#should i write it out properly for the one-shot collection i wanna do?

[ofmermaidstories]

Mermie, do we ever find out how Weeds and Bakugou's Halloween went? 🥺 It's sooo cute that Deku notices that he's in a good mood the day after!

It’d be very quiet! A Sunday; the shop’s open on Sundays, so Weeds will go into work even though Bakugou has the day off. Neither of them will realise it, but they’ve been making the upcoming date worse for themselves by worrying about the other. Trauma is trauma and Bakugou’s had his fair share of them, so in some ways he’s better at weathering it than our Weedsie-Woo—but also he was there for the fallout in a way that Weeds, being knocked out, wasn’t. Like, he had to deal with all the horrible what-ifs and the realities—what-if Weeds and the kid are dead, what-if Weeds is dead, what-if he can’t find Weeds, what-if he never gets the chance to get over himself and say how he feels? And with the current case being on-going, Bakugou’s already going to be extra vigilant—Weeds would know, would’ve seen first hand just how much of his time and his energy it’s taking, and a big worry of hers would be the that maybe he’d be mirroring whatever anxiety she has, and adding it to his own load.

‼️📍 18+/MDNI — vague (and i mean vague) smut.

Because!!! Weeds wouldn’t be immune to the anniversary; very few of us would be. And like, maybe the lead-up to the date is worse than Halloween itself, you know? Like it’d be small things—Weeds being reluctant to have her back to the shop door. Keeping her hearing aid in, whereas before she might’ve been laxer with it. Being reluctant to stay over at Bakugou’s apartment—not because she doesn’t like it, but because she’s worried about the coming back to her small home, and the staleness of air and the reminder that there had been a chance she might not have at all, once.

Haru too isn’t unaffected—Weeds goes with him and his grandmother to the Silent Disco the Deaf Association hold again that year, during the week, but throughout the night he stops when he’s among the other kids and darts back, making sure Akane and Weeds are still there (they are—talking to Haru’s JSL tutor, who’s still friendly and still warm and still makes sure Weed’s pockets fill with sweets, to take home). Haru and his mum leave the city for the weekend—go to the seaside, maybe, or somewhere with a cool open-air museum where Haru can run around and be miles and miles away from the shop street or big, overhead concrete buildings.

(He facetimes Weeds early that Saturday night; Bakugou’s making dinner, keeping an eye on the conversation, Weeds on the couch as she and Haru share about their days and some new video game that Haru wants his mother to buy him for the handheld console he’d gotten for his birthday that year. Neither of them talk about Quirks.)

Saturday night is quiet. They eat dinner and watch something mundane and ignore the spooky movies that are playing. Sunday morning is much the same pace—they sleep in, they wake up. They languidly touch each other in some kind of silent reassurance until they’re both surer; Bakugou teasing Weeds, teasing himself with the warmth between them as he bites at the swell of a breast, a strong hand holding Weed’s face in place.

Later, showered and fresh, he makes them breakfast—egg over rice, fried spam, avocado that he scoops with a melon-baller. Neither of them mention the significance of the day, and Weeds doesn’t dress for it. He walks Weeds to the train station under the guise of an errand. When Weeds is at work Bakugou returns to the apartment and does some housework—laundry, moping, vacuuming. There’s a cake waiting in the fridge—that morning’s errand, something Sato baked—small and perfectly sized to share. Bakugou eats lunch and reads up on a few things and preps what he can of dinner and then, with the sun still up in the sky, he goes to meet Weeds at work.

The flower shop has been warm, even in the October cool. Akane has been in and out, and extra loud next door—for Weed’s benefit, for her own. Other shopkeepers in the street wave to Weeds or come over to gossip with Akane and at one point Kirishima comes by on patrol, the old aunties of the street surrounding him like school girls. Weeds cuts flower stems and sweeps the floor and clears out what she needs to from the fridge and orders new ribbon (red and black, she’s running low) and looks over her orders for the coming week and what she’ll need to buy from the markets—and then the afternoon comes and Bakugou’s there and she smiles at him and they both ease up; just a little.

The shop closes early on Sundays; he helps Weeds bring in plants and buckets of flowers and the shop sign and gives Weeds space as she’s locking up the shopfront. They make their way back to Bakugou’s apartment, across the other-side of the city, stopping only to pick up a couple of things from the supermarket, bickering over which drinks to get and green-tea chocolates (“Got you some sweet shit back at home,” he says, disgruntled, though the chocolates make their way into the basket regardless). They walk past a Halloween display that includes an inflatable Grim Reaper and don’t think anything of it, though Bakugou bumps his shoulder into hers on the way out, their bags in hand.

They make dinner together and eat it to a view of the city and Bakugou will pull out the little cake for dessert and Weeds will almost, almost make a joke about this being a Congrats You Didn’t Die cake.

She doesn’t, though, and after dinner, after the cake, when they’ve cleaned up everything, Weeds will go to kiss him—surprised instead by the force he accepts it with, the way he kisses back, pulling her to him.

It’s his own fear, his own relief. The only way he can think of to express these things. He spends a long while lingering over her, his hands warming the longer they stay on her, Bakugou concentrating on feeling her fall apart against him. He bares his teeth against the pulse of her neck and pants fuck and s’okay against her wet skin and she pulls him into a kiss that’s barely a whisper, promising against his mouth, s’okay. It makes him shudder, and afterwards in the safety of his bed, his room, his home, he holds Weeds tight.

(They spend the night like this; entangled, entangling, and the next day at Riot Ground Kaminari cheers Izuku with his waterbottle, when the other Pro walks into the agency’s kitchen.

“I like Kacchan way more when he’s getting laid regularly,” he says, causing Izuku to sputter and almost drop his own drink.)

[gothra]

Do you have any butchie fic rec’s?

sorry this one took so long, it turns out that gathering links takes a bit longer than i thought it might. just a warning: I’m going wide, because I don’t know where to stop so I’m just going to be loading a bunch in here. and they are mostly smut except for a few domestic ones, and a few bits of angst.

The first and best ones I read were the ones in aishahiwatari’s repertoire. This is kind of one of the larger collection of Butchie fics that I’ve found in the tag, so it would take forever to explain the premise of all of them, if you have spare time just take a look. There’s a lot of porn (and you will soon come to realize that that’s kind of the running theme here) but the one that really fucked me up was earth or diabolical creature because FUCK Hughie and Butcher have a toddler and she’s cute and I’m losing i

I also like this series, it’s got a lot of creative and interesting choices for smut scenarios and it all ends in a dramatic and emotional fashion.

this one is slightly like the one above but I’m not complaining because it’s good and it’s cute

okay now we’re getting into the standalones. I’ll include any of the more important content warnings, but it’s a lot to type so bare with me if you click and there’s something I’ve missed im sorry

bitter skin by none_the_wiser (one-shot. short and spicy! really encapsulates the sort of rough-and-tumble, love-to-hate-you-hate-to-love-you high that butchie seems to be on. they honestly write it better than I can.)

if you wanna be my lover…, by watchthequeenconquer (spice girls!!! The comparisons are apt. if passing out, choking, mildly dubious consent, verbal humiliation, intoxication or play fighting bothers you, avoid.)

this writer has a series of other fics that are more domestic and fluffy, centered more on them raising Ryan, which I LOVE and need MORE of:

but it may be a lunatic you’re looking for by cathect (love how horny this one is and the blurb always makes me laugh)

(bad?) neighbors by motherfuckingsorcery (I love fics that exploit hughie’s obvious praise kink)

Most of the butchie fics from holyfudgemonkies 2021 kinktober collection (keep your eyes on the tags as some have some darker and dead dove stuff but overall a fun reading experience). honestly just their whole tag has some fun stuff

if you’re noticing that I’m getting less and less specific and I’m just posting full collections, it’s because I didn’t realize just how much work this was so I’m basically just posting every fic I’ve ever read. that being said…

struck by a bolt is a very sexy series by (ourdramaqueen)

one way ticket to a dead end by ezran (hot! a bit of toxic behavior in this one tho)

ask a question, get an answer by satsumasegments (I WISH this had happened instead. it’s such a hot, smoothly written fic I love it)

when I say that this next fic fucked me up, I’m not joking. I don’t know why I read it, because death bothers me a lot, even fictional deaths, but I read it and I couldn’t function properly for days after. I think I’m just sensitive but Christ it was painful.

so you should definitely read what do they know about friends by satsuma segments

the spare knife of happiness by flwrgardens (did I mention how much I LOVE Hughie and butcher being domestic with Ryan?? Because I love it. this is such a you-have-already-left-kudos-here ass fic I love it I love it)

house of stone by tylerose (more domesticity. GIVE ME MORE DOMESTICITY AND FALLING IN LOVE!! tw for drug use but it’s just Temp V)

touch me gently, it’s been too long by spacelesscass (so tender like chicken nugget. so soft.)

please note that not every fic I’ve ever read and liked is on this list, I just tried to maintain what little brevity I had left because putting this together was so exhausting?? if you want the rest let me know but i'd basically be putting the whole tag in there since 1. it's very small and 2. i read a lot of fics

[theonewiththefanfics]

Because Hearts Get Broken - Loving Is The Antidote (Part 3/3)

Because Hearts Get Broken Part 3 :) read the first two on my masterlist 

Synopsis: Overcoming fears is not an easy thing, but maybe it’s worth a shot if the ending leads to happiness. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: kinda angsty, mostly fluffy and SHMUTTYYYYYYYYY

Warnings: SMUT!!! (so beware, this is kinda sweet, but oh so filthy; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), m going down on f, slight fingering etc), swearing

Word count: 5895

Y/N had never been so nervous while getting ready for a show. She liked to be front-row, right by the stage to feel as close to the music as possible, the energy of the crowd filling her up and making her buzz with excitement, even hours after the concert was done. 

        The thing was – with when they started dating and then with the pandemic shutting everything down in spring, Y/N had never seen Harry live. Sure, he’d given her private concerts, had sung her any song she wanted, but this was different. Somehow, even though there were more people, it felt more intimate because this wasn’t just him lulling Y/N to sleep. This was Harry baring part of his soul to the world, and doing it with such ease, it made her heart ache.

        The venue was small, at least compared to the arena sizes Y/N knew he typically performed at. There were around 100ish or so people, and the line was quite quick to move. 

        She told the woman with the clipboard her name and provided some ID. The list wasn’t that long, and it took her barely two seconds to spot the name, as she smiled and gave Y/N a nod.

        “I’ll have Bert escort you to the backstage if you’ll just follow him, please.”

        “Could I actually watch from the crowd?” Y/N asked biting her lip. “I love being a part of it, you know. Feel the energy and stuff.”

        “Uh, sure.” The woman gave her an uncertain look. “It’s just that Mr Styles asked for you to be brought backstage, and umm…”

        “If Harry says anything,” Y/N put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I’ll deal with it. Please, don’t worry too much. Unless he wants a kidnapping charge, he’ll deal with the fact that I’m inside the venue.”

        And that seemed to do the trick, as the girl, visibly relaxed and even laughed a bit, handing Y/N back her ID and motioning with her head to go inside. 

        Small tables had been set up, and each one could house four people at a time. Most of them had already been taken and given how she didn’t want to draw any attention, Y/N decided to take one of the tables at the very back, a pillar half obscuring the stage and with that – her face. 

        The enthusiasm was palpable in the air, and people were chattering away, anticipating the moment Harry with his band would walk onto the stage. A waitress came up to her, asking if she wanted anything to eat or drink.

        “And your name, please? To set up a tab.”

        “Y/N Y/L/N.”

        “Oh,” her eyes went a bit wide. “Um, no need to pay then.”

        Her brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

        “We’ve been told that anything you order should be put on Mr Sty – “

        “Mr Styles tab,” Y/N finished the sentence with a chuckle. “Yeah. Okay… well, is it possible for you to not say anything to him and let me pay for my drinks?”

        “I – “ she shrugged. “I guess?”

        “Just the G&T please.”

        The waitress nodded and clicked her pen, still seemingly unsure about what to do, but ultimately deciding to go with what Y/N asked. “Coming right up.”

        The lights dimmed, and Y/N’s attention was brought to the stage, where she saw Harry, Sarah, Mitch, Adam, Naomi and Charlotte appear and take their places, as applause and cheers became their background music.

        He looked good, very good, in fact. His brown hair was the typical messy mop on top of his head, the signature pearl necklace around his neck, while he sported the soft rainbow cardigan, a sharp-looking high neck button-up, and black slacks, with black boots.

        “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Harry started, and it made a collective chuckle rise into the air. He could post a fleeting comment on Instagram saying he was having a concert in three minutes, and there’d be ten thousand fans waiting for him. “When ‘Save the Children’ reached out to us and asked if we could help them raise some donations, we immediately hopped on the idea, and it warms our hearts seeing so many of you here, and the fact that you’re supporting their cause.”

        Loud cheers immediately exploded, and Y/N obviously joined in. 

        “All proceeds for the tickets made today will go to them, as will any other donations you decide to give, so, I hope you do, and let’s get the show going.”

        That was Sarah’s cue to hit her drumsticks together three times, as the notes of ‘Golden’ rattled the air.

        Seeing Harry in his element was nothing short of electric. Although he was sitting down, and most of the songs he sang were acoustic versions, it was dazzling to see the passion seep out of his body and into the lyrics he'd composed. 

        Throughout most of it, his green eyes kept scanning over the gathered people, while flitting to see what was happening behind the curtain, and it made Y/N sort of giddy, thinking that he might be trying to find her.

        Because in truth, he was. When Harry had arrived, he was all nerves and jitters, which had never happened before a show. Well, never before had Y/N come to one of his shows, so there was also that. 

        All throughout prep, he was waiting for someone from the staff to come up to him and tell him his girl had come, but no one did, until like five minutes before he was supposed to perform, a breathless woman, who seemed so nervous she was about to pass out, had tapped him on the shoulder.

        “Is she here?” Now he was the breathless one. 

        “Uh, yeah, Y/N arrived a little while ago.”

        His forehead creased in confusion. “Then, where is she? No one came to inform me.”

        “I’m so sorry Mr Styles, but she asked to be allowed into the crowd, she uh… didn’t wanna be taken backstage.”

        “Oh.”

        That was literally all he could manage, as his heart dropped. “Well… at least she’s here.” He gave the assistant a smile. “Thank you. I uh, I hope you’ll enjoy the show.”

        Then it was call-time, and he had to gather himself as he walked on the small podium, taking his place by the mic, and beginning the concert.

        After each song, he scanned the gathered people, in hopes of seeing Y/N’s face, but she had hidden really well, and when he’d looked to the sides, wishing to see her frame standing there, he had to remind himself, that she was there, and he still had to fulfil a little surprise, which he hoped she’d like.

“You know when writing… songs are inspired by many things, but just like with books you reread, they can get new meanings and make you feel different than before. So, although I had no clue this person existed when I wrote this song, the second I met her, I knew it was about her. She’s uh, she’s here tonight.”

Y/N’s head snapped up from where she’d been propping it against her hand so hard, she was sure she heard a bone crack.

        No.

        Fucking.

        Way.

        “So, I’d like to end this small get together and dedicate it to her. And I know this isn’t one of her favourite songs,” Harry let out a small laugh, Sarah mimicking it behind the drums. “She told me she’s kind of sick of it, given how it was all over the radio at one point, but uh, I hope that maybe, she - uh - she just listens to the words, and knows I mean it.”

        Y/N didn’t even need the first chord to be played to know what song he meant. ‘Adore You’. 

        During their quarantine, she’d jokingly said if it played one more time on the radio, she’d have to break up with him.

        He’d yanked her down on the couch, nose nuzzling into her hair. “ ‘N why’s that? Thought you liked my singing.”

        “I do,” Y/N wove her fingers into his locks and massaged at his scalp, making Harry let out a satisfied groan. “I just don’t wanna hear you sing about loving and adoring someone that ain’t me.”

        A playful smirk pressed against her skin. “Jealous, are we?”

        “No,” Y/N shrugged pinching his side. “Jus’ tired of the song.”

        “Don’t worry.” He brought his face from where he’d hidden it by her shoulder and turned hers to face him. “From now on, whenever I’ll sing it, I’ll sing it for you. You’re the only person I wanna love and adore.”

        “What about Gem and your mum.”

        A disgusted look passed over his features. “Not in that way!”

        “Harry!” Y/N slapped his arm as both of them dissolved into laughter. 

        “You don’t have to say you love me,” he sung, breaking her out of the trance, “you don’t have to say nothing, you don’t have to say you’re mine.”

        She’d never hated the song, never meant it when she’d said that, and could never be mad at Harry for having written out his feelings, woven them into notes and masterfully put it together for others to hear.

        It was a weird notion to Y/N though, knowing everyone in the world could hear how he’d loved someone so much, but that was just because of her own inability to properly express her feelings. Yet now, listening to him sing that song for her, made her chest hurt.

        Thankfully Y/N wasn’t the only one sniffling in the audience, so she wasn’t standing out that much. She was kind of scared that Harry might look over and others would connect the dots, but he didn’t, not really at least. His green eyes scanned the people, but mostly he kept his gaze on the floor, as if afraid of what reaction everyone would have as the song ended.

        “Thank you,” he muttered into the microphone the cheers morphed into ovations, while he pressed his fingers against his lips and ‘sent’ the kiss to the audience before retreating backstage with his band in tow. As people started to filter out, groups heading down the street while others lingered in hopes of catching a glimpse or having a word with Harry, Y/N waited by the table, finishing off her drink before moving towards the backstage. 

        “I uh.” She showed one of the security guards her ID. “I was told I can come backstage?”

        The burly man looked down at the woman next to him, who much like the assistant before had a clipboard. When she found Y/N’s name she looked up and smiled. “Right this way.”

        They wove through the small walkways, as people rushed back and forth, coiling up wires, dismantling the drum-set and carefully placing the instruments in their boxes for them to be put in the van.

        “He’ll be back here in a minute,” the representative said, opening up a door where Harry’s name was plastered on, letting her step in, and Y/N nodded, pulling her jumper sleeves down her palms.

        It was a nervous habit of hers, having switched over from biting her nails to plucking at loose threads of clothing to now pulling at them. Harry had been the one to help her get rid of the biting.

        “How am I supposed to paint your nails, if you rip them off?”

        Y/N had scoffed shoving him a bit. “You have your own nails to paint.”

        “Yes, but I wanna make your pretty too.”

        “You telling me I ain’t pretty enough for you?”

        “No, I think you’re gorgeous, but,” he’d leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his teeth graze her earlobe, “I do love it when I can see marks on my back in the morning.”

        Y/N let out a shaky breath, as butterflies tumbled through her stomach. Three minutes of anticipation and the door clicked open, making her whip around and come face to face with Harry.

        “Hey,” he breathed out. “I uh I didn’t really think you’d come, but I’m really happy you did.”

        Y/N shrugged toeing at the ground and smoothing her hands against her thighs. “I’ll always do everything I can to support you. Being together is not a condition in my book for making sure you’re alright and happy.”

        “Did you uh – di –“

        “Did I hear the song?” she interrupted him, and Harry visibly gulped nodding. 

        “Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, her eyes cast down, noticing how his foot was tapping an irregular rhythm.

        “And?”

        “And?” Y/N let out a chuckle before leaning down to the couch and grabbing a pillow. “How! Dare! You!” she yelled, hitting his arm with it. “You think you can just do that, you think you can dedicate a song – a fucking love song – to me and get away with it? You think you can just be sweet and nice and so fucking loving and not make me fall in love with you more? And – and – and you just think you can do that?! And make me feel things?”

        Harry’s smile was blinding, as he grabbed the pillow, throwing it onto the sofa, and eliminating the two remaining steps between the two, hands on her waist, forehead to hers, as Y/N huffed seeing the smirk bloom even more on his lips. “I made you feel things, huh?”

        “Yes,” she grumbled crossing her arms in front of her chest, but in no way was she attempting to push away from him, actually relishing his touch and warmth, and his skin against hers. “You did. And I hate you for that.”

        “Do ya really, dove?” He was smiling wider than before.

        Her nose brushed against his. “Very much so.”

        “I love you too. So much.”

        “You sure you want to take a chance on me?” Y/N had to ask. “It’s – I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

        “Love’s not supposed to be easy. And you’re worth it. You’re worth everything to me.”

        “Okay then…” She had to suppress the cry that threatened to break out of her throat by clearing it.  “But on one condition,” Y/N stated with all seriousness. “You give me a proper shag right here, right now, because I’ve missed you so much, I won’t be able to wait until home.”

“Fuck, dove!” Harry groaned and cupped her cheeks, pulling her lips to his. “They’re gonna ban me from here,” Harry muttered against Y/N’s mouth, trying to wiggle out of the cardigan.

        “Then let’s give them a reason,” Y/N hummed against his lips, as her fingers, shaky but still nimble, undid the first button to his high-collared shirt. 

        Down and down, they went until the planes of his chest and stomach were exposed, and she could indulge herself by letting her palms and nails rake over the skin and the tattoos.

        “Wanna taste you,” Harry gasped pulling away for a breath of air. “Haven’t had you in so long, wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

        Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head from his words alone, and given how she didn’t trust her voice to not shake, she nodded her head, helping him get her boots off, toeing the socks with them and then shimmying out of her jeans.

        Her bottom half was practically naked when Harry pulled her by the thighs, legs around his waist and lowered her on the shabby sofa. Her mind was so hazy from all the love and pleasure, Y/N didn’t even care about how it probably hadn’t had a good deep clean in ages.

        Skilful hands lifted up her jumper, exposing the tank underneath. Harry raised his eyebrow. “How many layers do you have on? I want you naked.”

        “It’s fucking winter in New York.” Y/N helped him remove the piece of clothing he found so offensive. “Did you want me to come in just lingerie and freeze my tits off?”

        He hummed before looking up. “Speaking of tits? Can I see ‘em?”

         “Maybe. If you eat me out first.”

        “Deal.” 

        The thing was, as much as Harry wanted to dive right into it, he was feeling mischievous, so he decided to drag out the process as much as possible. Hands caressing her sides, he lifted the shirt so he could press kisses to her stomach, leaving invisible marks of love with every step of the way, and he grinned to himself hearing Y/N’s breath hitch as he reached her underwear.

        There was an embarrassingly large wet spot, and Harry pressed his hips against the couch to somewhat minimise the pain he was starting to feel. He was not gonna blow a load in his pants when he finally got to be with Y/N again. 

        “Can I take 'em off?” Harry murmured, leaving a fluttery press of his mouth against her hipbone, while she viciously nodded. 

        Quickly he pressed a kiss to the spot he’d soon be able to see unclothed, and it made Y/N jerk, but fuck she was eager, pupils blown so much there was nothing left of her usual Y/E/C eyes, but two black abysses.

        Harry’s were quite the same, as the green had turned dark jade, and even that was a small ringlet around his intense gaze.

        “Do not!” She pointed a finger at him, and Harry stopped mid-motion, just as he was going to pocket her panties. “I won’t go commando while wearing jeans.”

        “But –“

        “It’s not you who’ll chafe.”

        Harry huffed, and put them on the side of the couch. “Fine. But just so you know, you’re very boring and are ruining all the fun.”

        “At least I won’t have to deal with a yeast infection.”

        He couldn’t argue with that, running his hands over her thighs. “Fair enough. But you owe me a kiss.”

        “Come here, you doofus,” she grabbed at the open lapels of his shirt and pulled him down, arms looping around his broad shoulder to have his chest pressed against hers and bring their lips back together. 

        For a couple of minutes, they let their tongues dance in the familiar rhythm. There were no teeth clashing, no foreheads bumping or biting. Despite both of their eagerness, they’d decided to revel in being together, so each kiss was experienced to the fullest.

        “Better?” she asked, completely out of breath, as they pulled apart. 

        “Yeah.” Harry smiled, mind a blissed-out haze. “Now, where were we?”

        She couldn’t really think straight either, so her only response was a lift of her hips.

        “Right,” he sighed and slipped a delicate hand down her tummy and along the inside of her legs.  “God, I missed being here.” And slowly his head joined where he was brushing the sensitive skin of the apex of her thighs.

        “Harry!” she dragged out his name, as his fingers just kept skimming her skin, and when she thought they’d slip past her folds, he dragged them back to the inner thigh. “Stop teasing!” Y/N had her hands over her eyes. 

        “Why?” he smirked, kissing right around the place she wanted his lips on, but not on it. “It’s fun. Payback for everything you put me through.”

        “Harry, I swear if you don’t put your tongue in me, I’ll put my foot through your face.”

        He lifted her legs up, and then over his shoulders, caging her hips in with his arms. “Not if I do that.”

        “Just – fuck! You’re such a bully!” Y/N laughed. 

        “Are you telling me, I’m being mean to my girlfriend, the love of my life, owner of my heart and soul?” he asked, leaning his cheek to rest against the inside of her thigh, and she wove her fingers into his hair.

        “Well, if you don’t do anything, it’s gonna be ex-girlfriend again.”

        Harry narrowed his eyes. “Look who’s being a bully now.”

        “But – just – please!” she whined. “Please, I need it so bad.”

        “Need what?”

        “Ugh, you’re such a menace!” Y/N pretty much yelled and leaned to rest herself on her elbows, catching Harry’s eyes to keep a direct gaze. “I need your tongue so far up my cunt, that by the end of it all, your neck is covered in my cum. Happy now?”

        His grin was wicked. “Very.”

        That seemed to do the trick, as he lowered his head, and with closed eyes like a wine taster, finally attached his mouth to where Y/N had been craving him for so long. A deep sigh of relief passed her lips, and she threw her head back against the couch cushion, savouring the feeling of what was happening to her. 

        “Did you eat pineapples before coming?” Harry asked, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers; they slipped in without any resistance with how wet she was. “Taste… sweet.”

        “Had a fruit salad for dinner,” she moaned as he leaned back in and licked a broad stripe. “Didn’t have anything else in the fridge.”

        “That’s not proper dinner. Pizza afterwards?”

        Y/N hummed as he sucked on her clit. “Domino’s?”

        Harry linked his fingers through hers and brought their intertwined hands to rest on her stomach. “Whatever you want.”

        “Isn’t this kind of cheating for you though?” she let out a choked-back laugh, and with furrowed brows, he detached himself from her core.

        “What’dya mean?”

        “You’re having dessert first.”

        The singer threw his head back with a cackle. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat my veggies. But let me finish having my fruit first.”

        It was like he’d been starved of her, and in a way, Harry definitely had been. For almost three months, a quarter of a year, he hadn’t felt Y/N’s touch, hadn’t tasted her, nor pretty much heard the sounds she made.

        All he’d been left with was one last good-bye, a kiss given in a passion induced haze, and the one-sentence she’d recorded for her voicemail box, and well, let’s just say – Harry was more than happy to feel her hands let go of his and grasp onto his hair, to drink up everything she offered and listen to all of the moans Y/N was no longer depriving him of. It was heaven, to say the least.

