#she walks directly into my room and lingers for several minutes so i can read an essay over that she could have just EMAILED

[brittlebutch]

nothing like a full-blown pathetic meltdown on the floor to make it a real holiday <3

[lipstickstainz]

mismatched socks - s. r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Spencer's girlfriend (reader, FBI agent too) always wears mismatched socks and when they have their first night together at his apartment he notices, and his brain goes to mush, and falls in love with her even more

Warnings: fluff, some talk about Spencer being insecure Word Count: 2.2k A/N: thanks for the request, love! I really enjoyed writing it! requests are open guys! hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

Spencer had always known he was different. He had always been the smartest in school, which could be attributed to his eidetic memory. He wasn't invited to birthday parties because he liked to tell facts that were funny to him, but that no one else found funny. And he had been rather an oddball in other ways, too.

All his life this fact had made him insecure. He thought of himself as too skinny, too unathletic-especially when he compared himself to Derek, which was pretty stupid, of course-and his hair always lay funny, no matter how hard he tried to tame it. He wore cardigans over shirts-the watch over the cardigan, of course-which was pretty weird, but he wore Converse with them and two different socks every day. He loved magic and physics jokes. Spencer couldn't talk about the latest episode of Greys Anatomy, and he wasn't sure what Team Stefan and Team Damon were. Spencer didn't fit in perfectly anywhere and it had taken him time to accept that. He also never imagined anyone would find in attractive, or even want to be with him.

Until you came along.

On your first day at BAU, he immediately noticed three things about you. First, you walked incredibly fast, actually too fast to just walk from one office to the next. It seemed to her as if you were flying. Second, you tucked your hair behind your ears every few minutes, even when it wasn't falling in your face. He wondered why you didn't use a pin or a scrunchie. But it was a habit that didn't bother him in the least. From the moment he first saw you, he found you irresistibly pretty, and he was glad your hair didn't cover your face. And third, you could write ambidextrously. As the team sat in the conference room and you scribbled something in your case file - also something he noticed, you seemed to prefer paper as much as he did - you reached for your coffee cup with your right hand and continued to write undisturbed with your left, until the entire team looked at you as if you were from another star. It was a look Spencer knew all too well.

He had never met anyone like you.

Spencer liked you from the first moment he saw you. He liked that you took your backpack on both shoulders and that you preferred cocoa to coffee. He liked the way you smiled at him when he brought you one from the office kitchen and set it on your desk. And he liked the way your skin felt on his when you reached under the desk for his hand when you noticed a change in his demeanor. You then squeezed his hand twice. Once for "It's all right" and once for "I'm here, with you."

In your presence, everything seemed as easy as breathing. You listened to him when he blathered on about a subject you didn't understand, because you liked his intelligence and the way he explained things without looking down on others. You even asked when he had to explain something to you, which had surprised him so much the first few times that he had completely forgotten what your conversation was about. He had stared at you and the blush had come to his face. One feature that didn't escape you, but made him even more attractive to you.

When you went to his table one morning and told him that you had seen Star Trek for the first time the previous night, and now wondered how realistic the physics in the movie were, he could hardly stand it. You were beautiful and intelligent and interested in Star Trek? And when you asked him if he could explain something from the movie to you, he was sure his dream girl was standing right in front of him.

"I need your help", he told Derek that very day as they stood together in the kitchen. "How do I ask a girl out?"

Derek nearly choked on his coffee before turning to Spencer. "Since when do you want to date?" He noticed Spencer's gaze, which wasn't on him, but slid past him and lingered on you.You sat at your desk and tucked your hair behind your ears before looking up and over at Spencer's desk.  Derek could see your gaze wander around the office and then linger on Spencer before you smiled and got back to work. With a grin, Derek looked at Spencer. "You're going to ask Y/N out on a date? Oh boy, it's about time you finally do. I already said to Penelope that -"

"Please, Morgan. I just want to know how to ask her out”, Spencer interrupted him, looking at his friend.

Derek's grin gave way to an honest, friendly smile. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Just ask her directly."

"And if she says no?", asked Spencer uncertainly, his mouth twisting into a thin line. He couldn't imagine you going on a date with him, but he couldn't stay in the dark any longer either. He had to at least try.

"She won't”, Derek assured him. The whole team felt that Spencer and you would be perfect for each other, but he didn't tell him that. Spencer should learn to walk before he starts running. "I can see the way she looks at you. And if she does say no, she's not as smart as I thought."

Spencer trusted Derek's words and took it upon himself to ask you out on a date that very day. He had phrased the question countless times in his head, even encouraging himself in the mirror in the men's room, but every time he stood in front of you and looked at your beautiful face, he couldn't get a single word out. They got stuck in his throat and he was so embarrassed that he fled from you several times. By the third time, he had red marks on his neck, which you noticed immediately, and you wondered how you had made him so uncomfortable without having really done anything. When he said nothing again, you put your hand on his forearm.

"Are you okay, Spencer?", you asked, and he just nodded. It's now or never.

"Wouldyougooutwithme?" He almost mumbled, but you had understood him perfectly. "If you don't want to, that's fine, and we'll pretend I never asked. We'll just keep being friends and -"

"Spencer," you interrupted, smiling up at him, "I'd love to go out with you," you replied, and he was able to breathe deeply again. The marks on his neck faded as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

He had done it. Spencer had asked you and you had agreed, but where was he going to take you? Nothing seemed good enough for him. Going out to eat was nice, but you didn't seem like someone who needed to talk the whole time. He thought movie theaters were dumb because you couldn't talk there at all. After two days he had thought of something and he wouldn't have minded if you thought the idea was stupid, but when he presented his idea to you, you smiled at him excitedly.

"I can't wait."

You spent your first date in Spencer's favorite library, surrounded by knowledge and stories. You walked the aisles together, telling stories of books you had read and found to be good, and books you had abandoned because they were so bad you couldn't finish them. As you walked through each aisle, which had actually taken an entire afternoon, Spencer didn't want the date to end. He was going to suggest something else, but you beat him to it.

"There's a couch over there. Shall we sit there? Then you can read me something from your favorite book."

You would be the death of him.

A few weeks later, you had arranged to go for a walk. The weather was nice, not too hot and not too cool, so you strolled hand in hand along the paths. He liked the fact that you worked together but couldn't just talk about the job. You were explaining to him why a certain Matt Donavan from a vampire series was incredibly annoying when someone stopped in front of you.

"Y/N! How nice to see you!", the young woman said, unceremoniously wrapping her arms around you. When she broke away from you, you looked at Spencer.

"Spencer, this is Lisa, my college roommate. Lisa, this is Spencer, my boyfriend”, you explained before you could think about what you had just said. You chatted briefly before going your separate ways again. You noticed a change in Spencer's behavior and feared you had misinterpreted everything. When you couldn't take it anymore, you stopped.

"Look, I'm sorry I called you my boyfriend”, you said, looking down at the ground in shame. "We've never talked about what exactly we are, but it feels like you're my boyfriend and I wish you were, so I -"

"Y/N”, he interrupted you and tenderly reached for your hand. A smile spread across his face. He couldn't believe himself that he would ask you that. "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

The bar was crowded and the later it got, the more crowded you felt. The team had been in the mood to celebrate after a difficult case, so everyone had gathered in the regular bar. Penelope was putting on some dance moves on the dance floor while Emily and JJ were bawling out the song, which neither Spencer nor you knew. He had his arm around your waist and pulled you tightly to his side, which you enjoyed very much. He didn't fit in here with his shirt and cardigan, but he fit you, you were one hundred percent sure of that.

As you stifled a yawn, he looked down at you. "Shall we go? You seem tired and I'm getting ready to go to bed too”, he suggested and you nodded. Outside, he hailed you a cab and as you got in, you gave the driver Spencer's address.

"We're going to my place?", asked Spencer, looking at you in confusion as you nestled into his side.

"Yeah, I hope that's okay”, you replied, "If it's too soon for you for us to sleep together, then you just have to say so. I won't be mad at you."

How could he be mad at you? You wanted to spend the night with him. You wanted to fall asleep next to him and wake up next to him. He had hit the jackpot.

"Would you like to drink something?", he asked as you sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes. It wasn't the first time you'd been in his apartment, but you'd never entered his bedroom before and you didn't want to take the step without him. It was still his apartment and his privacy and you respected that.

"Just water, please”, you replied, pulling your legs up so he could sit next to you. He handed you the glass and you took a big gulp.

In your presence, Spencer had never felt like an oddball. You never made him feel like he was different or weird. You didn't laugh at him, you laughed with him, and you had assured him many times how incredibly attractive he was to you, even if he couldn't see it. He wasn't too skinny or too unathletic for you. He dressed askew, but it suited him like a glove and you had imagined more than once what he would look like without clothes. It didn't bother you in the least that he wasn't interested in the technology of today. For you, he was just right. For you, he was perfect.

Even though you often assured him how much you liked him and how happy you were with him, he was still insecure from time to time. But as you sat there together on the couch and you put your legs on his thighs, he was one hundred percent sure that he didn't need to be insecure. On your left foot was a green sock, while on your right dangled an orange sock.

You wore the socks like he did. Two different ones. Had you seen this on him and copied it or had you always worn socks like this? A question that could be answered later. His heart stopped for a second, his brain turned to mush, which is why he couldn't control his following words either. "I think I love you."

Surprised, you looked to him and noticed that his gaze lingered on your socks. "You see my socks and then say you love me? Maybe something isn't going right in that clever head of yours”, you grinned and leaned towards him. Blushes shot up his face. "I love you too, Spencer."

Gently, you placed your lips on his. The kiss was tender, hesitant, but Spencer saw his chance and gently pulled you onto his lap before wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. His heart threatened to overflow with love. As he placed his hands on your butt, you moaned softly into his mouth. He smiled.

In your presence, he didn't feel like he was different.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Prelude (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5 K Premise: Three moments leading up to their fateful meeting.

Author’s Note: In which I try to explain why MC didn’t know what Ethan, her medical hero, looked like. Also, my (late) fic for the book 1 replay. Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading!

Three.

Harper frowns down at the file in her hand, her sharp gaze burning into the collated papers as though coercing them to solve their dilemma once and for all. From the end of the table, Cyrus lets out an inpatient sigh.

“It's very simple, Harper,” he drones. Ethan's fists clench reflexively at his sides, urging to remind Cyrus that Harper is the chief now and warrants more respect than his insufferable tone is offering. “The last spot should go to the candidate from Harvard. We are the best hospital on the east coast, after all. It only makes sense.”

Harper looks unconvinced and still, her pensive expression remains fixed in the file.

“An ivy league degree does not a good doctor make,” Naveen adds sagely into the ensuing silence. His smile is placid enough but Ethan knows the older doctor well enough to hear the warning edge in his voice. Evidently, even Naveen disapproves of Cyrus's lack of respect for their new chief.

Cyrus scoffs.

“And if you need further proof of that, Doctor Cyrus,” Ethan begins dryly, eyes boring into him. “Then look no further than your side of the conference table.”

A few attendings—at least the ones who have become increasingly tired of Cyrus's boastful proclamations about his alma mater—laugh quietly at the jab. Cyrus splutters, his face an unpleasant shade of red as he glares daggers at Ethan.

“This candidate,” Harper says at last, unaware or uncaring of what she had just interrupted. Her two lone words are enough to command the room's attention at once, but her hazel eyes are on Ethan. “You're convinced she's the best fit for Edenbrook?”

Ethan meets her eye and pauses.

It's the first time they look at each other directly since he ended their relationship two weeks prior. Despite the brief time apart and an unshakeable resolve to be professional, his stomach sinks heavy, like a stone.

Harper looks as graceful and dignified as ever, keeping every emotion in check. Yet, as she holds his gaze, Ethan can see a small flicker or sadness and his stomach twists with guilt.

“I'm positive, Chief Emery,” Ethan responds. “This candidate exhibits the type of potential we look for at Edenbrook.”

The use of her new title seems to snap Harper out of a reverie.

“She graduated top of her class and ranked in the top percent among our chosen cohort of interns,” Ethan continues. “I've also looked into her research and it's among the most promising I've seen. I recommend her without reservations.”

With a single nod and a sense of finality, Harper closes the file.

“Then it's settled. We have our last intern.”

“You're joking, Harper,” Cyrus blurts out, incensed. “We're giving a coveted spot to the candidate from UCLA?”

He says the name of the school with so much derision, Ethan feels his ears flare up.

“That Doctor Ayala?” Cyrus continues.

“Doctor Allende,” Ethan corrects, jaw clenched.

“Don't we have enough charity cases in the cohort already? This is token—”

But the vitriol is quickly interrupted by several things happening at once: Ethan darting forward, fists ready; a startled, collective gasp from the other attendings; Naveen, quietly intercepting Ethan and halting his steps with a steady hand, a feat that is impressive for a man much older and shorter; and Harper, also on her feet, directing a disgusted look at Cyrus she doesn’t bother to disguise behind professionalism.

“I would think very carefully about finishing that sentence if I were you, Doctor Cyrus,” she says, her voice low but with the impact of a clashing gavel. “And I ask that you address me as Chief Emery moving forward.”

Two.

“If you end up marrying someone with a Boston accent,” Laurel is saying with a devilish grin. “I will never be able to keep a straight face when they talk. Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.”

Her older sister peers at Lilac over the flaps of an open cardboard box, the glint in her eye growing wickeder still. “Imagine what they’d sound like in bed. You're so fucking gawgeous, dawctaw—”

Before her sister can escalate that impression into disturbing territory, Lilac silences her with a well-aimed pillow. It succeeds in hitting Laurel straight in the face but also in turning her laughter into a cackle.

“Are you going to help me pack or not?” Lilac says sternly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the smile that manages to break through.

Laurel raises her hands in defeat and returns to packing Lilac's books neatly. They work in companionable silence for a few minutes with nothing but their favorite music blaring from the speakers of Lilac's phone.

“Is this the book?” her sister asks suddenly, turning a worn textbook in her hands and studying it closely. “The one written by your medical crush?”

For some inexplicable reason, Lilac feels her face flare with heat. “He's not my crush.”

“You just worship the ground he walks on,” her sister returns, flipping through Diagnostic Principles. “Though, you're right. In order to have a crush you'd need to know what he looks like.”

Laurel reaches the back cover, frowning. “Why wouldn't he add an author picture?”

Lilac says nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. She can't blame her sister for being curious and a bit disappointed at the lack of visual representation. After all, Lilac had felt crestfallen when all she found in the author's information section was the green and blue Edenbrook logo.

“Maybe he's a private man and doesn't like his picture out in the world? Maybe he wants aspiring doctors to focus on his research and not his looks?”

“So he's either really hot or really ugly,” Laurel returns, unmoved by Lilac's impassioned speech. “Have you ever tried looking him up online?”

Lilac had been tempted many times, but she was fiercely adamant about keeping her medical hero a mystery outside of his work. It already felt invasive enough to track down his undergrad research and every other minor paper he'd ever written. When it came to Ethan Ramsey, Lilac had searched every corner of scholarly journals and databases, absorbing every piece of his work with an adoration that was already embarrassing enough.

Plus, she would never admit it out loud, but she was also afraid that knowing what the brilliant doctor looked like would somehow ruin him for her. Or at least, alter the image of him she had constructed in her head for so many years. It felt right to continue seeing Dr. Ramsey as the brilliant force that pushed her into her dream career and not as a definitive set of features.

“It doesn't matter what he looks like. He's the best and I'm going there to learn from him, not to judge his appearance.”

“I'm Googling him,” Laurel announces, already typing furiously into her phone. After a few seconds, her phone returns results and her eyebrows shoot up, staying suspended for longer than normal.

“What?” Lilac asks despite herself.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“Just… wow.” Laurel stares down at the screen with such awestruck amazement that Lilac feels a powerful wave of curiosity. “He’s shirtless in some of these.”

“What?” Lilac yelps, feeling her face flare up at once. 

“Yeah, apparently you’re not his only fan. Tons of people have taken his picture.” Her sister seems to blink out of a trance, turning the screen toward Lilac. “Here, see for your—”

But Lilac turns her gaze away almost out of reflex.

“No!” 

The word comes out far more impassioned than Lilac intended. Still, she resolutely turns her head. “That feels...invasive, somehow?”

“Come on—”

“I'm serious, Lau. I don't want to see. I'm already nervous enough about this whole thing without having to worry about this wow-worthy revelation. And besides, taking someone’s shirtless picture without their consent and posting it online is already bad enough. It feels wrong supporting that.”

Laurel rolls her eyes.

“I'm going to see him in less than a week anyway. With clothes. In a professional setting. As I should. If I waited all these years, I can wait that long.”

A knowing, devious sort of smile pulls at her sister's face. She mumbles something over the music and Lilac can swear it sounds oddly like: “...worth the wait.”

One.

Ethan should have taken the broken and sputtering coffee machine in his apartment as an omen. His morning definitely declined from then on, starting with gridlock traffic and ending with an infuriatingly long line at his favorite coffee place.

The ultimate lack of coffee is probably his fault because Ethan had spent too much time deliberating whether or not he wanted to go with store bought coffee on what promised to be a grueling day. When he had finally made up his mind, however, the line was already out the door.

Irritated and caffeine deprived, he drives back to Edenbrook.

“You're earlier than we agreed,” Naveen says as soon as Ethan accepts his incoming call. “What was the point of rearranging the whole schedule if you were going to come in when you pleased anyway?”

“I'm not even through the gates yet. What are you spying on me?”

“No need. You forget how predictable you are.”

Naveen chuckles as he says this which eases some of Ethan's irritation. The older doctor had purposely scheduled him later in the day to give him some peace on the first day of the new intern cohort.

Naturally, Ethan arrived several hours early, as per his custom.

“Or maybe you know me too well by now.”

Naveen's benevolent laughter turns into a dry but lingering cough on the other end of the line. Instantly, Ethan's insides freeze over, his stomach sinking unpleasantly.

He opens his mouth to question his mentor about this persisting symptom, when sheer reflex prompts him to stomp on the breaks so suddenly, his body jerks forward then slams against his seat.

“Shit.”

Something—or rather someone— had crossed the parking lot road right in front of his car, standing mere inches away from his front bumper.

“Ethan?” Naveen asks through the speaker.

When Ethan recovers and regains movement of his arms and legs, he feels the spike of adrenaline give way to pure annoyance.

The offending pedestrian is a young brunette clad in blue scrubs, a medical intern by the looks of it. She stands there in the middle of the road, her mouth hanging open in a way that would have been comical to Ethan if he wasn't so irritated.

They stare at one another, though Ethan is convinced she can't see much through the tinted glass.

Then, right before his eyes, she seems to recover from the shock. Drawing herself to her full height, she glares at Ethan. At least, he thinks she's glaring through the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

Ethan almost scoffs.

She has the audacity to be angry when she was the one who made the rookie mistake of aimlessly crossing in front of him?

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Asshole,” she mutters, the word quite audible through his windows.

Before a stunned Ethan can respond, she turns on her heel and rushes toward the hospital, a curtain of dark hair dancing behind her.

“What was that?” Naveen asks, still on the call.

“I hate interns,” Ethan responds much to the older doctor's amusement.

Bonus:

Author’s Note: In other words, my MC was late to her orientation because of Ethan and that’s how she met him in the waiting room lol. Thank you so much for reading! 

*Tagging Separately 

[reidyoulikeabook]

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading  you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.” 

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

[densi-mber]

Like A Fairytale

A/N: Kensi and Deeks enjoy some alone time on Christmas. Some adult content.

Merry Christmas!

***

Kensi sighed as Deeks pulled his truck in front of a small cabin, decked out with small twinkle lights and a few decorations. With a dusting of fresh snow on the roof, it looked very close to a real gingerbread house. It wasn’t as close to the resort and attractions since it was a privately owned house, but it meant they could stay for a week for the same price as renting a cabin directly.

“I forgot how beautiful it is here,” she said, turning in time to see Deeks’ smile. Over the last few years, they hadn’t made it up to Mammoth at all. It was especially welcome after all the stress and disappointment of last year.

“It is pretty perfect,” Deeks agreed. “Come on, let’s go in. There’s a hot tub calling my name.”

He took her hand as they walked along the salted path to the front door, which bore a holly and fir tree wreath. Deeks punched in the the security code, toting their bags in as they walked into a small entryway.

While Deeks went to grab another load from the truck, she explored the rest of the house. In the den, she found a small tree decorated with silver and blue icicle ornaments and garland and a collection of blankets, books, and games in baskets next to a fireplace.

Kensi was sure they’d make good use of the fire, but didn’t know if they’d get around to enjoying the games or books. It was a nice gesture though.

Grabbing the small cooler they’d brought with, Kensi moved on to the kitchen. Like most of the rooms, it was small, but nicely furnished. On the table, there was a gift basket filled with fruit, cheese, and chocolate, along with a note that read,

Merry Christmas Kensi and Marty,

We provided a complimentary fruit basket, champagne, and dinner to get your vacation off to a good start.

We hope you enjoy your stay and the holidays.

