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sunlight-moonrise · 5 years ago

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The Five Dates (Reid Request)

Summary: Reader decides that she wants to help Spencer experience the things he missed out on when he was a teenager.

A/N: I had a couple of people ask for a part 2 to The Five Times so here it is. Originally was gonna leave that fic as a standalone but writer’s block on my other WIPs led to this sequel. I strongly recommend reading the first part before reading this one so that the story-line makes more sense. As always, thank you to the lovely @spencer-reid-in-a-pool and @wishingwellwriting for being fantastic betas. They have amazing fics, so if you need another Spencer Reid fix, they can most definitely deliver. Enjoy!

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 6.0K

Masterlist

The first date I had with my neighbor, I don’t think it really counted as a date.

Spencer and I were eating dinner at my apartment after he told me the man who tried to attack me was in custody. We were sitting on the couch with the TV on but I didn’t know what was playing since we were talking the whole time.

He told me that he does magic tricks, enjoys ghost stories, and loves to learn. In return, I told him my favorite hobbies, some habits that I can’t get out of, and food that I enjoy cooking. He listened with rapt attention, hanging on to every word I said. It was amazing being able to spend time with someone like this. It felt like I’ve known him for years rather than a few months.

“…and that’s probably my worst experience from school,” I finished, recounting the tales of my teenage years. “What about you? Anything you wish you can take back from the early days?”

Spencer suddenly turned away from me and became silent. I looked at him in confusion. Was it something I said? Did I offend him?

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” I asked, my voice coming out as a whisper because of how low I spoke.

He quickly shook his head, as if driving away some bad thoughts that plagued his mind. “It’s not you. It’s just that I was a 12-year-old prodigy at a public high school in Vegas. I didn’t have a lot of fun experiences.”

I could hear the sorrow in his words when he told me this. I know how cruel kids could be, especially to someone they considered an outcast. My heart ached for the little boy who went through so much misery at such an early age.

There were a few more seconds of silence before I had a lightbulb moment. “Well, maybe we can change that,” I suggested. “We can do some things that typical teenagers do.” A million ideas immediately came to mind. We can go bowling or ice skating or bike riding.

“I don’t know. I kind of got over that point of my life.”

“Oh.” There was no hiding the sadness in my voice, which made me feel worse. There’s no reason for me to feel dejected over his statement. I shouldn’t be so selfish.

Spencer must have sensed that something was off with me because he quickly tried to correct himself. “It’s not that I don’t want to have these experiences. I just find it embarrassing that I haven’t had them yet, even now.”

“I’m not going to judge you, Spencer. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed with me,” I assured him. I moved my hand towards his as an offer to hold, which he surprisingly took. His hand completely enveloped mine. “Tell me some things that you’ve always wanted to do when you were younger but never got the chance.”

He took a moment to think while I anxiously waited for his response. “I never had the chance to have a sleepover. I had too many responsibilities at the time. I always wanted to go to a festival or a carnival. I also—” he suddenly stopped talking. I noticed his face turning slightly red as he bit his lower lip, his other hand patting against his leg.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“I-uh always wanted to wine and dine a girl, maybe take her to see a play or movie. I wanted to take an evening stroll and just stargaze for a while.” His voice became smaller the more he talked. I hated that he started to feel self-conscious around me but knew that it couldn’t be helped. I was going to change that. I was going to make sure that Spencer Reid experienced teenage fun.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” he said, removing his hand from mine. “I have to go in tomorrow and I am sure you have an early day as well.”

“Let me put these dishes away and I’ll walk you to the door.” I grabbed our plates and walked to the kitchen, placing them in the sink. My mind was racing with thoughts on what to do for Spencer. When I returned to the living room, he was already by the hallway, grabbing his belongings.

I slowly opened the door for him, watching as he stepped out of the apartment. Before he made it too far, I grabbed the sleeve of his arm, prompting him to turn around. Here goes nothing.

“Spencer Reid, would you like to go on a date with me?” I asked, the pitch of my voice a lot higher than normal. Despite feeling nervous, I made sure to look him in the eye and maintain contact. He stared back at me, mouth agape while his face was turning pink.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, looking down at his feet. Mental note: build up Dr. Reid’s confidence, at least around me.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” I answered honestly. I smiled at him when I noticed his lips tugging upwards.

“Yes. I would like to go on a date with you, (Y/N).” The smile on his face was adorable and I was happy to be the cause of it. “Uh m-maybe I could get your number, so that we can talk,” he added.

“Sure.” I took my phone from my pocket before giving it to him. He put in his number, a bit slowly but I wasn’t complaining. I saw it as more time I got to spend with him. Once he handed my phone back, we just stood in front of each other for a while.

Before I lost my resolve, I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his cheek. Before either of us could do anything, I muttered a quick “Goodnight Dr. Reid,” and closed the door. My heart thumped erratically as I slid down the door.

“Goodnight (Y/N)” I heard through the block keeping us apart. His footsteps got quieter and quieter until he eventually opened and closed his own door.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely infatuated with Spencer Reid.

●●●

The second date I had with Dr. Reid, I was a nervous wreck.

Spencer and I have been texting back and forth these last few days. Luckily, we were both free this weekend, so we planned on going out. I haven’t told him yet where we’re going, much to his dismay. The only hint I gave him was to dress casually.

I’ve done some research and found that there was a food festival happening Saturday afternoon. A lot of local restaurants will have stands and distant establishments will be sending food trucks. Their theme is “Around the World” so we’ll get to explore various cultures. I’m hoping we can learn some new things from the different cuisines that would be showcased.

Saturday came around and I made sure I had everything ready. I wanted our date to go off without a hitch. I wanted this to be one of Spencer’s best experiences.

I heard a knock on my door, causing my heart to pick up a bit. I don’t know why I started to sweat. Sure, I’m going on a date with a good looking and successful man but there’s nothing to be nervous about, right? Right.

I heard another knock, more hesitant this time. I quickly made my way towards my door, taking a deep breath before opening it. Thank the angels I took in that breath because I immediately lost it again at the sight of him.

Spencer was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Lavender roses and red carnations were a few that I could identify. I think the purple flower might be an orchid.

He lifted them towards me, a slight tremor in his hands. “These are for you.”

“They’re lovely Spencer, thank you.” I grabbed the flowers from him, taking in the smell of the blossoms. “I’m going to put these in a vase. I’ll be right back.”

I made my way to the living room to do just that. I grabbed my bag and a jacket before checking myself in the mirror one last time. Happy with my appearance, I returned back to Spencer. I shut the door behind us as we walked towards the elevator.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Spencer said as we entered the elevator. I can tell he was still nervous, the thrumming of his fingers against one another and the bouncing on his feet a few signs hinting towards his anxious state.

“You look dashing as well. Although I do remember telling you to dress casually, mister,” I said, a small smile appearing on my face at the sight of his own.

Spencer was wearing a dark pair of slacks with a light purple button-down shirt. His hair was slicked and combed back. He was rocking back and forth on his beat-upped chucks and I can see the mismatched socks peeking through. He looked a bit silly, especially considering where we are going, but handsome nonetheless.

“I don’t have casual clothing. Plus I wanted to look good for you.” I could feel my face getting warm because of his words. “By the way, it’s doctor.”

I giggled at his comment, which caused him to laugh as well. We exited the elevator and out of the lobby.

“We’re going to take the subway to our destination,” I informed him. “It should take less than half an hour to get there.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

“It’s still a surprise, doctor,” I beamed at him.

Fortunately, we did not experience any delays on the train. We spent the duration of the commute getting to know one another even more. He told me some stories involving outings with his co-workers and I could tell that he really loved each and every one of them. I shared some work stories and funny memories with my colleagues as well.

Once we got to our stop, I grabbed his hand and led us to the festival. It was a 10-minute walk from the exit. I turned to him as soon as I saw our destination within our sights.

“A food and wine festival?” he questioned.

“Yeah, I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when we were talking the other day but I thou—“

“I like it, especially since I’m spending the day with you.” There goes my heart again, picking up pace as if I ran a marathon. I’m sure he says these things on purpose just to see me flustered.

Spencer squeezed my hand in his and we explored the grounds. We decided to share a plate from each stall so that we can experience as much as possible. Spencer walked us to the first stall he saw, which showcased food from the Philippines.

“Did you know that Filipino food draws roots from their neighboring Asian nations as well as some Spanish countries?” he stated as we looked at the menu, “It is considered to be a perfect blend of Western and Eastern food. Actually—” he suddenly stopped himself. I looked at him curiously, wondering what caused his interruption.

“Sorry, I have a tendency to ramble.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I want to hear what you have to say. Let’s order something and you can finish telling me.”

He smiled brightly at me and squeezed my hand. After ordering a siopao to share, we sat at a table while he finished telling me facts about Filipino cuisine. As a matter of fact, he told me a lot of information about various cultures and countries as we walked from vendor to vendor.

We tried risotto from an Italian booth, which Spencer said was not as good as his friend’s cooking. We also got carne asada tacos from a Mexican food truck, where I discovered that tomatoes, dragon fruit, and vanilla originated from Mexico. We ate some sake nigiri sushi from a Japanese stand. I found out that Spencer cannot use chopsticks to save his life. I decided to feed him so that he doesn’t accidentally drop our food. We ventured to numerous vendors and had our fill in almost everything that was offered. We even had desserts and some drinks.

By the time Spencer and I made it back to our apartments, we were both stuffed. I was close to going into a food coma and I knew Spencer wasn’t far behind either.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in my life,” he commented as we stood in front of my door.

“You and me both. I’m sure I gained 10 pounds,” I joked, enjoying the way he laughed at my attempt at being humorous. I still held his hand in mine, not wanting the evening to end, but I knew it had to. We had spent the whole day together and we were tired.

Spencer made the decision for us. He lifted my hand, placed a chaste kiss on my knuckles and wished me sweet dreams before he retreated to his own home.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely charmed by Spencer Reid.

●●●

The third date I had with Spencer was ruined, but then fixed.

I was organizing a picnic basket when I received a call from him. I was puzzled as to why he was calling, especially when we’re supposed to meet up in a couple of hours.

“Hey (Y/N)” His voice came out gruff as if he just woke up.

“Hi Spencer, are you okay?” I heard some coughs coming from his end and I immediately became concerned over his well-being

“I don’t think I can go out this afternoon. I’ve been sick these past few days. I was really hoping to get back on my feet by now. I am so sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, because I knew he would in his remorseful state, I interrupted him. “Spencer, it's fine. We’ll raincheck,” I assured him. He tried to thank me, but another set of coughs came over. These sounded worse than the first ones.

Spencer managed to get out a goodbye before hanging up the phone. I contemplated what to do. He sounded so sick and miserable on the phone. He likely has a sore throat, maybe even muscle aches. The idea of him alone and shivering caused a dull pain in me.

I decided that I was going to see this man. I could make him something warm to eat and lend him my thickest blanket. We could even watch a movie together too.

With that in mind, I made some chicken soup and herbal tea. I put the items in containers before placing them in my picnic basket. I grabbed my largest and heaviest blanket, placing it over my shoulder. It wouldn’t fit in the basket, no matter how many times I folded it. Lastly, I grabbed my laptop, so that we can stream movies. Spencer once told me he wasn’t big on technology so I had no idea whether he owned a TV or not.

Once I had all the essential items, I made my way across the hall, knocking on his door. Unsurprisingly, it took a while for him to open the door. I waited a minute or two before he answered and was disheartened by what I saw.

Spencer was pale, well paler than usual, with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His under eyes were dark and his nose was so red. He wore a robe over his pajamas. He looked as if he was about to fall over any second now.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing the blanket wrapped around me. His voice was slightly slurred and he was leaning on the doorframe to keep himself up.

“Well I figured since I couldn’t take you out on a picnic, I’ll take the picnic to you.”

He looked down at my hands, noticing the basket I was holding.

“You shouldn’t be around me, you’ll get sick.”

“Spencer Reid, you’re worth the cooties. May I please come in?”

He relented, leaving the door open for me to follow. I took in his apartment, appreciating his more vintage style. He had a massive collection of books, some of them in languages I couldn’t even identify.

“You have a miniature bookstore in here,” I commented. I turned towards him, seeing his figure laying down on the couch.

“I like to read,” he simply said, the words muffled by the couch cushion he was lying on. I went towards him, shrugging off the blanket from me and placing it on top of his lap.

“If you get cold, use this to keep you warm. I’m going to heat up the soup and tea. Try to stay awake for me.”

Spencer nodded his head, bunching up the soft material in his hands. I quickly grabbed the content from the basket and dashed to the kitchen. It took me a few minutes to find where he puts his utensils, but I had everything taken care of in no time. I even found a tray to help me carry the food.

I brought the dishes to him, warning him of the heat. “I hope you like chicken soup and ginger tea. I added some honey to satisfy your sweet tooth.” He thanked me, holding the bowl close to him to keep him warm. I settled myself on the couch next to him, happy that he wasn’t complaining about our proximity.

“I have my laptop with me. We can watch some movies if you want.”

“I’d like that a lot.” We ended up watching The Matrix and Minority Report. Spencer tried his best to stay quiet during the films, but couldn’t help but to comment about certain technicalities and improbabilities. I found his rambling endearing, adding in my own opinions after he finished sharing his thoughts. I had to remind him to not strain his voice when he got on a tangent on how the idea of living in a simulation is not possible. He lost me once he started talking about quantum physics.

Spencer looked at the clock, noticing the late hour. “Are you going to leave?” His voice was low, and I am positive it was not because of his ill state. He was talking with passion and intensity a few moments ago.

“Do you want me to?”

“No. Is that selfish of me?” My heart skipped a beat. Knowing that he wanted me to stay with him gave me feelings I couldn’t quite describe.

“Of course not, Spence. We could have that sleepover you missed out on,” I stated enthusiastically. He stared at me for a moment, and I wondered if I misunderstood the situation. Before I could apologize for my assumption, he started talking.

“That’s the first time you called me Spence.” He’s right. All this time I’ve been addressing him as Spencer or Dr. Reid. “I like it,” he finished.

“Let me grab my pajamas and some toiletries. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I sprinted to my apartment, changing into my sleepwear and grabbing my necessities before returning to Spencer’s. I am sure I was there and back under five minutes.

Spencer and I continued our evening playing board games. We played some chess (which I lost at) as well as poker (which I also lost at). He showed some card tricks and tried to teach me a basic one. I couldn’t do it as smoothly, but he said that with practice I could become a magician.

I knew the night was coming to an end when he began to yawn every few minutes. Despite saying that he could stay up longer, his body needed to recover.

“You should take my bedroom,” he offered after coming back from the restroom, “You’ll be comfortable there.”

“Absolutely not. Slumber Party rules dictate that we sleep in the same room.” He laughed at my proclamation.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Now I’m going to use your bathroom. Do you keep your spare sheets in the closet?”

He nodded drowsily as I made my way to his bathroom. I did my nightly routine and grabbed a blanket from the closet. When I returned to Spencer, he was already dozing off.

He looked so peaceful at this moment, I’ve never seen such a look on him. I kissed the bridge of his nose and made my way to the armchair.

I settled myself as comfortably as I can.. Before I fell asleep, I could have sworn I heard a “Goodnight” coming from his direction. When I peeked to see if he was awake, his eyes were still closed but he had a wide smile on his face.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely captivated by Spencer Reid.

●●●

The fourth date I had with Spence, he was in charge.

Spencer told me that he wanted to take me out as a way to show his gratitude. I wanted to tell him that it was unnecessary, but he looked so eager and I didn’t want to take that away. Plus, I was looking forward to whatever he came up with. I know that with Spencer, I am bound to have a good time.

He kept everything a secret for me, which was no surprise considering how our first official date went down. The only thing he told me was to dress nicely, yet comfortably.

My body was pulsating with excitement. I made sure to spend extra time with my makeup. I didn’t want to go overboard, but I definitely wanted to accentuate my features. I chose to wear a maxi skirt with my favorite blouse. I added a few accessories and paired everything with some heels.

I didn’t have to wait long before hearing a knock on the door. He always seems to have impeccable timing. I practically floated towards my door with how happy I was.

Spencer was dressed in black dress pants and a deep blue button-down. The outfit was accompanied with a dark tie and blazer combo. He even had dress shoes on, which came as a surprise since this man loves his chucks.

“You look as handsome as always, Doc.” He smiled at my words. I love that he was more comfortable with my compliments. It seems like we came a long way from him stammering over his words and fidgeting with his hands. Although I must admit that I am going to miss his bashful behavior.

“I got this for you.” He revealed what appeared to be a corsage in his hands, the flowers of the accessory matching the one pinned to his blazer. “Uh- I-I know it is probably a bit um juvenile. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”

“Spence, I love it. And I’ll love it more if you put it on me.”

He beamed at me, taking the corsage out of the casing and carefully securing it on my wrist. He was so gentle and patient while doing the task. Once he was done, we headed down to the lobby.

“I hope you don’t mind that I am driving,” he said as we made our way to what I assumed to be his car, a two-door pale blue Volvo. I was not surprised, this is his exact style.

“As long as you get us to our location in one piece, I don’t mind at all.” He opened my door for me before settling in on the driver’s side.

As Spencer drove, we talked about the antique style of his possessions. He shared that his Mom had a similar taste and he was very close to her when he was younger. I wanted to ask more, elated that he was telling me about his family, but decided to hold back. The way his voice wavered as he was talking showed me that this was a major effort for him. I decided to share some stories about my family and their influence over my own lifestyle.

Time always seems to fly with Spencer because before I knew it we were already parked. Being the chivalrous man that he is, Spencer made sure to open my door for me. He held my hand as we walked to the restaurant. I admired the ambiance of the venue. There was a band playing soft jazz music and lights scattered upon the ceiling. The décor was beautiful and the overall atmosphere was very cozy.

The hostess led us to our seats after Spencer informed her of our reservation. We sat at a corner table, providing us the perfect amount of privacy.

“Have you been here before?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine recommended this place. He said that it was the perfect place to...uh, woo a girl.”

“Well, I am entirely wooed. But that is mostly due to the present company.” He smiled at me, before looking at the menu. I decided to do the same after noticing the pink tint at the tip of his ears. I still got it.

The rest of our dinner went smoothly. We ordered our meals as well as a glass of wine, in which I was informed of the many health benefits that come with drinking a glass of red. I was able to convince Spencer to show me a magic trick using a coin and napkin. He did it multiple times, yet I couldn’t find out how it worked. We talked about music, literature, art and so much more. We were so deep into our conversation that we didn’t notice our food had arrived.

My food smelled amazing and tasted even better. I couldn’t help but ask Spencer for a bite of his. He was willing to share as long as he got a piece of my food as well. We ended up splitting our meals with each other.

After paying for the entire bill, much to my protest, Spencer took my hand and led me out of the restaurant. I thought it would be the end of our night together but was wrong. Spencer said that there was one more surprise for me.

The car ride this time was a bit on the longer side and I wondered where on earth he could be taking us. It wasn’t until I saw a sign that a large smile appeared on my face.

“A drive-in theater?” I excitedly asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I hope you don’t mind watching a scary movie.”

“As long as you don’t mind me holding you when I get scared.”

“Deal.”

It was not difficult to find a good spot to enjoy the film. I screamed and jumped multiple times for two hours straight, much to Spencer’s amusement. He attempted to distract me by telling me facts about certain aspects of the movie which marginally helped. By the end of the film, I had started to get drowsy due to all the mini shots of adrenaline.

“Did you have fun?” he asked as he drove us home. I could hear the uneasiness in his question. I’m not sure why he was nervous, this was hands down the most fun I ever had on a date.

“Of course, Spence. This had to be the best date I ever went on. Thank you.”

He smiled widely at the road and I made sure to cherish the moment. It was not often that I got to see such a large grin on Spencer’s face. Happiness was such a good look on him. It makes him appear much more lively and handsome.

I closed my eyes, allowing them to rest momentarily. I didn’t expect to be so tired from an outing. The motion of the car driving on smooth pavement was almost like a lullaby that lured me into a light slumber.

I’m not sure how much time has passed before I was lifted into someone’s arms. If it wasn’t for the scent of coffee and cinnamon, I surely would have panicked. I felt the press of warm lips on my forehead and couldn’t stop the sigh that left my mouth. I buried my head deeper into the arms that cradled me.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I definitely adored Spencer Reid.

●●●

The fifth date I had with Spencer was unplanned.

Spencer has been going on cases more often recently, so we didn’t have a chance to meet. We’ve been texting one another, even calling if time allows it, but I wanted to see him.

When he told me that he was finally flying back home, I decided to meet him at his job. I considered whether or not this would be crossing boundaries, but chose to accept the consequences of my actions later.

The drive to the building where Spencer works was not as long as I imagined. After receiving a visitor’s pass from the front desk and a vague direction of where to go, I found myself lost on the sixth floor.

“Can I help you sweetheart?” a feminine voice asked me. I turned to see a brightly colored fashionista in front of me. I was in awe of her vibrant attire. “Hun?”

“Oh uh, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m waiting for Spencer Reid to return. Umm, is there a place where I can wait for him?”

She beamed at me, her comforting smile providing me some relief. “The team isn’t coming for another half hour. You can wait in my office if you’d like.”

I nodded my head and followed her, taking in my surroundings. I have never been in such an official building before.

“Here we are,” said the kind stranger, leading me to a room filled with a bunch of monitors and computers. “I’m Penelope by the way. I work with Spencer and friends.”

“I’m (Y/N), Spencer’s neighbor.” I practically saw a lightbulb go over her head as she let out a squeal. Penelope started talking a mile a minute, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. It wasn’t until she saw the bewildered expression on my face that she paused and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that Spencer has spoken about you a few times. I didn’t want to assume initially but I figured who you were earlier. Our resident genius doesn’t get many visitors here.”

My face heated up. I was stuck on the fact that Spencer spoke about me to his colleagues, the people he considers his second family. I wondered what he said. Hopefully nothing too embarrassing, he always seems to catch me at some mortifying moments.

“Anyway,” Penelope continued, “you have to tell me about yourself. Spencer doesn’t share enough details and I promised not to search you up.”

For the next half hour, Penelope and I traded information about ourselves. She told me how she got the job as a technical analyst and some other activities she does outside of work while I told her about my typical routine and favorite pastimes.

Penelope’s phone vibrated and she immediately looked at her screen. “They’re here. Let’s go meet them upfront.”

We walked back to where I came from, standing in front of the elevators. We didn’t have to wait long for the doors to open before I saw a pack of people exiting. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer, he was the tallest in the group.

Spencer was currently looking at his phone, typing something on the screen. He finally brought his head up once he put his cell away and I felt mine vibrate with a notification. Once his eyes landed on me, he pushed past the people he was with and darted towards me.

I opened my arms as he drew me into a tight hug. It is a shame that I have not embraced Spencer more because he gives the best hugs. Everything about him automatically puts me in a tranquil state of mind.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once he put some space between us.

“I wanted to see you. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay. I missed you.” That beautiful smile graced his face one more. How is it possible that this man is in my life?

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled Spencer and I away from our bubble. My face heated up as I saw his friends surrounding us.

“Who’s this pretty lady Reid?” asked the muscular man. I looked at all his colleagues, recognizing the blonde as the woman who was at his apartment a couple of months ago. That was when I mistakenly thought she was his girlfriend. She smiled at me, no doubt knowing who I was.

“This is (Y/N), she’s my gi—uh she’s my ummm …” he trailed off, glancing at me. I didn’t notice that we have yet to establish our relationship with one another.

“I’m his neighbor,” I finished. Spencer introduced me to his team before telling me to wait while he gathered his belongings. During his absence, Penelope convinced me to join her for a girl’s night out in the future with the other ladies. I couldn’t say no to the offer, her enthusiasm was seeping through her pores.