        “ ‘M not gonna last long,” she gasped, yanking at his hair, making him moan into her, the vibrations only adding to the already intense pleasure that was coursing through her veins.

        Harry released her clit with a small pop. “Don’t want you to last long. Want you to cum and do it like you said you would – soak me all the way down to my neck.”

        A second later, he had his mouth around her clit again, ten seconds later, her whole body seized up, the air got stuck at the back of her throat, as her eyes rolled to the back, and her back arched up from the couch so far Harry almost lost his hold on Y/N’s waist.

        It was through a fog she heard Harry speak, and it took all of her willpower to focus on understanding what he was saying.

        “Hey, come back to me, dove,” he whispered, gentle palms coming to hold Y/N’s face, and he intently watched her eyelids flutter, body still going through the aftershocks of orgasm. “Come back, dove.”

        “Mhmm,” she let out a soft sigh, leaning her face more into Harry’s touch before opening her eyes and giving him a fucked-out smile. 

        “You good there?”

        The words ‘the best’ were pretty much a slur, but Harry understood them, eyes twinkling. “Take my top off.”

        “What?”

        She quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you wanna see my tits?”

        “Yeah,” Harry laughed. “I did – do. Very much so. Gonna let me?”

        “Just take my top off.” 

        Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, where she could taste herself (and much like Harry had said – she did taste sweet), he practically ripped the tank top off, and with a little help from Y/N who stretched her back, the bra came off as well, revealing her in her full naked glory.

        “So beautiful,” he uttered in a soft voice. “Still so bloody gorgeous. Should kick myself for ever letting you go even for a second.”

        A little piece of her heart broke at Harry’s statement. “Wasn’t your fault.”

        “Maybe.” He dragged a hand between her breasts and watched as Y/N’s breathing went ragged. “Maybe not. All I know is, I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

        “Then don’t let me. Please.”

        It was the tears in her eyes which made him lean down and give her an open-mouthed kiss, tongue twisting against hers, promising that whatever happened, whatever insecurities came their way, he wouldn’t ever let go. 

        “Take these off,” Y/N said, popping open the button to his slack, and even that small motion made Harry release a groan of relief, as some of the pressure was taken off his painfully hard dick. “Wanna have you inside me.”

        “Dove, you’ll kill me with that mouth of yours.”

        “I’d rather you raw me than die.”

        “ ‘S not my fault you’ve got such a dirty mouth.”

        He’d managed to kick off his shoes, and shimmy the trousers down, now lying in a pile on the floor, while Y/N had fully removed his shirt and had thrown it somewhere across the room, itching to just have him pressed against her. 

        “Condom,” Harry hissed when Y/N’s hand slipped behind his briefs and grabbed him at the base, twisting her palm the way he liked, and slowly moving it up so she could press her thumb against the sensitive tip. “Condom – shit – Y/N,  I wanna cum, but not that quick.”

        “Nuhu,” she shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist, both her hands going to the back of his underwear and dragging them down, not before squeezing his ass. “I said I want you to raw me.”

        If Harry was going to bust a nut before, now it took him literally biting on his lip and closing his eyes for a minute to gather composure.

        “Wait no!” Y/N suddenly sat upright as he was going to lean down, almost knocking her forehead to his nose.

        “What? What’s wrong?”

        “Nothing, I just wanna blow you.”

        “I –,“ he stammered, “you – fuck. Okay. As much as I love that idea, because believe me I do, you’ll have to do it later, ‘cause I’m just about ready to cum.”

        Y/N’s brows furrowed, hand reaching for his hard member, Harry having to stop her midway. “But – you just gave me such good head. I wanna give some to you too.”

        “I will literally cum just from you talking if you don’t stop, but I really wanna fuck you, so will you please just let me?”

        “Okay,” Y/N nodded leaning back down and reaching for Harry to lay over her. “But you’ll let me stuff my face with your cock after?”

        “Jesus Christ.”

        “ ‘S not fun being teased, is it?” Y/N grinned, biting on his earlobe, as Harry took himself and lined up with her entrance, letting the tip nudge against her clit.

        “Yes well,” he took in a breath, slowly sinking in, “if you giving me a blowjob is your form of revenge, I might have to piss you off more.”

        That was a suggestion Y/N was happy to take him up on, as long as it got Harry inside her. 

        He was being very gentle, very much so aware of how sensitive she still was from her previous orgasm, and all he wanted to do was make her feel as good as possible, so he stilled half-way in, but Y/N shook her head.

        “More,” she whimpered.

         “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he muttered against her lips, legs shaking from how much pleasure he was already having, but still very much so attuned to what Y/N’s body was telling him, yet she seemed to not be having any of it.

        “Harry if you don’t get inside me right up to your balls, I will get myself off in front of you, and leave you high and dry.”

        “Now that,” he looked at her pointedly, “just won’t do.” And with those words, he sank deeper, just as Y/N had requested until he’d bottomed out.

        All the air had been choked out of her lungs from the sensation, and not only did Harry have to wait for a second for her to adjust (and to compose himself somewhat), but also for Y/N to take in a breath.

        “Breathe, dove,” he let out a small laugh, and it made Y/N reciprocate, her chest rattling with uneven intakes. “Said I didn’t wanna hurt you, let alone kill you.”

        “ ‘S not my fault your dick’s massive.”

        “Do I hear complaining?”

        “No, just stating a fact.”

        “Well, I’ll be taking that as a compliment.” He smoothed away some strands of hair, letting the two of them just lay there for a moment, to relish in the normalcy of the situation and how amazing it was to be back together, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

        Harry left kisses all over Y/N’s face as she calmed down, lips skimming over her cheeks, then down her jawline, up her chin to give a peck on the lips before kissing the tip of her nose and the bridge, then each of her eyelids and then the forehead before slipping to soothe at her temples. “You alright?” He checked in, a thumb stroking her cheek. “Do you want some water maybe?”

        “No,” she shook her head, her own palms on a never-stopping motion on his back, up and down, and then circling against Harry’s sides. “Jus’ needed a second to gather myself. ‘S been a while.”

        “So, you haven’t gotten with anyone while we – “

        Y/N raised an eyebrow as his question trickled off. “Do you really wanna know if I’ve had sex with anyone? Right now? With your dick all the way in my vagina?”

        “Hey! STDs are a real thing!”

        “Harry, if I was, I would’ve told you before all of this. And not just because of health risks…”

        And that made something in his chest bloom. This certain hope, he’d felt get extinguished when Y/N had broken it off, but that had been quite the pest in his mind. The hope that was the reason he’d tried so hard to talk to her both on New Year’s and then the week prior – the hope, that Y/N did trust him enough to open up, and that if he just gave her the time, she’d do so without inhibitions.

        Her answer confirmed it to Harry. He had no rights to know what her sex life was like when they weren’t together, he wasn’t her keeper, but the fact that she’d implied, she would’ve let him know regardless, that Y/N so wholeheartedly trusted him with such intimate information made that hope blossom into a glowing flower.

        “I haven’t been with anyone either,” his tone was sincere. “I – I couldn’t. I tried to, but I just couldn’t take it that far, because every time I opened my eyes… it wasn’t you staring back at me.”

        “Haz…” tears gleamed on Y/N’s bottom lashes, and when they fell, he gently wiped them away. “I’m sorry.”

        “No.” He shook his head. “None of that. It was a good thing. Because we’re here, right now, right this second, and it’s you I’m with, and it’s you I wanted. Needed. So, none of that.”

        “I just – “

        “I know,” he said and pressed his forehead against hers. “I know.”

        “Okay… I – “ she took in a breath. “I think you can move now.”

        “You sure?”

        “Mhm,” Y/N hummed. “Just take it slow at first.”

        Harry’s head fell into the crook of her neck. “I’ll take care of you. Promise. Just tell me if it hurts, and we’ll stop.”

        “You could never hurt me.”

        And as much as her statement made his insides all warm and fuzzy, Harry still moved gently. Slowly he rolled his hips into hers and took in the small moan that left Y/N’s throat. Then once more, and more, and more until he’d set a bruising pace, pounding into her so much, the table next to the sofa shook with the force.

        “Fuck, Haz.” It was a breathless whimper, her nails digging oh so deliciously into his back, leaving crescent moon marks for him to admire later. “Feels so good. So deep.”

        “And you’re so tight,” he grunted, placing a hand on her lower stomach and pushing down until he could feel himself moving inside of Y/N. “Taking me so fucking well.”

        One of his palms came to rest by her head, and the other took the arm of the couch, giving Harry the chance to lean into her even more and finally hit that spot that made all thought leave her head, and all breaths come in short gasps, while she desperately tried to hold onto reality by digging her nails in his biceps.

        Not that Harry was fairing any better. With every thrust and stroke, he was slowly coming closer to letting go, to finally getting that release he craved and painting Y/N’s core with his cum, but before that, he just had to, if only to prove to himself he could, get her off one more time. 

        His palm slipped down from the armrest of the couch, over Y/N’s collarbones, squeezing her breast before finding its way between them to rub circles over her clit.

        “Ah, shit,” he moaned, looking at where his cock was disappearing into her, wetness spilling and sticking to his lower abdomen and thighs. “Fuck, dove, I need you to come.”

        “ ‘M almost there,” she gasped. “Don’t stop rubbing.”

        He didn’t, instead, increasing the pace, and he felt her clench more and more until there was pretty much no way for him to move and that pushed both of them over the edge.

        It was an explosion of fireworks without a sound, as bright colours came to life behind their eyelids, but all the noise became non-existent, the most euphoric feeling in the world seemed to replace their blood and replenish their souls with love.

        But funnily enough, even though Y/N was the one who’d had two mind-blowing orgasms, it seemed Harry was having a harder time coming down from the high, as he was still shaking, his whole body racked by tremors, hair sticking to his sweat-slicked skin.

        “Come back to me, Haz.” Y/N kissed his eyelids just like he’d done to her. “Come back. ‘S alright.”

        “Nuhu,” he shook his head, laughter rumbling through his chest and reverberating into hers. “I think you’ve killed me. Absolutely bloody murdered me.”

        “Guess I gotta hide your body then.” She smiled, letting her hands roam his back and soothe the pain her nails had left.

        “Good thing you’re obsessed with all those crime shows.”

        “Gotta get some useful skills somehow.”

        Loud banging against the door made the two jump, and Harry whipped his head towards it.

        “Are you two done fucking?” Sarah hollered. “ ‘Cause there are people here who’d like to change and get something to eat.”

        “What’dya say?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “Pizza?”

        “You did promise dinner.”

        “I did.” He kissed her. God, he was never going to get tired of kissing her. And luckily, Y/N was there to stay.

        “Great.” She smiled. “And after that, I’ll get my desert.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N:..... I need a cold shower, yall. Didn’t intend for it to get that explicit, but oh well :D 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

[veinsandknuckles]

Lessons, pt 3

Johnny Lawrence/f!Reader Explicit Content warnings: mild teacher/student dynamic, unprotected sex, the ridiculous headband staying on during the act... if you spot anything else I should warn for, don’t hesitate to tell me.  Please let me know what you think, if I’ve kept him in character and what (if anything) you think I should write next! Still new to this fandom and I thrive on encouragement so comments are very appreciated

With just the slightest hesitation, you straddled his legs and had to push them down to reach across them.

Wearing yoga pants had been a mistake. Even inches away from your core, he must feel how hot, how wet you’d gotten... but it was a battle of wills now and he couldn’t actually force you make the first move, so with your eyebrows raised, you leaned forward and held on to his wrists.

His piercing, pale eyes were locked on to yours. His voice was even lower and thicker now. “You ready?”

It sounded like one final out, and of course you wouldn’t take it. You nodded, he ground up into you, you failed to strangle a cry and even with your full weight on him he flipped you over before you could react. Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn’t have kept up... Not when you’d just felt how hard he was getting.

Your legs fell apart and he ground into you again, watching your lips hungrily as you whined again.

“Fuck,” he groaned and there was nothing of playfulness in his voice anymore.

Johnny let go your arms, grabbed onto your hair and forced your head back, pressed his whole body against yours and kissed you, open mouthed. It was wet and messy and he moaned when he rolled his hips again.

His other hand ran over your body, so close and eager he got tangled in the fabric trying to pull it away from your belly. You were just as bad; you tried to put an arm across his shoulders but felt too weak to hold it there, tried to slip a hand between you to tug at his gi or feel him through his pants but he was too caught up to give you room. In your desperation to pull him in you wrapped your legs around his hips, trembled and sighed when you finally felt his dick where it belonged...

For a moment, you both held there. He broke the kiss to suck in a deep breath and the look on his face when he shut his eyes, frowning, almost pained, trying and failing to hide how bad he wanted you was perfect. Then you remembered you could never strip him down from this position and let him go with an impatient whine.

Johnny took the hint, sat back, tugged at your top again and smiled when you swatted his hand away so you could do it yourself. After a bit of effort it landed on the mat and you sat up to squirm out of your exercise bra while he untied his belt, shook off the top half of his gi and watched you with the eagerness and complete attention you might have expected from a man less than half his age.

The second your tits were bare - never mind that the tight elastic was still caught below your chin and one armpit - he had you on your back again, his mouth was between them as if he couldn’t decide which to kiss first and his rough hands grabbed, squeezed and pushed them together. Then he seemed to collect himself and, with an apologetic grin, gave you enough room to finish getting your bra off properly.

Johnny watched you while he touched you, kissed you, gently twisted one of your nipples between his fingers and sucked on the other, to see how best to tease you. His stubble raked across your skin and his grin when he made you yelp and squirm and angle back for more was pure filth. But you’d been teased enough for one day and soon you pushed his shoulders up and back, found his mouth with yours and made enough space between you to run your hands over his chest, then down to grope him through his pants.

That thin fabric had no right to be such an effective barrier. You gave it one decent try before giving up and now Johnny actually laughed at your impatience. He ran his thumb across your lips and laughed again when you turned your head trying to kiss it.

“You wanna see it, just ask.”

“Don’t get smug.” You scooted back with a frown. “It’s been a long time, alright?”

“Sure thing, princess.” At least he had the decency to hesitate for a beat before he sat back and tugged his pants down low enough to pull his dick free.

He must’ve wanted to give you a show, because he spread his knees, wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and squeezed. He shut his eyes, out of relief from that small amount of friction or some remaining shame, and you seized your chance and let your open, hungry stare take in his broad chest, follow his golden treasure trail down and linger on the full, heavy length of his cock.

It was too thick and long to not to lean slightly to one side, even when he held it. The veins along the sides showed as clearly as the ones running down the back of his forearms and you could have sworn you could see it twitch.

God, it must be painful. He shifted his thumb across the underside, groaned softly and you watched the precum bead from the head.

“Don’t just lie there and stare.”

You quickly looked back up. That little grin of his looked smugger than ever.

“Oh, shut up sensei,” you shot back. The desperate sense of urgency was back, stronger than ever, and you got to your knees, to touch him and undress yourself, too eager with both to get far with either. He sighed and pressed against your hand, kissed you deeply and realised that only made your fumbling worse. One final time he wrestled you down onto the mat, then he flipped you over onto your stomach, yanked your trousers and underwear down, just far enough to bare your ass and trap your legs, and straddled you. He only paused to pull your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes in the mirror and watch yourself pinned and helpless under him. There was no humour left in his expression, just single minded, desperate lust that might have frightened you if you hadn’t been able to match it. You arched your back to let him rub the head against your cunt and just in case your look of pleading and the wetness trickling down your thighs wasn’t enough, you whispered “please.”

Johnny swallowed, kept his eyes on you and, with his hand to guide him, sunk his dick into you to the hilt. You cried out and held on his other arm for dear life.

From this angle he was almost as deep in you as he could get. Your whole cunt felt stretched, you felt him twitch inside of you and his balls press against your thighs. He gave both of you a moment to pull yourselves together before he started to fuck you in earnest, with his arms around you to get as close to you as he could, or to force you to look up so he could watch every change of your expression.

“It suits you,” he breathed against your temple and all you could do was whine, curse and nod in agreement.

He looked even better on top of you. He frowned and tried to hold back, he bit his lip, the muscles of his broad shoulders and arms flexed as he held you in place and made you meet every one of his thrusts. Even over the sound of his body slamming into yours, the squeals and protestations of the mat and your broken begging and calling out his name, you could hear his soft moans and sighs by your ear despite him trying to stay silent.

This position was difficult to maintain, especially at the pace you were going. Your back already felt like it was about to snap in half, which might have been worth it, but soon enough something worse happened - he pulled out too far and left you empty. He swore, you made a noise of complaint and when he let you go, you got your pants off once and for all. The short break was good for one thing. You sat up and kissed him, heard him moan and felt his hands shake with eagerness as he touched you, then forced him down on his back instead. If it’d happened twenty minutes earlier, one of you might have joked that the lesson had finally hit home but all you could think of now was that you needed him back inside you.

Johnny pulled you towards him and looked up at you as if in worship. You reached for him, climbed on top, planted your feet and slowly sunk down into his lap until every inch of his dick was in you. He bit his lip again, then gave in, put his head back and moaned. You started out slowly to ease into it, but it wasn’t long before you’d found the same fast pace you’d begun with, with Johnny’s rough grip on both hips to lift you up and force you down so hard your ass slapped against his legs.

“Oh God, Johnny...”

All he managed in response was “yeah,” and you could tell he wouldn’t last much longer. You rode him until your knees shook, then bent over him to put some weight on your arms and to kiss him, drag your teeth across the skin of his shoulder and press your cheek against his so you could hear him groan and sigh out your name. Either he couldn’t let you stay in charge or he just needed more, whatever the reason he soon pulled you down further and bucked his hips until you squealed and went soft and let him fuck you. All you could do was hold on to him with your nails digging into his back and move your hips against his for more. You cried and begged by his ear until finally he pulled you down one last time and held you there, arched his body up into you and came inside you with something almost like a sob.

It lasted a full five beats of your heart before he writhed and lay back down, his dick still pulsing inside of you, his breath still occasionally escaping as little sighs. You held on, didn’t want to let go of him or get off of him until he was finished, not with the way his soft voice sounded as if it was almost breaking.

And then he finally managed to mumble “holy shit,” and the moment was over. Your knees were shaking harder than ever and with a moan and some effort, you got up and off of him and managed to roll over to lie by his side.

“Ow, fuck,” you whispered, just as he said “Jesus Christ.”

You looked over at him and there was a half second or so of mutual confusion, maybe mild embarrassment or shyness, and then he smiled and you couldn’t help joining him.

“Was about time I broke in this mat.” Johnny pulled his pants back up and rubbed his eyes. He looked almost as spent and exhausted as you felt.

“I’m very happy I could help with that.”

There might have been a moment for you to get close, lie beside him and bask, but your nerves were returning now that the post-coital awkwardness crept in. He turned to you, looking a bit uncertain himself. “Oh yeah?”

“Of course.” You reached for your clothes and, as uncomfortable as it was, started to get dressed. “I’m sure you knew what I wanted before I even got here.”

Johnny’s smile looked a little wistful and he reached over, nudged your chin up and kissed you, soft and gentle. “I had a hunch.”

And now it had happened, at his place of work, too. Neither of you had to say it out loud - you were neighbours, you barely knew each other and he was much older than you. It didn’t have to get difficult, but keeping things simple would take some doing.

“Hey, um. I don’t know if you have plans for the evening, but I wouldn’t mind a drink.”

“Oh yeah?” Johnny’s eyes lit up. “Alright. You get changed, I clean up and we’ll... see what’s open around here.”

“Yeah.” Once again, you felt your pulse speed up. That might have been the first genuine, pure smile you’d seen on his face. Whatever happened next, this didn’t have to be the end of it. “Or we could grab a bottle or two and back to yours. Either’s good.”

He laughed. “Nice.”

[heartbreakgrill]

Omg can I have a part 2 to the Walmart thing about how their relationship develops from there? Pls I need it :(

a/n: there will be a part 3 because I wanna write about you performing on stage and also paris!! Send more requests for anything else, too! 💘

The weeks on tour seemed to pass much more quickly now that you were falling in love. With each day, a new butterfly would land on your stomach, flapping its painted wings with a giddy smile arising to your lips.

Having been friends with Calum prior to being “his girl,” you knew that he was affectionate in his relationships. You’d always admired how kind he was to any girl he ever dated: He’d hold open the door for them, be it to his car or the restaurant, showed them with gifts no matter the occassion, respectfully ask to kiss them no matter how long they’d been together, hold their waist or hand in public and to his chest in private.

However, none of his relationships had ever lasted past three months, and no one knew why. You knew it wasn’t him, no, how could the kindest boy with the softest smile and sweetest words be the cause for girls to cheat, yell, scream, and curse his name? He was never at fault.

It was always them.

Because what you also always noticed in his relationships was that they were one-sided. The girls wanted fame, eyelashes and lip injections to add to the collection. There was nothing wrong with prosthetics or makeup, but they used him to the point that he had stopped being so affectionate over the years.

They’d shrug off his hand in public, get argumentative when he’d ask for, “the third time today!” to kiss them, get chided for opening the door because she, “was perfectly capable of doing it myself, thank you very much.”

You had made it your mission to hold Calum’s heart in your hands as if you were holding the world by the strings of your fingers. Calum was an airplane, and you were the goddess in the sky, dangling him across oceans sheets and towers of gifts.

It was a month into your endeavors when you really got good at being affectionate with him. No one had failed to notice your relationship boom, but you weren’t trying to hide it. So, there was a tranquil balance for everyone.

It was the morning of their last day of European press before everyone got a week off in Paris. Then, you’d be flying back to the US to finish the tour, only to end up in Los Angeles. That would three months from now.

You were curled into Calum’s blankets, having moved from your bunk to his because it was unfairly larger. Your heating blanket was plugged into his wall, his roll of fabric abandoned in his drawer beneath you. You had been discussing with him for weeks that he should figure out how to make it into a proper blanket, but he said he didn’t feel like it because he was, “only good for playing the bass.”

Your boy, and his brothers, were inside an office building with press all day. The show would be shortly after. Crystal was outside with Moose, letting him run off much needed steam. Sierra was in the living room, watching a movie. You had plans for dinner, but that was still an hour and a half away.

You drug yourself out of bed, only slightly bored because you finished the books you had bought again. You pulled fresh clothes out of your suitcase, showered, changed, and plopped down beside Sierra on the couch.

“You smell really good,” she commented, turning down the television so you could hear one another.

“It’s a mixture of my perfume and Calum’s cologne because this is his hoodie,” you giggled lightly while your fingers pulled at the strings on his jacket.

Sierra tilted her head with a sweet smile, “You guys are so cute. I’m so glad you finally got together.”

You wriggled your shoulders happily, “Yeah...”

You sat back with her, chatting about Luke’s want to get his nails done and how attractive you thought Calum was when his nails were black all those years ago.

After a while, the movie ended and you agreed to get up to go to lunch. You grabbed your purse from Calum’s drawer when you noticed his roll of fabric. You had a good idea spring into a head and whipped around, the lightbulb above your head vanishing as you jogged out into the living room of the bus.

After telling your idea to Sierra, the two of you exited the bus and met the driver assigned for the boy’s in the near-end of the parking lot. You ate lunch at a local café before locating a fabric store down the street. You walked there, parusing the store fronts, but resisting the urge to buy too much.

You entered the fabric store and immediately approached the counter. Sierra started by the back corner, browsing through buttons and string. You were somewhere in Nothern Italy, and luckily, had went over a few phrases in the language in case you needed to use them. Because it was a small store, pretty much untouched by foreigners, you expected the cashier to not know English.

“Ciao! parlo inglese e ho bisogno di aiuto per creare una coperta da un rotolo di tessuto,” your eyes were flicked back in your head as if the words were written there, but you were able to recite them from memory.

“A blanket, tu dici?” The elder leader responded, grinning through her smile lines.

“Sì!”

After a few minutes of communicating through broke English and Italian, she was able to guide you to the proper sewing needle, string, and pattern for the blanket. She taught you an easy method to make the blanket.

After thanking her with a hug and a plenty of extra money tips, you and Sierra loaded up in the car and travelled back to the tour bus. For the rest of the day, you tucked yourself into the back room of the bus, random movies and show queued up on Netflix, a few snacks indulged in your system. You even missed the boys’ press day to finish the blanket, having Sierra tell them that you just felt a little sick.

Realistically, you were completing his blanket. Some of the seams were off, there were countless bloody pricks in your fingers, and you were sweating with frustration. But it was done by the time you heard the door of the tour bus open. You quickly shot up, shoved it in your own drawer, and closed yourself in the bathroom. With shaky hands from excitement and nerves, you bandaged two fingers on your left hand and three on your right. You washed the uncovered skin and dried your hands.

You heard a few voices move past the door, even heard Calum poking around in his and your bunk for, well, you. “Where is she?” Calum mumbled to Sierra, worry evident in his exhausted voice.

You popped out of the door, which led straight into the living room, and shuffled down the hallway. Sierra pointed behind his back with a soft smile before moving to the back room where everyone else probably was.

Calum spun on his heel, a grin growing on his face. “Hi, baby.”

You opened your arms for him, and he fell into your embrace, head shoveled into your neck and hands around your waist. You brushed the curls on his head, unbothered by the sweat laced through his hair. He hummed into your embrace, alight with adoration.

“Pardon me,” Ashton slyly passed by the two of you, breaking up your hug.

You pushed Ash away playfully, pulling a chuckle from his and Calum’s chests. “How was press?” You asked him, grabbing the tips of his fingers and leading him to the living room.

You sat beside him, legs tucked under you, knees practically in his lap. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, staring down at you with tired but smiley eyes. “Pretty decent. I felt all sad without you there, though.”

“Well, I guess Italy’s just not interested in me,” You pouted slightly.

“It’s okay, because I am,” he played with your fingers before he noticed the bandaids. “What happened? You okay?”

You noticed his eyes turn worried, pupils dilating wider. You shrugged, “Oh, fine. I’m fine. I was doing come arts and crafts. Oh! Actually. I made you something.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Wait, really? What?”

You got up from the couch to retrieve the blanket. It was wrapped up in the Walmart bag, so you dropped it in his lap and sat back down. Calum glanced around you suspiciously, “I know you’re talented at, like, a bunch of stuff. But, if you have that many bandages, I’m slightly concerned by what’s in here.”

You smacked his shoulder, “Just open it.”

He did so, but he was not at all disappointed. The widest grin took over his face when he pulled out the blanket. He set it beside him and wrapped you up in a huge so that you were nearly straddling his lap. He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, gushing over and over how amazing it was.

“Oh, no big deal,” you laughed, leaning back to kiss him properly. “Just thought you could actually make use of it.”

“It’s awesome. Thank you so much,” he unraveled the blanket and draped it over both of you. “It’s so warm, too.”

“You’re also sweating, so that could just be it,” you laughed.

Calum scoffed and pushed you down into the couch. “Shut up!” He exclaimed, tickling your sides.

