#I had this idea months ago but I think someone piped the same thing like not too long ago

[izurathespookyskeleton]

A lil fic series coming up gang👀👀👀

[ma1dita]

kiss his face with an uppercut

smutty part 2 here-> heavy hitter

words: 4k

summary: james potter is so attractive you could beat him to death with a bludger. james potter x fem!beater!reader not from gryffindor (for the plot!!)

warnings: none! james gets physically hurt multiple times by reader, multiple innuendos, enemies to lovers kinda, less serious lovey dove more sexual tension!!! probably not accurate quidditch gameplay

a/n: sorry for the hold up guys this took almost a month of on and off editing lmfao— this whole oneshot makes me think of the filipino word ‘gigil’– simply translating to cuteness aggression; i barely know jack shit about sports much less quidditch but this concept had me looking up quidditch rules to be able to provide– eat up kids

Y/S- sibling name

Y/H- house

(posted & edited 10/10/23)

—

Oh BROTHER, this guy STINKS! I mean, how has he not gotten walloped at least once during this godforsaken game? You suck your teeth at the sight of James flying around the pitch blowing kisses to his fan club and Lily Evans, who turns her nose up at the sight of him.

Merlin, when will this game end?

The Hogwarts Quidditch Semi-Finals of 1977 was a game to watch… until both teams stopped scoring what seemed like hours ago. Both Gryffindor & (Y/H) were at a stalemate, down some players due to injury and now, even lower team morale. Gryffindor team captain and chaser James Potter, notorious Marauder, and resident flirt, is not someone who likes to lose. He’s spent all season drilling his teammates, memorizing plays, and thinking of every outcome possible to ensure another Gryffindor victory. James’ affinity to be right takes precedence over anything, after all. But after beating down almost all of (Y/H)’s reserves, James was almost vibrating with confidence. He really doesn’t lose, not if he can help it.

“AND ANOTHER (Y/H) IS DOWN WITH AN INJURY— Team captain Whithall calls for a timeout as they reconvene on what to do next! Hope you’re still comfy in the stands, folks….” the student announcer grumbles.

There’s absolute chaos on the field, and like birds scuffling over a piece of bread, (Y/S), the team’s last good beater is floating on a gurney, ready to be transported to the Hospital Wing.

“Oh, here comes trouble…” Sirius murmurs, smacking James on the back to grab his attention.

You jump down from the stands to check on (Y/S), and James is too busy reveling in the idea of winning the goddamn semi-finals that he doesn’t notice you putting Quidditch gear on.

“Easy win from here on out, Pads! The little lady’s just checking the damage. Not important,” he chortles before Sirius physically grabs his head to face the girl walking towards him, currently storming across the turf to meet him and his team.

“I’m subbing in,” you say, angry at how dirty Gryffindor’s been playing, and angry that you even have to play in (Y/S)’s stead.

“Sweetheart, this game is for serious, you know that right?” James says a bit dumbly with a furrowed brow. Both of you are head to head, and James sees the twitch in your eye as you cross your arms. Hot air is seeping out of your pores but James’s lip simply quirks up in intrigue. You’re someone he hasn’t noticed before, and the only thing running through his mind besides winning the game is that you’re really pretty. But then again, he’s always found angry women to be attractive, in retrospect.

“Yeah, for the actual cup, not…for Sirius… It’s the wrong time to joke, innit?” Sirius says to break the ice, noticing the palpable tension between your glares. Your faces are inches away from each other and he’s not sure if you two are going to fight or kiss, but it makes him grimace all the same.

“Who do you think (Y/S) practices with? Unlike you and your friends, I know when to take things seriously,” You say through gritted teeth.

“She’s legit, Potter. Got added to our reserves last week.” Whithall pipes up, ready to get back to the game. The crowd has been weathered down after hours of anticipation, and they want to see the end of it, no matter the outcome.

“Much to my surprise,” you grumble, elbowing the authority in the form of a teenage boy not much older than yourself. You should’ve known your sibling was looking a little too happy as they got floated off the pitch on a gurney.

“Then let’s play. Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” James says condescendingly, floating away on his broomstick like it’s a walk in the park, but the way you’re slapping the bat against your palm is getting Sirius a tiny bit nervous for his precious countenance. The whistle blows and the game resumes.

“A SURPRISE ADDITION (Y/N) JOINS HER HOUSE AS BEATER! Gryffindor better watch out for her swi—” You slam the bludger in James’s direction and it hurtles toward him so fast that he almost folds in half, barrel-rolling on his broom to dodge it. The move makes Sirius and a few of their other teammates gasp to see James scrambling back onto his broom.

“Oops! Looks like I missed.” you deadpan, balancing midair as you whack another one where it rebounds off the Gryffindor seeker and back towards James, hitting both of them in the gut.

“THIS GIRL’S GOT AN ARM ON HER! Though might I say her hits look a bit targeted…” The commentator says worriedly, and everyone in the crowd is leaning in their seats trying to get a better view.

“Merlin, are you trying to kill me woman?” he yells in outrage.

“I’m trying to finish the game. Your big head is in the way,” you say with a straight face as Sirius bats towards you, and you spin on your broomstick without shifting your posture. The smile on your face as you taunt him should be considered criminal, but he’s looking at you in a new light.

Yeah, now he’s paying attention. The other Gryffindor players can’t seem to figure out your next move and you bat another bludger towards Potter’s extremely large target of a head, and all of a sudden he’s freefalling through the air as his teammates fly to catch him, one by one. His nose still makes impact with the ground before Sirius catches by the ankle like Achilles taking a dip in the River Styx.

“AND (Y/H) HAS CAPTURED THE SNITCH! Good job to their Seeker, Appleby! Congratulations on a job well done, so that we can all finally go home.” The commentator cringes as McGonagall swats at him to leave the podium.

Who even is she, taking over the game and stealing his win like that?

He’s walking up from the sidelines with a bloody nose, going to shake Whithall’s hand and you’re standing behind him, a malicious grin plastered between your rosy cheeks, windswept and almost ethereal while he looks like he got flattened by a hippogriff. Fuck, she’s pretty. You look like you floated down from the heavens, and by the looks his team gives him, he may have just crawled out of the earth.

“Congrats,” he grumbles, turning to you. Really pretty. It’s even worse that you’re devastatingly stunning up close— with sweat glistening on your brow and a pearly white smile, he takes a good moment to really look at you and memorize the flutter of your eyelashes. He’s unsure if he’s concussed or maybe it’s his astigmatism, but there are actual stars in his vision as he peers down at you. Your confidence is actually kind of sexy.

“You look…um…you ride well.” He stutters, shaking his head from his personal reverie.

“Excuse me?” you say, your little mouth agape in what he hopes is not disgust. He looks pathetic, blood sopping down to his jersey as he looks at you like he’s only seeing you for the first time, acknowledging you closely. Something about seeing him flail makes you crinkle your nose as you stifle a grin.

“I mean…Um…” Damn.

Sirius pulls his best friend away before you can bite back your laughter, all of your teammates leading you away to celebrate.

“Mate, what the shit was that? Are you alright in the head?” Sirius says, and if James’ nose wasn’t already bleeding he was going to slap him silly.

“Just…Didn’t see that coming…” he mumbles, and his mind, along with all of Gryffindor is in disarray as they walk back to their tower. He’s got a lot of thinking to do on what his next move will be.

—

James Potter goes through life in three methodical ways: 1.) creating a strategy, 2.) making a scene, 3.) and dragging his friends into it— in that particular order, every single time.

Now notice how considering consequences is not part of said process.

His ego wouldn’t let him rest after a girl, much less a very pretty one that he’d never noticed before—beat him at what he does best; quidditch! In fact, the next few nights were void of sleep and filled with thoughts of you. The way your hair looked so soft in the sunlight, how your lip turns almost Gryffindor red when you bite it in concentration, and maybe how your delicate hands would look as they tightly grasp onto his bat...ahem…your quidditch bat. Some dirty delusions aside, if looks could kill, he’d be dead seven times over, but honestly? He’d probably thank you for it.

James’ new mission was to figure you out, and if that was his mission, it meant it was the rest of the Marauders’ too. For the sake of winning the Cup, of course. That’s what he tries to tell himself until his mates catch him ogling you again at breakfast.

“So what is it with you and girls that inflict you nothing but pain and humiliation?” Remus muses, as the Marauders watch James laugh at a joke you told your friends at the (Y/H) table across the Great Hall. He looks at you like someone who stares at the sun, squinting and burning himself as he ponders on why he’s unable to look away.

James fumbles a response, shoving Remus as they all laugh. “Listen, I’ve got a bit of a masochistic streak, Moony. Just…There’s something about her…”

Your friends are pointing at him now, and as you turn to meet his eyes, you lift a brow inquisitively and flip him off. Sirius’s face pulls up in shock at James’s growing smile at the interaction as he mumbles, “Maybe you’ve met your match, Prongs…”

The boy pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, anything to try to see you clearer as he leans over to put his head in his hands, sighing dreamily. His friends are not as easily amused.

“A match made in heaven, you reckon?”

—

“Match made in hell, more like!” You spit, almost choking on your scrambled eggs at your friends’ insinuations. Your back is as stiff as a board, shoulders tight at the notion of you ever liking James Potter triggering your fight or flight response. When it comes to someone as pompous as him, only the word fight comes to mind.

“Oh come on, love… He’s popular, funny, and quite handsome…It’s James freaking Potter we’re talking about!” your roommate gushes, but you're not the least bit impressed.

“Is that supposed to do anything for me? I can think of a few F words that middle initial can stand for…” Eyes rolling, you peek back at the Gryffindor table to see said boy wiggling his fingers at you teasingly until he accidentally smacks Peter in the face with his toast. Idiot.

“Only hot people get away with stupid shit. I mean look at the four of them!” you continue, gulping down the rest of your coffee. “Potter’s the worst out of all of them though. Big ass head must compensate for a lot of things." You say, shaking your head at your friends.

"And yet, here you are, talking about him for the fourth time this morning," your roommate replies, smirking. " You’ve been Potter crazy since you helped us beat Gryffindor in the semi-finals! Are you sure you don't have a crush on him?"

"No!" you say too quickly, too loudly, that the shrill noise of your voice makes your ears hurt and the shit-eating grins on your friends’ faces reflect how desperate that came off. You slump onto the table, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You wanna kiss him, don’t you?” they tease, and you push away their puckering faces as you scoff, “With an uppercut, maybe!” Almost makes you want to stomp over there and wipe the stupid look off his face…and maybe sit on his lap. You run your fingers through your hair in frustration. All this aggression really needs to go somewhere, but unfortunately, James Potter’s lap is the only destination you have in mind.

“He’s just really punchable. I get so annoyed by the sight of him I just want to… ugh!” you groan, your hands shaking as you try to convince them (or yourself). Your friends cackle at the sight of you pretending to squeeze his curly-topped, mothball-filled head, but your brain changes course and you imagine what it’s like to hold his hand. Your fingers flex cautiously at the idea, wondering what his touch would feel like. Grabbing a glass of water to cool your thoughts, your peripherals reveal he’s still staring at you like you make night turn into day. His gaze is searing, and as you put your lips around your straw, he licks his lips slowly. Shit.

—

Availability bias is one hell of a mindfuck. If only they taught psychology at this magic school, maybe the wizarding world would have way fewer problems and more people would be straightforward and not.. Dead. James decides he can categorize his life now as before you, and after you.

Before you, well… he honestly wasn’t even sure if you were a student at Hogwarts until he saw you marching down the pitch, but now… You’re everywhere. He can spot your voice in a crowded hallway, and who was going to tell him you’ve had three classes with him this whole term? Even down to when he shuts his eyes, he’s convinced his eyelids are branded with the imprint of your silhouette. Every conversation he strikes with you ends with you laughing at him, and he’s unsure if that’s a step up or down from the many boisterous rejections from Lily Evans over the years. He sort of wishes you’d laugh with him, and do a number of other things, (heck he’s got a list of ideas he’s wanked off to), and well… His soul is tightly wound with thoughts of you and Godric, listen to this guy…. maybe the boys were right…. Maybe he really does need to get laid.

It’s funny how fate works, two people who’ve barely interacted in the past six years at Hogwarts are now paired together for a History of Magic essay worth 20% of the term grade. You’re trying to get this done as fast as possible, he notices, mapping out ideas and trying to discuss how to piece it all together, yet James does everything but that to get you to pay attention to him. He fills your head with mundane little questions, asking you what your favorite fruit is to the childhood bedtime story your parents told you as a kid.

“What’s your middle name, Potter?” You muse, finally entertaining him after endless chatter. His eyes trail to the exposed skin of your collarbones as you stretch in your seat, and well… you don’t look as menacing as you always do but did it seriously have to be this question? He scratches the back of his head, silent for the first time in the two hours you’ve been trying to craft this essay for the sake of both your grades.

“What? I can’t just go around calling you James Fucking Potter. Spit it out, you know too much about me already.”

He clears his throat, a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… that’s an intimate question, love… I…”

Your laughter at his response makes his senses shut down. “Oh, so it’s bad. What is it, Franklin? Fabio? Come on, I won’t bite.” A part of him wishes you would, your face equally flushed and so close to him right now, almost leering at him for an answer. It’d be easy to just lean over…

“Fleamont.”

Your lips quirk, until they pucker like you’ve guzzled a lemon. The blush on your cheeks intensifies, and the sound explodes out of you. You laugh so loudly Madam Pince kicks you both out of the library, James carrying both your knapsacks, a hand around your waist as you rush out of there. Your body is firm under his touch, pupils unfocused and dilated looking at him now that you know his dirty little secret. James thinks that if you keep looking at him like that, hell, you can call him anything you want.

—

Fleamont.

What a prick. A really attractive, clueless prick. The memory makes you giggle as you get ready for the Quidditch Cup and your team charges out onto the field to face Gryffindor again, as you’ve both advanced to the finals. He’s not as much of an asshole as you originally thought. It’s undeniable that something pulls you towards him, whether it be hormones, concern, or the fact that it’s actually adorable the way he writes his mother back weekly, or admirable how he moved Sirius out of Black Manor himself last year. Maybe it’s endearing the way he goes out of his way to make first-years smile or heartwarming how even Filch can’t find reasons to hate him. The golden boy. You get it now, why people get trapped in his web, and why many are unwilling to leave.

You pass him outside the locker rooms, bumping shoulders as he smiles almost bashfully. The golden boy, loudmouth, ball of energy is reduced to a nervous pile of teenage ineptness at the sight of you, every time. You could take him (not in a fight). In an actual fight, maybe you could land a few solid hits before his nice muscly arms hold you do—

“Ready to finish this, darling?”

Your eyes refocus when his hand nudges the small of your back, right above your hip. “Mhmm,” you clear your throat, “Ready to lose, Potter?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He moves closer, slowly backing you into the wall.

“Eyes on the prize Potter, I’m in this to win it.” You say, looking at the closing distance between both your chests. James nods, not taking his eyes off of you for a moment, even when the announcer calls out the imminent start of the game.

“WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH CUP OF 1977 GRYFFINDOR VS. (Y/H)! I hope you are all excited as our last match between these teams was quite thrilling at the end of it!” The announcer says, hyping up the roaring crowd as your teams parade onto the pitch.

His eyes are still on you when he shakes Whithall’s hand and the whistle blows. It’s intense, and makes you feel like you’re burning, even if the wind is blowing like crazy today. You bat the bludgers toward anything red on the field that even dares to move toward your teammates. James won’t stop staring at you, and you both lock eyes across the pitch.

“What? Flirt with me later, Potter, I’m trying to win!” you yell.

He’s got you transfixed, and it’s crazy how his timing is always wrong. You bat the bludger away from your captain but don’t notice James flying towards you to respond as you give it your hardest swing, making the impact against his huge target of a head all the more painful.

Holy shit, did you kill him?

He keels off his broom like a shot bird and then he’s falling, and you’re the one chasing the Gryffindor chaser as he flaps his arms like the idiot you know he is as you push forward to catch him before he splits his skull open.

“I’msofuckingsorryJamesareyouokay?” You blurt out as you land, soft hands moving over his broad chest and quickly swelling face. He’s wearing that stupid grin again, and you think you may have finally broken Gryffindor’s team captain.

“You know my name?” he sighs happily, comfortable in your lap and maybe it’s the brain damage you’ve caused him or the way his glasses are bent beyond repair but you will every magical predecessor you can think of to stop you from punching him in the face right now.

“Are you fucking dense?” You scream, shaking your head, and jostling him as his arms try to reach out to swipe the hair away from your face.

“Must’ve hit him so hard you knocked his filter loose..” Sirius muses after he lands next to you two on the grass.

“POTTER’S TAKEN A HIT FROM (Y/H) and it doesn’t look good ladies and gents! Gryffindor calls a timeout to check on their captain!” The announcer calls out, and there are so many eyes on the two of you as James is simply giggling like a prepubescent schoolboy. Fuck, you’ve maimed the golden boy.

“Y’know, sweetheart. You’re…really sexy when you’re on top of me like this,” he says breathily, and you really can’t hit him, so you jab Sirius in the gut instead when he tries to laugh at his best friend’s stupidity.

—

James wakes up in the hospital wing with a blinding headache until someone gently pulls the curtains closed, stroking the hair off his sweaty forehead.

“Poppy you always take such good care of me…” he mumbles. A punch lands on his chest and his eyes rip open, not expecting to see you at his bedside.

“Idiot,” you mutter. “You’re always in my way and now look, you almost got yourself killed and it would’ve been my fault! How dare you, James…” The red is crawling up your neck like a brushfire as you berate him, and he takes it with a grin as you jabber on, putting his arms behind his head.

“Were you worried about me, love?” James smiles cheesily, catching your arm at its half-hearted attempt to slap him across the face.

“I was not. Stubborn people like you are hard to kill. I’m more annoyed that I can’t morally punch your face in since you have a concussion. Madame Pomfrey’s already healed your cheekbone.”

“That you broke,” he says matter-of-factly, taking a chance to kiss the palm of your hand. This concussion is working like a bottle of Felix Felicis. It’s endearing to see you taking care of him, whether you like it or not (even with the punches he’s sure it’ll come with).

“You’re sick in the head.”

“For you. I was trying to come tell you that I never took my eyes off the prize, but then of course you bludgeoned my face in before I could get sweet on yo—”

Your lips crash down on his, and nothing about it is delicate. It’s a month’s worth of yearning, imaginations coming to fruition as he grabs the back of your head to deepen the embrace. Your lips on his are hot and heady, and he could be easily convinced that he’s stuck there, cauterized to the shape of you.

“I know. I could feel you watching.” You breathe into his mouth, leaning up on his chest. His lips chase up again to meet yours, biting down on your bottom lip as you groan. He might like that noise better than the sound of your laughter. It’ll be fun to find out.

“Who won the Cup?”

Laughter spills out of your red, kiss-swollen lips as you pat his cheek gently, fingers grazing over his healed cheekbone.

“Not Gryffindor. But listen closely James, if you be a good boy and get past this concussion, I’ll make up for it by showing you how well I ride…”

He likes the sound of that, Quidditch Cup be damned. You see, James Potter never loses, ladies and gentlemen, not really—and well... there’s always next year.

—

“I like the way

you look at me

like you are

going to talk to me

or devour me

and I am fine with either.”

-N.R. Hart

taglist: @jsjcue

[sh4wty18]

Jake Webber x reader you move in with him and Johnnie and you guys are all besties Jake has like a huge crush on you and always is just following you around like a puppy

i love this idea <3

crush.

pairing: jake webber x reader

summary: same as the request with a twist! (reader has a crush too!)

cw: fluff, language, oblivious!jake x oblivious!reader

word count: 1.4k + edited

---

“I think that’s the last of it!” you shout up the stairs to Jake and Johnnie as you drag your final box of belongings through the front door. You were finally moving in with them after nearly a year of friendship. You’d all hung out so often, had so many sleepovers, and filmed so many videos that the three of you came to the conclusion that it’d be easier for you to just move in. 

“Yay!” you hear a voice shout down in response, a voice that could only belong to Jake. He was so excited for you to move in, it was all he’d been talking about since you pitched the idea to them a month ago. Of course, Johnnie was excited too, but Jake was the one who had set up a group countdown, made a shared Google Calendar, and began preemptively decorating your bedroom with things he knew you liked. You’d told him he didn’t have to do all that, but he insisted. 

Jake runs down the steps, grinning wide, and Johnnie follows behind, with a softer smile. Jake wraps you in his arms, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around, “My best friend is finally moving in!!” 

“Hey, I thought I was your best friend,” Johnnie teases, pouting.

“You’re both my best friends,” Jake replies, pulling Johnnie in too so you’re all in a smooshed group hug. 

“I love you guys so much,” you say, and it’s true. Sure, you’d only been friends with them for a year, but you have genuinely never felt more connected to two people. When you met for the first time at a random bar in LA, you three hit it off. It only took one night and you were instantly attached at the hip. Soon you were filming with them, their fans became your fans (which you’d never had before), and life was good. You couldn’t recall two other people you’d ever felt such an unbreakable bond with, such pure unbridled love for, who you would do anything for. And you knew they both felt the same. 

Platonic love is a strange thing. You can want all of somebody, all their flaws, all their likes and dislikes, everything, without ever wanting more than that. Knowing them is enough. That’s how it started with you three. Unconstrained platonic love for one another that was incredibly evident to everyone who interacted with you. 

One day somewhere along the line, though, things had changed for you. Towards one of them, at least. Johnnie had always been like your brother, and that’s how it would stay. You loved him more than most people on the planet, but purely platonically. 

Jake… Jake was different. You had never intended for it to happen. You swore your relationship was strictly platonic. But a few months ago, you realized that you never got nauseous when Johnnie hugged you, whispered a joke in your ear when a stranger did something funny in public, or cuddled with you on the couch. When Jake did those things, you felt more than a little nervous. 

These feelings were what prolonged your moving in. Did you really want to risk living with someone you had feelings for? Did you really want to risk losing him as your best friend? In the end, you decided you could separate your romantic and platonic feelings for him, right? Because having him in your life, having him as your best friend, was more important than a silly crush.

Now, you were sandwiched between your two best friends, freshly moved in to live with them for the next however-many months, or years, and it’s not that you weren’t excited. You definitely were. You were just a little scared too. 

Jake piped up, “I love you more,” and kissed your forehead. You felt your heart skip a beat. You and Jake had been giving each other little kisses for months. Cheeks, forehead, hands… anywhere but your lips, really. Johnnie wasn’t one for that level of physical affection, so it stays between you and Jake. It’s your thing. Only recently, it’s been harder and harder to act like you’re not on the verge of blushing every time he does it. Jake separates himself from you and Johnnie, “Can I help you unpack, y/n?” he asks.

“Ugh, Jake, you’re so good to me,” you sigh, dramatically placing a hand on your heart. He follows you upstairs, carrying the last of your boxes for you as you enter your new bedroom for the first time. You let out a gasp as you cross the threshold, “Jake… this is so fucking cool.” String lights draped across the back wall, posters from all your favorite artists lined the wall next to your bed, and your desk was fully set up with a new PC and rolling office chair. 

“Yeah… I may have gone a little overboard,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. 

“You really didn’t have to do all this! Did you… buy me a new computer?” you stare at him, shocked.

“Maybe?” he giggles, “I wanted to give you a housewarming gift!”

“Jake, that must’ve been so expensive! Let me know how much it was and I can pay you back!” 

“No, y/n! I wanted to, I promise,” he steps towards you and pulls you into another tight hug, your bodies swaying together. He looks down at you and smiles, that toothy grin he knows you love. You kiss his nose, smiling up at him in return, “You’re actually the best person I’ve ever met.” you say.

“No, you,” Jake counters, cheeks going red. Was he… flustered? After a few more seconds of prolonged eye contact, he clears his throat and pulls away from you, “Okay! Let’s get this room set the fuck up!!” he chants, attempting to hype you up for the hours of unpacking ahead. You never expected either of your best friends to help you unpack, but of course Jake offered. He was just like that. He would do whatever it took to make your life easier. Johnnie had to leave to shoot a music video, so he couldn’t help anyway, but you weren’t upset about getting a little alone time with Jake.

You moved out into the hallway, where the majority of your boxes sat, and Jake followed close behind you. “Hmm… I think I wanna start with these,” you say, motioning toward a stack of boxes a few feet in front of you. Jake quickly moves to pick them up, well, he tries to pick them up, he only manages to carry two at a time. He carries them into your bedroom and places them on the ground, careful not to break anything fragile inside. 

You laugh, “You don’t have to carry everything in for me, you know.”

“But I want to,” he gazes at you, giving you his best pout. “I don’t want my girl to have to lift a finger,” he points at you, grinning. 

You feel your cheeks flush, his girl. You avert your eyes and smile, “Okay then, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

He gazes at you, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.” 

