, I--”

Harry gently cuts her off, nudging her to stand behind him.  He looks straight at the man who was bothering her.  “What seems to be the trouble here?”  His voice is cool and firm, but light all at the same time.

From her spot behind Harry, Roni realizes that this man isn’t all that big after all.  Maybe it’s because she was so afraid and already feeling small to begin with,  but now she can see that he stands no taller than Harry.  Behind Harry, she feels small in a good way, and it’s immediately comforting.

The man frowns.  “You know her?”

“Howard,” Harry says, with a tight lipped smile,  “I see you’ve met my girlfriend.”

So many questions are running through Roni’s head.   How long had he been here, and how did he know this man?

The man-- Howard-- shakes his head in confusion.  “Girlfriend? Styles, you sly dog.”  He chuckles, as if he and Harry have been friends for ages.  Harry, however, doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

“I believe she told you to leave her alone.  Did she not?”

Howard rolls his eyes.  “We were just having a bit of fun, weren’t we baby?  You knew I wasn’t really gonna hurt ya.”

“No!” Roni speaks up, feeling a bit braver from behind Harry.  “I didn’t, fucker!”

Harry holds out his hand to quiet her, exhaling through his nose. Howard smirks.  “Got quite the mouth on her, hasn’t she?  If she were my girl, I’d take her over my knee and show her who’s in charge, eh?  Bet you have some fun with that one.”

Even from behind, Roni can see Harry’s jaw clench. He closes and opens his fist several times, as if contemplating his move, before simply taking a step closer.  In the blink of an eye, he’s got Howard’s shirt collar in his fist, and he’s yanking Howard so close to him their heads nearly collide.  HIs voice is low when he speaks, but Roni can hear him crystal clear, and it makes even her own blood run cold.

“I swear to God, if you so much as fucking look at her one more time I’m going to kill you. Do you understand me?”

Howard doesn’t answer, and there’s a moment of tension in which Roni thinks Harry might actually kill him right then and there.  If looks could kill, Howard would already be dust by now.  His look is unreadable, but Harry’s is pure anger, and Roni almost feels she should intervene.

Harry shoves Howard backwards, letting go of his shirt and causing Howard to stumble with a curse word, before reaching for Roni’s hand.  He doesn’t look back, interlacing his fingers with hers as he walks.  “Let’s go, love.”

Part of Roni wants to look back at Howard, to make sure he isn’t going to do anything else.  But the more dominant part of her wants to keep going until this place is far behind her.  Harry’s strides are wide, and Roni has to take uncomfortable double strides just to keep up with him, but it’s comforting being with him nonetheless.

Out of nowhere, Harry lets go of Roni’s hand and whirls around, catching Howard’s flying fist just in time before it would have hit him.  Roni shrieks involuntarily but Harry doesn’t so much as flinch.

For the first time, Harry actually smiles a slow smile that scares even Roni.  “I wouldn’t if I were you, mate.”

With one more shove, he pushes Howard back, this time effectively causing him to lose his balance and stumble onto the ground.   Harry doesn’t even wait to see him land; instead he resumes his spot beside Roni, places his hand on her back, and continues walking.

This time, Roni does look back over her shoulder, and Howard curses up a storm.  He damns Harry to hell, he calls Roni a bimbo, he throws all kinds of insults at them just to try and get a reaction from Harry.  It makes Roni’s blood boil, but Harry keeps a steady composure-- the only thing giving away his anger is the way his jaw flexes.

They round the corner onto the busier street Roni had been on earlier, and Harry finally speaks.

“You can stop looking now.  He’s not going to bother us anymore.”

“What the hell was that?!”  Roni turns to face Harry.

“Could ask you the same thing, love.”  He finally stops walking, turning to face her and brushing her hair off of her forehead.  “Are you hurt?”  He’s scanning her for any cuts or bruises, and his touch is so gentle that Roni could melt.

“I’m fine,” she says,  “He didn’t hurt me.”  Harry seems unconvinced as he continues to scan her, but Roni can’t wait any longer for clarification.  “So, I’m sorry, you know him?”

“Knew.  Unfortunately.” Harry steps back, holding Roni’s shoulders in his hands and eyeing her closely.  “You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure!” Roni insists impatiently.  “And what were you even doing over here anyway?  How did you manage to be there right on time?”  Roni narrows her eyes.  “Are you stalking me?”

Harry snorts, the same familiar smirk that Roni has grown so fond of spreading across his cheeks.  “Don’t flatter yourself.  I used to work over here.”

“What?”

Harry points just beyond Roni’s shoulder.  “That building there? That’s Milton’s.  Our good friend Howard works there. He’s only been there for a year but he and Milton are all buddy-buddy.  Thinks he runs the bloody place, but he’s so far up Milton’s arse he can see out of his mouth.  Pardon my language.”

“So he’s a scumbag.”

“To put it lightly, yeah.  We had it out a few times at work. Right dickhead he was. Never liked the guy.”

“I can see why,” Roni says.  “But that still doesn’t explain why you happened to show up at the perfect time like something out of a cheesy rom-com.”

Harry gives Roni the smile reserved for when she says something that goes well above his head.  “A what?”

Roni shakes her head.  “Nevermind.  Just tell me what you were doing here. Please.”

Looking over Roni’s shoulder at the brick building that houses Miltons, Harry shrugs. “Left a couple of things there the night they sacked me. I mean, I wasn’t exactly expecting to get sacked, you know what I mean? So I forgot about ‘em.  Figured I should come collect my things today, only the pricks sold them.”

Roni frowns.  “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was.  It’s been, what, three days since I left and they managed to sell everything I had in there? You’d think they’d have the decency to keep them for me, after I spent so many years there.  But hell, what do I know.”

“That’s awful.”  Roni has a mind to storm into the building and give everyone a piece of her mind, including Milton himself-- but considering the way she just handled things with Howard, she figures that isn’t one of her better ideas.   “What did you leave there?”

“Pair of shoes I was custom making for my father.  Gold watch from my grandfather that I’d forgotten to take off before work that day.”  Harry pouts.  “And my favorite hat.”

“What?”  Roni is outraged on his behalf.  “They can’t do that!”

“They can.  They did.”  Harry seems lost in thought for a moment before he shrugs and changes his tune.  “At any rate, what’s done is done.  When I was leaving the building, I saw you turning down seventy-second street.  I knew Howard was down there on his fourth smoke break of the day, and I also knew that any outcome of you running into him would not be a good one.  So, I’m glad I caught you when I did.”

Roni smiles gratefully up at Harry.  “Me too,” she says softly.  “Thank you, by the way”

“It’s what I do best,” Harry says, with a dismissive shrug and a cocky grin.  “Just a block over is where I ran into you for the very first time.”

This throws Roni for a loop, and it takes her a moment to process what he’s just said.  “Wait, seriously?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Because I… the walk to your apartment that night wasn’t that long.”

Harry seems amused.  “I only live about eight minutes down Baker Street.”

“Eight minutes?”  Now Roni feels more disoriented than she’s felt all day.  “It took me twenty to get here!”

Harry snorts.  “Twenty? Bloody hell, Veronica, what streets did you take?”

“I don’t know, but--”  Roni pauses when she hears Harry laughing, and she becomes defensive.  “Don’t laugh at me! You try finding your way around a city like, fifty years before you’re actually born!”

“I know, darling, I know.”  Harry tries to get his giggles under control, and he smiles almost sadly down at her.  “I shouldn’t have left you this morning.  This was my fault, and I apologize.”

Roni lets out an injured little sniff.  “Thank you.  Apology accepted.”

They look at each other, wordlessly trying to decipher if the air between them is clear or not.  Roni wants to reach out and hug him, at the very least for her own comfort after her encounter with Howard, but she isn’t sure that’s the right thing to do in this situation.

To think, Harry had first found her so near here, she could have ended up with anybody else.  Howard could have been the one to find her that night, and she shudders at that realization.

Harry breaks the tension by changing the subject.  “So, I’m assuming you haven’t gone to see Miss La Rue then?”

“Haven’t quite made it that far, no.  And now that Howard ruined the flyer I’m even more lost than before.”

Harry smiles.  “Well, luckily for you, I happen to know my way around quite well.  I remember where it was.”

“You do?”  Roni sounds like a hopeful little child, and it makes Harry beam.  

“I do, yeah.  This way.”

Harry turns to begin walking, but Roni grabs his arm and stops him without thinking. “Wait.”

“Hm?”  Harry glances over his shoulder at her, and she’s biting her lip as if nervous.

“I hate to ask this.  Like, really hate to ask this.  And you can say no, but I… I mean, would you mind if… we held hands?”

Harry smirks as if she just revealed some deep, juicy secret, and Roni launches into her reasoning.  “It’s just that, I don’t know, I would feel better if we did.  Especially after what just happened, I’m not really in the mood for someone else to be creepy like that, you know?”