“Never,” you pushed back with your own fingers attacking his neck.

When you calmed down from your war, you decided to go to bed, with an early flight to Paris in the morning. It was just the beginning, but Calum already knew you were better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you, let alone the next week in the most romantic city on Earth.

TAGLIST: @dinosaursandsocks @everydayimfangirling @truly-charmed @wallows-spring

[jo-the-schmo]

Red, Dead, Reflections Ch. 1

A/N: Alright so... I started writing this fic over a year ago, and was posting it as I wrote it. I fell out of it for a few reasons but I’ve missed it. So I decided to start writing it again. The original versions of the first 5 chapters already exist on my blog but I want to repost them and do some editing. This way I can make the series more polished. I also want to try and do a once a week maybe schedule to give me some time in between writing chapters and so I can take some feedback into consideration.I hope some of the people who originally wanted to keep up with my series see this and I want to apologize for falling back on this. I feel really bad about it. I’ll try harder to commit to this. Thank you so much for being interested in my work. If anyone would like to be tagged just let me know, I don’t wanna assume the people who did before want to now. 

Summary: At the age of 23, you and your pseudo-family perform a heist gone wrong, leading you into a dangerous and seemingly impossible position. Discover your own history, the story of those around you, and gain new relationships along the way in this (sorta) choose your own adventure.

Warnings: Explicit language, blood, death, violence

Word count: 5,988

From Out West

“This is a little too ballsy for my liking, Austin.” You warned as you carefully adjusted the colored contact lenses in your eyes.

“Since when did you turn into a little pussy-willow?” He smirked at you while he turned a corner. 

“This is a bank, not a home robbery, so forgive me if I’m a tad nervous about this! We’re robbing a god damn bank in the 21st century, in a busy city that we aren’t necessarily familiar with!”

“Maybe you aren’t familiar, you know I’m a regular ol’LA boy.” You turned your head to look at the two in the backseat.

“Miguel, you can’t seriously be okay with this.” You questioned but were confident in it enough to make it a statement. He shrugged his shoulders, making that confidence literally evaporate. 

“We gotta trust Austin, as crazy as this plan is. We haven’t gotten caught yet.” You crossed you arms and made sure your wig was pinned right.

“Doesn’t mean we won’t be startin’ now.” You grumbled. 

“Come on, sissy! This plan is fool-proof! They’ll never even know it was us!” Eli chirped. 

“Oh yeah, except for the fact that this is a fucking bank and the FBI CAN get on our asses for this!” You swore it was exhausting being the only realistic one sometimes. “On top of that, there’s only 5 of us! We’re insane!” 

“6.” Austin corrected. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Your girlfriend won’t be in the damn room with us.” 

“She’s the ace up our sleeves, it would be silly for her to be in there with us.” The car smelled like old cigarettes, it made you sick. The band around your chest dug into your ribs. You opted to stay silent and relent for the time being, instead focusing on your disguise. The wig was carefully pinned to your real hair, it was short enough to be confused for a men’s haircut but had enough length to not require any glue. Dark brown hair, abnormally vibrant green eyes. And with the mask covering your face, that would be their only descriptions they could give to the police. Flat chest, boyish haircut, baggy black hoodie, just your average deviant. The destination was in view. 

“Alright,” Austin started. “everyone knows the plan, yeah? Gina is inside, she’ll send us the signal. We go in quick and make our presence known. I go behind the counter to make sure the tellers ain’t up to no funny shit. Miguel, you round up the lovely citizens into a corner, hit Gina a little to make it convincing. Eli, you take care of the money. And Y/N, I need you to stay in character, be loud and intimidating, keep the tellers in check when I’m helpin’ Eli, and the civils with Miguel, got it?” You all nodded. He looked back at Miguel. “You got the fake bomb ready?”

“Yes’ir.” 

“I’ll pass the big boss to you once I pick him out. Zoe is waiting for us in the alleyway between the bank and the office building. We get in, make some noise, scare them shitless, get the money, and go.” He parked up front of the white walls, you saw a mother walk through the glass doors with her toddler in a stroller. You immediately felt bad. 

“You promise this is the last job, right?” You looked at him seriously. “At least the last of something this big, I don’t think I could handle with again.”

“Of course! This is just to get us enough money to get us all out. The economy is garbage, think of it as taking what should already be ours.” You heard the crackle of the walkie on Austin’s lap. He threw it into his bag. “That’s the signal, masks on everyone.” Austin’s was a fox, long, fake salt and pepper hair rolled form under his hood. Eli’s was a raccoon, convincing copper bangs swooped between the ears. Miguel had an owl; disturbing blue eyes pierced your being. You strapped on your black dove and joined with group as they exited the stolen vehicle. You kept both your hands in the front pocket of your hoodie, trying to be discrete about the two handguns inside. Only one was loaded with real bullets, that was the backup, You preferred to use the blanks. Unable to trace, and when used properly, won’t hurt anyone. Austin and Eli took the leads. 

The doors were kicked in. 

“EVERYONE GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND RIGHT NOW! HANDS UP, ALL YOU! THIS IS A ROBBERY!” He screamed, pointing his gun at a man behind the counter about 3 yards away. Miguel was quick to shout at the people in line to get into the corner of the room. Gina pretended to try and defy, he slaps her, needless to say it’s convincing. 

“Dove, handle the worms.” You traded spots as Austin grabbed one of the men behind the counter. Your eyes locked with the poor woman, she was covering the stroller with her torso. You pointed your blank gun at some random person. 

“Stay on the ground or I’ll fucking shoot, ya hear me?” You lowered your voice, made it coarser, time to be a ‘man’. They nodded hysterically. The woman was crying. You could hear Eli screaming his demands in a fake accent. ��Everyone hand over your phones. If any of you give me a reason to even SUSPECT you’re up to anything, I will shoot.” Everyone put their phones on the ground and slid them over toward you. You turned your attention to the back. “What’s the hold up, owl?” 

“I’m handling it.” He strapped the fake bomb to the teller’s chest, making him kneel down in the middle of the bank. “Listen up, everyone! This man has a bomb attached to his body. We have someone hacked into the security cameras. If you don’t follow our instructions to the T, they will blow a hole in this lot.” He paused to let the cries and gasps die out. “Now, for those said instructions, listen close. We will exit the building soon, you will stay down for 5 minutes.” He pointed at a clock on the wall. “Do not touch anything or move a muscle. When 5 minutes have passed, the big guy here-“ He patted the man’s shoulders and dropped a key wrapped in tissue in his lap. “will take a little drive off the premises. He will keep going until he reaches the designated location written on that tissue. If any of you contact the police before the end of the day, he will die, along with any other drivers in his vicinity. So, unless you want a substantial amount of blood on your hands, I’d suggest you keep quiet until midnight. As for the rest of you, you have permission to leave the building once that 5 minutes are up. But I would suggest keeping a low profile, for your safety and others’.” There was a loud crack. 

“I got it!” The phony Australian accent rang. Austin led the rest of the bank tellers to you, making them sit in the flood of civils. 

“Staying alert, Dove?”

“Don’t patronize me, stupid Fox.” This whole situation pissed you off. The baby was crying, mom was too, trying to hush the whines. 

“Fire a shot, Dove!” What? “Don’t let their insubordination stand.” He demanded. This was a fear tactic. He was trying to teach a lesson to the others. 

“I’m not firing a warning shot over a fucking baby, you psycho!” Your blood was boiling, this was overkill, he was way out of line with this. Of course, he wasn’t telling you to shoot the baby or the mother, but you weren’t going to cause more grief where it didn’t need to be. 

“Take the shot!”

“Fuck you!” 

“Why are you going against me?” Was he seriously doing this now? You felt like your head was going to explode. She was the only person with a child present. You put both of your pieces back in your hoodie and knelt next to her. She flinched as you approached, but that was to be expected. 

“Ma’am, I’m making an exception for you because you have a child with you, and that prick is really getting on my last nerve. You’re allowed to exit the building now, but the other rules still apply. People will die if you talk, maybe not you, but other people who have children like you do, most certainly. Take your kid and get out, don’t do anything out of the ordinary, and get out.” Her red eyes shook you to your core, familiarity. She nodded in both fear and appreciation. 

“Than-than-thank y-“ She was choking on her own misfortune, you decided to spare her. 

“Yeah, yeah, just get out.” She got up and collected herself, checking around the room as she walked out of the building. You could only see his eyes, but you could tell Austin was reaching his limit fast. An older gentleman stared at you. 

“At least one of you has a heart.” You were glad Austin was too focused on being pissed to hear that. You got up, kicking the phones toward the door as you walked. Austin grabbed you arm. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill her for that.” By letting that woman go, you showed weakness. It was a hint at your identities, but you didn’t care. 

“And you’re lucky I’m not shooting you for saying that. I’m not a killer like you, Fox.” Your voice was laced with venom. Eli had interrupted your dispute. 

“Alright lovebirds, time to play nice, we’ve got precious cargo.” He gave both of you a duffle bag, they were pretty hefty. Austin took a deep breath, putting on his best showman voice. 

“Alright folks! That right there is our cue to hit the road. Remember, 5 minutes on the clock. No one likes a-“ The doors were filled with red and blue, sirens. The police were here. “Shit!” Shit was right. “How the hell are they here?” Austin screamed. He gave you a shove. “It’s probably because of that god damn woman!” 

“There’s no way she would’ve had enough time for that.”

“And no one had a phone out, I was watching the whole time.” Miguel chimed. 

“We have bigger fish to fry right now! We gotta go.” You all dashed over to the back door, all you had to do was move towards the alley, if you could just get to the dump van, everything would be fine. Drive up to get the real car, leave that one with no prints or hair, and you’d be home free. The 4 of you booked it out the door. But the van was no where to be seen, instead, there were about 3 cops on either side which was 6 in total, trapping you in. 

“They must’ve got Zoe!” Yeah, no shit. 

“Put your hands up!” You all raised your arms, except of course for Austin. You kicked his calf. He didn’t budge. “I said put your god damn hands up!”

“In case you didn’t notice, pal, there’s a bomb in that building. If you don’t let us pass, I’ll blow that building out of existence, along with the man attached to it.” He pointed his gun to one of the cops to your left. “So, I suggest you let us through, or else you’re gonna piss me off more than I already am.” 

“We know the bomb is fake, drop to your knees or we will shoot!” Another one barked. Someone had ratted you out. You looked at Miguel and Eli, you weren’t letting this go down, not by a long shot. You tuned out Austin’s ramblings and whispered to the other two. 

“Be ready to run. I’m gonna buy you guys some time. Don’t kill any of them, disarm them.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?” Miguel questioned with panic. You took a deep breath. 

“Thank you for being my family.” You swept your leg behind Austin’s knees, and he collapsed to the ground as you stood. 

The world slowed to a crawl, pulling a gun out of your pocket, these were real bullets. You’ve never missed a target. You drew the attention of all 6 police officers, but no amount of training could prepare them. You fired 3 shots, each one hitting the hands of the officers Austin had been talking to. Their weapons fell from their hands. You felt bodies push past your legs, down the alley way away from the bank. You were glad the streets of LA were confusing. Now was the time. You whipped your body around to face the rest of the officers, firing rapidly at their shins. You weren’t gonna put blood on your hands. 

But deep down you knew, there was no making out of this one. You would buy them a few minutes while trying to subdue you. Just as your haphazard shots began, they fired precise ones of their own. Two passed through your skull, three in your chest, and one got a through almost half of your jugular. Both pieces fell away from you as gravity swaddled you. Bits of your wooden mask, blood, head pushing back unnaturally, seeing the backs of your made family run, they were almost home free. There was no pain after that point, you waited patiently for your back to hit the ground beneath you, but it never did. You kept falling. 

And falling. 

The midday light felt like it was slipping away, there were leather walls encompassing your lifeless form. No sound, no sense of texture, just the smell of dirt and decay. Then there was nothing but darkness, but that void that beckoned you, that pulled at your very being, was gone just as quick as it appeared. 

Your body shot forward with a violent intake for air. The gasps filled your lungs to the brim, your chest and head ached, throat tight. The coughing erupted from deep in your chest, which also held a different pain from the ever-tightening band around it. You threw you hoodie away and made quick work of loosening it just a bit, and in doing so noticed that your body was free of any physical wounds. There was still a soreness, and blood wiped off your skin, but there were no open wounds. You were incredibly cold, and at first you assumed that to be attributed to your near-death experience, until you looked up high to see to see an open window with snow falling outside. 

“I don’t think we’re in California anymore.” You muttered to yourself. You shivered, the place was covered in hay and in low light, that’s when the smell hit you. It reeked of animals, that would probably have something to do with the fact that you’re in a barn. Shakily, you got to your feet. Knees wobbling, your eyes adjusted, there were horses. That certainly explained the stench. A chill ran up your spine, the cold tickling at your vertebrae. You scanned the room for where you had tossed your hoodie, only to find it in a horse’s mouth. Your eyes widened in fear. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” You exclaimed. You rushed forward and grasped at the hanging sleeve, tugging on it with all your strength. “Drop it! Drop it right now!” 

The horse did not listen, in fact, now it seemed more hellbent on consuming the thick material. After hurtling a few curses at the horse, you heard a distinct rip. You fell back, the remnants of black cloth now in tatters. You let out a muffled scream of frustration. Even with the long sleeves of your cotton shirt, you were still freezing. It suddenly struck you how odd it is for it to be snowing at all. You figured you weren’t in California anymore, but you were somewhere that snows in the middle of May? How far were you? You couldn’t think of any states that snowed this late in the year. Were you in Maine? Up north, Canada? How did you even get here? 

“Did those idiots come back to get me? I could’ve sworn…” You could’ve sworn they ran like you told them to, and that you had experienced several fatal injuries. Is this hell? Purgatory? The other side? It was cold enough to be Hell that’s for sure. Nothing made sense. You found your mask on the ground, chunks of the painted wood were replaced with vacant space, splintered bullet holes. You fastened it to the first belt loop, it rested against your left pant leg. Pins dug into your scalp, wigs still surprisingly attached to your head. Your eyes watered, your contacts were drying out. You opted take them out now rather than waste your time trying to find drops in a barn. You flicked them away once they were out. “Now, if there’s a barn with animals, there’s gotta be a house with people.” You walked over to the large wooden doors as your talked to yourself, but today just had to be the worst day of your life. Something landed on top of you, or more accurately someone. 

You were surprised you didn’t feel any cracks as the weight crashed on you. Shifting your weight over, you elbowed the man in the jaw. He rolled off of you with a grunt of pain. You were quick to jab him in the stomach with the toe of your boot. Sputtering a cough with saliva dripping out the mouth, the man rushed to stand. He was trying to fight. 

“You’re on the wrong side of the mountains, partn’r.” He slurred. “This here is O’Driscoll territory, Which you don’t got no business bein’ in.” I’m in the mountains? Where the hell- He didn’t give you enough time to finish that thought before he was throwing a punch at you. If this basic boy thinks he can step in my personal space, he’s got another thing coming. You blocked the fist with your forearm and redirected the force toward the ground. With the base of your wrist, you hit his throat. The force of your own strength and the ever so impeccable sense of gravity caused him to wheeze, choke, and writhe on the ground. 

“Listen here, buddy,” you pressed your boot down on his chest “I have no idea where the hell I am right now. I don’t give a single shit about territory or whatever the fuck you’re going on about, but if you put your hands on me again, I’m gonna mangle your entire lower half with a rake.” You applied more weight. “I didn’t come here of my own volition, someone put me here. Which means, you’re little punk ass better tell me what’s going on or get out of my way so I can-“ Gunshots. Mystery man took your distraction as an opportunity to wriggle out form under you. They were ceaseless, did someone drop you off in the middle of a gang war, what the hell is going on? You were about to duck behind whatever cover was around you if the idiot of the room had decided he didn’t learn his lesson. 

“Are you with those crazies?” He yelled, peeking out the barn doors for only a second. “I should’ve known.” His voice was cold and malicious. “You’re with that son of a bitch, Dutch!”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, pretty boy, they must’ve sent you up to spy on us! I’m gonna kill you for-“

“I literally have no idea what’s going on!” But he wasn’t listening to reason, clocked you in the ribs before you got the chance to block, then using your surprise to his advantage, hit you on the nose. There was a familiar crack and blood rush. “Did you just fucking break my nose, you ass?” You screeched toward the ground, wiping away the blood. 

You took him off guard by doing that, so you were quick to knock him in the jaw. The shooting stopped but you were a little preoccupied and decided not to waste anymore time. His arm bent to caress the side of his face. You rushed forward, lacing your arm between the gap his made. Using all your weight, you swung your legs out and forced him to drop to the ground. His back slammed forcefully and with a swift adjustment, your shins trapped his neck, locking him in place. You squeezed his neck enough to make him gasp. He tried to push away from you, but with the position you left him in, there’s no way he’d be able to without some sort of outside assistance. 

“Who are you calling pretty boy now? Huh? Who, bitch boy?” You heard the door start to open, you let lose and pulled the man up to shield you, locking his head so that you peek between a gap in your arm and his head. A man wearing a blue coat and hat walked in, his hands resting on his belt. 

“Well, well, what have we got ourselves here?” You couldn’t quite place his accent. You noticed he had a holster. 

“Don’t fuck with me, dude. I’ve got your friend trapped between me and you. No need to make this get crazy.” You warned, tightening your grip to enunciate your point. What sounded almost like a chuckle escaped his throat. 

“You must not be an O’Driscoll if you think he’s my friend.” You panicked, you tried to think of your next move, but he had plans of his own. “What’s your name, son?” Your suspicions were correct, it seems. This isn’t the first time someone’s confused you for a man, especially when you were trying so hard to not look like yourself. But maybe, you could use this to your advantage. 

“James West.” That was Austin’s code name for danger. If someone introduced you or called any of you James, it meant they weren’t trust worthy. You and Gina would usually use Jamie, but now James felt like the safer option. 

“Now how in the hell did you get involved in this, West?” He rested his hip against one of the stable posts.  

“I have no idea.” You threw the man away from you, there was no point holding him anymore. “I woke up here, and this guy just started attacking me.” You thought for a moment. “Are you Dutch?” You asked. This time, it was a single, hearty-

“HA!” He had a spark in his eye. “Me? Dutch? I ain’t that old yet, kid.” You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself up. 

“Well, my nose is broken because this little shit thought I was with you, so I have some choice words for this ‘Dutch’.” You huffed. “And don’t call me ‘kid’.” You brushed your fingers across the bridge of your nose, preparing yourself for what you were about to do. One deep breath in, out, pop. You pushed your nose back into place and winced. A wad of blood shot out. “Jesus shit!” You coughed, you never get used to having to do that. The blue coat cowboy looking mother-fucker looked semi-impressed. 

“Well, I’m not Dutch, but you could sure meet him if it pleases.” Something caught his attention. “Speak of the devil…” The door opened again. A man walked in with very distinct black hair. He was also a cowboy looking mother-fucker. Oh god, am I in yeeyee country? His eyes immediately locked on you. 

“Did you cause this mess, Arthur? Or have we just met a new friend?” The man who you presumed to be Dutch, had a deeper voice than the man apparently called Arthur, but their accents were similar. That was not promising for you. 

“That depends, his name is West, James West. I walked in a right fine mess between him and that there O’Driscoll.” Arthur pointed to the man still struggling to steady himself. Dutch choked a deep laugh, he seemed more amused than Arthur was. 

“Right fine is right, Arthur. You did this?” He asked. You nodded reluctantly. “You’re a good fighter, boy. Real good, it seems.” He strode over to the guy on the floor and picked him up by the collar, tossing him over to Arthur. “Morgan, you deal with this trash while I talk to our new pal.” Dutch walked over to you, confidence in his step, while Arthur threw the man back on the ground. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and shook you around a bit. “James West, huh?”

“Yeah, what’s it to ya?” 

“Oh, this boy’s got spunk, Morgan!” You looked over and saw Arthur yanking the man around by the shirt. Dutch forced your attention back to him. “Now West, you’ve gotta understand our position here. We can tell clear as day you ain’t involved in a lick of this mess. But we don’t have a single clue as to what your business is up here. Now, you seem like a considerate young man, but I got worried folks on this mountain, and I can’t have no scamps running around and hellraising” He squeezed your shoulder. “So, don’t take any offense to what I’m about to ask, but what are you doing up here?” He looked you dead in the eyes. In your opinion, the question was fair. You couldn’t fully let your guard down, but they appeared to not be whoever put you here. Then again, these O’Driscoll’s didn’t seem to be either. 

“I can’t give you an answer to that one, Mr. …?” 

“Van Der Linde.” That’s one hell of a name. 

“Mr. Van Der Linde. Frankly, I have no damn clue why I’m here. One minute, I’m getting shot down in the middle of the day, and then I wake up trapped in some barn in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, in what looks like the ass end of winter. So, I’m a little confused right now to say the least.” You were clearly frustrated with your situation, he wasn’t oblivious to it. 

“Where are you from, son?”

“California.” That was a safe enough answer. 

“James West from out West. That’s certainly an opener.” He scratched his chin. “I’m gonna put you to a test young man.” He turned you around and lead you over to where Arthur had just gotten off the now bloody man. He was whimpering, begging under his breath for mercy. 

“I don’t think he’s got much to say, Dutch. They apparently happened upon this place and took it over. That’s all I’m getting’” 

“I’m going to give our new young friend a choice.” He pulled a revolver out of his holster and held the handle out to you. “In normal circumstances, I’d let Arthur handle this situation himself. But I’ve got an itching curiosity with you, kid.” You felt obligated to hold it in your hand. Looking down at the man, pity flared in your chest. “Should we kill him, or let him go? I’m letting you make the call.” What kind of question was this? Who were these guys? The choice wasn’t very difficult, you’d be a hypocrite if you did otherwise, and you weren’t compromising your promise on the off chance these guys might not like your opinion. 

You handed the gun back to Dutch. 

“Just because he’s an asshole, doesn’t mean he deserves to die. Let him go.” Dutch was intrigued by your answer. He looked over to Arthur with a smirk.

“I think I like kid!” 

“Please don’t call me ‘kid.” You requested. Arthur pulled the man to his feet and threw him outside.

“Get outta here before he regrets it.” The man darted into the snow, leaving a trail behind him. 

“Grab the horse, Arthur. We gotta get something out of this.”  You were lead outside to find a horrific scene, bodies were strewn about the snowy landscape. Whoever these guys were, they were not to be trifled with. You should play this safe. 

There was a house not too far away, the snow was dense. It was more than freezing. You sent a glare to the horse Arthur led past you. You’ll pay for this, you dumb fucking horse. With your adrenaline dying down, your whole being felt frozen. 

“Normally, I wouldn’t be one for disrupting dead for anything other than money, but you’ll die out here without something warm, Mr. West.” Dutch gestured to one of the several bodies riddled through the snow. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying your best not to think about how you were robbing from dead people. It wouldn’t be the first time, but you still didn’t feel good about it. You separated from him and carefully stepped around the bodies littered in the snow. You found a man with his face in the snow, you pretty much picked him so you wouldn’t have to see his face as you stripped him of his coat. It didn’t look particularly warm initially, but anything would be better than this. The arms bent limply back as you peeled the sleeves away. Luckily upon further inspection, you were happy to learn there was a sort of wool lining inside, that would at least help insulate your own body heat. A sudden commotion broke out from inside the rustic home. A man yelling for Dutch and a woman screaming. Your instincts made you spring into action, you lept through large portions of the snow to make it to the steps faster and before you knew it you were bursting through the door. A blonde man wearing another cowboy-looking hat was chasing a woman around a table. 

“What the hell are you doing, Micah?” Arthur questioned as him and Dutch followed you in. 

“We got a feisty one over here, boys!” He hollered. Oh, you were not comfortable with this type of language.

“Stop chasing the poor woman, ya moron!” He warned with more intensity. You weren’t gonna see this go down, that’s for sure. You ran up behind the man called Micah, grabbed his collar, and used his weight to pull his back towards you, and then to the ground. His body slammed, he let out a surprised yelp, followed by a pained groan.

“Fucking sicko! Stop chasing her around, she’s scared!” 

“Get out of my house!” The woman bellowed. Admittedly, you had no idea what was going on, but you knew you could at least try and defuse the situation. You put your hands up to appear less threatening. 

“Miss, I don’t know who you are or what in God’s name is going on, but I promise I am not here to hurt you.” You spoke to her in a calm voice. Whatever was going on, it clearly had her frazzled. “I don’t have any weapons, and I don’t make it habit of hurting people who don’t need hurting. You clearly have been hurting for no reason. Can you explain to me what’s happened so that I can help you with this situation?” You took a cautious step around the table to make sure she wouldn’t dart away from you, you kept steady eye contact. 

“They…they killed my husband a few days ago! They took over my home and locked me in the basement!” She wept. Maybe these O’Driscolls were the ones to stow you in the barn, they sure seemed like the type with this new information. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. I can assure you that those men won’t be bothering you anytime soon. Can you-“ You heard glass shatter, looking over, you found Micah scattering to his feet, fire was spreading from the floor to the wall at an incredible rate. It was already crawling up the right-side wall before you had a chance to react. There was no way you could put that out by yourself, and the others weren’t exactly jumping at the chance to help you. You settled on running to grab some blankets from the bed across the room. The boys were leading the woman out of the house and she reluctantly followed. Micah sent you a glare as you passed him out of the house. “Oh, don’t you look at me like that, you weren’t any help!” You knew you should keep your mouth shut, but you knew you were right on this one. The group was walking toward some horses, you followed behind. 

“Micah, lead the horse back to camp.” You handed the blankets to the woman. 

“Thank you.” She seemed genuine but was also hurt by your sentiments.

“It’s no problem, ma’am.”

“Adler, Sadie Adler is my name.” She wrapped herself in the blankets.

“Well, it’s no problem, Mrs. Adler. It’s the bare minimum to what I could’ve done.” You hoped whatever camp Dutch mentioned was close by. This cold was blistering. 

“Mrs. Adler, you may ride with me, we’ll get you back to people who can help.” Dutch hopped up onto a white horse, lending a hand for Sadie to pull herself up. “Arthur, please take our new friend with you. I don’t think he’s in any shape to be riding.” Arthur nodded, heaving himself with ease onto a spotted mare? You couldn’t tell if it was a girl, but you just got that vibe. He did not give you a hand. Oh yeah, I’m a dude. A manly man. You gripped the back of the saddle and used all the arm strength you had to get onto the bare back on the horse. You hoped this ride wasn’t going to be too bumpy because you were not about to get punched because you had to grab onto this man and couldn’t tell if someone was a homophobe or not. You sure hoped these people weren’t, but you weren’t exactly in the position to be picky. 

“Pearson’s not gonna happy about this.” Arthur mentioned as the horses pushed forward.

