#they’ve both waited 10 years and want it but they don’t want to push and honestly aren’t ready yet

[thebookworm0001]

ideas beginning to solidify for post veilguard fic things

[chrzzboo]

One of lando Norris and he is dating pedri sister

I wouldn’t want it any other way

Summary: After going to the Grand Prix in Barcelona with your brothers, a lot of things happen. Meeting your future boyfriend is one of them.

Pedri sister reader x Lando Norris

Note: thank you for your request anon! I tried my best, and accidentally wrote more than I intended to 🤪 I hope you guys enjoy this one and don’t be a silent reader! Love chrzzboo 🫶

Y/N’S POV

It was a very beautiful day in Barcelona I was visiting my older brothers Pedri and Fernando. I normally live with my parents in Tenerife but because I had a break from uni I decided to visit my dear brothers. I always had a special bond with both my brothers especially with Pedri since he’s only a year older than me. I was sat in front of the tv watching some Netflix when Pedri came to me and started talking. “Yo hermana I’ve got three tickets for the Barcelona’s Grand Prix this weekend, do you want to come with me and Fer?”. I looked at him confused, I did know about F1 and even knew a few drivers but didn’t really bother to watch every race so I was confused to why he asked me if he knew that I wasn’t really interested in it. “An F1 race? Since when do you like formula one?”. He looked at me annoyed. "Since they’ve invited me and they were kind enough to send me two extra tickets so you better come. Also mom and dad wouldn’t appreciate me leaving you all alone at home”. I started laughing imagining my parents beating up Pedri and Fer. “Alright I will come with you guys because I know you can’t live without me.” Pedri scoffed. “Now don’t get too confident hermana.” “With you as my brother I could never” I said laughing and pushing him over, running away from him. “Is that how you treat your older brother niñita?” He shouted running after me.

TIME SKIP

It was the day of the Grand Prix, although I didn’t know what to expect I was still very excited. We were currently in the car on the way to the Grand Prix, Pedri was driving and Fer sat next to him and I was sitting in the back. I was jamming to the music in the car when Fer turned to me and started talking.”Listen hermana, Grand Prix’s are often very busy so it’s important that we stick together because that place is way too big and easy to get lost in.” I rolled my eyes at my brother. “Fer are you serious? How old do you think I am? I can perfectly keep up with you guys. And besides that what if I get lost? It’s not like we don’t have phones?” Now it was Fernando’s turn to roll his eyes at me. “It might not be a big deal to you but to us it is. If mama heard that we’ve lost you she would go livid.” “Alright alright I promise I will stay close”. Both my brothers nodded at my words and we continued jamming to the music in the car until we’ve reached our destination.

We arrived a bit later than we were supposed to since it was so busy, Fer wasn’t lying when he said that this place can be very crowded. I was looking around and walking close to my brothers. I didn’t expect this place to be so cool honestly. I might visit these races more often. There are many pros to have an older brother who’s famous but there are also a lot of cons. Like right now, my brother was taking many pictures with people and also doing interviews. I was waiting for him to finish, already getting bored. Fer went to the toilet so I was alone waiting for Pedri. I was just scrolling on my phone when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turn around and frowned at the girl standing in front of me, I’ve never seen her before. “Hey you’re y/n right? Pedri’s little sister?” Ooh now I understood what she wanted. Well you see being the little sister of a pro athlete means that their fans will also know their family. “Hey yeah that’s me!” I replied enthusiastically. I didn’t realise but 10 minutes past, I had a lovely conversation with this girl but she had to leave. Looking around I started panicking since I couldn’t find my brothers anymore. They suddenly disappeared, I grabbed my phone planning on calling them but I cursed under my breath since my phone died. “Shit man, I should’ve brought my power bank.” I took matters in my own hands and started walking around the paddock looking for my brothers.

Like I mentioned before, this place is huge it feels like it’s never ending. Still looking around for my brothers, I wasn’t really paying attention to my surroundings in front of me since I was looking to the left side. That probably wasn’t a good idea because all of a sudden I bumped into a hard chest sending me straight to the ground eating shit. “I’m so sorry miss, are you alright?” Asked a manly voice, I looked at the person and I could see a pretty handsome brunette staring down at me reaching his hand out for me to hold. I grabbed his hand embarrassed by the fall I just made. “I’m alright, I’m so sorry I wasn’t really paying attention.” I told him. He chuckled looking in my eyes, just then I realised that he had very beautiful coloured eyes. “Don’t worry! It was my fault as well I was kinda distracted it wasn’t my intention to send you to the ground.” I laughed at him already liking his attitude. “Well yeah that was kinda embarrassing. But thanks for helping me, I’m looking for my brothers but ended up eating dirt instead.” He laughed at me still looking at me with those beautiful eyes. “Really are you lost?” “Yeah I kinda am, I’ve never been here before. I was waiting for my brothers and in the meantime a girl came up to me and started talking but when we finished our conversation I couldn’t find them anymore.” He looked at me with a confused expression. “You’ve never been here before? In the way of never visited the Barcelona GP or just to a F1 race in general?” I looked at him weird, what has that got to do with me losing my brothers? “Euhm I’ve never been to a F1 race at all, so I’m not really familiar with this.” He looked at me with a relieved expression? “So you don’t know who I’m?” I looked at him confused before answering.”Should I know who you are?” He chuckled at my response. “No don’t worry about it but you said that you’ve lost your brothers right? Have you tried calling them?” “No because my phone died that’s the main reason why I’m looking around here like a kid who’ve lost their parents.” I said with a laugh. He laughed as well. “Well miss if you give me your name I would gladly give you my phone so you can call them.” I forwarded my hand to him introducing myself to the handsome stranger. “I’m y/n, nice to meet you mister?” He took my hand and shook it, introducing himself as well. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl, it’s nice to meet you my name is Lando.” Ngl that actually made me blush, so I quickly looked away from him but I could hear him slightly chuckle. He handed me his phone so I could call my probably worried brothers.

LANDO’S POV

After giving this beautiful girl my phone I started thinking. How come she doesn’t know me when there are literally pictures of me displayed all over the paddock. But honestly I was kinda relieved since I thought that I had bumped in a crazy fan earlier. Her not knowing who I am gave me the opportunity to kinda mess with her and also to feel like a normal person for once. Those thoughts were quickly interrupted by her giving me my phone back. “Here you go Lando, thank you so much for letting me use your phone I would’ve been doomed if it wasn’t for you! My brothers are at the restaurant at the entrance so I’m going over there.” I smiled at her happy face. “That’s no problem y/n, but do you know we’re the restaurant is because I don’t want you to get lost again.” She laughed at me not taking my words serious. “Don’t worry I remembered where it was located since I could smell the amazing pastries they had there earlier” she adds with an adorable laugh. “Alright pretty girl, hope to see you around.” After bidding her goodbye I couldn’t help but curse at myself for not asking her number or something, but before I could even look for her she was gone.

BACK TO Y/N

I couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed because I actually liked talking to Lando he seemed nice. Shaking those thoughts off I had better things to do and that was to find my brothers and hoping that they wouldn’t be mad at me. Finally reaching the restaurant, I could see my brothers standing near the entrance waiting for me. I called their names and soon both of them came running to me. “Y/n dios mío, we thought we lost you forever for a second.” Was heard from Fer. “Yeah we already started digging our own graves because non of us would’ve had the balls to tell mama.” Pedri says earning a laugh from all of us. “Alright you guys are so dramatic and this time it wasn’t even my fault that I got lost, you guys just disappeared.” Both of them looked at each other with guilty eyes and turned to me with a small smile. “Yeah alright this one was on us, but if you won’t tell mama we will buy you your favourite pastries.” “All of them?” I add with a smirk. Both my brothers rolled their eyes but agreed.

After we watched the race we were headed to the garages of some drivers since Pedri wanted to talk to them. I had to admit I did like watching the race, there was so much happening. The adrenaline, the speed, the loud engines it was just simply addicting. Arriving at the garages both my brothers headed to talk to some drivers but not without warning me to stay close to them and not wander off. I looked around me and noticed that each garage had their own colours. For example Ferrari had red, Mercedes had black and McLaren had orange more like a papaya colour. But wait a second, looking back at the McLaren garage I could see a familiar face. It was that Lando guy from earlier. Shocked I took a few steps closer to look at the poster better. 'Lando Norris driver for McLaren' it stated. So you're meant to tell me that I've talked to one of the drivers earlier? That's actually insane. I quickly returned to my brothers and let those thoughts sink in.

It’s been 10 minutes since my brothers were talking to the drivers with the names Verstappen and Pérez what I’ve learned after standing there for such a long time. I was starting to get thirsty because we’ve walked all day long plus it was so hot in Barcelona today. I looked around me and spotted a vending machine. I tapped Fer on his shoulder to gain his attention, soon he turned to me with a confused face. “I’m thirsty can I walk over there and get a drink from the machine.” Fer looked over to the vending machine seeing that it wasn’t too far and could still see me. “Alright, but only get your drink and come back we wouldn’t want the same events from earlier to happen again.” He added with a stern voice. “Okey sir, don’t worry I will be back in no time.” After getting his permission I started walking to the vending machine, I needed some money so as I was walking I started searching for some change in my purse. Unaware of my surroundings I again bumped into someone. But that’s when I heard the same voice again. “Second time we bumped into each other it’s really destiny at this point.” It was Lando, this time he was dressed in his racing attire still a bit sweaty from the race earlier. “Well it’s nice seeing you again Lando.” He smiled at me before talking again. “You haven’t lost your brothers again have you?” He laughed at me. I groaned at his response. “Listen that only happened once and that wasn’t even my fault. Also my brothers are over there talking to some drivers." I pointed at them so Lando could see them. Lando turned to me a bit shocked. “Wait your brother is Pedri, the football player?” I looked at him amused. “Yeah that’s him.” “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” He asked still looking at Pedri. “Well mister Norris, you didn’t mention that you were a driver either.” I said with a smirk. He laughed. “You’ve got me there, I guess we both had our secrets.” I smiled agreeing to his words. “Hey y/n listen it was very nice talking to you, I really enjoyed our conversation. But I have to go, do you mind doing me the honour of giving me your phone number?”. I couldn’t believe my ears at first, did he really ask me for my number? Wait let’s get this straight a F1 driver wants my number? Yeah mental. I quickly composed myself so I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself. “Yeah sure give me your phone so I can type it in!” After exchanging our numbers we both separated our ways.

That was 6 months ago, me and Lando have been dating for 2 months now. Ever since we’ve exchanged numbers back then, we had been talking non stop. We would secretly meet up but it ended up with him visiting me most of the time since I still had uni. Our relationship was pretty much a secret, the only people that knew about it were some of his friends on the paddock, his best friend Max and his parents. For me the only people who knew were my parents and best friend. My brothers don’t know, I don’t what to tell them because I know how they would freak out since they’re very protective over me especially Pedri. Pedri can be very dramatic about this, so that’s why I decided to keep it from them but just for now.

I was currently visiting Lando in Monaco since I had a break from uni. I came with him to the paddock to keep him company since he’s been whining all morning long for me to come with him. I have been here for two weeks now I have to leave in two days to return home. I didn’t want to leave actually, I had a great time here in Monaco spending time with my boyfriend. My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a hand on my thigh. “Baby are you alright? You’ve been quiet ever since we woke up today.” I looked at him and could see the concern in his eyes. “Yeah I’m alright amor don’t worry about it.” I tried convincing him but if there was one thing Lando was good at it would be that he could read me like an open book. He scooted closer to me lifting me up slightly and seating me on his lap. He had both his arms secured around my waist and he kissed my shoulder lightly. “Babe you know damn well that I know when you’re lying. Now tell me what’s really going on, I’m your boyfriend I would do anything to make those worries of yours disappear.” He added with a chaste kiss on my cheek. I smiled at him slightly feeling better. “I’m just worried you know. I don’t want to return home tomorrow without you. The long distance has been killing me lately and now that we’ve spent two weeks together really made realise that I don’t want to be apart from you.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “I know love, I had an amazing time with you and I’m also not ready to let it go. But we’ve talked about this remember? You’re almost done with uni and then we can finally live together.” His words made me happier but there was still one thing that was bothering me. “You’re right but we still haven’t told my brothers, it just feels like I have a huge weight on my shoulders. I love them but I’m scared that they wouldn’t approve of our relationship.” Lando was quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “Babe listen what if I came with you back home. You told me that your brothers will be there as well. We can’t keep postponing this. Think about it, it’s not fair towards your brothers as well you know.” He was right, I couldn’t keep this secret from them any longer. I want to be able to go out with Lando freely without having to worry about anything. I looked at him. “You’re right babe, we should do it.” Lando was so happy to hear that, he jumped up nearly dropping me to the ground but he quickly caught me. “Babe that’s amazing, I will sort out a private jet immediately. You just have to call your parents and let them know." He grabbed my face with his large hands and kissed me passionately. I couldn’t help but smile into the kiss excited but also nervous about telling the news to my brothers.

