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sabraeal · 2 years ago

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If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist, my partner in crime, for her birthday. Joanna likes to ask me for only the most niche concepts with which to delight herself and she certainly topped herself with this one, conceptually. I hope you enjoy the thing only you could ask for and the thing only I could write

With two minutes left on the gymnasium clock, Chizuru stumbles out from behind her desk and hands over her most important accomplishment of the past three months: her last exam. Of fall semester, at least.

It’s Sakai who’s sitting in the proctor’s seat when she approaches; of Matsumoto’s two TAs this semester, he was certainly the favorite, and Chizuru doubts it’s for his rather extensive collection of cozy-looking sweaters. Touchable, she’s heard some of the other girls giggle behind her in lecture, and today he looks it, the sweep of his bangs falling gently over his forehead and his cable knit almost certainly made from the world’s softest sheep. It’s just slightly too big for him, a size that would be down to her knees if she wore it, cuffs pushed all the way up to her elbows just to see her hand.

On Sakai, it sits just an inch past his wrist. She notices it when he reaches out, his smile warm as he says, “Congratulations. You’ve passed Biology 100.”

“Oh!” Her fingers pluck at her messenger strap hard enough to make music. “I don’t know if we can say that! There were quite a few questions I really had to think about.”

Sakai is too earnest to be wry, but he comes close with the way his mouth curves. “If you say so.” Her exam settles onto the top of the stack, pleasantly square with the papers beneath it. “You certainly took more care with your answers than most of these-- I mean, your classmates.”

Chizuru blinks. “What do you--?”

Her gaze sweeps out over her shoulder, spanning the gym-- the suddenly very empty gym-- and all she can manage is, “Oh.”

It’s late, she realizes, the night sitting soft against the widows. It’s faded in places, diffused by the ambient light, like crushed velvet in an old jewelry box, worn away where silver once sat. Snow tumbles past in big, chunky flakes, the kind that melt against the pavement up until they don’t, and--

“Oh no,” she murmurs, every hair on end. “The bus.”

“Still running,” Sakai confirms, chair scraping out from underneath him. “It’s just for show right now, but it’s supposed to get heavy later tonight. We’re in for a White Christmas, I guess.”

There’s a proper way to leave the gym, one that leads out to one of the campus’s many quads and also a ten minute dead sprint to the nearest bus stop. But someone’s propped open the emergency exit, its alarm off-- that has to be a violation of some kind, the sort the school would get itself fined for if a fire marshal saw-- and that’s the opening Chizuru takes, if only because there’s a stop right there, at the bottom of the stairs.

Chizuru’s for the rules just as much as anyone, but still-- she has a limit. It’s already a long bus ride to the house, and if she doesn’t catch the next one she’ll have an even longer walk back, not only in the dark but in the snow. Her father may have prepared her for a world of dangers, but no self-defense class could fend off hypothermia.

The air has a bite when she steps out onto the concrete stairs; it hadn’t crossed her mind to check the weather before she rushed out this afternoon, but if she had, she would have at least brought a jacket. As it is, she shrugs her sweater up around her ears, cowl neck covering what her hair doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything for her hands, and oh, they’re already cracked enough from an endless parade of labs and latex gloves. That last thing they need is to get chapped as well, but here she is, exposing them to the elements as her breath mists in the cold.

There’s a car idling on the street; black and boxy in the way that says expensive rather than vintage. That would be as far as her opinions go on the matter, except that it’s idling right where the 9 should be pulling up in the next two minutes. It’s cold, her hands are freezing, and although Chizuru believes in peaceful solutions, she’s just about ready to march up to that beast of a sedan and cite as much of the moving violations section from her Driver’s Ed manual as she can remember. She got in at least a few months of good study before she flunked her test, she could probably remember the choicest bits if she got her back up enough.

It’s an effort to overcome the inertia of politeness to be rude, but even as the voice in the back of her head tells her that this would make her a bad girl, that father would be so disappointed, there’s another that’s telling her: they started it! If they didn’t want to be told about the penalty for idling in a loading zone, then perhaps they shouldn’t have parked there!

And there is yet a third voice, one that may be quieter, a murmur beneath the others, and it says: maybe they’ll have gloves in there. She’d forgive any crime if it meant her hands could be warm; if someone handed her even the thinnest pair, she would probably kiss--

“Here.” Leather slaps against her arm, the sound dampened by the thick knit of her sweater. “It wouldn’t do for my wife’s hands to get cold.”

--Ah. Never mind.

Kazama stares down at her, impassively impatient as always, as if she is eternally one step behind his demands and he’s too polite to mention it. Chizuru stifles a sigh, offering him her most perfunctory smile instead.

“That’s very kind of you, Chikage.” She holds out her hand, gently pushing his out of her orbit. “But I couldn’t possibly accept! Not when you’d only get cold instead.”

“Tch. As if these would fit my hands.” He gives them an emphatic shake, and she can see now-- they’re small. Much smaller than his giant hands, both of them already covered with supple, skin-hugging leather. No, these are ladies’ gloves, a matching pair to his own, just a shade or two lighter. “These were made for you.”

Well, it would be rude not to take them now, wouldn’t it? “Ah...thank you.”

It’s not until she slides them on that she feels the silk inside them, skimming over her skin as tight as a stocking. When her fingers bend, there’s not even a hesitation; each one articulates as if there was nothing more than air around them. These must have cost a fortune, she doesn’t say, if only to cut off one of his avenues to ruin this, but still--

“They are made to fit your exact dimensions,” Kazama tells her, too satisfied with himself. “I had Amagiri measure your hands the last time you fell asleep at the library.”

Ah, there is it. The explanation that could turn silk scummy against her skin. “I’m sorry?”

Kazama takes one swaggering step down the stairs, and oh, it’s far too late to protest. “Get in the car, wife, the jet is waiting for us on the runway.”

Chizuru blinks. She knows all those words, she does, but the order he’s put them in-- “E-excuse me?”

“You’re coming home with me.” It’s not a question. “For the holidays, of course. My parents are eager to meet their new daughter-in-law.”

We’re not married sits at the tip of her tongue, but there’s no point, not with Kazama. Accepting a gift was the entry fee to this fantasy, and it’s clear by the way he holds his hand out to her, snow falling around him, that he means to take it as far as she’ll let him.

“Chikage, I really don’t think--”

“Give me a break.” A shadow drops down right between them, slapping his arm away. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you kid?”

All of Kazama’s self-satisfaction curdles, turning his smile to a sneer. “How many times have I told you, old man? I am not a child, you cannot simply refer to me as a kid--”

“If you’re still young enough to live off your parents’ money,” Hijikata grouses, straightening the rumpled lines of his jacket. “Then you’re still a kid.”

His chin tilts, imperious. “I have my own money. It’s simply held in trust, which I will receive when I ma--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” One hand flaps, waving him off; a distraction for the way the other tucks itself around her elbow, steering her toward the stairs. “The point stands. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking Miss Yukimura home.”

“I do mind--”

“It was rhetorical,” Hijikata informs him, his grip urging her to stumble after him. “I don’t actually care.”

“Professor--” her feet tangle beneath her, tripping over little more than a crease between concrete slabs-- “wait, just let me--”

“Keep walking,” he mutters, picking up his pace. It had already been punishing before, her own legs too short to keep up with his, but not his step is worth every two of hers, and she practically has to jog to keep from being dragged across the sidewalk. “Look like you have a purpose. We don’t want to be anywhere near here when that idiot finally--”

“This is kidnapping,” Kazama decides, his words echoing over the empty street. “You are kidnapping my wife. I could call the police if I wanted!”

A curse hisses between the professor’s teeth, too soft for her to catch more than a syllable over their steps. It’s the only warning she has before he stops dead on the sidewalk, and it’s not nearly enough to draw up short, not before she stumbles over him, right into his back.

It’s impossible to miss the way his breath huffs out of him, hearing through his ribs that it’s not in humor but in resignation. “The sad thing is, they’d probably listen to him too, the rich bastard.”

Her head lifts from his coat, staring up at the knife’s edge of his shoulders. “Professor?”

“Listen, Yukimura--” she’s not silly enough to ask him where the Miss has gone, not when he turns, fixing all of his searing attention squarely on her-- “do you consent to me taking you away from this son of a bitch?”

His voice is pitched to be heard, the same way he does in lecture, trying to provoke a response, and oh, does Kazama give him one. His growl splits the night, voice rising to shout, “What did you say, you department store has-been?”

She balks. “I r-really don’t think we need to resort to name-calling, Professor--”

“Chizuru.” The sound of her name stops her as thoroughly as his glare. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

“Ah...” She glances back to where Kazama stands, stomping in the snow. “N-no. I mean, yes. I’d like to go home.”

“Hear that?” Hijikata calls over his shoulder. “She says ‘go fuck yourself.’“

Her jaw drops. “But I didn’t--”

“This is why you can’t break a B in my class,” he grumbles, hauling her toward the faculty lot. “You don’t have any sense of imagination.”

“Don’t think this is over--”

Hijikata spares him the bird, flipped right over his shoulder. “Happy holidays, you miserable piece of shit.”

“Professor, please, we don’t have to-- oh.”

Amagiri does not so much stand up as appear, his suit camouflaged against the sedan’s black sheen. There’s not much that could slow Hijikata when he’s got a purpose, but this stutters him nearly to a halt, his gaze scraping over the pavement, and up, up until he meets the dispassionate gaze of the Kazama family bodyguard.

His breath mists into the air, roiling like smoke from a dragon’s snout. “Professor.”

Hijikata doesn’t shrink beneath that shadow, but his grip does tighten on her wrist. “Mr Amagiri.”

This mountain of flesh and bone shifts, his weight settling evenly on his feet, and there is not a day where Chizuru is not aware of how fast this man could be, should he be moved to action, not a moment where she doesn’t remember how quickly he’s able to insinuate himself between his charge and danger. But today, he moves at a geologic scale, his chin tilting down by inches until it rests against his chest, back bowed with respect. “Merry Christmas.”

It’s some consolation that Hijikata looks just as surprised as she is; his eyes wide and wary beneath his furrowed brow.

“Sure, yeah.” His head dips in a quick nod, not rushed or rude but simply...confused. “Happy Holidays to you too.”

Amagiri’s mouth pulls, one side a little higher than the other, and he steps aside. “Have a nice holiday, Miss Yukimura.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I hope you also--”

“Alright,” Hijikata sighs, and with a firm yank, pulls her away. “That’s enough playing nice for one night.”

Chizuru is hardly an expert on automotive vehicles; Father only ever had the one, though he’d traded it in for the newest model every few years in a process as arcane as any medical textbook, and so long as it worked, that was as far as her concern ever extended. But even so, she does know this: Hijikata’s car cannot be worth the money he paid for it. Unless he actually bought it in the year it was made, which, she suspects, is not too distant from the one where she was born.

“You have a gift, Yukimura,” he mumbles, cranking the heat up to its highest setting. “And it’s attracting assholes.”

Frigid air blasts out of the vents, colder than even the outside, and she bites back a flinch. “I don’t think that’s quite fair, Professor.”

He huffs, the sound preserved in steam. “Really.”

“Really. After all, I found you--” ah, there’s no point in turning on the radiator if her cheeks are going to heat the whole cabin themselves-- “a-and if that hadn’t happened, w-well...”

She wouldn’t have anywhere to live, for one. No work study either, to cover what her scholarships couldn’t. And a dozen other things she can think of right off the top of her head, each more heartfelt and mortifying than the last, and now seems like an absolutely terrible time to have a heart-to-heart about how much he means to her. Even if there are only two more sleeps until Christmas.

His laughs saws into her silence, filling the space she can never quite close. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m including myself in the count.”

You shouldn’t. That’s what she wants to say-- what she should say-- but even thinking it makes her hands tremble, an inch too close to earnest. It’s fine to be thankful, but it would take a girl with more backbone than her to to tell a teacher that he-- that she--

“Speaking of--” Hijikata twists on the driver’s side to look at her, seat belt pulling tight across his chest-- “how is the house? You’re settling in fine? No one’s giving you shit, are they?”

It’s a little late to be inquiring about settling in-- it’s been months since her ill-advised attempt at deception, and his generous decision to allow her to stay. And yet her cheeks tingle so acutely she wonders if it’s possible to get a burn from blushing. Or at least some sort of permanent damage, maybe to the capillaries. Vessels that small are delicate, and she--

Ah, and she isn’t answering the question. “N-no, not at all! I mean, just fine. No wait! I’m settling in just fine, and no one’s, er...”

“Alright, alright, Yukimura,” he groans, flapping a hand at her. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’m sure the place is home sweet home by now. But living with that bunch of slobs isn’t bothering you?”

“Oh, no!” Her fingers curl around the center console, too timid to curl into his sleeve. “Everyone’s been very kind.”

His forehead crumples up in confusion. “Really? Those guys?”

“Y-yes! Of course.” Most of them, at least. Some have taken some...getting used to on her part. But Hijikata doesn’t need to hear that. “And I would just like to say that I’m so grateful you let me stay, even if I wasn’t, er--” a boy-- “what you were looking for.”

It’s an experience being on the receiving side of one of Hijikata’s stares. The intensity of it is a solid weight upon her neck, but she doesn’t bow, not an inch; instead she lifts her chin, meeting him halfway.

He must see something in her, some grain of truth, since he simply shakes his head, eyes narrowing before they slide to the windshield. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. But if any of them give you any trouble, make sure to let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh!” There must be something in her eye, a piece of sand or dust, or-- or something, since there’s no reason for them to tear, no reason for her tights to blur where she’s fixed her gaze to them. “I-I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Professor.”

“Really, don’t hesitate.” When she dares to look up, his mouth is hooked into a smirk, angled somewhere out the window. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’m dying for a reason to kick Souji out.”

The house is dark when Hijikata pulls his car, coughing, up to the curb. It’s strange; she’s not used to seeing it so quiet, so still. There’s never been a night since she walked through its doors that there hasn’t been some window lit up, some music blaring despite who else might be trying to make an early morning lab.

And yet tonight it’s as if the house itself is asleep, its energy emptied as thoroughly as its occupants.

Hijikata squints out her window, leaning over the center console until the space between them could be measured in atoms. Chizuru plasters herself to the passenger seat, but she’s still too close, the astringent tang of his shampoo both refreshing and overpowering at once.

“Hm,” he grunts, sitting back with a frown. “You sure you’ll be alright? I can always hang around if--”

“I-I’ll be fine.” Certainly better than she would be if she had to sit on the couch Shinpachi so proudly informed her came from a curb, making small talk with her professor like they were peers. “Most of the boys have gone home for the holidays, but Souji and Harada are still here. I’m sure they’re just--” sleeping is at the tip of her tongue, but it’s an unlikely option at best-- “out?”

His mouth pulls tight, a grim line for such a handsome face. Still, she’d be lying if she said he didn’t wear it well. “You have my number, don’t you?”

“I do.” For emergencies, though it’s more likely that she’d die in the event of one rather than use it. Every time she even considers calling him to fix the stove or get a plumber, she thinks about him possibly being in-- in pajamas. Being tucked into bed with his favorite book, reading glasses perched on his nose, and then hearing her call. To think Hijikata might unfurl himself from his mattress and come over-- Chizuru would never survive it.

“You’ll call me, right?” Her heart leaps at the gravel in his voice, in the concern he fixes her with when she dares to meet his eyes. “If anything happens, anything at all...?”

Chizuru hates to admit it, but smiling the way she does, so wide and bright people tell her it could power cities...it’s an effort. She can spend as long as she likes in front of the mirror, practicing her positive affirmations, and try to keep her thoughts bent to the brighter side no matter what misfortune rains on her day, but it’s true: it’s impossible to be all happy, all the time. She’s simply...good at pretending. Her smiles may not all come naturally, but they do come from the heart, and most people, well, they don’t know the difference.

But sitting here, watching Professor Hijikata glower at her with such concern-- it’s no hardship at all for her mouth to part, for her lips to spread wide enough her cheeks hurt in the good way.

“There’s no need to worry, Professor,” she tells him, meaning every word. “I’m sure everything will be just fine.”

Despite all her assurances on the safety of the neighborhood and her ability to use the legally registered can of mace in her bag, Hijikata’s insists on watching her hobble up the walk, his glare goading her on even as her tennis shoes threaten to slip on the snow-slick stone. There’s several points she’s certain she’s about to eat ice-- really, she needs to start checking the weather instead of throwing on any old thing-- but Chizuru keeps her feet, driven by the knowledge that at the first sign of trouble, all his promises will be worth less than the air he used to make them. Chizuru’s a survivor, tried and true, but if she has to suffer through a night of the professor fussing at her until one of the boys got home--

She shudders. It’s not from the cold.

Warm air washes over her when she steps in the hallway, enough that she sighs, long and relieved, before calling out, “Souji? Sanosuke?”

There’s no answer, not beyond her own echo. She toes off her shoes into the tray, bending down to straighten them, then the haphazard collection of boy boots sprawled next to them. There’s a pair of flip-flops mixed in, too big to belong to anyone but Harada. Chizuru shuts her eyes, steeling herself for a solid minute before she stacks them neatly to the side. At least she can take heart that he’s not wearing them now, wherever he is.

She sets her bag to the side, shaking the snow off her sweater before she slings it back over her shoulder again. She takes one step, then another, squinting down the dark hall, and then--

“The light,” she murmurs with a laugh. “I need a light to see.”

There’s a movement out of the corner of her eye when she flicks it, something out the window. Shadowy and large is her first impression, followed by the growl that shudders through the night--

But its lights flick on too, fixed toward the street. Hijikata. It’s Hijikata. Leaving now, because he hadn’t just waited until she was out of sight. Leaving now, because he waited until she was safe.

The window’s cool beneath her fingers, fogging where she touches. It covers the sedan until it disappears from sight, slipping through he fingers like water down a drain.

Father used to wait too, sitting up for hours until she came home from the library, or from a study session that ran late. She’d find him, asleep in his chair, groggily asking her the time as she coaxed him to bed. She...missed it. Not just someone being there, but someone who cared when she came home.

Chizuru pulls away, hand curling against her chest. She’ll have to-- to do something for him. As a thank you. Hopefully cookies aren’t considered a conflict of interest.

The kitchen is the first place she checks after her bag’s safely stowed back in her room. If there is a boy in this house-- a possibility that grows slimmer with each light she turns on and each dark room she passes-- that’s where he’ll be. Even a dark kitchen can’t smother that hope; Chizuru has come upon too many of her housemates in the dead of night, eating out of cans like they’d never seen a stove before.

Today it seems they all located here en mass; pots scatter haphazardly across the cooktop, each one left with less than a serving of each. Boxed mac and cheese in one-- the orange kind, its noodles already falling to pieces-- baked beans in another; there’s a particular sad one with only cloudy water she assumes was used for hot dogs. A veritable bachelor’s feast, made for seven. That’s the perk of being upperclassmen, she supposes: no last slot exams.

She picks up a pan, watching congealed cheese sag down the side. On second thought, maybe Heisuke and Nagakura headed home before dinner. There’s far too much left behind to account for two men who like to lick their plates clean, as well as the serving spoons.

Altogether, the remnants of their meal scrounge up a single serving. Months ago, Chizuru would have balked at adding different dishes to the same tupperware-- Father never liked his food to touch-- but there’s no point when she knows tomorrow they’ll all go in the same bowl, heated up until molten in the microwave. Dean Kondo might call her a civilizing force, but some days she is all too aware that she is winning battles in a war long lost.

She stares down at the culinary abomination that she’s recreated, and to her everlasting horror, her stomach rumbles.

“When was the last time I ate?” she wonders, hoping that out of sight means out of mind as she stuffs the concoction in the back of the fridge. “It must have been...?”

Lunch? No, it couldn’t be. She’d already been on campus by then. Surely she’d had a snack? Something from a vending machine, or maybe a power bar in her backpack--?

A grimace stretches across her teeth. Ah, well, that would explain why even mac and beans is starting to look appetizing. She really should eat something before she collapses into her pillow. Maybe an egg and rice bowl topped with some scallions, so long as they haven’t wilted. Or if there’s any veg in the crisper, she could make some steamed--

Ah, but that would take dishes. Chizuru peers into the sink, wincing as the tower of plates and pans teeters against the side.

Right. Dishes first. Dinner can come when everything else is clean.

Somewhere between the second pan and the sixth dish, dinner gets downgraded from rice bowl to instant ramen. By the time she’s winnowed the stack to something manageable, she’s starting to contemplate if there are any cup-o-noodles in the cabinets, and if not, which roommate she could prevail upon to borrow one. Anything to get off her feet and get something into her belly.

But still, the work isn’t done. Work first, food later. It’ll taste better once the kitchen is--

“You’re back?”

Stoneware slips from her hands, clattering into the sink, but Chizuru’s too busy jumping out of her skin to notice. “Who--?”

The shadow in the hall is too far too small to be Harada, and despite her intention to think the best of him, Souji would never bother to announce himself. He’d just sneak up on her all unawares and blow air down the back of her shirt. No need to piss yourself, he’d say, it’s just me.

No, it’s Yamazaki who shuffles across the threshold, snow still melting on his jacket and a wrinkle rucked up between his eyebrows. “And you’re doing the dishes? Yukimura, you know we have a dishwasher.”

“It’s calming,” she insists, sheepishly pulling the plug from the sink’s drain. “And the dishwasher would take too long. I think every pot got used for dinner tonight.”

He pads across the tiled floor, silent as a whisper, and it’s only then that she realizes he’s just in his socks. Big, thick woolen ones, the kind that only fit into boots one size too big, because of course he checked the weather. He might be an undergrad, just like her, but he’s still more responsible than half the boys in this house, regardless of age. “And they didn’t leave you any?”

“There was only a little left--” and not something she’d willfully choose to experience-- “I put it in the fridge, if you want it.”

His coat sighs as he opens the door, taking only a breath before he mutters, “Oh.”

It closes, just as swift. “I think I’ll pass. Were you planning on cooking for yourself? What were you going to--?”

It’s not until his fingers pluck the packet from the counter that Chizuru remembers her Top Ramen plans, the ones that had seen her rummaging in the cabinets as the sink filled to find out whether they still had shrimp flavor. As Yamazaki’s mouth twists, she’s not sure if it’s better or worse that they only had chicken.

“Yukimura,” he says, so even. “Is this all?”

“Ah...” It would be a mistake to inform him that she’d been considering cup-a-noodles. “I just thought I’d have something quick, There’s no point in making anything fancy when it’s just me.”

He huffs. “You’re worth a good meal. When was the last time you ate today?”

I can’t answer that on the grounds that it may incriminate me would be a clever way to see herself on the other end of one of Yamazaki’s epic scoldings, but Chizuru makes the executive decision to invoke her right to silence instead.

By the twitch of his lips, she hasn’t fooled him, not even a little. But instead of launching into his usual lecture on minimum calorie intake-- the human body can’t run on good will alone, Yukimura-- he simply sighs.

“It just so happens I haven’t had any dinner either.” He casts a look askance, eyes shining dark without the sink lamp on. “If you finish the dishes, then I’ll make sure we both eat something that’s a little more filling than broth and noodles.”

“Oh, no!” Her cheeks prickle again, and worst of all, so do her eyes. “Y-you don’t have to put yourself out, really.”

“I’m not.” Yamazaki doesn’t smile often, but he comes close when he looks at her, a soft rounding at one edge of his mouth. “It’s a lot easier to cook for two than it is for one. And you’re saving me the hassle of doing the dishes.”

“But--”

“Sit.” His hand taps her shoulder, so light, angling her toward the table, and--

And it’s not that she’s unused to touch, not in this house. Harada is always putting his arm over her shoulder, and Nagakura’s never met a personal bubble he couldn’t pop, let alone Heisuke treating the couch as a personal invitation to pile up like the puppies he shows her from TikTok. Even Souji likes to stand close, as if he stays just within sight, he can’t be forgotten.

It’s just that Yamazaki doesn’t do it. Not casually, as if he’s confident his touch is wanted. No, he prefers to stand a respectful distance away, pitching his volume to fill the space. With anyone else there might be accidents, points where hands brushed or shoulders bumped, but Yamazaki is a master of his own body. He doesn’t even make a noise if he doesn’t mean to, so for him to touch her so softly, so purposefully--

Her knees buckle. Just a little. And yet, still enough for him to notice.

“See?” Yamazaki doesn’t laugh, but there’s a hint of one in his voice, goading her across the floor. “You’re dead on your feet. Just give me a minute and we’ll get something in you.”

“I suppose,” she admits, begrudgingly. “But I still have to--”

“Dishes can come after.” The look he gives her is downright sly coming from him. “It would be a waste to run all these dishes and still have a sink full afterwards.”

It’s terrible how much he’s right. Even worse is how much better she feels now that she’s sitting.

“Alright,” she sighs, curling her toes. “Just for a minute.”

His mouth twitches. “Just for a minute.”

It’s not until the room smells utterly mouth-watering that Yamazaki finally says, “I’m surprised you made it home before me.”

“Hm?” She blinks up, just in time to see him roll up his sleeves, the cuff of his button-up holding up the bulk of his sweater. It’s odd, seeing skin; it’s darker than she expects, not a proper tan like Nagakura, but something more golden than ivory.

“I figured I might catch up to you on the bus, if, ah...” He coughs, head turns into his shoulder. It doesn’t hide the pink at the tips of his ears. “Sorry, that’s just-- you would have finished the test earlier. I don’t know why I thought...ugh.”

“Oh, no, please-- I only finished two minutes before time. Sakai was proctoring my room, I didn’t even think--” to remember that he must be proctoring the other; Matsumoto’s much less beloved undergrad TA. And after all the extra hours he put in, helping her study. Ungrateful, Father would call her, and she’s ashamed to think he might be right. “I was going to take the bus, but, er...”

There are many conversations she’d like to have with Yamazaki, but none of them involve Chikage Kazama. “...Hijikata offered me a ride home.”

His spine straightens. “The professor? That was kind of him.”

If anyone in this house could be said to play their cards close to their chest-- well, it would be Hajime. But Yamazaki comes in a close second. Even still, there’s a twinge in that even tone of his, the slightest hint of something like-- like--

Ah, right, envy. He might have snagged the coveted spot of one of Matsumoto’s TAs, but had he not been restricted by major...

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Her hands clap to her cheeks, doing nothing to hide the way they burn. “I should have told him to wait. Then you could have--”

“Ah, no!” he chokes out, waving her off. “There was no way for you to have known that I was only a few minutes behind you. I’m just glad you didn’t have to sit out there. It was cold.”

“But I knew you had to be proctoring--”

“Yukimura.” His voice pulls her up short, not cruel or dismissive, but merely...firm. The same way Hijikata speaks when he wants the class to be quiet. “It’s fine, really. You don’t need to worry about it.”

It would be a mistake to say, just try and stop me. Harada or Nagakura might take that as a joke, but Yamazaki-- he would see it as a challenge.

“Here.” There’s no flourish; one moment there’s only the table in front of her, and in the next there’s a steaming bowl of rice, topped with a pile of stir fry that makes her drool. “Dinner’s served.”

It’s not often she gets to eat alone with one of the boys. The kitchen is the heart of the house, the room that’s never empty, and even if it’s just a dinner made for two, there’s a peanut gallery to accompany the meal. Or at least Souji, slinking around the counters as if the only way to eat is to steal off someone else’s plate. And to get a spare moment with Yamazaki, one that doesn’t involve studying, it feels...decadent, like sneaking a chocolate from the box. Between his upper level course load, his responsibilities as a TA, and the MCAT around the corner-- not to mention his elective thesis--

Well, he’s not often available, not totally. Not for these small moments, where it’s just him and her and the light above the kitchen table. When he sits it’s with impeccable posture: scapula pressed against the chair’s back, head straight on his neck above it. His elbows don’t even rest on the table.

“Is something wrong?”

Oh, she’d been staring. “No, I was just, um...” Appreciating you seems like it might not be...appreciated. “Spacing out.”

His mouth softens, curving somewhere near a smile. “Of course, this was your last exam, right? You have to be tired. How do you think you did?”

“Great! I mean, I think.” She must be tired; it’s not like her to boast. “If I do well, it’ll be all thanks to you. I wouldn’t have remembered anything if you didn’t walk me through the study guide.”

His cheeks are still rosy when she looks at him, flushed from being bent over the stove. But his mouth has lost its lightness, settling into a line as forbidding as his brow. “I don’t think that’s true at all, Yukimura. I might have refreshed your memory on the first part of the course, but you’re smart all on your own.”

“Ah...I don’t know about that...” It’s kind of him to say, but Chizuru is more than aware of how much hard work she has to put in to keep her grades at the top of the class. “I did have trouble with a few parts, after all.”

“You did?” Yamazaki stiffens in his chair, his attention swiveling from his bowl to her face with startling intensity. “Which part? You nearly aced the practice exam, so I can’t imagine--”

“Oh, just-- just that last part, with the genetics unit. I didn’t expect there to be a question that asked us to also link it with populations.” Now that she’s talking it out, it seems obvious, silly even. But her whole last fifteen minutes had been spent puzzling over human eye color on the macro level. “I know we’d gone over green eyes in class, but I didn’t really know how to handle hazel, so I just treated it sort of like...a recessive? Only heterozygous individuals had their own phenotype, but I’m not really sure--?”

“Ah, that’s fine. Matsumoto likes to throw in a few questions that get you thinking about what he wants to cover next semester.” Yamazaki shrugs, his mouth slyly hitched up at the corner. “Even geneticists argue about how hazel eyes happen. From what it sounds like, he’s going to give you full marks for your thought process.”

Chizuru can’t help it, she stares. “You mean it was a trick question?”

“Of course.” His teeth flash behind his lips, the quickest glimpse before they’re gone again. “But you handled it well, Yukimura. Good job.”

If the skin is but one single organ, the way Dr Matsumoto says, then every inch of it betrays her at once, heating up high enough that she’s sure she could fry an egg to go along with their dinners. Or well, what’s left of their dinners, since she’s polished off her whole bowl.

She stands, so suddenly that her chair screeches across the floor. “A-are you done? I can, um, start doing the dishes if you are.”

He glances up, and-- there, that almost smile. “Sure. I think I’ve done what I set out to achieve.”

Chizuru is putting the last dish in the washer when Yamazaki finally ventures, “Has your hair grown out?”

Her fingers fly up, tangling in the strands that just brush her chin. Quite a bit longer than where she’d last left it, up by her ears. “O-oh, I guess it must have! I hadn’t really noticed.”

“It looks...”

He hesitates. It’s strange how much she wants to turn to him, to try to read on his face what his mouth struggles to say, but there’s no good reason, not when she’s supposed to be keying in the wash cycle. Something she does a little too quickly this time, barely waiting for the confirmation beep before she claps the door shut.

“Thank you for cleaning up,” Yamazaki says instead, hands braced at the edge of the counter. “You always do such a good job.”

It’s silly how flustered the compliment makes her; it’s nothing he hasn’t said before, hardly more than polite, but still--

“I just did the dishes,” she insists, smothering the nervous giggle that threatens to rise past her throat. “Really, it isn’t anything.”

“Yes, but you actually loaded all the dishes on the right rack. And,” he adds with a weariness that concerns her, “you actually used the rinse.”

“But everyone can do that.” His dubious look doesn’t help her growing worries. “Can’t they?”

There’s no hesitation when Yamazaki says, “No.”

“But, everyone--” is an adult, she means to say, but she’d only been here two days when Heisuke reduced their laundry room to suds, and last week Nagakura managed to make mustard gas when he attempted to clean the upstairs bathroom. “It’s really not that impressive. Anyone could do it, if they--”

“You don’t have to do that,” Yamazaki says suddenly, his eyebrows drawn tight above his nose. “Make yourself small. I like that you’re-- I mean, it’s good that you’re competent. It certainly takes a load off my plate around here.”

There’s not a single reply in Chizuru’s exhaustive mental database of polite protocol that covers this. At least, not in a way that is humble enough to make her comfortable. So instead she merely blurts out, “Aren’t you going home for the holidays?”

She winces. No better way to show her gratitude than making it sound like she can’t wait for him to be gone.

“I am.” He hardly looks happy about it, not the way she would be if Father decided to fly back from his sabbatical and spend the day with her. “Just for Christmas, though. My family’s close by, and I don’t really need to stay there any longer than I have to. Plus I have-- er, plans. For after New Year’s.”

“Plans?”

“Ah...” His mouth pulls into a grimace. “I just have a, er, thing. Saito’s coming too.”

“Oh, is that why he left this morning?” She tilts her head, curious. “When are you leaving, then? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, so--”

“Tonight.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m coming back the day after Christmas, and my mom will complain if I don’t stay more than two--”

“Tonight?” She whips around, looking at the clock on the stove. “It’s almost ten! And there’s two inches of snow on the ground.”

“It’s not that far,” he promises. “Really. I’m used to driving in the snow.”

“The roads have to be terrible by now.” She’s afraid to pull back the curtain; it’s been an hour since she got home, and the snow’s been steady past the kitchen window. “And you stayed here to cook me dinner? Ah, you really shouldn’t have bothered, I would have been--”

“Yukimura.” Long fingers wrap around her wrist, arrestingly warm. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. I had to make my own dinner too. I’ll survive two inches of snow.”