Harry nods, reaching out and interlacing their fingers.  He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.  “It’s alright, love.  I know.  And I don’t mind.”

Roni visibly relaxes when they begin walking hand in hand.  It doesn’t feel uncomfortable or strange or forced like it does sometimes the first time you purposely hold hands with a person.  Harry naturally allows Roni’s thumb to be on the inside (something that’s oddly very important to her) and every now and then he brushes the back of her hand with his own thumb while they walk and talk.  

Harry doesn’t hesitate telling Roni about his day, and she’s thankful for the fact that whatever happened between them last night seems to be behind them.  At least for now.  Without thinking, she squeezes Harry’s hand, and without breaking his story, he squeezes back.

Violet La Rue’s shop is located about six minutes east, and when they arrive Roni is pleased to note that it’s in a much nicer part of town.  The shop is located on the upper floor of a smaller building that Roni is pretty sure is abandoned in the 90s.  If the shop has a name, Roni has completely missed it, because all she sees is a small neon sign propped in the window, reading “Psychic, $5” beside a yellow neon moon.

As Roni and Harry ascend the steps, Roni feels all of her nerves returning.  She takes Harry’s forearm in her free hand, clinging to him and feeling far more skittish than before.  Of course, true to Harry fashion, he simpers down at her.  “What’s gotten into you? You should be excited.  Are you not?”

“I don’t know,” Roni admits. “Now that I’m here it’s just-- it all feels real.  I’m...scared.  What if she doesn’t have the answer?”

Harry stops at the top of the steps, just before the entrance, and turns to face Roni.  “Then we keep looking.  It’s that simple.”  He moves to open the door, but Roni reaches out and stops him.

“But what if--” She blurts, fidgeting nervously with her mood-ring and looking up at Harry timidly.  “What if she does have the answer… and I don’t like it?”

Harry lets her words sink in, letting out an audible sigh that weighs heavily on Roni’s heart. “Then,” he says slowly, “you get your life back.  You go back to the way things were, just like you’ve wanted since you got here.”  He says the last bit with a pointed look, and Roni deflates.

Is that what she wants?  

Roni doesn’t know the answer, and Harry seems to understand, because he softens and gives her shoulder a squeeze.  “It’s going to be okay, Veronica.  One way or another.  We’re going to get you sorted out, yeah?  I promise you.”

With a deep breath, Roni allows herself to smile, reaching again for Harry’s hand,  She mutters a soft, “okay,” and nods to signal that she’s ready to enter.  

The inside of the shop is almost identical to what Roni had been picturing in her mind.  It’s quite small, and the walls are purple, giving the illusion that it’s much darker than it is.  The air is thick with the smell of patchouli and other spices.  There’s a front desk area, where a young woman sits flipping through a fashion magazine.  Along the walls are a few chairs for customers to sit, and in the back corner, a hallway with curtains of beads and shells in the place of a door.  Roni assumes the hallway leads to Violet’s room, and she chews her lip nervously as she waits for someone to appear.

“May I help you?” The girl at the desk finally acknowledges their presence and rises to her feet.  She’s much shorter than Roni was anticipating.

Roni glances nervously from Harry to the girl-- Mary, as her nametag states.  “We were wondering if Ms. La Rue was in today?”

“She is.”

Harry and Roni exchange excited glances, but they are short lived when Mary speaks again.  “But she’s not in a state to see customers this afternoon.”

“What?!”  It’s Harry who asks, almost more upset than Roni is.

“The weather is troubling her,” Mary replies, completely unbothered.  “The spirits are incredibly active with the storm, and it is terribly overwhelming. She’s got quite the headache, you see, and she’s lying down in the back.  She asks that you respect this.”

“You should have turned off the sign then!” Now Harry sounds angry.

“I couldn’t.”  Mary shrugs.  “We are open until six.”

Roni steps forward and speaks.  “Do you know when she’s going to be available again?  I mean, if you’re staying open till six I’m willing to sit here and wait.”

“I do not.”  Mary takes her seat again and begins flipping through her magazine to find where she’d left off.  “The last time the spirits troubled her this way she had to lie down for three whole days.  She spoke to no one.”

Harry scoffs.  “And I bet you kept the bloody sign on still.”

“Of course.”

Roni stomps her foot impatiently, her anger finally getting the best of her.  “That’s bullshit!  You can’t do that to people!”

Now Mary drops the magazine out of shock.  “I beg your pardon--”

“No, don’t beg my pardon! We came all the way here because we trusted you.  I’m lost, and I’m stuck, and I’m confused, and-- and at least if the sign was off or the door was locked, I wouldn’t have gotten my hopes up so high!  But what you’re doing is wack!  It’s shitty! This whole day has been shitty and now you’re just gonna shit all over it some more because your friend doesn’t feel like working?”

Mary looks as if she’s seen a ghost, and as much as Harry agrees with Roni’s words-- however blunt or vulgar they may be-- he knows that this isn’t the place for this.  People don’t speak like this here-- not women at least, and he knows he needs to stop Roni while she’s ahead.

So Harry puts his hand on Roni’s shoulder and turns her towards the door.  “Let’s get out of here.  We’ll find somewhere worth our time.”

Roni allows Harry to guide her away, but she’s still fuming.  In her heart, she knows she’s being a bit melodramatic.  But fuck it, she’s had a long and emotionally exhausting day, and if this is how her emotions choose to manifest themselves, so be it.

She reaches for the door, with every intention of slamming it behind her once she’s outside, but stops suddenly in her tracks.

Something about the energy in the room has shifted dramatically.  Not in a bad or unsettling way, more in a calming and peaceful way.  And when Roni turns to figure out why, she sees both Harry and Mary staring at the reason.

Between the now parted bead and seashell curtains stands Violet La Rue.  She stands about the same height as Roni, and she appears to be only a few years older than everyone in this room.  She wears a long purple dress that seems to be from a much older time period, and her presence commands attention.  The only word Roni can come up with to describe her is ‘ethereal,’ and her unreadable expression that seems both amused and disinterested has Roni immediately captivated. By far, she is the most beautiful woman Roni has ever seen.

“You’ve traveled from very far away to see me, haven’t you?”

Her voice is melodic and powerful yet soothing in the strangest way possible. Somehow, Roni gets the feeling that Violet already knows why she’s here.  So she takes a nervous step forward, forgetting momentarily that anyone else is even near her.  “Yes ma’am.”  She isn’t even sure why she’s just called her ma’am.   This girl isn’t that old, but her soul seems so beyond her years.

Violet nods slowly, eyeing Roni and Harry with both unwavering curiosity and a face of stone.  No one dares to breathe, and Roni completely regrets her whole outburst earlier.

After a long silence, Violet nods.  “Come with me, please.  Both of you.”

Roni and Harry exchange nervous glances before making their way quickly to Violet’s side.  She doesn’t seem like someone to be kept waiting, and the excitement of it all sends tingles through Roni’s bones.

Violet begins to turn to lead them down the hallway, then pauses, calling over her shoulder.  “Mary?  Would you be so kind as to turn the sign outside off?  You may go home for the night.”

Mary says nothing, but her cheeks visibly redden as she hastens to do what she’s told.  Violet grins, then gestures for Harry and Roni to follow.  “This way.”

It’s a slow and silent walk down the long hallway, which, to Roni’s surprise, has multiple doors.  It almost looks like a house, and Roni wonders briefly if Violet lives here.  It wouldn’t be such a bad setup by any means, and Violet would never have to leave the house.

Violet turns into a room with an actual door, and it’s even more beautiful than the front room.   The walls are purple in here as well, but a lighter shade than the color outside, and they are mostly covered with trinkets and small tapestries.  It smells even stronger in here, although Roni can’t quite put her finger on the scent.   Against the back wall sits an elaborately cushioned chair facing a small table covered in purple cloth, and two less ornate looking chairs.  In the center of the table sits a crystal ball unlike anything Roni has ever seen, and a few decks of cards and other various crystals lined up along the edge.

Overall, the room has a very calming energy, and Roni feels right at home.

“Won’t you sit down?”  Violet gestures to the two seats as she makes her way over to the most gorgeous teapot Roni has ever seen in the corner of the room.

Harry hesitates, and it’s Roni who takes the lead. She takes her seat and Harry follows suit, although he doesn’t look comfortable at all. He sits on the edge of his seat with his hands folded in his lap. Roni almost wants to giggle.

“Would either of you like some tea?” Violet pours herself a cup, not looking up as she waits for them to answer.

Harry and Roni look at each other nervously, completely lost as to what to do in this situation and waiting for the other to respond first.   Harry clears his throat.  “None for me, thank you.”