He walks up to you and holds your face in both hands, planting a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, and then your mouth. It was just a peck, but your heart still leaps out of your chest, and your stomach tied in knots. 

You look up at him, surprised, and he just smiles down at you, blushing, and lets out a breathy laugh. “Let’s get to work!” 

—

Three hours later

—

You’re finally finished unpacking, Jake admittedly did most of it, not at your request, but at his insistence. He follows you downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, “I’m not sure if we have anything for a full meal, but I can buy us something. What’re you feeling, love?”

Love? He’d never called you love before, you note. “You don’t have to buy me anything, Jake. I can pay for myself,” you smile.

“You’re finally moved in, I wanna spoil you! Trust me, if I didn’t want to spend my money on you, I wouldn’t have offered,” he slings an arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. You turn your head to meet his gaze, noses so close they’re almost touching. He blushes again. 

If his feelings for you are mutual… living with your two best friends just got a whole lot more interesting.

---

this was so fun to write i love writing fluff!

likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[imtrashraccoon]

Here it is...the climax! I think this chapter is actually the longest one so far as well. Got a few bonus chapters left that I'm really looking forward to writing though.

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Nightmare - Shield

Word Count: 2,964

It happened suddenly as these things do.

One moment, you were in the middle of making lunch and the next, the lights flickered before going out entirely. You stopped what you were doing and checked a few other light switches just to come to the conclusion that the power was out. Fine, you could handle this.

It was weird that it had happened so suddenly though. The weather was supposed to be perfect today, so maybe it was a freak accident? You guessed someone could've knocked over a hydro pole or a transformer could've blown up.

Then you became aware of the building shaking. You actually lost your balance and several dishes you had left on the table fell, shattering on the floor. Not wanting to have a wall collapse or have glass explode in your face, you crawled into the hallway and huddled against the archway. That was what you were supposed to do in the event of an earthquake, right? Or was it to get in the bathtub with something sturdy on top of you?

The tremors seemed to stop after a couple of minutes and your building seemed to be in one piece, but now there was another problem. You could hear sirens and what sounded like a security alarm going off. There was another sound though, one that filled you with an overwhelming feeling of terror.

A distant but steady roar.

You staggered to your feet and practically yanked your front door off its hinges, desperately hoping you were wrong.

The world outside was nothing like what it should've been. Many hydro poles were down, leaving the power lines dangling dangerously near the ground and you could see large plumes of smoke rising into the air from surrounding neighborhoods.

A couple of your neighbors apparently had the same idea as you and had congregated on the outside walkway as they tried to figure out what was wrong. You could hear murmurings of the phone lines being out, someone's pipes apparently bursting from the initial quakes, and even rumours of a gas leak.

The sky had been torn in twain, like someone had ripped a piece of paper in half. The wind was whipping your hair around and you could see many small objects being sucked up into the black void that was now the atmosphere.

Nothing came back.

You'd been through this before.

Last time you'd tried to flee the city or at least get somewhere safe. With how poorly that had gone, you weren't about to repeat the scenario and die for real this time.

What could you do when the world was coming to an end?

Nothing.

There was literally nothing you could do.

Emergency services were likely swamped as they undoubtedly tried to deal with this disaster. If the phone lines were truly down, you couldn't call anyone to find out if they were okay or if they needed help, not that you had anyone to call anyways save for people that generally disliked you. Since the outside was so dangerous, you basically had no choice but to shelter in place.

So that is what you did. Call it giving up if you wanted, but you weren't about to spend your last living moments running for your life, only to die horribly. If you were going to die, you were going to be as comfortable as was feasibly possible.

You started for your bedroom but hesitated to actually enter. Changing trajectory, you retrieved your favorite romance novel from where you'd previously left it in the living room. It was too dark and you were too frazzled to even think about reading right now, but there was another reason.

In the middle of its pages, you'd been pressing a few of the daisies, forget-me-nots, and yellow tulips Axe had brought you for your birthday months ago. You hadn't seen him for over a week and while you missed him terribly, this was the only thing you had to remind yourself of the good times you'd spent together.

You also pulled your chess set from the game cupboard. While it wasn't something Dust had given you, the fun you'd had playing with him had been enough to give the game a new sort of sentimentality. You frankly missed his random night visits and snarky sense of humor as it wasn't a void either of the others really filled.

With your valuables in hand, you finally returned to your bedroom and closed the door behind yourself to hopefully mitigate the sounds of chaos outside. Although it didn't help much and the roaring of the Void had only seemed to have grown louder.

Depositing the book and game on your bed, you pulled out your favorite pair of leggings, the very ones Killer had somehow gotten mended for you, from their place in the drawer. You slipped them on and your fingers lightly brushed over the knees and the embroidered vines with red hearts. While he had been a metaphorical thorn in your side, you had to admit that it had been fun getting to know him.

You wrapped yourself up in your blankets and clutched the book with the flowers and the chess set to your chest. You'd been trying your best to remain calm but now you could feel tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, threatening to breach the dam and pour down your cheeks. Your breath was coming in ragged gasps and you could feel your body trembling.

You didn't want to die.

You'd learned so many new things and discovered a side to yourself that you'd never dreamed possible. A bolder, more confident side that wouldn't let people walk all over you anymore. Well, you might still have to work on that, but you'd been getting better!

You had met a band of misfits, and while they'd definitely be the type of people your parents wouldn't approve of, they had quickly become close friends. You didn't have to ask, nor did you want to, but you knew in your soul that all of them would do anything to keep you safe, even kill without question. You weren't entirely sure about Nightmare yet but you knew that he wouldn't sit by if you were in danger.

So where was he now?

You'd promised to consider his deal but you'd never been able to give him your answer. Not for a lack of trying mind you but it wasn't something you could take lightly.

What he offered, was for you to drop everything and everyone you had ever known to go with him, to a completely new environment that was unlike anything you'd experienced before. You didn't know much about the multiverse or world codes, but you were vaguely familiar with the multiverse theory.

The main issue you had with his deal was that you didn't know what would happen to you if you accepted it. The multiverse was apparently massive and home to countless people, some of which could actually hop between worlds like Nightmare and his boys. It was boggling to think about but seemed completely normal to them. A boring person like you had no place in a world like that.

You couldn't help but sob as the apartment complex trembled from another series of tremors. You were so scared. You didn't want to die!

In your despair, you let out an anguished scream for the one person who could possibly come find you. "Nightmare!"

But nobody ca-

The room temperature seemed to grow chilly and the shadows swirled before coalescing into the familiar shape of the god of negativity himself. His cyan eyelight seemed to be burning brighter than you'd ever seen it and his tentacles practically writhed with pent up adrenaline. He only needed to glance at your trembling form to understand what was going on and he rapidly moved to the edge of your bed.

"Are you hurt?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," you croaked, "I'm just so glad to see you..."

He exhaled slowly through his teeth and seemed to focus on a specific spot on the ceiling. "You've probably already figured it out, but your world is in the middle of collapsing. I estimate you maybe have a few minutes before everything disappears and is reclaimed by the Void."

His gaze snapped to your own and seemed to pierce into your very soul before he spoke again. "Will you accept the deal and come with me?"

You opened your mouth to respond when a rumbling crash cut you off. In a fraction of a second, several things happened. Nightmare's tentacles snatched you up. You were coated in fine layer of drywall dust. Nightmare used his tentacles to shield you from the roof caving in.

The dust caused you to cough violently when you accidentally breathed it in and when you managed to recover, you found yourself clinging to his body. He was clutching you against his ribcage and continuing to shield you with both himself and his tentacles.

The roof was gone and the sky was now completely black. The sheer force of the wind threatened to blow you away and you could barely hear yourself think above the roaring of the black.

Nightmare's gaze flicked to the darkness above and then back to you. He appeared completely unharmed and only slightly dusty from the rubble, but the ooze that covered his body seemed to be rapidly absorbing it.

"Yes! I accept! Nightmare, please...take me away from here..." you shouted above the clamor of destruction.

He didn't even hesitate.

His tendrils wrapped around your body, basically binding you against him. You just managed to close your eyes before the roar of the Void was replaced with dead silence. The wind had completely ceased blowing too and a numb feeling began to spread over your body.

The numbness persisted for far longer than any teleport had before and yet you didn't notice. In fact, the only thing you could feel besides Nightmare's hold on your body, was the way the box for your chess set and the edges of your book was cutting into your arms.

You felt his hold loosen and the temperature equalize out into a more comfortable one. You could hear laughter from somewhere nearby and the crackling of a fireplace.

"hey, the boss is back!" Killer's unmistakable tenor voice rang out. "what happened for you to leave so suddenly...?"

You quietly glanced over in the direction of his voice. In one of the few times you'd ever seen him speechless, Killer had an odd look on his skull as he seemed to take in your distraught appearance.

Moments later though, he tilted his skull and flashed his trademark smirk at you. "hey angel~ long time no see..." he purred.

Nightmare made a tisk sound and leveled him with a stern frown. "She's slipping into shock. Tell the others she'll be staying and to get things ready." His tone of voice took on a much more commanding tone that you'd never heard before as he spoke.

It was quite effective though or at least you thought it was. Killer's permanent grin widened slightly and he gave a curt nod.

"sure thing." Before turning away, he winked at you in a mildly suggestive way, but knowing him, he was only half serious about it. This guy could barely take things seriously even in a situation as dire as this one it seemed.

Nightmare began carrying off into another part of the...castle? Everything seemed to be made of gray stone and the ceilings were vaulted, but you couldn't be sure. It would certainly suit someone as regal and dramatic as him though.

He'd mentioned you were going into shock. Was that what you were feeling? Sure, your heart was still beating like crazy and your breathing seemed to be shallow, but you didn't think you were actually in danger. You did feel kinda cold, but in a numb sort of way, and maybe you were a bit lightheaded? It was too complicated to think about. You just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to discover that this had all been another bad dream...

You briefly heard Killer relay the news to the others but he didn't get to finish his sentence before they apparently decided to see for themselves.

Nightmare stopped walking and half turned to look behind him. You could feel his grip tighten around your body in an almost possessive way. "No, you'll only overwhelm her," he nearly growled.

You could see Axe and Dust standing barely six feet away, having likely teleported as soon as they found out you were here.

Axe's deep red eyelight had shrunk down significantly to the size of a dime and other than his stiff posture, he was giving off serious kicked puppy vibes. He went to take a step forward, only for Dust to catch his arm and stop him. Although you knew if Axe was truly motivated to get to you, Dust wouldn't have been able to hold him back like that.

The giant of a skeleton clenched his fists and made a quiet sound of frustration. "you'll take good care of her, right?" he asked Nightmare in a low tone that not so subtly sounded like a threat.

"Of course, you can spend time with her all you want once she's calmed down."

Axe let out a heavy sigh and nodded. Turning his attention to you, his gaze softened significantly although his smile was rather tight. "i'll make ya somethin' nice if ya feel like eatin' later, lil' chip," he murmured.

Dust had been silent throughout the whole interaction, although he was practically searing a hole through your head with how intensely he was staring at you. He hadn't even broken eye contact to stop Axe from upsetting Nightmare. You couldn't read what he was thinking at all which was pretty concerning.

He remained in place, just staring at you, as Axe turned to leave. Nightmare let out a low warning growl which seemed to get his attention at least.

Dust tugged his hood tighter over his skull and turned to leave, although not without making a comment of his own. "...you'll be okay, bean." He disappeared immediately afterwards to who knows where.

Nightmare sighed and continued onto his original goal. He ended up bringing you into a frankly extravagant bedroom and only then did he let go of you. He set you on the bed, wrapped you in one of the softest blankets you'd ever felt, and even propped you up with pillows until you were comfortable. At some point, he set the things you'd managed to bring with you on the bedside table.

"This will be your room," he finally said. "You may decorate it as you see fit but do let me know if you need anything."

You weakly nodded.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took one of your hands in his own, running his thumb along your knuckles. "There is one more thing I need to do, my dear."

He paused for a moment to let his words register. "You are still considered an incode and technically bound to your old world. For your safety, I need to sever the connection between your soul and the old code, which will classify you as an outcode. I would explain more, but I suspect you're not exactly in much of a state to process all of it."

When you frowned, he lightly stroked your cheek with his knuckles in an attempt to reassure you. "It's okay, I'll be as gentle as I can," he said softly. "Just relax and trust me."

Well, now you were certainly feeling the confusion that apparently came with shock, so it was a good thing he wasn't about to info dump on you. It didn't help with making you feel any less anxious though, as you had no idea what severing the connection meant or entailed.

"Okay... I trust you."

Nightmare nodded and moved his hand from your cheek to your chest while keeping hold of your hand with his other. He focused for a moment and you started to feel that familiar pressure before your soul floated from your chest.

It was still so beautiful.

"This might hurt a little," he hummed.

Before you even had the chance to protest, he grasped your soul, causing you to gasp at the suddenness. His cyan eyelight burned brighter for a second and he abruptly yanked your soul slightly away from you.

It hurt more than a little but even spraining your ankle hurt more than severing this had. While you could feel the stinging of tears that threatened to fall, you managed to blink them away.

Nightmare gently guided your soul back into your chest and smiled at you. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he murmured in that velvety tone you'd come to love.

He moved a few strands of hair behind your ear, his claws affectionately brushing against your skin as he did so. He briefly glanced towards the closed bedroom door before looking back at you.

"I think I'm going to keep you to myself for a bit, my dear. Just until I know you'll be okay after all that excitement." As he spoke, he laid down next to you and wrapped you up in his tendrils, pulling you against his ribcage.

You couldn't have protested even if you wanted to. It was probably a good thing he wasn't about to leave you alone as he seemed to have the power to completely calm you down whenever you were upset. You were going to sleep for a while though.

Maybe things would be better when you woke up.

[spicylavender]

I saw someone post about Yao (I literally reposted it right before I'll post this) and it made me want to share something that I went through when I first played TSR months ago. To put this into perspective, I played The Smoke Room before I ever played echo, and I went through Nik's existing route before any of the others, so not only did I not have context on the wider "rules" of the world, I also didn't have any of the context of the other routes. So, I did chose to trust Yao in that initial choice, I had no reason not to at first, and technically still don't. But later on after the mine escape I had I really weird feeling. This was right after hearing the thing in the mine mimiking that little girl. Also, there's a specific way out of the mine from the lower level we were in, and it's the one that both we and Yao know. To get out of the mine, he'd have to go the same way we did. And yet, because we were helping nik, we got separated, and didn't see him again until we all made it out...somehow, having to take the exact same route. After he popped out with the pipe after the William encounter, I was not vibing with him at *all.* what I knew then was that there was something in the mine that could mimic actual people, a...separate thing, maybe? That could physically hunt down someone and directly kill them, and there was a long period of time where we lost Yao in the mine and had no idea what he was doing in that time period. I was, at that moment, completely convinced he'd gotten caught and replaced by the entity in the mine. Right now, I don't think that's accurate at all. I can't think of anything in the echo verse that can perfectly mimic a real person and take there place for an extended period of time like my little not Yao would have been doing at this point in the story, and after getting more insight on that specific voice in the mine in Murdoch's route it's very apparent that the thing I was worried about probably can't do that. Still, in that period of time when I was experiencing the game as a standalone horror story with no wider context on what *could* happen, I had a lot of fun ideas and theories on what *might* happen. I also didn't know that echo explained that the 1915 hysteria event happened weeks after the body in the mine happened, so there was a period of time where I knew a hysteria event will happen, but didn't start immediately when Jack was found, so I was convinced that another body would be recovered that *would* trigger it. The ultimate culmination of that was that I thought that Yao or Nik would (or already had lol) die during the future heist and *would* actually trigger it. I know better now of course, but I'll always fondly remember that idea I cooked up in my head of a future scene in Nik's route of things breaking bad in the future heist, Sam ending up alone in the mine, and finding Yao's lifeless corpse. Only realizing for a few moments that the body is in too rough condition to have died after they got separated that night, before hearing Yao's voice calling for him and Nik from behind him...

[countessofravenclaw]

Christmas is the time for joy and unexpected events

When holidays creep up around December, everyone gets ready to celebrate, especially our dear residents of Buenos Aires ... And maybe, just maybe, people you never though would enter each other lives... have more to do with each other than you think.

Merry Christmas Everyone! Well, to me Christmas was yesterday since we celebrate here in Finland on the eve, instead of the day, but the party still goes on ad Holidays are not over until after the New Years.

“Gastón, don’t forget that we are supposed to take Luna to pick up Matteo from the airport at 6 pm today,” Nina reminded her husband as he was about to leave the door in the morning. “So, don’t even think about staying overtime at the office.”

“I would never forget that,” Gastón laughed, “I think I’ll be able to leave early today. There is not that much to work on since everyone is going to be out for Christmas beginning Friday. I’ll have to just submit these last figures about the CO2 emissions and exhausts over the construction in the USA this year to the executive team.”

“Wasn’t the deadline for that after new years?” Nina turned her head confused. She could not really pretend she was up to date on all the projects Gastón had for his work, but she was sure he had not had anything to turn in right before he was off for the holidays. 

“Oh it is, but I got it done now, as I revamped the excel since the system they had been using…”

“...has to be from 20th century.” Nina completed his sentence. “You have been saying that since you started there.” She turned her head and noticed that Gastón’s work ID was still laying on a bureau in the living room. “Don’t forget this. This is probably the second time this month.” She picked it up and walked over to Gastón and put the lanyard around his neck, “Someday you’ll actually forget it.”

“What would I do without you?” Gastón smiled at her.

“I don’t know, be late to work.” Nina got up on her tiptoes and kissed him briefly. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

***

“You are performing at the holiday party this year right?” German asked Violetta after Olga had served the dinner.

“Of course Dad,” Vilu answered and rolled her eyes at Leon. She and Leon had arrived for dinner on Tuesday to her dad’s place. Her father had been asking for confirmations about the party every week, when they had fixed the plan a month ago. “Fran and Diego, and Ludmi and Fede are performing with me and Leon. Like we have every year, so don’t worry. We’ll entertain all of your important engineers.”

“How is it going with the company, German?” Leon asked and Vilu hid her groan. The last thing she wanted was to be talking about her dad’s work, but it was too late. 

“Well, the last construction project got just finished, but one of my engineers is retiring, so that brings it own set of things to settle. This will leave an empty vacancy to the team so I have to find someone to fill it. And recruiting so close to Christmas is not fun. We can’t leave the spot open, since we need all hands on deck as the energy crisis gets worse.”

“Dad, do you know what your problem is?” Vilu piped up. 

“What?”

“I don’t pretend that I know about the engineering or whatever you do, but most of your engineers are your age. No wonder you are getting nowhere.” She continued. 

“Are you calling me old?” German responded, half offended.

“Yes, I am Dad. It is almost like writing a song. If you keep using the same words, the song will never be done. Basically, what I am trying to say is that you need some new blood, someone our age.” Vilu gestured to herself and Leon. She could not really believe that she was giving her dad hiring advice right now, but he was painfully clueless of the modern world. Someone needed to wake him up. 

“Didn’t you have that program to recruit just-graduated college students?” Leon continued to ask German. 

“Yes, it was implemented five years ago.”

“Promote one of them,” Leon continued and Vilu smiled at him proudly. Given that neither of them had any idea what they were talking about, they were doing a very good job at helping her dad. “There must be somebody who has proven themselves. You hired them for a reason after all.”

***

“And if we change this variable, the costs would go way down.” German pointed on the board at the meeting with his executive engineering team. “And I think thats it.” He looked down on his tablet. “Next thing on the docket is the CO2 emissions, but we need to wait for the Energy Preservation to bring in the figures, we will have to leave it until…”

“Haven’t you noticed?” One of his engineers suddenly said, “The numbers came in earlier this week.”

“Really?” German opened the folder on his tablet. “Well, that was fast. They are way ahead of the deadline.”

“Energy Preservation has been surprisingly efficient this whole year,” other one of his engineers noted. “It is after that new member of theirs started. He apparently even improved the algorithms they have been using.”

“Hmmm, this is really excellent work.” German raised his head up, “What is his name?”

“Gastón Perida I think. He is one of those college program recruits, from Oxford—”

For some reason, the last name “Perida” sounded familiar to German. Maybe Ramallo had once mentioned it. 

“—I think the case with him was that he actually declined the job offer the first time around, right after graduation. Something about not wanting to come back to Buenos Aires yet. He worked a year at London, before coming to us.”

The words that Violetta had said about him needing younger people in his team echoed at German’s mind. “What was the firm he worked at in London?”

*

“Ramallo?” German asked as he and Ramallo were sitting in his office later in the day. “Didn’t you used to work with someone called Perida, before you came to work for me?”

“Oh, yes I did. Marco, a really nice person. It was almost twenty years ago, and I understand that he and his wife have done quite well for themselves, she is a real estate agent if I am not mistaken. I think he works for the government right now. Why do you ask?”

“I think I am employing his son,” German answered.

“Really? I do remember them having a son… is he that old already?” Ramallo straightened up in his chair.

“Almost two years out from Oxford.” German said, “He really seems to be an efficient worker.”

“Not surprising, given who his parents are. In this case, he also is the nephew of Tomas Perida.”

“The software engineer?”

“Mr. German!” All a sudden Olga burst into German’s study. 

“Olga, we are in the middle of something.”

“Little I care about your something! I can’t work with these conditions! The tree has not yet arrived so I can’t start decorating for the party!”

***

“Gastón?” Gastón looked up from his computer to see their floor’s front desk secretary in front of his desk.

“What is it Melinda?”

“The boss wants to see you.”

“Okay, uhm,” he quickly looked back at a diagram he had been working on his screen, “Can you let Mr. Gomez know that I’ll be there just in a second. I’ll just upload this.”

“No, it is not him,” Melinda seemed to be twisting her hands nervously, “It is THE boss.”

“Mr. Castillo?”

“Yes.”

“What on earth? I’ll be there at once.”

Gastón got up from his desk and walked through the hallway to the elevator. He had no idea what this could be about. Was this good or bad? He definitely was not a senior enough employee to have the CEO concern himself with him. The only times he had actually heard of Mr. Castillo himself were in the annual company-wide emails and a couple of video conferences. He also was not aware of anything he had done wrong.

Well, whatever this was about, he was about to find out. Whatever happened, he’d have a story to tell Nina at home, and he had good connections with lawyers.

“Mr. Castillo? You asked to see me?” He stepped into a big office on the top floor of the building.  

“Yes, come on in.” Mr. Castillo looked up from his desk. “Gastón, isn’t it? Perida?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, sit down.”

Gastón, who still had absolutely no idea what this was about, took the chair he was offered. Mr. Castillo’s face was quite unreadable, but a couple of business classes all the engineering students had been forced to take at Oxford had taught him that those incidents where someone got fired out of the blue only happened in the movies. 

“So, I understand that you are responsible for the latest data on the carbon dioxide and monoxide emissions.”

“Yes, I was the one who submitted the last figures,” Gastón answered, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice. “If… if this is about the excel, I cleared it with my supervisor. I was under the impression it was fine—”

“It is.” Mr. Castillo interrupted him. “I was actually quite impressed. But this is not about that. You were originally recruited to work for us through our college recruitment program, but started working for us a year later after the initial offer. And you worked in London for a year after you graduated”

“Yes, that is correct.” Gastón answered, still not fully following.

“Well, I’ll just cut to the chase then.” Mr. Castillo turned on a tablet that had been on his table and turned towards Gastón. “I would like to offer you an assistant engineer position in the executive team directly under me.”

“What?” Gastón stared at the contract that was displayed on the tablet. “I’m sorry. I am just surprised, I have barely been here a year.” 

“Your employer at Renishaw spoke very highly of you. Didn’t want to let you go.”

“Yes, they did offer me a full-time place, with a raise, but my timing with the move back to Buenos Aires had nothing to do with a job I had at that time, or would have in the future. It was a personal choice considering the stage of life I was in and my family.” Gastón started explaining.

“I understand that,” Mr. Castillo continued. “We have been more than happy with your work here, and I think these talents are going to be wasted at the Energy Preservation Division. We need young minds to battle the crises we will continue to face. So, you accept the position? You can sign now, since we have a separate contract for the executive team, and start after the new year.”

Gastón looked down at the contract again. “Can I take 24 hours before I sign it?”

“This should not be a hard decision.”

“It is not, I just want to take the time to read it over. I don’t like making fast decisions.”

“That is okay,” Mr. Castillo nodded, “I’ll send all the forms to you and you can sign them on Sunday.”

“Sunday?” Gastón was 100 % certain that everyone was going to get off on FRIDAY for the holidays. 

“I host a holiday party every year for friends and family, my engineers in the executive team are always invited. We’d be honored if you and your wife would attend. You’ll get to know the team before you start.”