“But...” Her mouth works, but instead of words, it’s just her pulse, banging loud between her ears. “What if there’s...ice?”

“I’ll drive slow.” His grip eases, her skin slipping from beneath it. “I promise. I think you know you can trust me to be careful.”

“I...suppose.”

It’s strange to just stand here; she’s supposed to be-- be doing something, anything really, besides standing here like two is two hands too many. Like she has two extra feet, trying to shuffle at the same time as her other ones. Yamazaki has spent precious time helping her, and she-- she--

“Tea!” she gasps, rushing to the cabinets. “I should-- I can make you tea. There’s a thermos right here, just give me a minute--”

“That’s not--” Yamazaki chokes, hands waving-- “you don’t need to do anything. I’m fine, really.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she assures him, putting the water on. “Have you already packed? It’ll stay warm in the thermos, but fresh tea is best tea, I always say.”

Or at least Father had, when he’d dumped her hours-old, untouched mugs into the sink. Ah, perhaps he had been trying to make a different point.

“Y-yes.” He stares at her, wide-eyed, as she putters through the kitchen, pulling out the carton she’s seen him pick through in the morning. “I did it before I left for the exam. But what does that--?”

She shoos him toward the hall. “Go get it! I’ll be done before you get your shoes on.”

It’s a generous estimate; he’s got both boots and coat on when she gets to him, brow furrowed in a knot she can’t quite untangle. He takes the tea though, even if he frowns through the scarf she puts around his neck, no matter how dashingly she knots it.

“There,” she huffs, triumphant. “All ready.”

“I guess.” His mouth rucks up, not in a smile. “I didn’t really think you’d be-- hm.”

There’s something about his tone that doesn’t quite sting, but it...niggles. As if she’s forgotten something best left remembered. “What?”

He reaches a gloved hand back to rub his neck, shaking his head. “Never mind. Thanks for the tea.”

“It’s not a problem.” Yamazaki’s not much bigger than her, but with his boots on it adds another inch, one that makes him feels tall. Not like Harada, but just...more. “Then I guess I should say...Merry Christmas? Since we won’t see each other?”

The hall is dark; only the porch light shines in to light it, and it’s an imperfect source, one that makes his eyes glisten black instead of the dusky violet she’s used to. It makes him...different. Both more real and yet more shadow as he turns to open the door.

“Ah...right.” His mouth flattens into a smile, but it’s like when a crumpled paper is pressed flat-- the ghosts of its wrinkles always remain. “Merry Christmas.”

His eyes meet hers, and it’s-- it’s a lot. Too much, somehow, since the only thing she can think to do is squeak out, “Drive safe!” before she slams the door.

“Well,” she murmurs, spinning toward the stairs with hands on her hips. “I think that went well.”

She gets up to the first landing before she thinks to look back, to actually make sure Yamazaki got to his car, and--

And he hasn’t moved, not an inch from where she left him. His shoulders rise to his ears, holding there until his breath huffs out on a sigh, spending in the night air. His first step is hesitant-- no, reluctant, and oh--

Oh, she kind of pushed him right out the door. The door she didn’t even really want him to leave.

Her hand flexes on the banister. It would be easy to go back down, to tell him he should maybe stay the night, just one more before heading home, but--

But she misses her moment, and then the next, and before she knows it, he’s off the porch and out of sight.

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #modern au #college AU #If the Mind Is Willing #LARP AU #that last tag is a spoiler but only for the next chapter or so #i wanted to get to the nerdiness sooner rather than later #but I gotta you know. BUILD #gotta let Chizuru have her hopeless crush on Hijikata #and have feelings she is absolutely refusing to look at closely for the boys she lives with

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Go - [Reid x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: After being tortured by Tobias Hankel, Dr. Spencer Reid is struggling and everyone can see it. Reader can’t bear his pain and tries to comfort him...only to be heartbroken when he says their night meant nothing.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10.6k

Genre: Angst. Angst. Angst. But fluff at the end cause I’m not a monster.

Content Warning: Talk of drug use, language, penetrative sex, oral sex (female receiving), and just angst. All the angst. Get tissue.

A/n: This is set over the arc of episodes 2x16 - 2x18. A special thank you to @imjusthereformggcontent and @catsadams for reading through the beginning of this in its first form. You’re both angels. I hope this is everything y’all wanted it to be, my doves. Thank you for sticking with me.

Request prompt: Can you write a fic where Spencer is high on dilaudid and tells you that your night together was nothing and that you're nothing to him. Then the next day he can't rember telling you and and he can't figure out why you are avoiding him.

-- Don’t Go --

The first indication I got that today wasn’t going to be normal came when Special Agent Grant Anderson shuffled into my office just after 9:30 am. He didn’t knock before he entered and then shut the door quickly behind him.

I glanced up from the paperwork in front of me, my eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Something on your mind, Special Agent?” I teased.

Ever since Anderson made a mistake that led to SSA Elle Greenaway being shot a few months ago, a lot of people on this floor had been giving him the cold shoulder, despite the fact that Greenaway had forgiven him before she left the BAU.

When I first joined the bureau and was assigned to this unit, Anderson had been my first friend. He was there for me when I felt nervous and like I was a complete imposter. He’s the reason I was still a member of this team; I’d never turn my back on him.

“Something’s up with Reid.”

I propped both of my elbows on the desk, my chin resting on my folded hands. “Well, he was just abducted and tortured. That’s gonna have an effect on someone.”

Anderson was already shaking his head before I got done speaking. “This is different. I just tried to talk to him while he was getting some coffee. I asked him about David Tennant taking over as The Doctor and he…he snapped at me, y/l/n.”

Okay, that’s odd. “Maybe he just didn’t feel like talking,” I defended. “He was tortured, Grant.”

“I’ve known him since I started here. He’s…something is wrong.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “It can’t be anything too bad. I mean, he’s surrounded by profilers. His mentor is Jason Gideon for god’s sake. If something was wrong, they’d know.”

Anderson walked forward and braced his palms on my desk, his eyes boring into mine.

“Dr. Spencer Reid is also one of the best profilers in the world. I’m telling you, y/n, something is wrong.”

I conceded with a sigh. “What do we do?”

“I think you should talk to him.”

My spine stiffened. “Me? Why?” But I knew why.

Anderson scoffed. “You know how he looks at you. And I know how you look at him.”

Dr. Spencer Reid’s nervousness around me could have been blamed on many things, Anderson insisted it meant he liked me. I wasn’t convinced…because I saw how he looked at JJ.

How I looked at Reid was obvious. He was the most brilliant man I had ever met, he was kind, sweet, and his eyes sparkled when he talked about something he loved. My heart fluttered when he realized he was rambling and he blushed, and my day was made whenever he would seek me out to talk to me.

I had a crush on Spencer Reid.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll talk to him.”

He shot me a relieved smile and backed away from the desk. “Sooner than later, please.”

Such a sassy bitch, I thought as he shut the door.

It was well after 6 pm when I gathered my things to leave the office that day. I had been hired as one of the many, many agents that worked under JJ. Media liaison wasn't her only role; she also fielded hundreds of requests for FBI assistance every week. It was my job to go through those requests, make initial judgments, and then send out responses.

I had always been happier working behind the scenes, so a job filled with paperwork suited me just fine. All I wanted to do was help catch bad guys, and with the BAU I felt like I was making a difference.

Speaking to Reid had been on my mind all day, but I had expected that I'd have the night to think up a plan of attack then talk to him first thing in the morning, but when I walked past the bullpen I saw him at his desk.

The entire floor appeared to be empty apart from him. His shoulders were hunched, his head resting in his hands.

I was opening the doors before I realized what was happening. I had crossed the distance until I was standing in front of him before I even knew what I was going to say.

“Reid,” I said softly. I almost touched him, but I didn’t think he’d like that. He didn’t seem to like to be touched.

His head snapped up; the circles under his eyes were darker than normal, his hair was messier than usual, and his clothing was in disarray. He cleared his throat, his tongue running over his dry lips.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

"I can't imagine what you're going through," I began, standing at the end of his desk. "I don't even know how to begin to think about it. So, I won't ask you to talk about it. I won't ask you to talk at all. I just…I just want you to know that I'm here if you just want a friend. If you want to grab some coffee and talk about nothing…whatever."

Those warm brown eyes were duller than I’d ever seen them, but they ran over my entire body quizzically, like he wasn’t sure I was even there.

After a beat, I decided it was best to leave him to it. I couldn't force him to accept my offer…not that I would force him even if I could. "Goodnight, Reid."

I turned and made my way back to the double glass doors of the bullpen. I hadn’t heard him move, so I was completely thrown off guard when his hand wrapped around my wrist. My eyes looked up to meet his, confusion plain on my face.

His eyes weren't dull anymore, they were shimmering but not in any way I ever wanted to see. He swiped at his cheek angrily when the first tear fell. "Don't go," he rasped.

I won’t.

We didn’t speak as we took the elevator down to the lobby. It was only when we reached the front doors of the building that I spoke. “Where do you want to go?”

He scratched at his forearm, his eyes moving over the room behind us like he was expecting someone to run out from any direction. I wasn't a profiler, but I recognized hypervigilance when I saw it.

“I don’t know. Not here.”

I nodded. “Alright. Do you want to go…get food? Coffee?” He shook his head, his hands now picking at the threads of the cardigan he wore. “We could go for a walk?”

“I…” He cleared his throat, his eyes rising to meet mine. “I don’t want to be around a lot of people right now.”

“Okay, we can-“

“But,” he interrupted. “I…I’m afraid to be alone, y/n. I’m…I’m so fucking afraid.”

I reached for him only to still my hand at the last second, millimeters away from touching him. “I won’t leave you alone, Reid.” My teeth dug into my lower lip as I thought. “We could go to your apartment. Or mine.” I quickly added when I saw how his eyes widened at the mention of his place.

“I…I don’t want to go home.” He licked his lips again, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Then you don’t have to go home right now. We’ll go to my place. We can order dinner, watch a movie, or we can do nothing. It’s up to you.”

The look of relief on his face, combined with the smile he sent me warmed up a part of my heart I didn’t even know was cold.

The ride to my apartment was mostly silent; I had turned the radio on for background noise. Spencer’s eyes kept staring out of my passenger side window while his hands twisted in his lap.

He followed behind me quietly when we entered my building, then took the elevator up to my apartment. Spencer’s eyes glided over my apartment, taking in the photos of my friends and family on the walls, the throw pillows on my couch, and the titles on my bookshelf.

I went into the kitchen to get us both a bottle of water only to find him standing in the same spot when I returned.

“Are you hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, do you want to sit down?”

He nodded, following me over to my couch. I curled my feet up under myself, my hands folded in my lap. “Spencer…I know I said you don’t have to talk, and you don’t. But…I want to help. I just…I want to do anything I can to help you.” I let out a breath, embarrassed that my voice was already thick with tears. “If that means sitting here beside you and just staring at the wall that’s fine. I…I just want to help.”

Reid’s head swiveled over to face me, those beautiful brown eyes were frightened. “Tobias…he…he hurt me. And I can still feel it,” he whispered, his voice raw even in that hushed volume. “It’s all I feel. I just…I don’t want to hurt anymore, y/n. I can’t stand it.”

I couldn’t stop myself from rising up on my knees and moving towards him. “Can I hug you? Is that okay?”

The words weren’t out of my mouth before he wrapped his arms around my middle, laying his head against my chest. When the first sob wracked through his body, I felt something inside of me crack. The second sob triggered my own.

I didn't know what had happened to him, and if I did know, I don't think I would ever truly understand. But the agony he was in affected me more than any pain I had ever felt myself.

My fingers ran through his hair, tugging at the soft tangles. His hair is curly, I thought absentmindedly. He always wore it slicked down…but it was curly.

Spencer finally quieted after a few moments, his sobs turning into sniffles. “Thank you.”

I gave a broken chuckle. “Don’t thank me for caring about you, Spencer.”

He pulled his head back to look at me, his eyes moving over my cheeks. “You cried for me.”

I nodded.

“Why?”

The question was so unexpected that I wasn’t prepared to do anything but tell the truth. “It hurts me to see you hurt.”

Spencer looked at me for a moment longer, absorbing my words before his palm came up and cupped my jaw, his thumb wiping my left-over tears away. He gentled pulled my head down until my lips pressed against his. Our first kiss was tender, his lips were slightly chapped but still unbelievably soft. Something about this kiss broke my heart more than his tears did.

My hands had come up to cup his face, my actions a mirror of his own. “I…I don’t want to take advantage of you, Spencer,” I mumbled out when we had pulled apart.

He chuckled softly. “You’re worried about that?” His mood became somber when I nodded. “Y/n…you know how I look at you. Everyone does. I don’t…I don’t want this if you don’t. I don’t want you to do this out of pity-“

“Spencer,” I gasped. “I would never…I’d never touch you out of pity. I-I want to touch you. I have for a long time.”

you. I have for a long time.”

Tears started to shine in his eyes again at my words. “Then please touch me, y/n. I don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I just…I just want to feel how I feel when you hold me. It-It doesn’t hurt when you touch me.”

Our lips came together the second time in understanding and hope. My mouth brushed against his with a promise that I was touching him because I wanted to. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth nibbling on it while his hands wove into my hair.

I moved to straddle his lap, my knees on either side of him, while my hands started working on the buttons of his shirt.

Spencer’s tongue ghosted against my lips; the groan he gave when I immediately let him inside made my core throb.

He froze when I started to push his shirt off his shoulders. “What is it?”

“It’s…I don’t want you to see…what he did to me. Please?”

I moved off of him quickly, extending my hand to pull him from the couch. I led him down the hall to my bedroom, not turning on the overhead light when we entered; the only source of light was a sliver of moonlight through the curtains.

“You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to,” I whispered. “Do you…”

His lips crushed against mine, his hands grabbing my hips to pull me against his body. Those long fingers started working my shirt up my body, breaking away momentarily to pull it over my head.

Once my pants were down my thighs, he pushed me back onto the bed. He had removed his cardigan but left his button-up shirt on. I reached behind myself to unhook my bra, feeling a sudden nervousness rise up in my chest.

His fingers were warm when they brushed over my collarbones, drifting down over my breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

I pulled him on top of me when I leaned back on the bed, our lips meeting in a heated frenzy. He palmed my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, causing me to arch up against him.

Spencer’s lips moved down until he was mouthing my neck, his teeth nipping at the skin, all the while his hand ghosted down my body until his fingers hooked on the top of my panties.

His head lifted, his eyes searching mine. “Can I touch you?”

I nodded, my hand moving atop his, guiding him inside my panties; I couldn’t control my gasp when his fingers parted my folds to brush against me.

My hands went to his belt. “I-is this okay?”

He nodded, his mouth coming down to cover the tip of my breast, his tongue teasing my nipple to a point. Those long fingers gathered wetness from my opening to bring it up to circle my clit. Ever the scientist, Spencer paid attention to every reaction I had, he wanted to learn how to touch me.

When his middle and ring finger entered me, his palm grinding against my clit, I finally got his pants open. My hand snacked inside to palm his cock, pulling a grown from him.

“Can I push these down a bit?”

“Please,” he breathed, his lips coming over mine.

His pants were down to his mid-thighs before I wrapped my hand around him. He was bigger than I expected, not overly thick, but longer than anyone I had been with before.

“Y/n,” he whimpered against my lips, his fingers speeding up inside of me.

I gave a few pumps, my movements uncoordinated. “I want to feel you inside me, Spence. Please?”

Reid groaned, removing his fingers from my heat. “Do you have a condom?”

I turned to my bedside table, fumbling in the darkness. When I turned back to face him, I saw two of his fingers in his mouth. The same two fingers that had just been inside of me.

“Jesus,” I breathed out, finding the sight of him sucking my arousal off his fingers incredibly erotic.

He took the condom from me, his lips quirking up in a smile. "I've…I've never done that before." His eyes moved down to my still covered pussy. "I want to…but I-I don't want this time to be worse for you than it has to be," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Hey," I muttered, my hands cupping that well-defined jaw. "This isn't going to be bad for me, Spencer. Just being with you is wonderful."

My words felt heavy in the air. Because they were true.

Spencer swallowed thickly, rolling the condom down over his length. I tugged my panties off, leaving me totally bare to him, while he still had most of his clothing on.

Even with that weird detail, this was still wonderful; being with Spencer like this was…everything.

I gripped him, lining him up at my entrance. His forehead dropped against mine when he started to push inside of me.

“Spence,” I breathed, my hands clutching at his hips.

“Are you okay?” he panted.

“Better than okay. You feel so good.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think anything could feel better than…fuck.” His slim hips pressed against mine when he was fully sheathed inside of me.

I felt my pussy flutter at his words. I’d never heard Spencer curse like that before.

We started a steady pace; his thrusts were even, and my hips rose to meet them. His arms were braced on either side of my head, his lips brushing against mine while he fucked me.

Calling it fucking seemed wrong. It was so much more.

“Y/n,” he groaned. “I’m close.”

My hand squeezed down between our bodies to rub my clit. “Hold on. I’m almost there.” I whined out.

His moan seemed to tingle across my skin when he dropped his head against my shoulder. “I want to feel you cum, baby.”

I whimpered at his words. “Spencer, harder. I need it harder.”

His hips snapped against mine as he slammed into me, I felt his teeth on the tender skin where my neck and shoulder met for a second before he bit down.

The mix of pain with pleasure sent me over the edge. My pussy clamped down on him as I found my own orgasm, pulling him over the edge with me.

My fingers ran over his back, scratching at the material of his shirt. I breathed his name out over and over while I floated back down from my high.

I felt his tongue soothe over the bite mark he had just given me as he gave a few more jerks inside of me before pulling out. He placed the sweetest kiss against my lips and when he pulled back, his eyes were shining, but not with tears this time.

After we cleaned up, we ordered take out and watched some sci-fi movie that was on cable. I couldn’t tell you a thing about it; I was too busy watching Spencer’s face when he told me all about it. I was enraptured by his voice, the way his hands moved.

He was so beautiful.

Before I was ready, I realized that it was already approaching midnight. “It’s late,” I said.

He nodded. “I should go.”

It was childish, but I couldn’t stop my lip from jutting out in a pout, causing him to laugh.

“What is it, beautiful?” he questioned, his voice teasing.

I shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ‘beautiful’ me, Spencer Reid,” I scolded, delighted when he laughed. “I just…I’m not ready for you to go.”

Something in Spencer’s eyes changed. He seemed almost relieved at my words. “I’m not ready to go either.”

I leaned over, placing a soft kiss in the center of his lips. “Then don’t go.”

Spending the night with Spence was worth how early I had to wake up the following morning to drive him by his apartment before work. I had offered to wait and give him a ride to work, but he had gotten a text from Garcia. They had gotten called to Houston for a case; Morgan was going to swing by and get him.

“I’ll call you when I can,” he promised, cupping my face when he kissed me goodbye.

The circles under his eyes this morning weren’t as dark as they had been before.

I could barely contain my excitement when we got the notification that the team was headed back. Part of me felt silly for being so excited. I mean, it was just one night; but it hadn’t felt like just one night.

Spencer hadn’t called me during the few days he’d been in Texas, but I hadn’t really expected him to. If anyone understood his job, it was someone who worked with his team. The BAU was such an elite unit within the FBI for a reason; they would stop at nothing to solve a case.

When the glass doors of the bullpen opened and I saw Hotch stride in, heading for his office, I couldn’t contain my smile.

“I saw that,” Anderson muttered.

I reached out and smack his arm. “You wanted me to talk to Reid.”

He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “And judging by that mark on your neck you did more than talk.”

I scowled at him. “See if I’m on your side the next time you fuck up,” I teased, knowing he wouldn’t take my words to heart.

He just offered me a wide smile. That’s how Anderson had lasted so long here, he never really held onto anything.

“Your man doesn’t look so good,” he said suddenly.

I turned, my eyes seeking out Spencer. He was right, the dark circles were back under his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled, his hair sticking up in every direction.

He never turned his head in my direction.

I had wanted to give Spencer some space when he first arrived back. What if something about this case had affected him? I thought that maybe that was the reason he had been avoiding me.

My department always had more paperwork than usual when the team came back from a case, so I wasn’t able to leave until after 7. While I gathered up my things I debated about calling Reid, thinking he was already gone. When I went to take Hotch some files about 20 minutes earlier Spencer was rushing out of the bullpen with his bag clutched in his hands.

Even though I wasn’t expecting to see him, I couldn’t stop myself from looking in the glass doors when I passed by out of habit.

He was sitting at his desk. His head was tilted back, and it looked like his eyes were closed. Even in a position that most people would appear relaxed in, he still seemed incredibly tense.

I can just pop in and tell him hi, I reasoned. Let him know I’m not expecting anything, but I’m here for him.

I had given a lot of thought to my relationship with Spencer over the days he was gone. He was still healing from what happened with Tobias, it wasn’t fair of me to put unreasonable expectations on him right now. I was his friend before anything else. I could put my personal feelings aside if I needed to.

Squaring my shoulders, I pushed the doors open and headed towards his desk. The only person still at their desk was the newest member of the team, SSA Prentiss.

“Hey, y/n,” she greeted.

I had intended to return her greeting, but Spencer’s eyes snapped open and zeroed in on me. The look in his eyes made my blood freeze in my veins. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before, like my presence in this space was annoying to him.

Reid stood abruptly, pulling the strap of his messenger back up on his shoulder before he brushed past me. I had barely processed his actions before he was already leaving the bullpen.

“Spence!” I called. “Hang on!”

He just kept walking. I all but sprinted in my attempt to catch up to him. “Spencer, what the fuck,” I whispered. I knew he had seen me. Once I was closer to him, I reached out and gripped his elbow in an attempt to get his attention.

His entire body jerked as he spun around to face me. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, venom dripping from his words.

My body recoiled from him like he’d slapped me. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I thought…I just…”

Just then a pair of agents walked past us and they did not bother hiding the curiosity in their eyes.

Spencer’s hand shot out and gripped my forearm, pulling me along behind him. The hold he had on my arm was almost painful, but I couldn’t focus on anything. My brain was still playing his words over and over again.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

He didn’t stop until we reached the copy room; he jerked the door open and shoved me inside.

“Spencer!” I yanked my arm out of his grip, rubbing the skin with my other hand. “What the fuck is going on?!”

“You thought what?” he snarled taking a step closer to me. “You thought that because I fucked you that means you’re my girlfriend now or something?”

My eyes widened at his words. Something cold and heavy settled in the pit of my stomach while some unnamable feeling made me throat constrict. “N-no, I didn’t think that. I just-“

I had heard Spencer’s laugh so many times before, it used to make me smile every time I heard it. People who hadn’t heard him laugh before might have thought the sound that he made when he heard my words was a laugh. But it wasn’t. It was harsh and brittle. His face was pulled into a smile that was condescending.

“Are you sure, y/l/n? Because you’ve sure been fucking acting like it all day. I feel your pathetic little looks everywhere I turn. Like I kicked your dog or something.”

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes because…this wasn’t Spencer. This wasn’t my Spencer. My Spencer couldn’t use chopsticks and held my face when he kissed me.

“Oh, my fucking god,” he groaned in disgust. “Are you going to cry, y/n? Are you kidding me right now?”

People always say terrible things happen so fast, it’s what I read in witness statements all the time. This was a terrible thing, but time seemed to slow down for it. I saw everything in perfect detail, I heard every single syllable that came out of this mouth.

When the first tear slid down my cheek that dark, brittle laugh left his mouth again. “If you weren’t being so pathetic, I might feel bad for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, wiping at my cheeks.

“Why am I doing what, y/n?” His voice was so much louder than it was before. It didn’t make sense that he brought me to a more private place to avoid attention but now he was…yelling at me. “We fucked, do you get that? That is all! I don’t know what sad little schoolgirl fantasy you built up in your mind, but that night wasn’t special to me.”

Oh. I swallowed down my emotion, my eyes moving away from him to stare down at the floor. I wished I was the sort of person that could lash out whenever I was hurt, to hurt that person back as badly as they hurt me; but it’s just not who I was.

Like a shark that smelled blood in the water, Spencer moved closer to me. His fingers brushed over the strands of hair that hung near my shoulder. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, y/n. You’re not special. You were just a desperate girl that wanted attention. You were a pussy to use.”

I jerked back violently at his words, putting as much distance as I could between us. My entire body felt so cold, my face frozen in a mask of confusion.

Reid scoffed once more before he turned and left the room.

He never looked back at me.

I’m not sure how long I stayed in the copy room after he’d left. It may have been seconds; it could have been hours. I think I was in some sort of shock; my body just autopiloted to a place I felt safe.

I don’t remember unlocking my office door. I don’t remember collapsing in my chair and burying my head in my hands while sobs tore out of my chest.

All I remember is hearing my name a moment before I felt someone standing beside me.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called softly. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

I lifted my head and looked into the worried face of one of my best friends.

Anderson didn’t say anything further, he just pulled me up from my chair and wrapped his arms around me while I cried.

Pain is a universal experience, but everyone feels it differently. Everyone heals differently.

My grandmother used to say, “Everything will be different in the morning.” I was never sure if that was true or not, but today I chose to believe it was. The pain and humiliation that burned in my gut when I remembered Spencer’s words yesterday wouldn’t last forever.

I had made a mistake. I had let someone use my body only to find out that person wasn’t who I thought they were. I wasn’t the first person to make that mistake, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be the last.

Anderson had stayed with me in my office last night while I pulled myself together enough to go home. He didn’t ask what had happened, but he wasn’t stupid, I’m sure he suspected what had broken my heart.

In a perfect world, I would have fallen for someone like Grant Anderson. He was kind, funny, and a constant source of comfort when I felt my world breaking apart.

I had always tried to think of each painful moment as a lesson in some way, and lessons can teach you both good and bad things. Even my worst moments of pain, I couldn’t regret the choices that lead me to them. Every single experience shapes us into who we grow to be.

One day, when this pain in my heart wasn't so sharp, I think I might be able to look back on my night with Spencer Reid without feeling regret. He had been my friend, he was hurting. How I tried to help his suffering was a mark of who I was.

How he caused me pain was a mark of who he was.

Grant had sent me a text around 6 am, asking me if I was going to take some personal time. The BAU wasn't assigned to an active case today, but I had sent some files over to JJ that looked promising. My money was they'd be headed out to New Orleans tomorrow to catch a serial killer once she had reviewed those files.

A very large part of myself wanted to stay home; I wanted to hide from my pain and tend to my wounded heart in private. But no matter how big that part of me was, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t let this pain consume me.

I wouldn’t let it.

With that thought in mind, I squared my shoulders and walked into the headquarters of the FBI.

The hardest moments after a tragedy are the moments after; after the first wave of pain has passed and you’re expected to go back to your normal life. The world never slowed down just because you were in agony.

JJ came by and told me she thought New Orleans looked promising and asked if I could contact the lead detective for any updates then forward those to her.

She wasn’t a profiler but even she knew something was wrong. Right before she walked out of my office she said, “Hey, are you okay?”

It's always so much worse when they ask you if you're okay because they never want an honest answer. So, on top of all the agony, you feel you have to pull off a convincing lie.

“Just tired, JJ.”

I don’t think she quite believed me, but she was kind enough not to push me any further.

A few hours later JJ was on the phone the detective heading up the investigation into the murders happening in the French Quarter. It looked like the team was heading out to New Orleans sometime tomorrow morning.

My job mostly had me working with JJ, but SSA Hotchner was the unit chief. It wasn’t uncommon that I had to get his signature of approval on something JJ needed. So, when it was time to stop by Hotch’s office, I made my way there with no outward reluctance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spencer standing around the cluster of desks that housed his teammates. They all called out in greeting after I dropped the files off, but I had only waved over my shoulder and rushed out of the room.

Anderson had been popping in and out of my office all morning. First, he had made excuses for coming by, but much to my amusement he had dropped the façade after he came to ask me if he could borrow a pen…while he was holding a pen.

The biggest dilemma of my day was over coffee. Of course, I hadn’t gotten any sleep last night and I was dragging. Caffeine was obviously the answer.

But if you knew Spencer Reid, you know he was always at the coffee machine in the BAU bullpen.

I could just go downstairs to counterterrorism, I thought idly. But if I’m already in the elevator I could just run down the block and get coffee. JJ wouldn’t mind.

I was still debating my options when I heard a tentative knock on my door.

I am not proud of my actions, I’m truly not. But there is only one person in this whole building who would knock on a door that hesitantly.

The blinds in my office were closed…but I had left the door unlocked.

On instinct, I slid out of my chair, knees hitting the floor, and hid under my desk.

What the fuck are you doing, y/n? I mentally scolded myself. This is a new low, even for you.

It turned out to be pointless anyway.

He didn’t open the door.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Anderson began. “But…”

“I have to tell you?” I supplied after a beat.

He flopped down in the chair on the other side of my desk. “Exactly.”

The small smile that curled up on my face was the first real smile I’d had in almost 24 hours.

How had it only been 24 hours?

“Listen,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “I know it’s about Reid. I’m not a profiler, but it’s all that makes sense.”

“How’s that?”

One of his dark brown eyebrows raised at the question. “I mean, even if we ignored everything else, the fact that he keeps walking past your office door is a dead giveaway.”

I rubbed my temples with my fingers. “Grant, I can’t right now.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” I whispered out. “I don’t…I need to hold it together. Just for a while longer.”

Grant reclined his back against the chair, his eyes surveying me. “Fine. But I don’t like seeing you like this.”

I don’t like feeling like this.

“Alright,” he sighed, rising to his feet. “I have to go run some sort of errand for Garcia.”

I didn’t bother asking, he’d say it was “classified.”

All the air seemed to leave the room when he opened the door.

Spencer was standing on the other side, his hand up like he had been about to knock.

Grant’s entire body jerked while Spencer’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” my friend demanded.

The most startling thing was how surprised Spencer looked at Grant’s tone; like it was some oddity that one of my closest friends would have been angry on my behalf.

“C-can I talk to you?” he asked, his voice squeaking on the last word.

I licked my lips, weighing my options. How could he hurt me any worse? I gave Grant a nod, signaling that I was okay. He moved out of the way, granting Spencer entry, but I knew my friend; he wouldn’t be far.

The man in front of me waited until the door was shut before he spoke. “Did I do something?”

My eyes had dropped down to my hands only to shoot up to his face at those words. What?

“To make you upset?” he clarified. “I…you’ve been avoiding me all day. And I know you were in here earlier when I knocked.”

His words tore at the bandages I had wrapped my heart in, ripping my wound open again. All I could do was wrap my arms around my middle in an attempt to physically hold myself together. “W-why would I want to talk to you?”

If possible, he looked even more confused than I felt. “What is going on?” He took a step towards me. “Baby-“

My reaction to hearing that word come out of his mouth was visceral. I shot to my feet, almost stumbling over my chair in an attempt to put more distance between us.

Spencer froze. “I…I don’t understand,” he pleaded. “Please, y/n, you have to talk to me. It…it hurts me to see you hurt.”

Any work I had done to repair my heart was destroyed at his words. I never should have let him inside. The look on his face twisted a knife in my stomach. He had the audacity to look distraught over my tears like he wasn’t the cause of them.

“I know I said I’d call but I was just so busy with the case…I thought…you’d understand.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth while my eyes blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the tears that were clouding my vision. If I couldn’t remember everything about yesterday so clearly, I would doubt that the man standing before me now was the same monster that spewed venom at me yesterday.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Reid.”

He flinched at my use of his last name. “I want you to tell me what happened.”

“Why?” I rasped out. “Do you want it to hurt more? Why are you doing this to me?”

Spencer took another step towards me, his hands were outstretched. "I don't-"

"Don't fucking touch me." I tried to fill my words with the same venom his words had yesterday when he told me the same thing, but my words came out as a broken plea.

He blinked and dropped his hands to his sides. “I deserve to know why you’re treating me like this.”

A sad sort of laugh came out of my mouth at his words.

Somehow the non-acknowledgment of my pain hurt worse than anything. “Do I mean so little to you that you forgot our conversation yesterday?”

Spencer shook his head, his hair flopping around his ears. “No, I didn’t talk to you yesterday.”

What? “Yes, you did.” My voice shook but my words still tumbled out of my mouth. “You pulled me into the copy room and told me…you told me that our night together was nothing…you told me that I was nothing.”

His brows knit together, his mouth popping open. “What are you talking about? You’re…you’re everything, y/n.”

“Reid, please…I know I’m pathetic, but I can’t take this. I can’t…” My shoulders started to shake. “Please don’t make me feel this again.”

“Pathetic?” he questioned. “What are you talking about? Is this…is this some sort of game? You don’t want to be with me…so you do this? Did Anderson tell you about my mom?”

“What?”

“My mom has schizophrenia. Is that why you’re trying to make me feel crazy?”

My brows knitted together. “I…Nobody told me about your mom. I’m not trying to make you feel crazy. And I wanted to be with you. But you told me you didn’t want to be with me.”

He still denied my words. “No, I haven’t talked to you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You avoided me all day yesterday. When I finally came to talk to you in the bullpen you walked past me like I wasn't there. Then I went after you." I held up my arm, pushing my sleeve up to show him the finger-shaped bruises. "You dragged me into the copy room. You told me I was pathetic. You mocked me. You told me I was just some girl…some pussy for you to use."