Roni feels completely stuck, unsure of whether it would be rude to turn down the tea or rude to ask for some, so she panics and blurts out,  “Me neither.  Thank you.”

Violet smiles and says nothing, taking her tea and moving to sit down in the cushioned seat before them.  She takes a long sip, and Roni and Harry watch with bated breath.

Finally, she puts the cup down on the table and eyes them both with intrigue.  After a while, her eyes fall on Roni and she speaks.  “As I said earlier, you’ve come here from very far away, haven’t you?”

Roni gulps.  “Yes.”

“How far?” Violet smirks.

Twisting the mood-ring around her finger, Roni can’t even look Violet in the eye.  “I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

“You underestimate me, dear.  But it’s understandable.”  Violet turns her gaze to Harry.  “And you.  What is your story?”

“I’m just here for support,”  Harry answers quickly.

This only deepens Violet’s smirk.  “I see.”  She leans forward, adjusting a pack of cards on the table.  “So what is it that I can help you with?”

“Well, I--” Roni begins, then cuts herself off.  What exactly is she looking for from Violet?  She sighs and starts again.  “I’m sort of…. Stuck here.”  Violet says nothing but she nods knowingly, urging Roni to go on.   “And I need to figure out how to get back… to where I came from.”

“Which is where?”  Violet seems to already know the answer but she presses Roni with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Roni looks to Harry for encouragement, but he seems just as uneasy as she does.  He gives her a quick nod, and Roni turns back.  “The future.”

She says it so quietly that she’s almost worried Violet didn’t hear her.  But she did, and she doesn’t even flinch.  Roni is afraid that Violet is going to press her for further information, but she only nods again.  “How long have you been here for?”

“Three days.”

Now Violet glances back at Harry.  “And you’ve been staying where?”

“With--” Harry clears his throat,  “With me.”

“I see,” Violet says again, and it’s beginning to frustrate Roni just how vague she’s being.   “And you’d like me to help you find a way back home.”

“That’s right.”

“Wonderful.”

Violet closes her eyes and takes a deep, slow breath in through her nose, and Roni isn’t sure if she should follow suit.  She doesn’t dare look at Harry or even move for that matter, and she only realizes she’s holding her breath when she hears Violet exhale.  The witchy girl doesn’t open her eyes for what feels like ages, but she does reach forward after a tick to begin touching her crystal ball.

Harry and Roni watch the movements very carefully, and Violet slowly opens her eyes.  She seems lost in the sphere, staring deeply into it.  Roni looks too, trying to make out any sort of shape, but she gives up when the only thing she can see is an inverted reflection of herself.

After a while, Violet begins to smirk, slowing the movements of her hands until they’re completely still.  The moment she looks up at Roni, thunder rolls outside.

“You have a gift, Miss Eliot.”

Roni’s jaw drops, and she goes completely rigid in her seat.  “How did you know my--”

“It is not a gift that many possess, but there are more who possess it than most would imagine.  It cannot be taught, but rather inherited.”

So many questions are swimming around in Roni’s head right now, and she doesn’t even know where to begin.  

“Did my mom have the gift?”  She doesn’t know how she expects Violet to know anything about her mother, but then again there’s also no logical explanation as to how Violet even knew her name.

Violet shakes her head.  “No.  She didn’t.  Neither did you grandmother.  Gifts like these are in the blood, but they skip generations as many times as they please.  You were the chosen one.”

Harry chuckles in disbelief, and it’s the first time that Roni remembers he’s there.  She exchanges a look of pure confusion with him before turning back to Violet.   “Okay so, now what?  Is this some type of Glinda the Good Witch “the power was in you all along” thing?  Are you going to tell me that all I have to do is click my heels three times?”

Violet is unphased by Roni’s words, and she shakes her head.  “I’m afraid that returning home is not going to be as easy as it was getting here.”

“Great.”  Roni shrinks in her seat.

“But it is possible, if you are willing to wait.”

“How long?”

“Until the ninth of this month.”

Harry speaks up now, but he sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself.  “That’s only six days from now.”

Roni doesn’t even acknowledge him.  “What’s on the ninth?”

“The full moon.”  Violet smiles, tenderly rubbing her hands along the smooth crystal sphere.  “You must be outside, directly in the moonlight.  Perhaps near the water if you can manage, although that isn’t necessary.”

“But I wasn’t outside when I came here!”

“The laws of traveling back to your time are far different than those that brought you here.  Do you follow?”

Roni hardly follows at all, so she only gives Violet an apologetic shrug, urging her to continue.

“Your lifetime-- what is real and true and current for you--those with the gift are able to leave there at any given point.   That is your home base, the timeline you are tethered to.  Traveling from there is never the problem.  The problem is getting back.”

“So,” Roni says slowly, trying to make sense of the information overload she’s being given.  “All I have to do is lay outside in the moonlight?”

“There is much more to it.  You must protect yourself,” Violet nods subtly to her crystal ball.  “Crystals are an excellent way to do that.”

Harry leans forward in his seat.  “Do you have any you’d recommend?”

Violet smiles at Harry, as if she’d known he would ask that. “Black tourmaline to repel harmful energies.  Ruby to ground yourself.  And lodestone for manifesting your deepest desires.  They are easy to find.  Lay them around yourself the night you leave.”

“And then what?”  Roni asks.  “Just… lay there?”

“Meditate,” Violet answers.  “Clear your mind.  Picture yourself where you were when you came here.  Tell yourself you are ready, and ask the moon to lend you some of her energy. Continuously remind yourself of where you are going.  Be humble, but be firm.  By morning, you’ll be home.”

Roni frowns.  “But what if I fall asleep?”

“That is fine.  Most do. As long as you’ve done everything I’ve mentioned beforehand, you will return home safe and sound come morning, as if nothing in your life has changed.”

Roni isn’t sure she likes the sound of that.

She glances over at Harry, who stares somberly down at his shoes.  He bounces his leg nervously up and down and he twiddles his thumbs absentmindedly.  It takes him a while to realize Roni is staring at him, and when he does he looks up at her with the most encouraging smile he can muster.

“That’s great!” he says.  “You’ll be home before you know it.”

Violet clears her throat, drawing the attention back to her.  “Are either of you familiar with the term ‘twin flames?’”

Harry seems confused, but Roni knows it sounds familiar.  It’s definitely something she’s heard before, but not something she’d paid enough attention to remember.  So when neither Harry nor Roni answer her, Violet continues.   “One soul in two bodies.  A celestial connection defying gravity itself in bringing two together.  A mirror of your own soul.”

“So like a soulmate?”  Harry asks.

“No, something far greater than that.”  Violet drums her fingers on the table.  “Something that exists within the two of you.”

Roni nearly chokes on her own spit, and Harry actually does.  As he sputters and coughs, Roni can’t help but to fall slack-jawed.   “What?! No no, that’s not--”

“It is someone that your soul recognizes as home.  Some say you’ve met them in a past life.  And this,” she gestures vaguely with her hands,  “Would have to be the most interesting case I’ve ever seen.”

Harry’s face has gone beet red, and Roni stammers through her words.  “I don’t think… I mean--”

Harry cuts her off.  “What does that have to do with getting her back home?”

Violet leans forward in her seat, gazing at Roni and suddenly looking far more serious than before.  “The trouble with your gift,” she says, her voice now soft, “is that once you leave a timeline, you can never revisit it again.”

Roni hesitates, shaking her head slowly.   “I’m not sure I follow.”

Thunder rolls again outside, much louder than before.  “This means,” Violet glances from Roni to Harry and back again,  “That you will neve meet this boy purposely again.  You will never be able to travel back to him.  The only chance of you two reuniting is if your timelines overlap organically, and even then--”  Violet sighs,  “He’ll be much older than you.”

Pressure builds behind Roni’s eyes as the weight of Violet’s words sink into her skin.  As much as she knows she needs to go home, the thought of never seeing Harry again breaks her heart.  After everything he’s done for her, after the friendship they’ve established, and the feelings she’s tried to ignore-- having it all disappear feels like the hardest decision she’s ever had to make.

“But she can’t just stay here!” Harry says, somewhat defensively.

“She could,” Violet says with a shrug,  “But she runs the risk of multiple changes being made to her previous timeline; which includes irreversible changes that could impact others.”

“Such as?”

Violet grows completely serious now. “Potentially erasing some of the lives she loves the most.”

The thought of her mother no longer existing at all strikes Roni’s heart so strongly that she almost becomes angry.  “Why are you telling me this?”

Violet smiles sadly at her.  “I just want you to be prepared,” she says softly.  “That’s all.”

The conversation wraps up at that, and Harry pays Violet as she walks them to the door.  She peppers in a few reminders about how to get back, and urges Roni to be cautious one more time.  (She also advises them to get home safely because the storm rolling in is expected to be a vicious one.)

