#this shot has been hanging around in my folder for over a year
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robo-dino-puppy · 5 months ago
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horizon forbidden west | aloy 137/?
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menlove · 4 months ago
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could you tell us some more about lord hear my prayer? looove some religious imagery <3
GOD SAME it was born entirely out of a) john my beloved by sufjan stevens and b) the fact that there's not a lot of religious imagery in mclennon fics and i wanted to change this. it kind of stalled bc i wrote this big long scene in paris & then realized it didn't really... fit well w the theme of the fic? so i threw it into my "killed darlings" folder but lamented bc i lost like 3k of this fic & lost steam. but i 10000% wanna finish this one.
it's john's pov and basically centers around the idea of paul as a religion to john. inspired MAINLYYYY by the lyric "i've seen religion from jesus to paul" which is taken as like ya know being about beatlemania but when you have on yaoi goggles like me....
anyway, here's a snippet!
1953
The wooden pew was uncomfortable and unforgiving under John’s arse as the twelve year old shifted, squinting in the morning light at the painting hanging at the front of the room. In the soft, golden sunshine and aided by his piss-poor eyesight, the rough brushstrokes had faded out, giving the subject an ethereal sort of look that’d left him feeling like the wind’d been knocked out of him. 
Course, John knew who Jesus was. Been dragged to enough sermons with Mimi and George to get the gist of it, but looking at the painting, John thought he might get it. A little. The figure in the painting was- well, beautiful, in a way he’d never seen a man painted to be. The man’s eyes were turned heavenward, eyelashes falling over supple cheeks, golden curls spilling around his shoulders. All brought together by strong, masculine hands clasped in front of him as he prayed, veins painted with a care that had John’s heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. 
Truth be told, he’d never understood the whole Jesus thing. Now, he wasn’t an atheist or summat- only the truly worst sorts of people were, at least that’s what his auntie said. But it was all just a little hard to believe, wasn’t it? Sounded more like the books he liked to read than something that actually happened. If God was out there healing the sick and the blind, then why was John’s vision still shite? Didn’t make a lick of sense, not to him. But staring at the painting, he thought- well, if that’s what he’d looked like, he probably would’ve followed him too. 
Not in any queer way, mind, just the same sort of way he gotten a right thrill out of Carl, one of the year nines, inviting him with the rest of the lads for a smoke. Leaned against the brick of the school wall, choking on smoke and feeling his head spin from the rush, he’d looked up and seen the smoke from all the boys’ ciggies clouding around Carl’s face and thought it looked right out of a film. It was the same sort of feeling he felt now, twisting up in his chest and tugging.
Was that what people were talkin’ about, then? When the little old ladies would coo about the spirit of the lord? Maybe that was it- the painful, swooping feeling stuck under John’s ribs as he blinked up at the painting, remembering Carl’s toothy grin as he’d laughed and laughed and laughed at John’s coughing. His pink tongue poking out between those teeth, head tipped back to reveal a long neck and protruding Adam’s apple. 
John’s cheeks had started to heat and he shifted to lean back against the unforgiving pew, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t even begin to place. Next to him, Mimi shot him a look, reaching over to pinch his shoulder until he sat up again. He sighed, uncrossing his arms with a scowl, eyes flicking away from the painting. Up by the pulpit, the priest’s strong voice washed over the crowd, Bible clutched in one outstretched hand.
“We must remember, from Corinthians, what the Lord has said of all earthly temptations,” the priest began. He cleared his throat, sweeping his eyes over the congregation, imploring them to listen. John already knew he wouldn’t understand- those old words were too jumbled up and confusing. “‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.’”
At the front of the church hall, the priest looked tired. His hair was thinning and he’d swept it forward in some attempt to pretend it wasn’t. What was probably a handsome face when he was John’s age had turned sour, like fruit that’d been sitting out on the kitchen table too long. His nose was a deep red, speaking to just what sorts of temptations  Nah, he decided, fixing his gaze on the blue polka-dot fabric of the woman’s dress sitting in front of him, he didn’t get it all.
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vividfantasydreamer · 2 years ago
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One Shot? Idk
“Yeah..yeah I know I’ll be there soon.” I reply hanging up the phone as I pull into the parking lot; I was having a bad enough day as it was my washer broke last night, and I nearly got t-boned this morning by two assholes street racing. Only to be followed up by a call from my doctor that I need to see him immediately. I push through the glass double doors. It was a small but comfy clinic thankful for my job’s insurance to pay for it.
“Ally! I didn’t expect to see you today.” Tina greets me as I walk up to the desk. “What brings you in?”
“Er…Dr.Vin asked me to come in..? He said something about it being ‘urgent’.” I say showing her the appointment confirmation text message “I was supposed to come Friday but he decided to move it.” I shrug, she hums tapping away on her computer.
“Ah, yes I see it now. It was updated a few minutes ago. Sorry about that, I will let him know you are here.” I nod taking a seat in the waiting room this clinic only had four doctors and four nurses, twelve rooms total to call it a clinic might be generous but I have been coming here since I was little. Most of the doctors here know me like family. It's something I always loved about this place.
“Hey, when did Virin get back I thought he left to go do some contracts across the country years ago.”
“He came back about a month ago.” Tina replies tapping her nails on the desk “I’ll be honest I thought I was seeing ghosts when he walked through the door. You can’t just up and leave like that I was planning his going away party!” she moans. I chuckle as she pulls the folder out, taking a seat next to me to show me. “See! He was supposed to get this big party with all his patients! And he was supposed to get drunk.”
“He’s not a drinker.”
She sighs “A girl can dream can’t she?” I snort shoving her gently, Tina had drunken blackmail on just about everyone that’s ever walked through those doors; lord only knows how a party girl like her got to be a psychologist.
“You’re terrible.” say ruffling her hair; she grabs my cheek pinching it.
“What did your mother tell you about respecting your elders?” she asks I whine begging for her to let go when someone coughs off to the side.
“Viin.” I greet waving at him the woman now has both cheeks “Aoww, stup.”
“Tina, please.” Virin walks up to us removing the womans’ hands “I’m sure Ms. Bell is busy; we shouldn’t keep her.” with a pout Tina returns to her desk.
“Fine, but you owe me a drink. We were having so much fun.” she says as i’m lead into the back.
“So your finally back? Hah, never thought i’d see you again, figured you went off to go be some big shot doctor.”
“And leave behind my favorite patient? Never.” he answers as i’m lead into the farthest room, the clinic was strangely empty today, Roe, Wix and Mander seem to be the only ones here. “Please get up on the table.”
“Favorite you say? Even when I vomited on your new shoes?” I jest, hopping onto the exam table looking around the room. It looks different…i’m not sure how but it’s just enough to put me off.
“You were sick it’s understandable.” he says taking a seat in the rolling chair, he logs into the computer.
“H-hey, um by the way where’s Ava, and Lulu? I know they usually work tuesdays right? Or are they sick?” I inquire, looking around the room hoping to find what feels wrong.
“No, they were just given the day off. It’s a slow day so we didn’t see any reason to keep them here.”
‘I guess that makes sense.’ I shrug “But then why have Dr. Mander and everyone else here then? Surely you guys could do with a day off as well.”
“How considerate of you.” he smiles still looking at the screen “Don’t worry we all love our jobs so there is no such thing as ‘over-worked’.” 
“Oh, okay.” We spend the next few minutes in silence, the room fairly well insulated from the noise or lack-there-of from the corridor outside. The room has a large wall sized window to look out into the small garden the usual roses and lily’s grow there, climbing ivy tangles it’s way up the bricks of the building giving it an almost fantasy-esk look. “So, uh…what is so urgent? I know I was feeling a little under the weather a while ago but Dr. Roe said he would get back to me with the results.” I get no answer from Virin as he continues to type away on the computer, after a few more minutes I clear my throat hoping to get his attinsion. “D-doctor?” still no answer.
‘Am I really that soft spoken? I know he can hear me. . .have I gone mute?! No, wait, not possible, I'm stupid.’ I clear my throat again this time he hums his acknowlagement.
“Soo, why am I here again? If this can wait until friday I don’t mind, I have some vaccinations set up for them as well.” I say the silence is starting to get awkward.
“Sorry, I was distracted.” he apologizes rolling over to me “To save you time we can do the shots today.” I grimace a shiver going up my spine.
“I’d rather not. I-”
“You don’t like needles, I know. But the sooner this gets done the sooner. I was just looking up your medications, Dr. Roe prescribed you clomid to help with your fever?”
“Yeah. Must be new. I never had to take that antibiotic before. Didn’t think an ear infection got that bad.”
“They can get far worse, if it gets bad enough it can cause you to lose hearing in the effected ear.” virin continues as he rolls over to me “I’m going to take off your shoes.” he says I nod letting him slip off my tennis shoes sliding them next to the exam table.
“So I guess the scan came back pretty bad then?” I remember three weeks when I was here Roe had pushed for a scan of my inner ear before saying something along the lines of ‘Good thing we caught this.’ before sending me home with a months’ worth of antibiotics.
“Yes.” he replies as dr. Wix walks in with a tray of needles. “Perfect timing. I was just about to start the exam.” the brunette said putting on his stethoscope, he slips his hand under my shirt. “Breath in.”
I do as he instructs, Roe sets up a small rolling metal table with the tray one of the needles looking particularly scary. I wave him hello as I go through the motions of my exam.
“You sound alright.” Virin says putting down is stethoscope “Say Ahhh.” I open my mouth as he depresses my tongue, the taste of wood assaults my taste buds as he looks around inside my mouth. “Perfect. You're doing great.” I nod keeping an eye on the syringe tray, ust being in the same room as those things makes me uncomfortable.
“Hey, uh…maybe we can do this another time. I- uh…i’m not feeling too hot.” I say, roe walks over to me climbing onto the table as well strong arms wrap around me pulling me close to his body.
“Your five months past due of these, I know you don’t like needles but you need these to stay healthy.” Virin reasons as I try to wiggle free of roe’s grasp.
“I havn’t had to be held down in ages, Vin. Come’on maybe only two today?”
“You’ll be fine.” Virin says Wix and Mander coming in as well. “Thank you for your help guys.”
“Causing trouble as usual Abs?” Mander jokes moving to grab my legs, I can feel myself starting to panic as virin upcaps the first needle.
“Haha y-you know me, always on the move.” I say through gritted teeth trying to squirm free; Wix holds me from the side.
“Just relax. It’ll only take a second.” Mander reassures as I being to thrash, their holds tighten as I try to escape virin calmly watching from the side until I tire myself out.
“Hey- guys! Come on~ you know this dosen’t have to happen. Right…Right??” I plead panting “We should do this a different day! Sounds good to me!” Virin sticks me as I go to take a breath. I must admit i’d never noticed how strong these guys were under their clothes but being presses into roe’s front I could tell he was ripped. It probably paid when they had to deal with patients like me.
“There’s only seven, you’ll live.” Wix comments her  grip suffocating.
‘SEVEN!? OH, no, no, no I do NOT need that many.” I rebuttal, mander now putting his full weight on my legs. Before I get a chance to protest Virin sticks me with another, my body starting to feel heavy.
“Guys, guys I think i’m going to pass out.” I pant my heart still racing ‘Oh how I wish I already was, this would go quicker then.’ Roe leans back pulling me down with him, the next shot I can see out of the corner of my eye the needle is large far larger than anything they’ve ever used on me before. I feel lightheaded and weak but I still fight i’m able to pull one of my legs free and kick mander in the shoulder; but he barely reacts my blows landing but they don’t seem to be doing anything. “Please….let..me…” The pain from the next shot hurts, it hurts alot but words fail me as the world starts to fade in and out. Wix is the first to let go of me the fight leaving my body as I being to fall limp.
“Good girl, sleep. Don’t fight it.” are the last words I hear from Virian before passing out.
=================================
“Virin, your going to get us in trouble doing that.” Roe says sitting up he places their darlings’ body on the table. “She damn near had a heart attack.”
“She’ll be fine.” Virin says as he goes to wash his hands, Wix digs through her pack finding the pill bottle.
“She’s taken most of it.” She says counting the remaining pills “Twice a day? Really? Poor thing must be dying of heat.” she scolds tracin her hand up abby’s stomach.
“Won’t matter soon.” Mander butts in undressing her “We’ll have to burn these.”
“Tina-” Wix starts before the woman in question walks in.
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything.” she says leaning on the door way “You guys sure played the long game on this one. My offer still stands.”
“We can condition her ourselves.” Virin says bundling their darlings clothes into a bag “How is your sweetheart doing by the way?”
“Fine, he had this crazy idea that I was drugging him to make him more compliant.” she groans, it did pain her slightly to know that Abby would be a completely different person when she saw her again but understood where they were coming from. “Think I can get one last goodbye?”
“We’re not killing her.” Wix says playing with their darlings hair, pitch black strands slip between her fingers.
“I know, I know.” Tina sighs pushing off the doorway “But we were friends still.”
“You aren’t having a change of heart are you?” Roe asks raising his brow at her “You know-”
“I know, you don’t have to remind me.” she says backing off “Sorry, forget I said anything.”
“We should close the clinic for today.” Virian suggests the other agree forcing Tina to leave the room. She just had to lock the door there were no other patients today, it was a special day after all. It was their darling’s ‘gotcha day’. After closing out the lights she says her goodbyes and leaves.
“Looks like our little girl had plans today.” Wix says showing the others the recent text messages.
“Who’s that? I haven’t see his number before.” Virin says squinting at the screen.
“Liam, you’ve been gone to long Vin. he’s her long distance boyfriend.” Roe comments “This would be their tenth year dating.”
“That’s a long time….Shame.” Mander says stretching “He’s not good enough for her anyway. But just be sure to get him out of the picture.” he bends down, nosing their between thor darlings legs.
“Restrain yourself. This is no place for that.” Roe reprimands, Wix heads to the security room to wipe any video evidence. “Help me get her wrapped before we head out. She’s going to be very confused.” Mander helps in securing their darling, Virin giving one last injection before they nestle her into the back of Wix’s blacked out car.
“Everything’s taken care of.” Wix says getting into the driver's seat, Virin sliding into the passenger seat. They drive off towards Viran’s house, the perfect place for them to start their life.
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fbfh · 2 years ago
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MORE ABOUT MY OCS (I LOVE YOU GUYS THANK YOU FOR HYPING ME UP ABOUT THEM) (also I added oc content to my tag list!! it's just going to be any random tidbits I post for now but I'll also tag anyone on there when I have updates on writing/publishing original content if you wanna stay up to date lol)
Jason and Margo as you s/o:
Jason Howard 
You want a hot slightly emo/scene skater boyfriend of your dreams?? Congrats you won the boyfriend lottery with Jason. Lo and behold, another skateboarder. Pretty unflappable with a great sense of humor, Jason is a teenage dream of a boyf. Whenever you see him, chances are he’ll be doing something dumb with his friends, then get completely distracted when he sees you. His gaze will go all soft when his eyes land on you and he gets that little smile he only gets around you, then he’ll totally wipe out and crash land hard. He laughs it off (so do his friends) and walks over to greet you with a smooch. He’ll make you a lot of playlists. Like a lot. Like I hope you have time to listen to all of them. If you’re not already into pop punk, you’re about to be, bc that’s what half of his playlists for you are. Every couple weeks or months he’ll get bored and want to dye his hair another color. He always says he wants to shake it up and do something different, but it’ll probably end up being some combination of black and whatever’s on sale from manic panic. He dyes it your favorite color for your birthday month every year and it’s fucking adorable. He wants you to “help him” every time he does dye his hair, even though he can basically do the whole thing himself. He just wants you there with him, and you’re always happy to keep him company. 
Margo Baccay
Margo has some of the worst burnt out gifted kid syndrome you've ever seen, and now the only thing she has brain cells for is you. She’ll steal your hoodies in a heartbeat, and live in them 24/7. Whenever you go over to her place to hang out or pick her up, her little sister will run off giggling. Her sister knows absolutely everything about you, and thank god you have her seal of approval. Margo’s love language is binge watching shows together, or doing absolutely nothing over facetime for hours (where her sister will inevitably pop in to say hi at least once). She’s so tired all the time to begin with, and she likes you so much that there’s a good chance she’ll fall asleep on you at some point. She loves your jokes and sense of humor and has a folder in her phone of screen shots of your texts that she looks through when she feels shitty. She has another folder full of pictures and videos of you that she looks through when she needs a little dopamine hit. Half the time if you ask her what’s been going on, she’ll start rambling about the show she’s in the middle of binge watching, giving you all the tea. By the time she’s done, you can jump in the middle of the season and watch it with her, and you won’t have missed anything. She’s very thorough in her critiques of the characters terrible decisions, and you always love to hear it. 
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ashleys-echo · 26 days ago
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Chapter Seven: On Borrowed Time
A soft drizzle coated the windshield as Meadow parked her car outside the courthouse. The damp air mirrored the pit in her stomach as she stepped into the building. She clutched a folder of receipts and evidence in her hands, hoping they’d be enough.
The courtroom buzzed with low murmurs as people shuffled in and out. Meadow’s chest tightened when her case was called. The judge barely glanced at her as she presented her documentation.
“These are incomplete,” the judge said flatly, flipping through her papers.
“They’re not incomplete,” Meadow protested, her voice trembling. “They show all my payments.”
The judge looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “Then why do the records from your landlord state otherwise?”
Meadow felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Because they’re lying. They haven’t processed my payments properly. I have receipts—”
“You’ll have to sort that out with legal counsel,” the judge interrupted. “I’m granting you an additional month to gather sufficient proof or vacate the premises. Next case.”
Just like that, it was over. Meadow stumbled out of the courtroom, clutching the folder to her chest. The hallway was filled with people in similar situations, their faces drawn with worry and defeat. She overheard a woman sobbing quietly to her husband about losing their home, and for a moment, Meadow felt like she was drowning in the collective despair.
---
The cold air outside hit her like a slap, but she welcomed it. It was better than the suffocating heat of the courtroom. Back in her car, she let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the steering wheel as tears blurred her vision. She wasn’t just losing an apartment—she was losing her sense of control.
---
Work didn’t offer much of a reprieve. Denise was as sharp-tongued as ever, and the absence of Lennox left a noticeable void. Meadow found herself glancing toward the coffee station, half expecting him to be there with a sarcastic comment or a crooked smile.
“You’re slower than usual, Sayers,” Denise snapped as Meadow fumbled with a tray of plates. “If you can’t keep up, maybe I should find someone who can.”
Meadow bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t afford to lose this job, not now. “I’m doing my best,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Your best isn’t enough,” Denise shot back before stalking off.
Meadow’s coworkers exchanged sympathetic glances but said nothing. However, later in the shift, one of the nurses approached her as she leaned against the counter in the break room, her head in her hands.
“Hey, Meadow,” the nurse said softly. “You hanging in there?”
“Barely,” Meadow admitted, her voice muffled.
The nurse sat down beside her. “I’ve been there. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m around.”
“Thanks,” Meadow said, managing a small smile.
It wasn’t much, but the gesture warmed her, reminding her that she wasn’t completely alone.
---
At home, the reality of her situation hit her harder with every passing day. She had begun packing in earnest, sorting through her belongings with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. Most of her furniture would have to stay behind—ruined by the roach infestation that management had never bothered to address.
As she packed, she came across a faded photo of her younger self with Judith. They were smiling in the old kitchen of her childhood home, their hands dusted with flour from baking cookies. Meadow sat back on her heels, staring at the photo as memories washed over her. She remembered how Judith used to sing while they baked, twirling Meadow around the room in fits of laughter.
Now, Judith rarely smiled, let alone sang.
---
One evening, Meadow sat down at her tiny dining table and began writing a letter to the judge.
---
To the Honorable Judge,
I am writing to request a reconsideration of my case. I have lived in my apartment for three years, and during that time, I have faced numerous challenges, including unsafe living conditions and financial struggles.
The property management has failed to apply several of my rent payments, despite me providing receipts and proof of money orders. I trusted them to handle my payments appropriately, and now I am being penalized for their negligence.
I am not asking for sympathy—I am asking for fairness. I need more time to find a safe place to live, as the current timeline leaves me with no options. Please consider granting me an extension or reviewing the evidence I have provided.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Meadow Sayers
---
She set the pen down, staring at the letter. It felt futile, but it was all she could do.
---
By mid-January, the days had begun to blur together. Work, packing, and searching for housing consumed every waking moment. Meadow hadn’t seen Lennox in weeks, and the silence was deafening.
On a particularly bad day, she found herself gripping the counter in the break room, trying to keep from falling apart.
“Hey,” a familiar voice broke through the fog.
She turned, her heart leaping as Lennox stepped into the room. He looked tired but healthier than the last time she’d seen him.
“Lennox,” she said, her voice cracking.
“Miss me?” he teased, though his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You have no idea,” Meadow admitted before she could stop herself.
His expression softened, and for a moment, the chaos of her life faded. “You doing okay?” he asked, his tone low.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I’m surviving.”
“Surviving’s a start,” he said, his voice steady. “If you need anything, Sayers, you know where to find me.”
She nodded, her chest tightening. “Thanks, Lennox.”
“Anytime,” he replied, his smile finally reaching his eyes.
---
As January 31st loomed closer, Meadow felt the walls closing in. She didn’t know where she would go or how she would rebuild, but she knew one thing: she wasn’t giving up.
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sweet-villain · 2 years ago
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Already Yours~ E.M
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haileighboi asked:
Ok so here is a little fluff one shot
The party notices that Eddie doesn’t talk about girls or really ever interacts with them outside of deals. So the deem themselves to find Eddie a girlfriend and what better person to be than their babysitter aka the reader who is basically Eddie but in girl form. Little does the party know that Eddie and the reader have been together since freshman year. (The reader has graduated and works at the record store to save money for when Eddie finally graduates and get there own place) :)
@ceriseheaven
" Do you think he already has a girlfriend? Mike asks, as Dustin sits down at his spot at the Hellfire table. " Eddie?" Mike nods. " I don't think he has ever talked about girl or even talked to a girl before" Dustin says as he takes out his folder.
" That fool doesn't know what a girl even is" Erica says.
" I have never seen him with a girl" Gareth says. The doors to the dram room fly open as Eddie strolls in, the room got suddenly quiet for some reason causing Eddie to stop in his tracks as he looked from one to the other of his little sheep.
" Usually your like chatterboxes that never stop talking, what's going on?" Eddie sits on his throne, " Dustin? Care to tell me what's going on?"
Dustin cleared his throat as he nervously looked at the others wide eyed. No one uttered a word and looked away.
" We were just talking about my babysitter I used to have" he shrugs thinking it was the best option. Eddie rose his eyebrow, " Oh really? What's so special about this babysitter?"
" She's really cool, she has really long pretty hair, she wears rings on her fingers like you, she's into the same music as you. I'm surprised you two haven't met yet" Eddie tilts his head as he listens. Someone like him? A girl?
The only girl that was on Eddie's mind was you. You had the prettiest hair, the prettiest eyes, you listened to the same music as he does, you wore rings on your fingers like he does. One was a butterfly, one of a horse, one with a gemstone of your favorite color. You had a guitar pick necklace just like Eddie does, it was green and little scratched up. Your dad has given you the guitar pick before he passed away. It was something you had of him. You always wore converse on your feet, you preferred to wear pants over skirts.
You were a girl version of Eddie. He had kept you a secret from the rest of the gang, not because he was embarrassed or anything like that. He wanted you for his own. He knew the rest would bomber you with questions about your relationship.
" Oh! she always made us the best food, took care of us" Mike nodded as he knew who Dustin was talking about. " You're mom never stopped talking about her"
" She's really cool"
" Are going to chit chat all day or what?' Erica asks, with her arms across her chest.
Eddie had already had everything set up, " You heard Lady AppleJack."
" Relax, your just jealous I had a cooler babysitter than you" Dustin says. Erica rolled her eyes.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
" I think we should find Eddie a girlfriend" Robin says as she watches the metal head look through the horror section for movie night at Steve's house. You weren't feeling too good, he would stop by later to check on you. He was pretty bummed out that he wasn't able to hang out with you.
" Munson?" Steve ask as he turns around from the computer.
" No, dingus. The wall. Yes, Eddie" she grumble underneath her breathe.
" I'm pretty sure he never had a girlfriend before. I'm not sure he knows how to talk to a girl" Steve says as he looks over at Eddie. Eddie had grabbed two films from the horror section and made his way over to the two.
" What are you two talking about?" He asks, placing the films on the counter. " Quick Question, Munson. Have you ever thought about, I don't know. Um, asking a girl out? Having a girlfriend?"
Eddie's eyebrows knitted together as he looked between the two.
" Why would I want to ask a girl out? I'm pretty okay where I'm at. My love life isn't any of your business" He says.
" Oh come on, Eddie. Not one single girl interest you in this town?" Eddie shrugs. There was only one girl for him and that was you.
" You have pretty hair, and I'm sure some girl would love to get to know the Eddie Munson. What do you think if Steve and I play match maker?"
" No thanks, Buckley" Eddie shook his head as he took the films he was renting out in his hands. " I'll see you later"
" We are getting him a girlfriend" Steve says turning back around to what he was doing on the computer.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Eddie awkwardly stood next to the girl that Steve said he had to meet. She wore a Metallica shirt, a leather jacket and was talking up a storm about the band she was into. It's not that Eddie didn't want to talk to or listen. He rather be in any place with you than here.
He twisted the rings on his fingers, a hand placed on his shoulder brought his attention as he looked over seeing Steve by his side.
" How's it going?" he asks, looking from Eddie to the girl. He thought Eddie would like this girl very much and things were going to go right. It looks like they weren't from the expression on Eddie's face.
" He's really is something, Steve" the girl says as she looks Eddie's way. Eddie avert his gaze feeling out of place. " isn't she pretty?" Steve asks. Eddie shrugs off Steve's hand on his shoulder.
" Harrington, thanks. But no, thanks" he says as he simply offered the girl a sympathetic smile as he made his way out of the house. He felt really wrong being there.
He didn't need a girlfriend. He had one already. You.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Eddie and you have been together since freshman year in high school. You stood out from everyone else, as soon as his eyes spotted you walking into the cafeteria, he dropped his pretzels as he hurried to introduce himself.
He ended up crashing into you instead, apologizing with a hint of red on his cheeks as he looked anywhere else but you.
" My name is Eddie" he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
" I know, my name is Y/N" you tell him. You had already shared a couple of classes with him. He always sat in the back, doodling in his notebook. His heart swelled up when you knew who he was already. The rest was history. The two of you went on dates, not really telling people that you were dating each other. It was you and him. That all that matters.