“Mr. Pearson isn’t happy about anything except his drink. He’ll be alright.” Now seemed like a good a time as any to start asking questions. They couldn’t go anywhere away from you at the moment. 

“Not to interrupt or anything, but could someone tell me where I am, or what day it is. Could someone please tell me what the deal is?”

“We’re north of New Hanover if the maps are correct. We’re planning to head down there as soon as this winter passes. God knows how long that’s gonna take.” Dutch complained. You had never heard of New Hanover, but apparently it was winter. Maybe you really did get shot, put into a hospital maybe? Then these guys… You panicked for a second. O’Driscoll wasn’t another name for them was it? It didn’t make much sense but no one else would put this much effort into stealing you away. “As for the day, I couldn’t tell ya exactly. It’s winter in the year of our Lord 1899.” He laughed. What?

“What?”

“Ah, just bit of a joke, son. We live in dark times. We’re hurtling straight into a new century.” Wait was he joking or not joking?

“It’s 1899?” You tried to keep your voice neutral, but he seemed to pick up on your worry.

“Yes, it is, son.” He paused. “Are you alright?” You were anything but alright. These people are crazy, I’m trapped on a mountain with some insane cultists who think they’re in the 19th century, I’m fucked. “Arthur, we need to hurry, the boy’s looking pale.” 

Your head felt fuzzy, colors were blurring together. I am not stuck on a god damn mountain in 1899, I’m not, that’s physically impossible. This is all a dream, or some weird set up. You felt like you were 19 again, disconnected, afraid, losing it. You weren’t gonna go back there again, you wouldn’t! You didn’t know you had stopped breathing. You didn’t feel Arthur’s arm catching you so you wouldn’t get trampled. Everything was black. 

[atlantis-scribe]

tagged by @alienfuckeronmain (thank you!)

- - - - -

Name: Kit! also Arya_Silvertongue on ao3 and @the-arya-silvertongue on main (yes, that’s what I use for liking & replying. no, that’s not a random creepy person. that’s me!  ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶ )

Fandoms: goodness. I don’t think we have enough time to unpack all of that. but long story short: my first fandoms were Harry Potter & iCarly. I was on FFnet when ‘lemons’ & character conversations with the author were a thing on the A/N section haha (+ I’ve been on Tumblr for over a decade)

Two-shot: I don’t think I have any. My mind works in an all-or-nothing capacity; it’s either one-shot or ridiculous multi-chapters. (the closest is a three-shot, which is this Leverage/Stargate fusion I’m currently working on as a break from my other multi-chap giants)

Most popular multi-chapter: hmm. the one with the highest kudos count on ao3 is an Arya Stark-centric ficlet collection (yes, I’m a huge ASoIaF fan. no, I don’t like the TV show). but the one that really felt like it blew up (at least in terms of reader feedback) is this Shadowhunters fic I wrote back when I had my brief-yet-intense Malec hyperfixation. it’s On Hiatus because I lost my grip of the source material, but I’m still hoping to return to it someday. people still message me about it, and I really want to do right by them.

Actual worst part of writing: losing momentum. I am really not a prolific writer, and it’ so hard because my plot bunnies are like dust. they come out of nowhere & only accumulate when left unattended. sometimes, all I wanna do is shake myself so the stories come out without me having to go through the bloody & taxing process of actually making the words go.

How you choose your titles: funny thing, really. I’m almost always unable to start drafting without a working title & summary. I hate that I am that way, but that’s how it’s always been for as long as I can remember. now, choosing my title is a tricky process in and of itself. I need it to be as perfect as I can make it. it has to be SYMBOLIC and filled with FORESHADOWING (spoiler: I fail at this objective about 73% of the time), so I usually just end up parking myself in a corner & staring at nothing. sometimes, I have my phone with me to google synonyms and etymology of words.

Do you outline: yes! I’m a compulsive outliner. my outlines have outlines.

Ideas you probably won’t get to but wouldn’t it be nice: I have a lot, I’m afraid. far too many. (the Stargate ones will be featured in this blog every now and then, anyway, so you’ll get them when I share them heh).

one thing I’ve all but given up on is this Bleach AU that I’ve plotted for H50/McDanno. I started the first installment for what was supposed to be a series, but I doubt I’ll return to it anytime soon.

Callouts @ yourself: stop. entertaining. new. fic. ideas. (and no, not every OC / side character has to have a detailed backstory. it most likely won’t come up in the story, anyway)

Best writing traits: I’m apparently good at making people cry? I really just love angst. I had a reader once who told me that they had to lock themselves in the bathroom to hyperventilate after one particular narrative revelation. I actually got sincerely worried.

Spicy tangential opinion: writing in first-person POV should be for skilled writers. I know that it can be a great tool when used properly, but every time I open a fic and see ‘I’, “my”, “me”, or “mine”, I backtrack so fast I break the sound barrier.

- - - - -

tagging the handful of people I’ve come across both here & on ao3: @logicgunn @dedkake @frankthesnek @chaos-monkeyy @mific @goddess47 @brumeier @spacecadetdhdly (I hope I’m tagging the right people! the tumblr tagging system is crazy & I only have my poor memory of ao3 authors in the mcshep tag to work with. no pressure tho!)

[abbyandersonbicep]

my mentors little sister

Part 4

Yelena Belova x fem!reader

Warnings: my writing and bad grammar except for that none

A/N i’m sorry this took so long i hope you all enjoy it! feel free to leave a comment:)let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next chapters

@xxxtwilightaxelxxx

The next day arrived way too fast for your liking.

Being woken up way too early by an excited Wanda wasn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds. Neither is being forced to help her pick out a dress.

„Wan just wear the dark red one it looks fine”

„But what about this one ?” Wanda exclaimed holding up a simple yet elegant black dress.

„Thats a nice one too, just please decide soon im getting hungry”

Wanda just playfully rolled her eyes at your comment.

After a few more minutes which felt like hours to you Wanda decided that she was getting hungry too.

„Come one (Y/N/N) let’s get you some food” she said while holding out her hands for you to take so she could help you get up.

You made your way to the kitchen to find Sam and Steve discussion something probably mission related but you didn’t really care all you had in mind rn was getting food into your system.

After one look in the fridge you groaned at it’s poor sight, basically no food was left. As you turned to ask Wanda about the food situation Natasha and Yelena walked into the kitchen.

Your eyes immediately fell onto the blonde girl who seemed only vaguely interested in what was going on around her. You shot a small smile at her which instantly caused you to blush when Yelena returned the smile. Noticing the blush on your face she shot a small wink at you while chuckling to herself. You turned away feeling your face get even hotter than it was before.

„We could order some pizza” Natasha suggested snapping you out of your thoughts.

„Pizza sounds good right now” Yelena added.

After lunch, which took longer than you expected it to, you made your way to your room to get ready for the party, planning on taking a long relaxed shower and getting ready slowly and wothout any stress.

Stepping in the shower you feel the hot water hit your tensed up shoulders making you feel relaxed. You just started shampooing your hair as you heard a knock and an enthusiastic Wanda

„Hurry up we don’t have all day! Nat and Yelena should be here in 10.”

You instantly groaned at the thought of socializing before the actual socializing even began. Getting out of the shower you put on some sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt letting your wet hair fall over your shoulders.

„You know I hoped I could have some time to relax before the party starts” you told your friend, who gave you an apologetic look.

„I’m sorry (Y/N) but I promised them that we would get ready together and you know your the best with eyeshadow” she says trying to get a smile out of you.

„You know you could just learn it yourself its not that hard” you shot back at the brunette.

„That would be way to easy” Wanda smiled at you while bopping your nose playfully finally getting you to smile a bit.

„I know it not easy for you with all these people around all the time but i think it’s good for you, i mean getting you out of your shell” she added while hugging your side to hers.

„I guess so” you nodded.

Upon hearing a knock announcing the arrival of the two ex-assassins.

„Come in” you said just loud enough for the both to hear.

Natasha walked in first carrying a curling iron having her hair already done nicely, straightened just long enough to touch her shoulders. Yelena on the other hand was in a state that could be more compared to you and Wanda at the moment, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie with her hair thrown into a messy bun.

About two hours and a lot of hair curling later you were finally done with your hair styles meaning it was now time for make up.

„I promised Lena that you would do her make up since she won’t let me near her face anymore and trust me you don’t want her doing it herself” Nat chuckled.

„I can do it! It shouldn’t be a problem” you replied while feeling a familiar heat rising uo your neck.

With Wanda and Nat already taking up all the chairs your room had to offer you had no other choice than sitting on the bed and doing Yelena’s make up there, which would prove itself way harder than expected.

„Do you have any specific ideas of what you want ? “ you asked shyly looking down suddenly finding your feet very interesting.

„Please just don’t do anything too crazy otherwise im fine with anything” she blond smiled down at you at which you nodded and started to collect some basic items you would need.

„I’m not gonna do some thick foundation because you have great skin already and it would only look unnatural if thats okay with you” you started to ramble to the russian in front of you.

„That’s perfectly fine with me just do your thing and im sure it will turn out nice” she answered you in a rough but soothing and soft voice you never heard her use before.

You quickly got to work and got the face part done fairly fast and without any complications, the eye part however was a whole new level of complicated.

„Can you close your eyes please?”

Yelena closed her eyes at your request.

With her sitting on the edge of the bed and you sitting next to her it proved it self quite difficult for you to properly apply the eyeshadow. Yelena heard you shifting trying to find a comfortable way to apply the eyeshadow.

Suddenly she moved to the middle of your bed pulling you slowly to strandle her lap looking at your face for any sign of discomfort.

„Is this alright?” she asked softly looking at you

„Yes its good” you managed to choke out quietly, hearing Wanda and Natasha lightly chuckly at your surprised voice.

„You two are cute together you know” Natasha commented at the state you to were in right now.

„I agree with widow, you two are really cute” added Wanda sending you a smirk.

„We are gonna go change, see you later! Have fun” The red head smiled at you two already on the way out of the room dragging Wanda with her, just giving the younger woman enough time quickly shot you two a „but not too much fun”, leaving you with you and your crush alone.

Trying to hide your embarrassment from the pretty blonde in front of you, you started to quickly finishing up her eyes with some mascara moving to get some lipstick to finish up her look.

„Open your mouth a bit” you instructed which Yelena happily complied.

Carefully you started to fill in her soft lips, not noticing the way she looked at you with a soft look in her eyes as you were concentrated in not overdrawing her lips.

„Alright you’re done” you told her while closing the lipstick already making you way down from her lap, as she suddenly pulled you in softly by your waist closer to her body, so that now you were completely sitting on top of her legs. That familiar heat making its way up your neck onto your face leaving you blushing once again.

„Can i kiss you?” she whispered ever so softly to you, at which you nodded ,whimpering a small almost not noticeable „please���. Yelena wasting no time carefully pressed her lips onto yours. You felt you body go weak and you brain go fuzzy at the feeling of her lips moving in sync with yours. Not wanting to break the kiss just yet you felt your arms automatically moving around her neck pulling her in even closer to, you felt her smile at your attempts pulling her even closer not wanting to let go just yet, Yelena ran her tongue over your bottom lip slightly testing the waters when she heard you whimper quietly causing her to smile again. After a couple of minutes you both pulled away out of breath resting your foreheads against eachother not wanting to let go of the feeling.

Yelena was the first one to open her eyes looking at you with a soft smile she kept away from the public eye only letting it slip a few times around you. Opening your eyes you looked at her smiling.

„You’re adorable you know that right?” she exclaimed at your facial expressions only for you to bury your face into her neck.

A/N i hope you all liked it!

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 8

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,407

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: alternate title: Virgil's very subtle epiphany. also Patton has a gay panic moment lol

...

Slam.

Monday morning. Mr. Berry was slapping a small poster on each student's desk like a stamp, one-by-one and painfully slowly.

"This," he began, "Is the official welcome to the schoolyear; audition posters for the Fall Talent Show." His bloated belly hardly fit between the desk rows, and students made futile attempts to scoot away from him before they were bombarded by his tyrannical tummy. "As a retired thespian and a life long supporter of theatre and the arts," he continued, bringing his pile of posters to his chest in his passion, "I highly recommend you at least consider looking into auditions. Everyone has a passion, or at least a hobby, and the talent show is a perfect freelance opportunity to show off your skills."

Roman rolled his eyes too dramatically. This was upsetting him more than he thought it would, and his eyes shot daggers up at his large superior as he slammed the next poster onto Roman's desk.

"Auditions will be held next week, on the specified dates. The show itself will be two weeks later, I believe on Friday night. Be there, and I will award you some extra credit points. All you must do is present me with your ticket, which must have your name on it," he eyed a few mischievous students in the room, "With a stamp on it from the Talent Show admissions booth, on the following Monday." As soon as Mr. Berry had given a poster to Virgil and moved on, Virgil quietly crumpled it and shoved it into a random part of his backpack, proceeding to fold his arms on his desk and put his head down. This caught Roman's attention, and his subconscious latched onto formulating a teasing remark for after class as a distraction from his own feelings about the Talent Show.

After class, the usual place where Roman and Virgil were shortly alone and had a short interaction - most often consisting of some insufferable tease from Roman or occasionally a debate spurred by Virgil making a witty side comment - the two met once again. After their first class of the day was usually the only time they were both at their lockers at the same time, as it happened, and Virgil was always thankful that it was the only time. Since their assignment to the Biology project, however, Roman had taken to walking with Virgil from their English class to their lockers and beginning his bouts of banter prematurely.

"Not a fan of the infamous talent show, are we?" Roman paced quickly over to Virgil, who had just made it outside the classroom door as they'd been dismissed. Virgil huffed in defeat as his attempt to escape before Roman could catch him had been fruitless.

"It's ridiculous," Virgil didn't slow his pace for Roman, and began essentially speedwalking down the hall. Roman was slightly taller than him and was able to keep up, but still got a little out of breath doing it. "Hey everyone, come and show everyone in the school something you really enjoy so they can all collectively judge you and make you self conscious about your interests and - oh no! you don't wanna do it anymore because you feel horribly inadequate? shoooot. Sorry man, no one could have seen that coming. Oh well, better luck next year when you'll just ruin a different passion for yourself!" Virgil flailed his hands at the end of his mini-rant.

"How can you stay that sarcastic for that long consecutively? I'm honestly impressed," Roman said, huffing as they arrived at their lockers. Virgil's permanent frown seemed to somehow deepen. "Though, I guess I really can't argue, Count Woe-laf. I see your point. The pressures of an impromptu performance are... undeniable." Roman focused his attention on the padlock hanging from the latch of his locker, while Virgil looked to him with widened eyes.

"Really?" He didn't look away from Roman until he would look back.

"What?" Roman defended.

"It's just..." Virgil focused on his own padlock now, "You never agree with what I say. It always becomes a debate," he pulled his locker open lazily, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and putting it on backwards so that he could more easily exchange things. When Roman didn't reply, he continued, "like... I don't know. Why is it any different now?"

Roman was exchanging things as well, and didn't have an immediate answer. Well, he knew the answer (or in this case, answers), but it wasn't one he was even ready to admit to himself, let alone anyone else, and especially let alone Virgil. He just eventually shrugged.

This reaction only further alarmed Virgil. He opened his mouth to continue his flabbergasted interrogation, but the bell rang right at that moment. Roman slammed his locker shut suddenly.

"Well, that's our queue I suppose. See you tonight, Incredible Sulk." Roman elbowed Virgil in the shoulder a bit awkwardly and began skipping down the hall to his next class. That left a dumbfounded and nearly-panicking Virgil standing in front of his open locker in an almost completely empty hall.

He wished Roman would stop leaving him like that.

...

Roman had texted the Biology Project group chat that weekend, saying he had an important football practice on Monday that went until 5. they'd have to have their meet-up at Roman's a bit later in the evening. Logan simply waited it out by heading to the school library to get his other homework done, while Patton and Virgil shot the breeze, walking down random hallways of the school.

The two of them were grabbing a snack from a vending machine when Virgil checked his phone. It was 4:50. They got their respective snacks - Patton got a strawberry Pop tart and Virgil got a Sunny D - and made their way to the designated meeting place. It was a concrete bench at the front of the school. They expected to find Logan there, but he wasn't. The two of them simply sat on the cold bench and exchanged bits of each other's snacks, and continued talking until Virgil noticed someone approaching.

He figured it would be Logan, but this person was shorter and more filled out than Logan. He trained his eyes better and realized that it was Roman. Roman, who happened to have a towel around his neck and sopping-wet crimson curly hair unabashedly on display. A drip of water rolled down his cheek and along his jawline, and Virgil realized he was staring. Roman finally got within conversation distance.

"Like what you see, Charlie Frown?" He teased. Patton looked to Virgil, noticing his awe, and giggled.

"Hah, in your dreams, Meta Knight," Virgil deflected half-heartedly, still finding it hard to pull his eyes away from Roman's unfortunate perfection. It was only worse that Roman knew just how attractive he was.

"Why's your hair all wet, silly?" Patton asked, standing energetically to greet him.

"We rinse off after practice. I considered leaving my shirt off so i could just get a clean one when i got home, but i knew that might be a bit too much to handle for some of us," Roman elbow-nudged Patton, who just giggled again and pushed his glasses up. Virgil knew that was extremely forced, especially after their conversation on Friday.

"Well," Roman checked his wristwatch, "Where would my nerdy Wolverine happen to be? It's ten past, and if there's anything Logan certainly is, it's punctual."

"Quite right you are," a stern voice came from behind them, to reveal Logan's lengthy form approaching casually. "My apologies for my tardiness. I got quite engaged in a particular Physics problem." Roman turned to him smiling, and pecked him on the cheek. Virgil didn't need to look at Patton to feel his friend's heart sink through the floor.

"Shall we then?" Roman turned to lead the way on the five-block journey to his house.

...

"hmm, that reminds me," Roman said from his sprawled position on his bed, "what are all your sexualities?"

That sure caught everyone's attention. The clock beside Roman's bed read 6:28 PM. Logan was studying their plants and taking notes, Patton had been cooing quietly to Roman's pet turtle, and Virgil was sitting in Roman's spinning desk chair scrolling on his phone. They all looked at Roman at once, and then at each other.

"Heh," Roman sat up, "My apologies for blurting such an intrusive question, I was just looking up at my-" he gestured toward his ceiling- "glorious flag, and it made me wonder. No man must answer that which he does not desire to." Roman was blatantly referring to the Bisexual flag that was pinned to the ceiling above his bed. They all looked at it, and back at him. "I suppose it's obvious now, but yes, I am undeniably bisexual," He faux bowed.

The silence wasn't doing anyone good, so Patton broke it before it got too much more awkward. "I, I'm gay," he said sheepishly, continuing to observe the turtle. Virgil gave him a soft smile, and decided to offer himself up next.

"I'm pan," he seemed to recoil further into his hoodie, if that were even possible. Logan turned to the other three, adjusting his necktie.

"I'm not usually one to admit this to many people, but since you have all been so transparent and calm about such personal information," He started, "I am comfortable telling you that I am Asexual."

No one regarded this with much surprise, except for Roman. "Oh really?" He said, seemingly surprised and embarrassed. Virgil scoff-laughed at him.

"What, upset you can't make your sexual fantasies a reality?" Virgil teased. Roman gasped, bringing a hand to his chest in an offended gesture.

"Excuse me!" He exclaimed, a look of disgust contorting his face.

Before a classic Roman-Virgil debate could ensue, Patton decided to share his thoughts.

"Well, I, I mean, I'm not ace but I, I guess sex isn't really so important to me," he was fiddling with his ring yet again.

"W-well, it should never be the centerpiece of any relationship!" Roman declared. They all looked at him skeptically. "what? I mean, personally, I prefer grand gestures." As he spoke, he stood and walked to Logan. "In my opinion," he produced a pristine bouquet of deep red roses that none of the others had noticed anywhere in the room before, "they are the key to any person's heart."

Logan seemed tame, Patton thought. As if he were performing. If he were being his normal self, he would have been very confused by where Roman had hidden the bouquet, and how it looked so perfect after being concealed. Instead, he just took it with a very gentle sweet smile, and thanked him quietly. Instead of Logan, Patton was now the one confused.

Virgil's face was red, and his neck a blotchy pink; thankfully he was mostly hidden under his purple bangs and hood. He huffed and excused himself to use the restroom. Patton noticed this time, and grabbed his arm before he made it out of the room.

"You okay?" he whispered gently to Virgil. Virgil just looked at him, mustered a small smile and a nod. Patton knew exactly what that meant. Virgil was okay, he just needed a moment. He returned the smile, and released his gentle paternal grip on Virgil's arm, allowing him to leave.

There was the sound of someone calling Roman's name from another part of the house, and Roman excused himself, rushing off to find its source.

Logan slipped his phone into the pocket of his navy slacks. "Well, I must be going now," He began. Instead of reaching to gather his things, he trained his acute attention directly on Patton, who was startled by the sudden focus on him. "Patton, do you have a ride home today?"

"I, uh, well," He tried blurting out an excuse but none came to his mind. "No, not exactly..."

Logan was slowly approaching, and Patton tried to back up but hit the terrarium containing Roman's turtle after just one small step. "Would you like a ride? My parents would be more than happy to assist in your safe transport home."

"Well, well I really don't want to intrude, or-" He stopped dead when Logan placed a slender hand gently on his shoulder.

"I insist. It's no intrusion or burden to them. They appreciate being able to help others when they can, especially people whose company I enjoy." Logan didn't feel as though he was figuratively lying through his teeth, but he knew that his parents didn't exactly feel that way. The nature of the situation was more that they took kindly to those that Logan worked well with on academically related subjects, such as people from his study group or the like.

Patton caught himself before letting the thought "you enjoy my company?" escape his lips. He just smiled. He knew there was no way he could get himself to deny Logan's offer when his heart was taking the reins.

"I would.. really appreciate, a ride home, yeah," He said quietly. Logan was just looking into his eyes with a tenderness Patton hadn't seen before. He pushed away any thoughts that Logan may have looked at Roman the exact same way during their date. He hoped he hadn't, and cursed himself for hoping it.

"Wonderful," Logan pulled himself out of their shared momentary trance. "I will let them know. I'm sure they will find it a pleasure to become acquainted with you. They should be here in less than five minutes, so I suggest gathering your belongings." Logan's thumbs padded across is illuminated phone screen as he spoke, until he once again slid it into his pocket and began collecting his things along with Patton.

Virgil entered once again, hood off and face slightly red and wet. it was clear that he hadn't been crying due to the sporadic nature of the droplets of water across his face; it looked more like he'd just haphazardly washed his face in the sink and hadn't bothered to wipe the remnants away. Patton smiled at him brightly.

"Ah, Virgil," Logan addressed as he slung his bag over his shoulder, "It was pleasant to see you again. We are on our way out now. Are you ready, Patton?" He looked to Patton, who also slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Yep! Logan's giving me a ride," Patton blatantly could barely contain his excitement in his ever-growing grin, so Virgil only returned it with a small thumbs up.

"Alright, ill see you guys in class tomorrow," He hugged Patton tightly, and half-heartedly saluted to Logan without making eye contact. Logan simply nodded to him, and the two left shortly, leaving Virgil alone in Roman's room.

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (2)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (in case u wanna come say hello on main but no pressure)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death, some mentions of sexual situations but nothing explicit, spoilers for season 2 (should probably have tagged ch1 for this too oops)

words: 6607, no regrets

summary: it’s not a date if it’s for work

Author’s note: There is so much research that went into this I would just like to say thank you internet for letting me look up stuff from the comfort of my own home at unholy hours even though I did get very distracted while looking up late 80s wedding dress fashion. Also bless the s2 dvd extra which was a director’s commentary on s2 ep10 and very informative.

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 

(message me if you want to be added to the list. or just message me in general)

and also I urge you to look at the beautiful moodboard that @huliabitch made for me! I love it so much!

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

"All the best from Mr DEA." Diana said as she threw herself down in the seat across from her best friend. Gabriela looked effortlessly glamourous as usual, even though she was just in a blouse and jeans. She just had that air about her, like one of the vintage movie stars, something Diana had never quite been able to match. She was well aware she was downright frumpy in comparison, not one to catch eyes just by walking past. For the most part, that suited her. Gabi tried to seem nonchalant about the greeting.

"Oh?" She sipped gingerly from her drink and put her menu away. "You finally met, then? He's back?"

Diana nodded and stowed away her purse and cardigan. "Yeah, this afternoon and yesterday, in the morning. He seems... nice enough? I don't know. Not a talker, is he? He seems a bit on edge, to be honest. Though I suppose that's to be expected." But despite everything, he still has kindness in his eyes.

Gabi just grinned at her for a long moment, waiting to pounce.

"Yeah, he can be a bit of a grump. ...Handsome though, no?"

Diana sighed, swatting at the other woman with her own menu. "Did it ever occur to you that the newly divorced woman might have had her fill of men for the time being?"

"It has occcurred to me that five years of unchanging, uninspired missionary for half an hour exactly, twice a week, with that wet blanket you married might have left you with the need to really be filled by a man for once."

"Gabriela!" she gasped, choking on thin air and mortification, even though their conversations would often get way more explicit than this. Just never with her being the subject. Gabriela just smiles like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, hailing a waiter to give him their order.

"Speaking of newly divorced: has the dipshit finally signed the papers then?" Diana groaned, throwing her glasses down onto the table to massage her temples.

"No, he's dragging his feet. Which is ridiculous, it's not like I want anything from him. It's not like we're fighting tooth and nail over every other thing, like that American movie, the one we watched on your mom's old VHS player, you know? With Meryl Streep? In any case, now he decides to fight? If you can call that fighting."

"Kramer vs Kramer." Gabi remarked sagely. "Yeah... At least you don't have children together. That could really have gone ugly. I still don't know what you ever saw in that man."

"Oh shut it. I used to be fond of Juan Mateo; I don't know when that changed." Diana huffed, quickly snatching up her glasses when the waiter sailed over with their drinks and appetizer.

"Well that's the problem, you never loved him! And your parents set too good an example; what could ever live up to that?" She took a generous drag from her drink, then dug into the food with hungry abandon. "At least you're finally rid of his snoring. And his mother."

"God, she really hated me. Couldn't bear it that her precious boy brought some lowly scum from the comunas into her pristine middle class home. Marrying me might have just been the only demonstration of free will that man has ever managed." Diana allowed herself to seethe a bit at the memory, taking it out on her food as she stabbed at it roughly. "And I will definitely not miss the snoring."

"Mr DEA barely snores." Gabriela remarked lightly. "Just ...very softly. It's quite cute."

"Since when do you let clients stay to actually sleep?" Diana inquired around a mouthful, brows scrunched. Gabriela hummed thoughtfully, swiping some sauce off her plate with a piece of bread.

"Ah, but he was so tired, poor thing. It wouldn't have been safe to send him back out, he would have crashed his car and died in a ditch somewhere, which would have been a real shame. I just let him nap for an hour or so that one time. Besides, I wasn't in any state to do much myself after he blew my back out." She had a way of being so nonchalant about these things that Diana supposed came from a sort of professional equanimity. Diana possessed no such poise and gawked openly, the wheels turning in her head as she recalled previous conversations and connected dots.