Me and Lando were currently seated in his private jet. I was so nervous, probably more nervous than Lando. I kept bouncing my leg up and down from the stress but Lando noticed it and held my thigh in place. “Babe calm down, you’re more nervous than me.” He said laughing and pecking my nose. “I’m sorry amor I can’t help it, I just hope my brothers won’t make a drama out of it especially Pedri.” I said looking down sadly imagining the worst scenario to happen. Lando tilted my chin with his fingers so I could look at him. “Hey hey baby don’t talk like that. Everything will go well alright? I know it’s a tough situation but your brothers only want to protect you but regardless of what happens today we both know that our love is stronger than anything else right?” His words made me feel lighter and so much better but I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why are you laughing babe?” Lando looked at me confused especially after his little speech. I pecked his nose before answering. “Your words were beautiful babe but I would’ve never expected the Lando Norris to become such a sap for me.” I said laughing. Lando started whining. “C’mon babe way to ruin my perfect speech, now I’m cringing from myself.” He said hiding his face in my neck. “Alright I’m sorry my big baby I appreciate everything you do for me.” I said kissing him meaning everything I just said. “Look at who’s the sap now.” “Lando shut up before I wipe that smirk of your face.” Lando didn’t stop there. “And what if I don’t.” He said with a smirk. “Alright then you can pleasure yourself alone then tonight.” I said closing my eyes ready to take a nap leaving a whining Lando next to me.

We just landed not too long ago, me and Lando were currently sitting in the uber on the way to my parents house. The entire car journey I couldn’t help but overthink but Lando was quick to reassure me. We arrived and took our luggage out of the car and thanked the driver. This was it, this was the moment that could determine the rest of my relationship. Lando sensed my uneasiness and took my hand in his hand and gave it a light squeeze as a sign of reassurance. I rung the bell and soon my parents opened the door. “Hola hija mía, te extrañé mucho.” (Hello my daughter, I’ve missed you so much.)Was heard from my mother before she pulled me into a hug. “Mama I was only gone for two weeks.” I laughed at her dramatic antics. Soon both my parents greeted Lando. They had met him before and they were fond of him, treating him like their own son. That’s what I loved about it. Soon we made our way to my room, placing our luggage down. We both got refreshed and headed downstairs for dinner. Me and Lando sat down next to each other when I couldn’t help but ask my mother about my brothers. “Mama, where are Fer and Pedri? Weren’t they supposed to be here?” My mother turned to me and answered me. “I sent them out to get some stuff so they will be here soon." Not even 20 seconds later we could hear the bell. This was it, this was the moment I was dreading for so long. Lando sensed that I was nervous so he rubbed my thigh softly as reassurance. Soon I could hear the loud voices of my brothers coming closer. I stood up from my seat and so did Lando. “Hola Fer y Pedri, how are you guys?” I asked hugging them both. “Hola hermana we’re doing good.” Was heard from Pedri but before they could talk further I started talking. “I would like you guys to meet my boyfriend Lando.” They both fell silent for a bit before pushing me aside and going over to my boyfriend. The next thing really caught me off guard and so did it to my parents. “Dios mío, you’re Lando Norris!” “Fer our sister is dating a F1 driver!” Wait a second both my brothers were fangirling over my boyfriend? Is this what I was scared for all this time?. “Y/n why haven’t you told us that you were dating Lando Norris.” Before I could reply Fer interrupted me again. “Never mind I don’t even care anymore, Lando do you have any paddock passes for your next race for us?” “Can we have a test drive in your car once?” My boyfriend stood there not knowing what was going on. “Dios mío, leave the poor guy alone. He’s here as your sister’s boyfriend and not as the race driver. Now both of you sit down." They immediately listened to my mother’s words. It was safe to say that my brothers wouldn’t stop bothering my boyfriend with their silly questions but I couldn’t help but be happier since they’ve approved of our relationship.

Later in the evening, me and Lando were sitting together cuddled up on the coach enjoying each other’s presence. “You know I was actually surprised by your brothers’s reactions.” Lando said laughing. “Yeah you’re not alone I’ve never seen them react like that.” I said laughing. “But regardless of that I couldn’t be happier about it.” Lando smiles pecking my temple. “I told you everything will fall into place.” I smiled at him, both leaning in for a kiss but before our lips could even touch a pillow hit our faces. “You might be Lando Norris but I still don’t want any PDA in front of me.” “PEDRO ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Before I could even hit that idiot back he was already gone leaving my boyfriend laughing his butt off at what just happened. Looking around me I realised one thing: I wouldn’t want it any other way.

The end.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 10 - I can’t think straight

Warnings: therapy talk of dissociation, red room discussion, talk of forced birth/pregnancy (but not described or graphic)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha talks to the therapist who reveals secrets of their own.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Olivia waits.

She itches the scar on her elbow absentmindedly.

She feels her guard go up as Natasha enters; the woman still handcuffed as they go through the rigmarole of uncuffing her and then sitting in silence.

Natasha doesn’t look at her.

Sharp eyes stare straight ahead.

They both know what’s coming.

“What do you want?” she opens, knowing the question will provoke her.

They’ve been at this for weeks.

It doesn’t always start like this. Sometimes it’s making sure Natasha’s not so dissociated that she can function through the day and the time in between.

Sometimes it’s touching on small things she’s said in debrief.

Provoking her, it’s not the point of the exercise.

The woman is barely holding it together, anyone who looks closely enough can see it.

They just have to want to.

No one in Shield has Natasha’s best interests in mind.

All they want is her information; her intelligence.

Olivia knows how it feels to be a defector.

The world is against her.

Natasha has to want to choose something for herself.

She knows this.

She wants Natasha to make a choice, any choice for herself.

The difficulty is that she has a lifetime of being told her voice doesn’t matter.

Natasha looks down at her hands, no words coming.

Olivia waits.

The dissociation that comes with asking hard, self reflecting questions is written on Natasha’s face.

She knows how it is; not being able to think straight.

She wonders how much to push today, how much to disclose and what to focus on.

With no answer forthcoming, she side steps.

“If I were to ask you, how you are, what would you say?”

Eyes look away, glancing at the time.

“Fine.”

The answer is curt.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Natasha shifts in her seat.

“And if I were to ask you to pretend to be me, and tell me how you seem, what would you say?”

Natasha is quiet.

“I don’t know.”

Olivia pauses.

Natasha watches her closely.

“Do you ever get tired, of battling the old you? The you that’s still stuck in the Red Room, controlled by someone else?”

Natasha looks taken aback, defensive and angry at the statement but Olivia continues anyway.

“I can see it, I see how hard you’re fighting, neither the old you or this version of yourself succeeding; I can see how exhausted you are.”

The room is so quiet.

Natasha’s eyes are intent, breathing shallowly, waiting the next blow of words.

“You made the decisions to put yourself here. So answer me.”

The next words are punctuated.

“What do you want?”

Natasha feels that she could say something profound, something about wanting to live or to be able to take back her life.

But she can’t decide that yet.

She hasn’t decided that yet.

Life has a funny way of deciding things for her and she sits passive on the wave.

Natasha glances up.

Eyes locking onto the scar on her arm, so many things fit into place.

“How did you get out?”

Olivia smiles.

She’d wondered if Natasha knew and how long it would take her to ask.

She straightens her arm.

The mark of her first kill, still present even after all these years. She dug in too hard with her knife, the self loathing in that moment providing a mark for life.

“For every breakdown, there’s a breakthrough. I would like to say that it was easy. That I did it myself, but we both know that’s a lie. People died to get me out. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted but I couldn’t dishonour their sacrifice. For a long time, I looked like you do now. Scared and tired. Like the world just needs to stop, to get your bearings.”

Olivia takes a sip of her water, aware of the eyes that watch her every movement now, that analyse her being.

“But it does get better.”

She looks at Natasha, her gaze fierce until Natasha cannot hold the intensity.

Fingers clench and release and Olivia models a breath.

“I can tell you the story, but first,” she pauses.

“Tell me something you want.”

“I want to know how Maria knew my birthday,” she whispers, looking up and expecting the woman to be laughing at her.

The conversation that had occurred all those months ago, still plays in Natasha’s mind. The insinuation that someone knew more about herself than she did, made nights sleepless and haunting. She hated Maria for it, and Shield in turn.

The hatred had abated somewhat, but still simmered under the surface.

After all they had given her, she wanted something for it; even though she had no rights to ask.

Olivia looks at her seriously, there’s no hint of a laugh or a smile.

“Good Natasha. That’s good.”

And the praise feels like a calming balm, honeyed words that rip into her.

Natasha pushes the feelings aside, and stares expectantly at her, wanting the story she’d promised.

Olivia glances at the time.

“Olivia was not always my name, I was not what you see now.”

“I was on a mission to Salta. Argentina is everything you expect it to be, beautiful and if you know the underworld, dangerous.”

Like all widows, Olivia knows how to tell a story.

Natasha reflects on it momentarily before getting lost in the thoughts and feelings of the words that emanate.

She wonders if they all know how, because of the necessity of stories in the Red Room, or because it was the only way to pass the time.

She redirects her attention, back to the present and not to the image of the girls in her dormitory sitting hands cuffed on their beds telling ghost stories about the monsters in the basement that would eat little girls.

“It was my first mission without handlers, and I got captured.”

Natasha’s heart sinks.

“I escaped, of course, a filed down spoon slices throats just as easily as a knife if you know how to use it. But,”

Olivia sighs, “they didn’t believe that I didn’t give anything up. In those days, the Red Room was still a secret, Russia’s own little experimental trojan, to get captured was tantamount to death. But all the money they invested in me. They couldn’t kill me. I was … retired.”

The memory of the pain of hot irons on the soles of her feet makes her swallow.

“After everything; they didn’t trust me. So they had another use for me. Widows, when retired, were forced to have children, to start the next generations of Widows. This was, of course, before they realised that women and girls were more easily trafficked than spending money on maternal health care, if they wanted them to live.”

Olivia frowns, knowing she’s speaking too much.

“Salta taught me two things. One; the way I was raised was not normal. It should be obvious, but sometimes stating that out loud helped, and two, I didn’t want to be that person; I didn’t want to be their killer and certainly not… that.”

The implications of reproductive coercion was something Olivia had nightmares about. Even after all these years.

“So, I found a way out. I killed and maimed to do it. I lived in limbo, until I found someone who I could trust, and they bought me here.”

She takes a breath and looks at Natasha.

It’s simplistic.

Natasha hates her for not telling her the whole story.

The growing pangs of hunger for information just starting to take seeds as she realises the implications of Olivia being a Black Widow.

The things she could ask, the answers she could get.

Breathing stops as her mind moves a thousand miles a minute.

What does she want?

She wants to know more. She wants a real answer to her question.

Natasha feels herself lean back, unaware that her posture had leaned forward to hear all the information.

“I’ll answer your questions Natasha, but don’t ask me about this again.”

There’s a pause.

“I agreed to be your psychiatrist because of shared life experience, but I understand that if this blurs lines. If you do not want me to be your therapist, you can tell Clint, and he’ll sort out another for you.”

Olivia’s pragmatics takes Natasha a minute to sort through.

It’s the contrary of what she’s saying. If anyone understands her here, it’s the woman sitting in front of her.

The room’s silence does not feel uncomfortable.

“Maria knows your birthday because Shield has a dossier on you.”

Natasha knows this, she’d deduced it herself.

“The information they have is from a bug I’d placed in the systems of the red room. There’s a dossier on all the girls. The bug is dead now, the information outdated, but perhaps, if we can get you cleared, you can give us updates on some of the other girls.”

Natasha eyes widen.

Her chest constricts as she thinks of Yelena.

In that one moment, she pushes the thought away, the pain hitting her chest and making her even more breathless.

She’s dead.

She couldn’t survive the atrocities of the red room, nor would she have wanted her too.

She nods, remembering to breathe.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, “I want that.”

Olivia writes something on a post it note.

“What else?”

Natasha is truthful in her reply, wondering what it will cost her.

“I want to help.”

.

Fury stares; his face unreadable.

“She was going to find out eventually,” Olivia argues.

“By giving her a purpose, you’re helping her become something more than an informant, you’re helping her to become someone who could, in theory, become your greatest asset.”

Angrily, she continues.

“It’s not just about purpose, yes, she has purpose for you, whilst she’s feeding you information, but what happens when that information runs out? What then? Are you just going to let her rot in a cell? Even you can see the waste in that.”

Olivia calms herself, resets and looks him in his eye.

“What do you foresee happening? What does Thompson or the World Security Council see happening? You brought her here because Barton couldn’t kill her and saw promise of a defector that could do more for us than just die. You agreed to let her live and use Shield resources because of the abundance of information - she’s held up her end - and at cost to her, do you know just how much?”

Olivia is angry, Fury starts talking but she’s not done.

“You don’t know, you can’t know, just how hard she must have fought to reveal information. Words like that in the Red Room… to speak so freely… she would have been tortured; I think she expects to be, probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Olivia waits and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“Are you done?” he asks, voice low.

“I knew she would find out eventually, or that you would tell her. I think we all knew. I don’t disagree with you, the timelines though, are not ideal.”

He looks at her in thought.

“Design a mission for her. One that will give us our answers of if she has truly defected or not. Design it so there is no doubt that she is on our side. Then, and only then can we start training her like one of our own, trusting her, like we trust you.”

The words hold meaning.

Shield has never fully trusted her.

She laughs in derision but nods anyway.

A plan forms in her mind.