The Wegmans

There appeared to be an entire chicken dinner, with rolls and dessert included in the fridge and a few meals worth of sandwich fixings. Grabbing a salted chocolate caramel from the basket, Kensi wandered back out to the front of the house.

Deeks was bent in front of the fireplace, his hair flopping into his as he concentrated on lighting a pile of kindling. She was overwhelmed by a rush of affection for him and spent a minutes just watching him work. It had been so long since she’d taken the time to appreciate the way he moved, the gentle strength of his hands.

When he had a nice little fire going, Kensi crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist as he rose.

“Hey.” He pulled her into his side, kissing her temple with a sigh.

“Hi. The owners left us dinner and other treats,” she told him.

“Oh, yeah, I might have mentioned that we haven’t been on a real vacation in a few years when I made the reservations,” Deeks said with a shrug. “And several reviewers mentioned that the Wegmans always go above and beyond to make sure their renters have a pleasant experience.”

“You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”

“I tried. Is it too much?”

Kensi was vaguely astounded that he’d think she might have a problem with him creating an extremely romantic getaway. Rising up in her toes, she kissed him softly, lingering to show her appreciation.

“It’s perfect,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair. “Thank you, Baby.” Deeks sighed, leaning into her touch, closing his eyes briefly.

“So, you wanna break into that dinner?” he suggested, dropping his linked hands to her lower back.

“Dinner can wait,” Kensi decided, drawing his lips back to hers. She sank to the floor, drawing Deeks with her and sighed when his lips found her neck.

***

Deeks’ skin was soft beneath Kensi’s fingers as she ran them down his back and across his stomach. He shivered, making a pleasant sound, but didn’t move from his spot a few inches from the fire. Kensi was nicely warm tucked into his side.

“So much for the hot tub,” he said, flashing her half a smile. The rest of his face was smashed into the floor rug.

“Are you complaining?” Kensi asked, pretty sure of his answer. As far as she was concerned, they’d just spent a very enjoyable hour together.

“No, definitely not,” Deeks assured her quickly. “I’m just going to have some rug burn in uncomfortable places.” He lifted his head and let his gaze run over her. “But totally worth it,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, almost gravely tone that sent a rush of heat through her at the memory of their very recent activities.

Palming her hip, Deeks gently squeezed and rolled her onto her back, sliding over her. She welcomed the heavy weight of his body pressed against hers. He started to prop himself up on his forearms, but Kensi hooked her leg around his waist, keeping him in place.

Kensi arched into him as Deeks kissed her neck, smoothing her hands down his back. When she reached his butt, she rolled her hips and squeezed him. Deeks broke his patter of kisses with a gasp, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Oh god,” he sighed. “At this rate, we’re going to starve.”

“Completely worth it,” Kensi decided, grinning against his mouth as she kissed him.

***

A/N: No, I don’t think a rental house would have a functioning wood-burning fireplace, but it’s a little more romantic.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 21)

Previously, in LBitR...

Lena has to admit she’s impressed—albeit exceedingly exasperated—when Nia does not budge an inch in her resolve to keep her locked away from Lex. They young hero apparently has a stubborn streak to rival Kara’s, and at some point, Lena simply has to concede defeat, if only for the fact that Nia seems close to bursting into tears whenever she tries to explain there’s no place Lex can’t reach.

Whatever Nia has seen in her visions, it’s enough to make her adamant and completely unmoving on the matter. It hurt; Lena understood it, even if she did not agree with the decision in the slightest, but still. It hurt.

Brainy is the one who comes to collect her, a silent Nia in tow, a few hours later. Lena had only recently been allowed to walk around her room—under heavy guard—so he comes to her with a rather apologetic look when he pulls a fresh pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

Lena offers her hands with only a resigned sigh. The cuffs barely close around the cast.

“My apologies,” Brainy says as they click into place, barely even tightened. “But we must keep up appearances.”

Nia is completely silent when Lena shoots her a look.

“This is a mistake,” Lena tries for the last time, a last-ditch effort. There’s no changing the resolve in Nia’s gaze. “We have to disable the implants—it’s the only way.”

Nia tries to remain utterly impassive, but there is a slight tremor to her lips that does not bode well. Before Lena can press further, Brainy interjects, looking apologetic. “There isn’t time,” he says, cutting through Nia’s determined silence with worry in his tone. “Supergirl has been spotted in Nevada—she’s undoubtedly on her way here. We cannot take the chance.”

Lena doesn’t try to say that they should take the chance, now more than ever. She doesn’t say that somehow, Lex will find her wherever it is they are taking her, and she’ll be powerless to stop him when he is literally inside her head.

Instead, she bites her tongue and lets DEO agents put a bag over her head. She doesn’t try to count the number of steps it takes to get to the van, or how many curves they take to this new, supposedly Lex-proof facility. She doesn’t even try to count the seconds in her head to work out how long the trip takes.

No, the entire time, Lena keeps her eyes shut and thinks.

She thinks about the miniscule implant in her skin, under a fresh layer of clean bandages changed only this morning. She thinks about the pattern in which the flashes of memories first appeared, tries to think about the memories she lost, she thinks of the blinding pain Lex’s trigger words had wreaked in her brain and her mind, physically and emotionally.

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

Most of all, Lena thinks about how the fuck she’s supposed to stop it from happening again.

The bag finally is taken off her head in a corridor so poorly lit Lena barely has to blink to adjust her eyes. It looks like any of the many run-of-the-mill military bunkers she’s seen in her lifetime. The main difference is the endless row of reinforced Plexiglass containment cells, all dark except for two, at the very end of the corridor.

One of them is empty; Lena assumes it will be hers. The other holds only a redheaded figure, slumped over a cot.

“Alex?” Lena breathes—the whisper comes out before she can even think about stopping it. The figure shifts ever so slightly in the cot, but Alex Danvers doesn’t deign to look her way. From where she’s standing, Lena can just see the white of fresh bandages at Alex’s temple.

The one other thing that draws Lena’s attention is the tall, brooding and stoic presence of J’onn, looming by the open cell next to Alex’s. Lena wonders why he’s here, wonders what he could possibly have to say to her, but the Martian remains utterly silent as Brainy and Nia escort her into her cell.

Once the handcuffs are off, Lena takes one step backward, and the door hisses shut; the loud click of the locking mechanism echoes eerily down the corridor, drowning out the breath that escapes Lena’s lungs.

They all stand there—well, Alex is still lying on her cot—for several moments. The air is thick with tension, and Lena wants to say something, but all she has to say are more arguments as to why what they’re doing is a terrible idea, and she already knows they will not be heard.

To Lena’s surprise, Nia’s the one to speak first.

“This—” she waves at their cells, hands trembling despite the strength and certainty she injects into her tone “—this is temporary. I promise.” Her eyes meet Lena’s framed by the blue of her Dreamer mask—it somehow makes her anguish even more apparent. She looks to where Alex is lying dejectedly in her cot, lips pulling into a thin line. “We’ll take care of Lex before he can activate the implants. I promise.”

Lena doesn’t tell her not to make promises she cannot keep. She just smiles, as frankly as she can, and lets Nia walk back down the corridor in a determined strut, Brainy following shortly after, leaving Lena behind with a pained look.

J’onn lingers. He stares directly at Lena, wordlessly for several moments, like he is staring through her soul. Lena tries very hard not to think about what she knows of Martians’ and their telepathic abilities—knowing she can’t exactly shield her own mind, instead she focuses on keeping it blank, a vast emptiness with nothing for him to find.

She can’t exactly look away—this feels like a test of sorts, and Lena has never not risen to the occasion. She’s not entirely sure she succeeds, but the silence is interminable as the tension slowly, slowly ebbs away.

Unfathomably, the Martian chuckles.

“Very good, Miss Luthor,” he says, his deep voice a rumble behind the glass of her cell. Lena cannot even begin to understand what he means.

J’onn steps closer—his eyes drift to Alex’s curled form for a moment, a glint of worry glimmering through them before they settle back on Lena. “You are more prepared for this than you think, Lena.”

The statement shocks her, enough for Lena to let her guard down for a moment. Her fist—which was clenching tightly at her side—suddenly relaxes, and it is as if the movement releases a ball of pent-up energy she has been carrying ever since her heated argument with Nia.

“Excuse me?” she says, her disbelief and confusion plain in her expression. She’s stuck in a cell, with an incapacitated Alex Danvers in the cell beside her to boot. They’re essentially sitting ducks for Lex.

“You are not as vulnerable as you think you are,” J’onn continues, as if he had read her… wait. He smiles, following her realization with something akin to amusement.

“I have a mind-control device in my head,” she says matter-of-factly, eyes narrowing. “I’d say that’s pretty vulnerable, especially now that I’m being left stranded here with no recourse.”

“Lena. You know. And knowing is half the battle,” J’onn murmurs cryptically.

Lena’s good fist clenches again, her aggravation evident. “I can’t win half a battle,” she hisses.

J’onn shakes his head, like he’s discussing something with a child who can’t comprehend a fairly simple concept—it only serves to irk her further. “Lena. You know about the implant.”

“Yes!” She half-yells. “I know about the implant, I know how it works, I even know how Lex put it in my head! But I also know there’s nothing I can do about it. So tell me, J’onn, what good is knowing all of this if I can’t use it??

J’onn regards her pensively for a moment—that hint of amusement that glimmered in his eyes is gone; however, it looks as if it has been replaced with something else entirely.

He looks impressed.

“Lena,” he says, and his voice is… encouraging? Optimistic? “You said it yourself. You know you have a mind-control device in your head. You are aware Lex will use it at any point. And thus, if you are aware…” he trails off, taking a step back and eyeing Lena knowingly.

Lena feels her jaw slackening, her fist unclenching. The hand encased in her cast throbs mildly, just enough to remind her of how she stopped what Lex had triggered. She thinks of his words, thinks about the blinding shock that seized her psyche when he did it, of how it pulsed inside her skull, white-hot and agonizing.

She thinks of how she expects it to happen, literally any minute now, how Lex’s words seem to have been swirling in her head ever since he used them against her.

Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

The Martian’s smile returns as he follows Lena’s train of thought.

“You know, Lena,” he repeats, beginning to walk away. “That means you are prepared.”

<< Previous || Next >>>

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Part Three) || Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Sleepovers are supposed to be fun, but perhaps not when they include your fake boyfriend. 

Word count ↠ 4.5k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, some bad language, Tom’s shirtless? And also a lil bit jealous

A/N ↠ I decided that Y/N is in Stranger Things because... Joe Keery. You’re welcome. This was a fun part to write! Thank you so much to everyone that’s been loving on this series - makes my heart very very happy to know it’s being read and enjoyed :’) Please let me know what you think of this part! (This picks up directly after part two just with a pov shift)

Series masterpost

THREE: What’s Mine Is Yours (Y)

The studio lights burn your eyes painfully, and your throat has been stinging distantly of tequila ever since you took the first shot. 

Jimmy’s been sending you question after question, analysing and picking apart every aspect of your ‘relationship’ with Tom for the past five minutes. So far, you and Tom have answered with your stories aligned, and you thank yourself for having the stroke of genius to go over some essential details with him before the show. If you’d just come out here and winged it, as he had foolishly suggested, you know you would’ve tripped up by now. 

It’s all going as expected, until near the end of the interview when Tom’s words split through the air and shock you completely:

“Well, chemistry is a very important part of any relationship, Jimmy, and you know what they say: enemies make the best lovers.”

Enemies make the best lovers..?

Even as the conversation moves on, you feel the words lingering in your mind. Tom’s been playing the role of your doting boyfriend very well all evening, but there has been something a little too earnest about his eyes and his remarks, and it’s left you feeling… odd. Exposed, perhaps. He’s out here claiming that enemies make the perfect foundation to a loving relationship, and though you’re almost certain it was a throwaway comment, you can’t stop yourself from over-analysing it.

“Well, thank you to both of you for joining us tonight,” Jimmy says finally, dragging you from your stupor. “It’s been a pleasure, as always. I wish the happy couple all the best!” 

You’re nestled up very close to Tom on the sofa. His hand is on your knee, and you’ve got your arm wrapped around his side. You hadn’t discussed any of this beforehand, but you’d followed his lead when he’d first stretched out his palm. Casual displays of intimacy, according to your PR team, are everything, and it’s been almost nice to have his fingers resting on your leg, acting as a grounding presence. Any time you said something a little risky, he’d squeeze your knee - and you likewise would use your hand on his side to pinch him gently, like a reminder to stop talking whenever he came close to slipping up. 

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Tom says. He looks around to face you, his brown eyes warm and round. “We’ve had a great time.”

You nod along and pull your hand away from Tom’s side as you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, it’s been amazing.”

Jimmy throws out a few final farewells, and the audience descends into applause. As the bright sign that reads LIVE flickers out, the cameras stop rolling. Almost immediately, you feel lighter. With a loud groan, you stretch your arms out behind your head and collapse back into the sofa, your posture sagging. Besides you, Tom mirrors you, his legs spreading and his knee knocking against yours as you glance over and share a cautious smile.

“That went well, didn’t it?” You ask quietly. Jimmy’s wandered off, and around you, people are rolling up cables and wires. You can feel the eyes of some of the audience on you, so you reach down to play with his hand. Tom lets you fiddle with his fingers, and you gulp as you draw your fingertips across his soft skin.

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks at you curiously. “What was the question you answered with Harrison?” 

You scoff. “That’s a secret.”

You’d almost died when you’d read the card. As much as you’d disliked the prospect of doing a shot, the question had read ‘Which of Tom’s friends would you consider dating?’. Though you feel no romantic attraction towards Harrison, he’s the only one of Tom’s friends you know. You couldn’t admit it to Tom live, because PR would have had your head, but you don’t particularly want to fess up now, either. 

Tom’s always been a bit weird about your friendship with Harrison, and you don’t want to add more strain to your relationship. Maybe a month ago you would’ve loved to have another thing to rub in Tom’s face, but now things are changing. Your relationship is beyond twisted as it is, and much to your surprise, you no longer feel the burning need to exacerbate that - not now you know you’ll be tied to his side for the next five months. For all you thrive off Tom’s discomfort, it’s starting to take a toll. 

Tom pouts, but there’s an intense heat to it. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes. “What was your first question?” You return. “The one that you replied to by saying I’m stubborn?”

Tom groans, and the illusion of him being a doting, sweet boyfriend shatters. A part of you is relieved he’s back to normal as he glares at you. Tom has been too nice to you this evening, and it was becoming a little unsettling.

“I won’t tell you mine unless you tell me yours,” he barters. Tom looks down at your joined hands and loops your fingers together, leaning in closer on the sofa so he can drop his voice. The strong waves of his cologne drift out over you, causing your mind to spin. “Oh, come on, girlfriend, we were getting on so well, just tell me? Please?” He even flutters his eyelashes.

You chuckle in the face of his charm. “No way.”

Tom pulls away, his jaw flexing. He drops your fingers dramatically. “Fine. Be like that.” He stands up quickly, but then he pauses and begrudgingly offers you a hand, his eyes skimming the busy room. He, like you, seems to recognise there is a time and place for your petty bickering. “Let me escort you backstage,” he says, voice dry and monotonous. 

You sigh heavily. “You’re so annoying,” you tell him, accepting his hand. He helps you up with a strong grip, your fingers tangling together easily. “I almost bought the act that you were actually a decent guy tonight, y’know?”

Tom keeps your hands together as you slowly walk backstage. “I almost bought yours,” he returns, his voice quiet. “I suppose we’re both good actors, aren’t we?”

You set your mouth in a firm line. “I suppose we are.”

You don’t see him for a while, and for that, you’re very grateful. For a few weeks, it seems PR are satisfied with a few teasing tweets here and there, and you enjoy the freedom of living Tom-free again. It really is quite disruptive, having to parade around with him, and lie when your friends and family question you about him. It’s quick to grow tiresome as you have to explain, over and over, that, no, you don’t hate him - love just happened!! Yeah, he’s great! Oh, you always thought there was something going on between us? Haha. Hah. That’s so funny. 

It’d be so much easier, you think, if you and Tom got along better. But you know the only way that’ll happen is if one of you apologies to the other, and you’re still too fucking angry about everything to let your walls come down. Your history spans three poisonous years, and you aren’t willing to start lowering your defences for fear of him using that against you. You’d rather suffer through several more months of torture with Tom than show any sort of regret or remorse. You will not be the first to place your cards on the table, which lands you in a difficult position because you know he isn’t the type to concede either. You’re so similar it almost hurts. 

About a month after the show, you’re on set when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you pick up the small device to see Rebecca’s name flashing over the screen. With a sigh, you quickly answer. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi Y/N, it’s Rebecca. I hope you’re doing well.” There’s a brief pause, then, “So, we need you to do something for us tonight.”

You reach up to pinch at the bridge of your nose. “Always straight to the point, aren’t you?” 

Your PR manager laughs. “Time is precious,” she reasons. “Anyway, we’ve been monitoring your socials. People find it odd that you’ve not posted anything with Tom, and we’ve realised that there is a shortage of photos of you both together.”

You hum. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve ever had a photo together where it looks like we actually like one another.”

“Exactly. That’s a problem.”

“Great.”

“We’ve been in contact with Tom. He’s going to pick you up once you’re done on set, and then come and stay the night with you. You’ll be spotted entering your apartment together, and he’ll be seen leaving in the morning. Whilst you’re together, if you can try and take some photos, that’d be great. Try to build up a backlog of different shots, so you have some in reserves for the future.”

You throw your head back, biting back a dramatic groan. “He’s coming over tonight?” You clarify.

Rebecca sighs. “Yes, Y/N. Is that okay?” 

“I suppose.” 

“Perfect. He’ll pick you up from set at 5.”

The line disconnects and you put your phone away, trying not to think about how easily your quiet evening plans have been whipped away. You’re called back to set almost immediately, and that provides you with a perfect distraction. You slip on your mask, sinking into a different character, and you let all your worries and irritations fade away.

When Tom rocks up to set, you’re still filming. You catch him from the corner of your eye as you act opposite your co-star Joe Keery, carrying your banter perfectly. You love Joe - love the fact that both of you are wearing matching sailor costumes and somehow manage to rock them, and that your scenes always flow together very nicely. You’re having a great time together, and you feel sad when the director calls out a final Cut! and the cameras stop.

“Great scene, Y/N,” Joe compliments, reaching out to pat your shoulder. 

You smile back at him, nodding lightly. “You too!” You say. “I’m going to miss filming with you.”

Joe nods, whipping the sailor hat from his head and running a hand through his long hair. “Me too,” he agrees, mouth curving into a frown, “Who else would dress up in these stupid costumes with me and not make fun of me?”

You laugh, but before you can form a full reply, you feel a figure lingering behind you. You tilt your head and see Tom there, and then feel his warm hands slip around your waist. It all happens so quickly - one moment he’s whispering hi, the next his fingers are wrapped around you and yours are on his shoulders, then he’s kissing you quickly. It’s just a peck, but it completely blindsides you, and you’re still recovering when he pulls back and looks at Joe.

“Hi, mate, I’m Tom,” he greets, his voice artificial and loud. “Y/N’s boyfriend.”

You look between them, your heart hammering in your chest as you retract your hands and let them fall to your side. Tom immediately links your fingers together.

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Joe replies, eyeing you sceptically. He raises his eyebrows slightly as he accepts Tom’s free hand, and they shake slowly.

“All good things, I hope, eh?” Tom replies, glancing over to you. You raise your eyebrows, trying to figure out what he’s doing, but he just grins slyly in response.

“Eh, sure,” Joe says. Your friend rocks back on his feet, and you’re briefly reminded of the many, many occasions where you’d stormed onto set and ran your mouth about Tom. “Well, I’m gonna go now. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He raises a hand.

“Bye, Joe. Have a nice night.” 

As soon as Joe’s slipped out of sight, you turn your attention to Tom.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, voice higher and quieter than usual. You pull your hand from his grasp, and it drifts up to your mouth, to where your lips are still feeling the aftershocks of the kiss. You stare at him through wide eyes. He’s in a lovely blue denim jacket today, and it contrasts brightly against his short styled hair and his deep brown eyes.

“Greeting my girlfriend?” Tom replies. He looks a little bashful as he folds his arms across his chest. “Is that a problem?”

Fuck, you hadn’t missed him at all.

“You kissed me,” you state. 

“Briefly,” he agrees, “We’re in public, Y/N. It would’ve been weird if I hadn’t done anything. Plus…”

“Plus?”

Tom grimaces. “It felt a bit odd to see you so close to him.” He pauses, his face the picture of discomfort. “I didn’t like it.”

“You have got to be kidding, Tom,” you mutter, eyes widening. “Are you seriously being like this because I touched his arm? He’s my friend, dickhead.” You scrunch up your nose, eyeing him sourly. “You don’t have any right to act territorially, Tom. We aren’t actually dating.” 

