#file name: cue the 'i want' song

[starlight-eclipsed]

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dark whispers to the dawn, to Hylia, because he sure doesn’t.

Some art for chapter 20(!!!) of A Dark Among the Lights by LuckyLectio on AO3. In which Dark can excuse threats of bodily harm but he draws the line at poor swordsmanship :b

[daisynik7]

Hi are you still doing song requests? If so can you do Make You Feel My Love by Adele for Toji? 🥹 please and thank you ☺️

Make You Feel My Love

Part Two to Photograph

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

cw: fluff, explicit language, basically all fluff lol

Summary: Toji Fushiguro is nothing like his previous self. He’s become hardened, almost completely desensitized through the years, being used and abused by his own family, the Zenin clan. After the loss of his first wife, Toji takes his son and decides to finally run away to the only place where he can feel like his true self again: home. There, he reunites with a familiar face. 

Author’s Notes: Thank you for this request for the y2k karaoke party! I thought it’d be perfect as a continuation to this story. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading. Divider credits to @/cafekitsune.

“Zenin?”

Your voice is soft, almost breathless, when you utter his name as he stands between the door frame of your classroom, hands in his pockets, a shy expression on his face. “Uh, yeah. It’s me. I go by Fushiguro now.” 

You look between him and Megumi, spotting the similarities instantly. The jet-black hair, the same-colored eyes, almost identical facial structure. A spitting image of his father, who stands before you, much bigger than when you last saw him, but certainly the same boy who’s grown into a man. There isn’t time to catch up as your students file in, greeting their new classmate politely at his desk. Toji clears his throat, stepping aside to make room for the kids to walk in. “I’ll be back later to pick up the kid, if you want to catch up.”

The kid. You hide your giggles, pleased to hear that he still sounds like the same Toji you knew many years ago. His eyes light up at your laughter; he doesn’t remember the last time he heard a genuine one like yours. Sweet, pure, and music to his ears. 

The bell rings, and that’s his cue to leave. There isn’t much to do throughout the day, considering he is now unemployed. He’s tempted to resort to old habits and head to the racetrack to gamble on horses, but instead, he goes to the public library to use a computer, searching for job openings around the area. The day passes quickly and it’s time for him to pick up Megumi. He waits outside, watching as all the other children run towards their parents, most of whom eye him with wary expressions. He’s gotten used to lingering glances like this, aware of his intimidating presence. It doesn’t bother him anymore; he’s used to being seen as some sort of monster. And with what he’s done during his life as a Zenin, maybe he is. 

Megumi is the last outside, hand-in-hand with you, his teacher. You both give him a wave, your eyes twinkling with kindness and a bright smile. You’re the only one who looks at Toji like this. The only one who sees him as human. When you approach him, he places his hand on Megumi’s head, ruffling his hair. “How was it?” 

His son grins, giving his father a thumbs up. 

“You made some new friends, right Megumi?” you say, squeezing his hand. “What are their names?”

In his squeaky voice, he replies, “Yuji and Nobara.”

Toji smirks. “Friends already? That’s great, bud. I knew you’d like it here.” 

Megumi lets go of you, holding onto his dad’s wrist. “Yuji said he’s getting ice cream down the street with his grandpa. Can we go too?”

“Of course,” Toji responds. He looks to you, tipping his head to the side. “Want to join us?”

~~~

You’re sitting in a booth across from the Fushiguros, who share the biggest chocolate fudge sundae they could order off the menu. Eventually, Megumi spots his new pink-haired friend and asks if they can play at the mini arcade together in the back of the shop, to which Toji agrees, passing him money. Now, you’re alone with him, hundreds of questions you want to ask, but are too nervous to. You sip on your milkshake, unsure where to begin. 

Fortunately, he speaks first. “Did you stay in Tokyo this entire time?” 

You shake your head. “I went to university overseas, then I moved back.”

“Overseas, huh? Sounds fun,” he muses, scooping a big bite into his mouth. 

“How about you? Where did you go?” The last memory you have of him is the distraught look on his face, after you shared a kiss together. The next day, he was gone. 

He licks the back of his spoon, collecting all the chocolate off. “Here and there. But mostly there.”

“You were still in Tokyo?” You try not to sound outraged. Deep down, you’re hurt by the way the two of you parted. And if he was truly here all along, you’re even more upset, knowing he had all this time to apologize. Years and years, you wondered if all the little moments you shared together were just that, or something more. Even now, finally meeting him in the flesh, you’re uncertain where you stand with him. 

He senses your uneasiness, sitting up straight to explain. “The Zenins relocated to a more remote location up in the mountains in order to carry out their dirty deeds. I dropped out of school and started working full time as their lackey. I was often sent to Tokyo for duties.” He spreads his fingers, presenting his hands towards you, calloused and scarred from overwork and guilt. “I’ve done things that I am not proud of. Hurt people that didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want to do it, but at the time, I had no other choice.”

You listen to him intently, sipping on your milkshake slowly, giving him your undivided attention as he continues his story. 

“Me and Megumi’s mom had an arranged marriage. The Zenins wanted me to produce an heir once my father’s health started to decline. She was a kind woman, the closest thing I had to an escape. But still, the both of us were trapped. It didn’t matter that we had each other; we were both under the wills of our families.”

“After a few months of trying, she got pregnant. Our lives felt normal during this time. Like we were a regular family. Me, her, Megumi in her belly. My father left us alone. He wanted to make sure I was taking good care of her so that our son would come out strong and healthy. And he did. He was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Toji takes a deep breath, the both of you anticipating this next part. “It was a home birth, per my father’s request. I should have said something from the start, but I didn’t think anything would go wrong. After Megumi was delivered, the bleeding wouldn’t stop.” He swallows hard, throat tight with emotion. “And by the time the ambulance arrived, she was gone.”

He avoids your gaze, staring hard at the metal container filled with napkins on the side of the table. You’re tempted to reach for his hand, to offer comfort, but you decide against it, deeming it inappropriate. 

“My family couldn’t care less. All that mattered to them is that they had their new heir. They didn’t even cry when she passed away.” His jaw is clenched tight, hands in fists, trembling against the table’s surface. “Heartless bastards, all of them. I should have left with Megumi then, but I didn’t. I was a fucking coward, too scared to face the world alone. And with a little baby at that.”

“Why did you decide to finally leave?” you ask.

“They were going to start training Megumi how to fight. He’s only five-years-old, for fuck’s sake. He’s the gentlest, sweetest kid, and they want him to become like me. I didn’t want that. I don’t want Megumi to have the life I did, not if I can help it.” He unclenches his fists, relaxing into his seat, spooning whatever melted ice cream remains into his mouth. 

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Why did you decide to come back here?”

He doesn’t respond right away, pretending to be preoccupied with the swirly mess of sweet cream in front of him. He contemplates how best to explain himself. If he admits the truth, it may come off too strong. The reason he’s returned home is because of you. The photo of you and him smiling on the beach a decade ago is in his pocket, wrinkled and faded from years of yearning. He had dreamt of this day ever since he left, hoping the next time you reunite, he’ll be free of the Zenin name. Free to do as he pleases, free to love who he wants. And now that day has come, he’s just as nervous as he expected he'd be. 

Not wanting to make a fool of himself, he says, “I know this area well. Figured it’d be a good place for us to start fresh.” 

You smile at him. “If you and Megumi ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’d like to help you in any way I can.”

“Megumi is a good kid. Quiet, but good. He doesn’t give me any trouble, so he makes it easy.”

“So nothing like his father, then?” you tease, raising a brow at him.

He chuckles. “Like I said, I’ll make sure of that.”

You reach for him, resting your hand on top of his. “You’re not all bad. You’re pretty great, remember?”

Instantly, you’re taken back ten years ago, moments before that kiss. Electricity sparks between you; his hand shifts beneath yours, his palm turned up now, fingertips brushing lightly against the delicate skin of your wrist. He gazes at you, smiling. The prominent scar across his lips more titillating than it’s ever been before. “Yeah, I remember.”

Before either of you can do anything more, Megumi returns to the table, head drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. He grabs the water cup on the table, chugging it aggressively, wiping his mouth with the hem of his t-shirt, fresh from a rousing game of Dance Dance Revolution against his new best friend.

~~~

Toji picks up Megumi every single day after school. He’s adamant about it, claiming it’s important for him to spend as much time with his son as possible, something he never experienced growing up. He accepts a job in construction, working early morning shifts in order to be outside the school steps promptly. 

A few nights a week, he invites you to their apartment for dinner, where you help him cook simple recipes like fried rice or noodles, even little treats like rice balls for Megumi’s school snack. This Thursday night, you stay until bedtime, watching from the doorway as Toji tucks in his son, a small grin on his face, studying the way his eyelashes flutter into a deep slumber. Sound asleep, he sneaks out, closing the door quietly.

You check the time on your phone, disappointed that it’s getting late. “I should head home.”

He walks you to the exit. “Megumi is going to Yuji’s house for a sleepover tomorrow night.”

So far, Toji has kept his distance from you, though you’ve notice subtle glances here and there. You haven’t exactly been forward yourself, too nervous to make the first move or misunderstand what could be friendship and nothing more. Toji feels the same way, unsure if his feelings are reciprocated or if you’re simply this nice of a person. Hopefully, it’s both.  

Your heart beats faster, not sure what you’re supposed to do with this information, waiting for him to elaborate. He clears his throat. “I want to take you out to dinner, to thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he insists, smiling. 

The following night, he arrives at your house, dressed in a flattering button-up and slacks, greeting your parents formally for the first time in over a decade. They remember him fondly, excited to see him all grown-up. He takes you to a restaurant downtown, ordering the most popular items on the menu to share between you, enjoying each other’s company as you always do. After dessert, he invites you to his house for a nightcap, and you’re a little too keen when you agree. While you wait for the water to boil in the tea kettle, you sit beside him on the couch, looking through pictures of him and Megumi on his phone. 

“We went to the beach the first weekend we moved in,” he says, showing a selfie of the two of them sitting on the sand. 

You nudge him in the arm with your elbow. “Remember that school project?”

He grins, leaning into you. “How could I forget?” He glances at your lips, then into your eyes, inching even closer. You gravitate towards him, holding your breath, ready to kiss. Then, the tea kettle whistles, ruining the moment. 