She thinks she knows what Natasha wants, she wants a reason to keep fighting. A reason to keep going that doesn’t leave her empty when she’s done.

Barton had started all this.

“Fine, but Barton is allowed to go with her.”

The manipulation starts slow, slow enough that she knows Fury won’t catch it until he’s deep in her web. He’ll hate her for it, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

Shield is not the safe place she knew.

She leans back on the chair, and Fury nods curtly.

“Fine.”

Olivia sits for a moment before standing.

“Don’t fail,” he tells her as she walks out the door.

“We never do,” replies the Widow, lost in her own thoughts.

.

(Did you catch it before this fic? Little reveals. Little secrets. <3 as always comments and likes/reblogs are <3)

[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ Ace and Deuce with the same crush

Gender neutral

- order 72 | Headcanon | Ace + Deuce

⇥ Cater+Trey ⇤

They are the worst! They are always at each others throats when it’s about you.

It all started because of Ace teasing Deuce about him having a crush. He was just joking he didn’t actually think Deuce had a crush on anybody but out of pressure he admitted that his crush was you.

“…”

“Wait, don’t tell me that…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence for both of them to realize that they both like you.

Then again it was pretty obvious for both of them but they’re both morons so they didn’t realize until it was explicitly stated.

They argue a lot. They’re around each other all day. In the dorms, in classes, at lunch, they can’t escape each other. After they found out about each other’s crush, the arguing just got worse.

Eventually everyone (being you, Grim, Epel, Jack, and Sebek) told them to stop arguing over the littlest things.

They get so pissy about who gets to sit next to you. Ace will physically try to move Deuce or slide between you two any chance he gets.

You may ask, why can one be on the right and the other be on the left. Well, Grim is always on either side.

Istg they always push each other and they end up accidentally pushing each other into you.

Ace gets more possessive around Deuce which makes sense. Ace feels personally threatened because it’s Deuce.

Ace and Deuce get so competitive. They’ve always been competitive but it just gets worse. Honestly you can use it to your advantage.

“Whoever is quietest for 10 minutes gets ice cream.”

Then you get your moment of peace.

They’re gonna be with you everywhere they can. They will make any excuse to get in each others way.

Ace invites you to watch his game, Deuce is going to support his friend of course!

Deuce lends you a hand moving around some furniture in Ramshackle, Ace can help to!

When you all have sleepovers, Ace always tries to slid into bed next to you (of course Grim kicks him off). Then they both just sleep on the floor.

There are times where they join together and gang up against someone else. With Deuce’s outbursts and Ace’s crude mouth, they are very effective in chasing someone off.

Ace is really annoying because he’s ways asking which of them you like more. Not wanting to hurt feelings, you say you like them equally but with how frequently he asks you’re tempted to say Deuce.

The other first years all figured out on their own. And all of them feel so bad for you because Ace and Deuce are always fighting over you or around you.

Not to mention sometimes they pull up to Ramshackle without any warning.

I luv them so much I want more content NOWWW !!

[cozycryptidcutie]

Had a terrible funny idea

Bowser and Mario both have a crush on peach

Except one of them actually has a crush on Luigi… don’t worry it’s not Mario! Although for a few second when he finds out what’s been happening he’s scared he might’ve.

Peach got bored of doing princess duties. Luigi was in the right place at the right time. That place? Her bedroom making fun of Mario by pretending to be peach. Yanno as one does. Which gave peach the idea to have him switch places! Luigi asks if his peach voice was that good. She said oh no it was dreadful but you could look the part with a liiiiiitle makeup and a mask to cover that mustache…. Unless you want to shave- NO Luigi screamed. And then asked why should he agree to pretending to be her. And she gave this whole sob story about not spending enough time with Mario. Luigi still looking skeptical she said SIGH and you can have all the fancy party food you want. Luigi immediately agreed saying she should have led with that.

After that every time peach had a non important Royal event like someone’s birthday or soemthing Luigi would go in her place. And bowser did as he always does and flirts with Peach. Cause honestly he’s just as bored and if soemthing happens it happens. Usually peach would aggressively rejects him and he’s playfully fight back. It’s their thing. But then when Luigi joins the party, he doesn’t know their thing. And he’s kind of flustered, never been flirted with before. After the shock of wares down they start to have some real conversations. And get some real feelings for each other that they don’t realize. Although things feel so weird when it’s actually peach. Peach has been getting closer to Mario and is starting to really dislike their playful banter. Starting to outright ignore Bwser.

Things come to a pass when one day Luigi goes to this huge event for peach. Mario is like we’ve been getting closer this event could be our huge chance to make things official! So he goes to surprise peach. Leaving a note for Luigi. Peach let’s herself into his house after he doesn’t answer and sees the note. Says oh no and runs out. She’s too late tho and Mario is minutes away from Luigi dressed as peach. And before he could get there Bowser comes up and starts flirting with him. To which Luigi has now started to flirt back. In a rage Mario shouts at Bowser. Bowser laughs and shouts back. It’s a huge scene. They start like a super smash brothers fight in the middle of the party. People are rooting for who they think will win. A lot of ppl don’t liek bowser but he is bigger. And while Mario may be the town hero no one outside the kingdom really knows him and he’s not a royal. The two get both a bit beaten up before peach comes in and Luigi runs to her explaining what happened. Peach jumps in and breaks up the fight. Explaining to them what happened. Mario does this whole big love confession. Peach accepts. They kiss. Everyone goes awww. Meanwhile bowser and Luigi are off to the side where no one can see them. They kind of stare at each other having a silent conversation with their eyes. Eventually Luigi feels too much guilt and runs off.

The next party peach comes with Mario. Bowser comes up and while Mario is ready to defend, bowser barely looks at them and gives them a sour greeting. They’ve known each other for their whole lives, peach can tell what’s wrong and says she has a little surprise for him. Bowser rolls his eyes in disbelief. When just then Luigi walks over in his own little party outfit. Filled with some confidence boosting power ups. He flirts with Bowser just like bowser did when they first met as peach. Bowser starts laughing and they start their relationship over from the start. It does go way too slow though because they’re both too nervous so they need a little push. Mario doesn’t want Luigi to have to wait 10 years just to hold hands. To which peach rolls her eyes at.

[lightningandfireinmybones]

- estranged family! After the marriage of nyra and daemon the family splits and the older kids don’t have any contact with each other. Valaena is definitely doing the “rich girl playing as a starving artist” and working in a cafe during art school. Aemond studies at the cafe and has a HUGE crush on her. She’s a lil bitchy to men who hit on her and has big doe eyes whenever she looks at him. Slow burn of the two of them totally not flirting, running into each other at a bar and definitely having sex (in the bar bathroom???). They start dating but the both of them know each other as “Strong” and “Hightower” which are their “I don’t want the targ name drama” names. All hell breaks loose when they get their families together to meet.

-1950s doctor psychologist AU? Val is an unhappy housewife and she gets sent to uncle aemond for therapy. She’s sexually unfulfilled and depressed in her role, her treatment is not exactly shock therapy… but they definitely utilize that table and being strapped down

BESTIE YOU NEVER MISS

-once rhaenyra married daemon, the family went full parent trap, on opposite sides of London, pretending like the other half didn’t exist

Valaena grows up conceptually aware that she has an uncle aemond, aemond remembers a scrawny and scrappy little spitfire niece, but it’s been MINIMUM 10 year since they’ve seen each other and the families DO NOT talk about each other

Aemond is fresh out of law school, going by his mother’s maiden name, working from this cute cafe whenever he can, totally because he works better in the warm cozy chaos of the cafe and not at all because there’s this beautiful girl working the counter with huge lavender eyes and a whiplike tongue for all the numerous men who hit on her

And Valaena is in somewhat of a tussle with daemon, working at the cafe to prove that she can, going to school,,, her mom offers to give her money (as does jacaerys) but she keeps working there, giving out just the last name ‘strong’

It has nothing to do with the brooding too tall, silent lawyer who sits there with his intense purple gaze that always seems to be on her

Day after day, aemond doesn’t say anything, sipping his black coffee and watching Valaena work,,, until one day he’s there during close and she throws a stale croissant at his head, asks him if he’s stalking her because she definitely saw him at the bar she was at last night

Aemond catches the rogue croissant with unnerving accuracy, pinning her with an insolent smirk, asking her if she wants him to be stalking her

And it goes on like that, calling each other by their last names only, running into each other across town,,, aemond buying her drinks, her teasingly grinding on him in the dark of the club until on day Aemond’s had enough of her playing coy and drags her into the bathroom, following through on the threats between them

He’d warned her, he’d whisper into her neck as he sneaks his hands under the alarmingly short skirts she always wore when they were out together, that if she kept pushing him he was going to take what she was offering

They exchange first names in the flashing lights of the club, the significance lost in a haze of lust and alcohol

That one rough romp in the club turns into late night calls, aemond waiting to walk her home after a shift, her bringing him coffee during hard cases

It’s slow, sweet like honey as they grow together, their personalities and kinks aligning so perfectly,,, it seems like nothing can go wrong until aemond brings her home to meet his mother

And Alicent is shocked to see her son with this little rhaenyra

-I WILL HAVE TO COME BACK TO THE HYSTERICAL WOMAN PROMPT BECAUSE THE STRAPPED TO THE TABLE THING,,, HOLY SHIT

[blooket-scares-me]

The Prophecy ~ one

y/n is now 20 the boys are 25

[10 years later]

In a pizzeria, two men stand watching a commercial for a plumbing company. When the commercial is over, they turn to each other

“Wow! You were great.” Mario said excitedly, looking at Luigi.

“I was great? Are you kidding me? YOU were great!” Luigi exclaims, emphasizing his words with his hand.

They both continue talking about the commercial, a man even chimed in on their accents saying they were perfect, before a large man in a booth started talking loudly.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't Brooklyn's favorite failures, the Stupid Mario Brothers!” the man, Spike, mocks them.

The boys move over there with deadpan expressions. “Oh great... Spike's here.” Luigi says, indignantly.

Mario lets out a sigh, “Hey Spike”

“yeah,” Spike changes his voice into a higher pitched tone “it's-a me!” he let’s out a cackle “Wooo yeah… Tell me have you even gotten one call since you left me to start your dumb company?”

Mario’s face starts to turn sour before Luigi spoke up.

“As a matter of fact, Spike, we have.” Luigi said this as he lifts up his phone. Mario gives him a surprised look.

“Wow! Really?” He asks with high hopes before they fall back down when Luigi mentions it was their mother.

“Uh, Yeah! Our mom called, and she said, "Aw, boys, that's the best commercial I've ever seen!" And I said, "Thank you very much, mother! We're very proud of it!" So BOOM!” He holds his phone out and drops it similar to a mic drop.

Spike smirks “Good luck running a business with this idiot and that delinquent little sister of yours” he throws a balled up napkin towards Luigi but Mario catches it before it hits his brother.

Mario stands tall “Say that again about my siblings, and you're gonna regret it,” he throws the napkin back at Spike.

Spike gets up and grabs Mario by his overalls roughly, “Oh yeah? Get this through your tiny brain, Mario! You're a joke — and you always will be.” He throws Mario to the floor just as hard.

Luigi has a concerned look on his face as he watches Spike walk out, chuckling. He looks at Mario, watching him get up. "Are you insane?! He's three times your size!"

Mario looks at Luigi, sighing. "Luigi, c'mon... y'know, you can't be scared all the time," he says

"Mmm, you'd be surprised..." Luigi says curtly.

Upon hearing it open, the boys turn to the door and see their little sister walk in with a smirk and a black eye. She stopped in front of them with her head held high.

Mario gives a light sigh, “Who was it this time?”

“Jessie Del Vecchio,” you roll your eyes, “I didn’t beat him up too bad this time, though, I promise. He can still see, but he is missing a few teeth,” you tell them.

You start counting on your fingers to remember how many you saw on the floor.

Luigi points at you, “That is where all my bravery went,” he told Mario with a pointed tone.

The boys got a call while you were still counting.

Luigi answers it, "Hello, Super Mario Brothers! Uh-huh? A drip in your faucet? That's great! I mean, that's... It's great you called us because we can be there and we can fix it right away. Okay." He ends the call before looking at his brother. "Guys! We got one!" he exclaimed, bringing Mario into a hug before letting go to grab you by your shoulders.

You let out a small laugh, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go fix those pipes,” you say, lightly pushing them outside.

"The Super Mario Brothers are in business!'' Luigi and Mario run outside to their van. Only for it to sputter out and fail on them.

Luigi starts to panic, "Oh, no! We're going to be late." A determined face makes its way onto Mario's face.

"No, we're not. Come on" He starts making his way down the road before stopping and looking at you. “Are you going to be okay? Do you want to come with us?” His face contorted into a look of concern.

You smile, “Oh yeah, I’ll fix up the van. Don’t worry about me” You reassured your brothers. They’ve always worried for you considering of how much trouble you seemed to attract.

Luigi gives a soft smile, “We’re your big brothers, it’s our job to worry” he ruffles your hair gently before running off to catch up with Mario.

With a smile still on your face, you turn to look at the van. “Those idiots” An airy laugh turns into a sigh. “Alright, let’s see what they did to you.”