When Spencer returned, he grabbed my hand and said his goodbyes while leading us to the elevator. I saw Penelope whisper excitedly to the muscular man that I learned was named Derek, before the doors even got a chance to close.

“My car is here. I can drive us back home,” I informed Spencer.

He nodded his head as we exited the building and made our way to the car. I know that Spencer does not particularly like to discuss his cases, so instead I asked him questions of the places he has been at recently and whether he had the chance to explore. He animatedly told me of a book he purchased that was in a foreign language as well as a vinyl record he got at a music store.

“Can we go to the park?” he suddenly asked. I was a bit confused but decided not to question him.

“Yea, sure.”

The park was not far from where we currently were. After finding a spot and getting out, he took my hand in his once again, leading us down a serene trail. The sound of crickets chirping while the soft wind breezed through us was very relaxing. I looked up at the sky, taking in the tiny visible stars and full moon.

Spencer stopped walking in the middle of the trail, tugging my hand so that I was closer to him. He stared at me as his tongue brushed across his lips.

“(Y/N)?” His voice had that shy tone once again.

“Yes, Spencer?” He brought his hand up to tuck some loose strands of hair behind my ear.

“May I kiss you?”

My heart started racing at his question. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. My voice was stuck in my throat so I nodded my head instead.

Spencer’s hand gently held my cheek as he leaned down towards me. I closed my eyes once his soft lips landed on mine, wrapping my free hand around his neck. He tasted sweet, as I knew he would. I pressed more firmly against him, enjoying the sound of his moan when I swept my tongue across his lower lip. He allowed me to explore his mouth as he did the same to me.

I pulled away after a while to catch my breath. Spencer placed his forehead against mine, breathing heavier than I have ever seen.

“(Y/N)?” he panted out, his voice a lot more confident than it was beforehand.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

I looked into his gentle hazel eyes, embracing all the emotions he was showing me through them. That gorgeous smile adorned his face once more. He looked so beautiful right here.

“I would love to be your girlfriend, Spence.”

I captured his lips this time around, relishing the warmth of his mouth on mine.

At that moment I couldn’t help but think that I was definitely in love with Spencer Reid.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #reid fluff #reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #dr spencer reid #fluff #mgg

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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years ago

Note

Patty have you ever asked Janus to join for dinner when you meet him? Maybe that can somehow help Logan with his flirting? Or at least get Janus more relaxed?

(btw you're adorable ily!!)

(*cracks knuckles* Oh yeah baby we’ve gotten to the angst. Words: 2364 )

Patty: ": D Oh hello lil magical bird who just talked to me! I love you too!! I didn't want to barge in too much into their relationship but now when my honeypie has asked him out once already I guess I can help just a bit!"

Patty had sunglasses on to look like a secret agent. This was an important step in her plan, she swore on it. She sneaked into the open library while chuckling to herself.

She glanced around and almost immediately caught her eye on Janus standing in the reception. She did a few sneaky walks between the bookshelves before sliding up to him.

"Hello Janister!" She greeted with a bright smile while putting her elbows on the reception to lean closer.

"Hiya PatPat. Logan is off helping a customer but he'll be back soon"

"Oh silly I'm not looking for him right now. I am actually here to ask if you could come over to our place tonight. You see I'm planning on making Jambalaya but I always make too much! I'm talking leftovers up to the roof!! But if a third person was there maybe I would be able to make a perfect amount" She lied. She was making jambalaya for Janus purposes alone!

Janus' heartrate shot through the atmosphere "To- me?- your place?- tonight?- I uh- I don't know if I have time-"

She pouted and did her puppy eyes "You sure? You don't have to if you don't want to!! But it would be nice!"

He let out a happy sigh "Sure"

She took his hand and let out a sqeaul "aaah Great! It'll be so fun!!"

---

Logan was leaning down so Patty could help him with his bowtie. "Are you completely sure I look adequate?" He asked.

"Oh honeybee, You look super duper ultra adequate. You're literally wearing a sweater with a math pun on it!!"

"Hmm sound argument. I can not deny the sexiness of math puns"

A knock came on the door. The couple stared at each other. Logan stimmed out of nervousness. Patty gave him a quick kiss before pointing between him and the door. They did a good luck high five.

Logan combed his hair back and leaned on the wall to look cool as he opened the door. Janus stood on the other side looking like a sardine that had just been pressed into a can.

He had on a purple vest with embroidered flowers details and with a long sleeved black button up under. Also a very funky pair of stripped pants with even funkier yellow snake socks under.

"Greetings Jan. You are looking" Like a dream. Like someone he wanted to kiss right this moment. "Very good"

"Aww are you trying to be a snake charmer Log-boy" Janus replied with a smirk.

"I am not a log or a boy. I'm an adult man made out of meat"

"You better be because I'm starving" He had downed 2 shots of vodka before coming to try to and cool his extreme anxiety. He was a lightweight.

Logan lead him into the living room "Are....Are you implying cannibalism?"

Janus shrugged while smiling.

The apartement truly did look like a mismatch of the couple's personalities. The walls were filled with maps of constellations and uplifting cat posters. On the bookshelfs cook books and travel books were stacked next to thick philosophy books and essays. The decorations were either cute porcelain animals, magical anime girl figurines or figurines of characters from Lo's different hyperfixations. The sofa was filled with fluffy blankets and pillows and stuffies were scattered around the light blue carpet filling the living room.

“Do you want to watch star trek while eating?” Logan asked with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“As long as I get to watch your beautiful face as well” Janus flirted back while doing an unsteady fingergun.

“Oh- Of course” His crush’s sudden forwardness was making his heart flutter.

Janus curled up in the corner of the couch, making himself as small as possible. Logan sat down pretty far away from him.

He started the first episode. Janus had a constant smile on his face as he listened to Logan go between telling him facts and gushing over his favorite moments. All while he could hear Patty in the kitchen half singing along to dad rock.

“Does she want help with that?” Janus, known gentleman and also nervous wreck, asked.

“She’ll tell us if she need it. She likes cooking. I like baking. It usually works out”

Janus got an amused look on his face “You’re into baking? So all those times at work when you brought desserts, that was your making?”

“Yes. And they were delicious. Anything wrong with that?”

“No. No. I simply didn’t take you for the type”

“Well cooking involves creativity and there’s room for your own ideas. Baking doesn’t. It is only about following a structure and doing kitchen chemistry. Of course I love it” He lowered his voice “It is also tremendously good for when you need to flirt without words”

“Oh really? I better start looking up recipes then” He pulled in Logan's bowtie “You have any favorites?”

In his head he had the guts to say ‘Your lips against mine would be my favorite’ in reality he said “HehuHFKdjf jam drops in the shape of heart. The heart part is important. It adds to the taste”

“It usually does”

Janus slowly looked him up and down. And then he realized what the fuck he was doing. He shot back into his corner of the sofa like a naked rat. Logan sat still with blushing cheeks, staring at the tv but not taking in anything that was happening except his racing heart.

“Done!” Patty exclaimed, coming in with a big ass fucking pot of jambalaya and a just as big bottle of wine.

She saw the nervous state both of the guys were in and quickly made up a plan. She slammed the pot down onto the coffee table and moved the blankets so they took up about half of the couch. Then she sat down using up as much space as possible leaving the guys no choice but to move closer to each other, If both of them sat their hands down they would touch.

Patty cuddled up to her husband with a proud smile on her face. Logan moved his arm around her.

“It looks great sweetheart” He pressed a kiss to her cheek making her giggle.

“So do you!! And so does mr. star trek captain man!”

She enjoyed the hell out of her jambalaya while the two idiots sent each other awkward smiles. Janus downed his glass of wine in record speed. (He took it slower with the food, he didn’t want to seem disgusting).

The whole star trek episode went by. Logan asked Janus a thousand excited questions about how much he liked it. All of his answers made the nerd happy stim. They put on a documentary none of them were really interested in the background while continuing to chat. Patty went on a long epic story about how a kid at her daycare had tried to bite her finger off last week.

“Soooo” Patty sudenly changed the topic. She said it with an innocent tone “My nerdy lil honeypie over here had the biggest crush on Data for a while. It was adorable. ANd while we’re on the topic” The look she gave Janus was happy but it still sent shivers down his spine “You having any crushes lately? Just curious!”

Both of the men internally gasped at the audacity. The gall! The sheer power!! Janus was sweating like a naked rat who had just been clad for the first time.

“...Well.......I have actually been meaning to....Ask about the polyamourous thing?”

The couple exhanged knowing glances before looking back at him “Mhm yeah Mhm” “I am poly and also a thing so I am an expert in this”

“So...I totally haven’t fallen in love with 3 people. 2 of which I met in the span of around a week”

Patton did a double thumbs up. Logan took a long sip from his wine. “We’re all gossipy bitches here. Tell all about it”

“Well. The first one is Remy-”

“The one with the sunglasses?”

“...Yes...Are....Don’t tell me they’re a serial killer”

Patty broke up into a chuckle “Logie-bogie tried to kiss them while he was drunk once”

“I threw up on their shoes”

“He threw up on their shoes!”

Logan saw the terror in Janus’ face as he worried that maybe 2 of his crushes were exes and quickly added “We are only acquaintance and I was momentarily struck by the impressive lenght of their legs”

Janus went on to gush about Remy and Remus. Why he loved them. All the dates he had daydreamed about. And then finally his voice was shaking when he mentioned just having a third crush.

Patty let out a long yawn before he could say anything more. She stood up “Well looks like it’s time to snooze! I assume 2 big burly ultra masculine men like you two can handle the dishes”

“It will be a challenge but we shall do our best. Goodnight honey” Logan kissed her.

She leaned in and whispered “Good luck Logie-bear! You got this”

She giggled mischievously while going off into the bedroom. She closed the door behind her. Only the two lovebirds were left now.

“So the third crush? Who’s the lucky gentleman?” Logan asked.

Janus held onto his newly refilled wine glass so hard it nearly cracked. He forced a smile “Wouldn’t you want to hear about the fake couples counseling I go to together with Remus instead?”

“Fake what now?”

“Well me and Remus, who I am hopelessly in love with even though he clearly doesn’t feel the same way, started going to a therapist pretending we were a couple to see how long it would take before he realized we didn’t know each other. He hasn’t realized anything yet. It’s great!”

It looked like Logan’s eyes was about to bulge out of his skull “That sounds illegal. It should be. You are dragging shame onto the face of psychology you double dumbass!”

“I have done nothing wrong ever in my entire life and frankly I deserve to waste even more therapist’s time” Janus replied.

He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose “Which therapist is it that you’re harassing exactly?”

“Dr. Picani”

Logan’s eyes widened and he shut his lips tightly “Emile Picani?”

“Yes.....Please don’t tell me he’s a serial killer”

He slowly looked away while taking a sip from his wine “I have had intercourse with that man”

Janus choked on his drink. He coughed while staring at his friend with wild eyes “YOU FUCKED MY THERAPIST????”

“No.......He fucked me” Logan replied in a quiet tone. “Besides he’s not even your real therapist”

“He is still a sort of therapist man to me! I told him I enjoy Lana Del Rey. That was a very intimate moment for me!”

“Well I had a very intimate moment with him too”

Janus looked at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes. He let out a chuckle which turned into a laugh which turned into Logan not being able to not laugh along which turned into the room filling with nothing but flustered happiness and laughter.

Logan grabbed onto his crush’ arm just to have some contact with him while his eyes teared up from laughter. Janus leaned his head against his shoulder and curled up close to him while giggling so much his stomach hurt.

“Oh we’re idiots” Janus sighed.

“We are. We truly are”

They stayed sitting like that. So so close. Logan’s arm around him. Janus breathing being felt against the other man’s skin. Their hands touching. Only comfortable silence surrounded them.

A few minutes went by. Janus looked at him shuly. His thoughts worrying about everything and anything “Should we- ehm- the dishes?”

The moment broke. Logan moved away before standing up “I uh yeah- we should”

It was strange. Just dishing together with his crush made Logan happy. All he could think about was getting to be this close, this domestic, with him every day. Getting to wake up next to him. Kiss his knuckles. Share a morning with him.

“Who was the third crush by the way?” Logan asked, glancing over at his crush.

Janus stared down into the water “I- I can’t say it”

“Understandable”

He stopped and turned fully to look at Janus. He had never been more unsure of where to put his hands before.

“Well I can...Say it I mean....I....I...Janus.....You make me happy just by being near me...You are so wonderful...I....I love you”

Logan couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He took a step forward and cupped Janus’ cheeks. He leaned forward, so close, so close that their noses and foreheads were pressed against each other. It felt like had been starving for this.

Janus froze. His wide eyes stared in shock at the other man. His hand moved up to his chest on instinct, to try and push him away.

Logan noticed his reaction. Of course he did. It was blindingly obvious. He forced himself to move away. He forced the desire to kiss him to simmer out.

“I-I’m sorry-” He mumbled out.

“No....Lo..” Janus took his hand. Holding it so so lightly in his own “I know” He looked up at him “I know. I’m sorry. I should go”

A horrible feeling of guilt filled Logan’s throat “You don’t have to”

“I should go” He repeated, letting go of his hand.

Logan walked after him as he went to get his jacket “A date. Do you want to go on a date? Not just a hangout. Janus I- I want so badly to be close to you. We could go to the zoo, look at the snakes?”

Janus held his hand on the handle of the door. He didn’t look at Logan “Thanks for having me over”

He left. Logan stood alone in the hallway. His arms hanging helplessly at his sides.

#(:#loceit #mini fic #logicality #logan sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders

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sisternihil · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter One: Illuminating

Series: Douce (masterlist)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None for this chapter; 18+ after

Word Count: 1.4k

The third Saturday of September was a perfect autumn day. Crisp and sunny. Just right.

The pumpkin patch was more crowded than usual with a suspicious black SUV obscuring the storefront. You parked and started walking down the dirt path to the patches when a gentle voice called behind you.

‘Miss?’

Spinning on your heels, assuming you dropped something you head toward the voice. You stopped several feet in front of him and glanced over his tall, thin frame. He was pretty, pale with plump lips albeit a bit dry. Light brown hair was tucked behind his left ear with soft curly ends resting at his shoulders and his eyes were brown, no wait, they’re hazel in the sunlight. He was beautiful.

‘Miss?’ He calls again.

‘Yes.’ you answer meeting his gaze.

‘I’m Spencer Reid from the FBI, I work with the behavioral analysis unit. We’re investing a disappearance that may have occurred in a corn maze in the area’ his tone was oddly calm considering the circumstances.

‘I heard about that, it’s terrible’ you say as you look down at your dusty shoes. His pants don’t quite touch the tops of his beat-up black and white Chucks and you notice that both his socks are different patterns and colors and you can’t help but smile wide at him.

Is he blushing?

‘Ha-have you seen anyone suspicious in the area?’ He inquires

He’s definitely blushing.

‘Unfortunately no, this is my first trip out here this year. Could I call you if I see anything suspicious?’

You hope he picks up the suggestion but you aren’t sure until he fumbles with his wallet to pull out a business card.

You take it and read aloud ‘Dr. Spencer Reid? You’re impressive you can’t be older than 30.’

‘I, uh, I graduated high school when I was 12 and I am actually 31.’ He’s smoothing his hair back and shifting his weight.

‘Now I’m just embarrassed for myself.’ You chortle, pocketing his card and turning back to the pumpkin patch

‘Uh, you know you could call me even if you don’t see anything suspicious’ he’s trying to sound as confident as possible like Derek had told him.

You face him and smile, ‘I will Dr. Reid.’

He gives you a small wave and slight grin and you try not to be too obvious in your excitement.

Is he the cutest guy you’ve ever seen? He has to be. Suddenly your focus isn’t about finding the most symmetrical pumpkin ever. Should you call him? He was probably just being nice. But he’s so cute. You fight with your inner monologue until you walk back with a pretty good pumpkin.

At the register, you grab fresh donuts and apple cider and tote them to your car. He’s leaning against a black SUV with another handsome guy and a pretty dark-haired woman. You assume those are his partners.

‘Is that her?’ Derek tilts his head toward you.

‘Yes, that’s her. Could you be more conspicuous?’ he breathes out

‘Did you get her name or number?’ both partners ask talking over each other

‘Well, no’ Spencer rubs the back of his neck ‘I just asked her to call me’

‘Go, go, go’ Emily and Derek say in unison pushing him forward.

You can hear someone jogging behind you as you shut your trunk.

‘Dr. Reid?’

‘Um, I forgot to ask, or, well, I wanted to ask, could I-I possibly have your number too?’

‘Of course’ you smile and squeeze his arm lightly. Laying his card on your trunk you send a text ‘Hi, it’s Y/N, the girl from the pumpkin patch’

His phone chimes, ‘that’d be me’ you state and open your car door ‘talk to you soon’.

‘Atta boy’ one of his partners calls out and you can see his male partner slapping his shoulder.

— — — —

On Tuesday you’re immersed in your tarp-covered living room floor with all the tools needed to carve a pumpkin and Hocus Pocus playing in the background. Deciding to finally reach out to the cute doctor you snap a picture of your pumpkin and mess and send it. A ping sounds almost instantly with a compliment to your design and Dr. Reid asking if he could call instead.

‘Hi’ you hope he can hear the smile in your voice.

‘H-hi’ you can, however, hear the nerves in his voice.

Spencer is fiddling with his tie trying to remember how to talk.

‘Spencer are you there?’

‘Ye-yea, I’m here. U-um, I wanted to ask...wouldyouliketogoonadatewithmeSunday’

‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Well, there’s this illuminated pumpkin patch I think you’d love and maybe we could have dinner first?’

‘That sounds amazing.’ you try to hide an excited giggle but it slips out anyway. Spencer lets out a sigh of relief and you carry on with some small talk.

Before you realize two hours have gone by and you feel as if you know Spencer better than anyone you’d met in the last year in the city.

Soft yawns start to interrupt the conversation and both of you bid farewell.

— — — —

Spencer can’t sleep. Not that that’s unusual but tonight he tosses and turns replaying their conversation over in his head. You giggle a lot and yet somehow her presence is very reassuring. He decides needs that.

Soft, affirming, and affectionate. Well, he doesn’t know if you’re affectionate yet or not but he imagines you are. When you touched him at the pumpkin patch he felt like his skin was on fire and he longed for you to touch him again. Wait, was he that touch starved? He decides he is.

— — — —

Sunday can’t come fast enough for either of you. Spencer had insisted that he would pick you up and you’d reluctantly agreed. Surely someone for the FBI wouldn’t be a creep. By Friday you had already picked out your outfit - a cozy sweater, jeans, and booties. You were only a little bit excited, okay that was an understatement. Spencer called every day when he was able and if he couldn’t you always made sure to at least say ‘hi’ via text.

Sunday comes as fast as you’d expect and a shrill ding sounds from the front door. Oh man, you’re fucked. His hair is messed up but in that perfect bedhead sorta way and he’s wearing black and gold horn-rimmed glasses. He’s got on so many layers you don’t bother to count and you realize the mismatched socks are a signature and not a gaffe.

‘I got this for you’ he’s reaching out to place a small ceramic ghost-shaped candy bowl in your hands with a handwritten note attached to the side. ‘I put all of my favorite candies inside and made a ranking chart for you’. You want to melt, how could someone be so sweet? Your cheeks feel unbearably warm as you invite him in while you put up your gift.

‘Let’s go’ you say as your smiling and pulling him out the door. He drives an old VW bug and this doesn’t surprise you in the least.

Dinner goes like catching up with an old friend and you manage to make him snort-laugh with a few really bad jokes.

‘What kind of overalls does Mario wear? Denim-denim-denim.’

Your final destination of the night is just within walking distance from the restaurant. You take note that Spencer walks on the outside of you closest to the street. As you’re about to point this out Spencer starts to explain the Middle Age origins of which side of a man was socially acceptable to walk on and why. ‘Do you know everything?’ It sounds harsh as you blurt it out and you correct yourself ‘I mean is there anything you don’t know something about.’

‘Of course’ he says excitable ‘information and science are constantly evolving so one can’t know everything.’

Your fingers brush against his lightly and he intertwines them. His hands are soft, warm, and engulfing. Fairy lights start to come into view and for a moment you’re almost overwhelmed. Spencer hands two tickets to a booth attendant and you stare in disbelief.

‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it’

Turning to face him you place a chaste kiss on his lips and take his hand as you start walking. Thousands of carved and lit pumpkins line a walkway with displays set up in intervals. Both of you are enthralled with the craftsmanship put into each pumpkin.

You watch his face as he studies what is before him. His profile is dreamy - a cute little nose and a jaw that could cut glass. You were fucked, absolutely, and thoroughly. You knew it when you first laid eyes on him and tonight just reaffirmed your suspicions.

You were deeply, deeply infatuated with Dr. Reid.

— — — —

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #criminal minds #smut #masterlist

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svu-ncis-criminalminds · 4 years ago

Text

Starting New

Request from : @academia-dela-sol Who requested : I was wondering if there was anyway you would write a fanfic about the reader dealing with starting an antidepressant medication for the first time, and being nervous to tell Sonny/Nick/Mike about it. Whoever is your fave!!! Please and thank you :)

PSA : I’m writing from my own personal experience of being on several different antidepressants, and everyone experiences them differently. Not all my pills have made me feel bad. If you’re depressed please reach out to someone and know that you are loved.

“Why are you shaking?” Your partner asked from beside you in the driver's seat of the big black suv you were currently staking out in.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the hand that was absentmindedly playing with the lid of your travel mug. It was shaking. Like trembling ‘shouldn't hold a firearm’ shaking. “Oh. I don’t know, maybe I need to drink some water.” Was all you said, and while Sonny looked apprehensive, he dropped it. For now.

----

“You’ve been late every morning this week, Liv is gonna notice.” Your partner scolded you lightly when you dropped into your desk across from him. Usually you were put together enough to resemble a functioning human, but all week you’d been late, no make-up, hair frazzled, and eyes with dark circles. “Y/N, what’s up?”

“I’m fine.” You snapped, hands going to the side of your head, you felt a migraine coming on. Was it the stress, or the new meds making you feel this way? You chalked it up to both. “Just not sleeping well.” You added, trying to make your voice slightly more gentle.

“Nightmares?” Sonny asked in a whisper, your eyes snapped back open.

“No.”

“Alright, let me know when you actually wanna talk.” Sonny was upset you were shutting him out, but this wasn’t something he could possibly understand, the man was a literal ball of sunshine, he never needed antidepressants. He’ll think you’re weak, or worse, unfit for the job.

---

“Step outside, Y/L/N.” Liv’s voice was calm but firm. You nodded blankly and turned and basically ran. Okay so you were freaking out a little. The doctor told you that emotions might run high the first few weeks, but you’d never spazzed like this at work before. You were crying, you didn’t know when you had started but here you were.

You pushed past someone to get outside before you screamed, and once you did the fresh air did nothing to help. You turned a corner and slammed your back against the cool brick, sinking down to a squatting position. “Fuck,” You whispered, “Get it together,” You were only making yourself worse by getting angry. These pills are supposed to help?

“Y/N,” Sonny was dropping down in front of you, hands going to your shoulders, “Hey it’s alright, you’re fine, get it out.” You cried harder, falling forward into him. Comfort. Maybe that's what you’d been craving.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You chanted, and Sonny hugged you, rubbing your back and shushing you. Between the kind words from your partner and the back rub you started to calm down, “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, I’m-”

“Hey stop,” Sonny shook his head, “None of that, now are you gonna tell me what’s been wrong all week? Are you going to let me help you, Y/N.” Your lip quivered again, and you were shaking all over. Something that had been happening off and on all week.

“I don’t..”

“Trust me?”

“No!”

“Please let me help you,” He was practically begging you, “I hate to see you like this.”

“I…” You started, “I started a new medication, I uhh … It makes me feel a little insane for the first few weeks. Apparently. I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be crazy.” You cried.

