#the moment i picked up the pen with the intend to draw him i was like 'fuck.'

[sheeshiki]

if villain, why fun to talk to

[taesanluv3r]

forever muse

han taesan x reader

i needed to write something tht's target audience is me bcs ive been so so sad and need to feel better. friends to lovers <3 insecure and jealous taesan TT mentions of other idols as their classmates. cuss words, lowercase intended, ignore any spelling mistakes/grammatical errors! enjoyy :3

wc: 3,387

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"yn, this is crazy good! thank you so much"

kim leehan shoots yn ln a big smile, his hands holding onto a framed drawing of himself. it had been the kim boy's birthday and yn had gifted him one of her infamous hand-drawn portraits. it was a gift she gave to everyone on their special day, something she could whip up the night before and simply put inside of a wooden frame she picked up at her local art supply store. by the end of the year, almost every one of her classmates had received one. everyone except for her own best-friend, han taesan.

he doesn't understand why, watching with envious eyes as she stroked the loose ends of her hair behind her ear, grinning at the other guy's compliments. he couldn't help but notice the way the skin beside her lips dipped into dimples when she smiled, or the way her cheeks stained a shade of red darker than the cool-toned pink blush she had put on that day. a billion thoughts ran through his mind in that moment. it was his own birthday just two months ago, yet all he got from her was a card and a new sweater- which, granted, was the really nice sweater he'd been eyeing for a while and he was really thankful for it but still! couldn't she had taken the time out of her day to draw him the way she did others? was it cause he wasn't as pretty as the girls in their class? or maybe he just wasn't as handsome as leehan! or maybe she didn't care for him as much as he thought she did, maybe she just didn't want to waste her time and the ink of pen on him because maybe he just wasn't worth all of it and-

"taesan! you there?" the familiar female voice interrupts his rapid train of thoughts, his eyes widening slightly and his back straightening up. "huh? sorry, did you say something?" the boy asks and yn snickers, sitting down on her desk beside his. "no, don't worry about it. just wondering what you were zoning out about, that's all" he nods at her words, "it's nothing...i take it mister kim 'popular' leehan liked your little gift?" the obvious blush on her cheeks made his stomach turn, watching as she stared at the boy across the room from them. taesan rolled his eyes before she turned to look at him again. "i guess he did" yn smirked, a prideful look displayed against the features of her face. "well good for you" he replies, though his voice came off somewhat thicker and colder than it usually was. that, paired with the way he slammed his book shut and got up from his seat, left the girl confused by his sudden mood change.

"hey, where you going?" she asked, looking up curiously at his tall figure. he just shrugged, "i don't know, just gonna take a walk or something" the girl laughs, finding her friend's mysteriousness rather silly. "want me to come?" her eyebrows cocked up as she inquired, head tilted off slightly to the side. he shook his head, a single sentence escaping his pursed lips before he was out the door,

"i wanna be alone"

he disappeared into the distance, leaving his best-friend alone with the thoughts that began to swim into her brain. strange, she thought. the han taesan she knew was rarely ever this way- especially to her. sure, he looked mean and mysterious but even then he was never this cold. what's up with him?

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the bell had gone off and their last period of the day had started, yet the desk beside yn's remained empty. taesan hadn't returned from his walk. it worried the girl a little, her mind coming up with a thousand scenarios, unable to focus on whatever piece of the great depression her history teacher was trying to teach to the group of seniors. the girl's gaze moved towards the window that was starting to get wet from the sudden droplets of rain that had fallen from the sky. hope he doesn't get caught in the rain...he might get sick, she thought, wherever he is...

as soon as the class ended, the girl stuffed all her belongings into her bag, not really caring for the creases that might fold onto her textbooks. as she's about to leave the classroom, a voice stops her. "yo, yn! me and some of the others are gonna head to the froyo place...come with?" leehan smiles cheerfully at her, his perfect hair and his perfect teeth complimenting his perfect face, but the girl shakes her head. "sorry, leehan, i have something important to do. have fun though! happy birthday, again- bye!" she didn't even give the boy enough time to process her words before she was running out the door.

the girl skips through the whole school building in the speed of light, her eyebrows knitted together when she can't find a single trace of her friend. yn stands on the steps at the back exit of the campus, groaning when she can't find an umbrella amidst the rain that began to grow heavier. she sighs, swinging her backpack over her head, deciding to make a run for it. her feet take her to the entrance of the art building that was separated from the main one of the academy, her make-shift backpack-umbrella proving to be useless as she spots her wet hair through the reflection on the glass doors. yn ln pushes on it, her damp shoes making contact with the white marble floors and she entered the cool building. if i can't find him here...where else would he be?

she begins to walk up the staircase, a sense of comfort engulfing her body at the familiar scent of her favourite area in the whole school. her fingers graze softly over the collection of canvases displayed on the walls, a smile making its way onto her lips when she spots a piece of art of her own. it's odd, but the girl seemed to have felt a presence when she arrived at the second floor, his presence.

the smell of acrylic paint mixed with melted hot-glue entered into her nostrils, causing her to wince at the intensity of the scent. a minute goes by and she finds herself entering the empty art room at the very end of the hall, it was the art room she self-proclaimed as her own, one that nobody apart from her ever really used. her hand presses softly against the door, a creaking noise alerting anyone that happened to be inside- though it was rare, she just knew he'd be in there. as expected, the girl walks in and is immediately met with his familiar figure sat on the floor. his head titled upwards to look out the window, his knees to his chest and his hands resting on them. yn sighs in relief when she noticed that despite the rain he remained completely dry, like he'd been here the entire time when she was worried he'd wandered off elsewhere.

"i've been looking for you...even got rained on" her voice is sweet, like she just knew he wouldn't be up for her usual enthusiasm. han taesan didn't look at her, paying her no mind as he continued to examine the droplets that pitter-pattered onto the glass windows from outside. this confused the girl, the same way he did when he abruptly got up and out of the classroom hours ago, the same way he did when his words came out so coldly earlier. "what's wrong with you today?" she asked, starting to get annoyed at her friend's ignorance. he scoffs, "today?" he repeated, eyebrows furrowing as he turned to look at her at last.

"what's wrong with me everyday?"

his words take her by surprise, as did the way his voice cracked and eyes watered slightly as he spoke. it's a sight she'd never seen before. never in the years they've been friends would she have ever imagined she'd see han taesan...cry.

"what...what are you talking about?" yn asked, the empathy in her heart threatening to escape as little tears through her eyes. "it's just...i feel like you don't care about me the way you do others!" the boy's voice is clearer now, almost louder and strict. she's about to say something, but he won't let her. not until he's done. "i mean, sure, i'm not as handsome and popular as leehan. sure, i'm not as smart and punctual as class president jungwon! and maybe i'm just not as cool as hanni and minji- or as funny as haruto-" yn tries to interfere, "what are you even saying-" but even then he doesn't let her. "but i mean, i'm your best-friend, right? i'm the guy you're closest to...so why? why does everyone except for me..." he trails off in frustration, eyes moving from the floor to the ceiling, anywhere that wasn't a direct view of her. of the girl who stared at him with intent, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"why does everyone get a drawing for their birthday and all i get is a sweater and a card?"

the minute those words entered into her ear, a feeling of shock coursed throughout her body. a look of absolute disbelief present on her complexion as she let's out an exasperated sigh. "you're kidding me...right?" taesan fully looks at her again, confused this time. "i'm not" his voice is stern and serious, making the girl realize the weight of the situation. her features soften, a small smile returning to her lips as she looked into his teary eyes and sweet pout.

"you're so stupid, taesan...of course i care about you! just as much- if not more than anyone else" yn says, a giggle escaping her mouth towards the very end of her sentence. "then how come you never draw me?!" he exclaims slightly, eyebrows knitting together. this time, she fully laughs at his dramatic expression. "are you kidding?!" she asks, the same intensity in her tone. yn sighs before getting up, she fixes the wrinkles on her skirt and stretches an arm out for him to grab. the boy sits still however, only staring at her with eyes that resembled a lost kitty. the girl rolls her eyes, "c'mon! i need to show you something" she sighs once more when he doesn't budge. "fine, stay there. i'll bring it to you"

his eyes trail off to follow her as she rummages through a drawer over on the other side of the art-room. the side he knew she spent most of her free-time sitting in, running her pens and pencils over sheets and sheets of paper. he stares curiously at her when she pulls out a familiar looking sketchbook. yn closes the drawer, walking back towards the boy who was still sitting on the marble floor.

"here, look at this" she says, sitting beside him and handing him the book. taesan looks at her confused, "what? the sketchbook you always have your head in and never let me look through? you're really telling me to look at it? now?" she nods, "mhm! take it or leave it, taesan. this is a once in a lifetime opportunity" he shakes his head at her words but his fingers began to stroke over the leather material of the expensive-looking sketchbook's cover. he used both his hands to softly pry it opened, greeted with her messy scribble-like handwriting on the very first page.

'this book in your hands, the book i always use though if you looked into it you'd be confused flipping through the pages you'd find the same idea overused you'd find that only one person remains my forever muse.'

yn watched the way his eyes scanned over the poem she wrote, the confusion evident on his face as he tried to analyze the riddle-like clause. "your forever muse? if this whole book is a collection of drawings of kim leehan, i really don't want to see it" taesan says, scoffing in the process. the girl furrows her brows, "what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes, "what do you mean? i'm obviously talking about your seriously obvious crush on mister popular!" her mouth falls opened in shock, "you idiot, i do not have a crush on that dork! never!" he chuckles, "you don't have to lie, yn...i understand it if you do...i mean isn't he just so dreamy?" he bats his eyelashes dramatically as he looks up at the roof, mimicking the way most girls thirsted over his popular classmate. she clicks her tongue before placing one nice big slap on the side of his arm. "ow! what was that for?" he whined, rubbing the spot that hurt.

"that's for being a fucking idiot...just look through the fucking sketchbook if you don't believe me!" her words are loud in his ears, a new voice of anger that juxtaposed the sweet tone she used earlier. it freaked the boy out for a second, sensing that he was wrong and obliging to her words. "alright fine...no need to yell" he said, fingers going back to fiddle with the pages of the book that now sat on his lap. he took a deep breath in, as did she, before finally flipping over to the next page. he gasps in shock, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight before him. there, drawn in ink and pencil, the one thing that caused this whole scene to begin with. the thing he'd been longing for that he thought she never cared to make. it was a portrait of himself.

"what...is that me?!" the boy turns to face her in shock, suddenly questioning the reality of this situation. she snickers, "yeah, no shit! and if you could quit yapping and looked through the rest of the book you'd find a thousand more drawings of you" taesan lets out a laugh, wasting no time as he continued to flip through each and every page. yn watched the way the corners of his lips began to point upwards, his smile getting bigger and bigger after every drawing.

soon the ink-stained pages turned into blank ones, yet to be doodled on by the artsy girl. taesan shuts the sketchbook closed, turning to look at his friend with the fondest of eyes. "so you do care about me" he says, his voice sincere and warm. she laughs, "i care about you so so so much, stupid" he giggles, a giddy feeling in his tummy, "i mean obviously you do...a whole book of drawings of me?! you might as well just tell me you're in love with me!" he's laughing still, though he can't help but notice the way she had quieted down. did he say something wrong?

"hey...you okay?" he asks, a hand moving up to press softly against her shoulder. she's frozen, unable to utter a word. "was it something i said?" he continued, tucking bits of her hair away from her face. "what is it, yn? just tell me..." the boy was growing impatient, not really understanding what was going on in that little head of hers. she sighs, looking up at him again. "okay...but you can't be dramatic about it" she says, making him roll his eyes, "when have i ever been dramatic?" the girl glares at him, "taesan" he goes silent, "okay, i'm sorry, just tell me" she nods once, inhaling deeply.

"taesan, i think i kind of really am...in love with you"

han taesan gasps, his eyes as wide as the earth as those very words left her lips. yn watches his shocked expression, beginning to regret everything she just said. "fuck, i'm sorry. i shouldn't have said anything-" her rambling comes to a halt when his gleeful laughs serenade the room, confusing the girl for the millionth time that day. "why are you laughing?" she asked, unsure of what emotion she was supposed to feel. he smiles, "because i'm happy. don't happy people laugh?" his cheeks were dusted with a shade of pink, a similar colour on his lips that smiled warmly at her. "huh?" yn was still lost, everything that he spoke beginning to sound like a foreign language to her.

"i love you too, yn. i always have. i mean, why else would i be jealous of mister popular and all our other classmates?" the boy's words were natural, he spoke like he had no doubts and worries anymore. she looked at him with adoring eyes, eyes that were glossed with a layer of pre-mature tears. "oh don't cry, you idiot!" he said, his ears catching the silent whimper that fell out of her lips. "well then don't make me, stupid!" she whined, slapping him on the chest. taesan giggles again, pulling her into his embrace. "you're such a big baby, yn" he says, his teeth out for display as he grinned into her hair that still smelled of rain. "says the one who was literally about to cry because he thought i didn't care about him" she pushed herself off of his chest, a great big pout present on her lips as she glared at him like a child. he clicked his tongue, "don't look at me like that, yn" she's confused again, "like what?"

"like you want me to kiss you"

yn smiled, "and what if i do?"

the girl moves, getting on her knees and scooting closer to him. he adjusts as well, their faces inches away from each other now. his hands found home over on the sides of her face, her own ones soothing the skin of his neck. they stare at each other for a while, neither one of them making a move. yn gets impatient, one hand moving from the back of his neck down to the red tie beneath the collar of his school uniform. she tugs at it, sending taesan forward and crashing onto her lips. they kissed like they'd never again, an entanglement of tongues filling the otherwise silent room with lustful sounds. she giggles as they separate, gasping for air. their foreheads remained stuck together, her eyes never leaving his. he grins, leaning in to connect their lips once again. it was quick this time, a soft peck followed by about a dozen more.

"you're so handsome, taesan" the girl says, examining his features closely as she traced her finger over each one of them. "even more than leehan?" he asked, the envy still existing in his heart. she rolls her eyes, "a billion times more" the boy raises an eyebrow, "really?" yn looks up at the ceiling, as if she were making a really big decision. "maybe not a billion times more..." taesan frowns, his expression sending her heart to beat faster than a bullet train. "i'm kidding. you're a billion times more handsome than anyone ever" she assures, playing with the ends of his dark hair. "oh yeah?" he smirks, feeling proud again. "i mean duh...you are, after all..." yn trails off, pressing her forehead against his again.

"...my forever muse"

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"yn! so sad we missed you for froyo yesterday" kim leehan says as yn ln enters the classroom. she smiles, "yeah sorry about that, i had somewhere to be..." he nods in understanding before hopping off of the table he sat on and beginning to walk over to her. "that's alright, maybe you can come after school today? it'll just be us though...what do you say?" he had a shit-eating smirk placed onto his lips, confidently winking at the girl. she opens her mouth to answer but a familiar voice enters the classroom, interrupting her before she could even speak.

"the answer is no! and stop perceiving my girlfriend! she does not want you!!"

han taesan glares at the other boy, an annoyed look on his face as he wraps a protective arm over yn's shoulders. the girl sighs, slapping a palm over her forehead when leehan shoots her boyfriend a weirdened out look. the kim guy moves his gaze from the han boy and over to the girl, raising his eyebrows so as to ask for confirmation. she nods slowly,

"sorry leehan, my boyfriend asked me out for froyo today already"

the end.

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writing this made me feel so much better after ive been sad TT hope u guys enjoyed this <3 reblogs n feedbacks r greatly appreciated!! tysm for readinggg! love, kona.

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 2

I think I told someone I was posting Fri??? My bad. I post Thu (Aus time) which might actually be Wed (US time). Regardless, it will be consistent!

Premise: The illicit couple go on their first date.

Words: 2,399

Music Inspirations: Waves - Big Time Rush

~~~Convince Me~~~

               Fabric smooths beneath anxious hands as I peer into the mirror. This isn’t what normally dwells within my closet, but for the sake of concealment, I suppose this suits just fine. It’s honestly far more casual than anything I should ever be caught in. I kind of like it.

               As the day draws to an end and the city begins to settle, a flicker of light catches my eyes from the bed. His impatience is relayed clearly.

               Eyes roll as I return the thing to its hiding place beneath the mattress.

               I shouldn’t go. It’s a terrible idea—and with the prince of another nation to boot. I’ve got to be the biggest fool in all of Twisted Wonderland for even being convinced at all.

               But then I remember those words, sugar-coated venom yet still so sweet. Each sound wove through my thoughts, crafting desire that so easily broke my fealty. He uttered each perfect syllable he needed to lure me into his trap, all while I was aware he was doing so.

               He saw through me the moment we met.

               Even knowing all that, magic reaches for that thread and fingers glide through the air. Black energy traces my movement, spreading through the air to force another space within reach, through which I step.

               Trees rustle against the crimson sky, the looming castle far above with its back to me. A low growl rumbles around another tree.

               “Shoulda known I’d be stood up. Coward.”

               Peering around, I see that tufted tail flicker with annoyance—I almost want to grab it. Instead, I stroll closer.

               “Surely you don’t mean me.”

               The lion whips around with lightning reflexes, his magic pen drawn. That is, until he realizes who sneaked up on him. Harlequin eyes scan me over as if he actually believed his insult.

               “I’ll be damned.”

               A cheeky smile pulls at my lips. “I’m sure you are.”

               “Hilarious,” he scoffs.

               Venturing closer, I glance around. “So what’s this grand date you intend to woo me with?”

               “’Woo’? That’s the word you’re going with?”

               “Is that not what you’re doing?” I raise a brow at him, knowing his truth.

               “That’s definitely not how I would put it.”

               Arms fold. “Then how would you put it?”

               Ears go flat and eyes narrow, knowing he has no better answer. “Shut it.”

               It takes effort not to snort at his response. “Then where are we going?”

               “There’s a decent spot back here to see the stars. Thought it might be good to start your exciting double life with something simple.” Starting off strong attempting to push some buttons.

               “Oh I see. You’re just not trying at all,” I tease.

               He huffs. “What do you want from me?”

               “Well I would’ve at least picked a better location than behind Night Raven College.” My mockery is clear.

               “We’re on an island. It’s not as if I can just take off school whenever I want. I’d prefer not to be held back again.”

               It’s finally my turn to have the upper hand. “Then all you had to do was ask.”

               His scowl quirks to confusion. “What?”

               Raising my hand, I draw through the air, bringing about another portal. Through it lies an endless sea of sand. Leona gives me a scrutinous expression before sticking his head through. Not wanting to stick around much longer, I unceremoniously bump the lion through the door and follow after.

               Stranded in the desert, it’s desolated as far as the eye can see. Yet while the ground seems vastly bleak, accompanied by the painted sky it’s a wondrous view.

               The lion interrupts my musing of the sunset with his sputtering.

               He spits out a mouthful of sand as he stands. “What the hell—” I’m quite fond of the surprise that overtakes his surly expression. “Where are we?”

               “In the middle of the Scalding Sands.”

               “Teleportation magic is one of the hardest magics to use.” The gears are turning, eyes working over me. “That’s a nice necklace you got there.”

               “Thank you.” My fingers graze the magestone.

               “But even that’s not enough to get us all the way here.” A smirk born on his lips infects mine as well. “Unless that’s your unique magic.”

               “Oh you are a clever kitty. It uses quite a bit of magic, but I can teleport to anywhere I’ve been before.”

               This is a whole new game for Leona. “Oh this changes things. Have you ever been to Rafiki Port?”

               It takes me a moment to sift through my memories. “That’s in the Sunset Savana, right?”

               “Yeah, near the northern point. There’s a giant baobab tree in the center of town.”

               “I…passed through there once.”

               A finger points at me. “That’s where I wanna go.”

               I feign indignance. “Well aren’t you bossy.”

               All my confidence goes right out the window as the gap between us closes and my hands are now captive in his. There’s a stutter in my heart at the excitement sparking in his eyes.

               “Trust me.”

               I should be ashamed at sudden weakness in my tone. “Alright.”

               Concentration brings me a thread, a memory of the tree and soon, the surrounding village. Magic flows through my gem, weaving down to the tips of my fingers where I draw another line. That line splits to insert the door that fulfill Leona’s request.

               Like a child in a toy store, he steps through the portal, but pauses. A hand reaches back for me.

               That look on his face almost makes me want to believe in him—like I really am important. I take that offer.

               From the portal we step at the base of the enormous tree that serves as the town’s landmark. What would normally be a bustling tourist trap is just beginning to settle down—shops are beginning to close and people amble between bars and homes in various states of inebriation.

               “Put this on.” Leona’s stripped jacket is wrapped around my shoulders. My brain hitches on the gesture until the hood is yanked over my eyes. “And keep your head down.”

               “Yes, very bossy,” I grumble, shoving my hands through the sleeves. “What’s the plan now?”

               “Just wait here. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

               And he’s gone before I can even voice my concern.

               So here I stand, waiting beneath a tree that dwarfs the town by twice the height, in a foreign nation, head down and trying not to draw attention to myself.

               I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must be the most idiotic person alive to be willingly in this situation. The entirety of Twisted Wonderland is now dangerous territory, for if even a single soul were to see us, that would be the end—for both of us.

               Yet while my mind spirals, warm spice slows the fall. Behind it, sweet citrus and amber sneak through to quell the tumultuous thoughts, all while luring me towards soothing consolation. Compelled to breathe deep, this bliss leaves me numb to my own rationale and intoxicated on a scent unlike anything in Briar Valley. Even the sleeves against my face can’t satiate my sudden addiction.

               Skidding dirt tears me from my new fixation. Behind the wheel of an off-road vehicle sits my date.

               It takes a moment for my senses to register. “Did you just purchase a vehicle?”

               “Borrowed,” he corrects smugly. “Get in.”

               Unfamiliar with vehicles, I slide into the passenger seat. “Is this not where you wanted to take me?”

               “It was as close as I could get ‘cause I doubt you’ve ever been where we’re goin.’”

               “And where’s that?”

               Teeth gleam in that grin. “You’ll see.”

               My eye roll elicits a laugh from the lion. Then his hand lands on my knee, sending a rush of blood into my ears.

               “Settle in. It’ll take us about an hour to get there.”

               “Someplace remote, hm. Not taking me out for something more sinister, are you?”

               “Nah, that would be too much effort.”

               “And this isn’t?”

               “Not with you around.”

               Silly banter fills the time while the scenery ambles by. Safari plains eventually give way to the trees of jungle while the road twists and turns. Then it disappears altogether when Leona turns off the path, heading towards the cliffs that had been overseeing our trip.

               I lean through the window, seeing absolutely no indication of a route. “Are you certain you know where we’re going?”

               “Relax. ‘Sides, if we do end up lost, you can get us out in a heartbeat.”

               “I suppose…”

               Stone walls part for our car, revealing a gap just wide enough for the vehicle to slip through. Foliage quickly thins, sand taking over the dirt. Then it all gives way to the gentle, swaying ocean.

               I have to give it to him, this small, secluded beach is beautiful. Gentle water mirrors the sky dappled in shades of blue and purple, glittering with stars in the moon’s absence. It’s the perfect little place for us to hide away.

               “Leona, it’s—”

               “Hold up. It gets better. Take your shoes off.”

               Again, I’m left speechless at his request, but comply and take his hand when he opens my door.

               Soft sand sifts between my toes, the man leading me towards the water. As we approach, I notice a tint of blue beneath our steps. My gaze shifts back to the water lapping at the beach, leaving behind a soft light lining each wave. At every motion, it glows.

               “What is this?” I whisper.

               “Algae.” With his hand, Leona flicks the water, sending blue lights across the surface. “It washes up once or twice a year. We’re actually pretty lucky.”

               This is like being in a whole other world—far, far away from home.

               “It’s beautiful.”

               “Good.”

               Without warning, water splashes against my face. Recovery from the shock takes a second or two, but I can just make out Leona’s mischievous grin. An inner child gets the better of me as I kick water back at him. I can’t even remember the last time I got to indulge in frivolous antics like this. It’s always about appearances and bringing honor to my future family. But this moment of pure joy feels like the highlight of my entire life—even though it’s late, even though I’m drenched, and even though I shouldn’t be here.

               Another splash of aethereal water falls on the lion before I take off down the beach. Only three or four steps I make when his arms catch me by the waist and drag me in. Captive to his strength, I cling to the man while he carries me to deeper water before ungraciously throwing us both in. Laughter fills my ears as we break the surface, the water now a cool contrast against my burning skin.

               Glowing flecks cling to his skin and hair, their blue hue bringing out the green of his eyes. His happiness has a vice on my heart, dragging me in, but that changes when so does his intention.

               The lion leans closer, his confidence palpable. His eyes are alight with sultry and I’m sure he’d be purring if he could. His warm breath ghosts my skin, stealing away my own. The smallest tilt of his head tells me exactly what he’s about to do next.

               And I want to. I want so badly to feel those smug lips and taste the ocean on his skin. But there’s too much that I know. This is what he’s been working for ever since he gave me that phone. Leona wants one thing and, unfortunately, it’s not me.

               A single finger puts a halt to his advance.

               “Hold on there, Kingscholar,” I say. Rife with disappointment in us both, I keep my voice light.

               That charm flips as his mouth screws in annoyance and an ear flickers.

               “Still playin’ hard to get?” Regaining his charisma, his hand takes mine, pressing seductive kisses to my skin. “You already got my attention.”

               “I know I do.” The hand unoccupied pushes the hair from his face. “But petty jealousy isn’t enough for me to take that risk. The Draconia’s would ruin me if they found out; I’m certain they could even have my head. But right now, I could walk away and claim that this was just a friendly outing—never to see each other again.” Rubbing one of those ears between my fingers just as I wanted, I earn a minor scowl. In return, my nose scrunches at him. “So if you want this to continue, you’re going to have to convince me.”

               “Convince you, huh?” he hums. When he stands, a hand is offered me. “And how would I go about doing that?”

               It’s actually surprising that Leona accepts my gambit. He gives up this chase for another, apparently ready to play the long con. I wasn’t prepared for that.

               “Well, you may first want to reconsider this game of yours if all you want is a petty point. There will be retaliation should anyone find out.” We wander across the sand back towards the vehicle. “But I’m fairly certain you know that, don’t you.”

               His chuckle rumbles. “Course.” A towel from the vehicle is passed into my hands. “I’m always thinkin’ ten steps ahead.”

               Of course he is. Even after just learning of my unique magic, he managed to pull together this incredible outing. On top of his looks, he’s clever and smart and pretty damn lucky.

               So this is where our adventure ends, with Leona cranking up the heater and driving us back to the village to return our borrowed car. I’m keenly aware how comfortable our chatter has become, but even more aware of the warm hand resting on my leg.

               Stepping through my magic back onto campus, he peers around. “So if you can only teleport to where you’ve been before, are you tellin’ me you’ve been in these woods before?”

               “Just once, when the prince first enrolled. The headmage took him on a tour and I was left to wander on my own.”

               His head shakes. “Guess it worked out in my favor.”

               My finger traces his sleeve. “For me as well. I enjoyed tonight.”

               As I draw a final portal home, Leona asks, “So you gonna let me take you out again sometime?”

               I pass through my magic, turning back to grin at the lion.

               “I look forward to seeing you convince me.”

~~~~~

Part 3

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

got possessed by a writing ghost for exactly two pages.

Re: this post.

____________

Stiles wasn't even supposed to be in this part of the preserve. Technically it was Hale land, and normally he would be giving it a wide berth. No sense in drawing the attention of a huge pack while they seemed perfectly content to ignore the witch in town. He didn't need a herd of hall monitors watching his every step.

However, he'd noticed a small patch of plants there, that he'd been unable to find anywhere else in the preserve, and a couple of them were extremely valuable. "Month Long European Vacation” valuable. And he was jonesing for some Swiss chocolate.

So, he didn't see the harm in a little bit of a stealth charm. Just a touch of misdirection magic. He'd slip in and slip out, and the Hales would never need to know.

Or at least, they wouldn't have, had one of them not been face down in the mud next to the plants he wanted.

Stiles mused as he carefully picked and jarred the roots, keeping one eye on the motionless figure. It looked pretty dead. Stiles was still sure the Hales would never know he was here; his spellwork was comprehensive and the rain was washing away any slight evidence his magic might leave behind.

He stood up and tucked the last jar away in his bag, brushing his wet hair away from his face as he considered the lump of werewolf in front of him.

Werewolf teeth could go for a lot with the right buyer.

And a Caribbean vacation could be nice after the European vacation.

He stepped a bit closer, checking out the face. It was beat to hell, and only vaguely familiar. A Hale for sure, but not one that stuck close. Maybe the pack wouldn't even be looking for him.

Stiles gave the body a little kick.

It groaned.

"Fuck," Stiles swore to himself, imaginary money evaporating from his wallet as the not-quite-corpse sluggishly moved.

He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers as he considered. Having a favor to call on from a werewolf pack was it’s own kind of valuable, really. He wasn’t looking for friendship bracelets, but it could be nice to have a one-time call out up his sleeve.

He kicked the werewolf one more time to make sure he was still alive, and was answered with a twitch of the hands, claws flexing in and out for a moment.

“I don’t think those are gonna be a lot of use to you buddy,” Stiles muttered, finally crouching down to put a hand on him, rolling him over to fully assess the situation.

His critical eye noticed the injuries weren’t healing at the usual rate. Alpha inflicted. Damn. The Hales weren’t going to owe him jack shit if he brought back someone they kicked out. Maybe the injuries had been given by an outside Alpha? There was just no way of knowing without asking.

Stiles sighed resignation and reached in his bag for that most magical of cures: epinephrine.

He briefly considered acting out his Pulp Fiction fantasies, but went with the thigh instead. The wolf’s eyes shot open a moment after deploying the pen, growling and snarling, arms and legs not quite under his command yet, but swinging enough for Stiles to quickly stand up and step back.

“Hey,” he shouted over the rain and growls. “HEY. Who half-assed your transformation into a corpse?”

The werewolf snapped his eyes onto Stiles for the first time, half lunging before falling directly back into the ground.