Harry exits first, wandering down the hallway and making his way to the front door.  Roni is about to follow, but she stops and turns to face Violet one more time.  “Miss La Rue?”

Violet smiles warmly.  “Call me Violet.”

“Okay… Violet.  How did you know my last name?”

Violet doesn’t answer immediately, and once again Roni gets the feeling that the witchy girl knows something she doesn’t.  Violet looks Roni up and down as if reading her one final time, before shrugging and offering her the simple answer of, “Magic, I guess.”

Roni can’t help but to laugh at this, knowing full well that Violet isn’t going to reveal her secrets any time soon.  So she smiles, any tension she was feeling now completely broken. “Well,” she says,  “thank you anyway.  Seriously.”

“My pleasure, dear.”

“Have a good rest of your evening!”  

Roni exits the room, feeling both optimistic and heavy all at once, and she feels a chill run up her spine when she hears Violet call out, “Get home safe, Roni!”

Harry is already waiting outside when Roni reaches the front room, and she shrieks when she opens the front door to a heavy gust of wind and a sheet of rain slapping against her.

“Fuck!” She can’t stop the curse word from escaping as she blinks against the storm.

Harry stands pressed against the bricks of the building, looking at Roni as if waiting for direction.  She quickly rushes to huddle beside him, thankful for the make-shift shield that she knows isn’t going to last very long.

They stand in the protection of the brick building, still feeling the occasional rain drop bouncing against the roof and onto their skin.  “Where’s your umbrella?”  Roni calls over the rain.

“I didn’t bring it!”

“What?!”

“I was going to leave it for you!”

“Great, that really helps us out now doesn’t it?”

Harry chuckles, his damp hair already beginning to cling to his skin.  “Right, what do you suggest we do then?”

Roni takes her bottom lip between her teeth and looks out at the street before her.  A few unlucky vendors work to unpack their carts while the wind knocks everything over and the rain pelts their faces.  People scurry with their coats above their heads, but a lot of people were smart enough to bring their umbrellas. The streets are clearing out quickly, and Roni isn’t too keen on the idea of standing here much longer.

So she smirks up at Harry.  

“I suggest we run for it.”

She doesn’t even give Harry a chance to respond before she’s taking his hand and pulling him out into the thick of it.  He shrieks at the feeling of the rain against his skin, and Roni is giggling as she tugs him along.  He can’t help but to laugh with her.

“Jesus, Veronica, you could have warned me!”

“A little water never hurt anybody!”

Harry stumbles on an uneven stone, nearly sending him and Roni both tumbling to the ground.   Roni squeals as she regains her footing, and now Harry’s in the lead.  He lets go of her hand and picks up the pace, and Roni almost stops running.

“That’s not fair!” She calls now sprinting to keep up with him.

Harry doesn’t answer her, focusing all of his attention on beating her home while also trying not to slip and fall. Occasionally they find themselves wiping the rain from their eyes or their stringy and soaking hair from their foreheads, and every now and then Harry will tease her over his shoulder.  Sometimes Roni will catch up to him and poke at his sides as she passes, but that never lasts long because Harry always catches up to her, grabs her around the waist and sets her down behind him again.

By the time they reach Harry’s apartment, they’re soaked to the bone. Harry fumbles with his keys, out of breath and giggly, and they both stumble into his place dripping water along the hard wood floor.  

“You totally cheated!” Roni says, wigging her finger in Harry’s face while he locks his front door behind him.

“I cheated?  You didn’t even warn me we were going out into the rain!”

“You turned it into a race!”

“So then I suppose that means I’m allowed to make the rules, aren’t I?”  

Roni rolls her eyes as kicks her shoes off and beelines for the kitchen sink to ring her hair out.  “You’re full of it.”

“If you mean full of water, then yes.”

Everything feels the way it should once again, albeit a little darker now that she knows the end is somewhat near.   But Roni refuses to think about that, and she realizes as she squeezes her hair out into the sink that she’s had a permanent smile on her face for at least the past ten minutes.  Her cheeks heat up at the realization, and she changes the subject to keep from lingering too long.  “Why don’t you go grab some of your clothes from the bedroom so you can change out here?  And also…”  She stands up straight when she feels her hair is less sopping and turns to face Harry.  “Do you think I could borrow some clothes again?”

Harry shakes his head as if she’s just asked the stupidest question.  “I thought it was implied that you could.”

“No, I know! It’s just, I’ve been wearing the same pajamas every night, and now I’m freezing and I don’t think that boxers and a t-shirt are going to cover it, you know?”

Harry smiles at her like he knows something she doesn’t know.  “Take whatever you’d like, love.  I should have told you from the beginning.  Anything in there is yours to use.”

Roni beams, very much looking forward to getting out of her wet clothes and into something warm and oversized of Harry’s.  “God, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”  Harry kicks off his squeaking shoes and heads into his bedroom.  “I do think I’ll go get my things now.  I’ll be out of your way in a jiffy.”

True to his word, Harry is practically in and out of his room, carrying with him an armful of clothes.  “Think I’m going to change in the bathroom,” he explains.  “Might take a hot shower while I’m at it.”

A hot shower sounds incredibly nice, but Roni doesn’t dare mention it because, of course, sweet Harry would completely give up his shower for her.  Roni knows from her shower yesterday that the hot water here only lasts so long, and Harry has done so much for her already that she figures she can let him have this one.  So she smiles at him.  “Alright, don’t slip.”

With a snort Harry disappears into the bathroom, and Roni tries her best not to think about him naked.

-----

About fifteen minutes later, Harry returns looking refreshed and rejuvenated.  He smiles when he finds Roni in a pair of his blue and white striped pajama pants and a plain brown jumper that he wears on the occasional Sunday outing.  It doesn’t match at all, and neither article of clothing even belongs to the same family, but she makes it look adorable, and Harry has to resist the urge to go over to her and wrap his arms around her from behind.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Roni stands barefoot at the stove, stirring something in a pot as thunder rolls softly in the distance.  “Hope you don’t mind.  I figured we should have dinner.  So I kinda just helped myself.  We’re having soup by the way.”

Harry grins, making his way into the kitchen  “No, I don’t mind at all.”

“Cool.  I also hope you don’t mind that these are the clothes I picked.  If they’re like, for fancy occasions or something it’s not a big deal.  I can change if--”

“Veronica, why the formality?”  Harry hip checks her before reaching into the cupboard for a matchbox.  “Of course I don’t mind.”

Roni smiles like a nervous little girl, and Harry isn’t sure why.  “Okay,” she mumbles, turning back to the stove.

Harry sets to work gathering all the candles he can find and setting them around the room.  

He wordlessly lights each candle, one by one, and his actions do not go unnoticed.

“That’s a lot of candles,” Roni muses.  “Are you planning on doing something weird and sacrificial?  Should I be scared?”

“I don’t know, let’s see how the night progresses.”  Harry smirks as he lights another candle.  “No, I’m just getting prepared in case the electricity goes out.”

This pricks Roni’s ears.  “You think that’s gonna to happen?”

Harry shrugs.  “I don’t know.  But if it does, at least we’ll be able to see.”

Roni sighs, tapping the wooden spoon against the side of the pot before placing it on a dish and letting the soup simmer on its own.  “I don’t really like thunderstorms,” she says.

Harry continues scuttling around to light the candles.  “No? But you seemed fine all day.”

“Yeah, because it was light out.” She turns to face Harry. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll be fine.  I’m not gonna like, cry or anything.  I’ve just always been kinda… unsettled by them I guess.”  She glances down at her mood ring, seeing that its color is somewhere between pink and brown.  She chuckles softly to herself.

“Don’t worry,” Harry says, shaking out the match after the last candle is lit.  “I’ve gotcha.  Nothing unsettling is going to happen here.”

Roni smiles, and she doesn’t know why but his words make her sad.  Violet’s words cling to her memory and serve as cruel reminders of her situation. She hasn’t got much time left here, and she doesn’t know whether to be upset or to be thankful that Harry seems to be ignoring that.  She lets out a half exhale, half hum and changes the subject.

“You know, when I was a little girl and it would storm like this, my mom and I would sit on her bed, or sometimes the couch, and we’d get under blankets and watch the lightning.  She told me if I looked hard enough I would see shapes  People, and animals-- sometimes colors, but that  was rare.”

“Really?”  Harry seems genuinely interested.  “Did it work?”

Roni shrugs.  “As much as any other five-year-old kid’s imagination would work.”  Harry laughs and she continues.  “But yeah.  Now any time there’s lightning, to this day I swear I can still kind of see horses.  And I like to think…”  Roni trails off, realizing she’s getting lost in her own little world.

“Yes, love?”