Chuckling, he stands up to remove it from the stove. You sit back into the couch, sighing, body tingling and flustered. He returns shortly with a hot mug of tea in his hands, setting it on the coffee table. “You should let it cool. It’s too hot right now.” He sinks into the cushion beside you, knee brushing yours. 

“Did you like me back? When we first kissed?” It’s one of the many questions still unanswered, and you decide that now is the best time to find out the truth. 

He smiles, grasping your hand gently. “Yes.”

You lock your fingers with his, filling in the spaces seamlessly. “Then why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t think it’d be safe for you to be associated with me. Not while I was still a Zenin.” He pulls you forward, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, noses nearly touching now. 

“And where’s the picture of us?” you whisper, nuzzling your nose to his, wanting so badly to close the distance. 

“I took it. I’ve had it this whole time,” he admits, brushing his lips to yours. You kiss him fully, his grip around your waist, no signs of letting you go anytime soon. You make love to each other right there on his couch, your hot tea forgotten on the coffee table, cold by the time you remember it the next morning. 

For the first time in his life, Toji doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like a monster or a threat. As he marvels at your peaceful form cradled delicately in his arms, Toji Fushiguro feels normal. He feels loved.

[vi0luet]

— noah fontaine biography

( MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL. TWENTY-SEVEN. CIS MALE. HE/HIM. ) since you aren’t aware of them yet… that’s ( NOAH FONTAINE ) wandering around in hollow creek! from what i know they’ve lived in hollow creek for ( TWO YEARS. )  i’m also aware of the fact that they work as a ( BARTENDER & CONTENT CREATOR. ) in town! but if you were to ask me, what i see when i think about them are: ( BLUE JEANS, BASEMENT PARTIES, PLAID PJ PANTS, SKATEPARKS, LED LIGHTS. ) if anything, i feel like they could be ( IDEALISTIC, CARING, ABSENT-MINDED, SELF-ABSORBED. ) it’s really weird, though… because they seem to be hiding something that no one else knows. but i sure do! and that is ( CLOSED FILE... REDACTED. ). wild, huh? i know. they’re hoping no one will ever find out. and the very last thing that i’d say about them is that they’re mainly known to be (THE OPPORTUNIST. ) just keep a lookout! who knows if they’re putting on a facade! ( SOPHIE, 24, PST, SHE/HER )

— basics

name: noah richard brown fontaine nicknames/titles: “the opportunist” age: 27 gender: cis man (he/him) sexuality: heteroflexible zodiac: pisces occupation: bartender & content creator strengths: caring, optimistic, adventurous, loyal, passionate weaknesses: naive, avoidant, immature, self-absorbed, lacking in brain cells

— background/backstory

noah fontaine, originally born noah richard brown, came into the world on march 20th, to parents michael brown and camille fontaine brown. his upbringing was colored by fond memories of a bustling household with three older sisters, where he, the youngest, often found himself vying for attention. whether he was forcing his family to sit through impromptu one-man-shows or wreaking havoc on his sisters, noah always found a way to make his presence known amidst the chaos.

as he transitioned into high school, noah's enthusiasm for traditional education waned, reflecting in his less-than-stellar grades and uncertain outlook on the future. instead, he found his place in the world of youtube. daily uploads became his creative outlet, ranging from movie and song reviews to vlogs featuring his friends. despite his efforts, success seemed elusive, leaving him questioning his path.

however, noah's journey took an unexpected turn. learning his father had an affair shattered the stability he once knew. his once harmonious home was filled with endless arguments, his parents encouraging noah and his siblings to pick a side. the divorce was ugly, his father taking most of their assets and leaving his mom with hardly anything (though the primary caregiver for him and his sistsers). noah ultimately decided to distance himself from his paternal ties for good.

he decided he no longer wanted anything to do with his dad. he adopted his mother's maiden name, severing the last link to his father before pouring himself into his career as a distraction.

noah's breakthrough arrived recently when a video of his went viral. he reshaped his youtube content to showcase his brand of humor, resonating particularly with a younger audience he labeled “fontainiacs”. he now does this part time while bartending as he attempts to figure out his future.

— headcanons

unapologetic swiftie (tried to rank them for a video but they all ended up in the S tier)

doesn’t hate a lot of people except his dad and Jake Gyllenhaal

knows a lot about pop culture, who is dating who, etc.

has never failed a brain rot quiz on TikTok

can’t have a single conversation without Noah bringing up Mr. Beast (career idol)

swears he was at Jake Paul’s wedding (you can’t prove that he wasn’t) 

irfst adult purchase was a supreme bag

PR teams worst nightmare, doesn’t known when to stop talking and cannot keep a secret

has difficulty reading social cues and often gravitates towards personalities that seemingly have life ‘figured out’ and speak their mind

a ham who is obsessed with the spotlight, assumes everyone has a crush on him unless otherwise stated

has a snake named jimmy

— wcs

childhood friend - someone he knew before his career started to take off

unlikely friendship - self explan!

dumb & dumber - two himbos with nothing but shenanigans and time

manager/ agent/ industry vet - someone to help with his brand

industry rival - someone he competes with for views

PR relationship

exes/ old situationships

[voices-of-hope-county]

Thank you so much for taking and looking into my various requests lately!

If you're interested in the context for my last few requests, there's speculation on Faith's wikia page that Peter the geneticist and Feeney the chemist could be the same person, which is simply not true, because the latter was regarded as a pillar of the Hope County community while the former is from Chicago and has burn wounds. That got me wondering if there was any spoken mention of such a character, and you've helped me answer that question! (it's such a small edit though that I want to gather my notes first haha)

I would like to continue investigating all the things I'm curious about and it's really amazing that you have the ability to look into the files! I wouldn't be able to have this much fun without you so I'm eternally grateful for you! (also I hope this has also been fun for you as well and I haven't been terribly annoying)

This is a separate curiosity (ADHD), but I was wondering if you are able to see triggers/identify cues for when and how (?) the songs from the main soundtrack play? Admittedly I'm not entirely sure how to ask this question, but like for an example, I think the menu/loading screens play, "Now That This Old World Is Ending" (and the menu might switch to "A New One Begins" but I truly lack the attention span to tell) and when you liberate an outpost, the really upbeat part of "The Blessing Just Takes Minutes" plays. Is that something that would be possible to do?

You are welcome! And no worries, your requests were not annoying :)

About Fenney, although I believe this information is only available in the files and not in the game itself, it seems his first name is Dwight, not Peter, so I also doubt he was the geneticist mentioned in The Book of Joseph.

I have mostly focused on voice lines and learned how these files worked, but music is audio too, so if you have specific questions, I can try to answer them!

Now, if you are interested in finding the track names, it will be difficult because, even if we manage to locate the files and see in what context they are triggered in the game, the file names are just a series of numbers. For example, I looked for the music that plays in the menu and this track is referred to as “700376074” in the files.

Also, while they called this specific song “Now That This Old World Is Ending” on the Original Game Soundtrack, it has a different name on the Hope County Soundtrack (included in some collector’s editions). On this other album, they chose to call it “The Resistance” instead…

So, unfortunately, to identify from which song(s) from the official album(s) a specific music we hear in the game is, we can only do some "manual comparison" and trust our ears :’)

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

Tagged by @trials-of-apollo-my-beloved

the tag didn't notify me but i found it anyway lmao

Rules: (in your own post, not mine) Post the names of the files of your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you asks with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it. If you want, tag as many people as you have WIPS.

My WIP List *cue Alder going on a fic hunt*

The Secrets That Bind Us - ya'll aready know this one lmao

Just Like Your Father - this one to lol

When The Stars Align

When The Day Met The Night

Shattered Minds

and all of those

But then we have these...

From Dusk to Dawn

Hyacinth can manifest by hyacinth flowers

Shifting Winds

Solar Eclipses?? (working title)

Apollo n ares

A Titan's Demise

A Radiant Light

Apollo & Aphrodite bond over "not changing much" in the Greek-Roman thing

Swarms and Swears?? (working title)

There's Always Light At The End of the Tunnel

The Song of Flowers

The Sun's Rise

And These....

? ?? ??? ???? ????? ?????? ??????? ???????? ????????? ?????????? ???????????

:)

(for simplicity's sake, just say one/two/three/ect. question mark(s) lmao)

i will tell you that there is (1) Koios fanfic on this list. There will be more, but for now there's only 1.

👀

can u find it? 👀

[nonooddo]

ACHEY BREAKY NEWS……

With all the predictability of heartbreak in a country song - the twists and turns of the Oddo attempt to desecrate our neighborhood has taken yet another twist. The April 2 date, that was insisted upon by Oddo, for the Full City Council vote on the wretched development proposal - has been postponed.…!

Apparently it’s now been moved to April 16. Were the City Fathers moved by all the reasonable pleas that this hideous apartment plan was being rushed…? Don’t be an idiot!

After literally HUNDREDS of us write in to the City saying ‘this is going too fast’, after we have meetings at City Hall and tell staff ‘this is too fast’, after we show up en mass at the Planning Commission and say ‘this is too fast’, after we hire a lawyer to plead the case - 'THIS IS TOO FAST' - all of that is ignored. HOWEVER - THE SECOND Oddo says 'jump'- they don’t even bother to ask how high - they just start jumping…!!

Olathe, KS gets a new City Flag

What kind of a Banana Republic is Olathe? I guess we all already know because we are all too used to this type of shit. Witness - earlier today the news came out from the Cedar Creek ‘Developer-owned’ HOA that the Landowners closest to the Oddo development site had finally gotten round to filing a Protest Petition.

(Now a Protest Petition is a technical petition that certain close - within 200 feet - neighboring landowners can file. If it’s filed, on time, after a planning commission decision, it changes the vote requirement to pass a planning measure at the Full Council from Simple Majority to Super Majority.)

WE OWN ENOUGH OF THE QUALIFIED land to have filed that Protest Petition immediately. We - the homeowners. However… as you now know, we don’t control our own assets. We don’t control our HOA. We don’t even control the name of our neighborhood. (Ask the people who have pissed off the developers and because they referred to their own neighborhood the developers are threatening to sue them…! Remarkable True Story in the Olathe Banana Republic!)

The Protest Petition discussions were among developers only…!

So here in our own ‘hood, we don’t have an HOA that is opposing the desecration of the main entrance to Cedar Creek by a rapacious developer. No… our HOA IGNORED the fact of hundreds of letters, thousands of signatures and every actual indication of opposition by all the homeowners - and it kept silent.