Even if he had already been married six months, it still took Gastón off guard how everyone just knew that he was married, until he remembered that he literally wore a ring visible to everyone, signifying that he was as taken man as could be. 

“This is a great honor, all of this, amazing opportunity.”

“It will be good to have you on board.”

As Gastón exited the office, he still was not fully sure what had just happened. 

“What?” He let the words fall out after the elevator doors had closed. Honestly, he did not know how to feel, as this was definitely not how he had expected this day to go. He was half wondering if this was a dream or some kind of holiday joke and if he should ask Ambar to go through the contract, just in case.

***

Nina was erasing a typo on her file of the chapter she was working on at the moment when she heard the door open. 

“Hey! You are back already?” 

“I didn’t interrupt you right?” Gastón said as he hung his keys on the rack and pulled out his ID over his head.

“No, I was just doing proofreading today really. I haven’t made any further leeway.” Nina closed her laptop, “I try to pretend that this isn’t a start of a block.” She got off the sofa and walked up to Gastón. “So, how was work tod—”

She was interrupted because Gastón pulled her into an extremely passionate kiss with no warning. 

“You are in a good mood,” she said after she was able to catch her breath. “I am not complaining.” She slid her arms around his neck as he had not let go of her yet, and seemed like he was not going to. 

“I think I just got a promotion.” He said before leaning down to kiss her again.

“What?” Nina asked in disbelief, but Gastón did not look like he was kidding. “You've barely been there 12 months                .”

“That’s what I said, but they want me to start as an assistant engineer, in the executive team,  after the new years,” Gastón continued. “Apparently they have been impressed by what I have been doing at Energy Preservation.”

“That is amazing!” Nina jumped to hug him and he picked her up twirling her around. “I knew you were good, but not this good.” She said after he put her down.

“Auch, that hurt,” Gastón laughed, “especially coming from my own wife.”

“I was just joking. I am so proud of you.”

“I mean this is nuts, absolutely crazy,” Gastón continued, “I am 25 and barely two years out of university. I would not promote myself. I thought I would be on Energy Preservation for at least five years, it was not a bad placement.”

“Stop right there. That clearly doesn’t matter to them.” Nina interrupted his spiral, “You clearly have proven yourself, otherwise they would have not offered you the spot. You were literally one of the tops of your class at Oxford, that's the reason why you have this job in the first place. You are extremely good at what you do.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Gastón pulled the invitation out of his pocket. “This invitation came with a fancy cocktail party on Sunday.”

“Sunday?” 

“It is pretty much mandatory, given the circumstances.” Gastón continued, “But you don’t need to come, if you don’t want to. I can go alone.”

“No, I am coming.” Nina shot him down. It was true that she still did not exactly feel the most comfortable in a big crowd of people she did not know, but she had gotten much better in the years, that did not happen if you just sat at home. “You always support me, there is no question about me not doing the same.”

***

“I think we are ready!” Violetta squealed after she, Leon, Francesca, Diego, Federico and Ludmila finished rehearsing the last song. “Thank you guys so much for doing this again!”

“Your dad’s parties are always fun,” Diego said as he got off the sofa to put the guitar he had been playing. “It is always nice to do some more low-key intimate performances.”

“Even if that means performing to a bunch of 40-plus engineers.” Vilu laughed. “The party starts at seven.”

“Diego, we really need to get going if we want to be at Art Rebel for five,” Fran jumped up from the couch as well. “We’re giving a dance tutorial there.”

“Wow, Gregorio is letting you do that?” Leon joked. 

“Apparently.” Diego nodded. 

“Wait, before you go,” Ludmila piped up, “Fran, sent me a picture of what you are wearing, Vilu you too, so I can make sure it is appropriate.”

“Oh and Vilu,” Fran stopped as she was about to walk to the door. “did you make to the book store on Monday? I was so mad I got stuck in that production meeting.”

“I did,” Vilu shook her head, “But they were already out of the Si Pudieras Tener un Deseo’s second print. It is not that mainstream yet that they’d have ordered more copies. We have to wait for a restock.”

“Awww, really?” Fran groaned, “I had such high hopes. I just wish we could get them signed… but it is still almost impossible to track her down.”

“Well can’t blame her for being a private person.” Diego noted. 

“Actually, I think I might have an idea why it is so hard to find her,” Vilu suddenly pondered. “I looked at the sample piece at the bookstore, and you know how there is that small info box about the author there. In the second edition, the wording was bit changed and it kind of sounded like she is using a pen name.”

“Nina Simonetti is not her real name?”

***

 “Absolutely not.” Nina crossed her arm as she shut the guys’s idea down. 

Luna and Matteo had come over to their house to help them decorate their Christmas tree. Matteo and Gastón had suggested that in order to place the star on the top of the tree, they’d climb on each other’s shoulders. 

“Why not?”

“Because I doubt that Luna wants to lose her groom, and frankly, I don’t wanna become a widow.”

“Okay, okay,” Gastón raised his hands in surrender, “We’ll go get the step stool.”

Luna burst into laughter as Matteo and Gastón disappeared into the kitchen. “What are we gonna do with them?”

“I don’t know,” Nina shook her head and bent down to pick up another ornament to hang on the tree. 

“Have I already mentioned how happy I am that you are here for Christmas!” Luna jumped up and down excitedly.

“Well, we are back and here to stay.” Nina smiled at Luna. Truth be told, in some way, she would always miss the Christmasses in England, but she was more than happy to be back. “I will feel a bit strange that it is summer and not winter as it is supposed to be, but I know I won’t miss the flat. We can actually have a tree here, in a proper house.”

“I wanted to have a tree at our apartment but Matteo said that we would not be able to get it there,” Luna continued as she almost dropped a gold glitter star she had been trying to hang on the tree. “And I guess he is right. We live on the top floor and there is no elevator.”

“It is going to feel a bit weird to not have any snow. Not that we always had that in London, but when we did, it was one of the most magical things I have ever seen.” Nina said, looking out of the window.

“You know, I have never seen snow in my life, but it seems cold.” Luna noted, “By the way, how are you spending Christmas day? You do remember that you are all invited to the mansion on Boxing day. Mom is making a huge dinner.”

“Of course, I remember that,” Nina laughed, “We’re going to Gastón’s parents in the evening of Christmas day.”

“What about your parents?”

“Dad won’t be able to come here from Miami until little before the New Years. Mom is going to some event with Mora. I can’t believe she managed to convinced her of that, but we’re going to spent the Christmas Eve with them, so Mom won’t have any reason to complain.”

“What about Christmas morning?” Luna asked. 

“You are coming here,” Nina said amused. Luna really had forgotten that? Well, she would have not been surprised. “We fixed that two months ago.”

“Oh, riiiiight,” realization seemed to dawn on Luna, “I forgot.”

“What are you doing for the evening?”

“Matteo’s parents.” Luna explained, “Mom and Dad won’t mind as Ambar and Simon will be with them and everyone will be there on Boxing day. Just wait until you get to taste mom’s Christmas cookies … oh that reminds me, Matteo gave me the go-ahead on making our own gingerbread house. I thought I’d ask Jim and Yam to come over and we could make one together on Sunday.”

“Sunday?” Nina asked. “I am sorry, but I can’t. We are invited to Gastón’s CEO’s Christmas party on that day. It is this whole big fancy cocktail party.”

“Since when does your CEO invite you to fancy parties he is hosting?” Matteo asked as he and Gastón had just arrived with the step stool. 

“Well, since I got a promotion,” Gastón said nonchalantly, but Nina could see the small blink in his eye. He had not yet told Matteo, she realized. 

“WHAT? You got a promotion?” Matteo questioned.

“Yeah, a couple of days ago. One of the engineers in the executive team is retiring so they promoted an assistant engineer and offered that spot to me. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know myself, but it happened.”

“OMG! Gradulations!” Luna ran to hug Gastón and Matteo followed her quickly.

“Well, that is awesome,” Matteo said enthusiastically, “I knew you were overworking. You really are an overachiever.”

“The party was at six, I think. I never actually fully read the invite. Hold on, I’ll go grab that real quick.” Gastón said and walked out to the chest of drawers in the hall. He grabbed the invite that had been in the top drawer. 

Nina saw his face change as he opened it up. 

“No way. Matteo, you won’t believe this.”

“What?”

“It is the Castillo House.”

“What, no way!” Matteo grabbed the invitation from Gastón. “That's him? What did your parents say?”

“What is going on?” Nina questioned.

“Oh, right.” Gastón raised his head. “I guess we should explain. So, my boss, German Castillo’s house is like a couple of blocks away from Mom and Dad.”

“Really? But what about it?”

“Well, this is a bit of a long story. I didn’t realize, that it was him, but Mom and Dad always told me, when I was growing up, that owner of the house was a bit strange and if we saw anything odd happening there, just ignore it and not to get involved.”

“How did Isla and Marco think he was odd?” Nina still did not fully follow all of this, “You work for him. Should I be concerned?”

“Yeah, how did they react?” Matteo questioned too.

“I don’t think they have anything against him as an engineer or anything against him at all.” Gastón sat down on the sofa. “I honestly don’t really remember and I can’t believe I never realized that they were talking about Mr. Castillo. It was so long ago. I guess it was just about the fact that he apparently had lot of engagements after his wife died really long time ago. They went to an engagement party where he ran after his daughter who ran away, and the fiancee went crazy.”

“Oh, I remember that too.” Matteo piped up. “Dad was invited too, but couldn’t go. Sofia went on his behalf.”

“And in the end he never ended up marrying that woman. He jilted her on the altar. Then he had a couple of other engagements and then some celebration of love or something. I don’t really know how accurate this is.  Mom and Dad never told me this directly, I just heard them talking about it, so I could be wrong.” Gastón continued. 

“Hey, remember that weird flashmob we saw in 2014 when we skated past it?”

***

“Honestly, I can’t believe I have walked past this house so many times, and never realized it was my boss’.” Gastón laughed as he parked the car on the side of the street next to Mr. Castillo’s house. “Castillo is not that common of a name, and I have worked for him for a year.”

“Well, it does not matter.” Nina said from next to him, “You are really sure we should not be concerned about him?”

“Mom and Dad never knew him personally,” he reached to take her hand, “They only really met him in some charity functions, so in the same circles, but not friends or anything. Anyways, we should go in, so you can make judgments yourself.”

Gastón got out of the car and opened the door to Nina and they walked inside the house. 

“Welcome. Glad to see you made it!” Mr. Castillo said as he shook Gastón’s hand.

“Again, thank you for the invitation. I don’t think I am in any position to refuse it. This is my wife, Nina.” Gastón kept his hand on the small of her back when Mr. Castillo also shook her hand. “She is an author and lyricist. Works for a couple of musicians.”

“This is not the first time I have heard of an engineer and an artist. My late wife was an opera singer.” Mr. Castillo smiled, “Gastón, would you mind stepping into my office so we can get that paperwork done.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” He said to Nina and placed a light kiss to her hair.

“How long have you been together?” Mr. Castillo asked as they got into his office. “We are all in first name basis in the executive team. I like to know my engineers.”

“That is actually a more complicated question than you think.” Gastón was bit taken off by a direct question, but he figured that there was nothing wrong with getting a bit more personal level with his boss, given his promotion. And this was at least better than the usual small talk. “Married for six months. That I can say for sure. But how long we actually have been together is a bit more complicated. I could say a little over five years, and I could say nine years. We went to Blake South College together, but after I graduated I made couple a of really stupid decisions. Broke my own heart, but she is a determined woman. We reconnected back in university and I could not risk ever letting her go again. Fate was really on my side.”

“It is good to hear that.” Mr. Castillo said as he pulled a tablet out. “So, the contract. I take it that you read it.”

“Yes, I did.” Gastón nodded, “One of my friends is a lawyer so she scanned it really quickly too.”

“You really came prepared. So you are ready to sign it?”

“I like to know what I get into sir. This is a big ascension for me, especially this soon.” Gastón responded, “But yes, I am ready to sign it.”

“Lets get to it then.” Mr. Castillo offered him the touch-screen pen.

Gastón took the pen and signed the contract on the tablet. 

“I am looking forward to working with you.” Mr. Castillo shook his hand.

“Me as well, Mr. Cast—”

“Please, call me German.”

***

“Vilu, seriously, if there is one thing I love about your dad’s parties—” Francesca said as she picked up another cupcake from the table, “—it is the food.”

“I know.” Violetta agreed. “Olga is the best. This is the only reason I tolerated them for so many years.”

“I have been trying to teach Diego to cook.” Fran continued, “Do you think Olga could give us lessons. I mean, my family owned a restaurant, but we know what happened to that…” Fran’s gaze travelled across German’s living room. Vilu’s dad’s house was decorated beautifully with all kinds of Christmas lights and decorations. The tree in the middle of the room was huge. 

Suddenly her eyes fixated on a brown haired young woman, who was wearing a red dress. She was standing around and ever so slightly looked like she was not sure where she was supposed to be. 

“Vilu!” Francesca grabbed Violetta’s arm and pulled her closer, “Are you seeing what I am seeing?”

“What am I supposed to see?” 

“There,” Francesca pointed to the woman, “red dress, black heels, black bag. You did not tell me your dad knew Nina Simonetti.”

“He for sure does not know her. Fran, he is over 50.” Vilu hushed, “You are sure that’s her?”

“I mean she does look like her, just with no glasses.”

“Should we go and ask?”

“Vilu, are you crazy?” Francesca shook her head, “We can’t do that. What if it is not her? That would be so embarrassing.”

“Girls, what are you doing?” Ludmila, Federico and Leon came over to them with Pablo. “Pablo was just asking about our performance?”

“We're trying to figure out if that girl is our favorite author,” Vilu hushed the others. 

“Oh, the one you can’t track down?” Ludmila asked. “Is she an engineer, because why else would she be here?”

“We don’t know.”

“Hold up a second,” Pablo suddenly started speaking, “It can’t be…” 

“What is Pablo doing?” Fran asked as Pablo started walking towards the woman.

“Well this is your chance to talk to her,” Ludmila stated and started pushing Vilu and Fran toward where Pablo was walking.

***

“Nina? Is it really you?” Nina had been carefully looking around at the house while waiting for Gastón to finish up with his boss. She turned around as she heard suddenly a familiar, buts still a voice that she had not heard in a long time.

“Pablo?” She turned around and saw one of her dad’s cousins standing in front of her.

“It is you.” Pablo hugged her, “It has been years. I almost didn’t recognise you. You have grown up. Tell me, how is Ricardo?”

“Dad works in Miami these days.” Nina explained, “He got a big job offer there in 2017.”

“Well, I see dear cousin is doing well.” Pablo laughed. “I should talk with him more often.”

Nina saw more people come behind Pablo. Two women with black and light brown hair were pushed by a third with blonde hair. They all seemed slightly older than her.

“Guys,” Pablo turned towards the people since he seemed to know them. “This is the daughter of my cousin Ricardo Simonetti, Nina Simonetti”

“So you really are Nina Simonetti?” The black-haired woman asked excitedly. 

“Yes, I am her…” Nina said, a bit taken aback by the sudden attention on her. “Well, actually it is Nina Perida, like this, in person.”

“These two were nervous to come and say hi to you.” the blonde said behind the others.

“Nervous?”

“We love your book.” The brown-haired one started talking. 

“Hey, you have gathered quite a crowd.” Nina felt a hand being placed on her waist.

“Did you get everything done?” She asked Gastón.

“Yes, the paperwork is all signed. The work stuff is done.”

“Uhm, so this is actually Dad’s cousin, Pablo Galindo.” Nina figured some introductions were in order. “Pablo, this is my husband, Gastón.”

“Gastón Perida, good to meet you.” Gastón shook Pablo’s hand. “I can see the family resemblance.”

“Ricardo and me always got confused as brothers when we were growing up.” Pablo laughed. “I really should talk to Ricardo more often, I didn’t know you had gotten married.”

“Yes, Six months ago. It was a really small wedding.” Nina explained, “Gastón works for Mr. Castillo, thats why we are here.”

“So are you the one Dad promoted?” The brown-haired woman asked of Gastón. 

“Yes, I believe I am.”

“That is great news.” the woman smiled excitedly, “Most of his employees are dinosaurs. They need younger people. German Castillo is my father, I am Violetta Castillo.”

“Oh, how silly of me, I didn’t even introduce myself yet,” the black-haired woman started excitedly while offering her hand for a handshake for Nina, “Francesca Caviglia, my husband Diego Hernandez is somewhere in here, but who cares about him? As I said, I am a huge fan of your work. It is really inspirational how a young artist gets her work published while still being in school.”

“Well, thank you.” Nina shook Francesca’s hand, “I didn’t really think it would actually happen, but you can blame him for that.” Nina said looking at Gastón. 

“I forced her to give it a shot with the publishers,” Gastón smiled at her, “World needed to see her talent. But did you say Francesca Caviglia?”

“Hello, what are you talking about?” Two guys came to join them. Nina and Gastón both stared at the curly-haired man for a second… he looked uncannily like Matteo. 

“Excuse me, but you don’t happen to be Federico Paccini?” Gastón was the first to speak. 

Right, Nina suddenly remembered that Matteo had talked to them about his second cousin who apparently looked a lot like him. They had met through his friend he had made through the Eurovision… right, Francesca Caviglia.

“I am Federico Paccini.” the man responded. “How did you know?”

“Our friend Matteo has told us about you.”

“Matteo, as in Matteo Balsano?” Francesca asked. “You know him?”

“He is my best friend.”

“What?”

“Not to throw my hat in this ring of very strange coincidences, but you two look very familiar to me.” The other guy next to Federico started speaking. “I am Leon Vargas, by to way. This is crazy, but you were not in my cousin’s wedding in Mexico a year ago, were you?”

“Are you talking about Simon Alvarez?” Nina thought it was better to let Gastón do the talking. 

“Yes, I am. He is my cousin from my mother’s side.” Leon continued. 

“Simon and Ambar are old friends of ours. I started at the Castillo corporation a week after the wedding.”

“How is world this small?” Violetta exclaimed.

“Oh my god! How did I never realize?” Francesca suddenly uttered. “Matteo briefly told me during the Eurovision auditions that his friend Nina wrote lyrics with him often. It is you isn’t it?”

“Yes, I work for Matteo as a lyricist.”

“Anyways,” Francesca continued, “Would you mind signing the book? It would mean so much to have it.”

“Of course.”

***

“And then it completely toppled over,” Luna explained animatedly as she, Matteo, Nina and Gastón were sitting on the floor of Gastón and Nina’s living room, next to the Christmas tree on the morning of the 25th of December. “It happened right after we had just finished cleaning the kitchen… so we had to do it again.”

“We saw the pictures Matteo sent to us of that gingerbread house,” Nina laughed, “It looked… impressive…”

“I do have a couple of questions about the stability of that construction,” Gastón laughed as well. “But I promised no work talk for today.”

“By the way,” Matteo asked as he sat back down next to Luna after getting another cup of hot chocolate. That was still absolutely necessary at Christmas, whether it was summer or winter. “How was the fancy holiday party?”

“Nice enough,” Gastón responded. “Got the papers signed and the food was good. But guess who we met there?”

“Uuu! I wanna guess.” Luna was already raising her hand, “The president of United states? The Kind of England?”

“No, Mr. Castillo’s—” Gastón knew that he was supposed to call him German now, but it still sounded so weird, “—daughter is Violetta Castillo.”

“The singer?”

“Yes her. She and her friends performed some songs at the party and those friends just happened to be Francesca Caviglia and Federico Paccini, and their respective spouses.” 

“What? Really?” Matteo asked in disbelief, “How did you figure this out.”

“Well, Federico looks quite like you, like you told us,” Nina explained, “And Francesca seems to be a bit of a fan of my book. She asked me to sign it and everything. Honestly, it was a bit nerve-wracking. I didn’t think I’d have fans.”

“Oh, also Simon’s cousin was also there.” Gastón continued.

“Which one?” Luna tilted her head. 

“Vargas. I think he is dating Violetta Castillo.” Gastón explained taking another sip of his chocolate. “He and Federico are also in the same band. We had a nice discussion with them.”

“Simon’s cousin is in All Four You?” Matteo furrowed his brow and opened his phone, “So Leon Vargas? He is related to Simon?”

“Was at the wedding and everything.”

“Anyways… this gives me an idea,” Matteo pondered to himself “I should ask them if they could take part in the new years concert…”

“Matteo, no work.” Luna said firmly, “It is Christmas! Okay, so I just have to tell you what Matteo got me for Christmas!”

“Tell away.”

“So… I took them with us because I wanted to show you,” Luna started digging in the bag she had brought with her and pulled some cards out of it. “So these are like vouchers I can redeem in…”

“Only valid until our wedding.” Matteo smirked. “So she has a year to use them.”

Luna handed the cards to Nina so she and Gastón could look at them. They read stuff like “Three guitar lessons” and “one date night under the moonlight”. They were extremely corny, and exactly something you could expect from Matteo. Gastón thought it was really brave of Matteo to promise to teach Luna with an instrument.

“Very original,” Gastón remarked to Matteo as Nina handed the cards back “Good job Matteo. So what did she get you?”

“A new notebook to write my songs in,” Matteo answered a smile on his face and opened a picture on his phone of a black notebook decorated with strawberry stickers. 

“I decorated it myself.” Luna declared proudly. “Now, your turn. What did you get each other.”

“Well, he got me five new writing journals,” Nina turned to look at Gastón, “Now I will never run out.”

“Well, I happen to know my wife.”  Gastón smiled and placed a kiss on her temple. 

“And you can explain this one,” Nina continued, pointing to her right hand.

“That is so pretty!” Luna gasped.

“Okay,” Gastón said and took ahold of her right hand. In her right ring finger, she was wearing a golden signet ring that had a carving of a rose on it. “So, there is a bit of a story behind why I gave her this.” He looked up at Luna and Matteo. “So, do you remember how both of my paternal grandparents died of cancer while Mom and Dad were still at university?”

“I thought your granddad died in a car crash?” Luna questioned.

“That was mom’s dad.” Gastón corrected, “Anyways, after they died, Dad and Uncle Tomas, of course, inherited everything that they had, which was not much of course, but when they were going through the stuff, dad found an old signet ring, that had a sun on it, from Granny’s things and he did not tell Mom about it. Instead, he got it cleaned up and kept it hidden. He gave it to Mom on the first Christmas after they had gotten married. So I thought, I’d make it a tradition.”

“Aww, that is so cute,” Luna tilted her head and squealed. 

“She got me a watch,” Gastón continued, “After making me believe that I had enough.”

“You would have bought it on your own, so I had to play a couple of physiological games with you.” Nina defended herself. 

“Well, I can forgive you because of the second gift.”

“Uu, what is that?” Luna was jumping on her knees. Almost like the Christmas gift reveals were the most exciting thing in the world.

“Do you wanna explain or do I?” Gastón asked Nina.

“You can do it.”

“Okay,” Gastón got up and walked to get a card from the top of some drawers. 

He handed it to Luna and Matteo.

“OMG! Really?” Luna shrieked while Matteo just looked shocked.

“Yes,” Gastón said as he sat back down next to Nina and wrapped his arm around her waist. “We’re getting a dog after our first anniversary. I have Nina’s promise on writing, and I will hold her to it.”

“What breeds are you considering?” Matteo asked finally recovering from his shock. 

“We have not really talked about it yet,” Nina said looking at Gastón, “But probably a retriever of some sort.”

“You need to let me help with it!” Luna started full on jumping up and down. “I have always wanted a dog!”

“Now as that is out of the way, we should probably exchange our gifts.” Matteo started speaking after Luna had calmed down, “Isn’t that why we are here?”

“Oh, I thought you were here for our company.” Gastón joked. 

“Anyways…” Matteo laughed and pulled a present from the same bag Luna had pulled the cards from. “This is from me and Luna to you two. It might be a bit cheesy, but it is your first Christmas as a married couple so it should be allowed.”

Matteo handed the present to Nina and she opened the wrapping carefully. The wrapping revealed a picture frame and inside of it was a picture of four of them that Luna had taken on, at the time, her a brand new polaroid camera in Matteo’s mom's hometown on their Europe trip a year ago. The picture was on a white background and there was text surrounding it. The text was the lyrics to the song Luna and Matteo had written for Gastón and Nina’s wedding. To the frame was tied a red ribbon and there was a silver pen drive hanging off it.

“That is the official produced recording of the song.” Matteo explained pointing to the drive, “It is officially called Two Hearts, One Story. Like I said before, it will be coming out on my next album, so you can tell me sometime what you want to be said or not said in the song description.”

“The picture was my idea.” Luna piped up.

“This is beautiful.” Nina said looking at the picture frame.

“You really outdid yourselves,” Gastón agreed with her. 

“We do have to admit that Flor helped with the design of that,” Matteo pointed to the picture frame. “It doesn’t hurt that your cousin has masters in art history and that she is dating a graphic designer.”