Roni swallows a lump in her throat and distracts herself by stirring the soup again.  “I just… like to think that she’s up there making the lightning look like horses for me.  It’s stupid.”

“That’s not stupid.”  Harry doesn’t move towards her, and she’s thankful for that.  She’s sure that if he touched her right now she’d burst into tears, especially after the taxing twenty-four hours she’s just experienced.  Still, Harry’s voice is gentle and bright, and it warms her heart.  “I’d bet my bottom dollar she’s doing that for you right now.”

Roni doesn’t turn around, but she smiles softly to herself. “Yeah.  Maybe.”

Dinner is simple but filling, and they talk about any and everything under the sun.  Roni suspects that they’re doing it to get their minds off of the heaviness of today, and she can’t say she totally minds it.  After they eat, they wash the dishes side by side, and Roni suggests that Harry turn on some music.  He promises he will, but he says he won’t do it until after the dishes are done because he refuses to leave them all to her.  His promise, however, does not have the chance to be fulfilled when, after a particularly harsh lightning strike, the apartment goes dark.

It startles Roni at first, although she doesn’t want to show it, and when her eyes adjust to the candle-lit room she sees that Harry is grinning like a little boy.

“What did I tell you!” he says. “Bet you’re glad I lit all those candles now, aren’t you?”

The pure excitement on his face is almost too much to handle, and Roni giggles.  “I am, yeah.  Thanks.”

Ten minutes later they find themselves facing each other on opposite ends of the couch and sharing a blanket.  It couldn’t be considered cuddling by any means, but it’s definitely something.

Roni smiles, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch.  “So tell me more about you.”

Harry grins sleepily back at her.  “What would you like to know?”

“Where did you come from? Like, you’re obviously British.”

Harry chuckles.  “Obviously.”  

“So I want your backstory.”

“Hmm.”  Harry seems to really think about this, and he looks impossibly more beautiful in the candle light. “Well, I was born in England.  Moved here when I was sixteen because I thought I would find better job opportunities. Seemed promising, you know?”

“And was it?”

He smiles his dimpled smile.  “In some ways, I suppose.  Anyway, worked a few odd jobs here and there.  Milton’s opened when I was twenty-two, so I started working there.  Stayed there for almost three years, but obviously you know how that worked out.”

Roni frowns.  “They’re assholes.  They didn’t deserve you.”

“They were kind of wet-blankets, if I’m being honest.”

His terminology makes Roni laugh again.  “But we’re not dwelling on them because you have a rad new job!”

“Assuming ‘rad’ means ‘swell’ then I do, yeah! All thanks to you.”

Roni waves her hand in mock humility.  “Oh stop.  I did nothing.  Tell me more about your home life.  Are you close with your parents?”

Harry nods slowly, as if considering his answer.  “I am.  But more so with my mum, really.  And my sister.”

“You have a sister?  I love that!”  Roni shivers, trying to snuggle further under the blanket without stealing any of it off of Harry.

“I do.  She’s my best mate.  Always has been, even when I used to piss her off.”  Harry chuckles at the memory. He nudges Roni with his socked foot.  “What about you then?  Any siblings?”

Roni tries to control her shivers, wrapping her arms around her middle.  “Nope.  Just me and my mom till I was eleven.  I moved in with my grandma when she passed.”

“I see.”

There’s a comforting silence that follows their words, and if it weren’t for how cold she is, Roni would be able to enjoy it further.  The noise of the rain on the roof mixed with the gentle wood-wick candles crackling all around her is definitely making her sleepy, and just as she has that thought, Harry yawns softly.

Another shiver ripples up Roni’s back, and she’s unable to hide this one.  Harry notices instantly, watching her with an amused grin.  “Cold?”

“A little,” Roni admits.

Harry sits up.  “Would you like me to grab you another jumper?  Some socks?  Or I could get you another blanket if you’d like!”

“No, no don’t do that.”  Roni doesn’t know if it’s the darkness of the room, or the sobering realization that she doesn’t have much time left here, but in any case she’s feeling far more brave than she was before now.  “Can we.. just… sit closer?”

Her words seem to take Harry aback, because his lips part in surprise.  He’s still smiling though, which tells Roni that he’s pleased with her request.  “You want to cuddle me?” He teases.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Roni says.  She rolls her eyes, but she’s already moving towards him.  “I’m just trying to stay warm.”

“So Veronica is a cuddlebug.” Harry raises his arm up and uses his other hand to pat his chest, gently inviting her to lay on him.  “That’s an interesting fact.”

“Shut up.”  Roni pouts, snuggling comfortably between him and the couch cushions.  She settles herself with her head on his chest, and relaxes when his arm falls comfortably onto her back.  “Tell me more about your sister.”

Harry begins tracing soothing little circles into her back, and she grows sleepier by the minute  His voice is slow and deep, and with her ear pressed to his chest she can feel it rumbling in her own body.  He talks so fondly of his sister, and Roni giggles when he tells her that she would love her.  He trails off every now and then, speaking slower and slower as if he’s purposely trying to put Roni to sleep, until he stops altogether for a minute straight just to listen to the rain.

“Veronica?”

“Hm?”  Roni doesn’t even lift her head from his shoulder.

“I swear on my life I am not even trying to be a wise guy or anything-- but I just saw a horse in the lightning.”

Roni giggles and lightly slaps at his chest.  “You’re stupid.”

“Honest!”  Harry sits up more, careful not to jostle her too much.  “I really did!  You pointed it out earlier, and now it’s all I can think about!”

Roni smiles to herself at the genuine giddiness in his voice.  “It’s cool isn’t it?” She says softly.

“It is, yeah.  Can’t even imagine the types of things you would’ve seen as a little girl.”

Roni doesn’t answer.  She fidgets with her mood-ring and mentally compares the size of her hand to Harry’s.  He’s quiet, his head now turned to stare  out the window as the next bout of thunder rolls through.  His breaths are slow and steady and comforting, and Roni wishes she could stay like this forever.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

It’s hard to say, and Roni closes her eyes before letting the words escape her lips.  “I’m really going to miss you.”

Although she can’t see his face, she can picture exactly what it looks like just from the sound of his exhale.  He waits a moment to respond.   “I’m really going to miss you too, bunny.”

Harry has never called her ‘bunny’ before, and she doesn’t know why it makes her so happy.  She glances up at him with an amused expression, causing him to giggle.  “What?” he asks.

“Bunny?” Roni half teases, half questions.

“Yeah,” Harry says.  “Do you not use that in your time?  For the people you care about?”

Roni smiles.  “Not really.  I mean I’ve heard it before, but never been called it.”  She relaxes back down onto Harry’s chest.  “I like it.”

She can hear Harry laugh softly to himself as he absentmindedly taps his fingers along the skin of his thigh.  After a moment, he speaks again.  “I care about you a lot, Veronica.  And I really am going to miss you.”

This tugs hard on Roni’s heart strings, and she almost wishes she hadn’t shared her sad thought.  She takes her free arm (the one that isn’t trapped between her body and Harry’s) and uses it to shamelessly cuddle closer to him.  She gives him an affectionate little squeeze and takes a deep inhale, logging his smell in the back of her mind for some day in the future when she won’t have it so easily accessible.

“But!” As if reading her mind, Harry reaches down and squeezes her hip.  “The full moon isn’t until the ninth! That’s six days away, we’ve got plenty of time.  Believe me, by the end of it, you’ll be so sick of me you’ll be ready to go.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth, and both Roni and Harry know it.  Still, she manages a soft giggle and a roll of her eyes.  “I was sick of you from the beginning,” she teases.

Harry chuckles, turning his head so that his cheek rests against the top of her head.  “I knew it.”

His lips ghost the skin of her forehead, and Roni tries not to think about how easy it would be to kiss him right now.

They stay like that for at least five more minutes, wordlessly communicating through gentle strokes and longing sighs.  The rain is incredibly soothing, and Roni is exhausted, but she wants this moment to last as long as possible.

“Love,” Harry says, his voice just above a whisper.  He nudges her softly. “Hey.  Love.  Why don’t you get some sleep, hm?”

As much as Roni doesn’t want to leave him, she knows she should.  Otherwise she’ll be here all night, drowning in the “what if’s” and the anxiety that comes with the fact that she only has six days left with him.  So with a deep breath, she untangles herself from him, arching her back and spreading her arms out in a deep, spine cracking stretch.

Maybe the stretch is actually needed. Or maybe it’s just a cheap way to stall time.  Either way, she feels good after it’s over.  She glances at Harry, who’s watching her with an amused grin.

“Alright,” she says softy, and both she and Harry rise to their feet.

His bedroom door is no more than six feet away, and yet he still insists on walking her to it.  He shoves his hands into his pockets.  “If you get scared,” he says, “Or unsettled, or whatever the word you used was, I’m right outside, alright?  Don’t be afraid to wake me.”