The OVERWHELMING response of homeowners - of Opposition to Oddo - has been ABSENT from ‘our’ HOA’s considerations. Instead we were machined against. Talked down to. Told to behave. Patronized and they even tried to bully us with threats, belittling and smears. That was the response of ‘our’ HOA…

However - when the developers that control everything out here in Cedar Creek fell out and then - accidentally did the right thing, albeit for the wrong reasons, and sided with homeowners for ONCE, then THAT is big news…!

Cue a full email blast from the FakeOA, cue some whitewashed details about the ‘discussions’ to fix the Oddo abomination…! Of course WE were not present, this was “Developers Only”. Acting like C19th Colonial Powers carving up the world, we only get told what they want us to know - after the fact. And all we are supposed to do is shout “God Save The Kaiser, or Czar, or King…!” As tho our masters had done something good - for us…! (And not something patently in their own financial interests…!)

So don’t be surprised when this song ends in heartbreak. It is as inevitable as a country tear jerker - and about as synthetic. And the next chapter can be predicted too…

Watch out for Oddo revisions to his shitty plans - something to buy off (or rather buy back) some of that ‘other developer political capital’ he just burned through. Will we be at the table next time…? Hell no, don’t be an idiot…!

…This is still Olathe Kansas…Y’all…!

[aragarna]

For the handwritten ask: 🧁 favorite memory with a specific song/album?

How uspet would you be if I typed it, instead of writing it? (because yes, I've long reached the point where typing is faster than writing...) I do have a fun story (it's fun for me at least!) but it's a bit long.

So, depending how old you are, you may or may not remember the rise of peer-to-peer downloading. It was an amazing thing, suddenly putting all the content of the world a couple of clicks away! So we'd just very randomly search for anything that'd cross our minds. BUT we had sllllooooow internet connections and desktop computers with a full hard drive of 2GB. Still, the excitement of P2P, typing in a movie title, an actor's name, see what was available, pick one, prefencially short audio files if you didn't want to wait 2 days. Pray it wasn't porn-in-disguise... Anywho, I don't exactly remember (that was 20 years ago) but I guess somewhere between the Zorro movies, Shrek 2 and watching old Almodovar movies in Spanish class, I had a bit of a crush on Antonio Banderas (who didn't, then?). So, I suppose I typed in "antonio banderas" somewhere and here was a file of a reasonable size labeled "antoniobanderas.wav" which was, indeed, a song sang by Antonio Banderas. Cute song, sounded very Spanish to me. From what I could understand, it was a sweet love song. Morena de me corazon. Something about playing the guitar, the moon, love... I assumed he may have released an album or something (though I never found such thing back then). Happy with my discovery, I put it in my "music" folder, and it's been transfered from desktop to laptop to mp3 to iPod over the years. It was just to me "that old Banderas song" that would pop on my playlist every once in a while.

Cue, over 20 years later (a few months ago). France.tv (free TV and streaming service) informs me that they have Desperado available. Sometimes my heart is weak. I'm not a Rodriguez fan, but I was longing for my old Spanish amigo, so I'm like "well, it's Sunday, the movie is free, it'll make a good background thing while I spend too much time on Tumblr."

10 seconds. It took about 10 seconds and 3 guitar stroke for all the bells in my brain to ring. I know that song. That's THE SONG!! My god that song is from Desperado?! Desperado?! That innocent love song?

So, there. A 20 years-old mystery solved. Totally by chance.

And 2 weeks ago, during a trip to Spain, I was telling this story to my friend and because that was the only Spanish song I had on my phone and it's a bit of an earworm, it became the hymn for our trip and we've been singing in all week. And suddenly, a group starts playing and singing it in the streets of Granada, and here I am, singing along, very proud of knowing la Canción Del Mariachi!

[ponds-of-ink]

Guys, wake up, new FNAF: Mirror Mirror lore just dropped

Err, well, more of a huge expansion of something I already mentioned a couple of times.

Since I don’t want to stall myself, here’s the most Wikipedia-ish thing I think I’m ever gonna write:

“How to Revive a Rabbit” (or more commonly referred as “Lifetime Achievement Award”) was a music video produced by Fazbear Entertainment Inc. and Silver Parasol Productions. It was made as an early promotional video for the feature film Mirror Mirror: Shattering the Glass during the film’s earliest stages of development. As a result, it showcases prototype designs of several characters such as Malhare (though his name appears as “Glitchtrap” in the credits), Vanny, and Burntrap.

Though footage of the music video itself is currently lost media, the song itself is still readily available as well as the official script that has recently resurfaced online. Thus, the following synopsis has been made using the script as a guide.

Synopsis

The music video starts with Malhare and Vanny entering a grungy, but still futuristic laboratory. Under Malhare’s instructions, Vanny powers up both the monitor and equipment. This creates a jolt of electricity, which is pumped into an unconscious Burntrap.

Malhare takes advantage of Burntrap’s slowly-awakening state to catch him up on what’s happening, even tossing in a few flatteries along the way. Meanwhile, Vanny juggles maintaining the machinery’s power as well as blocking off anyone from getting any closer to the lab. This includes the Glamrock Stars as well as Sundrop, who are trying to figure out who’s fooling with the power.

After a few more pumps of electricity, Burntrap fully awakens. He processes his new surroundings as Malhare does a few health checks. Once confident in his new recreation’s capabilities, Malhare guides him to a large computer monitor. They then work together to stop the Glamrocks in their tracks while Vanny prepares something on a separate device.

As the song winds to close, the Glamrocks defeatedly return to their rooms. Sundrop, who is already in his bedchamber, decides to open a new message titled “Thriller-dot-audio”. The file then plays a specific audio cue, causing Sundrop to gain a red glow in his eyes. This recording spreads throughout the building, giving three of the four Glamrocks the same reddish light in their eyes.

The video ends with Malhare prompting Burntrap to finish speaking into a funnel-shaped microphone. Though struggling in both talking and accepting his circumstances, Burntrap says the last words with perfect, bitter flatness as the scene fades to black.

Reception and Legacy

The video itself received much praise from fans, calling it “a step up from previous music vids”. While critics also admired the animation and storytelling, the song itself garnered complaints that it “limited the artists who didn’t wish to be graphic or follow the lyrics to a T” and “was reaching concerning levels of going far beyond what Shadow Bunny’s Frankenstein-esque homage in the last film”, though the last claim was never fully explained. The songwriter of “Lifetime Achievement Award” has made no comment on his song being used, as he is either unaware of this particular production’s existence or is very busy.

Due to Silver Parasol moving offices in the middle of producing Mirror, Mirror: Shattering the Glass, all of the music videos’ original reels have been lost. And while Fazbear Entertainment Inc. has backups safely in storage, the company has made it a policy to not disclose any of footage or behind-the-scenes variants publicly. As a result, all of the music videos are considered lost media until further notice. There are rumors of rough storyboards for “How to Revive a Rabbit” that survived Silver Parasol’s move, but these are unconfirmed.

[mugenfinder]

i downloaded ur karateka mania archive as a .zip from the internet archive and it won't work, what do i do? (all of the cues are super out of sync so i can't get to the editor- a pot spawns in and it instantly teleports to the ground)

I forgot to up an directions for it, so I'll get to that. Here's a rudimentary explanation, you'll need to convert whatever track you want to use to OGG. Audacity can do that with the Export option.

The prompt that shows up is asking you to name the folder. The BPM bar will start the song so you can press the left button to the beat, or however you would count the beats.

Rhythm Start Position is where the song will start being editable, and I think BPM determines how much space you have to put hits in. Pressing Save As on the first screen will save the actual track file (.bor) so you can drop the folder into the game's music folder.

Pressing Save As on this screen will save the name of the track and the copied file, I believe. "Open the File" is incorrect here, I used machine translation, it's likely saving a copy of the song.

The bottom button will take you back to the first screen.

[ancient-cats-unite]

Slime Time

Inspector Gabriel was expecting relic samples, NOT a feline slime.

Inspector Gabriel looked out from his dimly lit office. The scent of burnt coffee and chocolate wafted in the room. Kanta was eating some milk chocolate alone, dangling his paws off the desk. A melancholy record played in the corner of the office, on top of poorly sorted files.

Operation Relic Bee was underway and they would bring back pure ammonite along with other things. Gabriel, of course, was always the first to get their hands on it. The broadcast stated they would come back soon. Sure enough, the trailer pulled up.

Roe Cat spun out, oogling a little bundle of white. Dual Whales were carrying a terrified Fisherman Cat on their backs. Cutter Cat was towed along with a Lil Dark, who was furiously chewing on a Big Mac. Courier got out, looking like he smoked fifteen grams of crack. Gabriel made his way over to the team.

"We got your fix!"

Roe Cat handed over the little bundle. It was full of pieces of the queen's carcass, plentiful enough for some trial and error. However the one thing that stood out, covered in green gore, was..

"What is that?"

Gabriel noticed a little glob, grey in color with purple accents. Poking the blob, the slime turned around, humming happily. It flopped its little whiskers.

"Plbb? Weee!"

Cutter Cat zoomed up on cue. Lil Dark was purring happily in his own booster seat.

"A baby! A little guy we found in the queen's prison. Its pretty chipper to come along with us."

Slime Cat licked the relic pieces. Gabriel looked sternly at the collection before folding it back up. A prisonner? Was this goop a criminal in the bee's eyes? Some questioning is in orde4.

"Yeah, this'll be of use. Thank you."

Almost cradling it in his arms, Gabriel went back to his office, overjoyed slime and pieces in tow.

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

"Kanta. Scalpel."

Gabriel sat at his desk, hunched over the relic. Kanta slid open the dissection kit. No light was present except for the glowing stones embedded in Gabriel's palms and the bedside lamp.

"Here you go. What are you going to do with the slime?"

Slime Cat was being held in a lunch box. It meowed curiously at the junior detective cat. Gabriel was not fond of the queen's prisonner, though the slime remained oblivious. It just looked so.. incompetent. It didn't do much besides singing (which Kanta always applauded after it finished a song) even when harshly interrogated.

"Send it down to the Cat Dictionary. Magnifying glass, Kanta."

The glass caught light from the bedside lamp alluminating the dark room, projecting onto Slime. Slime Cat was in awe, his grey and purple blobbiness shining slightly. Catching wanting looks from Kanta as he worked, it called out to him.