“Shh, hey, you’re not crazy,”

“Yes I am!” You choked, “I’m major depressive, they gave me pills and right now I feel worse.” The words rushed out and you felt your career you worked so hard on slipping away, “They keep telling me the first few weeks can be bad then it gets better, but I don’t- I can’t-” again with the crying.

“That doesn’t make you crazy, Y/N.” Sonny promised, “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me?” Not answering was enough of an answer. “Oh, Y/N. You’re not crazy, not for being depressed. You’re crazy for wearing mismatched socks to court, and crazy for being my partner,” He joked lovingly. “You’re crazy about art and music, you’re crazy smart. And I’m crazy about you.” He promised, wiping away a tear. “I’m sorry they’re making you feel bad now, but you gotta trust the docs.”

“Don’t tell Liv.” You begged and Sonny nodded.

“It’s not my business to tell anyone. But you should consider it. Liv wont think less of you. She sees a therapist. She knows mental health, including yours, is important.” You nodded slightly. You’d think about it. “Now I’m telling Liv you’re taking a sick day, you’ve got plenty, and I’m taking you home. Alright?”

“Alright. And Sonny?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, doll.”

#law and order #law and order svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order special victims unit #law and order special victims unit imagine #law and order svu x reader #svu imagine #law and order svu imagine #svu x reader #sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #detective carisi #carisi x reader #request #tw mental illness #tw mental breakdown

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whathappenedtomyweekend · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Just A Spark Ch. 7 - Maybe Definitely

Hiccup sighed and threw a glance at the clock, mindlessly clicking around in his opened document. 22:35.

He'd been trying to finish up his report for more than half an hour, which was significantly exheeding his usual set time of fifteen minutes.

"You're still here?" a voice behind him intoned and Hiccup turned around to see Snotlout enter the room and place his helmet on the desk next to his.

"Yeah," Hiccup mumbled, feeling the effect of his extra strong tea earlier wear off slowly but surely. "I wanted to finish today's report. Which I did. And then I thought, I still haven't written the report for yesterday."

"Woah, what's up with Mr Too-fast-for-deadlines?" his cousin asked, looking sincerely surprised. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he repeated, dragging a hand through his hair. "Just … busy."

"Ooh, right, your girlfriend."

Hiccup's head shot up, glaring. Snotlout shrugged.

"Gobber told me. Well, technically, your dad told me. But Gobber told him so basically it was him who told me."

"Doesn't anything regarding my personal life stay personal? And she's … she's not my girlfriend."

"You showed up to her workplace with lasagna you made specifically for her because it's her favourite food, Hiccup. That is such a boyfriend-thing to do. Though I guess it's very you. Most people wouldn't bother."

"How did you even-"

"Hey, don't blame me for being your cousin! Things get around, okay? My dad was out getting coffee, saw you, told your dad who told him that-"

"Alright, alright," Hiccup interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I get it. Note to self, never tell Dad anything concerning Astrid again if I want it to stay between us."

Snotlout laughed and good-naturedly nudged his cousin's arm.

"Come on, Hic, I don't mean any harm. Neither does he, you know that. He's just excited for you."

Hiccup sighed. "I know."

"I'm too, by the way," Snotlout mumbled. "It's kind of really cool seeing you this happy."

The auburn-hair man stopped and finally smiled at his cousin. "Thanks, Snotlout."

Snotlout sniffed, trying to shake off his earlier sentiment. "Yeah, whatever. Just go to sleep before I knock you out myself."

Hiccup grinned and got up. "You sound just like Gobber."

"Shut up."

He laughed.

The doorbell was ringing, making Astrid jump. She rarely had any visitors at a time like this. Maybe it was just Ruff who had forgot her keys again, needing a place to crash.

She opened the door.

It wasn't Rachel.

Hiccup.

Hiccup, his forest-green eyes dark and his hair messy as if he'd run his hands through it countless of times.

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped and took a step closer.

"Hiccup, what-"

She was silenced by his lips suddenly crashing down on hers. Astrid stumbled back, shock fading as his hands cupped her face, hers suddenly tangled in his hair, pulling him down to her.

They stumbled into her flat, her back hitting the wall of her hallway with a low 'Thud'.

All she felt was his calloused fingers on her skin, leaving invisible imprints, his lips - oh, God - almost desperately pressing to hers.

"What took you so long," she gasped into the kiss and fisted her hands into the material of his shirt, pulling him closer still.

His breath was hot against her skin. He smelled of toothpaste, making her smile against his lips. Hiccup pulled away, frowning shortly.

"I don't," he kissed her again, gently this time. "Know."

Her hands wrapped around his neck as he continued working his lips against hers, chasing sparks down her skin. He was pressing her against the wall, not an inch left between their bodies as she lightly pushed her tongue into his mouth. Hiccup groaned and let his hands wander to her waist. Ever so slowly he brushed her tongue against hers, making her knees weak.

"Hiccup," she gasped against his lips, tightening her grip around his shoulders -

Astrid opened her eyes, her racing heart the only sound in her dark bedroom.

Heat crawled up to her face as she realised what had happened.

"Oh, God," she groaned, hiding her burning face in her hands. "Oh my god …"

It had been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Hiccup wouldn't just barge in like that and start kissing her, he'd … he'd … oh, what did it matter what he'd do, when she was the one dreaming about it! Not only dream but also enjoy the idea of it …

"God, what is wrong with me?" she mumbled into the emptiness of her room, almost swearing she could have tasted the toothpaste from his mouth.

Alright. So it had been a couple of days since she'd last saw him, so what? So what that she couldn't walk past that café anymore without thinking about Hiccup drenched in sunlight? So what that he'd held her hand on the table and hadn't let go even as his friend had asked for their orders? So what that she hard trouble keeping him out of her mind and found herself craving his company? That didn't say anything.

Astrid sat in darkness and realised that there was no turning back now.

"…shit."

He'd been tired all day and now he was in bed and couldn't sleep. Typical.

Hiccup groaned and turned around to face the wall, careful as to not disturb Toothless who had curled up around his legs - well, leg and a half.

It had been days, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about their visit to the café.

Astrid had introduced herself to Fishlegs as his date - which was true, they were dating.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Snot's words were still ringing in his ears.

'That's a very boyfriend-thing to do.'

They were only dating.

He wanted to be more to her, still. He wanted to keep doing these things simply because it made her smile. He wanted to make her happy.

Hiccup closed his eyes, trying not to think about how he'd give up eating anything else than ice cream for his lunch breaks if it meant he got to see her laugh at him with cream on his chin.

Hiccup awoke by the sound of his phone ringing.

Groggily he reached for it and slurred, "'llo?"

"Hiccup?"

He immediately sobered up and sat up. "Astrid, hi, Astrid, hey … Astrid."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just, uh … just woke up."

He started fumbling for the bottle of water somewhere next to his bed.

Astrid gasped on the other line. "Go back to sleep! I'm sorry-"

"It's okay. Really. I should've gotten up anyway." He smiled.

"Oh, okay. Listen, I was just wondering if - you have time somewhen this week, maybe on Friday?"

It had been three days since he'd last seen her.

He didn't really miss her per se. It's just that he'd sometime like to have company, hers to be specific. He simply didn't like her absence at times. His heart jumped as he realised that this was quite literally the definition of missing someone.

He didn't even pretened to think about it and quickly said, "Yes! Friday. Friday's … yeah."

She chuckled and after a small pause softly said, "I've missed you."

His heart skipped a beat.

"You too," he rasped out. "It's weird to think it's only been a couple of days, huh."

She laughed lightly. "Yeah. I think I set a new record for not setting my stove on fire."

He hummed. "We should celebrate that on Friday."

He imagined her lean in and smirk. "Define 'celebrate'."

"You want the oxford-version or mine?"

Astrid laughed. "Come on."

"Alright, so, I was thinking you, me, non-frozen food …"

"You had me at 'celebrate'. We could cook together."

He grinned and peeled himself out of his covers. "Not sure if I'm willing to take that risk."

"Says the fireman with asthma," she retorted dryly and Hiccup laughed.

"On the other hand, I've missed Toothless too," she grinned audibly. "So I'm coming over."

Hiccup chuckled and quickly strapped his prosthesis back on.

"Okay, so same as last time? Or earlier, if you want."

He could hear her grin. "Someone seems to be keen on spending time with me."

The answer came easy to him in full sincerity as he softly replied, "I am."

She paused. Maybe she'd be blushing. God, she was endearing.

"I'll be earlier then."

Hiccup grinned and strode through his room towards the drawer. "Okay. Any ideas on what we'll make?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "How about something you like?"

'I like you,' he thought but kept his mouth shut, pulling out a fresh pair of socks and screwed his eyes shut at the thought.

"How about sushi?" he managed instead. "It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it and practically impossible to burn."

"Oh, yes! Sushi's great, let's do that. And, um, if you want we could get the ingredients together? You know, so there's no room for any misunderstandings."

Hiccup felt his face heat up. Going Grocery-shopping together. Another thing people who were "just" dating didn't usually do.

"Y-yeah," he croaked. "Let's. I'll, uh. See you on Friday, then."

"Great, see you!" Astrid grinned audibly. "Just don't get into any danger until then."

He chuckled. "I'll be careful. Bye."

She bid her goodbye and hung up, leaving a still slightly flustered Hiccup standing in silence, mismatching socks in his other hand.

He stared down at the screen where her contact was still opened.

He'd taken the picture of her during their second date. She was grinning freely at the camera, her eyes sparkling in the low light of his living room, her freckles looking like faint paint splatters on her fair skin.

His useless heard sped up at the memory.

Slowly he set the phone down, let the socks fall and slumped back onto his bed, fisting his hands in his hair.

She was magnetizing.

And he was utterly, hopelessly captivated by her.

#IJAS #it's just a spark #hiccstrid #fanfic #toothless #modern au #writing #mine #httyd #httyd 2 #romance

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p-artsypants · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Handle This (6)

In Which Plagg is Annoying

So, my beloved Fiancé really likes Magic: The Gathering. He’s taught me how to play it, and talks about it a lot, but I still don’t really understand it. It’s a complicated game. So this chapter has sections of me purposefully badly explaining the game, sorry if that bothers you lol.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

Adrien awoke curled in a ball. His bed was extremely soft, and he sunk right into it.

Oh, except it was a pillow. He was still in Plagg’s tiny Kwami body. Great.

He yawned and stretched, realizing that he was alone in his bed.

“Plagg?” He asked the room.

There was no answer, but the bathroom door was closed.

Plagg was most likely getting him ready, or his human body, ready for school.

Before Adrien could imagine the worst case scenario, the bathroom door opened, and Plagg emerged.

Adrien stared, and then declared loudly, “NO.”

“Yes!” Said Plagg, flouncing into Adrien’s closet.

“How—why? When?!”

Plagg brought his pre-chosen outfit into the main room, and started to get dressed, carefully slipping the purple tiger striped shirt over his expertly gelled Mohawk.

“Did you not see me buy that ultra super strong hair gel yesterday?”

“I didn’t see anything you bought yesterday,” said Adrien with frustration. “I was in your pocket the whole time, remember?”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat!” He slipped on an over shirt, that was black with orange leopard spots.

“Oh god...”

“You should have been more careful about what you brought home from shoots,” Plagg sang. “Love the leopard spots. Though I’m just a black cat, mixing up my coat on occasion would be fun.”

“I kept that shirt because I thought it was funny, or it would be good for a costume. You can’t honestly wear it!”

Plagg blew him a raspberry. “Oh suck it up buttercup! It’ll be fine!”

Adrien watched with other things on his mind as Plagg finished dressing. Brown pants, rolled up with mismatched argyle socks, and then the same green sunglasses to cover his cat eyes.

“I think I have a photo shoot with Lila after school,” said Adrien.

“And?”

“And you should probably attend it. I know you want to piss off my dad and blow off responsibilities that aren’t Miraculous related, but modeling is my job. I’m still under a contract and I get paid for it. That money goes to my college fund, which I intend to use to pick my own career.”

“What’s one missed shift to the son of the company?”

“A strike against me, and a loss of around a thousand euros.”

Plagg swiveled his head to look at him. “That much? Is Lila making that too?”

“No.” Adrien chuckled. “I am in high demand and so I make more. She makes around 15 euros an hour. That’s why she always drags photoshoots on for so long. Me and some of the other models get paid per gig.”

Plagg scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

“So will you behave for three hours?”

“No,” said Plagg, smoothing his shirt and hair. “But I’ll participate in the shoot and play nice with the photographer. Lila, on the other hand, I have plans for.”

Adrien looked at him warily. “...alright.”

Doing a once-over, Plagg declared, “just one more accessory, the piece de resistance...” he reached into a plastic bag from his shopping yesterday.

Adrien gaped in horror. “NO. NO NO NO!”

—

Gabriel walked from the kitchen back to his office, coffee mug in hand. Dealing with Adrien’s rebellion had been a PR nightmare, but he was able to spin Adrien’s outfit yesterday, as out of character as it was, as merely a phase. A phase which he would grow out of soon, but one that was necessary for Adrien to grow, to explore his own style, to learn fashion in his own mind. The media ate it up, and several articles would be coming out in the next week or so.

Then the boy in question streaked by him in a kaleidoscope of color.

Gabriel sputtered on his coffee, staining his suit with the brown liquid, but not caring a bit.

“Adrien?!” He shouted, beyond horrified. He couldn’t tell what was worse, the patterns? The colors? The hair? NO.

“Where did you get crocs?” Gabriel asked, as Adrien reached the unfortunately unlocked door.

He turned for just a second, long enough to shout. “Ask my butt, old man!” Before the door shut behind him.

Gabriel had to call those magazines back.

—

Plagg arrived at school, drawing the attention of every student mingling there. Some stared in horror, while others held in laughter.

A student passed Plagg and raised a fist. “Nice duds, dude! Stick it to the man!”

Plagg responded with a gleeful grin and matching fist bump.

“Oh my god,” said Nino, as he arrived. “You look amazing.”

“My dad spilled coffee on himself this morning, and the look on his face was totally worth it.”

“God, I wish I could have been there.” Nino sighed.

“It was pretty amazing, not going to lie.”

“Oh, while we have a second...I was hoping to have a sleepover this weekend. Marinette and Alya would come over for the evening, and then leave in time for dude’s night. You in?”

“Just you and me?”

“Yeah, if that’s cool.”

“Absolutely! After school tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Marinette said your schedule was open.”

“Marinette knew that? I didn’t even know that.”

“I think she keeps track of that stuff for class activities.” He cleared his throat, not looking at him. “And for no other reason besides that.”

Plagg chuckled to himself. God, Nino was the worst liar. “I understand. Someone’s got to know my schedule if I don’t.”

“Marinette is the best, after all.” Nino puffed up his chest, doing his damndest to be a good wingman.

Plagg didn’t think he needed to try so hard, but props. “She is the best, isn’t she?”

Nino smiled widely, like he had a secret joke that wouldn’t make sense to anyone.

A pair of arms wound around his own, squeezing tightly like a boa constrictor. “Good morning Adrien!” Lila chirped.

“Morning,” Plagg returned, playing casual in front of Nino.

“I need to talk to you about the photoshoot after school.” She turned to Nino. “Can I borrow your buddy for a minute?”

“You can have him for five minutes.” Nino winked.

Lila giggled, sounding pretty realistic to an untrained ear. “Thanks Nino!” Without waiting for Plagg’s permission, she dragged him away to a sequestered corner of the courtyard.

Before Plagg could even ask what was in her mind, she turned and faced him, expression full of vitriol and rage. It was not a face he’d seen on many mortals.

“Don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do, Adrien.” Her voice was cold, sharp, and harsh.

Adrien shivered in Plagg’s pocket.

“And that would be...?”

“Trying to weasel your way out of our little agreement.”

Plagg blinked, remembering the arrangement they had prepared a while ago. It’s what had gotten Marinette un-expelled. Just schmooze with the brat and she’d leave Marinette alone. But it was very apparent she was ready to take any violation of this agreement as an invitation to jump right back into her conniving ways.

Plagg would hold out for now, play the long game. He had a plan, and if that failed for some unexplainable reason, then he had another one lined up. It was just a matter of finding out what bait Lila would take.

He feigned a gasp, as well as she would, and laid a hand on his chest. “Oh Lila, whatever are you talking about? I’m just having a little disagreement with my dear old dad. It’s nothing against you! Honest!”

She squinted at him. “You’re still on the schedule to model with me later today, so I’m assuming you didn’t actually quit modeling. If you had, this would have turned sour.”

“What do you mean?”

“Modeling is our ‘fun friendship’ activity, and if you try to get out of it, I’m going to assume you don’t care about Marinette after all.” She shrugged.

He laughed, a dark sinister laugh that didn’t belong on his handsome, sweet, cherubic face. “You mortals are just so cute when you think you can win against me.”

The look on Lila’s face was perfect. Part confused, part terrified. “What?”

He spoke with a voice older than time, conjuring magics from the ancient unknowns. “Dos valok th’um krosis!”

“Did...did you just cast a spell on me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. How do your lips feel?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know, a little—“

“CHAPPED?” Provided Plagg, with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh my god.”

“Do not test me, Lila Rossi. You won’t win.” He gave her a pleasant little smile.

She stared in bewilderment, before chuckling right back. “Boy, you had me for a second.” She pulled out a tube of chapstick and applied some. “Are you trying to psych me out? Cause it’s not going to work.”

“Well darn,” said Plagg with a little snap of his fingers. “Thought my necromancy could spook you off. Well, if that didn’t do it, I guess you really do want to be my friend, no matter how quirky I can be.” He gave a happy little sigh.

Lila was immediately suspicious. “Sure, I want to be your friend...?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but Lila wasn’t convinced.

Unless Adrien really was that naïve.

“Great!” Plagg clapped. “I have to go talk to Marinette, but we’ll hang out at the shoot! It’s going to be so much fun!” And he hurried off.

Lila narrowed her eyes back in his direction. There was definitely fishy about that exchange. She couldn’t very well text Gabriel and say, “there’s something suspicious about your son. He actually wants to be my friend. Also he chapped my lips.” That would be too confusing and send all the wrong messages.

So she resigned to wait until the photoshoot after all. Since, of course, he couldn’t keep up this act for several hours in a row. She could, but she was a professional.

Her musings came to a halt as she heard the wonderful noise of Marinette’s scream. “MY EYES!!”

Lila hurried from her nook to find out what had happened. Had someone sprayed her with mace? Pocket sand?

No. Adrien was merely striking poses in front of her, and she had recoiled in horror.

“Adrien!” She stated, aghast. “How could you?!”

He posed again, butt in her direction. “You like?”

“It’s foul. Are those crocs?!”

“Yep! I contemplated on getting the little ladybug plugs for the holes, but I didn’t really think it was worth it. After all, how often do you look at a man’s feet?”

“In that outfit, it’s going to be too hard to tell what part is the worst.” Her eyes bounced over the competing patterns and made her dizzy. “Well here,” she handed over a hanger covered with a trash bag. “Your sin against fashion has been committed. I’m willing to do more, but don’t attach my name to it.”

Adrien just laughed. “Don’t worry, Pooh Bear, your secret is safe with me.”

Lila’s lips curled in disgust at the nickname. Obviously, she would tell Gabriel that Marinette was enabling his behavior. Maybe she could spin it as her influence all together. Yes, yes, that would work. Two stones and all that.

—

After school, Lila rode with Adrien to the photoshoot.

Boy, if she wanted a taste of what the day would be like, she certainly got it. And she should have taken the chance to run.

“So Nino and I started playing this game with the guys in class,” Adrien had begun, without so much as a greeting. “Have you heard of Magic: The Gathering?”

“...no?”

“Oh okay, so I’ll tell you all about it.”

As a master manipulator, Lila understood the masterful art of conversation. There were several strategies she had developed over the years. Her favorite was ‘talk passionately and allow for natural lulls in explanation so they can ask questions’. It made people feel engaged and kept them coming back for more, while she was perceived as interesting and smart, but also humble.

However, it seemed that Adrien was utilizing the beginners mistake of ‘poorly explain a subject you’re not really passionate about without letting the other person talk’. Like an underpaid substitute teacher filling in for a class they don’t know much about.

“So like, there are these cards with different landscapes on them, and they’re all different based on color, right? So there’s water or islands for blue and mountains and stuff for red, right? And each one is worth mana. And you have to use mana to play a card. Except for lands, I think. You can play those whenever, except you have to draw them, you can’t just go searching through your deck. Unless a card tells you you can.”

Finally, they arrived at the shoot, and Lila nearly fell out of the car in her haste to get away for some peace and quiet, just for a second.

Who knew that boy could talk so much?

—

Plagg and his mohawk were led to the makeup trailer. Thankfully for the hairstylist, it came with a salon sink, so Adrien didn’t have to go home and shower.

“Sorry, Mr. Agreste,” the stylist said as she draped a cape on him. “We have to flatten the mohawk.”

“That’s alright,” Plagg assured with a polite smile. “It served its purpose.”

“It was very well done, honestly,” she said with a laugh. “For not having the sides of your head shaved, that is.”

“I had to work with what I had.”

The stylist just hummed in understanding, as she started to rinse his hair, the gel melting and washing down the drain.

The stylist sighed, and gave a little huff to herself.

Plagg normally wouldn’t care, but if his meddling had inconvenienced someone else’s job, that would reflect poorly on Adrien. So, he asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Umm...” she paused, biting her lip. “Look, we’re friends right?”

Plagg didn’t even know this person’s name. “Of course.”

“Are you close to Miss Rossi? I know you guys are friends...”

“I hate her guts.” Plagg declared with a broad smile.

“Oh good!” She relaxed. “I really really hate working on her. And so does everyone else, and last time she was here, she was just—Ugh, the worst. I got so frustrated because Giuseppe and your father like her, so even if I complained, nothing would happen. Likely, I’m the one that would get in trouble. You remember Alexander, right? The lighting assistant?”

No. Not one bit. “Yeah?”

“Well, she yelled at him one time during a shoot, in the back. Apparently, she wanted coffee and he wouldn’t get it for her, even though that’s soooo not his job. So she complained to Giuseppe and got him fired! Honestly, I don’t know how he didn’t get akumatized over that.”

“I don’t either!” Plagg said, with surprise. “I knew she was a pain, but yikes...”

“I think you’re a really cool kid, Adrien. But she’s going around and telling everyone you got her this job and—“ she sighed. “People are getting resentful.”

Now Plagg was mad. It was immediately apparent that Lila had a ‘if I can’t have them, no one can’ attitude, turning the staff on Adrien if she couldn’t win them over with her outlandish lies. Adrien couldn’t afford having that many enemies. He was too soft.

“Actually...” Plagg began to explain how Lila had wound up with her job, lying to Nathalie and Gorilla to get access to his house, lying to his father to get on his good side, and all the things she did to Marinette, who he took the bullet for to protect. “She means a lot to me,” Plagg said, in regards to Marinette. “So I didn’t mind having to pretend to be Lila’s friend if it meant she could come back to school and not be harassed anymore. It seems that Lila has a loose form of friendship.”

The stylist wiped her eyes. “Oh Adrien, you’ve got such a heart of gold. I’ll set everything straight with the team. Don’t you worry!”

“I actually have a plan, that you might let everyone in on. And I apologize in advance.”

“Lay it on me.”

—

By time Lila was called in to get ready, Plagg had been groomed into a normal looking boy with normal looking hair and clothes. Though normal protocol usually had Lila in hair and make-up alone with the stylists, Plagg sat in a chair nearby, separated from her by a curtain.

“Adrien? Shouldn’t you be out there?”

“Oh it’s okay, I wanted to keep telling you about this game.”

“Oh, well, you shouldn’t keep Giuseppe…”

“He won’t mind. So, there’s a bunch of colors, right? Red, Black, Green, Blue, White, and…one more. I think there’s one more.”

A sigh was heard from the other side of the curtain.