“Right.” Tom tentatively reaches up, and you let him place his hand on your cheek. It feels almost like an apology, and you find the lines of irritation melting from your face. As his fingertips gently trail across your cheekbone, your lips pull into a small smile. “I’m sorry if I took you off-guard,” he says, surprising you completely. You’d never thought you’d see the day he owned up to one of his actions. “I won’t kiss you again unless we talk about it first.”

You swallow drily, trying not to enjoy the way it feels to have his touch skating over your face so smoothly. 

“Good,” you agree. You rock back on your feet and sigh defeatedly. “We should go.”

It’s a little after 7pm by the time you get home. You make light, superficial conversation with Tom in the car as you put up with his chiding remarks about your driving, and by the time you walk through your front door, you feel frazzled.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” you mutter as you walk into your living room and take a view of the mess. 

“It’s fine.” Tom places his bag down on the sofa and looks around, greedy eyes taking in the details of your apartment. “It’s nice here.”

“Thanks.” You look around at your apartment, smiling quietly to yourself. The building is in downtown LA, right in the centre of things, and it wasn’t at all cheap, but over the years you’ve spent hidden away within the walls, you’ve made it feel like home. You’ve added character by tacking up a variety of posters, plants, and other fun keepsakes. “Do you want to order food? I don’t really want to cook.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom pulls out his phone and glances up at you, face illuminated by the screen. “What do you want?”

“Thai?”

He pulls a face. “How about Chinese?”

You scrunch your nose up. “Thai?” You try again.

Tom bites his lower lip, his fingers moving over the screen. “Is it nice?” He asks you. 

“You’ve never had Thai before?”

He looks up at you, shrugging haplessly. “Nope.”

“Yes, it’s nice.” 

Tom surprises you by holding out his phone. “Pick something for me?” He asks. “Something good, though.”

You chuckle softly, accepting the phone and scrolling through the app. “I can’t promise you’ll like it, but I think you should.” You add a few things to the order before tossing it back. You dig your hands into your jean pockets and hesitate. “I’m gonna take a shower. Do you want me to show you the guest room?” You ask, eyeing up the hefty bag Tom had brought with him. 

“That would be nice.”

You’re quick to show Tom his room, and then you’re off through the shower. You’d been called to set for 7am, and the hot, pulsing water soothes away the tired ache in your muscles. The scent of fresh lavender clings to your skin as you dry yourself off and then collapse into a loose pair of leggings and a nice hoodie. You feel more like yourself as you stare into your reflection in the mirror now. You love acting, and you love being someone else, but you feel safest as you are right now: bare, authentic, yourself.

You’re so relaxed that you almost forget Tom’s staying over until you walk into the living room and see him sprawled out on one of your sofas, phone in hand. He cranes his face back to look at you as he hears you, his eyes drifting lazily over your figure.

“Food will be an hour,” he tells you sadly. 

“Great,” you grumble. You walk into your kitchen, looking over at him from across the open counter. “Do you want any wine?”

“Fuck yeah.” 

You snicker as you start to pour out two glasses of rosé. “So how do you want to go about taking these photos?” You ask tentatively. 

“Well, they made me bring a few different outfit changes,” Tom starts, speaking slowly, “So I guess we should just… Move about a bit and take some pictures together.”

It’s awkward as you walk back into the living room and hand him his wine glass. “Cheers,” you mutter, tipping the rim of the glass against his. A piercing ring fades across the room, and you share a despondent look with Tom.

“Cheers indeed, love.”

It’s uncomfortable until the wine kicks in, at which point the staged photographs come together a lot easier. 

You start off with a few simple candids around your apartment. You take some of Tom pretending to make some tea, and then of him standing out on your balcony overlooking the city. He changes out his shirts and hoodies every few shots, as instructed by PR, so you’ll have a more comprehensive selection of photos to post in the future. It grows quite amusing after a while as you both try to out-Vogue the another, and once the air is full of your endless laughter, you find yourself relaxing. 

When he’s satisfied with the number of candids he’s got of you, Tom suggests you get a little closer and try to get some more intimate, couple-y pics, “‘for the ‘gram, yeah?” This is when you run into a problem.

“I haven’t done this in so long,” you find yourself admitting as you sit beside Tom in your bed. You’ve slipped into a pyjama shirt, and Tom’s settled beside you. 

“Had an incredibly handsome actor in bed with you?” He returns, eyes sparkling mischievously. This evening he’s been very cheeky with you, and you have to admit you’re warming up to it. 

“Haha,” you say drily, rolling your eyes. You puff up your pillows and settle against the headboard. “Taken any photos with a romantic interest,” you clarify.

Tom pulls off his shirt easily, balling it up and throwing it across the room. You startle at this sudden action, your eyes drifting down to the defined lines of his abs. Tom is stacked. His lips curve into a smirk.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” he teases, causing you to scoff. He opens up his arms, and you settle into them gently, aiming for a sleepy, lazy, we-woke-up-like-this vibe. Your head finds his chest, and your cheek presses against his warm skin comfortably. “Smile.”

He takes a few photos of you together, posing as a lovestruck couple, and as the seconds pass by, you melt further into him. You hadn’t realised how cold you were until Tom opened his arms and let you in, but now it’s as if you were freezing before the first touch. He’s got his hand resting on your side, and you feel his mouth linger above your forehead, hesitating. 

“Can I kiss your face?” He mumbles softly, “Might make it look more realistic.”

You hum quietly, closing your eyes as you wrap yourself further around his torso. “Sure. Can I kiss your chest?” You ask boldly, spurred on a little by the woozy heat that smothers your mind.

You hear Tom’s breath hitch, and find yourself holding yours until he mutters, quietly, “Yeah.”

You let him have his fun first, and try to remain as nonchalant as possible as you feel his lips fluttering out across your forehead. He leaves a delicate trail of kisses from temple to temple, caressing your skin slowly, softly, with his warm mouth. You realise with a soft epiphany that you don’t mind being in this position: Tom’s peppering your face in gentle kisses, holding you close in his bare arms - and it’s quite nice. And maybe… Maybe he’s quite nice, too. Sometimes.

Tom’s hand smoothes over your hair, and you tilt your head until you’re able to scatter a few short kisses across his chest. You can hear the small clicks coming from his phone, and you really drag it out, enjoying the press of his supple pale skin against your mouth. It warms you up, sets a tingle flaming through your lips. 

“There,” you say, finally dragging yourself away from him. “Do you think we’ve done enough?” 

Tom hums, watching you closely as you sit up from his chest. His arm retracts from your side, and the air between you clears. “Yeah. I’ll send them to PR and see what they say.” He messes around on his phone for a few minutes, but you stay exactly where you are - shrouded in duvet and blankets and lingering near his body heat. Your eyelids flutter shut as you relax, your peace lasting until he asks, slowly, “When was the last time you dated anyone?”

You pry open an eye, looking at him curiously. “Eh, it’s been a while. Almost a year since there was anyone serious.” You look up at him, your head resting easily on the pillow. “Why?”

“Just realised I don’t know that much about you, really,” Tom replies. He slips down the bed until he’s lying beside you, and both of you move onto your sides to face one another. He looks quiet and unassuming like this - tufts of brown hair pushed messily around his forehead, with a warm expression hanging from his lips. It’s an odd look to be directed towards you. 

“Yeah,” you hum. You let a small smile find your lips. “I don’t know much about you either.”

The sheets rustle as Tom moves a little closer. “Do you… want to know more about me?” He asks gently.

You swallow. You can taste the wine on your tongue, and you wonder why you can only seem to get along with him when you’re tipsy. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe it’d be easier to do this if we weren’t always so…”

“Horrible?”

You bite your lip as you nod. “Yeah. We can be pretty mean.”

“Why do we do that?” Tom muses, his cheeks nice and flushed.

“I don’t know.”

Tom reaches out beneath the covers, and his hand finds yours softly. He links your fingers together, and you look into his eyes intently. You find only warmth and sincerity staring back at you. 

“Maybe we should try to be less hostile to each other,” he suggests. 

Briefly, your mind rewinds to that day at the park, all those weeks ago, and how Tom had dramatically announced that the thought of being your friend repulsed him. It surprises you to hear this change of heart, but you realise you’re in the same boat. A lot has changed since then. 

“Okay,” you find yourself agreeing. “I’d be down to try that.”

“Okay.”

You share a small smile, and it seems to last a lifetime. For a while, it’s just you and Tom, buried in your bed together, hands clasped, breathing in sync, and it’s nice.

Eventually, food comes, and you convince Tom to watch one of your favourite films in your living room. You settle on separate sofas, but you’re able to make some light-hearted conversation. He even jokes around with you. It feels nice - but also too good to be true. 

As you sober up, you find yourself looking at him sceptically. No matter how welcome the thought that things between you are slowly mending might be, you don’t trust Tom, and that’s not about the change overnight. He’s an actor, and you wouldn’t put it past him to be pulling your leg - drawing you into this rouse, only later to turn around and pull the rug from beneath you, and laugh at you for believing that he’d want to be your friend. Your perception of him has been skewed so negatively for so long that it’s hard to believe he’s actually being nice - even if on your end, the softening is genuine. 

But you let yourself believe it, just for the night. You throw popcorn at him, and laugh together, and finish the bottle of wine over dinner. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom calls out, resting up against the door of the spare room. He’s caught you coming from the bathroom. He’s shirtless again, grey sweats hanging low from his hips, and you can’t stop your eyes from shamelessly tracing the curve of his v-line. “Not going to give your boyfriend a goodnight kiss?”

You roll your eyes, but you find yourself walking over to him. “You’re so fucking cheeky, Tom,” you mutter, amused. You press your hand to his shoulder and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight,” you say, eyeing him firmly.

Tom’s eyes dance with a thousand different emotions, and he dives in to kiss your cheek in return. “Night, love.”

You raise a hand in farewell and turn away before he can see the huge, embarrassing grin on your face. 

When you wake up, it’s to silence and a slightly sore head. Your clock reads 8.22 AM, and you amble towards the kitchen. 

You decide to extend towards Tom an olive branch - a cup of tea - to solidify your newfound… friendship? Amicable arrangement? You don’t know how to label it other than a loosening of your mutual disdain, but you know that whatever the dynamic was last night, it’d been nice. The idea that there’s more to him than the cocky, fronting mask he sometimes wears is pleasant. 

So you make him a cup of tea, and then tentatively walk across to your spare room. You knock quietly, hear nothing, and then gently push your way inside.

The room is empty. Tom is gone. He’s left the bed unmade.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, scrunching your eyebrows together. You glance around and notice he’s taken all of his things, and then walk back into your room to check your phone - no new messages from him.

You sit down on the edge of your bed and sip at the tea you’d painstakingly poured for him. 

Maybe it was too good to be true, and you’d just been stupid to think one tipsy evening together was the start of something new. He’s clearly undergone no change of heart if he’s managed to waltz out without as much as a text goodbye. You feel stupid and angry, but above all disappointed. 

Because for a moment - a brief, hopeful moment - you’d imagined being Tom’s friend, and the prospect had made you feel happy.

↠ NEXT PART

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[vagabondreamer]

After the Fall (5)

Pairing: Lucifer x Angel! Fem! MC

Word Count: 2.3k

Series Summary: Angel! Fem! MC is part of an exchange program that sends her to the Devildom for a year.

Chapter Summary: MC finds out what Lucifer's been hiding.

CW: panic attacks, attempted murder, PTSD

Author’s Note: Sorry it's been a hot minute; school has been keeping me busy.

***

Your fingers felt like they were going to fall off and your eyes burned from not blinking. The room was so dark you weren’t sure how long you had been in here. The bright screen was your only source of light, and it was no wonder Levi was so pale. You looked over at him, he was hunched over his controller, his eyes glued to the tv.

“MC are you not even trying?” He exclaimed, a tint of anger in his voice. You looked back at the screen, a giant ‘K.O.’ flashing before your eyes.

“They don’t have these games back home.” This felt like your hundredth loss against him. “You’re just way too good.”

He blushed at the small compliment - not used to the praise. You looked at your DDD to see the time, it was already 3 in the morning.

“Geez! I need to get to bed.”

“Already?” He pouted, not wanting you to go to your room yet.

“Let’s do this again.”

“Fine.” He grumbled, but the small smile on his face was enough to show he wasn’t mad.

You said goodnight to him and his fish - you learned the name was Henry based off of his favorite fantasy novel - and walked out the door into the hallway. It was pitch black, you couldn’t see a thing. Standing still, you tried to let your eyes adjust to the darkness. Barely, you could see the railing of the stairs, and some decorative paintings on the wall. You started walking towards your room when you heard a small voice coming from far behind you. Didn’t Satan say this house was haunted? Surely, you thought he was just trying to scare you. Again, you started walking towards your room - hoping to not run into whatever was making that noise.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.”

The voice was stronger, more distinct sounding. You recognized that it was the same lullaby from a week ago. You recalled that there was a set of hidden stairs, that Lucifer forbade you from going up. Debating whether or not you should risk it, you turned around and headed down the hall. The darkness didn’t help, you couldn’t remember how to get to those stairs - last time, you had found it by chance.

“And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem.”

There it was again! You followed the sound, trusting your ears rather than your sight. It was strange how clear the voice was, considering that you had to walk through several doors and halls to get to the base of the stairs.

“But if I know you, I know what you’ll do.”

If Lucifer ever found out - no - he would never find out. And if he did? So, what. You were tired of obeying him - who was he to you? A nobody. Slowly, you ascended up the spiral staircase. The voice was masculine, yet soft, almost sleepy sounding.

“You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, you see a door that is barred up. Peering in, you see a man laying down, lazily humming the rest of the tune. His head turns, feeling your presence.

“Hmph. They went along with the exchange program, I see.”

His aura was strong - purple and luminous - he was a powerful demon. He must’ve read yours as well.

“Who are you?”

“Belphegor. Who are you?”

“MC. What are you doing here?”

“Lucifer locked me up.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing - you absolutely knew Lucifer was mean, but to lock up his own family? That was beyond evil. “You have to help me out of here.”

You took a step back from the bars, taking a moment to think about the situation you landed yourself in. It was no wonder Lucifer didn’t want you up here, but was it justified? From what you had gathered, he was mean but not without reason, right? He insulted you, but only because you were acting like a brat. He was also the same man that saved you, and he was highly respected by Michael - even as a demon.

“Why did he lock you up?”

“I didn’t agree with the exchange program.”

Was that really the only reason? Something as simple as disagreeing could end up in imprisonment? Belphie must’ve seen the look on your face - a war raging inside your mind.

“He’s horrible, you know?” You looked up at him. “He locked up his own brother, and he dismissed Lilith’s death like it meant nothing!”

“Lilith.” You repeated to yourself. You were told she was the start of the Great Celestial War.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember you at all.” He eyed you carefully.

“I wasn’t created until after the war. I’m Lucifer’s replacement, basically.”

This statement caught his interest.

“So, you’re powerful; I think you can get through this magic.”

Touching the bars, you felt a powerful magic radiating off of the metal. Lucifer must’ve put a spell on the door, to ensure he’d never escape. He was right, you were a powerful angel, this shouldn’t be an issue, but you were still hesitant.

“What are you going to do once you’re out?”

“I just want to talk to him.” If that was really all he wanted to do then you were ready to let him out.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath in, hands still gripping the metal. It had been weeks since you last transformed into an angel, ever since your failure you had been hesitant to even try. Slowly, your white wings sprouted from your back and your magic flowed through your fingertips. The bars began to glow, and gradually disintegrated from existence. A smile spread across his face, and he stepped out for the first time in who knows how long. You transformed back to your normal state.

“Thank you.” He opened his arms, you gladly accepted his hug. You had begun to appreciate how touchy-feely most of the brothers were. His grip, however, was a bit too hard for your liking. You stopped hugging him back, this time placing your hands against his waist trying to push off - but his grip was relentless.

“What are you doing?” It was getting harder to breathe; your ribs felt like they were being crushed.

“I’m doing the world a favor, Lucifer’s replacement.”

He hadn’t bothered addressing you by your name - it suddenly clicked in your head. Lucifer was part of the blame for his sister’s death, and to him you were just another Lucifer in the making. You pushed him and tried to transform but you had exhausted yourself trying to break him out. The trauma from weeks ago was just beginning to heal, and now you were reliving it. You could hardly breathe, but now it was becoming even more erratic - you were having a panic attack.

“Please -” The words were barely coming out. “Lucifer.”

The room was spinning, and darkness crept in.

***

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar room. The bed was spacious, a huge chandelier hung down in the center, and soft music could be heard. You take a deep breath in - you notice the smell - notes of sandalwood wafting in the air. Trying to sit up, a sharp pain erupts in your ribs. Glancing down, your torso is wrapped up - unexpectedly, the memories flash in your mind. You released Belphie, and he tried to kill you. How the hell did you make it?

“MC, you’re awake.” Lucifer walked in, holding a tray of food. “How are you feeling?”

His face held a concerned look, but he was hard to read. There’s no doubt he was upset, he told you not to go up the stairs and yet you disobeyed orders.

“Where’s Belphie?” Lucifer sighed, and put the tray down on the nightstand.

“Why’d you let him go?”

“Did you hurt him?”

The both of you were getting nowhere. Too many unanswered questions and so much distress, you couldn’t take it anymore. You moved to get out of bed, Lucifer tried to help but you slapped his hand away. Standing, you looked him straight in the eyes.

“What is going on here?” Lucifer stood his ground.

“You’re prying. This isn’t any of your business.”

“I almost died. I think it is my business.”

“You didn’t die twice because of me. A thank you would be nice.”

You couldn’t believe him.

“I didn’t ask you to save me.” That was a lie, and he knew it. Your eyes watered up. “I’m capable. You might not see it, Michael might not see it, but I know I am!”

You walked to the door before the tears could spill down your cheeks. You were tired of feeling weak in front of him.

“MC.” You stopped without turning around, waiting for him to continue. “I think you’re plenty capable, but I don’t regret helping you.”

Wiping the tears away, you turned to look at him. He was seated on his bed, elbows rested on his legs, looking down pensively. You walked to him, standing directly in front of his form. The sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up, and the top buttons were undone revealing his collarbone. The locks of his hair were messy, like he had been consistently running his hands through it. Subconsciously, you raised your hand and began to smooth out his hair, putting each strand back in its rightful place. He looked up at you, curiously. His eyes were sunken, the darkness underneath visible to you from your proximity.

“I’m sorry," you whispered.

Ever since your arrival, you had become another burden to Lucifer. Before coming to the Devildom, you had a preconceived notion that he was the reincarnation of all things evil, but it didn’t take long to realize how complex the man in front of you really was. Your internal battle with yourself didn’t help, and you were taking it out on him. And now, with Belphie’s appearance, there’s no doubt in your mind that Lucifer would never forgive you.

“I just wish you’d understand I have your best interest at heart.”

“I guess it takes a near death experience to see that,” you joked. “Thanks. For both times.”

You fixed the last strand out of place, framing it against his temple. Your fingers lingered, tracing down to where his jaw curves. It was as if an electric current ran from him to you.

“You’re welcome. Both times.” He went to grab your hand, but you removed it yourself.

“Does everyone know what happened?”

“Yes. You’ve been out for a few days, and everything’s been taken care of.”

“Everything?”

“School, home, here. Everything.” He got up from his position, leaving you little time to take a step back, his chest is nearly touching yours. “I’m not letting you get hurt again.”

He placed his hand on your shoulder, and in that moment you felt so small. You vowed right there and then to be less of a burden to Lucifer. You had already caused so much damage, now you were going to make things right.

“Michael wants to speak to you.”

“What? You’ve spoken with Michael?” Oh, crap.

“No, Simeon has. Michael requested you take a brief trip back home after you wake up.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll open a portal, if you’re ready?”

“You can open a portal?”

“Yes, can’t you?”

“No…” Guess Michael decided you weren’t good enough for that ability. “I’m ready.”

Lucifer performed his spell, which allowed a little portal to open up. You thanked Lucifer once again, and stepped in; a bright, white light blinded you. The portal had transported you to right in front of Michael’s office. You gave two knocks before being called in.

“MC. Who knew it only took sending you to the Devildom for you to finally learn how to knock.” You laughed dryly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I -”

“What happened?”

“Well -”

“Don’t answer. I already know.” Ah, so you were here to be reprimanded. “Why are you causing so much trouble? Did I not tell you that you represent the Celestial Realm?”

“Yes sir, but -”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses. It’s embarrassing that I even have to do this.” You bite your lip, too afraid to make him angrier. “You’re going to go down there and apologize to Lord Diavolo and Lucifer. And you’re going to stop causing trouble, do I make myself clear?”

You opted to nod your head, not trusting your own voice. As quick as you had gotten there, you were sent away just as quickly. The portal reopened back in Lucifer’s room, he was standing there waiting for your arrival. You wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“What did he say?”

“He said I need to apologize to you and Lord Diavolo, but can I please do that later? I just - I need to get out of here.”

“MC…” He reached out to you.

“No, I’m serious - I feel like I can’t breathe.” It was happening again. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, and you saw the room spinning. Why was this happening?

“MC!” Lucifer held the sides of your face. “Okay, you’re okay. Let’s get some fresh air.”