Roni smiles at him.  “Thanks Harry,” she says softly.  “I should be okay.”

Harry nods, smiling at her with a closed mouth.  “Alright.”

There’s so much more that they both want to say, but neither can seem to find the voice to say it.  So with a cough, Roni runs a hand nervously through her hair and backs fully into the bedroom.  “Goodnight,” she says.  “Thank you for… everything today.”

Harry  remains right where he is, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.  “Of course.  Anything you need.”

They stare at each other a few moments longer, urging the other to speak up and say what’s on both of their minds.

But when neither of them do, Roni nods.  “Goodnight,” she repeats.

Roni turns into the bedroom and closes the door behind her, immediately met with the near pitch blackness of his room.  The rain sounds louder in here, and she doesn’t move a muscle as she listens to it pelt the small window.  

Roni swallows thickly, her stomach twisting as a new wave of anxiety washes over her.  She replays the past hour over in her head, then the past twenty four hours.  It’s been terrifying and exciting, and she’s so proud of herself for facing her fears head on, but then there’s Harry.

Harry, who has been so ridiculously gracious, so impossibly kind, and so forgiving of every mistake she’s made.  Harry, who taught her to dance, and didn’t have a job but still used his last dollar to make sure she had fun while in his time period.  Harry, who comforted her without question every second of the last few days in which she’s felt so lost and confused and scared.

Harry, who ignites her soul in ways she’s never dreamed of and makes her feel more alive than she’s felt in twenty six years.

She shakes her head as the realization strikes her like the lightning outside.

It’s Harry.  It will always be Harry for her, until the end of time.

Roni whirls around and yanks the door open so hard it nearly slams into the wall.  She’s relieved to find Harry still standing there, a hand out in front of him as if he was just about to knock on the door.  He smiles a surprised smile the second he sees her, and he shakes his head.

“Veronica--”

In a flash she’s falling into him, hands around his cheeks as she fastens their lips together hungrily. Immediately his arms are around her, and he’s pulling her as if he can’t get close enough.  She hums when he gives her a squeeze, tilting his head and taking her bottom lip between his teeth.  

It’s everything she hoped it would be and more.  Roni has only seen kisses like this in films, especially older ones.  Never once in her life has she been kissed like this, and it all but knocks the wind out of her.   She traces his bottom lip with her tongue as if to ask permission, but she’s hardly even made contact when he opens his mouth to grant her access.

There’s a stumble backwards and Harry tightens his grip around Roni to keep her upright.  His right hand dips lower onto her back in the gentlest way, and Roni almost wishes he would just go for it-- reach down and take a handful of her.  At the same time, though, this is the most romantic kiss she’s ever experienced-- and that in itself is turning her on.

With his right hand remaining on her lower back, his left hand trails up the back of her neck and into her hair.  He holds the back of her head so delicately, finally removing his lips from hers to pepper sweet kisses along her jaw.

Roni hums, relaxing her head in the palm of his hand and granting him easier access to her neck.  Her fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, and just as his lips reach the spot just before her ear, he pulls his lips away breathlessly.

Roni flutters her eyelashes open, blinking confusedly up at him.  Their faces are still a few mere inches apart, and she wants to stay in this tension forever.  “Why’d you stop?” She whispers.

“Veronica,” Harry says slowly, the hand that rested on her lower back creeping higher up.

“What?”

“Don’t do this… unless you mean it.”

Roni sees the earnestness in his eyes, and she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. She brushes the tip of her nose against his before licking her lips and pulling him in for another kiss. This kiss isn’t as elaborate as it had been moments ago, but it’s sweet, and she feels all tension in his shoulders release.

When she pulls away, she smiles, reaching up to brush a wild strand of hair off of his forehead.  She nods her head.

“I mean it.”

[thetourguidebarbie]

You’ve got to be kidding me + Klaroline :)

Inspired by a tweet I saw posted somewhere about group projects.

---

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Caroline whispered, staring down at her phone, feeling rage build quickly inside of her as she read the tinder messages over for the fourth time.

[klaus]: hello, sweetheart.

[klaus]: any plans tonight?

What an ass. 

They’d been thrown together for their philosophy project early on in the semester, courtesy of Professor Saltzman, resident life-ruiner. Klaus had studiously avoided her attempts to get him to talk to her after class, to the extent of being absent for the past few weeks. He’d also refused to answer any of her texts asking when they would meet up, and managed to fall completely off the grid whenever she tried to track him down through his friends or facebook. It was infuriating, the lengths to which he was going to avoid her. Sure, the philosophy project was stupid, but they still had to do it, and not all of them had a trust fund to fall back on. She had student loans that weren’t paying off themselves, and even if she hadn’t, he was being a jerk.

And now he’d had the nerve–the audacity–to message her on tinder, a place she usually went to escape stress rather than to have her blood pressure rocket up to dangerous levels. Did he even know that she was his partner? Her picture didn’t look any different from her in real life, or at least not enough to excuse him forgetting her face. Ugh. Infuriating. Did he seriously think he could just message her as though she’d be up for a one-night-stand with someone she knew for a fact was a slacker? 

Caroline Forbes did not date slackers, nor did she have one-night-stands with slackers. 

Caroline Forbes dated men who had their shit together. Ideally.

She glared at her phone screen, which still had Klaus’s messages open. He could have at least sent her a quick text to agree to the topic she’d chosen. If he wanted to spend his time with girls he messaged on tinder, she was happy to oblige. It was clear that he wasn’t going to work on their project voluntarily, so she might as well take drastic measures.

[caroline]: just homework, but i’d be willing to have a distraction ;)

[klaus]: excellent. do you want to get a drink? I know a good pub by campus.

[caroline]: How about we just skip to you coming to my place? I’m short on time and we both know where this is going to go…

This was, of course, a lie. He did not know that he was going to come over and they were going to do some research on Descartes.

[klaus]: well i can’t say I’m not flattered, love. Address?

Caroline typed out her apartment number and hit send before busying herself getting ready for company. Klaus might be a flaky jerk, but that didn’t mean he deserved a couch with cookie crumbs all over it. She also changed into more stranger-appropriate clothing and put on some mascara, not because Klaus was cute, but because it would give her confidence. Obviously. 

He knocked just after she’d finished hauling her books out of her room into her kitchen and opening her laptop. He gave her a dimpled smile when she opened the door for him, and she stood aside to let him in, gesturing to the kitchen. “This way.”

“Bossy,” he murmured quietly, though he obligingly followed, and she pointed to the chair next to her books.

“Do you want a drink? I have water, milk, juice, and a few beers. Actually, scratch that, I’d rather we were both sober for this.”

“No thank you,” he said slowly, clearly catching onto this not being a normal one night stand (or even a one night stand at all, if she had anything to say about it). 

“Suit yourself,” she said with forced cheer, sitting down next to him and grabbing a highlighter. “So, I know you never answered my texts, but I think that using Discourse on the Method is too cliche. Everyone who got assigned Descartes is going to be doing it. I think we should compare and contrast Principles of Philosophy with Aristotle’s writings.”

He stared at her for a moment, clearly trying to figure out what she was talking about. Watching realization slowly dawn on him over a few seconds was immensely satisfying. “You’re my partner for the philosophy project,” he said, having the decency to look at least a little sheepish.

“Yes, I am. I know that a philosophy project probably wasn’t your plans for tonight, but honestly I kind of don’t care. This is due in two weeks, and I’m not doing the whole thing myself. You can have a sexcapade marathon with tinder hookups after we’re done, but right now I need you to read one of the books and take notes. Would you rather do Aristotle or Descartes?”

“I thought you just said we had to agree on a topic,” Klaus said, looking slightly amused.

“I made an executive decision, since you didn’t text me back,” Caroline said, giving him a clearly false smile. “I already did you the huge favor of outlining the main points, too. All you need to do is find stuff to back it up, write it up, and send it to me. Super easy. Shouldn’t take you more than a few hours, tops.”

He gave her an assessing look, clearly realizing he’d misjudged her. She’d had extensive experience with men thinking the way she talked and the interests she had meant she was stupid, and it was depressing that she was used to it by now, and that he’d bought into it. Hopefully he’d shape up now that he realized she wasn’t going to let him half-ass the whole thing at the last minute.

“All right. Shall I do it this weekend and get back to you, then?” he asked, making a move to get up.

She reached out and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back down. He let her, sinking into her kitchen chair. “Nice try, buddy. I want to make sure this gets done, so until I can see that you’ve made progress, you’re not leaving.”

He seemed to be debating saying something. She had a feeling he was itching to point out that he could just leave if he wanted, but instead he nodded, grabbing the highlighter she was holding out for him to take. “I suppose that I have time if it means you’ll stop incessantly texting me about it for the rest of the semester.”