"Meeeeewww! Kata!"

Finally caving, Kanta picked up the slime with gloved paws. Gabriel turned over to see his assistant getting his heart melted.

"It.. it said my name.. Its so goddamn cute!!!"

Kanta rubbed against the plastic container, crying, to which Slime Cat did the same. Gabriel facepalmed, writing up some notices in the relic pulsations.

"Put it down. If I crack the Relic case, we'll get promoted to fight these anomalies. Focus."

Kanta placed the slime down next to a pile of papers. Slime Cat looked dejected, before meowing at Gabriel.

"Gwebiel! Meeeeeeeeeeeeww!"

Gabriel gave it a death stare, which shut it up. Frusturated over nothing else noteworthy in the relic flesh and that thing being in his office, he scoffed.

"Kanta. Take it down to the dictionary sector. Return quickly, we have much to discuss."

Kanta sighed. Floating off the desk with the slime, he scurried off to the Cat Army's commander's office. The slime took one last look at Gabriel and sniffled.

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

//Hey gamers, been a hot minute. The Slime Cat has sucessfully taken over again. Plus some Gabriel fanart fueled me.//

[amaranthineoceans]

Everything Weird About Deltarune!

Spoiler Warning for Undertale and Both Chapters of Deltarune! Really! I Literally Go Through Everything I Can Remember About Them!

This is a long post so get comfortable. Also note that my brain doesn't process thoughts into words very well so some of these might not be worded in the best way. :)

Deltarune. The first teaser chapter was released on October 31, 2018, and it came out of nowhere. We've all gone through this, but I'll try and go through every single painstaking detail I can remember. Feel free to reblog and add/correct things.

The weirdness begins right off the bat. The title is an anagram of UNDERTALE. We all know Toby likes to use anagrams when he wants to indirectly tell us when things are related, so it's no surprise that when you go to download DELTARUNE, it warns you that the game is designed for people who have played UNDERTALE. You think, "Cool, so it's a sequel? Or maybe a prequel? A different perspective of UNDERTALE perhaps?" You were wrong; so terribly, terribly wrong! I'll elaborate on this later.

Before you download the application, the terms of service that you must agree to beforehand reads simply and plainly, "You accept everything that will happen from now on." This detail was kinda brushed off in the beginning, because, hey, it's Toby Fox. He does weird stuff all the time. But even in the first chapter, it's apparent that the concept of choice, or more accurately, the lack of it, is a very present theme in the game. I would like to remind you that Toby has announced that there will be one ending in the game. One. I'll elaborate on this later.

The program (as in, what the game is called in your files) is named SURVEY PROGRAM. Why not just call it Deltarune like it is when you download chapter two?

The game launches you, without a title screen, without any setting adjustment options, straight into a reference to the theme of the entire franchise: the lack of choice. A strange formless voice guides you through "making a vessel", with what we know now as a fountain in the background. You have the option to make some very disturbing choices in this character creator, such as making its favorite flavor "pain" or expressing your feelings about it with options such as "fear" and "disgust." You name your "creation," tell the formless voice your name (which is different from your vessel's name) and watch as said formless voice muses over your name at an agonizing pace. It thanks you for your time and tells you that your wonderful creation, (cue music cutout and background removal) will now be discarded. "No one can choose who they are in this world." The screen slowly turns white as the voice says, "Your... name... is..."

It gets weirder. The next scene appears from the whiteness and showcases Toriel calling "Kris" out of bed. Kris' area of the room is very bare in contrast to the other side, which we later discover is Asriel's.

It's Toriel. Why is Toriel here?

Kris is kind of an anagram of Frisk (the protagonist of UNDERTALE) but without the F. I highly doubt this is a coincidence.

Speaking with Noelle is the only reason you can proceed (see what i did there?) while finding a partner in the classroom. This means you can't go through the 1st chapter without knowing who she is. Is it because of the Snowgrave route?

Ralsei is just suspicious to me. There's no way he was just waiting in that castle his whole life alone without some mental toil. So either he's insane or he wasn't alone the whole time. What happened? Is it related to how he can close his eyes and see what Susie is going through when she's apart from the party? Was he just watching everything? Is he related to the formless voice?

Susie's icon is the only one without color in the Dark World.

Jevil's fight is more difficult than Sans'.

Your actions have little consequence in the first chapter. If you choose to go genocide, the only difference in the ending is being run out of the kingdom, and this doesn't carry over to the next chapter. Again, lack of choice, people.

If at the end of chapter one, you walk around town, it's mentioned (notably by Noelle) that you're usually not this talkative. If you go to the hospital and speak with the receptionist, they mention that you used to play the piano in the corner. If you decide to attempt to play the said piano, an out-of-key bash can be heard and the receptionist comments on how you used to play beautifully. If you try this in chapter two, the result is the same. All this is confirmation that Kris is acting noticeably weird.

When you leave the Dark World and walk around town, you can find Sans. He "pretends" to recognize you, and if you tell him you recognize him, he tells you it's funny, considering that you two have never met before. He winks. I'm pretty sure he knows that the player is there.

The mention of Papyrus in both games, but the purposeful lack of him. Like he's avoiding you.

If you go upstairs while inside Asgore's flower shop, there are flowers in glass cases resembling his SOUL collection in UNDERTALE. There's a red flower.

You can't enter the church.

The clock in the storage closet shows a different time than all the others in the school.

If you go all the way south in town and into the woods, the music stops and you come across a rusty, double door is in a hill covered in crass. It's locked. If you go this way in chapter two, however, you watch a cutscene where you and susie happen to find Monster Kid from UNDERTALE (or someone resembling them) and an owl kid in front of the door. The owl kid is pressuring Monster Kid to (presumably) break inside, telling them that they don't want to be a wimp like Kris. Does this imply that Kris is connected to this strange door somehow?

The ending. You know what I'm talking about.

Did Kris actually rip out the SOUL (I say "the" because I'm not entirely sure it's Kris') and knife because they wanted to eat the pie? Did they only eat the pie because Toriel caught them?

Why did they look at the player? Are they sick of being controlled? Is that why they freaked out after the Spamton fight? (later)

Anyway, now we're at chapter two.

DELTARUNE Chapter Two was released on September 17th, 2021. 17. Entry Number 17. Sound familiar?

Asriel's part of the room is different from the last chapter. I don't think this means anything sinister, but I think it means Kris notices different things about the room as the story progresses. My theory is that it will become more sinister in each chapter.

Ralsei getting super excited to see Susie and Kris after a day. As in he has separation anxiety and it breaks my heart. not anything suspicious but it makes me sad so it's on the list.

Kris and Susie's rooms. Ralsei REALLY doesn't want them to leave. Seriously get this boy a therapist. Or a stuffed animal. SOMETHING.

Kris having to gather everything from the storage closet so that people appear in the Dark World????? Why??????????????? They had to do the same thing for the computer lab too.

The golden door. I don't trust it.

How/why the heck did Noelle and Berdley go into the Computer Lab Dark World? I don't see either of them just walking into pulsing void doors without Susie.

Apparently the knight has been gone for a bit and can corrupt people's minds? The king in the first chapter doesn't seem like he can be redeemed but Queen just seems,,, not bad, but a little crazy. I wonder what happened.

Then again, name ONE person in this franchise without trauma.

Spamton.

Horror doesn't bother me. Spamton? Spamton bothers me.

SPAMTON. ENOUGH SAID.

A Kromer is a type of hat invented in the '70s. Nobody named Mike is associated with it, that I can find.

SPAMPTON. HOW DO I EVEN DESCRIBE IT.

HIS SONG IS THE ONLY ONE WITH WORDS.

The way he asks Kris is they want to be a heart on a chain their whole life. Like, dude, no wonder they were screaming after the fight.

WHERE DID THE YELLOW HEART COME FROM. YELLOW MEANS JUSTICE. WHY DOES JUSTICE APPLY.

Kris screaming after the fight and the player not being able to hear it. Don't you dare tell me that's just how the game is designed. There are sound effects characters make throughout the game. None that I can think of apply to Kris, apart from when they rip their soul out.

Ralsei brushing off the Spamton fight. Either that's his coping mechanism or he was trying to shut Susie and Kris up to protect them from... something. I'll touch on that in a minute.

According to Queen, DETERMINATION is a key factor in creating a fountain.

Also according to Queen, Kris, Noelle, and Susie all have DETERMINATION SOULS.

Ralsei freaking out about Berdley making a fountain implies that he may also have DETERMINATION. Why I'm bringing all this up will make sense soon.

How was Noelle able to cast Snowgrave... a spell that she, according to her, didn't know?

The Snowgrave route is so twisted.

You manipulate Noelle into killing Berdley and then, when you get back to the computer lab and investigate his corpse, the text box says that he doesn't seem to be awake. As if you're in denial?

Burgerpants recognizes you. Not Kris. As in the player.

The ending. I don't think I need to describe it. Kris is very methodical without the SOUL. (I say "the" because, again, I'm not 100% convinced it's theirs.) I'm saying this about how they left clues that someone broke into the This proves that they are NOT a mindless, vengeful husk.

HOW DID THEY MAKE THE FOUNTAIN WITHOUT THE SOUL INSIDE OF THEM. DID THEY FEED THE SOUL TO IT AFTERWARDS? IS THAT WHAT THAT WAS?

Another point I would like to make is my theory that Ralsei knows much more than he would have us believe. I might put this into a different post because I have yet to gather my points into a coherent bullet point list, so keep an eye out for that.

Anyway apart from Toriel and Susie being VERY heavy sleepers, I think I've gone through everything. I have a few theories.

1. Kris is possessed by the player and figured out that they could make a fountain from Queen and related to Spamton freaking out about freedom. They then decided to make a fountain going by the logic that "this would tick the player off." This is one of my top theories that assumes that the SOUL is theirs.

And 2. Kris is possessed by both the player and the knight. I think the formless voice at the very beginning of the game is the knight, and they somehow needed the player to possess someone with DETERMINATION. If so, then why Kris? We know from Queen that Noelle and Susie, and maybe even Berdley also have DETERMINATION. The most plausible thing I can think of is the fact that human souls are stronger than monster ones.