DISCLAIMER: I DON’T OWN MARIO BROTHERS OR ITS CHARACTERS IT’S ALL NINTENDO’S. I’M ONLY RESPONSIBLE FOR Y/N

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Top!Phil/Dom!Phil (5) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four

After The Gig (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: Dan moaned ever so softly as Phil's bare cock brushed against his clothed one, his hips bucking up against Phil's with no hint of subtly. Dan was not as good as Phil at controlling his desires, where as Phil was able to keep his hips still as he started slow, not yet wanting anything more than to kiss his lover.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dan mumbled against Phil's lips, bringing his palms to Phil's chest to push him up gently, "I wanna do something."

~*~*~

aka the fic where dan and phil are lovers from rival bands in England in the 1980's and they cant get enough of each other after getting home from their gig

All Yours Only - elliesfics

Summary: In simplest terms, Phil and Dan are friends with benefits. That is until... Dan gets a boyfriend. One who is not Phil to be exact. 

Believer (ao3) - phancakesandcoffee (decayedgeeway)

Summary: Dan's been hiding his feelings for almost 10 years. What happens when he can't keep hiding?

Birthdays In Poland (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: Phil nodded as he pulled Dan down, connecting their lips in a long awaited kiss. It was messy, it was needy, and it was exactly what both boys needed from each other. Phil didn't hesitate to slip his tongue into Dan's mouth, deepening the kiss as he ran his hands up and down the younger's bare torso.

~*~*~

aka the fic where it's dan's 27th birthday while they're on tour and phil makes sure to still go above and beyond for the love of his life.

Business and Pleasure (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

Summary: Dan and Phil are both extremely popular porn actors. They’ve worked on almost every scene out there, but never with each other. Until now.

But Tonight, We're Something (ao3) - truerequitedlove

Summary: In which Dan and Phil are nothing. If anything, they can’t stand each other. But they’re nothing. Even if every time they see each other, they end up having sex.

Diary - i-love-phan-and-butts

Summary: Dan and Phil are playing his and seek when Phil hides in Dan’s closet and finds a load of sex toys and possibly a sex diary of dreams he’s had about Phil and Phil confronts Dan about it.

Desires (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: What would you do if you were suddenly hauled from your inauspicious life and dumped into an unforeseen catastrophe with your worst enemy?

Dan Howell and Phil Lester completely and utterly hate each other. They fight every time they meet, and all of their friends are tired of it. But one day, these two hot-headed, reckless men stumble through a secret passage in a mysterious old house and wake up on a strange island uninhabited by other intelligent life forms. They only have each other and no way to escape. Will they fight to death, or will they learn to trust each other in a world where no one else exists? Can they put aside their mutual hatred for each other to survive this misfortune?

Duality (ao3) - melapplesphan

Summary: During the filming of their 2018 Easter baking video, Phil finds that he can’t stop staring at Dan’s curls and wishing he was wearing his pastel outfit, so he asks Dan to put it on for him. Or, how Phil finally stumbles onto the main reason why he gets so turned on during the late nights he and Dan spend baking. In which Phil has a thing for Pastel Dan, running his fingers through Dan’s curls, and telling Dan he’s beautiful. Equal parts fluff and smut. Please heed the tags.

first night away (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary: dan and phil enjoy each other on their first night away. (inspired by their late night instastories.)

Fuck Away The Pain (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Phil’s boyfriend cheats on him leaving him a mix of sad, angry, and a million other unidentified emotions.

Luckily Dan was always there for him.

———

“Don’t have to be ashamed if you wanna scream my name while I fuck away the pain”

Guess We'll Try Again Later (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: Phil sighed loudly, trying to reign himself in. He was torn, torn between forcing Dan to finish this video with him or just giving in to Dan and giving up on the video. Part of him knew that forcing Dan to finish the video while in this state would leave them with a video they couldn’t publish, but part of him also felt obligated to the fans to get at least one more burst of international content out there for them before the tour ended.

~

aka the fic where dan and phil attempt to film while on tour in australia but dan has other plans and thanks to him that video never happens and phil has to punish dan for breaking his word on their plans to film

I can't get enough of you (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Phil wakes up feeling extremely sexually frustrated and no matter how much he gets off it isn't enough.

Luckily Dan was more than willing to be Phil's human sex toy.

If I’m A Saint, Then You’re Heaven - botanistlester

Summary: Phil is less than excited to start his Sex in the Bible course, but he can't bring himself to regret it when he meets a gorgeous angel dressed in all pink by the name of Dan.

Love me (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan is cute and he knows it, and he really wants his boyfriends attention. So he decides to annoy Phil until he gets what he wants.

....

Dan loudly clears his throat, “Um excuse me? Yeah your cute boyfriend is right here and asking for attention.” He over-dramatically gestures to himself.

Lovestruck (Be The One to Take Me Home And Show Me The Sun) - chocolatesaucelester

Summary: Dan has gone up north to visit Phil again. He meets and hangs out with some of Phil’s friends, before spending the some quality alone time with Phil back at his flat.

Now Jump Me Like a Kangaroo (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: “Yeah, yeah, the song is silly, but it was the only way I could describe all these new feelings I was feeling. Dan, I’ve never been so emotionally invested in someone before you, you know what they all talk about, and all of it is true. You’re a first for me,” Phil answered quickly, not wanting to shy away from anything. He figured it was easier just get it all out right away rather than try and draw it out.

“Well,” Dan started with a smile, “I think a heart boner is the perfect way to describe it. I’ve had plenty of those for you. What, with how sweet and kind you’ve been to me, I can’t help but feel my heart pitter-patter.”

~*~*~

aka the fic where phil cant think of any other way to describe his feelings to dan than with the Ninja Sex Party original song Heart Boner and after discovering both of them feel the same way for each other, those heart boners also become physical boners and a night of the no pants dance between them them ensues.

Partner Project (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: Their lips came back together, a messy clash of teeth and tongue as the passion was resumed. Phil’s hands roamed under Dan’s shirt as they kissed, tugging it upwards as he explored more of Dan’s soft skin. Dan returned the gesture, his hands sliding up Phil’s shirt, Phil’s jacket long forgotten in Dan’s car as they took their time to explore each other’s skin.

~

aka the fic where dan and phil are partners for a uni class project and the project brings them together a little closer than just two class partners usually are.

Phil Lester & The Downfall of Dateable London Men - gorgeousdan

Summary: Phil’s a YouTuber who’s certain he’ll never find love. Dan sends penis enlargement emails and wants to change Phil’s mind.

Please Don't Say You Love Me (Cause I Might Not Say It Back) (ao3) - phantasticworks

Summary: Dan's not very good at hiding his emotions during hookups.

based on this tweet: "got so used to saying "I love you" when I was having sex with my ex that I'm out here fighting for my life to not say it on accident with a hookup"

Say Please (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: Dan and Phil are reunited after a week apart. Dan needs sex, but first he has to say "please".

Sensations (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Sure Dan and Phil usually kept their sex life fairly vanilla, but sometimes they’d play rough and Dan was a screamer and Phil loved taking control.

Serious Business - phil-fiction

Summary: Dan always thought Phil looked good in a suit

Take it Slow - chocolatesaucelester

Summary: A fluffy and smutty oneshot about Dan and Phil’s first time.

Tangled Up (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: It was hard for Dan and Phil to get any time alone while on tour. They were constantly being rushed through meet and greets or shoved to another hotel.

Luckily they could sometimes sneak away to the back of the tour bus and get all tangled up with each other.

The 5 Year Plan (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: After a string of heartbreaks and meaningless hookups with other people Dan and Phil make a pact.

If they aren’t settled down with anyone in five years they’ll get married to each other.

The Great Unexpected Daddy Kink (ao3) - idkspookystuff

Summary: Dan, Phil’s wonderful, amazing partner of 10 years and change, sometimes suggests things he wants in jest.

or

the one with self discovery, insta comments, and three thousand words of feelings dump and smut

The Sexual Fantasies Outfit (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: Based on that one instagram story of Dan being a hoe on main lmao

This Dan H. Boy (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: Dan shook his head, the cogs whirring within his own mind as he came up with an idea of what he wanted to do. He knew from their conversations that Phil enjoyed being in charge, and he knew that he got off on getting other’s off, so he quickly gathered his thoughts into a plan of action.

~

aka the fic where phil turns to grindr for a hookup and ends up meeting dan and they bond a little more than just two boys looking for sex.

When Bae Says He’s Home Alone - chocolatesaucelester

Summary: Dan hasn’t seen his boyfriend Phil in two weeks, and let’s just say their date night gets a little interrupted. 

[serenailith]

i’m saying more right now than i ever said

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: c3, free space Rating: e Word Count: 2978 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags:  alternate universe - human, alternate universe - no powers, porn with a sprinkle of plot, (actually a fair bit of plot), unrequited love, maybe not so unrequited love, nothing to lovers - freeform, one (1) idiot in love with another idiot Summary:

Really, after two years, it was inevitable that one of them would stupidly fall in love.

Link: on ao3 masterlist

He’s a pretentious, self-righteous, arrogant, pompous arse, or so Hob has heard, but damn, does Hob love the way Dream looks right now. His wild, sable hair plastered to his forehead, blue eyes narrowed, a bead of sweat sliding along his temple as he fucks into Hob with a determination that Hob imagines is reserved for Olympic sports. It would be amusing, how focused Dream is right now on something like sex–something that should be fun and full of more emotion than this–but all thoughts flee Hob’s mind at the next rough thrust.

Well, the thoughts that don’t revolve around Dream’s cock, anyway.

As it is, Hob finds himself infatuated with the beautiful creature that is Morpheus “Dream” Emrys.

Not that Hob would ever dare say as much. He and Dream aren’t exactly what one would call “friends”. Not even enemies, either. They just… are, yet are not. They’re two people who met at a pub two years ago who occasionally sleep together (except ‘occasionally’ has become ‘nearly every weekend’, which Hob is certainly not complaining about). They don’t speak to each other outside of the texts; tonight’s had only said “I’ll be there in 15”, from Hob to Dream as he’d stormed to his car. Dream hadn’t even responded, but Hob found the door to Dream’s flat unlocked and the man himself sprawled naked across his bed when Hob entered the bedroom.

Now it’s nearing four o’clock in the morning and Hob is groaning as his release splatters across his belly, as Dream continues fucking him with ruthless vigour. It’s almost too much, but that’s Dream. He pushes the boundaries but never crosses them. Hob knows if he says something, Dream would stop. He would apologise and ask if Hob wants to continue. Hob would very much like to continue: Sex with Dream is some of the best sex Hob has ever had.

Eventually, it’s over, and Hob is unceremoniously pointed toward the door once they’ve both cleaned up. He exits the building hiding a smile, despite the way the evening ended. It isn’t unexpected, anyway. In fact, it’s almost comical how Dream still walks him to the door after so long of their trysts. Hob could walk around the flat with his eyes closed and never so much as stumble.

Two years of this. If it were anyone else, Hob is certain he would have long grown tired of it all—the journey back to his own empty home, the lack of talking, the lack of caring. Sure, Dream is considerate and respectful, even giving to a fault, but he doesn’t give a damn about Hob outside of the bedroom. He’s made that quite clear with the utter refusal to ever acknowledge Hob’s texts.

Hob knows it’s ridiculous, how hung up he is on Dream, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The next week passes in a long, slow crawl. He hardly pays attention to the lectures he gives, and poor Richard, the teaching assistant, receives more essays to mark than he normally does. Hob prefers to take the brunt of the workload–it is his job, after all–but his mind continuously strays from his tasks. He even burns dinner three nights of seven, which is especially frustrating when all he wants is the homemade curry he planned for Friday that only ends up in the garbage, charred and inedible.

But Saturday… Saturday brings with it a firm knock on the door before the sun is even fully up. Hob scrambles for his phone on the nightstand, peering blearily at the screen. His lips tug down into a frown at the time, at the texts that wait to be read:

D 10 D 5 D I am outside

As he reads the last text, another knock sounds from the living room. Hob rolls his eyes and stretches out the kinks in his back. Dream can wait just a moment, can’t he? Except the timestamp on the latest message says he’s been waiting for, at the very least, five minutes. Hob still takes a moment to stop in the bathroom and use the toilet, wash his hands, do the normal ‘first woken up’ thing.

“Good morning,” he all but chirps when he pulls open the door.

Dream glowers in response but doesn’t speak as he brushes past Hob. Hob pulls a face behind his back and closes the door as his whatever-Dream-really-is heads straight for the bedroom. So this is how Dream wants it, then. Hob stifles a sigh but dutifully follows. It may be half-six in the morning, but he isn’t about to turn down an hour or two in bed with Dream.

To his surprise, Dream allows the reverence Hob feels he’s always owed, especially with his pale, smooth skin and sharp angles on display. Dream lies there, one hand tucked under his head and the other at his side. His lips are quirked upward in one corner, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, as Hob’s hands slide along the flat planes of his abdomen.

Beautiful, he is. His hair is just as wild as ever, and his skin is soft beneath the rough drag of Hob’s palms. His thighs are narrow and strong between Hob’s own, and he lets out a slow breath when Hob slides one hand along the solid line of hip. The steadiness of inhale-exhale breaks as Hob wraps his fingers around Dream’s cock, and Hob grins to himself as he gives a tantalising stroke.

“What brings you by so early in the morning?” he asks before leaning down to nip at Dream’s clavicle.