“Oh, trust me, you have been enough of a jerk about this that I fully intend on never texting you again once we’re done,” Caroline said, her voice saccharine. “So, want to rethink that drink? We might be here awhile.”

They ended up ordering a pizza around midnight, taking a break to eat. She found that Klaus was funny, if a bit arrogant, and he listened when she talked, gently teasing her about things she was interested in, but taking her returning jabs in stride. It wasn’t an unpleasant evening, and she could reluctantly admit in the privacy of her own head that it had almost even been fun. They got most of the project done, and he left around two, promising that he’d send her the rest of his part of the essay the next afternoon.

When he did finally email it to her (on time, even!), he followed up with a text a few seconds later.

[klaus]: I just emailed you my part of the project, love. I apologize for the delay. 

[caroline]: thanks!

[klaus]: I know that you have every reason to be cross with me, but I was hoping that you might consider taking me up on that drink?

[caroline]: A drink?

[klaus]: Yes. I enjoyed your company, and I was hoping for a date. A real one.

[klaus]: I fancy you, Caroline.

Caroline frowned at her phone, considering her options. On the one hand, he’d avoided the project for weeks and had made her life immeasurably more stressful because of it. He was clearly kind of a jerk. A hot jerk, but still a jerk. Did she really want to get mixed up with him?

She guessed maybe something casual wouldn’t hurt. What was the worst that could happen? She’d have trouble tracking him down to break up with him?

[caroline]: Fine. Against my better judgment, you get one date.

[caroline]: I should warn you though, I don’t date slackers.

As she found out when she brought him home for some non-academic activities a few days later, he took her warning very seriously.

[sunlightdances]

Take the Time and Love You More

Author: Katie @sunlightdances Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Prompt: "Dernière minute : last minute" Summary: Bucky comes back from a mission tired of hiding how he feels for you. A last minute, impromptu date changes everything. Written for @cametobuyplums’ 2000 Plums Writing Challenge! Words: 1616 Rating: PG. It’s fluff, folks.

Bucky Barnes has been alive for a very, very long time. He’s seen things he wishes he could forget, and he’s had moments that he wants to live in forever, moments with his friends and newfound family that he honestly never thought he would get to have.

He’s been alive for a very long time, and still finds himself surprised when he feels nerves like he is now, standing on your doorstep and hoping against hope that you’re awake, and alone, and--

The door opens.

His breath leaves him on a shaky exhale, your confused gaze sharpening when you recognize him, half shadowed by the night.

“Bucky?”

He had this whole speech planned about how life is too short and how he’s tired of waiting, tired of trying to convince himself he doesn’t deserve this, but it all goes out the window when your lips curl into a small smile upon seeing him.

“I know this is last minute, but do you-- would you go out to dinner with me? Right now?”

You blink. “It’s… Bucky, it’s midnight.”

“I know.”

There must be desperation in his eyes as well as his voice, because you wave him in with one hand, muttering about getting a sweatshirt and trying to find your shoes.

He grins.

.

.

.

The diner down the road from your apartment is open 24 hours. You don’t know how you forgot about it, but in your defense, you were a little surprised when Bucky showed up in the middle of the night.

You haven’t heard from him in weeks.

He’s alright, as far as you can see. A little tired, maybe, but all things considered, he’s in one piece -- mostly, because this thing comes off, he had joked, gesturing towards his arm -- and alive.

You still can’t wrap your head around the fact that he’s here.

“You okay?” He asks, and you realize you’ve been staring, propping your head up on your hand. You probably literally look like there are stars in your eyes.

“Should be asking you that,” you counter, quietly.

He looks a little chagrined. “I was an idiot. Am an idiot. Thought you knew that about me already.”

The waitress comes back and puts two coffees and a slice of pie each in front of you and Bucky, a warm smile sent in his direction that has him blushing as she leaves.

“I was worried about you.” You say, busying yourself adding sugar and cream to your coffee so you don’t have to look at him. “I know you probably can’t tell me anything about it, but--”

“We were in Russia.” He tells you. His voice is flat. “Had a lead and-- it doesn’t matter.” He digs into his pie, giving you a minute to look at him.

Leather jacket over a simple black t-shirt, dark wash jeans and his newly-cropped hair, short on the sides, long on top, swept to one side. Here, in this diner with you, you feel like he’s stepped right out of the fifties.

It looks good on him though, and you feel that warmth inside you that you’ve felt ever since you first met Bucky, all those months ago in the bookshop where you work in Manhattan, back when he came in nearly every week, devouring history books and fiction books alike.

Ever since the start, he’s had you, hook, line, and sinker. You wonder if he knows it.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, his eyes imploring.

“Of course.”

“I just-- I know I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been… doing a lot of thinking. And then this mission came up, and I didn’t have time…” he drags a hand through his hair. “And that’s the thing. I’ve been alive forever, it feels like. But I always feel like I’m running out of time.”

You feel in a pang in your chest as you meet his eyes, the blue staring back at you full of regret and a little bit of pain. His hand moves to cover yours, slowly, giving you a chance to change your mind, but you don’t. You flip your hand over at the last second, palm to palm with him, your fingers lacing together effortlessly.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he says, and the unspoken words are loud as if he’s said them right into your ear.

He walks you to your door at nearly two in the morning, promising to call you in the morning -- make it afternoon, he amends with a smile -- and then with a kiss on your cheek, he’s gone.

You go to bed half wondering if any of that really happened at all.

.

.

.

Three weeks later, you’re the one rushing out the door, phone pressed to your ear. When he answers, you could weep with relief.

“What’s going on?” He asks, alarmed.

“I’m safe, it’s nothing. I just-- oh, Bucky, this is so last minute, I’m so sorry--”

“That’s kinda becoming our thing, isn’t it?” He asks, the words doing their job by making you smile and stop for a second on the sidewalk, trying to calm down.

“I suppose it is,” you agree. “I completely forgot about this work thing going on after hours tonight.” You frown. “I know I said we would get dinner, but I kind of have to be there--”

“Any chance you need a date?”

“You’re serious?”

A beat. “If I get a few hours with you, that’s all I care about.”

You give him the address, your heart fluttering as his low voice assures you he’ll be there, and you find the burst of courage you’ve been looking for over the last few weeks as you remember the echo of his voice -- I don’t want to waste any more time.

Neither do you.

He shows up looking like an adonis and you can’t help the grin that overtakes your features when he finally spots you after a few seconds of looking around the room filled with your coworkers.

His eyes light up.

A whiff of cologne before a kiss pressed to your temple -- don’t want to mess up your makeup, he whispers -- and you don’t know how you pretended for so long that you’re not in love with him.

You resolve to tell him before the night is over. Because he deserves to know that you’re both on the same wavelength, both so stupid for each other. He deserves to know that he’s cared for and loved.

No more wasting time.

He charms the pants off your bosses and coworkers alike, and never leaves your side, his hand a comforting weight on the curve of your waist, his eyes sparkling when he catches you staring at him, admiring the sharp line of his jaw and the blue of his eyes.

After, he walks you home, his jacket draped over your shoulders and your hand tucked in his.

“So,” he drawls, “Was that technically our first date?”

You smirk, “I thought our midnight dinner date was our first one.”

On your doorstep, he stays on the first step while you step up on the second one, at eye level with him. “Thank you,” you say softly, “for doing that for me tonight. I know it was last minute--”

“It’s our thing, I told you,” he chides. “You don’t have to thank me. Whenever you need me, you’ve got me.”

Butterflies take flight in your stomach again, and you can’t help but reach for him, your hand touching the side of his face lightly, your heart racing at the way his breath falters at your touch. “I think I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

His eyes slide shut. A breath escapes him, something like relief in his sigh before he opens his eyes again, the blue turning cobalt as he stares at you.

You don’t expect him to say it back. You’re-- you’re nobody. An editor at a publishing firm that just so happened to have a chance encounter with an Avenger one day and never looked back. You know he’s got parts of his life that you’ll never fully understand, but in this moment, you’re just a girl and he’s just a guy looking at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“I-- you’re… you’re everything to me.” He says, his voice fierce and tight with emotion. “That’s why I came here in the middle of the night weeks ago. After that mission, it dragged up memories I didn’t want to remember. But despite everything that’s happened to me, my life brought me you. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it, but all I know is that life is short and I just--” He stops realizing he’s rambling every romantic thought he’s ever had about you since the day you met. “If all I get for the rest of my life are last minute dates with you, I can die a happy man.”

You basically melt into him right there, finally kissing him like you’ve wanted to since basically the day you met, and he matches your desperation, but turns it a little more reverent, a little more gentle, and it has heat thrumming through your veins.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers after he pulls away. “I’ve got an early morning and you do too.” He smiles regretfully.