I do think that the popular theory (about the one that suggests that the Dark Word is nothing but a figment of a child's imagination, and the events that occur in said Dark World are simply children playing with toys) has been thoroughly dashed due to Berdley's murder in the genocide route of the second chapter. Unless he's not dead. Regardless, how the events (or lack thereof) that occur in the second chapter play through the next will be interesting, especially considering Toby's announcement about how there will be one ending to the game. So either Berdley isn't dead, or he will be.

Aaaand I think that's it! Sorry for the long post; let me know your thoughts and if I missed anything!

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

[utterlyinevitable]

182 Days of Prompts: 99. kiss

FATL  |  What If  |  OH Fic  |  Flatmate  |  Fairytale  |  DWHAF  |  Tragically Twenty  |  Handful of Lovers  |  Stories for Songs  |  TWC Fic  |  Anita  |  Always or Never

(Buckle up this is basically a poorly executed fic)

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC Rating: 16+  Warnings: nothing outright but eludes to sex Summary: They can’t be together in real life. But what if there’s a place they can simply be? Enter Lia’s idea for a Control Room. 

Things to note: Ethan’s the only one who pronounces her given name properly (Loo-chee-ah. Most people pronounce it loo-see-ah).

____________________

“We can’t,” he admonished as he stopped himself from cupping her cheek.

“Please. Save the lecture.”

He’s moved towards his desk. “You know why.”

“And every time we stop it just makes me want you more… I want you, Ethan. All the time.”

She crossed the distance quicker than her short legs should allow. Her forefingers hooking in his front two belt loops.

“I…”

“Maybe we should just give in…” she said.

“Lucia…”

“Hear me out.” Her grip tightened just enough to fight his pull. “We let ourselves indulge in a controlled environment. A safe place. A place where we can put our pent up feelings. We’ll be the picture of professionalism everywhere outside of that space.”

He didn’t say a word, looking off into the distance with contemplation. She couldn’t read this look. Was he mad? Did she go to far? The idea didn’t seem so crazy…

“Ethan?”

“I’m… Where’s this control room?”

“Yours?”

He raised a knowing eyebrow. This has disaster written all over it.

“It’s the safest place! You don’t have roommates or nosey colleagues watching your every move.”

His eyes narrowed, his face still drawn in contemplation. “Touché.”

They both know the risks. They both know the reward this secret would enable. The one thing Lucia and Ethan want more than anything…

“So?”

Ethan closed his eyes. Took a breath. Then said in his stable tone, “You’ll have to walk me through this later.”

***

“Good evening, Lucia,” Ethan greeted upon opening his apartment door to her.

“Doctor Ramsey.” She smiled brightly, her kaleidoscope eyes sparking like a diamond.

“When does your little experiment st-“

She stepped over the threshold and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t romantic or heated in any sense, just a press between companionable lovers. A chaste lingering kiss of knowing partners. His hand found her waist as he kissed her back, deepening, unsure with himself that this was real even though it felt so right. Ethics be damned.

She pulled away seconds before Ethan could truly taste the mouthwash on her tongue. She dropped her bag by the door, letting him shut it behind her.

“It started the moment I stepped in the building. What’d you think?”

“I have my reservations.” He folded his arms over his chest and assumed his authoritative stance. “This is risky, Lia.”

“It’s meant to be an outlet. How many times did you think about fucking me today?”

“Lucia!”

She continued to challenge, “Or holding my hand, caressing my cheek, kissing me..?”

He wouldn’t answer. Even the thought of saying his desires out loud felt wrong. His inner thoughts of her were meant for him and only him and even those were… wrong.

Ethan made his way to the open plan kitchen, promptly ignoring this thread of conversation.

She began to lament on their day as she moved through his apartment like it was her second home. She raked his body up and down biting her lip as she undressed him with her eyes - Ethan was still in his trousers but shed the pressed shirt in favor of a crisp white vest.

“At the nurses station today I wanted to wrap my arms around you while we read over Mr. James’s file.” Lia snaked her arms around his waist as he made their drinks. “I really wanted to kiss you in your office earlier when we were discussing that theory.”

She placed a kiss to the bare space of shoulder she could reach.

“And the good thing about this control room is I can do all of them. Right now.”

She unwrapped her arms from around him in his kitchen, moving around to his front. Standing on the balls of her feet she pressed another tender kiss to Ethan’s soft lips. He obliged, taking her all in. His arms wrapped around her waist, deepening the kiss as he pulled her closer and closer. Lia cocked her head to the right taking it further, inviting his tongue to dance with hers. In this moment she couldn’t help but remember the first time they were kissing in his kitchen. How they were both just people infatuated and somehow changing the course of their lives in one swift movement. She couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s on your mind?” Ethan whispered. She lost a bit of fervor and he knew it meant her mind was elsewhere.

“Mmm, you.”

“Me?”

“The first time we were here in this kitchen… together.”

His smile crooked as the memory washed over him as well. “One of my fondest memories.”

“Really?”

“I cherish all of the moments we have together.”

She had never wanted to say those three words more. But she knew it wasn’t the time. Once they were uttered the experiment would be over. He wouldn’t let them get that far, she was sure. If she told him, she’d lose him even quicker.

“Even though you think things were a mistake.”

It wasn’t a question. With all the push and pull he was doing with her, she took his actions as a confession of a series of mistakes. To her they were everything, and in her mind he kept her at a distance.

“I never said that. Things were - are complicated. You’re a colossal pain in my ass,” he tucked some wayward strands behind her ear “But you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever thought possible.”

They looked into each others eyes, holding the gaze. Longing, gratitude, lust, adoration… love. Her heart swelled at his words. It’s the most transparent he’s ever been about his feelings. Even if he didn’t actually say as much, she could feel it in the way he held her.

Before she could reiterate his feelings he said, “I want to take things slow. Do it right this time. I - I don’t want this… arrangement room to be just about sex.”

“So you don’t want to rip my clothes off right now?”

“Believe me, I do. But the next time we do, I want it to mean something.”

She laced her fingers with his, “I think every moment we spend together means something.”

“Of course they do.” Ethan shook his head with a silly private grin. “I want to woo you.”

“I’m ready to be wooed, Mr. Ramsey.”

Calling him Doctor Ramsey seemed too formal, too close to work. In here, their safe space, they were just two people.

***

They were taking things in stride. It’s obvious they were happier than normal in the few weeks that passed since they started this game. Although they didn’t let their affection show through touch in public, their looks and verbal cues said otherwise. Both making mental notes of their opportunities to slip up throughout the day for use later.

“Come on, Lucia. I’ll drive you home.”

It became a little routine. The days they’re on shift together he’ll offer to drive her home, save her from the long train journey that would be cut in a third if he drove her. He always made a show of explaining how he’s driving her for the greater good of the team - if she gets home early she’ll go to sleep earlier. Though the reality is far from that.

“Thank you, Dr. Ramsey. Have a good evening, Baz!”

He drove them back to his place. Once in the elevator their hands intertwined and they fell into the comfort of just being Lucia and Ethan. Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Lipari were left at the hospitals parking lot. She held his hand cradled in both of hers resting her head on his shoulder.

“I have been wanting to do this all day,” she sighed as she cuddled closer.

He chuckled.

“What?”

“The irony of your control room.” Ethan clarified, “It’s the place where we lose control.”

“It’s the place where we get to control our relationship on our terms,” she said matter-of-factly.

Relationship? Are they in a relationship, he thought.

They haven’t discussed what they were or weren’t, preferring to live in the sweetness of their moments together. Labeling their time together could have detrimental repercussions.

Right now neither of them were ready to let go.

____________________

> days of prompts masterlist <

taglist: @mercury84choices @withbeautyandrage @forallthatitsworth​

@choicesficwriterscreations​ @openheartfanfics​ 

[melancholydreadfuldream]

Going Under Part Five

Fandom: Doctor Who

 Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

 Summary: An accident during a routine adventure made your life spiraled out of control with only the Doctor as the anchor. Will you ever find your way back to your Doctor again?

 Trigger Warning: ooc, angst, plot holes as usual, attempted suicide, dark!doctor, death, insanity, etc. You have been warned.

 More warning: English is not my first language so beware of the headache you will receive upon reading this.

   I found myself materialized inside some poorly lit room, disoriented and confused. I blinked my eyes trying to focus on the current surrounding.

  Suddenly someone strangled me by the neck and pushed me toward a nearby wall. I have no idea who it was that attacked me. I tried to get the hand around my neck off in futile. I groaned in pain as my eyes tried to focus on the attacker.

  "Did Jack send you?" The figure asked coldly.

  I blinked in confusion. I know that voice. I gasped as my vision finally cleared enough. It was the Thirteenth Doctor. As I focused on her sudden appearance, I noticed something off about her. For once, she has a menacing look on her face and she wasn't dressed in her usual outfit. She was dressed in all black and she has different hair style, wavy hair that framed her already beautiful face.

  "Doctor..." I managed to whisper her name.

  She stared at me in surprise and then suddenly snarled angrily. "Don't call me by that name!" she said as she tighten her grip on my neck.

  I gasped like a fish as I couldn't breathe. "It's me...(name)....Doct..." I don't understand why she attacked me but my mind supplied the answer, it is another version of the Doctor, one that apparently also has no idea who I am. "Please..." I begged her for mercy. 

  She glared at me coldly as she continue to cut me off from oxygen.

  A bunch of people barged into the room. They have guns as they demanded the Doctor released me.

  She glanced at me, rolled her eyes and released me as she raised her hands up in mocking gesture of surrender. The Doctor being pulled away from me roughly. I fell to the floor, gasping for breathe.

  A man bend his knees beside me and asked in concern, "Are you okay?"

  My eyes widened again. It was Jack Harkness. I lightly touch my sore throat as I glanced at the Doctor. The Doctor is being restrained. Her expression look bored now as she regarded everyone in the room with disinterest, as if she has not just attacked me violently.

 Jack pulled me up and away from the room where the Doctor is. The room then sealed with complicated lock. I realized it was a holding room, like a prison. I warily stared at Jack.

  Jack told me to sit down in the chair in another room. He wanted to check my neck. "It look bad. I will Tanya to look at it. She is a doctor." He said. "So...how did you get in? That room is deadlock so that nobody get in or out and yet you are able to come in undetected. Who are you?"

  "It's complicated." You said. 

  "Well, try me."

  This is Jack Harkness, a former companion of the Doctor in any universe, so I should be able to trust him, right? Beside, currently, it seemed he is more trustworthy than the Doctor. She just attacked me, after all.