“Do not ruin this already, Gadling.”

“I would never.”

And it’s true. Hob will do anything he possibly can to keep this arrangement going. So he shuts up and tightens his grip as he bites down on smooth skin. Dream finally cracks–he grits his teeth against the moan that even Hob can hear struggling to escape. His hips jerk up toward the ring of Hob’s fist.

By the time Dream pushes into him in one, slick slide, Hob can scarcely breathe for the lust. He always suffers from this effect, the one only Dream can cause. Hob has had other partners in bed–Hell, he has three others who are willing and completely informed of each other’s presence. Hob is perfectly content with his sex life.

But Dream? Dream is the sole lover who can send Hob’s head spinning, his body yearning even while getting what it wants, his mind constantly fixating on what has happened between them from the start.

‘Lover’. Hob knows that’s a poor word for what they are. There is no love between them, though he can’t deny there’s something there on his end. It’s silly, but he can’t stop himself from… From falling for the enigmatic man currently pleasing him in ways no one else can.

Dream leaves two hours later, both of them sated, if a little disappointed (on Hob’s part). At least, Hob hopes Dream is as satisfied as he is, or else it would be a very awkward encounter next time.

If there even is a next time.

God, does Hob hope.

With a sigh, he rolls over in bed and reaches for his phone. Johanna has texted, a simple “Bar tonight, NO no allowed.” As if Hob will refuse; he needs it after this morning. It was fun, it was more than that, really. But Hob knows that each time, every single time he spends any amount of hours–minutes–seconds in Dream’s presence, he falls even more in love.

And it hurts. It aches in his bones to know he’s given so much of himself to Dream without the man reciprocating. Hob isn’t sure Dream even realises. They’re nothing but two men who sleep together every weekend.

That fact would kill Hob if he let it.

Drinking with Johanna is, as ever, a veritable rollercoaster ride that ends in regret the next morning. He isn’t sure what he says to her after the fifth (or was it the seventh?) shot of whisky, but judging by her texts the following day, it was a lot more than he ever had before. She’s surprisingly supportive in her own acerbic, crude way.

Jo If the idiot doesn’t realise what he has in you, then fuck him. You’re not a bad bloke, not really. A bit of a prick at times, though. Jo Can’t believe I’m saying this but talk to him. Worst that happens is he fucks off.

Yeah, that’s definitely the worst. Hob replies with nothing more than a ‘Thanks’ and an emoji of a kissing face. He knows she’ll make some sort of snide comment about it, but he also knows it’ll make her giggle though she would deny it. One thing about Johanna Constantine is that she is sharper around the edges than most, and she wears that fact like armour. However, she is oddly soft and gooey inside. And he loves her for everything she is.

At one point, he thought maybe it was actual love, the kind that something could have grown from. Then she’d soundly put that notion to a cold, abrupt rest when she started waxing poetic about her girlfriend Rachel while completely intoxicated. It’s the only time he’s ever seen her so drunk.

Hob hesitates then sends another message. There’s no response, though he expected it. He still sits up, pausing when his head spins and the world goes wobbly at the edges, then rises to his feet. After dressing as quickly as possible, he hurries out of the flat and down the stairs. Mrs Callisto from across the hall glances up at him from where she stands by the postboxes.

“Ah, Robert! You are in a rush this morning.”

He only smiles in return then steps out the door. The brisk air clears the fog from his mind, but it doesn’t make him falter. It almost seems to invigorate him, further persuade him to do what needs to be done. And this? This needs to be done.

It’s been a long time coming, really.

So Hob swallows down any doubts he might have and ambles down the street. He could drive–it would certainly be faster–but he really doesn’t think it’s safe enough to do so. Not with his mind so full of thoughts that drive him to distraction. Yeah, walking is definitely the safer option.

Dream opens the door moments after Hob knocks. His hair is messier than usual; Hob recognises the style, though he’s never seen it before. The man he loves has just woken up. Hob wonders if it was his text or the knocking. Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand, he draws in a steadying breath.

“I need to say something, and I need you to hear me out, okay?”

Dream gives him an indecipherable look then steps out of the way for Hob to enter the flat. He still says nothing, and if Hob ‘accidentally’ lets his hand slide along Dream’s stomach, he will never admit it. Though he does relish the way Dream shivers subtly at the touch.

As soon as Hob comes to a stop in the living room, he turns to face Dream. “Look. We’ve been doing this for, what, two years now? And I have zero complaints, really. It’s been fun in ways I can’t put into words. Because you are… You are incredible in bed. Has anyone told you that before?”

Dream stays silent, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips. Of course he’s cocky about this, Hob thinks.

“But–” And here, the smirk fades away. Dream’s brows draw together, lips pressing thin, and Hob swallows thickly. This is it. “But I can’t keep doing this. Not without you knowing that–that I love you. I have for a while, I just didn’t realise it. And honestly? It’s really starting to suck. It hurts to feel this way knowing you don’t feel the same. It hurts, Dream. Can you say something?” he asks, pleads, when Dream only stares.

“You love me,” Dream whispers after a long moment, and Hob nearly collapses to his knees at the sound. It’s been so long since he actually heard anything from Dream other than his moans; he never even spoke to tell Hob whether to fuck him harder or take it slow or anything.

“I do.”

“That is… That is quite ridiculous of you.”

“What?”

Dream shrugs, mouth opening and closing, before: “I am the worst person you could choose to love, Hob.”

“Not from where I’m at.”

“So not only are you ridiculous, you are a fool, as well.”

Hob blows out a breath. He should have known that Dream would be stubborn about this; he’s been stubborn about maintaining their status quo for two damned years, after all. Forgoing words, Hob strides closer. Dream stays still as Hob cradles his face and brings their faces closer together.

“You are insufferable,” he murmurs before kissing Dream. Their lips brush with each word: “Frustrating. Demanding, commanding. Amazing.”

“You know nothing about me.”

Hob pulls back just enough to look Dream in the eye. Unwavering. Serious. “I know how you like to be touched, how you sound when you’re kissed thoroughly, how you feel when I slide into you. I know I want to know how you like your coffee and your favourite foods and how it feels to just cuddle with you at night as we fall asleep.”

“I…”

“Please, please, let me find out.”

Dream is the one who closes the distance this time. His arms loops around Hob’s neck, and he tugs until Hob follows where he leads. The back of Hob’s knees hit the couch; he falls to the cushions with a severe lack of grace. His confusion vanishes when Dream straddles his lap, lips never separating from Hob’s even when their breathing grows strained.

After a moment, Dream finally yanks away, eyes alit with something Hob can’t name, and slithers off of Hob’s lap. His slender hands work deftly at the button on Hob’s jeans; Hob finally catches up, lifts his hips so that Dream can tug his jeans and underwear down. Dream grins up at him–God, that smile does something to Hob’s heart–before swallowing him down to the root without hesitation. Hob groans at the wet heat and melts further into the cushions as Dream sets up a brutal pace.

He slides a hand through Dream’s hair, fingers wrapping around the locks, and gasps when Dream hums around the length in his mouth. Hob can’t stop himself: He thrusts shallowly, just a tiny bit, and Dream’s hands rest on his knees. His nails dig into the skin there, and he remains still as Hob continues pushing and pulling into his mouth. Hob’s head falls back as heat sizzles in his veins.

This conversation has taken a turn that he hadn’t expected–couldn’t have seen coming–but he can’t complain. He can only allow Dream to pull off, to mouth teasingly at the tip of his cock, before pulling away completely. Hob all but whines at the lack of contact. Dream smirks, strips off his pyjamas with efficiency, and Hob reaches for him. Shaking his head, Dream disappears down the hall.

He comes back within seconds, a black bottle in his hand. Hob gives him a sloppy smile at the sight of the lube. Dream settles back on Hob’s lap and cracks the lid open. He glares at Hob when he goes to take the bottle; Hob huffs out a laugh and raises his hands in surrender. Seemingly appeased, Dream coats his fingers and reaches behind himself.

It takes less time than Hob expects, but then Dream is lowering himself onto his cock, grimacing before his expression smooths out, jaw drops open. Hob is just as affected by the sensations. Once Dream has stilled, Hob surges forward to kiss him again. His hands find Dream’s narrow waist, clinging to him tightly, as he fucks up into the tight warmth surrounding his dick.

It’s not what Hob wanted when he came over this morning. He wanted a discussion, to tell the truth and hear it back, but instead, he’s getting this. It feels amazing. Dream always does. But Hob knows it won’t be as satisfying as it normally is. Sex being used as a distraction rarely is a pleasant thing.

He feels strangely empty as Dream clambers off his lap a few minutes later.

Once they’ve cleaned themselves up, Dream gracefully lowers himself to sit beside Hob. Neither man has deigned to put on their clothes again, so Hob is nearly distracted to want by the pale skin stretched out next to him.

“It… It is not love,” Dream says, his voice quiet in the silence, and Hob flinches as if the words are a physical blow. “You wanted honesty, I presume? This is me being honest. It is not love that I feel, Hob.” Dream’s head turns, and he pins Hob with a steady gaze, steel-blue eyes gentle like he’s trying to let Hob down easily. Hob resigns himself to leaving behind something that could have been fantastic. “But it very well could be, should I allow it.”

It takes a long handful of seconds for the words to register in Hob’s brain. When they do, his lips part. His heart lurches beneath his ribs, and his throat tightens. Could this mean–?

Dream nods slowly, decisively, pointedly. Hob loses his composure. He launches himself at the man he loves, the one who doesn’t yet love him back but could in the future, but that’s okay. As he kisses Dream within an inch of their lives, he vows to be patient. He can wait.

He’s already waited two years, after all. He'd wait a hundred more.

[chrisodonline]

Finale Spec/Wishes, pt. 2

For an explanation of what exactly this is, you can visit part one. Again, not really formatted because who has time? It’s really more like I’m recapping or liveblogging my brain.

This is part 2 of ?? (To think. I thought this would just be one post. LOLZ.)

Kensi and Deeks make their way to the bullpen. They notice Callen’s back. They welcome him back, and both seem a little off and distant. Sam asks if they’re okay, and they quickly reply that they are. They were just talking about some plans they were making, working through logistics, etc.

Callen tells them, “Well, just be sure not to make plans for the first full week of next month.” They both look surprised, “Well, actually, we’re not sure when we’ll be able to go through on these plans. So first week of next month is kind of up in the air.” Callen looks disappointed. “Oh. I was just talking to Sam about moving the wedding date up.” Deeks, “First off, you know the way you said that it makes it sound like you and Sam are getting married. Second, are you sure you want to move it up? Not that you should scheduled around us, but our next month or month and a half may be busy. Or not.” Sam asks what’s going on. Kensi and Deeks both say, “Just some personal stuff.” No one prods them further. Callen, “Um, let me talk to Anna.” He pulls out his phone and goes to walk off when Kilbride appears on the stairs. 

Kilbride bellows, “Agent Callen. My office now. The rest of you, get to Ops. There’s a case.”  Callen asks if he can make a phone call real quick. Kilbride quickly comes back with, “Unless that phone call is 9-1-1 because you are in the middle of a medical emergency, I would advise you not to make me wait and get to my office right now.”

Callen reaches Kilbride’s office. Kilbride invites him to sit down. Callen’s face says he’s registering this as big. Kilbride explains that his son has recently been diagnosed with a serious medical issue, and he plans to go and spend time with him — help take care of him — to just try and make up for some things. Callen says he’s sorry to hear that Kilbride’s son is sick, but Kilbride assures him that the prognosis is actually very good, but he’s overdue to be a caregiver. Hopefully even when his son is better, they can still stay connected. 

Kilbride says, “Obviously, I won’t be able to be here.” Callen nods. “You’re taking a leave of absence?” Kilbride explains, “Yes, a permanent one.” Callen is definitely registering this. Kilbride out. No sign of Hetty. Who would they send? Kilbride says, “I had a very long conversation with Director Vance. He doesn’t usually ask someone something again if they’ve said No once because it looks like begging. However, since your last no was over 10 years ago, he’s willing to give you another chance.”

Callen is surprised. “Director Vance wants to offer the job to me?” Kilbride nods. “I believe that’s what I just said.” “I guess I’m surprised you didn’t try to talk him into somebody else…Unless you did?” Kilbride just stares at Callen. “I’m the one who brought your name up.” This surprises Callen even more. Kilbride continues, “I know we haven’t always agreed on things, and I would personally like weekly therapy to be a contingency for you in this job offer, but that part isn’t my decision to make. You realize you would’ve been gone a long time ago if I wanted you gone. I think this team can be better. I think the spirit of Hetty will always linger over, and that isn’t completely horrible. But I also can’t have Hetty 2.0. The higher brass doesn’t want that either. I only ever wanted you to see that Hetty wasn’t always right, and you can’t run this place as if she were.”

Callen nods. “When do you need a decision?” Kilbride explains, “I understand you would want to take a day.” Callen nods again. Kilbride adds, “This may not be field work, but don’t think you’re just pushing papers all day. Steadier workdays, though.” Callen says, “You’re not exactly selling me on it.” Kilbride finishes, “I didn’t tell you about my son for pity. I don’t want teddy bears with balloons, or fruit baskets, or some special message on TikTok. I want to remind you to think about the next 5, 10, 15 years. Things are going to be a lot different when you have someone waiting at home for you.” Callen notes, “I’ve had someone waiting for a while now.” Kilbride buttons with, “When you make a vow, though, it’s different. We’re taught to be honorable. Nothing less honorable than a broken promise.”