“No, no I was right, there’s only five. But you can combine them. But not like, mix them? It’s like, Blue-Black, and Red-Black. And Green-Blue. And so different colors have different themes, right? And the themes are different based on the set. Oh yeah, there’s different sets and Wizards of the Coast release like, two or three sets a year. I think. Like they had this one that was all about Dinosaurs and pirates. But they usually aren’t that wacky. Unless it’s a joke set. Which that one wasn’t. I can’t remember the name of it right now, but it started with an ‘I’.” And he was off, explaining all he could remember of the game, from what Adrien had told him, to what he had heard while the boys played at school. If he could find a point to elaborate on, he did.

Every once in a while, he’d make eye contact with a staff member, who would in turn grin and give a secret thumbs up.

He started to run out of steam while Lila was in makeup.

Thankfully, one of the technicians with a grudge noticed, and helped him out. “Would you ever play competitively?”

Through the mirror, Plagg could see the lightbulb go off over Lila’s head. “You know, my grandfather was one of the chess masters of the world. He won lots of tournaments, and I’m sure he’d love to give you some pointers if you were interested, Adrien.”

The technician answered for him. “Chess? We’re talking about Magic: The Gathering. Two totally different games. The tournaments are pretty fun too, but I really enjoy playing at pre-releases. They usually only allow you to play with the set you’re buying, so you can’t look at them beforehand…”

Plagg beamed at the guy, thrilled with how quickly he had shut Lila down.

Lila, however, was undeterred. She met the eyes of the female stylist and just shrugged. “Boys, right? So, this weekend—“

“Shh,” the stylist hushed. “I’ve been trying for weeks to learn this game.”

Lila crossed her arms and sat silently for the rest of the session.

Once the models were all dolled up, they were escorted out to the set, and Giuseppe got to work with posing.

Here’s where Lila tried to make up for lost attention.

“Oh Giuseppe! I had such a wonderful idea for the shoot today! Since the gardens are in full bloom—“

“Which reminds me!” Plagg snapped his fingers. “Green-Black combination cards are really unique because they create a bunch of minions. Like, the cards in them have the ability to spam the battlefield with like a bunch of little guys called tokens that take a lot of extra work to get rid of. Well, like, not a ton of extra work, because they only have like one HP, but like, it's more work then you would have had to do. Wait, white, not black. Actually, I think white is the best at tokens, my mistake.”

Despite her best efforts, Lila could not suppress a full body eye roll.

It was exactly what Plagg was waiting for, and he jumped in for the finisher. He turned his sad kitten eyes to her, looking like Puss in Boots from Shrek, and asked, in the most pathetic voice he could muster. ��Am I annoying you?”

Lila stared at him, as the staff and Giuseppe looked right at her, to see her response.

“I…I…” she stammered. “N-no, not at all, Adrien. I…love hearing about this game.”

He beamed. “Good! Because I have to tell you about my favorite combination of Blue-black. It’s really high in conditions and making things difficult for the opponents, right?”

Lila’s nostrils flared, but she held back any other sign of frustration. It was remarkable, really.

Plagg was quiet while Giuseppe gave directions, and during the actual shooting, but in between takes, when he didn’t have to be ‘professional’ he filled in the silence with whatever jargon he could find. He was wearing her down.

“Alright,” Giuseppe finally said. “We’re all done with you, Lila. Now it’s just Adrien’s solo shoot. But you can stay if you like.”

Lila was already halfway to the trailers. “I’m so sorry Giuseppe, I have somewhere I have to be this evening, so I’m going to head out. I’ll see everyone next time!” And she practically sprinted off set.

Once she left, Giuseppe gave a loud sigh of relief. “Now let’s get some real work done.”

—

Later that evening, when Adrien and Plagg had returned to the mansion, Adrien sat on the desk as Plagg scrolled online. Homework had been completed with ease, and it was still too early for bed.

“What are you reading?” Adrien asked.

“I’m trying to slog my way through the lore of that video game you like, the one with the Dragons. I have to have more ammunition the next time I deal with Lila. I almost ran out today.”

“Is that what I sound like?”

“What?”

“You today, when you were talking about Magic. Is that what I sound like to you? Do I ramble on?”

Plagg screwed up his lips in thought. “Mmmm, sometimes.”

Adrien hunched in on himself.

“But look. Culture and creative medium has grown astronomically in the last 200 years since I’ve been asleep. I want to know about what’s out there. I like hearing about things that you enjoy. Even if it is annoying sometimes, I still care about you. The reason I pulled this strategy is because Lila likes to talk, and she doesn’t like to listen. Even if I was talking passionately about something I knew a lot about, I doubt she would have cared. I hear how often she interrupts class.”

Adrien hadn’t thought about it like that.

“You know who Pavlov is, right?”

“Uh, the guy that did the experiment with the dog, right? He rang a bell and gave his dog a treat, and eventually the dog came to associate the bell with treats.”

“Precisely. Humans are the same way. Knowing this principle is the easiest way to win people over. You have to make them associate you with good feelings. If you treat people well, be friendly, courteous, and funny, eventually, people will like to be around you. The same works in reverse. If I can associate myself with frustration and annoyance for Lila, she won’t want to be around me. Being straight up mean to her won’t work because she’ll see that as a challenge.”

“So you have to be subtle,” Adrien concluded. “Thats…that’s genius.”

“I know.”

“So you don’t think I’m annoying?”

Plagg rubbed him between the ears. “I only found you annoying when you would complain about Ladybug, your dad, or Lila. But now, in your shoes, I’ve realized how easy it is to get frustrated about these things. But hopefully soon enough, you won’t even have to worry about it.”

Adrien smiled brightly. “Thanks Plagg. I hated this at first…but you really are making some progress.”

“Told you. Now, help me pack. You have your first sleepover tomorrow night.”

“My first sleepover, and I’m going to spend it crammed in a bag!”

#miraculous ladybug #ml #adrien agreste #plagg #I'll handle this #fanfiction #adrienette

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sirrriusblack · 5 years ago

Text

March 10

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Not a chance.”

“Remus John Lupin get your obnoxious ass down here this instant!”

“Oh, ‘obnoxious ass,’ how classy,” Remus called from atop the stairs. He shook his head and made his way down to Lily, dressed in a stunning green silk dress. She wanted to go clubbing. She rolled her eyes.

“What are you wearing?” She pouted, and Remus couldn’t help but smile. He was wearing the furthest outfit from a club outfit possible. Trackies, mismatching socks, an old t-shirt and a sweater with more holes than fabric. Lily grabbed his sweater from the hem and pulled it off, despite Remus’ shouts of protest and his head getting stuck in the neck. In a moment it was on the floor and Lily was dragging him back upstairs. They reached Remus’ room and he stood in the doorway as Lily began a frenzy through his wardrobe. Every few moments she would pick something up and throw it toward Remus. He didn’t catch any of the items. Finally satisfied, Lily stood up and smiled at him. He shook his head.

“It’s my birthday, shouldn’t I have a say in what we do?” he asked, amused. Lily huffed.

“Morally, yes, but I don’t particularly care. You haven’t been out in weeks!” she half-shouted. Her red hair swayed with her as she moved. Remus ran a hand through his own tangled locks and sighed.

“Fine. But I am not wearing this.” He held up a bright green floral print shirt. He didn’t even know he had owned it. Lily snorted.

* * *

“See! Isn’t this fun?” Lily’s voice was loud in Remus’ ear and he flinched. They were standing by the bar, music with too much bass pumping around them. Remus rolled his eyes. They were searching for a bartender. What kind of club doesn’t have a bartender?

“So much fun, Lils,” Remus said sarcastically. Lily whacked Remus in the shoulder.

“Shut up and smile, dickhead,” she said, right as two people came out of the back room and into the bar. At the sight of the long haired one, Remus smoothed down his hair and shirt, earning him a knowing glance from Lily. He glared right back at her. The bartender, however, didn’t spare Remus a glance. He shook his head. He shouldn’t just assume people are gay anyway. The other bartender—positively straight, Remus decided—came over instead. He looked Lily up and down and smirked.

“James,” he said, introducing himself with a wink. “What can I get for you?” he drawled, staring into her eyes. Lily blushed and Remus rolled his eyes. Regaining her composure, Lily smiled.

“Can we get two birthday specials please?” Lily glanced to Remus as he bit his lip. James leaned closer to the counter.

“Is it your birthday, darling?” his eyes glinted and Remus cleared his throat, feeling like an intruder between the two. Lily smiled sweetly.

“No, it’s Remus’,” she said, placing a hand around Remus’ arm. He grimaced. James leaned back, still smirking at Lily. He tore his eyes away like it was a difficult thing to do and looked toward the other bartender.

“Two birthday specials, Sirius,” he shouted. The bartender— Sirius— looked up. His gaze fell on Remus and he looked him up and down, causing Remus’ cheeks to burn. He thanked the flashing lights for hiding his blush.

“And just what type of birthday special would that be?” he asked, his voice husky. Remus shifted positions and pointedly ignored Lily’s amused gaze.

“The drink type you perv,” James replied, hitting Sirius with a tea towel. Remus found this compeletely ironic with the way James has been ogling Lily a second ago, but he didn’t say anything. James’ mysterious player mask had since been wiped from his face and he grinned at Remus. “Happy birthday, mate,” he said, swinging the tea towel back over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Remus replied, but James was already at the other end of the bar. Lily took a seat one of the bar stools and looked at Remus, waiting for him to sit too. He rolled his eyes and sat, bringing his feet up onto the bars on the bottom of the stool. In a moment, Sirius had two shot glasses out and was shaking a liquid with brute force. A strand of his hair, which was now held up in a bun, fell into his eyes. Remus wished he could see what colour they were. Sirius, catching his gaze, winked and Remus quickly looked away. James was over talking to another customer, out of breath and sweaty. Remus cringed before a glass hit the wood in front of him. He looked up to see Sirius, fingers still around the glass, looking directly at him. He flashed a white toothed smile and Remus had to try very hard not to reach a hand up to touch his face. Grey. Sirius’ eyes were grey. After a moment and with another quick wink, Sirius let go of the glass and started drying glasses.

“Alright, lover boy, on the count of three,” Lily said. Remus actually looked at the drink now. In front of him was a shot glass, filled with pink liquid and lined with sugar and lemon. He picked it up.

“What’s actually in this?” he asked Lily, who shrugged. She pushed her hair over her shoulder and turned to face Remus more.

“Don’t know. I don’t think I really want to,” she admitted, which definitely didn’t make Remus appealed to the idea of drinking it. “Apparently it’s strong though,” she said. “Or maybe Alice is just weak.” Remus laughed at that. It was his birthday. He might as well.

“Okay. One... two... three,” Remus finished and drank it. Neither Remus nor Lily said anything. He looked up to see Sirius watching and looked back to Lily. She grinned.

“That was absolutely horrible,” she laughed. “No offence,” she threw back to Sirius. Remus laughed and watched Sirius smirk.

“None taken. It’s beer and lemon juice with pink food dye,” he said, laughing. “Positively dodgy,” he added, which probably wasn’t the best thing to do in interest of his job. Remus winced and looked at Lily.

“You let me drink that?” he asked. Lily smiled and nodded.

“You’ll live. Can I get just a shot of vodka?” She called to Sirius. He raised his eyebrows but nodded, walking over.

“And you?” he directed the question to Remus, who was paying notice to the silver dog tags hanging from the bartender’s neck. He blinked and tried to ignore the knowing smirk on Sirus’ perfect face.

“Uh, a whiskey on rocks, thanks,” he mumbled. He pulled at his collar, itchy and tight. Lily laughed.

“You’re such and old man,” she said. Sirius smiled at him and started making their drinks. Remus caught Lily looking over toward James, who was concentrated on wiping a spot on the bar.

“Fancy him?” Remus asked, which snapped Lily out of it. She scoffed and dragged her eyes from James.

“No,” she denied. Lily was never good at acting. “Do you fancy him?” she pat back. Remus blushes as Sirius placed both of their drinks on the counter. “Thanks,” Lily said and downed her shot. Remus was dragged into the dance floor a moment later.

* * *

Panting heavily, Lily requested another shot of vodka, this time from James. Sirius walked through the curtain leading to the back of the bar and locked eyes with Remus, who’d just sat down on a bar stool a little way away from Lily. He didn’t feel inclined to intrude on her and James’ flirting. Sirius placed a box down and started throwing out empty bottles. Remus thought back to the dance floor, where he’d spent the whole half an hour or so looking between Lily and Sirius, who’d spent the whole half hour glancing up at Remus as they danced. Sirius’ bottle duties lead him to Remus’ side of the bar.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, flashing a smile that caused Remus to practically die. He had two options here, grow an unnatural amount of confidence in the next three seconds or shake his head and smile politely. He did the latter. He sighed and watched Sirius for a moment.

“When does your shift end?” Remus spewed, the words coming out quick and tangled. Sirius looked up and he seemed to get the gist of it. He looked over to Lily and James, still flirting. James was leaning over the bar running his hands through his hair and messing it up even more. Remus looked back to Sirius. His ear was lined with a range of silver rings and studs, and topped of with a silver sword hanging from his ear lobe. His right ear was blank. Remus’ hand went subconsciously up to the thin silver ring on his nose, and suddenly it felt very boring.

“Uh half twelve,” he replied, his voice still husky. Remus nearly sighed. Sirius wiped his palms on his apron and turned around. “So, it’s your birthday?” he asked. Remus nodded before he quickly realised that Sirius couldn’t see him. He’d gone back to throwing away the empty bottles. Over the clinking of the glass and the music—still not good enough to dance to—Remus raised his voice.

“Uh, yeah. 21st,” he said. Sirius raised a groomed eyebrow. Remus ignored the line cut in the other one.

“That’s big. You didn’t seem too excited on the dance floor.” Sirius picked up the box of glass bottles. Remus opened his mouth to reply but Sirius held up a hand and went out the back. Remus looked around the club. Some pop song he didn’t know was playing and an army of sweaty drunks were grinding against each other to it. Remus shook his head just as Sirius came back through the curtain. He looked up and down the bar to see if anyone needed serving, but James was all over it while still watching Lily. Sirius walked back to Remus and smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s all good, you are at work,” Remus pointed out. Sirius nodded.

“So you were saying?” he prompted. Remus thought back.

“Oh yeah, I don’t really dance,” he said. Sirius raised his eyebrow again.

“At all?” he asked. Remus shook his head. “So there is not one song that you hear and just have to dance to?” he smirked, leaning forward to put his elbows on the bar. A chain hung from his neck and it swung with his movements. Remus thought.

“Well, I can’t confidently say that I wouldn’t at least sing along if ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ came on,” he admitted. Sirius barked a laugh.

“Queen,” he said approvingly. Remus nodded. “I like you,” he added. Remus tried not to feel warm at that.

“What about you?” he asked instead. Sirius furrowed his brows. “A song that makes you dance,” he clarified. Sirius smiled like he hadn’t been expecting the question.

“Oh, uh... I’ve gotta say ‘I’m Still Standing’,” he admitted. Remus chuckled.

“Elton John,” he said approvingly. “I like you.” Sirius laughed. ‘I like your laugh, too,’ Remus almost added. Sirius stepped back.

“I’ve got to get another box,” he said, walking back to the curtain. Remus nodded.

“Yeah. Alright,” he said, not quite wanting Sirius to leave. He turned to Lily. Her chin rested on her palms as she watched James. Remus chuckled again and Sirius walked back in without a box. Remus looked at him, confused. He was a little bit away, so Remus wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he had tried to talk, but he tapped his wrist to let Remus know to wait a minute. He obliged, watching Sirius start making drinks for two girls a little bit down. Remus turned back to the dance floor and watched as everyone jumped around, smiling and laughing. The music died down and Remus nearly fell of his chair at what happened next. His head snapped back to Sirius, who was grinning at Remus. Don’t Stop Me Now blared over the speakers. He mouthed a quick thank you before he ran over to Lily, who had already stood up and was waiting for him. They danced for the whole song and Remus smiled wider than he had in a long while. I’m Still Standing came on next. Remus kept dancing, but he found his eyes sliding over to Sirius every few moments. When he wasn’t with a customer, he was harassing James with his dancing, singing into bottles of vodka as he mixed drinks. Remus smiled. The song ended and more generic pop songs played. Remus checked his phone. 12:24am. Lily and Remus sat back down at the bar and watched the two bartenders work under the pink and blue lights for a moment.

* * *

“Are you—“

“Do you want to—“

Remus and Lily started talking at the same time. They could barely hear each other over the music, but the point got through and they both laughed.

“You go first,” Lily shouted. Remus nodded and pushed a curl out of his eyes.

“Do you want to hang out with James?” he yelled out. Lily blinked.

“It’s your birthday,” she shouted back like that was the obvious answer. Remus shook his head.

“Technically it’s not anymore,” he stated. Lily rolled her eyes. It was past midnight and no longer his birthday.

“You’re a git.” Remus flicked her, smiling.

“Honestly I don’t care, you can hang out with him if you want.” He may or may not have been saying that so he could hang out with Sirius. Which was stupid, because Sirius probably wasn’t gay. Though he had been watching Remus, being extra nice. But he was flirting with some girls buying drinks. So no. Unless he was bi? But if he had that many options, wouldn’t he definitely be dating someone? Remus shut off his thoughts as Lily smiled.

“I kind of do,” she admitted. “But only if you’re totally okay with it.” Remus nodded. She held up a hand. “Because if you’re not one hundred percent, totally okay with—“

“Lily. Go ask him out,” Remus cut her off. She smiled.

“You have to ask him out, though,” Lily said. Remus raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t even know if he’s gay,” Remus reasoned. Lily only snorted in response.

“Bye Lupin,” she said squeezing his hand. “I love you!” she finished, walking off. Remus shook his head.

“What does that—nevermind. I love you too,” he said and watched Lily practically skip over to James.

* * *

James had murmured something to Sirius, gone out back and reappeared a moment later. He had a hoodie on in place of his apron, and had gone straight to Lily. She’d grinned and took his hand and they’d walked out the door. I’d ordered a shot of whiskey, needing it for what I was about to do.

“It’s 12:35” I said to Sirius. He nodded, pouring out my drink.

“Indeed it is. I’m waiting for Marlene,” he explained. Remus gave him an odd look.

“Co-worker. It’s her shift next,” he said, handing the shot glass over to Remus. He grabbed the glass but didn’t drink it just yet.

“Is she late often?” he asked. Sirius brushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Nah, not usually. She has a date with this girl she’s been in love with for like ages.” Well at least he wasn’t homophobic. He started pouring two cocktails for a guy in a bright blue shirt.

“Huh. Cool,” Remus said. Sirius hummed.

“Yeah. She just ditched you on your birthday?” he asked. Remus guessed the ‘she’ he was referring to was Lily.

“It’s not my birthday anymore,” he pointed out, earning a smirk from Sirius. “But no, I told her it was fine. She seems to really like James, which is odd, because she doesn’t like people very often,” Remus said. Sirius smiled.

“I thought she was your girlfriend at first,” he said. “I was wondering why you weren’t biting James’ head off for flirting with her,” he said. Remus laughed. He really laughed.

“Nope. Just no.” Remus couldn’t even imagine dating Lily. Sirius looked up from the cocktail glasses, which he was very carefully lining with salt.

“Gay?” he asked. He poured the drink into the glasses and handed them to blue shirt. Remus shook his head.

“Bi,” he said. Sirius nodded. “But I just... yeah I couldn’t imagine dating Lily.” Sirius smirked.

“Why not? She’s pretty,” he said like it should mean something.

“Yeah, sure, but it’s just wrong.” Remus shuddered thinking about. So, so wrong. Sirius laughed.

“I get that,” he said. Remus didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t ask, though. Instead he though of how Lily had snorted, how she’d told him to ask Sirius out. Remus downed the shot and opened his mouth, ready to talk past the burning in his chest. Ready to ask him out.

A girl rushed through the curtain suddenly, still tying her apron. There was a hickey on her neck, only just visible behind her long, platinum blonde hair. Only it didn’t look at all fake. She winced when she saw Sirius, her dark red lipstick bold against her white teeth.

“Sirius! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so late! We just—uh... got caught up,” she chuckled nervously. Sirius laughed.

“I’d hardly call ten minutes late,” he said. “It went well then?” Marlene smiled and winked at Remus before she looked back to Sirius.

“Very,” was all she said. Remus could guess what that meant. He thought of what he’d been about to do. He didn’t even know if Sirius was gay. It was stupid and he should just leave. He turned to Sirius.

“Uh, it was nice to meet you, Sirius,” he said. “But I should get going. Thanks for the drinks,” he said, laying a fifty dollar bill on the bar. Sirius furrowed his brows.

“That’s too much,” he said, but that seemed to be the last thing he wanted to say. Remus nodded.

“Keep the change. Good service,” Remus said, walking away. He could have sworn he heard his name called out over the music, but he brushed it off and stepped out into the cold air. The music quickly stopped and he breathed in the air. He could have just asked. It wouldn’t have hurt to ask. Maybe he should have gone back. But he didn’t. He called an Uber instead. It was ten minutes away. He sat against the brick wall of the club and looked up at the stars.

A few minutes passed before a face appeared in place of the stars, but Remus wasn’t complaining.

“Sirius?” he said, standing up. He wished he hadn’t. Sirius was changed now, and he was standing in front of Remus, perfectly casual, and dressed in ripped black jeans, a black shirt (too tight for Remus’ own good), Black Doc Martens and a big, chain-adorned leather jacket. Remus could have died on the spot.

“Remus, hey,” he said nervously.

“You’re off work,” Remus replied, pointing out the utterly obvious. Sirius cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Do you—have you got anything on tomorrow?” he asked, playing with a zip on his jacket. Remus rubbed at the back of his neck. It was a Sunday tomorrow.

“No, I uh, no I don’t,” he said.

“Okay, cool. Can I... hang out with you, maybe?” he asked. Remus blinked. What was that supposed to mean?

“Sure... why?” he asked before he realised how much he sounded like a dick. Sirius blinked. “Ah, sorry... I just mean. Well. Yeah, why?” Sirius smirked at Remus’ flailing hands.

“I...” Sirius sighed. “Okay I’ll just... can I kiss you?” He blurted out. Remus’ eyes widened.

“What?” He didn’t know what else to say. Sirius closed his eyes.

“Shit. I’m sorry. It’s just you said you were bi and I just assumed—I’m sorry—“

“Yes.” Remus smiled. “Yeah, you can kiss me.” Bloody hell, he wanted Sirius to kiss him. Sirius smiled.

“Yeah?” Sirius looked into his eyes, and Remus noticed that they weren’t just grey. They were silver and bright and wonderful. Remus nodded. Sirius raised himself up to match Remus’ height, not by much but enough. When he closed the gap between them, though, Remus almost melted. His lips were soft, they were everything. This was everything. They finally broke apart, Remus’ hand tangled in Sirius’ hair and their breaths clouding in the night air. Sirius smiled. “Happy birthday, Remus.” Remus laughed and kissed him again.

“Not my birthday anymore, Sirius,” he said and Sirius chuckled.

“How were you planning on getting home?” Sirius asked. Remus held up his phone.

“Uber.”

“Cancel it. I’ve got a motorbike.”

Oh god.

“Cancelled.”

263 notes · View notes

smugzayn · 5 years ago

Text

Roomies

“So, what’s that mean?” you ask, trying to keep the bite out of your voice. Whether it’s apparent or not, it’s easy to read all over your body. Your hands are on your hips, your right toe taps violently against the floor, and your neck is jutted just ever so slightly forward in irritation.

“Well,” your R.A. starts gently. “There’s nothing that can be done for you right now. All the assignments are full and there are no empty beds. You’re just going to have to room with him for a while”

You stare at her, hoping that she’s going to change her mind. Or maybe she will start laughing because certainly, this is some sort of joke. After thirty seconds of her falsely apologetically soft smile, you huff.