“Oh, so you don’t hate Oliver anymore?”

“I have never hated Oliver or Jacob or James.” Matteo countered, “But I am your best friend.”

“And no one is challenging that.”

“I think we can talk about that some other time,” Nina said, moving them away from the topic and pulled a wrapped present from under the tree. “Hopefully this will measure to your gift.” She gave the present to Luna and leaned on Gastón’s shoulder while watching Luna excitedly rip the paper off the present. 

“Uuuu, pretty… What is it?”

“It is a photo album,” Gastón explained while Luna handed it to Matteo. “Those may seem bit old-fashioned, but we thought since you will be getting married in a year, you should have a place to store some memories.”

“You can just print some pictures that you take with your phones or use that polaroid camera,” Nina explained. “Concrete photos are always better than digital ones. We took the liberty to start this for you.”

She took the book from Luna and turned it around opening it up. On its first page was a picture of four of them that had been taken in Gastón and Nina’s wedding. 

“I love it!” Luna screamed taking the album from Nina. “I need to start taking pictures of stuff right now.”

“And that was not all,” Nina continued, “You two never had an engagement shoot.”

“I guess we didn’t, what about it?” Matteo asked confused.

The original plan had been for Luna and Matteo to have a professional photographer to take their engagement pictures, but their busy schedules had gotten in the way and, in the end, they had kind of just forgotten about it.  

“You need something to fill that album,” Gastón continued, “So we are going to take your engagement photos.”

“What?” Matteo looked flabbergasted, “You are serious?”

“Yes,” Nina smiled, “One full day, whatever you want. The sky is the limit on the pictures.”

“As long as no one gets hurt, so no fence climbing.”

“OMG! This is Amazing!” Luna jumped on her feet. “Best Christmas ever!”

Luna’s excitement ended up escalating into a huge group hug.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!”

{}

[connordavidscamera]

A Jealous Household | Connor Brashier

A/n: listen, I know it says y/n, but we all know it’s written about me, right? Okay, just wanna put that out there lol

Summary: Shawn and Brian want to have a party, but this party causes a few problems for Connor and y/n

Warnings: angst, underage drinking (for US standards, at least), pining

Word count: 7.5k, she’s a long one

***

“You want to have a party? When?” Y/n asks, closing her book and setting it in her lap.

“This weekend,” Shawn nods. “And it won’t be a big thing, I promise. Maybe fifteen, twenty people.”

“Thirty or forty, max,” Brian interjects.

I can’t help but laugh at that, neither can she as she says. “You know we can’t even fit thirty or forty people in the condo, right?”

“I know that, but that’s why we’ll have some of them in the backyard too.”

“So what’s the party even for?” She asks, leaning into my side. On instinct, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. 

They both shrug, “A house warming party? Does that still count if we’ve lived here for almost two months?” Shawn questions. 

She shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t see why we couldn’t have one. We just have to be considerate of our neighbors. And nobody’s allowed in my room. If there’s alcohol, I’m not chancing anyone going into my room for a sloppy fuck.”

Shawn laughs, “So your sloppy fuck is gonna be in Connor’s room then?”

I roll my eyes at the comment. Shawn and Brian love to tease me about my crush on y/n. They have since the beginning. Shawn’s taunts are light hearted, but they’re plentiful now that we all live together. Brian’s at times feel almost malicious. But Brian also isn’t aware that I still have a crush on her, he thinks the feeling has passed. It definitely hasn’t. If anything, being in such tight quarters with her at all times has made me like her even more. Watching her move so effortlessly around our home - seeing her do her nightly routine, watching her polish her nails every Sunday like clockwork. I have undeniably fallen even deeper in love with her in just these few short weeks we’ve lived together and it’s killing me.

It’s killing me because we still haven’t talked about what she said to me a couple weeks ago when we were falling asleep together. I don’t even know if she remembers saying what she did. And I could have misinterpreted her words, I mean, she was falling asleep, her words were slurring. I could have misunderstood. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself every time the memory pops into my head. Which is about six times a day for the past three weeks.

Y/n gasps and tosses her book at him, "Asshole!"

He laughs, picking the book up off the floor from where it ricocheted off his chest. "I'm kidding. Kidding. But it's cool?"

She shrugs, "Yeah, whatever. Go nuts."

"Yes!" Shawn pumps his fist in the air before high fiving Brian. 

"We gotta get alcohol."

"Ah, wait. Before you two go broke buying drinks for the party, remember that we have bills to pay. So save us all a headache and make it BYOB."

Brian snaps and points at her with a click of his tongue. "This is why we keep you around."

She laughs, "Oh is that why?"

"Indeed," he nods.

"Okay, well can I have my book back, please?"

"Yeah, here," Shawn leans over the coffee table to hand it to her before disappearing to his room, Brian heading to the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" I ask, not looking up from my phone. I can sense that the wheels are turning in her head and she sighs dramatically.

"I don't remember which page I was on."

I force myself not to laugh. "243."

“Hmm?” She flips to that page and looks up at my side profile. “How’d you know that?”

I shrug, “I always memorize the page you’re on before you close the book, just in case.”

She smiles sheepishly and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “You’re cute,” she whispers before turning her attention back to the page in front of her and resting her head in the crook of my neck.

I squeeze her shoulder hoping she doesn’t look up and notice the growing blush on my cheeks, “You’re cuter.”

---

“Do you have any idea who’s coming to this?” Y/n asks as we move a cooler out to the backyard.

I shake my head, “Not really. I think Matt and his girlfriend, honestly, I have no idea. It’s Shawn, so there’s bound to be more people than we’re anticipating.”

“Lots of girls then.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, setting the cooler down, providing her with my undivided attention (which she has always had). 

“He’s making a name for himself out here. Playing a few more gigs than at home. I noticed at the last one, he’s got a few groupies.”

I chuckle, “Oh really?”

She nods, “There were like five girls there just holding onto his every word. It was actually pretty cool to watch. But he got nervous. Started fidgeting with his necklace, so I had to get him out of there, which of course resulted in death glares from his adoring fans.”

“What? What do you mean? Death glares towards you?”

Y/n laughs, fixing the collar of her shirt that’s falling off her shoulder. “Yeah. I think they thought there was more there than there is,” she shrugs, “And if looks could kill, I would be dead five times over.”

I shake my head, I don’t like that thought, and I say as much. “I don’t like that thought.”

“What? Shawn having groupies?”

“No, girls staring daggers at you because you’re friends with him.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

I know it’s not, but the thought of someone not liking her is appalling to me. “I still don’t like it.”

“Is it because if something happened to me you’d be left to live alone with Shawn and Brian? Because that would make me sad too.”

I force a laugh, “That, and I’d be bored without you.”

She nods understandingly, “I get it. I am the light of your life,” she teases.

You are, I think to myself. “Yeah, yeah,” I say instead, stepping forward, wrapping my arm around her waist. “Let’s get inside, it’s hot as hell out here.”

Shawn and Brian are sitting on the floor in front of the TV, trying to get the wifi hooked up to it. We barely got wifi installed at the beginning of the week, but we’ve all been so busy, we haven’t had the chance to get everything hooked up to it. 

“It’s not working!” Brian complains, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Well try again! That’s what the router says.” Shawn counters back.

“Let me see that,” Brian snatches the router out of his hands. “Dumbass! You’re reading me the product number! Not the fucking password!”

Y/n and I hide our faces to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter, but we both break when Shawn pouts when Brian puts the router back in his hands after successfully connecting the TV.

“Oh, what’s with the pouty face, rockstar?” y/n asks.

“Brian’s a dick,” he mutters, which causes Brian to punch his shoulder.

“Ow!” Shawn exclaims, reaching to hold his arm. “That hurt!”

“It was supposed to. Want me to do it again?”

“Craigen,” y/n shakes her head and before I can protest, she’s out of my grasp and I suddenly feel lonely without her body next to mine. “No more fighting.”

“Just one time in the face,” he tries to reason. “Just once. Come on, it’s a long time coming. I’ve wanted to punch him in the face since we were kids.”

“No,” she squats down behind Shawn, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against his. I watch Shawn fall into her touch and I’m envious of him. Even though she holds onto me in the exact same way, almost daily, she isn’t right now and it makes me long for it. Especially when I watch her start to massage his scalp and he hums because her head scratches feel like you’re in heaven. “You can’t punch him in the face. That’s the money maker,” she squishes his cheeks with her free hand and speaks in a mock baby voice, “And if he’s got a black eye how will he charm girls with his pretty face tonight?”

Shawn laughs and pushes her hand away, but he reaches back and pats her calf. “Sit down,” he says and she obliges, her legs spreading and bracketing Shawn’s. He falls back into her and takes her hand that was just squeezing him and brings it to his lips to kiss her knuckles before bringing it to his hair as well. “More head scratches.”

She rolls her eyes, but continues anyway. “So fucking needy.”

He hums, “Could fall asleep like this.”

She hums too and looks up at me with a smile that melts my heart, “Connor does all the time.”

I nod, “I do. Feels good. Your hands are magic.”

“How magic? Like you could get me off in three seconds?”

“Brian!” I growl. Yep, we can always count on him to ruin the mood.

But y/n’s laughing, “I’m sure I could, I mean, if you ask your first girlfriend, you only last five so I don’t think it’ll be difficult,” she answers.

Shawn’s hysterical in y/n’s arms, as am I as I fall to the floor, clutching my stomach. But Brian? Brian is livid.

“I can’t believe she told you that! She said she wouldn’t tell anyone!”

This only makes Shawn and I laugh harder. “Wait, did that actually happen?” I ask between fits. “Craigen, come on,” I groan when he’s silent. “Five seconds?”

“It was our first time!”

“And last, apparently,” y/n comments.

“Shut up!” he groans. “Fuck, I can’t stand you.”

She nods, “I know.”

“No, but seriously, when did she tell you that?”

Y/n breaks out into a wide grin. “She didn’t. But you just did. Thanks for that.”

He’s speechless. Absolutely speechless. And his face is so red; I don’t know if it’s in anger or embarrassment, but either way, Shawn pipes up. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, my first time I only lasted like twenty seconds.”

“I lasted fifteen,” I confirm, but I immediately regret it when y/n’s face morphs into one of confusion. 

Oh, oh fuck. I never told her that I-

“Wait, you’ve had sex?”

“You didn’t know?” Shawn questions, looking back at her.

She shakes her head, “I guess not.”

I sigh and scratch the back of my head, “Yeah. It was… during that time where we weren’t really talking,” I mumble.

She nods slowly, scoffing, and I can’t quite pin her emotion, but it’s definitely a cross between anger and… is that jealousy? “Ah, good ol’ McKenzie,” she mutters under her breath. She exhales deeply out her nose and focuses her attention back to playing with Shawn’s hair. 

“I would have told-”

“We weren’t talking. I know,” she cuts me off. “And it’s none of my business. It wasn’t then, and it’s not now either.”

“Oh, right. Okay,” I nod once. “New subject.”

---

We’re tiptoeing around each other the rest of the day. Or more so, I’m tiptoeing around her. She somehow is coming off as completely unbothered, but at the same time completely bothered. I don’t know what to make of this situation. I don’t know if I should apologize for not telling her, or if she even wants me to apologize. I don’t know and it’s killing me not knowing what I can do to make this better for us tonight.

I’m helping Brian pour more ice into the cooler we have in the kitchen when she walks out of her room. “Where’s Shawn?” she asks.

I look up at her and my heart stops for a moment. She’s wearing red, my heart never knows what to do when she wears that color. Does it stop? Does it speed up? Yes. 

“He went to his car to get the beer we got this afternoon,” Brian answers, closing the lid. 

SHe nods, “I’ll go help him.”

I watch as she leaves, not taking a full breath until the door shuts behind her. 

“She still mad at you?” 

I shake my head, “I don’t know. I don’t even know if she is mad at me.”

“Well, it’s y/n. You kept something from her for almost three years. I’m willing to bet she’s a little upset.”

I sigh, “Yeah, I know. But I mean, how was I supposed to tell her. She would barely even look at me during that time, so -”

“Yeah, because McKenzie was a bitch to her. How was she supposed to look at you when she was practically threatened or called out or god know what when you weren’t listening. I’d hate to know what she actually said when none of us were there to listen.”

I exhale deeply. I know my ex was the worst to her - she’s the entire reason y/n and I weren’t talking. She told me not to hang out with her as much, so I didn’t (also because I was trying to prove to Brian that I didn’t have feelings for y/n anymore. That was a mistake.) “So, I should apologize.”

Brian shrugs, “We all know you’re gonna apologize. You can’t stand it when she’s mad at you. Honestly, we can’t either. We have no idea what to do when you two aren’t talking. And since we all live together now, it’ll be even more awkward for you two to not talk.”

I nod, “Yeah. I know. I’ll apologize later. You should go get ready. I can finish up out here.”

Brian claps my shoulder, “Thanks, man. I’ll be quick.” He disappears at the same time Shawn and y/n walk in the front door with the drinks. I make my way over to them.

“Here, let me get that for you,” I tell her, reaching to take the cases from her hands.

“Oh, it’s okay. I got it. You want these inside or out, rockstar?”

“In the fridge, in the back. Gotta keep the good stuff for us.” Shawn hands me a pottle of vodka, “Put this in the freezer? I got it for y/n, I’m gonna make her a new drink.”

“You’re gonna risk giving her alcohol poisoning?” I question, raising one eyebrow at him.

He rolls his eyes, “I’ve gotten better at making drinks, dickhead.”

I laugh and hold my hands up in surrender, “Alright, sure.”

“I’m gonna put these in my room for now, and then I’m gonna get ready.”

“Brian’s in the shower, you can use my bathroom,” I say as y/n moves past us to the kitchen. 

“Good looking out, thanks.”

And now it’s just me and her. It’s like any normal day. So why is my heart beating so quickly?

I watch her move some things around in the fridge to make room for the drinks, and I can’t help but smile. “You look pretty tonight,” I tell her, leaning against the counter.

She looks over at me and smiles softly, “Thanks.”

I clear my throat, “Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” she turns her attention back to her task at hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks, closing the fridge.

“For not telling you that I slept with her.”

“Oh,” she nods. “It’s fine. It really is not any of my business who you have and haven’t slept with.”

“Well maybe not, but you are my best friend, and we tell each other everything. I know if we were on better terms when you were dating Noah, you would have told me that you-”

“I didn’t tell you because we didn’t sleep together.”

“What?” I stare at her with wide eyes. 

“Noah and I didn’t sleep together.”

“But I thought-”

“You assumed. But no, it didn’t happen. I wasn’t ready. I mean, I barely let him kiss me, so how the hell was I gonna sleep with him?”

I nod because I don’t know what else to do or even say. She’s right, I just assumed that they had sex because he always had his hands all over her. I almost scoff at the thought. I hated watching him hold her in the hallway, his hands in her back pockets as he pulled her closer to him. Seeing them together everyday made my heart clench every time because it should have been me. I wonder if that’s how she felt when I had a girlfriend. 

“Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? So, let’s just drop it. It’s not like I’m mad you had sex, I was just surprised to find out this way, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I get it. And I would have told you sooner, but there really was never a time, you know? And it was just with her a couple times, nothing since.”

“Connor, you really don’t need to explain it to me. Actually, if we could just stop talking about her all together, that’d be great.”

“No, yeah. Of course. It’s dropped.”

She nods, “Okay, good. So, you should go get dressed.”

“What do you mean? I’m wearing this,”  I gesture to my torn t-shirt and my sweatpants with paint stains up and down the legs from when we painted the living room a few weeks ago. I’m totally joking, but I want to see her reaction anyway.

She looks me up and down and scoffs, “Yeah, no. Go change. You’re not wearing that.”

I pout dramatically, “Why not?”

“One, those pants are a mess. Two, you know you run hot when you drink, so why would you wear sweatpants? And three, that shirt is literally falling apart. You are not wearing that, go change.”

I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips because just like that we’re back to normal. “Okay, I’m going. Do you have something you’d like for me to wear?”

“Yes, your black pants with the white tank top and your peachy cream shirt. The one you wore for our graduation party.”

I nod, “Yes, ma’am. You wanna do my hair?”

“Come find me when you’re done, and I’ll see what I can do.”

---

I’m talking to my friend Will out in the backyard as the party becomes bigger than anticipated. Yeah, definitely called that situation. 

“Bro, I wish I would have saved up more so I could have gotten a place like you guys did. I emailed my roommate last week to see what he wanted to get for the dorm and he straight up said, ‘I don’t plan to be roommates long, so nothing.’”

I can’t help but laugh, “Hey, we’d take you in over Brian, but he’d throw a bitch fit.”

He laughs too, twisting the cap off his beer. “So what’s it like living with y/n? Everything good?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. She knows how to run a household. She made a chore chart that goes on the fridge. Shawn had to beg her to take it down for the party because he was embarrassed.”

“Sounds like y/n. But that’s not what I meant.”

I take a swig of my beer and shrug, “There’s nothing else to say really. She’s nice to live with.”

“No progression between you two.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, right. Because you’re not in love with her, right.”

“Will, come on. Not tonight.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. We’re not in a teasing mood tonight.”

Or ever. Will is a great friend of mine, and I would take a bullet for him, but he asks me for y/n updates every time we’re together, and I never have any for him. When I told him we were moving in together, he was stoked, but less so when I told him we were moving with Shawn and Brian too. 

He - like Shawn - is an avid supporter of us getting together. Will found out about my so-called crush one night in high school, actually a couple weeks after my breakup with McKenzie. Y/n and I still weren’t talking. I was trying to mend things and  she was trying to push me further away. I don’t remember much of the night he found out because I got shit faced drunk, but I somehow admitted to him that I had feelings for her and he’s convinced himself that he knows the biggest secret in the world. He treats it like he holds the key to the universe. If anyone wants us together more than I do, it’s him.

“Just don’t want to risk her hearing anything,” I tell him. “I already made things awkward earlier.”

“What? How?”

I shake my head, “Let it slip that Kenz and I slept together.”

He blanches. “She didn’t know?!”

I shake my head, “No. I never found the right time to tell her. But she keeps saying it isn’t her business, so I don’t know if that means she’s hurt by it or if I’m imagining it because right now it seems like she doesn’t really care. But - I don’t know, I want her to, I guess.” 

He smirks, “She cares.”

“I don’t know,” I mutter, looking inside, lifting my bottle up to my lips, but halting when I see her standing near the sliding glass door with - “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?” Will asks, turning toward the door. “What hap - is that? Wait, is that Noah? What is he doing here?”

My jaw clenches, just like the grip around the bottle in my hand. “Better question, why the hell is he so close to her?”

Will sucks in a breath, “Are they still friends?”

I don’t answer him because I don’t know. I’m 99% sure they aren’t, but that 1% that says yes is simply because I’m watching them right now and she’s hugging him and letting him kiss her cheek before he pulls away. “I didn’t think they were. She hasn’t brought him up since the breakup.”

I don’t take my eyes off them as I start chugging the rest of my beer. It was still pretty full, but at this moment, I need to finish it because I need something stronger. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” I mutter, tossing my bottle in the trashcan near the cooler. I walk inside, but neither of them notice me. I shake my head and walk to Shawn’s room where he hid most of the hard stuff. I find the bottle of tequila that he stashed because he knew if he put it out, it’d go fast. I twist the top off and take, maybe a little more than a shot. I cough into my elbow when I pull the bottle back because wow he got the strong stuff.

Shaking my head, I close the bottle back up and sneak out of Shawn’s room. When I enter the living room, they’re still standing there talking. Or, he’s talking, she’s nodding at something he’s saying. I click my tongue and walk into the kitchen to grab another beer. SHould I be mixing my alcohol? No, I should not. Is that going to stop me? No, it is not. 

My girl’s ex-boyfriend is over there talking to her and touching her like they’re best buds and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand him. 

I still remember the day she told us that she was going on a date with him. 

All four of us are sitting in our usual booth at the diner, everything seems to be going like it always has. Just us four, laughing and making our weekend plans. The difference though is that y/n and I aren’t sitting shoulder to shoulder right now. She’s pushed against the window, and I’m toward about as far left as I can get without it being noticeable, or falling. 

“So, we’re aiming for Saturday afternoon, right? Y/n, you’ll ride with me?” Shawn asks.

“Oh,” she sits up straight, “um, could we maybe do it on Sunday instead? I kind of already have plans on Saturday.”

“What?” Brian furrows his brows, “Without us?”

She nods, “Yeah,” she takes in a sharp breath beside me. “I um… I kinda, I have a date.”

At that exact moment, our heads whip in her direction - I’m pretty sure if I turned any faster I would have given myself whiplash.

“A date?” I ask as calmly as I can.

“With who?” Shawn questions.

She shrugs, “You know that guy Noah? I have him in like all of my AP classes? He asked me out after class this morning.”

I don’t think I can clench my jaw any harder. Noah. I hate him. I’ve never personally met him, but I hate him. “Cool,” I mutter, turning my head back to the table to reach for my drink. 

“Well?” Shawn prompts. “What are you gonna do? Where is he taking you?”

She clasps her hands in her lap and shrugs again. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me. Said he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Ooh, romantic,” Brian teases.

“You hate surprises,” I mumble into my cup.

Y/n clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s just one date. Not a big deal.”

“Okay, sure,” Brian says. “So Sunday then?”

“And you’ll tell us all about it?”

“Sure.”

There are very few times that I wish I was deaf, but that day was one of them. I didn’t sleep that whole night. I couldn’t. And the night of her date? Forget it. I was up all night wondering what was happening. Did he hold her hand? Did he hug her? Did that bastard take her first kiss? The first kiss that was supposed to belong to me? 

And right now, as I watch him reach for her elbow again, I decide, fuck it. I don’t care if I look like a jealous asshole, I’m taking my girl away from him. I stride over to them and place my hand on her hip, “Hey, baby. Can you help me find the bottle opener? I can’t remember what drawer you put it in the other day, and I think my eyes are failing me.”

She shakes her head, “Um, yeah. It should be in the drawer closest  to the fridge.”

“I checked there, please, come help me look.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to Noah who is staring daggers at my hand on her hip. I smirk. “Noah, it was good catching up with you. I’ll find you later. I’m gonna help him out.”

He looks back up at her and forces a smile, “Sure. Sounds good. Save me dance?”

Over my dead body. “Come on, baby,” I say, guiding her toward the kitchen.

She steps in front of me, mumbling a couple excuse me’s to the people blocking the kitchen. Then she b-line’s to the drawer closer to the fridge, which I definitely did not check because I wasn’t really looking for the bottle opener. I just needed an excuse to get her away from Noah.

“Here,” she holds it out to me. “Wait, I thought Shawn got twist tops.” She takes the bottle from my hand and laughs, “Bub, it twists off.” She says, taking the cap off the bottle. 

“Oh,” I chuckle. I knew it was a twist top, again, I just needed an excuse to get her away. “Whoopsies?” 

She puts the bottle opener back in the drawer and leans against the counter. “You having fun?”

I shrug, “I’m alright. So um… Noah’s here.”

Y/n nods slowly, “Yeah, he is.”

“Kinda weird that he showed up after we just talked about him,” I mutter.

“Yeah, I guess. He just tagged along with one of his friends.”

I nod, “Mhm. You two looked pretty cozy.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Nothing. Just, I mean, I haven’t heard you talk about him since the breakup,” I take a sip of the beer in my hand. “I didn’t realize you two were still so close.”

She tilts her head at me, “We’re not. We were just catching up. He didn’t know that I lived here too.”

“Uh-huh, so you haven’t talked to him recently?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s with the third degree, huh?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I mutter.

“No, Connor. I haven’t talked to him recently. In fact, I haven’t talked to him since the breakup. But what does that matter? Why does it matter who I do and do not talk to?”

“I just think it’s a little strange that he came here tonight.”

“Well, I didn’t invite him, if that’s what you’re insinuating. He came with a friend. He didn’t even know it was our party, or our house. He just showed up.”

“So he crashed it. Classy.”

“What is your deal?” She pushes herself off the counter and stands face to face with me, her forehead creasing as she glares at me. I want to smooth the crease and tell her not to do that because she’ll get a headache, but I refrain. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please,” she scoffs, “you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend! Newsflash, Connor, you’re not my boyfriend.”

I recoil, because sure I know I’m not, but the words spew from her lips like venom. “I know that.”

“Do you? Because right now it doesn’t seem like you do. Now unless I completely missed the part where you asked me to be your girlfriend, you have no right to be upset over me talking to my ex-boyfriend.”

“He was an ass to you then.”

“How would you know?! We weren’t even talking then.”

“Because you didn’t want to! I was still trying to fix things with us but you were pushing me away.”

“No, I wasn’t pushing you away. I was protecting myself from getting hurt again.”