Your mom had tried to set you up with a couple of boy's mom she knew around town but you weren't interested. You were in love with your boyfriend. The metal head had stolen your heart at first glance.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
You were restocking some albums that had came in when the door opened and a head of brown curls and the dimple smile that you loved walked through the door.
" Hey Eds" you greeted him. You had graduated high school and working at the record store to save up when Eddie graduates to have a place of your own.
" Hey, sweetheart" he greets you, making his way over to you and wraps his arms behind. He placed his head on your shoulder as he watches you. " My girl is working hard" he says, kissing your clothed shoulder.
" Always, really can't wait till you graduate babe and we can move into our own place" he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. He places a small kiss there causing you to giggle.
His favorite sound.
" Me neither, can't wait to have you wake up next to me every day. Come home to you and get all the kisses in the world"
" You already get all the kisses in the world" he turns you around his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling at him.
" I" he pecks your lips " can" he kisses you again, " never" he places another peck on your lips, " get" he kisses you again, " enough," he pecks your lips again, " kisses."
He kisses you passionately, one hand going into your hair while the other holds your hips. Your hands rest on his chest as you kiss him back.
You pull away breathless, " as much as I would love to keep kissing you, baby. I need to get back work, some of us have jobs"
He rolls his eyes.
" When do you get off?" he asks.
You hummed looking at the time, " In four hours."
He groans, throwing his head back. " It's too long"
" You'll be okay Eds, it's only a few hours" he leans in to nuzzle his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.
" I'll miss you"
" I'll miss you too" he pulls away with a pout. " Eds, I need to work"
" Fine, I'll go but one more kiss?" he puckers his lips. You lean over to kiss him.
He was too cute.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Steve parks the car in front of the movies, Robin is in the passenger seat, Dustin is in the back with Lucas and Mike. Argyle parks his next to Steve's with Will, Nancy and Jonathan in the back.
They already see Eddie's van parked a few spaces down.
What their eyes couldn't believe was when they got out of the cars and made their way to the entrance, there stood Eddie with his arms wrapped around a girl. A girl.
Not just any girl. It was you.
" Y/N!?" Dustin asked in disbelief. You pulled away from Eddie's arm and looked over at him. " Dustin?" you asked, shocked to see him.
" What are you doing here?" you asked.
" What are you doing here?' he asked.
" Seeing a movie with my boyfriend and his friends"
" You're dating Eddie?" Mike asks.
" Hi Mike" you waved, " you out grew the hair. Nice" you motion to it.
" Thanks" he says.
" I can't believe your dating Y/N. She was my old babysitter"
" So this is the cool girl you kept telling me about, I already knew my girl was the coolest" Eddie says as he wraps his arms around you and kisses your cheek.
Your cheeks flushed red, " We didn't know Eddie knew what a girl even is" Steve says.
" Very funny, Harrington"
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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago
Text
Friends To Arranged Marriage To...Wait, How Many Kids?
Bruce Wayne x Reader One-Shot
Word Count: 3K Warnings: Explicit Language
Author's Note: Y'all ever write a self-indulgent Friends To Lovers fic? 'Cause that's what this is. Enjoy! -Thorne
It wasn’t unusual for her to suddenly appear in his office. She did it most days. Okay, it was more like every day but that’s not important. The fact is, she showed up and he wasn’t at all the least bit surprised when she barged through the office door and slammed it behind her.
“Morning,” he murmured, taking his eyes off the screen but a moment to lock them with hers.
“Good morning, Bruce,” she responded with a polite smile. “We need to talk.”
That wasn’t unusual either. When she came to the office it was because she wanted to either complain about something going on or because she was bored and didn’t have anything to do, so badgering her best friend seemed like the best option. It wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“What do we need to talk about?” Bruce questioned, clicking at the mouse until his screen loaded.
“Something important. Something especially important.” She replied and with one hand reached behind her and flipped the lock on his door.
Now that was unusual. And Bruce saw this going one of two ways and he hoped it wasn’t the first way that involved her pulling a gun.
“Okay,” he said and watched her out of the corner of his eye as waltzed around his desk and perched herself on the corner. “Am I in trouble, (Y/N)?”
“If you disagree with me, you will be,” she retorted and she started fumbling in her tote.
“You sound serious,” Bruce noted.
(Y/N) harrumphed. “I am quite possibly the most serious I’ve been in years.” She pulled out three manila folders and handed them to him, watching as he opened the first and started reading through it.
He didn’t say anything as he opened the others and read them but frowned when he set them aside and went back to his computer.
“I’ve already planned on a new secretary, (Y/N).”
She watched him with careful eyes and explained, “Those aren’t secretary files, Bruce. They’re marriage candidates.”
At that, his entire body went rigid and ever so slowly he drew his gaze from the screen back to her, staring her straight in the eyes.
“I…beg your pardon?” he asked as if not understanding what she’d just said.
(Y/N) rolled her eyes and picked up the files. “Each of these women are successful elites from either Metropolis, Star, or Central City. You have arranged marriage meetings with them Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday to decide which one you want to marry.”
This was happening way too fast, and he still didn’t know what “this” was.
“I’m not opposed to marriage, (Y/N), but why?”
She pointed to the picture on his desk, and he briefly glanced at it. Him, Dick, and Alfred on Christmas morning last year.
“Dick needs a mother.” She was never one to mince her words. “A father can raise a son, but the boy needs a mother’s love too, Bruce.”
“I think you’re a bit out of line here.” He remarked, brows pulling together. “We’re fine at the manor.”
“Bruce…please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not a soft man. You’re hard edges and firmness, and while that isn’t a bad thing, Dick needs a mother who can be the parent that isn’t firm. He needs a mother’s guiding hand.”
She handed him the files again. “I’ve met each of these women. They’re good women who will make wonderful wives and even better mothers.” She stared at him. “You should know how important it is for a boy to have a mother.”
Bruce was on his feet in an instant, in front of her, eyes narrowed into a glare as he bit out, “(Y/N), now you’re out of line.”
“Really?” she challenged, not at all threatened by his towering figure. “Look my in the eye and tell me which parent you miss more. Thomas…or Martha?”
“I miss both of my parents. Every day.”
“And I don’t doubt that. But I know you miss Martha the most. Isn’t she the one you promised to save Gotham for?” (Y/N) questioned and his mouth snapped shut, jaw clenching tightly as he averted his eyes because he knew she was right.
She reached out and rested a hand on his forearm, forcing his eyes to hers once more; her gaze softened and she murmured, “You miss your mother more than the world, Bruce. How do you think Dick feels every night when he goes to sleep? Fathers are the protectors for their children, but mothers are the comforters—there are going to be things that you can’t help him with, but a woman can.”
(Y/N) gazed at him and pulled her hand away. “At least go and meet them,” she requested and when he didn’t say anything, she sighed and picked up her tote, making her way to the door.
She flipped the lock and paused, glancing over her shoulder to say, “At least think about what I’ve said, Bruce. For Dick…and for you.” He met her eyes and she added, “I think getting married would be good for you too.”
He nodded, and since that was all they could hope for, she left the office and Bruce collapsed into his chair, turning around to stare out the window.
***
His theory that she would show up Friday evening proved true when she waltzed into his office and took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, delicately crossing one of her legs over the other.
“How’d the interviews go?” she asked, not even bothering to ask him how his day was or how his week had been.
“My day was great, (Y/N), thanks for asking,” he mocked with a glare and she waved it off.
“Interviews, Bruce. How’d they go.”
He let out a sigh. “They went well. Each of them was polite and kind.”
“And?” (Y/N) gestured for him to continue.
“And nothing. That’s it.”
She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Seriously? You just met them for a singular purpose and all you’ve got it, they’re polite and kind?” She glared at him. “What’d you talk about?”
Bruce sighed again and reclined in his office chair. “Humanitarian works, college days, high society—you know, the usual.”
(Y/N) gave him an unamused look. “Did any ask for a second date?”
“All of them in fact.”
“Did you agree?”
“No.”
Her head lolled back, and she glared at the ceiling. “Did you even think about what I talked about a few days ago?”
“I still am.”
“Then why didn’t you agree to see one of them again?”
“Because there wasn’t anything we had in common.”
“Most people who have arranged marriages don’t, Bruce. That’s why you go on dates and get to know them.” Her eyes were still on the ceiling. “What’s the real reason you said no?” She always knew when he’d lied to her.
After a moment, he murmured, “…I didn’t think any of them would be suitable to be Dick’s adoptive mother.”
“I guess that’s…fair,” she agreed and they both fell silent.
A couple minutes later, he said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said though, (Y/N). About finding a wife who would be a good mother for Dick.”
“Uh huh.”
“I think you’re right. I do offer Dick everything a father could. Support, protection, guidance…but he is missing that love only a mother can give a son.”
“And how’s that making you feel?” she questioned softly.
His voice got quiet. “Like how I was when I was growing up without mother. (Y/N), I…I don’t want Dick to feel that way.”
At that, she drew her gaze from the ceiling to his eyes and she reasoned, “Then I think you should call one of the girls back and agree to a second date. You won’t find perfection in one day, even with how intuitive you are.”
Bruce shrugged. “I just want to find someone closer to Gotham. Someone who is familiar with us already.”
(Y/N) grunted. “I purposely moved away from Gotham because no one is.”
“That’s fair,” Bruce chuckled, and they fell into a silence again.
Suddenly, a thought flashed across her mind and she sat up. “Us.” She blurted out and he looked at her.
“What?”
(Y/N) gestured between them. “Us, Bruce. You and me.”
“I don’t follow,” he replied with a confused expression and she huffed, rolling her eyes.
“You’re an idiot,” she griped, then she stood and planted her hands on his desk, leaning over to get in his face. “You and I are the closest to Gotham as you’ll get, and I’m familiar with you and Dick.” She smiled. “Marry me.”
She could count on one hand how many times she’d ever stunned her best friend silent and that was number two because his jaw went slack and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, steel blue eyes wide.
(Y/N) frowned. “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind at least once.” Silence. “Oh my God, are you serious? You didn’t even think about it at all? Like ever?”
He shook his head, mouth still hanging open.
“Oh, for God’s sakes, close your mouth and wipe that stupid look off your face. It’s not a completely inconceivable idea, you moron.” (Y/N) held a hand up, counting off her fingers, “I’m of acceptable status, I dress well, I’m thoroughly educated, I do humanitarian work all over the world, I love your son, and I’m probably the one woman that doesn’t make you wanna stab yourself in the eye with a fork.”
She grinned at him. “You’re not going to find anyone better than me here in Gotham, Brucie-boy. Besides, I think (Y/N) Wayne has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Finally, he managed to make himself speak and he blurted out, “I stopped thinking like five minutes ago. I’m not even sure how to do that anymore.”
(Y/N) pulled a face and griped, “You’re an idiot.”
“I am not,” he retorted with a glare. “You can’t just propose to your best friend out of the blue and expect them to function like it’s normal!”
“You’re Batman,” she whispered. “Figure it out.” (Y/N) pointed at him. “There’s another plus on my side! I already know your deepest secrets! See, aren’t I a catch?”
“Was this your plan all along?” Bruce suddenly questioned and she gaped at him for a second before shaking her head.
“…No.”
“(Y/N),” he drawled, and she sighed.
“Alright, it crossed my mind a couple times but that’s why I started with the other women first. I was kinda hoping you’d pick one of them.” (Y/N) looked at him. “I really don’t see anything wrong with us getting married though. We’ve been friends since we were babies, we have a lot of the same interests, and we both care for Dick.”
She shrugged. “I mean we might not be in love, but our marriage doesn’t have to be. We’re stepping up for a greater good. For a young boy who deserves to have two parents.” (Y/N) reached out and held out her hand. “So? What do you say?”
Bruce gazed at her for a long time, longer than she was comfortable with because she knew he was mentally pulling her mind apart. After a few moments he stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of her.
She pulled her hand back in and gave a curious look. “Bruce?” His hands gently took hold of her cheeks and he leaned forward, even as her eyes went wide and she whispered, “Bruce, what—”
He softly brushed his lips against hers and (Y/N) all but melted against him, her hands pressed flat against his chest. They pulled away a moment later and he rested his forehead to hers.
“I think we can make it work, (Y/N).”
She couldn’t fight the giddy smile that came over her face. “Yeah?”
Bruce matched her smile. “Yeah.”
***
“So, you’re tellin’ me,” he started dubiously, looking at him. “That you and Ma only got together because you guys wanted to make sure Golden-boy had two parents instead of just you?”
Bruce didn’t even take his eyes off the screen as he responded absentmindedly, “That pretty much covers it.”
Jason threw his hands in the air. “There’s no way! There’s no way that shit was arranged! You two make googly eyes at one another when you think no one is watching and you kiss Ma before you go to work every day!” he looked at his brothers. “Y’all know what I’m sayin’ right?”
Tim nodded. “Jay’s got a point, dad. For an arranged marriage, the two of you are really in love.”
Dick placed a hand over his heart and smugly admitted, “You’re welcome everyone, for bringing mom and dad together in real love.”
A chorus of “Fuck you’s” echoed from Jason and Tim, and Damian placed his hands on his hips.
“When did you know you loved Umi, Father?”
Finally, he pulled his gaze from the Batcomputer, and even behind his cowl, they could see the love he had in his eyes and in his voice as he said, “Your mother and I dated for a year before we married, but the night of our wedding, we spent it at the manor and Dick crawled into our bed and spent the night wrapped in our arms.”
Bruce smiled. “I woke up early that morning and saw him curled in (Y/N)’s arms and all I could think was that I’d never loved a woman more than that moment then.” His eyes shifted to all of his sons. “And I’ve only fallen deeper in love with her with each of you that’s come into our home. You make us better parents every day and I wouldn’t change what I was given for anything in the world.”
He barely had time to breathe before all four of his sons were crashing into him, squeezing him as tears spilled down their cheeks.
Bruce huffed a quiet laugh and took a moment to brush a hand through each of his sons’ hair. “I love you, boys.”
A chorus of “I love you too’s” came back at him and before anyone could speak, they heard someone coo, “Aww, that’s so sweet!”
They spun around to see (Y/N) with her phone out, a mile-wide smile on her face, eyes shining with tears.
“Ma…what are you doing?” Jason questioned and she clicked something on her phone.
“Oh, nothing, my sweet boy,” she smiled, and all of her sons started pulling away from Bruce.
“Did you just record that?” Tim asked and she took a step back.
“I would never!” and she stared them down for a split second before spinning on her heel and hauling off towards the stairs. Her sons sprinted after her and she let out a squeal as she skipped the steps two at a time to get away from them.
“Ma come back here!” Jason shouted.
“Umi! Our dignity is on that phone!”
“I dunno, I think it’s sweet!”
“It’s not going to be sweet when she sends it to the group chat that every superhero is in, Dick! We have reputations!”
“Oh…that’s a good point, Tim. Mom! Come back here!”
(Y/N) gasped as someone’s arms wrapped around her waist and she came face to face with Bruce—well, Batman, and she yelped when he pulled her phone out of her pocket.
“Bruuuuuuce!” she whined. “Please don’t delete it!” (Y/N) reached for the phone and he held it out of reach. “Darling, my sweet darling, Bruce, please,” she plead. “If you love your wife and mother of your children, you won’t do that.”
His gaze darted to hers and she pouted, sticking her bottom lip out in the way that she knew he’d crack. “Please, my heart. Let me have a reminder of my beautiful boys.”
“You won’t send it to the chats?” he asked, and she crossed a finger over her heart.
“Cross my heart, darling.” He handed her back the phone and she smiled, leaning up to peck the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Bruce.”
He cupped her cheek with his gloved hand, thumb brushing over her cheekbone and he pulled her into a real kiss, ignoring the exaggerated gags behind him.
“I love you,” he murmured as he pulled away from her lips. “More than you know.”
(Y/N) hummed, her eyes still closed, and she whispered, “You might love me more, but I love you most.” She opened her eyes and gazed at him. “All my boys.”
Suddenly, her phone started dinging like crazy and he stared at her, his Batman voice coming out as he surmised, “You sent it to the chat, didn’t you?”
She gave him an innocent smile and giggled, “I might’ve.”
“You’re going to pay for all the teasing that Hal and Barry are going to give me, (Y/N) Wayne,” he warned, and she scoffed.
“Oh, boo hoo, I’m so scared of what the big bad Bat is go—” a gasp escaped her when he hauled her up against his body and she stared at him with wide eyes.
A siren went off down in the cave and he looked towards the boys. “Go.” They all hurried off, complaining about the various texts they were all getting.
Bruce looked back at her, voice lowering as he growled, “After patrol I’m coming up to the bedroom and you’d better be ready, because I’m not going to stop ravishing you until you’re begging me for release.”
Something hot, tight, and fierce shot through (Y/N)’s gut and she could only flounder like a fish as he pulled her into another searing kiss before he spun on his heel and descended into the cave.
She gathered herself and called out after him, “You can’t just say something like that and then leave! That’s not fair, Bruce! Bruce, are you listening to me!”
Only his laughter echoed from below.
“Bruce!”
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charnelhouse · 3 years ago
Note
is it just me or does santi give off sexy vampire vibes?? thinking about it is fueling my vamp/blood kink LMAO
i know ur busy with watch your step, but could i trouble you for a few words of vampire!santi?? in the spirit of halloween??
(if not it’s totally ok <3)
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A/N: Vampire!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader. Blood. Gore. Werewolf hate. Blood kink. Hair-fisting. Smut. Idk why I’m using this gif - felt like a vibe.
He doesn’t expect it to be you. He doesn’t want it to be. Not really.
You work for him. His assistant in his business affairs - emphasis on business. You’re not his Renfield - his pet. You’re not the one who does the dirty work because he has others for that.
Still - it’s you who stumbles into his office when he’s trying to patch himself up. He’d gotten injured - grievously. He’d underestimated that fucking dog and the beast had managed to rake its claws though his stomach. He’d lost his shirt somewhere. His guts were hanging out - limp and cold in his hands as he dragged himself to the fridge at the corner of his office. Dark blood oozed down his groin - his pants - staining his rug.
Five-hundred years and he was still a stubborn fuck. He had needed to have the last word and yes he’d broken that dog’s neck, but at what cost? He was surely going to lose consciousness if he didn’t find blood and fast.
So it is by luck that you appear - folders stacked in your hands and that stupidly short skirt floating mid-thigh. It is by the Grace of God - if he actually still believed in that. Santiago had only assumed his existence in his earlier years - when he’d tipped his face up and caught the cream of the stars burning against the violet silk of night. Before buildings - before pollution - before city lights had obstructed the weight of pure evening - twilight - the galaxy. He’d been a boy then. He’d worked with his hands as a blacksmith and he had never truly lost the taste of dirt in his mouth. The heat from a kiln at his back.
Fuck he was becoming nostalgic - morose. He was certainly dying...again.
“Oh my god,” you whisper as you rush toward him - the papers flying - floating like shot birds to the floor.
“Not god,” he mumbles as he slumps against the side of his desk. His head is unbearably heavy. He doesn’t know why he needs to drive this point home. He thinks maybe he really never got over losing that faith. He meets darkness.
***
When he comes to, he smells honey. It’s blood and it swims toward him - makes his teeth itch and his body shake. He doesn’t really think as he opens his mouth - his vision blurring and opaque.
Drink he hears. Drink.
His fangs slide forward and then he’s lunging - sinking his teeth into hot, giving flesh. Someone is holding onto him because he feels small fingers dig into the nape of his neck - fist into his curls. He is suddenly very aware of soft curves against his chest. He unconsciously wraps his arms around the figure - his ears catching the hummingbird pump of their heart. The blood is sweet - electrifying - it rushes through his system. He feels his belly begin to ache as it heals itself - as the tears through his tissue begin to bind millimeter by millimeter.
Someone whimpers and it’s the person in his arms and the haze of hunger has faded enough that he finally can see who he is feasting on. You.
Bright and solid beneath him. He can smell and hear everything - the sweat collecting at your hairline - the blood draining from you - the clench of your cunt and the slick pooling between your legs. Bites are not always sexual - it can depend on the person. This is beyond that. Santi is hard and you’re soaked and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to hold back. He releases your throat - his fangs receding in order to pull away from you.
“No,” you moan. “Don’t stop.”
He stares at you, open-mouthed, fucking more aroused than he’s been in years. Your sugar blood is drenching his veins and giving him strength. You’re on your back - legs spread and he can see the damp fabric of your panties beneath your black skirt.
He closes his eyes - clenching his teeth. “I can’t - can’t control myself. You should go.”
You reach for him and he has already forgotten what he said - what he had hoped you wouldn’t do because he cannot refuse you. Instead - he crawls toward you - wedging himself between your parted knees. He grasps the hinge of your jaw and tugs you up so he can kiss you.
It’s a dirty kiss. Clumsy and frantic and near-feral.
He groans into your mouth. He tastes your spit - your blood as his fangs dance across the pillow of your lower lip. You gasp - open wider and his tongue drags over yours - his fingers curling into your hair as he wrenches your head closer.
“It’s okay,” you slur - gripping his naked shoulders. “It’s okay, Santi.”
You’re so warm against him - so utterly molten that it burns him. He can feel the slick press of your cunt against the crotch of his pants. He laves his tongue all over - licking at the puncture wounds at your throat before he slips down your body and suckles the tip of your breast - massaging the soft, yielding flesh as you buck into him.
He rucks his pants to his knees as you sing yes yes yes please.
He guides his cock into you - there is a blunt snag at your entrance before he draws back and punches forward in one, long drive to the hilt. You squeeze him - the fist-tight heat of your cunt like a balm to the ice that obstructs him. He cannot touch life - he cannot feel it like he once had, but here with you spread and bare beneath him - he senses it - tangles with it - waltzes with it.
“Oh - love,” he murmurs as he fucks you slow - taking his time to savor every contraction - every push of liquid from your giving core. Each spear of his length shoves you up the carpet and he rearranges his grip beneath your knees so that he can hook your thighs higher over his waist.
You’re a mess - weak from blood loss, but you still manage to lift your hips for him - allowing him to thrust deeper -bottoming out. It is too the point where he is scraping every piece and part of you. You rock into him as your breath hitches - your eyes rolling back.
He is not done though. He withdraws from you and it makes you sob - makes you reach for him again like some wild thing. He hushes you - pressing his red-smeared lips to the pads of your fingers. He plants his hands beneath your ass - grabbing fistfuls of soft fat and muscle to yank you closer. He drops his head - dives right into where you are gaping from the thickness of his cock - wet and unsatisfied. He licks and kisses and then he pushes his tongue inside you before suctioning his mouth. He nips and pulls at the bead at the apex of your sex. He touches you - fucks you open on three of his fingers - tells you how sweet and warm you are - how fucking alive. He admires the heave of your breasts - the vein in your throat that jerks and pumps - each one of your labored breaths. He continues to use his fingers and then turns his hand enough so that his thumb nudges over your clit. He rubs it in earnest and you shake, your legs spread wide before he sinks his fangs into the tenderest part of your thigh. He bites right by your cunt. He can smell your cum - your sweat and blood as he suckles. You arch - go rigid - your tight walls clamping down around his knuckles as he continues to drink from you - taste you through the brunt of your climax. It sets him off - makes him grind himself roughly into the floor where he spurts. His seed long dead, but seed nonetheless.
You blink up at him and for a moment he thinks he may have gone too far - shoved you too close to the edge before dragging you back. You sit up - fingers spasming and your eyes half mast. He leans forward out of instinct and you cradle his cheek, pulling him to your mouth to taste your own blood.
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doctorstethoscope · 4 years ago
Text
Fighting Crime || A. Hotchner & Reader
Back at it again with another one shot for @ssahotchswife ‘s soft Hotch Saturday! No smut this week sorry folks. 
Warnings: alcohol consumption, canon-typical mentions of kidnapping/violence, pregnancy, suggestive content
Word count: 1.7k
You finished your paperwork first, which wasn’t unusual. Gathering up your files, you trekked up the steps and knocked twice on the door to Aaron’s office before letting yourself in. 
“This is done,” you said, extending the folder towards him. “And luckily for you, I left out the logs of what exactly occurred in my hotel room between the hours of 12:38AM and--” 
“Trust me, my memory is plenty fresh on that.” He smirked up at you. 
“JJ and Penelope have called for a celebration of our heroism at the bar tonight,” you informed Aaron, who peeked over your shoulder at the clock hanging on his office wall. It was 4pm.  “We can have a couple drinks and still get Jack for dinner. It’ll be good to have some non-work related adult time.” You told him, 
“I think that if you refer to the log of what happened in your hotel room at 12:38AM, you’ll find my preferred non work related adult---”
“Aaron!” You cut him off with a laugh, and your smile seemed to relieve some of the tension in  his jaw.
“You go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll see what I can do here. Either way, I’ll come pick you up and we can get Jack together.” 
“Okay boss,” you smiled, leaving his office to go check on Spencer, who usually finished around the same time as you. 
“I’m going to be a little while longer,” he sighs. “Why don’t you go to the bar and grab our booth?” He suggested, and you took his advice. 
It had been a long case, but a successful one-- the unsub confessed, and none of the hostages were hurt, so it was one worth celebrating for sure. You walked over to the team’s normal spot, enjoying the warmth of the DC sun on your face. Jimmy, the bartender, spots you as soon as you make your way into the bar. 
“Hey, princess!” He calls out to you with a smile.
“Hi Jimmy,” you greet him as you slide into a barstool 
“What are you doing here all by yourself?” He asks as he slides you your usual-- a vodka tonic with lime.
“I’m just getting a headstart. The rest of the team will be here soon, so I’m going to grab our booth before it gets crowded.” You explain to him.
“Okay doll, I’ll be by to check on you in a little bit.”
True to his word, Jimmy swung by with another vodka tonic about fifteen minutes later, and JJ walked in shortly afterwards. 
“Damn, you beat boy genius!” You congratulated her.
“I know, it has to be a new personal best,” she agrees with a laugh as Jimmy reappears, placing two shots on the table for you both. 
“Cheers to a successful case” you smiled, extending your shot glass in her direction. She bit her lip. 
“Oh, I’m not drinking tonight, actually,” she tells you.
“You’re pregnant!” You exclaimed, downing your shot. 
“How did you know?” She asked, laughing as she passes you her shot.
“Well, I didn’t, but it was a good guess.” 
“I’m not really ready to tell the whole team yet.” She tells you shyly, and you’re quick to reassure her. 
“Of course, Jayje. They won’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you. Now take that, because they’re coming and they need to think I drank it.” She says, gesturing to her shot. You downed it quickly before the rest of the team could make it to the table. 