“So, I will just live with him, then? Just live with Harry? There’s nothing you can do. I’m just - just roomies with him.”

She nods, already inching her way back into her room, slipping behind a gently closing door.

You nod, tersely, disbelief painting over your irritation. This is not at all going to plan.

OR somehow you and Harry are assigned a dorm room at university.

One.

You had been waiting all summer for university to begin. Every prep course, accelerated class, and extracurricular had prepared you for this very moment. You had even made sure to check every box on your roommate application that guaranteed your new bunkmate would be just as focused, driven, and ambitious as you.

As other girls on your co-ed floor were popping into the boys’ rooms or flirting in the corridor, you were arranging your highlighters on your desk, flipping through your planner, and making sure the reading lamp was fastened tightly to your headboard. You didn’t have time for distractions.

You were just ruffling out a lump in your duvet, the final touch of settling in, when a loud thump sounded from the entryway behind you.

“Oh,” you turned around to find a tall, shaggy-haired boy standing in your doorway with several fancy-patterned duffles weighing him down. He struggled to flip his black ray-bans atop his head as he looked at you in surprise.

“You must be in the wrong place; boys rooms are on the other side of the hall.”

“Hello,” he grinned, ignoring your comment and looking you up and down, bringing what you hoped wasn’t a noticeable blush to your cheeks. There were two deep dimples next to his upturned mouth, a charming smile twisting his lips and bunching the skin next to his eyes, and a mop of dark hair that looked like it, at any point, could overtake his whole head. Unceremoniously, he dropped all his bags to the floor and shoved a hand into his pocket to un-crumble a tattered piece of paper.

“Room 212?” he asked, pinching the plump of his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger as he scanned his paper. His voice had a long, slow drawl to it. “Right? This is room 212?”

You shook your head in confusion.

“No - Well, yes,” you agreed hesitantly, scrunching your brows together in confusion. “It is, but the boys’ rooms are on the other side of the -”

“No,” he interrupted. “This is right.” He held the paper out for you to inspect. You read it over: Harry Styles - ID#1D-557819, Room 212. When you looked up at him in disbelief, he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled joyfully as if the matter was settled.

What was wrong with him? This wasn’t going to work? You couldn’t bunk with - with him. You were no prude, but it wasn’t really proper to just live with a boy you didn’t know. And he just looked like a distraction.

You stood there in shock as he lugged his duffle bags in one swift motion onto the empty bed beside you. With no concern for the situation, he started pulling out a very haphazardly packed luggage full of flannel shirts, graphic tees, pink flamingo stringed lights, and at least three different bottles of vodka.

When he turned around to dump a handful of mismatched socks on his desk, you noticed his grey sweatshirt read Margaritaville University. Oh god.

“What are you doing,” you sputtered from where you stood with your arms tight across your chest, clearly flustered. “You can’t - we aren’t - You can’t be my roommate. You - you have to move.”

He grabbed a pile of shirts with a big fist and stuffed them into a drawer. “Look, roomie,” he drawled lazily, just barely glancing over his shoulder towards you with an easy smirk. “It’s happening. Embrace it -”

“Absolutely not,” you huffed, looking at him in disbelief.

You watched him force a too full drawer shut by throwing his shoulder into it- you think it was a mix of pants, shirts, and beanies - before he walked over to stand in front of you. He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair, leaning back to crack his spine and letting a sliver of skin at the bottom of his torso peak out.

You hate that his smirk deepens when your eyes are drawn towards it. It’s infuriating.

“I’m Harry,” he says once again, flashing a sideways grin at you and holding out his hand in greeting. Shaking it would feel like some sort of agreement or a surrender to the situation. You’re not so easy to give in, so after you stare at it for a minute, he laughs dryly and shoves both hands into his pockets. “Do you have a name? Or should I just call you ‘roomie’?”

“I’m going to go talk to the room advisor.”

You storm out of the room, but his chuckle of “...nice to meet ya” still follows you out the door.

.....

It takes about an hour after Harry moves into your room to find out that he’s terribly, terribly social.

The university move-in date for Freshman is a Friday because they want Freshman to have the weekend to get “acclimated” before classes begin on Monday. So, you spend this time planning your routes to each class, visiting the library and booking a private study room for the semester, and starting an email chain to organize study groups for your courses. You go to the university bookstore and buy your books, begin taking notes on the introductory chapters, and hungrily read through the course syllabus listed on the online platform.

Harry, on the other hand, well you’re not quite sure what he spends his time doing. He darts into your room to quickly change into a new top, or you pass him with a big group of people in someone’s room, or some girl pops by saying, “Oh, I didn’t know Harry had a girlfriend.” You are always quick to inform, begrudgingly, that you two are just temporary roommates.

When the Sunday night before classes begin rolls around, he taps you on the shoulder from where you’re studying with headphones in at your desk.

“What do you think?” he asks, modeling a black top and matching black jeans. He looks genuinely curious, like for some reason he truly wants a stranger’s input on his outfit. It’s disconcerting. “I’m worried it’s too much black.”

You’re confused.

“Is this what you’re wearing to class tomorrow?”

He laughs loudly, falling back on his bed in the process. He starts shoving on a pair of black sneakers. “Class? What - no! I am going to a house party with a guy across the hall.” He flutters his eyelashes at you, “You want to be my date?”

You rearrange your highlighters as an excuse to look away but still noticeably sputter, “I’m studying - and classes start tomorrow -”

“Oh, god,” he groans, pretending to push a pair of glasses up his nose. “You are seriously going to have to loosen up. It’s the first weekend of university! What in the hell are you even reading?”

“It’s coursework -” you rebuke defensively.

“Courses haven’t even started,” he interjects, reaching over you and snagging the book off your desk. “What even is this? Historical Particularism? Functionalism? Neo-What?”

“Classism. I’m pre-law.” You stand up to snatch your book back, but he plays keep-away and holds it with one long arm behind him. It isn’t until he pointedly clears his throat with a big, stupid smirk on his face that you notice you’re practically climbing atop him to get at it.

You lean back, straightening out a wrinkle in your top, and holding out your hand impatiently. “Gosh! If you’re going, then just go.”

He rolls his eyes, but the amused smirk doesn’t falter. Teasingly slow, he gives you your book. “You’re going to be my date at some point,” he decides, as you look away. “You can’t be like this all semester.”

“I’m on scholarship.” You sit back down at your desk. “I have to get good grades.”

You can tell he doesn’t really understand. He’s posh. From the moment he walked in you could tell it like he was wearing a public school uniform. He had the holiday tan, and his luggage was all the same matching, expensive print, and he had that confidence of someone who knows they belong. You’ve never had that assurance. You were the first in your family to attend college, you were proper working class, and you were here because of you. Not daddy’s money, or mummy’s network, or some sort of legacy connection. You were here because you had worked damn hard.

Harry clears his throat from where he’s fixing his hair in the mirror. “But I still need your opinion.”

You throw your hands up in irritation. “On what?”

“My outfit!” he growls, leaning back, posing with one foot out and a hand propped behind his head. He looks ridiculous. “Is the black-on-black okay? It’s a new top. I’m not sold on it. I’m going for rough and mysterious yet approachable and -”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt, cutting off the rambling description of his aesthetic. “What do you want my opinion for, anyway? It’s not like I even know you.”

He shakes his head in disappointment, but the smirk he bites back tells you he’s enjoying riling you up more than he lets on. “You’re my roommate. It’s what we do. I need your -”

You spin around to glare at him, “We are not roommates.” He makes a show of looking about the room at his stuff and your stuff - all in one room. Not having to say anything to point out the very clear fact that you are very much roommates. “This is temporary.”

“Right,” Harry nods his head in amusement, unwilling to push you any further on the topic. After a moment, he adds, “Then what you’re saying is that it’s too much black.” He grabs a flannel from the mess of clothes under his bed and ties it around his waist. Then, once again, he looks at you expectantly.

“Oh my God,” you groan, flopping your head down on your desk into your open textbook. “Yes, it looks fine. The shoes, the tee, the flannel, and the black, and your hair all look great.”

He nods his head happily, and snags a bottle of something that he had hidden in some mess of a drawer. He tucks into a pocket, arranging the tied top around his waist to hide the bulge. “Perfect,” he whispers to himself, the smile clear in his voice as he walks to the door, finally leaving you to your studies.

“You like my hair?” he asks cheekily, slipping into the corridor with a final irritating call of “Don’t miss me too much, roomie!”

The highlighter you throw bounces off the slammed door.

.....

“Oh,” you say from where you’re reading on your bed. “I didn’t know you were coming back.”

Harry shrugs his shoulders. He looks hungover. It’s Saturday morning, so he probably is. There have been four weekends since school began - Harry’s gone out for all of them. Even during the week he goes out a few times. You're thankful that he never comes back to your room after; you don’t know where or who he’s staying with, but at least it’s not with you.

You accidentally squish your nose at him before you register what you’re doing. He reeks of stale alcohol and floral perfume.

“Do I smell?” he asks, grabbing his towel off his bed and searching through his drawers for five minutes before finding a set of fresh clothes.

“A little,” you lie, looking away from him and returning your eyes, if not your attention, back to your book.

“Y’know, you should come out with me sometime.” He grabs the towel off the hook on his wardrobe and slings it around his shoulder. “Oh. Can I borrow your shampoo?”

“What?” you look at him suspiciously, trying to determine how serious he’s being. You’ve noticed Harry likes to say things just to distract you from studying.

“Your shampoo,” he repeats, nodding to where you keep it. “It smells good - like strawberries, and I ran out of mine days ago.”

You ignore the silly warmth that burns your cheeks. “Yeah,” you nod. “That’s fine.”

“Awesome. Thanks. And you should you know.” He snags the bottle out of your stuff. “I mean come out with me sometime. It would be fun”

You roll your eyes and laugh easily. It’s a nice offer, but you’ve seen Harry’s crew. It’s big, the girls all look like they’ve got 5,000 Instagram subscribers, and you’re sure most of the guys do, too.

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “It’s nice of you, but I’ve got my friends and you’ve got yours-”

“I’m not saying it to be nice,” Harry bites and the tension in his voice takes you by surprise. You look up from your book to see him leveling you with a hard glare from the open doorway; he has one foot out the door. “I’m saying it because I want to be friends.”

“Harry, this is just temporary. I’m sure we will hear back from the R.A. any day with a new arrangement. I don’t think we really need to force anything.”

You trail off awkwardly and squirm a little under his stare. He looks irritated, and it’s an unfamiliar look on his face. It darkens his features and makes him look dangerous. He rubs a big hand along his tense jaw and you can just barely hear the scratchiness of his stubble against his skin.

He opens his mouth to say something, decides against it, and slams the door enough when he leaves that the pictures above your bed rattle slightly.

Two.

Your side of the room looks like this: your bed is neatly made, your wardrobe is tediously organized, and your desk is arranged for academic success. When you return from the shower, your towel gets hung, your dirty clothes go in the hamper, and your shower cubby gets tucked neatly away at the end of your bed.

Harry’s side of the room looks like this: his duvet is a mess - always. He has five pillows, and none of them are ever on his bed. In an effort to be neat, the dresser drawers are bursting open with whatever clothes Harry has picked up off the floor and shoved in them. When he returns from the shower, his towel gets thrown somewhere, his dirty clothes get tossed by the hamper, and he returns your shampoo and body wash to you because he’s been using it ever since that day in September.

You will appreciate that Harry does keep a nice dividing line between your structure and organization and his chaos and mess. He even hung his pink flamingo string lights down the middle of the room to remind himself. You don’t hate them that much.

Despite the common ground that you two have seemed to find, your R.A. never gets back to you about the unconventional situation and your growingly impatient emails haven’t received their due response. So, five weeks in, it’s October, and you and Harry had fallen into a strange kind of normal. You wake up earlier than him, go to class, spend any free time at the library, and return basically just to study, shower, and sleep. You don’t even see him that much. The only time you really ever run into him is when he’s gaming or sleeping.

You actually hadn’t seen him for three days before all the sudden you do.

You’ve been studying in the library for about an hour between your political science and anthropology courses when all a sudden there’s a loud knocking and Harry’s big, dimply smile is waving at you from the window in the door.

“Unlock it,” he whispers loudly through the glass. “Let me in. I need to talk!” A passerby curiously walks by and Harry adds, “Don’t worry. It’s just my roomie.”

“Oi!” you hush, standing up quickly to unlock the latch. “Will you be quiet?”

He clumsily swings open the door and throws his book bag to the floor before flopping down into the extra chair in the corner.

“Roomie,” he begins, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “I need your help.”

“Harry, what are you doing here?” You whisper, moving to shut the door that he had just left open. “How did you even know - Also, stop calling me roomie. It’s just a temporary -”

“I checked your planner when you were in the showers Tuesday.” He cuts you off before you can object. “That’s not important. I need your help. I’ve got this math test tomorrow and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Plus, my literature class it’s just - I have some monster paper about some book an emo lady wrote and I don’t understand anything. I have no idea-”

“What lit class are you in?”

“133. We’ve got our first paper due Monday, and I’ve got no idea -

“Harry -” you look at him in disbelief. “Please tell me it’s not with Professor Allison.”

Harry nods, his fringe falling over his eyes until he swoops it back into place. “Yeah. Why?”

“Harry! How can you -” you regulate your voice back to a whisper when someone in the room beside you bangs on the wall. “I’m in that class. I’ve not seen you there once.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s why I’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

You sigh - deeply.

“Please,” Harry begs, leaning forward until one of his hands is grabbing onto your knee in desperation. “I will do anything. Midterms are in two weeks, and I have to pass these classes. Please, please, please -”

You pull away, ignoring the warmth that flutters in your chest at his touch.

“I don’t know, Harry. I’ve got a lot of my own stuff I need to -”

He falls to his knees suddenly, close enough that his pleading fists are nearly sitting on your lap.

You look anxiously to the window to make sure no one can see the strange scene.

“Harry, really -”

“I’ll move out at semester,” he promises, suddenly staring into your eyes. “I will take all my stuff and move across the hall with Daniel. His roommate already dropped, so he’s on his own. I’m sure it would be-”

You can’t mask the excitement in your voice. “Really? You will? You promise?”

Harry leans back, the loss of his touch taking a warmth with it.

He runs his hands through his hair, pushing it all out of his face. “I swear on it. You help me pass this semester, and I will move out in December. You will be all on your own by January.”

He sticks out a hand to shake and this time you don’t hesitate to agree wholeheartedly.

.....

You step in front of Harry, toss your copy of Frankenstein onto his desk, and hit the power button on the XBox.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry blurts, pulling his headset off and looking at you in irritation. “We were just about to storm that -”

“You asked for my help,” you shove a schedule into Harry’s outstretched hands and pull your desk chair over to sit. He grumbles something, but he drops his headset to the floor and glances at the paper unhappily.

“Study group? Library? Wake up time? What is this?”

“It’s your schedule.” You move on despite his grumbling. “There’s a study group for your math class on Wednesday nights at 6 and a grad student gives private lessons every Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I’ve signed you up for both. Also, I’m going to start waking you up for our lit class. There's really no reason that you can’t -”

Harry curses under his breath, but, again, you ignore it and push on.

“Plus, I’ve scheduled you for library time with me every Saturday afternoon. That’s the pink highlight. However, I thought we might start that paper now, your literature one...seeing as it’s due in -” you look at your phone, “six hours.”

“Shit,” Harry groans, and leans back in his chair, already exhausted with the task. “Okay, roomie, let’s get to it.”

“Harry -”

“I know. I know. It’s just temporary,” he smirks, sliding his chair close to his desk and then grabbing yours and pulling you close in one swift motion. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

You reach around Harry to grab the book instead of meeting his eye.

“So, what did you think about Frankenstein?” you ask, flipping through the text to re-read some of your annotations and find your favourite quotes. “Was it the frame narrative? Or the subversive female voice? Or maybe the complex relationship between the Monster and Victor?”

“Well, you see,” Harry drawls, forcing you to hide a smile as his face turns with a boyish smirk. “I would say that everything is my favourite because -”

“You haven’t read it,” you realise flatly.

“I haven’t read it,” he agrees, his charming yet bashful smile still painting his face.

You sigh heavily, letting your chest heave dramatically and ignoring the flash of amusement in Harry’s eyes.

“Well,” you decide, flipping until you are on page one. “Then let’s start at the beginning.”

.....

“Harry,” you try to keep the whine out of your voice, but it’s no easy task. How can someone that looks as good as he does be so absolutely frustrating? “Harry, get up! Come on!”

You pull up the duvet so it’s covering his bare shoulder and then push to rouse him awake. “Let’s go! We’re going to be late. Really, Harry!”

It’s been two weeks since you gave Harry his schedule. He’s attended every study session with the grad student (you checked) and has walked with you to the library for all his study groups. He’s even come and sat with you at the library for the last two Saturdays. Although, you would argue, he’s spent more time pestering you than actually completing any studying.

This, however, has not been Harry’s easiest hurdle to jump. You spend every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning thinking of new, clever ways to convince him to wake up. Although, maybe you should just be grateful that he’s sleeping in his bed way more often.

You think you’ve rubbed off on him in some small way, at least.

“Please, Harry. We really need to -” a strong tug on your arm surprises you and Harry suddenly has you tangled up with him in bed. Your cheek falls against the skin of what was his carefully covered shoulder and his entire torso is bare up against you.

“Harry,” you squeal, pressing against his chest, but his strong arms are wrapped around you.

“Shhhh,” he mutters sleepily, nuzzling you into his chest and pulling you close until your nose is near smushed tight against the curve of his neck. “Lay with me for five minutes and then I’ll get up. Promise. Then I’ll get up.”

His voice sounds like gravel.

You squirm and he hushes you again by promising just five minutes.

“Fine,” you agree, not really seeing another option. His hold relaxes, and you weigh heavy in his arms.

So, you lay there, in his bed, tight up against his body for five long minutes. You can feel his breath against your hair, and the rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, and even his thick, strong legs brushing the front of yours. It makes you nervous, and anxious, and warm, and confused.

You check the clock seven times before the five minutes is up. As soon as Harry let’s you go, you grab your bag, run a brush through the back of your hair, and make an excuse to wait for him in the corridor.

You can’t look at him when you walk to class without blushing that morning. You think he notices because he keeps finding excuses to shove his face right in front of yours: you’ve got an eyelash, or a piece of dust in your hair, or a fleck of something along your bottom lip.

He laughs every time you shoo him away and asks coyly about why your face is so red.

After that morning, he makes you lay with him for five minutes before he wakes up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until midterms. He calls it a “roomie alarm” and somehow it becomes a normal thing.

.....

“Thank god,” you sigh, flopping into your bed. You’ve just returned from your last midterm. The professor has already entered the grades, you aced it. Actually, you’ve aced all of them. You’re going to relax this weekend; you’ve completed your first quarter with a 4.0.

You had gotten about four hours of sleep last night after staying up revising your paper on Canterbury Tales. You’ve decided there is a special spot in Hell for Chaucer. You’re just on the very verge of dozing off when the door to your room flies open, smashes into the wall, and a heavy mass falls atop you.

“Oof,” you groan, wiggling uncomfortably until you feel the weight roll off you and thump to the floor. You prop yourself on your elbow and turn to see Harry laying on the floor, a giant grin on his face, a piece of paper held tightly to his chest.

“We did it,” he laughs, holding the paper up to you.

You sit up in excitement, grabbing it out of his hand and reading over it. One C, three B’s, and two A’s. You try to push away the thought that Harry had printed off his midterm report just to show you.

“Oh my gosh, Harry! You got an A on your math and English midterms.” You look down at him, there are happy crinkles next to his eyes, and his dimples are two deep pinpricks. His smile makes your heart flutter. “I can’t believe you did it.”

He suddenly reaches for you, pulls you down by your arm, and hugs you tightly atop him. It’s like “roomie alarm,” but it feels different at this time of day, in the late afternoon light flooding the room.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into your hair. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You laugh nervously, trying to ignore the feeling of your chest pressed tight against his, and his mouth in your hair, and his hands warm against your back. It’s one thing when he’s half-asleep in the innocence of the morning light. Why does it feel so different now? Like it’s so much more?

“Well,” you mumble, leaning just a little bit away from him. You laugh, “I really want my own room.”

You can feel his grip slacken slightly, his body freezing underneath yours.

“Right,” he clears his throat, gently shuffling so you’re sitting beside him now. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you get up until you’re sitting back on your bed. Putting the distance between you and him before you can even meet his eyes. Even then, after a minute, he clears his throat once more only to repeat, “Right.”

You go to your desk and shuffle around some papers.

“So,” you try to lighten the mood. “How are you going to celebrate? Get pissed with your friends? Hit the pub? Pull a girl?” You ask, smiling easily at him over your shoulder. “You should go celebrate with your friends! You’ve earned it.”

He smiles, but it’s tight, and it doesn’t light his eyes. Propping himself up on an elbow from the floor, he laughs, a dry puff of air through his nose, but there’s no humor to it. It sounds sad.

“Yeah,” he raises his eyebrows, looking at you imploringly. “I guess that’s what I do, right? Go out, get drunk, pull a girl. That’s who I am then, right?”

“Harry,” you watch as he pulls himself up, grabs a snapback from his wardrobe and throws a plaid top on. “I’m sorry. I just meant that-”

“What? It’s nothing,” he interrupts, brushing past you when you reach for him. “I get it. You didn’t say anything wrong. Don’t apologize.”

He doesn’t look back when he walks out the door.

Three.

After midterms, things continue like normal, except they don’t.

Harry still meets you to study at the library, but he asks fewer questions, and there’s less touching that makes your heart beat faster, and you don’t find him staring at you when you’re not looking like you did before. You don’t look forward to Saturdays anymore.

In the dorms, it’s different too.

He’s there more but less. It’s weird. He’s there all the time now. He sleeps there every night, and he goes out with his friends less, but it doesn’t feel like you interact any more. He doesn’t drive you crazy by asking you ridiculous questions, or teasing you about being a nerd, or start yelling at the screen while he’s gaming until you throw a book at him. Instead, he’s lights out at ten, and headphones in all the time, and he never sleeps past his alarm, and he never needs five more minutes.

You hate it.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt from across the table.

Harry arrived in your study room twenty minutes ago, but aside from asking to borrow a pencil, he’s not said a word to you.

“I didn’t mean all those things. I don’t think you’re just some stupid frat boy, or caveman, or something. I don’t even - I don’t even know why I said it. It was just - I think I was scared and I just said those things to be mean or to push you away. I don’t know. I’m just really, really sorry that I did.”

Harry leans back from where he was crouched over The Great Gatsby. You think he could give Jay Gatsby a run for his money. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it away from his head, and looking a bit crazed as a result.

“Wow,” he smirks, his lips turning at one side to make his mouth all crooked. “That was...out of nowhere.”

You try to keep your voice from cracking, taking a moment to brush back your hair and hopefully distract from the heat in your face. “Well, yeah. I’ve been wanting to say it forever. Basically since that night - since midterms. I really am sorry.”

“Well, that’s great and all…” he trails off.

“But you’re still mad?”

“No,” he shakes his head and reaches out to grab your hand assuringly. “I’m not mad, but you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

You look at him skeptically. The giant, devilish smirk on his face doesn’t make him look very trustworthy. His eyes are normally just a beautiful green; right now they look dangerous.

“My mate’s having a party tonight. A house party,” he begins and starts piling up his books and notepad and shoving it carelessly into his bookbag. “I want you to come with me.”

“Okay, but not as your date -”

He nods his head and waves his hand to stop you from voicing the thought.

“As my roommate,” he assures but there’s something in his eyes that makes you believe he knows something that you don’t. As if there's a secret that he’s left you out of. “Just a roommate.”

He doesn’t give you a minute to respond. Instead, he piles all of your stuff up too and starts shoving it into your bookbag. He ignores your protests.