“But it wasn’t me, that was Kenzie, and -”

She groans in frustration, “Why are we talking about her again? Why? I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

Y/n pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, you’re my best friend, and I love you. But you have no right to be upset about Noah. You are not my boyfriend -”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because you aren’t! You like to act like you are sometimes, but you’re not.”

“Do you want me to be?!” I exclaim, setting my bottle down.

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Not like this,” she says quietly, pushing past me.

“Y/n!” I call after her, but she ignores me. I, however, can’t ignore the eyes that are on me.

---

“He’s jealous?” Alessia asks, leaning back on her hands. We’re sitting on the grass in the backyard. It’s quieter out here, and far less crowded. “Does he even have a right to be?”

“That’s what I’m saying! He’s my best friend, but sometimes he acts like he’s my boyfriend and I just - I’m over it.”

She sighs, “You’re over him acting like your boyfriend.”

“Yes,” I say.

“Because you want him to actually be your boyfriend.”

“What? No! No,” I shake my head, “that’s not it.”

Les smiles, “Honey, it’s obvious the way you two look at each other. And you can deny it because you’re best friends, you live together. You don’t want to risk the integrity of the friendship that you have. And that is totally reasonable, but you two need to discuss what you are to each other. Because it’s clear that in his mind, you’re a little bit more than just ‘best friends.’ And well, you’ve always wanted to be more, so what’s so wrong with him being that?”

I sigh and pick at the grass beside me, “I don’t know if he feels this way genuinely or if it’s because I’m closer now. We live together, it seems almost easy or convenient for him to develop some tiny crush because of the proximity.”

At this she laughs, “Oh, honey. That is definitely not it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that boy has been in love with you since before I even met you guys. It’s written all over his face and if you took a second to just stop and -”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, guys,” Shawn says, breathlessly, pushing his curls out of his face. “Y/n, Connor’s drunk off his ass, and I need your help”

I sit up, “Okay, How much did he drink?”

“Like, the entire bottle of tequila I had in my room, plus however many beers he had.”

I stand up, swatting at the backs of my legs to get off any dirt, “Is he throwing up?”

“No, he’s just asking for you.”

I nod and look back to Alessia, “We’ll talk later, Les?”

“Mhm, go take care of your boy.”

“Why did he drink so much?” I ask Shawn, following him toward the sliding glass door. 

He shrugs, “I asked him. He said you were mad at him.”

I roll my eyes, “Well yeah, he was being an ass. But it still doesn’t make sense.If he drinks every time I get upset with him, he’d be an alcoholic ”

“All I know is that he was asking for you,” Shawn says just as we find Connor sitting outside my bedroom door, nursing another beer bottle. 

I shake my head, “God, he knows not to be switching between alcohol.”

“Connor, buddy?” Shawn says, squatting down next to him. “I got her. Why don’t you give me that beer, eh?” He goes to take it from his hands, but Connor’s quick to move it, spilling a bit of it on his shirt in the process.

“No, this is mine. Get your own,” he slurs

I sigh and squat down next to him, too. “I think you’ve had enough, bub. Come on, let me have it.”

He looks at me with heavy eyes and he pouts, dramatically. “Y/n… you’re so pretty.”

“Connor,” I shake my head. 

“I love you in red. God, you look so good. Could never get,” he hiccups, “tired of looking at you.”

I blush, looking over at Shawn who’s still sitting with us. “Okay, come on. Let’s get up. We need to get you to bed.”

He nods slowly, “Whatever you want, baby.”

I take the drink out of his hand and set on the floor beside us. “Shawn, help me get him up.”

Shawn nods, “You got it.” He does most of the heavy lifting, but when Connor’s on his feet, he leans into me, hugging my waist, burying his head in my neck. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n. So sorry.”

“I know, come on now. We’re going to your room.”

He groans into my skin, but helps me and Shawn take him to his room as best as he can, only stumbling once when we round the corner. We push his bedroom door open and walk further into the room, plopping him down on the bed. 

“Thanks, Shawn. I got it from here.”

“You sure?” 

I nod, moving to grab his trash can from next to his desk. “Yeah, we’re good. Thanks for coming to get me.”

He nods, “Of course. Come get me if you need anything else.”

Connor groans as Shawn slams the door shut behind him. I sigh and move around the room, turning on his bedside lamp and going to his desk chair where his outfit from earlier is laid out. “Okay, bub, I’m gonna need you to help me out, alright? I need you to get out of your clothes, I’m gonna put you in pajamas, okay?”

He shakes his head, his pout even heavier than usual, eyes struggling to stay open. “Too tired. You do it.”

I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. Of course he’s gonna be difficult right now. I shake my head, throwing his clothes beside him, “Can you stand up?”

He mumbles something incoherent, but I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere along the lines of “The room is spinning.”

“Fuck, Connor, why did you drink so much?” I grumble, moving to the floor to take his shoes off.

“You’re mad at me,” he whines.

“Yes, I am. You know your limits. What were you gonna do if this didn’t happen at the house, hmm?”

“M’sorry.”

I roll my eyes, “Okay, sit up,” I reach for his hands to help pull him to a sitting position. 

He makes an unnecessary amount of groaning sounds as he moves around to accommodate me.

I push his shirt off his shoulders, it’s almost damp, he’s sweating so much. I throw it to the side, I’ll put it in the laundry room when I go get him some pain meds in a little bit. I take hold of the hem of his tank top, “Arms up,” I pat his side and he obliges, looking up at me with a sad smile on his lips. “What’s wrong?” I ask him, tossing his tank top off to the side too.

“I’m sorry I got mad earlier. About Noah.”

I shake my head, “It’s fine. Lay back, lift your hips for me.”

He lays back, but his pout still remains on his face as I lean forward to unbutton his pants.

“What now?” I question softly, pulling down his zipper, “Hips up.”

He’s looking at me with such sad eyes and it’s killing me. “This isn’t how I wanted you to undress me for the first time.”

My breath hitches, “What?”

“Wanna make love to you,” he slurs. 

I almost choke on his words, “Connor, you’re drunk,” I shake my head, pulling his pants off him and grabbing his sweats to pull up his legs instead. I decide to forgo the shirt because he’s already sweating a lot, I don't want to make him even hotter. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m gonna go get you some water and pain meds. Stay here.” I move the trash can closer to him, “The trash is right next to you if you feel like you’re gonna get sick.

I pick up his discarded clothes from the floor and walk to the door and out the room before he can say anything else he doesn’t mean. After tossing them in the hamper in the laundry room, I squeeze past the group of people still congregating in the hallway. I slip into my room and grab some of my pain meds from my book bag and quickly slip out again to head to the kitchen which is also crowded. I mumble out a general excuse me, and go to the fridge to grab Connor a bottle of water. 

On my way back, I stop and go to his bathroom which is thankfully empty, and grab a hand towel and wet it under the faucet to hopefully cool him down a bit. When I’m back in his room, he’s laying face down on his bed and I stop for a minute, admiring his smooth skin, and the way the muscles in his shoulders tense up when he moves his arm above his head. It’s not fair. No one man should look this good. 

I shake my head, focusing back on the task at hand. I close the door behind me gently. “Okay, Connor. I need you to sit up just one more time to take these pills and then you can go to bed, yeah?”

He groans, “I think I drank too much, baby,” he mumbles, pushing himself up and I'm once again in awe of how his muscles move with him. 

I scratch at my scalp and nod, holding out the pills for him. “Yeah, I think you did, too.” He takes them in his hand and I sit next to him, uncapping the water bottle before handing it to him as well.

“Thank you,” he hiccups.

“You’re welcome.” I look down at my hands as he takes the pills. He goes to hand me the water bottle back but I shake my head, “You need to drink it all. We’re trying to avoid a hangover.”

He just holds the bottle in his lap, not moving to drink anymore of it, so I look back up at him only to find him already staring at me. 

“You okay?” I ask.

He hums and reaches forward. He runs his thumb under my eye, “You got an eyelash. I got it,” he mumbles, but he keeps his hand cradling the side of my face. 

My eyes search his tired ones, they’re glossed over, but they always get that way when he drinks, making his eyes seem just a little more blue than green. 

“Have I told you tonight that you look pretty?” he asks quietly. 

“Multiple times,” I confirm. 

“Good, because you are… so, so pretty.”

I lick my lips and watch his eyes move from my eyes to my lips and back. I take in a shallow breath as he starts to lean closer. His eyes closed as his face inches toward mine. I push him back gently just before his lips have the chance to connect with mine, and I mean just before because I could feel his breath against my mouth. “What are you doing?” I question.

“I was… I was trying to kiss you. Did you, I thought you wanted to - when we were laying in bed a couple weeks ago, you said you wanted me to kiss you.”

“Well, I… Connor,” I shake my head. I didn’t think he heard me when I said that. “Not like this. Not tonight. Not when you’re drunk and not thinking clearly.” I stand up, pacing slowly in front of him. “If you’re gonna kiss me, I want you to be sober, and to actually want to do it. Not just because we got in a fight earlier. I don’t want this to be something you do now and then completely forget about or ignore, or fuck, even worse, regret in the morning. I don’t want that. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve to be led on by you again.”

“Again?” He asks, tilting his head at me. 

“Nevermind. I should go back out there, start cleaning up so it’s not so much tomorrow.”

“Wait, y/n, please. Stay here, please. Stay with me tonight.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t try anything, I promise. Please, just stay?”

I sigh, “Just until you fall asleep.”

---

It’s nearing eleven in the morning when Shawn finally retreats from his room. He’s not nearly as hungover as I bet the other boys are going to be. If he’s even hungover at all, he doesn’t seem to be. 

He leans against the counter, watching me pull my second batch of cookies from the oven. “You’re stress baking,” he observes.

I scoff, “I made muffins too,” I nod in the direction of the counter in front of him where a plate of blueberry muffins sits. 

“Ooh,” he reaches forward and takes one, “Not that I like when you’re stressed, but this my favorite of your coping mechanisms.”

“For purely selfish, I presume.”

“Of course,” he says around a mouthful of muffin. “So,” he says after he swallows. “Does this sudden urge to bake have anything to do with what happened last night with Connor?”

I tense up at the memory of Connor leaning in to kiss me. Me pushing him away. “Maybe.”

“So what did happen after I left you two?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head.

“Well, the glorious smell of our kitchen and the spotless living room say otherwise.”

I close my eyes and rub my hands over my face. “He, god, he tried to kiss me.”

“What?” Shawn chokes. 

“Shh! You’ll wake them.”

“Oh please, Brain will be asleep until five. Nothing will wake him. He kissed you?! Well, how was it?”

“I said he tried. As in, I didn’t let him. I pushed him away before he could.”

“Why? Don’t you want him to?”

“Of course! But not like that! Not when he’s drunk and not himself. WHen he’s saying stupid things like he wants to make love to me, and that he wishes I was undressing him for the first time under different circumstances.”

“What? He said all of that?! Oh my god! Go, Connor!”

“No, not go Connor. Because he’s not going to remember any of this when he wakes up and I’m going to remember everything and have to pretend that he didn’t say anything or try to kiss me. And I’m stuck being led on once again, except this time he lives just down the hall and I have to see him everyday.”

Shawn sighs, “Okay, you’re right. So, what are you going to do?”

“Same thing I always do.”

He nods, “I’ll get my guitar.”

***

Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @magcon7280 @fallinallincurls @goldenflickerx  @myyohmyuohmyy @harry-hollands @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @zaahidahhh @lordescomeback @shawnandconnor @shawnsblue @turtoix @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s @gangofhoes @verlaneswiftie13

[thebigbadbatswife]

Pushin’ Me Away

Summary - Y/N and Bruce Wayne have been dating for a year now, but recently he’s started pushing her away. Convinced he’s cheating on her, she goes to Wayne Manor to confront him, but ends up discovering more than she bargained for.

Warning(s) - Please only read if you are 18+, angst, smut, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, batsuit kink, fluffy ending

Word Count - 2.7k

You and Bruce had been going out for the past year and it had been great. He was sweet and kind and caring. Nothing like the tabloids that had led you to believe. Constantly surprising you with flowers and gifts, taking you out on dates and the sex. Oh god the sex. It was absolutely phenomenal. Until recently that was.

In the past couple of months he only seemed interested in shoving you away. He was always busy. Late nights at the office, he claimed, but the last couple of times you hadn’t been able to reach his cell and called the office, you found out that he wasn’t actually there. Every question was deflected, he was no longer taking you out or surprising you and the sex had completely stopped. Every time you had tried to initiate it, he pulled away, said he was tired and that he needed to be up early.

At first all of it had confused you. Had you done something to cause him to push you away? And if so, why wouldn’t he just talk to you about it? After a lot of thinking, you eventually came to a conclusion. It wasn’t you that had done anything wrong, it was Bruce. He had to be cheating on you. It was the only thing that made sense. Not that you were surprised. You were so mundane compared to the other women he dated, it was only a matter of time before he got bored. It turned out he was exactly like the tabloids had described him. And it broke your heart.

You felt so stupid. You had actually fallen for him and thought you two could have a future. Everyone around you that had warned you about him had been right. He didn’t give two fucks about you and probably never did.

You had spent the entire night crying after your realisation. Curled up on the sofa under a blanket, eating a tub of ice cream and watching bad comedy films. As the credit started to roll on the third movie and you hit the bottom of your second tub you decided that you weren’t going to sit around and feel sorry for yourself. You were going to confront the bastard before walking out of his life for good.

Sure it was nearly three in the morning, but you didn’t care anymore. He thought he could cheat on you and get away with it? He had another thing coming! You set the empty tub aside and got up from the sofa. You headed toward your bedroom, got dressed and left your apartment.

As you pulled up to the Manor, you saw a couple of lights on through the windows. At least you knew he was home. You got out of your car and walked up the front steps. You were about to hit the doorbell when you noticed the door slightly ajar. You gently pushed it open and entered the Manor. You walked around the place to find it completely empty. No sign of Bruce or his butler, Alfred. Maybe this had been a mistake.

You were about to leave when you noticed the time on the broken grandfather clock in the hall had changed. Curious you walked over to it. Every time you had come to the Manor, the clock had always been stuck on the same time, midnight. Now it read 10:47pm. Upon further examination, you discovered a gap between the clock and the wall. You could feel a cold breeze coming from the gap. You went to move the clock when you got the feeling that you shouldn’t be there and that you should leave. If you had been anyone else, maybe you would have. Instead you shook the feeling away and continued to move the clock.

The clock moved surprisingly easily and you were now standing in front of a dark staircase that led down. The feeling from a few minutes ago came back even stronger, but you continued to ignore it as you took a deep breath and started your way down.

A million different thoughts ran through your head as you carefully followed the staircase down into the Earth. Was Bruce a serial killer? The documentaries you had watched on killers came to mind and it was almost always the good looking, charismatic ones. Or maybe this was one of those creepy sex dungeons that rich people supposedly kept. You’d find out soon enough

It wasn’t long before you started to hear voices. It was Alfred and Bruce and they were discussing… You?

  “Master Bruce, I really think you should tell her. If you keep this up I fear you might lose her.” Alfred said as he set the tray he was carrying onto the desk. On the tray was a cup of piping hot tea and a plate of cookies.

“If it keeps her safe, is that really such a bad thing?” he asked as he took one of the cookies.

“I just think you’ll regret it sir.”

“What makes you say that Alfred?” Alfred took a deep breath.

“I’ve just never seen anyone make you happy quite like she does.”

Not that he would say it out loud, but Bruce knew Alfred was right about that. It was no secret that he had been with his fair share of women, but none of them had made him feel the way he did with you. With you he didn’t need fake smiles and to pretend he was someone else. Nor did he need his flashy cars and expensive jewels. He could just be himself around you… or as much as possible without actually revealing the mask he wore most nights.

When your relationship had started to get serious, he thought of telling you. He got the feeling that he could tell you anything and you would accept him. At the same time though, he thought of the enemies he had made and if any one of them found out about you, the untold danger it would put you in. So he didn’t. He kept silent and hoped that you wouldn’t leave. But in recent months crime rates in Gotham had skyrocketed and his promise to the city, to his parents, had meant he had neglected your relationship quite a bit.

He wanted to take you out on dates and shower you in attention, but with his long nights, no sleep and long days at Wayne ENT, he didn’t have the energy. And he wanted to have sex with you. Why wouldn’t he? You were gorgeous and it was mind blowing, but he couldn’t risk you seeing the bruises across his body. If you saw them then he would have to come clean about his nightly activities and he couldn’t put you in danger like that. He wouldn’t put you in danger like that.

At the same time, he also knew there was only so much you could take. If things kept going the way they were, you were going to leave. He knew Alfred was right about that. Bruce was about to reply to him when he noticed his butler staring at something. He followed his gaze and felt himself froze when he saw what, or rather who, had caught Alfred’s attention. It was you. You had found the cave.

Before he had a chance to say anything, you had already taken off back up the stairs. One look at his butler told him everything he needed to know. Alfred had left the cave’s entrance open, on purpose. Bruce took off after you, but thanks to the injuries he had sustained that night he was slower than he would have been. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear your car already leaving the Manor’s grounds.

He stormed back down into the cave, grabbed his cowl off the desk and headed for the batmobile. He had no idea what he was going to say to you, only that he needed to catch up to you.

Okay so Bruce wasn’t cheating on you. That was a relief. At the same time though, what he was actually doing was somehow so much worse. Being cheated on, you at least knew how to deal with that. Him being Batman? You had no idea what to do with that information. It was times like this you really wished Bruce came with a manual.

You opened the door to your apartment and as you locked it, out of the corner of your eye, you saw something move. Of course he had followed you, why wouldn’t he? But you didn’t want to see him, not right now. You needed to digest what you had seen, to decide what you wanted now that you knew his secret. You went to unlock the door and leave when a gloved hand on your arm stopped you.

You immediately escaped his grasp and backed away from him. He was still in his batsuit and he held his cowl in his other hand. He went to walk toward you, but when you backed away further he stopped. Neither of you knew what to say so you stood there in silence, just staring at each other. Eventually the words came to you.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I wanted to, but how could I put you in danger like that?” You scoffed.

“Danger? Did you ever stop to think that dating Gotham’s wealthiest man has already put me in danger?!” It was the truth. Ever since your relationship had become public, the amount of death threats from jealous women, and men, had been ridiculous. And with the amount of psychos out in the world anyone of them could act on their threats. The silence that came from Bruce told you that he knew you were right.

You two stood there in silence again. As much as you wanted to stay angry at him, you couldn’t. You actually loved the thought that he had been trying to protect you. It was more than anyone else had ever done for you in your life. Sighing, you started to walk over to him. You stopped once you were right before him.

Bruce watched you warily as your fingers gently traced the symbol on his chest. Your fingers slowly moved away from the symbol and to his face. They ghosted over his black eye and moved down to his split lip. He looked like an absolute mess, but he was your mess.

You stepped back from him. There was something you wanted to see.

“I want to see you with your cowl on.” He looked at you for a moment before putting it on. Despite knowing he would never hurt you, you couldn’t help, but feel a little bit of the fear that the criminals he faced must feel. The fear factor aside, you couldn’t deny that he looked rather sexy in that suit. Especially with how it clung to all the right places on him.

You stepped forward. With your hands on his chest, you leaned up and kissed him. He kissed you back fervently, his hands coming up to rest on your waist. After a minute, you broke the kiss and pulled away from his embrace, before headed for your bedroom. When you realised he wasn’t following, you stopped at the doorway and looked back over at him.

“Aren’t you coming, Batman?” you asked in your sultriest voice. After months of him lying to you, you figured he owed you this much.

By the time Bruce… Batman had reached your bedroom, you were already in the process of removing your clothes. Your shoes, coat and top were already on the floor and you were about to start on your jeans when you felt his strong muscular arms wrap around you. He started by kissing your jawline, slowly moving down to your neck. As he kissed you, his hands roamed your body. While one of his hands moved up to your breasts, the other one found its way in between your legs. You gasped and your hips bucked involuntary as he rubbed you through your jeans.

He chuckled darkly before moving his hand away. You whined at the loss, but you didn’t have to complain for long as he spun you around and pushed you onto the bed. You sat up on your elbows as you watched in him stalk over to you, not unlike a predator would do to its prey. He removed your bra and made quick work of your jeans and panties.

After discarding his gauntlets, Batman leaned over you and pinned your hands above your head. He groaned against your neck as his free hand slipped between your legs and he discovered how wet you already were.

“Already so wet for me? How long have you wanted this baby?” Before you had a chance to respond, he was pushing his fingers into you causing you to cry out. As he relentlessly pumped his fingers in and out of you, he left hickeys all over your body.

As you came down from your third orgasm, he let go of your hands and pulled away. Your body felt far too weak for you to sit up and see what he was up to now. Not that you needed to as you could clearly hear the sounds of him removing his suit.

He leant back over you and you discovered he had removed everything, but his mask. You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck so you could pull him down for a kiss. As you two kissed, he slowly pushed into you and you gasped against his lips. Once he was fully inside, he stilled and began to gently kiss your neck as you adjusted to his size. After all it had been awhile.

“You’re so tight baby.” he groaned against your neck. Once you had adjusted, you wrapped your legs around his hips and moved your own hips, to let him know you were ready.

Batman slowly pulled out of you before slamming straight back into you. Your nails dug into his back and you moaned loudly as he set a hard and fast pace. Each thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your neighbours were going to kill you for being so loud, but you couldn’t care less. It had been so long since he had last fucked you, you’d be damned if you didn’t relish in it.

He moved one of his hands from its position by the side you of your head and brought it between your legs and started to play with your clitoris.

“Batman!” you cried as he pushed you over the edge. Feeling you tighten around him was more than enough to trigger his own orgasm so you came together.

He gently pulled out of you as you came down from your high. You felt him leave the bed, but before you could mourn his lost he was back with a damp cloth to clean you up with. Once he was done cleaning you up, he discarded the cloth and pulled you up to the pillows, where he pulled the duvet over the both of you and brought you in close to his body. You reached up and he lowered his head so you could remove his cowl.

Now that you were no longer distracted you could see the bruises that covered his torso. Clearly seeing the concern in your eyes, Bruce caressed your face and gently tilted your face upward toward him. “I’m fine.” he said before he leant in and kissed your cheek.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’ve got you in my arms haven’t I?” You smiled and gave him another kiss. “I love you so much Y/N.”

You pulled away from him as you both realised what he had just said.

“I’m sorry, you what?” you asked.

“I love you, Y/N. I have done for a while now.” A big smile spread across your face as his words sunk in. He loved you. Bruce Wayne loved you!

“I love you too, Bruce.” Because of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? Despite the earlier lying and pushing you away, he was amazing in every way. After a couple more kisses, you both fell asleep wrapped up in each others’ arms.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Bonus Scene Two (Gwynriel)

Masterlist

a/n: this picks up right after nesta leaves gwyn’s apartment in Part 24. warning for discussions of sex, obviously.

***

As soon as the apartment door shuts after Nesta, Gwyn releases a breath and turns to Azriel with a wide gaze. “Do I really have to teach you guitar?” she says.

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes. It was a throwaway line meant to get Nesta off his back, and even she didn’t entirely believe it. He moves toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, still shaken from Nesta storming into Gwyn’s bedroom like that. Not that she interrupted much. Gwyn still has a long way to go before she can handle anyone touching her between her legs, Azriel thinks.

He never asked Gwyn what a twenty-seven year old woman was so afraid of sex for when she first suggested her proposal to him. She looked so scared that he would question her that he couldn’t bring himself to poke even a little bit. Not that he needs to poke. He’s not a fucking idiot, and Gwyn’s thighs had been trembling in involuntary fear under his hands earlier. She’s been hurt.

For her sake, he pretends to remain ignorant and incurious, but right now his grip on the glass in his hand is so tight it might shatter. His face remains cool as he pours himself water.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” Gwyn hops up onto the kitchen counter and swings her freakishly long legs. “About what you get out of our deal?”

“I don’t expect you to teach me sex for free, obviously,” Gwyn blabbered the day after they got back from the ski lodge. “You can ask for something from me, too. Even money, if that’s your thing.”

Prostitution was not Azriel’s thing, though he wouldn’t knock it. The truth was that his brain had started turning as soon as Gwyn told him about her idea, and now it couldn’t stop. Oddly enough, this opportunity was perfect.

“Tell Nesta that I’m using you as a rebound?” Azriel nearly snorts on his water. “Did you miss the part where she almost cut my dick off and choked me with it?”

Gwyn hums noncommittally. “Being a distraction from your ex is better for me than it is for you. It’s insurance that you won’t get any funny ideas.” She narrows her teal eyes at him. “If you find yourself moving on from Nesta’s hot sister, you better tell me right away. I’ll end this whole thing quickly and cleanly.”

“Why?” He thought moving on from Elain was the goal, one he was unlikely to achieve.

“You know.” She crosses her arms in an X over her chest like she’s warding him off. “You might catch—feelings for me.”