“Alright Mudcakes, you’re not really in a position to be making threats. Tell me who fucked up your shit. Was it your Alpha or another one? If I take you back to your pack are they just going to finish the job?”

“I have no Alpha,” the werewolf snarled, still struggling to move in a direction that might reach Stiles someday.

“Well that answers that I guess,” Stiles muttered to himself. He was soaking wet at this point, and fully ready for the shower he’d been intending to take as soon as he got home. He should really just leave and let the werewolf drama run its course. Not his circus, not his monkeys. Or wolves, in this case.

But… the opportunistic wheels wouldn’t stop turning in the back of his head. Sure there would be no werewolf teeth to sell, and there would be no favor owed from a large pack… but someone from inside the pack with no loyalty to it could also be valuable. Information sold even better than spells sometimes.

The wolf’s movements were slowing already, the epinephrine burning through his blood faster than a human’s.

The wolf would probably be easy enough to control for at least the next few days, given the ratshit state of him. What harm could it do to at least bring him back to the shop for a night? Stiles was sure he’d be grateful, at least.

With the other option being facedown dead in pond mud, how could he be anything but adoringly thankful?

[imagineanime2022]

Young One

Doppo Kunikida X Young!Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 848

Requested: Anon

Request: Hi!!

Do you think you could write a story about Kunikida with his 3-5 year old daughter?

Thank you!

Warning: Mum is dead

Kunikida had known your mother for years before she passed away. When he got the call to say that he was the named carer for the child that they had with them. It took some time to get you settled, with the social services having to make sure that he was living in a safe environment for you and had a steady income, he obviously passed all tests with flying colours.

It was hard at first looking after you when he had no intention of having a child but with the help of the others at the Detective Agency he learned everything that he needed. Junichiro had helped his parents look after Niaomi and remembered some things from when she was little, Kenji was good at keeping you occupied when Kunikida needed to finish his work, Akiko kept a check on your health and Dazai… Dazai held you upside down by your ankle one time, you laughed but Kunikida never let him near you unsupervised again.

Now at the age of 5 you were in pre school and getting on well, Kunikida had noticed that you loved drawing, he wasn’t sure if he had something to do with that considering how much time he spent with his book of ideals in his hand, scribbling down words and conjuring up the things that he could for you. Your drawing skill was far better than any 5 year old that he had seen before, he was able to tell what most things that you drew were with little difficulty.

He watched you as you sat on the floor again with a pencil in hand and an image in your head, he smiled as you little tongue stuck out of the side of your lips in concentration but it turned to surprise when your hand pressed against the paper and the small puppy that you had drawn came bounding off of the paper circling you, he stood and when your eyes caught on his the puppy disappeared in a puddle of ink “What was that?” Kunikida asked. “I have powers just like you daddy!” You cheered, lifting your hands to him and he smiled as he picked you up. “Have you made anything else with your powers?” Kunikida asked, you shook your head “really?” “Choco bars.” You answered. “Chocolate bars, you made chocolate bars?” He asked. “Looks like I will have to make sure that there was no drawing before dinner then.” “No!” You giggled as he squeezed your sides balancing you on his hip. “Looks like we will have to talk Uncle Fukuzawa about this.” Kunikida said before heading into the kitchen to get you a snack before getting your ready to head to the office.

Kunikida left you in the care of Ranpo and Akiko while he talked to Fukuzawa, he explained everything that had happened that afternoon. “This is the first time that you’ve seen her do this?” Fukuzawa asked. “It is.” Kunikida nodded. “It won’t be a problem unless she intends to use it in defence but she’s too young for that.” Fukuzawa explained “she will have to learn, though, both control and self defence.” “I know.” Kunikida nodded. “For now keep her close, we can find a tutor that can teach her everything that she needs to know, so that there’s no accidental revealing of her powers.” Fukuzawa suggested and Kunikida nodded. “We will discuss other precautions when she gets older.”

When Kunikida walked back into the main office he saw you sitting at the desk with a pen and paper as Ranpo showed you one of his favourite snacks “Ranpo what are you doing?” Kunikida asked a slight twitch in his eyebrow. “I’m just seeing the limits of her ability.” Ranpo answered “it seems that she can’t make something that is living permanently but things like food or pens she can make as permanent fixtures in our world.” “What happens to the living things?” Kunikida asked. “It seems that at the moment she can make them and they can interact with the world but only for a set amount of time, it seems at the moment that the most that she can do is 10 minutes without distraction.” Ranpo explained, Kunikida looked over at Dazai who was uncharacteristically quiet. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked. “They’ll look for her.” Dazai said after a second “Mori will find use for a power like that.” “And we will stop him at any chance that we get.” Kunikida said. “I won’t let him get anywhere near her.” “I believe you just don’t do anything stupid for her, she’ll never forgive you.” Dazai said softly as they both watched you giggle at Ranpo. “She’s lost so much already she won’t lose me too.” Kunikida said, walking over to stop Ranpo from feeding you anymore sugar. Dazai watched you all and sighed, he knew that one day that would need to protect you from Mori and the rest, there were some who would not hurt a child but there were so many more that would and he worried about them.

Request Here!!

[weepingfromacedartree]

Ten Milestones: First Pet

Hi friends! The first chapter of my new fic is now ready for anybody interested.

Hope you enjoy! I'll be posting chapters every Friday (and sometimes Tuesday).

Chapter 1: First Pet

Today: April 29th, 2023

Relationship Status: Dating

꙳

“Gregory just texted me to ask if we’re dating. I didn’t think he had my number.” 

“That little arsehole probably sent it to himself when he stole my phone.”

It’s Saturday, 7:02 PM. Penelope and Colin are sitting on the floor of his flat, a few containers of Chinese food littered between them. It’s not a particularly unusual setting to find either one of them in on a Saturday evening. However, some things are different now. 

Two weeks ago, they would not have been playing footsie. Not this shamelessly, at least. 

“I assumed that Eloise’s ‘vow of secrecy’ would involve her immediately telling Benedict… And that Benedict would tell Anthony… And that Anthony would tell Kate… But I don’t know how the rumour managed to spread to Cambridge in…” She glances down to her phone again. “Six hours flat.” 

“‘Rumour?’” Colin echoes, a smirk on his face. “Surely, you’re not trying to keep this sordid love affair hidden from me as well.”

“‘Sordid?’ God, Colin. You make us sound so dirty.” She kicks his foot away, then picks up her container of shrimp fried rice. “And I’m not trying to keep it from anyone. We both knew what was going to happen when I told El.” 

“Frankly, I’m surprised Greg didn’t text you sooner.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope watches as Colin uses his chopsticks to play around with his chicken dish, never actually putting a piece in his mouth. She can tell there’s something brewing in his mind.

“So… What are you gonna tell him?” he eventually asks.

“Well… I was going to leave him in suspense a little while longer. Maybe take the ‘no comment’ approach at first. Then, I don’t know… the truth?”

“Which is?”

Before answering, Penelope takes a moment to study the look on her supposed boyfriend’s face. She wonders if he’s playing dumb as a joke, or if there has been a miscommunication of monumental proportions between them. Judging from the expression on his face alone… 

Neither option seems to be the correct one. 

“Yes?”

She hadn’t intended for her answer to sound like a question, but her voice squeaked upward at the end, nonetheless. Colin doesn’t appear at all phased by her uncertainty, though. He looks quite calm and collected, placing his takeaway container on the coffee table and leaning further into the big blue couch behind him. 

“‘Dating’ is a bit too casual a word for us, I think.” 

“Okay…” Penelope draws those two syllables out as long as her breath allows her. She’s stalling for time, trying to sort out what it is that Colin is getting at. Still, she comes up empty. 

“It’s only been a week. What do you suggest we call —”

“We should get married.” 

“What!?”

He’s joking. He’s teasing. He’s —

“I said we should get married.” 

Before she can yelp out another barely intelligible sound, Penelope bites her tongue. Literally. She watches his face, remaining quiet, waiting for him to expand on this insane, out-of-nowhere proposal. In the end, all she gets is a smug little smirk.

“What do you mean, ‘We should get married?’”

“I thought it was a rather self-explanatory proposition.”

“Col—”

“Why does anyone get married? I love you. I wish to continue loving you forever and ever. Ergo, marriage.” 

“This isn’t funny.” 

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“It —”

“It was a proposal.”

“Colin,” she scolds, using the sternest tone she can manage to muster up — which, at the moment, happens to be about an octave higher than her typical speaking voice. 

If nothing else, at least he has the decency to drop that stupid smirk from his face in response to her apparent anxious state. 

“Pen,” he murmurs, leaning forward to place his left hand on her right knee. “Just think about it. We didn’t meet a week ago, we just finally admitted what we should have told each other years ago. I’ve known you my entire life, and I spent most of that time either too oblivious to realise how in love with you I was, or too scared to do anything about it. Dating just seems… unnecessary. We know what comes next — why delay it any longer?” 

Sitting stunned, eyes wide-open and fixed on the thumb currently tracing circles across her bare knee, Penelope attempts to make sense of what Colin just said. But the longer she sits there silent, the more divided her mind becomes. 

On one hand, at her core, Penelope is sensible. Reasonable. Logical. That part of her is sounding alarm bells, insisting his proposition is irrational and goes against everything she knows about marriages and engagements and proposals altogether. After all, plenty of people go from friends to lovers and don’t jump directly to marriage. 

On the other hand, also at her core, Penelope is a romantic. A willing fool. An idealist against her better judgement. That part of her is susceptible to Colin’s sweet, silly, and perhaps not so irrational words. She has been in love with him her entire life. Would it really be so crazy to —

Shaking her head ever so slightly, Penelope tentatively, regretfully brushes his hand off her knee. At the loss of her touch, Colin’s bottom lip juts out in a pout. 

“Dating isn’t casual, necessarily… It’s important. It’s like a — like a test run for marriage and —”

“Well —”

“And it’s different from friendship. It puts you through different tests and trials than you go through with someone when you’re just friends.”

Colin appears to think over her words for a moment, squinting at her in that way that makes his blue eyes look grey. 

“Friendship is not so different from dating,” he argues, eyes wide and blue again. “At least, not the way we did it.” 

“Col —”

“You’re right about one thing, though.”

“Oh. Is that so?” she asks, unable to contain her sarcasm, even now. 

“Dating is like a trial period. It’s when you figure out if your relationship is strong enough to last through all of the bullshit life can throw your way.” 

“That’s not exactly what I said.”

“Do you disagree with my summarisation?” His lips form a smirk that tells her that he already knows her answer. Still, she shakes her head. 

“Okay,” he chuckles, leaning in an inch closer to her. “And after the mountains of bullshit we went through during the course of our friendship, do you have any doubt about our ability to stick with each other through everything? Is there anything holding you back, Pen?”

No. Nothing. 

That’s the truth. There isn’t a single thing about Colin that she feels unsure of. Not anymore.

But still… 

Even if there has been love between them for decades, they couldn’t admit that to each other until a week ago. That assuredness — that knowing — is still so new. She’s spent more time deciding whether or not to cut bangs, and the answer always ends up being not.

Still…

“Let’s consult the experts.” 

Those four words break Penelope out of a daze she hadn’t realised she had fallen into. 

At some point in the last few seconds, Colin had pulled out his phone. Now, he’s typing away at the keyboard with alarming urgency. 

“What are you doing?” 

With his phone screen mostly out of her view, Colin taps it one final time before looking up to meet her curious eye. Then, he clears his throat. 

“Ten Milestones Every Couple Should Celebrate Before Walking Down the Aisle,” he reads aloud. “Number One: Sharing Your First —”

“What are you doing?” Penelope asks again. This time, a laugh escapes her lips as she does so. Something about the seriousness on Colin’s face reminds her of the absurdity of this situation. That it is a joke, whether or not he had intended it as such. 

“I know you think this is all very funny, but I’m serious,” Colin contends. “Everything a couple needs to go through in order to be prepared for marriage, we have surely gone through at some point over the last twenty years. We’ve wasted enough time as it is — why was even more of it by delaying the inevitable? It just seems silly.”

Penelope has a bad habit of getting lost in Colin. In his words, in his voice, in his eyes… All of which seem to be pulling her in with a force that could rival anything she’s felt in the last twenty years. So when he stops talking, presumably offering her the space to get in her latest rebuttal, she remains silent. 

With the smirk back on his face, he continues, “And while I know part of you is very tempted to agree with me and run down to the courthouse right now, I know the inherent skeptic in you needs some convincing.”

He briefly pauses again, this time to hold up his phone and display the article he had just been urgently searching for. 

“So we will go through this list, which details every milestone a couple must accomplish before they get married. At the end, if we find that we checked off every single to-do item while we were just friends, we will make the reasonable decision and get married.”

If there’s one thing Colin Bridgerton is unnervingly good at, it’s making a convincing argument. The realist and the romantic on Penelope’s shoulders suddenly go quiet.

“And where exactly did you find this scholarly article — the one you are basing such a life-altering decision on?” 

He looks down. 

“TheMarriageExpert.com” 

“Colin!” 

“They’re an expert, Pen!” 

Penelope giggles, for as often as Colin provokes her, his charm always gets her in the end. Once her laughter lets up, she thinks over his slightly altered proposal.

He’s convinced me to play more tedious games before…

“Fine. I agree to your terms. What’s first on that list of yours?” 

Any seriousness left on Colin’s face quickly melts away. He grins at her in that way that always makes her stomach flutter.

“Number One: Sharing Your First Pet,” he reads aloud. “During the course of your marriage, you and your partner will share many things together. Finances, homes, memories, and a million other things you cannot even begin to fathom now. A pet will help you prepare for those shared responsibilities. It will teach you both about the importance of…”

As Colin continues reading, Penelope feels a frown pulling down on her lips. When he finishes, she attempts to cover her disappointment with a shallow laugh. 

“Game over, I guess.” 

His eyebrow arches. “Pardon?” 

“We’ve never shared a pet, so…”

Colin’s mouth falls wide open. He pulls his free hand to his chest, as if the aghast look on his face wasn’t enough. 

“Pen… Did Mr. Whiskers mean nothing to you?”

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

Twenty Years Earlier: July 21st, 2003

Relationship Status: Sister’s Best Friend // Best Friend’s Brother

꙳

How did I end up here?

Today is Monday. Today also happens to be the first real day of summer holiday for children all across London. For most kids, that means the start of freedom — six weeks of fun, followed by real life crashing down on them when the fall term begins. But for Penelope Featherington, it marks the start of something different. 

The loss of structure. 

For the next six weeks, it is up to Penelope to determine how — and more importantly, where — she spends the majority of her time. She didn’t want to spend it at home. Not this morning, at least. 

That was how she ended up in Grosvenor Square. 

At just eight years old, there aren’t many places she can run off to unaccompanied. Even the park, just two blocks away from her home, is hard to get away with. Her mum only allowed it because she was under the impression that Eloise would be joining her — that between Penelope’s sense and Eloise’s toughness, the two girls would be safe in the nearby park. But when Penelope ran across the street to request her best friend’s company, Anthony informed her that Eloise was not available for a morning stroll in the square. 

She could have gone back home, but she really didn’t want to. That was how she ended up in Grosvenor Square alone. 

While walking around the park’s perimeter, she kept her eyes down, careful not to step on any cracks in the pavement. She kept her shoulders hunched, trying her best to blend in with the other park-goers. She kept her ears pointed outward, picking up every little sound that surrounded her. 

She listened. To the birds chirping. To the wind rustling. To the rumbling engines of nearby traffic. Mostly, she listened to the people. 

Two teenagers were fighting. She was mad. He was sorry. She said something about him cheating, then their shouts turned to whispers and Penelope couldn’t make out the rest. As she walked out of earshot, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of exam he could have cheated on that would warrant such a reaction. 

A man with a big yellow dog was flirting with a woman. Though Penelope couldn’t make out much of what he was saying, she could tell just from the look on her face that she wasn’t particularly liking what she was hearing. When Penelope got a little closer, the yellow dog started barking. By the time the man got his pet to settle down, the woman had disappeared. 

A neighbour from down the street walked past, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and pushing a stroller with the other. As Mrs. Abernathy walked closer, Penelope briefly considered hiding behind the nearest tree, certain that the woman would recognise her and ask where her mum was. But before Penelope could turn and run in the opposite direction, the little blonde baby started crying and distracted the woman. 

Just as she was about to turn the corner and listen into the teenage couple’s fight again, Penelope heard something new. 

“Meow.”

At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. But no. When she walked to the bush that the noise had originated from, two round green eyes stared back at her. 

Oh, right. 

Penelope looks down at the little grey ball of fur currently nestled in her arms. 

After approaching him in the park, the second thing she noticed was the kitten’s whiskers. They were so long — so disproportionate to how small everything else about him looked. He was so scrawny that Penelope couldn’t tell if he was actually a kitten, or just an older cat who had spent too much time with too little food in his stomach. 

She spent an hour searching Grosvenor Square and the surrounding area for his family. But with no collar and evidently no family in sight, Penelope decided to take her new friend home. 

Penelope and the cat spent approximately 20 minutes walking the 10-minute route home; she slowed her steps, took unnecessary turns, and waited longer than needed at crosswalks. During all of that time, she held the cat tightly to her chest, shielding him from the rest of the world with the nest she made out of her yellow cardigan. Also during that time, she practised what she would say to her mum once she and her hopeful pet arrived back at home.

“Penelope. Anne. Featherington. Get that rodent out of my house!” 

It had not gone well. But in truth, Penelope knew long before she landed back on her doorstep that this was all a lost cause. That there was nothing in the world she could have said to convince her mother to let her keep the cat.

Penelope had followed her mother’s instructions, fleeing from their home as quickly as her feet would allow. She didn’t have much of a plan once she hit the pavement outside, but like they so often do, her feet automatically started walking in the direction of the home across the street; they stopped short before she could reach it. 

Mr. Bridgerton died last summer. Ever since that morning in August when they learned of the awful news, Penelope’s mum has incessantly warned her against showing up at their door unannounced. After all, there are eight fatherless children in that house now — the youngest of which never even got to meet her father. They have enough going on as it is. 

They have enough going on as it is, Penelope repeats again and again and again. 

That’s how she got here. Sitting on the curb outside the Bridgerton household, a cat sleeping soundly in her lap. 

“It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers to herself more than she does to him. 

Silently, Penelope wonders what the right thing to do is. Where the right place to go is. 

The first place she thinks of is an animal shelter. Surely, that is the most logical place to bring a lost kitten to. The people there would know how to take care of him — how to find him a home with people who will love him and keep him safe. The only problem: Penelope does not know of any actual animal shelters in Mayfair.

The second place she thinks of is the fire station down the street. Firefighters save cats, don’t they? Or was that —

“Pen?” 

Colin, her mind registers before she even has the chance to turn and look at him. Before she does so, she shifts in her spot and attempts to hide the contraband currently sleeping in her arms. And when she finally does set her eyes on him, her stomach starts to flutter; it always does when he smiles at her. 

“Hi,” she squeaks out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to —” 

“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to the kitten she clearly failed at concealing away from him. Before she has the chance to answer, he sits down beside her on the curb.

“Oh, I, uh — I found him in Grosvenor Square. He was all alone and I didn’t know where else to go…” 

Her voice trails off, once again contemplating what a responsible person would do next in this situation. 

“Are you gonna keep him?”

“No,” she answers, disappointment leaking through to her voice. “Mum won’t let me. She hates cats.” 

Penelope takes her eyes off the kitten to look up at Colin. While he may only be two years older, he stands nearly a head above her (he’s tall for his age — she’s short for hers). Even sitting right beside him, she has to tilt her head up just to look him in the eye. As usual, his mop of hair hangs so low that it nearly covers both his eyes, but still, Penelope can see little glimpses of blue shining through strands of brown.

She’s always quite liked that shade of blue. 

“I’d take him,” Colin says, raising his hand to pet the cat behind his ears. “But mum and Daph are both allergic.” 

Any butterflies left in Penelope’s stomach are quickly replaced by a new sensation. This one, not so pleasant. 

Mr. Bridgerton was allergic to hornets…

“Not that kind of allergic,” he reassures her, seemingly reading her mind. “They won’t, like, die or anything. Their skin will just get all red and scratchy if he gets anywhere near them.” 

“Oh, uh — sorry,” she stutters out, barely comprehending his last few sentences. “I should just go.” 

Pulling the kitten away from Colin, Penelope stands. She starts to turn in another direction, but is once again reminded that she has no idea where she is supposed to go. 

“Stop,” Colin orders, gently. He stands too. “Where are you gonna take him?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Where are you supposed to take stray cats?” 

He shrugs. 

“Dunno.” 

“Okay. Well —”

“But I have an idea.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The Bridgertons live on a gold mine. Metaphorically. Literally, they live on nearly an acre of land in the middle of Mayfair. 

The Bridgertons’ home has been in their family for several generations. This is the primary reason why they’re able to hold on to so much land in London’s bloodthirsty real estate market. If they ever were to sell, a row of flats would be built up in the back garden within a fortnight. 

(Inheritance is the same reason why Penelope is able to remain in her own home on Grosvenor Street, despite her father’s tendency to dwindle away all of their other assets. The Featheringtons’ garden is not nearly this sprawling, though.)

“Where are we going?” 

She and Colin hadn’t gone through his house. Rather, they went around it. They’re currently walking along the wall towards the back of the estate. Colin is a few steps ahead of her, tracing the cracks in the stones with his index finger. 

“Have some patience, Pen.” 

“I — I do.” And she does. Usually. 

Usually, Penelope is a remarkably patient girl. Well-mannered. Quiet. She usually wears those attributes on her shoulders like a uniform. But for some reason, they tend to slip away from her whenever Colin is near. 

She looks over her shoulder, towards the massive house behind them. It’s purposeful, she suddenly realises, that they’re walking along the shadows of this wall. 

“Is Eloise home yet?” she asks, for no other reason than to fill the silence between them. 

Usually, Penelope doesn’t feel the need to fill silences like these. She usually feels quite comfortable in them. 

“Uh, no. Ben took her into the city for her, uh… Her doctor’s appointment. They’ll probably get back around supper time.” 

Out of Colin’s view, Penelope nods. 

For the past year — ever since her father died — Eloise has been seeing a doctor in the city pretty regularly. Penelope’s mum told her to never ask any follow up questions about these visits, but in her own head, she’s always wondered what type of doctor is able to fix an ailment such as heartbreak. 

“Are you leaving London for the summer holiday?” she asks, another attempt to fill the void. She already knows the answer. The Bridgertons always travel up to Aubrey Hall this time of year. Always. 

“No. Just staying here, I guess.” 

Dread appears suddenly and sits heavily in Penelope’s stomach. 

Mr. Bridgerton died at Aubrey Hall last summer. Of course they’re not eager to return.  

“Oh, uh,” she eventually mumbles, her mind desperately searching for any route this conversation could take that would land them back in safe territory. “Us too,” is all she manages to say. 

“Cool. I’ll see you around then.”

She feels her cheeks instantly flush. “Yeah. Cool,” she says, hoping her voice does not expose the growing warmth on her skin. 

Without another word, Colin breaks away from the stone wall and walks towards a particularly dense cluster of trees at the edge of the property. He leads them to a spot that, despite spending so much of her childhood playing in this very garden, she has never seen before. It’s a little wooden shed, wide and about as tall as Penelope. 

“What is that?” 

“A shed,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders. “I think they used to store firewood in here — you know, back in the olden times.” Walking up next to it, he undoes the little metal latch with a flick of his index finger. “Empty now, though. I don’t think anyone remembers it’s here.” 

“So…” 

“So, your cat could live here.” 

Penelope looks down. At some point in the last few minutes, she had somehow forgotten about the creature held tightly against her chest. She had forgotten her whole point in being here. 

“Oh! Right. That’s, um…” 

She steals another glance at the shed. It certainly looks like it hasn’t been used since the “olden times.”

“That’s nice of you to offer. But how would he — how would that work?” 

“I know it seems bare now, but we get him a bed, milk, food — everything a cat needs to survive — and he’ll be happy here.”

Bed. Milk. Food.

“Those things cost money. I —” 

Colin shrugs. “I’ll steal a tenner out of Anthony’s wallet,” he says casually. 

When Penelope’s face is overtaken by shock, a cheeky smile erupts on his. 

“Kidding! I’ll just tell him I’m sad. He’ll hand me some cash and tell me to go fix my feelings with ice cream.” 

“Oh, okay. But…” Her mind stalls, searching for another flaw in his logic to voice aloud. The problem is, there are just so many to choose from. 

“My mum always says we can’t get a pet because they’re too much responsibility. You have to take care of them. You have to feed them, make sure they —” 

“Hey,” he interrupts, smile still hanging on his lips. “We’re both very responsible people. I help keep Greg alive, and that kid thinks licking an electrical socket is a fun hobby. If I can do that, keeping a cat alive will be nothing.” 

“So we would, um…” She steals yet another glance at the shed in front of them; she can’t help but look at it and see a cage. “We would just keep him locked up in there all day?” 

“No,” he reassures her. “We’ll keep the door open — or I could even cut a cat-sized hole in the side. You know, so he can come and go as he pleases.” 

“But if he’s able to leave that easily… Won’t he get lost again?” 

Colin shakes his head.

“If I know anything about cats it’s that if you feed them, they’ll always find their way back to you. And since you found him hanging out in Grosvenor Square, clearly he’s an outside cat, not an inside cat.”

Penelope looks down at the little grey cat in her arms. His attention is no longer on her,  his round eyes darting wildly as he takes in the space around them.

“I thought only strays went outside.” 

“No. A cat can have a home and not want to be cooped up in it all day long.” Colin takes a few steps towards her, raising his hand and scratching behind the kitten’s little ears. The cat seems to like it, as he starts purring immediately. “Clearly, this little guy wants to roam free.” 

Yet again, Penelope feels her cheeks burn pink. She isn’t used to this — being so close to him. In fact, she can’t think of a single time when the two of them have ever been so close and so alone together. After all, Colin is her best friend’s brother — a friend of sorts, but tangentially so. Until today, he has only ever been in Penelope’s company through her friendship with Eloise. 

She isn’t used to having this much of his attention on her. 

“Here.” After what feels like hours, she pulls the kitten away from her chest and nearly shoves him into Colin’s. “He seems to really like you.” 

Annoyingly quickly, the creature settles soundly into his arms. Clearly, Colin’s natural charm works just as well on animals as it does on human beings. 

When Colin turns his back and his gaze falls on something other than her, Penelope’s mind flushes with panic. She rethinks words she had mostly brushed off just moments before. 

Colin offering to spend his own money. To cut a hole in the shed. To take care of this little creature she found in a bush.  

He has enough going on as it is. 

When she looks to where he now stands, Penelope spots Colin setting the cat down in his prospective home. The cat takes two tiny steps across the wooden beams before Penelope walks over and hastily takes him into her arms again. 

“I’m sorry, Colin. I didn’t mean to get you wrapped up in this.” She turns away, pulling the kitten even closer into her chest.  “I’ll drop him off at the fire —”

“Pen, stop.” 

Before she can step away, Colin’s hand falls on her shoulder. He squeezes it once before letting it drop back to his side. Although Penelope is not very experienced in receiving small physical gestures such as this, she can tell he had meant for it to be reassuring. 

“He’ll be fine here. I promise.”

She turns slowly. 

“Are you sure it’s not too much?” 

“No,” he laughs. “Of course not. How could this little guy ever be ‘too much?’” 

Pushing away all the alarm bells blaring in her head, informing her that this is a bad idea, Penelope pushes her shoulders back. She stands tall — metaphorically, of course. 

“I’ll do half the work,” she tells him. “At least. I can check on his bowl every morning — make sure he has water and food and whatever else he needs. Maybe you can do the same at night. And if you ever can’t, just tell me and I’ll help. And if it ever does become too much, I can find him somewhere else to live.” 

When she finally stops rambling and closes her mouth, Colin smiles again. Then, he extends his right hand towards her. 

“You got yourself a deal, Featherington.”

Tentatively, Penelope raises her arm to seal said deal. But before she can make contact, Colin’s hand moves again. He turns his palm towards her, as if to signal “stop.”

“One ground rule before we make it official: let’s keep this whole thing between the two of us. Cause if Anthony finds out… he’ll send me and the cat to the nearest shelter.”

“Colin! I —” 

“Kidding!” He laughs again, which has a shockingly effective influence on Penelope’s nerves. 

“But really… It’s simpler if we don’t tell anyone else. Not even Eloise — she can’t keep a secret for her life.” 

While thinking over his words, Penelope tilts her head upwards. She steals a not-so-quick glance at his eyes — at the little bits of blue shining through the brown. 

For as long as she can remember, Penelope has always wanted more of Colin. Though she won’t be able to fully understand or define this feeling for several more years, it burns in her heart, even now. She wants to be closer to him. To make him laugh. To be his friend. To share a secret with him — even if she knows that it could very well end badly for everyone involved. 

“Deal.” 

With that, Penelope shakes Colin’s hand and seals their fate forever. 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 5th, 2003

Their secret turned out to be a rather easy one to keep. 

Penelope was good at going unseen. Every morning at approximately 7:00, she snuck into the Bridgerton back garden, walking along the shadows of the east-facing wall. At approximately 7:10 every morning, she snuck out without being noticed by anyone except Colin, who always kept an eye out for her from his bedroom window. If his mum or siblings ever were to catch her back there, he highly doubts they would care or even bat an eye; before this past year, Penelope seemed to spend more time in their home than she did her own.

Colin was also good at escaping notice on his daily task. Every night around dusk, he would sneak into a bathroom, fill a plastic bottle with tap water, hide it in the pocket of whatever hoodie he happened to be wearing that day, and slip out the back door — always unseen by his family members. They keep the cat food in a little locked container in the shed — both of which Colin had bought using money he had stolen from Anthony’s wallet (not that he would admit to following through on the theft “joke” to Penelope).

As the summer droned on, and as dusk came quicker with each passing day, Colin put less and less effort into sneaking out every night. The more time passed, the more obvious it became to him, how easy it is to disappear from a home with so many people — especially when everyone seems to be looking for a person who is no longer around. 