His words were going in one ear and straight out the other. He held you in his arms, and you could feel him moving, but your dizziness made it hard to decipher what was going on. It wasn’t until he sat down, you were still being held by him, that you became aware of your surroundings. Somewhere deep in the forest lay a small lake, and a singular bench. The air was fresh, and the serenity filled your soul.

“I come here when it feels like everything is falling apart.”

After the Fall Tag List @ptv-hades @everyday-girl9041-blog

[qqueenofhades]

pel!ivan and fedyor went through a lot of ups and some downs from the end of pel and 2021 but they also celebrated 10 years together 🥳 i hope fedyor shoved cake into ivan’s face and also you know, im sure they were mushy like the saps they are

Ivan was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago – actually, at this point, more like twenty – but the clients are still fucking talking, and if they keep it up much longer, he’s going to add it to the bill for “initial consultation.” Drew has a man-bun and unbearably hip black glasses, and works as a developer for some start-up app that he’s tried to convince Ivan to download at least twelve times. (What does the app actually do? Don’t know don’t care.) Mia is thin, blonde, waifish, smells like essential oils, and has been flitting around with her smartphone the entire time, getting in Ivan’s way as she snaps perfectly filtered pictures of the “developmental process” and posts them nonstop on Instagram. They both have a lot of opinions on how they want the energy of the space to feel, and a preapproved list of ethically sourced suppliers. They have paid some ludicrous price for this converted loft in Prospect Heights and chose the location for its proximity to the best farmer’s markets and hippie coffeehouses. Did Ivan die? Is this hell?

Somewhat ostentatiously, he looks at his watch. “Okay,” he announces. “I think that wraps up. You have work number, so – ”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Drew has recently read one (1) book on home design and thinks he’s an expert, so Ivan is forced to suffer his idiotic opinions about the kind of tile they want to use on the kitchen backsplash. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes directly out of his head, for which he should be commended. Ivan has discovered that the secret of successfully dealing with people, especially clients, is to smile and nod at everything they say, while mercilessly mocking them in your head. Amazing, the things you learn as a small-business owner in Brooklyn in the year of our lord 2021. Especially when it comes to renovating overpriced tiny gentrified apartments for insufferable techno-douchebags and their vapid influencer girlfriends. And people think Ivan might want to live like this more often? No fucking thank you.

Finally (it’s another ten minutes after that, this is definitely going on the bill), they more or less wrap up, except for the fact that Mia then wants a picture with the three of them. “It’s just so important to us that we’re supporting the immigrant community,” she explains earnestly. “After all, being open, tolerant, learning from our neighbors, people who are different from us, that’s what life is all about. We just love that you’re foreign. The energy feels so right, you know?”

Ivan wonders whether to inform her that he has lived in this country for eight years and been a full citizen (passport and voting rights and everything) for three, then decides that this would venture into sharing-personal-information territory and he is having none of it. His English has improved to the point where he can handle almost all business transactions by himself, but feigning incomprehension can sometimes get him out of them when they turn really stupid. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option here, and so he diligently leans into the frame, smiling half an inch, while Mia snaps a picture of “us and our adorable Russian contractor!!” Ivan informs her of the correct flag emoji to add to the filter, decides that he’s going to add an extra fifty bucks just for that, and finally, finally, makes his escape.

It’s rush hour, and the Q is crammed as Ivan heads into midtown. So much for social distancing and not getting too close to anyone, which is the only thing from the pandemic that he wouldn’t mind keeping. Only about half the crowd is wearing masks, including him, and so he gets off at Times Square, dodges the latest lunatic standing on a soapbox and shouting about how it is all a hoax, and walks several blocks uptown, just to get some space. He finally reaches the restaurant, where he has to flash his vaccination card to get inside (Ivan, who remains Russian to the marrow of his bones, is a little irked that he couldn’t get Sputnik here and had to settle for Pfizer) and climbs up to the open-air rooftop terrace. It is only when he spots his husband, waiting at a table that overlooks the glittering evening lights of the city, when Ivan pulls off his mask and allows himself to properly smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “They are the worst.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Fedyor musters a smile in return, though his eyes look permanently tired these days and Ivan would bet that he’s been scrolling through more depressing emails on his phone. Technically Fedyor is on a two-month sabbatical from work, but he can’t stop himself, and Ivan has had to pry it from his fingers on a number of occasions. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Ivan nods stoutly, they are furnished with the drinks and appetizers list, and when the waiter asks if there’s any special occasion tonight, tell him that they are celebrating their ten-year anniversary, albeit somewhat late. This was supposed to happen last spring, but obviously, nobody in New York was going out to a restaurant in the early months of 2020, and Ivan himself had barely gotten home from the hospital and still could be knocked over in a strong breeze. They’re celebrating a lot of things tonight, in other words, even if it’s now been eleven years, not ten, since the day Ivan marched into a Red Square coffee shop and engaged in – well, Fedyor has made sure to inform him that the first date didn’t go nearly as well as Ivan always thought it did. But it worked, didn’t it? Here they are, wedding bands on their fingers, a couple of successful American urban professionals who have built a nice life for themselves and are, if anything, even more madly in love than they were when this whole nutty adventure together first began. So really, if you ask Ivan Sakharov Kaminsky, it went just fine after all.

The waiter congratulates them, gives them two drinks for the price of one, and they both relax and start to talk, fully at ease in the way they only are in each other’s company. Ivan does his Mia impression in an extremely convincing falsetto (after all, [NAME REDACTED] has practice at this) and Fedyor almost dies laughing. They hold hands on the table – no need to hold them under the table – and gaze into each other’s eyes all they want, order dinner and dessert, and take a long time about it. They raise several toasts to this, to them, to ten years, may there be many more. Ivan pays the bill, his treat, and they walk slowly back to Times Square, hand-in-hand, Fedyor’s head nestled on Ivan’s shoulder. It’s New York. Nobody cares.

They ride the Q home, in all its smelly, secondhand glory, taking an hour to bang out to Brighton Beach and descending the elevated stairs into the familiar down-at-heel comfort of their Russian-American neighborhood, neon Cyrillic signs glowing in windows and somebody shouting about how if Sergei ever shows his face here again, she is going to cut his dick off. Ivan and Fedyor look at each other and snort, resisting the urge to shout up and ask what exactly Sergei did, and walk a few more minutes to their building. They climb up three flights of stairs to their apartment, unlock the door and the deadbolt, and step inside.

The instant they are home, Rasputin shoots out of nowhere, yowling as if he has been neglected for months, and curls himself around Ivan’s ankles (he is still liable to give Fedyor evil looks when he feels that this interloper has been stealing his human too often). Ivan sighs, trudges to the kitchen, points out to Rasputin that his food bowl is still half full, gets a wounded look in return, and adds an extra scoopful. Once the cat is happily snarfing down, Fedyor pulls Ivan by the hand, into the dim living room with its blowing curtains. “Come here, my love,” he says. “Hold me.”

Ivan does as ordered, because it’s his favorite thing in the world: cuddling Fedyor close, nothing but the two of them in all of time and space, swaying slowly in the blue hour with fingers and arms and hearts entwined. Ivan kisses Fedyor’s temple, and Fedyor nestles even closer, melted into his embrace. “I love you, Vanya,” he mumbles against Ivan’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Fedya.” Ivan leans down and kisses him properly, sweet and slow and lingering, as they continue to waltz in stately time to a music that nobody except the two of them can hear. “I’m still not always sure why you married me, but I am very glad you did.”

[kpop-zone]

Change of Mind pt.2 | Mina

Wordcount: 2,811

A/N: Turns out that short drabbles are not one of my strong suits... But oh well, I hope the anon who wanted a continuation enjoys this!

Part 1

“White shirt or blue shirt?”

You asked deep in thought before looking at your cat who obviously didn’t care about your dilemma and lazily splayed out on the cat tree.

For over an hour now, you were getting ready for your first day at your new company, although you couldn’t say that all the effort that you put into your outfit was due to overflowing passion for work. Instead, it had something to do with a certain multimillionaire that had managed to turn your world upside down in a matter of a few minutes.

“This is ridiculous. You will probably not even see her today.”

You said to yourself in the mirror, while shaking your head, disapproving of your own pathetic behavior.

Quickly, you put on the blue shirt before grabbing your bag and your lunch and rushing out of your apartment. You didn’t want to be late. Not again. Therefore, you ran all the way to your subway station although you still had plenty of time. Better safe than sorry. In the end, your efforts payed off. Right on time, you arrived at the reception and flashed the lady behind the counter a polite smile in hopes that she wouldn’t recognize you from your last encounter.

“Hi, my name is L/N Y/N. I have my first workday today.”

You introduced yourself and the lady went through a list until she seemed to have found your name.

“Follow me.”

She said quite rudely, before leaping to her feet and walking towards the elevators.

“This is your ID card, your key to move freely in this building. So don’t lose it.”

She shoved the piece of plastic into your hands while flashing you a warning gaze that caused you to flinch. Was it a job requirement to be rude here?

Your mood was lifted again though once you stepped into the elevator. It was completely plated in gold (it probably wasn’t real gold, but you were impressed nevertheless) which already made you feel like you had won the lottery by starting to work in this company. There were fifteen floors that each belonged to another department. As you still remembered from your job interview, you would work on the 9th floor. But to your surprise, the lady pushed the button for the 15th floor.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, but I think we have to go to the 9th floor.”

You pointed out sheepishly, causing the receptionist to look at you annoyed.

“No we don’t.”

She simply stated, not bothering to elaborate.

“I-I believe we do. I’m going to start working for the Sales Department. Which is located on the 9th floor.”

Hesitantly, you pointed at the plate next to the button of the 9th floor, but the receptionist didn’t even make a move to press it.

“You’ve switched to another position.”

You looked at the lady in disbelief, wondering whether you had misheard her.

You’ve switched to another position?

No one had informed you about that. You concluded that the receptionist must have confused you with someone else. You didn’t even have experience in any other department. But before you could complain, the door of the elevator slid open and you were too busy gaping in awe to utter another word. If you had thought that the elevator looked fancy, you didn’t even know how to describe the floor that you had just reached. Everything was the perfect mix of modern and chic interior design with sophisticated furniture and a huge windowfront that gave a breathtaking view over the city.

With your mouth wide open, you looked around the fairly large entrance area, not even noticing that your chaperon had left you until the receptionist’s croaky voice ripped you out of your trance.

“If you were so kind?”

She was standing in front of a hallway that lead to the offices you assumed, and you quickly rushed to her side. Together, you walked past mostly empty glass rooms, but you didn’t even need to see their occupants to know that this had to be the office rooms of the board members, senior partners and other high-ranking employees. Each one was big enough to accommodate ten employees, yet there was only one hefty desk in every room. And with every office that you passed, you became more and more nervous because you were slowly starting to realize where the receptionist was taking you.

Your presentiment turned out to be right when she guided you to the very end of the hallway to the biggest office yet and a seemingly tiny desk standing in front of it. The receptionist walked up to the desk and grabbed some papers that she held out to you.

“Here’s Ms. Myoui’s schedule of the day. Your job is to basically do whatever she says.”

She said nonchalantly, but at the mentioning of the CEO’s name, you started to choke on your own spit in shock.

“Ms. Myoui?”

You asked panicked and the receptionist huffed annoyed.

“Yes. You’ll be working for her directly. But you’ll be more than just her assistant though. If she’s in need of a sales manager, you’ll be that. If she needs an accountant, you better be a quick learner. Right now... she is in need of a coffee. Her second meeting of the day is about to start now, so you’ll better hurry up.”

The receptionist smirked in amusement while pointing at a small break room right across from your desk.

Not wanting to anger your new boss (again), you quickly picked up her schedule before rushing to the coffee machine to accomplish your first task. While obtaining the beverage was an easy challenge, a much harder one was finding the right room of the meeting. After taking the elevator to the wrong floor and disrupting the meetings of countless other people, you eventually reached the right conference room. Breathless from all the running, you barged into it, causing all heads to turn in your direction. Embarrassed, your cheeks started glowing bright red; especially when your gaze landed on Mina who was standing in the front with a stern expression on her face. Awkwardly, you gave her a tiny wave, causing her to roll her eyes before returning her attention to the papers in front of her again.

You were really nailing this first impression thing.

Shyly, you put the coffee in front of her before wanting to turn around to leave the room, but Mina stopped you.

“Notes.”

Her order was so rushed that you weren’t even sure whether you had just imagined it or not at first. But when she pointed at the notebook in front of her before nodding her head towards a chair in the corner of the room, you understood your new task.

“Sure!”

You smiled, but Mina didn’t even bother to look at you.

Confused, you sat down on the chair in the corner and stole some glances at your new boss. This woman really did have some severe mood swings. First, she insulted you, then she defended you, then she got you the job closest to her and now she was back to being rude again? Your head was starting to spin with that much contradictory information.

Therefore, you hoped that Mina was just having a bad morning today. Maybe she would apologize later or be politer the rest of the week. But unfortunately, your hopes were shattered soon. The rest of the week was just as awful as the start with Mina constantly nagging at you and not even bothering to look at you most of the time, resulting in a bitter realization of yours: You had to be the most naïve person in the universe. Had you really thought that a multimillionaire like her would fall for you? You were embarrassed that you had read the signs so wrong and just wanted to evaporate into thin air. And just when you thought that your week couldn’t get any worse, you were proven to be wrong once again.

On the last day of your first week, Mina had a very important meeting with a potential customer and like every day, you had to be the obedient servant to everyone. Therefore, you entered the conference room just before the meeting was about to start with a fake smile on your lips.

“Good morning. Is there anything that I can get you?”

You asked the men at the table politely, causing a dozen orders to be thrown at your head. Hastily, you wrote them all down but chose to check whether you had gotten all of them right before leaving the office.

“Ok so six iced americanos, four latte macchiatos, one espresso and one cappuccino?”

You asked, resulting in some light nodding of the participants of the meeting, but nothing close to a Thank you or an appreciative smile. But you were already used to this treatment of yours, therefore, you left the room without letting your frustration show. All the way to the coffee shop across the street and on your way back to the conference room though, you cursed silently under your breath, not having expected your new job to look like this. Only when you entered the room, you put on your fake smile again and distributed the coffee orders among the participants of the meeting without attracting attention. But your plan of coming and going silently was ruined when the CEO of the other company suddenly grumbled at you.

“Why isn’t my coffee iced?”

Confused, you looked at the drink in his hands and cleared your throat.

“I-iced? Because you ordered a hot cappuccino...”

You tried to sound as polite as possible while defending yourself.

“I did not. Go get me a new one. Iced. I hope you’re able to keep that simple order in mind this time.”

Roughly, he shoved the cup into your hands, and you looked at Mina for help, but she avoided your gaze. Therefore, you choked down the snippy comment that you really wanted to say and flashed the man a polite smile instead before leaving the room to get him a new coffee.

“Maybe this company is just not meant for me...”

You grumbled while you made your way all the way down the thirteen floors and across the street and back again in record time.

Feeling your lungs burning, you needed to take a breather before reentering the conference again and lingered in front of the door for a bit before pushing down the handle. Silently, you walked over to the grumpy CEO who only acknowledged you with a derogatory look. Your patience was really starting to run out, wherefore you quickly wanted to put down the cup in front of him before fleeing the scene. Just when you were reaching over him though, he suddenly gestured wildly, managing to punch the cup out of your hand and to make your heart stop. In shock, you saw how the lid of the cup opened and how the cold coffee spilled all over the manager.

“YA!”

He yelled while leaping to his feet.

“You incompetent idiot! What is wrong with you?! Did you just spill the coffee all over me to get back at me?? Do you know who I am? I’m going to make you pay for this, you ungrateful scumbag!”

In a complete state of shock, you stared at the man and endured his insults.

This was bad.

You didn’t know exactly who he was, but from the whispers among the employees and Mina’s amount of stress before the meeting, you knew that he had to be a very important potential customer. Therefore, you figured that it would be better if he bit your head off right here and there. You really didn’t want to figure out what Mina would do to you as soon as you were alone apart from your very obvious dismissal. You didn’t even listen to all the mean words that he spit out anymore, imagining all the ways that your boss could kill you until a sudden loud noise caused you to flinch. Mina had suddenly leaped to her feet while slamming her hands on the table, causing everyone to become dead-quiet. She was quivering in anger and you gulped thickly.

“Out.”

Mina growled and you felt tears starting to pool in your eyes. You really needed this job.

You contemplated whether you should fall to your knees and beg for mercy, but before you could come to a conclusion, Mina spoke up again.

“I said out! The deal is off the table. My company doesn’t make deals with petty tyrants like you.”

She yelled causing the jaws of everyone in the table to drop. Perplexed you looked between the two CEOs, trying to process what you had just heard. Was she just in the process of kicking out one of her most important customers?

“Excuse me?”

The manager stuttered, probably hoping that this was just a misunderstanding.

“Out.”

Mina’s order did absolutely leave no room for interpretation and by now, even the last person in the room understood that this business deal had just headed south.

Indignantly, the “petty tyrant” scoffed while looking at the other men in the room in disbelief.

“Very well. But don’t think that these ties can ever be mended. I’m going to make sure that you’re going to regret this.”

He snorted before gesturing his minions to leave the conference room with him.

At a blow, the room was empty except for Mina and you but even then, you couldn’t process what had just happened. Did you faint after you spilled the coffee, and this was just a dream? The woman who had tormented you for the past week couldn’t have quite possibly defended you by ending this highly lucrative business relation. But then again, this wouldn’t have been the first time that she defended you. A headache started to form in your temples due to the changes of mind of this woman. Just when you thought that she liked you, she did everything in her power to prove you wrong. But now you weren’t so sure anymore?

Helplessly, you looked at Mina who was still supporting herself on the table while her chest rose and sunk quickly. You wanted to do something to make all of this better, but you didn’t know what words would be appropriate in such a situation. An apology? A thank you? Therefore, you simply kept staring at her wordlessly until she broke the silence.

“This is all your fault.”

She hissed angrily before shooting you a death glare and causing you to gulp thickly.

“This was a million-dollar deal. Damn it.”

She swept the portfolio off the table, causing you to flinch when it hit the wall loudly.

Obviously, an apology was appropriate.

“I-I’m sorry.”

You stuttered, making Mina scoff.

“Oh thank you, that makes everything better.”

She exclaimed cynically and you looked to the floor in shame. It seemed like you were losing your job after all.

“Of course not. I’m sorry, I will get my stuff.”

You mumbled before rushing to the door, just wanting to get out of there before you had to listen to another scolding.

But before you could push down the door handle, a sudden force pulled on your wrist and spun you around. Not having expected to be held back, you helplessly stumbled forward until you bumped into Mina who suddenly grabbed your neck to crash her lips into yours. The sensation caused your body to freeze and you stood there motionlessly, needing a while to process what was happening. As soon as Mina’s tongue slid over your bottom lip though, you snapped back into reality and finally reciprocated the kiss. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of her soft lips while granting her access to your mouth.

It seemed like Mina was putting ages of pent up emotions into the kiss, although the way that she cupped your face couldn’t be gentler. The feeling was overwhelming and your hands automatically moved to her hips to pull her closer as you felt an incredible urge to have her as close as possible to you. With every second that your lips were connected, you forgot more and more about your surroundings and everything that had happened until you were completely drunk of Mina’s taste. Only when she pulled away eventually, you remembered your need to breathe and gasped for air while slowly opening your eyes.

Mina looked at you with the same unreadable expression in her eyes that you knew too well by now. She didn’t make a move to disconnect your bodies though wherefore you kept your hands on her hips. For a while, she simply kept looking into your eyes until she rested her forehead against yours and sighed silently.

“What am I supposed to do with you? You drive me crazy.”

[cheesyficwriter]

“Oh no…he’s/she’s/they’re cute.” Please? 💓

Hi @theroomofreq 😊 thanks for the lovely request. Hope you enjoy this coffee shop meet-cute for Romione 💜

Our Usual

Hermione considered coffee to be the nectar of the Gods. The daily bitter fuel was an essential part of her mornings, a pre-ritual before a full day of classes at uni. 

Her favorite local coffee shop was just round the corner from her flat and she spent almost every morning cosying up in a secluded booth in the corner of the shop, sipping leisurely on her signature brew. However, this day was a tad bit different. She had finally managed to convince her best friend and roommate, Lavender, to grab coffee with her. Lavender was not a morning person, therefore, she was rather disgruntled when Hermione dragged her out of bed early on a Friday morning. 

The bell on the door chimed when they stepped inside. "Well, this place is just darling," Lavender remarked straight away. 

The appearance of the shop was aesthetically pleasing. The light was dim, set for ambience, with soft, smooth jazz music playing in the background. The aroma invaded their nostrils as soon as they walked into the cafe, the distinct smell of fresh pastries mixed with ground coffee beans. Hermione inhaled deeply; it was one of her favorite smells in the world. The room was relatively quiet, apart from the sounds of the milk steamer on the espresso machine. 