"Oh." She breathed as realization hit. "Oh! No! That was him? You're kidding me. How am supposed to look him in the eye now?" Gabi was already cackling, barely able to hold her laughter as Diana sputtered, recalling the very detailed recounting she'd received after the night in question. "You said you felt that for days after!"

"I did, but it was worth it." Gabi was now subtly holding her sides, having pushed her empty plate away to be collected. "You see, you're my dearest and oldest friend and I only want the best for you."

"I'm sure Mr DEA would be delighted to know of your crude attempts to pimp him out." Diana snarked, pushing her own plate to the side just in time to be whisked away by the waiter. "You're incorrigible. This is serious. Besides, I think he really liked you, actually."

"He liked the illusion of intimacy, like most of my clients. Lonely but with committment issues to the moon and back. It's not like I'm telling you to marry him. I'm just trying to get you properly laid for once." Gabriela scoffed. She could be so detached sometimes. In fact, one could call it downright cynical. But Diana had known her since they were both in pigtails and could detect the care behind even the most jaded words.

"Oh whatever. I request a change of topic. How's your book coming along? Any progress on that chapter that's been giving you so much trouble?" Diana asked sweetly, making the other woman glare at her over the plates with their main courses as they were being set down. Because yes, Gabriela does indeed write more than letters, and she's good, too. Also, two can play this game of being just slightly mean.

--- --- ---

Javier hated team meetings. And now that he was the boss here he couldn't even get out of them. Worse, he had to lead them. He looked over the assembled agents, glad that he had most of their names down by now. Gladder still that this was a DEA-only event and he wouldn't have to deal with any of Stechner's CIA asswads for now.

"Duffy, where are we on the shipments?" He turned to the other man expectantly. Duffy was one of the few agents here that weren't younger than him; he actually had some experience under his belt, unlike all these fucking greenhorns the higher-ups had sent him. He forced himself to pay attention to Agent Duffy's answer, making notes of important dates as he listened. Operation Cornerstone had, at this point, not yet come to full fruition, but if they continued to put in their due dilligence it was almost certain to turn up something useful. When they'd gone through all the points on his agenda, and after clearing up a few uncertainties, he dismissed the roomful of agents.

"Duffy, got another moment?" Javier stopped the other agent as he turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir?" Duffy sat back down and pulled his writing pad back out.

"Have you come up with any ideas for my informant in Calí?" Javier had mentioned this before, seeing as Duffy was one of the agents permanently stationed at the Calí field office. Now that Escobar was gone it would look suspicious if the head of the DEA in the country trekked up to Medellín every other week, and they needed a better way for Miss Rivas to hand over her collected intel. Duffy cleared his throat and caught the eye of one of his colleagues and waved him over.

"Lopez here has had a few ideas, sir. Tony, tell the boss your ideas for drop-offs."

The other agent was younger, handsome in that pretty way that made girls sigh dreamily, going by his own, admittedly remote, memory of high school and college. Lopez hadn't said much during the meeting, but had that eager glint in his eyes that said he wanted to prove himself. Javier had had that same look when he first came down here; it hadn't survived the first year.

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, so I was thinking the public library might be worth a shot." Agent Lopez pulled a notepad from his own case, squinting down at the scrawled chickenscratch. Javier nodded along, encouraging more than praise. He'd have to run these ideas by Miss Rivas anyway, and if she had concerns they were back at square one. But that was a river he intended to cross when the time came and not a second earlier.

--- --- ---

The satphone was also a good instinct because after their preliminary meetings in April, it gets irritatingly difficult to arrange another one for over a month.

"The what now?"

"The 4th International Poetry Festival. It's on from June 2nd to 8th." she explained patiently. "Orietta Lozano, Gloria Gervitz, Blanca Varela!"

"I assume those are poets."

"Obviously."

"You want me to go to a poetry festival with you?"

"No, I'm taking the week off and I'm going to the festival, and I am also free to meet you. I'm just suggesting that maybe your work hours don't all have to be spent in dreariness and drudgery." Something sizzled on the other end of the line where she was making herself dinner while talking to him, and it made Javier's stomach grumble. "A bit of culture is good for the soul, Agent Peña. You'll burn yourself out with how much you work. When was the last time you ever did anything for fun? Read a book? Hell, listened to music?"

Whenever you call me. She always had music on at home. It drifted through the receiver, a soothing background hum that was too soft to truly make out most times. Add to that the fact that he was still sitting in his office at almost half past seven in the evening, and he didn't have a proper counter-argument.

"Alright, fine. 2nd to 8th, I'll see what I can do."

--- --- ---

She was wearing another belted shirt dress, this one pale yellow and sleeveless, the full skirt reaching to just below the knees. It reminded Javier of the style his mother used to wear when he was little. Saturday, June 4th, had him meet up with Miss Rivas at the Teatro Metropolitano in central Medellín. Her dress contrasted against the blocky red building in a way that tugged familiar, but Javier was trying to train himself to not see blood in every instance of red.

"This is quite a way from Envigado." He announced his approach as soon as he was close enough to not have to shout. She jumped a bit, clearly startled, but her lips pulled into a polite smile when she recognized him.

"Agent Peña." She greeted. "No, cultural grandeur doesn't usually make it out to the comunas." She sat back down on the bench and pulled a flyer from her (rather big) purse, thumbing it pensively. Javier sat beside her, not quite at arms' length. Trying to appear wordlessly inviting, if only to mask how at a loss for words she made him feel. He seemed to be no longer used to normal, civil human interaction.

"Right, there is one reading here at the Metropol that starts in about half an hour that I think you might like. It has a few of the international poets; a few of them will be reading in English. Then there's another one later at the Teatro Carlos Vieco that I'm keen on. It's about half an hour on foot between locations, but there's the open air exhibits that only require a small detour." She pointed it all out on the program as she spoke, Javier silently nodding along in acknowledgement. "I've planned it so there's more than enough time for a lunch break. I hate having to rush through things that are meant to be enjoyed. I brought arepas, but there are usually enough street vendors out and about to get something else, if you prefer." She really did talk a lot. That was surprisingly fine by Javier, since it meant he didn't have to. "Though of course if you'd rather just get your intel and go I understand, but I must insist on at least this first reading, Agent Peña. But otherwise I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you have other things to do."

His lips twitched involuntarily and he held his hand out for the program flyer, silently reading it over. None of the names rung any kind of bell. Not that he was much of a poetry aficionado. "Sounds good to me."

She blinked. "Which part?"

He handed her back the flyer, which she took automatically, still eyeing him with uncertainty.

"All of it." She blinked again, looking mildly shocked, the flyer still dangling uselessly from her fingers. "Miss Rivas, I came all the way here and you went through all this trouble planning. It would be a waste to part ways after so short a time."

Truth be told it sounded ...nice. The thought of spending a day just exploring, letting work be work for even just a day (or at least part of it). Despite being an only child, he'd never liked being on his own even when he was young, cherishing every day spent with school friends or any of his numerous cousins. And it wasn't like he'd had to do far less pleasant things for information.

Her expression morphed from uncertain gaping into a wide, pleased smile that he couldn't help but mirror. Maybe she was quite a nice lady after all.

---

"...I have to ask though: What's a ...smit- ...smee-dereen?"

"Smithereens." Javier corrected gently as they exited the venue after the reading. "It means... it's all the small pieces that are left over when something is destroyed. Like with a bomb."

"Hmm," she hummed, pensive as they strolled along with the leisurely flow of the crowd, "I'll have to think a bit more about this." She fished around in her purse, producing bottled water and offering him one. He took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. "How did you like it, Agent Peña? Already regretting agreeing to this?"

"No." Javier found himself replying perhaps a smidgeon too quickly. "No, it's very uh... enriching." And not what he'd expected at all. Though the festival was now in its fourth year running, he'd never had the chance or the wish, really, to attend it before. He'd barely taken note of its existence, too preoccupied with chasing down leads.

"Hm, you don't have to mollify me, Agent Peña. You'll still get your intel, don't worry." Her expression slipped, from an almost serene smile back into that underlying heaviness that he could identify only now that it had been lifted for a short while.

"Miss Rivas," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm just not that good with words. That's why I'm a government agent and not a poet."

That at least made her chuckle a bit. And it was true, too. He felt lighter, in a way, like his mind had been craving a break from the frustrating work of trying to find an in to take down the cartel. Even his shoulders felt less tense here. And it was a beautiful day, too. Warm but not too hot, sunny with a mild breeze. People were out and about around them, festival goers and other citizens alike, mingling freely with a carelessness that would have been unthinkable only a year prior.

"Juan Mateo never wanted to come with me to this." She gestured vaguely at the city and its people around them. "My husband. Ex-husband. Technically still husband because he won't sign the divorce papers." Her features turned tense as she explained, a slight frown appearing between her brows. "Not that it matters now, of course. But goodness, that man had no sense for these things. He thought top shelf coffee was the height of culture. He'd act like going out to a bar one evening every few weeks was a chore beyond compare. Such a martyr!" She huffed and Javier laughed softly, offering to take her bag for a while as she adjusted it on her shoulder for the third time now.

"No, that's alright. It's not heavy. This way." Her hand naturally slipped into the crook of his elbow to steer him down the side of the road and Javier faltered for a moment, cursing himself for wearing a short-sleeved shirt even though it was comfortably warm. He just didn't want to get separated in the bustle of activity, he reasoned. This was a perfectly tame and non-offensive gesture and it would be rude to flinch away, he reasoned. She initiated it, after all. No harm no foul. This was still a professional alliance.

"You think very loudly, Agent Peña." She remarked, lightly squeezing his elbow. "It better not be about work."

"Technically I am at work right now." He countered, covering her hand on his arm with his much larger one and giving it an awkward pat.

"Lucky you." She teased, lightly nudging his side with her elbow.

"Beats paperwork, that's for sure."

They ambled along, weaving through the crowds where they gathered in front of street performers and makeshift stages. Javier couldn't deny that it felt good to feel the sun on his skin, un-recycled air in his lungs; most of all being far away from Stechner and his legion of CIA goons was almost rejuvenating. They fell into a languid rhythm, walking leisurely and stopping every so often to linger a bit where music was being played or more poetry recited, in front of the stalls of local artisans or to look at the sculptures that had been put up as an open air exhibit throughout the city. Every so often, Miss Rivas would tell him some little anecdote, be it about any of the previous festivals or just the city itself. He barely felt the time pass.

By the time they'd made it across the river and to the park wherein the open-air theatre was situated, it was time for a late lunch and Javier felt his stomach start to protest, all that walking serving to work up an appetite.

"...and after school Gabi and I would trek across town to the library and hide by the shelves in the back, the ones with the old classics, and we'd read all the scandalous 19th-century novels about adulteresses and other fallen women. You know, Anna Karenina, Thérèse Raquin, Madame Bovary, Tess of the d'Urbervilles..." Miss Rivas set her bag down and produced a fairly big plastic container from within, setting it on the bench between them. "Perhaps not the most appropriate fare for a couple of fifteen-year-old girls, but it wasn't like we had a whole lot of supervision, you know? It definitely wasn't appropriate to read to a five-year-old, so I guess it's good that Maritza never really paid attention much- Stop my prattling any time, Agent Peña. I know I talk too much; Juan Mateo always used to say so."

Javier paused, an abundantly filled arepa inches from his mouth. "He what now?"

She flushed, looking down and picking at the wrapping paper she'd bundled the food up in. "It's fine, it's not a big deal, really."

"It's not fine." Javier insisted. Told her to shut up, told his own wife that she talked to much! What an ass. He started tearing into the arepa with a glower. They sat in silence for a while, chewing tensely in this little corner of the park at the foot of Cerro Nutibara, in a spot that was fairly hidden among the greenery while still affording a decent view of the city streets below. Javier didn't even know why it irked him so much. There were worse things out there than insensitive husbands. Ex-husbands at that. Still, he seethed quietly in his righteous wrath.

"Wanna see something funny?" She was already digging through her purse, so he didn't see much sense in replying. She pulled a photo from some deep compartment in her wallet, looking down at it thoughtfully for a moment before passing it to him. In his defence, Javier hadn't meant to laugh. It just came out, snorty and half-aborted.

"Hey, at least I managed to evade the poofy sleeves, okay? My mother was dead set on them. She wanted me to look like the English lady… uh, Princess Diana. I think she might have taken the name as a sign."

"That's a.. that's a lot of satin."  And tulle. Javier pressed out, still suppressing his laughter and barely succeeding. He could have pointed out that the mass of ruffles negated any absence of actual puff sleeves, but thought it better to refrain. And it wasn't like she hadn't looked beautiful as a bride, it was more that in that ruffled satin-and-tulle concoction she looked like an unwilling dress-up doll, despite the tasteful off-the-shoulder cut and flattering waistline. It was just... there were a lot of ruffles. There was a lot of dress, period. Paired with an expression that was better suited to a funeral, the effect was almost morbidly comedic.

"Wait till I show you the cake; we were basically identical." It was the dryness of her tone that set him off. There was no suppressing it now, Javier was bellowing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It didn't help that the dress fashion hadn't really strayed very far from the 'bigger and more style' in the years since. All things considered, this was a comparatively simple gown, lacking the mass of sparkly appliqués and abundance of bows and flowers that had been popular in the latter years of the previous decade. It just wasn't a style that suited her personality in any way, at all. Her slender figure was absolutely drowned in the sheer volume of the skirt alone. Hell, it completely overshadowed the already forgettable man standing by her side in the photo. Though 'by her side' was a generous descriptor. There was definitely enough space for the Holy Spirit and then some between the couple.

"My mother spent ages on that damn dress. Her hands looked like pincushions by the time she was done; that's why she wore gloves to the wedding."

"She's a seamstress, right? Your mother?" She'd mentioned it in an offhand comment during one of their previous phone calls.

"She was." Diana confirmed, tucking the picture away again. "Didn't think you'd remember that."

"Of course. I listen to everything you tell me."

Diana chuckled, flushing lightly. "It's not even relevant to the case!"

"I listen to everything you tell me." Javier insisted and started gathering up wrapping paper and such to throw away. A quick look at his watch told him they'd have to get moving soon if they wanted to make it to the theatre on time to get decent seats.

"Right." Diana collected her things to stuff them back into her bag. "So it's a no for ruffles, but what would you have me wear, Agent Peña? What do you think suits me?"

Javier couldn't have told even the most skilled interrogation expert what exactly compelled him to answer, and so readily at that, why he had an opinion at the ready in the first place, or at least that's what he preferred to tell himself.

"I think... something soft and flowy, not a whole lot of embellishments, if any. Clear lines and a light fabric, something you can dance in and be comfortable. Definitely no more satin."

She laughed now, as well, eyes twinkling with what he thought was approval. "You are full of surprises. Should I ever get married again, I'll most certainly engage your services as designer, Agent Peña."

"I'll keep a spot open for you. First consultation is free."

---

How her hand can feel so natural there in the crook of his elbow after hardly a day, he cannot tell. All he knows is that by the time the reading at the open air theatre is done the sun has started to dip in the sky and if this was what his work was like more often he'd perhaps be happier in his workaholic ways. Though they haven't broached the topic of work in hours now, instead ambling half-aimlessly northward towards Conquistadores where he's parked his rental car at the hotel he's staying at. Because it is a long way to Envigado and he insisted on driving her home. Because even though now that Escobar is gone Medellín is much safer, but he's never been one to easily trust a good thing.

It's only when they've crossed the big main street Avenida 33 that Miss Rivas gets quieter. She's obviously  tired following their prolonged outing, but he instantly misses the pleasant hum of her voice, her clever little observations- At the same time, it's a comfortable silence, not one weighed down by expectation. She'd even let down her hair from where it had been up in a ponytail for most of the day, most likely to keep the thick curtain of it away from her neck in the heat and sun.

They're just crossing a smaller square, the edge of it lined with shops, the hole-in-the-wall kind mostly, when she suddenly pulls away with a soft instruction to wait there for just a moment, and he's left to look after her flapping skirt with what is probably not the most dignified expression. Defeated, he sat down on the broad edge of a flowerbed nearby and watched her cross to a food vendor, order, and fish around for her wallet to pay, before turning around again with a plastic cup in each hand. Fresas con crema, he can make out upon her approach, and one corner of his mouth ticks up involuntarily.

"Hungry again?" He teased when she got within earshot, handing him one cup and setting the other down beside him along with her purse.

"There's always space for this in my stomach." She retorted primly. "If you don't want any, all the better."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Thanks for this." He makes a show of cupping the treat protectively, fully knowing he'll have to set it down to unwrap the plastic spoon that came with it. It makes her laugh nonetheless, which imbues him with a strange, fluttery sense of accomplishment.

She's still standing, head thrown back and grinning wide, when her gaze catches on something at the far end of the plaza, and her expression morphs from glee to astonishment to rage so quickly it gives Javier whiplash.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Ripping off her glasses and thrusting them into his hands, she began stalking off.

Two things are fortuitous: one, she had to pass Javier to get to whatever she saw and two, his reflexes are still sharp enough for him to jump up and into her path, even having managed to safely deposit the cup of strawberries and cream.

"Whoa, what the hell is it?"

"I- ...she-" Her voice is strained, her whole body taut like a livewire as she attempts to round him and resume her warpath. On instinct, Javier took a few steps backwards, keeping himself between her and her target. It's only his hands on her shoulders that stall her enough for him to be able to whip his head around and follow her eyeline. That side of the square is empty save for an older lady shuffling along, huffing and puffing and blissfully unaware of the wrathful freight train about to rush her. To say Javier was puzzled would be an understatement.

"What, her? The old woman?"

"That's Hermilda Escobar!" She's shaking so much he has trouble keeping a grip on her. "Look at her! The nerve of that woman to show her face here-" She winds out from under his hands, rounding him with a quick sidestep, and he can only match her speed because his legs are longer.

"Hey!" Javier whisper-shouts to be met with flashing eyes, then repeats it more softly. "Hey. What exactly are you planning to do here, huh?"

"I'm gonna give that self-righteous bitch a piece of my mind is what I'm gonna do!" She retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It's cowing, the single-minded purpose rolling off of her. She's strumming with it, her seething damn near tangible. In her rage, she is ruthless. Javier had no doubt, in that moment, that once let go she might well maul the woman with more than words.

It's instinctive, the way his arm wraps around her. Like the few times he's had to restrain Steve and yet not like that at all. For one Javier doesn't have to go for a near chokehold, though energy-wise her wrath is at least as fierce. So, he wraps one long arm around her waist, hauling her much slighter body against his with a half-turn, her forearms colliding sharply with his chest.

"Easy." He rumbles, his other arm coming up to fold across her shoulders. "Easy. Calm down. Calm down!"

Palms smack against his pectorals and it stings. "Hey!" He tightens his hold around her trembling body, her angry, anguished squirming. Softens his voice. "Hey. Calm down, okay? What're you gonna do, beat up that old woman in the street? Come on, breathe."

The sound that comes out of her is something very closely related to a snarl, and he feels the bite of her nails even through his shirt, but holds fast, continuing to ramble empty phrases with the intent to soothe, or at least distract.

"If you tell me to calm down one more time I will get violent." She promised, hands pushing into his chest in an effort to break his hold. The old woman has almost passed by completely by now, seeming blissfully unaware of the savaging she's escaping. Javier held fast, as tight as he dared, the hand still pinching the pair of glasses between two fingers awkwardly patting at her shoulder while he sways them both, rocking from foot to foot.

By the time Diana has calmed down enough that he feels comfortable loosening his hold, the old woman is long gone from view. He feels her slump in his grip, reflexively tightening his arms again to hold her up.

"Hey," he gentles, lightly nudging the side of her head and thinking, distantly, that all but burying his nose into her soft hair is far too intimate a position for any of this. "Hey, it's alright, I've got you, okay? I've got you."

They're still swaying on the spot, a gentle see-saw motion, and then he felt the hands that had been clenching and unclenching on his chest lose all tension and drop down to the side. She's still shaking, her whole ribcage jumping with the hiccup of suppressed sobs. Somehow, he maneuvers them both around and back the few steps from where their snack and her purse still wait beside the flowerbed.

"Why'd you hand me these, anyway?" It's but a cheap distraction tactic, Javier handed her the glasses back as soon as she sat nevertheless.

"I'm not blind without them." Diana responded tersely, snatching the glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of her dress. When she doesn't deign to elaborate, he sighs and stretches from where he'd sat back on his haunches in front of her, resuming his earlier seat and finally unwrapping the spoon. It's a tense silence for a long moment, her aggravation like a pulse around them. Certainly it gives Javier a good bit to think on.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Don't condescend to me. You may have been closer to the action, but I've lived here all my life." She ripped open her own packet with a vengeance, digging the spoon into her own portion with such force that the sliced strawberries bleed into the white cream. Javier sighed. Took a moment to order his words before they leave his tongue.

"I just need to know if this," he gestured between her and the edge of the square, "is going to be something that has to be taken into account. I need to know that you're not just in this for revenge. I need to know where you're at mentally. I need to be sure, both for your own safety and the integrity of this operation, that you're not just going to snap one day and try to claw Miguel Rodríguez' eyes out, okay?"

She chews angrily a moment, eyes flashing at him before she stares straight ahead again. The wrath is still rolling off of her in waves, perhaps dipping a bit in its intensity, but far from dulling just yet.

"You want to know my motivations, is that it? Well, let me lay it out for you, Agent Peña: of my entire class, a third never even made it to graduation, for one reason or another. I spent my youth plotting routes around gunfights in the street, with just enough success to still be alive, somehow. My mother was caught in the crossfire of a raid and was afraid to leave the house for years afterwards. My father was on that Avianca flight. My baby cousin Maritza is dead and her baby will grow up without her mother. And throughout it all, I took the coward's way out, moved cities, for university, for work, for marriage, for myself even, and everywhere I went they were, too. The narcos have spun their spider's web across the whole damn country and beyond and sooner or later everyone gets stuck in it. I got stuck in it despite my best efforts, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to flee and turning up in dead ends. Somehow I have landed in this unique position, and I refuse to join them. Is that enough motivation for you, Agent Peña?"

She held his gaze, a challenge in fire, and he wondered how much longer that adrenaline surge would sustain her before she crashed. Wordlessly, he nodded his affirmation.

It's more tense silence after that, thick like stew or the humidity out in the jungle. She doesn't reach for him again as they resume the walk up to his hotel, doesn't casually link their arms like before, choosing instead to fidget with the handles of her bag. He hates it, misses the lightness the day had before. These narcos, they really do poison even the most mundane of things with their long, bloodied shadows. When they get to the hotel's underground garage, she's gone even more quiet, almost deflated. There are no more words exchanged, save for the clipped directions to her aunt's house. At one point, Javier was almost certain she'd dozed off.

---

"Do you ever think you should have been there? When they finally got him?" He'd just parked the car opposite of the house. It's almost completely dark outside by now.

"...Yes." Of course he did. He'd wanted, even needed to. The temporary suspension had not been near as effective a punishment as denying him that. The fruits of his labor, of years spent chasing after shadows and getting himself mired deeper and deeper, until he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. He'd wanted it, sure, but perhaps he hadn't deserved it.

"Why did they send you home?" It's not that Javier is in a particularly obstinate mood, it's just that after the incident earlier, he's reluctant to bring up his own involvement with the cartels of Calí and Medellín, much less Los Pepes, so he gives a non-committal grunt in response. He should have known that wouldn't deter her. "When I first called, Agent Murphy said you had been recalled to the States. I only found out later that that was before they finally got Escobar. Why would a top agent on a case of this magnitude be pulled off and sent back before that?"

"You mean what did I do?" She nodded. There was no getting out of it now. He didn't want to lie to her either. Javier sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. "You're going to look at me differently."

"Perhaps, yes." She took a deep breath, rummaging through her purse and producing a folded up paper. "These are the names of some American banks that I'm very certain help funnel and launder Calí's money. Sorry it's nothing more specific." She placed the paper in his hand, gently closing his fingers over it. "Whatever you tell me, we're in this together, right? We both want to bring them down. I trust you, alright?"

Javier gulped, his fingers tingling under her touch. He pockets the paper to buy time, if only to swallow through his suddenly-too-dry throat. And then he tells her. The dead ends and the crippling bureaucracy, Don Berna, the Castaño brothers and Judy Moncada and Pacho Herrera. His desperate grasping at straws to find a way, any way to throw a wrench in the escalating violence and catch Escobar, how that backfired so spectacurlarly. How he tried to get out, despite knowing that these people do not allow outs. How he'd been played by the fucking CIA because he'd been an idiot falsely believing that the two agencies were operating under even remotely the same objectives. How he'd gone down, almost taking his partner with him, definitely tanking his boss' career. He hasn't spoken to anybody about this in such depth, not even his father. By the end of it, he's exhausted.

"So you're the one Carlos Castaño wanted to feed to the crocodiles."

"What?" He'd expected judgement, even disgust. Certainly not this.

"I overheard Gilberto mentioning it on the phone. I think he must have just learned that you'd be the DEA's man in charge. 'Maybe I should have let you feed that damn DEA agent to the crocodiles after all, Carlos.'  The door wasn't all the way closed, that's how I heard it. I think that was the moment I realized I couldn't wind my way out of this. That either they were going down, or they were going to find out that I was already talking to Agent Murphy and have me... vanished."

"I won't let that happen." Javier promised instinctively, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Crocodiles though? Really?" Not how he thought he'd end, that was for certain.

"Yeah, they're very uh... charming, huh?"

Javier grimaced. "If I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

"Knock on wood." Diana replied and unbuckled herself, pushing open the door.

"I'll walk you. It's dark."

"It's only across the street." She protested, and was that the ghost of a smile on her lips? Javier's hands stilled on his own seatbelt.

"You sure?"

"If my aunt catches me coming home with a man I'll never hear the end of it." Diana slipped out of the car, then bent to grab her purse. "Good night, Agent Peña. Until next time."

"Good night, Miss Rivas."

He waited until she was inside, the door securely locked behind her, before starting the drive back.

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

Chapter 3

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

Author’s note cont’d: if you wanna know what I had in mind, approximately, for the wedding gown see here

The International Poetry Festival of Medellín is a real thing, too. They have a youtube channel

[therainroguefanfiction]

🍂 Bracing Weather (Morisuke Yaku)

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Autumn

Word Count: 2,234

Pairing: Reader x Yaku

World: Haikyuu!!

Prompts: “[x] is trying to rake their leaves, but reader may have… another idea. Bye bye leaf pile.” and “Reader and [x] go to a pumpkin patch but the reader picks up an ugly pumpkin and says ‘this is you.'”