“Ladies, ladies, you started without me?” Derek grinned as he slid into the booth next to JJ. 
You were pleasantly surprised to see Aaron slip in next to you. You took his hand and squeezed it in your own before kissing the back of it. “I thought for sure you’d be holed up in your office to avoid this,” you confessed. 
“Yeah, well, my girlfriend is a cute drunk,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek and taking advantage of the proximity to whisper, “and I caught you drinking for two.”
You and Aaron were coming up on a year of dating, and had told the team a few months back. There was a novelty to being a couple in front of the people you loved most, somehow even more exciting than the sneaking around them, that hadn’t worn off yet. Aaron wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you put a hand on his thigh as Spencer and Emily went to get another round of drinks. 
“No one knows yet,” You whispered back to Aaron, but you knew he would keep JJ’s secret. He was good like that.
You attempt to keep up with the flow of conversation, but between the cocktails and the shots, you’re beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, particularly on your empty stomach. Emily and Spencer return and pass you another vodka tonic, and you make a silent determination to nurse this one more slowly. You tilt your chin up towards Aaron, who is listening to Penelope tell Spencer about the new frozen yogurt place that opened up by her apartment.
“You okay?” He asked, lowly, so no one else would hear. 
“Yeah,” you smiled back up at him.
“You’re drunk.” He states, chuckling at you.
“Noooo,” you argued, drunkenly. Luckily, Derek saves you from yourself. 
“Hotchner, you can’t monopolize her just because she’s your girl now. We all remember who took care of her when she first got here.” He teases Aaron, and you laugh. It was true. Aaron had been hard on you at the beginning, but Morgan took you under his wing. He took good care of you. “Come on pretty thing, we’re dancing.” Derek extends his hand towards you, and you see Emily and Penelope waiting for you as well. 
You sat up, untangling yourself from Aaron before giving him a quick peck, grabbing your drink, and practically racing the three of them to the dance floor. It felt like college, in all the best ways. The job was so stressful, and you didn’t let yourself get away from it nearly enough. Throwing your arms up in the air with Emily, letting Morgan catch you when you stumbled, and laughing with Garcia as she brought you another shot of who-knows-what, it felt like the Friday night after you turned in a term paper. Total bliss, fuck the consequences. 
“Guys, we have a case. It’s urgent, and it’s bad.” JJ came to pull you all off of the dance floor. 
Well, so much for fuck the consequences. You put a hand on Morgan’s wrist, a silent sign for him to support you-- you weren’t even sure if you could make it back to the office without stumbling. He placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you out of the bar, where the team was waiting in the street. You reached for Aaron and linked your arm with his. Even with his support, you stumbled at the brisk pace and the uneven ground of the cobblestones downtown.
“You can’t work like this,” he said once you were back in the elevator at Quantico. He wasn’t judging you or being mean-- but as both your supervisor and your boyfriend, he was concerned. “Maybe Jess can swing by and take you home, you can read Jack his bedtime story and sleep some of this off--” He said, as you all stepped out of the elevator and back into the office.
“Noo, Aaron!” You whined. “I want to fight crime!” You protested, pouting. If there was any doubt that you were drunk before, it was gone now. You heard Emily stifle a laugh from somewhere behind you. 
“Hotch, you’re going to send her home just to have her take a nap to sober up and then meet us out there? That doesn’t make any sense,” Morgan argues, but there’s no bite behind it. 
“Yeah, plus you need me to help you fight crime,” You add helpfully as Aaron directed you to your desk and all but placed you in your chair. 
“It’s a four hour flight. She can sleep on the plane,” JJ suggests as she brings you a cup of coffee, which you sip on gratefully. 
You could tell, even in your drunken state, that Aaron was torn, and you felt bad. As your supervisor, he knew he should send you home. As your boyfriend, he would certainly feel better if you were nearby, not to mention the fact that leaving you here meant you’d have to fly commercial to Montana the next morning, not on the safety of the team’s jet. He took a deep breath before making a determination. 
“You are going to eat something now, when we brief, and then you are going to sleep on the plane. You will not go into the field or to the crime scene until I say so. You will go straight to the police precinct, talk to no one, and start on the geographic profile with Reid. Is that clear?” 
“Yes sir,” you squeaked out, and the team erupted in giggles.
“Good girl,” he whispered for only you to hear.
45 minutes later, you had all but inhaled the fast food that Reid had brought you, and you were following Aaron out to the jet. You were the first ones on, and Aaron led you over to the couch, foregoing his normal spot for one where you’d be more comfortable sleeping. He pulled your favorite throw blanket out of your go-bag and covered you up, your head in his lap and your legs splayed out over the other end of the couch, 
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, and he pushed a stray piece of hair out of your face.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he tells you. “You didn’t know we would be called on another case.” 
“I know. That didn’t make it any easier on you, though.” 
“You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” he’s quick to correct you. 
“Says the man who’s letting me sleep my drunkenness off on an FBI jet so that he doesn’t have to let me out of his sight,” you teased him.
“Well, you wanted to fight crime so badly. How could I say no?” He smiled down at you. 
“I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. Get some sleep.”
412 notes · View notes
taeescript · 4 years ago
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29+1 (Part One)
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𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother. 
𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard) 
𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)
𝔴𝔠: 3.6k
𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?). 
𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts.  𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive. 
part two
Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something. 
In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?
So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.
“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down. 
You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say). 
“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?” 
An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects. 
“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.
“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.
The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made. 
“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”
Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.
Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”
Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.
“Enough about me, however, how about you?”
“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”
You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.  
“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.
And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…
“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”
Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.
“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”
“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”
You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”
“What are you doing there?”
Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”
“Or sleeping!” someone quips.
You don’t join in when they all laugh.
“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.
A hushed silence befalls everyone.
“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”
His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”
Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.
She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”
Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.
Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.
Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.
Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.
“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.
And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.
The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.
He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.  
“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”  
                                                            - Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.
Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.
He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”
The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.
“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”
Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.
He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.
“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.
You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.
“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”
He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.
Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.
Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.
“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.  
The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.
Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.
“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”
Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.
“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”
You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.
“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.
Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”
You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.
Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.
A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.
“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.
As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.
“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.
Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.
“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”
“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”
“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.
“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”
“God, don’t remind me.”
“Want me to come visit you?”
You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.
“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”
“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”
There is a pause.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”
You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”
“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”
“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”
Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”
He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.
The child is crying much louder now.
“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”
There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”
“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.
With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.
Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.
He knew he had given you an impossible task.
“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”
There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.
The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.
“Mr. Kim.”
His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.
Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.
“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”
Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.
“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.
His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”
So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.
“Sir?”
“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.
Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”
“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”
“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”
“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.
“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”
There is no response.
“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”
“Ah,” she says.
He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”
There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.
“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.
Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.
“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”
Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”
“Two.”
“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”
This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.
“What?”
“Put your name on Google.”
Seokjin does as he is told.
There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.
“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”
A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.
289 notes · View notes
fandomlit · 4 years ago
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secretive (shane madej x reader)
requested by anon “Could you do a Shane Madej x reader where he thinks the reader is cheating on him with Ryan. Like they whisper things to eachother and stop when Shane enters the room, they text all the time and hang out without Shane a lot. He ends up snapping at the reader about it but it turns out they were actually planning a suprise for him.”
summary shane madej has never been an insecure guy. but when it comes to you, that side can come out to play.
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gif cred belongs to @ryanbergara​
shane was rarely insecure. he had learned to become proud of who he is, lanky limbs and all. but of course, there was the occasional slip up--especially when it came to you.
when shane first met you, he was smitten. your dorky personality, stunning beauty, and unrelenting kindness drew him into you instantly, and he chased that feeling to the ends of the earth. and now, almost a year and a half into your relationship, he could honestly say that he has never been happier.
but of course, those pesky insecurities come out to play sometimes.
shane had volunteered to do coffee run that morning before filming unsolved. when he came back to the office where he had left you both, he saw you two sitting unbearably close at the desk, talking and smiling and ignoring everyone else in the room setting up for the shoot.
trying his best to brush it off, he entered the office and gave you both a smile. “caffeine time?”
you leaned away from ryan, clapping excitedly. “caffeine time!”
he gave a wide grin at your cheeriness and grabby hands, handing you the order he had memorized on your first date. 
you stood up from the desk and giggled, “you can have your seat back. i gotta get back to work.”
“alright, have fun,” shane smiled. you gave him a quick kiss before skipping off to your workplace. after shane settled in his seat with his coffee, he said to ryan as casually as he could, “what were the whispers about?”
ryan gave him an entirely unconvincing confused look. “what whispers?”
“between you and y/n,” shane explained, motioning to the door you had just exited through.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” ryan said, shaking his head at shane. before shane could press any further, you came back into the office.
“sorry,” you giggled. “forgot my phone.” you snatched off of the small table and then pointed to ryan with a serious expression. “text me, bergara.” and then you left, just as quickly as you had come.
ryan looked up from his prepared manila folder to the camera crew, not daring to glance at the unintentionally glaring shane, and spoke, “are we ready to roll?”
..
“who are you texting?” shane teased when he entered the living room to see you curled up, smiling at your phone.
“just ryan,” you shrugged. that didn’t sit right with shane.
“you two seem awfully close lately,” shane tried to comment nonchalantly. but if he implicated that anything was wrong in his tone, you didn’t notice. you just giggled as your phone buzzed with another text. shane took a sip of his tea with a frown.
after a while of smiling at your phone, you moved over to cuddle with shane as he watched a show on netflix.
you placed a kiss on his cheek as you draped yourself over him. “i love you.”
that did lighten his heart a bit. “i love you, too.”
..
ryan and shane got lunch together many days of the week. then he would come back to the office, pay you a visit in yours, and get back to work. but today, ryan had a different idea in mind.
“why don’t we eat with y/n today?” the shorter man proposed. that unsettled shane a bit. supernatural beings were nothing to him, but a guy taking invested interest in his girl friend as of late? that rattled him.
shane excused, “she’s usually busy during our lunch.. but we can check.” he shrugged. “no harm in that.” and though his thoughts betrayed his words, he led the way to your office.
you were on the phone when shane peeked in. you waved him in as you spoke, “it’s alright, lea.” you tapped your pencil against your desk as the boys filtered in. “yeah, just send it and we can edit and complete. it’s no problem. just relax and enjoy a day off, girl. of course. see you.” you hung up and gave the boys a smile.
“what was that about?” shane asked, coming closer to your desk to give you a quick kiss.
“was that the girl who hasn’t shown up for the past few days?” ryan asked, taking the seat across from your desk.
“yes,” you groaned. “im trying to be patient with her, she’s using some sick days so i can’t really get on her, but did she have to take off in the middle of this project?” you let out a huff.
shane was slightly bothered that ryan knew more about this than he did. but instead, he asked, “would it comfort you at all if we had lunch with you today? or is this girl taking up your schedule?”
you grasped his hand in yours. “please have lunch with me.” you reached out your hand to ryan, who laughed as he took it. you squeezed both of their hands, though shane’s lips were now tightly pursed. “this morning has been insane.”
“we got you,” ryan nodded with a grin that you returned sweetly. when you looked up at shane, he quickly changed his expression into a grin. he felt his jealousy rising second by second during the entire lunch.
..
shane had just walked into the breakroom to see you and ryan laughing as you poured yourself a cup of tea. “that’s actually not a bad idea, bergara. where’d you come up with that one?”
“i’ve got so much in this noggin, you don’t even know, l/n,” ryan responded easily, making you laugh again. shane still hadn’t been noticed, but he felt as if his heart was beating so loud that he surely would be.
“but yeah, shane stays late every thursday,” you continued, “so if you came over right after work, we should be able to get it all done and shane wouldn’t even know!”
“im a genius,” ryan praised.
“that you are,” you agreed, holding your cup out. he clinked his water bottle against it and you both turned to the door. shane was long gone.
..
you had stayed a little bit late that day, and so shane was stuck pacing your shared apartment as he awaited your arrival home, thinking of what to say.
his blood boiled as he thought of the implications of the past couple of weeks. you and ryan were definitely planning something. and with how close you two were lately, it was probably something that shane, your boyfriend, would not care for at all. and if his thoughts were right, then had this happened before? is he only noticing this now? he couldn’t even begin with what he needed to say to you.
you were the most important thing to him. from the moment he met you, he knew he had to be with you. and now that you could be cheating on him with his best friend? his heart was pumping and aching in his chest, and he didn’t know whether to be angry or sad.
when you opened the door, his head immediately shot up. “hey,” you smiled. after you closed the door behind you and took in his frantic state, you asked, “something wrong?”
“we gotta talk,” was all he could manage as he shook his head.
you furrowed your brow as you slipped off your jacket and dropped your bag. “okay..?” you stepped toward him. “what about?”
but your innocence just seemed to frustrate him. “i know about you and ryan.” you stopped in your tracks, but he didn’t dare glance at your reaction to his words. he was worried about what he’d find there. “i heard you guys talking in the breakroom earlier about meeting up when im not home, and how you two always text lately, and you’re always.. touching and..” he took a breath. “i know, y/n.” he finally looked up at you to see your face frozen in what seemed to be shock and concern. you stepped closer to him.
“shane, what?” he stood his ground, arms crossed as you moved in front of him. “shane, no.. no, i love you so much, i would never cheat on you.” you placed your hands on his arms and looked him dead in his eyes. but his expression remained stone.
“why should i believe that?” he spoke lowly.
he wished he hadn’t seen your heart break in your eyes. “shane, ryan and i are your best friends, we wouldn’t dare do that to you. we..” you let out a sigh through your nose and removed your hands from his arms to fish your phone out of your pocket. you unlocked it and handed it to him, revealing the texts between you and ryan.
scrolling up, he found:
boogara, 12:38pm okay, this might be a stupid question..
y/n, 12:42pm i love it already, do tell
boogara, 12:44pm alright do you think it would be at all possible to get balloons custom made as characters from the hotdaga?
y/n, 12:45pm OHMYGOD I LOVE IT WE ABSOLUTELY CAN IM LOOKING INTO IT RN
boogara, 12:46pm shane better appreciate this idea as much as you do when his birthday comes around
y/n, 12:48pm ryan, that man will celebrate harder than he’s ever celebrated before
boogara, 12:49pm he better
shane didn’t know what to make of that as he handed his phone back to you.
“we were planning a surprise party for your birthday,” you sighed, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “that’s why we’re so.. secretive.” you twiddled with your hands nervously. “but i guess not anymore.” shane didn’t know what to say. you looked up to him sadly. “you thought i was cheating on you..?”
shane’s heart burned with guilt. softly, he spoke, “i did, yeah.” your frown deepened. “but not because i don’t trust you,” he explained, taking your hand in his. you looked to your hands instead of his desperate eyes for a moment. “but because i just..” you looked up at him, and the words spilled out, “i don’t know, im just always in awe that i get to be with you and... i guess i got scared that maybe you thought i wasn’t good enough for you, because god knows im not.”
“shane,” you said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. “you’re perfect for me. ryan is definitely one of my best friends, but he doesn’t hold a candle to the love i have for you.” he offered you a short smile. “i only have eyes for you, dork.”
“im sorry,” he whispered. you pulled him in for a tight hug.
“i am, too,” you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder. “will you still act surprised for your birthday..? ryan’s pretty proud of himself.”
“i’d do anything for that little guy,” he sighed, pulling away from you to gaze at your sweet smile. “let’s go watch drunk history.”
forever tags <3 @bombardia @simonsbluee @ari-shipping-stuff @cheshirecat107 @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof
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sorryjustafangirl · 3 years ago
Text
what home is
a/n: this is my submission for @antoineroussel 's summer fic exchange 2k21! thank you for organizing this all demi. i recieved @timstuetzle and i am so excited to finally share this! im sorry it's so late but i had a lot of fun writing for Tim and i hope i did him justice! i made this a gender neutral reader again, so please enjoy my take on some friends to enemies to lovers :)
pairing: tim stützle x reader
word count: 18k+ (holey moley)
warnings: some angst, set in no covid-universe, a few swears, an odd timeline
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! the banner is made by me, with photos found from pinterest and the transparent made by @art-and-the-hockeys (thank you!!!)
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The start of the season was your favourite. The chill of the rink, the sound of skate edges on the ice, the smell of skate sharpening- it was all so familiar. As an analyst, the start was the best. There were new lineups, new plays, and a chance to try new things. Considering this was your first year as a real analyst, not just checking over others' work, you were excited. You got to actually help to build a Stanley Cup winning team.
What you didn’t love was how everyone seemed to lose their heads and decide to run around the arena. You’d been looking for the coach of the Ottawa Senators for the past twenty minutes. You’d think the man would be in his office the first day back, but no. He decides to take a stroll to who-knows-where and leaves you to follow invisible breadcrumbs.
Eventually, you found yourself on one of the lower levels. You continued down the hallway, entering an open space with concrete floors. The bustle of the new season was in full swing as you swerved between various people working like gears in a machine. You tried to do your best to stay out of other people’s way but you still ended up walking into a hard surface.
“Oof!” Shit. Hard surfaces don’t usually talk. You looked up at what you ran into and saw two men staring at you. Both were wearing Senators hoodies but one was a taller blond and the other a slightly shorter brunet. The brunet has a backwards snapback on but that wasn't what made you stop in your tracks. It was his eyes. They were soft and welcoming, something like a home cooked meal, but they had a glint of adventure in them.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I wasn’t really looking where I was going. I am so sorry.” You apologized to the blond you ran into.
“Hey, all good. I’m-”
“Number 7.” You turned toward the brunet. “And...number 18, right?” When they both gave you a weird look, you shrugged. “I’m an analyst here so, uh, you’re just numbers to me.”
“Okay, ouch but you are the reason we’re going to be winning more games this season, so I'll give it to you. I’m Brady, and this is Jimmy.” The blond gestured to himself first, before gesturing beside him.
“It’s Tim, actually.”
You introduced yourself to the two players, before looking around the hallways. “Um, would either of you happen to know where the coach is? I can’t find him,” You held up the file folders in your hands. “I’ve got new numbers for him.”
“Oh yeah he’s probably close to the ice, we’ll show you.” Brady started down a hallway, both you and Tim falling in stride behind him. “So Numbers-”
“-Y/n-” You glared at Brady for the nickname, rolling your eyes as he continued on. From your peripheral vision, you saw the corners of Tim's mouth turn up.
“-If you don’t mind me saying….either you look really good for your age, or you aren’t old enough to be working here,” He continued, giving a glance your way.
You looked down at your shoes and gave a sigh. “I get that a lot, and I am young-er than my colleagues but I assure you, I am qualified to work for this organization.”
“Wasn’t doubting that, just seeing how much I get to tease ya. Jimmy’s the rookie,” He elbowed him and Tim tried to swerve around it, only to bump into a stack of pylons. Brady and you shared a grin at his expense. “So he gets all the teasing. Same for the numbers people. You’re the rookie.” He shrugged
“Well, I’m not actually a rookie anymore. This is my second year here,” You mentioned, looking towards the two guys. Brady looked impressed whereas Tim’s eyes went large and his jaw slack a little.
“How?” He asked, and you laughed. The three of you turned a corner, and you walked slightly faster to talk.
“I graduated high school pretty early. And then took my statistics undergrad at the University of Ottawa. I minored in sports studies and I met your GM at a conference for the department. When he found out I was in Ottawa alone, he kinda took me under his wing, checked in every now and again. When I graduated two years ago, he offered me an analyst position and I was lucky enough to land it. I love working here, even if I’m way younger than everyone else. Last year, I stayed in my office a lot, double checking people’s work but this year, they gave me more responsibility. I’m excited for the challenge.”
“You are going to be great.” Tim said, meeting your eyes, his gaze showing that his comment was genuine. You ducked away from his gaze but muttered a ‘thanks’. The three of you rounded another corner, Brady ducking out to talk to a reporter, but Tim said he’d help you find the coach.
You settled into a comfortable silence as you walked beside each other through the chilled hallways. He abruptly took a left turn, cutting you off and causing you to bump into him. You immediately apologized, this being the second time today you’d run into a hockey player.
“‘S my fault, I’m still getting used to the new arena,” He said, a sheepish smile appearing on his face. He nodded his head down the hallway, as a silent ‘after you’ and you started walking. As you got further down, you realized Tim walked you out to the bench. The light became brighter, the air a little crisper, and the floor turned from a concrete grey to a bright red. Your eyes wandered up, admiring the view from down here. You’d be truthful earlier, you’d only ever visited your office. But from down here, you could see everything- the thousands of seats, the banners hanging from the ceiling, the crystal white ice. You stood close to the wall, as if to try to intimidate a fly on a wall, seeing everything as if you weren’t there. You could feel Tim could up from behind you, letting you take it all in for the first time.
“That’s Coach,” He leaned closer to you as he pointed across the ice towards someone in a tracksuit. You nodded and although Tim dropped his hand, he stayed close to you. The coach eventually noticed the two of you and started to skate over to the bench. Tim cleared his throat and you looked at him.
“I got to- I have to go now, but, um, I’ll see you around?” You nodded to his question, a soft smile on your lips. He rocked back and forth on his heels, as if he knew he had to leave but he kept getting pulled towards you. “Good luck with the season.”
“Good luck with yours too.” At that he turned away from you, and you turned to the coach, pulling out your file folder to talk with him.
***
A week or two later and the start of the season was upon the Canadian Tire Centre. The home opener was in a few days and your week had been hectic, trying to get notes from practices and implement what you saw into your analysis. After a morning full of spreadsheets, you decided to take your lunch break in your sanctuary. Last year, the arena felt too big to stick around in on your lunch break. So you had headed outside, where you discovered a small hiking trail about a ten minute drive from work. It quickly became a place where you went whenever you needed to clear your head. And after the morning you had, it was the perfect place to go, so you hopped in your car and started towards it.
At the top of the hill, you put the car in park, grabbed your lunch bag and started towards your spot. It was past the picnic tables that had a nice view of the suburbs, but it wasn't secluded. Your spot was off the beaten path, but there was a small ledge with a perfect view of the arena, highway, and surrounding green spaces. You turn the corner, ducking under a tree branch, ready to exhale the heck of the morning you had.
But there was already someone sitting in your spot. Their head was down, but you recognized the logo and number 18 on their hoodie. Cautiously, you approached him.
“18...Is it okay if I sit here?” You asked, and his head shot up. He shot you a small smile and quick nod. You sat down, placing your bag in front of you, taking out a granola bar.
“You can call me Tim, you know. That is my name,” You gave him a shy smile and you could feel your cheeks heat up at his comment.
“I didn’t think anyone knew about this place, Tim,” You mentioned quietly. It felt weird, to be honest, to be sharing your spot with someone, but it didn’t feel like he was intruding.
“My city in Germany has a lot of parks. There’s a forest near my house where I’d go when I needed a break. This is the closest I could find near the rink. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Just don’t go telling the whole team about our place,” you winked at him and took a bite of your snack.
“I can keep a secret, don’t worry.” He laughed lightly and sent you a smile.
“I don’t know if you remember me but-”
“You’re the analyst, you graduated super early right? Y/n, yeah?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” You smiled at him. “So, how are you liking Ottawa?”
“It’s alright, I haven’t seen very much of it. The ice is very good. My house is nice.” He shrugged and you gaped at him.
“That’s all you’ve seen? So you haven’t been to Parliament Hill or ByWard market or…?” you trailed off when you saw him biting his bottom lip and slowly shaking his head. “Well, you are missing out, you should go see the city sometime.”
“Do you think you could show me around? You seem to know all the best places,” He offered. You met his eyes and nodded. He dug his phone out of his pocket, passing it over to you. You raised your eyebrows at the gesture but he just pushed his phone closer to you. Silently, you imputed your number, placing a small graph emoji beside your contact name. You handed it back to him and a small smirk graced his face when he saw the emoji, before he pursed his lips at the device. You furrowed your eyebrows.
“Sorry, it’s all good. Thank you. It’s- I have to go back now, but I’ll text you, yeah?” You nodded as he handed back your phone. He walked towards the parking lot, but turned around to wave at you before he disappeared around the bend.
Later that day as you sat in the stands, a clipboard and pen in your hands, you got a text from an unknown number.
Hi
It's 18 :)
You chuckled at his use of his number and texted him back.
i thought you said i could call you tim? :(
also it’s practice?? how are you on your phone?
It starts in a couple minutes
your teammates are already on the ice
Spying on me already??
it’s literally my job to watch you practice
Guess I'll see you in the stands then :)
Oh and I'm free this weekend for that showing of the city, team bonding’s on friday
i’ll check my schedule and get back to you
now get out on the ice or you’re going to be late :)
***
You had checked your schedule, and agreed to meet that Saturday. You said you’d pick him up since you knew more of the city. You didn't want to be late so you arrived five minutes early in front of Tim's place. He walked out in his signature backwards snapback, some curls poking out the front, and a monochromatic beige outfit. Waving animatedly at you, he jogged to the car, his ever present smile on his face.
The twenty minutes ride into the city was quiet yet comfortable. A few words were exchanged about how each other’s day was so far but nothing groundbreaking. The low hum of the engine filled the silence as you drove into the city.
After parking in a Superstore (‘Free parking in downtown Ottawa is hard to come by, Tim. We’re parking in the grocery store parking lot’) and walking a few blocks, you come to the far end of the market. Lined with local businesses and brick streets, it felt homey. Tim smiled as it reminded him of back home.
“So, what are we going to see first? Your school?” He asked as the two of you walked along the streets. You laughed and shook your head.
“Pfft no. It isn’t all that interesting. I figured we’d see some of my favourite places, if that’s okay?” He assured you it was and the two of you continued through the streets, Tim with his head down as you passed people. He wasn't famous just yet, but in Canada you find hockey fans at every corner. Soon, you arrived in a small plaza with coloured picnic tables and muskoka chairs.
“Ta-da!” You gestured to the large block letters that spelled ‘Ottawa’ in the middle of the space. “It’s not much, but you’ve got to be a tourist in your own city at least once right?” He laughed along with you and you got out your phone, ready to take a picture of him so he could send it to his parents. You thought he would want a picture of him but he was quick to insist you had to be in the picture as well.
“I’m sorry, but would you mind taking a picture of us?” You asked one of the girls who were taking turns with the Ottawa sign.
“Oh sure!” You stood beside him, between the two ‘T’s in Ottawa, his arm slung over your shoulders. You smiled and looked up at Tim to see him smiling as well- and not one of those classic boy coy half smiles, a genuine one. She took a few landscape and a few portrait ones before handing your phone back. “You two are such a cute couple!”
Before you could correct the girl, Tim answered for you. “We’re just friends actually.” She apologized profusely before rejoining her group. You shuffled your feet as an awkward silence overcame you for the first time since you’d met. Your body shivered and you promptly changed the subject.