As they walked further into the room, Hermione could make out the rows of cakes and biscuits, all encased in a glass cabinet below the counter. Coffee beans, packed into little black baggies, lined the shelves behind the coffee bar. 

Several other university students were scattered about various tables; many were completing written assignments, some reading the newspaper, and others were seated with friendly companions. 

Hermione sighed happily. She noticed there was a short queue to place an order. "Lav, why don't you go find us a table and I'll get our drinks." 

"Perfect. I'll take a mocha."

Dave, Hermione's favorite barista, waved at her once she made it to the front counter. "Hi there, Hermione. Your usual today?" 

"You know what Dave, I think I'm actually going to try something different."

"Sorted, what can I get you?" 

"Two mochas please."

"Coming right up."

She paid quickly and retreated back to the table where Lavender was seated. Hermione was confused by the baffled expression on her friend's face as she walked over. 

"What?" 

"Hermione Granger…" Lavender murmured in a low tone, "there is a man at the bar counter that can't keep his eyes off of you." Dave? He was the person she last saw at the counter. Surely, it can't be him. He was friendly, but she had talked with him enough to know there were absolutely zero sparks between them. 

Hermione scoffed. "Don't be absurd."

"I am not joking, Hermione, and sweet Merlin, he is quite handsome. Can't say I'm not a little bit jealous."

"How do you know he's not looking at you?" Hermione retorted pointedly. 

Lavender rolled her eyes as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. "It's simple - the whole time you were putting in our orders, he was looking at you. And he had the biggest grin on his face. His eyes practically followed you back to our table. You should take a look." 

"No, definitely not."

"Look, Hermione!"

"No, cause then it will be obvious!"

Lavender gave her puppy dog eyes and Hermione relented. With a heavy sigh, she peeked surreptitiously over her shoulder. 

There he was. A man with bright auburn hair, swept to the side, and the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. And he was absolutely looking at her. He offered her a curvy grin and then quickly averted his eyes, as if he was embarrassed to be caught staring. 

Hermione whipped her head back around and bit her lip. "Oh no...he's cute." 

Lavender smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is! I can't afford any distractions right now."

"That's the worst bloody excuse I've ever heard" - Dave called Hermione's name to signal the drinks were ready - "Now go up there and get our coffee orders." Her friend certainly was stubborn. 

"Can't you please pick them up?" Hermione begged.

Lavender shook her head determinedly. "No way, sweetie. This is all you. Now go." 

Hermione's feet wobbled all the way back to the coffee counter. The mysterious man was now had his back to her, seemingly engrossed in the reading material in front of him. She smiled hesitantly at Dave as she grasped the edge of the counter. She was so close to this man in the same way she was just a few moments before, yet her heart certainly wasn't pounding then like it was now. She politely murmured a thank you as she retrieved the mugs. Her voice must have sounded shaky and her hands gripped the handles of her mugs nervously. She could feel the man's eyes on her.

When Hermione peered down into her mug, she noticed an unfamiliar heart design etched into the foam. "That's curious…"

"I'm impressed. That's Dave's best artwork, yet." 

Hermione turned her head before she could even remember that she was trying to avoid eye contact with the man who spoke. She was electrified by the intensity of his gaze and the way his piecing blue eyes lit up when she finally glanced his way. Oh, there are definitely sparks with this one. 

"Here's your warmed scone, Ron." Ron. 

"Brilliant, thank you Dave," Ron smiled graciously as he took the plate with the soft pastry. 

"He knows your name," Hermione observed.

Ron froze, as if he was baffled that she was speaking directly to him, but attempted to play it cool and shrugged, "Yeah, I'm here probably five days a week...in the mornings."

What? "There's no way...I'm in here five days a week."

"Yeah…" Ron blushed and looked down at his paper, "I know." 

He knows. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. "You've seen me before?" 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I see you most mornings, honestly. Although, I have a feeling today is the first day that you've seen me," he chuckled. 

Hermione felt incredibly guilty. How is it that this handsome specimen had been this close to her several times in the past and she hadn't even bothered to glance his way? She was certain she would have noticed him if she had. "I'm sorry, it's just that usually when I come in here, I'm alone, and zeroed in on my revisions. But today is a little different." She pointed to the two coffee mugs. 

His face fell slightly. "Oh, are you here with someone else today?"

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Does he look disappointed? "Yes, my roommate. She's not a big coffee person, so I haven't brought her here before." She could see the tension in his shoulders release. 

"Ah, I see." Ron smiled at her softly for a moment and then held out his hand. "I'm Ron - Ron Weasley."

Ron Weasley. She took his warm hand and jumped slightly at the prickling sensation that spread up and down her arm. She thought Ron had to have felt it too, given the way his body twitched. "Your hand…" He murmured softly, his eyes fixed on their still-joined hands, "it's quite chilly." 

Hermione pulled her hand back quickly, watching the disappointment stretch across his face, "Oh, sorry." She placed both hands around her porcelain mug and sighed happily, the warmth enveloping her icy fingers. 

"So, Hermione...I like your name," He commented genuinely. 

She wrinkled her nose slightly, surprised albeit pleased, as she took a sip of her coffee, "You do? I suppose it is rather unique."

Ron shrugged. "You're the first Hermione I know." He then pointed to her mug, "Straying away from your usual, eh?" 

Hermione lifted a curious eyebrow. "How do you know what my usual is?" 

Ron appeared slightly embarrassed again, his face turning red, as he looked at her sheepishly, "Well...uh...I usually get the same thing." 

It was then that Hermione recognised the double espresso next to his pastry plate...her usual drink. She often savored the earthy taste, indulging in the lingering bitterness of the liquid. 

"You...uh...you have excellent taste." 

"So did you...until you sweetened it up a bit too much," he scrunched up his face adorably at her mocha, but then his expression shifted into a cheeky grin. 

"Oi! I'm trying to branch out here." 

Ron held up his hands defensively, sending her a lop-sided grin that made butterflies flutter about her stomach. "Don't get me wrong, I love sweets! Just not in my coffee."

"I'll drink to that," Hermione laughed and took a sip from her mug. 

"Erm...you've got a little bit…" He pointed to a spot on his own upper lip and Hermione's eyes widened just before she hastily wiped the foam from her mouth with the back of her sleeve. 

Ron gazed up at the ceiling, as if he was debating an idea, and then called out to Dave, "Hey, you have any double cream back there?"

Dave smiled knowingly and deposited a dollop of cream into Ron's espresso cup. Ron picked up the cup and brought it to his lips, intentionally smearing the cream all around his upper lip and nose. 

Hermione giggled and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Oh my, she wasn't quite sure she had ever felt this relaxed around a man who wasn't her father before. 

"Smooth," she teased, "You've officially ruined our favorite drink."

"Oh, bugger." He didn't look the least bit upset about it. They eyes danced happily together once more, both unwilling to break the contact. 

The doorbell chimed, causing Hermione to pivot her attention towards the exit. In all that time, Hermione hadn't realised that Lavender had snuck behind her to request her coffee in a to-go cup, and was now waving at her from the front door. Lavender gave her a quick wink before exiting. 

Hermione sipped leisurely on her coffee at the counter with Ron for several minutes, both enjoying the simplicity of each other's company. 

"Hermione," Ron gazed hopefully into her eyes, having obviously worked up the courage over time, "I hope this isn't a long shot, but would you wanna have coffee together sometime?"

Hermione beamed from ear to ear, her eyes twinkling as she cleverly responded, "I thought we already were?" 

[btsmakesmehappy]

Sweet Scent | 2

Genre: Agent au. Colleague au. Mutual pining. Angst. Fluff. a little thriller.

Pairing: Agent!Jungkook x Forensic Doctor!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Rating: 18+ (M)

Warning: Shy boy Jungkook. A lot of flirting and teasing. Mention of death (murder case). Threats using human organ (Not explicit)

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |  completed

Summary: Why does he always look so nervous in front of you? Is it because of your excessive flirting? But how come you don’t tease him when he looks so incredibly cute every time he blushes?

Series Masterlist: The Company

A/N: wew, It took me longer to write this. Thankyou @arizonapoppy​ for cheering me up and beta reading this story. and again: this writer doesn’t know how agents work.

Send me an ask if you want to be added in the taglist!

The smell of coffee sneaks into your nose, waking you up. You open your eyes slowly, stealing a glance at your watch on your wrist. 8.13 am.

Immediately you sit up on the mattress, stretching your body. You blink as you realize Jungkook is standing in front of the coffee machine with his back to you. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” you ask groggily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. It’s so weird how your throat feels so dry when you only sleep for an hour.

Jungkook turns away from the machine and walks over to you, handing you a cup of hot coffee. “I did, fifteen minutes ago. But you didn’t even move a bit. You were literally sleeping like a log there.”

You hum as you drink the coffee. It’s weird how the coffee is perfectly to your taste, but that’s not important right now. “So what do you need again? I told you that I’ll call you as soon as I get the lab results, right? I swear, if you want that right now, I am gonna-”

“No. That’s not what I want right now.” He walks to your desk and sits on the chair, facing you. The nervousness can be seen in his doe eyes. “I think we also need to check the victim’s belongings again.”

You sigh and take a big gulp of coffee. “Fine, but let me finish checking the specimens first. I am afraid they will be damaged if I don’t work fast.”

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth perk up. “Thank you. That’s fine.”

You rise from the mattress and walk over to him, putting one of your hands on your hips. “You are asking this much and I only got a hamburger?” you pout.

Jungkook’s eyes wander anxiously, avoiding your eyes. He lets out an awkward laugh as he sips his coffee. “What do you want then? Pizza?”

“What about dinner? Preferably date-style?”

Your suggestion makes him choke in his coffee. A faint blush painted on his cheeks. “Wh-what?” his coffee drips from his chin to his shirt, leaving a trace of black liquid on the blue shirt. You are almost sure that it will leave a stain.

The panic he showed seems like a rejection to you and it somehow leaves a sting in your chest. You reach his shoulder and pat it lightly. “Just kidding; I am okay with that hamburger. And well, this is my job also.” You laugh awkwardly as you grab your lab coat. “So let’s get to work then.” You walk to the lab beside your office as you tie your hair into a bun.  

Jungkook watches your receding back as he takes a deep breath. Your scent is still lingering in the room, the scent of lavender mixed with something musky. Relaxing and intoxicating. He always wonders what makes you smell like that, how unique it is that he can notice it with just a small whiff. How your scent is so you.

The scent that makes his hands turn clammy. The scent that makes his heart beat faster. The scent that always takes his breath away.

Thankfully for him, you didn’t ask him any further. Never occurred in his mind to go on a date with you. Just the thought of him being with you in the same room has already bothered him so much, he can barely think. If only he would admit that deep down he wants to go on a date with you. And just like that, gratitude turns into regret.

You let out another sigh as you massage your sore neck. The smell of substances fills the lab, all mixed together, making you nauseous. And the lack of sleep doesn’t help either. “Do you remember anything from the crime scene? Anything could help.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “You can’t find anything?” he asks. Jungkook lets you work by yourself as he watches you from afar. Not because he wants to stay as far as possible from you and the conflicted feelings you give him, or because he’s already felt comfortable sitting at your desk, but he doesn’t understand any of it and he doesn’t want to disturb you. True to be told, he loves seeing you working.

You shake your head weakly. Maybe it is because of your lack of sleep, your brain is not functioning well. You silently regret your decision for doing this alone. This is literally going nowhere.

“Good morning, guys!” A man dressed in what seem to be plaid pajamas enters your lab suddenly. “Geez, Y/N! Could your face be anymore tired?” His smile plastered on his face, in contrast with your own face.

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Tae.” It’s one of Taehyung’s traits that you dislike, how his bubbly exterior just somehow gets on your nerves, especially in times like this. Not that you hate him. Hell no. He’s an amazing friend. He might be the first agent that you’ve become friends with, but only God knows why whenever you’re with him, you just feel tired after. You really think that he’s absorbing all of your energy into him.

He lays a brown bag on the table and gives you a light hug. “Cranky. Did Jungkook make you stay up late?” he says, winking to both of you.

Jungkook stutters as the blush creeps on his cheeks. “Wh-what. Well I sort of did…” You shoot Jungkook a glare to stop him from saying anything that would make Taehyung make fun of both of you, which makes him cough awkwardly. “But that’s not.. anyway, why are you here, Hyung?”

Taehyung chuckles. “I’m just dropping off some pieces of bread from my girlfriend. She wants to say thanks.”

“Woah, thank you so much, Hyung.” Jungkook’s eyes twinkle as he walks faster to the bag. “I don’t think she’ll return to the bakery this fast.”

“Hey, my girlfriend is a strong woman! Although I also hope that she takes a day off. Anyway, just share them with Y/N, okay?” Taehyung waves and walks to the door. “I’m going to drop this other bag of bread off for the others, and maybe help them too. I don’t think Jungkook would want me here.” Taehyung says as he smiles meaningfully to him and walks away.

“Hyung!” Jungkook whines, his face is reddened.

You giggle at Jungkook’s antics. “Why don’t you want him here, Kook?”

His eyes turn shaky with you looking directly into his face. “No reason.” He avoids your gaze again. He rummages through the brown bag and pulls out a piece of bread. “Just eat some if you want to.“

He bites his bread and slowly chews it. Today, he is eating a piece of cream-cheese and almond bread. It is his most favorite bread from the bakery, Palate Cleanser.

It is a bakery that Taehyung has been talking about for several weeks. Not only does it belong to his new girlfriend, it serves delicious bread. Sure, Jungkook has never been a picky-eater, but he loves it. So after Taehyung gave him a tester, he became a new loyal customer of that bakery. Well, the bakery is just a few blocks from the Company too, so it is rather convenient.

You are still working with that huge-ass machine that whirrs like a washer. He perches on one of the desks,  while he watches you from behind. And suddenly he smells something.

A smell that is familiar to him.

A smell that he noticed when he was in the crime scene.

"Do you smell this?”

You turn your head to him, confused. “Huh, what?”

He hops off the desk and walks around. “This smell. I smelled it in the crime scene. What is it?”

His statement perks your interest and you take a big breath. “I don’t smell anything.”

Jungkook takes a bigger sniff. “It’s there. Why can’t you smell it?”

“Well, sure that bread of yours is smellier than you think. I can only smell your bread.” You shrug as you turn again to face the machine.

“What?” Jungkook looks at the bread in his hand and takes a sniff at it. His eyes widen as he is realizing something. “This is it. This is what I smelled. Well, kinda.” He yells as he pushes his bread to you.

You raise one of your eyebrows as you hesitantly sniff his half-eaten bread. “This sour thingy?”

“What? No! It is the cream-cheese. What I meant is this bittery smell,” he picks some pieces from the bread and hands it to you after he smells it.

Your eyes widen as you see what is in Jungkook’s hand.

Almonds.

“Cyanide…” you whisper.

Jungkook tilts his head. “What?”

You walk quickly to the computer. “It must have been it. It just makes sense now.”

“Cyanide? Why can’t you smell it too?” Jungkook asks as he follows you from behind.

“There’s only a handful of people that can smell it. It is not specific, actually. Oh my God, I totally forgot about it.” You tap on the keyboards and hit the enter key. “Yes. It is cyanide poisoning.”

Jungkook looks at the screen, “so he was poisoned?”

You nod. “Yes. I need to check his toxicology report first. Will you tell Jin about it?”

“Got it. I’ll tell him and get a warrant to search the hall.” Jungkook walks quickly and grabs his phone from his pocket. He taps his phone to call and puts it on his ear. Jungkook stops in front of the door and turns back to face you. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You clear your throat. “Just go already!”

After Jungkook leaves, you still have the weird feeling that has accumulated in your chest from proximity to him. Just a mere sentence from his mouth is enough to leave your chest in turmoil. It took you just ten minutes to finally function normally again.

Well, you are lucky enough to find out the poison as soon as you did. If you had let the body lie in that room without any investigation, the evidence could have been lost. You wouldn’t have found the truth.

Still, after you know how he was killed, your work doesn’t get any easier. There’s no other trace of cyanide in the victim’s belongings.

It’s another roadblock.

That’s why you have been dialing Jungkook for the thirteenth time. And in the midst of your fourteenth call, you decide to end your call sooner. It’s no use calling him right now.

You close your laptop and gather all of your lab papers. After making sure that you have everything, you walk out to the door to find Jungkook. The sooner you finish this work, the sooner you’ll go home.

You hop into the elevator with much difficulty, given your full arms. Why didn’t you use a bag for all of your stuff? Your elbow hovers next to the “7” button, and after a moment you resolutely bump it.  Your mind wanders. Was this the right idea?

Well, why wouldn’t you?

This floor is for elite agents only. You have never stepped foot on this floor until now. It is not that you were curious, but you know that this mission, or rather this case, is an important one. If Jungkook wanted the report as soon as possible, then he should want it as soon as possible, right?

It’s your job.

It’s not because you want to see Jungkook.

It is not.

At the sound of the “ding,” you step out of the elevator. Which way to his desk? The floor is huge and there’s no map or anyone who can help you. It’s Sunday, after all. You close your eyes to sharpen your hearing, but you still can’t hear anything.

You sigh in defeat as you shuffle your armload of paper to reach into your coat pocket to find your phone. Your fingers have just grazed it when you are jostled by someone bumping into you from behind. You barely avoid spilling your report file and you turn around to face the one who has collided with you.

“Oops. Sssowry.” A skinny man with fair skin apologizes as he bows to you, slurring his speech. The fumes of his breath threaten to pickle you like one of your cadavers. His eyes are kinda reddish, too. Still, his walking posture is as you saw him in the past, ignoring the fact how he has turned this giddy.

“Min Yoongi?”

He raises his eyes to meet yours as he straightens back up. He squints, trying to remember your face. “Oh!” He beams. “You are the hot forensic doctor. What’re you doin’ here?”

Your cheeks feel hot as you hear the awkward nickname. Sure, you know that your appearance is above average, but that doesn’t mean that you deserve that name. You let out an awkward laugh. “I’m Y/N. I need to see Jungkook, he didn’t answer my call…”

Yoongi nods in understanding and points to a blue door with his thumb. “He must be at the meeting then. I’ll let him know, or you know what, just come along, I’m already late too.”

You raise one of your eyebrows, but still walk behind him closely. “Is it okay? I don’t want to disturb the meeting.”

“Nah. It is actually about your case too, so what’s the harm?” He knocks the door rhythmically and after hearing a permission he goes in. Yoongi’s eyes travel to the young man sitting in the corner. “Jungkook-ah. You got a visitor.”

Jungkook raises his eyebrow and sneaks a glance to the door. When he sees you, his eyes turn wide in panic. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” He stands up quickly and walks toward you.

You smile awkwardly. “I called you several times but I got no response so here I am.” In the silence, you finally look around. There are five other men sitting around the conference table looking back at you and Jungkook, intrigued. The tension in the room gets less serious than before as you look around the meeting. “Sorry, guys, for interrupting.”

A smaller man with plump lips sends you a mischievous smile as he nodges Taehyung’s elbow. His eyes turn into crescent. “Nonsense! Great to see you again, Y/N.”

“Hey, Jimin. Long time no see. Sorry, it won’t take long. I just need to hand off this report.” You set your case file on the meeting table and start searching for the report you mentioned before.

“You can join us, if you want. It will be helpful, too.” Jin, a wide-shouldered-man, the leader of this mission, speaks without looking up from the laptop in front of him.

“Yeah! Join us. It sucks to only see these brats all the time.” Jimin says as he indicates an empty chair.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Sure, if you say so, but I think I’ll go grab my other stuff too from my office. I also think I left a machine running.” You take a few steps back as you laugh dryly. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, I’m coming with you too.” Jimin rises from his seat and follows you.

The meeting room turns silent as Jimin closes the door behind him, there is only the sound from the projector on the table.

Jungkook freezes, not knowing what to do. His eyes just stare at the spot where you stood before. This action somehow attracts the attention of the older agents as they all share knowing glances between them.

“You know, Kook. If you really like her, you should just say so,” Taehyung says as he smiles softly to Jungkook. He props his chin on his hand, studying Jungkook’s response.

Jungkook’s doe eyes widen and turn shaky with the sudden suggestion. His cheeks turn bright red. “Wha-what? No. I don’t like her. I mean, I don’t like her like that…”

“So it’s okay if Jimin likes her then?” Yoongi speaks up abruptly, making all of the other agents turn his head to him. The agents hide their smiles and then turn again to Jungkook who is looking more nervous than before, anticipating his answer.

Jungkook casts his head down, looking at the floor. He bites his lower lip harshly, trying to hold his lips from muttering a word that he’ll regret.

“What’ll you do, Kook?” Hoseok asks again, softly. This time it sounds like a reassurance rather than a question. The way Jungkook acts is a new thing for him. He’s never seen Jungkook like this and it needs no licensed therapist to see how whipped Jungkook is for the doctor. If only Jungkook himself knows it.

Just the time Jungkook is about to open his mouth, Jin slams his hand to the table. “Sure, maknae’s love story is very exciting, but we have a job, okay? Let’s resume our meeting.”