He kept flinching at my words like they were whips leaving lashes all over his body.

“You told me I was nothing. You told me our night together was nothing.”

“No.” He continued to shake his head. “I…I wouldn’t say that. But I especially wouldn’t say that to you. You’re wrong.”

I just shrugged. “Ask Prentiss. She saw me follow you out of the bullpen yesterday. Ask Garcia to pull the security footage. There’s probably a recording of you breaking my heart.”

“No, no, no,” he muttered over and over again.

“I don’t know why you’re pretending you don’t remember, Spencer.”

He didn’t say anything else; he just turned and left my office, slamming the door behind him.

JJ was suspicious when I called her from my office phone instead of just walking over to see her, but she didn’t ask any questions about the mysterious illness I told her had hit me. She just told me that she hoped I felt better and to take all the time I needed.

I knew that the team was set to fly out after JJ presented the case at 10 am in the morning, meaning that going back to work tomorrow wouldn’t be too hard. No matter how badly I hurt now, I couldn’t lay down and cry about it.

Part of me was afraid if I laid down, I wouldn’t be able to get back up.

With that in mind, I would give myself today to feel the full force of my heartbreak. I would cry when I wanted to, I’d watch sad movies and make myself cry more, I’d eat junk food that ultimately only made me feel worse. I would feel this pain for one day.

I told myself Spencer Reid didn’t deserve more of my tears than that. I told myself that over and over again until I almost believed it.

Anderson had been texting me all day to check-in, I had even gotten a nice call from Penelope Garcia asking me if I needed anything.

The most unexpected call came at 8 pm that night from a number I didn’t recognize.

“Y/n?” the voice asked. “This is Prentiss.”

Oh. “Oh. Hi, Emily.”

“Listen, I called for two reasons. The first is that I wanted to check in on you, and the second is…the second is a bit more personal.”

Oh. I cleared my throat. “I’m as good as I can be, Emily.”

She sighed. "I figured. Which brings me to my second question. Did something happen between you and Reid?" After a few moments of my silence, Prentiss hurried on. "You don't have to tell me. It's just that…Reid came up to me this afternoon and demanded to know if I had seen you come into the bullpen to talk to him yesterday."

“What did you say?”

“Um, I told him yes. Because I did. What is going on?”

My fingers picked at the edges of the blanket in my lap. “I don’t know. Anderson thinks something is up with him.”

“We all think something is up with him.”

Her confirmation didn’t make me feel any better.

I arrived to work the following morning at 9 am, a full thirty minutes later than usual. JJ had stopped by my office to see how I was doing, followed by a visit from Prentiss. Garcia had teetered into the room about 15 minutes after Emily left, giving me a frosted cookie that was bigger than my hand.

“Cookies help,” she had said confidently.

I hoped she was right.

Anderson popped in last. "Hey, ooh." He skidded to a stop. "You look terrible."

I shot him a withering look. “Thank you so much, Grant.”

“You know what I mean.”

“…That I look terrible?”

He nodded, his lips twitching at the corners. “Anyway, Hotch needs the mileage forms for the SUVs. I can run it over to him.”

My teasing tone vanished. “I’ve got it, Grant.”

I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I had to believe it was. Or at the very least it would be soon.

It took every ounce of will power I had not to let my eyes wander over to his desk when I entered the bullpen. I could almost feel him looking at me. It went against every natural instinct I had to ignore him…but what else could I do?

Hotch wasn’t in his office when I knocked but the door was unlocked. He never minded if we walked in when he was out if we just had something to drop off. I tried to find an open space on his desk to set the forms when I heard the door squeak on its hinges behind me.

I spun around, my startled eyes connecting with a pair of sharp brown eyes.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Agent Gideon. I didn’t see you there.”

He gave me a small smile, but that sharp look didn’t leave his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose you would have,” he said simply. “It’s hard to notice anyone else when you’re trying so hard to not notice someone.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Gideon just nodded. “I’m going to tell you something. Now, you can take these words to heart, and I hope you do, or you can take them as the ramblings of…a sentimental old man.”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Okay.”

"A lot of people think that the most important thing you can have in a relationship is love," he began, his eyes never wavering from mine. "In my not so humble opinion, they are incorrect. You see, y/l/n, love fades. Love isn't a thing that can stay in one form forever. It's always changing… its fluid."

“Sir, I don’t-“

“You know what the most important thing is?” he asked as if I hadn’t spoken. “Mercy.”

I just blinked at him. “I…I don’t think I understand.”

He just smiled at me, his hands moving into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe not yet, but I think you will.” Gideon’s gaze broke from mine, looking through the windows of Hotch’s office to settle on Reid. His head was bent over his desk while his fingers ran over the pages in front of him. “He’ll need mercy, y/n. More than anything else.”

Agent Gideon turned back to look at me. “He’ll need it from all of us, but I don’t think he’ll need it from anyone more than you.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. I truly didn’t understand what he was talking about.

With one final smile, he turned and left the office, leaving me with my thoughts.

Agent Gideon’s words were still swirling through my mind the following afternoon when I got another odd call from Agent Prentiss.

“Hey, y/l/n,” she began, her tone annoyed. “Listen, have you heard from Reid?”

My entire body stilled. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“He was supposed to meet us at the plane. Morgan and I are waiting for him but he isn’t answering his cell.”

I hated the worry that wormed its way through my heart at her words. “I’m sorry, Em. I haven’t talked to him.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “It was a long shot. Thanks, y/n.”

For several minutes after she hung up, I just stared at my phone. Don’t, I told myself firmly. He’s not your problem.

Spencer Reid wasn't my problem…but I couldn't just stop caring about him overnight. That's not the sort of person I was.

I kept telling myself I was calling to check on him for me, because I was the sort of person who checked on their friends.

It didn’t make it easier when he didn’t answer my calls either.

The need to silence the shrill ringing of my phone pulled me from my sleep the following night. I still hadn't heard from Spencer, but Prentiss had called me this morning to tell me Reid had gone to see one of his friends and "didn't have a signal." Her tone indicated she thought he was full of shit.

My eyes cracked open to look at the caller ID. When I read the name of the person calling me, my fingers frantically pushed “accept.”

“Spencer?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

I sat up in my bed, my eyes looking at the clock on my nightstand. “It’s after 3 am. Did something happen with the case?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. The unsub is a woman. We tried to catch her tonight…but we can try again tomorrow.”

“You’ll get her.”

The only sound I heard was his uneven breathing. “That’s not why I called.”

My tongue ran over my lips while I pulled the blankets further up my chest like they would be able to protect me in some way. "Why did you call?"

“Do you think people deserve forgiveness?”

“I…I think it depends.”

“On what?” he asked desperately.

“On what they did…on if they’re sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Did you do something, Spencer?”

“I made a mistake.”

Somehow, I knew he wasn’t just talking about what had happened between us. He sounded just like I remembered him sounding when I wrapped my arms around him that night he came to my house.

His voice broke when he spoke again. “I’m so lost, y/n,” he sobbed. “I’m so lost and I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

I fought to control my own emotions when he spoke. No matter what happened my heart still ached at the pain in his voice. “You might be lost, Spencer. But you’re not alone. Your team…your family found you. They brought you home. They’re still here for you. They’ll bring you home again.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, both of us lost in our own dark sea of pain.

“I don’t deserve to ask you to forgive me,” he said at last. “So, I won’t ask. I don’t even…I don’t even remember what I said.”

I think my subconscious mind had been connecting these pieces together for a while because in the darkness of my bedroom at almost 4 am, things finally began to take shape. The darkness that hung over Spencer was finally starting to take form.

“Just focus on the case, Spencer. We can talk when you get home.”

“Wait,” he called out. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

I don’t think I ever will.

The clock on my wall said it was just after 7 pm the following night when there was a knock on my door. Frowning, I made my way across the room, pressing my eye to the peephole, slightly surprised at who I saw.

I had figured he would come for me at some point, but I hadn’t expected it to be the very moment he got back into town.

…but it isn’t the very moment, I reminded myself. JJ had texted saying their plane was landing at 5 pm this afternoon.

He didn’t knock again but he didn’t move away from the door either. I think he knew I was there, just out of his reach, debating my options.

Opening yourself up to something that might hurt you is one of the most foolish and brave things a person can do. When someone you cared about broke your trust, how could you put your heart back into those very same hands?

I remembered Gideon’s words from that afternoon before they had left for New Orleans.

Over the past several days I had realized that that day in the copy room it wasn’t actually my Spencer that said those things. Something dark and painful had clawed its way into him and was trying to hollow him out.

That dark thing didn’t deserve my mercy…but I think Spencer did.

With a deep breath, I started to unlock my front door, grateful he couldn’t see that my hands were shaking. He looked tired but a different sort of tired than I was used to seeing. Weariness had crawled underneath his skin and was draining him slowly, but he didn’t look as defeated as he did the last time I saw him.

No matter how many times I had thought about this moment, I still wasn’t sure what to say

“I came…I came to explain.” He said at last.

I was still frozen in place watching him shift uncomfortably. I knew he wanted me to invite him in…but, how could I? Trusting him enough to talk to him was one thing but how could I allow him into the only place I felt safe?

Gideon’s words played through my mind again. Mercy.

Taking a step back from the door, I waved him inside. I moved to sit on the couch, but Spencer just stood in front of me.

"When Tobias abducted me…" he trailed off, balling his hands into fists. "He had dissociative identity disorder. It's much more rare than people think. Whenever it's been observed under clinical settings, the most that has been observed is 2. Tobias had three.

The first was him, the next was his father, and the last was the Archangel, Raphael. Tobias’s father abused him horribly… Charles broke something inside of him, he fractured him. The only way he could survive was to start abusing drugs. He took them intravenously.”

Gideon's words had started to weave the pieces together, but it was actually Spencer's words from our night together that cemented everything in place. “I don’t want you to see what he did to me.”

"He thought he was being kind when he injected me." Spencer crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his tongue against his upper lip. "You hear about addiction; I could tell you the statistics on people who suffer from opioid addiction. But I never in a million years thought it would be me.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear fell from my face and hit the back of my hand.

“I’m not the person who gets addicted to things. I’m not the stereotypical picture of an addict…but that’s what I am, y/n. I’m an addict.” He reached into his front pocket, pulling out a small coin. “This is a newcomer’s chip…from narcotics anonymous. You get it at your very first meeting. I got this an hour ago.”

“Spencer,” I rasped out. “I’m so sorry.”

He came to sit beside me on the couch then, his hand covering one of mine. "I thought I could handle it. I convinced myself it wasn't that bad, but it was. What I did to you was reprehensible, y/n. And I am so sorry." Spencer's voice broke, his shoulders shaking with repressed emotion. "I will be sorry about that day for the rest of my life. I don't deserve any sort of second chance."

I turned completely towards him, throwing my arms around him. “Yes, you do, Spencer,” I whispered into his hair. “You do.”

This night felt so much different than the first night I held him like this while he cried. I didn't know the cause of his pain that night, but it broke my heart nevertheless; now that I knew the pain inside this beautiful man…I think the pain I had been feeling was tearing at my soul.

Addiction doesn’t discriminate. It’s a disease that will sink its hooks into anyone and refuse to let go. Spencer had made a mistake; his actions had gutted me. But…was it really him? Or was it the monster that has hold of him? It was in these thoughts that I finally began to understand the weight of Agent Gideon's words. "He’ll need mercy from everyone…but from no one more than you.”

I wasn’t in love with Spencer…at least not yet, but I did love him. In those moments when loving someone felt impossible mercy was the most important thing you could offer. I had to show him my mercy while he moved through this…because I knew love would come later.

“I’m here for you, Spencer. I want to help you in any way I can.”

He pulled back, his wide brown eyes meeting mine. “I can’t ask you to battle my addiction for me, y/n. I wouldn’t even if I could.” His voice was earnest when he spoke, his hands coming up to cup my face with a touch that seemed so familiar. “I promise that I’m going to try. I’m going to mess up at some point, some moments will be harder than others. I can’t…I can’t be perfect at this. But I promise I will never stop trying.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Spencer. You’re not worthy because you’re perfect. You’re worthy because you’re…you.”

His eyes were soft when they ran over my face, his hands coming up to cup my jaw again. “I can leave, if you want…I know you’ll need time…I can’t expect-“

I leaned forward to brush my lips against his. “Don’t go,” I whispered. “Just be with me. Be here with me, Spence.”

I'm not sure who moved first. It was like all the pain in my body gave way to such a burning need that it almost consumed me. Our lips barely broke apart when I pulled him from the couch, guiding him to my bedroom; our actions were so similar to what they had been on that first night that felt like a lifetime ago.

But everything was different.

My bedroom was lit only by the dusky orange glow from the setting sun. I didn’t get to question Spencer about anything. His hands moved urgently against my body, ridding me of my shirt and bra. I unbuttoned his shirt, careful not to push it off of his shoulders. My nails scored his chest while his mouth moved down to kiss the column of my throat.

Spencer’s knee was wedged between my thighs when his mouth closed over my nipple. My hands tried to move down to undo his pants but when his teeth tugged at the tip of my breast all I could do was whimper.

“Spencer. Please.”

His eyes opened and lifted to meet mine. He looked nervous for a moment before he started to kiss down my body. I lifted my hips to help him remove my pants. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties, I realized he had never seen me in the light before.

I felt his index finger trace down my slit, spreading me open under his gaze. He swallowed thickly when one of his fingers entered me, pulling a moan from my throat.

“Can I?”

“Yes. Yes.” I wasn’t sure what he was asking, but I would have given him anything in that moment.

I wasn’t ready when I felt his tongue tentatively lick my pussy. My hips bucked off the bed causing him to chuckle.

“Hold still,” he whispered as he spread me wider. He inserted another finger into my heat while his tongue fluttered around my clit.

“I’m trying,” I whined. “Fuck. I thought you said you hadn’t done this before.”

Spencer lifted his head to press a kiss to my inner thigh. “I haven’t,” he replied, his voice needlessly smug. Before I could comment his lips closed around my clit again.

My fingers were tangled in his soft brown hair while my hips rocked against his mouth. “Spencer, I’m close. I want-fuck! I want to cum when you’re inside me.”

He rose up on his knees, his hands moving to his belt. He had looked reluctant to leave his current position, but I needed him now. "You can eat my pussy to your heart's content later."

Spencer’s hand froze, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. You just…you said later.” The confusion must have been plain on my face because he clarified, “I can have you later too.”

My arousal was still pulsing in my body but now something else was too. I knew he didn’t mean sex when he said he could have me; Spencer meant he could have me, he could be with me.

With that thought, I urged him up my body so I could press my lips to his again. We were still kissing when I felt the blunt tip of his cock brush against me before he slowly pushed inside of me.

“You…I didn’t know something could feel like this,” he said when his hips settled against mine,

I didn’t either.

I think he must have felt the same frantic need I did. His thrusts were forceful as he drove into me. I was already so close that I could feel myself approaching my peak.

“Spence,” I whimpered out.

“I know, I feel you. You’re right there.” He reached between our bodies and rubbed his thumb across my clit.

My back arched as my orgasm washed over me, my mouth hung open in a silent scream. After a few more thrusts, I felt Spencer find his release too. He whispered my name against my hair while he slowly came down, pressing soft kisses all over any part of my skin he could reach.

The frantic mood from before had lifted, but something still felt urgent. Spencer had gotten up a few moments ago to dispose of the condom in the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

He hadn’t removed his clothes again, and something about the energy in the room made me put my clothes back on too.

I was sitting at the end of my bed when he came out of the bathroom a few moments later. He looked resigned and…almost defeated.

“Spence,” I started but he just shook his head.

He came to stand in front of me before he spoke. “I have to…I can’t hide from you.”

I stood up before he could move. “You’re not hiding anything, Spencer. Not anymore.”

He pressed his lips against mine again. I think he understood the gravity of my words and what revealing his body meant. He knew I’d see him; I’d see all of him. But whenever I looked into his eyes when he started to open his shirt, I felt like I saw more of him than I ever had.

Everything he felt was floating through his amber-colored eyes. His hands shook and a few tears leaked out of his eyes when he pulled his shirt from his body.

The bend of his left elbow was covered in bruises in all different phases of healing. It looked like one of his veins might even have blown.

When I brought my eyes back up to his, I found them shut tight.

“Hey,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his middle, careful of his arm. “Spencer, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he breathed out.

I only held him tighter. “It will be. One day it will be.” I let out a shaky breath of my own before I spoke again. “You know I’m going to fall in love with you one day, right?”

His body jerked at my words, a tiny sob leaving his mouth.

“It’s true, Spencer. You have to know that. You’re worthy of love. You’re worthy of my love.”

He pulled back from me, his hands cradling my face while his eyes searched mine. “I’m not. I’m not worthy…but I’m going to try to be.”

The slashes and cracks in my heart didn’t feel so painful when I kissed him again. It wasn’t my job to fix him. It wasn’t his job to fix me.

But I could show him mercy while he fought his battle. He deserved that.

Everyone deserves that.

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#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid Angst #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x y.n #Dr. Spencer Reid #Dr. Spencer Reid Angst #Dr. Spencer Reid Fluff #Dr. Spencer Reid Smut #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid Smut #Criminal minds imagine #Spencer Reid imagine #Criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #Spencer Reid fan fiction #criminal minds fan fiction

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adorerdraco · 4 years ago

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Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 3

PART 1

PART 2

Summary: PART 3 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and finally allowing the relationship to blossom!

Warnings: just the tiniest bit of angst, crying (ofc), Draco sad for a little :(

Words: 7.3K (THIS IS SO LONG OMG BUT MEMORIES IN ITALICS)

A/N: PART THREEEE !!! I think this is my favorite piece of writing in this series and the LONGEST. I know series start losing an audience after the first part but I hope that those who have been following this enjoy this one as much as I do ! I went off the HBP script bc i wanted Draco to live it up and be happy and playful ! also i do not own gif.

The sky was a darkening orange, the sun casting its last glowing light of the day as it quickly began to disappear behind the Hogwarts castle. Small birds and other flying creatures passed overhead, going towards their homes in the trees before nightfall, chirping and singing as they did. The sound of wind rustling through leaves from trees and overgrown plants brought a peace in the air between the couple.

Draco turned his head to the side, a soft smile forming on his lips as he observed you. The both of you were on your backs lying on a spot of grass under a small tree, a different tree than the one the two of you had your fall out by a few months prior, requested by you. Draco thought back to a couple weeks ago when you and him had been walking around the outskirts of the school and you had seen it in the distance.

“That tree is cursed,” you muttered bitterly, eyeing it behind Draco’s head. He turned back to look at it and grimaced.

“I’m still terribly sorry about that, love,” he slipped his hand into yours, bringing the pairing up to his lips and gently placing a kiss on your skin. “We’ll find a new spot.”

“Effective immediately,” you nodded in agreement. “Plus, my friends dared me to climb it last year and I fell off and broke my arm and leg. I hate that tree.”

“Arm and leg?!” He stared at you in disbelief, “Merlin’s sake, Y/N, it’s shocking how clumsy you are.”

“You should be glad I’m clumsy,” you retorted, “you wouldn’t have been graced with my presence now if it wasn’t for me tripping into you.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he smiled, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his side before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Who would’ve thought that I’d be a fool for the klutz who sprained my finger and busted my lip on two separate occasions before we’ve properly met.”

“On accident!” You exclaimed horrified, stifling a laugh as he did the same.

Your eyes were closed, peacefully allowing yourself to fully bask in the sunlight that was kissing your skin in its golden hues and warmth. Draco turned onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow so he could admire you better. The longer he looked at you, he felt a shiver run down his spine and a foreign queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach appear that he could only describe as tons of tiny blue cornish pixies wreaking havoc on his insides. In simpler terms, butterflies.

“Are you staring at me again, Malfoy?” You hummed quietly, your eyes still closed as you questioned him.

“No, why would I?” He answered with a playful arrogance, the grin on his face widening as your eyebrows furrowed at his answer.

“You’re rude,” you mutter, trying to fight back a smile. “I think I remember you doing the same thing earlier and telling me, and I quote, ‘I can’t believe someone so beautiful is real,’ end quote,” you tried mocking his haughty accent as you quoted him which only earned you a laugh from Draco.

“That sounds nothing like me, you must have me confused with some other poor bloke,” he snickered, a laugh leaving his mouth immediately after.

Your hand came up and playfully slapped his chest, a smile finally breaking onto your features. “I love hearing you laugh. It makes me happy.”

He slowly leaned over, his face hovering over yours before he leaned down even lower and gently pressed small kisses onto your still closed eyelids, your nose, your forehead and then finally your lips. Your face scrunched after every kiss, except for the last one which you happily returned.

“You make me happy, I have you to thank for the laughs,” he said quietly, his hand reaching up to smooth back the flyaway hairs on your face, “and for several other things. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.”

You finally open your eyes, peering up at him with a loving gaze. It honestly felt like you had opened your eyes in heaven and an angel was leaning over you, greeting you at the gates of paradise, that angel being the platinum blond boy, his warm gray eyes staring back at you with the same look you had in yours. It was a sight to behold, behind Draco, the sun had gone down, leaving a haze of purple clouds and a pinkish sky, the leaves from the tree above swaying gently in the cooling breeze of dusk. As breathtaking as the scene was, Draco outshines it.

He looked so much more different than he did a little over a month ago, the day he had almost had his meeting with death. His skin had regained some color, he was still pale, but the pink undertones he always used to have had returned. His eyes were a lighter gray, almost a sky blue as they now held a warmth he had been so evidently missing. The bags under his eyes were still there, but not as deep or as dark as they had been before.

A smile reappeared on your face, your palm finding its way to his cheek and resting it there. He leaned into the tender touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he enjoyed the feeling. It felt like a movie, or a book, or a dream, your heart was doing happy flips in your chest as you tried to rationalize how in the world you were in this current position. It was bliss.

“I can’t believe someone so beautiful is real,” you murmur, stealing the compliment he had used on you earlier in the day. Your palm moved up towards his hair, letting your fingers rake through his hair as he smiled.

“Hey, that was my line,” he mumbled.

“No, I got it from some other poor bloke,” you laugh, dropping your hand from his hair. He leaned away from you and lied back down on the grass, an exaggerated sigh leaving his lips as he closed his eyes.

“He sounds dodgy, you should probably stay away from him.”

You rolled over on your stomach and onto Draco’s side, your head falling over his chest as his arm underneath you came up to rest on your lower back. You looked up at him, straining your neck so that your lips could meet his. He lifted his head up slightly, meeting you halfway. Like every time you kissed him, the world around you stopped and it was like every single good thing in the world came together in that one moment. You could always feel the love in his kisses, wordlessly letting you know how much he adored you and cared for you. Just as he could tell the same with yours.

You pulled away, opening your eyes to see his slowly flutter open. Both of you holding that same dazed and dopey in love look that was there every time your lips left his.

“I could never stay away from him.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Draco let out an irritated huff, marching his way down to the dungeons with his robe billowing around his legs with purpose, similar to how the long and greasy raven haired professor’s often flailed about.

Speaking of said professor, Draco was headed towards Snape’s office after receiving word from one of his Slytherin friends that their Head of House had requested him. The idea of talking to Snape right now made him feel dizzy, knowing full and well he was going to be reminded of his painful duties and be ripped out of the short-lived paradise he has been living in recently.

He didn’t want to leave his bliss, at all. He even neglected mending the vanishing cabinet for a while just so he could put all his attention and efforts on you, something he found to be much more important and rewarding. The plans for Dumbledore, especially, strayed even further from his mind as if they didn’t even exist to him at all.

When he reached the office, the door was already open and he saw Snape standing over his desk, looking down at some papers he had scattered over the old battered wooden surface.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape acknowledged lowly, not looking up from the papers, “close the door behind you and have a seat.”

Draco walked in slowly, taking in a deep breath and did as he was told, shutting the heavy wooden door once he forced himself to go inside. He made his way over to one of the empty chairs near the desk and begrudgingly sat down, letting out quietly the shaky breath of air he was holding in. This was the last place he wanted to be.

“Tell me, Draco,” the Professor finally looked up from his papers to give Draco a pointed look, “how is the vanishing cabinet coming along?”

“Fine.”

“Is that so?” He drawled out accusingly, taking short and careful steps around the desk. “Would you say it is able to transport individuals successfully?”

“I haven’t quite gotten it there yet, Professor,” Draco answered weakly, letting his eyes wander around the room and looking at all the different jars lined up against the walls just so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

“With that information, it appears to me then, that it is not fine.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Hardly,” Snape sneers, stepping even closer to the chair the cowering boy was sitting in. “Do you think me a fool, Draco? Do you think that I do not know what you have been doing with all of your time? I see that look in your eyes, you’re in love, and stupidly so.”

Draco fearfully looked up at him, seeing a rage beginning to build up in the black of his professor’s eyes. He stayed silent, the sound of his heart rapidly thumping against his chest was the only thing he could hear. It felt as if he were going to explode with panic.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” Draco lied through his teeth, locking eyes with the man as he stared him down.

Before he could blink, Snape had taken one long stride towards him, placing both hands on either side of the arms of the chair, Draco immediately leaning as far back as he could as his big-nosed teacher got in his face.

“Don’t lie to me, boy!” He snarled, “I know what love looks like.”

Draco was breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling painfully as his heart began to beat impossibly faster.

“This is no time for fun and games, especially for love,” he grabbed Draco’s left arm, forcefully rolling up his sleeve and flashing the skin upwards towards the blond’s face, “I’m afraid all of that ended the moment you had taken this mark.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he cried, the Dark Mark was staring angrily at him and he twisted his arm out of the hard grasp it was in, rapidly pushing his sleeve down again so he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer.

“You don’t have a choice!” Snape stepped away from him and looked down at the boy who was quickly breaking down before him. “Your fate and that of your parents, is on the line. Eventually, it will be Miss Y/L/N’s fate in that position as well. There is only so much I can do to help you, Draco. Remind yourself that the Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate or take kindly to any sort of foolery.”

Draco shook violently with tears and anger, his head falling into his hands as all his realities began to hit him all at once. This is exactly the pain he was trying to avoid. He knew he would have to face it again eventually, but not this soon. He figured he would have more time with you. More time to live in the fantasy that left him feeling so euphoric when he got to his dorm at night after a long day of classes with you filling up the spaces in between. He wished he had more time to enjoy his love, the love that was so beautiful and light, so effortless. He wished he had more time to be happy.

Now here he was, stuck on a path he couldn’t change or control. A path that was forced upon him and had no choice or decision he could make. He often wonders what his life would be like now, if the Dark Lord never came back, his father never went to Azkaban, he never quit quidditch, his mind never tainted in evil plans for murder and destruction. He often imagines that life. He imagines you, waiting for him after a quidditch game, cheeks rosy from the frosty wind that whipped around the stands, smiling up at him so beautifully as he proudly took you into his arms after he caught the Golden Snitch and won Slytherin the Quidditch cup. He would be going to an after party at the common room, everyone praising him and his skills and being jealous of him and the girl on his arm.

He didn’t see it, but Snape gave him a small empathetic look, remembering his own pain and loss at the hands of Voldermort.

“I suggest for you to shift your focus to the more important matters at hand, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape says in a low voice. “You may leave.”

Draco roughly wiped away his tears before he jumped up from the chair and rushed towards the door, pushing it open with his body as he nearly ran out of the dungeons and up towards the Great Hall where dinner was being served.

Once he entered the hall, his eyes searched for you at your house table, knowing you’d be there with your friends. His eyes scanned up and down the rows a good two times before he finally saw you, throwing your head back in laughter as everyone talked. The pure joy on your face made him feel the tiniest bit lighter and his breathing a fraction easier.

Your friend noticed him first, tapping your arm vigorously as she pointed in his direction. You turned, your eyes meeting his frazzled ones and you frowned when you realized he had been crying. You threw your napkin down onto the table, hastily slipping out of your seat as you took quick long strides over to him. When you got to him, you slipped your hand into his and walked the two of you out of the hall in a hurry and headed into an empty corridor.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice laced and dripping with worry and concern as your hands reached up to cup his face. “Are you okay?”

Draco let the tears fall again, crying even harder at the your question. He was not okay and soon, neither were you going to be. On his way to you, he made a decision to do something. It was dumb and reckless, but in his mind, he knew it had to be said and done. If there was any sliver of a chance in the future where the two of you lived somewhere near happily ever after, he knew he couldn’t get there if he kept lying to you.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” he croaked out, “and you’re not going to like it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The silence surrounding the top of the astronomy tower was thick and dreadful. The faint moonlight above Hogwarts had cast ghostly shadows onto your faces and illuminated the grimaces you both shared. A cold and bitter wind passed through, picking at and numbing the exposed skin that neither of you cared to acknowledge. You sat on the floor across from him, an empty look filled with tears pooling in your wide eyes. He had told you everything. He pleaded for you to say something, to react, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen and mumbling an almost incoherent ‘I need to think.’

Out of all the things you expected him to tell you, this was not one of them.

It all finally made sense to you. The broken down and erratic state he has been in for months on end was for a very obvious reason now. It was hard for you to grasp at first, wondering how he could ever agree to be a part of something that was so dark and evil. Your mind temporarily mourned the boy, feeling as though that it was over for you two. But the longer you thought, the more it became clear to you that this was in fact, not his choice. It was the first thing he even said to you before he told you about his status as a Death Eater and all the dreadful things he has to accomplish.

And as you stared deeply into his pained eyes, you knew it was true. The Draco you had fallen in love with and are still just as in love with, was the same one sitting before you. Sharing something with you that could potentially jeopardize his life, his family’s life and everything else for the worst. He had trusted you with his darkest and most deepest secret. And it took you less than five minutes to process it all, your final thoughts coming together calmly and without hesitation.

“This doesn’t change anything for me,” you say finally, scooting yourself closer to him and taking his hands in yours. “I still love you all the same.”

A breath of relief left his lips, a sharp and painful ache in his heart suddenly easing drastically the second he heard your words. It was the same relief someone feels when waking up from a nightmare or just bad dream in general, a tranquility settling in that none of it was real and you can let your mind relax.

“But you must see me differently now then?” he then asked with a frown, his relief leaving his body again as his mind hit him with all sorts of pessimistic thoughts and ideas. “I’m not as good as you thought me to be.”

“I do see you differently,” you placed a finger under his chin, gently moving his face so that he could look in your eyes and you noticed the hurt that flashed in his storming gray’s. “I see now that you’re so brave, and so strong. I think it takes a lot of courage to be in your situation and not lose yourself completely. The weight of the world is on your shoulders, but you’re still you and you should be proud of that. You are just as good as I thought you to be.”

He blinked back the tears that had gathered and pricked at his eyes, his hand reaching up gently onto the back of your head as he leaned forward so that now your foreheads were resting against each other.

“You really are the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know that?” He states quietly. He placed a kiss on the space between your eyebrows, letting his lips linger intimately as the two of you relished in the feeling of being so close to one another, mind and body. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you repeated affectionately.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Weeks had gone by in a blur since the night at the astronomy tower, your relationship with Draco had only grown deeper and more meaningful since then. Instead of the ill-fated news tearing you apart, it brought you more closer together than you could have ever imagined. It was as if your souls were finally bare to one another, meeting and embracing each other lovingly on the astral planes.

The dynamic had changed, but only for the greater good as you had encouraged him to spend as much time as he could on the vanishing cabinet. It wasn’t like you wanted him to fix it, but you knew it would come at a great cost if he didn’t so he needed to. You thought back to a couple days after he had told you his duties, frowning at the remembrance of the shame in his voice as he explained everything to you.

“I think I’ll just leave it to rot in the room of requirement,” he muttered bitterly, his eyes focused on his thumb running over the softness of your knuckles. “I’ll just set it on fire and say it was an accident.”

“As much as I’d love for you to do that,” you sigh, “it would be like sentencing yourself to torture and death.”

Draco chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “I’m already headed there.”

“No,” you interject, “you’re not.”

He stayed quiet, trying to get the painful images out of his head that his mind was currently putting on display for him. No matter how many times you told him, he was never able to fully get rid of his pessimistic thoughts.

“He is going to find a way in, eventually,” you lean your head onto his shoulder and he tilts his head to the side so that it rests against yours. “It might as well be you who does it. You need to get onto his good side and from what you’ve told me, it’s only obvious he’s wary of your family.”

“He doesn’t have a good side,” he scowled. “He currently has my father locked in Azkaban, my mother in distress, and me doing his dirty work from within this school. He’s more than wary of us, he’s punishing us already.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He sighs, squeezing your hand back.

“It’s alright, love, nothing I can do about it anyways,” he trails off sadly. “But you’re right, I have to do it. I have to fix it.”

From then on, he had split his free time between mending the cabinet and being with you. It was hard for him as it was for you, but either of you knew there was no other way.

You were sitting by yourself next to the Black Lake, hugging your knees to your chest as you mindlessly played with the overgrown weeds you were sitting in. Your wand danced over a patch of dead flowers, wordlessly casting a spell you had learned in Professor Sprout’s class that brought life back into the wilted daisies.