In Ops:

Case stuff. Nothing difficult. Y’all know it’s gotta be solved in like 15-20 minutes of screen time. I don’t know. Some high ranking official is beside himself because someone stole his prized chicken. (Do you know how much eggs are these days? Talk about a High Value Target!) Let’s make that the placeholder.

Anyway, Callen enters, and they catch him up briefly. Callen nods and says, “Okay, we should go talk to some people. Do we like anybody for this?” Deeks asks if they can list Wiley E. Coyote as a suspect. Callen explains that they cannot. Deeks ask if they can list a general coyote as a suspect. Callen agrees that’s a possibility, but they wouldn’t be working this case if the TPTB didn’t think it was relevant or a case with merit. (LOL.) Everyone else is kind of suspicious of this number that has called the high ranking person a dozen times in a week, but doesn’t appear to be a main contact. Someone new and aggressive if you go by call logs alone. They checked the number, and it belongs to a lady who has a booth at the farmer’s market. Highly sus. Callen sends Kensi and Deeks to interview Farmer’s Market lady. Fatima and Rountree are supposed to go look at the crime scene. Callen says he and Sam will stay back. Everyone looks a little surprised by this, but they all go their ways.

Sam looks at Callen, also a little confused. Callen never volunteers for Ops. Callen just looks at him and says they need to talk. Callen grabs an ear piece and tablet then asks Sam to step just outside the door. It’s a private conversation, but he’ll hold onto the devices in case they go off and need to be addressed. Callen tells Sam Kilbride offered him the job. “And I wanted to get your opinion on—“ Sam cuts him off. He tells G flat out, it’s time he took it. Think about Anna. Just because he takes the job it doesn’t magically mean he thinks Hetty is never coming back. It just means he’s ready. They can do what they planned. He would be ridiculous not to take it. Callen says, “Actually, I wanted you to be the first person to know that I said Yes. But good to know you agree.” Sam excitedly says, “You said yes? You really did? The job. The office. The meetings. The bureaucracy. Everything?” “I didn’t say yes to the office. I don’t want that thing. I plan to talk to Vance about turning it into a Conference Room. Apparently the main HQ has one. Somewhere. We probably should, too. I figured I’d work downstairs or in Ops when needed. Closer to the team.” Sam asks what Callen needed his opinion on then. Callen says, “Don’t take it the wrong way. I was going to ask Kensi to be team leader. I just think —“ Sam interrupts, “She’s more than earned it. It’ll be a pay bump for her, which is good for her family. I’m happy to back her up. I won’t be here forever. Besides, my dad’s going to need more and more care. It makes sense, since I might need even more time off.” Callen notes that Sam’s new boss is pretty understanding about those things. “‘My new boss.’ I think you liked saying that a little too much.” Callen just smirks. Sam adds on, “You know what I just realized? You’re going to have to wear a suit every day.” Callen looks annoyed. “Don’t worry. We can go shopping. And I promised I’d introduce you to my tailor.”

The other partners are doing the investigation thing. We see Kensi and Deeks talking, and Deeks admits he’s more than just looked at job openings. He’s made actual calls. Put feelers out. Someone might be calling soon. He asks if Kensi is still in. She says she is. He points out she may have her own contacts that could help. They should think of specific questions and positions to talk to people about.  Fatima and Rountree are at the crime scene, looking for any extra clues. They’re in the chicken coop, which for some reason is decorated like a castle. “This guy really loved his chicken.” Fatima points out, “He did name her Good Queen Bess.” They talk about why a chicken could be so important, and why its loss would be a matter of national security. They are at a loss. “Do you think it’s just a case of someone getting more eccentric when they’re older?” Rountree, “I don’t know. Why? Are you worried you’ll become eccentric?” Fatima shrugs and says maybe. Rountree says, “I’m imagining Old Lady Fatima now.” “Stop!” “She has cars she never drives but she loves dressing them up like animals. She has a cat car, and a dog car, and—“ “Oh, well how about Old Man Tree? He likes to keep the wrong holiday decorations up just to make a point. [imitating old craggy voice] It’s the principle of the thing!”  High Ranking Chicken guy walks up. They pull themselves together. And ask if he could think of anything from the last week or so that might help, even if it just seemed odd at the time. Anything could be something. He says, “No, not really.” Beat. “Wait, there was something.” He shares something that sounds pretty dang important, and Fatima and Rountree look at each other to let us know it’s super important. Whatever it is. I can’t think of everything here.

[kpyu]

Chapter One

“Work work work, it's always gotta be work.” The black-haired woman groaned, pushing her round glasses back onto the bridge of her nose for the nth time. She should probably get better-fitting glasses, but eh, she’ll survive for now (probably).

Her heels clicked with every step she took. She was already taller than most people, but her heels made her even taller. People moved out of the way, most of them rushing to finish paperwork (or some random task) at the last second to return home. It was a little past 10, almost 11 PM, most people clock out at 8. The lucky ones finish at 5 and the unlucky ones … well the unlucky ones work for 24 hours 6 days a week.

She shuffled through the 12th floor of the building, her muscles took her half-cloudy mind towards her designated room. Fowler, Jeffrey Fowler, her captain, had asked her to head to the conference room A-1208 on the 12th floor, what for? She wasn’t so sure herself. He had told her it was a ‘need to know’ basis, and at the time on the phone, she didn’t need to know. Maybe she’ll be informed when she gets there.

Pursing her lips slightly, she stopped in front of two looming doors. Knocking rhythmically 3 times, she walked in, not waiting for confirmation from the other side. “You’re finally here Nergui, right on time.” Blade hummed, walking towards her captain. “You needed me for..?” The usual grimace and frown sat on top of Fowler’s face. His wrinkles were clear as ever in his old age and years of service. The room was unusually quiet, compared to the buzzing hallway outside.

“I need you to greet some guests, show them around and teach them the rails. You’ll be handling another case, a new one.” Nergui raised a brow at this. “Another case? What about my previous one, I’m almost finished with it anyways. Also, I’m pretty sure training rookies isn’t part of my job.” The Captain shook his head as he took a seat at the head of the table.

“Sorry kid, I tried to hand it over to someone else. Hell, even asked to hand it to Connor. The higher-ups weren’t taking it, said they wanted someone with ‘_your type of expertis_e’ whatever that's supposed to mean.” Nergui groaned. She knew, both of them did, what the higher-ups meant by that. “Every day I lose bits of my already little sanity working here.” She said, sitting down one seat away from The Captain to his left. Nergui’s comment earned a chuckle from Fowler.

“Yeah well, keep it tight up there yeah? You need that shit.” The black-haired woman hummed at this, leaning back in her seat as she watched The Captain do the same. “So what's this case gonna be about?” Nergui asked, eyeing the thick brown file placed in front of Fowler. Big bold letters in the front of the folder spelt out clearly ‘CONFIDENTIAL’. “I don’t know, but you will.” Fuck, fuck, the case must’ve been big and important then. The Captain took the folder and handed it over to the woman. She took it, albeit a little hesitantly.

“What about the people I’ll need to show around?” Fowler leaned over the table, still seated. “I don’t know the exact details but all I can tell you confidently is that they're no rookies. Maybe not as good in your field but, they’ve got their expertise.” The black-haired woman nodded, confirming that she got and understood what Fowler had said. “And they also have their own FBI agent with them.” Nergui raised a brow once more. “If they’ve got their own, why do they need me?” Fowler rolled his eyes at this question. “Because they like you.” He said sarcastically before leaning back into his chair. “Now take the file and shoo, come to the 10th floor tomorrow conference room before 8.” Fowler dismissively waved his hand. Nergui rolled her eyes as she stood up and strolled towards the doors. About to return to wherever she came from.

“In the morning you little shit!”

The Captain yelled when she closed the door, already stepping outside. Nergui snorted at this, the door shutting itself behind her as she recalled the time she showed up late for a meeting because Fowler hadn’t specified the time she should have arrived. I mean, she knew she had to arrive in the morning, perhaps she is just a little shit (she is).

She fixed her leather gloves as she frowned. Glancing over at her watch, 11.34, she groaned to herself. By now the halls were practically empty. Maybe one or two people in sight at a time, minding their own business. It was late, and there was no ‘greeting each other with a smile’ in the hallway bullshit. Which Nergui was a bit glad for. She had no energy to talk to anyone.

She stood in front of the elevator and pressed the down button as she watched the display show the elevator ascending from the basement. Loud footsteps walked towards her, stopping beside her. She glanced away from the elevator display and towards the new person that had intruded on her space. Their head not moving but her eyes moved and analysed the person beside her. Another fellow agent, the new kid on the block, the rookie. He seemed to be clocking out for the night as well, she guessed. They usually make the rookies work late, she would know.

“Ma’am.” The man acknowledged, side-eying Nergui. His face also facing towards the elevator display. Inwardly the woman groaned. She had hoped he wouldn’t acknowledge her existence as everyone else usually did at this time of night, but of course, the rookie didn’t know about the unspoken rule. Nergui had just been the one unfortunate person who had to teach him about it.

Ding.

The elevator made a sound, indicating it had arrived as the doors opened. Nergui stepped inside first, and the rookie followed. “Listen, kid, rule one of working late, you talk and I fuck you up. You hear me?” The man, no boy, raised a brow as he glanced over at the woman. His rusty slightly blond, almost light brown hair, styled in a classic 90’s curtain she noted, brushed his cheeks covering his right eye slightly as he tilted his head. Oh god, he was like a little puppy. Brown eyes watched her as she clicked the button on the elevator that led to the first basement, B1.

“Wh-” “Shut up before I punch you, rookie.” She groaned at the boy. He wasn’t necessarily rude, she’d seen worse rookies before. Stick up their ass and everything, god she hated rookies. But honestly, he didn’t seem all that bad (since he did shut up after her comment). A light tint of pink dusted his cheeks, he was deathly embarrassed. This was his superior agent and she was pissed at him. God, it was his first day too.

The silence wasn’t exactly awkward. Well for her it wasn’t, the rookie, however, did shift around a bit. Nergui could care less right now. It was late and she was tired. All she wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and climb into bed as soon as possible. If he had met her a bit earlier, she would’ve started a conversation with him. He seemed sweet enough, baby face and everything. No, she doesn’t have a thing for baby faces, they just remind her of Connor too much. He and his shit face and his golden retriever/labrador energy.

The elevator made a dinging sound once more, this time indicating their arrival at their chosen floor. The door opened and the hot and humid air hit the pair as they walked out of the elevator. As before, Nergui stepped out before the rookie did. The smell of gasoline and the sight of an almost empty parking space were intimate and pleasant to her. Too many restless nights she had exited this God-forsaken building to this sight.

Leaving the rookie behind, Nergui walked towards the lockers as she pulled out a key and took out her helmet. Treading towards the bike area, she saw her ride and got on. Shoving her keys into the bike she twisted and turned on the engines. Her ride was slick, a matte black colour. It purred silently, almost a whisper, as it turned on. A quiet but fast and efficient ride. She swung her left leg over the bike as both her thighs strapped on the familiar feeling of hard steel. Kicking up the footrest, Nergui used her feet to awkwardly paddle the bike in reverse, helmet secured firmly between her hands that held onto the bike handles.

After a few awkward hobbles, she managed to exit her parking station. As she was about to put on her helmet, she heard the almost forgotten rookie call out. “Uhm, cool ride ma’am.” Nergui raised a brow over at the boy. She couldn’t even be that mad, since in her mind, all she could think about was that she would be home soon. The black-haired woman’s hand left the handles of her ride as she leaned back slightly, her helmet balanced perfectly between the open space of her thighs.

Her right hand boredly trailed up her thighs trivially before it went and ran through her shiny black hair (honestly, she was pretty sure it was just the oil and grime that made it so). Nergui leaned her body weight onto her left hand that held onto the available space behind her seat, making sure neither she nor the bike would fall over.

“Say, what's your name rookie?” The boy was scared to tell his superior agent, thinking he was gonna get kicked out. Nergui didn’t mean any harm by the question, she was just curious. Though she noted to herself, it was amusing to watch the rookie squirm uncomfortably under her gaze. “It’s uhm, it’s Le-” Nergui rolled her eyes at the rookie’s stuttering, she leaned her body forward again, both hands taking her helmet.

“Actually, never mind, I’ll find out eventually. Safe travels rookie.” Nergui said as she brushed a few stranded black hairs away from her face and put on her matching matte black helmet, revving up her bike engine once more before twisting her handle gently and driving away, leaving the rookie in the dust. Maybe quite literally so too. Nergui chuckled to herself as she exited the basement of the building and was met with the polluted night skies of Washington DC.

God, she had always wanted to boss a rookie around.

© keycia pyu 2024 . all rights reserved .

[imaeraser]

Hello!

I really love your headcannons about Strawhats with Teen reader, that's why...

If you don't mind - Can I ask for Platonic Strawhats with Female! Teen reader that tend to be the quietest in the crew because of her shyness?

I also had and the next idea after this one- but I don't want to overwhelm you with it. Take care of yourself!