“Hey, you hungry?” He shrugged and nodded. You nodded and led him away from the sign, through a few back alleys lined with a few merchants, home artists and such. You entered a building, bustling with people. It was long and narrow, with brick flooring and merchants on either side of the middle. There were lots of people, ranging from people doing their weekly grocery shopping to tourists looking for souvenirs. You weaved between strollers and friend groups, Tim grabbing your hand to avoid getting lost. He kept his head low, hoping it would disguise him enough. This day was about you and him, not you, him and the hockey world. Eventually, the two of you exited the indoor market and came to a small opening. Instead of staying in the opening, you turned left, tugging Tim across the street to two small shacks, one red and one blue. The red one had a classic fairytale vibe to it, with beige wainscotting, red painted window frames, and topped with a white and light brown canopy over the window. Underneath the canopy, there was a string of small Canadian flags.
“Do you trust me?” He arched one of his eyebrows but nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Confused, Tim stood there as you walked up the window, spending no time looking at the menu as you ordered. He looked above the shack to see in fancy lettering the word BeaverTails. When you came back, you were holding two paper containers and had a smile on your face. He looked at the sign and then back to the bags in your hands.
“A beaver’s… tail?” You laughed at him and handed him his BeaverTail.
“It’s not actually a beaver’s tail. It’s just a fried pastry that looks like one. They come in lots of flavours but I got you the best one, cinnamon sugar.” You could tell he was hesitant but bit into his and you took a bite of your own.
Almost instantly, he groaned. “Do you take every guy here? Wow. Oh my god,” He got cinnamon smeared over his chin and you laughed as he tried to wipe it off while holding his pastry.
“Hilarious Tim, but I’ll have you know you’re like my only friend here. So… no I don’t take anyone here.” He scoffed and you raised your eyebrows.
“You’re joking. How do you not have other friends? You’re great,”
“I started university as a 16 year math major. It’s not a surprise people didn’t want to talk to me. But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”
“Don’t you have people from home come and visit?”
You scoffed. “I don’t really get along with my mum. We moved around a lot when I was younger and I always sorta resented her for not seeing how it affected me. And then, when I got accepted to school out here, she sold the house and started travelling. Last I talked to her, she was in Tahiti.” He raised his eyebrows.
“What about your dad? Or brothers or sisters?” You swallowed your piece of BeaverTail before answering him.
“I have an older sister, Dani. But she’s eight years older than me, so we're not the closest. She checks in every week or so because she knows my mum doesn't. She’s never come out to visit though, she runs her own business back in Seattle.”
“It must be nice to have someone though. Especially when you were growing up. What about your dad?”
“I don’t- I don’t talk about my dad.” You picked at the pastry before changing the topic. “C’mon, you have to see this place.” You gestured to a side street and the two of you made your way towards your favourite destination. You exited beside a taller building and you pressed the button to allow the two of you to cross the street. As you were waiting for the light to turn, you turned to Tim.
“So, I’m guessing you don’t have any siblings then?”
“No, but the guys at the rink were like my brothers so it wasn’t bad.” The light turned red, and the ‘walk’ light turned on. You made your way across, staying close to each other as people walked both ways.
“Hockey tends to do that,”
“Is that why you picked to work in hockey?”
You glared at him as you made it across the street. “That’s personal.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends share personal stuff.”
“That’s… it’s just different.” You shook your head and lowered the volume of your voice. “Besides, we’re here.” The two of you had stopped in front of some shallow steps that led to a tall archway, with black statues underneath and on top of the arch. It had some engravings on it, both small and large letters. From where they were standing, Tim could make out some numbers, but not well enough to understand the significance. Behind the monument and slightly to the right was the green tipped roof and gothic architecture of the Parliament building.
“What is this place?” He tilted his head as he looked at the arch in the middle of the square. To him, it wasn’t anything special, perhaps another statue of one of the colonizers of the country.
“It’s Canada’s war memorial.” You whispered, and he nodded, clasping his hands in front of his body and lowering his head. “When I was going to school, I’d come here at least once a week.”
His head stayed where it was but he raised his eyes to meet yours. “Why?”
“I know it’s not exactly everyone’s favourite place...because I know so many people died for the country, but for me, it’s a place of silence. Of reflection. It reminds me to be grateful for everything I have. Some days school would be really bad, so this place was perfect to sit and remember that life isn’t bad at all. Not when I was in a safe country, not when I had an education, not when I had a warm house to go back to.”
He nodded. “That seems...perfect. Some days are too loud, there’s too many people saying stuff. I get that.” His voice was quiet as well, as he lifted his head to focus on the stonework and engravings. The two of you stood in silence in front of the memorial for a few minutes more before you tugged on his arm.
“See that building?” You leaned in close to him, your finger extending to point at a building in the distance, a little taller than the ones around it. “That’s the university’s mathematics and physics department. I had most of my classes in that building.” He nodded, leaning in closer to you, your heads almost touching. You lowered your hand and nodded with your head towards the way you came.
“C’mon, we’re not done yet. You’ve got to see the Parliament building.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed left towards it. You quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him right. “I’m the tour guide, remember? Trust me, there’s a better view.” You dropped his hand as he started to walk in time with you but you had to shove it in your pocket to replace the heat his hands gave you.
A quick ten minutes walk later and you stood atop a hill overlooking the river. It was a large park with benches and an eccentric art installation in the corner. You walked close to the peak of the hill and stopped, breathing in the fresh air.
“There is Canada’s capital building. It’s nicer to see it from here than from the front where there’s a bunch of tourists. Besides, from here, you get to see more of the architecture.” The building was across the river, its massiveness more pronounced from your viewpoint. There was a dome nearest the river that was covered in flying buttresses, each support beam having intricate details that stood out. The clock tower and green tinted roof completed the gothic look.
“This view is better. Quieter. It reminds me more of home,” You bump your shoulder against his lightly.
“Glad you like it.” The two of you stood in silence until Tim shivered, at which case you decided you should start heading back. If the hockey player was cold, it was cold enough for you too.
The walk and drive back was uneventful, aside from the two of you passing jokes back and forth. When it came to drop him off, he unbuckled his seatbelt but didn’t make an effort to leave the vehicle.
“How much for our snack? I’ll pay you back,”
You waved him off. “It was my treat, don’t worry about it.” He pursed his lips, then shook it. He pulled out his phone from his pocket. A few seconds later, your phone dinged. You glared at him as you opened the text to see an e-transfer. Before you could protest, he cut you off.
“You never said I couldn’t pay for your gas," He laughed, and despite your annoyance at the loophole, you found yourself laughing along with him. He had that effect on you; he seemed to be able to ease any tension you held. “I had a good time today. Maybe we could meet again sometime?”
“I’d like that. I’ll see you at the rink?” He nodded before getting out of your car, waving like he did that morning as you drove off to your place. When you arrived home, you saw a new text from him.
Can you send those pictures you took today?
You tried to suppress a smile, sending them over to which he responded with a ‘Thank youuuu’. You set your phone on your nightstand and turned off the light. Despite your efforts, you fell asleep with a smile on your face from a perfect day with a great person.
***
“Hey, Numbers!” You stopped in your tracks and turned around to see Brady sticking his head out of the dressing room. He had taken a liking to calling you that, especially as you had started hanging around the house more. It was nice, movie nights and sometimes you’d take a pre-game nap with Tim, you had even stayed for lunch at Tim’s request. At this point, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Brady to shout the nickname from anywhere. Practice had ended and you had given your notes to the coach about what to focus on for the Toronto game. “You didn’t happen to see Jimmy, did you?” When you shook your head, his face scrunched into a small frown.
“Where’d he go? Didn’t media like just end?”
He shrugged. “He didn’t even bother to change from media, he just stalked out. He didn’t say anything to any of the guys, so I thought you might’ve seen him.”
“I’ll keep a lookout for him,” You told Brady before he returned to finish dressing and you returned to your office. But even after you’d settled back into your work, there was a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t quite place. Sending a quick text off to Tim, asking where he was, you dove back into work. But it only took five minutes before you were checking your phone, seeing if he’d read the text or responded. When neither happened, you gave him a call. It sent you straight to voicemail and you hung up before you could leave a message. The feeling in your stomach grew and you packed up your bag, knowing no more work would get done tonight. It wasn’t like Tim to sulk or get in his head; he was a generally happy guy. Something must have set him off for him to be acting this way -- even with you. And if it was something this big, there was only one spot he would’ve gone.
“Brady said you stalked out of media. Figured I’d find you here.” He turned around at the sound of your voice, his shoulders dropping a little. He shrugged, which you took as your cue to take a seat beside him at your lookout space. The sun was setting, the golden hour light reflecting on his stress lines, and the sky was littered with wispy clouds.
Your hands were in the pockets of your hoodie, your legs tucked together. Despite being here for close to six years, the Canadian chill always surprised you. You sat with your shoulder pressed to his, a silent symbol of you being there for him. With his head down, he mumbled something too quiet for you to hear, so you leaned your head down to hear him better. At your movement, he huffed and lifted his head.
“I’m supposed… They wanted me to come and make a difference and to help win games. But I’m not helping! I’m supposed to be putting up points and helping win games, but we’re still losing! Like, why do I suck?”
Your chest got tight at his words. “Tim…”
“You can’t deny it, the numbers say we’re losing.”
“Losing doesn’t mean you aren’t producing. This is your first year in the NHL, you wouldn’t be here if they didn’t think you were worth it. Hockey is a team sport, it isn’t just your job to win the game.”
“But they wouldn’t have gotten me right out of the World Juniors if they didn’t need me to start making an impact right away! They were counting on me. And I’m not living up to it….”
“You are nineteen years old. Nineteen. The five other rookies ahead of you in points are all at least two years older than you. Let that sink in. You have so many years ahead of you. And secondly, no one here is expecting you to turn this team around. McDavid’s first year he didn’t turn the team around. And sure, yeah, the next year, the Oilers had more success but guess what? They missed the playoffs the next three years. Hockey is a team sport, one person, not even McDavid, can completely turn a team around. No one is expecting you to turn this team around in one season. This isn’t on you.”
“But the numbers…”
“Are you going to trust the analyst on the numbers or the assholes on Twitter?” He glared at you but let you continue on. “If you really want to talk numbers, we aren’t last in the league anymore. We’ve beat the top team in the division a couple times now. You’re putting up points, you’re helping us win. Cut yourself some slack. You’re nineteen and living in a new country. This team isn’t expecting you to be Ottawa’s saviour, okay?”
“There’s pressure to be better though! Everywhere I go, I just see how I should be doing more, how if I don’t produce more, I’m going to be a draft bust. I’m the young guy, I’m supposed to be the new blood and be able to make a difference. I feel like I’m letting everyone down.” His words lingered in the sunset glow, a contrast to the darkness he was feeling. You fell silent at his outburst, the air feeling too quiet, even with his heavy breathing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
You ignored his apology, knowing he would never intentionally hurt you. “I graduated with a 3.8 GPA. I didn’t have enough job experience but my grades were one of the only reasons I was able to get hired so young. My first year, all I did was double check other people’s stats and predictions, and it was okay. No one expected much out of me because I was young and they didn’t really give me any responsibilities. But this year… they’re looking to me more. Teams with more than two analysts are more likely to produce teams that make the playoffs. I’m number three; I should be helping make a better team. But I’m not. I’m not getting the numbers we need or the stats we need. I know more updated methods and technologies but...it’s just not working. I’m not finding solutions to problems that this team has had for years. And the board and my colleagues see that. I know I shouldn’t worry about them firing me, but I still do. I mean, I’m not producing, why would they keep me around? This wasn’t what they wanted when they gave me the job.”
“They won’t fire you, you’re doing your best. And you’re young, you graduated early. They have to give you a chance to prove yourself in the workplace before they fire you.”
“You wanna take your own advice?” He flushed at your words, but you smiled. “Thanks, though.” He nodded and looked out over the suburbs surrounding the arena.
“The pressure in this league sucks.” He said and you leaned your head on his shoulder.
“Yeah. It does. But we’ll get through it right?”
“We’ll figure something out. Together.” He placed his hand on your thigh and the two of you looked out at the sunset, his touch lingering on your body until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Silently, he helped you to your feet, and walked you to your car, making sure you got in okay, before he got into his car. On the drive home, your chest felt lighter from the conversation.
***
The final buzzer rang, signalling a 4-2 win for the Senators. You smiled at the scoreboard and gathered your papers. The game was nothing spectacular, but for you, it was a career defining game. Some of the lines you'd suggested were risky, but you had the numbers to back it up, and it worked. It worked. The conversation with Tim earlier last week helped with your confidence to take risks in terms of your analytic advice.
You went back to your office after the game, wanting to type up a report of how you impacted tonight's outcome. If it worked this time, who's to say it couldn't work again? But in a higher stakes game? You felt like you were finally contributing to the team, and damn, it felt good.
Your office was barely even that. It was small, but you had a desk, a window, and your name on the door. It was enough for your first major gig. You'd made it a little homey-er with a small succulent and some motivational quotes. You opened up your laptop and began to type up a document report. The words flowed from your fingers and you used the numbers you counted from the box to back up your findings. Time seemed to stand still as you typed, the document becoming longer and longer.
A knock broke your train of thought and you looked up to see Tim poking his head through your office door. He had a shy smile on your face and you shook the writing haze out of your eyes.
"Hey! Come on in," He nodded, closing the door behind him before leaning against the wall. "You played a good game." His cheeks flushed and he lifted his hat, running his fingers through his hair.
"Thanks, thank you. Anyway, did you eat yet?"
"I mean, I had an iced coffee before the game and a granola bar during the second period. So yeah?" Immediately he started shaking his head and he pushed himself away from the wall. You open your hands as if to say 'what’?" and he outstretched his hand to you.
"Coffee and a granola bar isn't a meal. Let's go get some real food, I'm hungry." He made a grabby hand with his outstretched hand and you sighed.
"I have to finish my report, I can't." He sighed, pushed your laptop shut, and grabbed your hand.
"That can wait. Besides, the boys went out and I need a ride home." He flashed you a shy smile and you rolled your eyes, before picking up your bag and leaving your office with him. You tried not to notice how Tim was still holding onto your hand, but as he tugged you along to a quiet area of the concourse, it was difficult to do. He stopped at a small table with two bar stools. He let go of your hand, cold enveloping you, and you hung your bag on the back of the chair. As you hopped onto the chair, he stayed standing, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.
“What do you want to eat?" When you shook your head again, he pulled out his puppy dog eyes. "Tim, seriously, I'm fine."
"I'm getting some fries and you will eat some of them. Deal?" Your face pulled into a frown and he repeated himself. "Deal?"
"Yes, Mom, deal."
He gave himself a self assured smile. "Great. I'll be right back."
A few minutes later he came back with a container of fries and two small containers. He set them down in front of you before he got seated. A closer look at the container showed one was ketchup and the other was…
"Is this mayo?" He picked up a fry, dipped it in the white substance, and popped it into his mouth. With his mouth full, he nodded. "You eat your fries with mayonnaise?"
"You don't?"
"No!" You shook your head. He took another fry, dipped it again, and ate it.
"You have to try it, it's good!"
“No, no thank you. You can keep your weird German eating habits to yourself." You laughed, dipping a fry in ketchup before eating it.
"Nope, you've got to try one. Please?" You scrunched up your nose, and he held out a white coated french fry. You gave in, taking it from his hands and shoving it in your mouth. You chewed it slowly, contemplating the taste.
"It's...not horrible." He raised his eyebrows at you. "Fine, it's alright." He gave you another look, a small smile forming on his face despite his efforts to hide it. "Okay, okay, I like it. Happy?" He let out a loud laugh.
"Yes! I knew you'd like it!" You laughed a little with him, before dipping another fry in the mayo and popped it in your mouth. The two of you ate in silence, the sounds of the zamboni in the background.
"Why didn't you go out with the guys? You had a good game,"
He shrugged. "I wanted something quieter. Besides, I was hungry and the guys wanted to go out to a bar. Bar food isn't exactly a meal."
"Neither is french fries,"
"Well, maybe, you're just better company than the guys."
"Damn right, I am." You smiled, tapped his fry with yours in a makeshift sort of 'cheers' way. When the two of you had finished your snack, you picked up the container and threw it in the compost bin near the table. You grabbed your bag off the chair, holding up your car keys. He got up off the table, joining you in a slow walk towards the parking lot.
You wished the custodians a good night as the two of you left the arena, the street lights in the parking lot illuminating the way to your car. Silently, you unlocked the car and you both got in. You gave him your phone, telling him to pick any playlist he wanted while you started the car. He picked one of your favourite playlists, a mix of relaxing beats and soft music, which was perfect for late night drives.
"You should have some lo-fi on here, it's a lot like this. I think you'd like it," he said, after you had merged onto the highway.
"Yeah?" He only nodded, allowing a comfortable silence to come back to the car. The rest of the drive was easy, the road being mostly empty and the music filling the car. He gave you quiet directions to the house, more points and here's than actual directions but you were able to find it.
"Thank you for the ride," He said, once you’d put the car in park.
"Thanks for sharing your food with me,” He shook his head and smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“I’ll always share with you.” You caught his gaze, his brown eyes filled with sincerity. You could feel your cheeks flush and you waved him out of your car.
“I gotta get home too, you know.” You joked and he got out, popping his head back into the doorway for a second.
“Text me when you get home, yeah?” You murmured an ‘of course’ and he nodded, closing the car door and making his way to his front door. You waited until he entered the house before you drove away, turning on a lo-fi playlist from Spotify.
***
“Your turn to pick the movie, but no subtitles please, I’m too lazy to read today.” You handed Tim the remote for his TV while you pulled the blanket closer to your chin. The October chill had settled in his apartment and you hadn’t dressed for his room to feel like the arena.
“Jimmy!” Someone called from the kitchen and a loud clang dissolved any annoyance Tim had from his roommate interrupting his time with you. He rushed to the kitchen and you followed behind shyly. There were platters across the kitchen island, each with a different coloured dish. It looked like there was a salad, a couple casserole dishes, and some plates of desserts. A taller brunette was standing in the kitchen, frantically gesturing between Tim and a pot on the stove. There was a lid on the ground, a splatter of pinkish red liquid surrounding it. You entered the kitchen, picked up the lid before placing it in the sink. The other guy was still explaining to Tim what exactly he wanted to do, even though his head was tilted like a confused puppy. You brushing him aside llightly, grabbing the spoon Tim was holding to stir the pinkish red liquid on the stove. You sent him a small smile back over your shoulder and all you could see in his eyes was relief.
“Thank you!” The oven beeped and you noticed an embroidered #9 on the roommate's Senator sweats. You moved to the side to allow him to get another baking dish from the oven. He placed it on the stovetop and took off his oven mitts. “Thank you for doing that. I didn’t think he’d be that helpless in the kitchen.”
“I’m surprised anyone in this house can actually cook,” You laughed. The liquid that smelled of oranges and cranberries started to boil, so you reduced the heat and continued to stir it. You look at the baking dish that he brought out of the oven. “Are those brussel sprouts?”
“Yeah! My mom’s recipe; they’re delicious! Do you like them?”
“They’re one of my favourites! My recipe uses bacon though.”
“Oh nice! You’ll have to share it with me, I’d love to try it. And, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Josh,”
“I know.” He shot you a look and you backtracked. “I-Sorry, it’s just-I actually work with you? I’m in the analytics department, so I know your jersey number and I saw it on your sweats and put two and two together. I’m not being a creep, I’m sorry.” The sound of laughter behind you made you blush.
“Not being a creep my ass. They did the same thing when me and Jimmy ran into them for the first time!” Brady commented, walking into the kitchen. He was wearing a nice pair of dress pants and a button up shirt. You shook your head before nodding towards his attire.
“Going somewhere nice?” He looked down at his outfit and shook his head.
“It’s Thanksgiving? It’s why they gave us the day off?” That...that would explain the amount of food in the kitchen. No matter how many years you lived here, you’d always forgotten that Canadian Thanksgiving was a whole month earlier. You placed the stir spoon on a plate next to the pot and wiped your hands on your pants.
“Oh! Um, right, well, uh in that case, I should be, I should get going. You guys must have plans. Nice to meet you Josh.” You made your way out of the kitchen to the foyer where your coat and shoes were without so much as a goodbye to the guys. You could hear Tim coming after you, his steps lighter and more graceful than Brady or Josh’s. But, he didn’t make a move to do anything except stare at you as you got ready to leave. It wasn’t until you were getting ready to put on your shoes that he spoke.
“You should just stay. We’ve got lots of food.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude…”
“Brady’s bringing his girlfriend and a couple other of the guys are coming over. You wouldn’t be intruding.”
“I really shouldn’t…”
“You should. Why won’t you stay?”
“I don’t know if you have this holiday in Germany, but Thanksgiving is a family thing, Tim.” You sighed. “Besides, shouldn’t I have brought something? Am I even dressed okay?” You looked down at your outfit - a simple pair of jeans and one of your comfiest graphic tees. He shrugged.
“Don’t worry about that. You look great, just enjoy the night with me. Stay? Please? C’mon schatz, you’re like my family to me.” The two of you maintained eye contact until you broke it and took off your coat. You could see Tim’s smile widen and when it came to walking back into the kitchen, he extended his arm. You took it and the two of you made your way back towards what would end up being a wonderful evening full of laughs and smiles shared between friends.
***
You had come over for a trashy reality TV binge after a particularly hard day at work. None of the numbers were adding up the way you needed them to and your laptop was having a hissy-fit all day. Soon enough, you called it a day and texted Tim, telling him you’d be over in twenty minutes. He greeted you at the door with your favourite chocolate treat, a box of Timbits, and “there’s popcorn in the microwave right now, it’s almost done”. You could’ve melted right on the spot. Instead, you made your way over to the couch where you collapsed and pulled the blanket he had already set out for you up to your chin. You breathed in the smells of pine and sock tape and felt your body relax. HGTV played in the background while you waited for him to bring the popcorn out when his phone dinged.
“Tim, your phone!” You yelled to him from across the living room.
“Who is it?” You sighed and moved from your comfortable spot on the couch to check his messages. You turned on the phone to see a message from Josh, saying he’s five minutes away. You went to lock the phone, seeing the unimportance of the message but something caught your eye. You swiped to clear the notification and his background came into focus. It was the two of you standing in front of the Ottawa sign at ByWard market, his arm around your shoulders and a grin on both your faces.
“Who was it?” He entered the room as he repeated his question.
“Just Josh,” you whispered, turning around to face him holding up his phone. “Am I your lock screen?” He blushes, opening his mouth stammering for words. “I am! I knew I was important to you.” You poked him a couple times for an extra tease when his face settled into a small pout and he retaliated by tickling you. You shrieked and hopped up from the couch, laughing as he chased you around the house.
“Stop doing that!” He laughed as you escaped his clutches once more. Your laugh echoed through the house as he tried again to try to tickle you, but you grabbed Josh and used him as a human shield.
“No fair schatz,” He relented his tickling and sat on the couch. You took a seat beside him, but kept your distance in case he decided to start his torture again.
“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” You look over to him and he’s already scratching the back of his neck.
“What what means?”
“That thing you keep calling me. Like shats?”
Josh laughed and spoke up. “It means swe-”
“Friend! It means friend!” Tim interrupted loudly, his cheeks rosy. “It means friend.” You raised your eyebrows at his outburst and his explanation.
“You call your friends, ‘friend’?”
He scratched at his jaw and slowly nodded. “In my city, it’s common for friends to just call each other ‘friend’. It’s normal,” You managed out a ‘okay’ between breathy laughs, wondering why he was being so strange about it. It was just a nickname. But the blush in his cheeks didn’t diminish until well after Josh left the room, muttering under his breath about ‘idiots’, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe it meant more than Tim was letting on.
***
“Are you going to be at the gala on Saturday?” Tim asked you as the two of you ate (lunch for you, pre-practice snack for him) on the concourse. It was your first concourse snack since the All-Star break and you had missed him. WhatsApp messages and Instagram messages just weren’t the same as being in his presence. You finished your bite, and shook your head.
“It’s only for players isn’t it?”
“Would you want to come with me?”
“Like...as a date?” You looked up at him, your eyes wide. Maybe this was the clue you were waiting for.
“As friends?” Your eyes darted down onto the counter and Tim took that as a sign you didn’t want to go with him. “There’ll be puppies there.”
“Well,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “If there’s going to be puppies, I need no more convincing.” You forced a smile onto your face and he returned the sentiment, before finishing up the food. You wished him good luck before the game, and left to go the the box.
Soon enough, it was Saturday night and you found yourself in front of the Fairmont Château. You gazed up at the stone walls and admired how the orange glow from the lights gave it such a warm feeling, compared to the shivers that were going up and down your back. You had found time to go and get a fancy outfit for the night, its gold fabric being a perfect fit on your body. Tim had told you he’d meet you inside, so walked upt the steps alone, avoiding the other guests in fancy attire. They looked like they belonged here. You couldn't relate. The front entrance of the hotel was exactly as you expected -- it had marble floors, crown moldings, and a domed ceiling. You followed the chatter to one of the conference rooms, someone offering to check your coat. With just your clutch, you entered the ballroom with the sound of your shoes following you.
You looked around to try to find Tim among the executives, easily spotting him when you heard Brady’s booming laugh in the corner. You made your way over to the group, including Brady, Josh, Drake, Tim and some respective dates. Josh waved at you and Tim turned around to see you walking towards him.
Tim stood there, memorized by the way the Senators gold fabric hugged your figure and the way your eyes had lit up when you saw one of the puppies. You came over to him, brushing his arm before joining the group. Hellos were thrown your way and it wasn’t long before everyone went back to their conversations and you were able to speak with Tim.
“You look handsome." You handed him your clutch, which he held unashamedly, as you adjusted his gold bowtie, letting your hands linger on the front of his chest. You gulped before snapping out of your trance and took your clutch back from him.
“Um, uh, thanks. You look...good too,” His voice was breathy and his cheeks had flushed a little. You smiled at him, before noticing another golden retriever stumbling around next to its trainer and darting off to pet it. Tim watched you go and he stood back, blown away by the way his heart was beating faster and how he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs.
“You finally figured it out, huh?” He turned around at Drake’s voice. He had recognized the look on Tim’s face, it was the same one he had when he looked at his partner. Tim furrowed his eyebrows.
“Figured what out?”
Drake scoffed and took a gulp of his drink. “God, you already know and you’re denying it. You’re in love with them.” Tim shook his head, waving off the thought. You were his best friend, nothing more. “C’mon man, you can keep lying to yourself but it’s obvious to everyone else.” He was then swept away by a reporter, leaving Tim to his thoughts.