Taehyung snorts as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Party-pooper.”

Jin turns his head to Taehyung. “Yah. You have been a pain in my ass since you joined this mission. What do you want to do then?” he throws his hand in the air in frustration. Their conflict from the night before is still hot in his mind.

Yoongi pats Jin’s shoulder softly. “Just think of this as a break, Hyung. You’ve been working non-stop. I also suggest that we should just call it a day and get some sleep. We won’t get anything more if we force ourselves like this.”

“But, still…”

A sudden ring fills the room. Hoseok pulls his phone from his pocket and puts it on his ear. “Hey, Jimin. What’s up?” His eyes widen and his expression hardens as he listens to the rest of the call. “Okay, we’ll be there soon.” He says as he ends the call and puts the phone into his pocket. The other agents look at him quizzically.

“What happened?” Jin asks warily.

Hoseok sighs and says quietly, “Someone broke into Y/N’s office.”

You stand quietly in the elevator with Jimin still smiling weirdly beside you. “Why are you following me?”

“No reason. I’m just bored.” He hums. He’s not as bulky as Jungkook, and, compared to Jungkook, Jimin is like a thin child, even though Jimin is two years older than Jungkook. Well, you do recall that Jimin has just started his field mission just for a several weeks, and he worked as a handler before.

You snort. “Sure.”

Jimin turns his head to you with his hands clenching his chest. “What? You don’t believe me? I feel hurt!” he widens his eyes comically.

“Sure.” you say, rolling your eyes.

Jimin pouts and sighs in defeat. “Fine. I just need to put something inside Sehun’s drawer.” He pulls a black-leathery curled thing from his pocket and shows you. “I want to get my revenge.”

You laugh and to think that he brings it everyday to find a perfect opportunity is amusing to you. “And you think I won’t tell him that you put a fake snake in his drawer?”

“Y/N, don’t tell him, pleasee~” he whines cutely as both of you step out of the elevator. Sure, you know that he’s cute, whining like that, but Jungkook’s cuter for you.

Why the hell do I keep thinking of him?

“Just give me a reason not to tell him then.” you walk past him as he stands with a pout on his face.

He puts his hands under his chin, thinking deeply and suddenly he smiles knowingly. “I can tell you anything you’d want to know about Jungkook.”

It’s your turn to freeze on the spot. You turn your head slowly to meet Jimin’s eyes, giving him the widest smile you can give. “And why would I want that?”

Jimin shrugs and walks again to the office, still his smile doesn’t leave his face. He looks confident, overly confident. “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe you’d want it.”

You stomp ahead of him as you approach your office’s door. “Fine, I won’t tell Sehun about the snake.” You turn back and point your index finger at him. “Only because I know how Sehun hates snakes and his reaction is hilarious.” Your narrow your eyes as you continue. “Not because of Jungkook.” you whisper.

Jimin hides his smile. “Sure.”

You tap your card on the door and open it. Your eyes widen as you step inside your office. The sight inside your office makes you shiver immediately. Papers are scattered everywhere. The chair is thrown into the corner of the room. The glass cabinet’s shattered to pieces. “What the-” Color drains from your face as you proceed further, carefully stepping around the glass shards on the floor.

Jimin turns pale as he stands in front of the door, not knowing what to do. “Y/N, I think we shouldn’t enter for the time being. I’ll call the others first.” He grabs his phone and rapidly taps it. “Just don’t go any farther!”

His voice however doesn’t register, as your feet draw you closer to your desk. A burglar? What would a burglar want to steal in this office? There’s no expensive things in the office, well, except your coffee machine. But they didn’t need to trash this place in the first place, right?

At the sight of your desk, your knees weaken. Your eyes widen in fear and shock as you struggle to hold your body upright. Finally your legs give away, and you collapse to the floor. Your hands scrabble to regain any strength and hold your upper body from falling.

You breathe faster. You want to scream as loud as you can, but there is nothing left from your lips. Your hands tremble. You try hard to stop it by pushing them harder on the floor, pushing the glass shards right into your palms. The pain doesn’t make it to your mind right now, when what lies in front of you has every power to take your mind away.

Tears trickle from your eyes. Your vision turns blurry covered by your tears. As you blink them away, you also hope that the sight is gone too. But no matter how many times you blink, you still see the same thing.

And it is nauseating.

Pounding hurried footsteps in the hall outside your office finally helps you  regain some of your senses. You open your mouth slowly, trying your best to gather as much sound-air-or anything as you can as the breaths come too quickly to be of any use. “Help…” you whisper.

The other agents barge inside your office. Their faces have a mixture of expressions: mad-shock-confused-worry, and somehow you can see all of it on Jungkook’s face when he sees you slumped on the floor with bloodied hands. “Y/N?” Jungkook calls cautiously, trying to gain your attention.

“Kook…” you sob harder, which makes Jungkook immediately run to your side.

Jungkook holds your shoulders softly and studies your face, his eyebrows frown in worry. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering him, you weakly lift up your arm to point to your desk. The agents all turn their heads to your desk, and terror overtakes their faces.

There’s a heart stabbed with a scalpel on your desk.

“What the..” Jin whispers.

Taehyung steps backward, hand to his face as he fights the urge to vomit. “Is that a fucking human heart?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, he just pulls the blanket from your makeshift bed to wrap your wounds. Gently supporting your elbow, he helps you stand. He doesn’t leave your side, holding you close to him to prevent you from falling. He turns your face to his chest, away from your desk, while Yoongi examines the heart.

Insistent tears keep falling from your eyes, even though you try your hardest to hold them back. What the hell is that? What does that mean? Why on my desk? Why?

“Hey…” Jungkook whispers into your ear. “Don’t think of anything. Just take a deep breath. Count in for four, out for four, slowly.”

You follow his instructions, looking up from his chest, searching deep into his eyes. Those brown eyes don’t run away from you this time, instead they look back into yours softly, calming your nerves. Those eyes travel to other parts of your face as well, making sure you’re okay.

Jungkook tightens his hands into fists, trying to stop himself from brushing your tears away from your face. How he hates to see you crying; He’s never realized it until now. He hates it. He always sees you with a smile on your face, and it always makes his heart beat faster. And now? With tears falling from your tired but still beautiful eyes, his heart aches.

“…. It’s just my opinion.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through your reverie as you calmed down. You turn to the speakers, giving them both of your attention again.

“So it’s from a dead body?” Hoseok asks warily.

Jin runs his hand through his hair, “Alright, someone please take a look at the mortuary. Jungkook?”

Jungkook looks at your wet face once more, hesitant to leave your side. Finally he nods and moves his body away from you.  

“I’m coming with you…” you whisper as you grip his shoulder, forgetting that your hands are still covered in glass shards wrapped in the edge of a now-destroyed blanket.

Jungkook turns back to face you, glancing at your bloodied hands. It must have hurt. He holds your shoulder softly. “No. You should treat your wounds.”

“But…” I want to be with you.

“Jimin-hyung, please help Y/N?” Jungkook asks Jimin, ignoring your protest. Jimin stands by your side, slowly and gently gesturing you to follow him out of the door. You sigh in defeat as you follow Jimin, your eyes keep stealing glances to Jungkook.

Jungkook’s eyes are still lingering on your back when you walk away and his heart aches harder. I want to be with you too.

“What’ll you do, Kook?” Hoseok asks again. This time it sounds like a reassurance rather than a question.

“You know, Kook. If you really like her, you should just say so,” Taehyung says as he smiles softly to Jungkook. He props his chin on his hand, studying Jungkook’s response.

Does he like you?

Maybe.

Actually, he has never thought of this.

Feelings. They have never been programmed as part of his routine. He is an agent, a soldier. Feelings make him weak. Feeling is messy, messier than blood splattered on the wall when he bombarded a body with bullets. He once told himself not to trust his feelings. That’s why it was so hard for him to talk or be with you. His feelings are growing stronger after time and it’s suffocating him.

And the harder he denies his feelings, the stronger they get.

What is this feeling? Why is it so painful to see her like that?

No matter how many times he repeats his question in his mind, the answer is the same. It is the only rational reason for such an irrational topic.

He swallows the four-lettered-word that almost slipped from his lips and shakes his head to clear his mind.

He’s gonna investigate this case quickly. Just so he can see you. Just so he can look after you. And with that thought, he runs from your office.

You sit on the bed in the infirmary, gazing on the white wall. This room is supposed to smell like an antiseptic, just like a hospital, but instead it is just dusty. Everything is cleaned every single day, but it is just like there’s no one working here for a long time.

Jimin rummages in the cabinet beside you trying to find what he needs. After he finds the disinfection solution, tweezers, and some gauzes, he puts them on the metal tray and sets it on the bed.

Jimin reaches for your hand, opening the ruined blanket softly. You wince as the movement shoots another pain through your hand. “Sorry.” He purses his lips.

You shake your head weakly, tears threatening to fall. Why am I only feeling the pain now? “It’s okay.”

He looks at your both hands, examining them carefully. “There’s a lot of shards. It’s gonna be painful.”

You gulp. “I know.”

“We still don’t have a new doctor assigned here, so would you mind if I do it instead? You can tell me if I do it wrong.”

“Okay,” you answer.

He pours the disinfection solution over your hand. The pain starts accumulating as you bite your lips to stop yourself from screaming. He takes a pair of tweezers with his right hand and using his other hand to hold your wounded hand gently. Slowly, he begins to pick the shards from your hand.

After fifteen minutes working on the wounds, Jimin smiles in satisfaction and rises from his seat to get a bandage.

A knock on the door fills the room and Jungkook walks inside slowly and stops just before you. His eyes darted to yours immediately, looking worried. “How’s her wound, Hyung?”

Jimin returns with some rolls of bandages. “There’s a lot of wounds, but luckily they weren’t too deep.” Jimin begins to cover the cuts slowly.

“Whose is it?” you whisper to Jungkook. You’re not gonna lie that it’s been bothering you. To think that someone stole an organ from supposedly protected cadaver sends shivers to your spine.

Jungkook clears his throat and looks at your face hesitantly. “It’s from Baekho’s body. That body is ruined now.”

Your eyes glisten with new tears as your hands begin to tremble. The sight of a human heart stabbed on your desk filling your mind. You see organs everyday, it’s part of your job, you are used to seeing it. But it’s a different feeling when that organ was stabbed unknowingly to your desk. “What’s happening? Wa-Was that a threat?”

Jungkook hesitates, you can see it in his brown eyes. He sits beside you and reaches for your now-bandaged-hand and holds it gently, afraid of hurting you any further. “I’m sorry.”

His honeyed-voice, that you love, sounds as if he is in pain, and it somehow pains you even more. “That’s okay. I’m the one who agreed to it in the first place. And besides, I chose to work in this field, it’s only a matter of time that I get something like this, isn’t it?” you laugh dryly, but deep inside, you’re afraid. Well, how can’t you?

Jungkook’s hand tightens. “Still, I shouldn’t put you in any danger.” He sighs. “Which is why I’m gonna take you home after this.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“If they don’t want you to investigate about Baekho, then you shouldn’t do it.” He looks straight at you. “It’s for your safety.”

You turn your palm to meet his, holding him back. “Kook, I must finish it.”

“No. This is a dangerous case and it was stupid of me to ask your help. I don’t want you involved any further.” He closes his mouth for a moment, trying to mutter appropriate words. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.”

You shake your head profusely. “I don’t want to. I have to finish it. It’s my job.”

“Y/N…”

“See, I’m fine! It’s just a few cuts.” You desperately move your bandaged hand; you can still feel the pain shooting through your hands, but it’s not the point right now.

Jungkook holds your hand tighter and looks deep into your eyes. “I know, you’re not okay. Your hands are still trembling, Y/N. Please listen to me.”

You sigh. You know that Jungkook is stubborn, it won’t be easy to persuade him, but you know that he’s right. Maybe this case is too dangerous for you. “At least until I finish the report for today, please?”

He bites his lower lips, deep in his own thoughts. Jungkook lifts his hand to bring your bandaged hand to his lips, grazing your knuckles softly. “Are you sure?” His eyes never leave yours.

It takes your breath and your mind away, his hot breath against your skin and his brown eyes looking straight into yours. You can still feel his soft lips, hot on your skin when he puts your hand down, still holding it gently. Your heart thumps inside your chest and down to your wrist. Can he hear it? How does it feel so right with your hand in his? You nod. “I’m sure. I have you, right?”

“Yes.” Jungkook squeezes your hand gently one more time to reassure you. “You have me.”

A cough interrupts your interaction with Jungkook. “Well, this is awkward.” Jimin puts your other bandaged hand on your thigh as he rises to clean up the mess. “I’m just- I’m gonna take this call. Bye.” Jimin points at his phone, even though the screen is dark, and hurries out of the infirmary.

Heat rushes to your face; you forget that Jimin was still beside you. You look at Jungkook’s reddened face, completely sure that he also did the same. With that thought, the smiles slipped on your faces.

He releases your hands immediately and scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry, I ruined your blanket.”

You tilt your head in confusion. Then your eyes dart to the blanket on the floor.  “Ah… That’s fine. It was good first aid.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

You nod and smile. “Sure, thanks Kook.”

“I-I also want to buy you dinner.” He clears his throat, his eyes travel to the wall in front of you. “Not in this building. I’ll take you to a proper restaurant.”

Your eyes widen with the sudden invitation. It’s weird but somehow it brings a smile to your face. Your smile turns into a wider one and you hide it by biting your lower lip. “I’d love that.”

Taglist: @kb-bangtanenthusiast​ @w0lfqu33n​ @gee-nee​ @jaienn​ @nctssidehoe​ @codeinebelle​ @kali-20 @mygalaxysupernova​ @jeoncookie-bts​ @kookunot​ @1-in-abillion​ @beingbeings​ @enchantingbrowneyedgirl​ @yiyi4657​ @jinsalpaca​  @giadalin​ @spring2787​

Taglist open!

[multi-fandom-inserts]

All I Need.

Jasper Hale x Reader

I’ve made this so it can be a two parter if people want! Let me know what you think and I hope everyone is staying safe during this scary time, my inbox is open for anyone needing a chat.

______________________________________________________________

It started like the first snow of winter – light and gentle – nothing at first to be concerned with, the numbers of runaway teenagers and drifters gently began to increase, but just as innocent as the snowflakes appeared, it quickly became an avalanche as the bodies of workers around the coast and hunters began to appear in the vast woodlands surrounding the isolated town.

It wasn't until the echoing sound of a glass vase, smashing against the hardwood flooring, a single shiver travelled throughout your body as the whole room became slow-motion. The entire Coven turned it what would have been lightening speed – if your vision hadn't slowed – to face Alice, her large eyes, blinking rapidly yet somehow remaining blank and glassy – a wave of confusion and concern spread throughout the household as Edward's and Jaspers faces sunk with dread.

You gently touched Alice's hand but in her frozen state, only one word manages to force itself from your mouth. “Victoria.”

That single name confirms everything we all dreaded the most. Those drifters and runaway teenagers weren't just a coincidence. She was making an army, but not just a regular human army – an army of Newborns, the most powerful and cruel creatures to exist, they have no drive except to hunt and kill.

Carlisle’s eyes flicker towards Jasper and yourself as a aura of concern surrounded him. A familiar feeling blossoms in your chest as you stare at Bella and Edward, your eyes and face couldn't hide the glimmer of resentment towards the pair, if he hadn't bought her along that day, if she hadn't of been so numb to the danger, then we wouldn't of had to hunt down and murder our own kind, Victoria's mate – James.

“Y/N.” Edward speaks lightly, clearly breaking the rule about reading your mind.

His hand coasts across the skin of your upper arm but you pull away like his touch burned you.

“We need to start preparing,” Jasper said, taking the focus off you for a minute, “We all need to train and plan a location that'll work to our advantage because trust me, if we want to survive this, we'll need it.” Carlisle nods silently.

“Bella, you better go talk to Jacob, we'll need the help of the pack too.” you mutter, loud enough for the human to hear you before leaving the room in silence.

XXX

The frosty ground crunches beneath your feet as your dart through the dense woodland, dodging the towering trees, upturned shrubs and roots with large rocks and ridges with ease, throughout the years you'd memorised the area like the back of your hand.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot the large clearing and slowed down towards the edge of the trees, allowing your sprint to turn into a walk. The tender ground turns from soft moss and dirt to a tough, grey stone; the clearing is several meters wide and across before leading to the edge of a vast cliff.

You stood in silence as you sat on the very edge of the cliff, the toes of your shoes hanging over the edge as you look down at the thrashing waves beating against the cliff bottom. Your mind wanders as you stare out at the water, you twist the small ruby ring on your middle finger, watching as the small rays of light dance across your skin making it sparkle, a young child had once told you, “It's like you made of diamonds.”. Breathing deeply you look out at the calmness in the distance is the opposite to what was about to occur.  

After a few more minutes, you notice out of the corner of your eyes a blonde haired man watching you intently, a small smile on his lips as he takes in your stance, Jasper had always admired how strong you are, the way no matter what happened, you always had a strong aura around you but with Jaspers powers, he knew exactly how you felt – scared.

He approaches you carefully, “Talk to me darlin', you've been distant.” he speaks softly, his rich southern accent peaking through, making you smile.

“I guess I'm a little sceptical about fighting Newborns again.” you admit, subconsciously running your nails softly across one of the scars that decorates your body, this one is what made you what you are today, and it covered the small patch on the middle of your shoulder.

Jasper nods slowly, his body radiates with your emotion of fear and nervousness. He wants to make you feel better but you made him promise he would never mess with your emotions, so instead, he reaches out and touches your cheek with his hand, grazing his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly. He engulfs you in a loving hug, peppering light kisses on your forehead and cheek, causing you to erupt in giggles, you pull away and look up at him, taking in the beauty of his golden eyes, thick light hair and sharp facials features, you tip-toes up to peck his lips quickly causing Jasper to smirks before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, almost of though he was attempting to keep you warm.

“Come on, let's go train some mutts.” Jasper half-joked before detaching himself from you, pushing you gently and sprinting off into the distance with you hot on his heels.

XXX

About a mile from the training ground, you and Jasper slow down and walk leisurely the rest of the way. Everyone was wearing workout gear with the girls wearing their hair out of their faces. Carlisle and Esme are the first to greet us – Esme affectionately kisses your cheek – before you greet your adoptive brothers and sisters, Emmett is excited to start training, any excuse to show how strong he is, Rosalie is stood with a stiff upper lip as Alice chats to her excessively. A few minutes later, Edwards car screeches round the corner and stops abruptly, he jumps out before dashing round to open Bella's door, helping her out like she was made of glass.

“Are they coming?” you ask.

Edward nods silently as a growl echoes throughout the woodland and a few seconds later, eight huge wolves of a variety of difference colours and shades appear, their muzzles pulled back in a constant snarl as they approach us. The Coven opens from the circle we had created to stand in a line facing the wolf pack.

“They don't trust us to be in their human forms.” you say, breaking the silence between us all.

Edward nods, Carlisle steps forward confidently, “They came, that's what matters.” he says before turning to Edward, “Will you translate for me?”

He nods silently and approaches with Carlisle, Jasper moves us forward slightly as Alice stands by Bella and Rosalie and Emmett hold hands. You watch as a medium brown wolf with shades of ginger kept looking over at Bella, you smile gently when you realise it's Jacob. Carlisle thanks the wolves for coming, who bark or growl in response before turning to Jasper and yourself. “Jasper and Y/N have experience with Newborns,” he announces, guesting to us, “They'll teach us how to defeat them.”

Jasper nods at the creatures as you offer a friendly smile, your eyes link with the large black wolf as he takes in you for a minute before turning back to Carlisle and growled. Your stomach twisted slightly at the response to you but Edwards glance assures you it wasn't aimed directly at you.

“They want to know how the Newborns differ from us.” Edward says.

Carlisle went to speak but you interjected, “They are stronger and more lethal than us. In the first few months of our new life we are the most powerful because our human blood still lingers in our bodies.”

Jasper smirks at you, “My beautiful mate is right, that's why they are created...” a bitter tone takes over his voice as he slips into his natural deep southern accent making you watch him intently, the Major in him began to peak through making you smile and your eyes darken. The Major was someone you hadn't seen fully in a number of years, Jasper felt your arousal and turns to look at you momentarily before continuing on with what he was saying, “A Newborn army doesn't need thousands like a human army and no human army can stand against them.”

Jasper took a step backwards and motions to you, “The two most important things to remember are, one; never let them get their arms around you, they'll crush you instantly, and two; never go for the obvious kill, they'll be expecting that and that's how you die.”

You turn to Jasper, “You want to go first?”

He laughed, “No my darling, ladies first.”

A small smile settles on your lips as you turn to your big brother, Emmett, you teasingly gesture at him with your index and middle finger like an old kung-fu film, he returns your smirk and both take positions, Jasper acts as a referee giving tips to us as we fight, “Don't hold back,” you tease cracking your neck.