  "Before that, can you tell me what is wrong with the Doctor?"

  Jack looked suspicious of me now. "How do you know the Doctor?"

  "I am her companion...in the alternate universe." I finally relented and tell him the truth.

  To my surprise, he accepted the explanation without much fuss. "I have seen so much in my lifetimes. I'm not surprised that alternate universe come into play now." Jack said with a shrug.

  "What happened to her? And where are Yaz, Ryan and Graham?"

  "Who?"

  "You're kidding. Who is she traveling with then?"

  Jack frowned. "She doesn't travel with anyone as far as I know. She called herself the Valeyard now. She gets angry if anyone call her the Doctor."

  "I noticed." You said as you rubbed your throat while your mind flashback into the room. "What happened to her?"

  Jack sighed. "Honestly I have no idea. I haven't seen the Doctor for a long while suddenly I heard rumors that she went insane, killing and maiming people, blowing up planet. She is not in a mood to be chatty about why she changed." he explained.

  My mind flashed back into a version of dark Doctor I met before, how she torture that person who shot me. I gulped as I have a feeling this version of the Doctor is way more dark than the one I met before after listening what Jack said about the Doctor who called herself the Valeyard. 

�� Jack explained to you the prophecy of the Valeyard, a most darker version of the Doctor.

  "How are you able to imprison her then if she is that dangerous?" I asked curiously as I warned him not to underestimate the Doctor, Valeyard, whatever.

  Jack explained he tried to reason with the Doctor at first but that did not end well with her killing Jack's friend as if she is making her point of her no longer the Doctor.

  He tried to multiply times to capture her and stop her reign of evil but failed. It was a genuine luck Jack is able to meet the right people and able to outsmart the Doctor. Or so everyone think. Of course, Jack knew better that it might be a trap. He is trying his best to rehabilitate the Doctor.

  Jack stood up and walked toward the giant computer in the room, one of the monitors showed the room where he imprisoned her.

  "It was like after the last regeneration, she just gave up and actively choose to be the Valeyard..." Jack said. "I heard the rumor of her cruelty...even her kindness is a double edge of sword thing...she is just brutal..." he said. "Of course, I found it weird that we are able to capture her. She is up to something but I have no idea what."

  I frowned as I realized that maybe this world's version of Twelfth Doctor, after he lost Bill and Nardole, regenerated into this dark version of Thirteen Doctor. My heart hurts for her. I thought of my Doctor, how she suffered so many lost and still able to overcome it. Of course, there will be alternate universe where she just gave up.

  "Who was the Doctor's last companion? Was it Bill Potts and Nardole?" I asked Jack and he confirmed it after he checked his file on the computer.

  I coughed suddenly and it turned into a bout of cough as I tried to cover my mouth.

  "Hey, are you okay?" Jack asked me after he noticed the blood between my fingers. He offered me water.

  I cleared my throat, accepted the water and reached around for my medicine but to my horror, I couldn't find the bottle.

  It was then the Doctor, no, the Valeyard suddenly called out from the monitor. "Looking for this?" she asked, showing the bottle of my medicine in her hand. She looked so smug. "I will return it to you, (name), after we talk."

  She knew that I needed the medicine, she somehow knew that the medicine is for internal bleeding. "Tiktok, dear (name)."

  I flinched at her tone. I exchanged a look with Jack. I was afraid to get into the room with her but I do need the damn medicine.

  "It is your call, if you want to talk to her, I will make sure she does not attack you again." Jack said.

  I tried to be brave as I prepared the face her. She wanted to speak to me alone.

  "W-what do you want?" I asked.

  "I'm bored. You are the first entertainment I had in a while." She said with a pout. "I just want a conversation. I promise I will behave." She winked at me.

  Apparently, she is curious about me and how I know her as she never met me before. So, I told her the truth that I am from alternate universe where I am her companion alongside with Yaz, Ryan and Graham.

  She looked curious when I mentioned alternate universe but get bored real quick when I told her my condition is the result of me trying to protect her alternate self. She is more curious about the weapon but I don't know much about it.

  "Can I have my medicine back?" I asked politely.

  She hummed and shook her head. "I think I will hold on to it for a bit. I still have some questions."

  I am nervous around her and get jumpy if she get too close to me and she knew that, still do it on purpose. It feels like I amused her and she is toying me now.

  I gulped. She is acting all nice now but she still feel intimidating. I figured I could hold on for a bit and hope I will splinter away from here soon.

  "So, who gave you this medicine? One of my alternate self?" She asked.

  I nodded.

  Suddenly an alarm sounded loudly making me flinched.

  "Well, that is my cue..." She suddenly said.

  My mind registered what she said a bit slow and before I could do anything, she suddenly took a grip of my wrist.

  With a chilling smile, she said, "You are coming with me."

  "W-why?" I asked dumbly.

  "Like I said I'm bored, your condition is interesting, I want to study it." She grinned menacingly. "Who know, maybe if you are good, I might even get you a cure."

  "N-no."

  She rolled her eyes. "It is cute you think you have a choice." She gripped my wrist so hard I hissed in pain. 

  I laughed at her suddenly. I was hysterical now. "I don't have a choice since this whole thing happened..."

  It was at that moment Jack entered the room with a gun. "Release her, Valeyard!"

  The Valeyard seemed amused with Jack but she did release her grip on my wrist. She suddenly stepped forward menacingly toward Jack.

  "Don't come any closer." Jack warned but she ignored him. He shot her.

  I flinched at the sound of the gun. It was then I felt the tingling.

  The Valeyard laughed as if she is not just gotten shot. "Really, Jack, a gun? You should know better than..."

  I couldn't hear anything anymore as I splinter away from that horrid place.

  7777

  "(name)? (name)!" Someone shook me awake. "Are you okay?" 

  I blinked as my vision cleared up. It was River Song, she is wearing an astronaut suit. "River?" I hesitantly called out. She knew me. Which River is she? "Where are we?"

  "We are in the library." River answered. 

  "Inside the Tardis?"

  "No. We are in a planet called the Library." She explained as she pulled me to stand up. It was then she noticed the red handprint around my wrist. "You are hurt."

  I pulled my wrist away from her but she suddenly reached out to touch my face as she noticed the hand mark around my neck.

  River looked angry. "Who hurt you?"

  "It was a long story." I lied. I finally noticed the Tenth Doctor and he is with Donna, staring at us suspiciously.

  River pulled me to the side and explained that the Doctor and Donna has no idea who I am but she did because she had met me in her past before. "I guess you could say this is the first time you met me, this version of me."

  I had a fit of cough again. 

  "Your medicine..." River said. "You should take one."

  "I can't. Someone took it from me." I said weakly.

  "The same person who leave these marks on you?" 

  I nodded.

  "I would like to have words with this person."

  I felt vulnerable and the way River spoke, she sounded so protective of me, and suddenly I couldn't hold the tears. 

  "It was the Valeyard..." I said.

  River froze in horror at that. "Valeyard?" She asked for confirmation. "You met a version of the Doctor who called himself the Valeyard?"

  "It was her, actually, not a him." I said forlornly.

  River looked sad for me. "I'm sorry, it must be hard for you."

  I glanced at her sadly. She even know what the female version of the Doctor meant to me. She knew I traveled with the Thirteenth Doctor.

  She explained to me what the Valeyard is to me. Like Jack said, it was a darker version of the Doctor devoid of any care for those the Doctor stand for.

  "If you ever met that version of the Doctor again, you should run for your life." River said.

  "Trust me, I never want to see her again. I hope I never have to see her ever again." I said, shuddered at the reminder of the Valeyard's cold, unfeeling eyes on me.

  The Doctor stared at me and River curiously and he suddenly walked toward us. He introduced himself to me. 

  I told him my name. He said hi to me and then asked if I am also someone from his future.

  "She is." River answered for me. "But she can't tell anything more. Spoiler."

  I turned my eyes questioningly at River. I usually have to tell the Doctor about me being alternate companion and stuff.

  River shrugged. "I'm sorry, (name), but I need him not to be distracted right now." She informed me of the vastra nevada situation on their hands. "I suppose you would better off not taking that medicine of yours. The sooner you splinter away from here the better. It isn't safe for you."

  When the situation got worst, the Doctor wanted to send Donna back into the Tardis and River wanted to do the same for you but the Doctor refused, saying he doesn't trust you or River. River tried to calm herself. I felt like she is second away from slapping the hell out of the Doctor.

  I pulled River to the side. "I will be okay, River. I will have to splinter anyway sometime soon." I said. "Beside, you said you met me in the past, so I will probably be okay, we will all survive this situation."

  River still look worried. "Time can be rewritten sometimes..."

  I blinked at her. Wait, so there is a chance we could get eaten by these shadow monster? I internally started to freak out.

  "(name), make sure you stay by my side at all times." River said.

  I am not complaining so I stick by River side.

  After Anita got two shadow on her back and with Donna possibly dead, the Doctor seemed to get emotional and get mad at River. River didn't take his crap and told him to calm down. She whispered something in the Doctor's ear. The Doctor look shocked as he glanced at River. They seemed to talk again in whispers. I got the feeling that they were talking about me now as the Doctor stared at me in curiosity and wonder. 

  River told me that she finally tell the Doctor that I am his alternate future companion and will be someone he need to protect in the future.

  I glanced at River in worry. "Why? What is in my future?"

  River smiled. "Don't worry about it, (name), let focus on now, shall we?"

  They eventually figured out about CAL keeping Donna and the rest of the survivors. The Doctor said he need to download them back and he even goes oncoming storm on the shadow monster, telling them to search information about the Doctor in the library. River suddenly punched the Doctor much to my surprise. She told me the Doctor has to survive the Library. 

  I realized that River is about to sacrifice herself after hearing how the Doctor won't be able to survive the download. "River, isn't there any other way?" I asked in concern. I really don't want her to die. "River!"

  River is busy making the preparation and didn't answer me for a while much to my frustration. She told me that she knew she will die in the Library anyway that today will be her last day to see the Doctor. She said the Doctor knew it too. She suddenly turned at me and grabbed my face. I blinked at her in confusion. She tenderly kissed my forehead. "You will be okay, (name). I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all the hardship that you will have to endure but remember, you will be okay."

  "River..."

  She released you as she continued her work.

  "There has to be a way, River, you can't die here." I pleaded with her.