Author’s Note: This was written for the “Leaves in the Wind” collab over at the BNHA Sanctuary discord server. You can find the masterlist post [here] – make sure you check it out to read the other awesome entries for this collab! Thank you very much @smol-enby​ for hosting this collab and thank you @ambershaydeoffical​ for giving me the caramel popcorn line lmfao Happy Autumn everyone!

As soon as you stepped outside that morning, your mood instantly shot through the roof. The wind was blowing through the trees, the leaves skating across the pavement as if they had somewhere important to be. It was brisk outside, the sky covered by a sheet of light grey and the air damp with a soft mist of rain. Birds were cawing in the distance as they danced on the breeze, clearly enjoying the new weather.

The neighborhood was quiet and peaceful, as it often tended to be, the streets littered with fallen leaves in vivid shades of orange and brown. They crunched and crackled beneath your feet before being swept away by the wind. It felt like you were high, walking on a cloud as you soaked in the weather around you.

It was invigorating and you soon found yourself dancing down the street, your cheery laughter echoing through the empty neighborhood.

People looked upon you strangely as you passed them, but you simply didn’t care. How could you when your spirits were so effervescent? Autumn was, in your opinion, the very best time of the year. The time when your mood was the highest and your smile the brightest.

How you made it through the woes of life was quite simple: you would tell yourself that, one day, Autumn would once again settle over the land and all of your worries, fears, and stress would disappear for a short time.

Try as you might, you were certain that there were no words in any language that could properly represent just how happy the season made you feel and you had certainly tried on multiple occasions to do so.

When you reached the Yaku residence, you found your boyfriend in the front yard attempting to rake up the leaves that were scattered across the grass. A large pile of them sat in the center but, as he raked over the last of the fallen leaves, a gust of wind sent the top of the pile flying across the yard. His nose wrinkled in frustration and you quietly laughed behind your hand.

‘Well, since the wind is already doing it…’ you took a step back, a grin sliding onto your face as you pushed off the ground, rushing straight for the pile. Morisuke looked up curiously when he heard your laughter but his mahogany eyes quickly widened when he realized just what you were planning.

“Y/N! Don’t you dare!”

But you couldn’t stop now even if you wanted to, which you certainly did not want to. You had made your choice and you were going to commit to it, even if that meant facing an angry libero later on. You were positive that the experience would be well worth it.

“Yahoo!” you cheered as you jumped up into the air, letting gravity do its thing as it pulled your body downward – straight into the pile. Leaves went everywhere, flying up into the air, and seeing its chance, the wind picked up at that exact moment, carrying the leaves to the opposite end of the yard. Russet, saffron, and scarlet were now splashed on the wooden fence, stuck in the gutter and pinned to the windows like decorations.

Morisuke’s eye twitched as he looked upon the mess you had made before he turned his glare to you. Despite the annoyance that he so rightly felt, his gaze softened at the ecstatic expression upon your face.

“Mori, look look! It’s so kaleidoscopic!” you grinned brightly before flipping over onto your back, making an angel in the pile of leaves.

He sighed as he approached you, one hand on his hip and the other propping up the rake on the ground. “Couldn’t you just have admired them when they were nearly piled up instead of ruining the pile that I spent two hours raking.”

“That’s no fun,” you pouted, pulling yourself up into a sitting position with your legs crossed beneath you. Leaves clung to your clothes like excited children, tangling into your hair which resembled someone that had been headbanging for a good hour.

He started to laugh, dropping the rake so that he could clutch his stomach. “You look ahaha like a haha scarecrow!”

You grinned proudly, folding your arms over your chest. “The most awesome scarecrow in the neighborhood!”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he wrinkled his nose in amusement. “You’re helping me clean this mess up!”

“But -”

“No buts!”

You leaned to the side, eyes sliding down to his backside. “Yep, definitely no butt.”

“Y-Y/N!” his cheeks bloomed with color and he turned away in embarrassment, the back of his hand covering his mouth as he muttered under his breath. “Why am I even dating you again?”

You chuckled, pulling yourself to your feet so you could wrap your arms around his body from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “Because you love me, obviously.”

Morisuke’s expression softened as he turned around in your hold, his own arms finding their way around your body. His forehead was warm as it rested against your own, eyes shimmering with love and affection. “I can’t deny that. You’re the love of my life, you know. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes.”

You snickered, your hand sliding through his sandy brown locks, cold from the weather. “I love you too, babe. Even if you don’t have an ass.”

His blush worsened, spreading to the tips of his ears and he groaned, pulling away from you. “You’re such a jerk, Y/N.”

“I know,” you responded proudly.

“Just for that, you can start raking while I go and make some hot chocolate.” He poked you in the forehead, giving you no chance to respond before he headed into the house.

With a scowl, you scanned the mess of leaves scattered across the Yaku property. Why must having fun come with such annoying consequences?

“Hey, babe?”

“Hmm?” Morisuke glanced up from the assignment he was working on, his pencil stilling as he focused on your form across the table.

Your own notebook was open in front of you but the pages were blank, unmarred by the pencil. Your upper body was sprawled across the table, arms stretched out on either side of you as you balanced the pencil between your upper lip and nose.

Despite having called out to him, your attention was trained on the kitchen window, watching the trees swaying back and forth. You hated being stuck indoors when the weather was so amazing outside, but your boyfriend has insisted (read: forced) you inside to work on your homework, knowing that if he didn’t, it most likely wouldn’t get done.

It was the weekend, though, time to unwind and have fun from the stress of the week. Why should you have to be punished because the teacher was a sadist that likes to give a bunch of homework on a Friday? Like always, you were content to just binge it all on Sunday, but your boyfriend clearly did not approve of that approach.

“Can we go to the pumpkin patch?”

“Now?” he quirked a brow. “If we get a pumpkin now, it will be rotten by the time Halloween arrives. It’s best to just wait.”

You pouted at him but he had gone back to writing his essay, the pencil scritching across the paper. “I know that but I really want to get out! We don’t have to buy one, I just… I don’t know.”

He looked over at you, following your gaze to the window. You honestly looked miserable like a feral cat that had been converted to an inside cat and he knew you wanted nothing more than to just be outside.

Personally, he didn’t enjoy the brisk weather or the strong wind whipping around his body. He’d much rather be indoors with the heater on full blast, but this made you miserable and he hated that. He’d much rather sacrifice his own comfort if it meant being able to see you smile.

He snapped the notebook closed, setting the pencil down beside it as he stood up, the legs of the chair scraping against the wood. You sent him a curious look and he smiled in return. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get going!”

Your eyes lit up and you jumped off the chair, throwing your arms around him and claiming his lips. His cheeks blossomed with color at the sudden assault but he didn’t hesitate to embrace you, tilting his head in order to deepen the kiss.

When you pulled back, your eyes were trained on his lips, making him shift uncomfortably. “What is it?”

“Your lips are super soft, Mori,” you pouted, running your tongue along your own lips that were slightly cracked from the cold weather. “Do you use chapstick or something?” He nodded, reaching into his pocket to produce the object in question and you took it, popping off the lid. “Ooo, it’s strawberry flavored!”

His gaze shifted to the side. “I know it’s your favorite…”

You realized that he chose to use this chapstick for you and it made you smile, heart fluttering. You gently cupped his face with your hand before running the chapstick gently across his lips. Before he could question your intent, you leaned forward to press your lips against his, carefully rubbing against them to collect the substance.

When you pulled away, you could feel the wax-like coating on your lips and you grinned. “I should apply chapstick like that more often~”

“L-Let’s not,” he coughed, using his hand to try and cover his burning face as he started toward the front door.

You followed him with a chuckle, slipping your shoes onto your feet before reaching for the doorknob. He stopped you before you could pull the door open, his fingers curling around your shoulder. You blinked at him. “What is it?”

“Put your jacket on, dork.”

“But I don’t wanna,” you responded simply. “I like feeling the wind on my skin.”

He huffed, hand finding his hip. “I’m not going with you if you don’t put your jacket on.”

“But it’s not even that cold,” you frowned. He turned on his heel, starting to pull his shoes off and you groaned. “Fine! Let’s compromise, okay? I’ll bring my jacket but I’ll wear it around my waist instead. Okay?”

He thought it over for a moment before sighing. “Fine.”

You nodded, wrapping the jacket’s sleeves around your waist before slinging the door open hard enough to bounce against the wall. “Let’s go~!”

A smile tugged at his lips as he watched you run outside, arms spread out and a burst of cheerful laughter bubbling from your lips.

You slowly walked down the rows of pumpkins, hands clasped behind your back as your eyes scanned the pumpkins of varying sizes and colors dotting the clearing – tall ones, fat ones, baby ones, even ones twisted into strange shapes. You could already imagine the different patterns of carvings in each one and it got you feeling excited for Halloween next month.

Morisuke was walking a few steps behind you, hands buried in his pockets to keep them hidden from the icy wind. His eyes were trained on you, content simply to just watch your happy expression as you scanned the pumpkins, darting from row to row. How you could be so content doing so, he simply couldn’t understand.

When your eyes landed on a small, caramel-colored pumpkin nestled between two thin, tall ones, you rushed over to it with a grin, settling onto your knees. You picked it up gently, showing it to your boyfriend. “Look, Mori! It looks just like you!”

“How do you figure?” his brow shut up as his eyes raked over the pumpkin.

“It’s the color of caramel, just like your popcorn hair for starters,” you snickered. “Plus plus, it’s small and cute just like you~ It was even nestled between two super tall pumpkins. This white one on the right here is clearly Lev while this reddish-orange one is Kuroo! It’s got a spikey leaf just like his hair.”

He really wanted to be annoyed by your comments and by the fact that you had just compared him to a pumpkin, but when his eyes met yours, shimmering with a childlike excitement, he could only smile softly at you. “It’s… cute.”

“Right?” You stood up, approaching him with the small pumpkin still clutched in your hands. “I know it won’t last, but… can we buy it? Pretty please~?”

His fingers tugged a small leaf that had caught in your hair before his fingers brushed against your cheek. “Sure, why not.”

“Our first child!” you chirped happily, clutching it to your chest as you jogged over to the small tent. It had been set up for the employees to escape the wind and keep the money tucked into a safe place.

Morisuke’s face burned brightly, steam rising from his ears at the thought of having children with you. The way you had phrased it made it seem as if you already planned to have children with him in the future or, at the very least, had given thought to the idea. His heart raced within his chest as you waved him over.

As he slowly approached you, he couldn’t help thinking about how he truly did want to spend the rest of his life with you.

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Twenty Six. August, 2017.

It all happens so fast. It’s like one morning he’s talking about how to best release This Town, if they should just throw it up on SoundCloud or give it a proper release, and the next he’s on a world fucking tour of his own, album in his back pocket, screaming fans lining up outside once again. He hadn’t expected this, didn’t really think anyone would care so deeply about him, on his own. 

They come up with the idea for Flicker Sessions and Niall thinks it’s fucking brilliant, a great way to ease into a solo career, a perfect way to showcase his album—his life’s work—the way he wants it to be heard. It’s fucking brilliant and he can’t wait to kick it off—until it actually happens. 

Because he hadn’t thought, really, about what it would be like to sing Flicker in front of people for the first time. Hadn’t really considered that this record, so intimate, so personal, such a reflection of his soul, would be something that he doesn’t want other people to hear. The prospect of it is fucking terrifying, and he’s got fifteen minutes to get over it before he goes on stage.

‘I think I’m going to go out there now,’ says Isla, who’d been in the dressing room with Niall, watching him get ready. They’d made out against the wall for ages, his hands on her thighs under her sundress, her lips soft on his neck, careful not to leave any marks. It calmed him, being close to her like that, but she wants to watch the show from the crowd like everyone else, wants to experience it properly, and Niall’s not sure how he can manage fifteen more minutes alone with his thoughts. ‘You ready?’

‘Not really,’ Niall admits, fiddling with the sleeves of his white t-shirt. ‘Fucking shitting it.’

‘Yeah, I would be too,’ Isla says honestly, pressing a kiss to Niall’s throat. ‘But you’re going to do great. They’re gonna love you.’

‘Just feel so,’ Niall drags a hand over his face. ‘Naked?’

Isla tilts her head, eyebrows raised. ‘I mean, if you want to be—’

‘Please don’t tempt me right now,’ he whines, and Isla laughs, eyes warm as they trail over Niall’s body. ‘Tonight,’ he lowers his voice for her, leans in for a kiss.

‘Ah, you’ll be too drunk to get it up,’ she says it in the same low, sultry voice as Niall, smile pulling at the corners of her lips. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

-- 

It really does feel like he’s on stage naked. He had thought the Jingle Ball tour was exposing but this is totally new, a different level, an intimacy he didn’t even think was possible. Almost everyone he grew up with is here tonight and everyone knows—they all know this is about Isla, who’s standing with them, singing along to songs they’re all hearing for the first time. He’s literally laying his heart out for people he’s known since he was a child: dissecting the intricacies of the love that has defined his entire life, for the entire world to hear. He never knew he had it in him to do this. 

He relaxes into it a few songs in, feels like he fully finds his groove by the middle of This Town, when the whole crowd can sing along. He finds Isla then, too—he’d been searching for her the whole set to no avail, and something about it feels particularly fitting, that his eyes land on hers at that moment. She’s the only person in the room as far as he’s concerned—fuck the Capitol execs, the journalists, the musicians he grew up listening to who are here now to listen to him. It won’t make him any better, worrying about them; this is for her. 

During Flicker, he has to close his eyes. It feels impossible to look at anyone when he’s this vulnerable, this honest. He can only think about how he felt while he was writing it, how terrified and clinging to hope he was—and then how it felt to play it for Isla for the first time, to watch her break down over the things he never found the courage to tell her properly. He could’ve saved them both so much pain, if only he hadn’t been so afraid. 

He gets it together, though, after Flicker and then Too Much To Ask. He finds his footing when the setlist speeds up, when he glances back into the crowd to see Isla and Emilia dancing, drinks raised above their heads, to Since We’re Alone. It’s smooth sailing from there out—he tries not to look at Isla too long during Slow Hands, for an entirely different reason this time, and feels his heart swell and nearly burst with the crowd’s reaction to On My Own. By the end of the set all he wants to do is keep going. Again, again, again, again. He wants to keep doing this on his own. 

--

The afterparty is in Coppers, which feels ridiculous but perfectly stereotypical. It’s part business meeting for Niall, who spends the first half of the night talking to the Capitol team and to journalists, accepting claps on the back and handshakes and congratulations, watching out of the corner of his eye as Tara collects business cards and phone numbers on his behalf. It’s all good news, Niall knows that, but it’s making him itchy and antsy, standing here doing this while his friends and family mingle around him, dancing, laughing, throwing back shots and raising pints. He wants to be with them, too. 

He escapes near midnight, when the execs have gone home and Tara’s disappeared with some guy who went to uni with Deo. Part of him wants to take a few seconds alone just to breathe, but he’s not willing to risk it, sure that someone will come up and interrupt if they see him alone. Being with Isla is better, anyway, than being alone.

He finds her with the Mullingar crew, no surprise. Mully’s got one arm slung over Mia’s shoulders and the other slung over Isla’s, and the sight of it makes Niall’s heart do a few flips in his chest, a smile rise on his face.

‘Something you need to tell me?’ He asks, sidling up to the group and gently touching Isla’s lower back. She’s beaming when she turns to him, and very, very drunk. 

‘I’m her surrogate fella,’ says Mully, stupid smile on his face. ‘Her real one fecked off to make business deals.’

‘How’d everything go?’ Isla interrupts, shrugging Mully’s arm off her shoulder and leaning into Niall instead. He feels a rush of pride in his chest, as if there had ever been anything to worry about. 

‘Really well, I think,’ Niall drops a kiss to Isla’s hair. ‘But I don’t wanna talk about work shite anymore. Shall I get us drinks?’

‘I’ll come with you,’ she says, smiling. ‘Anything to escape these eejits.’

Their friends shout after them as they walk away, Niall’s arm fitting comfortably around Isla’s waist. She drops her head onto his shoulder and the butterflies don’t let up—he doesn’t think they ever will, no matter how long he and Isla stay together. He loves this: walking through a crowd of people with his hands on her, her body pressed up against his. He likes that everyone in this room knows they belong to each other. 

It makes him itch for more of this, more moments and places where they can be open, together. But Niall’s seen what going public with relationships does for people like him. He swallows the idea, tells himself he’s not thinking straight. He’ll let Isla make the decision when she’s ready. 

At the bar he gets a Guinness for himself, and another vodka coke for Isla. They find a quiet spot near a window and this is all Niall wanted, he thinks—just some time with his girl, alone, before he has to face the rest of the world again. 

‘How do you feel?’ Isla asks around her straw, already deep into the drink. This is so typically her, piss drunk and still asking how everyone else is doing. ‘You were fucking brilliant. I fucking cried. Like, a lot.’

‘Did ya?’ Niall wishes he had his eyes open during Flicker, all of a sudden. He hates the idea of Isla crying without him. ‘I was that bad?’

‘Fuck off,’ she giggles, reaching up to cup his cheek. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

He grasps her wrist, pulls her hand around so he can press his lips to her palm, a gentle kiss. ‘Love you,’ he tells her. ‘This wouldn’t have happened without you. Thank you.’

‘It would’ve,’ Isla whispers, barely audible over the loud music, the roar of people talking. ‘You would be just as talented without me.’

‘No,’ he shakes his head. ‘All this is you. I wouldn’t have even auditioned without you, let alone written an entire album.’

‘Ah, you would’ve found someone else to inspire your angst.’

‘No,’ Niall repeats himself, trying to convey just how serious he is through his voice. ‘It’s only ever been you.’

Isla doesn’t fight him, just runs her thumb over the outline of his lips, over his dusting of stubble. ‘Colm is here,’ she says eventually. ‘He came up to talk to me earlier.’

‘What?’ Niall feels a strangely specific tightening in his chest, one he hasn’t felt since secondary school. ‘How did he get in? I didn’t invite him.’

‘Came with Nicky as his plus one.’

‘For fuck’s sake, I’ll kill the bastard.’

‘S’alright,’ Isla soothes. ‘It’s been ages. Was weird, though. He asked me if I was happy with you, if I was okay with being kept a secret.’

‘He what?’ It kind of feels like the only word Niall can say right now. 

‘I dunno, it really was weird. He was saying how I shouldn’t settle, how I deserve someone who doesn’t feel like he has to keep me a secret because he’s ashamed of me. I know he talks shite but, like, what a weird thing to say for no reason,’ Isla sips her drink, not quite meeting Niall’s eye.

‘He’s a fucking idiot bastard,’ is what Niall manages to get out, corners of his vision clouding with anger. ‘Just wanted to make you feel like shite one last time, and that was the best he could come up with. Petal, I’m so sorry, I wish you told me right away. Would’ve had him kicked out that second, but I’ll do it now, let me call Bas and—’

‘It’s okay, Niall,’ Isla touches his chest gently. ‘It won’t do any good to make him angry. I don’t even know why I told you it just… I’ve been thinking about it, is all.’

‘About what?’

‘What he said,’ says Isla softly, stirring what’s left of her drink with her straw. 

‘Do you feel that way?’ Niall asks, bile rising in his chest. ‘Like I’m ashamed of you? Because that’s the furthest from the truth, Isla, I—’

‘No,’ she shakes her head quick, cuts him off. ‘But I know, like. I know that I don’t fit in. With your work friends and stuff.’

‘What are you talking about, yes you—’

‘I’m not, like, a model or anything. I’m not talented or stunning or charming or cool, like that. I know I’d make a tit of myself if you took me to any of your work events, and I know that, like, publicity-wise there are better choices for you in terms of a girlfriend.’

‘Isla��’

‘I just don’t want you to feel pressure, like?’ Isla still won’t look at him. ‘I love you so much, but if I’m not the right fit for your job—’

‘Isla,’ Niall raises his voice just enough to get her to look up at him, brown eyes wide, wet, sad enough to snap his fucking heart. ‘I don’t want you to think like this. I don’t want anyone but you—I’m never going to want anyone but you ever again. Every time I had someone who wasn’t you I was thinking about you, for fuck’s sake. Christ, if you knew the number of times I almost said your name while I was in bed with someone else… it’s fucking embarrassing. You’re drunk, petal, and I don’t want to have this conversation right now,’ he brings his hand up to cup her cheek now, hoping she can feel just how much he loves her this way. ‘But I want to carry it on in the morning, when you’re sober. Is that okay?’

Isla nods, swallows thick and closes her eyes for a second. Niall waits. He’ll wait as long as she needs him to. 

When she does open her eyes, it’s like she was never upset in the first place. ‘You thought of me while you were fucking someone else?’ she asks, bringing her drink up to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the straw. It’s amazing, how quickly Niall feels a rush of heat through his body.

‘Every single time,’ he tells her honestly. ‘Listen, I’m gonna go find Bas and get McAnderson kicked out of here. But after that, I think I made you a promise earlier today that I’d like to keep?’

####

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[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 26)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2662

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, the marine biologist is here, I want to take him to the tent,” Rossi said. “Luke, go get Masuka,” he ordered. 

Luke nodded, muttered an acknowledgement, and dashed off. 

“As for you two kids, I want you to go ahead and get me a list of marinas in the area, that way when they get a hit, we can go immediately.” 

“On it,” Spence replied. You to started to walk toward the bull pen to collect a map, and pins or markers but suddenly Luke was dashing back in. 

“Ugh,” he groaned, putting the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“Luke? What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“The bodies… The tent. The garbage men must’ve knocked the dumpster into the AC unit. The victims… they aren’t in tact anymore.” 

A sense of relief washed over you. You wanted to turn and look at Dexter, to signal a thank you, but you refrained. Clever, clever. You really should stop underestimating him. 

“Oh my god. That’s horrible,” Spencer said. “So what about the marine biologist? Can he do his work?” 

“We’ll see. Most of the algae was on the rocks. We think he weighed the bags down with rocks from his marina. Rossi had me put the rocks in a separate fridge, inside the tent. It still had power so I think it’s okay. I don’t think the heat would’ve gotten to it. Good thing he thought ahead, huh?” he asked with a smile before patting Spencer’s arm and walking off. 

Your face whipped to your husband’s immediately. 

“They stored the rocks separately?” you whisper-shouted. “So that was for nothing?” 

“Well, at least the victims aren’t as intact…” 

“Who cares? The victims weren’t telling us anything. Son of a bitch.” 

“Look, it’s fine. Maybe he won’t turn anything up,” he offered. 

You tried to let it go while you two worked on a list of all of the possible marinas. 

Around 2 PM, Dex stood in the doorway of the conference room, leaning in. “You two wanna grab some lunch?” he asked casually, but you could hear the faintest, most undetected current of panic in his tone. 

You turned to Spence before confirming, asking with your eyes if he wanted to go. Spencer seemed indifferent so you nodded and said, “Sure.” You stood up from the desk, told Rossi and Luke you’d be back soon and left with Dexter. No one said much of anything until you got to a nice outside restaurant. 

“Finally, an ocean breeze,” you stated, soaking up the warmth and cool air. 

“Yeah, it’s a hot one. Especially since it’s summer…” Dex noted. 

“So are we not going to talk about the fact that your plan didn’t work?” Spencer asked, his sunglasses on, but you could see he was throwing daggers at Dexter under the dark lenses. 

“What are you talking about? I destroyed the AC. There should be nothing left for the algae,” he countered, confused. 

“Except there is. The algae was from rocks you picked up, not the bags. Our boss told our team member to store the rocks in a separate place. You didn’t think to check that?” he pressed, leaning forward.

“You didn’t think to ask? I risked everything to sneak in last night.” 

“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?” Spence snapped. 

“Guys,” you interjected. “For one, cool it. Listening ears, remember? Secondly, none of us knew the rocks got moved. We didn’t even know it was the rocks. Masuka never mentioned it. It was just algae.” 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Dexter noted. “Tracing it to one marina won’t matter.” 

“Why not?” you asked, frowning. 

“Because I’m not the only boat there. They’d have to find me doing something suspicious.” 

“Well if you move your boat it’ll be suspicious.” 

“Maybe not,” he said with a thoughtful look on his face. 

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

A week seemed to fly by and the marine biologist came back with three hits - and Coral Cove was on the list. 

Fuck. 

“Alright, who wants to take each one?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take Coral Cove,” you volunteered.

Spence took one, and Luke took the last. The three of you set out to canvass the area and look for any clues. You were already aware of the clues at this dock: dark, secluded, crappy security, no rental booths. It was ideal for Dexter to do his work. 

Still, you played the part of an agent and walked up and down the dock, taking in everything. You made new mental notes as if you were seeing the space for the first time, and would report everything to Rossi. The catch 22 of this was you couldn’t hold anything back because of how good an agent you were. At the same time, the more information you fed your team and Miami PD, the more they closed in on Dexter. 

You got back to the precinct before Spencer did, but Luke was already back and giving all the info he could. 

Debra suddenly spoke up. “We could check with rental companies and run the dates boats were rented against the dates some of our vics went missing.” 

“Good idea,” you encouraged, knowing absolutely nothing would show up. “Okay, so I did Coral Cove. It’s dark, only a few light posts. No security at all. It’s pretty private.”

“Coral Cove? That’s where half the force puts their boats,” Batista stated. “Yeah it’s the only place they can still afford.” 

All you did was half shrug. “However, there isn’t a rental boot there, Morgan, sorry,” you said, turning back to Debra. “But I’d still run the others. I doubt our unsub would do his dirty work out where cops are.”

“That would be risky,” Rossi agreed. “But he’s been bold enough to abduct some of these people in broad daylight. Let’s not rule it out. I want a log of everyone who keeps their boats at all these docks.” 

Luke and Debra dashed off to get the logs while you stayed behind in the conference room. 

“What if we put security cams up at the docks?” Batista suggested.

“Then we run the risk of never seeing the unsub again. He’ll spook and move his boat,” you tried, hoping they’d shut the idea down. 

“Well, if anyone does move their boat, I mean that’s kind of a red flag. But we might catch this guy doing something weird, right?” Batista replied. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I think we should do it,” you agreed, nodding, meanwhile dying a little inside. There was no winning this one. If you fought the cameras too much, it’d set off alarms. But with the cameras up there, who knows what they’d catch. All you could do was warn him not to do anything suspicious for a while. 

When the room seemed to disperse with their new tasks, you tried to casually go to Dexter’s office. The good thing was nearly everyone on both teams knew you and Dexter were close, so spending a lot of time together in and outside work wouldn’t raise too many flags. You just didn’t want to do it too often. 

“So,” you began, dragging the word out as you got in his office. You closed the door behind you and leaned on it, your hands behind your back. “They’re installing security cams at your dock,” you informed. 

“What? Why?” he asked, dropping his task and turning to you. 

“The algae was traced back to three marinas, yours being one of them.” 

“Well, then I need to go clean my boat,” he slightly argued. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you not hear a word I just said? You can’t. If you do anything but drive the damned thing, it’ll look off.” 