You tilt your head to one side. You really don’t want him to leave. “Last minute sleepover?”

He laughs, and the sound is so beautiful you can hardly stand it. “I guess I could be convinced.”

You lead him inside with your hand wrapped up in his, and that night, you both sleep better than you have in years, each other’s heartbeats the lullaby sending you both into a dreamless sleep.

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

Anytime

Request : Can you write about Sonny being suuuperrr drunk and he’s just so giggly and cute and you have to take care of him

Thanks for the request! I always feel like I don’t write drunk that well but I hope you enjoy this ☺️

You couldn’t remember the last time you had a night to yourself, without worrying about being up early the next morning. You weren’t even on call, no commitments besides the one you had made to your sofa before you left for work that morning. And that’s where you’ve been since you got home. Pajamas : on. The show you’ve been meaning to binge watch : on. Honestly, you couldn’t have asked for a better Saturday night.

You were laying on your sofa, coffee table still covered in the take out you had for dinner, not quite dozing but also not fully awake or paying attention. You felt your phone vibrate in your cocoon of blankets and you patted around looking for it. It went off again, indicating a second text and you sat up slightly, pulling your blankets to the side. You heard you phone clatter to the ground at the other end of the couch. Once free from your blankets it began to vibrate again, this time it was a call.

Who was calling you this late? It shouldn’t be work related, you weren’t on call. You grabbed your phone from the floor and looked at the caller ID. Sonny Carisi. Your brow furrowed and you hit the answer button before placing the phone to your ear.

“Sonny?” You asked, a tinge of worry in your voice.

“Y/N!” He responded happily, “I tried to text you but you didn’t answer so I was worried so I called you. How are you?” He asked, his words spilling out of his mouth in a rush. You could hear the hum of other voices and music in the background.

“I’m fine, Sonny. Where are you?” you asked, trying not to laugh and pausing your TV so you could try and hear him better.

“Me?” He asked and you smiled, rolling your eyes fondly.

“No, the other Sonny Carisi who just called me a quarter past midnight.” He was silent for a second and you thought maybe he had hung up.

“You have another Sonny?” He asked, and you laughed shaking your head incredulously.

“No, I don’t. I don’t have another Sonny,  just you.” You assured him and he let out a relieved sigh. “Why did you call me?” You asked, trying to get him back on track.

“Oh! Right. Do you want to come to the bar I’m at?” He asked hopefully and you rubbed your face glancing at the time again.

“It’s late, Sonny. Who are you at the bar with?”

“I came out with my Fordham friends. But they’re going home. And I don’t want to go home, I want to see you.” You smiled softly to yourself and untangled yourself from the blankets on your sofa.

“Your friends are leaving?” You asked, slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing your coat, keys, and wallet.

“Yeah.” He sounded disappointed briefly before lighting up again, “But someone said I should call you! So I did!” You let yourself out of your apartment and took the elevator down to the ground level before stepping out into the cold New York night.

“Call me?” You asked, “Why’s that?” You swiftly walked down the street to where your car was parked, getting in quickly and turning the heat on.

“Because I told them alllll about you. And how nice and pretty and funny you are. And they said, ‘Call Y/N’ because I said I wish you were here.” You felt your cheeks heating up at Sonny’s words and decided it was time to get off the phone before he continue to say things he might regret saying.

“Alright Sonny, What bar are you at? I’m going to come pick you up, okay?”

“Okay!” Sonny gave you the name of the bar and rambled for another moment about why it’s a nice bar and how he and his law school friends always go here. You eventually got him to hang up and pulled the directions up on your phone before pulling out of your parking spot. It was less than a fifteen minute drive from your apartment to the bar Sonny was currently at. When you were turning onto the street you sent him a quick text.

I’m pulling up now your phone immediately vibrated as he texted you back.

☺️❤️ OK! You pulled up to the bar and pulled over to the sidewalk, laughing as your partner lumbered over to the car with a giant grin nearly cracking his face in half. He stopped at the driver window and you rolled it down.

“Are you going to come inside??” He asked and you shook your head nodding to the passenger side.

“I’m in my pajamas, Sonny, I’m just picking you up. Come on, get in.” Sonny’s face lit up again and he practically jogged his way around your car before haphazardly tossing himself into the empty passenger seat. “Buckle up,” you reminded him, and waited patiently for him to get himself situated and buckled before you pulled away from the sidewalk again.

“Are you coming to my house?” Sonny asked, curiously, “Or are we going to your house?” You thought for a moment before smiling and giving him a shrug.

“Where would you like to go?” You responded. Sonny considered his options before leaning back in his seat.

“I want to go to your apartment.” He decided and you smiled and nodded your head, not wanting to question why he rather go to yours then be in his own space.

“My apartment it is.”

Getting Sonny into your apartment building and then up into your apartment felt similar to herding cats. He stopped twice outside to try and show you something funny on his phone and then once again when you got inside so he could tell you a new fact he had learned about elevators earlier that day. When you finally got to your apartment door you fished out your key and put it in the lock.

“Sorry it’s not tidy, I didn’t anticipate guests this evening.” You admitted and Sonny immediately waved your apology off.

“I’m not a guest!” He announced and you laughed, opening your door and ushering him inside, “I’m- I’m your partner, you don’t gotta impress me, Y/N.” He assured and you smiled in return.

“Well, then make yourself at home.” You pointed to the sofa that was still set up with all the blankets that you had pulled off your bed. Sonny smirked and approached the sofa before collapsing down. He leaned forward and began to try and clean up the take out containers on the coffee table. You came over with a glass of water and swatted his hand.

“Stop cleaning,” You chastized and Sonny smiled letting his hands drop into his lap. You took one of his hands and wrapped it around the glass. “Drink” you ordered and Sonny used his free hand to salute you cheekily.

“Yes ma’am.” You laughed and grabbed the dishes from the table and brought them into the kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” You asked, “Do you want tylenol or something?”

“I’m fine,” Sonny assured, picking up your TV remote and turning on some random program. You smiled and got yourself a drink before walking back over to the sofa. Sonny was half wrapped in your blankets, a drunken blush covering his cheeks. His feet, still clad in work shoes were resting on the edge of your coffee table, and he still had his jacket on. You smiled fondly at the man and felt your own cheeks blush slightly when he looked away from the TV and up at you. “Sit with me?” He requested and you nearly melted. 

“Let’s get you comfy first, hm?” You suggested, putting your water down on the table next to Sonny’s. “Shoes off,” you ordered, helping him kick the shoes off and placing them to the side. When you looked back at Sonny’s face he was staring at you.

“Hm?” you questioned raising an eyebrow. Sonny gave you a crooked grin and tilted his head slightly.

“You’ve got a really very lovely face, ya’ know?” Sonny informed you and you laughed it off with a slight blush before grestring to his jacket.

“Take your coat off, stay a while.” You teased him and he rolled his eyes at you before sitting forward with a smirk.

“Help?” He asked, and something about how charmingly pathetic he looked melted your heart. You rolled your eyes in return and helped him push the jacket off his shoulders. Once his arms were free of the jacket Sonny responded by wrapping them around your shoulder and pulling you in for a hug. “Thank you for coming to get me, Y/N.” He muttered into your shoulder. You were surprised momentarily but recovered and easily returned the hug, rubbing a circle on his upper back and patting. You broke the hug and sunk back into the sofa next to your partner.

“How was the bar?” You asked and Sonny smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“It was fun. It would have been nicer if you came.” He informed you nudging your shoulder with his own.

“Well maybe you should have invited me sometime before midnight, hm?” You teased him, flushing again at his words. Sonny was a flirty drunk apparently. At least he was tonight..

“You’d come?” He asked excited. You pretended to think about it for a minute before humming and shrugging.

“I don’t know. I think I already spend too much time around lawyers.” Sonny huffed and shook his head.

“You know I go to law school right?” He asked and you laughed.

“Oh, is that what you do at Fordham?” Sonny pouted again and crossed his arms.

“I thought you liked lawyers.” He muttered and you snorted. “Don’t laugh!” He defended, “It’s hard work!” You laughed harder at that.

“Sonny, I know.” You assured him, “I’m teasing you. I know you go to law school, I know you’re gonna be a lawyer.” Sonny nudged you again but kept his arms crossed over his chest.

“But do you not like lawyers?” He pressed.

“Not most,” You admitted and Sonny’s face dropped. It was your turn to nudge the man offering him a comforting smile, “But I like you, and you getting a degree isn’t gonna change that. You know that.” Sonny’s lips quirked up.

“I do?”

“Well you better, there’s not many drunks I’d go pick up and let sleep on my couch on my only night off.” Sonny had the mind to look sheepish before leaning himself on your shoulder.

“Thank you.” You smiled down at the detective and resisted the urge to place a kiss on his forehead.

“Any time.”