You missed your favorite Slytherin, still not used to not the sudden changes in his schedule that kept him away from you. Your friends obviously kept you company, but there were times like this when you just wanted to be alone and sulk. And sometimes always, you just really missed Draco.

All you wanted at the moment was to hear his laughter, to feel his arms wrap around yours and give you gentle kisses all around your face as you giggled underneath him. To hear him whisper to you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. It was like a cliche love story that you couldn’t get enough of, it was your life. And you never knew that those same stories you always laughed and made fun of but secretly deeply desired, would come into fruition with Draco Malfoy, the boy you’d had a crush on since third year who never even knew you existed until this year.

Despite everything life had thrown at the two of you in these short but also long months, you had formed something so intense and real that most people would never get to experience, especially someone your age.

You heard a faint flapping of wings get louder as it approached, the shadow of a familiar owl appeared from behind you and you turned to look at it. It was Aquila, Draco’s beautiful and large eagle owl swooping over you before landing in front of you, dropping a letter at your feet. You gave her a little pat on the head, and she closed her eyes gently before she backed away and flew off back towards the owlery.

You unrolled the small piece of parchment and smiled as you read it.

Just broke something in the room of requirement for tripping over it and it reminded me of you. Now I can’t stop thinking of you. I’m rushing to finish now, I’ll see you soon. xx DM

The parchment was rolled back up and tucked into the pocket of your robe, a happy sigh slipping past your lips as you rested your chin on your knees. Your eyes landed on some familiar glowing fishes in the water near you from a few days ago and you allowed your mind to slip into the memory, yet again.

Draco lied across your lap, your fingers dancing around in his hair as he hummed in content. He loved it when you did that and you always made sure to play with it any chance you got when the blond mop was vulnerable to you.

He had met up with you after a shower and skipped styling his hair, the platinum strands freely going in their natural direction of falling over his forehead. You ran your hand towards his ends, pushing and slicking them back into his old signature hairstyle from when he was little.

A laugh tumbled from your lips at the sight and he peered up at you, rolling his eyes when he realized why you thought it was funny and sitting up to flatten his hair back down.

“You think my hair is funny, do you?” He accused with a pointed look, but you noticed the laugh that he was trying to hold back. You shook your head ‘no’ while still laughing and he finally smiled.

He lurched forward, playfully and gently tackling you down into a fluffy bed of dandelions, a ridiculous amount of the puffs from the flowers flying up into the air around you and into the dark night sky. He attacked your collarbones with kisses, your shoulders, up your neck and then your lips. You loved when he would do that, leaving multiple lingering kisses along your skin so he made sure to do it any chance he got, just as you did the same with playing with his hair.

After he was done snogging you, he sat up again and pulled you up with him, a comfortable silence falling between you two. The comfort only lasted a minute or two before a thought had trickled its way into your head as your hands sat over his forearms.

“Can I see it?” you asked quietly, afraid of sounding insensitive or offending him you immediately added, “only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

Draco followed your gaze onto his arm and he stiffened, his blood all of a sudden feeling cold in his body. Not once since he’d gotten the mark has he looked at it for longer than a couple seconds, absolutely loathing the fact that it was permanently etched into his skin. He was hesitant, wondering if you would be disgusted by it and him, but you looked at him with such a genuine concern and curiosity that he couldn’t say no.

He fiddled with his sleeve a little, rolling it up towards his elbow and facing the mark towards you so that you could observe it. Instead of looking at it, he looked only at you and your facial expressions, he wanted to see exactly what you thought in the eyes that were the window to the soul.

The mark looked as if it were a scar, it rose a little bit above the rest of his milky skin, angry and swollen. Your fingers ghosted above it, Draco shivering underneath the closeness of your touch. He felt your hand tenderly stroke the mark, your finger tracing its outline with a delicate pressure. The next thing you did was lean down, delicately and lovingly placing a kiss onto something that only represented hate and evil. The complete opposite of everything that you were.

“This doesn’t define you, Dray,” you say warmly as you pull away. “I know you hate it and I know it hurts to see it. But it’s not you. And one day, it might be so faint that it’ll just be a reminder of how you survived and got through the most difficult point of your life.”

He nodded, staying silent as he took in your words. They made him feel better because if that what was you believed, who was he to say it was wrong? He desperately wanted your words to be true, so he happily accepted them and let them relax the part of his mind that constantly doubted himself.

You rolled down his sleeve for him before settling yourself onto his lap and pulling him into a hug. His hands rested themselves on your lower back, one almost slipping down onto your butt before you reached behind you and raised his hand back up as he snickered. He let his head lie against your chest, the even and soft thumping of your heart calming him instantly and he sighed, pressing a kiss into the exposed skin above your shirt.

You reached down beside you and plucked two dandelions from the ground, holding them up and twirling them around in your fingers.

“Muggles like to say that if you make a wish on a dandelion and blow on it, your wish will come true,” you hum, making him look up at you in confusion.

“That sounds ridiculous,” he mumbles. You give him one of the dandelions and smile.

“You never know until you try,” you raised an eyebrow before giving him one. He eyed it with doubt and you pouted, silently pleading for him to do it with you. “Just close your eyes, think of your wish and blow.”

He waited until you squinted your eyes shut, he didn’t, but as he watched you he wordlessly made his wish. He wished that he could have moments like this with you for the rest of his life, moments of loving nirvana. Ironically, you had wished for the exact same thing.

When you opened your eyes, you blew onto the flower and he did the same with his. The both of you watched the fluffs flail about in the wind around you until they were carried higher and higher up into the starry night sky and out of your sights. You held the boy underneath you tighter against you and he followed, his hand again trying to land on your butt but you stopping it again and both of you laughing.

“What did you wish for?” He asked, the question muffled against your sweater.

“If I tell you then it won’t come true.”

“That’s rubbish.”

The afternoon was fleetingly turning into evening, the sun beginning its descent behind Hogwarts and a number of thick clouds had formed in the sky that blocked the beautiful orange sunsets you loved.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Draco announced his presence from behind you, a weird tone in his voice as he approached you. He plopped himself down beside you and gave you a long affectionate kiss before pulling away from you with a half-hearted smile.

“You seem very cheery,” you teased, poking his frown with your finger before forcing his lips up into a smile and he let out an airy chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you want the bad news or good news first?”

“Bad.”

“I think I’ve finally fixed the cabinet.” He said suddenly.

“Oh,” was all you could say as you processed his accomplishment. His hand reached for yours, interlocking your fingers with his as he anxiously waited for your answer. “So what’s going to happen next?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he answers honestly. “I suppose I’ll let Snape know and then eventually You-Know-Who will become aware. But I don’t know what chaos lies ahead. I don’t even know if it’s fully mended, I’m waiting until tomorrow to test it out.”

“Why not today?” you ask quietly. You felt your hand beginning to nervously sweat in his as each second of silence passed by.

“I wanted to have one last normal day,” he looks up at you and smiles faintly. You return it even though you felt as though you were nearly about to empty out your stomach from earlier’s lunch. “Before everything changes.”

“So then, what’s the good news?” You desperately wanted to change the topic, hoping that his good news would be enough to ease your panicked mined for the moment and luckily, it did.

“You and I are spending all day and night together,” he responds happily.

“Who said that’s good news?” you eye him mockingly, a goofy smirk making its way onto your lips, your mood improving instantly as you thought of the next 24 hours with your love. He gaped at you in fake shock, blinking slowly as he tried to come up with a comeback that would stump you.

“You know what, Y/L/N, perhaps I’ll ask Pansy instead, she’s been rather fond of me again lately,” he snickers, a look of horror replacing your previous teasing.

“Absolutely not!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren’t aware of how sleepy you were until you had gotten back to Hogwarts, a clock on a faraway wall in the dungeons displayed 1:11 AM. You were stopped right outside the Slytherin common room, Draco pinning you up against a wall as his lips passionately and lovingly danced with yours. Your hands were tangled in his ridiculously soft hair as he gripped onto your hips tightly.

This was the way the two of you should have been living, every day, stupidly in love like teenagers and having fun.

The whole day had gone by in a flash. Draco had taken you out for an evening stroll around Hogsmeade, stopping at The Three Broomsticks for butterbeer and food where you talked about everything and anything, avoiding any negatives completely and only talking of childhood memories from home and school or of funny stories that had come to mind. He had then taken you to a small jewelry shop where you admired every piece of gem in there and basically begged Draco not to buy you anything which he repeatedly tried to argue against.

Somewhere along the line, you found a small group of stray cats, dragging Draco by his hand to the little bundle of kittens hidden in a hollowed tree stump. One hissed at the two of you, backing far into the corner of the the stump as it protected the rest of its siblings behind it.

You had reached into your pocket, getting out your wand and pointing it towards the ground in front of them and whispering some spell Draco had never heard of. Suddenly, a small pile of cat food had appeared in a heap on the ground and the two of you watched as the leader of the litter had began to inspect it.

“Where did you learn that?” he laughs in astonishment as the kittens began to hurriedly munch on it.

“I found it in a book about cats in the library one day while I was bored,” you said with a sheepish smile. “Nice to know it came in handy.”

You then began walking around again, this time further away from the castle and the little village and more near the Forbidden Forest. This was the Hogwarts equivalent of long romantic walks along the beach. It was there where you found a small cliff and sat down to rest with your legs dangling wildly over the edge.

“With your track record, you should reconsider the way you’re sitting, darling,” Draco chuckles, his eyes peering over the edge and into the dark and rocky surfaces below before as he shuddered in fear.

“Relax,” you say, pushing yourself back from your spot and standing up before looking up at him. “You really think I’m that clumsy that I’ll fall off a cli-”

Draco reached out for you before he could even process that a chunk of the cliff had given out from underneath you as you stood. You fell into his embrace, the both of you staring down in terror at the tumbling piece of earth, watching it crash and explode as it hit a sharp boulder below. Draco let out a breath of relief, giving you a ‘I told you so’ look.

“Yeah, alright,” you nodded. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

So now here you two were, still snogging in the dungeons without a care in the world. You were so wrapped up in each other that you hardly noticed the sound of Filch approaching nearby, the sound of his lantern accidentally falling behind a corridor made you finally rip away from the kissing, looking in the direction of the noise.

“It’s Filch!” you hiss before pushing Draco towards the entrance of the common room. He quickly said the password and slipped the two of you inside once the stone had opened up, quietly laughing to each other as you heard Filch yell a distant, ‘students out of bed!’

Draco wasted no time in taking your hand and sneaking you into his Prefect room, the both of you haphazardly tumbling inside out of panic when you had seen another Slytherin passing by somewhere near the staircase to the room. You landed into the room with a ‘thud’ and Draco underneath you with his face twisted in that of pain.

“Oh no, please don’t tell me I’ve done it again,” you scattered off of him, grabbing onto his hand that he had landed on with too much force as he tried to stop both of your falls. His wrist was staring to swell up a strong pink and then red as you felt around the bone.

“You’ve done it again,” he laughs quietly through the pain at seeing your reaction. You gave him a scowl before reaching for your wand at drawing it at his injury.

He admired you as you handled his wrist with the same caring and tender touch that you gave him the last times you had healed him from the accidental trips of fate that had been thrown onto him, literally.

You breathed out a quick, “episkey,” and let relief wash over you as his sprained wrist healed to its original glory and he flexed it back and forth just for your benefit.

“Thank you, my little personal healer and injurer,” he stood up, pulling you with him and gave you a tight embrace that you lazily returned with an exaggerated frown.

“On accident!”

“I’m only joking, love,” he chuckles before giving you a kiss that made up for his teasing. “Also, I got you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping away from him as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small velvet rectangular box before handing it to. You took it in your shaky hands, opening it up to be greeted with a glittering silver band bracelet, glowing green emerald jewels going all around it. You gasped at its beauty, pulling it out of its box as you looked up at Draco as he beamed at you.

“I know you said not to buy anything, but I had to.”

You flung yourself into his arms, kissing him all over his face as he laughed from underneath you.

“I love it, Dray,” you gleamed, carefully slipping the band onto your wrist. “Thank you.”

He nodded, smiling to himself at satisfaction that he had gotten something for you at the jewelry shop even though you insisted that he didn’t, he couldn’t help himself. Eventually, he thought, he would be adding a diamond ring to your new collection of expensive accessories from him.

You let your attention focus onto the space around you, it was dark and a little disorganized seeing as he was hardly ever in there now, only to sleep. You had been in his room plenty of times recently to talk or if he was feeling upset but this was the first time you were going to actually sleep through the night with him. You weren’t even prepared for the impromptu slumber party, but it didn’t bother you all too much as your boyfriend passed you one of his sleeping shirts and shorts.

When you clambered into bed with him, legs entangled and bodies pressed up against each other, you sighed sleepily in content. You laid in silence, the sound of steady breathing and a tick and tock of a clock nearly sending you into a deep sleep while you admired the new bracelet on your wrist until your brain started conjuring up thoughts of the very near future.

“It’s all going to be different now, isn’t it?” you mumbled.

He waited a moment before responding, the same thoughts began to run through his mind and he sighed, letting out a breathless, “yes.”

There was another moment of silence, a painfully quiet one as now the both of you had started to think and torture yourselves even further.

“I’m scared,” you whisper timidly, the grip you had on Draco’s shirt got tighter.

“I am too,” his head turned to meet your eyes, the same wide eye look being held in them that he’s been seeing a lot of that day. “But I promise that no matter what happens, I’m always going to love you. Forever.”

Tears had accidentally slipped from your watery eyes and you buried your face in his neck to inhale his scent to calm yourself down. It was weird in theory, but there was something about the mix of his cologne and minty smelling soap that relaxed your whole body from whatever would be bothering you.

“I say this all the time,” he started again, his hand mindlessly played with your hair as he spoke. “But thank you, for helping me, healing me and not just on the outside. I owe you so much and I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” you cried relentlessly now, “so, so much.”

Draco stayed quiet, his own tears falling now but he didn’t want to make the moment sadder than it already was, so he sucked it up and gave the top of your head a long and amorous kiss while you cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was morning, a heavy set of clouds rested over the castle in an eerie and gloomy way. You took it as a sign that everything was going to end up that way, dark and melancholic. It was sad, being the only two people as of right now who knew what was coming to Hogwarts in maybe a couple hours or days time. But there was nothing you could do but hope for the best and silently place your hope that Harry Potter would save the day as he somehow always did. You didn’t dare tell Draco that, however and as much as you disliked Harry for nearly killing your lover not too long ago, you needed to believe that there was hope for a future with no Voldermort.

You walked timidly behind Draco as he guided you to the room of requirement. Your eyes were glued to the back of his perfectly styled head and iron pressed black suit and if you weren’t in such upsetting circumstances, you would have let yourself admire him longer, but you couldn’t quite focus on anything other than what lied ahead.

He had asked you to come with him to test the vanishing cabinet, wanting your support as he brought life to the thing that would bring destruction to the beloved school. You stood quietly, watching the very large doors of the room appear on the wall as Draco called for it silently.

You had never been in the room before and that was apparent when you looked at everything in awe, seeing all the forgotten artifacts and knickknacks for the first time that were piled onto each other for miles on end. He lead you through the maze of objects until you stopped at a tall and ashy gray run down wardrobe, his other hand grabbing onto the corner of the drape that was feebly covering it and pulled it down in one swift motion causing a pile of dust to fly into the air around you, making you feel suffocated all of a sudden as you stared at the revealed cabinet.

He let go of your hand, reaching into the pocket of his blazer as he pulled out a small green apple to place inside the middle of the cabinet. You watched carefully as he closed the doors of it and pressed his wand up against the opening, his eyes fluttering closed as he thought of the spell.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” a small whooshing sound passed and Draco opened his eyes to check if the apple was still behind the doors. The apple was gone, and your heart sank in fear. This was it. He took one deep breath before shutting the doors closed and placing his wand against them once again.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered, “Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The whooshing sound came back and he slowly grabbed the handle of one of the doors, his hand reaching inside of the cabinet and pulling something out. He turned around to face you, his skin paling in fear, the apple was back in his hand and as he turned it, you spotted the new clean bite around its side.

You inhaled sharply, your heart thumping rapidly as you realized what this meant.

“You fixed it.”

PART 4

TAGLIST: @bluesunflowersz @viirgobbyy @blueleonor @thefandomplace @natt-nih @angelofslytherin @dreamyvcid @ohhsheet-blog-blog (AHHH IM SORRY IF IM FORGETTING SOME OF YOU ;( !!!)

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years ago

Text

DEBRIS AND MISERY

WELCOME BACK, AGENT ; PART 4 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k SUMMARY: You're back at your desk job at the TVA, suffering the consequences of your mistakes that led to your crash on Sakaar. However, Mobius has a better job for you than doing just paperwork. A/N: I feel like this one has more platonic mobius x reader than loki x reader lol but you know, this loki is meeting her for the first time again. please leave comments, criticism or love, whatever, I love to hear from you guys who are reading this. enjoy xo gif by @alligatorlokis from this gifset WARNINGS: Swearing. Paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The sweet musky smell almost lulls you to sleep as you skim through the case file of a Loki variant, pictures and text of monochrome glaring under the unforgiving fluorescent office lighting. It’s a harsh reminder of your mishap; a simple overlook during a mission that sent you crashing onto the wasteland of Sakaar. According to the reports as you stood on the pedestal, pleading your innocence to the judge, you were there for an estimated 600 years. Maybe more.

The thought of spending six centuries stranded on a planet sends a wave of pain through your skull—it’s overwhelming information but unsurprising. You do feel like you’ve spent 600 years on that God-forsaken planet.

Now, your once fugitive days have been replaced with the return of being trapped behind a desk and having to recount every event that took place during your time there. Word for word. You despise the TVA’s love of paperwork—it’s a fucking nightmare.

The collar of your shirt feels itchy against the back of your neck, bringing your nails to graze it furiously.

You decide to ignore Miss Minutes' cheery voice despite your agitation, your name rolling off her southern accent. It hints at her chagrin towards your disregarding nature.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

Her voice lacks all sense of her once constant sunny disposition. You spare the projection a glance, watching her rubber-hose-like arms curve to her where you assume her hips would be. She looks at you with an expectant raised brow. You don’t say anything, keeping eye contact as you snatch an empty event report template, spinning in your swivel chair and away from the glowing tangerine clock.

With pursed lips, you swipe the scatter of mess away, revealing an orange typewriter that sits idly within the expense of your stacks of case files and your collection of vintage Earth cassettes. You hear Miss Minutes' sigh as she strides to the other end of your desk, perching on top of a dusty stack of pending paperwork.

“C’mon, it’s just a test,” the animated clock says. You spare her another look as you feed the report template into the roller forcefully. Bing! The return bar dings unceremoniously as it nearly startles Miss Minutes off the stack.

“That is exactly why I’m refusing to listen to you,” you mutter with annoyance, fingers already flying across the keyboard, punching letters onto the event summary section. The loud clickety-clack of the keys makes it impossible to hear over it. “I don’t get why I need to take a test when I clearly know everything I need to know.”

“Well, you were gone for a very long time and we just wanna test your memory on policies and procedures here at the TVA—”

“Then, why didn’t they come and get me earlier? From the moment I stepped foot on Sakaar, I did everything I could to create a Nexus event or even just a spike and you only came when? When I met Loki.”

Your eyes are now on her startled figure, clicks and clacks coming to an abrupt end. You’re upset over your arrest, the whole hoo-ha at the courtroom, and everything before that. Your behavior is nearly childish but understandable to those who express empathy. You feel like you were being used, prioritizing the capture of the Loki variant that has been causing a ruckus to the timeline. But, it is your job to protect the TVA and the sacred timeline. Although you feel that the TVA should be protecting its employees as well.

“Look, I am not taking that test and that’s my final word. Everyone knows I am capable of handling myself. Plus, I do have tons of paperwork to refresh my memory on policies and procedures if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The cartoon clock nods but with hesitation. However, you do make a fair point. Thus, with a swish and a blip, Miss Minutes disappears into thin air, and you’re left to your own devices once more.

Finally some goddamn peace.

As if the universe doesn’t loathe you enough, someone calls your name, approaching from behind you. A groan escapes from your lips, scowling at the glaring keys of the typewriter.

“What?” you spat. In a swift motion, you swivel in your seat and turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s Mobius, approaching you with sudden caution. You let your shoulder sag with relief, happy to see a familiar friendly face.

“Glad to see you’re back and still feisty.” Mobius hesitantly taps your shoulder, flashing you a small consoling smile. Your expression, however, remains unchanged. “Well, you guys did find me after all.” He spots the glimmer of melancholy in your eyes; they avert back to face the typewriter, hands resting on the keys. Mobius shoves his hand into the pockets of his brown slacks, shifting to lean against the edge of your desk. He knows to tread lightly around you after what happened. You’ve changed with wrinkles of age and crinkles of exhaustion. Sakaar must have not been kind to you.

Yet, you’re here, at your desk; alive and well.

“Hey, what’s got you all wound up?”

It’s a stupid question, really but it’s a question to show he still cares. You have every right to be upset. However, you have every right to be thankful. You would have been pruned. Desk cleared and cassettes discarded—it would be as if you never existed. Renslayer would have never given you any mercy after the act you pulled. Disobeying orders and recklessly throwing yourself into danger with the risk of bringing the whole TVA down. You’re impulsive on missions, but it’s your unrelenting determination that drives you to be one of the greatest analysts Mobius has ever seen.

You’re also a friend. A great one. And he isn’t planning on losing one.

“Please prune me, Mobius.”

Your statement comes off as intentionally sarcastic rather than truly meaningful.

“What? I always thought you adored paperwork.” Mobius hears you groan, burying your face in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk. “My back is already hurting, and I have a migraine just thinking about typing out reports of my time on Sakaar. I think it’s quite clear I adore paperwork.” Your muffled voice tinges sarcasm heavily.

Laughter erupts in his chest. He's glad that your sense of humor never changed. Then, the moment quickly passes and he senses a sudden change in the air. You turn up to look at him.

“What was my Nexus event?”

It’s abrupt, almost arbitrary but leads him to even more confusion. Mobius finds himself frowning. “You don’t know?”

You blink. “That’s the one thing they never told me.”

He shifts in his seat on the edge of your desk, blinking up to the ceiling in thought. “Well, from what I heard...it was because Loki willingly helped you. And it wasn’t for his own advantage.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Wouldn’t that be Loki's fault?”

“Apparently not. It was all you.”

You laugh in response; it comes out like a puff of air. “Well, then. That’s a first. I guess I can finally add manipulation to my list of skills. Plus, pick-pocketing weird cosmic fruits.”

Mobius laughs and taps your shoulder again.

“C’mon, take a walk with me. I’ve got a new case that I need your help with.” You shoot him a quizzical look, eyes catching sight of a thick case file in hand—must be important. “I thought I was supposed to be on desk duty.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to sit behind the desk the whole time,” he shoots back a clever answer with a raised eyebrow, beckoning you to accept his offer. Your laugh comes off as more of a snort. It’s the first one in a while. You stand on your feet, stretching your limbs as you shrug on your coat that was hung over the back of your chair.

“Plus, you’re under my supervision,” he says before turning on his heel, heading for the exit. You watch him raise a hand, his back to you, gesturing for you to follow as he pushes through the wooden door. You hum with amusement, trailing behind him.

The winding hallways feel hollow, mundane walls lacking any color of brightness the TVA tries to bring to the space when in all fairness, orange isn’t much of a fun color now that everywhere you look, there’s a tinge of tangerine somewhere. The posters that adorn the walls are your least favorite parts of the headquarters’ decorative choice. You pass one that says 'Always Watching' in big bold letters, ominously glaring at you. The words are far from comforting, almost inhumane—a jarring reminder of where you are and where you stand in the hierarchy of this bureaucratic organization.

Mobius clears his throat from beside you, pulling you out from your thoughts. In a weirdly discreet manner, he hands you the case file with an outstretched hand. You take it, eyeing him and his odd behavior, there’s an unexpected shift in the air.

Then, you glance down, reading the scrawled words on the file that reads: Variant L1130, Loki Laufeyson.

Your strides come to an abrupt end, whipping your head up to see Mobius’ sheepish smile. Your eyes are wide, and you’re shaking your head in utmost objection.

“No, no, no. No. Absolutely no—”

“C’mon, it’s just—”

“No, Mobius. Nuh-uh. I swear, if I have to deal with another Loki, I will prune myself. I literally will.”

You're shoving the file to him, as he attempts to suck it up to you like the optimistic idiot he is although he very well knows once you’ve made up your mind, you cannot be swayed. You’re stubborn, rebellious—it’s what makes you dangerous. Yet, the TVA are pessimists. It’s Mobius who truly recognizes your accompanying positive characteristics that make dealing with your spontaneous character worthwhile.

Then, coincidently emerging from the door of the locker room is Loki himself, dressed in a dress shirt, tie, and slacks—clothes and color schemes accustomed to the TVA’s dress code. Mobius can practically see the wires in your brain short-circuiting as soon as you lay eyes on the God. Your eye twitches and from that, he knows you’re about to go mayhem. It’s the mayhem that’s going to break out on him like a hurricane devouring everything and anything in its way.

“You hired him?! You hired a Loki?!”

Your voice is loud, startling Mobius and Loki as passersby stare at the commotion you’re causing. You find yourself hunching in response, shoulders sagging as if it’s supposed to help with averting the attention away from you. Still, your expression doesn’t falter, and you’re staring at Mobius like he’s nuts.

Your voice comes off as a whisper, tone still harsher than before. “Mobius, are you insane?—”

“Just, let me explain,” he cuts you off with a raised palm to you. You purse your lips, sparing a glance to Loki who seems amused by the looks of the conversation that’s turning to more of an argument because you’re directly questioning your colleague’s sanity in public. Nevertheless, you decide to hear him out.

You watch Mobius sigh at the sight of your raised brow. “We have a variant. A Loki variant that’s been killing our Minutemen and I believe it’s the same one that threw you to Sakaar. So, to hunt down a Loki, what better way than to source the help of another?”

Silence. You’re giving him that deafening silent treatment once more. You’re thinking, he can see the mechanics in your brain running like a steam engine. He observes the way your eyes flicker between him, the file, and Loki who attempts to hide his confusion of you and the whole situation.

You’re not his superior, not even close, but he’s hopeful for your approval of his plan.

You cross your arms, shifting in your stance. “Which Loki is this?” You gesture to Loki with a tilt of your head. Mobius heaves a sigh, a hand to his hip and the other waving in the air.

“He’s, uh, he’s from 2012—”

And you’re back to causing mayhem.

“2012?! Mobius! That’s the worst one yet!”

“Now, hang on just a minute—” Loki interrupts, voice tinged with bewilderment and resentment but with two sharp looks directed his way, he instantly shuts his mouth.

You and Mobius are now back to your whispered debate.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, the TVA’s survival all depends on catching this variant and that means our survival. He has potential for change, so much of it...You just have to trust me on this.”

Mobius makes an excellent point but you can't help but feel the queasiness rising from your stomach. It feels like bile. You begin to feel the weight of the case file in your grasp becoming heavier and heavier. It’s the thought of risky business, and you’re almost upset as to why Mobius thinks it’s such a brilliant idea to pull you into this case after the stunt you pulled.

“Care to explain why I'm involved in this? You do know I’m being scrutinized for every move I make, right?”

Following your question, he glances at Loki who seems to be growing impatient, eyes wandering around the hallway. He leans forward and lowers his voice though his pitch raises, like when he's excited about a breakthrough.

“Because I know you’re capable of getting Loki to trust you. It happened once, there’s a high chance it’ll happen again and that’s good enough for me.” He watches you blink once. Then, twice. He continues, “And you’re being scrutinized by me. So, does it really matter?”

You’re silent again but in deep thought and not out of spite. Your troubled eyes find Loki’s. He’s already staring at you and for a moment, you see an unknown glimmer in his eye, expression nearly vulnerable but in an instant, he seals it away from you and averts his gaze, busying himself with straightening his pecan brown tie. It’s a small sign that he must have heard what Mobius said to you quietly. Nothing more.

Your gaze returns to your colleague and you pull yourself together, heaving a deep sigh. “Fine, but I still think you’re insane.”

Mobius beams down at you in an almost proud manner. “Welcome back, agent.” And with a turn of a heel, he waves for Loki to follow as the three of you head down the hallway. Loki quickly catches up beside you, much to your dismay. “So, what’s your story?” he leans into you with a curious smirk. You keep your face forward, shoulder back, and chin up as you reply with a monotonous tone. “None of your business, daddy long legs.”

In your peripheral vision, you note how the God retracts in response to your reply, brows now furrowed as he glances down to his legs in an almost sheepish and innocent way.

You struggle to fight down a growing smirk.

Mobius looks over his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of you and Loki’s expression after your exchange.

It looks like the two of you would get along just fine.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #mobius x reader #mobius #ravonna renslayer

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dragonsareourfuture · 3 years ago

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I Don’t Belong Here — L Lawliet/GN! Reader

Summary: What kind of a story begins with the main character dying? Well, this one. L Lawliet has lived out his days on earth and finds himself in the afterlife. The Good Place, he is told by a neighborhood architect named (Name). One who shows him around his own neighborhood and introduces him to new people. But something doesn’t add up, L notices. Does he really belong in the Good Place?

(I'd advise having knowledge on the TV show "The Good Place" if you wish to understand the majority of this clusterfuck. Although, if you wish to proceed regardless, go right ahead!)

Chapter One: L Lawliet, You Are Dead.

Weclome! Everything Is Fine.

Everything is fine? Is that so?

The last thing L remembers is the ceiling. Just…the ceiling. The fans twirling on the ceiling of the headquarter building and the cross hatching of the tiles. It was peaceful. Was he sleeping? If he had been sleeping, then how did he end up here?

Now, instead of the ceiling, he stares at a wall. Big, green letters stare back at him. “Welcome! Everything Is Fine,” they say. Something inside L is prickling, like something he is forgetting struggling to find its way to his brain. He wants to ponder it, but something about the words splayed out on the wall in front of him is telling him that he doesn’t have to. Everything is fine, after all.

He only manages to tear his eyes away from the bold, sans serif font when the sound of a doorknob turning catches his attention. Huh. Has there always been a door there? If so he hadn’t noticed it, which L thinks is completely absurd as he usually takes mental notes of everything in a room before getting himself seated. But there it is, a door he missed while transfixed on the somehow calming message on the wall, now opening to reveal...a person.

You stand in the doorway, simply smiling.

Now that L’s attention has been drawn away from the mystifying message he can properly analyze his surroundings, and his new visitor. He’s in a rather simple room, nothing but a few plants dotting the perimeter and a couch in the middle, which he is currently sitting on. And he’s sitting normally. Hm. That feels…itchy. L inches a foot onto the couch in his discomfort of sitting with his bottom planted firmly on the cushions with both feet on the ground. Though he hesitates to bring both feet up and hug his knees to his chin as he normally would, because he senses that your sudden presence means he is about to be standing and following you into that mysterious room behind you. Like a doctor calling a patient into an appointment. Except in this case L has no idea what you are, and judging by your suit and comical, colorful bowtie, you are certainly not a doctor.

“L?” you ask, showing your teeth in a kind smile. “Come on in.”

And against his better judgement, he does. L was never the person to simply keep quiet and obey orders in a situation he does not understand. And there certainly is not a whole lot of understanding happening in his brain right now. He should be asking questions. He should be refusing you. He doesn’t know you, you could be leading him to his doom. All this is possible but something about the way you smile at him…like those big, green words, all he reads from you is “Everything Is Fine.”

The room that you lead him into doesn’t look all that much like a death trap, but you can never be sure. It’s a simple office, plants similar to the ones in the waiting room sit in pots in the corners and on the windowsill. The sun shines outside, seeping through the glass and illuminating the desk on the left as you walk in. On it are a few little trinkets, paperweights, and, right in the middle, a manila file folder.

You circle around the desk and settle yourself into the rollaway chair, gesturing to the sleek armchair across from you. “Why don’t you have a seat, hm?”

What is wrong with him right now? You ask him to do something and he just…does? What happened to his spine, other than it bending exponentially thanks to the way he sits?

No matter, there are more important things to think about right now. Like the fact that he might finally be getting some answers.

You open the file in front of you and skim whatever’s written, opening your mouth to say something when your eyes meet his. And then they drift down to his legs. You stare at him curiously with your mouth still agape for a few moments at how his knees are pulled up to his chin, eventually shaking your head and getting back on track.

“My name is (Name), and of course I already know yours.” you say, folding your hands in front of you. “So, how are you, L?”

How should L even answer that?

“I’m…confused, mostly. How are you?”

Your eyes light up, as if you haven’t been asked that in a while. “Oh, well I’m fine. Y’know, busy, but fine! And, yes, I’d assume you’d be confused, everyone in your situation usually is.”

“My situation? What exactly do you mean by that?” Now that L has finally asked one question he can’t seem to stop the ball from rolling “Speaking of you, who are you exactly? Actually, never mind who, but where—“

You hold up a hand. “All of your questions will be answered, I promise. There’s just one thing that you need to know before we tackle any of that.”