The only conspirator that ever put them at risk of being found out was Mr. Whiskers (a name Colin picked after Penelope insisted that they couldn’t just keep calling him “little guy”). 

Three times in two weeks, Whiskers had loitered around the Bridgerton’s back steps following his dinner, meowing for someone’s attention. Colin had caught him the first time and shooed him off. Daphne caught him the second time and screamed bloody murder. Anthony caught him the third and nearly called animal control. The only reason he didn’t was because Gregory just so happened to push a vase off a table one room over; the mess had been too distracting. 

Thankfully, Whiskers seemed wary of coming close to the Bridgerton household after that last encounter. 

A routine formed. Penelope would sneak into the garden in the morning. Colin would sneak out of his home at night. Mr. Whiskers would come and go as he pleased between meals. Their paths rarely ever cross. That is, until tonight. 

Tonight — like most nights — Colin can’t sleep. He ran up to his bedroom at 9:16, only after being ordered to do so by Anthony. He’s spent much of the last 145 minutes in bed staring at the ceiling. Now, bored out of his skull and needing any sort of distraction, he jumps up to grab the MP3 player and headphones sitting on the windowsill. 

He turns up the volume all the way and, for the next few minutes, does his best to tune out the rest of the world. It’s probably for the best that he fails in doing so, otherwise he wouldn’t have noticed the shadow cutting across the moonlight in his back garden. 

Less than five minutes later, Colin cuts along that same path; he’s far less cautious than he ever is at dusk. He knows there’s a chance that someone in the house could still be awake and spot him out here, but that risk feels less worrisome, the closer he gets to his intended destination.

Just as it comes into view, he hears sniffling. The sound is quiet, but persistent. 

He sees her before she sees him. She’s sitting with her legs crossed in the shed’s open doorway, Mr. Whiskers curled up in her lap. 

Colin had felt uneasy from the very moment he spotted her from his bedroom window, but a distinct wave of dread hits him cold the moment that his eyes meet Penelope’s. Hers go so wide that he swears he can see the moonlight reflecting off of them. 

She doesn’t immediately speak; even her crying halts after realising that she is not alone. 

“Pen?” he asks, when he can think of nothing else to say. He waits several seconds for her to give some sort of reaction. A word, a nod — anything. But still, she remains frozen in her spot in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. 

“Are you o—” 

“Yes,” she shoots out. “Yes, I, uh — I — I’m fine.” 

Finally, Penelope moves. She places her hands around the cat’s belly and uncrosses her feet like she’s about to run off into the night. And though her claims of being “fine” offered his mind zero reassurance, Colin nods at her words anyway. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, sitting down beside her before she has the chance to flee. He raises his hand and scratches behind Mr. Whiskers’ ears while the cat remains perched on Penelope’s legs. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he offers, unprompted. “I thought I would see what Whiskers was up to.”

“Oh,” Penelope says. Then, in an even fainter voice, “Same.” 

As he continues scratching, the kitten purrs; his soft murmur is the only sound in the air for several long seconds. Just when the silence begins to feel a bit too heavy on his skin, Colin drops his hand and looks up at the scene above them. 

“Do you know any constellations?” 

After a few more beats of silence, Penelope raises her finger to the sky. “That’s the North Star. And that’s the Little Dipper, connected to it.” She repositions her finger slightly. “And that’s the Big Dipper, right next to it.” She repositions her finger once more before dropping it. “And that’s Aries.”

Though the stars don’t shine as brightly here as they do in the country, Colin’s eyes glaze over the soft specks of light in the sky, searching for something familiar. Specifically, he’s searching for the constellation that Benedict had pointed out to him last summer at Aubrey Hall, just a few nights before their father died. 

“That’s Capricorn.” He points his finger towards the sky, to his own star sign. THe snorts. “Do you know what type of creature a Capricorn is?”

Penelope shakes her head.

“Half-goat, half-fish. Like a mermaid with horns and a pair of hooves.”

Then, a miracle happens. 

Penelope giggles. The sound is soft, but it cuts right through the darkness.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not as cool as a ram, but…”

“Are there any cats in the constellations?” Penelope asks once Colin’s voice trails off. 

He considers her question for a moment, recalling other star stories Benedict has told him over the years. He looks up to the sky, hoping he can discern an outline of a kitten somewhere between the lights. 

“Dunno,” he finally admits. “But there are lots of stars — most of them, we can’t even see. There’s gotta be at least one cat out there. Somewhere.” 

Penelope hums in agreement, looking down at her lap. “Mr. Whiskers is a good cat,” she quietly muses.

“Yeah.” Colin reaches over to pet behind his little grey ears. “The best.”

“He keeps trying to follow me home after breakfast.” She giggles softly. “He must not remember meeting my mum, or else he would stay away forever. She thought I was carrying a rat into our house. She shrieked.” 

“Oh god,” Colin chuckles, and it’s only a little forced. “He tried sneaking into my house a few times. He met Anthony last time, though, and I don’t think he’s ever gonna forget that.”

She giggles again, her smile lighting up in the moonlight. 

“Was he mad?” 

“His face went red! Ant is always at least a little bit angry, but this was ridiculous. No normal human could get that mad about a cute little kitten hanging around their back door.” 

With her eyes still pointed intently on the cat in her lap, Penelope’s voice lowers to almost a whisper. “I don’t know how people can see something so sweet and get so mad.”

Colin’s eyes don’t leave Penelope when he responds, “Me neither.” 

For what feels like an unending moment, the three of them sit there in silence, looking up at the moon and the stars and the darkness all around. The longer the moment holds, the harder it becomes for Colin to push away the worries that had been building inside himself since the moment he spotted Penelope running across his back garden at midnight. 

Trying his hardest to keep his tone casual… 

“Was there a reason you couldn’t sleep tonight?” 

She doesn’t respond right away. She doesn’t attempt to flee, either. 

“No. It was…” She pauses for a very long, very quiet moment. “It was nothing.”

“Pen, you —” 

“Nothing that isn’t — like — normal, I mean.”

Colin does not know what she means. He can’t imagine a single normal thing that would cause someone to run away crying from their home in the middle of the night. Especially someone as small and defenceless as Penelope. 

“My mum and dad were just fighting,” she confesses, only after realising that Colin’s look of concern will not fade until she tells him the truth. “A bit louder than usual, I guess. But it’s not like I haven’t heard them fight a million times before.” 

“That’s —” not normal, he almost says, but holds his tongue at the last moment. 

He’s suddenly, alarmingly struck by the fact that what he deems “normal” might not be the same for Penelope. That there are “normal” things in his own life that others would say are unimaginable for a kid his age. 

That’s not right, would be more accurate. But he doesn’t say that either. Instead, he simply asks, “Do you want to come inside? El is probably asleep, but I could wake her —” 

“No,” she answers, looking him in the eye for the first time in what feels like hours. “Thank you, but… It’s really late. I should go back home before someone notices I left.” She lets out one awkward, forced laugh before saying, “Mum will kill me if she realises I slipped out.” 

With one quick motion, Penelope scoops up Whiskers, plops him into Colin’s lap, then pushes herself out of the shed and back on solid ground. Just as she looks like she’s about to turn and run, Colin gathers the cat in his arms and stands beside her. 

“Are you sure? It’s no bother.”

For the briefest moment, it almost looks like doubt crosses Penelope’s face. But then, just as quickly, she shakes her head. 

“I should go home.” 

Regretfully, Colin tears his eyes away from hers, turning his head to glance at his own home in the distance. The only light still on comes from his bedroom window. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles, turning back to her. “I guess I should too.” 

Penelope nods. Just when it looks like she’s about to turn and disappear into the darkness, Colin blurts something out. 

“Do you wanna meet here again in the morning? When you feed Mr. Whiskers?” 

She seems taken aback by his question. She doesn’t immediately respond to it with words, but with a confused, almost worried expression on her face. 

“I —”

“Our system’s efficient and all,” he cuts in, “but we haven’t exactly seen much of each other since we started taking care of him. I dunno, I guess I just thought that we would be hanging out more this summer.” 

“Oh!” Her voice suddenly comes out so high that it borders a squeak. “I know what you mean. I…”

Her voice trails off. It remains silent for so long that Colin wonders if it's his turn to speak. But before he can blurt anything else out, she opens her mouth. 

“I’d like that.” 

“Cool,” he says, lips pulling into a smile. “See you tomorrow.” 

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 14th, 2003

“I’m not sure I understand the rules of this game.”

“It’s our game. The rules can be whatever we want them to be.” 

Penelope stands with the tips of her toes and the palms of her hands pressed neatly against Colin’s matching sets. There’s a piece of cat biscuit placed between her right palm and his left. There’s a tiny grey cat peering up at them from where their shoes connect; he looks just as confused on the parameters of this game as Penelope feels. 

The rules, they eventually settle on, are these: 

Before getting into position, one person briefly presents a piece of biscuit to Mr. Whiskers. Players must take turns to avoid leading the cat towards favouritism. 

On the count of three, one person takes the biscuit into their hands, then both turn around and run in opposite directions. 

Mr. Whiskers follows whoever he believes holds his treat. 

She ends up with the biscuit three times. He ends up with it five times. It falls to the ground between them eleven times. Each time, without fail, Mr. Whiskers immediately takes off after Penelope. 

“This isn’t fair!” Colin calls out from behind a tree on their twentieth attempt at this so-called ‘game.’ “It’s not my fault you bonded with him first.” He points a finger at the cat currently pawing at her ankles. “I feed you just as much as she does — traitor!”

“Shhh, Colin!” Penelope whisper-yells. “Someone might hear you.” 

“Oh, who cares?” 

I care, Penelope thinks. She doesn’t want Colin’s mum or any one of his many siblings to stumble upon them back here. She’s not ready to give up this secret. She’s not willing to end this game. 

Not yet, anyway. 

“Mr. Whiskers cares. I doubt he wants to be kicked out of his home just because you’re a sore loser.” 

Penelope picks up Whiskers from the patch of dirt he had just been rolling around in. She walks over to the shed where Colin now sits, then gently plops the brown-tinged grey cat in his lap. 

“Well, he should have thought about that before picking sides.”

Like she has become accustomed to doing over the past two weeks, Penelope sits down on the other end of the shed’s open doorway. Colin’s body is turned towards her, but she keeps hers positioned outwards, as if to keep watch. 

After a moment of quiet, he clears his throat. 

“You can come over for dinner tonight. You know, if you want.” 

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” Penelope says quickly. Dismissively. “Mum will expect me home soon. I think we’re having stew.” 

“Yeah, but what about tomor—” 

Colin’s voice stops short before he can get that last word out. Then, he pivots his head so he is no longer facing her. 

“Well, maybe not tomorrow,” he eventually mutters, quieter than before. “But another day.”

Tomorrow is the anniversary, Penelope remembers. Along with that sudden, heart-aching reminder comes a little voice in her head that sounds distinctly like her mother. 

They have enough going on as it is. 

“I — I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t.” He finally looks her in the eye again. “Trust me, you wouldn’t. When you have eight kids, one more mouth hardly makes a difference.” He nods his head towards the house in the distance, partially obstructed by the scattering of trees they’ve found themselves in. 

“Eloise would be happy if you stopped in. Mum too.” 

Trying her absolute hardest to ignore that little voice in her head…

“Yeah. Another day. Soon.” 

“Good.” 

After another moment of quiet, Penelope pushes herself forward and lands with two feet in the grass. 

“I really should head back, though.” 

“Okay, I’ll —”

“But, Colin?” she interrupts (a truly rare occurrence for Penelope Featherington). 

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking and… Maybe I could feed Mr. Whiskers breakfast and dinner tomorrow. I know we have our system, but… I just — you shouldn’t have to deal with taking care of him on top of any… family stuff.”

Colin doesn't respond right away. He spends several seconds looking at her with his brows furrowed; Mr. Whiskers uses that time to settle even deeper into his arms. Finally, his lips part. Penelope expects the first word out of his mouth to be “No,” but it isn’t. 

“Sure.” He nods, brows lifting up a bit. “Thanks, Pen. That’s kind of you to offer.” 

Penelope is surprised by his words. Not just because she was expecting him to dismiss her offer, but because she had never been thanked for something like this before. Her entire life, kindness was something that had been expected of her, but never really appreciated. She had been rewarded for her kindness in the past, but never thanked for it. 

She’s hesitant to accept such thanks — gratitude for something as small as offering up a few minutes of her time for someone who had experienced more grief than she could even begin to imagine. But she can’t bring herself to deny it either. So instead, she simply nods and says, “Goodnight, Colin.” 

 ꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 25th, 2003

It’s Monday morning, 6:55 AM. Like most mornings around this time, Penelope is walking along the Bridgerton’s east-facing wall, feet stepping in the shadows, one finger tracing the stones beside her. Unlike most mornings, when she steps away from the wall and towards the shed hidden by a cluster of trees, she notices that the door that is always open is suddenly shut tight. 

At the beginning of the summer, Penelope had convinced Colin not to cut a cat-sized opening in the side of the shed (he wanted to use a saw from his garage). Instead, they decided to always keep the door open so Mr. Whiskers could come and go as he pleases. Always. 

Her feet pace faster with each and every step, intrigue and anxiety building up and piling over the closer she gets to that closed door. 

It could not have closed on its own. It wasn’t the wind or gravity or Whiskers himself.  The latch is locked. Someone locked it. 

Just as she raises her arm to swing the wooden door back open, Penelope hears footsteps. Quick and increasingly loud footsteps. She (literally) jumps around, heat pounding, eyes wide, and sees…

“Colin! Where’s Mr. Whiskers?!”

“In there.” 

He points to the shed behind her, still shut tight. Once he gets close enough, he reaches over her shoulder and finally undoes the latch. Just as promised, the cat is there, curiously staring up at them with those round green eyes.

“He keeps trying to follow me back into the house after I feed him at night. Last night, he was scratching at the back door. Thank god I got to him before Anthony did.” 

“So he was just locked in there all night?” 

She spares another sideways glance at the shed’s interior. It’s not nearly as bare as it had been that first day she looked inside. Now, there are two containers, two bowls, two electric lanterns, a blanket, a few cat toys, and a few human toys she assumes once belonged to Colin. 

To an animal as tiny as Mr. Whiskers, this place might seem huge — but to Penelope, it all feels very claustrophobic. 

“Yeah,” Colin finally answers, sounding guilty. “But sometimes it’s just safer for him to stay put for a little while. Even outdoor cats need to be reigned in some nights.” 

Penelope doesn’t know whether to agree or disagree with his words, so she tries her best to ignore them — for a little while, at least. After climbing into the shed and filling his empty bowl with food, she gives Whiskers an affection bop on the head. 

“You’re not wrong,” she belatedly answers. When Mr. Whiskers finishes his meal, Penelope turns and hops back onto the grass. Tilting her head to look Colin in the eye, she says, “But maybe Mr. Whiskers isn’t an outside cat after all. Maybe that’s why he keeps trying to follow us back to our own homes.” 

“I thought that was just because he loves us.” 

Penelope can’t help but roll her eyes just a little. Leave it to Colin Bridgerton to transform guilt into charm in under 30 seconds. 

“Well…” She turns back to Mr. Whiskers again. As usual, he’s peering up at them with a transfixed — maybe even loving — stare. “Maybe you have a point.” 

“I usually do —” 

“But still… Do you really think this is what’s best for him?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean…”

She bites her tongue. Literally. 

All of this started because of her own selfish desires. To keep the cat. To occupy Colin’s attention. To possess a reason to get out of her house every morning. 

Her selfishness and its inevitable consequences were easy to overlook at the start of the summer. But now…

“The summer is almost over. When we go back to school, we won’t be able to look out for him all day. Then the winter will come and this little shed isn’t going to be very warm.” She stops ranting briefly to glance down at the little grey cat in the doorway. “What if he gets sick? Or needs a vet? I just don’t know if this is really his best option.”

She points both hands towards the shed. Towards the small wooden structure that completely transformed her summer. Towards the only home Mr. Whiskers has ever known — dim and claustrophobic as it may be. She expects Colin’s eyes to follow her lead, but they don’t. 

For a moment, it feels as though her presence completely slips from his view. His eyes are fixated on something in the distance. Something in the opposite direction. Something —

“Shite!” 

Colin’s arms hastily wrap around Penelope’s waist. It takes everything in her not to shriek in surprise as he practically throws her into the shed. Thankfully, Mr. Whiskers jumps backwards instantly, or else she surely would have crushed him on impact. 

“Colin! What —”

“Shh!” 

He climbs in and quickly shuts the door behind him. If it were not for the electric lamps in the corner, illuminating the space with what little battery power they have left, Penelope wouldn’t discern him mouthing: “Anthony.” 

They sit on opposite sides of the shed, the tips of their toes touching in the limited space. Penelope wonders if Colin can feel her shaking through the rubber edges of her yellow converse. The concerned look he throws her tells her that he must.

“You okay?” he mouths. 

She thinks about nodding. She briefly wonders if a nod counts as a lie, or if lies can only be spoken aloud. In the end, she doesn’t do anything — except remain frozen in her spot. 

Everything is quiet. For a fleeting moment, Penelope actually believes they may have gone unnoticed. Then, just as Mr. Whiskers decides to move out of the corner and crosses the wooden floor, she remembers that the latch — the flimsy piece of metal that is the only means of securing this thing — is on the other side. And when the cat uses his tiny paw to press against the door’s interior, she barely has time to gasp before it swings open. 

The morning light nearly blinds her, but not enough to miss Anthony Bridgerton’s very mad, very red face staring back at her. 

“Colin — what the hell?!” 

Just as Colin had thrown her into the shed less than a minute ago, Anthony now pulls Penelope out of it by her shoulders. Just like Whiskers, she miraculously manages to land on her feet. 

“I knew it! I knew you were irresponsible, but this —” He bends down and grabs Whiskers by the scruff of his neck. “This is insane. Even for you.” 

Anthony turns to Penelope, looking as though he only just now discovered her presence here. In mere seconds, she watches his face turn from anger to shock to annoyance. Then, he turns to face his little brother again. 

“I will be the responsible adult and make sure this — thing — finds an actual home and doesn’t continue living on the streets.” With a near-growl caught in his throat, he tells Colin, “We will discuss this later.” 

Anthony turns to leave, but stops just as quickly.

“And Colin, do not mention this to mum. Or anyone else.” 

He starts then stops again. 

“And Penelope, please do not let my brother’s bad influence rub off on you. A nice girl like you has enough trouble as it is being friends with Eloise.” 

It isn’t until Anthony has stomped out of sight with Mr. Whiskers in tow that Penelope starts to regain control of her body and mind. Slowly, she turns towards Colin. She uses every one of those seconds to begin preparing an apology. For getting him in trouble with his brother. For putting him in this mess to begin with. For being a bad friend. But when their eyes meet… Colin does not look as though he is expecting an apology of any sort. 

He laughs. 

“Did you see the look on his face?!” 

“Uh — I don’t —” 

 “He looked like a tomato! I swear one day he’s gonna burst and —”

“Colin,” she tries to cut in, to little avail.  

“— pasta sauce is gonna go flying ev—”

“Colin!” she says again, a bit louder this time. Thankfully, it seems to get his attention. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have —”

“Oh god, Pen. Don’t be sorry.” 

“But your — your brother —”

“I should be apologising on Ant’s behalf. Even if you and him were both right about Whiskers needing somewhere else to live.”

Penelope’s mouth parts, but all she can do is nod in response to those last few words. As much as she will miss her tiny, furry friend, this is for the best. For Whiskers, at least. 

“But Anthony was so mad at you. And I —”

“He’ll get over it. That’s the great thing about having seven siblings — wait five minutes and someone will do something ten times stupider. Daphne and Eloise are probably inside getting into a fist fight as we speak.” 

The mention of her best friend’s name temporarily draws Penelope’s thoughts away from her internal pity party. While she did hang out with Eloise over the last few weeks, their time together felt far less frequent and more fleeting than it ever had during previous summer holidays. During any time before last August. 

“You wanna come over for dinner tonight?” Colin asks, breaking Penelope from her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he smirks, “do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” 

“I don’t know… Anthony seemed —”

“Don’t worry about him — he’ll get over it. And you heard him, he’s not even going to rat us out to my mum.” He takes a step forward, then places his hand on Penelope’s shoulder. He squeezes it once. “It’ll be fun. Everyone will be excited to see you.” 

Not for the first time — and certainly not the last — Penelope feels at a loss for words. All she can manage is a tiny nod. A nearly imperceptible movement. 

Colin smiles. 

“Good. Just so you know, the door is always open. Always.” 

Finally, little Penelope Featherington finds her voice again. 

“I know.” 

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

There’s a smile pulling apart Penelope’s lips, but she does her best to cover it with another fork full of fried rice. Colin — of course — sees right through her attempt at concealment.

“So…” 

“Anthony was right. We were awfully irresponsible that summer. That cat was better off after Danbury took him in and re-named him Lord Whiskers.”

“Hey — give us a little credit! How many 8 or 10-year-olds do you know who could keep a cat alive for an entire summer all by themselves?” 

“The only impressive thing we did that summer was keeping our little secret hidden from the rest of your family.” 

“What are you talking about?!” Colin practically cries out, unable to keep his ever-charming laugh from escaping his throat as he speaks. “Do not downplay our role in raising Whiskers. You rescued him from the mean streets of London. I —”

“I found him hiding out in a bush in Grosvenor Square!”

“Exactly! And I —” 

“Colin!”

“I built him a home,” he barely manages to get out through another round of laughter.

“That’s a bit over-dra—”

“We fed and took care of him for over a month. We were just kids — that’s pretty impressive. That means something.”

In her heart, Penelope knows that — obviously — it means something. But does it mean what Colin wants it to mean? That they should get married? 

Even with the rules he set forth, it seems like an insane connection to even consider.

“I don’t know…” 

“For five weeks, he was ours. That means a lot.”

For a moment, Penelope does consider it. 

She thinks about who Colin was to her before she found that cat. A friend — of sorts. Her best friend’s brother. A neighbour. A crush. Someone she looked at and longed for. 

Next, she thinks about who Colin was to her on that morning, when Anthony found them hiding out in a tiny wooden shed. A friend. A fellow kid. A conspirator. Someone who saw her cowering in the dark and asked if she was okay. 

So what, if their hypothetical marriage hinges on a technicality? People have married on flimsier grounds before. 

“Fine,” she relents. “It counts.” 

A moment ago, she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Colin’s grin grows even wider. 

“Of course it does.” 

Penelope scoffs, yet another lazy attempt to cover the grin on her own face. Colin makes no attempt to call her out on it, though. He’s too busy scrolling on his phone. 

“Let’s see what we have next to cross off…”

[purple-babygirl]

request if open; daddy!bucky had a bad day and little!reader is just trying to comfort him but he accidently lashes out and yells at her/pushes her and immediately feels guilty but she regresses even more into her little space and is scared of him, you can kinda play around w this and figure out how it ends! xx

Pairing: Mafia!Daddy!Bucky Barnes x f!little!reader

Word Count: 3,423 (you know you love me)

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, yelling, harsh treatment, crying, angst turned fluff?