“And if they find trace evidence of blood and DNA on my boat, I’ll really be fucked,” he said with a sarcastic smile. 

You crossed your arms. “Okay, fuckface,” you began, giving him an exasperated expression. One a tired mother might give her rebellious teen. “You could always drive the boat out to the ocean and clean it there.” 

“Won’t they see the cleaning supplies, and luminol, and black light and be suspicious?” he asked, pressing your idea. 

“Not if we both go. Hide everything in a tackle box and grab some fishing poles. We go way out, and clean. It’s not that suspicious to clean it in the middle of the ocean,” you tried. 

“And by we, you mean the three of us. Your husband who hates me to help cover evidence--”

“Spence will not be coming. It’d be best if he stayed behind and worked on the case,” you interjected quickly. “Plus I haven’t gotten any time alone with you. I miss our nights together,” you said, with a soft smile. 

“What part?” he asked with a coy grin. 

You glared at him. “The part where we drank beer and shot the shit.” 

He appeared thoughtful for a moment before smiling up at you and saying, “Alright. Yeah, I suppose it’d be fun. We’ll clean the boat and go fishing.” 

“Sounds good,” you cheered before skipping out of his office. 

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

“So how has he been doing this?” Luke asked as all of you sat at the conference room table, eating dinner. 

“Doing what?” Batastia responded.

“Abducting them,” he clarified. “I know he took some delinquents, but he also took some people that weren’t low risk.” 

“He’s either strong enough to subdue them,” Rossi started.

“Or he has a ruse,” Debra added. “You know, like Bundy, maybe?” 

“Or he knocks them out some other way,” another detective offered. “Like a sedative.” 

Jesus, was it hot in here or was it just the heat closing in on you and Dexter? 

“Let’s get the ME reports,” Rossi suggested. “Maybe we missed something. See if he checked for toxins or drugs in the body, or any sort of bludgeoning on the head.” 

Spencer jumped up. “On it.” 

He stepped out to head to the ME’s office and the rest of you kept spitballing ideas until he called. 

He called Rossi and then Rossi put him on speaker. “Hey, guys. I’ve got the ME on the phone.” 

“Hey there, so I found something unusual,” he noted. “I was going back through my notes of your bodies, trying to find evidence of sedation or how they were being taken -- I did find Etorphine in their system.” 

“And that’s unusual, why?” Rossi asked, his eyes touching on everyone around the table.

“Well, other than being a heavy dosage, nothing. It’s a strong sedative. That’s not what was confusing me.” 

“Well, do tell,” Batista encouraged. 

“The three newest victims, the ones that were dead the least amount of time -- they had rough cuts on them.” 

“What do you mean?” Luke pressed. 

“Well so the first fifteen, a knife penetrated their chest, one quick movement. No hesitation, and it goes deep. These other three had hesitation marks, and they barely went in compared to the others. The severing on the ends of the limbs wasn’t as clean.” 

Everyone frowned - you included. Fuck - this ME was good. 

“So what do you think that means?” Batista asked. 

“No idea. Unless this guy got unsure about what he was doing, these last three bodies weren’t his victims.” 

At that, Spencer said that was all the ME had and that he’d be back to the station with the reports. The phone call ended and everyone continued theorizing.

“But how could we have a copycat before we even discovered the bodies?” Debra asked. 

“What if it’s not a copycat?” Rossi suggested. “What if… it’s a partner?” 

“It could be, but why would he suddenly take up a partner?” you asked. Being silent for too long started to look bad when you were the star profiler. 

“It does seem strange. He’s killed fifteen people and just now decided to let his partner do the killing? Most of the time they bring them in earlier,” Rossi agreed. 

“Unless they couldn’t find someone,” Debra tried. 

“Nah, I think it’s something else,” Luke noted. “If you were thinking you were cleaning up the streets… Who would you teach that to?” he pressed. 

Everyone seemed stumped so you threw out a bogus answer. “What about a son, or a sibling? Maybe the guy is getting older, or their kid just came of the age. They figure they should show them the ropes, have them take over the legacy.” 

Debra sat back. “Holy fuck. A family of serial killers? That’s just fucking great.” 

“It’s a start on the profile though, maybe,” Rossi encouraged. “Let’s see if we can get Garcia to fish out any possible vigilante types in the area that have family. Y/N, when you were down here, did you have any suspects at all?” your boss directed at you. 

Fighting the hard urge to glance to Dexter, you tossed your pen on the desk before looking up at your boss and saying, “No, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” 

“No problem, let’s see what Garcia can dig up,” Rossi said before dismissing everyone. “Everyone, let’s take a half day tomorrow. We’ve been at this non stop, maybe some distance will help us get some clarity.”

At this everyone got up and gathered their stuff and finished out the day. Spencer showed up after an hour. Silently, you and Spencer went back to your hotel room. Once you were safely inside, you decided to tell Spencer your plans. The half day couldn’t have come soon enough. 

“So, I was thinking of going out on Dexter’s boat with him tomorrow,” you cautiously informed as you dropped your bag on the floor.  

“You’re… I’m sorry, you’re going on a fishing trip while we’re trying to cover up your tracks? Cover evidence you created?” he asked, incredulous. 

“That’s exactly what we are doing. It isn’t some kind of fun outing. Dex needs to clean his boat and we can’t do it with the cameras mounted around there.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“I know you hate it, for some reason. So you can either come along with us for hours, which I know you’ll hate… or you could spend time in Miami with the team.” 

“So that’s it? I either come along and be unhappy and uncomfortable, or I am forced to stay back in the city.” 

You shrugged, losing your patience. “I’m not sure what else you want, Spence. We need to clean his boat.”

“Can’t he do it alone?”

“Yeah but… to be honest, I wanted to spend some time with him. Time that isn’t about this investigation…”

“Oh, sorry, don’t let me interrupt your buddy time with him,” he responded as if he were offended while he got ready for bed. 

You clenched your fist and threw your pajama shirt on the bed as you faced Spencer. “Why do you hate him so much?” you demanded angrily. 

Your husband gave you a look that tore you apart inside, it was as if the answer should be obvious and even asking him to explain himself was a ridiculous request. 

“Why do you not?” he begged breathlessly. Disbelief colored his face. 

You were taken aback by his question. “Well… he’s my friend,” you began, somewhat stammering. 

“Yes, now he is, but a few months ago he would've been another unsub. and now... now we have to pretend to like him..."

“It’s not pretending for me, I really do enjoy his company.” 

He shook his head, disappointment replacing every feature on his expression. He stopped looking at you to busy himself with finishing his nightly routine. His voice got softer as he said, “It’s fine, Y/N, just go do what you have to.” 

You pursed your lips, wanting to make this easier on him somehow. This was exactly what you didn’t want. You were dancing in the line of fire here, but Spence wasn’t even guilty and he was going through the same stress you were. 

You sighed sadly before finishing your own routine and crawling into bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[utanoprince-imagines]

Our Collection

Prompt: Bookstore date with Tokiya

Character(s): Tokiya/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1,098

Warnings: None!

A/N: Hello! I guess the perks of being socially distant in this time is really having more time to write (and to catch up on anime). I hope everyone is doing ok! I may not be able to help much, but if anyone needs a listening ear or someone to talk to I will always be here! Please take care of yourselves!

Anyway this drabble was a bit of a reflection of myself. I also love going to the bookstore and I did actually want to collect all of Agatha Christie’s books but looking at how small my room is now I don’t think it’s going to happen anytime soon :(

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy reading this! Thank you!

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405302

You were nervously standing outside the bookstore, 15 minutes early to the agreed meeting time. You couldn’t help yourself, it was one of your first dates with your boyfriend and it was at one of your favourite places in the world. 

Shortly after, you saw Tokiya heading over your way from a distance. You waved at him with one hand while the other was tightly clutched onto your phone. It was a habit you developed when you got nervous - clutching on to the nearest thing possible. You knew Tokiya for over 6 months, but yet every time you saw him you still had butterflies in your tummy.

Upon seeing you already waiting at the storefront, Tokiya immediately rushed over and apologised for making you wait. You told him it was okay, and that you were the one who was too early. 

“I should have seen it coming” Tokiya chuckled, “the bookstore is your favourite place after all.”

Tokiya seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, before his hand reached to hold your free one. You froze for a bit, before your hand relaxed into his grip. You were still not used to affection after all. 

“I’m sorry, I hope this is okay.” Tokiya said. 

Tokiya had seen you reading in the corner of the music room one day when he was in the agency. It resulted in him stopping in his tracks and staring at you for a while. The way you sat curled up in a chair, holding the book so gently while reading the novel with such a serious look on your face captivated him. 

For the longest time ever, he had always wanted a significant other who would take interest in his reading hobby. Strangely despite his introverted personality, he seemed to attract many outgoing people who preferred to spend their free time going to the cinema or playing at the arcade. Not that he disliked, he occasionally would head down to those places to spend time with his friends too. But there were some times where he would rather spend holed up in his room with a new book he found in the bookstore. He loved indulging himself in new adventures each novel presented and he always wanted to find someone who would do the same with him. 

The following day when Tokiya caught you in the same position again, he decided to approach you. Curiosity got the better of him and he was dying to know you better. 

As he was walking up to you, he pondered in his head how he should even start a conversation without sounding creepy. First of all, he already felt sorry that he was disrupting your reading time. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” He started, successfully catching your attention. 

You looked up from your book and nearly had a heart attack when you saw who was talking to you. You had always been a huge fan of Starish, and Tokiya was your favourite member. 

You immediately bookmarked the page and closed the book, standing up to greet him properly. Did he say he was sorry for disturbing me? More like I’m sorry for having taken up his valuable time for coming to talk to me. You thought.

Tokiya mentioned that he saw you in the same place yesterday, and asked you what book you were reading that got you so absorbed. A light tint painted your cheeks when you realised you didn’t notice him peeking into the room. You passed him your book, which was revealed to be “The Picture of Dorian Gray”.

A classic. Tokiya thought.

You introduced yourself as a student studying composition and mentioned a couple of songs you wrote so far. A moment of realisation came upon Tokiya as he recalled the rumours of there being a composer who often incorporated literary references in the pieces. Upon hearing that, he had been dying to meet you. 

“I’m glad I met you today, I hope we get along well.” Tokiya smiled.

Long story short that was how the two of you met and began dating.

The bookstore the two of you were at was one of the largest in the country. It housed pretty much every book published, and in a variety of languages too. You simply loved trips to the bookstores, and you loved reading as much. When you were younger, your parents would often leave you in the bookstore while they went around the mall to run their errands, and everytime they came back, they would find you huddled in a corner silently flipping through a novel. 

Your friends often asked you why you kept buying the physical book instead of just reading it online, since it was a cheaper option. Somehow, you couldn’t explain it, you just loved the smell of newly bought books and the way your fingers glided along the pages. To you, it was therapeutic. 

Walking through the bookstore, you led your boyfriend towards the crime section. Tokiya shot you a peculiar look, he had never heard you wanting to read that genre of books. 

“I figured that I would try something new today.” You started, scanning through the shelves before pulling a book out and showing it to the male. “Crime novels have always intrigued me but I never really took the time to read any cause it felt like I was using too much brain power.” You finished, pulling another book off from the shelf. 

A smile crept onto Tokiya’s face, seeing how you were rapidly pulling books from the shelves made him happy, and very much in love with you. 

“Agatha Christie’s a pretty good author in this genre right?” Tokiya asked, to which you nodded.

“Someday I strive to have her entire collection of books, and I wanna display them in my house.”

You placed your chosen books in a basket. “I think I’ll start with these for today.”

“Only three books?” 

“Yeah, let’s start small.”

Tokiya paused for a moment, before reaching over to pull out a couple more of the author’s books from the shelf and adding them to your pile.

“If you’re going to build a collection of her books, let me contribute too. Besides, that’s more books for the two of us to read together right?” He said.

After looking around the store for a while more, the two of you headed to the counter to pay, before walking towards the dinner place.

“So… where should we go for our next date?” Tokiya asked.

“The library?” You replied, earning a laugh from your boyfriend as he nodded his head. 

[lordsister]

I Might Like You (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

A/N: So I just graduated from high school and I actually have the time to read and write now. Isn’t that crazy? I have so much I need to write.*rubs hands together*

I do not own My Hero Academia or any of its characters.

"Out of my way, extra!" Wincing at the sharp shove to your shoulder, you bit your lip to hold back the retort on your tongue. Nothing but pain and harsh glares would result from talking back to Bakugou Katsuki, a lesson you had learned early in life.

The ash blonde didn't even have the decency to spare you a glance as he stormed by you, set on doing god knows what. It wasn't like you and he had known each other practically your entire lives. No, not at all.

For as long as you could remember, Bakugou had treated you just as badly as Izuku, if not worse. You had no idea what you had ever done to deserve his hostility, but the explosive male seemed resolved to hate you forever.

Hurrying in his footsteps, Kirishima sent you an apologetic look over his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. This was just another day. You weren't going to let Bakugou get to you.

Little did you know of the piercing red eyes that watched your every move, a rare conflict hidden in their ruby depths.

He hated you. No. Hate was too soft a word. He loathed you. With every fiber of his being. Why? He didn't quite know, but ever since you were kids something about you made him feel...off. Too warm and like his stomach was roiling.

He felt weak whenever you were around, and that was unacceptable. He was going to be the number one hero. He couldn't afford to be weak.

So he kept you as far away as possible, channeling every bit of disgust he could into harsh words and rough treatment in an effort to drive you off, and that was exactly how he intended to keep it, despite his traitorous heart urging him to do otherwise.

Blowing a lock of hair out of your face, you tried to concentrate on the worksheet laid out on the desk before you, blocking out the sounds of conversation around you. You could probably get it done later if you really wanted to, but you just wanted to be done with it. One less thing for to worry about tonight when you had other homework to get done.

You were almost finished when a blur of yellow appeared in the edge of your vision, a certain pikachu look alike asking, "Whatcha doin'?"

Smiling, you looked up at Kaminari hovering over you. "Finishing the worksheet Aizawa-sensei gave us."

Though a lot of people found Kaminari annoying, you actually enjoyed his company, even going so far as to spend time with him outside of school working on schoolwork or just hanging out. He definitely wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, but he was kind to you and never failed to make you smile, unlike another blonde classmate whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to torment you whenever you came within a ten foot radius of him.

"Couldn't you finish it at home? You're so smart, I'm sure you could get it done in no time."

"That's exactly why I'm doing it now. So I don't have to spend time on it tonight."

"In that case..." Kaminari slid into the chair in front of you, striking a jokingly suggestive look. "Wanna make out later?" You raised an eyebrow at the same time that he noticed his mistake, eyes widening and his mouth opening and closing a few times before he managed to say, "No! I mean, do you want to hang out, not make out! That's not what I-! I mean you're beautiful, but-"

"Are you kidding? Who would ever want to make out with an extra like her?" a familiar abrasive voice scoffed from behind you. Biting your lip in a grimace, you turned in your chair to face your aggressor, meeting his glare with one of your own. Bakugou lifted a brow, a mocking smile spreading across his face. "What? You got a problem? You can't tell me I'm not right."

He moved closer, standing mere inches away as his eyes narrowed. "You're a weak, stupid try-hard who would never be anyone's first choice." His gaze shifted to Kaminari and he growled, "I'm surprised you would stoop so low, pikachu," but you barely heard him, barely saw him, as the blood rushed in your ears and your vision blurred.

The world went out of focus and you didn't realize what you'd done until you registered the stinging sensation in your hand a few seconds later and saw Bakugou's head snap to the side, red eyes wide with surprise and a red mark rapidly forming on his cheek. Faintly, you were aware of the classroom falling silent, a collective gasp hanging in the air.

You had slapped him. You had slapped Bakugou Katsuki. And you didn't care what he did to you in response.

"Why do you have to be so awful?" you whispered, voice shaking. "Why do you feel the need to torment me more than anyone else?" Tears of frustration and hurt slipped down your cheeks. "You call yourself a hero, but you're a villain to me."

With that you slipped past him and out of the room, grateful when Uraraka followed you, a comforting arm draping across your shoulders and her hand holding yours. Directing you outside and away from any curious onlookers, the other girl sat you down on a bench and held you against her as you cried into her shoulder.

"Why does he have to be such a dick?" you whimpered, hands fisting in your lap.

Uraraka sighed, rubbing soothing circles into your back. "I guess that's just the way he is."

"But he hates me more than anyone else! I don't even know what I did to make him hate me!"

She didn't say anything, distracted by footsteps signaling the approach of another. For a moment you thought it was Bakugou come to collect punishment for hitting him, but when you looked up you saw that it was only Kirishima, looking a little uncertain of whether he should be there or not. "Hey (y/n), is now a good time to talk?"

"Are you here to scold me for lashing out at him?" It came out harsher than you intended and Kirishima lifted his hands.

"No, not at all! Bakugou totally deserved all of that, but...I do think we need to talk about...whatever this is between you and him."

Uraraka shot you a look clearly asking if it was okay to leave you alone and you nodded, giving her hand a squeeze. Kirishima took her place on the bench as she got up and walked away, glancing over her shoulder at you a couple of times for good measure.

The red-head next to you released a long, slow breath before speaking. "So...Bakugou's really bad with feelings."

You snorted. "You could say that again. He's been like that since we were kids."

Kirishima was silent for a moment. "Why do you think he treats you more harshly than anyone else?"

"Probably because he hates me."

"I think it's because you make him weak."

Your head snapped to level Kirishima with an incredulous stare. "What? I make him weak? What do you mean?"

"I know it sounds crazy but hear me out. Bakugou hates weakness more than anything. Now imagine if there was a person who actually managed to become a point of weakness or vulnerability or something for him. Mix that with how bad he is when it comes to feelings and he would-"

"Try to keep that person as far away as possible," you finished, gaze shifting to your feet. "So you think I'm a point of weakness for Bakugou?"

"Well, yeah. Basically."

"You didn't know whether to laugh or seriously question how well Kirishima actually knew Bakugou. "All this time, he treated me so badly...because of that?!" You jumped to your feet, beginning to pace as your voice rose. "That's no excuse! I never did anything to him, and he treated me like dirt because he couldn't handle his feelings?! You have to be kidding me!"

"It's just a hunch. I could be wrong," Kirishima pointed out, shoulders scrunching up in an attempt to make himself look smaller as you turned on him.

"It can't be true!"

"It's true," a new voice interrupted. You spun around to find the very subject of your conversation standing on the edge of the courtyard, hands shoved in his pockets and a sour expression on his face.

You were aware of Kirishima standing up behind you, coming to stand at your shoulder. "Bakugou-"

"You make me feel weak and I hate it," the blonde continued, ignoring his best friend as he started to advance on you. "Ever since we were kids, being around you has made me feel weird and wrong." He came to a stop inches away from you, staring you down, and you thought you caught a glimpse of conflict in his eyes. "I treated you the way I did for so long because I can't stand the way I feel when I'm around you and I don't regret any of it. I can't afford to feel weak. Ever."

You opened your mouth to respond, to yell at him, scream at him, but he continued before you could get a single word out. "Today though, after you called me a villain..." Something shifted in his gaze, an emotion you couldn't place entering his angry, red eyes. "I don't want you to think of me like that." His eyes turned away from yours and you could see him worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. "I don't want you to hate me."

You didn't realize you had started crying again until you spoke, your voice angry and unsteady. "Then don't be so horrible to me all the damn time!" You took a step closer to him. "Don't act like you hate me if you don't want me to hate you!"

You gasped as strong arms wrapped around you, pulling your stunned figure into a warm chest. The hug was tentative, unsure, and a little awkward, but you had to admit there was something nice about it too. His arms didn't seem to know how to hold you properly, one stiffly wrapped around your shoulders while the other held your waist, but there was nothing hateful or spiteful about the gesture.

In his own clumsy way, Bakugou was genuinely trying to comfort you.

"I don't hate you, so stop crying okay?" he muttered gruffly. He said something else under his breath, but when you looked up to question him, he refused to look at you. "I'll try not to-" He unclenched his jaw and started again. "I'll try to treat you better, so...so don't hate me, okay?"

You sniffled and lifted your arms to return his embrace. What he'd done still hurt and you weren't quite ready to forgive him after so many years of mistreatment, but at that moment all you wanted was to be held and comforted. Just like this. "Okay."

You didn't know if you would ever admit it to him, but you heard what he'd let slip seconds before.

"I might actually like you."

And you hoped, despite yourself, that he meant it.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

i don’t wanna break your heart (i just want a brand new start) - ONE-SHOT

Months after things go horribly wrong with Ben, Rey plans to spend what was supposed to be her first holiday season as a married woman sick, miserable, and alone instead.

Enter Finn and Poe, completely unwilling to let their friend go through with that plan and completely willing to go behind her back to make sure it doesn’t pan out.

Also enter Ben, with a ton of apologies, homemade chicken noodle soup, and every intention of taking care of his ex-fiancée.

This December, I'll be writing a collection of one-shots for the holiday season. Gift Fic #1 is a modern AU getting-back-together for Twitter's @ft_shipper, who writes some truly beautiful tweet fics that are 11/10 worth checking out. 

Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter or Ko-fi?

“Peanut, you awake?”

Hidden under a mountain of blankets as she is, it takes Rey a while to make out Finn’s question. “Still alive,” she croaks back, and whines when he begins to tug at the covers. At least he has the decency to keep her curtains shut, so that she isn’t blinded by what little sunlight they’ve been blessed with this winter morning when he finally pulls away the last of her blankets to find her.

She can’t be a pretty sight, because Finn grimaces before a cool hand presses against her forehead. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own? It’s not too late for me to cancel, Poe can deal with his family on his own–”

It takes more effort than she’d like to bring one hand up and bat Finn’s away, every single part of her weak and sore with fever, but she’s not about to let him know that. “Finn, stop babying me and just go already. You love Christmas with the Damerons more than Poe does,” she reminds him.

“I do,” Finn shrugs, “but I love you more than Christmas. And Rey, I think if we threw you out into the snow right now you’d burn right through all of it. At least let us bring you to the hospital first, I’m sure Shara won’t mind us being late–”

Rey steels herself and uses one last burst of strength to yank the covers out of Finn’s hands and back over her head. “I’ll be fine,” she calls out through a yawn. “Now go before you make me get out of bed and kick you out of this apartment.”

She picks up on indecipherable grumbling even through the four layers that separate her from Finn, but eventually he relents with a heavy sigh and a pat on her shoulder. “Just… call me if you need me, okay? Promise me, peanut.”

His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away, maybe even underwater, as sleep drags her back under. Rey has one last fuzzy memory of giving in to Finn’s request, but she’s asleep again before he can say anything else.

A series of insistent knocks on their front door wakes her up just a few minutes later, though. It has to be Finn again, doubling back for something he’d forgotten. Probably his keys, since he’s knocking on his own door, but then how would he have locked the door in the first place?

“Oh,” Rey mutters to herself as she finally pokes her head out from underneath the covers. Thin beams of weak winter sunlight have snuck in through the cracks in her curtains, which means it’s definitely been more than a few minutes since Finn left, which means it’s definitely not Finn at the–

“Rey!”

Yeah, there’s that theory proven right. The voice calling out for her from the other side of the front door is barely audible here in her bedroom, but she can hear just well enough to know that it’s not Finn. He must’ve asked one of their other friends to stop by and check on her, but who’s still in town on Christmas Eve?

It’s a masculine voice; that much becomes clear when the call comes a second time as she slowly drags herself out of bed and across the small apartment. She’s making good progress, until he speaks again for a third time just as she’s passed the kitchen, just as she’s finally close enough to realize–

“Rey?”

The voice sounds suspiciously like… It can’t be, but there’s no way she’s wrong, no way she’s forgotten his voice this quickly, no way she’ll ever forget it. But why would he of all people be knocking on her door at – Rey squints at the novelty clock hanging above the front door – seven minutes past noon on Christmas Eve?

“Fever,” Rey reminds herself out loud, cursing her body for wreaking havoc on her senses and her heart like this. It’s probably just one of their many other guy friends, doing Finn and Poe a favor. Nodding to herself in approval of her theory, Rey finds the strength to continue her slow journey toward the front door and cautiously crack it open to see who her mystery visitor is…

… only to find that her fever-addled brain was right all along.

He’s got one hand up in the air, as if he’d been about to let loose another round of knocks, and his fourth attempt to call for her leaves him like a gentle exhale as they catch each other’s eyes.

“Rey.”

She, on the other hand, is too stunned to say anything in return. Because there, on the other side of her apartment door, stands Ben Solo – ex-fiancé and partner of five years, person who should have been her husband of two months and one week by now, man who broke her heart six months ago instead.

Seconds or minutes or hours pass – enough time for the shock to wear off and exhaustion to sweep back into her system. She clutches at the door a little tighter for support, and watches the way Ben’s eyes dart away from hers to observe the movement with a slight frown.

It’s enough to spur him into motion, apparently, because he lifts his other hand to reveal a lunch bag. “I brought soup,” he says quietly, his first words to her since the day he let her walk out of his life.

Rey thinks of asking him what the hell he’s doing here, what the fuck he thinks he’s doing waltzing back into her life like this.

She thinks of slamming the door in that stupid face she’s missed so much and ignoring his unwanted presence until he leaves her alone again.

She thinks of undoing months of so-called healing to rip open all of her wounds and resume that fight they never really settled, the one she’d chosen to walk away from instead.

But the thing is… Rey grew tired of fighting Ben Solo a long time ago. Maybe that’s why they ended up like this, why they ended at all. And that thought, more than the fever, more than anything else, drains her of what little fight she’d had in her to begin with.

So she opens the door with a sigh, and steps aside to let him back into her life.

❄ ❄ ❄

On an unusually sunny late October morning, Rey finds herself admiring the way beams of sunlight set the diamonds of her engagement ring ablaze and create little rainbows in their wake. Odd, how something she’s had for less than twelve hours can feel so much like a part of her already, so right.

A heavy arm slings itself around her middle as Ben rolls onto his side, pressing his face into her thigh. She tears her eyes away from the ring to shoot him a fond smile, running her free hand through his hair as he slowly blinks awake and peers up at her.

“Why’re you up?” Ben mumbles, warm lips brushing against her bare skin.

Rey shrugs and slides back down into bed so that he can hold her properly. “Too excited to sleep, I guess. I’ve just realized something, by the way.”

He’s fully awake now, a slow, lazy smile stretching across his face as he reaches for her left hand and draws it closer so that they can both admire the heirloom ring he’d slid onto her finger just last night, the ring he later admitted he’d been carrying around since their first anniversary three years ago. “What is it?” Ben asks softly, bringing her hand up to his lips to brush a feather-light kiss across her palm before he lets go.

“Weddings,” Rey tells him as she moves to mimic him, the both of them resting on their sides and facing each other. She tips her head back to give him a quick kiss before adding, “We’ve never talked about weddings. Do you have any idea what you want?”