“And what is that?”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, elbows digging into the surface of your desk as you lean forward. You look like you’re about to tell him that he’s fired. That his dog died. That some kid took the last of the strawberry shortcake and he’s going to have to settle for carrot cake. What comes out of your mouth is much worse.

“L Lawliet, you are dead.”

…

He’s…?

Yes. Yes, he is. That’s why he doesn’t remember how he got here.

He’s dead. Huh.

L is perfectly content in not saying anything about this new little factoid, but you’re looking at him expectantly, and a little cautiously. Like you either expect him to punch you or burst into tears. L wonders if that fear is based on experience. How many other people have to told this to?

“…Am I, now? That’s a shame.”

You breathe out a sigh, which could be from relief. “Yes, it is. But, not to worry! Because you’ve ended up in the Good Place, L. You’re going to be okay.”

“So it’s called the Good Place?” L brings his thumb to his lips. “A rather simple thing to call it.”

You nod. “Pretty self-explanatory, right? We didn’t want anyone to get confused. There are just so many names for it on earth. Heaven, Valhalla, Nirvana…But it all translates to one place. Here. And you get to be a part of it.”

“That sounds…” Before he can articulate his thoughts, a dilemma from earlier brings itself to the forefront of L’s mind. “Wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My memories are all wrong. Before this, all I can remember is the ceiling and nothing else. If I were to have died, surely I would remember it, yes?”

You take a gulp of air and pull the manila file closer to you. “We take it upon ourselves to erase the memories of death if they are particularly traumatizing or embarrassing. Helps the residents adapt into a peaceful afterlife better, I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, that is perfectly sensible. Although I may ask, what is an example of a death that is not at all traumatizing?”

“Pfft, there hardly is one. You’d be surprised how many memories we have to erase.”

“On the contrary, I am hardly surprised. I’m sure there are plenty of people who cannot accept the nature of their death, let alone the fact that they have died in the first place.”

You sigh, “You’re tellin’ me. Most people come around once I tell them that they’re basically in paradise, but some won’t even listen to me once I break the news. One person tried to convince me I was the dead one! It’s just—oh, um, but that’s hardly the point.”

“Do you ever tell someone how they died if they ask?”

Your expression hardens. “I do, but I like to know that they’re certain before I tell them.”

“I am.”

Exhaling through your nose, you prop the manila folder up like a book, scanning the files inside. “Alright then. Let’s see here…ah, okay. So, unfortunately this one’s pretty traumatizing, it’s not really one of those embarrassing deaths that some people get a kick out of, so brace yourself.” You look over the top of the folder as if checking to see if he’s braced himself. His expression and stance is unwavering, large eyes merely staring back at you patiently. “You were betrayed by your colleague Yagami Light – also known as your adversary Kira – and killed by the Shinigami Rem at his request.”

Oh yeah. That.

The ceiling was not clear in view, no, there was something obstructing L’s view of it. A face, staring down at him as his heart gave out right on the floor. Brown eyes filled with such cocky maliciousness, the upward tilt of lips L only knew to spout lies. It all equated to a side of Yagami Light that L knew existed but had never seen up until his final moments. It all added up to one final conclusion -- Yagami Light was Kira all along. L had been right. But the price of knowing that for certain is that, now, there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I never know what to do when I have to tell people…” you try, reaching across the table and planting a hand down in front of him. Not asking to hold his hand, not even expecting a reaction. Just showing that you’re there, and that you’re trying.

“It’s up to them now. I’ve done all that I could. I trust my successors.”

“In catching the murderer Kira, right?” you ask, to which L confirms with a polite utterance of ‘yes’. Obviously you know the answer. “I understand that is one of the many, many cases you’ve worked on during your lifetime.” you scan your eyes quickly down what appears to be a long list in your folder. Do you have every detail of his life in those files? Every case he ever took? Hell, every day in his life? You set the file down flat in front of you and look at him with something L determines is admiration. “You’ve done so much good in your lifetime, L. You’ve worked so hard over the entirety of your life to make sure you left the world a little better than you found it. Now…well, now you can rest.”

You can relax, you tell him. And it seems to simple coming out of your mouth yet somehow it still feels out of reach.

“I can…” Is all L manages to say, his preoccupation coming across as dreamy and wistful. His mind is busy running a mile a minute and his mouth just can’t keep up. L decides to test the words out on his own tongue to see if they still sound foreign, “I can rest now.”

Yeah, no, it still sounds like bullshit.

“Yes! Well, after the tour, of course.”

“Tour?”

You start to stand, straightening your colorful bowtie and circling around your desk to the door which you pull open. You don’t exit right away, though. You stand next to the exit, waiting for L to follow you. While he works on untangling himself from his current position you clarify, “A tour of the neighborhood! Where you’ll spend your afterlife.”

#death note #death note x reader #death note fanfic #the good place #the good place au #l lawliet x reader #x reader fanfic #x reader #reader insert #death note l #l lawliet

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gryffindors-weasley · 4 years ago

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Wild Hearts

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: You and Ron go for a ride in his fathers car one summer night.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none—fluff and kissing, light swearing

A/N: This is inspired by the song Stargazing by The Neighbourhood! It is also a continuation from a part of one of my fics here

It was the start of summer, your second summer spent at the Burrow since you and Ron had moved into a place of your own. To have not only one home but two was a dream in and of itself; twice the comfort and twice the opportunity to be homesick should you stray too far from either for too long. It was a delightfully bittersweet feeling, but you wouldn’t trade what you’ve got for the world. The Weasley family had always been welcoming, radiating the utmost of warmth and boisterous energy, but the same could not be said of that chaos when night rolled around. It was strikingly quiet.

You lay there in the small bed once belonging to Ron throughout his childhood, crammed for space as you lay pressed against his side like you had been for the better part of an hour. It felt as though just one wrong move from either of you and one of you would be sent toppling to the floor; it has happened before. The two of you stared restlessly at the slanted wooden ceiling, the moonlight shining in the window illuminating the little bits of dust being pushed around by the breeze coming in through the cracks in the walls. If you tried hard enough, you were so bored you just might have been able to count them.

It was impossibly quiet save for the chirping of the crickets outside and the occasional myriad of chimes when the clocks around the home struck a new hour. A new hour of doing anything but sleep. The different pitches of unsynchronized clocks signaling it was only one o’clock in the morning had been taunting you. Ron had made a few attempts to sleep, he even snored for a span of ten or so minutes, but ultimately he was left to lay awake just as you had been. Your minds were far too busy and had yet to slow down with the chaos of the family game night just hours earlier.

A huff puffed up your cheeks and left your lips while your fingers tapped absentmindedly, your hands clasped and rested in your stomach. His own sigh was soon to follow, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to fill the quiet of the room. As if on cue, you turn your head to the left as he turns his to the right, and you share a mirrored look as you bite the inside of your cheek. No words needed to be spoken, rarely did they ever at this point in your relationship. You knew each far too well by just a simple look.

“Wanna go for a drive?” He asks after a moment, the tip of his nose nearly bumping yours in the crowded and close proximity.

Your smile forms at the mere mention of the idea, widening more so when he matched your grin with one of his own. You laugh softly as you look up at the ceiling once more for a brief moment before returning your gaze to him, your giggling never ceasing. “You mean in the car you’ve been forbidden to use for the rest of life?”

His smile is lopsided as he tries to look at you in discontent at your question, moving to prop himself on his elbow. “That was twelve years ago,” he squints as he defends himself, “besides, I didn’t do half bad.”

“Half bad? I suppose I should ask the whomping willow. Or perhaps I could just use my memory,” you retort with a scoff and he throws his head back, heaps of ginger hair flopping out of his face momentarily. He groans, smiling nonetheless. He knows you’ll never stop teasing him about it for as long as he presents you with an opportunity.

“For old times sake?” He asks after a little while longer, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile once he brings himself to look at you. You laugh softly at him, his hair falling back around his face once more. You pretended to ponder the offer just to get on his nerves in playful mocking.

“As if I could say no to anything to rescue me from my boredom,” you beam as you kiss his nose, quick to get up from the squeaky mattress in search of your shoes.

He follows suit as he slips on his jeans, nearly tripping over his own feet as he snags his converse from under the bed. He grabs his tattered denim jacket from the back of the chair at his desk, knowing full well you’d need it.

The trip to the very first floor was not an easy feat. Not with the creaky old stairs working against you, not with the giggles you could barely seem to stifle, certainly not with the miscellaneous shoe on a step Ron hadn’t seen. It was sent tumbling down each and every step with a near painful sound that had you narrowing your eyes at him as he shrugged. Regardless of the utter clumsiness you managed to make it without waking the large family.

Ron stood in place for a moment as you looked at him quizzically and waited, watching as he shrugged on his jacket and wandered to the uneven countertop in the kitchen. He steps on the very end of a loose board and you start to smile as the other end pops up, a set of glimmering keys snatched from its spot. He turns to face you with a proud smile.

“Perhaps my mum should’ve picked a new spot,” he chuckles, spinning the keys around his finger.

You respond with an eye roll when you grab his hand, tugging him out of the door in hushed laughter. The fresh air and breeze was much better than the stuffy confines of his room at the highest point of the house, and you found yourself even more excited for the spontaneity of your plans. Even on your rush he still stopped to open your door, an action not having gone unnoticed by you as you smiled brightly at him.

“Are you sure you know how to fly this thing? You never quite seem to stick the landing,” you quip once he joins you, looking over at Ron with a half smirk, one that widened with the sheer look of offense crossing his face.

“Yes, I very well do, love,” he scoffs as if it’s the most obvious thing to know, not without grumbling under his breath either. “You try flying a car when you’re twelve.”

You laugh to yourself and shake your head, and when you turn to look at him once more, he’s already looking at you fondly despite his counter. It’s a fleeting moment of love not needing to be spoken, only heightening when he leans over the center console to kiss you once more. He nearly winces when he turns the key in the ignition, the headlights flickering on and the engine roaring to life with a certain rumble that had been telling of the car’s age. His father could no longer ground him for this, but his mother would not hesitate to scold him till the end of time if she knew just what he’d been doing.

Without much of a second thought he put the car in drive and set off down the path, tires spinning quickly down the old dirt driveway and leaving behind a cloud of dust in its wake. Surely they must have heard the tires squeal.

When you reach the end he lifts above ground in a not-smooth-takeoff, but you were far too caught up in the familiar rush, rolling the windows down. The summer air pulsed through the car in waves as he lifted above the treeline, seemingly one with the stars still far from you. You looked to each other briefly with the same beaming smiles, your laughter mingling in the space and filtering out into the night air. Everything felt weightless as you soared along, the wind blowing warmly through your hair as you stuck your arm out the window. There was no need to be hushed, no need to refrain from the giddy cheers and comical howls at the moon.

In that very moment, nothing else mattered. Not the imminent scolding of his mother, not the work you had to do when you returned to your own home, not the repercussions of a night having gone unslept. What mattered was the memory you were living, the way Ron let loose and felt free as he hollered at the moon, the way your heart raced with utter happiness. That’s what mattered.

He knows you’ll always have a hold on his heart, you have since the day he met you and he knows it’ll never change, not that he wants it to. You’re everything wonderful the world has to offer wrapped up in one person, and he doesn’t quite know how it’s possible. He’s enamored, that he did know. He’s enchanted and far beyond spellbound, feeling more than lucky that you chose to love him of all others in the universe. It was him you loved with the utmost of certainty, the sincerest of loves. It was him.

You passed over rolling hills and thriving trees, Ron’s hand in yours in wordless protection as you moved to look out the open window. That’s when he found himself staring when he knew he shouldn’t be. Staring at the way the moonlight danced across your skin and glimmered in your hair to the point that you looked ethereal. At the way you laughed joyously and freely, eyes closed as the ever-flowing breeze swirled through your hair. At the smile gracing your lips he so desperately wanted to kiss. It was his gawking that nearly made him swooped too low and scrape the front end on a hill, his heart thumping wildly as the two of you shared a fleeting look of surprise before laughing.

He knows that is but another thing you’d make sure to never let him forget, at least not for a long while. But how was he to help his distracted attention when you capture it so easily? When you steal it with no effort at all? The answer still remained to be seen.

—

The strikingly memorable clearing soon made its appearance, Ron releasing your hand to slow the car and dip to a landing. A very expectedly rocky landing he knew he’d be hearing about.

You parked in the grass, giddy and breathless as you pushed open the door and rushed out without care to close it. The night sky was vast and clear, not a cloud in sight as it sat littered with twinkling stars while you looked up at it with outstretched arms. Ron was quick to follow, not bothering to close the door either as he trails close behind. But rather than focusing his attention on the sky, he finds he’s much more content focusing on you. It was then that he enveloped you in his embrace and it was then that your gaze pulled from above you and moved to the beaming smile belonging to your blushing redhead. You grin brightly as he twirls you in his arms, hold never faltering as you rest your forehead on his, his nose brushing against yours.

“I love you,” he laughs, still jittery from the thrill of the ride. “Bloody hell I love you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, his lips are on yours, soft and tender as his hand settles on your cheek. Your quieted laughter seeps into his kiss, your fingers gripping the striped fabric of his t-shirt. He kissed you with every bit of love he had to give, cheeks flushing what was surely the same shade of his hair. You hadn’t wanted to part from him, didn’t ever want to but he’d gone and kissed you breathless, more than you already had been.

You cheeks burned a dull heat when you pulled away, lips still brushing against one another as you exhaled a breathy laugh, sharing an adoring smile. You couldn’t help but kiss him once more—twice more. It left his heart bounding within his chest, left him feeling as though this was the first time kissing you. But he was starting to think that every time felt like the first time.

The softness of his smile spoke volumes as he looked at you, leaning to rest his forehead on yours again.

“I love you,” you murmur, and his hands drop down to squeeze your own.

The moment lasted all too briefly as you pulled him with you, but he found he’d follow you just anywhere so the thought hadn’t bothered him too much. The two of you sat on the old blue hood, backs pressed to the windshield as a breathy laugh leaves your lips. Surely his muddy converse would leave his ever distinctive shoe prints that he’d forget to clean off, and surely Molly would scold him all the next morning for it. But that could wait for now. Everything else could wait.

“You’re a bad influence, you know,” he chuckles, his hand falling to his side to grab a hold of yours.

“And you’re a bad driver,” you counter, turning your head to the right to meet his already narrowed gaze.

It softened within seconds, however, a gentle smile on his lips as he allowed himself to stare. He didn’t care that his hair was poking in his eyes, or that laying on the hood of a car was ridiculously uncomfortable. He didn’t care that it was a tad too warm for a jean jacket or that his cheeks still burned from nearly wrecking his dad’s car again. When he looked at you it didn’t matter.

Without hesitation he rolled to his side, his grip on your hand never faltering as he leaned in and kissed you again. Soft and sweet, tender and loving. When you parted he stayed mere centimeters from your lips, nose bumping yours as his smile when unseen but his laughter obvious against your lips. With one more kiss he rolls back over, grinning like the lovestruck fool he knew himself to be. He was always your lovestruck fool.

In that moment everything settles around you. The laughter quieted, your pounding hearts calmed. It was serene in the way the breeze blew over you in such a way he rid himself of his jacket to give to you before finding your hand again. Peaceful in the way the crickets sang and the lightning bugs fluttered all around you. The sky seemed too breathtaking for its own good, vast and endless and full of sparkling beauty.

You hadn’t done this—you hadn’t been here since you were seventeen. Though being twenty-four hadn’t felt much different. You were still hopelessly in love just as much as you always had been.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He starts.

“The moon.”

You finish a sentence you knew all too well. The look he gives you is priceless and precious all the same and you can’t help but smile.

“What?”

“I’m beginning to think you’re just as sappy as that love potion made you be,” You jest, and he chuckles as he looks above him, quiet for a short while.

“I can’t believe Harry told you that bit,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m glad he did,” you say softly, and he turns head and looks at you then.

Your eyelids had grown heavy as the late hour had started to catch up with you, your smile small yet loving as you blinked at him slowly. He released your hand in favor of pulling you close, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then one to your nose.

“Me too,” he murmured.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the two of you fell asleep. He knew he’d come home to his parents waiting for him with crossed arms and worried expressions soon turned angry. He knew it all but couldn’t bring himself to care in that moment.

Your hearts were too wild and you were far too in love to let this pass you by.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @theweasleysredhair @anchoeritic @harrysweasleys @hahee154hq @amourtentiaa @snitches-at-dawn @awritingtree @lupinsclassroom @dracosathenaeum @writeroutoftime

#ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley headcanon #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley fic #ron weasly imagine

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redledsandharrystyles · 4 years ago

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Best friends - Luke Patterson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n and Luke have always been best friends, but one night he isnt answering your texts and you get a little worried. What you see when you open up the door to his room, might just change your friendship.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!) Lots and LOTS of spelling errors. I dont think there are any more...

Word count: 2767 words

Authors note: Its literally been so long since I've written ANYTHING, especially smut, and English isn't my first language so go easy on me please.

____________________

You were making your way up the stairs to your best friends room. It was currently 10PM, and he wasn't responding to your texts, making your worries increase, since he usually didn't take more than 10 minutes to respond, and he didn't go to sleep until at least 2AM. The TV downstairs was on, since his parents were watching the news in silence, and you knocked on his door.

No response.

You knocked again, but the only thing you could hear were muffled moans, which just made you even more worried. What if he was hurt? And he couldn't call for help, or reach his phone. Or what if he's unconscious. Then, you heard your name. Once. Twice. You let out a sigh, and opened the door. The room was dark, with only the moon lighting up the room. You carefully walked towards his bed that was pushed up against the cream walls, and saw him laying there, peacefully. Letting out a sigh of relief, you sat down, placing your head into the palm of your hands. Of course, the small amount of sleep he got every night would catch up to him eventually. But then you heard it again. Your name. Leaving his lips in a sinful manner. He kept moving around on his bed, his forehead sweaty. Was he having a nightmare?

You softly shook his shoulder, but he wouldn't budge. So you shook it again, but a little harder, making him shake his head. "Luke," You murmured, shaking him again. "Luke, wake up." He finally opened his eyes, rubbing his face with his large hands. "Y/n? What are you doing here?" He said as he reached for the lamp that sat on his nightstand, turning it on. You shook your head, "I got worried, since you weren't answering my texts. Stupid, I know. I wouldn't have woken you up, but you kept saying my name, so I thought you were having a nightmare or something..." You trailed off, seeing his face flush. "Y-yeah, n-no, I'm fine. I wasn't having a nightmare." He scratched his neck, which had now also turned a deep shade of pink. "What? Then wh-" Your eyes trailed down his body, spotting the lump in his sheets by his crotch area. "Oh. Oh!" You turned your head away, quickly standing up, and flattening down your skirt. "U-uhm." You weren't able to look him in the eye, your gaze moving from the electric guitar that was leaning against his wall, towards his desk, and lastly, the dirty laundry that sat on a chair by his window. You could hear movement behind you, but you still stood awkwardly in the middle of his room, your cheeks flushed, and your hands fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

"I-I'm sorry, Y/n, It's not like it was on purpose. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I swear, i have no control over this. You're my best friend, and I really dont want this to change the way things are between us. B-but you're just so beautiful it's hard not to fantasize about- no, I mean you're really pretty so of course it happens sometimes. N-Not that this has happened more than once! I- I just-" You cut off his rambling with your hand over his mouth, making him exhale, and shut his eyes. "I know how dreams work, Luke. I know you have no control over them. I'd be lying if I said I've never had those type of dreams about you, y'know." His eyes opened in an instant as you realized what you had just said. He placed his hand over yours, moving it away from his mouth. "R-really?" Your eyes widened as you moved away from him. "I-I think I should go. My parents are probably waiting for me to get back and I dont want to worry them-" You quickly turned towards the door which lead to his room, hearing him sigh as he plopped onto his bed. Your hand hovered above the doorknob, but you sighed quietly, plucking up every ounce of courage, you turned back around, leaning against the wooden door. "Unless you need some help." You screwed your eyes shut, waiting for his response, your hands intertwined behind your back.

"W-What?" He propped up his elbows, leaning against them. You shook away your nerves, and slowly, seductively, walked over to his bed. "I asked if you needed help," you placed yourself on his lap so you were straddling his thighs. "With that." You pointed towards his member which still hasn't softened. He visibly gulped, and slowly nodded. You raised a brow, "Use your words." You purred, leaning closer towards him. "I-I might need some help." He stuttered, leaning back until his head landed on the soft mattress. You bent over in order to reach his neck. Nibbling at the soft skin, he let out a soft moan. You moved your lips down to his collarbone, sucking there, then blowing on the purple mark you left. You sat back up and slowly grinded on him, a groan escaping his lips which sent shocks to your core. His hands moved from his sides to your hips, making you grind a little faster, until another moan left his lips. You, once again, leaned into him, but now aiming for his lips. You brushed your lips against his, your tongue sweeping over his bottom lip, asking him for access, your tongues softly moving against each others. Pulling away for air, he sat up, with you still straddling him. "Tell me about your dream." You cooed into his ear, his grip on your hips tightening. "What?" You looked him in the eye, your hands trailing up his chest, tugging at his shirt, signaling for him to take it off. Then wrapping your hands around the back of his neck. "What was I doing in your dreams, that made you moan my name?," You asked, one hand trailing up into his hair, softly tugging at it, while you tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth. "Were you fucking my mouth?" You nipped at the spot right below his ear, grinding onto his member, a sinful moan leaving his plump lips that went straight to your core, and you then realized how truly wet he had gotten you. "Were you fucking me into the mattress?" You pulled at his hair, and his hips bucked into yours, making your breathing hitch. "Maybe you were bending me over your desk... fucking me from behind, or maybe spanking me." His hold on your hips was so hard he was probably leaving bruises.

"Oh, fuck me." He rasped, "You have to tell me, Luke, what were we doing?" You purred into his ear, your fingers trailing down his muscular abdomen. You looked him in the eye as your hand softly grabbed at his member, his lips parting as you rubbed him through his pants. "Please, Y/n." He whined, his head now resting in the crook of your neck, his breathing heavy, and his chest moving at a fast pace. "Tell me what you want baby." You muttered into his ear,

His hot breath on your skin caused a chill to run down your spine. "I- Y-you were, uhm, sucking me off. Th-then you started riding me." You smirked, and pulled his head from the crook of your neck, and kissed him, starting off slow. You pulled away so you could take off your shirt, now showing off your lacy bra. You then cupped his face, your lips now moving at a faster pace against his. His hands moving up your body towards your breasts, squeezing them through your bra, then moving down to your waist. Pulling away from your mouth, he moved his lips now towards your collarbone, creating a trail of hickeys from your neck to the swell of your breasts. You arched into him, a moan leaving your lips, and you could feel his member harden under your core. "Luke." You moaned, your fingers tugging at his brown locks of hair, he groaned into your neck, as he sucked at the sensitive skin. As amazing as his lips on you felt, you knew you had to at least give him something from his dream, so you pulled away, standing up from his lap. He whined as you moved towards the end of the bed. "Oh come on, Y/n, you can't just tease me like this, this hurts." He said as he pointed at his crotch, making you giggle.

"Did you forget what I was going to do to you?" You said, leaning over the bed, giving him a perfect view of your tits. He looked confused for a second, before his eyes widened. "Y-you were being serious? I-"

"Of course I was, now come here." He moved towards the end of the bed, and you sunk down onto your knees in front of him, looking up into his eyes as you pulled down his grey sweatpants, making him lift his hips. It took you by surprise when you saw he wasn't wearing a pair of underwear underneath the sweatpants, but you grinned nonetheless, licking your lips. You started off by spitting into your hand, then you wrapped your hands around his member, forming a fist. You heard his breathing hitch as soon as you made contact with his skin, but then you started moving. Your fist going up and down at a slow pace. Luke had put his hands onto his sides for support, his head thrown back in pleasure. He moaned out your name, as he fisted his bed sheets. You then licked our lips again, and wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, an even louder moan escaping his lips. You slowly sunk lower into his member, his breathing now consisting of short pants. You had now taken all of him into your mouth, the tip of our nose brushing against his lower abdomen, and the tip of his cock brushing against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, trying to swallow him, "Oh, fuck." He muttered, his head turned down as he watched you bob your head up and down. "Fuck princess, look at me." Your stomach churned at the pet name, your wetness pooling in your underwear. You looked up into his eyes as you continued bobbing your head, swallowing every once in a while, one of your hands grabbing his thigh, while the other played with his balls. You hallowed your cheeks, and he bucked his hips, making you gag, "I-I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, a moan following soon after. His right hand went to the back of your head, tangling itself in your hair, as his left hand supported his upper body. He wasn't pushing your head down, just guiding it. You swirled your tongue across the tip of his dick, and fondled his balls again. "Fuck, I'm going to cum. Fuck, fuck, fuck," He screwed his eyes shut as he threw his head back. You pulled your mouth off of him, making him whine, but your hand kept going, just at a slow pace. "Where do you want to cum?" He opened his eyes, raising a brow. "What do you mean?" He asked, biting back a moan, trying to hold back. "Do you want to cum in my mouth? On my face? Perhaps my tits?" You asked, looking up at him with innocent eyes, your fist still moving up and down on his member. "Fuck, you're so dirty." He chuckled, so you softly squeezed his shaft, making his laugh cut off with a moan. "Your mouth, I want your mouth." He pleaded, and you smirked, wrapping your lips around him again, and bobbing your head up and down. Feeling him twitch in your mouth, "Shit, baby I'm going to-" You quickened your pace, both of your hands trailing up his thighs and up to his abs, scratching softly, then trailing back down, and softly squeezing the base if his member. With one final moan, he came. Swallowing his cum, and pulling your mouth off, saliva running down your chin. His hooded eyes looked down at your reddened lips, loving how swollen they currently were after what you just did. "Holy shit." He groaned, falling back onto the mattress, and you let out a soft giggle. "That was perfect. You- You're perfect." he said, tucking your messy hair behind your ear, and pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb. Cupping your face, he pulled you towards him, his lips meeting yours, then pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth, making you moan softly. "Were not done. Theres still one thing that happened, that we still havent done." You teased, your lips brushing against his, pulling back and looking into his eyes. "Really, and what's tha-" he cut himself off with a moan as you ran your fingers across his member.

You pulled down your skirt, and underwear, then unclasped your bra, making Luke's eyes widen, his gaze fixated on your chest. You straddled him, moving closer to his ear, "I'm going to ride you, remember?" You purred, your hand wrapping around his member, making it harden again. You then, slammed your hips down, sinking down onto his cock, making you both groan. Your fingers were digging into his shoulders, and his were digging into your hips. Your head fell forward into his left shoulder, and you lifted your hips again, making him shudder beneath you. When you slammed back down, he let out a louder moan than before, making you silence him with your mouth, "You have to be quiet baby, your parents are home." He nodded, leaning his forehead into yours. You started bouncing on his member, setting a steady pace, moans and grunts leaving your mouths. His hands moved from your hips to the curve of your ass, gripping it harshly, then slapping it, making your lips part and a loud moan escape. His lips were right beside your ear, so when you slammed your hips back down, the sinful sound he made went straight to your core making you arch your back. "Fuck, Luke." You moaned into his ear, your thighs burning. He grunted, "Hell, I cant do this." Then he flipped you over, making you land on your back int top of the mattress, ending up in a missionary position. He inserted him self into you once again, loud noises leaving the both of you as you arched your back. He shifted his position, grabbing your leg and placing it on his shoulder, allowing him to bury his cock deeper in you. Your breathing was getting heavier, and you snaked one hand towards your clit, desperate for a release. You started rubbing your fingers against your clit in circular motions, but when Luke noticed, he grabbed both your hands and pinned them above your head, leaving you a whining mess. He replaced your fingers with his thumb, repeating the circular motion, you arched your back again, your chest pressing against his. You felt a knot form in your lower abdomen, "Luke, I'm gonna cum," You cried out, making him quicken his pace. His hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin on skin, and the headboard banging against the wall making you feel even more aroused. The knot tightening in your stomach as he pressed his lips onto yours. You repeated his name over and over again, begging for permission to cum. "Hold it, princess." You cried out as he put pressure on your clit with his thumb, "Fuck, you feel so good around me, baby. I'm going to cum," he panted, pressing his forehead to your chest as he slammed his hips into yours, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting your g-spot. "Please, Luke, I can't-"

"Let go for me." He grunted into your ear, and snapped his hips one last time, before you both came. You attached your lips to his in order to silence you both as you rode out your highs. Luke sucked into your collarbone, before pulling out, and plopping down next to you. You were both breathing heavily, your chest heaving up and down, your bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat. "Fuck, did we use a condom?" He asked, sheer panic laced in his voice, you chuckled, wrapping your hand around his waist, placing your head on his sweaty chest. "I'm on the pill." He breathed out a sigh of relief.

#luke patterson #jatp netflix #julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #charlie gillespie #smut x reader

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plant-flwrs · 4 years ago

Text

late night rendezvous // george weasley

masterlist!

content warnings: smut!

soft and fluffy smut, i’ll put a little indicator (*) when the smut starts, so if you’re not into that you can stop reading there <3

a/n: i have absolutely no idea if this is good, i’ve been rereading it over and over again in my drafts debating if i should post it. give me feedback if u have any, i’d really appreciate it on this one! hope everyone is safe and happy and amazingly wonderful, love u guys, thank u for reading, thank u for following, thank u for just existing!!

summary: You and George sneak off to the library for some privacy

(6.2k)

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The Ravenclaw common room, while studious and peaceful, was not romantic. George had laid you down on a couch gently, hovering on top of you perched on his hands whispering sweet jokes to you. It was lovely, but a sharp and unfamiliar pain was pressing into your back. You pushed George off of you slowly, turning around to see what you were laying on. A book was there, misplaced as so many books were in the Ravenclaw common room.

You groaned, hearing George chuckle from behind you as you got up and put the book on the shelf resting against the wall.

“Want to go somewhere else, love?” George asked you, getting off the couch and walking over to you. You couldn’t help but admire him as he walked, his hair that was sticking up in odd places from where you had run your fingers through it, his wrinkled shirt that he hadn’t bothered to straighten when he stood, his lazy grin.

“It’s almost curfew,” you said sadly, leaning your back against the shelf.

“That’s never stopped us before,” George whispered, close to you now as he rested his hands on shelf behind your head.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, resting your forehead on his strong chest. You felt it rise and fall with calm breaths, one of his hands moving to stroke your hair. You thought back to George’s body against yours a moment ago. His slow hands on your face as he cradled your jaw and kissed you. He was so slow and gentle tonight, a nice change from his usual confident and sly demeanor.

You and George hadn’t had much time for each other this week; George was busy with Angelina’s rigorous Quidditch trainings and you had course work piled up to the sky. It was a Friday night, George had practice off, and you had managed to get your course load down to a much smaller pile.

You lifted your head from his chest, looking up at him, “Where did you have in mind?”

George gave you an excited grin, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to hide how pleased he really was. He took a step back, letting his hands fall from the wall to your hips.

“The library? No one’s in there this late on a Friday,” he was already pulling you off the wall, leading you to the door.

“Alright,” you giggled, letting him drag you off.

You walked slowly behind him, crouching slightly as he held his illuminated wand to the Marauder’s Map. Filch’s footsteps were walking down an adjacent corridor, and Mrs. Norris crept down a hallway on the floor below you. George looked around a corner, doublechecking it’s safety, and grabbed your hand to pull you along.

You two made it to the library fairly quickly. The candles in the hallway gave a dim light that prevented you from stepping on George’s heals, but inside the library was pitch black. George held his wand up and guided the way.

You walked past the front desk, Madam Pince long gone for the night. You walked past the first row of bookshelves, past the groupings of tables used for studying, past more shelves, past some desks, and to the back of the room. The back wall was covered in various maps, ancient printings of foreign lands. George walked along the wall until he was far into the corner, hidden from the door by a bookshelf that met the wall. You followed him, walking slower as your hand traced the maps. George sank down to the floor, his long legs stretching across the carpeted floor. You stayed standing, looking at a smudged sketch of what a birds-eye view of the Forbidden Forest looks like. There was small labeling in loopy cursive of different creatures that lived in different regions, marking the unicorns to live in a flower patch and mermaids to live in a small pond with a waterfall. George watched you, your face shining in the small light cast from his wand.

He looked at the space around you, small and uncomfortable. He lifted his wand, moving the light from your face and the wall of maps. The light ceased as he moved it, and suddenly you felt a soft and plush material at your ankles.

“George?” you called into the darkness.

The light was back again, and you saw why it had gone.

George had conjured a few blankets, some pillows, and a candle. He was already moving to lay the blanket down over the floor, covering the small space from the wall to the shelf. He propped the pillows against the wall, falling into them once he lit the candle and placed it on an empty part of the bookshelf near the ground.

You sank to the floor next to George, a bashful smile on your face. You curled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm pulled you close to him. Your arm fell on his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. His hand on your waist, holding you to him, lifted the bottom of your shirt and drew shapes on the bare skin of your hip.

“I’ve missed you this week, Georgie,” you whispered, watching as he used his free hand to cast away the light coming from his wand.

A flickering candleflame shown upon the both of you, casting moving shadows on George’s face as he looked down at you.

“I’ve missed you too,” he sighed, somehow pulling you closer as if he was afraid you were going to drift away, “so much.”