“Let’s go,” he demands, slinging your book bag over his shoulder along with his own and grabbing your hand to pull you behind him out the door. “It’s Friday night. We are going to go out, get drunk, and have a fucking blast.”

.....

Harry looks amazing. You want to give him absolute hell for looking exactly like the frat boy of your nightmares, but those nightmares seem much less like scary dreams when you look at him. He’s wearing jeans, and a plaid shirt rolled up a bit and a plain, white tee underneath, with a backward cap on with little flips of dark, curly hair sticking out and you don’t know that you’ve ever been so attracted to someone in your life.

And what’s most terrible is that you feel like an absolute tit. You had borrowed an outfit from a girl down the hall. Your wardrobe consisted entirely of study clothes - leggings, too big sweatshirts, and tennis shoes. They had had a blast dressing you in a short, little black dress and some heeled booties. The dress felt a bit too big, the booties a bit too tall, and makeup and hair a bit too unfamiliar, but you’re just trying to hold on to the way Harry’s eyes brightened as he met you in the corridor on the way out of the dorm.

“Does it look okay? I can still change. Should I just go change?” you had word-vomited as soon as he saw you. His hand wrapped around your wrist is what stopped you from turning back into your dorm.

“Are you joking?” he roared, biting at his bottom lip. “Absolutely not. Don’t you fucking dare.”

You were thankful his mobile had buzzed with a text at that moment. It gave you the opportunity to hide your blush by rifling through your bag.

Now, at the house party, you still feel out of place, but you’re sure the shot you’re about to drown will help.

“Ready?” Harry asks, his eyes twinkling in excitement. His smile makes your chest burn in the dark, crowded room. There are people everywhere. They are pressed up against you, and the music is so loud that you can feel the bass through your toes, and you're thankful for the cool breeze coming in through the open window. “On my count.”

You grab the shot glass - it says, “YOLO” on it. You thought that was a phrase that rightfully died a long, long time ago.

Harry counts to two, forgets three, throws the shot back, and then smiles from ear-to-ear as he watches you follow his late lead. He offers you some fizzy drink to chase; you gladly accept it with a grimace.

“One more?” you ask and watch as he laughs in delight. A big, happy, throaty laugh that makes you want to jump his bones.

He happily pours another, hands it to you, and this time, when he gets to two, you remember and take the shot right along with him.

Initially, you think you’re immune to alcohol. Harry leads you around, a hand on your back, and you dutifully follow his guiding touch. You meet his mates and laugh gleefully as they tell you about how they know each other or banter back and forth. It feels like Harry knows everyone and everyone loves him. You knew he was social, but it’s nice to see it in action. He just bounces around from person-to-person and he’s got a story or a joke with all of them.

And he makes it easy for you, too. He doesn’t make you feel like some afterthought or tag along; rather, he excitedly introduces you, or makes sure to include you in each story, or tells his friends some interesting anecdote about you that you didn’t even realise he had noticed:

“Bro, she’s proper smart. She’s pre-law undergrad with a focus in family law.”

“Yeah, she played football and tennis growing up.”

“She grinds her teeth so bad. Drives me absolutely mental.”

“She actually used to vacation by where your mom lives. She's still on the coast, right?”

By the time you start to feel this warm, fuzziness building in your stomach, and chest, and head you’re not sure if it’s from Harry or the alcohol. However, when Harry leads you to a new spot in the house, gently guiding you with a hand on your lower back, you know it’s the alcohol that allows you to easily slip your hand into his, push him ahead of you, and hide behind his shoulder as he meanders his way to a new spot.

You see him duck his head just slightly to hide the grin threatening to split his face in half. You hide yours, too.

The new spot is the dance floor, and god there is nothing that could have been more perfect.

It’s too loud to talk, there are so many people that you both have a good excuse to be pressed up tightly against each other, and someone bumps into Harry and makes him drop his beer, so now both his hands can wrap tightly around your body to pull you into him.

You love the feeling of his body pressed against yours. You can feel the hard lines of his muscles, the tightness of his stomach, and the knotty muscles of his shoulder, back, and neck. It’s easy to sink into his touch, let his big hand run up your waist, graze the side of your neck, and take your cheek into this hand. When you lean up, giving yourself to him, he doesn’t hesitate to fall into you. His mouth crashes against yours, the warmth of his lips, and tongue, and his overpowering scent sending shocks through your body.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, pulling away and trying to bite back a smile as Harry looks down at you. His lips are red and more swollen than usual, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and heat, and bits of his hair are matted to his forehead. “Please, let’s go back to our dorm,” you ask, leaning up to pull him into a kiss.

He laughs against you, holding your jaw in his hands until he forces you back and instead grabs your hand to lead you out. “I’ve been waiting all semester to hear that.”

Four.

When you wake up the next morning, its snowed outside.

It makes it easy to snuggle under the covers and burrow yourself into Harry’s body. You think it should be awkward, but it’s not. It feels overdue.

“Good morning,” Harry grumbles, and you can feel his chest vibrate from where your cheek is pressed against him. A heavy palm sweeps through your hair, brushing it down, and his nails drag lightly along your scalp.

“I didn’t know you knew so much about me.” You lean up from your spot on his chest, so you can see his face. “When you were talking to your friends, you actually knew a lot about me. Like what I want to do with my degree, and my favorite band, and all my siblings’ names. I didn’t know.”

Harry’s smile is soft. His hair is fluffy and somehow angry looking. It’s all messy from sleep and other activities.

“I like you,” he shrugs simply. “I’ve always liked you.”

You roll your eyes and smack him gently on the shoulder. “You did not always like me.”

“I did too,” he insists earnestly, and the sincerity in his eyes erases your skepticism. “You’re just so fucking dense. As soon as I walked in here on move-in, I knew. You spent like two minutes straightening out a ruffle in the bed, and your wardrobe was color-coded, and everything was in neat rows on your desk. And then you were so goddamn huffy and puffy about me moving in -”

“And you knew?” you joke lightly, but he grabs your hand and kisses it with conviction.

“I swear, I knew.” He throws his head back, ruffling a big hand through his messy hair. “Why do you think you never got a different roommate? Or I never got kicked out?”

“Wait! What?” You sit up, staring at him in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t think it was suspicious at all?” he asks, propping himself on his side with an elbow. “Sure it was pure coincidence that we got roomed together. But, I mean, you didn’t think it was weird that our R.A. never fixed our living arrangements? That never was like a red flag to you?”

You shake your head. You had spent hours at the beginning of first quarter begging, reasoning, and even crying to the R.A. that you needed to be moved.

“Well, I have my connections. I made sure it wasn’t going to change,” he smirks, seemingly pleased with himself.

“Harry,” you gasp, but dissolve into chuckles when he pulls you into his body, rolls you over onto your back, and leans over to kiss you deeply on the mouth. His hands tangle in your hair, and run along your jaw, and slide over the curves of your waist and hips.

He eventually falls onto his side and pulls you into his stomach, the soft curves of your body melting into the hardness of his. His arms around you feel heavy, and make you feel secure and small. You think you could lay here forever.

“I was looking at my schedule for next semester,” Harry begins and you nod back into his touch. “And, I’ve got a lot of hard courses. Geometry, another English, biology, philosophy, and music -”

“Philosophy is not hard, and you’re excellent in music,” you point out. “You can play like three instruments, and I know that you-”

Harry stops any disagreement with light, nimble fingers that tickle your sides.

“I’m going to need help. So -”

“So, I don’t think you should move out,” you finish, turning in his arms until you can kiss him. “I think I would get lonely, and I think your grades would suffer, and I think I might like this.”

“This?” he asks, leaning over you again and pressing you into the bed with a hand on your hip and a heavy thigh falling between yours. You shudder as he presses into you, the weight of his body holding yours down, and you can feel your heart rate rising up as his mouth crashes down on yours.

His lips playfully kiss along your jaw, and neck, and collarbone. His hands feel like they are everywhere; their warmth covering your thighs, belly, and chest. You never want it to stop. You want to be here, with him, in this bed forever.

“Hmmm?” he hums, leaning back to stroke a stray bit of hair from the side of your face. “What’s this?”

“I like this,” you run a thumb over his plump bottom lip and guide his mouth down to yours, “being roomies.”

[masterpost]

#is my british canadian dual upbringing apparent in the clash of cultures fic #guys please social distance #social distance szn #one direction #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles #harry #one direction fic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #imagine #blurb #my writing #one direction writing #styles #harry fic #social distance

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fleckcmscott · 5 years ago

Text

Adjusting

Summary: Arthur moved in with Y/N nearly two weeks ago. It takes more getting used to than he’d thought.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Smut

Words: 3,675

A/N: Another request by the wonderful @sweet-nothings04. Thank you to the amazing @ithinkimawriter for beta-reading and her support!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Arthur was pensive as he sat at her small, round dining table. (Their table. Theirs. When was he going to remember to use the right word?) Pen in hand, he sought relief. The multitude of changes since moving to 4A in Burnley, since moving in with Y/N about a week and a half ago, had kept his brain distracted enough to stop his negative thoughts, at least for a couple of days. But they were back in full force. It was discouraging - he'd believed the temporary break might have been permanent. It had been foolish to hope, though he couldn't have stopped himself from wishing it.

Y/N had taken Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday off to help him settle in. They'd been side-by-side for five days, the most time they'd spent together at once. It had felt close to what he'd imagined a honeymoon would be like, and every hour had strengthened that association. He'd cherished it deeply, but he kept it to himself. He shouldn't have been picturing himself the happy groom and her his blushing bride after only three and a half months of dating.

When she'd returned to work Monday, it had been unexpectedly difficult for him. And his unease had grown over the next days. It wasn't that he was alone - he was used to being on his own. But he found that without her there, he felt out of sorts. Almost like a guest in a fancy hotel, regardless of how often he'd been there before and her insistence that he wasn't.

His old place had been run down, and everything in it, from appliances to the mismatched curtains, was outdated. But it had been his home and he'd been comfortable there. With all the evenings Y/N had spent in 8J after Penny left to go to long-term care, his memories of it had started to be positive. When she'd had work to do, he'd rummaged around while she'd sat at his breakfast bar, reading court documents he'd snuck a peek at but hadn't understood. Their first Christmas together, the first holiday that had meant a damn to him, had been celebrated in his living room. They'd watched shows on the old color TV, with its dials and wooden casing. And he'd made love to her on the couch, that piece of furniture he'd spent lonely nights on most of his life.

Maintaining separate residences had meant that Arthur's space and what he could do in it were clear. He'd had his own household to run and had managed to keep busy between the occasional job. Now he felt lost. Y/N had told him to take his own actions, to not worry about upsetting her, that as long as he didn't do something drastic to the apartment, there'd be no issue. Yet, even with her reassurances, he felt as though he needed permission. He didn't want to ruin her nice office wear by laundering it with his own, faded clothing. And he was unsure if she'd like him rearranging the kitchen cabinets a bit (because coffee and sugar should be on the same shelf).

It wasn't her fault. She'd done and continued to do everything she could to help him feel at home. New towels had been hung up for him in the bathroom. They'd gone shopping together and picked up the dish soap he used, his favorite seltzer, and sheets to match his green blanket. He'd hooked up his VCR, too, and they'd watched one of his old movies, just like before.

But his mind was stopping him from enjoying himself, as usual. He'd tried picturing a big red stop sign, speaking the words aloud to sap away the intrusive thoughts' power, both techniques he'd recently learned from his doctor. They weren't working tonight, however. So he started writing. "I signed up for another open-mike night, but that's in to weeks - to whole weeks!" He pulled at a piece of chestnut hair as he continued. "I half Y/N all the time. Its good but she's going to get tired of me. I'm tired of myself. I want to feel fresh for her when she gets home. Which is in two hours, so I better hurry the hell up!"

~~~~~

The sun had already set and a deep chill was in the air. It wasn't a surprise; February was Gotham's coldest month. Arthur stood in the partially open doorway, watching the light snow fall onto the fire escape, the flakes illuminated by the streetlights and lamps of the living room. Journaling had helped, and nicotine tempered him mildly. Still, his brain was racing, so much so he nearly felt numb. Part of him wondered if moving in with Y/N had been a mistake. Yes, he was thirty-five and most men seemed to move out when they were eighteen. But he wasn't like most people. And though he knew he'd taken the right step, his doubts tightened his sinews and muscles.

He didn't hear the closing of the front door. Or the clink of her keys on the kitchen counter. His first indication that she'd come home was her loose grip on his sides. "How was your day?" she asked.

Hard. "Okay." Letting out a smoky breath, he took a step forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the stairs. "Yours?"

"Long." She didn't move forward, allowing the space he'd created between them. "There are nine hearings on the trailing docket tomorrow. I'm going to be in court until five." Her bones popped as she stretched behind him. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I'm not hungry."

She pulled him inside and closed the door behind them. "Here," she said, then brushed her fingers through his hair. "You've got snow on you."

A small chuckle left him and he bent his head to help her. "Oh."

"Where did your pajamas and thermals go?" she asked as she patted his chest. "You're always so buttoned up." Before he could bring himself to stop her, she'd opened his brown cardigan. Her kneading of his bony shoulders, the care she was showing him, made him wince and look at the floor. How could he explain his troubles, his concern, without hurting her?

But then she relieved him of that burden by starting the conversation herself. "Change isn't easy," she said. "You miss your old place." When he grasped her hand, he folded their fingers together and swallowed. Her arm went around him. "It doesn't mean you love me any less."

Both annoyed at and thankful for her perception, he frowned. She'd gotten too good at reading him, better than he was at interpreting her. He was working on it, though. "It's silly." He waved, trying to dismiss his discomfort. Then he tucked his chin. "I don't want you to think I don't wanna be here."

She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'll never think that, Arthur."

His forehead rested against her temple. "I'm trying."

"I know. Did you write any jokes today?"

His arms encircled her and pulled her to him as he nodded. "What's the difference between Arkham's patients and doctors?"

The hold she had on him tightened, even as her voice was light. This had become a pattern: sweet puns on good days, darker wisecracks on rough days. "Their types of files?"

The punchlines she gave were always too cerebral. Nestling in her hair, he closed his eyes. "The patients get better and leave."

Laughing, she pulled away from him. The grin he gave her was small, the stroking of her jaw short. But he hoped they were enough to tell her he was going to be all right. Especially with her by his side. Her cheeks turned pink in response. "I think I have a way to make you feel better," she said.

Eagerly, he let her lead him to the bathroom. It was with relief he watched her grab the soap from the sink, take out two new washcloths, and start the shower. They hadn't made love for eleven days; he missed it - it was a comfort to him. Her monthly had started right before the move, and, while he'd needed her, he'd been too tense to get in the mood since it had ended.

She helped him out of his sweater and hung it on one of the hooks he'd installed on the door. The white shirt he wore was undone hastily, both of them fumbling with the buttons. When she reached for the fly of his pants, he cupped her face and kissed her tenderly. He felt her smile as she nudged his nose with hers. Then she backed away and stripped out of her champagne blouse, revealing the plain, beige bra she wore underneath. She slipped out of her skirt, too, leaving it on the floor, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet to take off her pantyhose. "I've been wanting to do this for awhile."

Though his mind was still busy, the speed of his thoughts was decreasing. And she was cheering him up. He propped himself on the sink and took off his white socks. "It's a little slippery in there," he said wryly.

"I'll have you know I'm a pretty good ice-skater. For a Southern girl, at least." That was an image he'd have to remember. Maybe they could try it out at Gotham Park before the end of winter. She removed her underthings and put on the radio, which was set to Arthur's favorite AM station, the one that played music from the thirties and forties. "Besides, I'll have you to break my fall." Then she stepped in the tub.

They hadn't showered together before. It reminded him of the night they'd lain in the bath, when he'd realized her love for him wasn't a trick. Would he feel the same closeness without laying in her arms? Sliding his pants and briefs down his legs, he got in beside her and shut the reeded glass door. The space was a couple inches narrower than his old one, but because there wasn't a curtain that would annoyingly cling to him, it felt bigger. It was a bit longer, too. And the shower head was at a good height, though he was still getting used to the higher water pressure.

The steam rising above them, the pelt of droplets against his back, the foot of space between them - he took it all in, peering at her, hands clasped in front of him. She was already rinsing suds out of her hair. Was he supposed to start washing in front of her? Pressing his lips together, he picked up his shampoo. But she stopped him and took the plastic bottle. "Let me."

"I can do it," he said, trying to grab it. Apparently ignoring him, she turned him around so his chest faced the wall, then got his hair all wet. It felt childish at first, but he realized that was silly. She'd never treated him that way, not once since they'd met. So he went along with what she was doing and tried to relax. The sensation of her massaging him made that easy.

She slowed as Lawrence Welk started playing, the song muffled by the humidity of the room. "This music is older than I am." There was a slight tugging on his scalp as she got caught in his loose curls. "You really like antiques."

"That's why I'm with you." He chuckled at himself when she swatted his bottom, proud of his quick comeback. But then his eye started to burn and he squinted. "Shit. Hold on," he said, lifting his face towards the shower head.

The rub of the washcloth across his shoulders, then lower and lower still, prompted him to look down. She'd stepped closer, one of her feet between his. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked, her fingertips ghosting over his heated skin. He found he could only nod. "Good." The cloth fell to the bottom of the tub, next to their feet, the impact splashing his ankle.

Her arms snaked around him, and he shut his eyes at the press of her breasts to his back . Her palm went to his chest, then glided down, teasing each rib until she reached his taut abdomen. He responded to her caresses, growing erect as she got closer to his dark curls. A huff left his parted lips as her fingers enclosed around his length, gently sliding up and down. The slick of the soap let her slip over him easily, and it felt incredible, even moreso because he'd yearned for it. It only took a few seconds for him to harden to the point where it was painful.

He bit his lip, her delicate grazes causing him to tremble. But then she started to withdraw, and he thought she'd mistaken his reaction. He grasped her hand and opened his eyes. "Don't. Please."

"Tell me what you want," she said against his shoulder.

What he wanted? He longed for Y/N to take his last name (even though it was far too soon to suggest that), to make it feel like it was his again after the lies he’d uncovered. He needed to accept that he belonged in her home, in their home, and stop doubting. And now, with their legs entwined under the flowing water, he wanted her to keep touching him.

Challenging himself, he watched as he slowly guided her over his cock. The eroticism of the sight halted his breathing. "Y/N..," he groaned, bracing his forearm on the dark blue tile wall. Her fingertips reached out and traced the edge of his swollen, red head, and he rutted forward. When her nails dug the skin of his thigh, he thrust into her touch again. Her breath was hot on his neck as her hips followed his. It was becoming too much too fast - he wanted to be inside her instead of spending all over their hands and the floor.

Spinning to face her, he clasped her sides and drew her flush to him, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. Her eyelids were heavy, her pupils dilated with desire. Drops ran down the plains of her face from her hair, over her brow and cheekbones. Unable to wait any longer, he tilted his head and pressed his mouth to her. The contact burned and he twisted them to press her against the wall, slipping his tongue between her lips. She took his erection, then, and brought it to her labia.

At first Arthur was surprised, believing her to be going too quickly for the intimacy he craved. But instead of taking him inside her, she slid his tip over her burning, wet folds, and he bucked towards her. Her giggle was wicked, but turned to a soft moan as she went faster and shivered. She was teasing them both, and every swipe of him along her core tickled the nerve endings up and down his shaft.

He hungered to taste her, and batted her hand away before kissing down the side of her neck, fondling her breast as he thumbed the peak of it. Her soft cry bounced off the glass door, and his fingers went between her legs, sinking into her soft center. His open-mouth and tongue followed as he knelt before her. The musky scent of her filled his senses as he nuzzled the feminine curve of her abdomen. Just as he was getting into the right position, the spray of the shower hit the side of his face and ear unpleasantly and he flinched.

Y/N giggled and stroked his hair away from his forehead with sympathy, then inched down the wall towards the end of the tub, holding his arm as he followed on his knees. It felt slapstick - he had to laugh at his own awkwardness. But that faded as soon as he gazed up at her. One foot was situated on her side of the tub, opening her wide to him. Rivulets were trailing down her shoulders, the slopes of her chest, catching on her nipples. And she was smiling down at him, affection as clear as the water they were standing and kneeling in. "This was supposed to be about you."

"It still is," he rasped as he spread her lips with his thumbs, then licked a line from her entrance to her clit. Her response was immediate, rolling into his mouth and calling his name. He kept his eyes on her, watching the rise and fall of her breasts with each exhalation, and the way her head tipped to touch the tiles. One of her hands went to the ceramic soap dish on the wall, holding it in a white-knuckle grip, while the other went to his shoulder.

It was funny, he reflected, even as he laved at her. He'd fantasized about this act within the first week of meeting her. From what he'd seen and heard, women were supposed to like it. He hadn't expected to enjoy it as much as he did, though. The strength of her responses always made him feel good about himself - and turned him on beyond belief. And knowing no one else was allowed to do this to her, that she was his alone, satisfied him.

There was more of her slick with every sweep of the tip of his tongue, and he savored its taste as he closed his lips around her clitoral hood. Her grip tightened as she put more of her weight on him. She must have been having a hard time continuing to stand. His palms went to her quivering thighs and he pushed, anchoring her as her slight movements stuttered. With a series of soft cries and pants, she started throbbing against him, and he brought her tighter to his mouth, his licks tenderly persistent as he groaned into her.

Once her spasms halted, he stood and pressed his forehead to hers. With a smile on her face, she wrapped an arm around him. Then she reached between them and helped him ease up inside her. It went more smoothly than he had assumed. And he hadn't guessed it would be quite so comfortable, standing instead of laying down (which they'd always done so far). But the scorching stretch of her surrounding him felt wonderful, even at this angle.

"I missed this." Her breath brushed his jawline as the muscles around his cock tightened. “I wish you could stay inside me forever.”

A short, muffled laugh escaped him, then became an amused hum. "That's a long time." His frame shuddered as he grasped her rear, holding her as he withdrew a few centimeters. "I don't wanna go fast," he said, ending on a grunt, nuzzling her cheek.

She held the nape of his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. "Fuck me like you kiss me," she whispered. A small, pleased hiccup caught in his throat before he locked his lips with hers. Where had she learned to speak so shamelessly? It drove him crazy. He bent his head, opening his mouth to deepen their connection. But the unhurried, shallow plunging of his hips, her walls repeatedly accepting him, enveloping him, soon prevented him from concentrating on anything other than the need to finish.

She was moving, just enough to meet him, still letting him control the rhythm. Blindly, he grasped at the wall, pushing his face to her neck as he screwed his eyes shut. The newness of this, the nearly two weeks without her, and the eager clutch of her body were fighting him deliciously. It was ending too fast, and the ability to slow down was slipping away.

Somehow he was still holding himself up. He thrust harder, deeper, striving for the few seconds of serenity he only experienced after losing himself in her. One final push and the pressure in him broke, and he gasped and spilled inside her. The music in the background faded, drowned out by the hushed moans and whimpers passing between their lips as he pressed her into the tiles. Stilling, he kept himself buried in her until the gentle waves of his climax ended and his muscles went slack.

Y/N was rubbing his back, kissing his shoulder, neck, then face. His pulse skipped at those tender touches, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. “Feeling better?” she asked.

“Yes." He carefully left the grip of her entrance.

Cupping his face, she leaned her nose to his cheek. “Good.” Then she grabbed the washcloth from the tub, wiped herself off, and hopped out of the shower. Arthur shook his head, smirking as he cleaned himself. When he slid the door open, she was there in her sweatshirt and pants, and she gave him his towel. “I know you prefer these,” she said, putting his thermal shirt and pajamas on the sink. “I don't want to tell you what to wear. But you can lounge in our home. Plus,” she continued, grinning, “your arms look great in that shirt.”

He deduced she must have grabbed them while he was finishing up. A bashful smile broke across his cheeks and he ducked his head. "Thanks. You always know what to say." Shrugging, he shook his head. "You always do that. Make things better." Then he took her hand and pulled her closer, leaning into her. "I really am glad I'm here." Gazing at their entwined fingers, he gave a small squeeze. "I don't ever want to leave," he said quietly.

"Don't worry," she said, tone upbeat. "You're stuck with me for good." Y/N planted a kiss on him and walked out of the bathroom. "I'll start dinner. Join me when you're ready."

Even if it was something simple, Arthur enjoyed cooking with her. Hurriedly, he wrung out and dried his hair, then ran the plush cloth over his arms, torso, and legs. Not caring his clothes were getting wet, he pulled them on and ran out after her.