He wasn’t in love with you. He was sure of it. You were his best friend, his safe spot. It’s not like when he sees you his heart beats faster or he notices how your eyes crinkle when you laugh or when the sun hits your skin just right, you look like an angel. It’s not like the more he looks at your lips the more he wants to know if they taste like your sweet honey lip chap. It’s not like your smile could cure his darkest days or that he could see himself introducing you to his family as his partner.
Except it was like that.
Tim saw all of that with you. He saw more galas, more late night drives, lazy Sunday mornings. He wanted to see you after his games, not in your office, but in the tunnel where you’d be wearing his jersey and a special jean jacket. He wanted to take you home to meet his family, his hometown friends. He wanted to show you all the places that were special to him, just as you showed his places special to you. He wanted to meet Dani and see if she thought he was good enough to be your partner. As he stared at you petting the small golden pup, he realized Drake was right. He was in love with you.
He was in love with his best friend.
Fuck, what was he supposed to do now?
You didn’t give him too much time to think about that as you came up behind him, telling him everything about the golden retriever you just met. He smiled at you, and motioned with his head to find your seats as dinner was going to be served soon. You sat next to him, your leg brushing against his under the table. Even from that, he got shocks-- tiny lightning bolts trailing up his body. It was like every sense was heightened after he came to the realization that he loved you. How am I supposed to even act around them? He thought.
The meal passed without issue and while Tim went about schmoozing all the executives and donors, you stick with the other halves. You had already met Emma, Brady’s partner, and she introduced you to Dakota, Briar, and Marissa (she had also told you who they came with but that information had not stuck with you).
“Sooo… Emma, how’s the wedding planning going?” Briar asked. She had gotten engaged over the holiday break. She laughed and waved off the question.
“Oh, not at all! We’re just enjoying being engaged, it’s like the honeymoon phase all over again,”
“Just like you and Tim,” Dakota nudged you and wiggled her eyebrows. You coughed on your drink at her statement.
“What?” You managed to sputter. Emma looked uncomfortable but didn’t say anything. “What do you mean, like me and Tim?”
“Oh come on, it’s so obvious the two of you are in your honeymoon phase! Don’t be ashamed of it, you’re such a cute couple!”
“Ooh yes!! How his bowtie matched your outfit is like goals, I wish my boyfriend did that with me,” Marissa mentioned. Your voice felt caught in your throat and you were instantly aware of the breeze in the room and the sweat on the back of your neck.
“We’re just friends,” Your voice was small.
“I’ll believe that when pigs fly, babe. Oh, look, here comes your man.” Dakota winked at you before turning into her own date. You turn around quickly to see him walking over to you, laughing with Brady and Josh. Normally, the sight of him would calm you down. He was such a genuine person and you appreciated how you never had to shrink yourself to fit in with him. But with the girls’ comments, you suddenly couldn’t be around him. When his hand met the small of your back, you flinched before relaxing into his touch. It was just Tim, your Tim. It’s not a big deal unless you make it a big deal.
“Timmy, I was just telling Y/n what a cute couple you two are!”
“Well, what do they say? Oh right, they complete me,” He sent you a wink and pulled you closer to his side. You went stiff in his hold, and he noticed, instantly letting you out of his grip. You muttered out an excuse about work and said quick goodbyes to the group before you were out of the gala as fast as your shoes could allow. Your cheeks were hot with...embarrassment? No, that wasn’t quite it. But they were hot, and the room felt small with Dakota’s teasing so just needed to escape. You needed to have fresh air in your lungs, needed to feel the cool Ottawa air on your arms. Needed to be somewhere other than beside him and his light teasing that left your stomach in knots.
But you hadn't even reached the front door and grabbed your coat from the coat check when Tim caught up to you. He watched you try to put on your coat, as he rocked back and forth on his heels like that first day you met.
“Do you… do you actually have work in the morning or were you just saying that?” You looked up and met his eyes, the orbs holding a certain vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.
“I got called at the last minute. I forgot to tell you, Jody’s kid got sick so I’m covering the game on Sunday but I haven’t prepared my notes or anything and you know me, I’ve got to be prepared or I won’t make a coherent analysis and then I’m really in trouble-” Tim cut your rambling off with a murmur of your name and you slowed your frantic movements to look at him.
“We’re okay, right?”
You smiled at him before you walked out the glass door. “Yeah, we’re alright.”
***
Last night was confusing to say the least. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks from...embarrassment? No, it wasn’t that. It was more like you couldn’t stand around to see what he meant by his comment. You couldn’t stand around why everyone else say you as a couple when you knew you weren’t. But you were okay with not being a couple weren’t you?
It’s like not you liked him that way. Yeah, a simple smile from him could turn your day around and your concourse snacks were the highlight of your week. But that’s because he was your best friend. It’s not like you wanted to spend every morning waking up to him or spend your afternoons running your fingers through his hair. It’s not like you wanted to take him back to Seattle to meet Dani or how you wanted to wear his jersey to call him yours. It’s not like you daydreamed about him gently holding your hand as you walked through ByWard market or how soft his lips would be as he leaned in to kiss you or what his abs felt like without a shirt separating your fingers from his skin.
Except it was like that.
And then came the comment at the gala. Did that mean he liked you too? But he said you were just going as friends. Did he mean it platonically? What if you read things wrong? Fuck, why were feelings so complicated?
Dani, you needed to call Dani. She’d know what to make of all this. She picked up on the fourth ring. “Thanks for calling Books By The Ocean, may you please hold?”
“Dani, it’s me.” Hold music filled your ear and you rolled your eyes. A few minutes later, there was almost certainly a hole in your rug from your pacing and she finally picked up.
“Why’d you resort to calling the store? I would’ve answered my phone eventually,”
“Yeah, eventually. I just really need to talk to you now,”
“Okay, so what’s up?”
“There’s this guy…”
“Is it Tim? Please tell me it’s Tim.” When you didn’t answer, she rejoined before reeling it in and telling you to continue.
“Anyways...we’re pretty good friends, I've known him since like the start of the season, and I don’t know, like I think he likes me? And I mean, I like him, he’s really great but, like, I just-”
“Can you get to the point please?”
“I want to take the next step with him. I want to be more than friends with him. I want all those things but… I just seem frozen. Like when I think about telling him, my body feels like it won’t move. It feels like I’m underwater. But I want to do more with him. I want that. Why won’t my brain get that and let me… I don’t know, let me act on my feelings?”
“You’re protecting yourself. You’ve never got hurt before,” You scoffed at her statement.
“What do you mean, of course I have,”
“Okay, sure, when you scraped your knee or when Nancy Peters called you dumb in second grade but you haven’t got hurt before. You haven’t opened yourself up to someone and let someone into your heart and let them see you for who you are.”
“Well, yeah, okay, but that’s because they might not like what they see,”
She sighed. “You can’t go through life with your walls up, kiddo. It’s hard, but you have to trust yourself. You have to let yourself feel. You have to let people in. When we were little and moved around a lot, maybe it was a survival tactic. But you’ve been in Ottawa for close to five years now and have unpacked all your boxes? Have you had any friends over? You’ve put down roots there but you’re still holding onto a survival tactic when you need to be living, not just surviving.
“I let people in--”
“No. You don’t. Has Tim ever been in your apartment? Has he seen that even though you resent Mom, you still have family photos of the four of us in your living room? Does he know about Dad? You might have told him stuff but you’re still living behind walls.” She sighed.
“Look, I don’t mean to be hard on you, but I want to see you thrive kiddo. I want you to experience life, and yeah, hurt is a part of life. You aren’t doing life right if you come out unscathed. And sure, maybe he’s a great friend. But in some instances, that romantic partner can fill a more emotionally secure place. People usually place more trust in their partner than just a friend. You’ve got to open up to him more than you already have if you want more from him.”
“How do I do that?”
“You’ve got to figure that out on your own kiddo, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. Honestly; no hiding behind your friendship.” You nodded to her advice, before realizing she couldn’t see you, and thanked her for her help. She hung up with the promise to chat again on Wednesday like you normally did. You threw your phone beside the sink and leaned your head against the cool counter.
Be honest with him
Okay, you could do that. Easy enough right? You just had to make a plan to tell him. You could do that.
***
You were walking through the halls close to the bench to deliver your latest stats to the coach. It was your job after the other analysts determined you “had the youngest feet” and could go scouring around to find the coach. You didn’t mind. Besides… if you just happened to bump into Tim while you were down here, well then that was a completely unplanned coincidence. Since the gala and your chat with Dani afterwards, you were feeling good about where you stood with Tim. And you’d made your plan. After the game, you’d meet up for after-game snacks like most home games and you had told yourself you’d talk to him then.
You had given the latest report to the coach on the bench, walking past the locker room towards the box when you heard Tim's voice.
“...I don’t know man, I just need a break from Y/n.” You stopped in your tracks. It wasn’t that you meant to be nosy, but at the mention of your name… you wanted to see what else he had to say. You hadn’t meant to smother him but you guess he saw it differently. Your shoulders dropped and you bit your lip.
“I only have a problem around them!” You could feel the breakfast in your stomach start to turn, the feeling of bile starting to rise up. A ringing started to fill your ears, the white static noise only being pieced by his once comforting voice.
“It’s just… We work together, you know? It’s awkward,” Where was this attitude when you were hanging out at the start of the season? Last week? If this is how he felt, why didn’t… what did he mean by his comment to Dakota?
His voice shook you out of your trance. “Like at the end of the day, I’m me… they pay me a lot to play my game and they’re...them.” At that, you rushed away from earshot. If that was how he really felt, then screw him. If he was the hockey star and you were just the analyst, then that’s what role you’d play. Nothing more, nothing less. And he wasn’t brave enough to say that to your face, you’d say it first.
This is why you didn’t open yourself up. If you were going to get hurt either way, it might as well be the least damaging option.
Over the next few games and practices, you kept your distance from the players. You avoided the bench, sending Jody to give reports to the coach. You kept your office door closed, the blinds closed, and you made sure to time your exits of the arena to avoid Tim. If avoiding him meant you avoided the inevitable conversation where he would tell you your flaws and point out every way you misread things, then you would do that.
After you heard that, you stopped going out of your way to pass by the boys in the arena. You went into your office, closed the door, and didn’t leave until you went home. When you had to sit in the stands for practices, you sat higher than you used to and ignored the waves and stared you got from the team. He sent the occasional text but you replied with an im busy too many times that he stopped trying. It was odd to you how he kept reaching out when he was the one who said he needed a break but you ignored that voice in your head.
It was a Friday when he finally confronted you. You had been so close to leaving the arena, just one more hallway, and you would’ve been out the door and into the parking lot. He had called your name and you tried to turn the corner without him but he caught up easily, grabbing your wrist to get you to stay.
“What’s up? It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” He let go of your wrist as you turned to face him.
“Well that’s what happens when you’re a bigshot NHL player and I’m a lowly analyst.” He squinted his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows at your statement.
“What?”
“Look, I don’t-- I don’t think we should be friends anymore,”
He slowly nodded, thinking your words over in his head. “Okay. Um...I think… yeah, that could be good. I don’t think we should be just friends either.” He shot you a shy smile with a spark of hope in his eyes but you frowned.
“Good. It’s settled then.” You turned on your heel and walked away from him, only wiping your teary eye once you had rounded the corner, refusing to let him see you cry. You missed the way he frowned as you retreated.
The weekend was spent in bed, repeat episodes of Loki playing in the background. Loki never hurt you the way Tim had, the way his words dug into your insecurities of being alone creating a wound like no other. You had turned your phone off earlier as it kept buzzing with messages from him. You didn’t want to hear his excuses of why and you didn’t want to explain that you’d overheard his conversation. But the season wasn’t over yet so you gave yourself two days to grieve. When Monday morning came, it was like nothing had ever happened.
Tim caught you in the main entrance way at the rink. It was close to 8am and you knew he didn’t have practice until 11, so it was obvious he was waiting for you. You walk right past him until he softly calls your name and you stop walking, but don’t turn around. “Why are you ignoring me?”
“You know why.” You whipped around and scoffed at him. “And you know what else? If you had a problem with me, you could’ve just said something. You didn’t have to keep hanging out with me.”
“What?”
“I think we should just keep this professional, 18. I’m nothing more than a background analyst to your hockey superstar, so let’s just stick to our jobs, yeah?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We work together, we shouldn’t be friends, you said it yourself. It’ll be better this way. Now, please, just leave me alone.” You brushed by him, bumping your shoulder with his, and you missed the way his jaw fell open at how quickly your relationship seemed to change.
He seemed to leave you alone after that. He didn’t check in and he didn’t send funny memes he found. He didn’t text you to tell you he landed safely on road trips and you didn’t congratulate him on a game well played. You could tell Brady and Josh thought it was weird but didn’t say anything, just gave you pitying looks when you passed by or caught their eye in the halls.
The Senators failed to clinch a playoff spot, thanks to an overtime loss to Winnipeg. The end of the season for you was nice. It meant a shift in your work to more prospects, and thankfully, a more flexible work schedule. You didn’t have to go into the arena and most of the players went back to their hometowns to visit. It was supposed to be a reprieve for you, knowing Tim wasn’t even in the country. It was supposed to be relaxing, going to all the places that had helped you in the past to regroup your thoughts.
But instead, it felt suffocating, strolling through the market. You’d been here thousands of times to clear your head, but this time the deeper you walked, the more the thoughts in your head swirled into a hurricane.
You’d never know what home felt like. You’d had friends tell you it’s having like extended family over around the holidays or it’s the peacefulness they felt at their lake house. You thought you had found it in Ottawa, its quaintness and history bringing you a sense of calm you hadn’t had before. But only with Tim did you feel that inner peace that home felt like. Only with Tim did you feel like you could take on the world. Only with Tim did you feel whole.
And that was scary.
Feeling like one person could complete you, like they had a piece of your heart you didn’t know you gave them, was scary. You were used to being on your own. You’d done it throughout your levels of schooling and throughout the beginnings of your career. And all it took for that strength to come crashing down was a bashfully confident German hockey player.
He couldn’t even tell you why. It would’ve hurt more to hear the exact reasons why you weren’t good enough for him, but it would have quelled your mind from picking on every single insecurity your mind could come up with.
Before you knew it, you were staring at the Ottawa sign. You glanced around to see couples waiting for their turn at the sign. Some of the guys had their arms around the shoulders’ of their girlfriends. Some of the girls had their hands clasped in their girlfriends’. Some people had their arms around the waist of their partner. But they all had a smile on their face, a fondness that was reserved for the love of their life.
Your eye caught the sight of a backwards Senators cap and your head whipped around. The person was tall and was wearing a grey hoodie. The man turned to the side and you caught a glance of the brown tufts of hair that stuck out of the cap. He threw his head back and the corners of your mouth turned up. Tim’s laugh was always infectious, even if you were upset with him.
But it wasn’t him.
He hadn’t reached out since the day in the hallway. As much as you knew you didn’t want to hear him say things more hurtful than what you overheard, you couldn’t help but wonder where you went wrong. The what-ifs tumbled around in your head, the possibilities of why suddenly your friendship was too much for him.
As you stood there in the market, the memories racing through your mind mixed with images of happy couples all around you, you knew you had to get out. You don’t really remember the rush of leaving, all you know is that the city that felt big for so many years now felt too small. You can’t go anywhere without being reminded of him, his smile, his laugh. How his eyes glimmer from the light of a movie. You drove yourself to the airport, knowing there wasn’t going to be a cab this early in the morning.
Before you knew it, you were standing outside of the familiar blue painted bookstore with your duffle bag in your hands. It was raining and overcast in Seattle, which wasn’t unusual, but even the fat teardrops felt melancholic. The sign in the window said closed, but you knew Dani would be in the back, organizing new stock. You knocked on the window, the sound rattling through the worn building. A few seconds later, her head of light pink hair came to the door, opening it. Before she could question your presence, you spoke.
“He didn’t want me,” you cried. “He didn’t even see all of me and he didn’t want me.” You dropped your bag as she pulled you into a hug. One hand cradled the back of your head as she pulled you out of the rain and into the store. You inhaled her scent, a mix of sea salt and the old bookstore, and squeezed her tightly. When she released you from the hug, she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing down your jaw. She gave you a soft smile, before walking to the back of the store, where her apartment was. Your shoes squeaked against the old hardwood floors as you followed her towards the kitchen, where you could smell a pot of tea brewing.
She was silent as she poured you a cup, kissed your head, before whispering everything was going to work out. She slipped out of the room, giving you your space.
You didn’t even have to ask. Dani let you stay with her for the summer, as long as you helped out around the store when you weren’t doing your own work. She didn’t push you for details about Tim, she just let you be. You tried your best to be cheery around the customers but that facade only lasted so long. When you were alone, you didn’t try to hide the emptiness you felt there.
***
Too soon did the days start to get shorter, the nights colder, the pitter-patter of raindrops became more constant which meant fall was coming. The season was starting up again, and you had to head back to Ottawa. This summer at home was a nice break but you knew that running away wasn’t going to solve all your problems. You were packing when a text from Josh came in.
So when are you getting in?
i land at 9pm on the 20th. Why?
Can’t I wonder when my friend gets into the city?
we’re friends?
Of course we are Numbers! I don’t share family recipes with just anyone :)
good to know thanks :)
You continued packing, thinking about what he said. You knew the two of you were friends, but he was Tim’s teammate. His roommate. To hear him say, regardless of where you and Tim stand, that you two were still good was a relief. As much as you’ve enjoyed your time away from the city, you missed work. You missed sitting in the arena, a brisk chill over your shoulder, the sounds of scraping ice and whistles. You missed the quaintness of Ottawa and, as much as he’d never let you forget it, you missed Josh’s cooking. Nights with Dani didn’t compare to nights with Brady (and sometimes Emma) and Josh.
Dani parked in the loading zone of the airport. She got out of the car to help with your bag, even though you had only brought one.
“Hey, listen, um. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened with Tim but… I think you need to talk to him.”
“Dani...”
“No, listen. I think you need some closure. You ran away from a city you haven’t left in five years, a city you so obviously love, because it hurt to think about him. Maybe closure means you talk to him. Maybe it doesn’t. But you’ve spent this whole summer looking lost, like you’re waiting for something to magically appear and make everything better. You look like you’ve lost a piece of yourself and you don’t know how to get it back. And that’s not you, kiddo. It’s never been you; you’ve always been so straightforward and sure of yourself. I want you to feel like yourself again, that’s all.”
“What if…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What if the piece of me that I lost isn’t something I can get back?”
“Then you fill it. It might not be perfect and maybe you need lots of tape, and maybe you accept that there will be small cracks in it, but those holes make your souls yours. It’s a part of life, and you can’t avoid it no matter how hard you try.” You pulled her in for a hug, some of the tears in your eyes dropping onto her shoulder.
“Thank you Dani. For everything.” She pulled back to wipe the tears from your face, a smile on her face.
“You know I’m always here for you, kiddo. Take care of yourself, okay?” You nodded, knowing if you spoke again, more tears would bubble over. You walked towards the departures gate, walking towards the reality you ran from.
Several hours later, you were happy to be back in Ottawa. You had missed it, as much as it pained you when you were here. Tim Hortons, bilingual signs, friendly smiles, and oh god you could have real poutine again. Yeah, it was nice to be back.
Dani’s words mulled over in your head throughout the flight, and continued to as you made your way through the airport. She was right, maybe you needed closure. Accept what happened and move on. You’d lost friends when you graduated early, you’d lost friends when you moved away. You’d lost friends before and this was no different.
Except you knew deep down it was different. It was Tim; it was always going to be different with him.
You shook your head, as if to physically rid yourself of the thought. If Tim didn’t want to be around you, then you weren’t going to waste your time waiting for him to show up. You’d suck it up everything you had to look at a stat, but other than that you’d focus on work, focus on proving yourself in the company. You started to walk towards where you’d parked your car (without wondering how much the parking was), ignoring the happy reunions of students and families. You had been perfectly fine being in Ottawa on your own until you realized how much better it could be when you had someone.
A hand grasped your wrist and instantly, you turned around and ripped your arm from the stranger. You looked up, first to see a bouquet of flowers made up of peach roses, white tulips, and hydrangeas. Behind the colours of the flowers, you see a familiar face, eyes full of sorrow and hope. Even when you were ignoring him, he was still so easy to read.
“Number 18.” You struggled to keep your voice even, but you lifted your head to appear as if he had no effect on him.
“Hi Y/n,” He met your eyes, which you quickly darted away. “These are for you.” He tried to hand the bouquet to you, but you shook your head.
“How did you know when I got in?” The coldness in your voice surprised Tim, but he didn’t show it, swallowing slowly before answering you.
“Josh told me." You folded your arms, your hands gripping your bag in case you needed to get away from this conversation.
“Josh mentioned it or you asked Josh?” When he didn’t answer, you knew it was the latter and scoffed at his sneaky actions. You quickly turned away from him and moved faster towards the exit. You heard him sigh from behind you and before you could make a sly comment about it beneath your breath, he was ahead of you, blocking your way. You tried to side-step him, but hockey reflexes prevailed. You glared his way and tried again, silently begging him to move.
“C’mon, you have to talk to me sometime, we work together,” He commented.
“That’s exactly it. We work together. You’re the high and mighty NHL superstar and I’m the nerdy analyst. We have our places. They don’t mix, so really I don’t have to work with you at all. So, please, if you could just move, I have nothing else to say to you.” You tried once more to step around him, but he lightly grabbed your forearm to stop you.
“But I have stuff to say to you.”
“You had months to say it, so I’ll say it again, please let me by.” Suddenly, he was on his knees in the airport, the flowers still outstretched in his hands.
“Y/n,”
“What are you doing?” You hiss to him, your face darting around to see people starting to stare at Tim’s grand gesture.
“I need you to talk to me, and you won’t, so I’ll beg until you agree to hear me out,” You could feel more people staring, the shutter of camera phones, the eyes of everyone in the Ottawa airport (or what felt like it) easily making up your mind. There was a reason you were an analyst, away from the spotlight, doing your work behind the scenes.
“Get up,” you started to pull on his arm, but he just stayed anchored to the ground.
“You’ll talk to me?”
“18, I will do anything as long as you stop making a scene,” At this point, your cheeks felt as if you’d stood under the beating sun for an hour. He got up from his knees, the flowers still outstretched in his hands, and you let go of his arm. You grabbed the flowers from his arms, dropping them in a garbage bin as you stalked out of the airport. Tim caught up to you and walked by your side.
You said nothing as you reached your car, unlocking the doors. You didn’t even wait for him to have his seatbelt on before you were backing out of the stall and driving away. Thoughts were running wild in your head; you were angry and embarrassed at the stunt he pulled at the airport, appalled at the audacity he had to show up after what he said, and last of all you were reluctantly happy to be back in his presence again. So you went to the one place you knew you could think.
You put the car in park overlooking the suburbs. You turned it off and rested your arms on the steering wheel. You couldn’t make the effort to get out and walk to the lookout spot, the car creating a safe bubble for your thoughts.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” His soft voice broke the tense silence in the car and you scoffed.
“We’re not friends anymore. You’re the Senators star player and I’m just the nerdy analyst. There’s no reason for me to need to talk to you.”
“See, you keep saying that but I-I don’t get it! What does that even mean?” You furrow your eyebrows as you turn to face him, his own face scrunched up and his eyes hard.
“What do you mean you don’t get it? You said that! The last game against Montréal? I was walking past the locker room and… I overheard you talking with the guys.” You looked down to your lap, findling with your hands. You briefly saw Tim’s hand start to move towards you, but you shook your head and it stayed in his lap. “You said you needed a break from me. You said that ‘at the end of the day they pay me a lot to play my game and they’re.. them’. You said you had a problem with me. What was I supposed to take from that except that you didn’t want me to be in your life?”
He stammered for words but you cut him off. “No, I don’t think you understand how much it hurt. Hurt to have the one person who I thought understood me to talk behind my back about how I wasn’t enough for them. It hurt to know that the one person who I always wanted to talk to, didn’t want to talk to me. Hurt to think that you’ve only ever seen me as just some nerdy analyst who has no place in your life. I had been fine before, without you in my life, but then you came in and knocked down every barrier I ever had. And then left as if you didn’t just break my life into pieces!
“I left Ottawa because it hurt too much to go to all my favourite places, because I went there with you. I let you into my safe spaces, and when you left, you shattered that security. You tainted all the good I had there. I thought that Ottawa was home before I met you,” you scoffed. “Not even close. You feel like home to me. And for you to say that I was a problem in your life?” You shook your head at him and looked down at your hands. “I tried to get over it, believe me I did. But every single place I went I was reminded of you… and how everything we had didn’t feel like a big deal to you.”
“I never meant for that to happen.” His voice was quiet and strained, as if he was trying to keep his emotions within him.
“You know the hardest part? I didn’t just have to get over losing my best friend. I had to get over someone I fell in love with! I lost the single most important relationship with one tiny little passing conversation. And you acted like nothing happened! Like we were still friends, like you still cared for me-”
“Ich liebe dich du trottel!” His outburst caught you off guard and you gulped. His heavy breathing was the only sound in the car as you whispered.
“You know I don’t speak German…”
“You don’t need to know German to know what I said,” His eyes were hard, a look you had only seen during games.
“Oh.” You shook your head and looked at him. “Wait what?”
“I didn’t say those things you think I did! You didn’t listen to the whole thing! Brady was teasing me about me saying I don’t have a problem talking to people I like and I don’t normally but you’re the exception! I needed a break from you because everytime I see you, my heart starts beating faster and my hands get sweaty and I don’t know how to act! And the guys said that sounds like I’m in love with you-- and I am! I am! But when I finally started to do something about it, you ran away from me! I didn’t know what to do. Besides, if I fell in love with you...it could mess with our jobs. Because if for any reason, something happens, they’d fire you before they’d ever trade me. And you’ve worked too hard to have an opportunity like this be taken away from you because of me. So... I didn’t know what to do. And then you just kept ignoring me and saying those things about how you’re just a nerdy analyst…. It felt like we weren’t on the same page anymore and I didn’t know where it came from or what to do either so I tried to give you space. But then you shut me out. And you said we shouldn’t be friends. So I thought that meant.... you wanted to be more than friends? And the boys were saying that you being mean to me was just you having a hard time having feelings for me but then you… uh, yelled at me so I left you alone. But that doesn’t mean I stopped thinking about you.” He placed one of his hands on top of your tentatively, giving you the option to shoo his hand away. When you didn’t, he rubbed the skin on top of your hand. “It never meant I stopped caring about you.”