You felt him shift slightly, and his lips were pressing open mouth kisses to your forehead. You closed your eyes, tilting your head up to him with an easy smile. He pulled away, gazing down at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, a small grin on his lips.

“So are you,” you replied, blushing under his intense gaze.

You moved in his grip, laying more on your stomach with half your chest resting on George’s. Your left arm was propping you up on your elbow, hand wrapping around George’s strong bicep. Your right arm stayed on George’s chest, your hand moving to the side of his neck. Your leg rested between George’s, and his rested between yours.

“Will you read to me?” he asks, his voice incredibly soft and vulnerable.

You agreed wordlessly, leaning over George’s body and picking up his wand from the ground beside you.

“Accio ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’,” you whispered, sitting up and waiting for the book to come to you.

You heard George chuckle from behind you, also sitting up and resting the back of this head against the wall.

The book fluttered to you, coming from a few rows over. You clutched the book in your hands, scooting back to lean against the wall with George.

“C’mere,” you whispered, patting your thigh and motioning for George to lay down again.

He obeyed, fighting a content smile as he curled between your legs and laid his head on your abdomen. His arms wrapped around your middle, and you moved down the wall so your back was on the floor but your shoulders were against the wall. One hand held open the book while the other played in George’s hair.

He listened silently to your quiet and calming voice as you read the children's story to him, tightening his grip around you once again. Your hand ran down his neck, your fingers creeping beneath the collar of his shirt as you felt the muscles on his back tense and relax under your light touch. He sighed, burying his head into you as his eyes fluttered closed.

You two stayed like that for a while; your hand running from his hair to his back, him shifting his head every few minutes to let you know he was still awake. You read to him with ease, a small smile on your face.

The peace, however, was not kept for long. A creek in the front of the library caused you to snap the book shut, your hand freezing as it crept its way down George’s neck. George lifted his head from your stomach, looking towards the front of the library. He attempted to peak through the shelves, but thought better of it and simply blew out the candle.

In the silence, waiting for another noise, you heard the soft purring of a cat.

“It’s Mrs. Norris and Filch!” you whispered as quietly as you could to your boyfriend.

George sprang into action, picking up the blankets and handing you the pillows and candle. He grabbed his wand and you grabbed the book, moving to stand behind George as he moved a few books to try and see through the shelf. His brow furrowed in concentration, and a bit of relief flood through you as you remembered who you were with. George and his brother were experts on escaping the wrath of Filch, and you had faith in him.

George waved you on, leading you as he did before through the shelves of the library. You had no idea what his plan was, watching nervously through cracks in spaces as Filch shone his lamp down every row in the library.

Filch nearly passed you both, but George crouched just in time, pulling you with him. You watched as Filch shone the light down the isle you and George had been curled up in, feeling relieved to have moved in time. Suddenly, George’s hand in yours was pulling you down a narrow space between shelves, one leading to the restricted section. You widened your eyes, never having been in the restricted section and also noticing Filch heading there as you both did. You silently trusted George, letting him pull you along.

The light from Filch’s lamp was edging closer to your feet, but George pulled a sharp turn into the wall. You turned away from where Filch was coming from, looking towards George. He pulled open a curtain, revealing a little nook in the wall that seemed untouched and abandoned. There were cobwebs in the corners and dust on ever surface, but you and George climbed in anyways. He pulled the curtain shut slowly and silently, putting his fingers to his lips as he looked at you. You nodded, biting your lip as you slowed your panicked breathing.

The nook had a large window parallel to the curtain, lighting up the space. You could see George’s giddy smirk, knowing he enjoyed risky moments like these. You fought the urge to laugh, rolling your eyes instead.

You watched the ground through the sliver of space between the curtain and nook, seeing Filch’s light pass by slowly. You heard his labored breathing and Mrs. Norris’s quiet purrs, holding your breath and hoping they pass without worry. Mrs. Norris stopped for a moment, and you heard her purrs get louder as she came closer to the curtain. She was nearly ducking under the curtain when Filch called her away, grunting as he spoke aloud to the cat.

“No one in here tonight, Mrs. Norris, now let’s go finish our tea and biscuits,” the old man said excitedly to the cat, limping away.

You heard the door slam shut, and you and George let out a breath the both of you had been holding.

“Tea and biscuits?” George said teasingly, smiling wide at you.

“A man has the right to certain pleasures,” you said, smiling back at him.

“That, he does,” George leaned into you, still smiling, and kissed you.

It was slow and gentle, like he had been all night, and you melted into him. His lips moved against yours like honey, molding together like time was in slow-motion. He pulled away slowly, keeping his eyes closed.

“Reckon we can sneak back to our common rooms?” you asked, feeling relieved that you weren’t caught yet on your little excursion.

“I actually had different plans,” George said, pulling open the curtain and stretching his legs out as he stood.

“What might those be?” you stayed sitting, watching as he gathered all the pillows and blankets.

“I thought we could stay the night here,” he said, smirking, “I mean, when do we get this kind of privacy in our dorms?”

You laughed a bit as you thought back to the last time you tried to spend the night in George’s dorm. Fred had opened George’s curtain in the middle of George taking your shirt off, ending in awkward silence for the rest of the night.

You didn’t usually go along with the twins’ crazy and reckless plans, avoiding the late night trips to the kitchens after curfew, and the unapproved raidings of Snape’s ingredient cupboard. This time, however, you couldn’t help but want to go along with George as he looked down at you with soft and loving eyes.

“Suddenly finding the library enjoyable, are you?” you teased him.

“Only at night, when it’s far too dark to read any of the books, and everyone’s gone away,” he joked, holding the curtain open for you as you grabbed the candle, book, and his wand.

“I see,” you sighed, turning to face George and stepping out of the nook, “alright, let’s stay.”

You watched George’s smirk turn into an excited grin as he spun away from you, going back towards your spot in the back of the library.

You followed him, giggling at your boyfriends excitement as he jogged ahead of you. He was eager to lay the blankets down, fluff the pillows, and light the candle, eager to have a moment alone with you.

When you turned down the isle, George had somehow already done all of that, even though he was only seconds before you. He stood on top of a blanket, the candle lit and sitting in the bookshelf it was before, pillows fluffed, and blankets spread. He had a cocky grin on his face, one of his feet propped up against the shelf behind him as his arms crossed over his chest.

“Eager?” you teased, feeling a familiar pit of nerves form in your heart. You had been with George dozens of times, but nothing could stop that pit of nerves from forming just by the look he gave you.

“Always,” he said, his smirk turning into an authentic smile as his eyes filled with excitement.

You walked over to him, stepping carefully on the blankets and scattered pillows. George uncrossed his arms and spread them to you, grabbing your hands as soon as you were close enough and pulling you into him. He dropped his leg, allowing for there to be as little space between you both as possible. His hands stayed clutched in yours, but he moved them to rest on your lower back, pinning your hands beneath his. He pulled you close to him, his hips and chest flush against yours.

“You seem a bit desperate tonight, darling,” you teased, craning your neck away from him to look at his face.

“I think you’re the most amazing girl in the world,” he said sweetly, moving his face closer to yours as he spoke, “I could spend hours talking with you, but right now, I’d love it if you shut up.”

You scoffed in mock offence, a laugh bubbling in your chest that pressed into George’s. While you were still smiling, George closed the distance between your faces and pressed his lips against yours.

(*)

He waited until your smile faded, keeping his lips unmoving against yours, until he finally did move. He was slow, and you pressed your face against his in an attempt to gain some pressure. He pulled away, a loving look in his eyes as he tilted his head. He placed open-mouth kisses on your cheek, moving over your nose, forehead, chin, and jaw. You couldn’t help but contently sigh at each kiss, something that made George feel butterflies in his stomach. His hands on your back pushed against yours, uncurling the fists they were in to lay flat against your back. His large hands covered yours entirely, his palms pressing against the backs of your hands. His fingertips pressed into your back, and he slipped his hands off of yours. You forgot you could move them for a moment, but once you did they crept up his body and rested on either side of his neck. One of his hands slid up your back, bunching up your sweater as he did, and landed on the nape of your neck. The soft material of your sweater fell once he released it, and it tickled your sensitive skin. His other hand moved back and forth from your lower back to your hip, and it seemed like he couldn’t decide where to keep it.

His mouth was attached to your neck, and he couldn’t focus on anything else. He didn’t care about the growing bulge in his pants, all he wanted was his lips on the soft skin beneath your ear.

His mouth opened wider, exposing his teeth, and he scraped them against the delicate skin. You arched your back in reflex, pushing yourself impossibly closer to him. One of your hands drifted to his hair, pulling at random bits whenever George bit your neck again.

The only sound in the quiet and abandoned room were you and George; you sighed and whined as George left his marks on your neck, and George groaned and moaned every time he heard you.

George lifted his head, pulling back to admire his work. In the dim light, he could see an array of purple and red marks already forming on your skin, and the sight alone made his face flush. He ducked down one last time, blowing against the newly-marked spots. You opened your mouth and let out a silent gasp, chest heaving at George’s movements.

His hands moved to cradle your face as he turned his attention away from your neck. He looked into your eyes, seeing the lust clouding over your features for only a second before you pulled him in by the back of his neck. You controlled this kiss, still moving gently but with more force. Your nose pressed into his cheek, and his teeth accidentally grazed your lips occasionally, but you didn’t care. You were lost in George’s touch, not seeming to mind any of the awkward fumbles.

George’s calloused hands stayed firmly on your face, his thumbs moving up to your cheekbones as he stroked them lovingly. You scratched his scalp, running your hands through his hair and down his neck. You were feeling a sense of impatience as you felt yourself become more aroused by what George was doing. Your hands crept down his back, feeling his muscles beneath the material of his old and worn pajama shirt. Your hands made it to his waistband, and you felt him take a sharp breath at the feeling. You lifted his shirt up, slowly moving up his chest as the shirt bunched. You pulled away from him, opening your eyes and looking at George’s bare chest. He lifted his arms, helping you pull off his shirt. You balled it up in your fists and tossed it behind you, hearing it hit the floor lamely on the pile of pillows.

His chest was warm against your cold fingers, and he felt like you were shooting sparks into everywhere you touched him. He watched your hands move across his chest, biting his bottom lip as you bent your fingers to scratch down his abs. He hissed in enjoyment, swallowing as he met your eyes.

“It’s only fair,” you whispered seductively, licking your lips as you ran your nails down his chest again.

“What?” he rasped out, hissing again and tilting his head back to lean against the shelf.

“You marked me up,” you lifted your hands from his chest, resting one on the back of his neck to pull his head down to look at you, “I mark you up.”

George swallowed, feeling himself get harder at your words. His eyes flickered to your neck, bringing his hand to lightly trace over his work. You nearly flinched, but stopped yourself. You looked down at George’s chest, already seeing five red streaks down each side of George’s toned chest. You leaned in, licking your lips and placing wet and loving kisses on the marks. George’s hands went to rest in your hair, balling it up off of your face so he could watch you. You looked up at him, and he opened his mouth in some sort of silent moan.

You stood to your full height, wrapping your arms around George’s neck and kissing him again. Both of his hands were on your hips, his fingers creeping beneath your shirt as his thumbs pressed into your skin.

He pushed himself off the shelf, and you moved in synch; one of his legs moved forwards, slipping between your legs, and you took a step backwards. You walked a few paces, standing in the center of the isle. He was still kissing you the same way he had been all night, slow, gentle, loving.

He pulled away, eyes fluttering open as he looked down at your swollen lips. One of his arms moved between you and he cupped your chin. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, pressing into it and watching it. He was entranced by everything about you. He pulled your lip down, opening your mouth, and released your lip, watching as it bounced back. Your mouth hung open, and you looked at him through your eyelashes. He made a humming noise, raising his eyebrows and breathing deeply.

You began to smirk, but a surprised shriek swallowed the facial expression when George was suddenly collapsing onto the pillows and pulling you down with him. He laid on his back, and you sat on your knees between his legs. His head was propped up by a pillow, his eyes raking over you as you leaned to hover on top of him. You inched forwards, opening your legs and moving so you straddled him. You sat, hovering really, above his abdomen, hands flat against his chest. George’s hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them out from under you so you fell into him. You giggled, feeling your chest flush against his. It seemed that George was thinking the same thing as you; his hands slid down the sides of your body, slipping beneath your sweater. His hands were warm and rough, gently touching everything he could. When he was done roaming, he began to pull it off of you. You helped him, tossing it to land near his discarded shirt.

You leaned back, sitting down on his stomach as your hands slid back to rest on the tops of his thighs. You arched your back, stretching out and giving George full view of your still covered chest.

“Holy-” you heard him mumbled, feeling his hands creep onto your thighs.

He felt across your legs, sliding his hands down to your ass. His slender fingers kneaded it, and you sat straight again to look at him. His hands left your ass in a second, and he sat up on his elbows. You watched him slowly lick his lips, his eyes dancing around your chest. You reached behind you, unclasping the garment with ease. George’s eyes followed the lacey thing as it fell off your body, and you once again tossed it in the direction of your other clothes.

George’s hands were on you with no hesitation, caressing and kneading your breasts. He sat up, sliding you down to land on his hips. He ducked his head down, connecting his lips to your chest. He felt the need to mark you, any way he could, to feel your skin on his lips and make you writhe with his mouth.

His open mouth slid across your front, his tongue and teeth pushing into your skin with ease. George knew your body, he knew everything about you. There was nothing he loved more than feeling his skin against yours.

His mouth worked on your chest, his hands pressing into your hips. He raked his teeth over the top of your breasts, and the sensation made your hips roll. George groaned into your chest, his body twitching at the unexpected sensation. You kept moving your hips against his, rocking back and forth in rhythm with your gasps. George was gripping onto your hips with such force that his fingers dug into your skin and he felt your bone, but he wasn’t even thinking about that. His thoughts were clouded by your breasts pressed against his face and the feeling of your crotch against his. He wanted to slow down; worship you more before he became undone.

With great struggle, he pulled himself away from your chest and stopped your hips with his grip. You whined at the lack of friction, pushing against his hands to continue the movement. You didn’t have much of a chance, though, as George was flipping you onto your back. He moved his hands from your hips up to the back of your head, cradling it in his hand and resting it delicately onto the pillow. He soothed down your hair, admiring it as it spread out across the pillow beneath you.

You loved that about these exchanged with George. He was gentle; always treating you as if you were a delicate porcelain thing that could break with too much force. George always seemed to know what you wanted, he could read your face and movements like they were his own. He knew you wanted him, but he also knew you wanted to know exactly how much he wanted you.

His hands moved from the back of your head, pushing the hair from your face. They slid down the sides of your face, tracing your jawline and creeping down the sides of your neck.

“You’re-” he paused, meeting your eyes and trying to think of any word worthy of describing you, “you’re ethereal.”

You swallowed hard at his words, chest heaving with a deep breath. You lifted your hands to cup his face, and he closed his eyes at the feeling of your soft hands on his cheeks.

His hands moved still, moving from your neck to your collar bones, to your shoulders and down your arms, to your wrists and over your hands, to your breasts and down your sides, palms flat against your stomach, moving over to your hips where they grazed the sides of your ass. He moved south more, gripping the backs of your thighs as he put himself between your legs. You lifted your legs, feet flat against the floor. George’s hands ran down your ankles, slipping off your shoes. He did the same, kicking them off in a rush with his feet. He bent down, his hands firmly placed on the floor at either side of your head, and kissed you.

He started with small and chaste kisses, lifting his head every time to look at you. Your eyes closed, face relaxed, lips still pushed out waiting for him to kiss them again. He hummed against you, the vibrations adding a different sensation against your lips. You opened your mouth, and George waisted no time slipping his tongue past your lips and into your mouth. His tongue was slipping in and out of your mouth, tracing over your lips and anywhere he could with a slow and sensual determination.

Your hands moved from his cheeks to his hair, one staying to tug on the fiery locks while the other moved to his strong shoulder. You felt the muscles strain as he held himself up, flexing and tensing under your touch. You ran your fingertips down his back, landing on his hip and slipping your pinky finger into the elastic waistband of his plaid pajama pants. He groaned into your mouth, pressing his face further into yours. You hummed, taking this as encouragement. Your other fingers followed your pinky finger, falling under the waistband and moving to his front. You stayed above his boxers, immediately feeling the stretch of the thin material from his erection. He groaned again, thrusting his hips into your hand.

You pulled your face away from his, watching his eyes stay closed as his brow furrowed. You slid your hand over him, moving slowly as his head ducked into your neck. You felt his nose pressing into the sensitive and marked skin, causing you to roll your head back in some sort of pained pleasure. George becoming so hard for you so soon made you become even wetter, and you clenched in an attempt to gain some sort of relief. George still had your legs spread and pinned beneath him, so you couldn’t rub your thighs together.

You were still rubbing him, his soft groans and whines filling your ears as he moved his hips slowly against you. You pulled your hand from his pants, sliding it up his chest and over your scratch marks. His face contorted from the same pained pleasure you had been feeling, he lifted his head from your neck. You saw a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and realized how pent up this week must have made him.

“You alright, George?” you asked him, pushing his hair off his forehead and looking into his eyes.

“Yeah,” he nodded fervently, licking his lips and breathing heavily, “I just really need you.”

He paused, the both of you staring at each other before he spoke again, “Is that alright?”

“Of course it is,” you gasped with no hesitation, pulling his face to yours again and kissing him hungrily.

His words had made you writhe, your back arched as you pressed yourself against him. It was George’s turn for roaming hands, and he waisted no time. Without missing a beat in the rhythm you had created in your kiss, his hands slid down to your shorts. His thumbs hooked into the sides, sliding them, and your underwear, off with ease. You lifted your hips slightly to help him, only to press yourself against him. He groaned and thrusted into you without thinking, causing you to break from the kiss and roll your head back.

“Really? All that for one touch?” he teased, moving back to sit on his feet as he pulled your shorts completely off your legs.

“You were losing your mind over a handy just a second ago, darling,” you retorted, propping yourself up on your elbows as George moved to hover over you again.

He breathed a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips. He dipped his head down, tracing over the marks he had already made all over your chest with light and gentle kisses. Your hands went to his hair as he kissed down your stomach, reaching his final destination eagerly. His hands gripped the back of your thighs, lifting them off the floor by an inch. He licked down your folds, blowing teasingly on your clit.

“George!” you gasped, arching your back at the intoxicating sensation.

“Does that feel good?” he asked earnestly, having never done that move before.

“Bloody hell,” you groaned, fingers curling into his hair, “yes.”

He smirked, tilting his head down and placing a kiss to your clit. He blew again, this time for a few seconds longer, and you felt like there were stars behind your eyes.

“Fuck!” you called out, voice raspy and struggling to stay quiet.

“Well,” he said, pulling away and reaching over your body to the right of you, “I hadn’t realized staying quiet would be such a struggle for us tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing slightly. You watched George lazily wave his wand in the direction of the door, casting ‘muffliato’.

“Just wait ‘till it’s your turn, Georgie,” you teased back, watching his jaw tense with lust as he crept down to his position between your legs.

He went back to work, his tongue swiping up and down your core and occasionally sucking and licking your clit. You were coming undone, shifting and twitching beneath him. He had to force your legs apart to keep you from crushing his head, his grip so tight that you hoped his fingerprints would be on your thighs by the morning.

He pulled away, blowing on last time on your clit with a smirk as you tugged at his hair.

“Careful, Y/n, you might rip some out,” his voice was raspy and his lips were wet with your juices. He put a hand over your hand in his hair, moving his fingertips delicately across your hand.

“You’d be so lucky,” you groaned, pulling him up to your lips by his hair, ignoring his warnings.

He groaned at the feeling, coming in contact with your lips eagerly. You tasted yourself on him, licking at his lips as he smirked into the kiss. You pulled away, releasing your grip on his hair.

“You want a go?” you asked, moving your hand down to his erection again.

“No, I won’t last,” he groaned, catching your wrist in his hand.

You stayed in that position for a moment, feeling incredibly turned on by his firm grip on you. You blushed at the intensity, biting your swollen lip and nodding.

“Okay,” you whispered, and George released your hand.

You pressed your palm flat against his lower abdomen, and he lowered his head for a slow and gentle kiss. It was quick, and soon he was pulling away and tilting his head down to look at your bodies flushed together.

“Ready?” he asked, looking up to meet your eyes.

You nodded instantly and moved your hand on his abdomen to pull down his pants and boxers. He helped you, doing most of the work and kicking them off in a bunch at your feet. His erection sprang free, hitting your core because of how close your hips were.

You and George both moaned at the contact, and George’s hands were quick to work as he positioned himself between your folds. He looked you in the eyes before entering, asking silently for consent. You nodded, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him to your lips. He pushed his hips flush against yours, and you both let out guttural and lustful moans into each other’s mouths.

His pace was slow, and you wrapped your legs around his hips so he could drive further into your core. Your ankles locked and your hips lifted off the ground. One of George’s hands supported his weight by your head and the other wrapped around your waist.

“Oh my god, George,” you moaned, pulling away from the kiss and shoving your face into the crook of his neck.

“You’re so good,” George breathed out, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“George, George, George,” you chanted in moans, knowing he liked it when you said his name.

With each moan of his name he thrusted harder into you, filing you up and bringing tears to your eyes from the wanted pressure.

“C’mon,” he said, gently placing you down and unwrapping his arm from your waist. He brought his now free hand down to your clit, rubbing his middle finger on it, “cum for me, Y/n.”

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, barely giving him any space to pull out and thrust back into you. Your arms around his neck tightened, too, and George bit his lip as your walls clenched around him.

“You’re so close,” he moaned into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

He added his ring finger to the pressure on your clit, and you felt your orgasm wash over you. Your chest heaved, face contorting in George’s favorite way. He watched you moan and furrow your brow, loving the face you made when you came. Your legs fell from around George, your arms becoming limp as they rested across his back. George came right after you, pulling out and finishing onto your stomach. You watched him, feeling the hot liquid spread across your skin. He moaned, fighting the urge to collapse onto you. He gathered his wand, conjuring a towel to clean you up with.

Once he was done, he tossed it aside lazily and fell onto you like he had wanted. He curled into your side, wrapping his arm around your stomach.

“We’re really good at that, aren’t we?” he said happily, looking up at you from his place in the crook of your neck.

“I sure as hell am,” you joked, diving your hands into his hair, “you’re alright.”

“Alright?” he asked, sitting up and resting on his forearms, eyebrows raised.

“Mmm,” you pretended to think about his, pulling him back down by the back of his neck, “I suppose your really good, too.”

“I am really good,” he pretended to pout, sitting up and gathering his boxers and your underwear and handing them to you.

You watched him slip his boxers on, and you pulled your panties on. You laid back down, pulling a blanket over your body. George slid under the blanket with you, the bare skin of his chest pressing against yours.

“When do you suppose we sneak back to our common rooms?” you asked, tracing feather-light touches on his arm.

“Soon, if we have to,” he groaned, pulling you tighter to him.

“I just don’t want some first year coming back here and finding us tomorrow morning,” George chuckled at the thought, nuzzling his face into your side.

“You’re right,” he said, “I’d much rather Madam Pince find us.”

You giggled, feeling your eyes get heavy as George’s soft snores began to fill the small space.

358 notes · View notes

writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years ago

Text

Take My Hand (Part Five)

Summary: everything is perfect, only when its not (five of ??? parts - more parts to come!)

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 5,985

Song: Oh, I can't / Stop you putting roots in my dreamland / My house of stone, your ivy grows / And now I'm covered in you (ivy by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, swearing, lots of fluff but some angst sprinkled throughout, a mild foray into “sightless in a savage land” (22x04) (basic facts of the case), also the v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: finally we’ve gotten to the actual premise of this fic!! i don’t know what to say thank you to all of you for reading, your comments and reblogs have kept me going! thank you to @laneygthememequeen and @bucky-of-the-opera for being the best beta readers!!

“What is this?” Sonny asks, a hesitant half murmur into your ear, the two of you curled in his living room, your head resting against his chest, your legs tangled in each other’s in bed — his fingers tracing a circle on your hip, his teeth bearing down on his lip, And you turn to face him, your elbow propped up on the pillow, head tilted.

“What do you mean?” he pauses, pursing his lip, “Sonny—”

“I know it’s early,” it had been about two weeks of bliss — weekends spent at each other’s places, week nights spent keeping the other company —- a routine so natural you didn’t know how you had spent three years without him by your side. His hand moves to cup his cheek, and his lips move to kiss your palm, resting his over your cheek, “but it’s also three years late.”

A soft chuckle leaves your lips, “Already looking to put down roots?”

He shifts slowly, until he’s hovering over you, his breath warming your lips and his eyes even warmer, “Always when it’s you,” but there is a soft of disbelief that is already taken root in your heart — months and months before this had began — its poisonous roots already twisted around your chest. Planted from the seeds of doubt and false promises, of plied kisses and fake reassurances — none of which Sonny had done.

And yet — he sees you hesitate, and the hurt ricochets from his eyes right to his heart, and he begins to pull away, “If it’s too early—”

“No, no, Sonny,” your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck, tugging him gently back to him, his eyes finding yours with reluctance, “It’s not too early. I’m just—” you needed to tell him, you wanted to tell him when this had first begun, but it was too hard — too difficult to burst the bubble the two of you had made a home in, without talk of reality, “I need to tell you about something.”

But you needed to.

He furrows his brow, and you bite your lip, shifting so that both of you were sitting up, your back pressed against his headrest, “Before, any of this — before I even met you,” you lick your lips, twisting your fingers in your lap, “you remember I was seeing someone right?”

“I do,” he frowns, “you don’t have to—”

“No, I have to,” you’re practically chewing your bottom lip now, “you deserve an explanation—” he deserved it a long time ago.

He purses his lips, but nods, “Well, that was the reason I had to leave,” you raise your eyes to meet his, “the idea of seeing him every day—at the office—I couldn’t do it.”

And the pieces seem to click together for Sonny, “It was—”

The name dies on his lips, just as your relationship with the A.D.A. did, “It was Rafael,” it had been so long since his name had been on your lips that it was now unfamiliar, the same syllables that had made a home on your tongue — said between laughs at the office, whispered in his ear, muttered against his lips — now was a stranger’s, the vowels and consonants foreign, “we tried — I tried to make it work, but he never wanted a relationship.”

“Sweetheart,” Sonny whispers, and you shake your head.

“Every time, I said I wanted more, he never did,” you knew it was wrong — you knew you deserved more, but you still did it, you tolerated it, “I stayed, I hoped things would change, but they didn’t. The night I came to you — we had fought, I had tried to end things, and what I did—” the words spilled from your lips, but you refused to let any tears spill — no, you had shed far too many over him, “I left because I was ashamed, I was so ashamed of letting myself get into that situation.”

He’s silent a moment, before speaking, “You were in love with him,” his fingers slowly intertwine with yours, “and everyone does stupid things when they are in love.”

“I was,” And you let yourself stew in silence of that truth, for a moment, before squeezing his fingers, your eyes finding his gaze with a small smile, “but not anymore.”

“And what does that mean for us?” he asks.

“I just don’t want things to go wrong like it did with him,” you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop — for something to go wrong, and when you spend your time waiting for something to go wrong, it usually did, but at least you expected it, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“In case you didn’t notice,” he tilts your chin up with two fingers, “I’m not him.”

“I know,” your forehead falls against his, his arms wrapping around you, “I know.”

“You’re leaving me in suspense here, doll,” he mutters, his thumb brushing against your cheek, “but it’s okay if you’re not ready—”

You lean back, “I don’t know what this is, but,” you press a kiss to his lips, and he tastes like home — not one that would crack beneath your feet, but one that was steady and strong, “I know I only want you.”

“Sh—” Sonny cut himself off, sucking air between his teeth, as he stared at the pile of paperwork he had accidentally knocked off his desk in his office. Some office, a shoebox fit for a junior A.D.A. — one that he could barely fit his desk into — it had taken three different people to maneuver his desk into his office. He sighed, slipping from his chair and rounding his desk and now on his knees, gathering the papers off the floor.

But what did he expect? For them to hand over the keys to Barba’s old office? He felt an odd twinge at the thought of his name — he was his mentor, his friend (at least he’d like to think so), and yet, it felt like he was living in his shadow still. With the squad, with his bosses, with—

“Counselor,” you knock on his door, leaning against frame of the doorway to his office, until you see the papers, and bend down to pick them up, “this would be a really good meet-cute if we haven’t met before,”

“Too bad,” he smiles up at you, before you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, and his hand cups your cheek, your tongue tracing his bottom lip, “Doll,” his voice drops an octave.

“Not all bad, huh?” you breathe, grinning, breaking the kiss to help him pick up the rest of the paperwork, his eyes falling back onto the pile, and the stress creeps back into his shoulders, “now I’m guessing you weren’t throwing these papers up in a victory celebration, were you?”

“Not exactly,” he sighs, both of you getting to your feet, as he moves to shut the door, collapsing in his chair, “when did you start to feel good at your job?”

You lean against the edge of his desk, “What’s wrong?”

“I asked you first,” and you shake your head.

“You don’t— if you’re any good you question yourself every step of the way, you think carefully with every choice you make,” you cross your arms, “Sonny, they say your first year as a lawyer is akin to your first year in law school — how did you feel as a 1L?”

He folds his arms, “Incompetent, like everyone had the answers except me, and that I was gonna fail outta school,”

“And did you?”

“No, you’re right,” he leans back in his chair, “I just didn’t think this would be this hard,”

“It’s something new,” your fingers find his, “of course it’s going to be hard, but you’ll get the hang of it — I know you will. And you’ll screw up, you’ll make mistakes, but everyone does—” you grimace, “remind me to tell you about the time I got grilled by Judge Lopez for my mistake during discovery.”

“Bad?” you shudder.

“I still have nightmares,” and he cracks a smile, and your lips curl too, “there’s that smile that I—” you cut off, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

And Sonny can’t help the way his lips split into a grin, “What was that?”

“Sonny—” but you can’t escape because he’s already got you trapped, rising to his feet and pressing you into the lip of his desk. And he kisses you, relishing in how you melt into his touch, your fingers twisted in his hair, your other hand resting on his shoulder. His lips draw a path down your neck, kissing right above your leaping pulse, “I—”

“Mm?” he murmurs against your warm skin.

And he knew it was too soon to be saying those three words — it hadn’t been enough time, but there was something about you that made reason disappear between the tips of his fingers, and he was only left holding you.

“I love your smile,” you lean up to kiss him again, softly and wholly, “you should do it more often.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s go,” and his eyes fall back to the pile of papers on his desk, but you draw your attention back to him, small kisses dotting his face — his chin, his cheeks, his neck, “it’s late, and you’re exhausted, and these cases will be here in the morning.”

“But—”

“Is everything for tomorrow taken care of? Is there anything pressing?” he pauses, before shaking his head, and you find his lips again, before sliding off the desk, holding your hand out to him, “let’s go.”

He takes your hand, fingers laced together, grabbing his jacket, and shutting off the light, casting the room into shadow, and spared a glance at the room, before he allowed you to lead him out of Hogan Place.

Maybe he didn’t have to worry about a shadow after all.

“Come on, you gotta let me do something,” you leaned against Sonny’s kitchen counter, watching him cut tomatoes, “I have to be able to help.”

“Not after last time,” he replies, a wry smile on his lips, “not happening, sweetheart, no matter how much you pout at me.”

“Oh come on, I didn’t cut myself that—” he raised an eyebrow, “okay I burned myself once, but—”

“And the injuries are not just limited to you—” he held up his hand, where a faint scar could be seen, “if it was just you getting hurt, maybe I’d let you help.”

“Ouch,” you feign mock hurt, before shrugging and sipping at your drink, watching him finish, crushing the tomatoes with the flat side of his blade before placing them in the pot with olive oil, onions, and garlic, “but it is sexy to watch you cook.”

He snorts, gesturing to his stained apron, “This is sexy to you?”

“I have needs,” you smile against the rim of the glass, “and those include being fed.”

“Well, good thing we got that covered,” he sets a timer, turning his back to stir the pot, and you bite your lip, as your eyes rake over him until you reach one of your more favorite features— “are you staring at me?”

“Yes,” you reply unabashedly, and he glances over his shoulder, lips curled, “but I think I rather do more than look,”

“Oh yeah?” you can hear the smirk in his voice, “well, you’re gonna have to wait until after I finish.”

You round the counter silently, until your arms are wrapping around his middle, leaning to press a kiss to his neck, “What if I don’t want to wait?”

“Doll,” he warns, but your hands continue to slide up and down his sides and front, “the sauce will burn—”

But you’re turning him around anyway, your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to your lips, his smile presses against your lips, and then he’s kissing you back, his back pressed against the counter. He tastes a little like tomato and you know he must have been tasting the meal as he went. His large hands sliding down to your waist and squeezing.

You gasp and he’s grinning, swallowing your noise with pleasure, and he takes control from you easily, and suddenly the lip of the counter is digging into your skin, and then he breaks the kiss, smiling, “What?” you ask, laughing.

“I was just remembering the first time we cooked together,” he traces your cheek, “I never thought we’d end up here.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Did you want to end up here?” and he clears his throat, the pink flushing across his cheeks a tell tale sign, “did you have a crush on me?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, a begrudging smile gracing his face when he hears you laugh, before he leans closer, “so what if I did?”