This time Azriel really does snort on his water, hard. His laughter turns into coughing when it slips down the wrong pipe, and liquid dribbles onto his shirt. Gwyn just sits there and stares at him in vague disgust.

When he’s done choking, he wipes his mouth with the hem of his tee and gasps, “Even without Elain, you wouldn’t need to worry about that. Trust me.”

Gwyn wrinkles her freckled nose in distaste. “I would be offended if I wasn’t so relieved.”

He’s still chuckling when Gwyn says cautiously, “By the way…” She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Did you really ghost Elain?”

Azriel is no longer amused.

“When you said you broke up with her, I thought you actually broke up with her,” Gwyn continues. “I didn’t know you were one of those guys.”

Shame tinged with embarrassment floods Azriel, and he doesn’t have the slightest idea why. Why does it matter what Gwyn of all people thinks of him, especially when she doesn’t have all the details?

He thought he was making things easier for Elain by leaving without a word. He thought she would let him slip out of her mind after a couple of weeks just like he slipped out of her life, and that it would be better than having to hear him dump his insecurities on her.

He knows now that he was only making things easier for himself. Knows that if he had stayed and talked things out with Elain, she would have convinced him to stay. If he had called her at all in the past two months, he would have gone running back to Velaris like a sailor answering a siren’s song.

She’s always been a siren—which is why he can’t regret doing what would have happened eventually anyway. Even without that Vanserra bastard or some other man, Elain could never have been a permanent fixture in Azriel’s life. Little details sprinkled throughout their time together confirm that for him now.

That doesn’t mean Elain deserved it, or deserves it now. Azriel knows that.

But all he can think of to say to Gwyn is, “Yeah, maybe I am one of those guys.” He puts his glass in the sink. “You still want me as your teacher?”

Gwyn shrugs, looking away. “It’s not like I’ve got any other choice.”

Azriel would disagree. He says what he’s been thinking since they got back from Cassian’s birthday trip. “Wouldn’t you rather do this with someone you love and trust?”

“God no,” Gwyn snorts, providing no further explanation.

Azriel can understand being hesitant to admit sexual inexperience to a crush, but it doesn’t stop him from judging Gwyn’s new man. If this coworker of hers is so great, wouldn’t she be able to trust him unabashedly with her insecurities? Wouldn’t he readily accept her for all that she is?

Ugh, he’s been dipping into Nesta’s reading collection too much lately. “Alright, then.” He leans against the counter opposite Gwyn. “Let’s talk about learning. You clammed up in bed back there after ignoring my suggestions and shoving my head between your legs.”

“I clammed up because of my best friend barging into my room and catching us together,” Gwyn defends.

“Your pussy was dry as bread before that,” he retorts. Ooh, now he wants toast.

Gwyn turns a furious shade of red while Azriel starts looking around for bread. He finds it sitting by the toaster. “Can you not say that?” she hisses at him.

“What?” He looks up from dropping bread into the toaster.

“You know…” She glances around cautiously as if someone might overhear. “Pussy.”

“Pussy,” he says again, just to be annoying. Gwyn’s shoulders turn inward in embarrassment, and he has to hold back a grin. Yeah, she’s definitely not ready for oral.

He finds a butter knife and some peanut butter. “I told you to start easy and you ignored me. You tried jumping into the deep end without learning how to tread water.”

Gwyn scoffs. “And what does ‘treading water’ entail again?”

Azriel shrugs, plucking up his finished toast. “Making out, heavy petting, freshman-year-of-high-school kind of stuff.”

“I’ve done that before,” she mutters indignantly. “Maybe not in my freshman year, but I’ve done it.”

He wonders how long ago that was, or if it was before she was—hurt.

“Besides,” Gwyn goes on before he can push the matter further, “I’m not budging on kissing. I want to save that for the man I actually like.”

“You don’t like me?” Azriel raises a brow, slathering peanut butter over his toast. “You definitely don’t act the same with me as you do with other men.” Or at least that’s what he assumes. Up until a short while ago, he never would’ve been able to imagine timid Gwyn having the guts to ask anyone for sex ed. That’s got to make him special, right?

But then Gwyn waves him off and says, “That’s ‘cause you’re not a real man. I knew you before puberty.”

Azriel nearly drops his toast. “Wow, the nerve of this woman,” he mutters with wide eyes. If she keeps this up, he’s going to start regretting ever going to the same school as her. “That’s not what you said when you were going on about how attracted you are to me.”

“I said you were attractive, not that I was attracted.” Gwyn’s blush is more from irritation than shyness now. “You do the job, but you’re no Max.” She giggles at saying his name. Actually giggles. “I’ll only kiss Max.”

“What kind of stupid ass name is Max?” Azriel grumbles through a mouthful of peanut butter.

“It’s short for Maximillian.”

He chokes. “Jesus, that’s even worse.” He’s doing all this work for some guy named Maximillian. Maybe he should just go home and let Nesta give him the beating he deserves.

Except thinking about Nesta only reminds Azriel of what a coward he is, because he fears facing her again almost as much as he fears facing Elain. “By the way, could I…” he starts hesitantly.

Gwyn gives him a judgmental sneer. “You don’t want to go back to the cabin, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“You can’t stay here,” she responds, crushing his hopes. “I have plans tonight, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you be such a wimp.” She hops off the counter and comes over to him, surprising him by grabbing both of his shoulders. “Azriel,” she says somberly.

He swallows his toast roughly.

“You have to grow some balls,” she continues. “Not just for your sake, but for the sake of every poor woman in your life. Also, all this drama is personally a turn-off for me, which is detrimental to my sex education.” She wrinkles her nose. “Do better and all that, you know?”

Damn, okay.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, Azriel manages to say, “Fine, I’ll go.” He shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth and dusts off his hands, heading for the living room.

“Wait, you don’t have to leave right now—” Gwyn follows after him. Azriel is already on the couch, pulling a stray notepad and pen on the coffee table closer to himself.

He clicks the pen. “When’s that library guy planning to take you out?” he asks, starting to write.

Gwyn hovers near him, watching the notepad over his shoulder in confusion. “Um, this Saturday. Just a casual coffee shop thing.”

“Then I’ll see you on Friday.” He scribbles down some bullet points and labels the page LESSON PLAN. “Until then, think about a way to enjoy foreplay without kissing. Here are some suggestions so you can practice.” He tears the lined paper out of the notepad and hands it to Gwyn.

Her eyes skim over the page, brows rising with each point she reads. “Is all this really necessary?”

Azriel remembers how he barely brushed his lips against Gwyn’s core before having to pull away and kiss her quivering thigh instead. He can’t have sex with an unaroused woman, and he definitely can’t do it with a terrified woman. “Foreplay is absolutely necessary,” he says, getting up from the couch and stretching to his full height. Where Elain used to only reach his chest, Gwyn’s head almost reaches his nose. It amuses him for some reason.

“Do you like movies?” he adds. “I’ll take you to the movies on Friday.” Preferably something boring and played out, so the theater will be empty and she won’t be paying attention.

Gwyn’s eyes widen. “Is going on dates also part of foreplay?”

“It can be,” Azriel shrugs. It will be when he does it. He drops a hand onto Gwyn’s head and ruffles her hair. “I’d love to stay and help you study, but I have to go and grow some balls.” He mock-frowns at her as he heads for his shoes and keys. “See you later, Gwyneth.”

***

a/n: wait why do i wanna write the movie theater scene now… pls help me im just trying to finish this damn fic im getting too old for this

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook a favor: @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99

[bluejayblueskies]

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

Ao3 link in source

.

Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

.

.

.

Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

.

.

.

The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

.

.

.

Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

.

.

.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

[iam93percentstardust]

Prompt: tony can’t get enough of Steve’s strength and Steve loves it bc he’s still quite self conscious of his body? 💚

I realized halfway through writing this that you probably meant for a canon-compliant fic, but I was already so deep into the worldbuilding for this little science fiction fic (seriously, you don't even know how much unnecessary worldbuilding I did) so I kept with it

Also on ao3 here!

~

“Steve!” Tony hollers through the communicator. Steve glances up from the board game he’s playing with Natasha and Clint and over at where the communicator hangs from the ship’s wall. He still doesn’t really understand the technology behind the communicators even after a year of being awake, but they’re hung all over the Avenger’s Shieldand he won’t deny that they’re useful.

“I’m here,” he says at a normal volume, knowing that JARVIS will easily pick up what he’s saying and transmit it to Tony. Tony’s just being loud because he’s always loud and because he’s down in the engine room of the ship with all its noises from the conversion of stardust into energy.

“Great! I need your muscley goodness down here like yesterday.”

Steve hides a smile and stands, passing his pieces off to Clint, who’s losing worse than either Steve or Natasha. “Here, you can have mine. Not sure how long I’ll be down there.”

Clint’s eyes narrow and Steve tries not to fidget under the cybernetic enhancements. When he went into the ice nearly three hundred years ago, mankind didn’t even dream of space travel, at least not realistic space travel, and now they’ve got colonies on galaxies as far away from their own, it makes his head spin. Humans have peace treaties with over two thousand alien civilizations. And mechanical body enhancements, meant to augment humans for travel and work and sometimes sheer entertainment, are as common as breathing. But Steve, with his serum-induced enhancements, is somehow still the odd one out.

“You know,” Clint says, “you don’t have to help him out if you don’t want to. Tony means well but that doesn’t mean he can’t be abrasive sometimes.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says truthfully. Everyone else on this ship seems to dance around his non-cybernetic enhancements—and around the fact that he’d been frozen in the ice caps, now stretching as far south as Florida, for three hundred years—but Tony never once seemed to care. He’s thrilled about Steve’s enhancements—no one else on the ship is quite as strong as Steve is, not since Thor joined the crew of the Milano—both because of what Steve can help him with and because of what the serum means for scientific advancement, though Steve hasn’t let Bruce or Yinsen take any of his blood yet.

He heads down into the belly of the ship, pausing once at one of the portholes to look out at the stars flashing by them. It still amazes him that humans have achieved all of this (and horrifies him that they achieved this but left their own planet behind).

Tony’s “lair” (as Clint calls it) is located at the very bottom of the ship. It’s here that Tony holds his court, making sure that the engines that run the ship are still intact and running smoothly, tinkering with other projects that the other crewmembers give to him, and designing improved systems for the Shield, whether that’s comms, mechanical, or even medical. Tony does it all. According to Natasha, Tony, who’s one of the few nonhumans on the ship, was once a member of high society on his home planet, Aur’a, but left it all behind to join the Shield and travel the galaxy.

Steve opens the door and is immediately met with a wave of heat. It’s always hot down here. Tony says it’s because of the celestial energy, that stars run so hot that even residue energy is still too hot for unenhanced humans to handle. Fortunately, neither Steve nor Tony are unenhanced, and Steve would be willing to bet that the reason it’s so hot in the engine room today is because Tony is working with raw stardust.

The copper pipes running the room are too close to avoid bumping into for someone as large as Steve, so he doesn’t even bother trying to avoid them, letting them brush against his skin as he follows the sound of Tony humming. When he’d first joined the crew, he’d been worried about Tony complaining that Steve couldn’t move around the engine room without knocking something over, but Tony has never once complained, only just made easygoing jokes about bulls in china shops and told him that the pipes are built to withstand forces a lot stronger than Steve. It had gone a long way toward helping him feel comfortable in the space and now he spends a lot of time down here, talking with Tony about the mechanics of the ship, even though a lot of it goes over his head.

He ducks underneath one of the pipes and rounds a corner to find Tony sitting on a bench, carefully chipping at a speck of stardust on the benchtop in front of him. Tony once told him that it only takes a miniscule amount of stardust to power the ship for an entire week, which is good because stardust is difficult to mine. Tony’s goggles are perched on top of his nose, giving him an owlish appearance. Steve finds it adorable, but he waits until Tony is done with the chisel before walking over to drop a kiss on top of his hair.

The rest of the crew doesn’t know that they’ve been seeing each other for a month. After their first kiss, Steve had asked if it would be okay to keep it quiet a little longer. Steve’s brain is still firmly convinced at times that they’re in the forties, so the idea that he can date a man and have it be as accepted as dating a woman is still a little foreign to him. Tony had been more than accommodating though, which is only one of the reasons Steve loves him so much.

“Oh!” Tony exclaims, clearly startled. “Didn’t realize you were already here.” He turns, pushing his goggles up to his hair. “Did you get even more muscley since the last time I saw you?”

“Tony, you saw me this morning,” Steve says amusedly.

“Right you are, Capsicle, but I still stand by what I said,” Tony shoots back with a cheeky wink. He runs his hands over Steve’s biceps, making a low purring sound under his breath. Steve just barely manages to hear it over the sound of the engines, and it makes him smile.

Sometimes, he still feels self-conscious about his size. Spending most of his life looking and feeling one way only to change in only seconds had been disorienting, and he hadn’t had much of a chance to get used to his size before he’d been thrown into the war and then frozen in the ice. Tony’s always good to talk to though when he needs someone to remind him that this is okay, that he isn’t taking up too much room just by existing. Somehow, he always manages to get to the heart of Steve’s insecurities and allay them.

He indulges in Tony’s warm touch for a little longer before asking, “So what did you need me for?”

Tony perks up, spinning on his heel and picking up the speck of stardust with his bare hand. “I need your help opening the converter door so I can toss this in. Something must have gotten damaged during the battle with the Hydra’s Scales, because it’s not opening for me.”

“Huh,” Steve says, following Tony through the warren of copper pipes toward the energy converter. He has no idea how Tony knows where he’s going without a map. Steve still sometimes needs a map and he’s lived on this ship for a year. “That’s not something you can fix?”

“Not with what I’ve got on ship. I’ll ask Fury if we can stop in Knowhere later this week. They’ve probably got what I need.”

“Wow, Tony Stark admitting he can’t jury-rig a solution from his lab. Hell must have frozen over,” Steve comments, grinning when Tony turns to scowl at him.

“You shut your mouth,” Tony growls.

“Or what?”

Tony’s eyes turn dark and heated. He slinks closer to Steve, runs his fingers up Steve’s chest, and purrs, “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

Steve’s brain shuts down. “Uh…”

“But not right now,” Tony says abruptly, tweaking Steve’s nipple through his shirt. He spins back around and marches off, leaving Steve floundering in his wake. He gapes after him for a second before hurrying to catch up.

“You,” he says, carefully bumping Tony’s shoulder with his—he doesn’t want Tony to drop the stardust after all—“are a menace.”

“That’s me: mechanic and professional menace,” Tony says cheerfully.

They stop beside the energy converter. Steve can immediately see what Tony means by there being something wrong with it. The converter is made out of some sort of transparent material—Steve doesn’t know what—so he can see right in to where something is twisted in the converter itself, partially fusing the door shut. Even Tony, with all his abilities as an Aurum, can’t reach into an active energy converter without burning his hand to ashes, and the converter has to stay active or they’ll be dead in space, so they’ll have to stop somewhere where he can make the necessary repairs.

“See?” Tony says. “I need someone who can muscle that open for me.”

“Well, I’ve definitely got muscles.”

“Mmm, yes you do,” Tony murmurs. Steve wonders if Tony’s thinking about the same thing he is: that time he pinned Tony to the walls of their shared bunk and—well, now’s not the time to be thinking about that.

He grabs onto the wheel and wrenches it to the left. Tony sure hadn’t been kidding; the wheel doesn’t budge at all. He applies more of his strength, muscles bulging. Under the squeal of metal, he hears Tony’s breath catch, and he grins saucily at him. Tony sticks his tongue out and gestures at the wheel again.

“Come on, Captain Crunch. Put your back into it.”

Steve, having no idea what Captain Crunch is supposed to be a reference to, makes a mental note to ask Tony about it once they’re done here. For now, though, he uses all of his strength and slowly—so slowly—the wheel turns, protesting the entire way. Eventually, he gets it open, letting another blast of heat into the engine room. Tony tosses the stardust in. It flares in the heat of the converter, setting off beautiful gold and purple sparks. Steve closes the door. It closes a lot easier than it opened. Tony hums thoughtfully at it.

“Well, that narrows things down,” he says, once the door is fully closed.

“What, that it was easier to close than it was to open?”

“Mmhmm. Only a few things that could be. Probably need to tell the One-Eyed Pirate though that we have to stop on Xandar instead of Knowhere. I don’t think Fujikawa will have what I need. Steve, don’t let me forget to tell Fury the course change.”

“Got it.”

“And thanks, by the way. Definitely couldn’t have done it without you.”

Steve glows at the praise. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s nice to be reminded that even in this oversized, clumsy body out of time, he’s still able to do some good. “Happy to help,” he says honestly.

They head back to Tony’s little work area, Tony eagerly chattering on about the project he’s working on for Natasha. Steve listens, fingers itching for the drawing tablet he’d left in the galley with Natasha and Clint. Tony is lovely when he’s animatedly talking about his inventions. Steve has half a dozen folders saved on his tablet, filled with nothing but different poses of Tony.

Tony leans up against the workbench and pulls Steve in, looping his hands around his neck. “Now, where were we earlier?” he hums, eyes dark.

“Careful,” Steve warns, bracing himself with hands on either side of Tony’s body. “I might crush you.”

“You might,” Tony agrees, though he doesn’t sound concerned at all. “And I might like that. All that coiled strength pinning me down? Oh, honey, yes.” He shivers, a small delighted smile curling his lips up.

“You just like me for my body,” Steve accuses. It isn’t the truth and he knows that. Tony loves him for many reasons; Steve’s strength is only one of them. But it’s fun to tease his lover and Tony is always happy when he does. He frequently worries that Steve is too serious.

“Yes, darling, that’s exactly it.” Tony kisses him lightly. Steve lets himself lean into Tony’s body a little more, grinning when Tony shudders against him.

He pulls away, tucking his head against the curve of Tony’s neck. “Thank you,” he breathes. He doesn’t know how Tony always knows when Steve is feeling self-conscious about his body, but he somehow does and he always comes up with something that’ll help.

Tony strokes his hair. “Anytime, darling. Anytime.”

[maddiwrites]

The Hybrid (I)

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: The Pogues rekindle their friendship with their old childhood best friend and JJ’s first crush, Y/N. Old feelings resurface for JJ and Y/N, possibly leading to a summer neither one of them could ever forget. Due to past trauma, Y/N is reluctant to let anyone into her heart, but JJ never backs down from a challenge, even if he knows it will come back to haunt him in the end.

Note: Thank you for being patient with me as I slowly write this series. I had this idea a long time ago and I’m not finding motivation to write it but the inspiration comes and go. I smile with every comment that is left on my fics and I’m so grateful for this community. Thank you for letting me pursue my creative writing without judgement. Love you guys! (Also, yes. If you didn’t see my last note, I based YN’s family off of the Gilmore Girls characters. That’s who I picture as them.)

Word Count: 8k

 Masterlist   Prologue 

You wake up to someone falling on your bed next to you with a dramatic sigh. Knowing exactly who it is, you choose to ignore her and try getting back to the dreamless sleep you were peacefully having before you woke up.

That is, until she sighs again. 

You flip onto your back and stare up at your ceiling fan that’s quickly spinning above you. “What, Rory?”

“How did it go with Andre and that boy?”

You look at her with one brow raised. “You woke me up to hear about Andre’s love life? That hardly sounds like you. You don’t care about high school drama or hookups.”

“You’re right,” Rory says. “But I thought I would ease you into what I actually need to tell you.”

You turn on right side and look at your sister confused. “What?”

She sighs. “The cafe’s basement flooded last night. Mom needs us there to help her clean up and take inventory on what’s salvageable.”

You turn back on you backside and close your eyes, exhaling a deep sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Rory says and pats you twice on your covered thigh as she sits up. “Come on. I made you pre-cafe coffee. It’s sitting in the kitchen.”

You throw your sheets off of you and trudge to the bathroom to brush your teeth and clean your face. It’s about 8 a.m. At least you were able to get about six hours of sleep. 

Last night, it was hard to let your brain rest to fall asleep. You kept tossing and turning, thinking about the blonde Pogue who walked you home. You missed how easy it was to talk to someone who you felt truly knew you. Your banter rolled off your tongue easily and you never had to worry about offending him because you knew him like the back of your hand. You knew what he could take and what he couldn't. 

Talking to him brought back childhood memories you had hidden deep in your mind. How JJ would constantly poke you until you ripped into a smile on days that were grey. How you used to steal John B’s bandanas until he was chasing you around his house to get them back. How you would draw a mustache and a unibrow on Pope’s face when he fell asleep by the water. 

Those days felt like they were decades ago. So far away, you didn’t know if you’d be able to reach for them again. If it was even possible to get back. 

You thought about texting him. Thanks for walking me back. We should all get together soon! You had written out. But then you deleted the whole message, telling yourself it was because you didn’t know if he even had the same number. But deep down, you were just afraid of the rejection. 

Its been about three years since the four of you had been together in one place. You don’t know what they’ve been through or if they’ve changed. They for sure as hell don’t know what you’ve been through. You don’t know if they're dynamic has changed. Clearly you and JJ can still joke with each other but what about John B and Pope? You heard about John B’s father disappearing at sea, most people believing he’s dead, but John B holding onto hope that’s he’s alive. You always thought about calling him to reach out and offer your condolences. But for the same reason you didn’t text JJ, you never called. It didn’t feel like your place. They had Kie for that now. A little part of you felt jealous of her, like she had replaced you and any memory of you. She seemed nice, but she wasn’t you.

“Ready?” Rory pops her head in to your room as you slip on a cropped plain white zip up jacket over your cropped black tank. 

“As I’ll ever be,” You say and snag the car keys out of her hands. “Don’t even think about it. I’m driving.”

Rory rolls her eyes. “I want to get there safely.”

“And I want to get there quickly.”

“Fine. But we’re taking my car. It actually has doors.”

For your sixteenth birthday, your grandparents gifted both you and Rory your own individual cars and even let you pick them out. Rory chose a black 2020 Honda Civic for it’s safety features and reputation for longevity as if she was planning on handing it down to her future kids. And you picked out a white 2020 Jeep Wrangler with a hard top that pops off along with the doors for a very open and thrilling ride. Everyone but you called it a death trap, but you found it to be the perfect summer car. 

You park Rory’s boring Honda Civic in the back of the cafe in a lot used specifically for employees. The cafe is already booming with teens and families, waiting for their morning coffees and fresh pastries. Kids your age are running around behind the counter with sweat dripping down their brow bone to get everyone’s orders out in a timely manner. 

In the back of the store, your mom walks up the steps from the basement with two large trash bags and immediately notices the two of you. “Oh good. You’re here. Rory, help the girls behind the counter. The dishwasher’s broken and poor Hailey is hand washing everything. Y/N, come with me downstairs.”

“Why does Rory get the fun job?” You grumble and follow your mom back downstairs after she tosses the two trash bags. 

“Because she’s actually nice to the customers.”

“Treat others how you would like to be treated. Isn’t that what everyone always says?” You smirk. You never agreed with the phrase ‘the customer is always right.’ It’s complete bullshit and being the employee shouldn’t mean letting yourself getting verbally abused by a ‘Karen’ on the other side of the counter. 

The basement is used for the cafe’s storage, lined with wooden shelves Steve put together that hold to go cups, back up espresso machines, boxes of coffee and food and ingredients, etc. Now all the boxes are dark and sopping, creating puddles on the concrete floor. 

“Oh my god. Mom. How did this happen?”

“Jenky water pipe busted in the middle of the night,” Steve walks down the stairs and passes your mom a knowing look. It didn’t surprise you that he was here. He’s the jack of all trades. Owns his own automotive shop, builds a lot of his own furniture, actually cooks a decent meal, and has the same outlook on customer service as you do. He was probably your mom’s first call. “Talked to the plumber. They can’t get here until at least noon.”

“Noon? We’ll be underwater by noon. I might as well turn all my employees into a swim team,” Your mom says.

Steve shakes his head. “I was able to hold the leak until he gets here. You should be fine.”

Steve was the first person that actually helped your mother out when's she moved to the Cut. Six months pregnant, she pushed her car into his automotive shop after it broke down on the side of the road. Their banter was similar to the one you and JJ have. He helped save your mom money by building yours and Rory’s cribs, changing table, and dressers. And ever since, the two of them had been connected by the hip, although they both refuse to admit it. You think the pair are just trying to deny the love they clearly share for each other. And you think the main reason for that is because of the incident four years ago with your mom’s ex boyfriend. No thanks to you.

 “Look at you constantly building your resume,” You smirk at him. 