A/N: thank you so much for sending this in, nonnie. i took your request and ran with it to angst land. Hope you enjoy xx💜

~~~~~

signature needed

“Dada,”

She could see Bucky’s frown, the lines on his forehead wrinkling his handsome face up. She knew it meant he was upset and she never wanted Daddy to be upset. She knew he never left her upset.

Bucky’s been looking like that since he walked through the mansion door that morning, barely acknowledging her when she greeted him. He almost forgot to give her her welcome-home kiss even.

“Not now, angel,” Bucky murmured, proceeding to flip through the papers covering his desk, huffing and puffing every now and then at the mess he was stuck trying to fix.

“Wanna show you somethin’,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“Later, angel. I’m busy right now.”

He regretted telling her to come in. He should’ve known she’d be nothing but a distraction.

“Dada, jus’ take one look,” she bounced on her feet before slipping a neat sheet of paper on top of Bucky’s desk, momentarily blocking his view of the contracts he was angrily staring at. Now that made Bucky mad.

“I said I was busy!” Bucky shouted as his head snapped to her, his hand slamming down on the paper without even seeing it, blindly crumpling it and throwing it on the floor at her feet. She flinched at the sudden outburst, taking a step back.

“Dada,” tears filled her eyes as she looked at her discarded paper. Bucky just broke her heart.

“Why don’t you ever listen!” Bucky grabbed her arm tighter than usual, pulling her back to him, “How many times do I need to repeat the words for you to understand! I said not now, didn’t I?!” He let go of her arm with more force than he’d intended, making her stumble a little.

She was terrified now. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked at Bucky with wide eyes. He has never lashed out on her like that, not even when she was big. She was scared. As her breath picked up, she wished she’d never left her playroom.

“Get out and don’t step into this office again until I tell you you can, you hear me?” Bucky growled, oblivious to the signs of regression and horror showing on her face.

Her quick nods set off no alarms in his head as he watched her run out of his office.

Bucky felt bad about taking his anger out on her the second she fled the room. He flopped back down with a huff, flipping through the contracts again and again with no focus. He threw them down carelessly, running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.

Cracking his hurting neck, Bucky regretted raising his voice at her. He couldn’t see the words on the contracts; her teary eyes flashing through his mind every time he tried reading.

Why did he have to yell? He could’ve just looked at her paper. She was likely trying to show him a drawing. Why couldn’t he just go with it? He’s sworn he’d never let anybody hurt his angel and then he goes and does this?

Bucky was ashamed. What kind of Daddy was he if he treated his little like that? It was no excuse that he was still getting used to being a Daddy. Bucky knew that wasn’t how a man should treat his girl.

He bowed forward, picking up the balled paper by his desk. He carefully straightened it, deciding to fix his angel’s damaged drawing and make it up to her.

Only it wasn’t a drawing; the paper was a handwritten Daddy-Angel contract. It even had colourful flowers, bees and butterflies decorating the paper and everything.

She was probably trying to play office with him; probably just wanted Bucky to pretend he was signing her paper too.

A sad smile spread across Bucky’s lips as he read the paper. The contract stated that

- Dada will smile

- Dada will not be angry no more

- Dada will let me sit on his lap (will be quiet pp)

- Dada will play with me after work

Dada: ……………..

The paper ended with a free space for Bucky to sign in case of agreement to the ‘terms’.

There were a lot of moments where Bucky wished he could turn back time, but not being able to do so in this very moment seemed to torture him the most. He was an asshole.

She just wanted him to calm down. She respected that he was working and she wasn’t trying to interrupt, she merely wanted him to smile. She even pinky promised to sit quietly in his lap.

Bucky has messed up and it was for nothing because the damage to his work has already been done. He shouted at her like she was responsible when she was just trying to help him feel better.

Bucky got his pen out of his pocket, signing the empty place by his name, remorsefully sighing at his utter stupidity.

~

“Angel,” Bucky called, knocking on the door before opening it.

She wasn’t in her playroom, but Bucky could see her round table full of similar papers to the one he had folded in his pocket.

She’s made at least 6 of these ‘contracts’, some of them were written in different colours or had spelling mistakes.

She’d obviously worked hard until she settled on the paper to give him and he ended up throwing it on the floor.

Bucky’s hand rubbed his face, frustrated at himself and his lack of control. An asshole was what he was. An asshole.

“Angel, where are you, baby?” Bucky sighed, opening the bedroom door to see her sitting, hugging her knees on the large bed.

She looked too tiny bundled up like that and her muffled sniffles punched at Bucky’s heart.

“Angel.”

She only lifted her head up when she felt the bed dip under Bucky’s weight and panic flashed over her delicate features.

“Baby, don’t cry,” Bucky said, his hand instinctively moving to wipe her tears only to have her flinch back, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was awaiting a blow.

Bucky’s heart stopped beating for a second when he realized what had just happened.

She was scared of him. His angel had flinched away from his touch. A huge lump formed in Bucky’s throat as she opened her eyes again, “angel?”

“Please don’ hurt me. Won’ come to the office. Won’ leave the room.” She shook her head and sobbed, scurrying back on the bed and away from Bucky.

This pained Bucky more than any punishment he thought he deserved. The look on her face was enough for him to want the walls to open up and swallow him.

“Angel, I would never hurt you. You know that.” Bucky whispered, sniffing back the tears about to spill down his bearded cheeks.

He needed to hear her say she did. He needed to know she knew Bucky could never hurt her.

She looked from Bucky to her left arm where his metal hand had grabbed her earlier. His fingers had left a mark around her arm. The skin was still pulsing as if his hold on her never loosened.

It was too late and it didn’t matter what he said because he’d already hurt her and the evidence was on her body.

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed as he swallowed again. He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to be the one protecting her, not the one hurting her. How could he do such a thing to his angel?

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, shaking his head regretfully before trying to get closer to her.

Her instant reaction was to crawl back further and Bucky’s heart sank to his stomach. He felt his soul leaving his body when he looked her in the eyes and saw fear.

A tear betrayed him, falling down, gliding by his lips. Bucky wiped it away quickly, sniffing and clearing his throat.

“I signed your contract, angel.” Bucky got the paper out of his pocket, opening it and putting it on the bed for her to see.

Her eyes looked down and more tears left them at the sight of her once fine work now ruined.

“I’m so sorry, angel. Daddy was bad, baby. I’m sorry,” Bucky pleaded, his fingers reaching out for hers.

She pulled her hand away quickly, hiding it behind her back and Bucky knew he had really messed up. It was no use trying.

She was scared of him. His touch frightened her and was no longer a symbol of comfort to her.

He took his hand away, straightening his back and getting off the bed.

“I-I’ll see you at lunch then.” Bucky sniffed again.

“And angel?” he called from the door, getting her attention.

“Thank you for caring for daddy. I love you.” Bucky has never heard his voice as weak as he did in that moment and he felt even worse when she didn’t say it back.

~

When the table was set and Bucky came out of his office to find her chair empty, another lump was quick to form in his throat.

He wasn’t even hungry. He had no appetite to eat; he just wanted to see her but didn’t have the guts to peek into their bedroom again.

“Angel?” Bucky was ready to knock on the bedroom door but it was already open.

He carefully pushed it and took a look inside to find the bed empty. He tried not to freak out as he knocked the en suite bathroom door and got no answer. When he opened it, she wasn’t there either.

Bucky could hear his own blood pumping in his ears because she was no where to be found in her playroom as well.

She left. She left him and she had every right to. How could he lose her? How could he lose the one good thing in his life?

Tears distorted Bucky’s vision as his hand clutched the side of the door. His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing her again, never hearing her sweet voice call for him again; never getting to smell her on his pillow again.

The sound of her feet padding on the floor behind him pulled Bucky out of his head and he thought he’d imagined it for a second. He turned around and she froze when his eyes fell on her.

She shifted on her feet, hiding one behind the other and internally hoping Bucky wouldn’t notice she was roaming around with bare feet when he’d specifically asked her not to before.

That was the last of Bucky’s concerns at the moment though. He was just relieved she didn’t leave him even if he deserved it.

“Where were you, angel?” the tenderness of Bucky’s tone let her know he wasn’t mad at her for walking around shoeless.

“Couldn’ fin’ PinePine,” she replied softly, referring to the white feline, “’s lunch time.” Her eyes remained fixed on her feet as she avoided Bucky’s.

He was secretly thankful for that, not wanting her to see him in tears twice in the same day.

She was so pure; so caring and loving to everyone around. Bucky found himself slightly jealous of his own cat for a second there.

“Where did you find, PinePine?” He asked calmly, just wanting to hear her speak to him.

“Downstairs,” she answered shortly, leaving Bucky disappointed.

“Let’s go then. The table’s set.” Bucky smiled, hesitantly offering her his hand.

She stood unmoving for a few seconds, eyes still casted down, before she decided to hold onto Bucky’s pointer.

He sighed, knowing she was still scared but didn’t want to reject him. She was so sweet on him even when he least deserved it.

~

When lunch was over, Bucky let her know she could come to the office whenever she wanted, although he doubted she would. She gave a small nod before running back to the other room as Bucky shouted an “I’ll get back to work then.” behind her.

He didn’t actually get back to work. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think of anything but the way she pulled away from his touch every single time he tried to come near her, or the way she forced herself to hold one of his fingers as they walked less than 10 steps together to the dining room. She'd even begged him not to hurt her earlier.

How did he let himself fuck up so bad? When did they get there? What was he going to do now? How does one get forgiven after being this awful?

A lamp lit above the mafia boss’ head and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper before he could lose the idea.

Bucky was going to write his angel a contract. A pardon contract.

His Daddy-Angel 2.0 contract stated that:

- Angel will forgive Daddy

- Angel will not be sad with Daddy no more

- Angel will sit on Daddy’s lap (even if she doesn’t wanna be quiet)

- Angel will play with Daddy after work if she still wants to

Angel: …………….

Bucky sighed as he tried to draw anything other than sloppy hearts in the empty places around the words to decorate the paper but he was terrible at this. He was desperately in need of his angel’s forgiveness though so he scratched his beard and kept working.

Bucky needed to know she wasn’t actually scared of him; not her. Anyone but her. He wouldn’t be able to take it. He wouldn’t be able to ever tolerate himself if she didn’t forgive him.

Bucky’s tongue was hanging outside the side of his mouth as he drew another birdie on the bottom of the contract. It didn’t really look like a bird, unless of course that bird was struck by lightning a hundred times before, but Bucky thought it would do. After all, he was no artist. He didn’t draw. He didn’t deal with colours; he dealt with weapons. His hands were rough for a reason. But he would do anything for his angel. Anything to win her over again.

A knock on his door cut off his focus and Bucky groaned.

“Come in.”

He felt sorry for whoever had the bad luck of interrupting him during his contract-making, ready to yell at someone.

Bucky looked up from his desk when he didn’t hear anyone speaking, and his face has never softened so fast.

It was his girl who’d come into the office. She had her folded contract in her hand and her eyes were looking kind of puffy from crying.

Bucky just stared at her in remorse, pushing his chair back a bit as he watched her walk closer to his seat.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He was so sorry. He’s never been sorrier in his life. He wanted nothing more than to take every word and every harsh touch back.

She stood there for a second, waiting to see if Bucky was going to kick her out this time too. When he didn’t, she rounded the desk and stopped by Bucky’s chair.

Bucky remained speechless, not wanting to scare her away again. She came to him. She came on her own. Unless she came to throw the contract in his face and break up with him, that should be a good sign.

Her tongue peeked outside, wetting her lips nervously before she stretched an arm out, ever so carefully nearing it to Bucky’s thigh. Her gaze was glued to Bucky’s face, gauging his reaction. When Bucky’s frown didn’t show up she let her palm touch Bucky’s leg.

Bucky didn’t understand what she was doing but he wouldn’t dream of questioning her. He was just glad she was okay with touching him again at all after what he’d done, even if she was doing it so cautiously it broke his heart to a thousand pieces.

With her stare trained on Bucky, she stepped forward, slotting herself in the small space between Bucky’s chair and his desk, facing him. Her hands moved to grab on Bucky’s strong shoulders, still watching his face. She swallowed before effortlessly climbing on, cozily curling herself on his lap.

Bucky’s heart swelled as he felt her nose nuzzle his shirt. His own emotions overwhelmed him and tears gathered in his eyes.

“Angel?” his voice was barely a whisper as he looked down to her, careful not to startle her.

She looked up at him worriedly, thinking he didn’t want her where she was.

Her eyes showed fear for a short second before she unfolded the scrunched paper in her hand, a finger pointing to the third term.

“Dada signed,” she said, her eyes so innocent and Bucky couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Oh, angel,” Bucky’s tears uncontrollably rolled down, wetting his beard.

He held her so close, she could hear his heartbeats drumming in his chest.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Bucky cried, wetly kissing her forehead over and over.

“I’m sorry, my angel. Forgive me,” he repeated, leaning down to kiss her bruised shoulder before lifting both hands to his lips and kissing them, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Dada,” her smaller hands cupped Bucky’s cheeks as sadness covered her features.

She’s never seen Bucky like that. Not even at his father’s funeral did he sob like that.

She didn’t know it but to Bucky, the thought of losing her hurt more than the actual loss of a family member who never gave two shits about him.

She was Bucky’s everything. His love, his partner, his companion, his baby angel. She was the one who stole his heart and took good care of it. Bucky would give up anything and everything in life and choose her to forever keep, protect and love.

Her short thumbs wiped under Bucky’s eyes, pushing his tears away. She turned to straddle him and wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her cheek on his shoulder.

The smell of her hair calmed Bucky’s heart down as he turned his face to kiss her head, hands settling on her back, “I will never hurt you, angel. Please tell me you know that, my love.”

Bucky’s hoarse voice had her pulling away from the hug. She sat back and looked her man in the eyes, her thumb brushing his chin, “I know,” she whispered and Bucky could see it in her eyes. She did. She believed him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

She stroked Bucky’s cheeks as he sniffled, smiling gratefully at her reply. And his whole world lit up again when she smiled back, timidly pecking the corner of his pink lips.

Oh she was a real angel. No one’s ever been this kind to Bucky before, only her. Bucky kissed her hand one more time, quietly thanking her for forgiving him.

“I made you a contract too,” Bucky told her with a chuckle, pointing to the desk behind her as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her smile reaching her wide eyes. She turned around in Bucky’s lap, planting her knees on the chair between Bucky’s open legs and stood on them to take a look.

She took her time reading the words and then she was off Bucky’s lap and bolting out of the room.

The man was about to lose it again, thinking she’d remembered his cruelty towards her and changed her mind when she came running back inside the office.

She climbed back on the chair between Bucky’s thighs, her glitter pen in hand.

Bucky sighed in relief, his lips spreading with an adoring smile as he watched her write her name letter by letter in glittery ink where her signature was needed. Bucky held her waist, kissing her back as he admired how focused she was.

She closed the cap on the pen, placing it on the desk before picking up the contract to show Bucky.

“Angel signed,” she beamed, plopping herself against Bucky’s chest and clinging to him, earning a hearty chuckle from him.

“I love you so much, angel. More than anything in the world.” Bucky gently held her face by the chin, giving her lips a short kiss.

“I love you too, dada.” She smiled, blushing as she hid her face in his chest again.

Bucky wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him and closing his eyes, just enjoying the feel of her body against his once more, silently promising his angel to never hurt her ever again.

~~

Tags:

@harrysthiccthighss

@tinystudentfirepurse

@lavendercitizen

@tumblin-theworldaway

[peaceoutofthepieces]

25 with nick and Charlie pls 🥺💕

idk how i feel about this and it’s comic-related rather than show-related but it was a very cute prompt 🥺

25. lying on chest, listening to heartbeat.

For all the times that Nick has been upset, or lost, or nervous, he has never felt like a particularly anxious person. He can’t deny that coming to terms with his sexuality had tripped that up for a while, and at the time he’d become familiar with what the frequent-nerves, constantly-held-breath, obsessively-thinking kind of anxiety felt like. But even then, he liked to think he managed it with relative awareness and patience. He’d had Charlie, after all, and that was one thing he was sure of, and so all the confusion wasn’t entirely as confusing as it could have been. But he isn’t an anxious person naturally; Charlie has that role well enough covered for the both of them, really. 

He does, however, know how it feels, and he knows that’s exactly what he’s been experiencing these past few days. 

Something he in no way doubts Charlie has picked up, despite the preoccupations Nick knows Charlie himself is currently dealing with. Which is really only part of the reason why he hasn’t brought this up. 

It’s no surprise that Charlie notices on his own, though. 

He’s sat at the top of his bed, leaning against his pillows with his feet in Nick’s lap and his homework balanced on his own knees, flicking curious glances at Nick every few moments. Nick is very much pretending to do his own work while spending more time tracing the bottom of his pen over Charlie’s ankle, just above the edge of his sock. In between Charlie’s looks, he flips the pen around and draws a small heart on Charlie’s shin. 

But that does get Charlie to look at him, and this time Nick looks back, offering a wide smile that’s likely even softer than he intends. Charlie grins back, shaking his head fondly, though he also pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Nick says. Too quickly, too enthusiastically. He adds, “Good,” and ruins it with a wince. 

Charlie raises his brows. Then he snaps his textbook closed around his notebook, sets the bundle aside, and leans forward. “Alright. What’s wrong?” 

Nick sets his own books aside, capping his pen and leaving it down as well. He presses his thumb to the heart on Charlie’s leg and looks at him, feeling his own heart swell in his chest, as it always does. He shakes his head, shrugging, and watches Charlie’s brow furrow. He isn’t avoiding answering; he does want to talk about it, even though he’s not sure what he actually wants to say and what it’ll mean, but he isn’t trying to quiet Charlie. No, Nick leans forward and kisses him because he’s right there, and he wants to. As he always does. 

Thankfully—albeit predictably—Charlie makes no protest. He kisses Nick back with as much ease and familiarity as ever, entirely comfortable, and soon Nick is cupping his face and tipping him back and crawling over him. Then Charlie interrupts for only a moment with a huffed laugh before pulling Nick down to him and gently reconnecting their lips. 

Then he’s pulling back and kissing Nick’s nose. And his cheeks. And his forehead. And his cheeks again. 

Nick laughs as Charlie’s arms wrap around his shoulders and he beams up at him. Nick kisses Charlie’s nose in retaliation, then nuzzles into his neck and leaves a kiss there, too. Charlie’s hold tightens, and Nick tilts over to the side and lowers his weight down until he’s settled on Charlie’s chest. 

Charlie doesn’t repeat his question, even though it would be the perfect opportunity. He just presses a kiss to the top of Nick’s head and pets at his hair; he just holds on and waits. 

His heartbeat is a steady thump beneath Nick’s ear. It might be one of Nick’s favourite sounds. It’s such a simple but intimate indicator of Charlie’s presence, of his closeness. It’s not only proof that he’s safe, that he’s a very real being in the world, but that he’s right here in Nick’s world, warm and steady at the center. Nick can’t imagine not being able to hear it any time he wants. 

“I’ve been trying really hard to figure out what I want to do. With university, and stuff,” he finally says. Before Charlie can respond, he adds, softly, “I like the look of Leeds.”

They sink into silence, making the pound of Charlie’s heart even louder under Nick’s cheek. Belatedly, Charlie says, “Oh.” 

Nick hugs him closer. 

“They…they have a good rugby team, right?” Charlie says, after a moment. 

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re good. It’s definitely—that’s part of the reason I’ve looked at it.”

“It would be a good fit, for that.”

Charlie’s tone is just a hint too light to be believable, and Nick’s chest is just a hint too tight for him to really convince himself he’s as relaxed as he’s trying to sound. It doesn’t matter anyway when he blurts out, “I don’t want to leave, though,” in barely a mumble. 

“Leeds isn’t…it isn’t that far away. If you were taking the train it wouldn’t be long. You could drive to it, easily.”

“Well, it would take a few hours.”

“Yeah.”

Silence spreads over them again, and Nick turns his face into Charlie’s chest more, presses the corner of his mouth to Charlie’s shirt, counts every beat of his heart and matches it to his own. He taps the rhythm against Charlie’s side, at the bottom of his ribs. Charlie’s fingers knot in his hair. 

“You need to do whatever you want, Nick,” Charlie whispers, a few minutes later. “Even if that’s—I mean, I don’t want to hold you back. I get that…you have to think about your future. And if I’m not—”

“You are,” Nick says instantly, looking up at Charlie. Then he pushes up onto his elbow and looks down at him instead, so Charlie can see every inch of earnestness in his expression. “Charlie, you’re—you’re the only thing I know that I want. Why do you think I don’t want to leave?”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and his lips lift out of their worried tilt. Still, his gaze flits away and he shrugs one shoulder. “Living away from home is a lot. You wouldn’t have your mum. Or Nellie.”

“Or you.”

“It’s not really the best thing to go on to uni with a boyfriend anyway, is it?”

Nick blinks, feeling unease stir in him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He receives another shrug in response. “Charlie?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a whole new experience. With a lot of new people. Usually it’s expected that you…move on from whatever happened in school.”

“You mean,” Nick tries, “you mean from you? What, like—like, break up?”

“Isn’t that—weren’t you suggesting that’s what would happen?”

“I—no. No, definitely not. I would never want that.” Unless. “Charlie, do you want that?”

“What? No. God, no. Nick.” Charlie reaches up to take Nick’s face in his hands. “Nick, I love you. Why would you think that?”

“Because you know that I love you and you thought it.”

“That’s different. And it’s not that I think you’d—that you’d want to, necessarily. Just that, I don’t know. It would be better, or easier for you, if you’re going and you didn’t have to worry about me.”

“Well it wouldn’t,” Nick insists, moving his own hand to Charlie’s chin to keep him in place. “Charlie, no matter where I was, I’d want to be with you. I always want to be with you.” 

Charlie’s lips tilt up, now. “Do you?” 

“You don’t really have to ask that.”

“Maybe I like hearing it, anyway.”

“Well then, I will tell you as many times as I have to.” Nick leans down enough to touch his nose to Charlie’s; to roll their foreheads together. “I want to be with you for as long as possible. I am not suggesting we break up.”

Charlie’s hand finds its way back into Nick’s hair and he pulls Nick down into a sweet kiss. When they part, he’s smiling again, and Nick wants to drop it. He wants to go back to ignoring it and telling himself he and Charlie can go on like this forever. 

“It would be easier to stay here. Better,” he says.

“If that was what you wanted, then yeah.” Charlie’s smile turns a little sad, and Nick wants to kick himself. “Since when do we make things easy?” 

“Being with you is always easy,” Nick gently argues, jostling Charlie in his hold; pulling him closer. 

Charlie gives him a highly unimpressed look. “That’s a very sweet sentiment, and I know what you mean, but you also know what I meant.” 

“And my point still stands.” Nick settles back down enough to settle his chin on Charlie’s chest, and reaches up to twirl a curl around his finger. “Always knowing I’ll see you makes every day easier. I don’t want that to change.”

He’s enclosed in Charlie’s hold again even as Charlie turns his gaze up to the ceiling and swallows. When he looks back at Nick, his expression is wary. “I meant it when I said I don’t want to hold you back. You can���t decide not to do something like this because you’re worried about me.”

Nick bites at his bottom lip, then presses his face to Charlie’s chest to hide the gesture. “I don’t like the idea of not being here for you.”

“It’s not like I’d be alone. And you’d still be there. I could text you or call you any time I wanted.”

“You’re starting to sound like you want me to go.”

“You know I definitely don’t.” The assurance warms Nick, but upon realising what he’s said, Charlie seems to finally grow frustrated. “No, I don’t mean—well of course I don’t want you to go anywhere, but I want you to do what you want. I don’t want you to—to end up hating me because I—”

“I am worried about leaving you behind,” Nick admits, and Charlie quickly quiets, blinking down at him as Nick looks up. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not. But I’m mainly worried about how I’d manage without you.”

His voice gets quieter as he goes on, and Charlie softens right along with it as his arms tighten around Nick. “Oh,” he breathes. The smile he quirks then is unbearably fond; it sets Nick’s skin tingling with the urge to be closer. “Nick. I’d still be here, too.”

“I know. That’s exactly the problem.”

Charlie laughs, despite the fact that Nick is entirely serious, but it’s soft and lovely and loving, and Nick finds he really doesn’t mind. “Okay, I see.” He slides a hand from the back of Nick’s neck around to his cheek, strokes the skin under Nick’s eye. “You could have talked to me about it when it started bothering you. I can—I mean, I could help you figure it out. We can figure it out together. Instead of us both freaking out about it alone.”

“So you are freaking out over it.”

“Nick. Of course, I am. Did you really think this would be the exception to things I’m worried about, or did you think I was just completely deluding myself?”

Nick bites his lip again, gives a small shrug. “Both, maybe.”

Charlie squawks and pinches his cheek when Nick shoots him a teasing grin. But they sober quickly again, and Nick simply shrugs, and points out, “You’ve been working on some other things, too. I guess I didn’t want to add this to it when I’m not…well, when I’m not even sure what I want.” 

There’s a silence where Charlie considers this, then he repeats, “I want you to do what you want. What’s going to make you happy. Even if I’m worried about what part I’m going to have in that, that’s what I want.”

Nick turns his cheek into Charlie’s hand and presses a kiss there. It brings his ear back to Charlie’s chest, so he rests there again. Counts another few beats of Charlie’s heart. “I want to be with you, always. Even if I have to drive a few hours to actually see you.”

He can sense the smile in the gentleness of Charlie’s tone. “That’s a good want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we talk about the rest later, then? And I can do the being with you bit now?”

“We can always do that,” Charlie agrees, and there’s enough contentment returned there that Nick simply presses his ear closer, and they just do that. 

hug prompts

[discordantwords]

not a moment to waste

This is for @khorazir​, who prompted “pencil.” Happy Valentine’s Day!

_____

Sherlock is standing by the window. His violin is tucked under his chin. There is a pencil clenched between his teeth. His face is painted with dying sunlight. His eyes are closed.

 John pauses in the entryway, watches as Sherlock's fingers dance along the strings, as his bow draws out honey-sweet notes that seem to quiver in the air.

 Sherlock pauses, sets the bow down. Takes the pencil out of his mouth. Scribbles something on a sheet of paper. Lifts the bow again.

 He is composing.

 The corner of John's mouth pulls into a smile. It has been years since he's seen Sherlock compose. Not since—

 "You're early," Sherlock says. His voice is flat. He does not turn away from the window.

 "Sorry," John says reflexively. "The appointment with the caterers was, um, cancelled. I thought I'd just—but if you're busy, I could—"

 "It's fine."

 John nods, looks down at the ground. "Right. Okay."

 Sherlock makes another note on the paper.

 "That was nice," John says, finally. "What you were just—erm—"

 "Just trying out a few things for the wedding."

 "Right," John says again. He nods. Swallows hard against the lump in his throat, the sinking sensation in his chest. "The wedding."

 "Lots to do," Sherlock says. He draws the bow across the strings, a single, sharp screech. Sets the instrument down.

 "Not that much," John says. He presses his lips together. Waits.

 Sherlock says nothing. He picks up the pencil again, makes another notation on the paper. The pencil tip snaps. He swears, tosses it aside. His hands, John realises, are trembling.

 "Sherlock," John says.

 "Not a moment to waste, really," Sherlock says. He opens the desk drawer, rummages around inside.

 "If you could just—"

 "For God's sake—" Sherlock wrenches the desk drawer out entirely, pens and paper clips and bits of crumpled paper and what look suspiciously like dried earwigs scattering across the carpet.

 "Sherlock!" John says, well and truly alarmed now. He crosses the room, puts his hand on Sherlock's arm.

 Sherlock jerks away as if burned.

 "Sher—" John starts, and then stops. Sherlock's eyes are wild, red-rimmed and pained. He is breathing in short, stuttering little gasps that he seems to be struggling, mightily, to stifle.

 "You're early," Sherlock says, and his voice is wrong, all wrong. "I meant to be done with this by the time you—it's—"

 "Don't worry about the wedding," John blurts. "It's—there's not going to be any wedding. All right?"

 Sherlock goes very still.

 "Mary and I are—we talked about it—and we're just not—it's not—" John blows a frustrated breath out through his teeth. "I don't want to. Get married."

 Sherlock breathes in. "Cold feet are to be expected as the date approaches."

 "It's not cold feet," John says. "Mary's great. I could spend the rest of my life with Mary. But."

 Sherlock looks at him. His face is blank and smooth, devoid of everything that John just saw written all over him mere moments before.

 "Christ," John says, and huffs an uncomfortable laugh. Drops down onto the sofa and puts his head in his hands. "I hadn't—this wasn't exactly how I intended to have this conversation, you know."

 Sherlock looks at the empty drawer in his hands for a stretch too long.

 "Right," John says, steeling himself. "Okay."

 He stands up again. Takes the drawer from Sherlock. Tries not to cringe at what is most definitely a dried earwig clinging to the underside.

 "Mary's great," John says again. "But she's not—you."

 Sherlock blinks. Blinks again.

 "That's what it comes down to, yeah? What it always comes down to. Even before you—um—went away. There are plenty of people out there, plenty of interesting people—"

 "Well—" Sherlock hedges.

 John's eyes snap to meet his. He feels his mouth struggling to contain a smile. "Plenty of interesting people," he reiterates. "And yet not a single one of them can hold a candle to you, you mad bastard."

 "Oh," Sherlock says. He tucks his chin in, looks at John.

 "All right?"

 "All . . . right," Sherlock echoes.

 "Good," John says. He clenches his hand, unclenches it. Lifts it to cup Sherlock's warm face.

 "John," Sherlock says. His voice is oddly unsteady. "Just to—be clear. What. Um. What I mean to ask is—"

 "Any way you'll have me," John says. "That's—that's what I want. Just you. Okay?"

 Sherlock closes his eyes and nods, his cheek rolling against John's palm.

 Outside, a truck rumbles past. The golden evening sunlight begins to fade.

 John shuts his eyes, presses his forehead against Sherlock's. Breathes in. Holds on.  

[tobesobri]

Traditions | 17.3k

a/n: it's been a while since I uploaded writing and for some reason I decided to sign up for this challenge and by some miracle actually managed to write something for it 🤯anyways, this is for the Valentine's Day Challenge by @1dffchallenges and it's honestly just a bit of fun, enemies to lovers little bit of angst and some smut! so i hope you enjoy! I'd always love to know your thoughts!! (also pls excuse any errors, I wrote this in a week with little editing lol)

prompt: doube date

dialogue: “So let me get this right. You want to hire me as your date for a Valentine’s Day Party?”

Pink and red were speckled throughout the entire office, whether it was a bouquet of chocolate roses, a banner of hearts, or stuffed bears residing next to bowls full of heart-shaped candies. Every employee’s section of the office had been filled to the brim with decorations as well. Pink and red ribbon taped carefully around the edges of their desktop computer, little store-bought balloons, also heart-shaped, grouped together and tied to desk chairs. 

And Y/N, dressed in her typical all black outfit, rolled her eyes as she paced through the office toward the one section in the back that was immune to all things heart-shaped, pink, or stuffed. 

She sat down at her desk with a loud sigh, her purse hitting the floor in its usual spot just before she slipped out of her jacket and draped it haphazardly between her back and the chair. It’d be wrinkled by the end of the day, but she didn’t care all that much, nor did she put much thought into the stains on her purse from leaving it on the floor. All she concerned herself with, after settling in, was getting straight to work… which was put on hiatus when she came face-to-face with both a pink and heart-shaped sticky note plastered onto the center of her computer screen. 

Groaning, she ripped it off and moved to turn her computer on before she bothered to read whatever was written on the note. She considered three potential suspects while she pulled her keyboard down onto her desk and logged in. There was Kayla, who worked front reception and was one of the main culprits of all the Valentine’s decorations. A strong contender. It could’ve also been Ines or Carmen, her closest work friends whom Y/N knew both owned a pad of pink, heart-shaped sticky notes. 

However, when she finally let her eyes fall to the note as her computer loaded up, the handwriting didn’t match any of the women she knew, and she was quite positive that none of them would have written was was sprawled out in black ink either.

Roses are red, violets are blue. I will fill your office with teddy bears and balloons, if you don’t send me your half of the proposal by two.

Harry.

She crumpled the note and tossed it into the bin under her desk. He could go fuck himself for all she cared. Sure, she was nearly done with her portion of the work and would be able to send it to him before then, but now that he’d pestered her about it, he’d be lucky if she even bothered to send it to him at all. 

She didn’t doubt the promise, i.e. threat, he made on the note, but being surrounded by teddy bears and balloons would be worth making Harry’s life just a tad miserable.

After opening all the apps she’d need to get her work done, namely Photoshop and Illustrator, she connected her drawing tablet and set up the rest of her work station for the day, both on screen and off.

Harry had worked at the company for about two years longer than her and she’d started off as an intern while she was still in college and, after graduating, was hired as a permanent graphic designer. They had never really gotten along ever since Harry—jokingly—asked her to get him a coffee once… or twice. Unfortunately for her, though, they ended up working well together and their boss had stuck them both on the same projects ever since. Especially after the month-long project last spring that had been their most successful one to date. 