He sighed. “I guess I see now that I should not have given you space. I should’ve been better for you because that’s what you deserve.”
“I could’ve been better too, this isn’t all your fault. I said some mean things.”
“I promise you, that when we’re together I’m not a NHL player. I’m just me… just Tim from Germany who likes hockey. You have always seen me for who I am, and that’s...that’s something I love about you.”
Your breath got caught in your throat. Love… was a big word. Love was for confident people. Love was for those who didn’t understand the weight of that four letter word. Love wasn’t a word you threw around. Love was scary. It asked you to place your bandaged heart in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t drop it, shattering the pieces into smithereens. Love meant letting down those walls that time and time again had proved that needed to stay up. To protect you. To avoid the heartache of broken trust.
And here he was, throwing that word around as if the implications didn’t matter. As if he didn’t leave. As if he didn’t call you a problem. As if he didn’t know the months you spent trying to forget him and the fragments he left behind.
As if he still wasn’t understanding.
“I… I can’t do this.” You go to open the car door only for it to lock. You gasp, and you whip your head around, your eyes sharp. “This is my car, you can’t do that!” His eyes went wide and you tried again, only for it to be locked again. You gritted your teeth and he spoke before you could reprimand him again.
“Don’t shut me out again! You say you can’t do this, okay, but tell me why. We’re supposed to-to talk to each other! We would’ve had no mess if you had just talked to me after you heard what I said! So.. talk to me,” You met his soft eyes, your resolve breaking with just one look. “Please, schatz.”
You slowly pulled your hand off the handle, letting it fall into your lap. You picked at your fingernails while trying to compose your thoughts, Tim’s concerned eyes never leaving you. He murmured your name and you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.
“I’m sorry I just- I don’t know if I can jump back into where we were. I know that… it’s different than I thought but I can’t-” you cut yourself off before you said something you regret and a cold chill ran through you. “It still hurts. I can’t just unhear those things you said. Especially when they came from you. So, I’m going to need time to process everything.”
He placed one of his hands over your fidgeting fingers and you lifted your head to meet his soft eyes. “I’ll give you some space. Just let me know when you know, yeah?” Before you could nod your head, he had opened his door and got out of your vehicle. You quickly got out to question him.
“What are you doing?” He turns around at the sound of your voice.
“I’m… I’m giving you space?”
“How are you planning to get home? Uber?” He shrugged before nodding, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Uh, no. No. Get in.” He raised his eyebrows and you sighed. “It’s almost 11pm, we’re in a dark forestry area, and you are the least threatening person I know. I’m not going to let you get stabbed by some murder psycho; you still mean something to me, you know.”
At that he came over to the car, and the two of you got settled back into your seats. After you buckled up and started the engine, Tim broke his silence.
“Did you mean that? That I still mean something to you?”
You swallowed slowly and took a while to answer his question, your hand resting on the gear shift. You put the car in reverse, and looked over at him. “You’re always going to mean something to me. Just what exactly you are changes.” You backed out of the parking lot and started the drive to his place. He was quiet for a few minutes, pondering your answer, but when he spoke his voice had the quiet confidence he always carried around with him.
“Can I ask what I am right now?” Streetlights illuminated his face and out of the corner of your eye you see him slightly turned towards you, his face unsure.
“No. I’ll keep you updated?”
“Good enough.”
The rest of the drive back to his house was quiet, aside from the lo-fi beats you had playing in the background. Despite the tension, the drive felt comfortable. When you parked in front of his house, he cleared his throat.
“Um, thank you for the ride. I’ll see you around I guess,” He unbuckled his seat belt and placed his hand on the handle.
“Goodnight Tim.” Despite your smile, Tim really hoped your goodnight didn’t also mean goodbye. He got out of your car, walked up the steps to his door, unlocked it and gave you a small wave before he went inside.
Tim was true to his word. He gave you space. He didn’t go back to the lookout spot or the war memorial, knowing those were your sanctuaries before they were his. He didn’t ask for updates, he didn’t stop by your office, he didn’t ask Josh how you were doing.
And you appreciated it. The time and space left you alone with your thoughts and you often visited the lookout spot or the war memorial, trying to find some peace, but those spots were now shared with Tim. So, for the first time in a long time, you spent time in your apartment.
When you moved in, you hadn’t done anything to the place. Spaces were temporary in your experience. It was more hassle than it was worth to try to make the space your own if, in a year everything was a clean slate. But Dani was right. It had been close to six years now since you moved in. Six years. You had a stable job, you had friends here, it was time to accept that maybe this was more than temporary.
You started by unpacking the last few boxes that were stacked in the hallway. You replaced the command hooks hanging your picture frames with nails. You got new paint to liven up the living room from the basic beige it was before. You put the work into making your apartment really yours. You had to stop living behind walls and this was a first step.
The next step was to really open up.
***
You were waiting outside the dressing room for Tim to get out. You came down as soon as practice finished so you knew you wouldn’t miss him. You leaned against the cool concrete, trying to control your bouncing leg. He was one of the last out of the dressing room and you shyly smiled at the other players who left. When he came out, you popped off from the wall and stood in front of him.
“Do you still want to know why I picked hockey?” You could tell your question caught him off guard but he nodded nonetheless. “You had asked and I brushed it off...because it hurt to think about. Because it was my dad...He loved hockey. Everywhere we went, there was a team he could cheer for, but he always wished that his hometown team would win, no matter how bad they were. He took me to a game once. I had asked why he liked it so much, it was cold and loud and people were drunk and I’m pretty sure our team was losing. We were down in the crowd and he said to me, ‘Hockey is this great sport. It connects people. It creates families right before your eyes. Enemies can become teammates. This...this sport can be a family for you, anywhere you go. I hope one day you can find something that does the same thing for you.’ Two weeks later, he had a heart attack. So, I held onto the one thing that he found belonging in. I liked my math, it made sense, and I’m good at it. But when it came to doing something with my life, I just- I wanted something to make my dad proud of me, you know? I wanted to feel connected to him.”
Tim was silent but he pulled you into a hug, your head going into the crook of his neck. His arms went around your waist and he held you for a minute. “Your dad would be proud of you. I know he would. Why’d you tell me now though?”
“Well, friends share personal stuff, right?” You pulled away from the hug just enough to catch his eyes. You looked up at him hopefully, and he smiled.
“Yeah, they do.” He broke the hug, but kept an arm slung over your shoulder. “C’mon, friends also eat brussel sprouts for each other.” You laughed at his distaste for them and the two of you walked out the parking lot together, his arm still slung around your shoulders.
***
You looked up at the ceiling, your bedsheets twisted beside you. It had been about two weeks since you told Tim about your dad, and since then, the two of you had been exchanging texts daily. It felt familiar, even though both of you knew it was different. Not a bad different, just… different. You’d been over to his place a couple times and he came over for your place for a ‘welcome back’ dinner.
You were nervous to show him your apartment, but you knew you had grown into the space. It was no longer generic beige walls and command strips. The living room had an accent wall and you put nails in the wall to hang your family photos in the hallway. Tim took his time looking around your space, spending extra time in the hallway. He stopped in front of the picture of your family, all four of you, and smiled.
“My parents are coming into town when we play the Caps in December, if you want to meet them?” He had said when you sat down to eat. You sputtered your drink a little and set down the glass.
“Only if...you meet Dani when we go to Seattle in January?” His face broke into a grin and he nodded.
“I’d love that.” The rest of the dinner had no issues, just two friends catching up and getting familiar with each other again.
But he wanted you to meet his parents. He wanted you to meet the people who raised him, his family. And you didn’t have any hesitations. You wanted to meet the people who made Tim who he is.
This past week solidified that you knew what you wanted. You wanted to meet Tim’s family, you wanted to show him around Seattle, you wanted to be with him. If he still wanted to be with you.
If.
He had been pretty clear where he stood on his feelings, but the voice in the back of your mind taunted you with that one tiny two letter word. He might have seen how you reacted, how unstable you were, and how you weren’t ready to jump into things as a sign you didn’t want this. He could’ve taken your steps to being friends again as being just friends again. He could’ve-
You weren’t going to wait around to let what-if’s and might of’s and could’ve’s waft around in your head. You needed to talk to him, needed to see him. So in your pajama pants and a hoodie, you braved the Canadian night and drive to his house. You parked the car, rather haphazardly, but it could wait. You skipped a step walking up to his door and quickly phoned him.
You paced back and forth on the small porch as the phone rang three times before he picked up.
“Hallo?” His accent was thicker in his native language, the harsh constants sounding so soft from his lips.
“Can you come open the door?”
“What?”
“I’m outside. Can you open the door?”
“What? It’s like...early,”
A sigh escapes you. “Tim. I know. I know now.”
“Well if you looked at a clock before you left your place, you would’ve known earlier. That would’ve-”
“Tim.” You gulped and your voice trembled slightly. “I’m ready. I know what I want.” The tone of your voice dropped its lightheartedness and that alone was enough to shake the sleep from his mind. But your words? More than enough to get him out of bed and racing (as quietly as he could in the dark) towards you.
He opened the front door in his sleep joggers to see you pacing and shaking your arms. You hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to admire you. The way your hair fell, your Senator pajama pants that Brady gave you as a gag gift, the way you bit your lip between your teeth.
“Hey.” His voice broke you out of your trance, your head whipping around to see him standing in the doorframe.
“Hi.” Your voice was quiet, the nerves getting the best of you. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His hair was a mess and he was wearing the grey hoodie you knew for a fact was his favourite. “Oh, right, I have to go first. Um...Are- are you still sure about your feelings for me?” He nodded. “And-and they’re for sure, good feelings?”
“… They’re such good feelings.” You nodded and gave your body another shake through, as if to dissipate the nerves racing throughout your veins.
“I know it’s taken me a while to kinda sort everything out but… I like you too. That’s why hearing those things hurt so much. That’s why I had to take some time. I've been alone for most of my life and it was scary to let someone in so easily, unknowingly. You just waltzed in and made yourself at home in my heart and it felt like you belonged so I… I didn’t even realize you could hurt me. And when I heard those things, it hurt more. It just solidified that I should’ve stayed alone. You can’t get hurt if there’s no one to hurt you right? But every talk, every late night drive, everything we had...it was worth all the hurt. So I’m ready. I want to do this with you, even if it hurts. I don’t know if I can do life without you.” He pushed himself off of the doorframe and came to stand in front of you, his hand cupping your cheeks, soothing the skin under your eyes.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you and I don’t plan on doing it ever again, Y/n, you have to know that.” You nodded against his hands and you could feel some of his tension fade from his body. “Does this mean… we could be more than friends?”
“I want to be much more than friends with you, Tim.” You bit your lip to try to stop your smile from growing so wide, but it broke through when you saw how wide his smile was and how his eyes crinkled with joy.
“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” He asked softly, already leaning in. He left space between the two of you so you could decide but you easily leaned into him, your lips meeting. It was gentle but it was loving. You moved in sync, Tim’s hand moving to the back of your head to push you closer to him. Eventually, you pulled away for air.
“Schatz…” He breathed and you laughed lightly.
“You know, I don't think you've told me what that really means,” You said with a cheeky smile.
“Would you like me to say it in English, sweetheart?” He brushed his nose with yours.
“Hmm, German is fine,” You tilted your head upwards, almost brushing your lips with his. With your teasing, he let out a groan, bringing you in for another kiss. This time he broke for air, his eyes still slightly closed.
“You know, you cured my homesickness. I never felt like I missed home because I found home in you,” He whispered. Your heart melted and you brought your lips together with a passion he hadn’t seen from you before. Your hands tangled in his hair and he chased your lips as if it was a breakaway. When you broke for air, the two of you were breathless.
“As much as I want to keep doing that, it’s also very early and I am tired. Can we go back to bed please?” His arms were still around your waist, but he leaned back enough that you could see his face, puppy dog eyes and all. You nodded to his request with a soft smile, and went to remove yourself from his arms and go back to your car, but he tightened his grip.
“I got you now, so I’m not letting you go.” You buried your head in the crook of his neck and slowly the two of you made your way into the warm house. He led you through the dark hallways to his bedroom, giggling and sneaking kisses where you could.
You fell asleep so easily, the quickest you have the entire time you had lived in Ottawa. And it wasn’t only Tim’s warmth, or the way his sheets smell like hockey tape and his peppermint shampoo. You had finally opened yourself up. You had found that belonging your dad always wanted you to. And you found that in Tim; whether he knew it or not, he was home.
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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago
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The Rules of Engagement (1/5)
part one of the The Better Love Series 
pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader
summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 
words: 6.3k 
warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, eventual smut. 
a/n: at the end. @tiffdawg​, I finally did it.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
MASTERLIST
Your alarm buzzes, and you roll over groggily. 
0615.
Goddamn. You flop a pillow over your head, blocking out the early morning sun, and wonder if three hours of sleep is any better than no sleep at all. 
Somehow, you kind of doubt it. 
The alarm blares again, a failsafe you’d been wise enough to set up after round two had led you to the shower. You gather your still-damp hair, wincing at how gross that feels, and elbow Peña in the shoulder. 
“Morning, sunshine!” You toss your soggy pillow onto his face. 
He grunts pathetically, cracks an eye just enough to send you a sliver of resentment, and lifts a middle finger vaguely in your direction. 
You’re completely unsympathetic. “Not my fault this time, Peña.” 
He curses you in Spanish as you flick on the lights on your way to the kitchen. Coffee is your first order of business. 
You’re not sure exactly when Agent Peña became a fixture in your apartment.  Oh, you can nail down the general timeline pretty well - a night out with the Search Bloc boys had ended with Peña coming to your place, and things had unfolded naturally from there. The sex was good. Very good. You’ve always had a high drive, and Peña is a man who can deliver. You’re pretty creative, and he’s fairly open minded, and neither of you seem to care to make things complicated with Labels and Conversations. Somewhere down the line, wild nights out evolved into even wilder nights in, and then, before you knew it, you’d let Peña borrow your spare key when he’d left his wallet on your coffee table. 
That had been at least two months ago. The sex is still good, and Peña is still leaving his shit everywhere, so neither of you bothered to say anything about it. 
It works. That’s all that matters.
You’ve just sat down with your drink in your hands as the doorbell buzzes. “What the fuck?” You glance at the kitchen clock. It’s not even 0630.
The doorbell buzzes again. 
You eyeball the gun that Peña has left lying on the kitchen counter. Nobody should be looking for you this early in the morning. 
“Hey!” Somebody is knocking now, and shouting, and ugh, you recognize that voice. You leave the gun where it is - somewhat reluctantly - and slam open the door with a ferocity that sends Steve Murphy stumbling into your kitchen. 
“Good morning,” you say serenely. 
“Good morning to you, too, Ears,” Murphy grimaces up at you. 
“That’s not my name,” you remind him for the thousandth time. Not that it will make any difference. Ever since you’d made the mistake of introducing yourself as Centra Spike’s new liaison by saying, “I’ll be your ears,” the Search Bloc boys had leapt at the opportunity to tease. You’re pretty sure most of them don’t realize that you have any other name. 
Somehow, it irks you more coming from Murphy. 
“What are you doing here?” you ask as politely as your temper allows. Murphy has never been your favorite person, and your caffeine definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.
Murphy rights himself, fixing you with a glare that doesn’t threaten in the slightest. “I’m looking for Javi,” he says. He has the audacity to glance around your tiny living space, as if he’d come with a search warrant.
You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of your too-thin nightshirt, and lift a brow in Murphy’s direction. “And what makes you think he’d be here?”
Murphy pins you with an ‘I see right through your bullshit’ expression. “Call it a hunch.” 
Right on cue, footsteps clatter down the kitchen stairs. Murphy smirks. You don’t bother to hide a sigh. 
Fuck. 
“What are you doing here?” Peña echoes you unconsciously. You try not to cringe at the smug glance Murphy throws your way.
 Instead, you turn to glare at Javi, and oh god. 
His shirt is buttoned all wrong, hanging lopsided and displaying half his chest, if he’d just given up at the top. 
Subtle.
Murphy apparently doesn’t have the stones to address it, because he waves a manilla folder in front of Peña’s face. “Special delivery,” he says, dropping the file on your coffee table with a smack. 
Peña dives for it, brow furrowed. Whatever he sees must be good, because he snaps his head up to stare at Murphy. “Where did you get these?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.
“My contact in Medellín.” Steve rests his hands on his belt ever so casually, as if daring Peña to question him. 
Peña does. “Since when do you have a contact in Medellín?” 
You wonder the same. Partners are usually aware of each other’s informants, unless it’s that kind of contact. Isn’t Murphy married?
“Not important.” Murphy shuts him down quickly. 
“Verdugo,” Peña breathes.
You shoot a questioning glance at Murphy.  In the three months you’ve been in Colombia, your Spanish is rapidly improving, but Murphy has been here longer, and some things are still beyond you. “Butcher,” he translates with a grimace. “Or executioner. One of Escobar’s top sicarios.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Lovely.”
Peña glances up, surprised to hear you speak, as if he’d forgotten that he’s standing in your living room.
Murphy doesn’t acknowledge you. “He’s in Medellín, Javi.” He stretches, then makes for your front door. “I’m gonna turn in for a bit. Late night.” 
Peña grunts, settling on your sofa with the file as Murphy sees himself out. 
You sidle up behind him, curious.  He knows you’re there - your hair is falling over his shoulder and you’re doing nothing to stifle your breathing, but Peña’s only acknowledgement of your presence is to shift his body ever so slightly to the left, unspokenly granting you access to the file.
You bite your lip, pleased and a little unnerved at the implication. You suppose that Peña wouldn’t be Peña unless he’s breaking the rules. He certainly has a reputation for it.
It hits a little differently, though, knowing that he’s committing a felony just to satisfy your curiosity. And on your fucking sofa, too.
You shake the butterflies away. Peña is flipping through a series of grainy photos, each showcasing the same guy. Somebody, Murphy probably, has circled his face in red ink, and there are further notes in the margins, written hastily. Landmarks, you guess. Peña is reading too fast for you to decipher much, but you spot a map of what you assume is Medellín in the shuffle. It is similarly annotated with scrawling red ink.
Peña flips through the file once, and then again, slower. 
You brace yourself on on your forearms, glancing at the clock. You aren’t expected at the embassy until eight - you can afford to be patient. 
Whatever this is, it’s big.
Deciding you’ve gleaned all you can from the file, you turn your attention to Peña. He’s leaned forward on your sofa, arms on thighs, lost in thought. Every muscle is tensed, as if he could spring up at any moment, his gaze is narrowed, his brow furrowed in a way that tempts you to lick it. 
The thought startles you. You aren’t a goddamn animal.
Are you? Your mind drifts to Murphy, smirking with his arms folded in your kitchen like he could see through your nightshirt, right into your fucking brain. 
A stone sinks in your chest. Landing this position with Centra Spike had been your first big break in a lifetime of frustrations. You’d joined the army fresh out of school, angling to be an analyst with the special forces. The good ol’ U. S. of A. had gladly foot the bill for your education in exchange for you signing your life away, and you’d chugged through a mind-numbingly boring double major of mathematics and computer science, all on the sage advice of your recruiter. 
The reality of active duty was a kick in the fucking teeth. The brass had taken one look at you - a wide-eyed, idealistic woman with a big hair and bigger goals - and promptly slapped you with a desk job. You’d spent three more years rotting away in a forgotten back corner of an office building in Kuwait, filing reports and delivering messages. Occasionally, they’d throw you a bone and hand you a code to rewrite. Your commanding officer got all the credit, and you were just a glorified secretary.
By the time your contract was up, you’d been sidelined, interrupted, passed-over, underestimated, scoffed, and just flat-out ignored enough to be thoroughly fed up with military life. The glass ceiling in the U.S. Army is raised just high enough to suffocate its victims slowly, and you were sick sick of being stifled. 
Being recruited by the CIA for analyst work in the hunt for Pablo Escobar had been pure, dumb luck. Right now, you might just be a liaison, but this is your shot. Your last one, probably, and you’re not willing to give it up just to get laid.
Not even for the best lay of your life.
Peña slaps the file shut with gentle smack, startling you from your thoughts. He reaches for his boots, moving with a single-minded determination that you’d find sexy if it weren’t so damned inconvenient.
“Peña.”
He doesn’t react, just gathers his badge and keys from the end table as if you aren’t even there.
“Peña.” You say it louder this time.
“Hmm?” 
“Javi!” You call his name without even realizing it, and it works. His head snaps up, eyes wide, staring at you as if he’s just now seen you for the first time.
You have his undivided attention now. 
“Yeah?” He blinks, all wide brown eyes, and fuck it all, you can feel yourself flushing under his gaze. 
You swallow hard, push past the strange flutter in your chest. “We’re getting too predicable.” 
His brow furrows. “Come again?”
You decide to take the high road, but you can’t stop your lips twitching at the obvious joke that he’s left himself open for. He’s quick to follow your though process, though - his eyes sparkle with laugher, daring you to call him on his blunder. 
Shit.
You press on. “This,” you start, grimacing. He’s still looking at you, and his expression is warm. Flirtatious. “What we’re doing…” Goddamn, your face is aflame. “I mean, we’re not exactly subtle.”
He draws back, expression shuttering instantly. “Don’t worry about Murphy,” he says firmly. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
The ‘if he knows what’s good for him’ is clearly implied.
“It’s not just Murphy,” you press. You can’t exactly put into words what it is that you're trying to make Peña understand, you just know it's important that he does.
“What are you suggesting?” He’s standing now, still holding the file against his chest, as if to defend himself with it. 
You shake your head. “I think,” you say slowly, trying hard not to catch his eye, “that we need to cool it.”
Silence. You can feel his raised eyebrow.
You step forward. You’re focusing hard on finding the right words without revealing too much, but your hands are desperate for something to do. “We need to stop fucking around.”
There, you said it.
“Oh?” There’s something amused in his tone, but you shrug it off, still refusing to look at him.
“Yeah,” you answer hotly. “Isn’t this fraternization? Shouldn’t we be worried about our careers, or some shit? We both have a lot to lose here.” You glance up, emboldened by your speech. “Do you want to catch Escobar or not?”
He’s looking down at you, not taking you the least bit seriously, expression damn near indulgent. 
Indignation sets a fire in your chest.
“You think you can just quit me, cold turkey,” he asks in a voice as smooth as silk.
Goddammit, he’s mocking you.
“Absolutely.” You look him firmly in the eye, former awkwardness forgotten, more determined than you’ve ever been. 
He huffs directly in your face. “You won’t last a week, Ears.” He cups your cheek in his hand, skimming your jawline with his thumb. “I know you, remember.”
Oh, the bastard. “You think you can go longer?” You counter, stepping into his chest. You’re pissed now. Peña is a well-known man whore, and you know, know, that you are exactly his type.
He laughs now, openly and genuinely amused. “Longer than you,” he says, glancing down at where your hands are absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. 
Oh, fuck. 
“I’m fixing you, you absolute asshole,” you hiss, beyond grateful that you’ve yet to undo his last cockeyed button. “Unless you want to show up at the office all freshly fucked and lopsided.” You hold up the hem of his shirt, clearly displaying his mismatched edges.
“Oh.” At least he has the grace to look abashed. 
“Yeah,” you swallow dryly, suddenly aware of how close he his, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, sex and the scent of your own bedsheets. 
Goddamn, you want him already. 
You push it all away, patting him condescendingly on the chest. Two can play this game. “Just looking out for your career, Agent Peña.”
He sighs somewhat theatrically, but you can see the conflict warring in him. 
“Well, then, Ears,” he says after a long moment. He rebuttons his shirt properly this time, fingers working quickly. “Guess I’ll see you around.” 
You meet his gaze evenly. “Guess so.”
The door shuts behind him, and you sink to the sofa. It’s still warm from where he’d been sitting.
Oh fuck, what have you done?
You’re not watching, you’re not, but you can’t help but notice when Peña comes swaggering into the office at ten am, wearing those sunglasses and those fucking too-tight, dark wash jeans, chugging a cup of coffee like he knows that his exposed neck is a weapon. 
You make eye contact through the glass, just for a moment, and he winks at you.
You smirk back, a plan forming in your mind.
This means war. 
You retaliate by letting your hair curl wild over your shoulders and squeezing yourself into a leather skirt that is just barely work appropriate. The Search Bloc boys bombard you with whistles and winks and catcalls all day. 
It’s worth it, though, to see Agent Peña’s eyes go wide and blinking, to watch him swallow so hard. 
“Fucking tease,” Murphy hisses as you glide past his desk. 
You flip him off in response. 
Your apartment feels strangely empty. 
It’s Saturday afternoon. Search Bloc is investigating a tip in Medellín, and Centra Spike doesn’t need you in today. You briefly consider going out, but that would involve changing out of your sweats, and besides, aside from the Search Bloc guys, you really don’t have many friends in Colombia. 
You sit down on your sofa, drawing the coffee table toward you, and deal yourself a hand of solitaire. The cards had belonged to your dad before he passed them down to you, and they are comfortable in your hand, worn soft with age. There’s a trick to shuffling a deck this old, and something comfortable in the practice. 
The hand you deal is a losing hand. 
Frustrated, you stomp down the stairs to the little pharmacy below your flat. “Hola, Emilio!” you wave to the older man working the counter. Emilio doesn’t speak much English, and your Spanish is improving slower than you’d like, but you mostly manage to communicate just fine. 
You make your way to the little display of liquor bottles and ponder it for a minute. There’s nothing remotely recognizable on the shelves, but you’re not exactly committed to buying anything, anyway. 
There’s nothing more pathetic than drinking alone. 
 A presence at your shoulder makes you jump. It’s just Emilio. He smiles at you, and reaches for a bottle of clear liquor whose packaging reminds you a little too much of antiseptic hand spray for comfort. He presses it into your hands. “Guaro.”
“This is what I need, then?” you ask him. “Este? It’s good?”
“Guaro.” He’s nodding and grinning, rattling something in rapid-fire Spanish that you’re far too slow to translate. The enthusiasm behind it is hard to miss, though.
“He says it’s good and strong. Respect it, and it will respect you.” Emilo’s daughter winks up at you. She’s bent over, stocking shelves, and you’d missed her, distracted as you’d been by your conversation with Emilio.
You smile gratefully. Ana must be home from university this weekend. You’ve only met once or twice, but she’s kind, and doesn’t mind translating for you. You think you might have been friends, if she was around more.
“Gracias,” you tell her, and mean it. “Aguardiente,” you sound out slowly, frowning down at the bottle. “Sugar water?”