What if he wanted to end up here — holding you like he was, imagined briefly what it would be like to hold your hand, to fall asleep next to you, to hear your thoughts — and he did, and he kisses your forehead — and he didn’t want to question how.

“Well I got good news and bad news,” you kiss him again, languidly, “good news is that I most definitely have a little more than a crush on you,” and he snorts, your lips smiling as they press kisses across the length of his jaw, “bad news is I think your sauce may be burning—”

“Oh shi—” and he’s rushing over to the pot to see what he can salvage, while you are carefully peering over his shoulder, “go sit,” he wags a finger at you, “you’re a danger to the process.”

“Yes sir,” and you don’t miss the way he looks at you — and you smile as you watch him begin to cook the pasta — you’ll have to keep that in mind for dessert.

“Are you sure you want me to come?” you tugged nervously at your clothes, straightening everything for the twentieth time, “I don’t want to intrude on your family—”

“You’re not intruding,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “It’s Theresa’s engagement party—you’re doing me a favor by coming—” he wraps his arms around you from behind, watching you scrutinize yourself in front of the mirror, “they are going to love you, relax.”

You murmur, “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve told them about you — my mom is the one who basically begged me to bring you,” he kisses your cheek, lips lingering.

“You told them about me?” your heart squeezes, as he laughs, furrowing his brow.

“Of course I did,” he snorts, “do you think I could keep you a secret this long?” and you bite back a smile, chest warm, as you lift one of his hands to your lips, “plus, it doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful, now does it?”

“Sonny,” you lean into his touch, lips finding the side of his face, “You’re sure that—”

He pulls away, facing you, “Do you not want to go?”

“No, no,” you shake your head, wringing your hands — you weren’t used to this, you were used to hiding in bedrooms, and sneaking kisses in between cases, not used to meeting the family and holding hands in public, “I’m just nervous.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “You have nothing to worry about — they’ll love you,” he smiles, “just like I do.”

Sonny had said the words a few days before — whispered in your ear after dinner, as the two of you curled up on the couch together, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, you had found him staring at you softly, a small smile on his lips.

“What?” you had asked, tilting your head.

“I love you,” he had said, “and you don’t have to say it back right this second, but I do, I love you, sweetheart.”

And you had wanted to say it back — burning on the tip of your tongue and deep in your chest, standing at the edge of a precipice, unable to see the bottom, but also unable to jump. But you knew he would catch you, you knew he would keep you safe — but—

You still couldn’t say it.

You lean up to kiss him, “I know.”

“So you’re the one my son’s always talking about,” it hadn’t been more than a minute since you stepped in Sonny’s home, the woman standing before you was none other than his mother.

“Ma,” she engulfs him in a hug, pressing kisses to his cheeks, “so this is—”

She cuts him off with your name, holding her hands out that you take, and she squeezes them, “I’ve heard so much about you — all good,” she elbows her son, “but not nearly enough about when you’re getting mar—”

You flush, while Sonny is gaping at his mom, “Mom—”

“I’m just joking, Dominick,” she laughs, she squeezes your hand again, “come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the family.”

Your introduction to the rest of the Carisi clan is relatively painless for you — though you can’t say the same for Sonny. You swore his skin turned several different shades of red — by his sisters alone.

“Is he going to be okay?” you ask Gina, as you gesture to Sonny standing with several of his cousins, who seemed to currently be ribbing him.

“He’s fine, he’s a big boy, he can handle himself,” Gina waves him off, leading you over to a couch where the rest of his sisters are sitting, “how long have you two been together?”

“It’s been a few months,” you smile.

“But you’ve known each other longer right?” Theresa asks, crossing her legs, “he’s mentioned your name before years ago I think?”

“Yeah, we used to work together,” you had a feeling where this was going, “I—”

“Yeah, yeah, you had left all of a sudden, right?” Bella tilts her head.

“I did,” you furrow your brow, and Theresa waves you off.

“Look, Sonny didn’t ask us to talk to you — he actually didn’t tell us any of this, but our brother isn’t hard to figure out,” Gina shakes her head, “we just—”

“Look—” you purse your lips, “I know you are trying to protect your brother, and I get that, I really do — so can I just say something?”

“I know I’ve done wrong by Sonny before, I have,” you lick your dry lips, hands in your lap, “I know, he knows. I don’t want to hurt him — I’m scared of hurting him.” you swallow thickly, “I just want you to know, I...love him”

You loved him — even if you couldn’t say it to him, you loved him. Your eyes drift to him easily — his lanky figure by the dining table, smiling at you — no matter where he was. It was a compass finding north — and he was home.

You continue, “If I could change what I did before, I would, but…”

They all glance at each other, shoulders relaxing, exchanging a smile, “Come on,” Bella squeezes your hand, “let’s get started with dinner.”

Your shoulder is brushing Sonny’s, his hand finding yours under the table, squeezing. The clinking of knives, spoons, and forks against plates accompanied with the boisterous conversation between the family booming — no one was sparing from the teasing in the Carisi family it seemed, a lull in the conversation is when you found yourself speaking, “The food is delicious, Mrs. Carisi—”

“Please call me Elena,” she had her son’s smile — a smile that consumed their entire face — even her sparkling blue eyes crinkling as his did, “What did Sonny say you did again?”

“Defense work,” you reply, “I used to have the same position as Sonny, but I moved on to a private criminal defense firm.”

“I bet the hours there are much more reasonable than Dominick’s,”

“Ma—”

“I’m just saying,” she lifts her hands in defense, “It would be nice if you could come home and see your family more than once a month now, wouldn’t it?”

You interrupt before Sonny can reply, “Well, I have my fair share of late nights as well. But you should see the work that Sonny is doing — he’s doing incredibly at the D.A.’s Office.”

You share a look with Sonny, a smile on his lips, “Someone’s exaggerating—”

“Someone doesn’t take enough credit when it’s due,” you bump him, and his arm is wrapping around your shoulder.

“He doesn’t,” Elena raises her eyebrows, “gets it from his father.”

Dominick Carisi Sr. was a little more of a mystery, slivered blonde hair and a small smile on his lips — a man of little words compared to his wife. You could see Sonny in his brow, in the same sharp bone structure, and even in the mustache that laid above his lips (although it suited much more than his son).

He offers you a smile, the conversation continuing, and you hold in a sigh, as Sonny pressed a kiss to your head.

It was going well. It was okay.

And after dessert — a delicious and quite-possibly-too-large serving of both tiramisu and cannolis — you found your way to the kitchen to wash up.

You passed by the wall of pictures — each picture was different in age — you spotted a few of the Carisi children together (Sonny was lanky even as a 8 year old), another of Sonny standing with his parents on his high school graduation, one of him receiving his promotion to detective, and another on his law school graduation — and there was another of his parents’ wedding, his mother and father standing side by side, smiling.

“Happiest day of my life,” a voice said behind you, and you found Dominick Carisi Sr. standing with his arms crossed, “can’t remember a single thing I regret about that day or any day after that. Well,” he frowns at the picture, “perhaps the choice of suit.”

You snort, “Well if that’s your only regret, I think you’re in good shape.”

“Do you want to get married?”

Wow, the intentions talk was coming at you from all angles today.

“I do, I think,” you smile, hands in your pockets, “I don’t know when—”

“As long as you do, someday,” he smiles, glancing at the pictures, “please take care of my son, okay?”

And your heart warms, glancing at the father of the man you loved, your gaze softening, “Of course, sir.”

His hand brushes your shoulder, giving you a nod, before he slips away from the kitchen, back to the festivities.

And you spared one more glance at the photo wall — falling onto the wedding picture yet again — and you let yourself wonder, if only for a moment, if your picture would be up there someday.

~~~

Eventually the party began to die down, and you found yourself slipping away again to use the bathroom right off the kitchen, before you and Sonny had to get ready to go. You were washing your hands when you heard quiet voices speaking in the kitchen. You pause, the voices floating through the walls.

“So when are you going to pop the question?" you raise your eyebrows — no one in the Carisi family pulled any punches, and you were starting to see why Sonny was so blunt to begin with when he came to S.V.U.

"Ma," you can hear the sigh in his voice, his brow most assuredly wrinkled.

"At least tell me this," she cuts him off, “Is this who you want to marry?”

Your heart catches in your throat, his soft reply stealing air from your lungs, “I think I do,”

“Have you told—”

“Not yet, Ma,” there’s clattering as they place the dishes in the sink, and you can’t hear the start of his sentence, “it’s too soon right now,”

“But eventually?” and your chest warms at the smile in his voice.

“Eventually.” he sighs, “now can we move on? Before you start asking me what my children’s names will be?”

“You two both want children right? Because I better be getting grandchildr—” their voices drift away as they head towards the living room, and you lean against the door, smiling for a moment.

The car door closes behind you, and Sonny relaxes, head against the headrest, “Thank you for—” But then your hands cup his face, and you’re leaning over the console to kiss him, and his brow is furrowed for a moment, before relaxing into your touch, “I—”

“I love you,” you breathe, eyes fluttering, and he’s blinking, “I love you, I have for a long time, I just couldn’t bring myself—”

“Sweetheart—”

“No, please,” your eyes are glassy, as you blink away tears, “I love you, Dominick Carisi, so, so much—”

And he’s kissing you now, your hand dropping to fist in his shirt to pull him closer, his palm warm against your cheek, a tear rolling down his knuckles.

“I love you too,” he breathes back, a ghost of a laugh on his lips.

“So should we start discussing our children’s names now?” and Sonny’s eyes widen, before snapping to his parents’ home.

“Did they—”

“I heard your mom,” and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, “hey,” and his eyes drift back to you, “I love you.”

And he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I love you too.”

There is an annoying buzzing. It’s low at first, but then it grows louder as you turn, your nose wrinkling at the light falling across your eyes, and then you realize — eyes snapping open to see the alarm blinking back a time that taunts you with a late start you can’t escape from.

You’re late.

“Shit—” you’re up with a start, shaking Sonny beside you, “Sonny, we’re late — get up.” You’re pulling on your clothes from last night, running into the bathroom. You’re washed and essentially ready in five minutes, leaving the bathroom, finding Sonny still motionless, and you sigh, shaking him again, “Sonny, Sonny,”

“Mm?” one eye cracks open, and he’s groaning, rubbing his eyes, “sweetheart—”

“Sonny, my love,” and he’s blinking, glancing at you, still barely out of the throes of sleep, “it’s 8:50 AM, we’re late. Get up!”

And now he’s getting up, stumbling out of bed, “Shit—”

“Go take a shower, you have arraignment at 10, don’t you?” and he’s nodding, pulling you close a moment for a kiss, “what a mess huh? Maybe we shouldn’t spend the night when we have hearings in the morning,”

“Or maybe we need a more permanent solution to the problem,” he presses a kiss to your lips, “like moving in?”

“Moving in?” you furrow your brow, before your phone is buzzing, “shit I have to go. I’m sorry I got to get to court—”

“What about—”

“I have a steamer at work and an extra blouse in the car, I’ll change when I get in,” you press a quick kiss to his lips, “get ready, meet for dinner at my place?”

He nods, “Have a good day—”

And the door shuts behind you.

“Are you cooking?” Sonny’s arms wrap around your middle, pressing a kiss to your neck, “didn’t we establish that’s incredibly dangerous?”

“Not when it’s just eggs and not when I ordered chinese takeout,” you slide the cooked eggs onto the plate, and your lips find his, as you set the plate down, “it’s been a long day.”

“What happened?” you sigh, wiping your hands off with a dish towel.

“Let’s just say my steamer isn’t worth the price I paid, and my semi-wrinkled clothes did not fly in front of Judge Williams,” you wrinkle your nose at his name, “sexist piece of—”

He snorts, “Did you win your motion?”

“By the skin of my teeth,” you shake your head, as you walk over to the couch, your leg folded underneath the other, “I should keep a spare set of clothes on me when I stay over.”

Sonny slides beside you, leaning against the top of the couch, his arm stretched across the top of the couch, “Maybe you should keep more than that here,”

You raise an eyebrow, “Like a drawer or something?”

“No, I was thinking maybe you should move in?” his mouth is dry, as he sees you blink, hesitate.

“I don’t know if it’s the right time—”

“But don’t you think it’s worth discussing?” but his voice softens, “I want to wake up next to you, doll. I want to be able to wake up late and not worry about you having to change in the bathroom, and we’re both busier than ever — I want to come home to you every night. Our home.”

“Sonny,” you pull him into a sweet kiss, “you’re right, and I want to, I do, I just—” you pull back, arms crossed, “I just don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“Not ready for what?” For him? For us?

You frown, “Don’t be mad, please—”

“No, I’m not upset, I just want an explanation,” he wasn’t angry — he was disappointed. Throughout this relationship, you were the one playing catch up. He was the first to fall, he was the first to love, he was the first to want more — the first, the first, the first.

He was always the first.

“Sonny, I promise,” you lace your fingers with his, “I want a future with you. I do. I’m just not ready right now. I’m—” you cut off, “I will be ready, eventually, just not now.”

He only smiles, pressing a kiss to your head, “I understand.”

And he would be the first to get hurt, wouldn’t he?

Just like he was before.

“Hey,” Sonny taps you on the wrong shoulder, making you turn, pressing a kiss to your other cheek, “are we doing something for New Years?”

You shrug, handing him a hot coffee, walking arm and arm with him towards the courthouse, “If you want to? I thought you usually see your family around this time,”

“They decided to go down to the Poconos,” he shrugs, “I got seven arraignments on Monday—”

“Say no more,” you press a kiss to his lips, “we’ll do something to make up for last year,” Sonny had left for his family’s place for New Years when you both had just started dating, and you had stayed behind — to work.

“What do you usually do on New Years?” you sip at your drink.

“Not anything usually,” you lick your lips, before smiling, “but now, I think I have something very special to do.”

He pulls you into his arms, “Oh really?”

“What better way to ring in the new year?” and he kisses you, carefully pulling you closer, savoring the taste of the dark roast and milk on his lips.

“Can’t argue with that.”

~~~

“I hope you didn’t mind—” Sonny murmurs, and you elbow him discreetly, glancing at a sleeping Amanda.

“Of course not,” A sleeping Jessie is curled next to her mom, “I love Amanda and Jessie — although I may sue you for the headache I’ll be getting from the pot banging.”

He snorts, and you shush him, watching Amanda and Jessie shift, and you’re handing him a throw blanket from the couch and he’s gently placing it on top of them,

You smile, as he settles back next to you, “What?”

“It’s nice to see her relax for once,” you lay your head against his shoulder, your chin resting on his shoulder, “and you too.”

“Well that’s thanks to tonight, and to you,” he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips, “I love you.”

And you smile, “I—”

A screeching cuts you off, as you sit up, and both of you are reaching for your phone, “An Amber alert,” Amanda is slipping from Jessie’s side, “S.V.U. requested.”

She adjusts the blanket on Jessie, running her hand through her hair, “You two will?”

“Of course,” you nod, “Go Amanda.”

She sighs, rubbing at her eyes, “2021 begins.”

And in a second, she’s changed and ready and out the door. The door clicks behind her, and you rise to check on Jessie, adjusting her blankets, “Should we move her to her bed?”

“Let her sleep for now,” Sonny holds his hand out for you, and you take it — pulling you back into his arms, “When do you think you want kids?”

Your fingers combing through his hair pause, “I don’t know — whenever I get married I guess.”

“But you want kids?” and you smile, pressing a kiss to his brow.

“I do, maybe not yet, but someday,” and he nods, two fingers tilt your chin upwards, “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” he murmurs, drawing you into a kiss, one of his hands slipping into his pocket, thumbing the velvet ring box in his pocket — maybe this year would be the year that he’d convince himself to ask.

What were you about to get yourself into?

Your shoes click against the concrete floors, approaching the entry point, “I’m here to see Mickey Davis,” you flash your I.D. badge at them, “I’m here from Noble-Gordon LLP as possible representation.”

You sigh, adjusting your coat while the guard has someone check on Davis. Taking on a case like this was tricky — the press could spin it either way — getting off a cold blooded vigilante or saving a war vet from unjust punishment. But right now, Noble-Gordon needed a win, and needed it to be on the side of the military. Their firm’s recent win of getting off a man who had murdered a vet had left the firm in bad form with several of its benefactors — and right now, you were trying to direct pro bono hours to go any which way you could towards veterans’ rights — pro bono cases for veterans for damages, against abuses by the V.A. helping deal with HIPAA laws to obtain medical files — anything and everything.

But this case — this case would be the kicker.

A high profile case of a veteran shooting a man who had molested and raped his daughter — it would be perfect.

Or so the partners at your firm thought.

You were only there to secure the case for the firm — or that was what you told them. You knew this fell well into Sonny’s case load — and you didn’t want the unpleasant experience of having to tell the judge that you were in a relationship with the A.D.A. trying this case.

Not to mention the fact you hadn’t told him your firm may be taking the case — you checked your phone, several unreturned texts — but it wasn’t like you could reach him anyway.

The guard turns back to you, “Right now, Davis is meeting with his counsel—”

You furrow your brow, “That’s impossible, I had let him and the prison know I wasn’t arriving until now, I’m his co—”

“Not his only counsel it seems,” a voice says, emerging from behind the gate, as the guard buzzed him through.

His hair was neat, if not a tad overgrown, but so was the rest of his face — consumed by a thick beard that put his five o’clock shadow to shame. But his lips were still curled in that signature smile of his, the very same that made your heart squeeze — as it was doing right now. But his eyes were different — softer, as he tilted his head.

“Rafael,” you breathe, even though you were breathless, “you’re back.”

He only smiles, “I’m back.”

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi fanfiction #sonny carisi imagines #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #rafael barba x you #svu #svu imagines #svu fanfiction #law and order; SVU

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

Three Strikes [you're out]

It was his fault, really.

Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.

And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.

———

Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

———

The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual.

Conjured up all sorts of possibilities.

Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May.

He needed a haircut, she thought.

The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her.

On a Thursday in May.

Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.

She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly.

Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree.

Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally.

The muscle shifted.

Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient.

And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook.

Not a piece of paper.

Not a printout.

Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs.

An actual scorebook.

That he brought with him to Citi Field.

She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird.

The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison.

Nina bit her lip.

Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

Nina’s lips tilted up.

Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed.

Some of which might have mystical and potentially.

Goddamn, Ben Stiller.

“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle.

“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”

Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body.

Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—

Him.

The muscle.

She heard his pencil drop, she swore.

Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically.

Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first.

No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.

“Not going to make it.”

Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—

Looked. Right at her. And her tongue.

Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous.

No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field.

One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up.

“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”

Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise.

And sat back down.

To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible.

The amazing, even.

It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint.

Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist.

Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually.

To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache.

To accept being the butt of jokes across decades.

Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began.

Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation.

To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams.

To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey.

“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm.

He was still keeping score.

How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page.

If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry.

It would be embarrassing.

Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now.

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way.

“Do games normally last this long?”

Nina shook her head.

Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance.

As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars.

It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time.

Once she got the popcorn off her feet.

A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward.

With his own brand of emotion.

No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling.

“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming.

Undeniably so.

As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her.

He didn’t make the throw.

Not in time, at least.

Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night.

Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook.

“What the hell, man?”

He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier.

“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad.

Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter.

“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should.

Jesper was going to crack a rib.

“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—

Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed.

Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly.

It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved.

She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face.

“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”

His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed.

Ah, damn.

Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss.

The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil.

On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite.

Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her.

Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap.

He’d folded the piece of paper.

The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him.

The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth.

He watched.

Documented.

Kept track.

“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again.

“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket.

To hand to her.

“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”

“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though.

“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest.

Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet.

With provided pen.

“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders.

“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”

“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.

“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.

“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.

Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were.

“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever.

Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil.

“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far.

Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did.

“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move.

On her part, specifically.

“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even.

She grinned.

Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall.

He didn’t look away.

She’d think that was important, later.

“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower.

“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”

Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her.

It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling.

“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”

“That mean you're going to sit?”

She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded.

And climbed over the seat.

So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain.

“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”

He didn’t.

At least not at first.

It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—

His hand moved to his shoulder.

The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself.

They’d get there.

They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway.

A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra.

Sugar on top, if you will.

They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines.

Nina figured that’s what it was, at least.

He smiled.

That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too.

“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic.

“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her.

Huh.

“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”

One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”

Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70.

She had sensitive skin.

“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth.

“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed.

“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance.

He didn’t push her hand off his.

The coffee was going to go cold.

“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”

“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.

“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing.

“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen.

So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile.

“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission.

“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his.

“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened.

“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.

“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued.

“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket.

They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page.

Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was.

Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them.

She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors.

Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that.

Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form.

Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act.

Once an inning, then.

Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back.

“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things.

They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles.

He called them jimmies.

She made fun of him.

And then—

It was over.

No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze.

Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue.

Only—

One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck.

“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them.

That was nice.

He was nice.

She was—

A mess, at best.

Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”

She did not see him tomorrow.

When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room.

Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument.

There was champagne, so. That helped.

Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches.

Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes.

“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered.

“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number.

Neither could she, quite frankly.

“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”

Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her.

From running into the section.

Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set.

Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason.

The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out.

Matthias hadn’t been at the game.

To be a Mets fan, was to wait.

For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it.

Nina wasn’t very good at waiting.

Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey.

Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently.

Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks.

And that was that, for Kaz. As they say.

Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe.

It smelled like salt when she did.

“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him.

“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status.

Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer.

“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably.

Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand.

“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added.

Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured.

Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died.

It was very dramatic.

Sweeping, even.

Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club.

Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle.

If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness.

He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like.

She wasn’t entirely opposed.

Their shoes nearly brushed.

“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely.

She licked her lips.

He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”

Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance.

Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined.

Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together.

Nina closed her eyes.

Better to remember, that way.

To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice.

He was still there.

“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time.

“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—

Sparkled, maybe.

She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that.

“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first.

She kissed the bottom of his chin.

It was all she could reach.

“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”

“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic.

“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him.

Either or, really.

They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend.

Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be.

Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone.

#matthias x nina #helnik #helnik fanfiction #nina zenik #matthias helvar #soc fanfic #insert shrug emoji here #every now and then i have these like...five hour bursts where i write all these words at once #this is the product of one of those

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7wanderingpaws · 4 years ago

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He Loves Love (3/3)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: solo singer! AU

Word count: 4K+

Warnings: none! just a playful Baek!

--- Please make sure to read the the notes at the end! ---

Masterlist

tags: @iloveagain @buttercupbbh @wooya1224 @baekberrie (sorry if I left out someone? its been ages since i updated and I didnt know if its okay to tag those who commented on chap. 2 :( didnt want to be rude ><)

1 <<< 2 <<< 3

It was the day of the release. The release of his magazine cover.

The PR went… mad.

“Listen, sweetie, editor, I don't think we will have enough pieces. The damn thing is literally going to be sold out in a matter of hours.”

You received this call before lunch time. Lunch time was very early on in the day. So why was Baekhyun's magazine cover about to be sold out in the entirety of Korea on the same day of the release date?

“Erm, yeah about that. I am an editor, just like you said. You need to call the-”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted but there wasn't an inch of impatience in her voice. “What I am trying to say is - congratulations! You did a great job!”

It took you a moment to realize what she was saying, because she was right. Your participation in this issue was big; after all you took care of the props and settings and you were looking over his pictures during the photoshoot. Out of nowhere, your heartbeat sped up. “Oh, thank you! That's very kind of you, but I still need to improve a lot-”

In that moment, the happy ding! that never failed to make you all trembly and nervous, sounded on your desk.

Waiter: miss editor am I seeing correctly????? wowow ihavenowords

Waiter: did you just make me sell out your magazine?????? ihavenowords

Waiter: did you save yourself at least one piece??? huhuuhuhuuu ihavenowords ><

Waiter: i think someone just made themselves a good name in the mag industry ^^ congratulations!!!

Waiter: does that mean i will get to see you? hmmm maybe to give a congratulatory bouquet of flowers???? 🤭🤭🤭 🌹💐🌺

Biting your lip quickly to suppress the happy grin, you quickly attended to the phone call, chatting a bit more with the PR lady. Honestly, you didn't like to talk to them much as they were all over the place, too demanding and didn’t have a great understanding of a creative mind. Thankfully, you didn't have to deal with them too often.

It hadn't been that long since your last meeting with Baekhyun. His kisses on your cheek and one kiss on your forehead seemed to be still burning on your skin, sometimes making you drag the pad of your index finger over the mentioned places, needing some sort of closure from him that you had yet to receive.

Texting now was a full on habit between you, causing you to become sad, disappointed and even anxious if he wouldn’t reply that soon, worried he changed his mind about you, and his feelings towards you. Because even though you admitted to him that you liked him, he was being still very cautious, still very polite with you, as if there was some sort of invisible line between you two that he was scared to cross, for some reason.

Trying to look at it from his point of view, there were many risks of him wanting a relationship with you, and you couldn't not agree. If anything, you were being thankful for his thoughtfulness and carefulness, for if he messed up even the tiniest bit around you and your secret meetings of a blooming start of a relationship, he would not see the end of the hate, and neither would you. Heck, his career was on the line.

You managed to reply to his playful messages that went on and on, before you would have to dive into another cover magazine plan that you had to start thinking through.

Me: I think I should congratulate YOU! the most wanted man in Korea it seems ;)

Me: these days i have some important meetings… an upcoming cover… im definitely doing overtime today :( when is it good for you? I will try to arrange my schedule with yours

Waiter: ohoh the most wanted man you say? i wonder if the one i want wants me just as much…….???

Waiter: i would like to see you more often before my album drops, you know i will get quite busy and not seeing you for too long doesnt seem to work well with me anymore ><

Waiter: sooo… i will come pick you up from work tonight just shoot me a msg *^

Just as his messages could make your heartbeat go into a crazy overdrive, it seemed he could also make it completely stop. Or so you thought. His flirting and now his proposal to pick you up gave you a huge shock. That would be a first for sure.

Me: sure! have your phone with you Mr Korea

Me: I wonder too if that person wants you as much ;)

You decided not to pay him any more attention after that as much as you were tempted. Your belly was levitating along with your body, feeling high on vitamin Baekhyun. Pressing down the urge to tease him, you put your phone away, your hands slightly trembly from the attention you kept receiving from someone like him.

If your predictions were even close to correct, you wanted to tell him: yes, the one that he wanted, wanted him just as much.

…

You were fast to leave your work that day. Excited butterflies were eating your insides away, and the only way to make them calm down was to finally meet the person who always made their wings flutter.

Baekhyun was already parked in the underground parking lot, his car the only one with the motor on - and the only car of his class. You spotted him sitting in his car in his white jersey shirt, his left elbow propped on the windowsill as his index finger was stuck between his teeth, gnawing at it. When he saw you, he took a double-take and quickly changed his posture which made you giggle.

Baekhyun was following you with his eyes, going even to the length of leaning in over the passenger seat so as not to lose sight of you until he reached over and opened the passenger door for you so you could slide in.

“Why, thank you,” you smiled cheerfully as you sat down. You closed the door and put your bag down in between your legs.

“My pleasure,” he said back with a pleasant smile. “Hand me the bag, I'll put it in the backseat.”

You quickly did as he asked and then reached for your seatbelt.

“How was work today? We should celebrate!” he exclaimed as he put the car into drive and made his way out of the parking lot.

You hummed, gnawing on your lip. “That would be wonderful,” you said but hesitated about offering anything further. It was difficult to read the situation; you wouldn't know what you could afford to do with him and what not; what would be stepping over the line and what wouldn't. But Baekhyun said he liked you. In fact, he even told you to look at him like at any other man. That meant you shouldn't doubt all the possible hang-out ideas you had, right?

“I think it is you who deserves a gift,” you murmured and stole a look at his concentrated face. You reached the outside now, the dark evening slowly changing into night, the light of passing cars illuminating your faces.

“Hmm, I think so, too. Something in lines of - I can pick whatever I want, huh?”

Hiding your smile behind your hand, you nodded. “Yes, I can grant something. But don't make it expensive. Even though you sold out our magazine, it doesn't mean I will get a pay rise right away.”

“Oh, it won't include any monetary value,” he promised and turned to look at you when he stopped at the red light, the line in front of you seemingly going on for at least a mile. “It would be something you can and should be able to do freely.”

Despite the darkness of the car, Baekhyun could still spot that gorgeous, astounding blush colouring your cheeks. He really grew to love it; to make you so flustered you couldn't help but grow all red, just for him. “What do you think?” he asked quietly, still observing you with a small lopsided smile.

First you looked at your connected hands in your lap and then looked up at him through your lashes. “Depends what it is, but I owe you, so…” you trailed off.

He chuckled quietly, causing your heart to skip a beat before he started driving again, the line in front slowly moving. “Wonderful.”

Within forty-five minutes, you found yourself seated in a Korean restaurant, both yours and Baekhyun's shoes left at the entrance. Baekhyun, knowing the owner, asked for a separate room where people usually held business dinners, to ensure you would have full privacy and could enjoy each other.

It was a bit mind-blowing how much he could just do. His authority was admirable but at the same time it reminded you how you could hardly compare. If you would have asked the owner to give you a separate room, you might have had to fight for it or give him some money. Baekhyun seemed to walk in like a prince, confidently talking to people as if it was so natural.

“Can you give me a moment?” he asked suddenly, already standing up. “I forgot something in the car. Choose a meal until then.”

You nodded and saw him shuffling towards the door. Quickly going through the menu, you were thankful it was just an ordinary Korean restaurant that specializes in noodle soups and wasn't pricey. Picking the one that seemed the most special, you put the menu away just in time for Baekhyun to return back. His right hand was behind his back, obviously hiding something.

He had a sheepish smile on his face as he stepped towards you and handed you a beautiful bouquet of colourful flowers, the smell of which instantly hit your nose. You felt your mouth stretch into a wide smile as you stood up to your feet.

“Oh my god, what is this for, Baekhyun?” you asked, looking up into his eyes just to find them sparkling with anticipation.

“I know I never asked you out on an official date, so I might not be dressed up to my best potential, but I really wanted to give you something and today, as I said, I wanted to give you a bouquet. Please, accept it,” he added breathily, watching you with bated breath, nudging the flowers out to you.

You giggled and he smiled right away as you took the bouquet in your hand, careful as to not hold his fingers that were still curled around the stems. “Thank you.”

As you wanted to pull back, he leaned in, grabbing your wrist gently that was holding the flowers, bringing you closer. His lips hovered over your cheek and he eventually pressed them there. “Good job on your first cover,” he murmured and leaned away the slightest to watch your surprised reaction. Your eyes were watching his mouth and he had to restrain himself from going any further. He didn't want to cross the line. Not yet.

Unfortunately, you had to separate when the doors opened and the waiter came in. She was taken aback for the slightest of moments when she noticed you and Baekhyun backing away from each other but both of you recovered quickly and sat down, ready to order.

“This Vietnamese noodle soup is my favourite,” mentioned Baekhyun, looking at you. “So that is your gift to me - eating my favorite food with me.”

…

It was late June, the beginning of the most humid weeks of the year with the monsoon season around the corner.

Baekhyun became so busy with the release of his album back in May, that you rarely got to see him afterwards, although he made sure to see you a couple of times per week even if he was on the verge of falling asleep. Besides meeting, you were always chatting on the phone, him updating you about his daily schedules while you would mostly talk and send pictures about the same old stuff - your office, your computer screen or your late lunch. Or a selfie. You were on that basis now, despite a first kiss never happening.

It made you think sometimes if you were the one who was supposed to make the first move. If you grew eager to finally feel him in that way, then he must have also had some similar feelings, right? You had been dying to kiss him since the first time he said he liked you. And it was late June now.

Late June meant that the music awards show was happening just this particular night. Baekhyun had been texting you eager messages to double-check that you would really be attending like you told him you would.

While you quickly looked yourself over in the mirror in your office - you worked even today, a Saturday - you checked your phone's screen, seeing the previews of his messages.

Waiter: finally our schedules overlap ❤️ Waiter: i cant actually believe it Waiter: huhuhuhu missy are you done with preparing? im curious to see.... Waiter: its just that it would be difficult to do so without it…

Hastily checking your earrings, you read the previews with a large smile. It would be an exciting night.

When you arrived at the event along with your colleagues, you couldn't help feeling clammy from the excitement. The possibility of spotting Baekhyun was making you sick with anticipation. It wasn't even the amount of people attending the event, it was just him; just the idea that he was somewhere there and hopefully he was looking for you just like you were looking for him.

Your colleagues hurried to sit down as the ceremony was about to start. Since you were busy in the office, you ended up leaving the headquarters much later than planned, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore.

The lights dimmed just when you made yourself comfortable, making it too difficult to look around and recognize faces. Deciding to quickly check the messages you didn't have time to look at before, you finally saw what Baekhyun was bombarding you so much about.