Ben shrugs, but he’s still wearing that lazy smile and his eyes are bright too, lit up from within and without as more sunlight pours into their bedroom. “I want whatever you want.”

And that has to be the standard answer, the easiest answer for grooms who’d like as little involvement in planning their own wedding as possible, but somehow Rey knows that’s not why Ben is saying it. That’s never why he’s happy to go along with her plans for everything, even though he tends to have grander ideas for anniversary dates and summer vacations and dinner parties; he just really, really wants her to have everything she wants, and trusts that he’ll be happy so long as she’s happy. It’s worked out for them so far, but if a wedding is meant to set the tone for the marriage it gives birth to, then Rey doesn’t want them to do their usual thing this time around.

Her marriage to Ben will be one of the most important things in her life, Rey already knows, and she wants them to start it off the right way, as a team. “I don’t really know what I want,” she claims, a half-truth at worst; she’s entertained the odd daydream here and there in her four years with Ben, but it’s true that she hasn’t really decided on anything yet. “What about you? Did little Ben ever imagine what his big day would be like?”

She means to tease, to joke, but after a moment Ben furrows his brows in concentration and Rey suddenly finds herself eager for a real answer.

“I didn’t… I mean, I never gave much thought to the colors and the cake and all that stuff, but… I was three when my parents got married, remember?”

Of course she does; the highlight of her first visit to his parents’ place had been Leia breaking out the wedding album to show her adorable pictures of little ring-bearer Ben. There’s even a fuzzy old VHS of Ben toddling down the aisle with one hand carefully balancing a small pillow and the other clutching at his Uncle Luke for balance, tiny face scrunched in concentration as he kept his eyes on the rings he’d been tasked with.

“I don’t remember much, but I know there were a lot of people, so many people I’d never even seen before and haven’t seen since. And I just… I don’t know. That doesn’t seem right to me, that my parents – my mom – had all of these people who didn’t even really matter at their wedding, people who probably didn’t even really care about them or their happiness and were only there out of some sense of obligation. So I guess the one thing I’d want is to keep it meaningful, you know?” he asks, reaching out to tuck a few stray locks of bedhead behind Rey’s ear. “If this is about celebrating our love, then I only want to be surrounded by people who genuinely care for us and are happy for us. Something small, just close friends and family.”

A small wedding, coincidentally, happens to be the common thread running across all of her varying wedding fantasies. Rey rests her hand over the one slung around her waist, and laces their fingers together before giving Ben a small squeeze.

“That sounds perfect,” she tells him with a smile, and so it’s decided that they’ll surround themselves with love and only love on the day of their wedding.

❄ ❄ ❄

Ten minutes after she lets Ben back into her life, Rey finds herself leaning against her kitchen doorway and watching him from a safe distance as he makes himself comfortable in her kitchen and uses her stove to warm up his soup and goes through her cabinets for bowls and spoons. Well – her and Finn’s kitchen and stove and bowls and spoons, all of which Ben probably remembers from the numerous times Finn had them over for dinner throughout the course of their relationship.

A small part of her is irritated at how easily he navigates her space, but a bigger part just aches at the familiar sight of him putting together a meal for her. The soup is homemade from Leia’s secret family recipe – the one she’d made Ben teach her the first time he got sick during their relationship; the one that had become a staple in their shared household, a secret form of communication whenever one of them felt that the other was working too hard or needed more rest. She honestly can’t remember how many times they’ve made this exact soup for each other, and now she’s watching Ben heat it up and ladle it into two bowls for them while she tries to come to terms with the fact that her ex-fiancé is apparently here to play nurse and spend Christmas Eve with her.

She’s still struggling to make her peace with the idea when Ben finally turns around and sets two bowls down on the kitchen island-slash-dining table, and then looks across the room to give her a pleading look.

“Fine,” Rey huffs as she slumps into the closest bar stool and drags one bowl toward her. From the corner of her eye she can see Ben settling down and pulling his soup closer as well, but Rey doesn’t look up. It’s for the best, really, given that tears start welling in her eyes as soon as the familiar taste of the soup invokes dozens of cherished memories and reminds her of what she’s lost, of what he’s denied the both of them–

But that’s a dangerous path to tread in her mind, one that will only lead to more tears, and so Rey defaults to the mantra that’s kept her together since the day she turned her back on him: better mad than sad.

With that in mind, she decides to break their silence. “I’m surprised Snoke doesn’t have you slaving away on Christmas Eve this year,” Rey says through gritted teeth, barely suppressing the snarl that that name naturally draws from her.

Ben, to her surprise, merely shrugs and continues focusing on his soup. “I’m sure he’d like that, but I’ve made it clear that I don’t really give a fuck what he wants outside of office hours,” he says so calmly, so casually, as if this doesn’t change everything.

Rey, meanwhile, has to try really hard to keep her spoon from splashing into her soup. Her hand shakes as she takes a few careful sips to buy herself some time, blinking and processing and weighing potential replies until she finally settles on a relatively harmless one. “Good for you,” she mutters, just loud enough to be heard across the kitchen island.

For the longest time, the kitchen is filled with nothing but the too-loud sounds of her spoon accidentally scraping against the bowl a little too hard as she tries to put up an unaffected front. It’s only when Rey pushes her bowl away that she realizes Ben stopped moving a while ago, that Ben’s been watching her this whole time.

When she finally finds the strength to look up at him, he’s staring at her with the most heartbreaking look she’s ever seen on him, his eyes reminding her of pictures she’s seen of his childhood dog and its sad, pleading eyes during big holiday meals.

Still holding eye contact, Ben murmurs, “I wish I’d done it earlier.”

And Rey… god, Rey wants nothing more than for him to have done so too, for them to be able to go back in time and shake some sense into past Ben before he ruined everything and broke her heart and destroyed their future.

But she never gets what she wants, not really. The piles of unsent wedding invitations gathering dust under her bed are evidence enough. So instead of getting her hopes up, instead of giving him the power to break her all over again…

Instead of all that, Rey abruptly gets up with an ugly, painful scrape of her chair against the floor and turns her back on Ben as she makes her way out of the kitchen.

It’s oddly reminiscent of the last time she’d walked out on him, damning silence and quiet resignation and all. The thought weighs her down, stops her by the doorway.

“Yeah,” Rey sighs without turning back, “me too.”

She disappears into her room before Ben can say something in return – or worse, not say anything at all.

❄ ❄ ❄

According to Leia’s expert advice, it’s only polite to send save-the-dates six months in advance, especially since some of their friends and family will have to fly in for the wedding.

And so, a rainy April evening finds Rey and Ben and multiple versions of their potential guest list sprawled out across their living room in an attempt to finalize at least this one aspect of their wedding planning.

“Babe,” Rey speaks up with a slight frown as she comes upon a series of names that don’t ring a single bell. “Exactly how many Naberrie relatives are we expecting, and why do all of them have different last names?”

“Hmm?” Ben hums in acknowledgement, looking up from his own list of her guests. In a last-ditch attempt to trim the list down to their original idea of fifty or less, they’ve taken to scrutinizing each other’s guests to identify potential exclusions. “Wait, let me see that.”

He reaches out for the list, but Rey – sprawled out on her stomach with her legs crossed at her knees and her feet comfortably swinging in the air – decides to roll closer instead and face-plant into his lap. It feels unbearably silly, but at least it draws an increasingly rare laugh out of Ben. She doesn’t get to hear that precious sound much these days, not with Ben as overworked and tired as he is from all of those long nights and weekend meetings he keeps getting roped into.

Besides, she’s planning her wedding with the love of her life – Rey figures she’s allowed to feel silly and light and maybe even a little bit fluttery.

“Oh, those aren’t the Naberries,” Ben tells her as one hand instinctively moves to the back of her head to comb through her hair. “They’re some of our biggest clients and a few potential ones too, so Snoke figured it’d be a good idea to invite them.”

And just like that, all feelings of the silly, light, and fluttery variety vanish into thin air.

“Ben,” she groans, though it’s muffled by his tee shirt. “I thought we agreed on no work guests?”

They had, just two weeks ago when Rey first noticed their guest list had somehow ballooned from a manageable fifty-seven to a rather alarming ninety-nine. It’s why she’s crossed out a bunch of her colleagues, and has allowed Ben to mark several more for reconsideration.

He’s still running his hand through her hair, but it’s not as soothing anymore. “I know, sweetheart, but Snoke really thinks–”

Rey drags herself into an upright position so that she can look Ben in the eye when she scowls, crosses her arms, and says, “Well, if Snoke has such strong wedding guest list opinions, maybe he should save them for a wedding of his own.”

To her dismay, Ben simply laughs at the idea rather than take note of her irritation. “It’ll be okay, Rey, I promise. It’s only thirty people at most–”

“Thirty?” she echoes with horror. “Ben, we’re trying to trim this back down to fifty. Thirty is more than half of that!”

“About that,” he hedges, setting the list down to give her his full attention. “I was thinking… maybe we keep the fifty quota for friends and family, and just count these thirty separately?”

She reaches for the list Ben’s just set down, along with all of the others marked as his guests, and takes a good hard look at them only to realize… “Ben, more than half of your guests are people from work. I thought we wanted something small and intimate?”

“Small went out the window the second you agreed to let my mother invite our entire family, Rey,” he tells her wryly, snatching the papers out of her hands. “Besides, what difference does it really make? It’s still just going to be you and me up there, we’ll just need more chairs at the ceremony and more food at the reception–”

The idea of being surrounded by strangers at her own wedding reception was bad enough, but the ceremony? Ben intends to have complete strangers bear witness to the most intimate moment of their lives?

Rey can’t believe what she’s hearing, what she’s seeing. How is this the same Ben who promised her the wedding of her dreams, the same Ben who hated his parents’ wedding despite barely remembering it? How is this still her Ben, when he consistently sides with and picks Snoke over her these days?

“This isn’t even a wedding anymore,” she snaps, more harshly than she’d intended or even realized herself to be capable of. But the more she thinks of it… “It’s a fucking networking event, Ben. And I’ve been to enough of those to know that I’m not spending my wedding surrounded by strangers and alone in a corner while you and your boss make the rounds.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ben’s eyes soften, and for one beautiful, golden moment Rey thinks she’s finally gotten through to him, finally made him see sense, finally snatched him back from the jaws of that slimy old bastard. “C’mere,” he mumbles, holding his arms open. “That’s not going to happen, I swear. I won’t leave you alone like that.”

She’s just about to fall into his arms when he ruins it all. “It’s our wedding, Rey. We’ll make the rounds together.”

The world comes to a stop, and then crashes.

Rey yanks herself back and stumbles to her feet instead, ignoring Ben’s open arms and questioning look as she picks her way through the mess of papers scattered around them. “I’m going to bed,” she tosses over her shoulder as she storms out of the living room. “We can talk about this again when you get your priorities straight.”

In the morning, Ben’s already left for work by the time she wakes and she can’t tell if he spent all night working on the guest list or if he simply chose to sleep on the couch. But when she finds the updated list still cluttered with twenty of Snoke’s guests, she’s just angry enough to not care either way.

❄ ❄ ❄

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Rey can hear the sounds of Ben moving about in the kitchen, cleaning up after them and putting away the dishes. When the apartment finally falls silent, she squeezes her eyes shut and tells herself this is it, this is the moment he packs up and leaves without even a goodbye–

But then he shuffles past her slightly-ajar door, and not two minutes later she hears him turn on the TV and settle into Finn’s creaky old couch.

It looks like he’s planning to stay for a while, then – which is more than she could say of him during their last few months together, Rey grudgingly reminds herself. She’s spent too much time since that day wondering if maybe she’d overreacted, if things had still been manageable or salvageable, only to remember how awful it had been to feel alone around the one person who’d promised her she’d never be alone again. And sure, she’s lonely now too, lonelier than ever before maybe, but somehow it doesn’t hurt as bad, knowing that she’s choosing to be lonely rather than allowing herself to be forgotten and abandoned again while Ben slaves away at work.

Only… he doesn’t do that anymore, it seems.

With a cry of frustration, Rey puts an end to her thoughts going in circles by reaching for her phone for the first time since she was so rudely woken up by her unexpected ghost of Christmas past. She scoffs when she finds a flurry of texts from Finn and a handful from Poe as well, the earliest of which is timestamped just ten minutes after they were supposed to leave the apartment.

Finn: Okay, please don’t kill me but

Finn: It’s Christmas, peanut. I couldn’t let you spend it sick AND alone

Finn: Also Poe maaaybe still meets up with him sometimes and maaaybe let it slip that you aren’t feeling well and we won’t be around for a few days

Poe: IT WASN'T MY IDEA

Finn: And… I have to be honest, peanut

Finn: We all know how much you’re hurting

Finn: And Poe says he’s hurting too

Finn: Enough that the both of us thought maybe…

Poe: Okay fine maybe it was, but it’s a shared idea.

Poe: With Finn.

Poe: He needs to take AT LEAST 50% of the blame

Finn: Anyway that’s not the point

Finn: Just… please let him help? For me

Finn: I’m just worried about you, that’s all

Finn: We can talk about the rest when I get back

Finn: Love you, peanut

Rey… god, Rey doesn’t know what to feel or think or say. She knows they mean well, knows they only acted out of love and concern for her, but… a little warning would have been nice. And what were they even thinking, letting Ben ambush her like that? Oh sure, she believes he’s been hurting too, isn’t so blinded by anger or her own pain that she’d deny him his, but he was the one who ruined everything, he was the one who picked Snoke over her, who watched her walk away without even trying to stop her, who gave up after barely two weeks of trying to call and text and communicate through their friends.

Ben has known all along exactly what he needed to do to fix things, and it’s still taken him six months to do so. Even if he were to quit his job and tell Snoke to go shove his head up his ass, it would be too little, too late at this point… right?

“Don’t even think about it,” she mutters out loud, forcing herself to concentrate on the here and now instead of what could have been and what could be. The here and now is Finn’s desperate, pleading, well-intentioned texts waiting for a reply, a reply that Rey decides she’s not quite up to giving him just yet. She’s too soft-hearted to snap at him, but too hurt and betrayed to let him off the hook just yet. Besides, she doesn’t want to be held accountable for whatever she says in her feverish state.

So Rey does what any other person in need of a distraction would do: she scrolls through Instagram and likes a bunch of photos of all her friends spending the holidays with loved ones. And when that’s done, she goes through her messages and writes back to a dozen holiday wishes. And when those are handled, she taps on the Facebook app in an act of sheer boredom and desperation… and promptly regrets it.

Because the first thing she sees is Facebook’s oh-so-helpful reminder that exactly one year ago today, she’d posted a picture of her and Ben spending their first Christmas Eve together as an engaged couple.

Her phone is sent sailing across the bed, landing on her pillow with a thankfully soft thump. Rey pulls her knees up to her chest and curls into herself, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths until the moment has passed, until her tears recede, until the white-hot pain fades back into the constant, dull ache she’s grown used to.

And then, like the masochist she is, she reaches under her bed for a photo album.

❄ ❄ ❄

With only four months left before the wedding and everyone’s schedule growing increasingly packed due to a variety of work and personal commitments, the wedding party takes to having the occasional marathon planning session at Leia’s place, during which they typically knock a good chunk of planning and preparations out in one afternoon.

Their second marathon session revolves around the venue, and Leia starts by happily announcing that they’ve indeed managed to secure the Amidala Gazebo and its surroundings for October 17th. Despite the fact that the entire botanical garden itself is named and was built in honor of Ben’s grandmother, it’s popular enough that Leia had to pull some strings to make this happen. Now that it’s a done deal though, everyone is smiling and clapping and cheering in celebration – everyone except Ben.

“Ben?” Re calls quietly, hoping not to attract attention from the others. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” He makes the mistake of speaking at a normal volume, and suddenly the room falls silent as everyone turns to the two of them. “Does it have to be October 17th?” Ben asks the room at large, only to be met with blank looks.

It would make for a funny sight, especially since even Poe seems to have been shocked into silence, but Rey can’t quite pause to appreciate the moment as a familiar wave of dread begins to swell. “I mean…” she begins calmly, evenly, trying her best to give Ben the benefit of the doubt even though a part of her already knows. “Since that’s the date we told everyone to save, I’d say yes, it does?”

“It’s just,” Ben stops and darts his gaze to his left, and that’s when Rey realizes he’s had his phone right next to him all along, keeping tabs on work even on a Sunday, even as she sits right next to him trying to get his opinion on lighting options for the venue.

The wave of dread pulls Rey under, ushering in a familiar sinking sensation in her stomach that threatens to turn into nausea. “It’s just, Pryde is flying in that weekend for a meeting, and Snoke has me running point on the…” Ben trails off, finally reading the room or maybe catching sight of the stricken look Rey knows she’s wearing.

He reaches for her hand and gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, forget it. Don’t worry about it, I’ll just get everything done in the morning and then rush over. The ceremony starts at four, right?”

And the worst part is, he actually looks like he’s trying his best, actually looks like he thinks this is okay.

Rey snatches her hand back while everyone else remains deadly silent.

“Rey?” Ben asks, the smile on his face faltering.

She takes a deep breath. “Are you seriously telling me,” Rey says quietly, biting off each word with deadly precision, “that you intend to go to work on the day of our wedding?”

“It’s just a half-day, sweetheart,” he says, and someone – Finn, maybe, or Poe – sucks in a sharp breath at him doubling down on this. Neither of them turn to see who it is, though, trapped together in a brewing storm that separates them from the others. “Don’t worry, I’ll be on time, maybe even fifteen minutes early–”

So he’s planning to leave her and his family and her friends to manage his work guests while he’s off handling even more work, and then waltz in maybe fifteen minutes before their wedding, and then spend the evening networking with clients.

“I’m done,” Rey announces as she stands up, looking around to see everyone else graciously pretending to be staring at their phones or their hands or their laps. “I’m fucking done,” she decides, and walks away.

“Rey!” Ben calls after her, and promptly gives chase. “Sweetheart, calm down, we can talk about this, I know weddings are stressful but–”

She whirls around so fast she nearly knocks into him, hot on her heels. “Not the wedding,” she snaps, because how is it possible that he still can’t see what’s happening here, what he’s doing to them?

What he’s already done to them, Rey realizes with a wave of quiet resignation as everything comes crashing down on her, every cancelled date and lonely night and entire weeks away at a time when they should be closer than ever–

“Not the wedding, Ben,” she says again, softer this time, though she can’t tell if her voice is calm or just small, weak, broken at the thought that… that… “Everything. All of it. I’m just… I’m done, Ben.”

And even after everything, she takes no pleasure in seeing the hurt she’s been carrying around on the inside for months finally reflected in his eyes.

“Rey…” he whispers, taking a step back as if her words have him reeling. The way he’s looking at her… god, it’s like she’s just taken a knife to his heart.

She wavers then, just for a moment, tells herself that maybe it’s not too late, maybe now he’ll finally understand what a mess they’ve gotten themselves into and work with her to fix it–

Their moment of silence is broken not by an offer of peace, but the Imperial March. It’s coming from Ben’s phone, which she realizes now is in his pocket, which he’d found the time to pick up even in his haste to go after her, which even now he automatically reaches for before he realizes what he’s doing just in time to stop.

The ominous tune plays on, Snoke’s custom ringtone for summoning his loyal servant.

Rey would know; she was the one to set it. She sees the way Ben’s fingers twitch, the way his entire frame is tense with the need, the instinct to respond to Snoke’s call, and gives him a small, sad smile. “I’ve been telling you for months to get your priorities straight,” she reminds him gently, too tired to summon any real energy or fight within her, too sad to wrestle with what she already knows is a predetermined outcome. “Moment of truth, Ben.”

The music finally stops then… only to start again seconds later. And this time, the siren call proves too strong for Ben to overcome. “Just a minute, Rey,” he pleads, looking her in the eye even as he pulls his phone out. “It’ll be just a minute, sweetheart, I’ll tell him to call back later–”

She’s already walking away.

“Rey, wait, Rey!”

And she doesn’t turn back to see if he follows, doesn’t even need to. Because the music stops and his voice replaces it almost immediately.

“Sir, I’m sorry but now is not a good– Oh. I understand. Yes, I’ll be there right away–”

The first wave of tears hit her then, as he lets her walk away without a fight, as he picks someone else over her again and again and again.

“What the fuck, man?” she hears Finn growl even as Ben continues to placate his boss rather than her, and seconds later her best friend is the one who comes after her, who drives her away, who lets her cry on his shoulder in the botanical garden where she and Ben will no longer be getting married.

❄ ❄ ❄

“Rey, can I get you more–”

It’s her fault, really, for not shutting the door. She’d just wanted to be able to keep tabs on him, to know what he was doing and when he was leaving, and so Rey had pushed the door almost all of the way closed instead of shutting and locking it behind her like she should have.

Now it swings open under Ben’s fist, only to reveal her curled up in bed with tear-streaked cheeks as she relives the better parts of their relationship.

The album had been an engagement gift from Leia, filled with candids their friends and family had taken over the years, instances when their love had shined so brightly the people around them were compelled to capture the moment in time.

“Rey,” Ben sighs once he realizes what he’s looking at, and she’s getting so sick of hearing him say her name in that pained voice when once upon a time he only ever said her name with a smile. He rocks forward almost instinctively, stops and slows himself down to hesitantly move closer as she admits in a defeated whisper–

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben.”

He stops cold, five feet of distance between them yet so much more. “I’m sorry,” Ben says, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have– I knew coming here wouldn’t change things, I’m not here to pressure you into anything, I swear, I just… I just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you to spend the holidays alone–”

“You left me alone a long time ago,” Rey points out – not accusatorily, not angrily, simply… a statement of fact, gentled by her resignation and acceptance and old hurt. He still flinches though, as if after all these months it’s somehow news to him that he broke his promise.

“All the times I had to show up to our friends’ places on my own because Snoke called you in,” she points out, because he deserves to know what he did wrong, because he needs to know what he did wrong if they’re– Rey stops there, doesn’t let her silly hopes get ahead of herself. “All the nights our bed was too big and too cold without you while you worked late. All the days I spent alone in the home we were supposed to share. Ben, you promised–”

She hadn’t planned on breaking down like this, hadn’t expected those memories to still hold so much power over her long after they’d done their damage. But her voice breaks, and her vision blurs, and a single sob rips past her lips as Ben closes the distance between them to pull her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, if I could do it all again, if I could change everything so that I never hurt you–”

Rey shakes her head, long past the stage of if and maybe, long past dwelling in circles and hypotheticals and daydreams. There’s no going back, she sees that now, but maybe, just maybe… there could be a way forward.

“I just…” She wipes away her tears and takes a deep breath, looks him in the eye when she asks, “I just want to know why, Ben. Why did you choose work over me? Why wasn’t I enough?”

And he knows, he knows exactly what it means for her to have to ask that, exactly what it means for him to have made her feel that way, because in the blink of an eye Ben is crying too. “Rey, no. You’re… you’ve always been enough, sweetheart. Always. Fuck, you’re more than enough, you’re too good for me, always have been. I’m just this huge fucking disaster of a human being with nothing to offer you, but I thought maybe… maybe if I made something of myself, maybe if I worked hard enough so I could give you everything… then maybe, maybe I would finally be good enough for you.”

Rey doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream at the fact that they’ve wasted all this time, gone through all this hurt, just because… god, they really are perfect for each other, aren’t they, the two lonely, broken kids forever thinking they aren’t worthy of each other, forever worrying that they’re not enough?

“Ben,” she says and laughs and cries, “Ben, you idiot.”

He freezes. “What?”

“You idiot,” Rey says again, and can’t hide the odd mix of despair and affection in her voice this time. “You’ve always been enough for me. You filled my life with love, you gave me a home, you promised me a future and a family. Ben, you already gave me everything I ever wanted.”

Ben stares at her for the longest moment, blinking at her like she’s just told him the earth is flat. “You… but I… that would mean…”

“You were enough,” she tells him with a nod. “That was enough, Ben.”

She watches as he closes his eyes, as realization gives way to regret gives way to grief gives way to…

When Ben opens his eyes, there’s the slightest spark of hope in them. “Rey, do you think maybe… I mean, would you… Could it be enough again? Just us?” he asks haltingly, hesitantly.

After months of waking up in tears in this very bed, chasing after dreams so cruelly ripped away, it takes Rey a moment to realize that they’ve actually found their way to this point. A moment’s pause, though, is all it takes for Ben’s eyes to grow dull again as he lets her go and stands to leave. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… I don’t deserve a second chance, I know–”

Rey panics and reaches for his hand, yanks him back to her with what little strength she can muster from her heavy limbs. “I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” she tells him again, and watches as the fog in his eyes finally lifts. “I can’t be apart from you anymore. And that doesn’t mean I’ve completely forgiven you, doesn’t mean I’m not still sad and hurt and mad, but… but…”

But she’d rather be sad and hurt and mad with him than on her own, rather cry into his shoulder than her pillow, rather fix what they broke together than forge a new path alone.

And somehow, Ben sees that. “Rey,” he says, clutching both her hands as he drops down to his knees. “Sweetheart, I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But you deserve absolutely everything in life, and if you let me I’ll spend the rest of our lives giving you anything you want.”

His plea reminds her so much of his proposal, of his promise to give her everything in the world. But she’d never wanted everything, had she?

Rey hadn’t known the difference then but she knows better now, knows what they need to move forward. “All I want,” she tells Ben carefully, pointedly, “is you and us and our life together. That’s all I want, Ben. Nothing else.”

“Then that’s what you’ll have,” Ben promises her, all earnest eyes and sincere words, “and nothing else.”

It’s a good enough restart, Rey supposes, to a story that was never supposed to end anyway. “Good,” she says with a grin, and watches as a smile lights up his face. “Now get up here,” she commands with a tug at his hands, “because everything hurts too much for me to get down to you.”

The smile falls off Ben’s face immediately. “Wait, shit, I should’ve asked– are you on cold meds? Is this all for real, or should we talk again later, or–”

“Still an idiot,” Rey mutters with a smile as she leans down to silence him with a kiss.

“Your idiot, though,” Ben whispers between kisses, and all feels right with the world again.

. . .

Just a little past sunrise on December 27th, Finn and Poe cautiously tiptoe into their darkened apartment in the hopes of avoiding Rey’s wrath. Judging from the lack of communication they’ve had with both Rey and Ben in the past few days, their plan might not have worked out as well as they’d hoped.

Finn can only hope Rey will forgive them for their meddling before the year is up.

As terrified of his best friend as he is, he still makes a dutiful stop by her room to make sure that her fever really has broken as Ben had claimed in his single Christmas Day text to Poe. He cautiously twists her doorknob, slowly eases the creaky door open, and blinks a few times to make sure that his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Poe whispers into his ear as he sneaks up on him, and Finn can only smile in response as a sleeping Rey shifts in Ben’s arms, the two of them still dozing with slight smiles on their faces as the winter sunlight bounces off a familiar ring on Rey’s finger.