~~~~~

Lawrence Welk - The Moon is a Silver Dollar

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck smut #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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magnoliasinbloom · 5 years ago

Text

Crash Course Love

Infinite thanks to @lcbeauchampoftarth and @anna-swims for being awesome betas.

AO3 :: Previously

2: Morning [Jamie]

“Wake up!” a voice hissed in my ear.

Holy shit. My tongue felt as though it was covered in sock fuzz, and my eyes were glued together. I reached up to rub them open and found my hand brushing against soft, curly hair.

I jerked my eyes open. What the fuck? I scrambled back against a headboard. Where am I?

“Where am I?” I croaked, and my head immediately retaliated. Pulsing, throbbing pain flared up everywhere.

“This is my flat. Care to tell me why you’re here?” Her voice. English accent. The Sassenach.

Claire. Sorcha. Light. From that pub. The one who was cheated on by her boyfriend. I recalled some dancing… and Patron. Lots of whisky and Patron. Fuuuuuuck.

“I… dinna ken?” I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying to stop the pounding. My hand was rudely smacked away.

“What? Focus! Please, answer this. Are you… are you naked?” Claire’s voice was slightly panicked.

Mary, Mother, and Bride. Had I… did we…?

I wasn’t wearing a shirt, that much I could tell. I reached under the covers tentatively, trying to ascertain whether I was naked. Mercifully, my fingers brushed against the waistband of my boxer briefs.

“Uh, no. I’m dressed. Sort of.” I glanced down at my bare chest. My curly red-gold chest hair stood out starkly in the bright light of her bedroom. Clearly, something had gone down last night. Or someone.

“Shit. Thank you, Jesus H. Christ.” Claire was gathering the bed sheet around herself.

“Wait, are ye naked?”

The light from the window hit her from behind, burnishing her hair into a rich brown. A deep pink blush spread down from her face, across her chest. Was she naked? I could feel my cock stirring and I willed it into submission. Clearly, now was not the time.

“I’m wearing underwear too. You think we—”

“Fuck! I hope not!” I exclaimed. Immediately, her face turned red again, but this time I could tell it was in anger. Then, I realized what I’d said and how it sounded. Blunt again.

“Oh, sweet Bride, I mean, no’ that I… ye’re totally gorgeous, I would definitely want to—shite,” I groaned. Too much thinking for what little brain cells I had left.

“You definitely want to shite?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in mock confusion. At least she seemed mollified by my ranting apology.

“No, I mean, ye ken, not that I’m glad we didna do anything… but I wouldna take advantage of you, but it’s not…” I trailed off lamely.

Claire chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I get it. Sorry. I’m just a little sensitive on that point. Thanks to that arsehole. I, uh, I better get some clothes on.”

“Aye, me too.” I pushed the covers aside, trying to ignore the thumping in my head. I spotted my jeans heaped in a corner, so I pulled them on while I searched for my shirt. I found it, sniffed it. Quite rank. No helping matters now.

I noticed Claire still huddling in the sheet, and I stopped, looking at her. “What?”

“Um, would you mind giving me some privacy? I know we woke up together and all, but I still don’t feel comfortable flashing you.”

Now it was my turn to go red. “Aye, of course. I’ll just… put on some coffee or something.” As she turned away from me, still wrapped in the bed sheet, I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her right shoulder. It looked like spiraling scrollwork, or flowery vines; it trailed across her shoulder blade and disappeared beneath the sheet covering her ivory skin.

Ifrinn.

I nearly tripped on my way out. My foot caught on something. I shook it off, noticing as I did that it was her bra. Mallaichte bas. I tossed it at her and shut the door behind me.

I looked around as I made my way to the kitchen. The furniture looked very thrift-store-esque, but comfortable. The colors were mismatched, but somehow they fit.

On the walls, there were many framed pictures and paintings. Some photographs were black and white, offset by colorful flowery art. I noticed a lot were missing, the bare spots on the walls and tables glaringly obvious. I wondered where they’d gone.

I couldn’t figure out her coffeemaker, and soon gave that up in favor of a glass of water instead. I called out to Claire who was still in her room. “Do you have aspirin?”

“Here.” Her quiet voice startled me as she came up behind me. She pressed two pills into my palm and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge for herself. “Jason, is it?”

“James. Jamie.” I swallowed them quickly. I could practically feel the water rehydrating my brain. I leaned against the counter while Claire rummaged for food.

“Well, Jamie, I have cereal and cereal,” she said, frowning at the expiration date on the milk carton. “This is still drinkable. I think.”

“Uh, no, thank ye.” This would be awkward enough without a morning-after breakfast. Or was it, technically, since there hadn’t been a… before? I shrugged at myself, quickly gulping down more water.

We sat down at the kitchen table while she tossed Weetabix into a bowl. I grinned at her cereal choice—a little tame for the tequila-drinking tattooed lass. Claire caught me looking at her and blushed.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… never mind.” I clutched my glass and an awkward silence fell between us, the only sound the clinking of her spoon.

“So,” she finally spoke. She glanced at me and back at her cereal.

“Aye.” I pursed my lips and took a sip of water.

“What do you remember?”

“Mmmphm… tequila. Lots of it,” I grimaced, scratching my head.

“I think I remember… dancing? Did we dance?” she asked skeptically.

“We danced,” I said, nodding emphatically.

“Was I drunk by then? I can’t think of any other way that would have happened.”

“A bit. Ye were past tipsy then, but ye did manage to express certain reservations.”

“No shit.” She glared at her cereal bowl, then stood up to dump it in the bin.

“Och, well, maybe—” I began.

“What the fuck!” Claire exclaimed. She had tossed half the mushy mess inside the bin when she cried out. She picked up the trash bin and set it on the table. She reached in, scrunching her nose.

Claire pulled out a stack of pictures, burned and charred. They were drenched in milk and speckled with soggy cereal.

“Oh, I wondered why there were pictures missing from the walls.” I gestured toward the small living room.

“It’s Frank.” Her voice sounded flat, but I thought I heard a hint of sadness.

“Cheating arsehole Frank?” I asked, taking some of the pictures from her. They were pretty good; the angles, the lighting, it was all very original and artistic. Some featured both Claire and Frank together, laughing or kissing. Others were just him, pensive and brooding. Bloke looked slim and posh. I could probably take him in a fight, I reasoned.

Claire found an empty plastic lighter in the bin too. She frowned. “After we came here, I took these off the walls and you said—”

“That I would help ye—”

“—and we would take out the trash together,” we finished, catching each other’s eyes. I wondered if she regretted what we’d done with part of her memories, before Claire’s face broke out into a smile—the first real smile I’d seen on her face. It was luminous.

“Thanks.” She took the pictures I’d been holding and dumped them in the bin again.

“Anytime.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander au #CCL2 #there is a lot of cursing #tequila is deadly #i should know i'm mexican

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 49 - SBT

Here it is!

"Docteur? Docteur, please!"

[Doctor? Doctor, please!]

It was past midnight and it took the medical expert about a minute to wake up from his slumber and realise that someone was shouting his name in the street. He slipped a gown on and thurtled down his stairs to the door. Of course, he had recognised the French accent.

"L? Oh! That stench!" The Doctor fanned the air in front of his nose with his hand.

"It's M, he has been drugged and beaten up."

"Is he breathing?"

"Oui, he is just unconscious."

"Come in, go straight to the bathroom, we'll make him take a bath first then."

Lucien was carrying his unconscious friend and followed the doctor until he put Mundy's body in the bathtub.

"Start undressing him and throw his clothes in this bin bag here... I need to get a change." The Doctor said and left Lucien alone.

The Frenchman sighed and threw his black jacket away before getting to work. He undid his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt after he threw his gloves away. Then, he started with Mundy's brown sleeveless jacket.

"Mundy… Pourquoi tu as fait ça? Ils allaient te tuer, imbécile! Et puis on avait promis de le faire ensemble… Arh, j'imagine que j'ai brisé ma promesse en te disant que j'allais tuer Duchemin seul, donc tu ne fais que me rendre la pareille… Hm."

[Mundy… Why did you do all that? They were going to kill you, imbecile! And we had both promised to do it together… Ugh, I guess I broke my promise when I told you that I would kill Duchemin alone, so you were only doing the same to me… Hm.]

Lucien removed the red, washed out polo shirt off of Mundy and looked down at his shoes. He removed the old, worn out boots and mismatched socks. His eyes then moved to the brown trousers. He gulped down hard and opened the zipper before pulling each leg swiftly. Now Mundy was laying in the bathtub with nothing on but his underwear.

Lucien wouldn't remove them. Instead, he took the shower head and started the water. It took a few seconds before getting it warm. He rinsed Mundy's body quickly to get rid of any stains of mud or dirt.

He then took one of the washcloths hung on the wall and started scrubbing the Aussie's skin with some shower gel.

"Je ne sais pas à quoi tu pensais… Est-ce que seulement tu te rends compte de ce que tu as fait…?"

[What even were you thinking…? Do you even realise what you have done…?]

Lucien rinsed the first round of shower gel off and went for round two. The Doctor was behind the door and hearing Lucien talk to Mundy, he preferred giving them a moment alone. Lucien's eyes and hands went everywhere on Mundy's skin. He felt the tense muscles in his arms, the soft layer of fat on his stomach. But on the skin everywhere, Lucien could see the bruises, patches of red and even bluish, here and there. Mundy had got a pretty good beating and the Frenchman knew that he could defend himself.

Ah.

That surely must have happened as Mundy was chained or at least restrained. Lucien looked at his wrists, he could see the red marks that rope binding would leave. He raised his eyes to the unconscious man.

"Ils t'auraient tué, Mundy. Si je ne t'avais pas suivi, ils t'auraient tué…! Pourquoi tu as fait ça? Pourquoi? Est-ce que c'est de ma faute? Est-ce que j'ai dit ou fait quelque chose que je n'aurai pas du?"

[They would have killed you, Mundy. If I hadn't come to your rescue, they would have killed you…! Why did you do that? Why? Is it my fault? Did I say or do something that I shouldn't have?]

And of course Lucien knew that it was his fault. He imagined so. Mundy must have felt that nothing and no one held him back to this rock of a planet, and so he decided to take his leave, taking Duchemin with him…

Lucien bit his lip. He felt atrociously guilty. The unconscious man he was washing the face of now had gone to his death all that for what…? God only knew, but Lucien was convinced he had something to do with it all.

He rinsed off the second round of shower gel and took the shampoo. He spread some in his palms and applied it on Mundy's long hair. He didn't realise it as he was deep in thought, but Lucien was kneading the Aussie's scalp slowly, his fingers sliding between the long locks of dark brown. He took his time as if he was in slow motion, but that was only because his brain was thinking fast.

If Lucien hadn't found Mundy early enough, he would have been washing a corpse's head.

The realisation hit him like a punch in the throat and Lucien screwed his eyes shut.

"Merde… Merde…"

[Shit… Shit…]

He was breathing fast in shock. Of what? Of the thought that he indirectly had sent Mundy to die and that if Maurice hadn't told him anything, the Aussie wouldn't just be unconscious…

"Je te demande pardon… Je ne suis qu'un vieux con qui ne pense qu'à sa gueule… Pardon…"

[I beg you to forgive me… I am nothing but an old idiot who only thinks about his own fucking self… I am so sorry…]

Lucien, who was kneeling next to the bathtub, pulled Mundy's head and hugged him.

"Pardon… Pardon, j'ai failli te tuer avec mes conneries… J'ai failli te perdre avec mes mensonges…"

[Sorry… Sorry, I nearly had you killed with my nonsense… I nearly lost you with my lies…]

He clawed in his wet hair and his head strongly as he was whispering in his ear.

"Je te promets que je ne voulais rien de tout ça. Je voulais t'épargner, je voulais te sauver. Je voulais y aller à ta place. Je sais que tu veux tuer Duchemin toi-même, mais tu n'y arriveras pas sans te faire tuer."

[I swear that I didn't want for any of this to happen. I wanted to spare you, I wanted to save you. I wanted to go in your stead. I know that you want to kill Duchemin yourself, but you won't manage it without getting killed.]

Lucien's lips were right next to Mundy's ear. They were so close to him that he could feel the warmth softly radiating from his body.

"S'il te plaît… S'il te plaît, quand tu te réveilleras, pardonne-moi, je t'en supplie…"

[Please… Please, when you wake up, forgive me, I beg you…]

Lucien squeezed the Aussie tighter before looking at his face, resting against his shoulder. He was still unconscious and a bit pale. Lucien rinsed his hair off, paying attention that no shampoo would drip to his eyes.

He sighed, thinking again about Mundy's willingness to go and get killed instead of him.

"Je suis désolé…"

[I am sorry…]

Lucien stopped the water from running. The smell in the bathroom had turned from an abominable stench to vanilla, the shower gel's scent. The Frenchman put his wet hand on the Aussie's cheek and let his thumb brush it slowly.

"Je ne mérite pas un homme comme toi."

[I don't deserve a man like you.]

He rested his head on his arm, on the edge of the bathtub, and stared at Mundy, covered in bruises and sleeping. He pushed his long hair behind his ears and continued stroking his face slowly, while cupping his cheek in one hand.

"Let me see what we have here…" The Doctor entered the bathroom and had to pause for a moment. Lucien's posture did surprise him, but the Frenchman didn't move. "Well the smell is much better for starters. You can leave him with me and take a break if you want."

Lucien turned his head and looked up.

"Are you sure? You don't need any help to carry him?" He asked.

"Nah, don't worry." The Doctor picked up Lucien's black jacket and matching gloves and put them on a table in the entrance hall of the house. Lucien had followed him. "I'll deal with him now, I'm used to it. Go and get some fresh air, you look like you need it."

Lucien nodded and the Doctor headed back to the bathroom.

"Docteur?"

[Doctor?]

The beggar stopped and turned to Lucien.

"Yes?"

"May I stay with him for the night?"

The Doctor smiled.

"Sure. Just let me deal with him."

"But of course, many thanks."

Lucien took his cigarette case and lighter in his jacket pocket and went outside. He sat right behind the front door, on the few steps there and lit a cigarette.

The night was deadly dark and equally quiet.

Lucien yanked off his balaclava, his hair following in a mess, and rubbed his eyes.

"Huh?"

Only now did he realise that his vest and shirt were wet and some foam from the shampoo had stuck to him when he had hugged Mundy.

He didn't mind the cool sensation of the night breeze on his wet clothes. Nothing compared to the guilt that weighed on him now and his only response to that crushing pressure was to suck harder on his cigarette…

Lucien carded his hair back and stared at the buildings of the poor neighbourhood. Old houses in decay, eaten by wild vines and other climbing plants. The wind rustled between their leaves like the whispers of ghosts.

Only the cigarette end lit up a spot of orange in the deep and dark blue night.

The door opened and Lucien turned to look up.

"You may come back in." The Doctor said and the Frenchman crushed his cigarette before obliging.

He followed the old man to the room him and Mundy had been in the first time they had quarrelled.

"I take it that you weren't the one responsible for his bruises this time?" The Doctor asked.

"Non… I found him chained like a prisoner to a wall. He was conscious although slightly delirious, as if he was drunk, and then he passed out as we tried to flee the scene."

"Hm, I see."

"Will he wake up fine?" Lucien asked.

"Yes, he will. He should wake up tomorrow with a headache on top of the pain caused by his bruises, but not much more. I gave him something that will help his body eliminate the drug."

"Merci Dieu…" Lucien whispered and sighed in relief.

[Thank God…]

"You may stay here as long as you don't bother the patient…"

Lucien looked at the Doctor with intense eyes.

"... But I know you won't. Good night."

"Many thanks. Good night to you too."

The Doctor shut the door after him and Lucien looked down at Mundy's body lying down on the bed, under the duvet and wearing a white medical robe. He sat on the edge of the bed, at Mundy's side and put his hand on his forehead.

"Hm." He couldn't really see anything, the room was so dark. Lucien remembered that there was a night lamp. He groped for the switch that he soon found and flipped it.

Lucien then devoted all his time and his attention to the Aussie. He pushed the locks of hair that were a bit too close to Mundy's face and let his fingers cup his cheek, his thumb brushing it slowly.

"Mon Dieu… Je n'ai jamais voulu que te protéger. Ça me paraît tellement fou qu'un homme comme toi puisse être mêlé à autant de bêtise. Tu es doux, inoffensif et attentionné. Tu n'as rien à faire avec les gens comme Duchemin et moi. Nous, on est des vauriens. On force le respect à travers les vies qu'on vole. En fin de compte, Duchemin n'est pas si différent de moi."

[My God… I never wanted anything but to protect you. It seems so strange that a man like you ends up involved in all this nonsense. You are soft, inoffensive and caring. You have nothing to do with people like Duchemin and me. Him and I, we are good-for-nothings, rascals. We force people to respect us through the lives that we steal. In the end, Duchemin and I aren't so different.]

Lucien slid his fingers through Mundy's hair and brushed it lazily, feeling his silky locks flow in between his fingers. Gosh, it was so soft…

"Demain, quand tu te réveilleras, tu m'en voudras. Tu me haïras, te me détesteras non seulement parce que tu m'aimes, mais parce que je t'ai empêché de faire ce que tu voulais."

[Tomorrow when you wake up, you will be cross with me. You will hate me and detest me not only because you love me, but because I was the one to prevent you from doing what you wanted.]

Lucien sighed. He looked around him and saw the clock striking three in the morning. He hopped off of Mundy's bed and opened the curtain that stood between his bed and the Aussie's. The Frenchman removed his vest and his shoes. He took off his socks and garters, his utility belt and he opened his shirt completely before removing it, staying only in a white tanktop. The watch was the last one to go to the table and after all that, Lucien pushed his bed next to Mundy's. When they were flush next to each other, the Frenchman lied in his bed, bringing his pillow as close as he could to Mundy's without encroaching on his personal space.

Lucien lied on his side, staring at Mundy sleeping.

"Si seulement j'étais quelqu'un de brave. Si j'étais quelqu'un de courageux, je te dirais que l'homme qui habite mon cœur c'est toi. Si j'avais l'espoir de vivre encore quelques années, je passerais mon temps à tes côtés sans compter les jours qui fuient. S'il y a quelqu'un à qui je pardonnerais de détruire mon coeur, c'est toi."

[If only I was brave. If I was courageous, I would tell you that the man who lives rent free in my heart is you. If I had any hope to live another few years, I would spend my time at your side, without counting the fleeting days. If there was someone whom I would forgive if they destroyed my heart, it would be you.]

Lucien's hand slid on the bed and found Mundy's. He slid his fingers through the Aussie's and brushed it slowly.

"Mais je n'ai plus de temps à vivre, ni à aimer. Je n'ai plus rien et je ne suis plus rien, ni un espion, ni un père, ni un époux, et encore moins un homme."

[But I don't have any more time to live, or to love. I don't have anything anymore and I am nothing at all: neither a spy, nor a father, or a husband, and not even a man.]

Lucien looked up, trying to hold back the waters of his shame that he felt were burning his eyes.

"Je ne suis rien qu'un costume sur mesure, un masque et une pile de mensonges."

[I am nothing but a tailor-made suit, a mask and a pile of lies.]

He sniffed. His nose burnt and his throat felt like it had just been punched.

"Je ne suis pas l'homme beau que tes yeux croient voir. Je ne suis pas le chanteur sensible que tes oreilles croient entendre. Ce ne sont que des masques et des costumes. Je ne sais pas qui je suis, ni ce que je suis."

[I am not the handsome man that your eyes believe they see. I am not the sensitive singer that your ears believe they hear. They are but disguises and masks. I don't know who I am, or what I am.]

That sentence made the first tear brave enough to roll down the Frenchman's cheek.

"Je suis une erreur, un monstre, un pantin que l'on déguise à sa guise pour aller faire le travail que personne d'autre ne peut faire, parce que personne d'autre n'est aussi inhumain… que moi."

[I am a mistake, a monster, a puppet that they disguise at their will to go and do the job that no one else can, because no one else is as inhumane… as me.]

His breath broke out of sync. That was it. He took a moment to let the waters flow and the hot sensation fill his entire face, his red eyes, his running nose, and the shame everywhere. He squeezed Mundy's hand as he cried.

"Je suis désolé… Je ne peux pas t'aimer en retour, je ne peux t'offrir aucun bonheur et surtout pas celui que tu mérites, parce que même si je me laissais t'aimer, alors quand je mourrai, je te laisserai seul et le cœur brisé. Je sais ce que ça fait de rester vivant quand sa chère et tendre est partie pour toujours. Je sais l'enfer que c'est et je ne veux surtout pas te faire vivre ça."

[I am sorry… I cannot love you in return, I can offer you no happiness and not the one that you deserve, because even if I let myself love you, then when I die, I will leave you alone and heartbroken. I know what it feels like to stay alive when the person you love with every fibre of your body is gone. I know that it is hell to live through and I absolutely do not want to put you through any of this.]

Lucien pulled Mundy's hand and his entire forearm. He held it under his chin, like a child would their teddy bear.

"Je t'aime trop pour te faire ça."

[I love you too much to do that to you.]

He lowered his head, stuck Mundy's hand to his chest and let himself sob while no one was there to see. In a flash, he wished Perle was there and hoped she was alright. But his mind was overwhelmed right now and as much as his vision was blurred by the tears, his mind was blurred by the guilt, the remorse, and his heart was torn apart in his ribcage as if Mundy had decided to leave him; because in essence that's what Lucien was saying. He loved the Aussie like he never loved any man before, that wasn't the issue, non. The problem was that all would soon end, somehow, and so he didn't have the time to offer Mundy what his heart burnt for.

-- Next morning --

When Lucien opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he was there. But seeing Mundy sleeping next to him was both the best sight in the world, and one he wished he never saw.

While of course he loved the feeling of waking up next to the person he loved, Lucien anticipated the heartbreak it would be to leave him.

The Frenchman sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes as he yawned. The night had been short. But he wanted and needed to look after Mundy so going back to sleep was out of the question.

Lucien put on his black shirt again without closing it and went to the bathroom right next to their room. He splashed water on his face and carded his hair back. The grey front tuft fell on his forehead as always.

He came back to the bedroom and grabbed his cigarette pack and lighter. He opened the window and started smoking at the windowsill. The noises of the city woke him up with the fresh air. Cars passing by, children shouting as they played in the distance, dogs barking.

"No smokin' here, you mongrel."

Lucien's eyes popped wide and he turned his back. Mundy had opened his eyes and was looking over to him.

"You are awake?"

"Nah, it's my bloody ghost speaking to you from the afterlife…"

"Don't say that."

Lucien crushed his cigarette and closed the window. He came back on the bed that he had stuck next to Mundy's. He sat cross-legged and took Mundy's hand in both of his.

"How do you feel?" Lucien asked.

"Head's hurtin' like hell… What happened? Did I get Duchemin?"

Lucien shook his head.

"Non. He nearly killed you as a matter of fact."

"Bugger… I'll get him next time…"

"Non, Mundy."

"What?"