Emmett laughs loudly before launching himself at you, for the first few moments you let him throw you about to make him overly confident before you launch yourself up his body, legs wrap around his head, you throw your body around causing Emmett to flip over onto his back, the ground beneath the pair of you shaking slightly as the dirt cakes the clothing you both wore.

Jasper smiles at you, “Never get to confident and lose focus.” he says as the pair of you separated.

Next you up was Edward and Carlisle, Jasper remaining the referee as the wolves allowed you to stand next to them, giving them tips and tricks that they can use, the wolves accepted your help, letting out noises and expressions to let you know if they want more information. You even went as far as to show them where you most vulnerable places are and where the best places to bite and claw at will be.

Jasper called you away for a minute to pair us with Rosalie, you winked at her to tease her, she always needed to be the best at something, the fight was actually a smidge harder than Emmett, Rosalie was more graceful in her moves, quicker in the sense that she was strategic but even with that, you had her in a headlock in less that ten minutes, tight enough to cause her to panic but not enough to do her any actual harm.

You allowed Jasper to train Alice, the way he smiles at her made you wince a little inside, especially because of how she blushed – not literally of course but figuratively – he was easier on her than the rest.

Once training was over, you headed back over to the wolf pack with Edward to ask if there was anything else they felt they needed to know or learn, you even offered to do one-on-one training with them so they knew what it was like to fight a vampire. The large black wolf – the Alpha, Sam – bowed his head at you.

As the rest of the Coven and pack mingled amongst themselves, you spotted Bella sitting on the bonnet of Edwards off-roader, you headed over at human speed not to startle her. She looked up from her palm and smiled at you.

“Hey.” you speak, hopping up on the bonnet with her.

Bella's aura softened, she had always been worried that you didn't like her, in that respect you were a lot like Rosalie, just softer round the edges, you trusted but when it was earned and you protect yourself with a hardened exterior because it was drilled into you during your first years as a vampire.

“You know I don't blame you, Bella.” you spoke after a few minutes, touching her arm with your hand gently. “This is all just one huge flash back for me, and Jasper.”

Bella turned to you, “How do you guys know all this stuff?” she asks, her voice in a whisper.

“We didn't exactly have the same upbringing as the rest of them,” you mutter, pulling up one of your sleeves to expose a series of bite marks all the way up, some overlapped, others weren't neat. “Battle scars.”

Bella gripped your arm and inspected them closer, you smile at her inquisitive side, before pulling up her sleeve to reveal the bite James had given her. She looks at you momentarily and you just nod, confirming silently that vampires had made the marks on you.

“How? I mean...” Bella trailed off.

You let out a small laugh, “I'm originally from England, if you couldn't tell from the accent, but when I was turned my maker realised I had a rare... ability, shall we say... he saw more benefit for him in trading me,” you say, Jasper stood several meters away, leant up against one of the large trees, listening to you, “We arrived in Texas waiting to meet Maria, the leader of the Coven my maker wanted to do a trade with but we were attacked by her Newborns, my maker was killed almost instantly but I... let's just say I cost her ten Newborns that day.”

Bella studied your face as you bit your lip, memory lane for you wasn't the happiest, “She was making an army?”

“They were apparently very common in the south, constant battles for territory. Maria always won, she was careful and smart but she one important weapon – Jasper, he was a Major  in Texas Calvary, when I arrived he was in charge of training us and his ability to control emotions served her the best. She never let them live beyond a year, it was Jaspers job to –”

You swallow hard, Jasper felt a sudden wave of sadness echoing through him.

“Dispose of them.” Jasper said, appearing in front of you making Bella jump slightly, “I could feel everything they felt, the fear, the disappointment, the wondering of worry. I thought what Maria and I had was love, but I was just a puppet.”

He paused, glancing at me.

“It wasn't until Y/N arrived I realised what love what,” he laughed look at you, “She was just as stubborn and strong then as she was now, she started training the Newborns with me but she was also the one to convince me to runaway. If it wasn't for her, I have no idea what I would of done, or what I would be now.”

You smile widely and smugly, “I sound awesome right?” you wink.

Jasper and Bella laugh along with you, soon enough Edward approached us, “Come on, we better get you home.” he says, scooping Bella off the bonnet carefully before pushing you off, Jasper catches you bridal style as you flip Edward off.

Your mate hugs you into the side of him as we watch them leave, a comfortable silence settles over the clearing, everyone else had headed home leaving you and Jasper once again alone. You look up at Jasper with a loving expression.

“You saved me.” you whisper.

Jasper smirked and looked down at you, “No, you saved me and you have saved me every single day since.”

You lean up, wrapped your arms up around his neck, pulling his lips to you. The pair of you work perfectly, tongues soon battle for dominance as the kiss heats up, soon Jasper pushes you against the trunk of a tree, his forehead against yours as you both pant – unnecessarily of course but something's are just naturally going to take your breath away.

“So Major, what's you plan now?” you tease.

Jasper shakes his head at the nickname, “Well ma'am, I plan making you very happy and moaning a hell of a lot, how does that sound?”

You can't help but laugh loudly, you put on your thickest southern accent impersonation, “Well sir, that sounds mighty fine.” and wink at him.

Your mate laughs loudly before kissing you again. A smile remains on your lips throughout the kisses, you may not be like Alice and see the future but you know for sure that everything you will ever need, is right here with Major Jasper Whitlock.

[badjoices]

My Life With You

I. Move-in Day Dean and Cas move into a new home and start to build a life together with baby Jack.

[Read on AO3] | [Fic Masterpost]

The sun was sitting high in the sky, creeping towards the apex of its arc, when the U-Haul pulled up outside the modest two-storey on a quiet, tree-lined residential street. The crisp spring air was warm, moving through the green leaves and blush blossom with a quiet rustle. The sound of the late Sunday morning was largely void; defined by its absences more than anything; no children playing or parents chit-chatting over their hedges just yet, as most in the neighbourhood were making the most of the last lie-in of the week.

Except for Dean Winchester, and his better half Castiel, who had been up since the sun first began to peek over the horizon, packing, stacking and taping boxes in the bunker. Several chaotic and disorganised hours later, all was packed and prepped, and here they were; home. They’d seen it before of course, but this was the first time seeing that house become their home.

“I can’t believe it,” Dean said, after silencing the rumbling engine. “My own white picket-fence.”

Cas, unsurprisingly unsentimental about fencing retorted with confusion. “The fence isn’t white.”

Dean rolled his eyes, lovingly, and made to get out of the truck without a response.

“We could paint it white, if you’d like?” Cas continued, once he too had disembarked, and had met Dean on the pavement side.

“No, man, I like it as is.”

The two walked up their front path - theirs - their steps springy with giddiness as they approached the front door. Pulling a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket, with a turn and click, Dean swung open the door to their new life. The pair stood on the front porch for a moment, not quite believing that this door was for them.

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” Dean joked, leaning over to Cas, face plastered with a grin.

Cas looked to his side and met Dean’s gaze, holding for a moment before-

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Cas took the first step and walked into the entranceway. Dean quickly followed behind. The house was dark, with all the blinds left closed, the only light now streaming in through the open door, silhouetting Dean and Castiel in the narrow doorframe. Cas stood there, studying the blank walls, mentally populating them with where he envisioned they would put up photos of their family, past, present and future. Something about those blank white walls, the canvas for him to paint a picture of the life he had chosen, caught the angel off guard as he became overwhelmed with joy. The moment was only sweetened when Dean, who was having equally soppy thoughts about the prospect of a coat rack - a real place to hang his hat - intertwined his fingers in Castiel’s. Neither said a word for a good minute or two, not wanting the moment of pure indulgent fantasy to end - they were so unused to complete unapologetic wanting that it was so nice to bask in it even for a minute.

“We need to start unpacking at some point.” Dean broke the silence.

“Yes, Sam’s bringing Jack by tomorrow morning,” Cas agreed. “We need to have his room ready by tonight at the very least.”

Despite their agreement, they were still glued to the spot, hands still locked together.

“You gotta let go, Cas.”

“You first.”

The two began to stare at each other in a mix between a loving gaze and a challenge. Cas intensified his gaze.

“Same time.” he said.

Dean nodded, eyes never drifting from Cas’s. They each pulled their hand away at the same time, eyes still locked, and broke into a soft laughter.

“You let go a little earlier than me.” Dean teased.

“Actually, you started to pull your hand away six milliseconds before I did.” Cas retorted playfully.

Dean started back out towards the U-Haul with Cas in tow, turning his head back as he walked to reply;

“You can’t prove that.”

Dean opened up the back and the pair were reminded of the magnitude of the task ahead of them.

“Well,” Dean said, nodding his head slowly in a pre-emptive defeat. “Where do we start?”

Cas stepped up and made for a stack of two boxes. “I can take all the heavy ones.” he said, lifting the boxes with ease.

Angelic strength or not, Dean felt compelled to protest. “I can carry the heavy ones too.”

“There’s no need, Dean. It’ll be faster if I do it.” Cas replied, his voice earnest as he offered his help as always.

Dean scrunched up his face in a faux irritation. Of course, Cas was probably right, and even still, Dean wasn’t one to complain about having a literal angel do the heavy lifting for him. Dean opted for a double-box stack too, but ones marked ‘clothes’; an acceptable compromise for him.

Box after box, Dean and Castiel ferried their life from its transit state into its permanent home. With only one box left, Cas began to unpack and sort their contents on the empty living room floor, while Dean went to fetch the last box. The sun now sat directly overhead. This, paired with the strenuous back-and-forth, had lead Dean to ditching his flannel over-layer a while ago.

“Oh, hello!”

A cheery female voice chirped from behind Dean as he began to close up the U-Haul. Dean turned and was greeted by the broad smile of a mid-thirties woman in yoga pants. Welcome to suburbia, huh.

“You must be my new neighbour!” she continued.

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Dean said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the piercing sunlight. “I’m Dean. You live next-door?”

“Carol,” she replied. “And yes, I’m your right-side neighbour!”

“Awesome.” Dean nodded. Despite typically being effortlessly charismatic, Dean definitely felt out of his depth; he was simply not accustomed to the rules and decorum required in scenarios like these.

“You know if I’d known you were moving in today, I’d have made a casserole,” Carol began to ramble. “Do you like casserole? Oh, everybody likes casserole. In the next few days, you’d better expect a casserole.”

“Sure, I love casserole.” Dean shrugged, humoured somewhat by this strange, incredibly enthusiastic woman.

“Great,” Carol sighed, face still plastered with a big grin. “I hope your wife won’t mind.” Carol gestured to Dean’s wedding ring.

Dean licked his lips and started rolling his wedding band around his finger as he was put in the not unusual bet never pleasant situation of having to correct someone to explain himself.

“Husband actually,” he corrected. “And uh, he won’t mind; I do most of the cooking anyway.”

Carol clapped her hands over her mouth in a melodramatic gasp. “Oh! A husband of course! My bad! How long have you been married?” Carol said, frantically attempting to recover from her faux-pas.

“‘Bout three months.” Dean answered.

“Oh! Newlyweds!” Carol cooed, already seeming to have completely recovered from her earlier embarrassment. “Any kids?”

“Just one, he’s four.” Dean grinned proudly, his earlier reservations melting away as the joy he felt at the opportunity to talk about his family took over. “My brother’s bringing him over tomorrow once we’ve settled in.”

“Aw! So cute! So you’ve been together a while then?”

“Six months.” Dean replied honestly without thinking.

Carol paused, unable to hide her confusion as the cogs in her brain connected dots in ways her traditionally-wired brain couldn’t comprehend.

“Wow,” Carol laughed awkwardly. “You got married after three months; that’s so fast!”

There was another pause. Just then, Cas emerged from the still open front door and strolled over.

“Dean, I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Hey Cas, come here I’m meeting the neighbours,” Dean beckoned Cas closer and placed an arm around his waist. “This is Carol from next-door.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Castiel.” Cas said, plain and business-like.

“Wait, but your son’s four?” she continued to work through her thoughts aloud. “Oh, is he from a previous relationship, or?”

“Jack?” Cas answered, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “No, we adopted him.”

“Before you were a couple?”

Dean figured now was the time for a little lie of convenience, undoubtedly the first of many.

“He’s the kid of a friend of ours,” Dean half-lied. “She died when he was born so we took him in; me, Cas and my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your friend,” Carol said, her confusion fading. “But that’s so sweet. Well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got tonnes of unpacking to do!”

“Yeah, well, great to meet you Carol, see you around.” Dean said with a smile.

“You sure will, with casserole!” Carol assured before she headed off along the street.

Dean’s smile lingered as he stood there, outside the house he shared with the love of his life, who was right there pressed to his side. He let the noon sun shine down on his face and the gentle breeze flush over him.

“Dean,” Cas spoke, tentative to break Dean’s moment of euphoria. “I came out here to tell you that we left all the crockery and kitchenware at the bunker.”

“Shit.”

[syilcawrites]

yearning

Series: Fire Emblem Three Houses Type: One shot Main pairing: Dimileth (Dimitri & F!Byleth) Rated: T Genre: hurt/comfort, pre-ts Summary: An AU based on what happens after Jeralt's death (F!Byleth/Dimitri). Hope you enjoy!

“But the moment she walks out into the brisk cold air, the uncomfortable sensation seeps back into her veins, crawling up her chest. She’s surrounded by so many, yet…

She tilts her head up ever so slightly to see that no one is in front of her.”

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read! This is my first FE3H fic, so I apologize if anyone is OOC. Just a self-indulgent variation of what happens after Jeralt's death! I'm weak for Dimileth ;-; 

(PS. i like to hc that the hug is parallel to when byleth hugs dimitri post ts after he holds her hand bc they would hug!!!)

You can also read this on ao3!

Yearning is a foreign concept, a concept that Byleth cannot grasp. It escapes through the crevices between her fingers like sand, dripping down into the darkness, disappearing.

She knew what it was when she saw it, years ago when it was just the two of them—just Byleth and Jeralt, Jeralt and Byleth. Trudging through mud and sludge during monsoon rains, through the dry, scorching hot desert heat, through the blissful warm dawn that peaked behind the vast mountains, they met all sorts of people.

When they stopped by a small village in the middle of winter, there was a woman who stood outside the door to her house, wrapped in a woolen shawl, staring out into the white abyss.

Her blue eyes were glassy, far away. Her lips pressed into a tight line as she hugged the shawl around her frail arms. She was so still, Byleth wasn’t sure if she was human or a statue. She couldn’t tear her eyes from her.

“What are you looking at, Byleth?” Jeralt asked, looking up briefly from his bowl of hot soup.

“That woman…” Byleth trailed off, pointing out the window. “What is she doing with her face?”

“What is she doing with her face?” Jeralt echoed back with confusion, leaning out toward the window now too. She heard him mutter a disapproval under his breath as he returned back to his seat. “She yearns for something to return.”

“Yearn?”

He paused for a moment, as he grasped to find an explanation that was as simple as it could be. “A desire, a want. Sometimes, it feels like a need.” Jeralt sighed, patting the seat next to him. “Come on and eat, Byleth. You’ll get winters’ chills from staying too close to the window.”

Byleth didn’t tear her gaze from the woman until Jeralt placed a hand on top of her head and turned it forward so that she was facing her warm bowl of soup. She had the urge to run out into the snow to give it to that woman.

And now years later, Byleth understands, as she holds Jeralt’s increasingly cold body in her arms.

At first, all she can do is let her tears drip onto his ashen face, as it mixes with the light drizzle of the rain.

Then came the emptiness that crept its way into her chest as his blood continued to spill onto the fabric of her clothes, soaking in his death.

“Professor?”

Byleth blinks, and instead of seeing Jeralt’s cold, decaying body in her arms, her student’s homework assignments are tucked snuggly in them.

“Yes, Dimitri?” Byleth hears herself say as she levels her eyes at his neck, finding herself unable to raise them.

“I… Are you… Have you eaten?” Dimitri fumbles with his words, his arms reach out toward her but retreat back just as fast.

“Maybe later.” Byleth steps to the side to walk past him, hugging the papers to her chest.

Rhea had told her to take the rest of the week off yesterday, but—

Byleth winces at the pressure building up in her head as she hurries back to her room. Several hushed whispers follow her trail, as if they’re chasing her, and the moment she shuts the door behind her the tears don’t hesitate to dribble down her cheeks. She clamps a hand over her mouth as sounds escape through her trembling lips, a sensation unfamiliar to the point where fear is etched into her heart.

“Rest if you must, child. Do not fight against what you are feeling.” Sothis’ soft voice soothes her increasingly jumbled thoughts.

Byleth wipes the back of her hand against her damp cheeks as she sets the papers down on her desk. Promptly after, she draws herself under her covers, staring out the window, as she watches the sky turn from blue to orange, then finally to darkness. The time lapse soothes her. She finds that focusing on the drifting clouds distracts her thoughts. Every once in a while though, steps shuffled to a stop at her door, but no one ever knocks.

Not until late into that night did a knock interrupt the silence in her room.

“Professor! It’s me, Annette…” Her voice trailed off at the end, quietly.

Byleth, stiff from staying in one position for hours, creakily raises herself from the bed, her joints pop from the stillness of her body. She can feel the flesh of her own self, but it feels like nothing in that moment.

Minutes must have passed, Byleth assumes, before she opens the door. It’s long enough to the point where Byleth wouldn’t have been surprised if Annette left, but she stands there, putting on her brightest smile.

“Mercedes and I have a gift for you!” Annette wrestles with the gigantic woolen blanket tangled up in her arms. “We were supposed to give this to you at the start of winter, but it became a lot bigger than we anticipated!” She smiles cheekily as she shuffles it into Byleth’s arms. “We noticed that your blankets are pretty thin…”

“Oh, thank you…” Byleth’s voice comes out raspy. She hugs it closer to her body, eating up the warmth. “…Do you have more?”

Annette’s hesitant eyes lit up.

The next morning, she wakes up extra early to prepare herself, to let the tears dribble down her cheek effortlessly as her face remains slack. The same unfamiliar emotion from the day before, when she came back from the classroom. One that was too hard to control, and so she decides it would be best to try to get rid of it before teaching class. Only two days have passed since his death, yet it feels like a lifetime without him.

It’s a simple plan to get her emotions in check, a plan that takes her three hours to overcome, and not even successfully at that. Redness rims the outlines of her eyes, apparent on her pale skin.

As she walks into the classroom, with her cheeks slightly flushed red from her constant rubbing, she feels the gaze of each and every student’s eyes on her. A heavy silence settles in the room as she sets down her paperwork.

The chattering and murmuring ceases as Byleth looks up toward her students. Her eyes are trained ahead of her as she feels their stares boring into her skin. She’s careful not to look directly at anyone. She has an inkling that nothing good would come out of it.

After what feels like grueling hours, a break from lessons is gifted upon her, and most of them shuffle out as quietly as they can. As they did so, the tenseness in her chest begins to rise once more at the realization of everyone leaving.

But one student lingers by the door with his fingers tapping the frame. The longer he stands there, the tighter her shoulders stiffen. The grip on her pencil becomes deathly as he takes a step back into the classroom, but the aching feeling in her chest pauses in growth.

“Professor?” His voice sounds careful, delicate.

It does nothing but anger her—the messy, tangled knots that had hung themselves inside her begin to tighten.

“Yes, Dimitri?” She says in a voice so strained that she notices he shudders slightly at the sharpness in her voice, but it doesn’t stop him from taking another step forward.

Whatever he’s about to say never comes forward, as his hesitance informs Byleth that he’s rethinking his initial thoughts.

“Will you look at me?”

She stops scribbling. She had stopped paying attention to what she was even writing the minute class ended. She sneaks a glance down at the paper. Sprawled on one of the student’s assignments is his name.

Jeralt.

Scribbled aimlessly, ripping through the thin material easily. She decimated someone’s assignment. And she could tell Dimitri had noticed it the moment she began writing once class ended.

Useless. All of this power stored within me and I was, am, still unable to do a simple thing.

She takes a moment to compose her thoughts, carefully placing them in areas where no one can seek them out, and averts her gaze from the paper to Dimitri.

Unlike Byleth, Dimitri is willing to display his emotions on his face—the way his lips form a thin line of concern, eyebrows scrunched up in worry, eyes…

His blue eyes, bright and brilliant, looking at her as if she is lost.

Byleth’s face grows warm from shame and she immediately glances back down at the torn paper. How can she, a mentor, a teacher, make a student feel the need to look at her with such worry? Was it pity?

Pity only reminds her of the newfound weakness that’s bloomed inside of her.

Just like the blood that bloomed on Jeralt’s waist, vibrant and displayed for all to see.

Could everyone see right through her? Fear pierces through her at the mere thought of being so naked.

“Perhaps another time, Dimitri.” Byleth closes her eyes as she stands up, forcing herself to let go of the pencil that’s choking from her deathly tight grip. “I have somewhere to attend, and I don’t want to be late—“ She swiftly gathers the assignments into her arms, keeping her eyes leveled just at his neck, like yesterday, to avoid his gaze.

As she passes by him, eager to get out, she’s stilled by the grip on her arm, his grip. Soft enough to break out of, if she wants to.