While she came up with the design parts of client projects, Harry handled the more technical side of things and they’d never really argued much over each other’s work even though they clashed constantly at a more personal level. 

“I see your feeling festive.” Just as she’d gotten into the groove of her typical morning and had forgotten all about Harry’s stupid note, his voice interrupted her entire thought process. So when she swiveled around to find him leaning into her little office space, it was hardly a surprise when she glared at him, even though he feigned offense at her bitterness.

“You got my note, I presume.” He let himself into her space anyway, holding a mug of steaming coffee she was sure he’d just made in the workroom, and leaned up against the opposite side of her desk that housed a much larger, digital drawing tablet for when she needed to do more intricate design pieces. 

She just swiveled back around to face her computer again and went back to work as if he was no longer there. Pretending to ignore his existence proved to be quite difficult when the very particular woodsy, vanilla scents of his cologne met her nostrils and filled her entire office. Not to mention, the sight of what he’d been wearing singed the backs of her eyelids so that she still saw him every time she blinked. It was as if her brain refused to let her forget what he looked like in his white button-up, sleeves rolled to the crooks of his elbows, all tucked into his fitted black trousers that tended to get the imaginations going of all the women in the building. 

Not her though, of course. She was better than that. Obviously.

He cleared his throat, still very much present in her space and still very much giving her a migraine. “So will it be ready by two?”

“Well, I planned to send it to you before lunch.” She tweaked the spacing between letters of a potential logo for the millionth time. “But now… I think I might need the rest of the day.”

She heard rustling behind her and knew he was shifting his weight impatiently and running a hand through his hair as he often did when he was… displeased. “I told you I’m leaving early tomorrow and I need it no later than two.”

She cocked her head to the side, still staring at her computer screen and not giving him an ounce of satisfaction. “Did you tell me that?” She teased, an amused smirk lifting the corners of her mouth when she heard him groan behind her. “I must’ve forgotten.” Shrugging, she went back to her work.

“Unlike you,” he snapped, “some of us actually have a love life and I’d appreciate you not fucking up mine.”

She froze then, only for a split second, when his words sank in. Two thoughts raced through her head. The first a string of curse words because of his assumption that she didn’t have a love life. But the more prominent and worrisome part of his statement was that he did have one. And that he was leaving early tomorrow—Valentine’s Day—so he could get ready for a date.

Throwing both her prickly exterior and heartbreaking smirk up again, she turned to face him. “I’ve known you for three years now and if anyone has the potential to fuck up your love life, it’s you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and her gaze fell to the hand that seemed to wrap a bit tighter around his Bugs Bunny mug. His knuckles whitened and she met his heated stare again, pleased with herself for getting him riled up before he’d even finished his morning coffee.

“So,” she continued before he get get a word of retaliation out, and sat back against her chair, crossing her legs confidently as she folded her hands in her lap. “Who’s the poor girl you’ve tricked into going on a date with you this time?”

Harry had a terrible track record. The longest relationship he’d been in lasted for two months, and that was well before she’d known him. Everything else he had was just a one or two night thing and nothing more. Sure, it was all more than she had, but she preferred it that way. Harry seemed to resent the fact that he couldn’t keep a girlfriend to save his life.

“You don’t know her.”

Her smile widened. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Ooh, that just might be your second longest relationship, Styles.” 

“Well at least I’ve had one.”

His jab didn’t have an affect on her however, and he knew it wouldn’t because it never did. He knew she didn’t give a damn about relationships, or at least that’s what she claimed anyway. He couldn’t think of many twenty-four year old women who actually wanted to be alone. He actually couldn’t think of a mid-twenties anyone who wanted that.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.” She said nonchalantly, which irked him even more than he already was, and then swiveled away from him one last time, picking up her drawing pen and getting back to work.

“What’s your issue with relationships?” He went on and she knew he was headed right down a path intended to hurt her feelings just as much as she had his. So, she tensed slightly and braced for impact. “Is it a commitment thing? Or can you just not find anyone to put up with you for longer than five minutes?” 

She let his words sink their teeth in and then smiled to herself. “Hm. Seeing as you’ve been in my office now for,” she checked the time at the top right-hand corner of her screen, “eight minutes, maybe we should date.” She lifted a brow, awaiting his next response. 

It felt a bit like a cat-and-mouse chase bickering with Harry and since she was usually the cat, it brought her way too much pleasure fighting with him.

He scoffed. “Like I’d lower my standards for you.”

That one hurt, she had to admit. Not out loud or to Harry, but it still stung because it was true. He’d have to drop his standards to the floor to even consider dating her and she knew it. 

“Maybe,” she began, still half focused on her work, and ignored his comment all together, “some of us like being alone.”

“Nobody likes that.” He responded quickly and she heard a shift of his weight again and then his voice once more a few moments later. “It’s nice to be by yourself sometimes, yeah, but you can’t tell me you don’t want someone to come home to at the end of the day.” He crossed one leg over the other as he gripped the edge of her desk for support and just when she thought he was done, he kept going, “Someone you can vent to about your annoying co-worker.”

She glanced at him through the little portable mirror hanging above her desk—mostly used to make sure she looked decent before meeting with clients or, sometimes, Harry—and saw the tight smile on his lips. Almost as if that’s what he wanted, like he was talking about himself and not her. 

She’d slowed her progress down while he’d talked until she was no longer working at all. She no longer swiped her pen across the pad or had any idea what she was even doing when she focused solely on his words. Because, once again, whether he was talking about himself or about her, he was right.

“Yeah well,” she quickly hid herself back behind her wall and made her hands function properly again. “Some of us also don’t have the luxury of choosing whomever we want.”

She imagined him smirking at that one because, buried deep within her words was a compliment. That he was handsome enough to actually have anyone he wanted.

Instead, when she glanced at the mirror again and found him, there was the complete opposite of a smirk on his face, and as he stared down into his mug, clearly lost in thought, she wondered what the tightness in his jaw and the frown pulling on his lips meant.

She sighed and stole his attention away from his coffee. “I’ll have it to you before lunch. You can go now, unless you’d like to argue some more and slow me down by another…” she glanced at her clock again, adding up all the time he’d been standing in her office, “fifteen minutes.”

Without another word, she listened to the drag of his footsteps as he finally left her office space. And although she was glad to be rid of his distraction, the room felt so much bigger and so much colder and emptier without him in it. Shivering, she slipped back into her jacket and spent the next few hours doing nothing but staring straight ahead at her screen as she made final adjustments to her designs. 

Any other conversations with Harry were had over email as he worked in his own respective office, messaging her with every little concern he had in order to get his work done efficiently so that he wasn’t stressing to finish it tomorrow before he had to leave. Even though Y/N considered not responding to him a few times, just to spite him and slow him down for her own amusement, she found herself feeling guilty after leaving him hanging a couple times. Sure, she hated Valentine’s Day and everything surrounding it, but she’d almost hate even more the idea of both her and Harry being miserable tomorrow, so she inevitably gave in and cooperated with him. She’d probably regret it when he came back on Thursday spreading around the office all the gory details of his date, but at least he wouldn’t also be in a shitty mood. Her days were both boring and slow whenever Harry wasn’t having a good day. And although she’d blame it all on selfish reasons, it did also make her sad to see him frowning around the office and sulking when all she wanted to do was bicker with him and make him smile again, even just a little bit. But it was easier leaving him to his own devices than risk him finding out she cared about him enough to not wish sadness upon him.  

She couldn’t say the same for him. Harry probably relished in the days she came into the office in a sour mood. He probably celebrated and threw a party whenever she was upset, and, even so, it didn’t change how she felt about him.

The sun had long set and most of the office was gone by the time she finally called it quits and began packing up her things and giving her computer a rest for the night. There were still quiet murmurs from other workaholic employees, which comforting her knowing she wasn’t completely alone in the building, since the last time she’d done that, it took everything in her not to have a panic attack all the way to her car. 

Even though her boss told her countless times not to stay past five o’clock, as he told every other female employee that worked for him that he didn’t wish to see attacked after sunset in the city. Of course, when she was the only one who didn’t listen to him, he hired more guards and one of them rounded the corner into her office space, ready to escort her all the way down to her car.

“Figured you were still here.” He leaned against the walls of her cubicle and watched as she startled, twisting to meet his eyes for a moment before she settled and returned to slipping her belongings into her purse. 

“I don’t need you to escort me.” Zipping her purse, she rose from her chair, checking one last time across her desk to make sure she’d grabbed everything she needed to take home with her before turning to him as he still lingered in the opening of her little office. 

William had been hired a couple months ago, and was only a year older than her, but even so he was more than a foot taller than her and his biceps were about as big as her head. While the entire office drooled over him, she tended to keep her eyes and her thoughts to herself. 

“You say that every night you stay late. Just let me do my job and shut up about it.” He smirked at her and when her eyes met his again, sharply, glaring at him, she groaned and whirled past him toward the elevators. He followed swiftly behind, knowing she’d close the doors on him if he didn’t keep close enough pace with her, mostly because she’d done it before.

As he took his spot beside her and she pressed the button for the parking garage at the basement of the building, a familiar voice rang out through the office.

“Wait!” As if she wasn’t already annoyed enough with William’s presence, his stupidly large arm held the elevator doors open as Harry slipped inside a moment later.

“Thanks, mate.” Harry said exclusively to William as he caught his breath and stood wedged in the middle between the guard and Y/N, who was inching closer and closer into her corner to get away from Harry.

“You have any plans tomorrow?” Harry asked, his attention solely on William again while the elevator took off down through the levels of their building. Not fast enough for Y/N, of course.

William sighed, crossing his arms and trying to resist smiling. “Me and my girlfriend take turns surprising each other every year. And it’s her turn this year… so I guess I have plans, but I don’t know what they are.”

“Damn, way to make us feel incompetent.”

Y/N whirled her head to glare up at the side of Harry’s face. “Speak for yourself.” She warned.

Harry just ignored her though. “What did you guys do last year?”

Again, William stifled a grin. “I had been saving up for a while and took us both to Paris.”

“Shit.” Harry’s eyebrows rose and Y/N rolled her eyes away from him, watching the LED screen above the elevator doors as they neared the bottom levels of the building. She knew Harry and William had become friends, mostly because Harry was annoying and befriended everyone. Except her, of course. She heard his stupid voice again and wished she could just transport herself directly into the front seat of her car and be done with the both of them. “And now she has to do better than Paris.”

Y/N glanced around Harry just in time to see William smirk and she should have known what was about to come out of his mouth before it did. “Well, I don’t consider much better than her mouth ar—“

Y/N cut him off. “Ew! Are you serious?”

Both men eyed her curiously just as the elevator came to a stop and, with a ding, the doors opened. She flew toward them quickly.

“Y/N wait, I have to—“

Again, she cut him off, turning once she was out on solid ground. “I’ll be fine, besides trying to rid my mind of that image you just burned into it.” She turned on her heel and headed off toward her car.

William made a move toward her and Harry grabbed his arm, “I’ll walk her. Forgot she’s a bit of a prude.” They shared an amused look and Harry jogged out onto the concrete and asphalt until he reached her side.

“I heard that, you know… and I know for a fact your car is not parked in this direction.” She seethed and he just smiled to himself, happier than ever that she was in the mood to bicker with him, because he wasn’t quite in the mood to leave yet, where he’d have to wait till tomorrow morning at nine-thirty to see her again. And she wasn’t always the most talkative person on Valentine’s Day, either.

“Why are you the only female in our building not foaming at the mouth over him?” He asked instead, referring to William.

He heard her scoff. “Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean I have to be interested… or want to hear about his girlfriend sucking his—“

“Cock?” Harry finished for her and within a second she spun around to face him, forcing him to stop in his tracks just inches from her now. His smirk only grew when he saw just how quickly he’d gotten her all flustered. 

And then, as they started each other down, the hardness in her face softened and she drew out a breath, forcing his eyes to fall to her lips and his smirk to fall from his mouth. He thought back to last spring, when there were numerous late nights with her just like this one. When he went home and couldn’t stop thinking about…

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked and he blinked a couple times before he lifted his eyes.

“Like what?” He furrowed his brows, trying to track down all the resentment he had for her but he couldn’t find it anywhere anymore. He couldn’t summon it and say something that would save his ass from being caught looking at her like he wanted to kiss her.

Like he wanted to taste her and feel her against him, and hear what she sounded like when he tugged at her hair for more.

“Nevermind.” She shook her head, silencing the chaos going on in his brain. And then she turned, continuing the walk to her car with or without him, but, when she heard the echoing click of his shoes against the asphalt once more, she knew she wasn’t rid of him yet.

“I don’t suppose you’ll give me a ride back to my car, will you?” He easily stepped back into place beside her like nothing had happened.

She didn’t say anything for much longer than he was comfortable with. And then, finally, they reached her car and she sighed. “Get in before I change my mind.”

As she went for the driver’s side, he took quick steps to the opposite side, watching her over the top of her little Honda as she unlocked her door, and then, after clicking the button, his door as well. They both slipped in at the same time and while she fastened her seatbelt and settled in for her drive home, he sat perched with his backpack in his lap, knowing he’d be out of her car within only a couple minutes.

He still glanced around at his surroundings as she backed out of her parking space. “Should’ve guessed your car would be as neat as your desk.”

She didn’t say anything as she drove in the opposite direction of the exit toward the section of the garage Harry always parked in. It was closer to the elevators because he always came in before her and snagged a prime spot. She preferred an extra few minutes of sleep over walking an extra fifty steps.

And he started up again when she continued to not talk to him. “Most artists I know of are super messy.”

“I’m not an artist.” She gritted out through her teeth as she came to a stop once she spotted the rear-end of Harry’s BMW. Although she knew it well enough to distinguish it from the other black BMWs in the garage, it also helped that Harry had an old, faded license plate cover filled with a collage of cute pictures of puppies. He’d said it won him bonus points with women, but she also knew his screensaver at work was a picture of puppies as well, and no women he was interested in ever saw that.

He peeled his eyes off his car and looked over at her. “I know you can draw, too.”

She paused, gripping her steering wheel. She did enjoy both art and design and she knew Harry knew the difference between the two. She just didn’t know why he always insisted on bugging her about it. 

“Yeah, well that doesn’t make me an artist.”

When he didn’t say anything, she glanced at him just in time to find him shrugging a shoulder like he was agreeing to disagree. Even if she couldn’t draw, he’d still consider her an artist because the things she managed to design always blew his mind and if that wasn’t art… 

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to get out, or do I have to drag you?”

He grinned, and it was almost as if her eyes refused to see anything else but his dimples and the bright whites of his teeth, and the birthmark to the side of his mouth… 

“I’m going.” He assured, and yet he still hadn’t moved an inch. “Even though I’d love to see you try to drag me.” With her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel, he chuckled and unzipped the small pocket on the front of his backpack, withdrawing his keys as he finally swung her door open.

Once he was out, he gripped the top of the door and leaned back in to find her staring straight ahead. “Drive carefully, yeah? Would be quite tragic for your bitter ass to die on Valentine’s Day.”

She reached over and, despite having to brush her knuckles along the side of his thigh, grabbed the handle of the passenger door and yanked. His body remained in her way, however, and he was unfortunately a lot stronger than her.

Then she finally looked up at him, and those thoughts he had earlier surfaced again as much as he’d tried to bury them. This time though, he didn’t fight it as he glanced at her lips once more, then back at her eyes, which had widened slightly just before the dimples reappeared in his cheeks. “And I guess I would miss bickering with you every day.”

With that, he was gone and she retreated back to her seat as he shut the door for her. She had no idea what to think about what had just happened. Why he’d looked at her like that again. What that look even meant. 

By the time she reached the freeway, she’d convinced herself she was just seeing things. Harry wasn’t looking at her in any other way he had before when he was intent on pestering her. But, as she took in the scent of him still lingering in the cabin, she allowed a small part of her to hope she was wrong.

Her eyes fell on the man down the hall from her door as she slipped her key into the lock, her brows furrowing as she watched him. It wasn’t unusual for their paths to cross, as they tended to get home around the same time, but it was quite odd to see him sitting on the floor outside his apartment, his head in his hands. 

They’d said hi to each other a couple times in the mailroom, but she definitely didn’t know him well enough to go up and ask what his issue was or try to fix it for him. And after it was confirmed that he hadn’t, in fact, lost his keys, as they sat beside him on the floor along with his phone, she figured it best to leave him be. 

Turning her key, she pulled her gaze from him and disappeared from the hallway.

The second she was inside her apartment, she felt all the weight lift right off her shoulders, especially when her cat came racing up, screaming at her from the floor while also coaxing her toward the kitchen to fill the food bowl. Whatever was going on with her neighbor still very much on her mind, she tried to focus instead on relaxing and getting both her and the screaming Pretzel some dinner. 

She tried to remember his name as she heated up leftover pasta. She knew it started with an A, but her brain was coming up short. So, while Pretzel crunched on his food in his corner of the kitchen, she tried her hardest to remember. 

And it was no question why she cared so much. Her neighbor was someone she was actually interested in, and she had been since she first saw him. Of course, she was never foolish enough to think he was into her, but she still let herself fantasize. He was tall, nearly black curly hair atop his head always in a state of disarray, and he had the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen hidden behind his glasses. And, if she was being honest with herself, he was just a darker-haired version of Harry. Maybe that’s why she liked him.

The beeping of her microwave tore her thoughts from the dangerous path they’d been headed down. Harry’s voice rang in her head a moment later.

Like I’d lower my standards for you.

She’d needed to hear him say that, because sometimes her thoughts got carried away when it came to Harry and sometimes she did let herself be a fool who hoped. But after he’d said that one damning phrase, it was enough for her to stop. She didn’t meet a single one of his standards, inside or out. 

Still, she tried her hardest not to go back out into the hall and make sure her neighbor was alright. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to and it wasn’t like she was doing anything important. Even if she didn’t have a dumb crush on him, as she did Harry, she still didn’t enjoy seeing him in the state he’d been in.

Before she could work up the nerve, however, a knock sounded through her quiet apartment.

She held her breath as she opened her door, really hoping it wasn’t the boy from across the hall, since she was still blanking on his name, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else knocking on her door this late into the evening. 

So when she inevitably found him there, looking down at her through his annoyingly long lashes as she took in the horrible state he was in—red, inflamed eyes and hair that needed to see a brush rather than his hand—she completely lost her breath instead.

“Uh, sorry, I… saw you come in and I know we don’t talk and this is a weird thing for me to ask but…” He ran said hand through said messy hair and she found her breath again while looking up at him like she’d do whatever he’d asked just so he’d stop frowning.

He sighed, glancing down the hall toward his apartment and then met her curious and somewhat concerned gaze. “Can I come in?”

She recoiled. “Um… why?”

“Well, um, I was hoping you could help me with something and I’d rather not have the entire floor know about it.”

She was beyond confused now, but still, she stepped aside and let him pass, assuming that if he was actually a murderer he would have done her in a lot sooner than this. He had plenty of other opportunities. Plus, something in his face just… made her want to trust him.

She closed the door and turned to him, watching as his eyes scanned her kitchen and where her food still sat before he twisted around, eyes wide. “Shit, I’m sorry for interrupting.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine.” And after clearing her throat, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you, um… what do you need help with?”

He swallowed and she watched his Adam’s apple budge in his throat. “I don’t imagine you’ll like me very much after I ask but… I need a date.”

“What?” Again, she nearly flew out of her skin.

His eyes darted back and forth between hers, gauging her reactions and very obviously on the verge of seeing himself out and pretending this never happened. Instead, he stuffed away his pride and went on. “My ex… she, uh… well we broke up a few months ago and I saw her the other day and she’s seeing someone and we were talking and I… told her I was seeing someone too and so she invited me to go on this stupid double date with her… but the thing is… I’m not actually seeing anyone and I just told her that so she’d be jealous but she didn’t seem jealous at all and I don’t exactly have many friends to ask for help and I saw you and…” He rambled, but she managed to understand his predicament just fine. 

“A double date? With your ex?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know either. She’s… she does weird shit but… I still want her back.”

Y/N’s heart ached in her chest. As much as she detested relationships, she was a sucker for other people’s relationships and she was definitely a sucker for her beautiful neighbor, even if he was asking to use her to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.

“Not that I’m saying yes but… when? And where?” She finally asked after thinking things over for a moment.

“Tomorrow night… I can pay you. I will pay you, I mean… but, seriously, you don’t have to do it I just thought I would ask.”

“Where is this date at?” She repeated when he didn’t answer that part of her question.

“At this party… and bef—“

She cut him off. “Okay so let me get this right. You want to hire me as your date to a Valentine’s Day party?”

He lifted a brow, “Well, there’s more… she wants to get dinner before going to the party.”

She shook her head, looking away, “I don’t really do Valentine’s Day…”

“You wouldn’t have to do much. I’ll pay for your dinner, too. Whatever you want. I just… really need your help and you’re my only option.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You realize I’m not exactly…” she waved at her face and his eyebrows screwed together in confusion. “I’m not easy on the eyes and I don’t think taking me will make anyone jealous.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at her incredulously. She shifted her weight nervously and he finally opened his mouth. “You don’t actually think that, do you?”

Her features scrunched up and she kept her eyes planted on the middle of his chest. And then he realized that she, in fact, did.

“I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.” He also realized that using her to make his ex jealous would possibly hurt her more than it would help him and he could no longer fathom putting her through that. “I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry.” He moved to walk past her, back to his apartment but she stopped him before he got far.

“No… I’ll help you.” And then she realized his identity was still somewhat of a mystery to her. “This sounds even worse than what you just asked me to do, but… I completely forgot your name.”

He breathed out a laugh. “It’s Adam.”

She knew it had started with an A!

“Y/N.” 

He smiled wider and nodded. “I know.” And then his face grew sad again. “I am really sorry I’m asking you to do this on Valentine’s Day, it’s definitely not my proudest moment.”

She waved him off. “I wasn’t going to do anything anyway. Just tell me what you need me to do.” She didn’t bother brining up the whole payment thing. She didn’t really care about being paid. He was nice, the only nice person she’d encountered in her apartment building and if getting him back together with his ex meant she’d never have to come home and see him in the fetal position on the floor again, she’d suffer through a date and a party on her least favorite holiday.

It was somehow even worse than it’d been yesterday. The decorations seemed to triple in size. Not an inch of the office was untouched by something pink and she prayed whoever had put up even more decorations had spared her little cubicle.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” One of the receptionists most responsible for the overflowing decor, Kayla, called her over to her desk not even a minute after Y/N had arrived. And she stalked over until she saw the package Kayla pulled out that instantly lifted her spirits.

She stopped in front of Kayla’s desk and took the thin box from from her, already knowing what it was and thanking god for the timing so that her entire day wasn’t completely miserable. It was a new drawing pad she’d ordered, a bigger one that she hoped would be a bit more efficient to use than her current one.

Even with her back turned to the rest of the office, she sensed Harry’s presence long before he stopped beside her with his mug in hand.

He lifted a brow at the package in Y/N’s hands just as she reluctantly turned to look at him. “Getting gifts sent to the office? That’s a first.”

She rolled her eyes and stuffed the box under her arm, holding herself back from running off to her office to set it up. “Jealous?” She cocked her head.

And instead of his condescending smirk and a hateful response to go with it, the sparkle in his eyes seemed to fade as he eyed the box again, genuinely worried now that it was actually a gift from someone. 

Before either could say anything, they all turned to find a delivery man walking up to Kayla with a giant bouquet of flowers in tow. And so it began. Although, when Kayla took the vase from the man eagerly, a bright smile on her face because Kayla loved love a little too much, Y/N couldn’t help but think about Adam. About how the only time she’d managed to get a date on Valentine’s Day was when it wasn’t even real. Instead, she’d stupidly agreed to help her cute neighbor win back his ex-girlfriend in exchange for a free dinner.

It was… pathetic. To say the least.

She felt Harry watching her, too, while she eyed the bouquet of flowers as they departed reception with Kayla and made their way to their recipient. As stupid as she found everything about the holiday, she couldn’t help but want someone to send her flowers. To give her anything for that matter. To have thought about her for at least a second of their day. Harry cleared his throat and she tore her eyes away.

“So… what’s in the box?”

“None of your business.” She rounded him, heading to her office, but he grabbed her free arm to stop her short and didn’t speak until she met his gaze again.

“Can we meet up in my office to finish the proposal? Think it’ll be easier to get it done than over email.”

She had every reason to be suspicious of him. They almost never worked in each other’s offices. When they did work together, which was often, it was in one of the empty conference rooms and it was usually at the beginning of the process when they needed the space to plan things out. The last time they’d really been in each other’s offices was last spring. Figuring he just wanted to get things done so he could be out of the office on time, she let it go.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

He watched her walk away, watched her even as Kayla returned and noticed his gaze and giggled at him as she took her spot back behind her desk.

“It was something she ordered for herself, by the way.”

“What?” Harry whipped around again, not having even realized the other woman until now.

“I know you two pretend to hate each other but I see the way you look at her, Harry.” Kayla lifted a brow at him as she began typing on her keyboard.

He feigned disgust. “I’m seeing someone, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” He insisted. “I have a date. Tonight.”

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Okay… I’m just saying.”

“I don’t look at her.”

Kayla suppressed a smile and snorted instead. “If you say so. I guess you didn’t also sneak into her office this morning, either.”

“I think all these flowers and stuffed bears and heart-shaped things have gotten to your head.” He pointed around to the decor littering her desk while holding his mug steady.

Kayla met his eyes and her smile slipped off her face. “Harry, please don’t mess with her.”

His face screwed up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t like her then don’t lead her on.”

“I don’t think she’s capable of being led on.”

Kayla froze for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by that either. “Why are you being weird?”

“Because,” Kayla sighed, brushing her curled brunette hair onto one shoulder and then lowered the volume of her voice. “I happen to know she doesn’t think very highly of herself and I’d rather not see her get hurt, especially not by you.”

Now Harry froze. The hand that gripped his mug tightened and he didn’t even flinch as it began to burn his skin. He heard Y/N’s voice in his head then as he drowned out his surroundings.

Some of us don’t have the luxury of choosing whomever we want.

He had instantly regretted what he’d said to her yesterday when she’d told him that. And now hearing Kayla, in a way, confirm what he’d read between the lines of Y/N’s words… his chest tightened in quite possibly the worst way ever. He’d hated himself most of the day after telling her he’d never lower his standards for her and he could say he was just bickering all he wanted, but he knew now for certain she took it the wrong way. And he wished more than ever that he hadn’t said something so horrible to her, especially when it was the farthest thing from the truth. 

And the real truth, that he was trying desperately to shove away with stupid remarks like that, was that he didn’t meet her standards. She wasn’t into relationships and he knew he wasn’t good enough to change her mind.

“How do you know that?” He finally asked.

“That Christmas party last year… she’s a really happy drunk until she’s not.”

He flinched. “Did she say something?”

“I don’t want to get into it, mostly because I don’t think she remembers and would probably kill me if I told you but… just leave her be.”

He hardened back up again. “She does’t have any interest in relationships anyway, ‘specially not with me.”

Kayla scoffed. “She’s a really good liar.”

Harry stood there for a few more moments, feeling as if his life had just gotten flipped upside down. He’d been in such a good mood mere minutes ago before his dumbass waltzed into reception all because he’d seen Y/N. Because, despite everything and despite the fact he was already attempting to date someone else, it was Y/N he wanted to be close to all the damn time. Groaning, he turned on his heel and left for his office, hoping she wasn’t there waiting for him so he could have a moment to himself to gather his thoughts.

In a hurry to open her package, Y/N slumped down into her chair tossing her purse on the ground at her feet and pulling out her box cutter in a rush of movements. She was so distracted, in fact, that she didn’t even notice the little stuffed frog, the box of chocolates and envelope sitting on the other side of her desk near her mouse. Instead, she unboxed her new tablet and began setting it up, not noticing the gifts until she went to turn on her computer. And then she froze.

With reluctant hands she grabbed the envelope first, her name printed on it in perfect cursive. She knew nobody in the office who had such good penmanship. Opening the card in hopes of finding out who had placed the items on her desk, instead, she just found it signed as ‘secret admirer.’ Rolling her eyes, she set the card down and realized it had to be from her boss. Sometimes he remembered to go around and give everyone little gifts on the holidays. Obviously he’d remembered this year. 

She dug into the chocolates as she set up her tablet and began calibrating it to suit her needs before finally testing it out in the little bit of time she had before she needed to make her way to Harry’s office. 

And once that time came, she left everything in its place, besides the box of chocolates, which she continued to pick at while she made her way through the room. What she didn’t notice while stuffing her face with candy was that… no one else had a stuffed frog or chocolates or a cheesy little card on their desks.

She rounded the corner into Harry’s office, which was a real office and not a cubicle that he usually shared with one other person who was thankfully out with clients for the day. She knocked on the doorframe to get his attention after just watching him focus on his screen for a moment. Harry was cute when he was focused.

But then he turned to her and his eyes fell to the box in her hand.

When he didn’t say anything, she held it out toward him. “Do you want some? I think Andrew was feeling generous this year.”

Harry’s eyes quickly panned up to hers and his brows furrowed as if she’d just punched him in the gut. And she couldn’t make out what that expression meant no matter how hard she tried. 

“He didn’t give me anything.” Harry motioned around his desk.

“Maybe he doesn’t like you.” She shrugged, setting the chocolates down on his desk while she grabbed his office mate’s chair and pulled it up beside him.

Harry sighed, turning to his computer for a moment and then watching her from his peripheral while she picked out another piece of chocolate. “I didn’t see anyone else with chocolates on their desks this morning.”

Y/N just shrugged. “There was a frog too. And a card.”

“And why do you think he’d give you all of that and no one else?” Harry hoped she’d get the hint but he didn’t hope too hard. She was still Y/N after all. And he really didn’t mean to sound so bitter… well, okay, he did. But he knew she’d misplace his bitterness, crushing what little hope there was to bits.

“Maybe he likes me better than all the rest of you.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head as he put his attention back on his screen. 

“No one else in this office would give me a card signed as a secret admirer so… maybe I did something I don’t remember doing and he’s thanking me?” Now that she really thought about it, and if Harry was right… then it really didn’t make  much sense. It’s not like she was Andrew’s favorite employee.