"Non." Lucien repeated.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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ionlycareaboutyou · 5 years ago

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henlo it is me sending u a prompt!! u can pick either pairing that u mentioned i don't mind but can u do them moving in together for the first time, specifically dealing with all the weird quirks + household habits that you discover when you start sharing a space with someone? what odd things do each of them do + what makes the other person annoyed or enamoured? ty ily 💖

hello thank u! i thought i’d do sethon for this one bc it seemed fitting for them! ily 2! this turned out SOOO sappy so i’m sorry if it gives you a toothache fkdajs

cw for smoking and references to sex

After their wedding, they go to Seth’s place right away, skipping the cast and crew after-party to drink wine in bed and kiss, undressing each other slowly and almost carefully. Their lips are stained and bittersweet, and Seth’s delighted to find that Stefon had worn something pretty under his skinny jeans and Ed Hardy shirt.

“I can’t believe I almost let Anderson have this,” Seth half-jokes, mouth hot over the lacy front of Stefon’s panties.

He giggles. “I knew you’d chase after me.”

“Am I that predictable?” Seth quirks an eyebrow, one hand coming up to squeeze and stroke his husband’s inner thigh.

“Mm...not predictable...stubborn,” Stefon replies, then lifts his hips up a bit. “Now, can we please consummate this marriage, Seth Meyers?”

“Is it considered consummating if we’ve done this before marriage?” Fabric is pushed to the side. A kiss is pressed to a sensitive place. A gasp echoes in the room.

“Well--oh--no, I think that just makes us sinners.” Hands thread in between dark hair that’s streaked with silver.

“Sounds about right,” Seth decides, and shuts up from there on out.

Afterwards, they’re thoroughly exhausted, but manage to keep their eyes open for a little longer, to clean themselves up and brush their teeth side by side. When he looks up in the mirror, Seth is struck at the tender image of them, and he can perfectly picture a future where this is an everyday occasion.

They slide into bed, legs entwining and lips pressed to jaws, necks, underneath ears. “I want to ask something,” Seth says, before he can forget it and drift off.

“Mm, ‘kay.”

“You wanna move in with me?” He lets his hands run up Stefon’s chest and over those broad shoulders that have been a subject of maybe ten different fantasies.

Stefon cracks one eye open. “Like, here?”

“‘Course. Where else? I mean, if it’s too soon--”

He gives a light and airy giggle. “We’re married, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are,” Seth replies, a finger trailing up his husband’s neck. “But I’m open to whatever you’d like, I don’t know if you’re really attached to that apartment.”

Stefon doesn’t actually live in a garbage can like he joked about once on Update, but it’s barely a step up from one. Seth had picked him up from the place a few times, and Stefon always claimed that he was barely there, it was a place to sleep every other night if nothing else. It’s a tiny studio above a shady drugstore that keeps odd hours and always has flickering lights. The ceilings are low, and Seth isn’t sure how Stefon manages to get around with his long legs without hitting his head constantly. So it’s not really a surprise when he says, “No, not too attached. I like it here better. My lease is up next month anyway.”

“Good.” He gives him a sleepy smile. “I’ll help you move.”

“Perfect,” Stefon says, and nestles his face into Seth’s neck. They’re asleep within minutes.

Stefon doesn’t own too many things, but what he does own is extravagant. The closet in Seth’s--their bedroom is suddenly filled with color. The top row of shirts are a mix of patterns and neon and pastel and strange sayings. The bottom row is filled with button ups in neutral colors: greys and blues and light greens, and maybe a plaid patterned one to switch things up. It’s apparent to anyone whose clothes are whose. The living room is decorated with strange and abstract art that Stefon got from friends. Each tiny sculpture or painting or sketch has a story. Russian and French literature in their original languages joins British literature on the bookshelf. Boots with sequins and heels go next to loafers in the coat closet. Intricate and pretty bongs are not very well hidden in the living room. It’s something that requires adjusting, that’s for sure, but Seth loves it. He loves the color that his husband brings to their home, and his life.

There are other things that require adjustment, too, and they’re a bit harder to adjust to than the new things that clutter their place. Seth knew Stefon kept weird hours, but experiencing it firsthand is another thing. He’ll roll over at 3 AM, open bleary eyes, and find the other side of the bed is empty. Stefon is pacing in the living room, feet light and silent, like some sort of cat. Seth always tells him to come back to sleep and Stefon will tilt his head, eyes half lidded as he nods slowly and waves a hand. He’ll slip between the sheets sometime before the crack of dawn. Seth will sometimes ask in the morning why he woke up, and Stefon will shrug and say “I was just thinking”. It’s something that they’ll work up to, Seth reminds himself.

They find differences that they didn’t notice before. Seth wears socks in the house, often mismatched, and often a point of teasing by his husband. “No one sees them except you!” He insists. “They’re no-shows!” Stefon, on the other hand, wears slippers that slide across the tile floor of the kitchen every morning, or just pads around barefoot with his toes always painted a different color. Bark Ruffalo usually trails behind him.

Stefon has an interesting affinity for healthy vegan food despite not being vegan himself. The freezer has dairy free ice cream (that, Seth has to admit, isn’t so bad) in it, and one week Stefon finds himself on a kale salad kick and eats them for dinner nearly every night. Seth can’t understand the appeal, but Stefon is the one who does most of the grocery shopping, so Seth is just quietly amused by the presence of all the green foods in his pantry and fridge. It doesn’t stop them from drinking sweet wine now and then, or buying a small cake just to buy one and kissing the frosting off the corner of each other’s lips.

Seth quit smoking a few years ago, but sometimes he’ll smell smoke from the balcony of their place, and Stefon will be out there, smoking a long and skinny cigarette and looking over the city. “It’s not good for you,” Seth always says, even though they’ve smoked together plenty of times outside of 30 Rock.

“I know,” Stefon says, one time. “But I can’t stop giving in to peer pressure. Everyone tells me I won’t be cool if I don’t smoke.” His voice is adjacent to a bad Fonz impression.

Seth kisses his lips, not minding the smoky taste at all. “I thought coming out here while you were smoking would make me crave a smoke, but--”

“Oh, I know what you crave, Seth Meyers. I can see it in your eyes.” They kiss some more, until Seth pulls him inside so they don’t get in trouble for balcony-indecency.

Despite their many differences, there’s things in their life that come together with incredible ease. Their shower schedules match up perfectly; Seth in the morning, Stefon in the evening, but it doesn’t stop them from sharing one every now and then. They still brush their teeth side by side in the morning when they’re both up at the same time, smiling around their toothbrushes when they make eye contact. Sometimes Stefon will prefer to languish in bed while Seth gets ready for the day, but he stays awake until Seth leaves so he can give him a goodbye kiss.

Within weeks, they’ve “christened” every room of their place, and found out countless things about each other, and they’ve had moments where they’ve been frustrated and they’ve needed time apart, for just a few hours. But they always come back, they always curl into bed at the end of the day, closely intertwined with their dog at the foot of the bed. Lips will press against lips, jaws, ears, foreheads. It doesn’t feel like the first time every time, rather, it feels better than the first time. There’s new things to discover and fall in love with and laugh about together every day.

#i rly hope u like this #also to others who sent me writing prompts: i will do them tomorrow!#it's getting late and i'm getting sleepy #my writing #sethon #otp #alcxhardy

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friendlylocalwhumper · 5 years ago

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content warning: referenced/implied child abuse, child homelessness

It’s hard finding food out here. Figuring out which shops are the least dangerous to steal from, finding people around who will slip him something to eat if he looks dirty and thin enough. It’s harder to find water, and impossible to find a decent place to sleep, unless he somehow hears about a nearby safehouse and they let him in.

Even warlocks look at their own kind and say you’re too desperate to not be a threat, a lot of the time.

It’s okay, though. Lux hasn’t been comfortable in a long time. He’s always had a bed and walls and doors, yes, and he was privileged for having that much - but he hasn’t felt safe for years. Being out in the cold in between shelters found and safehouses wheedled into is much, much better than being in a house with someone you fear. His nightmares have stopped, the flinching excusable as the instincts of a street urchin instead of the paranoia of a battered kid, so he’s feeling as confident and brave as he ever has. (Except for when his mom was around, and she’d pull this face after he had to face his dad, and she’d wrap him up in her arms and trace the bruise on his cheek gently and call him her brave little man.)

What he needs right now are shoes. He needs to find shoes. Or a couple pairs of socks to layer up - or even long strips of something, like bandages, that he can wrap around and around to protect the soles of his feet against glass and pebbles and things. He needs those, that’s number one; then water, then food, then maybe, maybe, a blanket to hide under and try to sleep.

Warlocks don’t knock, they sneak. Slip in or break in. He’s a sneaker, definitely not a big bully type, thirteen years old and hardly ninety pounds soaking wet. So Lux slips into this safehouse he heard about from a grabby, grimy homeless warlock a few blocks away.

“What are you doing here?” A witch asks, stalking right up to him when she spots a hunger-panged frame crouched over and hurrying from the briefly open back door.

“I - sorry, miss, I, I’m hungry -”

The crack of her palm striking his cheek, the slap ringing out loud and sharp, makes Lux gasp. The whole left side of his face stings hotly as he reels from the blow, finding with a tug on his arm that she’s got a secure grip on his wrist.

“And, I’m’a warlock,” He mutters, covering his cheek and blinking up at her, scared, before swallowing and widening his stance to be steadier on his feet. She can throw him out, but he’ll get back in somehow. He can’t find another place tonight, he just, he has to stay here no matter what it takes.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Stupid kid.” The grip doesn’t leave his wrist. Lux yelps as he gets yanked over to the nearest room, a stubby black fingernail pointing into the space that holds four passed out warlocks. “That’s where we sleep.” More yanking, and she points into a room with various mismatched appliances with exposed wires and worn-down handles. “Kitchen. You burn yourself on accident in there, you don’t holler, you keep quiet. You do anything that gets us found and you get thrown to the cops, understand?”

“Yes,” Lux breathes, and he’s dragged along to the next room, and the next, until finally he’s brought all the way back to the kitchen and shoved inside.

“Sit on the floor. I’m gonna make you something to eat. Look like you’re about to faint. After this, you make your own food. And you don’t stay more than a week, got it? Kids mean trouble.”

With an annoyed huff just to hide how uneasy her shoving and anger makes him, Lux lowers himself to the ugly linoleum floor and watches her work with the stove, moving pots and dishes with surprising caution. One wrong clatter and the neighbors get annoyed, call the cops, get people killed. Lux watches and learns.

If cops get ya, too bad. Your fault. Run, duck, twist free, but if they get ya, it’s over. Lux knows this, he’s been told it plenty of times. He used to watch his dad’s cop friends coming over to the house, he would cringe against the wall as he was shoved out of their line of sight and told in a hushed, icy calm tone you know, if you’re ever bad enough, I can make one call and you’ll be hauled off by these guys, gone forever. He used to get hauled up off the floor where he’d been crying curled up around a broken bone and told what, you wanna go to a hospital? You want them to do tests on you and find out what you are? Shut up or I’ll take you there, I will, and they’ll put poison in you, they’ll get rid of you for me.

Well, there’s no Dad to hold that danger off now. Sixteen and stupid, Lux tried to steal a car to get to someplace different, to just get away. He didn’t know it was an undercover cop’s car.

He doesn’t actually know what happens if you get caught by a cop. He’s seen bodies, and he’s heard stories, but it’s never happened to him. He guesses that it will now.

“You see this?” The cop snarls, gripping one of Lux’s arms that are cuffed behind his back and shoving the kid forward with a fist in his curly hair. Lux cringes as his face is held inches away from the broken glass lining what was once a driver’s side window on a car.

“Yeah?”

“This costs five hundred dollars to replace. You got that kind of money?”

“N-no, I-”

“No, because you’re just some dirty warlock kid. Can’t help but steal and break things, it’s in your nature. Bet your warlock parents taught you how to do that.” The officer shoves Lux up against the side of the car, bigger and stronger and in the eyes of anyone who might see, completely in the right.

“S-, officer, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“You don’t break a car window on accident, warlock.”

“- to, cause any trouble, just wanted to -”

The grip on his hair tugs hard, and then his face, his skull, everything above his shoulders explodes into sudden pain. Lux cries out, wrists jerking in the handcuffs cinched too tight so he can’t slip free, skinny as he is. His head was slammed against the car, he realizes belatedly as the cop forces his head to turn so the damage can be inspected.

“Where are your little warlock friends? Your band of thieves? Did some older kids convince you to do this as some kind of initiation?”

“Inish…’nitia-, huh? I, I just - ‘m alone, just needed a car, I’m sorry!”

“Oh, you’re alone.” The cop leans closer, and Lux has no room to escape the threatening proximity. “I get it. You’re not a criminal warlock in training, you’re just a scared harmless kid, all on his own. How stupid do you think I am?”

He is alone. Lux has been alone for years. He runs, hides, steals. He’s not a criminal, not really, just - what do the older warlocks say, bitterly lounged on musty couches and chugging plastic bottles of liquor? We’re not criminals, we’re survivors. Lux is just a survivor. One who’s not yet very good at avoiding the law.

He’s pushed into the backseat of the cop car, and then the officer walks away. Doesn’t come back for an hour. Two hours. Lux’s eyelids droop, his breathing slowing then hitching as he finds himself tipping over.

He’s alone, and even this hard seat is better than the ground when he can’t find a safehouse to duck into, and it’s much warmer in here than outside. But, but do cops have cameras in their cars? Microphones? Will they watch him lower his guard, will they record his breathing and what he says in his sleep? If he does drift off, will the cop come back and put a bullet in his brain? Dump him out on the road when a car is coming? No, Lux can’t sleep. He’s alone, he’s handcuffed, he’s trapped in a space that belongs to someone paid to find and hurt warlocks. It’s just not safe, it’s not, he can’t sleep, he can’t… he can’t help dozing off with a low thrumming panic eating away at his nerves, sure to bring nightmares as soon as he’s at his most vulnerable, unconscious and unaware.

There are cinnamon rolls in the fridge, each one wrapped up carefully in cling wrap to keep it fresh and soft.

The plants on the windowsills are green and leafy, bouncing mildly in the breeze, scents sweetening the air in repayment for the water and sunlight and singing sometimes offered to help them grow.

Lux is on a couch. His head is lying on a rolled-up sweater, peach-colored and soft, that Emory was wearing earlier, curls and a cheek smushed up against the soft fabric.

He looks around, one knuckle just barely kissing the floor where his arm dangles off the side of the couch, socked feet propped up on a pillow. The speakers beside the TV are quietly playing a playlist that Emory put together for when Lux is bored lying around the house, each song especially picked for a Lux in a particular mood.

Twenty-two and safe. Twenty-two and calm, comfortable, sleepy and utterly relaxed. Lux, a warlock, the son of a veteran of the War on Magic, a criminal and a killer, lies sprawled out on something soft in a place he can call home. His boyfriend will come home soon with take-out, and kisses, and questions about how Lux’s day went. This place wouldn’t be so warm and safe if Emory didn’t live here, but Emory doesn’t lord over it, and the crazy man swears that it wouldn’t be a home without Lux here.

So here Lux waits, dozes, the only one in the house for the moment, but not alone. Not alone anymore. Never alone again, if you don’t wanna be, Emory promises, sometimes, when Lux asks to be held in the middle of the night so the anxieties that slide around his mind in the dark and quiet don’t grow and take root. I’m right here, Curls. You’re not alone.

It took a long time. Too long, he thinks, remembering when he was smaller and not yet used to all the ways the world could hurt him. But he’s finally here, in the home he was meant to have, and within the hour, he’ll see his Em, he’ll be in the arms of someone who loves him despite knowing him inside and out. Lux snuggles further into his boyfriend’s sweater and breathes deep, letting himself fall further into his early-evening nap. He’ll be woken by hands on his back, in his hair, lips at his cheek and shoulder, and Lux won’t flinch. He’ll stay sleepy and loose and hum a welcome home, and get a warm greeting in return. It’s just the kind of thing that happens when you’re home and in love, kisses and warm words and food. All his, whenever he needs them, forever. Because he’s not alone anymore.

#whump #angst #drabble #past trauma #lux #backstory #mine #homelessness #hunger #comfort

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starship-squidlet · 6 years ago

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i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it.

Description: Leopika fluff, inspired by the song ‘I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it’ by The 1975.

A/N: So, I guess I'm getting back to my roots here by posting HxH fic again, considering it's how I got my start writing... Anyways, I've been rewatching Hunter X Hunter at the behest of one of the guys I work with, and basically it just feels like I'm in middle school discovering my favorite anime all over again and it's great. So have some Leopika fluff/angst (mostly fluff I promise) to celebrate! Also, I actually reread and edited this chapter, which I NEVER EVER do, if that tells you how I feel about this.

LISTEN WHILE YOU READ

Disclaimer: I don't own Leorio or Kurapika, but I do own this story!!! Cross-posting to FF.net and Ao3 under ChocolatteKitty-Kat and to tumblr as maliciousbubbl3s.

(Word count: 1,499)

Leorio yawned and shifted slightly. He cracked one eye open to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand next two him. 3:34 AM glowed bright red in the dark of the room. Past the red gleam of the clock face, he could make out the shape of a large window, covered only by thin curtains, the streetlamps outside shining bright through the light fabric. There wasn’t much else in the room; Leorio knew the contents by heart. One bed, two nightstands, one wardrobe, one chair. Simple.

Outside, despite the hour, he could hear the sounds of city traffic. Nothing like it was during the day, to be clear--only the occasional vehicle passed the window--but there was still a steady flow to it. Behind him, Leorio could hear faint music playing. If he held his breath between the cars passing outside, he could even hear the soft breathing of the bed’s other occupant. He risked a glance over his shoulder, moving as little as possible.

Kurapika was curled up on his side, back pressed against Leorio’s. His legs were drawn up nearly to his chest, feet tucked under Leorio’s legs--honestly, if his feet are always so cold, why doesn’t he just wear socks to bed? Leorio grumbled internally--and his arms pulled in tight to his torso. Leorio moved further, trying to glimpse his partner’s face, before he finally gave up and turned over. He reached out and gently brushed shaggy blond hair away from Kurapika’s face, which was half buried in his pillow. The smaller man’s eyes were squeezed shut, and Leorio could tell that he was clenching his jaw. Leorio watched the rise and fall of his chest and noticed how rapid and shallow his breathing was.

With a sigh, Leorio settled back down, wrapping an arm around Kurapika’s torso to pull him up against his stomach. Kurapika let out a soft sound of protest, somewhere between a grunt and a grumble, but pressed himself back against Leorio. Leorio brushed a hand over Kurapika’s face, pushing his hair back out of the way, then reached down for one of Kurapika’s hands. He found both of the latter’s hands balled into tight fists and set at gently prying them open. It wasn’t actually hard to do, now that Kurapika had begun to relax, and once he was done, Leorio interlaced his fingers with Kurapika’s. A glance over his shoulder at the alarm clock showed that the time was now 4:02 AM; Leorio glared at the clock, but sighed and closed his eyes, hoping for sleep.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Less than two hours after he had fallen asleep, Leorio was awoken by the loud, incessant wail of the alarm clock, letting him know that it was already 6:00 in the morning. Groaning in protest, he rolled over and slapped in the vague direction of the alarm clock’s off button, finding it after only a few smacks. When the sound stopped, Leorio rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, relishing in the “quiet”--because the early morning traffic sounds and Kurapika’s soft music were practically silent compared to the scream of the alarm.

Finally, he groaned and sat up, moving carefully in an attempt not to jostle his partner, who, by some miracle, was apparently still asleep. Leorio left the lights off as he shuffled around, changing into his slacks and shirt before slipping into the tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. As he did so, he peered back into the bedroom and sighed in relief. Kurapika was still curled up in bed, although he had moved enough to pull all of the blankets around himself once Leorio got up. He looked more relaxed than he had in the night, for which Leorio was thankful. He didn’t ask about Kurapika’s nightmares, and Kurapika generally didn’t volunteer information on them, but Leorio, now that he knew what to watch for, did everything he could to calm the panic that tended to rise in his partner, even while sleeping.

Once he was finished in the bathroom, Leorio flicked the light off and slipped out into the main room of the apartment. It wasn’t much bigger than the bedroom, and was just as sparsely furnished--only a couch, coffee table, armchair, and small TV stand occupied the living area, and a tiny table with three mismatched chairs was shoved up against the blank wall in the kitchen area. Leorio turned on the light in the kitchen and set about making himself breakfast, keeping an eye on the time. When he finished, he turned around for the table, plate of eggs in one hand and coffee cup in the other, and had to stifle a shriek, barely catching himself before he dropped his breakfast on the floor.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Leorio grumbled, setting his food on the table.

Kurapika yawned and sat down across from him. He wore a t-shirt that was almost definitely one of Leorio’s--given how big it was on him--and a pair of loose joggers, and was shivering in the morning chill. “You make too much noise,” he shrugged, running his fingers through his messy hair.

“You slept through my alarm, but not through me making breakfast?” Leorio glared at the blond as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Kurapika paused. “Your alarm went off?”

Leorio rolled his eyes. “How is it that sometimes you sleep like a rock, and other times you wake up at the tiniest sound?”

Kurapika shrugged. “Is there more coffee?”

“Yes,” Leorio sighed, nodding back towards the coffee maker on the counter. “But you should really go back to bed. You were late last night. Do you have to go back to work today?”

Kurapika shook his head as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I have the day off.”

“Finally,” Leorio teased. He finished off his eggs and chugged the last of his coffee, scalding the roof of his mouth in the process. He slipped past Kurapika--who was now, for some reason, perched on the counter next to the coffee maker--to put his dishes in the sink, and hurried back into the bedroom for his shoes, tie, and blazer. “So, you’ll be here when I get home?”

Kurapika took a sip of his coffee, looking thoughtful. “I guess,” he said finally. “I don’t really have anything better to do.”

“Thanks,” Leorio glared at him, pulling his jacket on.

“Come here,” Kurapika sighed, setting his coffee aside and reaching out for Leorio. When the taller man approached, Kurapika grabbed his tie to pull him close and adjusted it, then checked to make sure Leorio’s collar was folded down properly. “There.”

“Thanks,” Leorio grinned. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Kurapika’s forehead. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” Kurapika chuckled, giving Leorio’s tie a final tug before releasing it.

“Good,” Leorio beamed. He hurried to grab his briefcase and opened the door. He took one step into the hall, then leaned back into the apartment. “Hey!”

Kurapika whipped around to face him. “What?”

“Get some rest!”

Kurapika grinned. “Doctor’s orders?”

“You bet,” Leorio winked. “See you later.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Leorio got home that night, he found the TV on, but the lights in the living room off. He shut the door quietly and slipped off his shoes, laying his briefcase and blazer on the kitchen counter before flicking the kitchen light on. He tip-toed over to the couch and peered over the back of it. Sure enough, Kurapika was curled up there, sound asleep, bundled up in a heavy blanket. Leorio smiled softly and brushed blond hair out of his partner’s face, using the motion to check Kurapika’s temperature as well. Satisfied that he didn’t seem to be running a fever, Leorio moved around the couch and picked the TV remote up off the table, flipping through the channels in search of something interesting to watch--Kurapika had left an infomercial channel on when he fell asleep. Once he found something, he sat down on the end of the couch, lifting Kurapika’s legs out of the way and placing them on his lap after he situated himself.

Almost an hour later, Leorio was starting to drift off himself when Kurapika finally began to stir. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Leorio teased.

Kurapika sat up and yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 8:30,” Leorio said.

“Seriously!?” Kurapika started. “I slept almost all day!”

Leorio laughed. “Your body must have needed the rest. I told you--you need to take it easy sometimes. You can’t always go at full throttle.”

Kurapika sighed and pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his head on the back of the couch. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Leorio said softly, reaching out to rest his hand on Kurapika’s knee. “That’s why you have me. To remind you to slow down, and help you do it.”

Kurapika cracked a smile. “I guess you’re right.”

“You know I am!” Leorio grinned. “Now… what’s for dinner?”

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