Steve scoffs. “It’s more than what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes. Steve is the closest thing you have to a father. He practically helped raise you with your mom. He’s the one you turn to whenever a fight with your mom goes too far, which isn't too often but it happens. He usually lets you stay at his house for the night to let you cool off. But he’ll never sugar coat his advice when it comes time for him to give it. Even if you don’t ask for it. He knows growing up with Rory has been challenging. She was clearly your mom’s favorite, or at least that’s what you thought. She has a 4.0 GPA with a realistic dream to get into Brown University and study journalism. She played by every rule, never got into trouble, and spent most of her free nights getting ahead of her school work or staying late at the cafe with an open book from the library across the street. She was an absolute angel to everyone else, making you look like her evil twin. 

You glare at him before turning to your mom with crossed arms. “What do you want me to do, Mom?”

“Actually honey. Can you go to Heywards and grab more coffee filters and napkins. The water soaked right through the plastic wrapping on our last box.”

You nod, leaving your mom and Steve to clean up the basement themselves. Before heading out, you sneak behind the counter and make yourself a quick coffee to go.

“Where you going?” Rory asks as she reaches behind you to grab a banana for her customer at the register.

“Heywards to grab a couple things for Mom.”

“Oh. Make sure to grab toilet paper while you’re out. I think we’re almost out of it.”

“Got it.” 

Heywards is only a short drive from your mom’s cafe. It’s the closest convenient store that isn’t crazy pricey. It’s where your mom gets all her supplies whenever she runs out of things before shipment gets there. 

You use to always come here when you were younger with the boys, each of you, even Pope, stealing a small bag of chips or a candy bar here and there. Little did any of you know, Mr. Heyward caught your thieving hands every time but never said anything. 

The bell above the door chimes when you walk into the store. You know this place as well as you know the cafe, finding the toilet paper and coffee filter immediately. 

When Mr. Heyward looks up from the counter, his smile grows. He can pick you out of a crowd anywhere, but he hasn’t seen you in a long time. Last time he saw you, you had braces and overgrown bushy brows. Now you had bushed hair and shaved legs. 

“Hi. Mr. Heyward,” You grin shyly at him. You don’t know how he’s going to react to see you, unsure of what Pope might have told him about you. 

“Little Miss Y/L/N? Is that you?” Heyward smiles widely, pulling your own lips into a wider smile. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy with school and my mom’s cafe...” Both of those things were a lie. You just avoid the Cut to avoid the Pogues. 

“How’s the fam?” 

“They’re good,” You say as Heyward hands you your bags. “Mom says hello by the way. I’m actually taking these to her store now.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger. We miss your smiling face around her. Anette, too.” Heyward says, mentioning his wife. 

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Of course, darling.” 

Heyward and Anette always had a special place in their heart for you and Rory. They’re not one for gossip, but they knew a little bit about what your mom’s been through and have heard plenty of stories about your grandparents. They always thought, despite your mom’s background, that you and your sister were raised impressively. Anette always hoped that one day Pope and Rory would get together. Everyone always wanted their child to be with Rory. 

As your about to leave the store, the bell chimes again with another customer. Only it’s not another customer. It’s Pope and John B. They don’t see you at first, and you wonder if maybe you can sneak out without them seeing you. But something about that felt wrong. Especially because Heyward would more than likely mention to them that you were here. 

Pope sees you first and stops in his tracks. “Y/N?” 

“Hey, guys. Long time no see,” You smile at both of them. You bite down on your lip awkwardly when you meet John B’s stare. You don’t know if you should mention anything about his dad’s disappearance. But what would you say? Sorry? What good would that do?

“How’ve you been?” Pope gives you a small side hug, then John B. 

You shrug. “You know, living the dream.”

“How’s life as a Hybrid?” John B smirks. 

You roll your eyes playfully and groan. “Oh god. Never call me that again.”

You may be considered a Hybrid by everyone else, but you would never put yourself into that category. You grew up a Pogue, the same way everyone else did around you. The only thing tying you to the Kooks are your grandparents. 

“Why?” John B smirks. “I wish I was a Hybrid.”

You smirk back. “Maybe you will be one day. I hear you have a Kook of your own for arm candy.”

You saw a faint hint of blush on John B’s cheek at the mention of his girlfriend but you don’t mention it. “Sarah, yeah. She’s not like the other Kooks.”

“I would hope not. Her brother’s a dick.”

“Yeah,” They laugh. 

“We miss you, you know.” John B says. Pope looks at you, trying to read your expression. John B’s not wrong. They do all miss you, especially Pope. He felt like you were the only one who really understood him. Of course his other friends are great, but you actually took the time to try and understand his passions. Like forensic science. 

“I miss you guys too. It’s been a while.”

“Well, hey. We’re actually all getting together tonight at my place. Nothing big. Just a bonfire and a couple beers. You should stop by,” John B says.

“Yeah,” Pope says, immediately getting hopeful that you’ll show up. 

Your smile falters. The invite makes your heart swell and your lungs contract. It’s an invite you’ve been wanting for three years. And now that you have it, you don’t know what to say. It’d be different if it was just the four of you like old times. But now there’s Kie and Sarah and although you have nothing against them, you’re afraid they won’t accept you. The thought of your boys picking them over you terrifies you. 

“Okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll try to swing by later.” 

Pope smiles wide and looks at his friend to see his reaction. John B grins and nods, almost impressed that you had agreed. But he saw the twitch in your lips when the question was asked. 

“Great. I guess we’ll see you later then.” 

You nod. “Okay. Bye guys.”

You suck in a deep breath when the fresh air outside of Heyward’s store brushes over you. Your heart thumps wildly with both excitement and nerves when you’re finally able to collect your thoughts. You don’t know what you’ll do tonight, but the possibilities can change your entire summer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You spent the rest of the day mopping up the cafe’s basement and rearranging the shelves. You smelled of sweat and coffee grounds by the time you were done and dreamt of the shower you would be taking when you got home. 

Rory drove you home after the two of you closed up the cafe for the day. Neither of you said much. Rory was exhausted from running around behind the counter and you were too busy thinking about whether you’d go back to the place you used to call your second home.

You took a longer shower than usual, still pondering what your night would be like. Your head was telling you to stay home but your heart pulled you in the direction of the Cut. You yearned to hear about what the future held for Pope, and listen to John B retell stories of when you were kids, and be able to stare into JJ’s bright blue eyes without him noticing. 

You changed into a pair of jean shorts and a plain red cropped tank. Rory walks into your room as your brushing out your hair and looks at you as if you lost your mind.

“Are you out of your mind? You can’t wear that,” She says.

You brows scrunch together in confusion. “What are you talking about? I wear shit like this all the time.”

“Not to the Country Club, you don’t.” That’s when it hits you. Today’s been so hectic, you forgot what day it was. “It’s Sunday.”

Sunday dinner at the Country Club is now a weekly commitment forced upon you by your grandparents. Each week, your mom, sister, and you are forced to spend one dinner with your grandma and grandpa. This is basically your mom’s payment back for sending you and Rory to Kook Academy. Only they actually pay for the dinner. It’s usually the longest two hours of your entire week. It’s hard to listen to your grandfather rant about Real Estate and your grandma slyly critique your mother in almost every aspect of her life. 

“Shit. I completely forgot,” You say.

“Well, you better change. We’re leaving in about five minutes,” Rory says then plucks a gold necklace from your dresser. “Oh and can I wear this tonight?”

You sigh. “Sure.”

You change into a baby blue wrap around dress and pin your wet hair into a half up half down due. It’s gonna have to work for the limited time you have to get ready. After applying a thin layer of makeup to look the least bit presentable, you meet your mom and sister by the front door.

“Finally,” Your mom says when she sees you. 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was Sunday.”

“It’s okay, honey. I just don’t think I can handle another late remark from Mom today.” She looks you up and down and grins. “You look great.”

Despite the many fiery fights you and your mom can have, she is also your best friend. It’s kind of like a love hate relationship. Steve says it’s because you’re exactly like your mom - almost like a sixteen year old version of her. 

You really hope that isn’t true. You’re not ready to have a kid in two years. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Your grandparents are already sitting at a round table in the corner of the country club by the two tall windows that reach up to the ceiling with a view looking out into the golf course. The best seat in the house for the richest a holes on the island. 

“Lorelai,” Your grandmother grins, but you can instantly tell it’s sarcastic. “Did you have to walk here?”

You speak up before your mom could. “Sorry Grandma. It’s my fault we’re late.”

Your grandparents are hard on your mom but easier on you and Rory, especially Rory.

“Well, you’re here now,” Your grandpa says. He’s usually the mediator between your mom and grandma. Although he’s usually sucks at it. “Sit. Sit.”

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, JJ shuffles through his many coworkers with his apron in one hand and a piece of fried calamari from Miss Carol’s appetizer in the other. 

“JJ -” She scolds and slaps his hand away from going in for a second piece. 

“Good evening Miss Carol,” JJ smirks and makes his way to the area between the kitchen and dining room where most of the servers and bust boys hang out. Some of the boys slap him on the back or shove him by the shoulder, chuckling to themselves. “What’s going on boys? Busy crowd?”

“What are you doing here? You never work Sundays,” His friend, Mitch, says. 

Luke Maybank was behind on several bills - worse than it’s ever been. They already shut off their electricity and JJ wanted to make sure the water wouldn’t be next. 

But JJ shrugs nonchalantly. “Little extra dough can't hurt.”

“Well, you picked a good day,” Raymond walks up to the blonde, rolling his sleeves. “You got Kook Royalty and their Hybrid offsprings in your section.” 

“What?” JJ looks through the small square Plexiglas on the swinging door. He knows exactly where to look and immediately sees you sitting with King and Queen Kook, looking absolutely miserable, pushing around your food with your fork. 

“Damn, Maybank. Almost broke your neck - you turned so fast.”

“Shut up, Easterling. I was just seeing how crowded we were,” JJ lied. He really just wanted to see if you were here. And now that he sees you are, he’s a little nervous to do his own damn job.

Raymond Easterling chuckles. “Yeah, I know what you were looking at. But don’t get your hopes up. There’s a reason Kooks call that girl the Heart Sucker. Not even the high and powerful JJ Maybank could get a piece of that.”

The guys around JJ and Raymond chuckle and nod in agreement, hearing the stories of how you’d reject every single guy that’s ever asked you out. Sometimes you’d go on a few dates, trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but then things would quickly become too much, and you’d get overwhelmed. 

JJ didn’t like the way Raymond talked about you or how the others laughed at your expense. His hands clenched into fists, tempted to throw a punch in Ray’s cocky face.  The guy’s just being a jerk because he’s one of the guys that got rejected by you, he thought. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ shakes his head and ties his apron around his waist to distract his hands.

“No?” Raymond challenges him. “You think I’m wrong? You think you could pull the infamous Hybrid over there?”

JJ glances back through the window. You’re looking at your grandma with a clearly forced grin. You’re twirling your hair between your fingers, a habit you picked up when you were little to do when you’re bored. JJ would find you doing that in school all the time. 

You’re gorgeous, he thought. It’s no wonder that almost every guy on this island has tried to make a pass on you, including JJ himself, but his remarks always come off as playful, afraid of actually telling you how he feels about you. His fantasies about you went further than just getting you between the sheets. He could picture getting married, having children, and growing old together. Years ago, the two of you would talk about your future. Neither one of you cared about money or fancy jobs. All you wanted was to be free - of this island, of each other’s families, of responsibilities placed on you from birth. You hold the same values as JJ, and he’s never met another person like you. 

But JJ has a hard exterior. No one other than his best friends know his true heart, and he wasn’t going to let someone like Raymond Easterling find out about his soft spot for you. He would never hear the end of it.

JJ looks at you one last time. You’re talking to Rory, your face in his direction. This time you’re smiling, probably discussing something other than your grandparent’s expectations of you. He’d kill to see that smile every single day.

What’s the worst that could happen? You reject him? Yeah, that might kill JJ inside, but maybe you’d still be his friend, or continue to be acquaintances like you are now. As long as he gets to see you, he’d be okay. There was always the future. But who knows? Maybe you’d say yes? He’ll never know unless he tries. Right?

JJ fakes the same cocky grin that Raymond wears. “I haven’t failed yet.”

The guys around him whistle and shake their heads with smiles. 

“All right, Maybank. Let’s make a bet. I’ll give you one hundred dollars to get Y/N Y/L/N in the sack by the fourth of July.”

JJ scoffs. “You like giving away free money?” He ignored his racing heart at the thought of being that intimate with you.

Raymond nods. “Okay. Let’s put your money where your mouth is. Get her to say ‘I love you’ by the end of the season and I’ll raise you an extra hundred and cover all your dishwasher shifts in September.”

JJ raises his brows with surprise. No one offers to take the dishwashing shift. Sometimes the boys are pulled back there when the kitchen is short staffed and it’s easily one of the worst jobs at the Club.

This bet was almost too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Deal.” JJ says.

The boys shake hands on it and the other guys whisper to each other about how intrigued they are to see this play out.

JJ wipes his sweaty palms against his apron and pushes the door open to approach your table, hoping he can hear you over his thudding heart. 

“Good evening folks. May I take those empty plates out of your way?”

You look up at the voice you know so well and a smile raises on your lips. JJ meets your eyes and he winks at you, splattering your heart in flutters. 

“Please.” Your grandmother pushes her plate away from her, stuffed with filet and red wine.

“JJ,” Your mom grins up at him. Growing up, your mom always had a soft spot for the blonde Pogue. She’s heard the stories about his father, mostly from Steve, who actually grew up with Luke Maybank, his cousin. As a child, he was sent to live with Luke Maybank and his single father. Lets just say, he’s not surprised by the way Luke turned out. “Look at you. You’re all grown up now. Last time I saw you, Y/N was still pushing your head in the sand for stealing her popsicle.”

“Yeah. I quickly learned no one should mess with Y/N and her food,” JJ says.

“Never stopped you though,” You smirk at him.

“Lorelai. Who is this?” Your grandma asks, disregarding the boy himself.

“Mom,” Lorelai gives her mom a warning look. “This is JJ Maybank. He went to school with Y/N and Rory.” Lorelai knew to play it safe with her wording. She didn’t know where you and JJ stood. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him and she knew better than to ask. 

“Nice to meet you,” JJ says politely. “I’d shake your hand but mine are kinda full.” He motions to the plates in his hand.

“That’s quite all right.” Your grandma’s smile is so forced, it makes you uncomfortable. 

“I won’t hold you up. Has your server been around with the dessert menu?” JJ looks at you. “We have chocolate cake tonight.”

Heat rushes up your neck. Not because of the cake itself but because JJ remembered your favorite dessert. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles. It was safe to save you were a choco-holic. The boys use to make it for you every year for your birthday. It usually came out burnt, none of them ever remembering how to properly make it. But it was all you needed to feel like a very special girl. 

“Your favorite,” Rory elbows you.

Your grandma cringes. “Sounds like diabetes on a plate.”

“Mom,” Lorelai scolds. 

“What?” She asks, not understanding the concept of a filter.

Now heat rushes to your cheeks for an entire different reason. “He did. We’re not doing dessert tonight. Thank you, though.”

JJ nods but feels disappointed by the way your face flinched at your grandmother’s comment. 

“My pleasure,” He says like he was taught to do and excuses himself to drop the plates off in the back before he can say anything else that would probably get him fired.

Your mom looks at your with raised brows. “He’s cute, honey.”

“Lorelai, please. He’s the busboy,” Your grandma says.

“He’s a good kid, Mom.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

Rory gives you a knowing grin as you walk away from the table. When you walk into the hallway between the dining area and the front lobby, you immediately feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sometimes just the presence of your grandparents and their pompous judgements can be suffocating. You do your best to bite your tongue around them, excusing yourself when you feel yourself getting heated. 

JJ catches a glimpse of your light blue dress out of the corner of his eye when he rounds the corner to collect the plates off a different table. He looks over his shoulder at Raymond, who’s staring at the blonde watching you, and winks.

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ says, walking up to you.

You look up from your phone and immediately smile. “Hey. I was actually hoping I’d catch you out here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry about my grandmother. She can be...”

JJ shakes his head. “Hey. It’s okay. I work for Kooks almost every single day. I’m use to it.”

You sigh. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” JJ says. “Besides, that’s probably the nicest she’s ever been to me.”

You hide your face in your hands. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”

JJ laughs and takes your wrists in his hands, slowly pulling them away from your face. Your eyes shoot up to his, immediately feeling a tingling feeling run through your skin, straight to your heart. 

“It’s okay. I promise,” He says softly. His voice is so sincere that you have no other option but to believe him. It almost makes your feel guiltier, wondering how much bullshit he’s been through with ungrateful Kooks that it’s so easy for him to forgive and forget.

“Okay,” Your voice is a whisper, taken off guard by how close he is to you and how he still hasn't let go of your hands. 

In that same moment, JJ realizes he’s still holding you and gently removes his hands. He coughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, where sweat begins to bubble. Why is he so nervous?

“So um...” You say, suddenly feeling nervous too. “You going to John B’s tonight?”

JJ’s eyes shoot up in surprise. How did you know that? “Yeah. I’m heading over there after work.”

“I saw him and Pope at Heywards earlier today and they invited me over. I wasn’t sure if I should come or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Because it’s different now, you wanted to say. But you didn’t because you feel like the elephant in the room would only grow. And you didn’t want to admit you were nervous to meet Kie and Sarah outside of school. 

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You should definitely come. The boys miss you.”

You pretend like a little piece of your heart didn’t just break when JJ didn’t say ‘we.’ 

“What time do you get off of work?”

“Around 9ish.”

You nod. “I can pick you up if you’d like and we could go together?”

Your heart races after you suggest it. What if he says no? Why were you feeling this way? This is the same kid you use to make fun of for pouring milk into his bowl before his cereal. 

“Yeah. That’d be perfect.”

“Great!” Your phone pings with a text from Rory, telling you that your grandparents are wondering where you are. “Shit. I have to get back. I’ll see you at nine?”

“See you then,” JJ nods and turns back to the kitchen. When his eyes meet Raymond’s, he’s reminded of what he agreed to. Almost surprised how quickly he forgot about it. You were able to take his mind off of anything without even trying. He clears his throat to get rid of the giddy grin he was wearing after talking to you, wanting to look tough and casual in front of his coworker. “Easy.” He says to him. But that felt anything but easy. He could vomit with nerves.

“There’s still plenty of time for you to screw up, Maybank.”

JJ huffs. He’s not wrong. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You drive up to the front of the country club and park in front of the main entrance. It’s 8:57. You’re early and will look eager. So you wait until 9:06 to text him that you’re here.

You changed into a pair of dark washed denim shorts, a yellow cropped tube top, a grey flannel, and navy converse. You changed your outfit about four times before deciding on your first one, not wanting to look too casual or too dressed up. 

For the last three years, you wondered when the four of you would get back together as a group. You wondered if it would ever happen. And now that two Kooks are involved, you feel more nervous than excited.

You jump when the passenger seat door opens, lost in the depth of your own head. JJ smiles, not seeing your reaction.”Cool ride,” he says and looks around the interior. 

“Thanks,” you say, pulling out into the road.

“I got you something,” JJ says.

You glance at him with furrowed brows. What could he have possibly gotten you since you saw him last? A book mark from the Country Club’s gift shop?

JJ reaches into his backpack and pulls out a plate with clear wrap around it. Your mouth drops when you see the chocolate cake on a plate in his hands, the smell immediately hitting your nose with pure delight.

“You saved me a piece?” You jump in your seat excitedly.

“Had to hide it good too or else Miss Carol would have had my ass handed to me,” JJ jokes and even pulls out two forks. He undoes the wrapping and cuts off a piece. He waits until you hit a stop sign and says, “Open up.”

You look at him and immediately open your mouth. He gently places the fork between your lips and you take the piece of cake off with your teeth. Like a baby.

Your eyes close with pure pleasure. “Oh my god. That’s amazing.”

“Miss Carol does know how to bake a mean cake,” JJ says and takes a bite of his own.

“Another one,” You say, glancing at the cake again. Like you said, choco-holic. “Please.” You say when JJ teases you by holding the fork away from you.

JJ laughs. “I like hearing you beg.”

You slap him in the arm with the back of your hand. “In your dreams, Maybank.”

“You got that right, Y/L/N.”

The two of you finish the cake with only a few bites each. Small but rich in chocolate that leaves you craving more. You were gonna have to meet this Miss Carol woman. 

After he puts the plate back in his bag, JJ reaches for the aux cord, but you quickly slap his hand away. “Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re seriously gonna make me listen to this the entire way to John B’s?”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know Blink-182 is one of my favorite bands.”

“It’s also soccer moms’ favorite band,” JJ laughs at you.

You turn up the volume, blasting ‘All the Small Things’ and point to your ear. “Sorry. Can’t hear you!”

JJ rolls his eyes but laughs along with you, even bopping his head to the beat. You drive with the windows down, dancing and singing along to a bunch of throwback songs with JJ as if the two of you have been doing this forever. 

You pull up to John B’s and park behind his dad’s old van, better known as The Twinkie. When you turn down the music, JJ looks at you with a shake in his head. “Next time, I’m driving.”

“What was wrong with my driving?”

“We’re in the Outer Banks, Sparky, not NASCAR.”

You scoff and follow behind JJ who’s leading the way up John B’s driveway. As you get closer, you smell the smoky scent of a bonfire nearby and eventually hear John B’s laugh mixed in with a female’s. Your smile falters as nerves gather in the pit of your stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asks.

“Nothing,” You say, but JJ easily catches your lie and gives you a knowing look. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Who? Pope and John B? I’m pretty sure they like you more than me even after three years -”

“Not them, you idiot,” You shove him playfully by the shoulder as you two let yourselves inside. “Sarah and Kie.”

“Don’t you go to school with them?”

“Yeah, but we don’t talk,” You say quietly, not wanting them to hear you.

“Hm.”

“What?” JJ shrugs. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you cared about what other people thought.”

“I don’t,” You say quickly. “But they're your best friends. It’s different.”

“You don’t need their approval. You technically were here first.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been replaced,” You try to say it as a joke and even throw a smirk in there. 

But JJ stops in his track and looks at you seriously. “No one can replace you. Not even if they tried.”

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s not a common occurrence that JJ gets all serious on you. Warmth covers you like a blanket and the longer he holds your stare, the weaker your knees become. 

“JJ! Is that you?” John B calls out from the backyard.

“Yeah,” JJ yells back. He opens the fridge in John B’s kitchen. “Want a beer?” He offers to you.

You shake your head. “No thanks.”

For the first time, you take in John B’s home. It looks the same as it did three years ago, only a lot messier. The pull out couch looks like its been used recently with blankets and sheets tossed about on it. Empty beer cans and cigarette butts are thrown messily on the coffee tables and the air smells faintly of old marijuana. 

JJ leads you out to the back where four people are gathered around a fire. Three out of the four immediately smile when the two of you approach them, but Kie’s eyes narrow and her head tilts with confusion.

Shit, you think. 

“You came!” Pope laughs and hops up from his beach chair and embraces you in a hug.

You laugh, not expecting the embrace, but welcoming it all the same. John B’s next, giving you a quick hug and shaking his head.

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you were going to come,” John B says.

“You can thank me for that later,” JJ says jokingly.

“Actually when I heard JJ was coming, I almost changed my mind and stayed home,” You joke and smirk JJ’s way.

“Just like old times,” Pope says, looking between you and the blonde. The banter felt like the yall never separated in the first place. 

“Hey, you know Sarah and Kie, right?” John B points to the girls. Sarah stands up to say hi, and eventually Kie follows her, not wanting to look rude, but stays off to the side, keeping her distance.

“Yeah,” You wave awkwardly. 

“Hey!” Sarah says sweetly. “I didn’t realize you guys use to all hang out.”

“Y/N grew up down the street,” JJ explains and sips at his beer. 

“You want a drink or something?” Pope asks you, not knowing JJ already did.

“No thank you,” You say again.

“You don’t drink?” Kie asks. It was the first thing she’s said to you.

“Not usually,” You say and hold her stare. You try to get a read on her, but she’s had to get a tell on. You can’t tell if she just doesn’t like you or just doesn’t know you. Either way, it makes you uneasy. 

“Here, I’ll go grab you a chair,” Pope says and walks to the side of the house to grab another beat up beach chair. 

As the night goes on, you feel the tension in your shoulders loosen and your body feel lighter. Most of the night was spent retelling childhood stories the four of you shared. Sarah would laugh at most of them, occasionally rolling her eyes at her boyfriend from the stupid shit he would do, although it sounds like he’s no different to you now. 

You talked about the time you and JJ stole a golf cart for a joy ride on Figure Eight, or when you and John B pranked Pope by putting a dead fish in his locker, or how you and John B learned how to play guitar from youtube tutorials. 

Midnight came around quickly and exhaustion was slowly taking over your body. It’s been a long day between the cafe flooding, dinner with your grandparents, and now this. 

JJ was the first to notice you slowly fading. 

“You okay?” He asks you quietly as everyone else is caught up in conversation. 

“Yeah,” You say, lazily grinning at him. 