  "There is no other way. The Doctor has to survive today or the future will be rewritten." River said. She turned to me and smiled softly. "It's alright, (name), we will see each other again somewhere in your future."

  I couldn't help my eyes being a bit teary, I felt emotional toward River for some reason. She is kind to me from the moment I landed here and she said we are friend and now I discover she will die here? I can't accept it but there is nothing I can do. And, of course, at that moment I felt the tingling. I don't want to leave. I don't want her to die alone.

  River smiled at me. "I know that face. You are about to go, aren't you? Go, (name), It is okay. I would rather you are not here to see what happen next..."

  I hugged her immediately and she hugged me back. I released her and then I was gone.

  7777

  I wiped away the tears in my eyes with my hand so that I could see where I landed to this time. My mouth dropped open when I realized I was in some train in space. Before I could do or say anything, an officer suddenly grabbed me, calling me a stowaway.

  "She is with us." I heard someone said. It was Twelfth Doctor and he is with Clara. They sort it off with the officer and they let me go.

  Clara turned to me and smiled. "It was nice seeing you again, (name)." 

  I smiled at her. "Same. Wait, the last time we met, was it with that time with Robin Hood?" I asked.

  Clara nodded with a laugh.

  I grinned with her before turning to the Doctor who is staring at me calculatingly. I suddenly felt self-conscious about the marks on my neck and wrist which thankfully I was able to cover with my coat but I have a feeling that he already saw a glimpse of it. I cursed myself for not being careful.

  Clara pulled my arms and took us to the scene of party.

  I scrunched my nose at the taste of the drink. "I don't like it."

  Clara grinned and talked to me about how I am doing so I lied that I am okay so far.

  I felt out of place in here due not wearing the period-appropriate dress for the occasion. I have fun in the party, eating some of the food. I watched as Clara and the Doctor talked to each other but I couldn't hear their conversation but they both looked sad for some reason.

  There was some incident on the train. Some old lady died after yelling loudly about some intruder. I glanced at the Doctor, wondering if he will investigate and Clara asked the same but the Doctor said it was nothing.

  Clara took me to a room on the train. I felt happy to see a bed but also annoyed realizing I couldn't rest properly for I don't have the medicine to delay splinter. But I used the time I have to wash my face and body. I suddenly remembered how the last Eleventh Doctor licked my face. I scrunched my nose and washed my face again.

  After that, Clara and I shared a bed as we tried to get some rest. We couldn't though so we ended up talking. Clara told me she wanted to stop traveling with the Doctor and that today trip apparently supposed to be their last hurrah. I felt bad now to crash it with my appearance but she told me not to. She said she is happy to see me again and once again asked if I am really okay as she pointed to the marks on my neck. Apparently, she noticed it too.

  I sighed. "I am fine now at least. I'm just...tired you know. I want to go home. I just...wonder if I will ever..." I shook my head tiredly.

  Clara wrapped her arms around me suddenly, rubbing my back in comforting gesture. I am grateful for the comfort all the alternate Doctors and their companions gave me. I remembered what River said about me will be okay but I don't feel like I will though. In fact, I almost feel like I'm about to have a nervous breakdown soon.

  Clara couldn't sleep so she goes to the Doctor, wanting to investigate if there is something going on in the train. She told you to get some rest. I honestly felt tired so I decided not to go with her.

  Not long after she left, I had a fit of cough again. I stared at the blood and washed my hands. I could feel my condition get worst now. I really need to get the new medicine from the Doctor. I stood up, wanting to go search for the Doctor for I knew this version actually have the medicine as he said it during the Robin Hood fiasco. But I get a headache suddenly as the surrounding started to blur. I fell back to the bed as everything turned black.

  I woke up to the frantic Clara. She asked me if I have taken my medicine yet. 

  "I don't have it." I whispered weakly. "I lost it."

  "You should have told us, (name), the Doctor will have one on board the Tardis." Clara said as she pulled me up. "Come on, (name), we have to go. It isn't safe here."

  I couldn't focus on her at all but she was saying something about a mummy on the train, something about sixty-six seconds left to live once targeted and how it goes after the weakest in a bunch. I blinked awake when she told me the Doctor deduced that I could be next due to my condition. She took me to some lab where the Doctor and a bunch of people are.

  It was then I saw the mummy. I freaked out but I was also too weak to run or do anything else but staring at the mummy. I heard Clara yelling at the Doctor and then suddenly the Doctor is in front of me, clutching my face on both hands, talking really fast about transferring the link the mummy had with me on himself. He went inside my head somehow, tracking down the link and pulled it to him but as he did, he seemed to froze. He stared at me in horror but he composed himself and turned to face the mummy.

  I fainted after that and woke up on some rocky-filled place. I heard the Doctor telling Clara about sometimes the only choices are bad choices. 

  The Doctor noticed me awake and pulled a bottle from his coat pocket. It was my back-up medicine. 

  I smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Doctor."

  He suddenly tousled my hair around in somewhat awkward but affectionate way. He glanced at me. "Hang in there, (name)...and I'm sorry..."

  I was confused why he is apologizing to me. 

  He looked grim now. "I saw it...inside your head...the Valeyard...and River."

  I glanced at him, suddenly mourning for River again. "I'm sorry too, Doctor, about River."

  The Doctor sighed as he sat beside me. I put my head on his shoulder. Clara watched us with a fond smile. I wanted to hug them but I felt too weak to do anything. I should probably take one right now so I could...

  I felt the tingling much to my disappointment. I pulled away from the Doctor and smiled at him and then at Clara. "See you soon." I said to them.

   tags: @thatsonezesty13 , @newheart97, @gracie-and-the-superwholock-gang

 @itsyaspwr

A/N: I want to say thank you for those who comments/reblog/kudos my stories, especially those who comments, I love re-reading your comments, give me energy boost and the believe that my stories are not that bad. So, thank you so much!

I know this is shorter than the last four chapters but hopefully it will be enough for now.

[ex-vengeancedemon]

Hey Jealousy

One shot btvs fanfic inspired by this post by @trulyanenchantedrose

Summary: A what-if scenario where in episode 2x01 When She Was Bad, Buffy dances with Spike instead of Xander to make Angel jealous.

Edit: I wrote another version of this fic from Spike's POV called "Payback and Performances"

Read below or on ao3

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

Buffy stood in front of her mirror examining the little black dress she had purchased over the summer with something like indifference. It would do for a night out at the Bronze with Xander and Willow. A real head turner. She caught herself wondering briefly if Angel might be there. Not that it mattered. He was just another vampire. And she was the slayer. A match made by some god with a sick sense of irony.

Without bothering to tell her mom where she was going, she grabbed her coat and marched out of the house towards the Bronze. It was a nice night for a walk. As she walked passed the cemetery, she pointedly avoided looking in the direction of the Master's grave. Out of sight, out of mind. Tonight was for letting loose and living life to the fullest. She had to enjoy it while it lasted. It probably wouldn't last long. She had already cheated death once and wasn't expecting any more freebies.

She was surprised when she found herself standing in front of the Bronze with its characteristic illuminated sign. The walk had gone quicker than she had anticipated. She barely even remembered it. It was difficult to stay grounded lately. She often caught herself drifting... and she wasn't sure if returning to Sunnydale had improved the situation. Seeing everyone again, it was a lot to handle all at once. They all wanted her to be fine, to act normal. As if she didn't want that too.

Buffy steeled herself and took a deep breath. She could do this. Whatever fresh hell was thrown her way, she could handle it. She opened the door and entered the Bronze with her head held high and a bravado she found suited to the occasion. Cibo Matto had just started up a new song and the Bronze was packed with people swaying and dancing to the beat. Buffy shrugged off her coat and began to sway in time with the music as she started towards Willow and Xander's table. Of course, they were just sitting there. They never seemed able to make a move without her.

Before she could make it more than five steps through the door, she was intercepted by none other than her old flame, Angel. If he wasn't a centuries old vampire with seemingly constant ominous warnings, she might think he was stalking her. Despite her outward apathy, her mind flashed back to the previous night when he had visited her room. He had said he missed her. She pushed the thought down.

"Hi," Buffy said, raising her eyebrows at him in a sort of question.

"Hi," Angel replied.

He seemed a bit nervous, looking down at the ground. Looking anywhere but her eyes. Figures.

"So, is there danger at the Bronze?" she drawled. "Should I beware?"

Angel sighed and shook his head. "I can't help thinking I've done something to make you angry. And that bothers me more than I'd like."

Was he talking about last night? Or right now? She wasn't angry, but if he carried on like this she might start to be. What did he mean by 'bothers me more than I'd like'? As if liking her was some kind of travesty that he wished he could have avoided.

Buffy shrugged. "I'm not angry. I don't know where that comes from."

Angel seemed unconvinced. Why was it so difficult to get people to take you at your word?

"What are you afraid of?" he persisted. "Me? Us?"

Buffy scoffed. "Could you contemplate getting over yourself for a second? There is no us." She shook her head and gave an exasperated laugh. "Look, Angel, I'm sorry if I was supposed to spend the summer mooning over you, but I didn't."

She thought she could see something like hurt on his face, but she didn't let up.

"I moved on," Buffy continued. Then, as she brushed passed him, she added for good measure, "To the living."

As if to prove her point, Buffy abruptly changed course, heading away from Xander and Willow and towards the dance floor. She caught her friends' puzzled expressions, but she ignored them. She could talk to them later. Or not. If not tonight, then tomorrow. They always seemed to be around. As unavoidable as Angel. Angel who was still watching her every move. What was the saying? We always want what we can't have?

Buffy felt multiple pairs of eyes on her as she scanned the dance floor. The dress was a success then. File that away for later. Finally she settled on a pair of eyes that had been watching her curiously from the edge of the dance floor. He was perfect. Bleached hair with a long black leather jacket, all he was missing was the studs for the punk-rock vibe. He looked like she felt: dangerous and out for trouble. It didn't hurt that he had a face that screamed "if looks could kill". That was important. But this wasn't retaliation, Buffy told herself, it was fun. It wasn't about Angel. It was about having a good time, and forgetting about-

Buffy strode up to the stranger as a bemused expression flickered across his features. Or maybe it was alarm? She couldn't really be sure. The lighting was dim.

"And just what can I do for you?" the stranger asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

He had a British accent. Kind of like Giles. Only not like Giles. God, she really didn't want to be comparing him to Giles right now. She didn't want to be thinking of Giles at all. Or of vampires. Or slaying or any of it.