Harry just lifted a brow and then pretended to lose all interest. 

Sensing the tension, she slipped the box closer to him. “Here. I think you need a knock-off Snickers if you expect me to work with your grumpy ass.” He made no move to indulge her, however. And so she went on, continuing to poke the bear. “Why are you in a lousy mood anyway? Isn’t this your favorite holiday? And you get to leave early.”

His eyes fell from his screen and he stared at the brick of sticky notes below his monitor before mumbling, “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”

Taken aback, she searched what she could see of his face for answers to what he was apologizing for. He’d said a few things she could imagine deserved an apology and yet, so did she. Maybe she should have been the one to apologize to him first.

“I didn’t mean to say what I did.” He finally turned to meet her face on. He’d hoped the frog and the chocolates would have been atonement enough, but considering she thought they were from their boss and not him, he just had to suck it up and actually say what he meant.

She shrugged. “It’s fine. I can be a prude sometimes.”

He searched her eyes for a moment and then shook his head, “No that’s not… I meant what I said earlier in your office… about lowering my standards. It was a stupid thing to say and not true in the slightest.”

But then she smiled and he grew confused. “Yes it is. It’s okay to have standards, you know.”

“I know that. But if we… I wouldn’t have to lower my standards. And it was cruel of me to have said that to you.”

She couldn’t stand looking at him any longer and averted her gaze, clearing her throat. “Well it doesn’t matter so… can we just get this proposal done?”

He’d wanted to spend how ever long it took to convince her that it did, in fact, matter, but Y/N was persistent, more so than him, and so he’d given in and they moved on to being productive with their time. And in less time than he’d anticipated their proposal was finished, being sent off to Andrew for approval before their presentation at the end of the week with their clients.

Harry sat back in his chair and she returned her own to the other desk where it belonged, all while he watched her. 

“What do you do on Valentine’s Day?” He asked, just trying to get her to stay longer, knowing that if those were his true intentions, then he was fucked. That he wanted to be around Y/N, even though he was seeing someone else, albeit for just a week so far, even though she’d never want the same from him. 

Maybe he was just as terrible with relationships as she claimed if he always chased after what he couldn’t have.

“That is also none of your business.” She grabbed her box of chocolates from his desk, his voice pinning her in place again though.

“Let me guess… it involves chocolate, your cat, and the most anti-romantic movies you can find?”

He would not think her very prudish if he knew what else she did on Valentine’s Day while alone in her apartment, but she figured it was best to keep that to herself. Instead, she smiled at him. “Something like that.”

He narrowed his eyes and threw his arms up behind his head as he laid back in his chair, watching her curiously like he was trying to figure her out. Meanwhile, she was trying to not make it obvious she was staring at his biceps as they just about bulged from underneath the sleeve of his pink button-up. He’d done it on purpose though, so as much as she tried to hide it, he still grinned with satisfaction when she became flustered.

“Well, have fun with that, then.” He nodded, and for a moment while she was lost in his eyes and growing embarrassingly hot, she wondered if he could read her mind. If he knew exactly what not-so-innocent things she did on Valentine’s Day. Then he brought his arms back down to rest his elbows on the edge of his desk, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers and watching as she rolled her eyes, held her chocolates close, and left his office. 

Adam arrived right when he said he would at five-thirty. It had given her plenty of time to change out of her work clothes and into one of the few dresses she owned, to at least seem somewhat convincing that this was a real date. She also fixed her makeup and put on a pinkish-nude lipstick before switching out her bulky purse for a smaller crossbody. 

When she opened the door to him, he most certainly did not disappoint. She almost let herself get lost in the delusion that it was a real date when she saw him dressed to the nines and cleaned up for the first time since she’d known him. And she especially got a little lost in it when he pulled a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back and handed them to her. 

“You didn’t have to—“

“I know.” He gave her a once over when she wasn’t looking. “You didn’t have to do this for me either.”

She quietly accepted the flowers and let him in while she found a vase and filled it with water. He leaned on the counter, watching her as she did so.

“You look… beautiful, by the way.” He blurted out once she had cut and placed the stems into the vase. Her hands froze, though, and when he met her eyes, he knew he’d made a mistake.

“You’re paying me to make your ex-girlfriend jealous. Please don’t flatter me.”

“Sorry.” He muttered, although he was beginning to wonder if the bigger mistake was not taking her out on a proper date that had nothing to do with his ex. 

She sighed and adjusted the strap of her purse. “Let’s go then.”

He went over all the final details on the Uber ride to the restaurant. Things about his ex he thought Y/N should know about. And he made sure she knew, for about the hundredth time, that she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. And she reminded him for an equal amount of times that she never did anything she didn’t want to do. So, settling that, he helped her out of the back of the Uber when they arrived and opened the door to the restraint for her as well. Everything that she’d expect from a normal date, which only left her disappointed when she reminded herself it wasn’t.

She waited quietly, and tried to catch her nerves, while Adam talked to the hostess and gave her his ex’s name for the reservation. The place was packed and anyone who didn’t call ahead surely would not be getting a table tonight. She’d never been out on Valentine’s Day, though, so it was like stepping into a brand new world for her. And as she followed both the hostess and Adam, she paid more attention to all the couples enjoying their meals than anything else.

Except for when he reached back and grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers just before they came to a stop. She blinked her eyes at their hands for just a moment before he gently pulled her around next to him. And whatever way she’d felt about holding Adam’s hand went right out the window when she locked eyes with Harry.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

The last thing she expected to find, while Laura, the gorgeous blonde ex-girlfriend, stood to hug Adam, was Harry fucking Styles. And what a fucking coincidence it was, almost as if this was her karma for feeling the need to constantly help people. 

Adam’s hand slipped from hers but she didn’t even notice it anyway. She and Harry still stared each other down and neither of them moved a muscle either. Well, besides the one in his jaw as it tightened. Then he did move, glancing over at Adam with a blank expression before landing his gaze back on her again. And then his eyes fell to the glass of water in front of him and she felt like she’d been released from chains he’d tied around her wrists.

“This is Y/N,” Adam’s hand went to the small of her back, guiding her forward to meet his ex-girlfriend and Harry’s current… whatever they were. 

Laura held out her hand, her smile a little too forced. “Laura. It’s nice to meet you. Please, sit.” She ushered them to the table as she took her spot beside Harry again. Adam, of course, took the chair opposite Laura, which left Y/N in the one opposite Harry. 

This would be a long, hellish night.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Harry was thinking. That maybe she’d come to crash his date. Or, even worse, that he’d already figured the whole thing out. That Adam was paying her to be here. She really hoped he’d never find out because it was just embarrassing enough to make her want to change her name and move across the country, thousands of miles away from him. Harry finding out that she couldn’t get a real date to save her life… beyond humiliating.

“This is Harry.” Laura motioned to him and he just barely lifted his gaze, nodding at Adam and ignoring Y/N entirely. “You know,” the blonde went on, glancing between Adam and Y/N, “I was a little shocked when you told me you were seeing someone again.”

Adam just shrugged.

“How did you guys meet?” 

Y/N left all the talking to him. Mostly because she was still in shock that she was sitting across from Harry. And she hadn’t even taken the time to properly take him in and realized he’d also changed his clothes since work. Swapping his wardrobe out for a fitted black button-up, that wasn’t buttoned all the way to the top as his shirts normally were. The sleeves were already rolled to his elbows. He’d shaved off the scruff along his jaw as well and fixed his hair so that it was combed back out of his face, although a a couple rebellious strands hung down onto his forehead. He looked… like absolute perfection. And he was being forced to be on a date with the ex-boyfriend of the girl he was seeing and his annoying co-worker. She felt terrible for him.

“Oh, uh, well we live on the same floor.”

Laura nodded, clearly anticipating more. “Is that it?”

Y/N felt Adam tense up beside her and so she took over, easily spinning a lie. “I ran out of milk one night a few weeks ago. He’s the only one who answered the door.”

She noticed a flash of movement in her peripheral and turned to find Harry’s gaze on her again, one eyebrow lifted curiously. He was either wondering how she hid it so well, or trying to figure out what to ask in order to reveal their ploy. He never said anything, though.

“Sorry, um,” Laura’s tone changed as she glanced between Harry and Y/N, both of them looking away when the other girl interrupted. “Do you two know each other?”

Harry grinned, sitting back against his seat and folding his hands in his lap. “Something like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We work together.”

“Really?” Although her tone said otherwise, Laura’s face said everything about how she felt upon hearing that bit of information. 

Adam twisted his worrisome gaze to Y/N, but she ignored it. Harry, however, did not.

“Don’t worry, mate. I was under the impression she was celibate up until now.” With that, Y/N kicked him under the table and he sat forward to swallow the groan that very nearly left his lips after she’d jabbed him in the shin with the toe of her heels. “Guess she’s really good at hiding things, though.”

Adam just chuckled nervously and Y/N shot him an apologetic smile, trying to reassure him that this date would still work out despite Harry. 

“What a small world.” Laura laughed, trying to break the tension but dinner hadn’t even started yet. 

Sometime during the main course, Laura excused herself to the bathroom and Y/N almost, in a desperate attempt to flee both Adam and Harry, invited herself along. But she figured it’d be worse to be alone with Laura than with them. Laura might ask questions she wasn’t prepared for. So, she stayed put, as much as it pained her to do so.

“So, Adam, what do you do for a living?” Harry asked suddenly and she wanted to kick him again. Mostly because his tone was that of a jealous teenager and he’d waited until Laura was gone to pester her ex-boyfriend who most certainly did not deserve Harry’s pestering.

“Oh, uh, I’m an artist. I work for an animation studio at the moment but I’m trying to get into freelance.”

Harry’s eyes shot to the suspiciously quiet girl sitting across from him. “So is Y/N.”

Adam turned to look at her, but she just glared at Harry. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Harry titled his head as he narrowed his attention in on Adam again. “So you’ve known her for a few weeks and you never asked what she did?”

“Harry.” Y/N warned, trying to kick him under the table again but he dodged out of the way.

“Well… she said she was in graphic design… not art.” She had told him that, during their crash course yesterday while they got to know as much as they could about each other in a span of a couple hours.

“I think it’s the same thing.”

Adam just shrugged. “I guess. I don’t think I could be a designer, though. Most artists make what they think looks good, designers create things to appeal to customers.”

“Just ignore him.” Y/N advised and Harry was the one shooting her daggers and attempting to stomp his foot on top of hers under the table this time.

“You and Laura used to date then? She never told me how you split up.” Harry moved on.

Adam swallowed nervously. “She broke up with me.”

“Why?” Harry pushed and Y/N looked at him like she wanted to kill him, which he ignored.

“I, uh… I had a drug problem for a while. I was not the best person to be around sometimes. But after we broke up, she helped me with rehab and everything.”

“Guess that explains why you’re on such good terms.”

Now Y/N really wanted to do more than just kick him. 

Adam grabbed Y/N’s hand under the table and pulled her straight from her violent thoughts about Harry. And he didn’t lace his fingers between hers, instead, it felt as if he had just been looking for something to ground himself with. And her hand resting on her lap was the closest thing he could find. It didn’t, however, go unnoticed by Harry and his jaw clenched as he stared at the point in the table where, just below, there their hands met almost as if he was trying to set everything on fire.

Laura returned shortly after that. 

As promised, Adam paid the entirety of both his and Y/N’s bill, even though she attempted to snag it from him, seeing as the date had gone to shit and it was all her fault. Well… maybe it was also Harry’s fault a little bit too. But she definitely did nothing to make Laura jealous. Adam, on the other hand, did a great job at making Harry jealous just by existing and being Laura’s ex, whom she was still friends with. 

The four of them stood outside on the curb awaiting their Uber after dinner was over, agreeing upon splitting one car to get to the party instead of taking two. Laura was apparently very cautious about fossil fuel consumption.

Y/N shivered as she stood between Adam and Laura, wishing she’d bright a jacket instead of relying on a long-sleeve dress to keep her warm. Then an arm wrapped around her shoulders and Adam pulled her close, running his hand up and down her arm to form heat. She tensed up, though, forming into an immovable brick. She had no idea the last time she’d been that close to another person, let alone a member of the opposite sex. When he felt her go rigid, he leaned down until his lips were at her ear. “Is this okay?”

She just nodded and tried to relax. Which turned out to be quite easy because Adam was warm and he smelled nice. She, of course, didn’t let her mind wander off too far. He was still in love with his ex. He’d still shove cash into her hand at the end of the night for her troubles and go on with his life.

Adam let go of her when the car pulled up and quickly went to the passenger door to confirm with the driver. Then he opened the back door for the three of them to climb in, Laura going first, then Harry, and, at last, Y/N, while Adam slipped into the front seat beside the driver.

While the car took off, Y/N was shoved into the corner when Harry moved closer to her in order to find both his and Laura’s seat buckles in the dark. Eventually, he settled back into the middle and gave her some space again. When she made no move to do the same as them, Harry turned to look down at her. 

“Put your seatbelt on.” He whispered.

Her eyes whirled up to his. Wordlessly, and of course after rolling her eyes, she grabbed her seatbelt and he made room for her to buckle it in. Then she sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest while she stared out at the traffic through her window.

She would have stayed in that exact position the entire trip, too, if Harry’s knee didn’t insist on bumping into hers constantly. And she couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not.

When she glanced up at him, and found the corner of his lips curl upward, she figured it was, in fact, purposeful. So, with the hand closest to him as her arms were still crossed, she poked him in the side, right against his ribs, hoping it hurt.

“Ouch.” He whined, covering the spot with his hand dramatically. Everyone in the car glanced at Harry, all except for Y/N who snickered as she returned to staring out the window.

Harry wasn’t giving up, though. This time, with his arms crossed in his lap, and glancing at Laura to be sure she wasn’t watching, he walked his pointer and middle finger up the outside of Y/N’s thigh, close enough to her hip to make her squirm slightly when his touch tickled her. And as soon as he got her attention, he looked down at what he was doing and pressed his middle finger against her, meeting her gaze with a smirk.

In the same moment, the driver turned up the music in the car as they waited tirelessly at a red light. It was better than silence or listening to his passengers breathing. But Harry mentally thanked him and turned his attention back to Y/N, leaning into her slightly until his lips were at her ear and she shivered for an all new reason.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.” He whispered for her ears only. The music was especially loud in the back and he wasn’t sure Y/N had even heard him.

Especially since she didn’t respond right away. But how could she? Harry’s fingertips were still grazing her thigh, as if trying to emphasize the dress she had on. And his stupid knee was pressed right up against hers. She couldn’t think straight.

Though when she finally turned to him and whispered back, “Don’t get used to it,” he knew she had, in fact, heard him well enough. 

He leaned again, “Afraid I already am.” 

She hated that there were butterflies in her stomach. That he was saying such odd things to her when his date was sitting just on the other side of him. The date who most definitely met all Harry’s standards.

Huddling away from him, she stuck her eyes out the window and kept them there the rest of the trip.

It was just past eight when they arrived, a fifteen-minute trip up through the city taking half an hour due to all the Valentine’s Day traffic. Another reason she hated this holiday.

The party was being held by Laura’s best friend, who’s name Y/N did not care to commit to memory. In the elevator ride up to the penthouse, though, Harry stood close to Laura, his arm wrapped around her waist and Adam to Y/N, although he didn’t touch her. She wouldn’t have minded if he did, but she figured it was best to keep those boundaries in place anyway.

Pink and golden balloons littered the ceilings of the penthouse. The drink cups were also pink, as was the communal punch bowl that Y/N steered clear of, having no idea what was in it, or who had already spiked it. She knew nobody at the party besides who she’d come with, though she assumed both Adam and Harry were somewhat acquainted with Laura’s friends. 

It was most definitely not someplace Y/N ever saw herself being at, not only because it was a Valentine’s themed party, but also because she wasn’t exactly comfortable around so many people. Especially when those people were all so unfamiliar to her.

“Here,” Adam handed her a drink and then grabbed one for himself. She downed the thing in one go, needing to take the edge off. It might’ve been a slight mistake when the alcohol burned the back of her throat, but she didn’t care too much when she grabbed another.

Then he was leading her into the dancing pit of bodies where they huddled close enough so that his lips were at her ear. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

She glanced over at where Laura and Harry had been left, finding both her hazel eyes and Harry’s green ones glued to the both of them. She wasn’t sure what Harry’s deal was, but this was her moment to fix things and make Laura jealous, so, turning back to Adam, she nodded.

He eased his hands onto her waist as they began swaying to the music. And then he pulled her closer, his hands slipping to the small of her back as her arms wrapped around his neck, being careful with her own movements even though she desperately wanted to sink her hands in his hair.

And, god, he smelled so good as her head rested in the crook of his neck. And he felt good, too, as he moved against her body. She knew it wasn’t real, and that the alcohol was making skewing her perception of things, but it was still nice. Nice to be held and to just let go for a change.

Over Adam’s shoulder, Y/N caught Harry’s eyes again. His jaw clenched and he looked the same as he did back at the restaurant. Angry. And then she realized that maybe she wasn’t really trying to make Laura jealous anymore at all, but rather Harry.

It was dumb, she knew that. He’d have to like her in order for her to make him jealous. But… the way he was looking at her. The way he had looked at her. His eyes lingering too long on her lips. What he’d done in the car ride here. 

She heard Adam in her ear again. “I think it’s working. She just stormed off into the kitchen.” Then he pulled away and she realized she hadn’t even seen Laura. Just Harry. Harry and his stupid, obnoxious green eyes.

“You owe me more than just dinner.” Y/N teased but Adam grew serious.

“I know. And since you refuse to accept my money, I’ll have to figure out another way to repay you.” He smiled and then twirled her around so that she no longer had any line of sight toward Harry. He pulled her close again, one hand going to her waist while the other stayed locked to one of hers. “Suppose I could start with making your coworker just as jealous… although I think he already is.”

Confusion flooded her features as she peered up at him. 

“Oh, come on! He was ready to rip my head off when he realized I’d grabbed your hand. And when I put my arm around you? I thought I might be better off just giving you my jacket and freezing to death instead.”

“I don’t…” she shook her head in disbelief. It was one thing for her to be pretending to make Harry jealous in some delusional hope that it’d work. But this… this was a whole other thing.

“I’m actually quite interested to see what he does if I kissed you.”

She was shocked at first and then, possibly due to the alcohol, just as interested. “Are you asking my permission?”

“Are you saying yes?”

Y/N hesitated. “Is she back?”

Adam’s eyes scanned the room and Y/N realized he hadn’t asked to kiss her for Laura’s sake at all.

“She is.” He finally announced. 

Without any more second guessing, Y/N’s hand slipped to the back of his neck and pulled him in. As soon as their lips collided and she tasted the alcohol on him, she knew that she’d never agreed to this without it. Or maybe she would. Adam spun them back around again, deepening the kiss as her eyes opened and fell into the direction she’d last seen Harry.

He was still there.

Still watching.

His hands in fists. His jaw tightened into a crisp line. His nostrils flared. His eyes… sad.

She pulled away. Adam steadied her, grabbing her shoulders when she swayed. But, as she caught her breath, the dizziness went away. 

“I’m going to find the bathroom.” She told him and after he nodded, she left, forming a rift for herself through the bodies that danced all around them until she was in the clear. Then she was avoiding Harry as she walked past him, not so sure his gaze was still set on her. Maybe she’d gone too far. She didn’t often just kiss people for no good reason and that’s exactly what she’d just done with Adam. She barely even knew him.

She didn’t exactly need the bathroom, just an open, empty and quiet place. And so, she fell back against a wall in the foyer and ran a hand through her hair.

“That was quite the show.”

She startled at the sound of his familiar voice and looked up just as he stopped a few feet away from her. “What are you talking about?”

He lifted a brow. “You expect me to believe that that you, anti everything to do with this holiday and with relationships and romance, are actually dating that guy?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” She crossed her arms, willing to go as far as she needed to before she let Harry see the truth. That she was that pathetic. 

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate to respond and she flinched.

“Well, I’m sorry that you have a hard time believing that someone may actually like me.” She had no reason to nearly be shouting at him and no reason to be saying what she was because Adam didn’t like her.

“That’s not what I said. It’s hard for me to believe you just dropped all your ideas about relationships for some guy with obnoxious blue eyes.”

“I didn’t.”

“So then what is this?”

Y/N hesitated. Hating that the truth was about to boil over out of her mouth for him to see all the embarrassing bits of it, but she had no other way of convincing him. And it didn’t really help that Adam was so far out of her league that it wasn’t even convincing to begin with. Nor did she want to convince Harry of anything either. It was clear now that he hadn’t been jealous, he was just trying to figure out when she stopped hating relationships so much.

And the truth of that was she never really hated them. It was just easier telling herself she didn’t want it than admitting no one ever actually wanted her.

She trembled, not even sure why, but he was making her incredibly nervous, so much that she wished she could rewind and stay squished next to him in the back of the car forever. Being that close to him... his stupid fingers on her thigh, whispering things in her ear that made her head spin. She’d much prefer that than standing in front of him now, seeing every ounce of judgment he was about to throw her way.

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” She shrugged and dropped her eyes to the white marble floors between them, focusing on calming her anxiety while she was no longer looking at him. “He needed a date and I felt bad for him.”

“What does that mean?”

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she stared up at the ceiling this time as her eyes burned with embarrassment. “He paid me to be his date so his ex-girlfriend didn’t find out he wasn’t actually seeing anyone. That’s what it means.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“So, yeah.” She folded her arms, looking down at the floor again, still unable to meet Harry’s eyes and see the look that would be on his face. A smirk of amusement at her expense. Even probably his dimples, taunting her and turning her into the joke she already was. “You were right. I can’t find anyone to tolerate me, which is why I’m on this stupid date that isn’t even real.”

“Him kissing you seemed quite real to me.”

There was more exasperation than humor to her laugh. “It wasn’t.”

Harry seemed to finally understand. “He’s trying to make Laura jealous.”

Y/N just nodded. “I promise I didn’t know you were going to be there, that he was trying to get her back from you.”

“You still kissed him though.”

She couldn’t argue that, nor could she tell him the real reason she’d agreed to the kiss. That it wasn’t exactly Laura she was trying to make jealous. She’d never live that one down, if she ever managed to live any other aspect of this night down.

When she didn’t say anything, he stepped closer. “Why did you kiss him?”

“I’m sorry, Harry I just... I don’t know.”

He shook his head and took another step, making her eyes widen when he was close enough that she had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. “Seemed like you were trying to make me jealous.”

She swallowed, not exactly in the position to laugh it off and argue with him when he was this close and all she could feel were the traces of his fingertips on her thigh. Her voice was quiet when it finally came out. “Making you jealous would mean I assumed you liked me in the first place... which I’m definitely not stupid enough to assume.”

A crease formed between his brow and his stupidly perfect jaw hardened as if he was biting his tongue from saying something. And fuck him for choosing then to finally stop opening his mouth.

Just then, a pair of drunk guys, one on the other’s back, came racing through the foyer, screaming at the top of their lungs while a few others followed quickly after them. It was enough to force Harry away from Y/N again, enough for the both of them to step out of the little bubble they’d been in together the past ten minutes.

Once they were alone again, their eyes gravitated toward each other and just when she thought Harry might say something after all, he flipped around on his heel and left. And she watched as he turned the corner and mixed back into the party.

After a few moments to gather herself, she followed him, not exactly sure what she was going to do now that Harry wouldn’t talk to her and it felt weird being with Adam while Harry knew everything. But, whatever plans to keep herself occupied no longer matted when she spotted Laura.

Making out with Adam in the middle of the room. 

Without even thinking, she turned to locate Harry and he might as well have been a source of gravity because her eyes fell right to him within a second. And he was watching them too. He knew. 

He met Y/N’s eyes and she wasn’t quite sure if he was upset or not. She couldn’t really read anything on his face, and stopped attempting to when he moved towards her and she had other things on her mind, like where he was going and if he was going to bother taking her with him.

Shortly after he stormed past Y/N she made sure he wasn’t going to leave her behind and chased after him. She didn’t know Adam very well and definitely not Laura to want to stay with them. And everyone else in the room were complete strangers to her. Adam had promised he’d take her home, but he probably hadn’t expected to be making out with his ex by the end of the night, either.

Harry didn’t say anything, not even when they’d reached the foyer and Y/N asked where he was going. He just located his jacket and slipped it on before making his way out the front door.

And right when she thought he really was going to leave her behind, since she was the reason he’d just lost Laura to her ex, he held the door open and glanced over his shoulder at her while she still stood on the other side of the threshold.

“Are you staying?”

Without a word, she sprung into motion and trailed right behind him into the hallway like a lost puppy, letting the door shut behind her that cut them off from the music as it faded into the background behind them.

It was a silent trip down the elevator, mostly because she had no idea what to say that would sound sincere and he didn’t say anything at all. At least not until she followed him through the lobby until he stopped on the curb just outside the main doors.

She took up the spot next to him, eyes glued to the side of his face as he took in a deep breath of fresh air, or at least as fresh as traffic allowed it to be.

Then he spoke, and it seemed like the first time she’d heard his voice all night. “I’m the one who gave you the chocolates and the frog.”

She narrowed her eyes, both not exactly sure why he’d just said that or if he was even being serious. “What?”

He looked down at her. “It wasn’t Andrew, it was me.”

“Why?” She breathed and while she was positive she’d be freezing cold soon, the fresh air after being surrounded by so many people felt good. It felt freeing and she wondered if he felt that way too.

His eyes scanned hers before he looked away. “Well partly to apologize for what I said.”

“What’s the other part?”

Sighing, he turned his entire body to face her now. “Something else entirely…” He trailed off, only confusing her more as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. “I didn’t tell you because I know you don’t like all this stuff, but seeing you with him tonight... I wish I had.” 

“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a frog.”

He shook his head, grinning. “It’s not just a frog, Y/N... because the thing is,” he paused to catch his breath, “I’ve been in love with you for... a really long time… since last spring. But with you being the way that you are, I never thought you’d feel the same way.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“And then you come in with that guy and...” He pulled his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more jealous in my life... because all this time I thought you weren’t interested in relationships, but you just weren’t interested in me.”

Inhaling, she summoned every ounce of courage she could fathom. “You were right about why I kissed Adam.” He lifted a brow, waiting for her elaboration which never came. “You were right about other things, too. I wish I had someone to come home to almost every single night I got to bed alone. No one—“ She cut herself off, trembling again as tears stung her eyes. “I pretend not to be interested so I can ignore the fact that no one’s ever wanted me.”

“That’s not true.” He had that same look on his face as before, when she’d told him she wasn’t stupid enough to think he liked her.

She just nodded. “And I’m sorry but... why would you want me when you could have someone like Laura?”

“Y/N...” He huffed and stepped closer to her, the heat from his body making her shiver. “This is not the first time I started seeing someone to get over you... in fact, all my relationships since I met you have been shit.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Well you’re very anti-relationships so I think I was justified in wanting to avoid you rejecting me… especially since we work together and it would have been really awkward.”

“I don’t, uh... I...” She stammered, not really sure what to say to him even though her heart was screaming at her in full volume. 

He held his breath and then, in almost a whisper, “Is this the inevitable rejection?”

“No.” She didn’t even hesitate that time and at this point, her mind no longer controlled the words coming out of her mouth as she let another organ finally speak for itself. “No, I liked you the second I saw you, Harry... and at no point tonight was I ever trying to make Laura jealous.”

The corners of his mouth began to curl into a smile. “That was very cruel of you to do to me.”

“I didn’t think you liked me at all twenty minutes ago, Harry.”

“Twenty minutes ago,” he fully invaded all of her space now, leaving the smallest gap between their bodies as he could get away with, lifting his hand to her jaw and rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “I was still on this date with the wrong person.” 

“I think the date is over now.”

“No,” his eyes fell to her lips just like they had before. “It’s not.” 

“You’re looking at me like that again.” She mumbled, out of breath.

He lifted a brow and didn’t once remove his eyes from her lips. “Like what?”

“Like…” she trailed off, not having the courage to say it in case she wasn’t right. 

“Like I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time and I’m tired of pretending?” 

“Something like that, yeah.”

He grinned, both of his dimples making an appearance just before he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. And once her brain realized what was happening, she sunk right into him, letting his arm wrap around her waist as his other hand tangled its way into her hair to bring her closer. She threw her arms over his shoulders and he hunched lower to meet her. She staggered back a step when he did, nearly losing her balance but he caught her instantly and then drew his lips back as he laughed.

“This is not how I expected tonight to end.” She couldn’t help but think the way he struggled to catch his breath was possibly the hottest he’d ever been. Not to mention the tiny bit of her lipstick smeared on his face. She could look at him just the way he was right there and then for days and be perfectly satisfied.

“It doesn’t have to end yet.” She fully blamed her sudden burst of confidence on the cold, but refreshing February night. And maybe she also just wanted to get out of it before it caught up to her and she would, yet again, regret not having a jacket.

“Oh?” She wanted to smack the mischievous smirk off his face and leave him there on the curb. “And here I thought you were a prude.”

“You thought a lot of things about me that weren’t true, Harry.”

He thought about that for a moment and after realizing she was right, he then wondered just how wrong he was when he’d called her celibate. “I suppose… I’d quite like to find out just how wrong I was.” He slipped a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear, which is where his lips ended up as he whispered softly, “And I’d also quite like to show you just how wrong you were about me not liking you.”

They stumbled into her bedroom in the dark, Pretzel racing out between their twisted feet in a hurry, screeching at them in the process. Harry giggled against her lips, “Your cat sounds friendly.” 

“Well, since I was supposed to be spending tonight with her, and chocolate, and anti-romantic movies…” She pulled away from him, watching as his smile spread further. Maybe she could actually believe he’d been in love all this time. 

“Right… I’d be upset too.” 

She shook her head and kissed him again, then pulled back a second later. “You know that’s not actually what I do on Valentine’s Day.”

He lifted a brow and waited for her to explain but she didn’t.

“And what is it that you do, then?” He finally asked, curiosity getting the best of him, although he had some inkling as to what she was talking about.

Her smile was devoid of innocence as her hands fell to his belt. Harry’s shirt had already been lost to the kitchen floor. Her dress hardly covering what it was supposed to once Harry had gotten his hands on it. 

“Maybe you’ll get to find out.” 

When she brought her lips back to his, after undoing the buckle just under his navel, he spun them around and led her backwards to the bed. He wasn’t sure how far it was, but hoped he was headed in the right direction. And because of that, when her knees did finally bend over the mattress, he practically came flying down on top of her. 

She squirmed out from under him, crawling back towards the pillows as she watched him at the end of the bed while he stood and removed his belt completely, trying not to drool at the sight of him. At the sight of Harry, her fucking annoying ass, perfect, beautiful, coworker standing shirtless at the end of her bed where he was also about to be…

He pushed his trousers down off his hips and they fell to the floor with ease, almost with the same amount of ease that her eyes fell to the tight boxer-briefs he wore underneath. She swallowed as he adjusted the waistband back into place, quite certain that, even in the low light, her eyes were not deceiving her.