Waiter: finally our schedules overlap Waiter: i cant actually believe it Waiter: huhuhuhu missy are you done with preparing? im curious to see how you look so you could send me a selfie and so then i can recognize you at the event hm? without having to stare everywhere and become suspicious Waiter: its just that it would be difficult to do so without it sooooo ????? Waiter: yah!! where did you go?? Waiter: ex...excuse me? ehm ehm!!! Waiter: wow okay… Waiter: Y/N … disappeared... Waiter: i guess you are busy >< im arriving at the venue soon update me so i know where you attttttt okiiii??? ㅎㅅㅎ

You hid your smile behind your hand and quickly typed him a message to update him like he demanded. You couldn't send a selfie anymore because of the silly lights and your superiors being at the same table, you couldn't afford to be on your phone all the time. Hyeri, as much as she was kind, didn't like it when the job was not done properly, so you made sure to pay attention to the performances while you felt your phone vibrate with messages most probably from Baekhyun.

You bit your lip to keep in the smile, your heart fluttering. How was he able to be this… gorgeous even through messages? How was he able to make your heart beat frantically even when he was not around you? Unknowingly, your desire for him grew by tenfold, the sudden urge to meet him almost overtaking your actions, but one strict stare from Hyeri and you stopped squirming in your chair as you realized you did with a horrified look. Wow. You had to do something about this, and it had to be very soon.

To your big misfortune, you never spotted Baekhyun until it was his turn to overtake the stage. As much as you expected something huge, it was anything but that. No props, just a simple mic stand and then, a Baekhyun in a ready-to-go-for-a-date look, plus four dancers and he was able to fill the huge stage to the brim with his presence. That was it. Simple as that.

You inhaled his entire performance, the loud screamings of crazy fans not enough to pull you out of your reverie that consisted of Byun Baekhyun and Byun Baekhyun only. His movements, so sharp yet so smooth, his flirting with the camera, his lip bites, and that crazy happy smile; all of it. He was changing images from lethal sexy, through lazily suggestive, then sweetly gorgeous until becoming cute and ready to pet on the head. Without anything more to add, he had each flavor of a candy to offer and you had never been this addicted to candies in your life.

...

You met him accidentally when you were leaving the toilets that were meant for the VIPs. Closing the door behind you, you felt its cold surface press to your bare back when Baekyun appeared in front of you, freezing momentarily when he recognized you.

He smiled instantly, happy to finally see you, before he let his eyes wander. Finally, he let you know that he was looking. Oh he was. Your dress was revealing on the back, which he had yet to witness, but the front was completely covered, hugging your chest and waist, telling Baekhyun that there was something to look at for sure. The long, wavy skirt that stopped just above the floor was bunched up in your hand, showing sparkly high-heeled shoes that were the cause of the pain in your ankles.

None of you said a word as you took a note of his fancy suit, the simple stage outfit now gone. It was fully black, but once again you couldn't comprehend how broad his shoulders and chest were despite his shirt that was tucked into his pants being black, too.

“Good performance,” you broke the silence finally, meeting his somewhat eager gaze. “I have to admit, I was swooning with the other girls, too.”

That got Baekhyun's attention. His eyebrow rose in question and he stepped closer but not before making sure there were no prying eyes in the small corridor. His body covered yours from anyone, were you to be disturbed. “Oh, were you, really?”

You nodded, your smile teasing. “Yeah.”

He smiled gently, his gaze running over your features that were touched up with make-up. “I'm glad. If I wanted to impress someone, it was you.”

“You did that a long time ago,” you admitted shyly, averting your eyes so he wouldn't catch you shyness.

You heard him letting out a laugh through his nose. “So cute,” he muttered, stepping even closer. “I have to run back but let me drive you home tonight.”

His words made your head snap up though you weren't that much smaller from him anymore thanks to the heels. His words ignited something inside of you. “You came with your car?”

“I asked my friend to bring it over to the venue,” he said. “I am not going back to my company after this. I finally found you here and-” he sighed softly, shaking his head as he looked at you, “I want to spend some time with you. Alone.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, his look making you all itchy and needy. Without much thinking, you found yourself nodding a tad too eagerly which made Baekhyun smile. “Alright,” you whispered, “text me. But I can't leave before my superiors do.”

“Can I just steal you?”

Giggling, you shook your head and suppressed the need to hold his hand. “I'm afraid no. But I will try my best to get out of it quickly.”

His smile was so gentle as he nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a second before stepping even closer, his fingertips running over your clothed forearm in the most feather-like way. “Okay. I'll be waiting for you,” sweetheart.

…

The car came to a complete stop in front of your small apartment building. Audi had quite the silent engine anyway, but now with it being turned off, you felt like silence had a physical form and was growing in on you, making the tension between you and Baekhyun the more difficult to withstand.

Given his silence, you knew that you should say something, and you also knew what you were supposed to do. It was now or never. “Would you maybe… like to come in?”

He glanced over, checking your expression to see if you were serious. He parted his lips but hesitation stole the words away from him. You chuckled when he opened his mouth again and smiled abashedly. “'I’d love to.”

Oh my god, you thought as the both of you made your way towards your apartment. In panic, you tried to quickly think over what state you left your flat in exactly, but it seemed that your mind was clogged up, unable to come up with anything that could possibly explain what was happening in that very moment. Byun Baekhyun, the superstar, was coming inside your apartment. And he seemed to be rather quiet.

Was he overthinking this? Maybe he would realise this was all a mistake and that you weren't good enough for him. Maybe you did something off-putting today?

As you were typing in the code to your house, you felt his strong presence behind you, his gaze on your naked back, and you swore the tension just grew even more when you let him enter your little safety den first. Surely, it was no luxury like he must have been used to by then, given the many years of singing career, but you could only hope it would be enough.

You had been far too gone for him. If he were to dump you, you might end up hurt and heartbroken.

Letting the door close behind you, you wanted to follow him only to see him standing just a couple of steps ahead of you, looking into the apartment but not moving further inside. “You can enter, Baekyhun.”

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he said softly out of nowhere, catching you off guard with his honest words. Letting them sink in, you bit your lip, feeling your heartbeat accelerate again. It wasn't possible to get a heart attack, right?

He was standing in front of you while your back was pressed to the front door you just closed behind you. “Thank you,” you whispered, matching his intimate tone and feeling like you were about to combust. “You look really handsome tonight.” And everyday.

He smiled, which you couldn't see as he still had his back on you. Just then, he turned and with that pleasant expression on his face made those separating two steps towards you until he stood right in front of you, causing you to look up. “Thank you.”

You nodded, feeling the terrible blush creeping up into your cheeks. Actually your entire body was suddenly on a heat wave, feeling the prickles of sweat to form under your dress as he stared at you affectionately. God, you wanted him so much it was really becoming unbearable.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just asked one,” you replied mischievously, grinning, just to be rewarded with a wide smile from him as he stepped even closer, your heart clenching painfully. Was it the chemistry that was so painful?

“Cheeky,” he whispered, his breath almost hitting your cheek. You kept his eye contact before you nudged him with a go on.

What, do you want to kiss me on the cheek again? you desperately wanted to ask, to tease him. Or would this finally be it? Would he finally just... kiss you?

“May I kiss you, sweetheart. On the lips.” His intonation was far from that of a question. He was so hot, goodness. And your knees were suddenly jelly-like as you couldn’t stop staring into his eyes when you nodded.

He let out a breathy laugh when he almost pressed his body into yours. Almost. “You don’t like to confirm things out loud with me, do you, beauty?”

“Yes, you may kiss me, Baekhyun. Please, just finally kiss me.”

It was almost as if he wouldn't wait for your approval anyway, as he was leaning in before your words even left your mouth, his hands coming to gently rest against the door; caging you in, yet making you feel even more safe. He was carefully watching your features as he pressed his lips to yours, one hand coming to cradle your face gently before he finally captured your upper lip and you melted.

Closing your eyes, you sighed as you let your hands slide up his toned chest and around his neck when he pressed himself into you just a little bit closer, a very much satisfied hum coming out of his throat that sent shock waves down your body. That deadly hum. It could really do anything to you, it was that attractive to you.

You dared to run your fingers through his hair that had gel in it, but still felt so cutely soft under your touch. You played with his pillows, prolonging the gentle sucking as you dragged his lower lip towards you, feeling the wetness of his mouth. He leaned in as you separated for the slightest of moments, tilting his head to the other side, unconsciously making one step closer so you felt him on your chest and the surface of the door on your back.

Smooch after smooch, you soon realized he was a loud kisser that liked the licking sounds and the responses from you as you breathed out softly while his thumb caressed your blushed cheek.

Another loud smooch, and this time he was the one who dragged your lower lip towards him with his teeth, as he bumped his nose with yours, tilting his head to the opposite side again while both of his hands cradled your face with utmost care.

Eventually, he kissed you one last time, ending it with him pressing his forehead to yours, not opening his eyes just yet. You didn’t either, relishing in the lingering feeling of him around your mouth as his warm pants pushed in through your parted lips. Slowly, he nuzzled your nose and you giggled softly which prompted him to open his eyes to meet yours already on him.

“That was better than I could ever imagine,” he whispered and smiled handsomely.

You blushed even more, if that was possible. “Ditto.”

His eyes widened and he leaned away a bit. “Don’t tell me you fantasized about kissing me?”

You shrugged but didn’t meet his eye. “How could I not? I’m a human, aren’t I? And you know I like to be straightforward.”

He smirked, knowingly nodding to himself. “Oh yeah, right. The straightforward business.”

You chuckled. “You’re too good of a kisser.”

“Only the best for you,” he winked and those words made you feel things. Before you could reply, he blurted: “Can I be your boyfriend?”

Smiling widely, you nodded, feeling absolutely elated. This was really happening. “Yes, you can be my boyfriend, Baekhyun.”

He sweeped you in his arms, bringing you in for another kiss. “That means,” he murmured between the kisses, “that I can kiss you just like that. And I can finally call you sweetheart,” he breathed the nickname before opening his mouth and devouring you, showing how passionate of a kisser he could be.

You never doubted him, of course, but in situations like these, reality was always better than your poor imagination, for your brain could never produce the exceptional feeling of having Byun Baekhyun’s lips on yours, feeling the moisture and his playful tongue, his creativity of teasing you with it astonishing. No. Nothing could ever compare.

There was only one Byun Baekhyun and he was a superstar. Off-limits to almost everyone. But not to you. Not anymore.

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

A/N: And that is the end! This is the final part, so with this, I am also saying goodbye to this story that made my heart flutter a wee bit... ^^ Thank you to whomever sent me support via comments/reblogs, dms, I was glad this story could bring something enjoyable to the table! ❤

--- As you know, these 3 chapters were supposed to be about how our characters met and became a couple. So I hope I delivered well! I know I put the M sign in the beginning way back in May, but while plotting, I realized it wasnt suitable for these 3 parts. It would take me more chapters to write to bring it to that point (hint: if you request it as a standalone oneshot later, I am willing to write it but otherwise it would need more relationship building).

I hope this explains it!

Thank you again!

Please let me know what you thought, it would mean a lot and its free!

CuriousCat Ask box is also open! Or comments!💕

#exowritersnet #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun canon #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun fic #baekhyun drabble #baekhyun au #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #exo fanfiction #exo au #exo canon #exo imagine #exo fluff #mywritings

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basicallywhiterice · 4 years ago

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across the world (lucas wong, dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: lucas x reader, sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, college!au, dancer!sicheng, relationships and heartbreak

summary: You always thought a piece of your heart would belong to Sicheng, your first love, who ended things when he moved overseas. In the end, though, there’s nothing across the world except for a boy you used to know.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: cussing

a/n: see y’all next month for the last part, feel free to yell at me so i finish writing it sooner (p.s. peep the hamilton reference)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but is part 2 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

CHARLOTTE, NC

Charlotte Douglas International Airport, 1:42 p.m.

“Is this goodbye?” Sicheng murmurs, hugging you tighter. You strain to hear him amidst the hustle and bustle of the airport.

“I guess it is.” He’s leaving for Korea, pursuing his ambitious dance dreams. You’re staying in the states and starting college soon. There’s no time for an international relationship in either of your lives.

It’s cruel, you think, that the heartbreak from your first love will have been so worth it, that you’d have to live through the “right person, wrong time” so soon.

You nod, once. “Ah. Well. Bye.”

“We’re really over? We’re—officially breaking up?”

The words cut like a knife, but you try to stay strong for Sicheng’s sake. “Yeah,” is all you can manage without breaking down. “I guess we are.”

“Okay.”

So this is how it ends, you think. “Go and conquer the dance world.”

“I will. I—I really love you. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I love you too, Sicheng. You should go.”

“Ok.” He hoists up his backpack and raises his suitcase handle. “I—goodbye.”

“Bye.”

He starts toward the security line after some initial hesitation, flanked by his parents on either side. Trailing behind right before stopping, he turns back one last time, waving a final farewell.

After he’s gone, Lucas pats you on the back, Giselle hugs you tighter, and Ningning lets you cry into her shoulder. It helps, and it just barely holds you together as your world falls apart.

Home, 11:49 a.m.

You feel hollow.

Exactly six weeks before you leave for college, Sicheng does a routine call in the sliver of free time he has, sandwiched between his classes for the day. You’re still struggling through your acceptance of the change that was bound to happen, spending your days with your friends while you still have time. Though you’ve thrown yourself into living without him, seeing his face feels like a punch in the gut.

Even though he’s across the world, you let yourself forget for a moment, but you can’t pretend any longer when he hangs up.

Today was supposed to be your three month anniversary.

You turn down Yangyang’s invitation to skateboard and cry into your pillow.

Today was supposed to be your three month anniversary, but all you’re left with is a broken heart that Sicheng still holds.

ATLANTA, GA, FRESHMAN YEAR

Turman Hall, 11 a.m.

“Hey. How’d you like your first week?”

You spit out your toothpaste, holding up a finger and motioning for him to wait as you rinse.

“It was okay,” you say. “I haven’t really made new friends yet. I’ve, uh, hung out with a few people though, and Lucas and Giselle are in some of my classes.” Some water droplets spray out from a splash of water, and you wince a little at how low the dorm’s sinks are.

“Have you talked to the people on your floor?”

“Yeah, they’re cool. I’m pretty happy here, I think I just need more time to get to know people better,” you shrug. “Anyways. How are you?”

“It’s going pretty well. Someone from New York joined earlier this week, so she’s kind of in the same boat as me, except she’s Korean.” He’s about to continue when he yawns, words growing incomprehensible.

“You should sleep soon. When are you getting up tomorrow?”

“Late enough. I probably should, though.”

“Then why’d you call? Go to sleep, Sicheng.”

“I wanted to see you, is that really a crime?” He yawns again. “Well then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You know you’ll only get hurt in the long run, but that doesn’t stop you from texting him to set up another time to call once you know he’s asleep.

Turman Hall, 12:15 p.m.

Sicheng cancels a Facetime he scheduled earlier in the week, too tired to call after a grueling practice. It’s the first time he’s done so, and you knew he was going to get too busy for you eventually, but it still breaks your heart.

You’re staring at your laptop when a tidal wave of loneliness pulls you under. You miss Sicheng, but you also miss the rest of your high school friends, your parents, and the simplicity of life before college.

Just as you’re about to text him, Lucas calls you.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Yooo,” he greets. “Are you still coming to the student center?”

“Yeah, I was about to head out. Why’d you call?”

“You weren’t responding.”

You pause, a wave of tears suddenly welling up. “Thank you, Lucas,” you say, voice steady enough to avoid suspicion. “I’ll be there in 10.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

The loneliness doesn’t fade, but it doesn’t weigh as heavily anymore.

Turman Hall, 7:14 p.m.

You’re pulling on your shoes, about to head out to meet with Winter at a nearby restaurant, when Sicheng calls you. After a bit of hesitation, you reason it won’t take long and pick up.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Sicheng says, hair sweaty and face shining. “I’m on break right now. How are you?”

“I’m doing alright. Why’d you call?” you ask. He almost never calls during his breaks. “Isn’t it busy there?”

“I felt lonely,” he says, and you’re not sure why it hurts to hear that was the only reason. “Is anything interesting happening?”

“Uh.” It’s been a while since he last called, and you forget what you’ve told him already. “Well, Karina’s been encouraging me to rush next semester. I’m not sure if I want to do it, though.”

“That sounds really fun. You could meet some new people there.”

“Yeah, but it seems really time consuming, and I’ve made friends already. I just—”

“If you want to try it, I don’t see why not.”

“Yes, I just don’t know if I can handle it on top of my classes.”

“You need to decide what you want,” he says, and you blink, startled by his sudden outburst. Your first instinct is to apologize, but you have nothing to be sorry for, and you wonder if something major or stressful happened recently.

“I have been,” you mumble, trying not to sound defensive. “I declared my major last week, the joint bachelor’s and master’s thing here. I talked to my advisor about it and I’m trying to graduate in four years. I have a plan.”

“Oh.” He pauses, head tilting. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to tell you over call.”

“Ah. You should’ve said something.”

You just shrug, wanting to move on. “I’m excited. How are you, though? Why are you feeling lonely?” You know it’s pointless to ask when he only has a few minutes of free time, but you still want to give him an option to answer.

“I’m alright, getting busier now but—”

The door opens behind him, a dancer clad in black clothing walking on screen. They speak a string of Korean to which Sicheng nods, standing up and stretching his legs.

“Sorry, break’s up,” he says, face coming back into the frame as he bends down to pick up his phone. “Text you later?”

You’ve gotten used to it by now. “Okay. Good luck. Bye.”

His face is replaced first with your text history, and next with a black screen. You stare at it, wondering if he even loved you in the first place.

You don’t decide on an answer during the 15 minute walk to dinner, but when you meet Winter there, you find that there are better ways to fill your time.

Turman Hall, 11:15 p.m.

Your hands shake as you press the FaceTime button under Sicheng’s contact. As your phone rings, you set it down to wipe your palms on your pants.

After tonight, you’ve decided to cut Sicheng out of your life. The timing is less than ideal, but with exams just completed and an abundance of time to reflect, it’s the best you can do. All you want is one final call with him, and you’ll rip off the bandaid.

Sicheng answers quickly. He’s sitting at his desk, a pillow propped up between him and his chair. “Hey,” he says, waving. An easy smile hangs from his face, and he looks the most relaxed he’s been in months.

“Hey,” you breathe. “How are you?”

He eats lunch as you talk, almost making you regret your decision to distance yourself. Your resolve never crumbles like you thought it would, though, and you think your conviction signals the point of no return.

Tonight, you hang up first. It feels like you can breathe again when you press the ‘end call’ button, but your heart crushes under the weight of your lungs.

Turman Hall, 11:57 p.m.

“I’m moving on,” you say, resting your elbows on the windowsill and looking up toward the looming night sky. The moon hangs high above, its gentle glow drawing out everything you’ve been bottling up.

“I can’t wait for him to come back when he’s happy without me,” you tell the moon. “I need to live my life without him. Otherwise, it’s not fair to me, or him, or anyone who cares about me.”

A tear traces its way down your face, plopping down onto the ledge. “I used to love him. I don’t know if it’ll ever go away, but I know that someday, I’ll be able to look back at it as something in the past.”

The stars wink back at you, silently, and you wonder if the moon ever gets tired of orbiting the Earth.

CHARLOTTE, NC

Home, 7:09 p.m.

Sicheng texts you every day during the first week of winter break. Each time, you ignore him for hours before responding, and it feels horrible, but there’s no other way around it.

Today’s texts come when you’re sitting in your room with Giselle and Kun, waiting for the sugar cookie dough to chill in the fridge. He asks how you are, if you want to call in the pocket of free time he has right now and tell him more about your future plans. You stare at the messages on your lockscreen, waiting for your phone to turn off before limply tossing it on your bed.

“What’s going on?” Giselle asks eventually, pulling you out of your reverie.

“What?”

“Y/n,” she says, scooting closer. You look up from the miniature Christmas tree nestled in your lap, having fiddled with its flimsy branches to distract yourself from replying. “What’s wrong? Talk to us, we’re here for you.”

You glance over at Kun. “I can tell the rest of them not to come because Giselle and I got food poisoning or something, if you need to vent to us.” He pulls his phone out, ready to text Yangyang, Lucas, and Ningning at a moment’s notice.

You wonder how long they’ve known, even when you kept quiet and tried to shoulder your pain alone. Your phone’s ringing saves you from answering immediately, lighting up with an incoming Facetime from Sicheng, and it hurts not to pick up, but it would hurt even more if you did.

“He said he has 20 minutes to call,” you relay to Kun and Giselle dully, your cover blown. They share a sideways glance, but neither of them say anything. “Should I? I don’t even know if I want to talk to him, but y’all probably haven’t called him in a while.”

“Don’t think of us, think of what you want,” Giselle urges.

You nod, reaching for the phone again. It’s still ringing when you silence it, throwing it back on the bed.

“Yeah. That’s what I want.” And then you fall over onto Giselle’s lap, desperately wishing for the pain to end, and she holds you as you sob for the first time in a week. “He’s—it’s—different now, and—s’okay, b-but it’s…” you choke out before you start hiccuping.

The room is quiet as you cry, only the sounds of sniffling and gentle consoling present, as you shed a semester’s worth of tears. You start talking once you’re coherent enough, putting your heart on full display, and it’s cathartic. It’s cathartic to ugly cry, to retell your love story to two friends who love you deeply, to release of all the hurt and longing you’ve been holding onto just to remember how you and Sicheng were.

And when you’re done, letting go gives more room for hope to come in.

ATLANTA, GA

Waffle House, 1:01 a.m.

“What do you mean, of course you were gonna get a bid, you idiot,” you exclaim around a bite of waffles. “I can’t believe you’re a frat boy now.”

“I was worried! I thought that one dude hated me, remember?” Lucas grins. “And don’t worry, I’m not an official frat boy yet.”

“Don’t fucking get hazed when you pledge.”

He raises his hands, still holding a syrup-covered pancake piece speared onto his fork. “I won’t. Don’t fall into the whole ‘frat boys are dumb’ thing on me, now, I know how to look after myself.”

“I’m not, I’m just worried,” you sigh. “Just—stay safe, y’know?”

“Aw, you do care after all.”

“Shut up before I make you pay for your pancakes.”

He doesn’t shut up. “Anyways, enough about me. You don’t have to, uh, say anything, but are you—are you doing okay?”

You can’t tell if he’s talking about Sicheng or life in general, but you offer an honest answer to both. You’ll find out which one he’s referring to soon enough. “I’m doing better.”

“I can tell.”

You stare at him for a second too long, the harsh fluorescent lights glaring down, and you think that maybe Sicheng came into your life at exactly the right time.

Three truths arise at the exact same time: You don’t love Sicheng anymore. You’re happier without him. And you see the light at the end of the tunnel, the day quickly approaching when you are perfectly satisfied with what was, and have no grieving for what could have been.

Clairmont Road, 6:08 p.m.

When it arrives, it’s any other spring day. You’re sitting at a bus stop, scrolling through social media, helping Winter finalize the Airbnb booking for your upcoming spring break trip, and discussing your summer internship applications with Ten at the same time, when Giselle scrolls back up your feed.

“Isn’t that… Sicheng? He went viral?”

“Hm?” You glance down at a dance trend, the dancer vibing onscreen alongside a popular filter. Then your eyes land on the several hundred thousand likes beneath the video. “That’s him?” you finally realize. You haven’t kept up with his dance account in a few months, and it seems like you’ve missed out on a lot.

“Oh my god, he made it, didn’t he?”

“Holy shit. All because of a TikTok dance? That’s insane.”

You call Lucas over, and the three of you rewatch the video.

As you watch, you wait for your expression to fall again, for your heart to drop and your stomach to twist when you think about him, but nothing happens. And as you feel nothing but happiness for his success, the last scratch on your heart heals itself, and you smile.

Then the epiphany hits you: you and Sicheng may never talk, meet, or be okay with each other again, but it doesn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered for a while, not when your heart is bursting with love for your own life and stays silent for a boy who was once in it.

He’s in his own world—leaving you happier now that you’re done learning what you needed to from him, wiser and more content—and you’re in your own, taking over the world with only those you choose to share it with.

It’s solitary on top of the world, but it will never be lonely, not when you fight for everything you want and hold the people you love close to your heart.

You let go of Sicheng a long time ago.

ATLANTA, GA, SOPHOMORE YEAR

The Quad, 7:30 p.m.

The day Lucas asks you out is the day the flowers outside your window start to bloom.

“I really like you,” he says, his beaming expression matching yours, “and I was wondering if you’d like to go out? On a date with me?”

He’s awkward, but carries himself with confidence. His fidgeting hands give away the nervousness he tries to hide, but his grin catches your attention. There’s a lot of things you like about him, but you think his smile might be one of your favorites.

“I would love to.”

Main Street, 8:15 p.m.

By the time your three month anniversary with Lucas rolls around, you’ve started bringing down your heart’s defenses already. There’s no reason to keep them up: he doesn’t make you cry when you worry about the future, is never gone for long enough to make your heart ache. He’s safe, and you want to stop keeping him at arm’s distance.

And you’ll be okay. You’ve lived through one heartbreak already and emerged stronger than ever. And if your vulnerability with Lucas means it will heighten your next heartbreak, then it’ll be worth it a million times over.

You hand parts of your heart for him to hold, dropping your defenses day by day. This is the point of no return, and you choose to walk past it with Lucas by your side.

ATLANTA, GA, JUNIOR YEAR

The Quad, 10:22 p.m.

“I’m in love with you,” Lucas confesses. Grinning from ear to ear, he swings your clasped hands together, practically restraining himself from skipping down the park path. Your hand slips an inch before he catches it, oblivious to the sweat coating your palms inside your gloves.

The right words never come, and slowly, the smile melts off his face. “Baby?”

Your throat constricts as you swallow hard around your dry tongue.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it before you were comfortable, I…”

“Lucas.” Pausing, you bring a shaky fist up to your mouth, covering the lower half of your face as you stall for time. “I… don’t know.”

Your hand slips out of his. “Oh.”

“Lucas, I love you very much. But there’s a difference. I… don’t know if I’m in love with you.” He stares at you, expression tight, and your stomach turns. “This doesn’t mean no. I really don’t know, but I do know that you make me happy. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I thought I had been clear in how I felt.”

You wince, slightly. “I’m—”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He swallows. “Can we please go back to the dorms? I’m not mad, and I don’t want you to feel bad, but I really need to be alone right now.”

“Can we work this out first?” you ask, panic settling into your voice.

“I don’t know if we can do that right now.” “Have—have you been open with me? About how you feel these past few months?”

“Can we at least try? I—” Your voice breaks, and you clench your jaw to ground yourself before continuing. “Of course I’ve been open. I made the choice to communicate everything I felt, I overcame my fear of heartbreak. Just because I’m not sure if I’m in love with you yet doesn’t mean I haven’t tried and cared.”

“I don’t—can we please go back? I need some time alone.”

“You can’t just walk away like that,” you say, voice shaking. “You—you’re not trying to solve this together.”

“I don’t know,” he says, and it hurts to hear when it’s all he says, but not as much as it hurt you to say.

“Lucas,” you say, and it feels horrible pleading for him to listen. “Please work this out with me. Show me that you’re choosing me, too.”

He stares at you, motionless. Your worry compounds when he stays there, heart ripping apart at the seams as you resign yourself to the fact that this is the beginning of the end. Jaw clenching, you let your tears trickle down your face, the frigid wind sending pricks of coldness down your face.

Then he steps closer, blurry silhouette growing bigger. You furiously wipe away your tears, wool gloves scratching at your cheeks, to get a good look at his expression, when he hesitantly reaches up for your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says, slowly lowering your joined hands. “I know you’re hurt. I need you to trust me when I need some time to process this, and I know you want to work on this together, but I need to be alone first. Would you be okay with going back to your dorm, but staying in different rooms for a while so that I can still be close to you?”

It’s not okay—not if he’s giving up on solving it together. “You get the bathroom.”

“Deal.”

You don’t get the chance to tell him that night, for you fall asleep before he talks to you again.

His absence speaks for itself, and you think this might be the point of no return.

Woodruff Hall, 12:12 a.m.

Lucas gives up over winter break, and you want to blame him, but you’re too busy blaming yourself for breaking up with him to be angry.

“Why?” he demands, gaze cold. You look away.

“You knew this was coming,”

“You were the one who talked about choosing each other and working on our relationship.”

And you were the one who gave up first, you think, but you’re too tired to be bitter. “Lucas, I don’t think you can change my mind at this point.”

“Are you—is it because I’m in love with you?”

“Lucas, please, just go.”

“Did you ever love me?” You hate that you can’t comfort him the first time he cries in front of you.

“We can talk about this later, but please, I need to be alone right now.”

You start sobbing the moment he walks out the door.

The Quad, 11:32 p.m.

Were you in love with him?

Woodruff Hall, 1:57 a.m.

You were not in love with him.

Woodruff Hall, 11:29 a.m.

When Sicheng Facetimes you for the second time this year, you’re not expecting it. You certainly aren’t expecting the news he drops.

“You’re dating someone?” you ask as he blushes.

For a horrible moment, all you can think is what if what if what if before you blink, and then your guilt over your past evaporates.

“That’s awesome. What are they like?”

“She’s really cool. She joined the studio a year after I did and we started talking recently. It’s going really well.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Me too,” he grins. “How are you, though? Anything interesting happen?”

“Nah, I’m just pretty stressed,” you half-fib. “Just—life, you know?”

“I see. How are you and Lucas?”

A cross between a laugh and a sob rips out of your throat unexpectedly. “We—we broke up earlier this month.”

Sicheng goes still. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“He—it’s—I’ll be okay. I trust myself enough to end up okay,” you babble. “It’s chill. It’ll be chill eventually.”

“Things will get better,” he agrees, “but you shouldn’t ignore how you feel right now. Are you alright? Wanna talk about it?”

You tell him an abridged version, one that’s probably still too personal for him, and he consoles you the best he can.

You still feel the finality when he hangs up, though, the sense of obligation he felt to inform you of his girlfriend obvious from the start. It’s an unspoken agreement that neither one of you will contact the other so as not to intrude on his new relationship, and you imagine it’ll be the last time he calls you this year.

And you’re okay with that—have been okay with it for years by now. Sicheng’s gone, not the one that got away, and you feel a deep peace settle in your bones.

One day, you’ll feel the same about Lucas, too, and that victory carries you through the week.

ATLANTA, GA, SENIOR YEAR

Oxford Road, 4:28 p.m.

“Hi, Lucas.”

He looks up from his laptop, pulling his textbook from the cafe table to make more room for you. “Hey, it’s good to see you again.”

The awkwardness you’ve been preparing for in your meeting never comes. “You too,” you say, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. “How have you been?”

“I’m doing really well. How ‘bout you?”

“Me too. I’m glad you’re doing good. How’d that internship go, by the way?”

“Oh my god, it went great,” he recounts. “Ten told you how he was interning under a different department, right? And that he worked on the floor above mine?”

“He did. Did y’all see each other often? He didn’t really mention a lot other than how he got wasted with you.”

“Yeah. He’s less of a lightweight now, did you know? Anyways, I shared an apartment with a few guys, and one of them was from his hometown, and he was doing analytics as well and he mentioned that he had interned with you last summer. Do you remember a Hendery?”

“I remember him! Does he still have a bunch of questionable ties?”

“So many. We got him a Shrek tie that Ten ended up picking, and he wore it on the last day, it was great.”

You and Lucas are okay again.

You only realize that you never ordered a drink by the time you head out.

Executive Park, 10:42 p.m.

Sicheng calls for the first time in a year right when Winter leaves your college apartment for the last time. It’s not the last time you’ll see her before you move out, but it brings about a sense of finality.

“Hello?” you ask after a moment of silence.

“You’re still going to school in LA next year, right?”

“Hello?” Winter glances over, one hand on your doorknob, and you shake her head. Covering your phone, you mouth “I’m fine.” She doesn’t look convinced, but closes the door behind her anyways.

“Please,” he says, and his sense of urgency grabs your attention. “I’ll explain, but I need to know.”

“Yeah, I am. Why? What’s happening?”

“So. I might be moving there to teach at a dance studio.”

“You’re moving back?” you press. “Why? When? Which studio?”

“Millennium, sometime in the fall,” he says, loud chatter on his end briefly drowning out his words. “Shit—I don’t have a lot of time right now, but I got confirmation that I’ll be teaching there just now, and I—I remembered you were gonna be there, and, you know? Can we talk about this sometime later? I’m at the studio right now, I just—”

“Sicheng, that’s fine,” you say when you hear the talking in the background pick up again, worried that he’s missing out on a class or practice. “I’m proud of you for making it there. We’ll talk later?”

“Thank you, yeah, we should.”

You nod, not knowing what to do. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says, and you hang up as soon as the syllable has left his mouth.

Sicheng’s moving back. He’s moving back, a stranger behind his familiar smile, and it’s difficult to think about meeting him when you’d assumed you’d never see him again.

Against the backdrop of surprise, your curiosity stands out the most. You wonder what kind of person he grew into—wonder if he ever found something besides dance to chase, what his most recent catchphrase is, how his girlfriend is doing, if he still listens to the SoundCloud rapper after he went into pop, how often he calls his parents—and you miss the ease of being able to ask him, no sour memories to impede even the simplest of conversations.

This is the price you have to pay, you suppose, for knowing you were meant to outgrow each other.

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