Have a nice day!

Sorry for the wait, here you go!

Luffy

He was intrigued by you

That’s why he forced you onto his ship. And then he realized that instead of having a convoluted backstory, you were shy

And quite honestly it was refreshing

Even though he likes being around Chopper and Usopp and be loud as heck, he likes spending time with you

You balance him out

And even though you’re not an adult, he’ll go to you for advice. This makes the rest of the crew confused (and low-key mad) because he doesn't want their advice

But most of the time he doesn’t take your advice anyways

I think that you two are close, seeing as he is endlessly extroverted and will break through your walls no matter how hard you try

Most of the time he leaves you to your own devices, but he will drag you to large parties and make you feel as welcome as possible

He does the same on the ship, but that was never a problem anyways because everyone likes you

Feels the need to protect you, not only because you’re a member of the crew, but also because you’re the youngest

10/10 I can see him giving you some of his food (only some)

Zoro

Ultimate big brother vibes

Likes to go to you for a quiet space because the ship can be loud

So he spends a lot of time with you… sleeping

He also half-asks questions to fill up the space and gets to know you pretty well

He also feels a need to protect you since he sees you as kinda weak (but almost everyone is weaker compared to him)

He will also feel the need to shield you from the craziness of the ship

Like sir, it’s nice that you care, but they can take care of themselves too you know?

Doesn't incorporate you into the crew since… he’s mostly sleeping. But he would try, and he would fail because they already like you

Cue him being shocked that he wasn’t your only friend on board, but to be fair he is sleeping most of the time and not watching you

He likes the calmness you bring to the ship, good for his meditation sessions (but I don't think you want to just sit there why he meditates)

I can see you having fun with him and Chopper, maybe play a board game

8/10 calm down sir, they can take care of themselves

Nami

She’s like the cool and fun older sister

She likes to dress you up in her old clothes, and then gush about how cute you look (no, not her super tiny bikinis)

She takes it onto herself to guide you through… whatever I guess

Also feels the need to protect you from dudes

I think that she gives good advice, but when combined with Robin the two of them give life-altering wisdom

You can go to her for anything from how to sew to how to manipulate people

Always gives you juice when the crew starts drinking

If the ship starts to get too rowdy she will shout at everyone to keep it down, and then turn to smile at you as if her actions were for you

She will share her tangerines with you

I think that she wants to protect you, but is frustrated at the fact that she can’t be as strong as the Monster trio (but everything works out in the end)

If you borrow money from her, she will reduce the interest (only by a little)

9/10 only downside is the interest (if you ever borrow money)

Usopp

He was high-key suspicious of you

To be fair he is suspicious of anyone and everything, and seeing as you were quiet he was on the edge

But after you saved his life, he gets all buddy-buddy (really Usopp? You got saved by a teenager)

I think the two of you would get to know each other when he’s working on a new invention, and you guys are having idle chatter

Now he tried to act like a cool older brother. Always ready to swoop in and talk about his “accomplishments”

He will do just about anything to make you laugh

I can see some crazy (but fun) times with him, Chopper, and Luffy

He would give bad advice, but occasionally he does have some piece of wisdom

He would try to protect you, but… yeah

He ends up feeling bad, and incompetent. But tell him that he was amazing or something and he’ll be fine

I think he would get frustrated when you beat him at a game of cards

10/10 he is just so fun to be around

Sanji

Also acts like an older brother

He tries to protect you from guys, saying that they’re all dogs (but then you point out that he’s a guy)

This also means he tries to limit your time around Zoro, saying that he’s a bad influence

Then the two start to fight and right as they pull you into it, Nami hits both of them and carries you off to eat or something

Gives you more food because you’re still growing

He is a surprisingly good listener and when he chimes in his advice are always good

And like all of the crew, he will try to protect you from danger (ma’am you are still a teen, why are you on this ship? Oh wait, Luffy…)

I said he acts like your older brother, but he also acts like a proud dad sometimes

Like sir, why are you crying? All they did was perform twinkle twinkle little star on the piano (Brook taught you)

He also tries to restrain his pervert tendencies around you, but when they inevitably happen he can’t look you in the eyes for several days (he also smokes more. It gets to a point where you have to confront him)

He also teaches you how to cook

8/10 he can get a little extra sometimes

Chopper

If things get too crazy on the ship, he likes to go to you

I feel like he would try to act like a big brother, but you would just pet him (sorry Chopper)

I can see Chopper trying to get you to socialize more with the crew. Just drags you out with his tiny Reindeer paws

I can see you confiding in him a lot because it’s kinda like venting to a stuffed animal (again, sorry Chopper)

He gives (almost) child-like advice, but it’s so simple and it always works

I think you would beat both him and Usopp at games, and then they would proceed to chase you around

He would try to protect you, but he also knows that you need to push yourself to get stronger, so he lets you fight some of your fights

When you end up hurt, he always makes sure to be extra vigilant with your care

I believe that you would also try to protect him, but his pride would end up hurt

I think you two would spend a lot of time in his office for a quiet place to read (and for him to do work)

He makes you help him organize stuff

10/10 a great duo

Robin

She is the kind older sister

She is such a good listener, and her advice would solve all of the world's problems

If things get crazy on the ship, you go to her. She has the presence of calm around her that just soothes you

I think she would also like to participate in dressing you up with Nami. That means you get to wear Nami’s old clothes and Robin’s old clothes

Robin always has an extra book and cup of tea reserved for you. Tea times are when you two like to ramble about anything and everything. This is also the place where you can vent and the both of you talk about your past

She would like to teach you about world history, while you listen and ask questions

She would try to teach you how to read one glyph, but if it’s too hard she stops (and low-key gets sad)

Robin also lets you help her garden. She enjoys having a person keep her company while she does the things that make her happy

She thinks that you are too adorable, and that also makes her go into a momma bear mode when she thinks you are in danger

She will yell at crew members, and she will annihilate the enemies

Robin sees you in a similar way to Chopper, so if you say something dirty or cuss, her image of you will be ruined

10/10 she is perfection

Franky

I see him as a weird uncle figure

He mostly hides in his workshop and creates weird but cool inventions while you watch him and ask what he is doing

I don’t see you two talking about important things, just you two having fun and making jokes

He is fun to watch, but when he tries to get you to participate— it’s even more fun

I can see Robin trying to shield you from him (hey, he says he’s a pervert)

He would share his cola with you (I can see some very fun crew bonding time when everyone gets cola and huddles around Franky’s new invention)

Franky is the opposite of shy, so sometimes it gets to be a bit too much

Like sir, please leave them alone for one second

I think that Franky and Usopp would try to teach you how to make things

And if you like to prank people… they’ve created a monster

Expect all three of you to get yelled at

8/10 pretty good, but he does say some stuff that you don’t get sometimes

Brook

Another weird uncle

When he asked to see your panties, both Robin and Nami slapped him so hard, he had flown off

He never asked again

I can see him joining in on the Robin history over tea, and add things in he knows from living during the period (dang he’s old)

He occasionally makes the tea you three drink

I think he would try to teach you how to use a sword, and then get yelled at so he teaches you to play instruments instead

He’s a surprisingly easy-going teacher, if you don’t practice he’s not mad. He just assumes you don't want to learn. That means he won’t teach you, which leads you to practice

He would let you peek inside of his skull and then jumpscare you. It works every time

Brook would tell you about what he did during the two-year time skip, all while you’re laughing at the fact they called him Satan

I think that being around you and Luffy would make him remember his days as a teen

Starts to get all weary like a dad (and just like Sanji)

7/10 rough start, but good ending

Jinbei

He is the dad (not like, is)

He is always concerned for your health, and whether you should be fighting or not

He told Luffy that it was ridiculous to bring a teen on board, but then he realized Luffy is only 19…

Jinbei is always there to make sure you feel included, and will often leave the crew’s festivities just to hang out with you

Honestly, his old man self likes the quiet you bring

If you ask him, he’ll tell you about Fishman history (also over Robin History Tea Times)

100% tries to protect you. I think that can make you frustrated at times, but he has saved you so you can’t be too mad

So he teaches you Fishman Karate (it gets Robin’s stamp of approval because there are no sharp objects)

Jinbei gives the best advice, again dad and old man

He’s able to see different perspectives and tell you the best course of action (that gets annoying when you just want him to take your side, but you have Nami and Robin for that)

Also is proud of you when you achieve something (part of the tears dad group)

10/10 every group needs a parent figure

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

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

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

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

word count: 19.5k 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you’re such a -”

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

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

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

 ~~

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

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

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

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

Bed.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

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

“How ever will I handle it?”

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

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

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

He sounds too peaceful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

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

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

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

“Me too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“27.”

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

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

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

“Take your time, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach flips. 

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

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

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

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

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

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

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

“Ah.”

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

Which has loaded. Hooray!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

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

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Vincent is speaking again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he?’

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

“Said what?”

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

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

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

“And we didn’t finish.”

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

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

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

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

You hate Harry.

 ~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

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

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

It seems like he sighs a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What idea were you getting?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~

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

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

If only he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Course I could -”

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

“So where were they?”

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

“Oh, you dick -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you -?”

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

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

“You assho -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You -?”

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

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

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

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

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

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

Who are you to disobey him?

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

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

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

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

“What the fu -?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

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

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

[boldlyvoid]

Spencer and fem!reader have been together for a decade, married for five. They got married right after the Justin Mills episode, she proposed cause she almost lost him. He proposed to her once he got out and she had no idea he was going to. Anyway I got off on a tangent sorry I have ADHD. But anyway so part of Spencer was scared she’d leave him while he was in prison, which of course she never would. Not only because they have a three year old daughter. She of course doesn’t, and they’re both there to greet him when he’s released eighty-four days later. She’d been using porn to pleasure herself while he was gone, but it wasn’t nearly the same. He’s been so pent up that he jumps her the second they get back to his apartment. Needless to say, she wasn’t expecting him to be even more dominant when he got out of prison than he had started to be when he went in.

so i changed it up a bit, she hasn't had an orgasm since he left. she's so touch starved becasue she cant even hold his hand at visiting hours and they both can't help but fuck the second she tell's him they're bringing him home.

word count: 1.4K

cw: unprotected sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, dom!spencer, wall fucking, public sex, creampies, talk of pregnancy, touch starved reader and spencer, canon typical violence, references to PTSD, (I hope I got it all)

She’s anxiously tapping her foot, she’s been awake for 48 hours now, she hasn’t seen her daughter in just as long, and her husband even longer.

84 days to be exact.

She feels like she’s going to explode, she misses him so intensely and if he doesn’t come home now, she might never see him again. His mother is missing, he stabbed himself to stay safe in prison, he might not come home. again.

In the 10 years that she’s been with Spencer, he’s almost died 3 times. she thought that was the extent of her worry for her husband's safety... then he went missing, then he was arrested in Mexico and now he’s in prison fighting for his life.

She has her head in her hands, curled into a ball on the briefing room sofa, trying desperately to get her mind to stop saying he’s dead, they’re going to kill him, you’re too late. Over and over and over, the thoughts are so intense she almost doesn’t hear Emily call in and tell them to go get him.

It’s time to bring him home.

She stands faster than before. Faster than when they found the cemetery. Faster than when he almost coded in the ambulance from the anthrax he was exposed to. The only time it rivals is when the doctors came out and said they stopped the bleeding, 2 weeks before they eloped, 9 weeks into a pregnancy they were trying to hide from the team.

She always finds herself rushing to his side, fearing the worst but never has she been this close to the edge. She’s on the plane with JJ, Luke and Penelope faster than she’s ever moved before. Leg still bouncing as she sits, trying her best to stay awake, but her adrenaline is making her dizzy.

“Y/N,” JJ whispers from across the table, “he’s okay.”

“I know,” she whispers back. “That’s not why I’m nervous.”

“Why are you?”

She turns and sees Penelope and Luke arguing in the back, flirting way too much to eavesdrop, she takes a deep breath.

“I haven’t touched him in 3 months,” she whispers. “You guys may not think he’s a touchy person, but I haven’t slept. I don’t know how to sleep without him beside me. I haven’t had a real hug in forever…” a tear falls down her cheek.

She shakes her head, it’s been so unbelievably hard to be separated from him and she’s kept her composure this long. “I haven’t even been able to touch myself.”

She’s ashamed but JJ doesn’t budge, she simply tilts her head to the side in sympathy, “oh honey, he might be really distant, you have to prepare for him to continue to not touch you, or he might not leave your side and drive your crazy. I’m not sure how he’ll react but I know it’s not going to be easy.”

She nods, releasing a shaky breath and pretending that it’s not making her more anxious, “I know.” She finally breaks, sobbing and hiding her face behind her hands. “I’m sorry.”

JJ gets up and moves around the table, rubbing her hand over her back and shushing her, “you can tell him. You can go in and have a few minutes alone with him, Penelope and I will wait in the hallway.”

“I just want a hug,” she whispers, “I’m not going to fuck my husband in a prison.”

“Bundy did it,” Luke replies from the back of the plane because of course, they were listening in. “Plus, I don’t think he’s going to be comfortable enough to do that yet, I think his mind is on saving his mother.”

“Exactly,” Y/N rationalizes it, even if all she can picture is him bending her over that table that she wasn’t allowed to cross.