The bed shifted at her feet as he joined her, and then it took all her willpower to not fling herself at him as he crawled up the length of her. As he settled himself between her thighs and she felt every last, very hard, inch of him pressed against her. She couldn’t be blamed for the whining moan that she let out in his ear as his lips became familiar with the shape and taste of her neck. She also couldn’t be blamed when her hips instinctively collided with his.

He just giggled again and shook his head, the loose strands of his curls tickling her forehead. “Easy now.” He warned in a hushed mumble, his lips vibrating right against the vein in her neck that pulsed so much faster the more his free hand began to wander up underneath her dress.

He left her speechless for multiple reasons, but the main one was when she felt his fingers tracing down her thigh and then, moments later, after he shifted his weight and used his knees to keep her legs open, she sucked in a breath of air as she felt him pressed against her clit, forcing her nails to dig into his back but he didn’t seem to mind.

Coming back down to kiss her, he began moving his hand in expert little circles, grinning against her mouth every time her body begged him for more. It wasn’t long that he complied, either, when he sat back on his knees between her legs and tugged her underwear off for good, throwing it to the depths of her bedroom floor. He wouldn’t have known where they landed even if he tried because his gaze belong to her only as he lowered himself to his elbows before her, kissing his way up her thighs until he reached her center.

When she squirmed away from him, he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pressed his hands into her hips after gently moving her dress out of the way. 

“You know when we used to stay late at the office working?” He asked suddenly and the heat of his voice against her made her squirm again, but he held on tight. “And you would get sick of sitting in an office chair and made me promise not to tell Jim when you sat on his desk instead?” She had no clue where he was going with it, but still, she nodded. “Every single time I turned to look at you, I thought about doing this.” Before she could get words out or even a coherent thought, she felt his tongue on her. And this time when she jerked against him, she nearly slipped out of his hold until he grabbed her again and pulled her back down, digging himself further into her as she struggled to breathe properly.

She dug her fingers into his hair when he brought her close to the edge and showed no mercy. And somehow, she’d managed to get the sole of her foot up onto his shoulder in order to kick him away, but it didn’t matter much because he never budged. Not that she wanted him to, but he just felt so good… 

“Harry!” She shouted, pulling at his hair and making matters worse for herself when he moaned against her sensitive bundle of nerves. He let her come, never once lifting his mouth from her even as her hips jerked off the mattress and she very nearly pulled his hair out. When she stopped screaming, her voice caught in her throat because she was lost to her own orgasm, is when he lifted his mouth, replaced it with his fingers and watched her as she came down. As her eyes fluttered shut and her chest heaved, her lungs struggling to get oxygen back into her system. Her hold on him loosened as she came undone around him, melting into his hands it seemed like.

And when he began rubbing his index and middle finger into her, once she was far and beyond overstimulated, and he knew that, she reached down with a whine and grabbed his wrist with what little strength she had in her and pulled him away. His hand fell to the other side of her hip, which he used to his advantage to pull himself up over her again, his other hand taking her dress with it until he was able to tug it over her head and toss it. Then he came back down to kiss her, letting her taste herself on her lips. He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and when he pulled away, found her looking at him finally. Although it was with heavy lids as she still struggled to regain her bearings.

Before they could get much further, a loud crashing sound from the other room made both of them nearly jump out of their skin. She shot up instantly, grabbing hold of Harry’s bicep before moving him out of the way and sliding off the edge of the bed. 

“It’s just the cat.” Harry would have probably said the same thing even if it was not just the cat, he’d say anything just to get her to stay with him.

“I know but it sounded like…” her voice trailed off as her feet hit the floor and the moment she went to stand on her own two legs, her knees buckled. He reached to grab her waist but she righted herself before he could. She didn’t see the way he hid his cheeky smirk at the fact that he’d been so good, she was still dizzy.

“You good?” He asked as she stumbled her way into a shirt. With only a groan in response, and what he was sure was her middle finger, she left him alone in her bed to investigate the noise. Sighing, he laid on his back and got comfortable amongst her pillows. And after about three minutes, decided to locate the remote to her TV to entertain himself. 

He flipped onto his side and felt around her bedside table, but his fingers never landed on anything remote-like. So, frustrated, he reached up and switched the lamp on. Again, he found nothing. Looking further, he realized the table had a drawer and so he pulled it open in hopes of finding the damned remote before she got back. 

But what he found instead was so much better than turning on late night news.

“Fucking cat knocked over my vase.” Y/N was back within ten minutes. Harry had left the light on, but made sure it wasn’t obvious he’d gone snooping into her drawer, at least not yet anyway. She crawled back into bed beside him and it was then he noticed the bandage on her thumb.

“Are you alright?” He forgot all about what he planned to tease her with when he gently grabbed her hand to inspect the damage.

“Yeah. I was in a bit of hurry trying to clean up the glass…” 

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped her hand. “I would have come help you.”

She just smiled up at him as he fit his arm around her shoulders, his bicep under her neck. “That’s alright.”

He shrugged. “It was for the best anyways that I didn’t.” When he smirked, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

“And why’s that?”

She followed his other hand as he reached for something and then, moments later, it reappeared with a very familiar pink object clutched in his grasp. “Because then I wouldn’t have found this.”

Her first reaction was to pry it from his snooping fingers, but when she reached across him to grab it, he way too easily held her back and, at the same time, held it far out of her reach. 

“So this is what you do on Valentine’s Day, then?” He flicked his wrist back and forth, waving her vibrator in the air as he taunted her.

“If you don’t give that back to me,” she reached for it again to no prevail, “you won’t be doing anything, least of all, me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Why would I give it back when I plan on using it?”

She froze and he chuckled at her reaction.

“Would be rude of me to break your traditions, wouldn’t it?” 

She swallowed, her eyes slowly meeting his again. The appearance of his right dimple told her he wasn’t playing any games. She had no idea how many times he planned to make her come tonight or whether or not she’d even be able to walk tomorrow at work. But, given the stupid look on his face, she almost began making plans to call out sick instead.

“Do you actually know how to use that thing?” She finally asked, glancing at the wand still held very firmly in his hand.

He looked at her like she was crazy moments before he pivoted and pinned her onto her back, settling himself into the position they’d been in before the interruption of the cat. 

Just, this time… he was clicking on her vibrator and watching her face as she began to regret her words. 

“‘Course I know how to use it. The real question is,” he brought his lips to her ear, the soft vibrations and the sound of his voice mixing together like sin itself. Even more so when he nipped at her earlobe. “Do you know how to handle it?”

[fellintotartarus]

you ask me what i’m thinking about (spencer reid x fem!reader)

Summary: On a night out, Reader discovers that her crush, Spencer Reid is a virgin and takes him home. 3.3k words

A/N: This is literally the fastest I’ve ever written anything oh my god. Anyways, enjoy.

Warnings: Literal fucking filth, the whole thing. Sub!Spencer smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), penetration, praise kink.

-

“Okay, never have I ever done it standing up against a wall,” Penelope said, beginning a game of the most childish, yet absolute most fun drinking game ever.

“Unfair, Pen, I told you that story yesterday,” you whined, throwing back a shot of cheap tequila, noticing Emily and Derek join you. The whole team (minus the dads Hotch and Rossi) were gathered on the floor of Penelope’s living room unwinding after a case.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Penelope said with a drunken grin.

“That’s actually not how that saying should be applied, and if you look back to the--” Spencer started before he was cut off. He was easily the most sober of the group, which was saying something. Even he was bleary-eyed and swaying slightly in his seat.

You ran your eyes over his frame hungrily. Deciding to get drunk around the man you had a massive crush on was starting to look like a mistake as you found yourself leaning closer to him, stabilizing yourself on his thigh when you wobbled. You heard his breath hitch. You smiled, tracing your fingers over his clothed skin quickly before removing your hand.

“Sorry,” you said lowly, eyes lingering on his lips.

God what you wouldn’t do to kiss those lips raw and bite them--

“Y/N? It’s your turn,” you heard Emily say from across the room.

You turned to them, thinking. Oh, you knew a way to get nearly every single one of them (save maybe Emily) to drink.

“Never have I ever been a virgin at the age of seventeen,” you said smugly. Workplace gossip paid off.

Everyone except Emily rolled their eyes and threw back a shot, mumbling complaints.

Derek laughed and said, “Never have I ever been a virgin at my current age.”

You looked around, confused. Who on earth--

Oh.

Well, that is delightful, you thought as you watched Spencer sigh, flip Derek off, and take a shot.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy, we’ll get you laid one of these days,” Derek said.

Every single dirty thought you had ever had about this man doubled the instant you realized the world you could show him. The heat between your legs increased. Thanks to the alcohol, you had no problem scooting even closer to him as the game progressed. You hoped he would use his 187 IQ and crazy smart profiler brain to pick up what you were trying to tell him when you lightly grazed his hand with your pinky and drooped your head onto his shoulder. Sure enough, you heard his breathing speed up and he glanced down at you, his curious eyes meeting your lustful ones. He cleared his throat before looking back at the group. You sat like that for the rest of the game.

After a couple more hours of just sitting around and goofing off, you were definitely getting sober. The room no longer spun pleasantly and your body lacked the hum that came with drinking.

What didn’t wear off, though, was the thrumming need between you and Spencer. You were always flirty with him and he always blushed and tried to reciprocate, but this was a whole different level. He would turn to you occasionally, as if to reassure himself that you were, in fact, still looking at him like you wanted to pin him up against a wall and it would leave him slightly out of breath.

You loved the effect you had on him, how one glance of yours could leave him shuddering softly.

When everyone (sober enough, Emily was definitely crashing on the couch) finally started to stand up and get ready to leave, you took your opportunity and grabbed Spencer by the arm, whispering, “My place?” sweetly in his ear. He inhaled sharply and nodded his head, trailing after you out the door, both of you saying your goodbyes.

Spencer had taken the Metro, so you went in the same car and it was torture. You kept your hand on Spencer’s thigh the entire time, leaving him to shift in his seat, hoping to find more friction.

“Patience,” you said sweetly. He gulped and nodded.

As soon as you pulled up to your apartment, you practically pulled him over the console by the tie and kissed him.

You grabbed the base of Spencer’s head, twisting your fingers harshly through his hair before bringing his lips to yours. The kiss was hungry, teeth clashing, and Spencer returned it eagerly. You ran your hands over his chest, stopping only to brush his nipples, which earned you a shudder and he pushed closer to you.

You broke the kiss, saying, “Let’s take this upstairs.”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, following you up the stairs to your apartment door. Once inside, you turned and kissed Spencer sweetly, a contrast from in the car.

You pulled away, his face in your hand, and said, “Are you good?”

Spencer said, “Yeah. I trust you.”

Your heart swelled exponentially. You were so lucky.

“Anything you don’t like and we stop, okay? You’re safe with me.” you said, playfully stern.

Spencer smiled, nodding and leaned back in to kiss you. You stopped him with a finger against his lips.

“I need to hear you say it,” you replied, eyebrows raised, cupping his face in your hand.

Spencer’s eyes widened and you felt his pants tighten against your hip.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Oh, this was an interesting development. You hadn’t wanted to bring this side of you out so soon, but Spencer seemed so eager for it.

You smiled, running your thumb back and forth on his cheek. “Do you like it when I take control, Spence?” You gripped his hip in the other hand.

His breathing shallowed, eyes fluttering when your finger dipped under his shirt and pants and rubbed small circles into his hip bone. He nodded weakly.

Your hand on his face shifted to grip his chin, bringing his eye level down to you.

“Baby, use your words,” you said sweetly, taking your time.

“Yes. Please,” Spencer basically whined, and it went straight to your core.

Okay, this was happening.

You moved your hand that was on his hip and cupped his bulge, running your fingers back and forth softly. He let out a small whimper and his hips moved subtly, begging for more. You smiled, every movement electrifying you further.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off for me and meet me in the bedroom?” you said sweetly, obviously not intending it as a question.

Spencer nodded, pulling away from you slowly before walking back to where he knew your bedroom to be.

You took a second to collect yourself, every movement making you painfully aware of how soaked you were.

You were typically fine having vanilla sex or even pretending to submit to a man every once in a while, because men didn’t typically like to hear that you wanted them to submit to you. It got old after a while, though, and just yesterday you had been considering popping in to the local BDSM club to find someone.

But today had proven to be exactly what you needed. Not only were you about to fuck the man you’d had a crush on for a while, but he was sitting pretty in the bedroom, waiting for your next command.

Fuck, you thought, rubbing your thighs together. You’d better get in there, then.

You turned the corner into the doorway and found Spencer down to his tented boxer briefs sitting pretty on the edge of your bed. 

You stood in front of him and shrugged your dress off your shoulders, revealing a skimpy bralette and sheer boyshorts. 

He gasped softly at the sight of your near naked body and shifted on the bed as if to get closer to you. You smiled, walking to him and positioning yourself between his legs, looking down on him. 

You took his face in your hand, squeezing slightly to make his lips pucker. You leaned down and did exactly what you had imagined earlier in the night, kissing him harshly, sucking and biting at his lips, drawing small moans from him.

You ran your fingers up and down his chest, scratching his pale skin and tweaking his nipples every now and then as you continued to kiss him roughly, and Spencer whimpered, wiggling around where he was sitting. 

The wetness in your panties had soaked through the fabric and Spencer’s boxers were so tight it just had to have hurt. 

You broke the kiss, taking a moment to savor the wrecked look on Spencer’s face. His lips were red and swollen, covered in saliva, and there were red marks from where you had gripped his face. 

“What do you know about pleasuring women, Dr. Reid?” you asked teasingly, continuing your ministrations on his chest.

“I may be a virgin, but I’m not stupid,” he said, out of breath. He picked up his hand and trailed it along your inner thighs, making you shiver. He ghosted across where you needed him most.

His eyes met yours, asking silent permission which you granted with a nod, breath heavy.

You gripped his shoulders hard and threw your head back when he moved your panties aside and slipped his fingers through your soaked folds. He found your clit immediately (goddamn genius) and rubbed it in soft, slow circles. It felt amazing, but it was nowhere near enough.

When he glanced up at you with the subbiest look on his face, you took his face in your hand yet again and breathed, “Not enough, baby.”

Spencer’s face flashed with a look of determination and he increased the pressure on your clit before slipping a finger in your heat. You let out a loud moan and let your eyes flutter shut, running your fingers through his hair in praise.

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so good for me,” you groaned, which only served to spur him on. He quickly added two more fingers and pumped in and out of you so deliberately, rubbing up against that electric spot inside you every time.

You definitely hadn’t been expecting to cum more than once if at all tonight, but here you were, stood in front of your crush sitting on your bed while he brought you dangerously close to the edge with his fingers.

He continued slipping in and out of you and rubbing circles into your clit, the feeling of his warm fingers making you near delirious. The real turn-on, though, was the way he looked up at you, practically begging for praise. 

“Oh, fuck, Spence, you’re doing so good for me, so fucking good,” you choked out as you felt your breath hitch and legs tense, your orgasm so, so near.

“I’m close,” you whispered, unsure of whether Spencer even heard it. You were assured he did, though, when he dipped his head down to your cunt and licked a long, hard, stripe up and down before latching onto your clit and sucking. You let out a long, loud moan.

That was all it took. You came hard on Spencer’s hand, mewls and whines filling the room, walls clamping tightly around his fingers and he nursed it beautifully for you, kitten licking your clit and softly rubbing inside you until you had to pull his hand and face off because your legs were shaking too hard.

You took one look at him, face covered in your juices, lips swollen from the kissing and sucking, hair absolutely mussed from your hands, and it was it took to leave you wanting more. You placed your hand flat on his chest, leading him farther back on the bed. He sat against the pillows and headboard and you placed your soaked core directly on his hard bulge, pulling a whimper from him and a low moan from you.

You leaned in, hungrily kissing him, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue and rocking your hips back and forth slowly, building a fire in you. At this point, Spencer was a mess, practically begging for you to touch him. He bucked his hips up into yours and whimpered with every movement. You moved your hand to the back of his neck and pulled his head back, exposing his throat.

“I’m gonna give you a hickey, alright, baby? That way everyone will know you’re taken,” you growled into his ear, nipping his earlobe in between words.

Spencer exhaled sharply and nodded, not speaking. You gave his earlobe a sharp pull with your teeth, and he jumped slightly.

“Please, Y/N, just own me,” he gasped.

You were sure that you had died and gone to heaven. There was no way your crush was sitting under you right now being a perfect little sub and begging for you to wreck him.

You latched onto his pulse point with renewed vigor, sucking and biting his soft, pale skin. Spencer writhed underneath you, moaning out little expletives you almost couldn’t understand.

You continued until you were met with an angry bruise blooming on his beautiful neck, satisfied with your work.

“There we go,” you teased, scooting back on the bed until your face aligned with Spencer’s bulge. You let your breath ghost over his clothed dick and licked at the wet spot on his boxers. Spencer whined, an honest to god high pitched whine, and it was so hot you had no choice but to wrap your mouth around the head of his cock through his boxers.

He was obviously trying to hold back, grasping at the sheets with his hands and biting his lips to stop from moaning. You pulled back.

“Are you going to be good for me and let me hear you, baby? Or am I going to have to leave you high and dry?” you teased, cocking your eyebrow at him.

Spencer exhaled. “Fuck, please, I’ll be good, I promise.”

If you hadn’t been soaked before, his words just then would’ve done the job.

You lowered your head again, pulling back the waistband of Spencer’s boxers to reveal his cock, hard, pink, leaking precum, and deliciously big.

“Oh, baby, it’s a crime to keep this pretty dick from the world,” you grinned, licking a slow stripe up the underside.

Spencer kept true to his promise and was not holding a single noise back, his head thrown back against the headboard. The room was filled with the curses and moans pouring out of his mouth.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around to collect the precum. His hips bucked into your mouth and you smiled around him, going lower and lower until he hit the back of your throat.

You hollowed your cheeks and slid up and down a few times, leaving him practically yelling. You pulled off with a pop and brought yourself back up to his face, never letting go of his dick.

“As much as I’d like for you to fuck my face and cum down my throat, we’ve got that little viginity issue of yours to solve.”

Spencer looked at you, wide-eyed and gasping and nodded as you gave him a few pumps and positioned yourself over him.

“I’m clean,” he croaked, face red. “Obviously.”

You smiled and leaned in, kissing him softly.

“Me, too. And I’m on the pill. Spencer, are you sure? Because we can stop right now,” you said softly, reassuring him.

Spencer shook his head, “There’s no one I’d rather do this with.”

You smiled, assuming your role once again, “I’m glad to hear it, baby boy. Are you ready for this pussy to change your life?” you said, joking to ease the mood.

Spencer smiled, almost laughing, but then you ran his tip through your folds and his face fell into one of pure bliss. You rubbed your clit against him, covering him in your slick and moaning loudly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna feel so good inside me,” you groaned, head thrown back in pleasure.

Spencer squirmed, clearly impatient to feel himself inside you. You chuckled, cutting your grinding against him short to indulge him

You pressed your lips against his in a wildly passionate kiss as you lowered yourself onto him, feeling him stretch you out.

Spencer’s mouth fell open against yours and his strangled moans only encouraged you. Feeling warmed up enough, you dropped the rest of the way onto him, feeling the pleasant burn and crying out.

The feeling was insane. You were so full and satisfied you felt yourself uncharacteristically close again already. You ground your clit in Spencer’s hip bone and mewled loudly. 

“Fuck, Y/N, please move,” Spencer begged, writhing under you.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Spence,” you said, halting your movements altogether. He whined and stopped moving, too.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whimpered.

Satisfied with his apology, you brought yourself up slowly, only stopped when he nearly slipped out of you, before dropping quickly, hitting the deepest spot inside you. You repeated the motions again, quicker this time and Spencer’s hands shot out to grip your hips. You decided to allow it purely because of the crazy blissed out look Spencer had on his face.

He looked gorgeous. His hair was fucked and stuck to his forehead with sweat. His head was thrown back in complete pleasure, noises pouring out of his swollen lips continuously and the hickey on his neck stood out prominently. 

When you dropped down on him again, he hit a spot inside of you you didn’t even know existed, and you fell forward onto his chest on your elbows, the coil inside you tightening hotly. You straightened up with new determination, practically fucking him into the bed.

Spencer moved his hands up to your tits, pulling one of them into his mouth. His tongue circled your nipple, sucking softly and you grabbed his hair hard, causing him to moan against you. You lowered your hand to where the two of you met, swirling your thumb around your combined juices.

You pulled him off of you and offered him your soaked thumb, which he graciously took into his mouth and began sucking earnestly. You moaned as loud as you ever had. Just seeing him being so good brought you close to the edge again.

“I’m so close,” Spencer said through your hand.

“Me, too. Help me out, baby,” you whispered sweetly, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your clit. He pushed his thumb harshly against it and rubbed and you yelled loudly.

You slammed back down on him and came harder than you ever had, gasping for air and your vision whiting out. a vice-like clamp on Spencer’s dick guiding him over the edge, too. You felt his seed fill you, a warmth spreading inside you. You desperately joined Spencer at your clit, rubbing circles to prolong your orgasm for as long as possible. 

Finally, you let yourself go limp on top of him, tracing little patterns into his sweaty skin.

“I hope that was okay for your first time,” you whispered against him, pressing soft kisses into his torso.

“Are you kidding? I think that’s the best sex anyone has ever had their first time,” Spencer said, still catching his breath.

“Are you good?” you asked, turning to face him. “Was that too much?”

Spencer smiled, blushing. “No way. It was perfect.”

-

The next day at work, you walked in five minutes before Spencer so no one was the wiser.

Spencer walked into the conference room last, so everyone noticed the scarf he was wearing in the warm August weather.

Derek snatched it off of him almost as soon as he sat down and wolf-whistled at his hickey.

“Looks like Pretty Ricky finally got some,” he laughed, everyone joining in in playfully congratulating Spencer. His face reddened and his eyes met yours.

You winked.

[azurevi]

Fluff 49 with the octa trio please? Thank you :333

49. “Is somebody jealous?” with octavinelle

Thanks for requesting! I hope this is good enough 😔

Azul

Your relationship with Azul is so secure that one might even comment about how laid back you are. But both of you know better than anyone that you love each other, and there's nothing to worry about at all.

Well, that's what Azul would like to think, but recently his heart has been betraying his words a lot. In his defense, you've been getting pretty close with someone else. It's not as though he doesn't trust you, no, it is your friend whom he doubts.

He's pretty sure he isn't imagining things, that the flirtations and sly glances and unneeded physical touches are signs that your friend wants more than just friendship from you. Although you've never responded to any of his attempts, he still feels a weird feeling boiling in his chest everytime they get a little too close to you.

It sucks more when he has to stay at Mostro Lounge and work overtime, because that means your friend can take the opportunity and snatch you away. He's grateful that you always come back to him after the day, but he can't get rid of the uneasiness. Perhaps he's scared. You may have told him times and times that you love him, but he admits that there's still something which your friend possesses and he doesn't. There's a constant voice in the back of his head, taunting him about how he isn't as good as them. Sometimes it's so loud that he just wishes to turn it off.

Your friend is getting bolder and bolder by day. Even when you and Azul are clearly having alone time, they will shamelessly join in, and being a nice person you never turn them down. Azul wishes you would though, but he doesn't want to upset you by being selfish.

You aren't oblivious though. It's clear as day how uncomfortable Azul acts around them -- his posture stiffens and his head tilts up slightly, eyes ever so cold but his fingers are always restless. He never confirms anything though, so for a while you just decide to let it slide, but he's been looking so bothered lately that you make up your mind to lure the truth out of him.

"Hey," you knock on the door to his VIP room. His eyes basically shine at the sight of you. 

"I thought you're going out with your friend," he says instead, once again lacking subtlety.

"I was, but I turned them down at the last minute,'

Azul flicks his gaze up. "You did? Why?"

"I don't know, maybe because someone is sulking?"

He doesn't have to say anything. His avoiding glances already reveal enough. "I'm not sulking," comes his futile, weak defense.

"Really? Then what's going on?"

After a moment of silence Azul puts down his pen, burying his face in his head as if in exasperation. "It's nothing… you've just been spending time with them a lot,"

Your brow arch curiously. "No way. Is somebody jealous?"

Blood shoots to his cheeks, painting the tips of his ears red. He looks like a child caught red handed for stealing candies during midnight. 

"I'm not- I- fine. I am a little jealous, alright? But I trust you. It's them I don't trust," he nudges his head to the side, as if your friend is standing right there. "I may be overthinking things, but I think they're interested in you,"

"Are they?" you recall the times you spent together, trying to pick up possible hints. At your serious expression Azul waved you off, "As I said, it's just me overthinking. Don't fuss over it,"

"That won't do, you're clearly troubled," you walk to his side, prompting him to turn to you. "How about we do this, I make sure to draw the line between us and spend more time with you. Will that make you feel better?"

"You don't have to. I'm not a child who whines when his mother disappears for a minute."

"No you aren't. What you are is my partner, and I am willing to do anything to comfort you, alright?" you plant a kiss on his cheek, noting how hot his face is. "I'm sorry for neglecting you,"

"You don't have to apologize…" he mumbles, although his originally furrowed brows have relaxed significantly. Knowing that you're going to be there for him no matter what is already enough for him to ease his worries.

Jade

Jade adores you. It isn't anything surprising, basically the whole school knows about it. It isn't as if he tries to hide it anyways. He loves to shower you with affection even when you're in public, more so when you're having alone times. His affection is gentle and understanding, which is one of the many reasons you fell for him, but you've never expected these qualities to become the source of your plaguing worries.

Jade's smile is one of a kind. It can be benevolent and hostile at the same time, and it can be as venomous as it can be soothing. As someone who has to constantly deal with customers by Azul's side, he has mastered the ability to please someone with his appearance. And being the serious businessman that he is, he seldom acts recklessly.

That explains why he's caught the attention of one business partner, and for the past few days they've been asking Jade to accompany them around the campus. You shouldn't feel jealous about it, really, it's part of his job after all, but you can't help comparing the both of you and realizing how you lack the same charisma that they hold. However, you decide to keep it to yourself, not wanting to come off as a clingy and inconsiderate partner.

There's only one thing that you fail to realize, which is how sharp Jade's eyes are. It's true that he has been spending less time with you lately, but during the scarce moments when you're together he can already figure out what is clouding your mind.

"Good evening, my dear," Jade arrives at the Ramshackle dorm after work as usual, to steal more time with you. His workload may be burdening, but he never misses any chance to be around you.

"How's work?" you ask casually, trying not to bring up the fact that he was once again asked to entertain the client and had to cancel your lunch together.

"Work's fine," he reaches out and pulls you towards him just as you walk to hang his jacket, planting a long, deep kiss on your forehead. "How was your day?"

"Fine," you frown a little.

"Is that right? You seem to look upset though," he leans back to get a good look at your face, but you bow your head down in embarrassment. "I'm not upset,"

It seems that you're not going to give up your secret easily.

"Is somebody jealous?"

Your head shoots up, eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Jade chuckles. "I asked whether you're jealous. I know I've been occupied lately, and I don't want you to feel lonely,"

"I'm not lonely. I understand that you have responsibilities," you mumble, still too stubborn to admit what's going on in your mind.

"That's true, but I am also your boyfriend, am I not? Making you feel loved is my responsibility too," he cups your cheeks with his palms, fitting your face in his hold and looking at you with the soft look that's reserved only for you. "Don't worry. Even when I'm busy, I'm always thinking about you,"

His honesty brings a blush to your cheeks and you wrap your arms around him in an attempt to hide your flustered countenance. 

"Thank you, Jade."

"Of course, my love."

Floyd

Dating Floyd means that you're going to be loved for every single moment in your life. Floyd is physically affectionate, and he's definitely going to give you tackle hugs at any given chance. Be prepared to have him stick around and shower you with kisses and touches. With his constantly overflowing affections for you it's really hard for you to feel jealousy and envy.

Well, that's before the rabbit comes between the two of you.

You still can't believe that you're jealous of a goddamn rabbit, but here you are. Perhaps you've been getting too used to Floyd and his intimacy that the moment he averts his attention, you immediately feel hollow.

The two of you found this fellow outside your dorm, shivering in the cold and seemingly lost. Floyd took an interest to the small creature almost immediately and seems to have forgotten about you. You're sure he doesn't intend to ignore you, but suddenly losing his fondness just makes you feel out of place.

You refuse to act on your feelings though. What will he say if he finds out how needy you are? Perhaps he will deem you too hard to please or even a nuisance… you shake your head at the thought, returning to watching him play with the bunny.

"Oh, aren't you the cutest~" Floyd buries his face into the soft white fur, giggling at himself. At your silence he turns to you, only to find you seemingly troubled as your eyebrows knit together. 

"Y/N~" he calls out and pouts when there's no response. He scoots over to you and pokes your face, only then is he successful in getting your attention. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks, resting his jaw on his palm with an interested shine in his eyes. 

"Nothing," you shake your head, nudging your head towards the rabbit. "Why don't you go and spend some more time with it? I'm sure it's getting lonely,"

Floyd is quiet for a while, face blank as the gears in his head work. After a moment, he breaks into a small smile. "I only left for a minute, it's not going to get lonely that easily…" you gulp at his words that suddenly seem to carry a hidden meaning. "What about you? Are you feeling deserted, somehow? Or better! Is someone jealous~?"

"I'm not," you quickly retort. Floyd laughs, throwing his head back carefreely. "I think you are though? Are you sad because I haven't been giving you love lately?"

You grunt, unwilling to answer any more of his questions which he already has the answers to. Seeing your annoyed expression, he decides to drop his teasing. "Alright~ I will show you more love, alright?" he wraps you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest and swaying you from side to side. You're not going to admit it, but you've missed this.

"Next time you want hugs and kisses, you only need to ask~" he says in a sing-songy voice, chuckling as you denies ever having such desires.

[highsviolets]

waterfall inquiry: javier peña x reader

pairing: javier peña x young analyst!reader

summary: words should not make you feel so much.

warnings: age gap. kissing. and - the worst of all - f e e l i n g s. (soft ones)

a/n: [edited 10 June ‘21] this was supposed to be three parts...and now there’s more. I regret nothing :) 

[next] [series masterlist] [main masterlist] * gif: @anakin-skywalker​

“Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name”

 “as kingfishers catch fire” | gerard manley hopkins

Neither of you should be here. Strictly speaking, at least.

The Embassy maintains regulations about these sorts of things, you’ve heard in jagged claims that coat the walls in a sickly iridescent sheen. Not the pretty kind that makes glitter sparkle. No, it’s the perverse shine — pyrite and oil spills on tepid water and those cheap kaleidoscopes they sell at county fairs.

Everything, it seems, is whispered here. Here at the Embassy, anyway; Colombia itself is a messy, irreverent place. A dreamlike people, an altered state where God acts as the intermediary between man and demons, not angels.

Perhaps that is why the Embassy is always quiet. The shrill clang of a phone ringing makes everyone start, fearful of keeping demons at bay. Even the PR reps speak in hushed tones, the words soft and soothing like cotton balls dipped in baby oil gliding across skin — crafting press releases each word slotted for a specific purpose, hand-picked with evolutionary precision.