“Something like that.” Ana rises, leaving the box of chicharrones on the floor. “You’ll find that most of the locals just call it guaro. It’s a staple in Colombia. Hard to find anywhere else, and even transporting it between cities is dangerous.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if to say, ‘what’s new?’ 
“But it’s just liquor, right?” 
“Yeah, I think so. Alcohol, sugar, anise…” She shrugs, and laughs. “Simple, but there’s something magic about it. You don’t want to go too hard with this. Sit down and have a small glass with a lime. Slower is better.” 
You frown. Anise. It jogs something in your memory, some long-forgotten fact…
“Trust me.” Ana is at your elbow now, pinning you with an earnest stare. “It hits hard, and fast. Papa wasn’t lying.”
You laugh. “Is that the college experience speaking?”
“Oh, yes. Seguro.” 
Ana follows you as you take the bottle of guaro to the register. “And how are your classes going?” you ask as Emilio rings you up. 
Ana grimaces, shaking her head as she cuts her gaze to Emilio. “It’s good to have a little break,” she admits. 
You sympathize with that. You hadn’t cared too much for the tedium of higher education either. Emilio hands you a little paper bag, and you wave goodbye to him with a smile. “I’ll have to catch you when you’ve got a free weekend,” you tell Ana as you head toward the stairs that lead to your flat. You hold up the liquor suggestively. “You can teach me all about how to respect this guaro.”
Ana laughs. “What are you doing this evening? We close up at eight.”
Your face breaks into a grin. It’s hard making friends in Colombia just with the language barrier alone, never mind that your work with Centra Spike forces you to keep so many secrets. Without Peña around, life here is lonely. But Ana seems innocent enough, and it’s just a drink. “Perfect! I’ll be here.”
You walk up the steps feeling much lighter than when you descended them.
Ana doesn’t stay long. She looks around your apartment, carefully assessing, then nodding as if satisfied. 
You let it go.
She teaches you to tap the bottom of the bottle to expel the liquor, almost as if you’re pouring ketchup from a glass container. Looking at the contents, they don’t seem particularly viscous. When you ask her why this is necessary, Ana shrugs.  “It’s a mystery,” she tells you, and you write it off as one of the eccentricities of Colombian culture, paying rapt attention as Ana begins explaining one of only three acceptable ways to serve the guaro.  
“I’ve got something for you,” you announce brightly, slapping both hands firmly on Javier Peña’s desk and leaning in just a hair too close to be strictly professional. 
“Oh?” His face breaks into a slow smirk, and he tilts back in his swivel chair, stretching just enough to give you a good view of those too-tight jeans as he hooks his fingers behind his head. “And what’s that?”
Smug fucking bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. You cool your jets and wink at him, teasing a manilla file for him to see. “We thought you might like this.”
“We?”
“Okay, fine, Jacoby caught some chatter, but I vetted it,” you press on, refusing to let him derail you. This is huge. “It’s Verdugo.”
Peña glances up at you, suddenly intense. “You sure?”
“Well, it’s not him personally,” you admit. “At least, not his voice. But,” You slam the transcript down on his desk. “We caught an entire conversation verifying his presence at a safehouse in Medellín.” You pause for full dramatic effect before going in for the kill. “A specific safehouse in Medellín.”
Javi reverts to Agent Peña instantly, all flirting forgotten as he leans forward on his elbows. “Show me.”
You bend over, noticing absently that your hair is once again falling into his face as you tap your finger over the address. Peña settles in to read the full report as you watch, his eyes darting back and forth over the pages at a rate that is truly impressive. When he glances back up at you, the ferocity of his gaze is startling. 
“They’re getting ready to make a move.” There’s something like a spark of hope in his eyes, tiny, but growing stronger as he processes the information you’ve given him.
“Yeah,” you say, throat suddenly dry. He’s looking at you with earnest gratitude, and it tugs at something deep in your chest.
“This is big,” he breathes, and just like that, he’s on his feet, gathering the file, punching a number into his desktop telephone. 
“This is Peña,” he says as the call connects. “We’ve got something.”
It’s dark when you finally get home. Claudia Messina, head of DEA operations in Colombia, had cornered you in her office for hours, going over and over the information you’d vetted. You brain is absolutely fried, the victory of the discovery stifled by having to defend your work again and again. 
You just need a drink. 
“About time!” a voice startles you as you turn to shut the door behind you. You jump, barely suppressing a shriek, and whirl around. 
Goddamn Javier Peña with his goddamned spare key.
He’s smirking at you from your sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Any other day, you’d have noticed his presence instantly just from the smell. 
“What the fuck?” Your voice is more of a whine than you’d like, but dammit, you’re tired, and dammit, he’s gotten one over on you. 
He knows it, too, the smug bastard. “Expecting somebody else?” he asks, sauntering toward you with a devastating smile that manages to be both possessive and suggestive all at once. 
“No,” you answer somewhat grumpily. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
Given your sulky attitude, you’re surprised to see that his smile brightens a bit. You frown at him, still confused as to why the fuck he is here, and he bustles into the kitchen, clinking around, pouring you a drink. 
You sigh and relax onto the sofa. At least you’ll have that.
He comes back, a tumbler of clear liquor in each hand. Ah, so he’s found your guaro. You suspect that he’s helped himself to at least one measure already. He hands you a glass, and you take it gratefully, sniffing at the contents. 
He’s drinking it neat, apparently.
“So!” he says, settling beside you on the sofa, close enough that your thighs touch. He pins you with an intense stare. You raise a brow in response, intrigued and a little confused. 
He smiles. “Your tip from this morning was a gold mine, Ears.” He eases back, propping his feet on your coffee table in a way that you should probably reprimand him for. He sips, sighs, leans in to bump your shoulder playfully, then settles with his hands at his waist, long fingers fiddling with the glass he’s cradling. “Martinez wants us to go for Verdugo tomorrow,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “Based on your information.” 
“Really?” You can hardly believe it. Most of what you do is verify things that others have found, or carry files from Centra Spike to Search Bloc. Same old, same old. Even though you’ve trained for this for years, you’ve never been integral in interpreting and locating a conversation before, especially not for a target as high level as Verdugo. 
Javi twists to smile up at you, a real smile. “Really,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. He watches you fight back a grin. “Go on, be smug. This is big.”
“Wow,” you mouth, somewhat awed that you’ve contributed anything, let alone this, to the hunt for Pablo Escobar. 
The reaction isn’t lost on Javi. He sits up, wraps his arms around your shoulders and squeezes gently. “Pretty much. You gave us enough information that we feel confident about initiating a sting in Medellín.” He reaches up with both hands, catching your face at the edge of your jaw and drawing you close. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ears.”
Ears. Yours are burning at the heat of his touch. You’re acutely aware of his palms cupping your cheeks. His eyes are dark, too dark, and open, looking at you as if you’ve single handled handed Escobar to the DEA on a golden platter. 
You suppress a shudder, leaning in to him as he pulls you in for a hug. Christ, his body feels so good as it cradles yours, arms snaking around your back, stubble gritting awkwardly into your cheek, the scent of smoke and liquor clouding you -
You wonder, abruptly, how much he’s had to drink.
“Peña,” you say swiftly, pulling away from him to stand. The way he’s looking at you right now, giddy and awestruck and openly hungry, well, it’s not going to last. You know it won’t. It can’t. 
His face falls, as if he’s confused at your sudden rejection. 
You shake your head. Peña is just drunk. You guys aren’t like this. You don’t hug and share and hold each other. It was only ever sex, and it’s not even that anymore. 
You’re overwhelmed, suddenly and without warning, at how desperately you want him. 
Not just the sex, though honestly, you have missed that. No, what you want is - 
You shove that thought down, locking it away so deeply that it will never see the light of day. 
You cannot have feelings for Javier Peña. 
“Ears?” he questions, tilting his head just so, managing to look more sober than he has all evening. 
“I just need another drink,” you say as you sidestep him, making your way to the kitchen. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as his gaze follows you. He seems to take your deference at face value - he’s lighter than you’ve seen him in weeks, excited, almost chipper, if you can believe it. The meeting with Martinez must have gone very well. You snort, contrasting his meeting to yours with Messina. The dissonance is enough to wonder, offhandedly, if some not-so-subtle sexism is at play. 
You shake off that thought. It’s not helpful, just depressing, especially here in Colombia. Instead, you turn to look at Javi. 
He’s still flopped on your sofa, his original drink in his hand, hunched over the stack of playing cards that you’d left out last night. 
Your dad had taught you to play solitaire from a young age. There’s a variation for two players, a game which one will inevitably win, but the real challenge is for the single player, in which triumph relies equally on skill and luck. Last night, after Ana had left, you’d played a long, brutal game, ultimately finding yourself blocked, helpless to do anything but shuffle the deck over, and over, and over again. 
Losing two games in a row is just shameful, and you’d left the cards on the table, eager to look at them again with fresh eyes. 
Javi eyeballs the game with a furrowed brow. You’d managed to make it quite far. Had the cards fallen in any different order, you’d have won easily. Carefully, Javi flicks over one card from the stack, frowns, then another. This one is a red queen, and he plays it eagerly, shuffling the black jack to its new position and opening up another space. 
“Hey!” you protest. He glances up at you, bemused, and you shove a newly made drink into his hand as you settle beside him. 
“You missed that move,” he explains, pointing exaggeratedly with the pinky finger that holds the tumbler. 
You roll your eyes. “I play draw three,” you correct him. You reshuffle the cards to their original places, this time drawing three from the deck: a five of spades on top, Javi’s red queen in the middle, and the ace of spades below both. The top card, the five of spades, has no place to be played, so you flip all three cards into the discard pile and draw three more from the deck. 
Javi frowns. “Seems like you’re making it a lot harder than it has to be.”
You sigh. Men. “Single draw solitaire is for kids,” you counter with a vicious smile. “Just for them to learn to play the game. Real players draw three.”
He huffs, “Oh, really?” he’s smirking up at you, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Are you the kind of woman who likes a challenge, Ears?”
He’s just dying to prove you wrong. 
“I’m the kind of woman who refuses to cut corners just so I can win a dumb card game.” you inform him sagely.  
“Hmmm,” he says, staring contemplatively at the cards. You let him shuffle through the deck twice, each time verifying what you already know - the game, played as it is, is unbeatable. 
‘Seems a little silly to me,’  he teases, bopping you on the nose. “Letting your ego get in the way of winning.”
Of course Javier Peña would see it that way. You kick back, letting your feet settle at the edge of the coffee table. “Go on then,” you tell him, siping at your drink. “Swoop in and save my game with your kiddie version, you fucking hero.”
He laughs overtly at that, eyes sparkling, and something clenches hard in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so open, laughing and flirting and playing stupid games after a long day at work. 
It’s nice.
You settle in to watch him work his magic. He’s making plays at an alarming rate - it seems like no time at all before the deck is empty. 
You glance at the clock, biting back a sigh. Less than five minutes. 
He’s smirking up at you, all mussed and smug, eyes alight with warmth, and suddenly, something swoops dangerously in your belly.
That hair, those eyes, his laugh. Warm skin in the dim glow of the lamplight, his body sprawled over your sofa, just begging to be teased. 
You wonder again why he’s here. You’ve made it clear that there’s no more sex, so…
Oh, god. 
Glancing back down at him, tousled hair and crooked smile, ridiculous mustache, plopped indelicately on your sofa, you suddenly realize. 
Javier Peña had sought you out for your company. For no other reason than that he’d had a good day, and wanted to share it with you. 
And oh, oh god.
You’re still so caught up in the sex and your fucking feelings that you can’t divorce that from your friendship, which is obviously important to him. He’s not out celebrating with Murphy - he’s here, in your apartment, with no expectation other than to kick your ass by cheating at children’s card games. 
The realization takes the breath from your lungs. 
You’re the problem here. Just like with the fucking card game, you’re the one making it complicated. 
Javi needs a friend. 
Javi needs a friend, and he’d sought you out so that you can just chill together, and all you can think as he shuffles those damned cards is how the callouses of his fingers would catch deliciously against your clit as he dips them inside you. 
And, and…
You cut off that dark thought. You are not going there.
Jesus Christ, what kind of friend are you?
“Well, this calls for a celebration,” you say. It’s a beat too late and obviously hollow, but Javi doesn’t seem to notice, and you’ve managed to keep the tremor out of your voice, so that’s a win. You rise, making for the kitchen, desperate to do something with your hands. You find yourself pouring Javi yet another drink - is this his third? Or fourth? You aren’t sure - and making yourself a second, much lighter version. 
The last thing you want is to do something stupid.
Javi meets you at the kitchen bar, and you slide the tumbler across to him. He eyeballs it speculatively, raising it and tilting it to view the contents in the dim kitchen light. 
“Goddamn, Ears.” He snorts. “Are you trying to poison me?” 
The denial falls from your tongue as he tilts back his glass from earlier, his second, - or third? - the one that you’d made. He swallows, pushing the empty glass back into you hand, and stands, catching himself on the edge of the table as if he’d moved too fast.
“Alright?” you ask.
He takes a deep breath, then straightens, slowly letting go of the countertop. “Fine,” he says, cocking a brow at you. “But what is that stuff?”
You laugh. “Emilio, you know, from downstairs, he found it for me. Says it’s a Colombian staple, and I can’t leave without having a bottle at least once.”
Javi blinks one too many times, then giggles. Despite your best effort, you snort at the sound. "Well then,” he raises his full tumblr to your half full one, and they clink awkwardly. “To local rotgut and poor life choices,” he toasts, as solemnly as he as able.
“Salud!” you counter, managing to sound a just a hair more sober. Javi is swaying as he stands, and suddenly, you’re concerned. “When did you last eat?”
He glances at you, tilting his head as if your question makes no goddamn sense, and you sigh heavily. Idiot man.
“Okay, hold off on that one,” you warn him - he looks as if he’s about to toss it back, too. “Let me at least make you some eggs first.”
“Eggs?” 
You’re already bustling around your tiny kitchen, pulling a pan from below the stove. “Yeah, moron,” you tell him, unable to stop the grin that catches your lips. “Eggs and salsa. Best food for staving off a hangover that I’ve found so far.”
Javi throws back the rest of his drink anyway, then comes to press his body to your side. “Is that a fact?”
“It’s a fucking science,” you counter, unable to resist slamming your hips into his to nudge him out of the way as you reach into the fridge for the butter. 
He wraps his arms around your shoulders, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I be of assistance?” he purrs into your ear, and suddenly, it’s very, very hard to concentrate on cooking. 
“Sit. Down.” You hiss, slapping his butt with a dishtowel. He yowls more than strictly necessary, the drama queen; you’re an excellent towel-popper, but it shouldn’t hurt that much. 
Still, you rub his ass in compensation, matching his lecherous grin when he fixes it on you. “Have a seat,” you tell him again, kicking a barstool vaguely in his direction. “And watch the magic.”
Javi cleans his plate enthusiastically. “So what’s the secret?” he asks, mouth full, still staring up at you like your shitty scrambled eggs are the best meal he’s ever eaten.
You snort. “No secret, Peña.” You hold up your stick of butter, much lighter than it’d been before, and toss it back into the fridge. “You literally just watched me cook them.”
He grins loopily.
You shake your head, biting back your own smile. How could a man as competent and independent as Javier Peña forget to do something as basic as eat? 
Well, it hardly matters. Even with the food you’ve made, he’s going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Ana had cautioned you several times to go easy on the guaro, and you trust her judgement. Emilio’s shit, in particular, is cheap, potent, and deadly. 
Well, he’ll pay for it tomorrow. You shake you head, watching him bumble around the kitchen and drop his dirty plate in the sink. Javi stands at your side, warm and solid as you draw just enough water to let the dishes soak. 
He reaches for your dish soap, and you stop him with a hand on his arm. Javi glances down at you, still a little drunkenly, but his eyes are warm, his lips parted just slightly, and you pull away from him as if burned.
“I’ll get them in the morning,” you manage hoarsely.
He shrugs, brushes your shoulder with his hand as he bumbles away, and you take a moment to lean against the sink and calm your racing heart. 
God, what is with you lately?
Javi has already crashed on your sofa, shoes kicked off, legs sprawled, grinning lazily in your direction. 
You manage not to oogle at him, but it’s a near thing.
Instead, you flop down on his opposite side, allowing your legs to tangle in the middle.
He makes a big show of yawning, tilting his wrist up to glance at his watch. You crane your neck to look at the kitchen clock. It’s only 10:33, but you’re both feeling a little lit - Javi more than you, thankfully - and you both have a big day tomorrow. 
You sigh, reaching down to collect the empty glasses and discarded playing cards, slipping Javi’s keys in your back pocket while he’s not looking.
He scoffs.
Oh. You whirl, realizing he’d been watching you all along. 
“So, am I staying over, Ears?” He grins up at you, a little tired, but still in an excellent mood. 
“You are definitely staying over, Peña,” you tell him firmly, trying not to laugh at the wounded puppy expression on his face as he reacts to your tone. His eyes have gone so wide, pout so pathetic that you can’t help but grin, even as you toss a throw pillow haphazardly over his lap. 
That seems to get a rise out of him. He sits up, frowning at the pillow. “I’m on the sofa?” he whines. 
“Yup!’ you say happily, enjoying the power dynamic for what it is. Putting Javier Peña in your bed tonight would lead straight to…
Well, you’re both drunk, and even if you weren’t, you’re not willing to give up on your bet. Not with the nasty realization that you’d had tonight, for sure. 
Javi must follow your thoughts, because he sobers instantly. “Okay,” he says softly, settling back down and cramming the pillow beneath his shoulder.
You’re kind enough to tuck him in, which really just consists of dragging your comforter from you bed and draping it over his ass and shoulders. His boots are lying haphazardly on the floor - you decide to leave them for him to trip over in the morning - and you don’t bother to cover his feet, knowing that he sleeps with his socks outside of the blanket, the weirdo.
Just as you turn away, a single brown eye catches your gaze. He’d been watching you again.
The thought sends a tremor down your spine. “Need anything else?” you ask clinically, trying to ignore the urge to either kiss him, or scream. 
He huffs contentedly, rocking against the cushions like an animal sinking into a burrow. His eyes drift closed, and you can’t help but just notice how dark his lashes are against his cheek. “Can’t think of anything,” he murmurs, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 
“Okay. Good night,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder as you pass by to turn out the lights.
“Night, babe.”
You choke. Well, maybe he won’t remember. 
Fat chance. He’s drunk, but he’s not wasted. You decide to raise him, because any other response from you will be awkward, forever.
“Good night, honey,” you answer sweetly as you flick off the light. 
In the darkness, you hear him snort.
author’s notes/confessions: 
I have never written Javier Peña. I have never written in second person. I have never written decent smut. I speak no Spanish. Advice and criticisms, if delivered kindly, are very welcome. 
Yeah, I realize that I wrote Javi a little lighter/goofier here than he’s probably typically depicted. Hang tight, guys. He’s not taking this seriously yet, but he will be. Just wait. 
Guaro/Aguardiente a legit Colombian liquor, and I tried to depict it as accurately as possible for never having tried it. The anise thought that reader has is a reference to absinthe, which is a trip if you’ve ever managed to acquire the real deal (something that’s kind of difficult if you live in the States, unfortunately). Also, I’m unsure if you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy liquor in Colombia, but hey, just go with it. 
This started as a conversation with Tiff and turned into... well, this. I am so, so sorry. Expect about 20k and three chapters. Probably. 
Not beta’d. you get what you get, my friends. 
At the risk of sounding pathetic, your feedback absolutely inspires me to write faster. I don’t make the rules, guys. I just write.
This installment is (mostly) complete, but I’d love to hear what you like and what you don’t, and what you want to see next. My inbox is open. I welcome messages. I want to make friends.  
Love you guys big, and happy holidays to those of you who are celebrating!
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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years ago
Text
Phantom Children Ch. 6
Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)
In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist
AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7
DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.
The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.
Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.
“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”
It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”
“Very few can boast that feat.”
“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”
Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”
“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”
He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.
('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.
Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’
'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')
It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.
“What would you like to know first?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.
“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”
“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”
“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”
Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”
“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”
“And he lives with…our dad?”
“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.
He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”
Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”
Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.
“Does he—do they know about me?”
“No, they do not.”
“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”
“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”
“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”
“In due time, I will.”
Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.
Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.
The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.
Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.
Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.
(“It’s not that bad.”
"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”
He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”
"It was your fault.”
“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”
"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”
“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”
“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”
“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”
"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)
Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.
Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.
He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.
LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF
Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.
Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.
When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.
(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )
One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.
“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.
“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”
Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.
He looked so small.
Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”
Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”
Dick sighed. “Fine.”
There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.
When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.
Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.
The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.
Except for one.
It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.
When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.
At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.
Until now.
The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.
He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.
“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”
“Master Bruce…”
“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.
He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.
It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.
In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.
“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”
Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.
Dick’s breath hitched.
“They’re…not your photos, are they.”
Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”
In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.
“Who is he, Bruce?”
Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.
“He’s my son.”
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falloutjay · 3 years ago
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Christophe x childhood friend reader x Kenny, Christophe, Gregory and reader have been friends since gradeschool. Reader was a very emotional person who cared about everyone. She was very sweet yet still helped the boys assassinating people. Reader had always had an obvious crush on Christophe but she never seems get to an direct answer and it really starts to bum her out. So she starts trying to stop showing her feelings to him. It worries people because she starts being more quieter than her normal self. When asked, all she can say ' I just realized that there's something I could never have' and nothing else. It's until reader's parents (who are bakers) get a job opportunity in a town named South Park. It's a very awkward goodbye (with Christophe, it's sad af with Gregory) and she leaves.
As if a switch was pulled, reader goes back to being a sweet and emotional girl (much to her parents delight/relief). We makes lot of new friends and gets a new crush too, Kenny McCormick. She's shy around him at first, much to her friends: Bebe, Wendy, and Nicole's confusion. She confides in them and tells her past troubles with love. They comfort her and tell that it's sure to be different. So reader lightens up around Kenny and they begin a beautiful relationship.
Yet we hit a rough patch when Kenny's womanizing way Catches up with him (Kelly, Tammy, etc) so we naturally get defensive (not to how we were with Christophe but still pretty strained). But worry not, reader (and her friends) win their class a trip to London (they sold 7,777 cookies!!!). Reader is nervous but doesn't stress to hard, it's not like Christophe is still leaving there right? Well after settling into their hotel, Reader and Gregory run into each other and have a heartfelt reunion then reader reunites with Christophe and it's really awkward. So Gregory and Christophe decide to join them on their trip, but something wrong. Christophe seems a lot more open with reader, which confuses reader and Kenny, having connected the dots, tries keeping reader for himself. And poor reader's in a blushy confusing emotional spiral.
I had such a blast writing this. Writing Christophe is mad fun.
Btw, I implied that the events of the movie never happened here, so Wendy and the others never met Gregory or Christophe.
Kenny and Christophe are also pretty mean girls basically but I loved it so much, I couldn't help myself. ^^
(EXCUSE MY BAD FRENCH; IT HAS BEEN YEARS SINCE MY LAST FRENCH LESSONS AND I WAS PRETTY BAD AT IT)
Warnings: Kenny and Christophe are a little OOC I think, swearing, French, Bad French.
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Christophe x Childhood friend!Reader x Kenny
You hummed as you waited for your best friends in the whole wide world. You had prepared a nice little lunch with self-made sandwiches, lemonade, and brownies.
Your excitement went through the roof, once you heard the door to your secret hideout open. Gregory was the first to come in. “Ah, Y/N, what a lovely surprise!” He said gleamingly and admired the beautifully set table. He put down his backpack and as he did so, your longtime crush strolled in. Cigarette in mouth, dirty all over him and an annoyed expression painted on his face, Christophe.
“Hey, how was the job?” You asked sweetly, as Gregory sat down, and Christophe did so too after a short hesitation. “It went well unti-” “Until zat fucking dumb kid made the wrong zound and made me mess up the whole time plan. Why does no one know what a dying giraffe sounds like?” He ranted, hands moving around hastily, while you and Gregory chuckled. “It’s not funny!” The dark-haired protested while he lit his cigarette. You just smiled.
Despite Christophe’s mean demeanor, you had a huge soft spot for him. “Hey, Christophe?” You asked, demanding his attention, which he gave you, while also taking a bite of a sandwich. “Would you maybe like to hang out sometime?” Gregory pretended to not exist and focused on the suddenly very interesting drink in his hand. He knew you liked their friend. But he also knew Christophe better than anyone else. And the blond knew this couldn’t end well.
“Ah, excuse moi, mais…I just don’t have the time currently.” You nodded, trying your best to not show how disappointed you were. It pained Gregory to see you like this. He loved you like a sister and seeing how Christophe was constantly breaking your little heart made him sad.
To his demise, you only grew quieter with time. When Gregory pressed you on the matter, asking what’s wrong, all you managed to mumble was: “I guess… I just realized that there's something I could never have”. It made him worry. You were such a sweet girl but recently you had become a husk of yourself and today was no different.
They had just come back from another job but this time you didn’t even greet them, just passed the folders in which you listed the new jobs they could take. “Here. I am afraid I have some bad news though.��� You mumbled as you pressed the papers in their hands. Gregory looked at you with worry on his face. “What’s wrong, dear?” He asked and noticed how close you were to crying.
“My parents got a really good job over in Colorado. We will move next week.” You mumbled. Gregory threw the papers across the room, before storming to hug you. You held him close, feeling sad, that you would never again drink tea with your favorite English gentleman, and that deeply saddened you.
Your eyes wandered over to Christophe, who looked somewhat sad but made no move to express this. “I can't believe it. You’re THE most important part of this organization and you will be gone by next week?! Who is gonna help me with all the papers?” Gregory held you so close, you almost had trouble breathing.
“I gotta go early today since I have to start packing. I will miss you two so much.” You said, not being able to stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. “Yeah, sure, take your time. If you need any help, you know you can always count on me.” Gregory said, finally letting go of you. You nodded and walked up to Christophe.
“I guess that’s it huh?” You muttered. “Oui. You will be a great loss to zis organization.” Awkwardly you nodded. Was this really everything he had to say? You didn’t see Gregory in the background, wildly gesticulating for him to say more. The dark-haired raised an eyebrow until he finally got what his partner tried to say.
“We will miss you.” He thought this was a perfectly fine answer, but didn’t catch how much that hurt you. “Yeah, me you too.” You said and walked towards the exit. “See you guys!” You called out before you vanished.
“Great job making her feel like shit.” “What waz I supposed to say?”