Buffy tilted her head in her best attempt at looking flirtatious. "Well this is a dance floor. Dance with me."

The stranger's eyes widened slightly and he let out a low chuckle. "Who am I to refuse a lady?"

Buffy took his hand and pulled him out into the center of the dance floor. No point in having fun if no one could see it. She spotted Angel still standing at the back out of her peripheral vision. Good. Maybe this would be what he needed to move on. She shoved down the sharp pain that thought caused.

Spinning around to face her new dance partner, Buffy slowly raised her hands above her head and began swaying her hips to the music. It was a slow, sultry song, which was perfect for all intents and purposes. Her partner placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer as he moved along with her.

He leaned in closer to her ear and said, "Name's Spike."

"I don't remember asking," Buffy replied, moving her arms down over his head.

What kind of name was Spike anyway? Guess it matched his general vibe.

Spike just grinned back and pulled her flush against him. "Oh you're a fiery one. I like it. Got to appreciate a girl with flair."

Buffy locked eyes with him, holding his gaze just a bit too long. She suddenly felt very exposed. Like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't. She hastily turned around with her back facing Spike, wrapping his arms back around her waist as she did so.

He leaned down next to her ear and asked, "Is that your beau over there?"

"What?" Buffy asked, startled out of an almost trace-like state.

Even though she had asked who he was referring to, she knew he meant Angel. She had been watching him discreetly, sneaking glances here and there. At the moment, Angel's face was pale - even more so than usual - and drawn. If she had wanted to get under his skin, it looked like she was succeeding.

"The git you've been eyeing," Spike replied. She could feel him smirk against her ear. "What'd he do to merit this little show?"

Buffy reached up and put her hand behind his head, moving slowly down and then back up again. Spike's hands traced lightly along the curves of her body, barely concealed under the thin layer of fabric. She was keenly aware of his every move. Just as she was keenly aware of their observers. Even Willow and Xander had begun to gape.

As she moved his head back down to her neck, she answered, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Spike turned her around and placed his arms on her shoulders, locking his hands behind her. "Bloody right I would. But, I'll settle for evening the score. Want to give him a real show?"

He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and lifted her head up slightly. This time when they locked eyes, Buffy didn't look away. Taking that as an invitation, Spike leaned down and kissed her. The kiss started out slow but quickly deepened in a way familiar to the desperate and afraid. She shivered slightly as his hand traced up her spine. She hoped Angel was watching. She hoped they all were. She was fine. Perfectly fine.

Buffy pulled away, her skin slightly flushed, as the song came to an end. "Guess that's curtains."

"A gentleman would walk a lady home," Spike replied, still holding onto her waist.

"Are you a gentleman?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied, mimicking her earlier line.

He raised an eyebrow at her and offered her his arm. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it. It was only a walk. And leaving with Spike was sure to get a reaction out of- Nobody. It didn't matter.

She caught Spike winking at Angel as they walked to the door. Now that might be a bit much, but she elected to ignore it for now. She glanced back at Angel one last time, and was startled to find him glowering after her. She had expected some emotion from him, yes. But she hadn't thought it'd be anger. Why wouldn't it be? a little voice in her head whispered. He was a vampire. Anger was kind of the default.

Buffy and Spike had only gotten maybe 10 yards outside the Bronze when Buffy heard the metal door slam open.

Angel came rushing out and yelled after her. "Buffy!"

Spike took his hand back from Buffy and gave her a charming smile. "Well, I think that's my cue."

With that, he walked off - in no apparent hurry - with his hands in his pockets, leaving a bewildered Buffy behind him. Angel had broken out into a sprint and was barreling toward her and the whole situation seemed almost comical.

"Angel?" Buffy asked, giving him an irritated look. "What the hell?"

Spike raised an arm up and waved without looking back. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Slayer!"

The blood rushed out of Buffy's face and her jaw clenched. How could he know that?

"Oh, and Angel?" Spike said, turning around and continuing to walk away backwards. "Your girl? Delicious."

He gave one last satisfied grin before disappearing around the corner.

Angel ran up next to her and stopped. Buffy wasn't sure she knew what to say. Angel wasn't saying anything. He was just glaring after Spike.

"Who the hell was that?" Buffy finally asked him.

-----

Note: Had to write it a bit out of character since the timing is so early in the seasons. My excuse for Angel not doing anything immediately is that Spike was threatening Buffy when she couldn't see and so Angel didn't do anything then. But since its written from Buffy's pov she wouldn't have known. Anyway, enjoy!

[twinkleallnight]

Love, success and women

Wishing all a Happy women's day!

Book: The Royal Romance AU

Pairing: Drake x Olivia, Leo x Madeleine, Liam x Riley, Maxwell x Hana.

Word count: 1121

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Teen

Prompt: I am participating in @choicesficwriterscreations day8 and @sunday-romance in bold.

Song inspiration: Words (Boyzone)

“Olivia?” Riley tried to gain her attention from the paperwork she was busy with.

“Hmm?” Olivia continued looking into the papers she was holding.

Riley knew she had to be point blank to get Olivia speaking. “Why don’t you give Drake a chance?”

“For what?” Olivia shut the File she was working on with a snap. At the very next moment she regretted showing her reactions openly on the mention of Drake’s name.

“To be with you.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“How long are you going to try hiding your feelings for him?”

“There is nothing to hide.”

“Is it because he is just a common man and you are the Duchess? Or Is it because he doesn’t have much to give to the Duchess?”

“Who is falling short of things to give?” Hana entered in with Madeleine, bubbling in excitement.

Olivia took a sigh of relief. She knew, Riley won’t question her in presence of the other two ladies. The ladies sat around the coffee table.

Madeleine placed the special edition of Trendz, on the table, that featured the four of them on occasion of the International women’s day.

Riley squealed with delight, “Look at that. This looks great! Anna de Luca deserves a note of thanks for such a lovely editorial.”

“She surely does. She has placed our interviews verbatim. No editor’s cut. The message we wanted to send across to the women of Cordonia is printed very clear.” Madeleine informed.

“Even the gossip part?” Hana enquired.

“Not all, luckily I was spared. All those questions she asked me about Leo’s abdication and then us getting back together and getting married. She didn’t include them. I think she reserved them for her own curiosity.” Madeleine beamed.

“That means I am the gossip.” Olivia remembered how she was interrogated for being the only spinster in the group, and her plans to get married.

“She does mention that the Lythikans wait for the special someone in their Duchess' life.” Madeleine feeds in.

“I don’t care.” Olivia made it little by ignoring it again.

Madeleine reads out aloud the headlines. ‘The success stories of the powerful ladies at the royal court of Cordonia. Meet Lady Hana from the house of Beaumont who excels in performing arts. Countess Madeleine Amaranth- Rhys, an eminent name in the field of Cordonian history and civil law. Duchess Olivia Nevrakis, who defines self defense and security and Queen Riley Rhys- the force behind it all.’

“Kudos to us girls” Olivia said as Madeleine shared a hi-five. But that wasn’t enough for Riley.

“Time for a group hug!” Riley screamed and pulled Hana too with the other two ladies.

For next hour the ladies sat together flipping through the pages of the magazine, discussing what was written about their new project, what the impact will be on the people and what steps they have to take for further progress.

After sometime, Madeleine peered at her watch, “ It’s time to go.”

“Where?” questioned Olivia.

“Madeleine’s place “ Hana perked up.

“ You knew?” Madeleine looked at Hana with surprise.

“You know how Max is, he can’t keep anything to himself for long. “ Hana smiled.

“what is it?” It was Riley, puzzled this time.

Madeleine explained. “Leo wants to give the ‘women’, she air quoted, “ a treat. He requested us all to be there after our meeting.”

“And you don’t know what his plans are?” Olivia asked again.

“ No, except that he wanted to do some celebration.”

“ So I will see you all later, then.” Olivia got up to leave.

“Oh no, no, no, You are coming with us.” Riley grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the seating.

“What will I do there?”

“Experience the love my dear! May be it will help you decide.” Riley winked.

Hana and Madeleine nodded with knowing smiles.

Leo and Madeleine had made their humble home in a penthouse in the Capitol. Madeleine’s taste of green and gold reflected through the walls and drapes.

Leo was on his toes, serving his guests and making their day more special for them. Madeleine was moving with him in tandem.

The ladies were treated with drinks of their choice. And then she saw all the men looking at each other as if on cue. They raised a toast for their successful wives. Madeleine stood wrapped in Leo’s arms as he gazed down at her proudly.

Max had Hana’s back flushed to his chest. His chin rested on her shoulder. He kept peppering her with kisses.

Liam sat cosily with his queen on the couch, whispering sweet nothings that made her giggle every now and then.

Olivia was perched on the side chair. She kept looking at them. What could she say? Love is in the air. ‘I wish Drake was here too. I could have used some company.’ On the second thought she straightened up, ‘Not really, I have myself and what’s better than that?’ Now, Olivia was thankful that Drake wasn’t here. She couldn’t imagine such display of affections. Plus they were not married like others. Forget about marriage, she wasn’t even in relation with him. Was she? She shunned away her confusing thoughts. With him, it was never easy. With him, she would never know. They both were alike. They never spoke about their feelings.

She tried to focus on Leo’s speech, that she had missed out already as he concluded.

“...To many more such successful stories! This is for you Maddie. Olivia rolled her eyes, when she heard Leo start crooning but Madeleine was swaying with a broad smile.

“Smile, an everlasting smile.

A smile can bring you near to me.”

Max spread out his arms around Hana, as he sang next,

“ Don’t ever let me find you gone

Cause that will bring a tear to me.”

Liam took the next turn,

“This world has lost its glory,

Let’s start a brand new story, now,

My love.”

Leo and Max chorused

“ You think that I don’t even mean

A single word I say…”

And then there was complete silence. Olivia suddenly realised that all eyes were on her. No, behind her!

She turned with a jerk to find a bunch of her favourite Gladioli and those brown eyes peeping over them. Her heart beat raised. ‘No this can’t be real!’ she thought.

As if reading her thoughts, Drake dropped down in front of her, to hold her hand, to make her feel the warmth of his skin, to tell her that he was real. And then he broke the silence with his husky voice finishing the melody.

“Its only Words and Words are all I have,

To take your heart away.”

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