It harasses you, stinging pricks drawing blood from beneath the surface of your bronze skin. Words should move freely, you believe. Like the way the Mississippi runs in during the spring melt: coarse, unimpeded, roiling in caught light, caressing the riverbanks as it soaks up all the world gives it — thrusting forward after a winter fraught in immobility, reveling in flinty purpose.

There’s a difference between words of fabrication and phrases of culled authenticity — the ones that stream from bleeding hearts, bound tightly by shoves and glares and hands that can’t keep still. Hands that grasp for something tangible. Anfractuous reminders of why they must be so careful, why they must keep the truth of themselves limited to brief instances of throwing back light or heat.

There is one man, you know, who thinks like you do — and he laughs at the fact that your jobs depend upon other people being careless with their words. Bandying about locations, codenames, numerals, what to buy at the grocery store. You can almost hear him, that marmalade voice spreading over you, eyes gleaming in smoke and fervor: yeah, carelessness gives us both a job. But it hurts, too.

Tonight, though. When you both are here when you really shouldn’t, you really fucking shouldn’t, not when you’ve been dreaming about him for…for how long? How long have you been in this country that makes a mockery of verisimilitude? Long enough, apparently, for everything else to blur when you look at him, for you to have memorized the way his shirts pull tight over his back when he’s leaned over his desk.

Eyes climb up the length of his torso, the slope of it heightened by the way he’s bracing his weight on his hands. His palms are spread wide and god as much as you think you want to stop the way your mouth runs dry at the sight his large palm, you can’t.

A sigh leaks out. The man in question spares a glance your way, matching the twist of his neck to the cigarette he brings to his lips. “You alright?” he mumbles around the thing, and you grip the desk’s edge a little harder at the sound, at the sight, of him in his element. His exhale — a finely tuned purse of the lips, discreetly directed away from your work — should feel the same as your sigh, but it doesn’t. It washes over you instead, and you rock in the way his existence ebbs and flows in and out of your person. Easy. Like breathing. Like all you have to do is breathe, and he’ll be there.

There are stories about him. When you had been sent down to Columbia as a junior analyst after the death of Escobar, you had quickly dived into the mythos the man. How could you not, when he was everywhere, the scent and swagger of him drawing eyes from every corner of the barricaded building?

The others — the replacements, someone had once termed the batch of new personnel flooding the country to fight Cali — had told you the stories; where they had heard them, you weren’t sure. Huddled over tepid drinks in the bar after work, blazers shrugged off and shirtsleeves rolled up, you had let them regale you of how he fought for years to bring down Escobar, only to be in Miami when his partner did the deed. How he fucks his informants; although, one of them admitted with a sigh, he hadn’t been known to do that in a while. How he was ruthless in the pursuit of justice. A fucking legend, man, someone had crowed about the older man, tongue loose with overpriced alcohol.

And through it all, there was you, eyeing the man himself across the bar. The embrace of his hands against the whiskey glass, the way he barely shuddered at the consuming burn of the stuff when he tossed it back in a behavioral gesture. He seems sad, is what you had thought. Whatever opposite of sad existed in this opulent measure of time by which you both abided — that’s what you wanted to do for him. To make him not-sad. He is aged, perhaps, but not old, rather like someone who could be young if they could shed the pallid skin of responsibility.

But you can’t play God in this country of fallen beings. Being consumes you instead, devolving into an obsession, hanging onto the ledge of yourself — gripping humanity and slicing rocks and graphite that stains your skin even as it slides away, too smooth to be held in hands that ache, swollen, from typing up reports detailing the tumbled-gravel sins of humanity.

He likes you. You think he might, anyway. He consults you before any of the others, and once or twice he’s dragged some Columbian officer into your tiny workspace, asking you to confirm the intelligence on whatever operation he’s desperate to get approved so he can do something. He asks with words that curl up and over themselves like whitecaps, one hand resting on his hip as he nods along to your recitation.

But it’s really his eyes you watch in these moments, aching in fluttering hope whenever they rest on yours. Javier Peña’s eyes when he visits you in your workspace are pleading thermoses of life under sterile fluorescent lights. He likes to send you a half-smile and a nod when you’re finished, tossing them over his shoulder as he escorts the man back to the Ambassador’s office. You are both too good at your job not to love it in some sick & twisted way, and he knows.

Other times he simply drops by. Leaning against your cubicle, he fiddles with a cigarette and chats with you as you work, asking questions that he knows he’s the only one examining.

Talk to me about the families of la cartel de Cali, he mutters, the hoarse sound deep and aching in your gut. About their mothers, daughters, sons, cousins, in-laws. Is anyone sick? Do they want to go on vacation? What’s the drama of the week, no, don’t laugh, — he smiles, here, barely, the delicate minutiae of the expression an external revelation of his magnetism — there always is in families. They’re human just like us. And that’s when he sighs, and looks across the hall, where in his office there’s a diagram of the Cali bosses splayed over the wall. Yeah...they’re like us.

Javier makes a slowly forms a habit of it, of stopping by your cubical and wrapping you in currents of charisma and truth. He does you a solid, too, bringing you to the attention of your superiors when he mentions your diligence. And you repay him in kind, taking care to slip into his office with new intelligence before the brass gets word. You tell yourself it’s simple mentorship. Mere patronage. He’s paying it forward, helping the young analyst get ahead in their career. These meetings are nothing to him, and they ought to be equally as empty to yourself. It’s just exchanges of information. Conversation between colleagues.

Of course, that doesn’t explain why you look forward to his fingers touching yours when you lend him a pen, or, when he makes some half-whispered joke in Spanish, it makes you shiver. Or the pride that blossoms in your chest, embracing you all soft and balmy, when he considers your words. He handles them like he does his favorite cigarettes, rolling them between his fingers, palming their weight, letting the texture seep into his skin before he lights them on fire.

You drop your pen a lot; he brings a finger to his mouth in thought. You don’t see the way he smiles when you do that, grinning at the muttered curse and roll of your eyes. And he decides that he likes the way you laugh about it; poking fun at your own mistakes, the skin that matches his own gleaming in the warm sun.

He can never do that. Perhaps he should? But he doesn’t make mistakes like that, toss-away interruptions of intended action. The mistakes he makes get people killed. All the more reason to keep checking with you, he reasons, to double-insure the intelligence. Can’t have another mess. And he likes to hear your laugh. Nothing wrong with that, he says. Nothing wrong with something that makes his heart stir and entices the eyes hidden behind yellow aviators to trace the length of your neck a little longer than strictly necessary when you throw your head back in unmarked joy.

And tonight, in his office? Tonight he seems melancholic again, like the first time you saw him across the bar. He keeps shifting his weight, one hand on his hip, and then on the table, and then shrugging off both his jacket and his tie and tossing them unceremoniously onto the couch, limbs extending listlessly. It’s as close to careless as he gets.

Or maybe it’s just the exhaustion fusing into you both. You feel slow and hazy, torn between staring at him and bleary eyes glaring at the map beneath his fingers. if you just look at it longer, you think, you can will it all to fall into place. and maybe if you did he would kiss you, and maybe he would kiss you the way he has always wanted to live.

Maybe if you traced your tongue along his exposed collarbone, penning of licks of hope in the space where his words seem to get caught, where his perpetually open collar leaves him defenseless to an onslaught of physical impressions…maybe then, he’d exhale in blessed adoration, taken outside of himself for just one moment.

He’s asking you a question. You alright? He does that a lot, you realize. Checks in with you. When you answer, he laughs — those delightful eyes seeping warmth into your weary bones as they crinkle in a smile — and he reminds you to call him Javier. He — Javier — has rebuked you at least three times tonight alone, but you’ve yet to oblige his request. If you do, if you let your tongue caress his sacred name and rest in its life-sodden weight, you fear…

you do not know what you fear. you do not know how saying his name will shift the tides in your life. but you know that you will remain forever anchored to him, tethered to his lunar opacity.

“What’s this?” you ask instead, shifting to rest against the desk. You’re beside him now, hip adjacent to his as you look up at him. Latent smoke hovers overhead, and locks of his hair have come undone after the long hours of work and now rest over his forehead small waves. It looks like it aches, being so out of place, and yet so distinctly him. Caught. Destined to arch over his tanned skin, all the while lingering in a place where it should not. Not here, anyway. Not tonight, in his office, far after everyone else has gone home.

“What’s what?” Javier rejoins, distracted, still bent over the desk, still bracing his weight on those fingers.

Rustling papers catch his attention, and he twists to meet your gaze. “This.” You point to the unfamiliar word, stamped out in standard font. “My Spanish is decent, but I’ve never seen this word before.”

The wrinkles behind the shield of his fallen hair press together as he cranes his neck, adjusting his stance to read the word on the paper you thrust in his direction. It clears rapidly though — the visage sailing and unfurling itself when he absorbs the story hidden in-between letters on a page.

He repeats the word back to you, leaning into the sound the way he leans into you, inching closer in his explanation. You stare at his lips, completely captivated — his tongue catching between his teeth — the purse of his lips — the rearrangement of his jaw as it conforms to the aerodynamics of structured syllables.

“Strictly speaking,” he says, eyes roving your face, deep and dark, “it means elf, or spirit. Something ethereal. It’s used in stories a lot.” The words are smooth, smokey, whiskey-like as you let them drip down your skin, the insides of your thighs. “Entiendes?”

Your body temperature rises. You can feel it — the way your mouth’s run dry and the paper’s slippery in your grip. Did his voice drop lower when he used the familiar form of the verb, not the formal? You think it did. Oh god, he’s so close, he could just extend a hand across your body and it could rest on your hip. You had never really noticed his height either, always in heels. Tonight, though, the heels are in the corner with his jacket and tie and you realize that he’s inches above you, yet somehow still within reach.

“What’s” — you swallow thickly, desperate to remain professional despite your wide eyes, the tongue tracing your lower lip — “what’s the non-strict definition of the word?”

He gives you one of his trademark smirks. “It can also mean,” he says, “enchanting. Charming. For someone or something to be magical.”

Nodding slowly, you drop your eyes down to the paper again, desperate to avoid his gaze. It follows you, watching your eyes hide even as you adjust to be ever-closer, a bare foot extending outward and brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Say it,” you hear him urge, your head bolting up, incredulous. And you try, you really do, but it’s so new and unfamiliar and you’re so goddamn nervous with him looking at you, that you fuck it up. Words are but the vessels by which emotions themselves are expressed, so maybe the act of speaking should not make you feel all by itself. But it does — oh, god, it does, and you feel like you’ve shrunk in the process, dwarfed by this man with rolled up shirt sleeves wrapped around muscular forearms, who grins impishly around his cigarette.

“Not quite.” He stubs out the thing, and to your surprise, brings hand to your jaw, cupping your chin in-between his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again.”

“No, I can’t; I..“ you protest, and for what? because you don’t want him near you? no, that’s not it, but you’re being branded by his touch all the same.

“Say it again,” he commands again, more gently this time, his words accompanied by an encouraging nod.

You comply readily, sounding out the syllables. His strong fingers manipulate your movements, guiding you in pronouncing the difficult phrase. It’s forceful and noble, a tender yet compelling influence that teaches you how to wrap yourself in the meaning of the word as much the word itself. You’re tingling; is it from the thrill of achieving or from his sturdy hand against your bare skin?

He doesn’t back away when you’re finished speaking, but holds your stare. Dimly, you register the steady crescendo in your breathing. He’s not immune to your proximity either: his Adam’s apple bobs as he pushes down the deficit of hope flooding oppressive maxim of his presence. Times stretches as you remain caught in his hold, coursing through you, carrying you downstream in brash, coarse recklessness. Are the emotions you swim in those eyes yours, or his, or some measure of both?

The pads of his fingers migrate, drifting to rest along your cheek and tumble into his touch like a moth to flame, or fish to water, or whatever trite phrase people use to make sense of such profound belonging.

Javier is mesmerized with the way his fingertips trace your cheekbones, the shell of your ear, along your jaw, returning to outline your lips.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice scrapes along your bliss, and you force your eyes open to see that he’s moved even closer, closer-than-close, so tight against you that you’re nearly leaning back over the desk.

“Do you want me to?” His eyes are dark and still now, but for the way they’re trained on yours as you whisper fate into existence.

“No — fuck — I shouldn’t, I —“ his jaw shifts again, this time in agitation, but it is you who does the deed, cutting him off, reaching out to tug on his collar. The action pulls him forward, pressing himself against you, caging you between the desk and the broadness of his firm chest.  And you do know it’s firm now, at last slipping your hands underneath that truant fabric and gliding along his smooth skin. His hands find your waist, gripping your hips as he meets your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

He — Javier, now — kisses you a single-minded intent, letting his lips slide over yours lazily, over and over, memorizing the imprint of you against his mouth. One hand drifts upward again, cupping your cheek as he tilts your head slightly, letting his tongue delve into your mouth and trace your teeth. It makes you gasp, and you retaliate with a gentle nip to his lower lip, silently begging for more. Javier moans into your mouth, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Javier lifts you, placing you firmly on the desk, feet dangling a few inches from the floor. You know what he wants before he even has to ask and you give it him readily, wrapping your legs around his waist. Javier’s weight conforms to your own, molding against your body as you press into him, back arching in your submersion to his touch.

He is so eager; his kisses drench you in a deluge of incubated affection interspersed with need. Grasping at his shoulder, you pull him even closer, your other hand anxiously fiddling with his buttons as you sigh, reveling in the storm of his attention. Slowly, painstakingly, driven by a clamoring need for oxygen, he drags himself away from you, parting slowly, ever-loth to break the kiss.

You can’t help the shy smile that dances around your lips when you look up at him, standing above you. His chest is heaving, out of breath, hair somehow even more mussed than it was before. You suppose you can touch it now, so you do, two fingers brushing aside the fringe on his forehead.

Time, and space, and whatever else this stuff is made of have prevented from this alternate reality. until now. it has broken through the dam and caught you up in its awakening, broad and unrepentant.

Javier captures your hand as it lowers, pressing a kiss to the side of your palm. He’s so tender it makes you ache, and you wonder if this is why he stopped fucking his CIs. He requires something more intangible than what they could give him. “Javier,” you whisper.

He hums a question, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he watches you consider him, emotion lapping at the shores of unkempt eyes.

“You asked me to use your name. Earlier, I mean.” Should you feel embarrassed? Kissing a man several years your senior? Maybe you should. But you don’t. There’s a cordial warmth spreading through you, bolstered by his gentle touch, the outward connection of him and you that’s been built through months of inanimate remembrances.

“I know.” Javier nods and leans in again, his breath rippling across your skin. “Can you say it one more time, princesa? They say you need to do something three times” — a kiss to your cheek — “to make sure you really —“ a kiss to your forehead — “understand” — a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The words fall out of your mouth, splashes of unrestrained affection dappling each letter. “Duende, Javier,” you murmur against his lips. “Duende.”

javi tags: @frannyzooey @yespolkadotkitty @rentskenobi @goldenkenobi ​ @goldafterglow @teaofpeach ​ @justrunamok ​ @huliabitch @cri-me-a-river @littlevodika @catsnkooks @themarvelousbear @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @ladytrashbird @princessxkenobi @roxypeanut @dracos-jedi-marvel @a-seeker-of-imagination​ // taglist link in bio!

[saphirered]

Drowned Sorrows (Vagrant pt2.)

Caleb settles at the table in your shared room, ink and paper ready to go to work and you grab your stuff making way to leave when Caleb stops you, stepping in your path to the door, arms crossed and eyes burning into you. You try to step around him but he just moves with you until you give up. Apparently He’s adamant on talking.

“What the hell do you want?” You roll your eyes at his childish means from preventing you from leaving the room.

“This has gone on long enough.” Caleb states.

“What has?” You play dumb and Caleb gives you a disapproving look akin to a teacher scolding a student and you could just wring the life out of him for for it. Gods, can he just leave you be?

“You know exactly what.”

“Please, by all means, enlighten me, oh grand master Widogast.” You mock and now it’s Caleb’s turn to roll his eyes. Do you have to be so annoying? Why can’t you just act like an adult?

“If you insist. Why do you run out of the room whenever I study? Why do you feel the need to cringe and cower whenever I do anything even remotely magic related?” Caleb asks as you shake your head biting your tongue. This man… This man has some guts to call you out like he has but you suppose maybe this whole thing between the two of you wouldn’t have been as much of an issue if the two of you could just talk about your issues instead of bottling it up until you burst in moments like these, usually ending in some kind of shouting match followed by the silent treatment until Nott makes you ‘kiss and make up’ like she’s your mom.

“It’s none of your business, Caleb. Now let me out.” You once again try to push past him but he doesn’t let you. “Try me, Widogast or I’ll-“ You threaten but are cut off.

“Do what? You won’t use your magic beyond rudimentary practices. What could you possibly do?” Caleb pushes. You know he’s pushing your buttons, your anger only another means to get answers for himself and you hate yourself for falling for his calculated move but you still do.

“You don’t want to find out, Widogast. It didn’t end well for the last people.” There it is. That’s what he’d been waiting for. Those words alone, that threat is not an empty one. You wouldn’t harm him, not permanently at least but there’s a truth to your words and Caleb knows his calculated move to piss you off is paying off. He’ll have to tread carefully if he wants more answers and not actually provoke your wrath.

Shit. Shit shit shit. ‘It didn’t end well for the last people’. Shit. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips at all. Ever. Stupid Caleb fucking Widogast. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You can’t deal with this right now and try to push him out of the way but Caleb hardly budges. You half contemplate leaving through the window just to make a point but you’d rather not draw that kind of attention to yourself.

“Veiled threats and half truths. Those are a coward’s words who doesn’t intend to make true on their promises.” Oh you’re this far away from kicking his ass.

“Well it takes one to know one.” You hiss. “You might want to think twice. We still share a room and I will not hesitate to smother you with a pillow while you sleep. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” You feel a tingling in your fingertips, frustration running through your face with just a tiny hint of fear. You ball your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms. Last thing you need is to lose control right now but Caleb doesn’t have to know that.

Caleb steps out of the way, allowing you to pass. He stares you down until you close the door behind you, sharing one last glare before you’re off doing whatever you can to not be in any proximity of that room.

————

Hours later Nott has fallen asleep at the foot of Jester’s bed, the tiefling herself curled up comfortably. Beau’s sprawled out across her own bed limbs dangling off each side as she snores. You’d fallen asleep sitting against Beau’s bed until her hand slapped you in the face rudely pulling you from your not so comfortable sleeping position. You get up and stretch your limbs, cracking your back. Hopefully Caleb will have gone to sleep himself and you’ll be able to make it to your own bed without dealing with the wizard at this late, or rather early hour.

Exiting the girls’ room you see Fjord slumped against the wall near to his room, giggles and moans coming from the room he shares with Mollymauk. This time he had the sense to bring a pillow but Fjord still looked about as comfortable as anyone could be sleeping against the wall of one of the most expensive places in all of Zadash. You contemplated waking him and telling him to take your bed instead but you don’t doubt you’ll lose your comfy bed forever if you switched roommates. Don’t want to set any precedents because in all honesty, rather him than you having to deal with the lavender tiefling living his life to the fullest. Still, you take your cloak, throwing it over the half-orc gently as you move on to your room.

You don’t see any candle light bleeding through the narrow slit beneath the door so you count yourself lucky as you quietly open the door and slide in, tiptoeing over to your bed, putting your things down and beginning to get ready to sleep. You pull the silk covers back and lay down, making yourself comfortable and close your eyes. You can still smell the scent of that fine parchment and ink. You can almost hear the phantom scribbling of a pen over that paper, dipping into the ink vial every so often to replenish. It’s pure torture. The sound needs to stop. The smell needs to go and despite you trying to use some prestidigitation to get rid of the smell, changing it to those overly fragrant flowers at the shop you passed by a few days ago, the smell is still stuck in your nostrils, the sound still trapped in your ears, the damage already done.

You turn over onto your back, pulling the pillow from beneath you and pulling it over your head, releasing a frustrated but soft muffled scream more akin to a sigh into the plush feathers. The darkness behind your eyelids doesn’t help as you feel a vision of a room creep in, one etched into your memory just as that scent and sound are. Accompanied by feelings of pain and fear, desperation and helplessness, is the feeling of being completely and utterly trapped. No matter your tossing and turning, it all remains and the walls close in, sleep couldn’t be further out of your reach. That is until the lights turn on. A gentle orange glow fills the room and you’re pulled away from your memories and back into the room you share with Caleb.

“Would you stop your tossing and turning, please.” Caleb asks groggy, the sound of moving fabrics and endless sighs having awoken him from his own sleep. Caleb turns over to see you sitting, elbows on your bent knees and head in your hands as you try to stabilise your breathing, counting under your breath like its a life line. You may not exactly be friends and quarrel more often than not, that doesn’t mean he can’t be worried for you. Something’s clearly wrong and it doesn’t take an expert to see that.

“Are you alright?” He asks carefully turning to a half seated position to get a better view of you.

“Just go back to sleep, Caleb.” You grumble not moving from your position. No quip back, no witty remark, not even actual annoyance or a half threat to let Jester draw dicks in his precious books. The position you’re in, the traits you’re displaying are also familiar to him. He’s found himself in a similar situation many times and while you may have said it before as an offence, it’s true no less; takes one to know one. You’re reliving trauma, or at least coming back from reliving a traumatic memory of some kind. Triggered by what exactly?

“I’ll go back to sleep when I’m sure I won’t be awoken again every ten minutes.” In other words; talk.

“Piss off.” You spit raising from your bed, reaching for your bag. Instead you find an orange tabby raising it’s back and hissing at you, by the command of his master no doubt. You have half the mind to pick the cat up by the scruff and toss him at the wizard but right now you just want out.

“You can’t keep running away from your problems forever.” The words hit hard. Caleb’s right but why does it sound like a statement not solely directed at you? You know exactly why. You might not exactly have had any bonding moments with Caleb and he’s been shifty about his past but you know the words of someone who tries to deny that same truth themself.

“It seems to work just perfectly for you. Hypocrite.” It sounded like a curse. Hypocrite. Caleb had known for a long time but having it thrown so bluntly at his face, it hurt. He doesn’t lash out in anger or hit back with an equally venomous retort but instead just stares at you with pity. He really does pity you. He may not know the story but he knows that pain and no one should have to endure that. Still it’s your choice to keep it to yourself. It’s your choice to keep it all bottled up and locked away. No matter what he says, or does for that matter, he can’t change your mind, or even help you despite your differences, if you don’t allow anyone in, regardless of your like, or dislike in his case, for the person. He can’t help someone who won’t help themselves. And that’s exactly what makes him the biggest hypocrite here. His pain is his punishment.

“Where are you going?” Caleb asks as you push Frumpkin aside just enough to reach for your coin pouch, the cat hissing and clawing at your hands until he falls silent again. You open the door looking back one last time.

“To find a rooftop with a good view and drown my sorrows.” You close the door behind you and do exactly that. A bottle or two of good booze acquired and a nice rooftop found. The view would have been nice weren’t it cloudy. Halfway through your first bottle the gods decided to shit in your dish by the sound of rolling thunder and rain pouring down from the skies by the buckets, drenching you to the bone in a matter of seconds. You debated going back inside but you’re stubborn and stayed on that rooftop watching the water spill over the drains until you were shaking from the cold. Maybe suffering from hypothermia isn’t worth making a statement.

[iceeckos12]

and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶̧̨͕̖͔̬̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰̅n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

When We Were Young Part One

Part Two | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Rating: T

Notes: Enola Holmes got me, guys, what can I say. I mean seriously, look at that curl. I’m considering writing more, still kinda sussing it out. Not sure yet.

Warnings: Uuuuuh none

Summary: You were an only child, a girl (which had disappointed your parents), and while you loved to learn, you hated your governess. You were curious, a little wild, and lonely. 

As a child, Ferndell Hall was a second home to you. You lived down the road from the Holmes’ and tended to hide away there whenever you got into a fight with your mother (which was often). You were an only child, a girl (which had disappointed your parents), and while you loved to learn, you hated your governess. You were curious, a little wild, and lonely. Not that you were any less lonely with the Holmes boys. Mycroft was always making up games with ridiculous rules and amendments to try and keep you from playing them. Sherlock usually stayed out of yours and Mycroft’s arguments - you could hold your own against him anyway. When Mycroft couldn’t be bothered with you anymore, you’d trail behind Sherlock, trying to hold his hand to keep up with him, asking him a thousand questions about what he was reading, or what he was doing. He’d indulge you some of the time, but others he’d ignore you in favor of a book, or a drawing. It was those moments that you ran to Eudoria and Enola. “Never mind them,” Eudoria would tell you, when you were pouting over Mycroft making over some additional stupid rule, or Sherlock not even bothering to look at you from behind his book. “Why don’t they like me?” You asked one day, watching Mycroft and Sherlock fence with one another in the front yard. Eudoria looked down at you. “Why does it matter to you how they feel?” “Everyone wants to be liked,” You rationalized. Eudoria hummed thoughtfully, smoothing a hand over your hair. “Focus more on the company you would like to keep, dove. Not on the company that will not keep you.” -- When their father passed away, it was clear that both Mycroft and Sherlock would be sent to boarding schools. Your parents allowed a brief lapse in your studies so that you could spend more time with them before they left Ferndell. Mycroft was sent away first, and Sherlock would be sent soon after. On the day he was set to leave, you and Sherlock waited in the front hall, watching as his things were packed into a carriage. “Will you write?” Sherlock asked quietly. You turned to him, surprised. “...If you like,” You said after a moment. He didn’t meet your eye, just nodded. --

“Mother is missing.” Coming from Enola, that was a shock. You had watched her grow, she wasn’t the type to tease about something like this, especially where Eudoria was involved. “What’s happened?” You asked. As the years had gone by, you had continued to visit Ferndell, spent time with Eudoria, Enola, and Mrs. Lane. You’d fallen out of contact with Sherlock. You’d written letters, gotten one or two back, and grown frustrated. You’d stopped writing, remembering what Eudoria had told you: “Focus more on the company you would like to keep.” You looked in on Enola and Mrs. Lane every day that week, only insinuating yourself in Enola’s space where she wanted you - you knew that her mother was her chief companion and didn’t want to crowd her. You couldn’t help the lingering concern you had for Eudoria. “You’re good to come and check on ‘er,” Mrs. Lane sighed as the two of you shared a sherry, “It’ll be better when Sherlock comes home.” “The boys have been sent for?” You asked, eyeing your drink. “ ‘Course. Enola’ll be collecting them tomorrow.” Tomorrow. You were suddenly not in the mood for your sherry anymore. -- “They’ve already gone through the parlor-- Mycroft didn’t like our tennis rackets,” Enola said as you followed her down the hall to the kitchen, “And-- they were going through Mother’s room. Mycroft said Mother’s been sending him lists of expenses for all sorts of things-- a footman and a governess.” “Goodness,” You mumbled, frowning, “Well, I’m sure your mother has a reason. She has a reason for everything.” Enola slid onto one of the stools in the kitchen, folding her arms on the table and propping her chin up on her hand. She perked her head up the second someone else stepped into the kitchen. “Mrs. Lane, if we could have some wine. We’ll be in the library.” You glanced in the direction of the voice; that glance alone was enough to know it was him. Enola had proudly kept every single clipping of every single case he’d ever solved; the sketches in the paper didn’t nearly do him justice. You glanced away quickly enough again as you felt his head turn toward you; as Mrs. Lane said, “Of course, Mr. Holmes.” “...Aren’t you going to say hello to Sherlock?” Enola asked. You raised a brow before glancing in his direction again. “Hello to Sherlock,” You said simply. The smile that lit up Enola’s face was worth it, especially after the week she’d had. It was almost gratifying, his staring, and you were moderately certain he had absolutely no idea who you were. “I have business to attend to at home, but if you need anything, you know where to reach me,” You addressed both Enola and Mrs. Lane before turning back to Sherlock. “Don’t strain yourself,” You said coolly as you brushed past him. -- “Impatient.” You lifted your head from the letter you’d been focusing on to see Sherlock leaning in the doorway of your study. “...Excuse me?” You asked. “Your handwriting,” He said, stepping further into your study, “When I was at school, I was made to study calligraphy, and I used to study your letters. The ink was often smudged, because you write quickly, which means you’re impatient. The size of your lettering is large implying that you’re outspoken, comfortable in your own skin, and the spacing is narrow, which means you can’t stand being alone.” He stopped in front of your desk, looking down at you. You set your pen aside, tipping your chin up. “Do you have a reason for being here, Mr. Holmes?” You asked. Sherlock lowered himself into one of the seats across from you, reaching into his pocket and pulling his pipe out. Your arched a brow. “I wanted to ask you about--” “You’re not smoking in here.” Sherlock stilled, looking at you. “Excuse me?” “Which part of that was unclear?” You asked. Sherlock stared at you for a moment before tucking his pipe away. "I remember you,” He said. “Charming, well done.” “I wanted to talk to you about my mother.” “Go on, then.” "My mother hasn’t said anything to you about a trip, a change?” “None. You know Eudoria keeps her cards close to her chest.” “And you haven’t noticed any suspicious characters around the house?” “You suspect she’s gone off with someone?” You quirked a brow, “She’d never. No one is more important to your mother than Enola.” “You have a theory?” Sherlock asked. “You’re the detective here, Mr. Holmes, not me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy.” Sherlock gave a nod as he stood. You leaned back over your letter, picking up your pen. You froze when you heard him murmur, “It’s good to see you again, dove.” You looked up to see him lingering by your door, an odd, almost soft smile on his face. He gave you a quick nod before he left, door shutting behind him. -- “Whole house is up in arms,” Mrs. Lane was scrubbing the kitchen table down for what had to be the fifth time. “Mrs. Lane, please,” You soothed, gently steering her to sit, “Let me make us some tea, hmm?” Enola was gone. No warning, no note, just a caricature of Mycroft on a pillow (you’d seen it and let out an incredibly unladylike snort). “You going to London-- And the boys as well, it’ll just be me rattling around the house,” Mrs. Lane sighed as you set a fresh cuppa down in front of her. She reached up, patting your cheek in thanks. -- “Did I hear Mrs. Lane say you’ll be going into town?” You turned at the sound of Sherlock’s voice and found him a few paces behind you. The path between Ferndell Hall and your home was a scenic one, quiet and well-trod. You stopped to allow him to catch up, folding your arms over your chest, “Might I ask why you were eavesdropping?” “Is it really eavesdropping if it occurs in ones own home?” He asked. “If one was not intended to be privy to the conversation, yes.” Sherlock considered this for a moment before he stepped around you, continuing toward your home. You frowned after him before you followed, lengthening your strides to catch up. “What takes you there?” He asked. “I’ve business to attend to.” “You used that same phrase the other day,” Sherlock reminded you. “And it is as true now as it was then,” You said. “What sort of ‘business’ is it?” “I have to look in on my aunt, for one, and meet with a couple of my father’s investors. He’s been ill, so he’s unable to make the trip himself.” “And he trusts you to do it for him?” You looked up to find Sherlock’s brow furrowed and you rolled your eyes. “Try not to look so shocked. You’re not the only person in the world capable of getting things done.” “You used to chase after Mycroft and I, you wanted your hand held at all times,” Sherlock reminded you. You scoffed, stopping and turning to face him. “I was a child,” You snapped. He stopped as well, tucking his hands into his pockets, and you went on, “And I was lonely-- And it’s not as if you or Mycroft did anything to assuage that.” You saw a flash of hurt in Sherlock’s eyes, the brief clench of his jaw before his face returned to that calm, observant set. You shook your head, averting your eyes. You hardly lost your temper anymore, had learned to school your emotions to get ahead when needed. Why on earth was he bringing this out in you? “If you’ll excuse me,” You said stiffly, stepping around him. “When do you leave for London?” He asked. You stopped again, turning a little to look at him; he wouldn’t meet your eye, his gaze set on the ground. “Tomorrow,” You said. “The 9:15?” He asked. “Yes,” You nodded. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the station.” “...Perhaps.”