“Oh—! I apologize.” He immediately lets go, flustered. “I just—Professor, if you need to talk, I... we are here for you.”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She doesn’t hesitate to leave, and never once turns back to look at him.

But the moment she walks out into the brisk cold air, the uncomfortable sensation seeps back into her veins, crawling up her chest. She’s surrounded by so many, yet…

She tilts her head up ever so slightly to see that no one is in front of her.

Later in the evening, Rhea deeply reprimands Byleth after learning that she had taught class during the past two days, demanding that she rest. But Byleth doesn’t need rest—she doesn’t want—

She doesn’t want to be alone.

But she can’t tell Rhea that. The words get stuck in her throat, so she simply nods and walks away.

The memory of the pale lady standing in the snow resurfaces to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of the little warmth she harbored within herself.

Byleth scoops up the two woolen blankets that Annette had given her and buries herself within them, relaxing herself into the warmth. Even when she begins to sweat, even when the air becomes uncomfortably suffocating, Byleth does not move.

Loneliness creeps up behind her during the darkest hours of night, when the Monestary is silent and sleepy. She watches the last light flicker off, leaving the buildings, the grandness of it, hollow.

She wants to hold on to that last flickering light, she doesn’t want it to go out. But every night it did, and it sunk her deeper into the fog.

She doesn’t come out during the daytime, ever since Rhea advised her to rest. She doesn’t answer the door when someone knocks, unless it’s Annette bringing her more woolen blankets. On most days it’s Dimitri at her door. He begins by knocking courtesly, announcing his arrival, and asks politely if they can speak. But as time progresses, he stops such polite gestures, and at this point, almost begs her to speak to him, to them, to anyone.

But Byleth stays under the comfort of her woolen blankets, only coming out to eat when the peak hours of the day have been long gone, or to walk to Jeralt’s grave so she can lean against it, to stare at the stars above them.

At some point, she can tell who is who by the way their footsteps echo outside her door. Dimitri’s is distinct, although the softest. Her door creaks whenever he approaches, as if he’s leaning against it. The thought of someone on the other side helps her head bob above the wave of darkness.

“Do you truly wish to stay in your room any longer than this, child? I’m sure your students are awaiting your return.”

Sothis’ voice rings in her head, the only other reminder that Byleth is still here, present in time.

“I am no good to my students right now.” Byleth merely whispers into her pillow. Useless.

The unknown yearning grows deeper and uglier inside of her, conflicting with the rational thoughts that usually keep her mind neat and tidy. She desperately wants to be with others, to drink in their affection as if she is a starved beast, but another part of her doesn’t want a brush of someones skin on her own.

Her wants and needs become muddled in the yearning, and the nights grow ever colder.

By the middle of the third week, she crawls out of her cave of a room later than usual. It’s deathly quiet as Byleth treks her way to Jeralt’s grave.

She settles on the damp grass, placing another flower on it.

She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Nothing but emptiness escapes it. She grits her teeth as she clenches her fists. “I have nothing to say,” she manages to whisper out, staring hard at his name, engraved carefully on the stone. “All I wish for is your return. Nothing but emptiness and anger remains in me, and I’m afraid.” She’s afraid of becoming the ashen demon that follows her footsteps, it echoes throughout the Monestary, reminding her of who she is. It reminds her that no matter how much she tries tacking herself into this place, acting as if she can wriggle her way into an environment filled with such love and affection, she will never be able to understand such abstract emotions.

She makes her way to the other side of the gravestone, behind it, to lean against it.

The crunch of leaves behind her jolts her up from the depths of her mind. She flits her head around, her hand unconsciously hovers over the dagger attached to her hips.

An alarmed Dimitri stands not too far off from her with something in his arms--

One of Annette’s woolen blankets.

It almost drops as he awkwardly tries to adjust it so that it’s not threatening to hit the damp grass.

“I—“ He mutters something to himself as he fumbles with the blanket. “I was just about to give this to you, as I’ve heard you’ve been quite cold in your room recently. I also noticed that your room was slightly ajar… so I assumed… a-anyway! This is a gift from Annette, I heard you accept these whole heartedly.” He holds out the blanket toward her stiffly, covering his face.

“Did you think I’d open the door since you had one?” Byleth responds back, staring at the bundle in his arms. Her fists relax slightly as her attention focuses on Dimitri.

As he draws the blankets back to his chest, his face grows ten shades of red hotter than the last.

He flusters and stumbles over his words as he tries to come up with some believable excuse, but as he settles his gaze on Byleth’s blank, stoic expression, he lets out a sigh, his shoulders sagging.

“Actually, yes. Since she told me that you open the door whenever she’s there. Although she did say that you do close it immediately after accepting the blanket.” He tilts his head, offering a reluctant laugh. The simplicity of the act, for some reason, warms her. His laugh is something she hasn’t heard in a while.

Byleth casts her gaze to the ground. A silence ensues between them. “I do apologize for my actions the past couple of days.” She says slowly, unable to reach his eyes again. “Thank you for always stopping by. I’ve noticed you tend to sit by the door a couple hours every day.”

His face grows another shade deeper.

“You noticed?”

“The door creaks whenever you lean against it.”

He mutters another string of words that she can’t make out.

Byleth raises her view from his lips to his eyes, and they lock on immediately. “Would you like to sit with me?” He went out of his way to find her, this is the least she could offer.

For once, a small smile rests on her rather chapped lips.

His eyes brighten.

“Of course!” He smiles ever so slightly, draping the blanket in front of Byleth, who stiffens in surprise at his gesture.

“It’s a bit cold tonight, I wouldn’t want our dear professor catching a cold.” He plops down next to her, arms loosely around his knees.

She had forgotten that she’s still in her night wear when she went out. How unsightly…

But Dimitri is no better, since he’s also in his nightly attire as well. Byleth frowns at the thought of him getting sick due to her negligent attitude toward her students, and raises up an arm, holding the blanket open. “We wouldn’t want you catching a cold either.”

He blinks blankly, as if he’s unable to process what she’s offering. Byleth scoots closer to him and drapes the woolen blanket over the both of them.

“This seems a bit… snug?” Dimitri laughs, almost robotically as he stares at the ground. He does not meet her gaze as she stares at the side of his face.

“Even better. Now the heat will be more concentrated.” Byleth nods in approval as she leans against the back of the gravestone. They sit there in silence.

After a while, Dimitri relaxes his shoulders. “I’m sorry there was nothing I could do.” He says, his voice soft.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Byleth takes no hesitation in taking the blame.

“Professor, of course not—“

“I had the ability to save him.” Byleth’s voice quivers as she recounts the memory, staring at the starry sky above them. “I feel…” She pauses, closing her eyes. “Unlike myself recently. I find it hard to process… a variety of unfamiliar emotions that I am experiencing.” Even saying that makes Byleth feel strange and alien, talking about… her emotions. More so the lack of understanding them. She always had Jeralt to turn to for these types of issues, but now… she is alone.

“Of course I’ll help you—all of us will always try our best to help you out, Professor. You must believe that.” Any sense of nervousness that is in him is replaced with concern. “You have helped and saved us countless times, and no matter what the issue is, if possible, I hope I can offer the some consultation, even if it is small.”

Byleth, for the first time in weeks, truly gazes into Dimitri’s eyes—pure and blue like clearwater. “Thank you for your sincerity, Dimitri. As always, you’re empathy is boundless.” She can’t help but smile at him, but his expression confuses her. Yet another gaze unfamiliar to her, another emotion that she cannot pinpoint.

He simply stares at her with an expression that makes her feel relaxed and sleepy, as if time itself has paused, and she returns his wholly attention.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Byleth whispers, her eyes searching his face for answers. Pure curiosity is written into her own. Dimitri blinks, as if he’s snapped out of his trance, finally aware of the way he was staring at her.

“It must be late, that’s why I was so careless…” he mutters to himself quickly, rubbing an eye with the back of his fingers. He sneaks a glance over at Byleth, who is still staring at him with innocent curiosity. Redness creeps up his neck as he averts his gaze. “Despite how I may seem, I’m not very good at expressing my emotions either.” He clears his throat, straightening his back.

“Then maybe we can both learn from one another.” Byleth concludes, exhaling. She returns her gaze up at the endless starbound view above them, watching her breath flutter into the cold, night air. “I’m in your debt, since you are keeping me company so late at night.” Again, she closes her eyes, letting herself feel the coldness wash over her exposed skin.

“Think nothing of it, I’m simply happy that you are getting fresh air.” He says, leaning over her. She notices the shift in heat as he comes closer, and the shifting of the blanket on her end. His fingers graze against her bare thigh, a touch so slight, but it is enough to make her realize what she needs.

She immediately opens her eyes to see him pulling away, his face flushed and his own eyes wide as he realizes that she’s staring at him. Before he can pull away completely, she wraps her arms around his neck, drawing him against her. The blanket slips from her shoulders as she presses her head into the crook of his neck, soaking in the warmth that he provides.

He immediately stiffens upon contact, with one arm up in the air, and the other placed against the gravestone to avoid falling completely on top of her out of surprise. His left leg is fit snuggly between her own, the other bent up. Along with the blanket, they were a tangled mess of limbs and cloth.

But Byleth doesn’t care, for she appeased the yearning that ached in her chest since Jeralt’s death—to feel the warmth of another human being in her arms, to not have the last thing she had held in them that of someone who is long gone from this world.

Dimitri does not move a muscle—he is sure that if he did, he would ruin whatever it is that she discovered. But something warm and wet touches his neck. With the sniffles accompanied by it, he wraps his arms around her, melting into her embrace as her body trembles. The sound of her sobs are quiet against his skin.

[matildaofoz]

The Invisible Itch Pt. 2 (Demon!Michael x Reader)

Summary: Michael introduces himself after last night and you find yourself on the short end of the proverbial stick by your own doing, no less. Demons don't play nice and Michael puts you firmly into place.

A/N: This is a little interlude to the next part of this series, no smut just yet I'm afraid but plenty of dominant Demon!Michael. He's so much fun to write and the back-and-forth between him and the reader are some of my favourites.

Warnings: Cursing, Power-Play, minor violence and hurt (reader-receiving), mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable​ @jimmlangdon​ @drasangel​ @leatherduncan​ @sexwon131​ @rocketgirl2410​ @9layerdevilfoodcake​ @vulgarprayer​ @michaellangdonstanaccount​ @michaellandgons-sunshine​ @iwillboilyourteeth​ @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul​, @kitty4860​

After you'd awoken the night after an encounter you couldn't begin to make sense of, you had quite literally grabbed whatever your hands could reach out the wardrobe and sprinted out the door, not daring to even enter the bathroom. You felt whatever, whoever had introduced himself the night before lingering in the place you called your home and that knot in your stomach wound tighter as the day went on. You were going insane. Surely,  for the truth of the matter meant that there were forces in this world - and apparently in your apartment  - that you couldn't fathom.

You needed answers and so you began to scour the Internet, not caring if your work search history took a weird turn. You still felt his fingers between your legs, his teeth on your shoulder and his grip on your hip. God, the way he had pleasured you was unlike anything you'd ever felt. You tried to shake the lustful thoughts flitting through your mind, the image of him standing before you burned into your retinas.

Demon. That word kept popping up on the websites and subreddits you found and you swore you felt those strong hands on you again as you read page after page of first person accounts with the supernatural. The more you read, the more you became alarmed, mentions of people having unwittingly sold their soul to the devil himself despite not believing in these kinds of things. If this was any other time, you would have scoffed at the idiotic posts. And yet here you were, baring the bruises of something you couldn't explain. The work day drew to a close far too soon, the day feeling like you spent it in a daze, a thick fog hanging over your mind, visions of him clouding your senses. Maybe you had sold your soul, given it to that man, that demon. That would explain the haze you walked through,  that ache between your legs.

"Hey (Y/N), you alright? Anything going on, you didn't seem right today," Cindy from accounting said as you both stepped into the elevator.  

"Hm? Oh yeah sorry, I'm just tired I think ," you replied with a little embarrassed smile several seconds after she had turned to address you as the doors slid shut. She mustered you, taking in the slight dark circles under your eyes, apparent because you hadn't even bothered to put on any make up. You forced a smile, not feeling up to any small talk.

"Heard Kevin's been bragging about you two going down to his lake house this weekend. Please tell me that's not true, " she continued and you were glad she didn't mention your appreance.

"He did what?!" you shrieked, now suddenly rattled into the present by her statement.

"Thought as much," Cindy replied, a small chuckle on her lips. You two didn't get to speak often but she was one of the few people in the office who showed her disdain for your manager and his creepy ways openly.

"This is turning out to be an even worse day than it already is," you groaned, making Cindy snicker beside you.

"Just be careful, I know he's all bark and no bite but you wouldn't want to get yourself in any situation," she said, patting you lightly on the shoulder as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the underground parking lot.

"Yeah, definitely won't do that. Thanks for the heads up," you called after her as she stepped out to head to her car, waving at you without turning around. You liked Cindy and her no-nonsense attitude. Too bad you were already in a situation of the supernatural kind. You'd kick Kevin's balls any day if he tried anything. The demon in your flat however was an entirely different beast to tame. If that was even a possibility.

You sat in your car outside your apartment building for a good 10 minutes, looking up at the dark windows, debating on whether or not you wanted to spend the night  there. What had gotten into you, a tiny voice in the back of your mind berated you. You weren't scared of horror movies or graveyards, you laughed your way though haunted houses you and your friends went to on Halloween and yet the thought of stepping foot into your safe space suddenly filled you with dread. You could explain all those things away by good editing, special effects and makeup. A real-life demon on the other hand...With a huff you swung open the car door and stepped out into the chilly movember air and headed for the entrance. As you passed under the streetlights,  you swore you could feel those eyes of his on you, watching from above.

The lock clicked, unlatching the door. You entered, expecting to come face to face with him and yet you were greeted by silence. You ventured into the kitchen, switching on the lights, back rigged. Empty. Next you headed for the bathroom. It looked as if you'd never even took a bath last night, no wine bottle, no glass on the floor, no water puddles on the ground. Slowly but surely you were beginning to think that you'd had a very vivid dream, one that would definetely warranted a visit to your pyschologist, and somehow managed to bump your hip and scratch your shoulder. It made no sense. You knew you were being watched as you stepped out the car. God, maybe you were finally at your breaking point,  brought around by nothing in particular, you just simply snapped.

You ventured into your bedroom to change out of your clothes. The note...was gone. You swore you'd left in laying on your covers. After several minutes of franticall searching under the covers and around the bed, you gave up. Maybe your breakup was fianlly catching up with you in an unusual way or maybe it was the loneliness. Whatever it was, all that remained of last night were the bruises. You changed into an oversized t-shirt and some cotton shorts, examining the blueish imprints on your hips. Perhaps you had gotten so drunk last night that you'd simply not remembered hitting your hip and this morning, still drunk your brain had conjured up the note just as it has the demon that fucked you raw in the bathtub last night.

Having let your guard down at finding nothing out of the ordinary, you padded into the living room, your phone in hand that was currently reinstalling tinder. Might as well get back in the game if I'm dreaming up hot demon bathtub sex, you thought to yourself.

You switched on the light, revealing the demon from last night perched lazily on the sofa,  looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" you screamed, dropping your phone. So much for not being scared.

"Good evening to you too, (Y/N)" he chuckled, taking in your frightened expression, those pretty (Y/E/C) eyes of yours ripped wide open.

"What are YOU doing here?" you hissed, trying to calm your heart that was currently in overdrive. He wasn't real, he wasn't supposed to be real.

"What do you mean what am I doing here. Didn't we assess last night that this is my domain? I should be asking you that question, Angel," he retorted, that grin of his widening into a dashing smile, his awsner punctuated by a wink that shouldn't have the effect it had on you.

"S-so this, last night, this was all real?" you whispered with your hands gesturing around you, disbelief in your voice and realisation flitting over your face.

"Oh it was real. A demon fucking that sweet little cunt of yours. Very real and very enjoyable I might add," he rumbled, hia brazen words making your cheeks flush. You stood in the door flabbergasted.

"I'm Michael by the way. I didn't get to introduce myself properly last night since you passed out. Not to worry,  I take it as a compliment of my expertise," he winked once more.

You watched him as he revealed why you couldn't remember getting out the tub or falling asleep. So he was a demon. A spawn of satan. Your mind went back to all the things you'd read earlier about his kind, that knot in your stomach suddenly coiling in on itself.

"Did I sell my soul to you last night?!" The words spilled over your lips, your (Y/E/C) gaze shooting daggers at the demon who looked more bemused by the second, taking in your flustered appearance. He hadn't expected you to be so straightforward.

"No, you'd know if you did," he smirked, tapping his chin, a cocky smile on his lips as he watched you deflate slightly. You didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief yet.

"This is like if you're a cop, you have to tell me. You can't lie, you can twist the truth but you can't outright lie," you responded, not satisfied by his half answer.

"Oh, we've been hitting the books at work today? Smart girl," he chuckled. You hadn't done nearly enough research to know the pile of proverbial shit you had landed in unknowingly, but you had done enough between work meetings and over your lunch break to know that a demon was bound by whatever force held them to this plane that made it impossible for them to lie if called upon directly. Your hands clenched by your sides, waiting for his reply. He groaned at your resoluteness. You were a lot smarter than you knew and he was growing impatient with the incessant line of questioning. Usually it was him with one hand on the lever.

"Sweet (Y/N)," he inhaled deeply. "You didn't sell your soul to me last night. It's still firmly sat behind your ribcage, all yours. I'd swear on my heart if I had one. I do have integrity, you know. Are you satisfied now?" He sneered, watching your face as he waited for your reply, one eyebrow cocked expectantly, a hint of offense on his features. You sighed in relief at his statement.

"Thank God," you breathed. At least some of what you'd found on various internet sites and reddit threads seemed to be true. At the name, Michael's eyes darkened and he stood up to his full height from the sofa. Your spine straightened as he approached you, his demeanour growing even sourer.

"Don't mention him in my presence," he rumbled, coming to stand before you, the tips of his pristine parent leather boots touching your bare toes. Had he approached you like this when you had entered your apartment, you would've shrunk back but your little research endeavours had struck a hint of Gold, a fact that had emboldened you as much as his admission that he infact a demon. You wanted to try and see what else you could use against him. Resolute, you stood your ground, neck slightly tilted back to meet his gaze. He may have scared you just now but you were not one to back down, for better or worse.

"God," you uttered again, watching his eyes grow dark, an inky blackness swallowing his blue irises.

Michael tilted his head to one side, those shadows starting to creep up behind him like they had last night. A silent warning.

"Jesus Christ," you continued to test him.

"(Y/N)..." his voice rumbled low out his chest, and the depth of it sent shivers down your spine.

"In the name of the father, the son and the hol-" His right arm shot up and he grabbed you by the throat roughly, cutting off your breath before you could finish the sentence. In the blink of an eye you were pressed between the wall, Michael's hand around your throat pinning you in place.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I'll do it for you," he hissed, his body pressed firmly over yours, his black gaze burning into you, and a searing pain exploded behind them. You screamed in terror and anguish as it felt like he was burning your eyes out their sockets.

"FUCK, I'M SORRY, I'LL STOP, PLEASE!" you cried, your vision going blurry from pain and tears that had begun to spill out the corners. At your cries, Michael's hand loosened the grip around your neck and stepped back. You slid down the wall at the loss of his body holding you up, gulping in air, fingers gingerly touching the skin around your eyes, afraid they would come up bloody. Unbothered, Michael watched as you regained control over your breathing, mustering you with a hint of disdain. He crouched down before you, making you press yourself against the wall in an effort to keep the distance between you.

"Don't ever think you're smarter than me, little one. Test me again and you'll see. I dare you," he chuckled, one hand catching your quivering chin in his hold to assess the damage he'd done. Only several small burst blood vessels bloomed in the whites of your eyes. Nothing permanent and yet enough to remind you that you were in his domain, abiding by his rules.

"Now that we've established who's in charge once again, why dont you tell me about your day? I took the liberty of getting some wine," he said, any trace of anger or demonic demeanour wiped from his chiseled features, that small smile playing on the corners of his lips again. He was psychotic or just simply demonic, that little voice in th back of your head whispered while you watched him, the back of your head and shoulders pressed into the wall.

He offered you his hand to help you off the floor, as if the last minutes had never taken place. You debated whether or not to refuse but seeing as how you were on the much shorter end of the stick firmly in his grasp, you took his hand and were hoisted up to your feet by Michael. You recoiled from his grasp as soon as you were steady on your feet,  eyeing him warily. Alcohol sounded like a good idea even though you wanted to keep your wits about you around him. There was no doubt in your mind now about who it was you were dealing with and this was far worse than you'd anticipated and yet it didn't seem like you had much choice. Your lease wouldn't run out for another 6 months and there was no way you'd go back to your best friend's couch.

“Why the hell not,” you muttered, earning yourself a gleeful grin from the handsome devil before you.

“I knew you'd come around, Angel,” he grinned, those hooded icy blue eyes glinting.