“My God, Y/N, you have been here for over half a year now! Just tell him already!” Bebe commented and you blushed profusely. “N-no! He doesn’t even like me that much!” You protested, your cheeks colored in a deep red. “There is no point in denying sweetheart. You both are head over heels for each other. Trust me, Stan told me how much Kenny talks about you.” Wendy reassured you. She pointed with her fork over to the table the boys were seated on and sure enough, the blond boy you were talking about was looking over, waving even when he spotted you looking at him. You shyly waved back, before hiding in your sweater.
“Okay, Y/N, what the fuck happened when you lived in England? I can’t imagine you always behave like this around someone you like.” Nicole looked sternly at you, and you let out a deep sigh. “Well, fine, yeah, there was a guy before Kenny that I liked.”
The girls all pushed their food trays to the side, to stick their heads closer together. “In England, I was close friends with two guys.” “Ohh, a three-way?” “Bebe!” Wendy hissed before they let you continue. “They are assassins and I helped them with everything behind the scenes, like contacting clients, paperwork, and all that. Gregory was my best friend, and the other guy is a French, god-hating, foul-mouthed idiot named Christophe. And I really had a thing for him, but he was always super cold and just not that interested in me.” You rambled and the girls listened attentively. “Okay, okay, Y/N, hear me out on this one…” Bebe began, and you looked at her. “Have you maybe thought about the fact that that Christophe guy was just an idiot? You’re great and Kenny sooo has a thing for you. Just go for it!” Nicole and Wendy nodded. “Yeah, you gotta make new experiences, real experiences.” Nicole agreed and Wendy gave it a thumbs up.
Before they could talk any further, you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around. Kenny stood there, smiling warmly. “Hey, Y/n, I just wanted to ask if you maybe wanna go to the mall with me on Saturday and maybe get a smoothie or something?” You felt your face heat up and heard the girls squeal quietly. You nodded. “Yeah, that would great!” You answered and he shot you a flashy smile. “Great. I’ll come to pick you up, yeah?” You nodded excitingly and he walked back to the boy’s table. “Ahh, you got a date!” Nicole beamed and so did the other two. A big smile was glued to your face, and you only managed to nod. “We will so come over on Friday and get you ready! Girls’ night!” Bebe planed and you happily agreed.
Being with Kenny was great. He was loving, always looked out for you, loved listening to you, and yet, you hated his guts just now. You wanted to strangle those stupid sluts that constantly clung to his side like their life depended on it. Yeah, you knew Tammy and he had history, as did Kelly, but did he really have to talk to them that much? Didn’t he see how much you hated it? “Hey, babe!” He whispered into your ear, and you moved away. “Hey, Kenny.” You said coldly. You waited for Mister Garrison to finally let you in the hotel. You and the girls managed to win the school competition for a trip to London, by selling 7,777 packages of cookies, totally legally, by the way, nothing to see here, so now your class was in London and after you sat with the girls in the bus Kenny had sneaked up to you. You were kind of nervous, fearing that you could maybe run into…him… but there was no chance he still lives here, right? Right?
You didn’t know why, but since Kenny had started to talk to his bitches, as you called them, again you distanced yourself from him. You were afraid of being hurt again, so distancing yourself was an automatic reaction.
Once you got settled in your room, the girls proposed discovering the town, since you guys had no events for the day. You happily greed and once in the corridor, you spotted Stans gang down the hall. Wendy asked them to join, much to your demise. You wanted girl time, not being secretly annoyed with Kenny time.
You, Wendy, Bebe, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny wandered the streets, taking in the new scenery. “It’s pretty nice here, isn’t it?” Wendy asked as she put the sweets she bought in her bag. “Yeah!” You agreed and sipped on the tea you ordered.
You guys had sat down at a café to just watch the bussing streets and enjoy some British tea. Kyle was talking to Stan about Cartman, and what prank they’d play on him tonight. Kenny was chatting with Bebe and Wendy about Tammy and Kelly, much to your demise and you just looked around. Your eyes wandered and you watched the other patrons when you stopped at a familiar seeming one. Your mouth was agape, there’s no way your eyes weren’t tricking you right now?!
The in leather gloved hands, the orange button-up shirt, that thick golden hair… A book rested in his left hand, while the other held the tea with an extended pinky. It was him. Gregory. He must have noticed you staring as he looked up and recognized you as well. A big smile appeared on his face, and he quickly put the book in his leather messenger bag. You got up, ignoring the questions from the others, while you ran into Gregory’s extended arms.
“Y/N my dear! I would have never guessed to see you again!” Gregory proclaimed, spinning you around. Neither of you cared that everyone was watching. “I’m so happy to see you. It has been ages!” You mumbled, still hugging your long-lost friend tightly. You only lost contact because you lost your phone during the move, so you had no way of contacting them. Before you two could talk, Kenny appeared by your side.
“Hey, babe, who is this guy?” He asked and as you turned around you saw the questioning looks of everyone. “Oh sorry. Guys, this is my old friend Gregory, we have been friends since we were little. Gregory, these are my friends from America, Wendy, Bebe, Kyle, Stan, and my boyfriend Kenny.”
Gregory properly introduced himself and moved to sit with you guys. He talked with your new friends, and you immediately saw how Wendy and Bebe hung to his lips. You understood that. Gregory was a really good-looking young man by now. You chuckled when you spotted how jealous Stan became with each passing second. Soon Gregory’s phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call.
“Oh my god! That’s the Gregory, you told us about, Y/N? Why did you hide that he’s a British snack!” Bebe exclaimed and you chuckled. Soon Gregory sat back down and that devious smile on his lips made you wonder.
“Ze Mole is coming.” He just said, knowing you wanted to question his smile. You felt the blood in your veins freeze for a second.
“He is still here?” You asked and Gregory nodded. “Why wouldn’t he? We kept the organization running. And there is always a spot for you if you ever want to come back.” The blond spotted the longing in your eyes at an instant. Kenny watched it happening quietly, carefully watching you. Soon enough, a certain someone arrived, pulling another chair to your table, and sitting on it backward, so that he was leaning on the backrest.
Your heart was beating like you had just run a marathon as you inspected every detail about him. His dark messy hair was roughly still the same and his trademark cigarette his only accessory. The tight-fitting dark green shirt fit him perfectly you thought and the tactical belt around his torso was still there. He also still wore fingerless gloves. The two really didn’t change much, apart from becoming older.
“Well, Christophe, these are Y/Ns friends from America.” Gregory introduced them and the dark-haired male lazily gifted him a wave. Wendy and Bebe noticed how you were obviously checking him out and laughed.
“I see you got a thing for baddies.” Bebe whispered into your ear, and you wanted to protest, but got interrupted by Stan.
“Well, I like this sort of reunion, but don’t wanna want to continue or sightseeing?” Gregory smiled warmly, as he offered to play tour guide for you. Your friends happily agreed to his proposition, feeling glad to have a real British tour guide. So, you guys paid for your orders and started walking.
To your surprise, instead of walking up front with Gregory, Christophe walked next to you, eyeing you curiously. “It’s nice to ze you again, mon chéri.” He said you felt your face heat up. Did he seriously just call you that? Did he actually say he’s happy to see you again?
“Well, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” You mumbled and Christophe had a pleasant smile resting on his face. That was a new thing, you thought. While Christophe walked next to you on your right, Kenny was on your left and eyeing the French with jealous eyes. He was an expert at reading people and he spotted Christophe’s attraction to HIS girlfriend miles go and he wasn’t blind to your body language either. You two had history. That much was clear.
Gregory led the group down to a nice spot near the riverbanks of the Thames where the girls took pictures together. Kyle and Gregory switched taking the group photos, while Kenny stood next to Christophe, both looking at the others.
Everyone felt the obvious tension between the two. “Don’t even think about, frog eater.” Kenny said, which made Christophe chuckle.
“Ahh, you Américains are so funny. You think everything belongs to you, when in reality she was already mine, once I sat down at ze table.” Christophe took the last puff of his cigarette, before stomping on it on the ground. Kenny averted his gaze and looked at his newfound rival.
“Yours?” He questioned but didn’t Christoph didn’t reward him with an answer. He only chuckled and put a new unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“Écoutez-Vous. You sound so funny.” The girl the two were fighting about returned with Bebe and Wendy and they all obviously felt the tension between the two.
“Ken, come over. Group pics!” Kyle called out to him and somewhat annoyed, Kenny jogged over. So you and your two friends were left with the French man.
“I just wanted to say, you look formidable, ma briquette.” Wendy and Bebe quietly squealed, as Christoph took your hand to press a kiss on your knuckles. You blushed a deep red. What had happened to him? He never behaved like that, but you couldn’t deny how he made your knees weak.
“Hey, Hey, Hey!” Kenny called out and quickly came stomping back. “I just told you to back off.” Kenny said. “Ah sorry, my English is pretty bad, I must have misunderstood.” Christophe shrugged. Kenny wrapped his arms around you and held you close.
“I’ll fuck you up if you don’t keep yourself in check.” Kenny spat and you broke free of his forced hug. “Ken, what the hell?” You questioned his sudden aggression, but you were quickly shoved away by Christophe, who now got all up in Kenny’s face.
“Oh, zen pray to whatever hate-filled God you believe in, and I hope for you he’z real because nothing will be as real as your fucked up face once I am done.” “Oh, I don’t believe in Gods. Not when I already know what hell looks like and so will you when I get started.”There was no point in denying that you, Wendy, and Bebe were super interested in this showdown. It was interesting to see two guys who were obviously fighting over you get so riled up.
Bebe leaned over and whispered: “Damn Y/N, you really got the hot guys fighting over you.” You had a faint pink tone on your cheeks. The two guys you liked were ready to basically kill each other over you. It was kind of flattering. Stan and Kyle tried getting the two to calm down, but to no avail, as they just kept going with their petty insults.
Gregory walked up next to you, leaning down to talk. “You are the only one who can get them to stop, you know that right?” He questioned.
“Yeah. But you must admit, this is kinda entertaining.” He laughed and nodded. “You’re right.” “Give me a minute Gregory. I never had someone fight for me.” You whispered with a hot face, watching as Kyle and Stan tried to pull the two away from each other.
Your heart was confused, seeing Christophe again and how he now behaved towards you awakened feelings you thought weren’t there anymore, but you also loved how Kenny was ready to fight for you. How could anyone not find this super interesting?
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wicked-mind · 4 years ago
Text
Spark: Chapter One
Summary: Y/N and Damon were apart of a Hydra experiment for over a decade until they escaped. When power outages through towns along with bodies of murdered Hydra agents start popping up across the country, Y/N becomes Bucky’s mission.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: Mentions of psychiatric facilities, death of enemies, heavy drinking, a hint of PTSD
Series Masterlist
All Writings Masterlist
Note: Set post Endgame. Yes, Damon is based on Damon from The Vampire Diaries. Though, he isn’t a vampire, just another super soldier. Who wouldn’t want the gorgeous duo of Damon and Bucky in a story together? (: Also, whoever came up with the nickname 'Bucket' for Bucky, you are my favorite.
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Chapter One: Tequila
-7 Months Prior-
“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She was admitted to a psychiatric facility by her parents who waived their rights as her parental figures when she was thirteen. The staff there found her to be completely sane as well as no harm to herself or others, so they discharged her. After she was discharged, she was placed into foster care until she was adopted four months later. Then she fell off the grid for a little over a decade.” Sam said, briefing Bucky. Y/N’s face was on the screen with details, as well as security footages of her from street cameras, “ Until two years ago. There’s been seven power surges that have knocked out the electricity in entire towns from unknown causes and her face has been seen around the epicenter of the outage at every single one before the power went out. ” Sam said, before flipping the screen to show 31 faces of deceased new-aged Hydra agents, “These bodies were also found in the towns when the outages happened. Some have their necks snapped, others have their hearts ripped out, most of them also have electrical burns. We need to know if it is Y/N doing this and how. She could be a threat. Y/N has owned a bar in Covington, Georgia for about six months.” He narrowed his eyes at Bucky, “You sure you’re ready for this?”
Bucky sat back in his chair, studying the images on the screen and listening intently. He looked like a statue, except for his eye movement. He nodded as Sam finished, “Yeah. I got it.” He said sternly, grabbing the folder with all the information on it in front of him before exiting the room. To him, Y/N looked harmless. But the evidence was stacked against her.
-Present Time-
Bucky had been in Covington for seven months. He had been doing recon on Y/N, watching and trailing everywhere he went. He even tried to get into her house once, but she had six locks on the door, the windows nailed shut, and an expensive state of the art security system that he couldn’t get passed without setting it off. He couldn’t give her any reason to suspect someone was watching her. Since Bucky had been in town, fourteen more Hydra agents had been killed, the last one was the night before.
He opens the door to The Tipsy Dog, the bar owned by Y/N, dressed in black pants with the same black leather jacket he always wore.. He had become a regular there, trying to create small talk with Y/N. She seemed too nice to be the one doing what Sam thought she was. She didn’t seem like the murdering type, let alone strong enough to snap someone’s neck or rip a heart out. Bucky took his regular seat at the edge of the bar, a cold beer already waiting for him like it had been for the past two months. He remembered when he first met Y/N, she had a warm greeting smiling at him. Sometimes he would come in and she would have mysterious bruises along her arms in the shape of hand prints. He also noted that she had three little scars on each side of her neck in shapes of triangles, but had never gotten around to asking how she got them.
“Right on time!” Y/N said to Bucky, breaking his train of thought. She stood in front of him across the bar, wearing a black shirt and jeans, a black apron around her waist, “I’m getting better at this. Had it out of the fridge, like, two seconds before you walked in the door.”
Bucky smiled, picking up the beer in his gloved hand, “Thank you.” He said, raising his beer to her before taking a swig of it. He noticed the fresh bruises shaped like a hand on her wrist quickly with his eyes, before returning his gaze to Y/N who was still smiling.
“Anything for my best customer.” Y/N said with a smile, grabbing out a white towel to wipe down the counter in front of her.
“C’mon, I thought I was your best customer.” A dark headed man appeared at the bar next to Bucky. He was wearing jeans with a dark grey t-shirt, his blue eyes watching Y/N carefully. Bucky had seem him often at the bar, always talking to Y/N. Immediately recognizing his voice, Damon. Bucky couldn’t figure out much about him. He disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Sometimes Y/N and Damon went outside the bar to bicker. If anybody was killing Hydra agents out of the two, it was definitely that guy. He seemed sketchy to Bucky. Dangerous. He couldn’t quite figure out what the relationship between him and Y/N was to each other.
Y/N’s smile faded a little bit as she turned to the man, “No. The best customers pay their bill, Damon. I have to pay for all that bourbon you drink. Five hundred dollars of bourbon for you alone in six months.” She said as she tilted her head and narrowing eyes, folding her arms across her chest.
Damon smirked at her, leaning his elbows on the counter to look up at her face, “Ah, c’mon Y/N. I thought we were even for the, you know.” He nodded over to the bruises on Y/N’s wrist with a little wink.
Y/N opened her mouth to rebuttal him, but her eyes flicker to Bucky who was watching the thing unfold next to him, taking another sip of his beer with an eyebrow raised. She turns her eyes back towards Damon, “Outside. Now.” She said through her teeth, taking off her apron and putting it on the counter. She walked around the bar and grabbed Damon’s arm, dragging him outside. She turned around and started talking loudly at him once they were on the dark sidewalk.
Bucky kept his gaze ahead, listening in on their loud conversation with his enhanced hearing.
“You can’t just come in to my bar making comments about my bruises in front of customers. You make it sound like I have a kink fetish with you,” Y/N slapped his chest before returning her arms to a fold, “We are trying to keep a low profile, remember? I like it here. I don’t want to be talked about around town.”
Damon raised his eyebrows at her again, the smirk never leaving his lips, “Okay, first off Sparky, I saved your life. Again.” He said using his nickname for her, pointing his finger at her which was immediately swatted away by Y/N, “And second, since when do you care?” He paused, looking back in the window at Bucky before looking back to Y/N, “Wait.. is that your mysterious biker boy?” His smirk widened, “What was his name again, Prancer.. maybe Rudolph. He looks more like a Rudolph.”
Y/N put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Damon had been naming reindeer names since she had first told him about Bucky, “Bucky, Damon. His name is Bucky.”
“Ah that’s right! Good ol’ mysterious Bucket.” Damon grinned. That was his other favorite nickname.
Y/N sighs in defeat. She could never get him to stop, “Bucky.” She reminded again, “Five hundred dollars, Damon. I want it the next time I see you. Or else.” She was pointing her finger at him as she spoke, before turning on her heels and walking back into the bar while Damon walked away defeated.
Bucky chuckled at Y/N’s threat. She didn’t even sound threatening. He didn’t like Damon much though, but hearing that Y/N talked to Damon like she had a crush on Bucky made him smile a little bit. He honestly liked Y/N, she was always happy and kind. Plus this was a way to get closer to her for his mission. He watched as she came back around the bar in front of him, pulling out a bottle of half empty tequila and poured herself a shot. He watched with his eyebrows raised and a small smile as she swallowed it down without making a face.
“Sorry about that.” Y/N said to Bucky after taking the shot, pouring herself more tequila into the shot glass, “Do you want some?” She offered, holding the bottle out for him until he nodded and she placed it back down on the counter.
Bucky chuckled again as she took another shot, shaking his head no at her offer, “Boyfriend trouble?” He asks, taking another sip of his beer.
Y/N laughed a little at his comment, turning and pulling another beer out of the cooler passing it to him, “Damon? God no. We are just friends.” She paused, “Except for right now. Right now we are… Frienemies.” She determined with a small nod.
Bucky nodded, opening his new beer and taking another drink of it before speaking, “Frenemies. Got it.” He repeated, “Did he do that to your wrist?” He said, motioning towards the bruises. He was genuinely curious, Damon didn’t seem like the type Y/N would hang around. He seemed dangerous and the total opposite of her.
Y/N looked down at her wrist, pursing her lips together as she thought of what to say, “Uhm… No, I… Uhm.” She looked at Bucky, blurting out the first thing that popped into her head, “Got my hand stuck in the sink drain.” Y/N slightly winced at the stupid lie, embarrassed. ‘You idiot,’ she thought.
Bucky noticed her wince when she lied. She definitely wasn’t good at lying. He was getting more information tonight than he has in the last seven months. He watched her walk away to go help some of the last customers, leaving the two alone in the bar.
Y/N walks over the door, turning off the neon sign that said ‘OPEN’ and locking the door. She walks back to bar, pouring herself another shot of tequila, “So you don’t drink tequila. Do you drink anything besides beer?” She asks, looking at him with a smile.
Bucky smiled as he watched her pour another shot, “Occasionally whiskey.” He shrugged, bringing the bottle of beer back to his lips. He watched her pull out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, filling it up in front of him.
“On the house.” Y/N smiled as she waited for him to cheers her shot glass.
Bucky shook his head laughing a little, “Oh no, doll. I just watched you chew out your frenemy for having free alcohol. I don’t want to be chewed out too.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, still smiling, “That’s because he owes me five hundred dollars, which makes him a bad customer. You on the other hand,” She said, pushing the shot of whiskey closer to him with her free hand, “Are a good customer. You don’t owe me a dime. And good customers get to hang out after hours and drink with the cool bartender.”
Bucky chuckled at her response and picked up the shot of whiskey, cheering her’s before downing it without a flinch, setting the glass back down. He smiled at her as she swiftly filled it back up again with the whiskey and then poured her another shot of tequila.
“Want to play a game?” Y/N asks, pulling out an empty glass and some change out of pocket, “Rules are simple. You flick the coins into the glass, you get three coins and three tries per turn. One of us makes more coins into the glass, the other person takes a shot.” She smiled, flicking one of the coins into the glass as an example.
Bucky nodded, “Simple enough. I warn you though, you’re going to lose. You better not be driving tonight.” He smiled at her, flirting a little bit.
Y/N smiles and wrinkles her nose at his competitiveness, “I’ll walk, I don’t live far. But you got some competition on your hands.” She said, taking her turn.
After six rounds, Y/N had managed to take four shots of tequila and Bucky taking two of whiskey. She was pretty sure he let her win the two times, which she was thankful for. She was pretty buzzed. Y/N cleaned up their glasses as they got ready to leave, Bucky had offered to walk her to make sure she got home alright. They walked down the street after locking up the bar, making small conversations along the way.
Bucky looked over at her curiously, his hands in his pockets as they walked, “You and Damon bicker like an old married couple. You guys must have been frenemies for a long time.” He said, trying to open up a conversation to learn more about Y/N and Damon.
Y/N nods, a soft smile on her lip, “Yeah, we’ve been through a lot together. I’ve known him a little over a decade. We share similar trauma.” She said, looking at the ground.
Bucky nodded, “I know all about trauma. Even tried therapy, it helped a little bit.” He said honestly with a shrug, “Ever tried it?” He remembered what Sam had said, Y/N had disappeared for a little over a decade. Maybe she had been with Damon all that time.
Y/N shook her head, looking over at him, “Nah. I believe for therapy to be helpful, you have to be truly honest about your trauma. And there’s things I’m not ready to be honest about yet.” She said with a small smile, stopping in front of an old looking house, “This is me.” She gestured towards the house.
Bucky looked it over, he had been here before. He knew the outside like the back of his hand from doing surveillance on the outside. He narrowed his eyes as he saw the curtains lift a little bit at the bottom of one of the windows, only to be met with a fluffy white face staring back at him, “Is that a dog?”
Y/N looked over to where he was looking, squinting to see the white fluff staring at her, “Oh yeah, that’s Sarge my dog. You want to meet him?” She asks curiously as she looked back to Bucky with a smile.
This was Bucky’s chance to see inside, maybe put some bugs in her house for him to listen to, “I’d love to.” He smiled at her, following her up the steps to the front door. He watched as she unlocked the six padlocks on the front before opening the door and clicking the security system to disarm it. She flicks on the light then opens the door wider for him to step inside which he gladly does. Bucky took in as much of the house as he could see. She didn’t have much furniture and it wasn’t really decorated. He turns his attention to the large white dog who approached him sniffing, kneeling down to rub it’s head, “Hello Sarge, nice to meet you, I’m Bucky. What kind of dog is he?"
Y/N smiled at how friendly Bucky was to her dog, “He’s a german shepherd malamute mix. I adopted him about nine months ago from the shelter. He’s a retired military dog.” She said. Just then, the lights flickered off throughout the house, “Dammit. The fuse box blew again, I’ll be back. Sarge stay with Bucky.” She said to her dog before disappearing out the front door. Y/N walked around the side of her house, opening the metal panel to the fuse box. She looks around before lifting her hand to the box, little blue electrical sparks zapping from her finger tips to the box, causing the lights to flicker back on in the house. Y/N never had to pay for power, she would just zap the power back on when it went out. She had this ability all her life, and when her parents found out they sent her away to psychiatric care and waived their rights as her guardian. Y/N shut the fuse box and made her way back inside to find her dog still sitting by Bucky, “Thanks for walking me home, Bucky. I’ll see you tomorrow around the usual time?” She asks with a smile.
Bucky had managed to place a few bugs around the house before Y/N made it back in, Sarge following him around obediently to what his owner had told him. He had returned to where he was standing originally, his hands in his pockets, “Anytime, Y/N. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said with a smile and walked out the door with a soft goodbye, walking down the street until he was out of view. He would hang around close tonight, try to learn more from the bugs he had planted.
Bucky had came back in a black car parked down the street, listening to the bugs planted around the house. It wasn’t too big, so he could hear mostly everything. He heard Y/N opening and closing the fridge while talking to her dog about how she got beat at the coin glass game against him which made him smile. She seemed so harmless. At some point, he heard Damon come over. It sounded like he had given her four hundred and fifty dollars, using the other fifty to buy a half gallon of bourbon. Y/N had accepted the money and thanked him, even if it was short. Y/N went to bed at some point, hearing her tell Damon good night and setting the security system before Sarge followed her upstairs. Damon stayed downstairs. Bucky could hear him watching tv down in the living room.
In the early morning hours, Y/N had a nightmare. Bucky could hear her breathing and whimpering from the bugs. It caused him to frown, wondering what someone who seemed so happy had something to have nightmares about. But then he remembered Y/N saying she had some trauma, wondering if that’s what the nightmares were about. He looked down the street towards her house, noticing the light in the bedroom was flickering on and off as well as some close street lights. He furrowed his brow as he watched and listened, wondering what was happening.
Y/N gripped her blanket as the nightmares started, her body feeling hot. She was stuck, couldn’t force herself awake. She was starting to grip at her neck as if trying to pry something away from it. She could feel her whole body filling with electricity, her fingers tingling as they hummed electrically. It was making her light flicker. That’s when Sarge barked, forcing her to awaken. She sat up in her bed, sliding back against the headboard as she breathed quickly, her fingers still shooting out electric sparks. She was in a panic. Damon had gotten off the couch to enter her room, sitting on her bed.
“It’s okay, Y/N. You’re safe.” Damon said gently. This was a whole different side of Damon that Bucky hadn’t heard from him before, but was thankful he was there to help Y/N.
Y/N looked at Damon with wide eyes, “Damon... I couldn’t get it off,” Her hands went to her neck as she spoke, “… we have to get out of here..” she whispered, her hands moving to grip the sides of her head.
Damon grabs onto her hands, prying then away from her hair, flinching at the shock from her fingers, “Y/N we are safe. Look, we are in your room. Sarge is here. We escaped, remember?” He asked gently, keeping ahold of her hands trying to ground her back to reality.
Y/N looked at Damon, then to Sarge who had moved to stand at her bedside, wagging his tail and leaning his head on her bed. She looked back to Damon and nodded, “Right, home. Home.” She breathed deeply, calming down slowly.
Damon nodded, “Yes, home. Now can you please stop shocking me, Sparky.” He said with a gentle smile, but still flinching a little bit.
Y/N pulled her hands away from his, the crackling electricity disappearing from her fingertips, “Sorry, Damon. I can’t really control it when my mind goes there.” She reached down, petting Sarge’s head to let him know she was alright.
“I know, it’s alright. Do you want to talk about it?” Damon asked softly with a small encouraging smile. He knew it helped to have Y/N walk through her dreams to where she was now to help her feel grounded.
Y/N shook her head, “No, not this time. I’m alright, just going to go back to bed.” She said, patting the end of her bed so Sarge could jump up to lay next to her. Damon had nodded and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. Once Y/N was sure he was back downstairs, she looked down at her dog who was staring back at her with his head tilted, black eyes staring at her, “Don’t look at me like that, Sarge. I don’t want to talk about it.” Y/N repeated, laying her head back down onto the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.
Bucky listened until there was silence again, assuming everybody had got back to bed. At least he figured out Y/N was the cause of the power outages, she had to be some sort of enhanced human. But he still didn’t think she was the cause of the murders, but she had some sort of role in them.
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