Sometimes the prison was so intimidating for her that she felt like she wasn’t even allowed to look at him. It was easier for her to send letters, they corresponded regularly. She knew everything, on a level the team didn’t, she knew just how hurt he was in there and she was already preparing for his recovery.

She has a binder in her purse, it has every resource he’ll ever need. Random information pamphlets for him to read on the way home and his sponsor's number. She got it from the VA, taking a special trip with Luke to ask the men there what they wish they had when they came home from Afghanistan, how they coped with PTSD and what they wish their partners knew beforehand. She’s as prepared as she could be.

But nothing prepares her for the look on his face when she opens the door. The guard steps aside and JJ closes the door as soon as Y/N is safely inside the room with him, she just cries.

“Is my mom okay?” He panic, “who’s watching Elly?”

“Spence,” she walks up to him, “we’re taking you home.”

“What?” His face drops, he turns as white as a ghost like he’s hallucinating and doesn’t believe what he hears.

She simply nods and throws her arms around him, holding him tighter than ever before, he holds her just as tight. She can’t breathe, he’s holding her too tight and then he’s picking her up and sitting her on the table, kissing her neck and down her shirt and she can’t help herself from leaning back and attempting to unbutton his jeans.

He pushes her skirt up and pulls her panties to the side, roughly kissing her as she stokes him a few times before wrapping her legs around him and bringing him inside. His beard is longer than it’s ever been, scratching at her skin as he explores her, she can’t believe they’re actually doing this but it feels too good for her to even say a single word.

“God, I’ve missed your sweet cunt,” he grunts in her ear, picking her up and turning them. He presses her against the brick wall, holding her with a strength he’s never had before, and fucking into her with intent.

“I haven’t cum in 90 days,” she says between pants, wanting him to praise her.

“So that’s why you’re such a desperate slut? I’ve made you into a whore over the last 10 years, haven’t I?”

“Yes sir,” she replies on instinct, they’ve tried having him be more dominating but it never really worked out in their favour… this however, this is more than that.

This is primal.

He bites her shoulder, over her shirt and making the fabric wet, grunting as he fucks her, he’s like an animal. It’s incredibly hot, she’s so deprived she almost cums but she holds off, “please?” She begs, wanting his permission for the first time in months.

“Please what?”

“Please can I cum?” she cries, actually tears fall down her cheeks from the frustration, months of anticipation bursting at the seams, “please, daddy?”

“Ugh,” he lays his forehead on her shoulder and fucks into her harder, rubbing her clit with his thumb. “Cum baby, come on daddy’s cock, you depraved little whore.”

She tosses her head back against the wall, it’s going to hurt later but her orgasm is so intense she barely even feels real. She’s floating there as she grips his shoulders and her legs hold him close to her. He stills as he cums, filling her up, they both sigh at the same time.

Sliding to the floor, she’s still wrapped around him, cock inside her as they hold each other. Faces buried in the other's neck, they try to come down but all they can do is run their hands over each other's bodies, appreciating the fact they’re allowed to hold one another in this stupid room again, no one is going to yell at her for holding his hand or passing him a bracelet from their kid.

They hear a knock on the window and that’s their queue to get presentable again. She feels a little gross, but this is the closest she’s felt to him in forever. Carrying a part of him inside of her was her favourite thing in the world, all she could hope for was another little one to be the glorious result of this terrible situation.

[blessedlance]

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

 Too much.

 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

 > how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

 … But he might want it.

 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

 ---

 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

 “Hey.” You murmur.

 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

 “Please…” He begs.

 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

 But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

 “Let me make you feel good.”

 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 

 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

 "Let me taste you. Please."

 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

 “Can I--?”

 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 

 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.

 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

 And Atsumu shatters.

 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

 “Oh my god I love you.”

[dysfunctionalcrab]

cute vets, pets, and boys

Pairing: Quackity x reader

Pronouns: Gender neutral

Description: Tiger needs to go to vets. Over there, his owner meets a cute veterinary assistant (yes, I mean you)

Notes: Doctor Anderson is the name of an actual doctor I shadowed I couldn’t think of anything else okay, leave me alone.

His knee bounced up and down impatiently. The place was unusually packed today.

Tiger sat in his basket, loafed and with his eyes closed. Quackity’s heart ached for the small cat, the poor animal had stopped his regular eating habits. When he filled his bowl, it was only half finished, which was abnormal, since Tiger was usually finished within 10 minutes, and then meowed for some more.

He glanced at the clock, sighing after calculating that he had been been waiting for almost a whole hour, until a vaguely familiar man walked into the room with a clipboard. He was a middle aged man, grey hair and and stubble. He wore giant glasses with black frames. It was only when Quackity’s eyes landed on the name tag pinned to the pocket of his white lab coat, did he realise this was their regular vet.

“Alex!” He called out, looking up from his clipboard and locking eyes with him

Tiger hadn’t been to vet in ages, and when he did, it was usually his mom who took him, so to see him so enthusiastic, or even remember his name, startled him quite a bit.

He stood up, clutching the handle of the cat basket and lifting it off the floor.

“Doctor Anderson?” He tried to play it off as if he wasn’t reading his badge to remember his name.

“How have you been?” The doctor asked him.

“I’ve been good, busy, but good,”

“How are you? How is your mom?”

Quackity tried to be polite, answering all the questions he had. But in reality, he didn’t care about catching up with his vet, especially after waiting an hour of waiting just to even be spoken to while his cat sat miserably in his basket. It had entirely ruined his mood. He just wanted to know what was wrong with his cat.

He was relieved when Doctor Anderson finally ushered him into the room.

The doctor walked in with another man, he looked young. This man was going to be the final patient you assist before finally finishing the veterinary experience course. You took a deep breath and approached them both.

The doctor walked in with another man, he looked young. This man was going to be the final patient you assist before finally finishing the veterinary experience course. You took a deep breath and approached them both.

The doctor walked in with another man, he looked young. This man was going to be the final patient you assist before finally finishing the veterinary experience course. You took a deep breath and approached them both.

The other guy looked you, not in a weird way, but just to curious to who you were. You offered him a kind smile, and when you started to think wasnt going to, he returned it. Doctor Anderson watched the interaction from across the room.

“This is [Y/N],” he introduced, putting a gentle hand behind your back. “They’ve been shadowing me for the last 2 months, today is their final day,”

Quackity nodded, glancing towards you again, but less soft. Your smile dropped. You started to assume he wasn’t in a good mood today, especially since he probably had a sick animal with you. So, you resorted to standing in the corner of the room, just to observe.

“So then, how can I help you?” The doctor asked him

“I don’t know,” You watched him as he distressedly pushed his hair away, alongside fiddling and adjusting his beanie anxiously. “Tiger just hasn’t been eating lately and it’s been worrying me,”

Doctor Anderson opened up the basket and took out a small tabby cat who you now knew was named ‘Tiger’. Your heart awed at the cat, you loved cats. I mean, you loved animals in general, which was the reason you wanted to help them.

You watched as he started to check the cat, feeling his fur and his body for any irregularities. His face was fully focused, eyebrows furrowing. You could tell the owner was nervous since he was rubbing the seam of his shirt aggressively between his finger and thumb.

“Has Tiger ever-“

The door suddenly swung open with a loud creak. All your heads snapped towards the entrance, another doctor stood there, her face a little sweaty and she was huffing, completely out of breath

“Doctor- we need you please, it’s urgent,” She stated.

The doctor looked at you, and then looked at the cat, and then looked back at you. You felt yourself freeze in fear. You knew what he was asking, and you frantically shook your head, pleading with your eyes that he didn’t leave you alone.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, before taking off and dashing out the room,‘following the tinder woman. He accidentally slammed the door a little hard that the noise startled Tiger. He let out a small and scared meow.

You pursed your lips, looking down sympathetically at the cat. You then looked at his owner, he was giving you a blank, expressionless stare, his brown eyes told you he was a mixture of tired, irritated but concerned. You wondered how long he’d been waiting.

Quackity was nervous around pretty people, he was far from confident. After the way you smiled at him, he felt himself heat up. He’d be lying he if he said he didn’t find you cute.

If you weren’t in such a formal environment, he’d be initiating some sort of casual conversation with you to start things going, if he even knew how to. But now, especially since he had a sick cat with him, wasn’t the ideal situation. Your voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

“So,” you gnawed at your lip nervously. “He’s lost his appetite?

Quackity nodded slowly.

You hummed, observing her on the table. He was a cute little cat, his eyes were glossy and wide. You felt a pain in your chest at the poor thing. You had never been left alone with a patient before, so you were anxious to say the least.

“Has this ever happened before?” You asked

He shook his head. “Uh- no. No it hasn’t.”

You stroked her, he immediately nuzzled into your palm. You and him both locked eyes at the adorable moment.

“He’s cute,” You stated.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “He is.”

He picked up a mental note of your interaction with him. It was uncommon that Tiger relaxed at someone’s touch so easily, usually he would do that at-least within a week of knowing or playing with them. He was also quite aggressive, living up to his name.

“You don’t need to worry, you know, I’m sure he’s fine, the worst it could be is like- kidney disease or something,”

His eyes widened

“Not that it is!” You took back, wishing you could swallow your words back up again. “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just saying that he could-“

He raised an eyebrow at you, this time out of confusion of your rambling.

“I’ll stop talking now.” You muttered to yourself

You felt ridiculous, being so nervous. You couldn’t tell if it was from the pressure, or the fact he had a strong gaze on you.

“I’m going to check his teeth, if that’s okay?” You asked

Quackity stepped back abit from the table. “Yeah, yeah, of course, do whatever you need,”

You patted her head before positioning her so you could look at her mouth. You gently held her head and used your fingers carefully to pull her jaw open. It all looked pretty normal, until your eye fixated on one of her canines that were looking black at the root.

You sighed, observing it a little longer. You smiled, thankful that you found the problem. It was funny to you how this guy hadn’t even thought to check her mouth before-hand.

“Well, we’ve found the problem,” you said. Quackity stepped closer and watched to where you finger was pointing. “Just a bad tooth, it most likely hurts when he eats,”

You smiled at him reassuringly and he relaxed. His Tiger was going to be just fine

“So now what?” Quackity asked you, petting Tiger. He quietly purred

You ran your tongue at the seam of your lips. “I don’t know, I guess. I don’t think if it’s legally permissible for me to diagnose anything or 8 anything- I think,” you spoke awkwardly. “It’s better to just wait for the doctor to come back,”

He nodded again. The silence in the room was making it a little uncomfortable for the both of you, the only thing making it less... weird, was the cute little cat laying on the table.

“So, how long have you been shadowing him again?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, he was clearly just trying to make conversation with you to diffuse the awkwardness.

“For two months,” you answered. “Today is actually my last day.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, kind of disappointed actually, this experience has been quite nice. Now it’s back to textbooks and PowerPoint presentations, it’s like being stuck back in high school”

“I get that. Law school is just case after case and it can get boring sometimes,”

“Law school? Holy crap,” you said, before throwing a hand over your mouth, remembering he was still just a patient. “Sorry, excuse the language,”

He giggled nervously. “Don’t worry about about it,”

Conversation with him from then on was easy. It flowed quite smoothly, from talking about about school to other general things.

He liked the way you listened, Quackity knew that he waffled on about certain subjects a whole lot. But you seemed to actually be interested, your face lighting up every time. You found it sweet the way he talked so passionately about things, for a stranger, you were pretty intrigued.

You enjoyed his company for the next 30 minutes, still waiting for Doctor Anderson to come back after rushing out of the door. To be fair, It was nice to have conversation during the day that wasn’t with a fifty five year old man for once.

“But we have restaurants here like Chipotle, or Taco bell!” You exclaimed, now sitting beside him on one of the blue chairs.

“They’ve never been as good as the ones I’ve had in Mexico,” he told you.

“Well then I guess-“

Again. The noisy door swung open. Both your heads simultaneously turning towards it. The doctor walked back into the room, his hair was a little ruffled and messy. He came in as if he was looking for a certain something, and then his eyes landed on you.

“[Y/N]? What are you still doing here?” He questioned, looking at his watch. “It’s past four o’clock,”

You took out your phone from your back pocket. Damn, time really flew by and you didn’t even realise.

“We were just talking about Tiger, he’s got a bad tooth,” you said

The doctor smiled at you. “Good work, [Y/N]!” He said, pride overtaking his voice. “But it’s really time for you to go home. You can pack up your things now and relax! You’re finally finished!”

“Oh-,” you said, feeling the slightest bit disappointed as you looked at Quackity. “Thank you,”

You stood up and hesitantly slipped off the spare white lab coat, folding it up and placing it in on a nearby counter.

You looked at Quackity again, his eyes were almost saying ‘sorry’ for you having to leave.

Quackity watched you leave the room. His mood dropping straight away. He knew he wasn’t going to speak to you again after this.

The doctor started talking to him again, giving him advice for Tiger and how they would deal with the problem. However, the unfortunate problem was, his attention was focused on you. You know sometimes you talk to someone once and then for the rest of the year you constantly think about that interaction? Yeah, that’s how he was feeling. He had no idea why you had suddenly invaded all his thoughts.

Too bad you’d left without so much of a goodbye.

If only he built up the courage and asked for your number.

———

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