“We can leave if you want,” He says.

“You’re not staying?” You ask. It sounded like everyone was planning to spend the night here. And as much as you wanted to, you just didn’t feel comfortable enough yet. 

JJ shrugs. “My dad’s out of town tonight. It’ll be nice to have the house to myself.” Before you can say anything, he stands and brushes his hands against his pants. “All right, losers. We’re out of here.”

“Aw, you’re leaving?” Sarah pouts.

“Yeah, I’m beat and Y/N’s my ride home,” JJ says.

You were glad he didn’t call you out for being tired. You didn’t want to look lame in front of everybody, especially Kie.

“Thanks for having me,” You say to everyone. It might have been John B’s house, but it was everyone’s night you intruded on.

John B stands up to hug you. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You nod. “I won’t. I promise.”

Pope hugs you next. “Text me when you get back safe.”

“I will.”

“Bye!” Sarah waves and Kie exhales a ring of smoke from her blunt.

You wave at them before following JJ back to your car. 

“Nuh-uh-uh,” JJ says. You didn’t realize you both walked to the driver’s side.

“What? No.”

JJ nods and holds his hands out for your keys. “I’m not dying tonight.” 

“You’ve been drinking and smoking all night,” You say. You didn’t think JJ was drunk or even that high, but you were not going to let a teenager with an ounce of alcohol in his system get behind the wheel. “Next time. For now, hold on to the cupholder.”

JJ sighs dramatically and goes to the other side of the car and hops in the passenger seat. 

This time you keep the music quiet, listening to the hum of the radio instead of your phone. 

“Take a left,” JJ says.

“JJ, I know where you live. And it’s not left.”

“Don’t you trust me?” 

You snicker. “Not in the slightest.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Just take the left.”

You hold your hands up in surrender and take the left turn. He directs you for a couple more miles until he has you park in front of a 24 hour diner. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask.

“I’m in the mood for a milkshake.”

“We just had cake!” You say.

“Come on, Sparky. Show me what that mouth can do,” JJ smirks. 

You go to hit him again but he takes off running to the front entrance and pulls the door open. You chase after him, almost running into his back at the front host stand where JJ safely smirks at you in triumph.

“Two please,” He says to the hostess. 

The old cranky woman leads you to a booth off to the side next to a window without a word. 

A couple minutes later, a waitress walks by and asks if you’re ready to order. 

“Yes. One chocolate milkshake and one black and white milkshake,” JJ orders for both of you, already knowing what flavor you’d want.

“And fries, please.” You say. The waitress nods, takes your menus, and walks off. JJ raises his brow at the extra order. “What?” You shrug. “Just showing you what my mouth can do.”

JJ scoffs. “What a tease.” 

You playfully kick his shin under the table.

“Did you have fun tonight?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” You answer. “Felt like old times. The girls are nice too.”

You were about to only mention Sarah, but you didn’t want to cause any issues with Kie. Not yet at least. Maybe she just needed time to warm up to you.

“See? I told you they wouldn’t bite.”

A couple minutes later, the waitress comes back with your milkshakes and fries. 

“How’s John B doing? You know, with the whole Big John thing?” You ask delicately, unsure of how JJ would react to you pestering about John B’s business. “I didn’t want to ask and bring the mood down,” You explain yourself although you don’t need to.

JJ shrugs. “He’s in denial I think. Won’t sign a death certificate until he sees a body. He could be worse, though.”

“Yeah,” You say softly. You don’t know what you would do if you were in that situation. In a way you felt lucky that you never knew your dad at all. It would be harder to lose him, knowing who he was.

You take a fry and dip it into your milkshake before taking a bite. This makes JJ freeze and look at you like you have two heads. 

“What?” You say with your mouth full.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” You say and give him a look to do it.

JJ reluctantly picks up the fry and dunks it into his milkshake. He looks at the fry questioningly before popping it into his mouth. Somehow the sweetness of the milkshake and the saltiness of the french fry complement each other beautifully and his widen in pleasant surprise. 

“Oh wow,” JJ says.

“Told you,” You smirk.

You spend the next hour catching up, trying to fit the last three years into an hour. JJ does most of the talking because you want to know more about what John B, Pope, and JJ have been up to. Your life was so boring and depressing, you didn’t want to bore JJ with the details.

You drive JJ home and talk for a few minutes more when you park. He seems to be procrastinating getting out of the car, but you don’t mind. You could talk to him all night, suddenly not feeling tired anymore.

“All right. I’ll let you get home before the sun rises,” He says and opens the door. He pauses when his feet hit the ground and he looks back at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have to work at the shop, why?”

“Well, there’s a storm coming in. John B and I might go out to surf the surge before it hits. You still surf?”

You scoff. “Do I still surf?”

JJ holds his hands up in surrender. “Just checking. You think you can handle the surge?”

“Let’s not forget who the better surfer is, JJ.”

“I didn’t. It’s still me.”

“You wish.”

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Now you have a point to prove. You have to show JJ that you’re still the better surfer. 

“I'll see you tomorrow,” You agree. 

“Great, it’s a date.” He winks and shuts the door before you can tell him otherwise. 

You giggle to yourself as JJ walks up the front yard and stay there until he you see he gets in safely. 

You pull out of the driveway, wishing he had asked you out on a real date. One that didn’t involve John B.

Tag list: @super-funky-bisexual​ @sunsetswithjj​ @moniamaybank​ @throwawayfish​ @poguestyle17​ @5am-cigarette​ @jjpouggues​ @fly-away-from-here​ @buckys2thicc​

[starsstruck]

blue dream

a getting high to lovers if you will (or stonerrry). you and harry absolutely love the time you spend together with your little smoke sessions, not being able to get enough of each other. shared pipes, hummus snacks and night time swims. 

pairing: harry x reader words: 15.4k rated: M (drug usage and sexual content)

disclaimer: i am not promoting drug use. those arrested for marijuana usage and possession should not be in incarcerated. please remember to be safe and smart, and happy smoking.

a/n: hello i am back again. this piece is just all fun, something that i think about far too often and wanted to bring to life ! i am very excited to share it with everyone and i hope you all enjoy ! as always please let me know your thoughts and happy reading ❣️                                                          

                                                           ***

“Brought us a little treat,” you sat yourself next to Harry, smiling hello to him.

He grinned down at you, having been waiting for the opportunity to speak you again and not getting the chance to earlier. “Thought I saw you come in. What have you got?”

Reaching through the bag that sat by your feet, digging through it until your fingers wrapped around the glass container. Shaking it as you pulled it out, knowing that Harry would immediately know what it was.

“Jo gave me this new strain they just got in.” You watched his eyebrows raise in interest. “It’s a hybrid of course. Join me?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Harry smiled, quickly standing to his feet, ready to head outside where the two of you always smoked. His place had a very cute backyard, you had no idea if it was him who made it that way with the little potted plants, or if it was someone else, but you loved it nonetheless.

It was a bit unspoken, that the two of you always smoked together. You weren’t too certain how the tradition started, neither of you being that close beforehand. But you always were bringing a little bit of weed with you when you went out, and somehow Harry was the only one wanting to join you.

Your good friend, Jo, had been working in a local dispensary for over a year now and she always brought home with her new strains that they would get in, or edibles, or just anything she wanted to try. The two of you had studied together in college, always indulging each other with your weed antics. Which apparently still have yet to stop.

Harry had been a friend of a friend to you. You had rarely seen him around, and when you did you barely spoke to him. For a good part of a year you saw him very sparingly, out with mutual friends or over at someone’s house for dinner.

It was only really in the past couple of months that the two of you grew much closer, both finding the other enjoying a smoke rather than a drink, and particularly enjoying each other’s company.

It had really started one night when you stopped by your friend Eli’s house one day after work, having promised him that you would bring by some weed since Jo had given you an amazing discount yet again.

Harry had been there as well, and although the original plan was to stop by to drop off the weed and then quickly be on your way home, they had ended up inviting you to stay for some dinner and maybe a little shared bowl or two.

After eating some salad rolls that they made when you got there, retreating to the little balcony at Eli’s place to give the new strain you brought over a try. You had spent very little time with Harry by this point, a casual acquaintance.

Though when Eli passed out nearly immediately from smoking, saying he had too much at once and needed a little lie down, it was really the first time you and Harry were alone together.

“He always falls asleep,” Harry laughed from across you on the balcony.

“That he does,” you hummed in agreement, your movements feeling languid and slow as you took a big sip of the water in front of you.

Harry was leaning back on a little chair, hands resting on his stomach and legs folded over each other. “I didn’t know you liked to smoke.” He spoke after a little moment in silence.

You laughed, knowing very well that all your friends always said maybe you enjoyed it a little too much. “Yeah, maybe a bit too much. I have a friend that works in a dispensary, she always gets me great stuff.”

“I love that,” Harry hummed, reaching out over the table between the two of you to fiddle with the lighter.

“Didn’t know you smoked either.”

He rubbed his hand over his face, pausing with a laugh. “Enjoy it a bit too much as well. Never really did it until my twenties, but only started smoking more often until a couple years ago. Like it better than drinking.”

“I get that,” you nodded along. “It’s just… nicer. Calmer.”

You had ended up spending a good part of an hour chatting with Harry. The next time you saw him was at Eli’s once again, the two of you deciding to end the night seated on his balcony with a joint being passed around. Since then, it had nearly become unspoken that if you both felt like it, you would go out for a little smoke or two together.

You grabbed your bag, pushing the glass door open to expose a little set up of chairs and a table. Settling into one of the cold chairs, placing your bag on the table and pulled out your little baggy you carried your grinder and pipe in. Harry settled in next to you, ever so attentive as you quickly worked your magic.

Picking up small buds of the plant between your nails, lightly ripping them apart and placing them haphazardly into the green grinder. Twisting it back and forth after closing the lid over the grinder, eyes flicking over to Harry.

“How’ve you been?” He asked, watching your hands quickly work around the grinder.

“Good,” humming, opening up the grinder and starting to fill up the small bowl of your pipe with the shredded bits of weed. “Work’s been a bit stressful lately.”

“Yeah, been a bit since I’ve seen you.” He nodded, eyes already on you when you looked over at him. “Everything’s okay though?”

“Yeah, nothing really knew. Just the same old problems,” grinning at him, knowing full well he’d heard about your issues at work over and over. You hated how much you annoyed people with your stories, you liked your job you really did, but there were just some things that never seemed to go away.

Reaching for the painted lighter on the table, bringing the end of your pipe to your mouth, flicking the lighter a couple times unsuccessfully as the wind blew kept blowing out the flame.

“Here,” Harry leant forward in his chair, body facing yours as he brought his hands up to cup around the pipe. Hands brushing against yours as you lit the plant, inhaling through the mouth of the pipe as you did so.

Cheeks hollowing, blowing some smoke from your nose as you inhaled again. The smoke heavy in your throat, moving the pipe away from your lips while Harry dropped his own hands back down. Breathing the smoke in slowly, waiting a beat until blowing it back out through parted lips.

Wordlessly passing it over to Harry, watching as he turned his body to block the wind and quickly lit the bowl, pipe against his mouth. Wrapping around the end just a bit, repeating your motions as he slowly inhaled with a puffing chest and hollowing cheeks.

Licking his lips as he pulled the pipe away, softly blowing the smoke out. You watched the smoke leaving his mouth, looking nearly orange as it caught the light coming from inside.

“S’nice.” He nodded, not feeling a burn in his throat. “Smooth, if that makes sense.”

“Makes a lot of sense,” you nodded, grabbing the pipe and lighter again and taking another hit. Returning the question to him, asking how he’s been and catching up on small anecdotes since the two of you had been apart.

Harry loved his time like this with you, if anything it was all he looked forward to when you’d come over with your little bag of ‘treats’ as you called it. He had always enjoyed smoking, but just talking with you outside like this was something he couldn’t believe he used to go without.

“You know you can always let me know if you need a little smoke after work,” he offered after you told him a particular story of your stress. His high had nicely settled in, the emptied pipe sitting in front the of two of you as you chatted away.

“I’ll hold you up to that,” you hummed, playing with a ring on your finger. You had never really hung out just the two of you to smoke, this little ritual always happening when you were with your other friends and would sneak out together to get a little stoned.  

A small quiet fell over the two of you, noises from chatter inside muffled with the soft music playing was all that was heard. You silently added a bit more to the bowl, not having to ask if he wanted more as both of you usually smoked about two bowls together before deciding it was enough for the night. Plus, the high was light so far, and you wanted to see where a few more hits would get you.

“Did you want to head back inside?” Quickly finishing that second bowl, pulling the little ashtray sitting on the windowsill across from you, taping out the ash.

Harry was quiet for a second, eyes narrowing on the way you so comfortably worked with the task at hand. He remembers the first time you had both gone out to his backyard space to some, just the two of you, and how you immediately made yourself at home.

“Not really,” he finally spoke, realizing he had left your question unanswered. “Kind of rather stay out here for a bit.” Sheepish smile shot in your direction, watching you offer him a big grin. He could use the nice calm summer air as an excuse, the way he was just cozy enough in his fleece sweatshirt, but truthfully, he just wanted to spend more time with you alone.

“Me too.”

He beamed when you agreed, nodding along as he watched you bring your feet up to your chair, hugging your knees to your chest. “Did you want any snacks?”

You hummed, nodding your head lightly and furrowing your brow as if deep in thought. “Do you have any hummus?”

Harry quickly left to go grab the two of you some food, upholding the silent agreement that the two of you shared. Since you usually brought the weed, he would always have no problem in offering you food, making the trade more or less equal.

You didn’t realize you were smiling to yourself while you waited for Harry outside, noticing that he never used to have the snacks you liked on hand until this became a regular thing.

Harry soon reappeared with a box of crackers tucked under his arm, some hummus and baby carrots for the sake of being healthy although you both knew the extra salty crackers were much more desirable. In his other hand were two glasses of water, handing you one so that he could place the other down.

You loved to watch his hands, secretly in awe but just how pretty they looked. Whether they were rolling a joint, cupping the flame of a lighter, or brushing against yours as you handed the pipe back and forth, you always found yourself just the slightest bit entranced with his hands.

The muffled music from inside was enough for you, excitedly opening up the box of herb flavoured crackers. This was your favourite part, when the two of you sat side by side, snacking on whatever the mood was for the night and mindlessly chattering away.

The both of you would often space out, easily forgetting what the other one was saying and never really holding a true start to end conversation. But you liked it that way, usually remembering your half-baked ideas the next day and texting Harry about them, almost finished off the conversation that way.

“What are you doing Thursday?”

Pulling your attention back towards him, waiting for you to answer him. “I get off work at 7, why?”

“You want to do something that night? Smoke a bit?”

You found yourself immediately nodding to his question. “Yeah that sounds nice. You could come by my place if you want, I live by the water, we could walk out there.”

Harry mirrored your grin. “Stunning.”

                                                          ***

Meeting Harry out by where he parked his car on the street, tote bag swung over your shoulder and folded tapestry to sit on in hand. “Hi,” you smiled, nearly shyly. The long skirt of your dress was blowing open a bit in the wind, quickly fixing it as you joined Harry.

“You live so close to the water its amazing.” He grinned, easily falling in step with you as you led the way towards the water.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, knowing the location of your studio was a dream, although the tiny place and high rent wasn’t. “My place is really small though, but its honestly worth it.”

Harry was only carrying a jacket in his hands, seemingly dressed for the opposite weather that you were, in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans.

The walk down to the water was easy, taking less than ten minutes before you were leading Harry to a little secluded area you knew was comfortable to sit back in. The sun had just set, the sky would soon be getting even darker but a little hazy blue still remained above.

There was nearly no one by the water, only a couple other groups of people who were enjoying the cooling evening. You dropped your bag down to the ground, happy with your spot, watching Harry follow suit as he sat on the tapestry you spread out.

While you pulled out your usual bag and container that held everything you needed, Harry flipped through his music library on his phone until The Modern Lovers started playing, not too loudly. He watched as you repeated the same actions you always did, placing the pipe on the tapestry that you were sitting on, lighter next to it.

“I’ve never tried this one,” his eyes moved from your fingers to meet your gaze. “The strain I mean. Jo told me it’s one of the best she’s tried.”

“Hybrid?” He knew you usually would go for hybrids, finding the best middle ground with them. Only once did the two of you smoke a heavy indica. You had fallen asleep with your legs draped over his lap, head against the armrest of the couch.

“Of course,” you grinned, eyes flicking up to his briefly before focusing back on your task at hand. “Jo described the high as dreamy.”  

“I like the sound of that.” Harry hummed, telling himself that most highs with you were in fact, dreamy.

Quickly filling the bowl of your ever-trusty blue pipe, flicking the lighter to light the buds while you brought the mouth of the pipe to your lips.

“It’s nice,” you spoke as you exhaled, not feeling the burning in your throat that would sometimes occur. You took another quick hit, exhaling the smoke from your nose before sucking in through your lips again.

Passing the glass pipe over to him, slowly letting the smoke blow out of your mouth. Harry repeated the same motion as you, resting his elbows on his knees with his legs spread out. You followed the way his head titled back slightly to blow the smoke out up, lips puckering as it left in a quick straight line.

“Fuck,” he muttered, mostly to himself. The lighter wasn’t properly titled when he went in for another take, the flame flicking just past his thumb. Shaking his hand out at the dull pain of the burn, while rubbing his index finger over the spot.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, moving the pipe away from his mouth and observed the red skin of his thumb. “Just a little burn.”

“Here,” you snatched the lighter from his hand. Flicking on the lighter for him, wordlessly motioning for him to take another hit.

Harry was perfectly able to do it himself, it was barely a first degree burn and it happened to everyone, even the most vetted smokers when they had to tilt their lighter down. But you had moved closer to him, turning your body to face his and your bent leg was resting right on his, so he didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” he couldn’t help the little smirk, before he went to inhale through the pipe. You rested your elbow on his bent knee, bringing your other hand to cup around the flame. His eyes were focused on yours as the two of you stilled for a second – that quick second ending when you dropped both hands away to rest on your legs.

You didn’t move from your spot so close to him until the bowl was finished, passing the pipe back and forth until it was all ash. You sat back around so that your back was leaning against the log with Harry by your side.

Although not facing each other anymore, you still sat close so that your bare arm was leaning against his covered one. The high settled in nicely, both chattering away about whatever came to mind until a small silence overtook you.

“Didn’t realize it was so dark out.” You said, head titling back against the wood behind you so that you could observe the stars. The beach had slowly emptied, the faint sounds of another group somewhere around you but not in sight.

Harry hummed. “The water looks nice.” He was right, it did. Although in the dark light, it was shimmering and it felt like every ripple on the surface was heightened.

“Didn’t really think this through,” Harry suddenly spoke from next to you, pulling your attention away from where the water hit the shore.

“Hm?”

“Not really in the right state to drive home anytime soon.” His eyes were still focused forward, watching the way the crescent moon reflected on the water in front of the two of you.

“Oh,” you paused, for what seemed like far too long but neither of you really noticed. “You could always stay at mine.”

He faced you at your words, small smile playing at his lips and heavy eyes looking into yours. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

Shaking your head slightly, not breaking his gaze as the breeze blew between the two of you. “No trouble at all.”

His eyes narrowed on the way your mouth remained slightly parted, before biting your lips together with a small smile twitching on the corners of your lips. He didn’t think about, or even care for that matter, that he was so shamelessly staring at your mouth in the moment.

Snapping himself out of his daze, small hum with a nod to confirm your invitation, turning his attention back to the scenery in front of you.

Sighing softly as you turned around as well, breeze carrying a soft smell of the water and soil around you. Maybe it was because you were the slightest bit out of your mind at the moment – it was probably due to your feeling of dehydration – but you really wanted to submerge yourself in that feeling the smell of the breeze was giving you.

Not being able to take your eyes off the water in front of you, wanting nothing more than to feel the coolness that it likely held all around you. Standing suddenly, Harry’s head spinning towards you at your fast movement.

“I want to swim.”

Taking a few steps away from Harry, tempting your way towards the water and only stopping when his voice called out from behind you. “Is that – I mean is that really the best idea?”

Turning around, seeing him rise to his feet as well but staying put with his hands on his hips, watching you from a distance. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well,” his voice was slow, and you didn’t even realize he had started walking towards you. “You’re not exactly sober, darling. Plus, it’s almost too dark out.”

He was right about the last part, the only real source of light right now was coming from the moon, that had just begun its path towards becoming full and was not offering that much light. The road wasn’t too far off, street lights lining it, but much to far off to offer any real lighting.

“I’m not swimming swimming, just a little dip,” you kept your eyes on him as he moved to stand next to you, not too far off from where the water hit the land. “Join me?”

“It’s going to be cold.” He hummed, not saying no.

“That’s kind of the point, no?”

His eyes narrowed on yours for a moment, briefly wondering what could possibly be going through your mind. “Doesn’t make too much sense.”

A breathy laugh left your lips, looking away from Harry and towards the water. “It’s just…” you didn’t know how to word what seemingly clear thoughts you had moment ago. “You know that feeling when you float in water and like, you feel heavy against the water but light at the same time?”

A small “yeah” that was nearly a whisper was the only noise Harry made, a silence falling around the pair of you before speaking again. “And then the water doesn’t really feel like water, its just something that’s nearly all consuming?”

Silence fell between you again, turning to Harry. Slow nod as he briefly looked over at you, grinning once again. “Didn’t realize you liked swimming so much.”

“I don’t,” you shrugged, “I just. Really want to be in the water right now.”

He laughed at your words, a deep laugh that made you smile along, eyes slowing in on him as you watched him tug his sweatshirt off above his head. Dropping it to the ground next to him without a care, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“You’re gonna swim with me?” Murmuring as you tugged on your own clothes, untying the knot that held the fabric of your dress in at the waist.

“’Can’t have you splashing around there in the dark alone, can we?” He couldn’t help letting his eyes fell to where your fingers were moving to undo the buttons that’s lined the front of your dress.

Pulling down his loose fit jeans in one quick motion, kicking them aside and trying his best not to look at every new inch of exposed skin that you had uncovered after letting the long dress fall to the ground.

Offering Harry a smile that could almost been seen as shy, surprisingly not feeling cold in only your underwear and flimsy bralette. Shoes had long been abandoned, and you took a breath before taking the few steps needed to get to the water.

Not stopping when the cold water hit your feet, then shins, then knees, only turning around to see Harry following you once the water was just under your hips. Unlike you, he seemed to be taking much bigger bolder steps in the water. He shot you a little smile, before lunging forward with a messy little dive and soon he disappeared under the water.

He quickly reappeared, hair flat against his head before he brought a hand up to push it off his forehead. Easily finding his footing, standing a bit out of the water. He was far enough from you that only his silhouette was really visible, but the moon caught the gleam in his eyes. “Thought you were swimming?”

Pausing for another moment, before a laugh shook through you. Your legs had warmed up as the skin got used to the temperature of the water, moving in a bit deeper before taking the literal leap like Harry did and submerging yourself in the water.

The feeling of the water all around you was exactly like you had imagined it would be, and nothing like it at all. The cold water was a bit of a shock, but once your head emerged from the water and the warm night air hit you, you felt so relaxed.

“Exactly what I needed.” Laughing as you rubbed water out of your eyes, no doubt smudging the makeup you forgot you had on.

Harry’s mind slowed, probably because of the bowl he smoked earlier, but the fact that he was even under any kind of influence evaded him. You were close enough that he could distinguish separate drops of water shining in the moonlight, running down your neck. He was close enough that if he wanted, he could reach out and stop them from sinking down over your skin. And he did want to. He didn’t realize he was staring at you without saying anything for a while until his eyes met yours, his mind really slowing like he was in a cheesy movie and they slowed down the scene.

And right on cue, you pushed your hand through the water in one quick motion, splashing water onto his face.

Taking a moment to process your action, cool water dripping from where it hit his chin at your childish action. His hand moved in a near mirroring of yours, splashing water right back to you with enough force that had you rubbing water from your eyes afterwards.

Your mouth was dropped to an O, even though you had started the attack. Your lips moved as if you were about to speak. Instead a little laugh has heard while you turned away from him.

Water of course slowing you down as you tried to run away from him, only taking three wide slow steps before his presence was felt behind you. Small gasp leaving your lips when his warm skin came in contact with yours, arms wrapping around your waist as he trapped you in against him.

Harry’s mind slowed again, arms tightening against you as he kept his footing firm, your back resting against his chest. He was certain that you’d be able to feel his heartbeat, not caring at the moment if you noticed how fast it was beating.

“Where are you going?”

His breath tickled your skin, not being able to help the shiver that ran down your spine – it could be blamed on the cool water or the night air, but it was really Harry’s presence behind you. His chin brushed over your shoulder, resting there for a moment.

It wasn’t until you turned around in his arms, leaving a tiny space between the two of you with just enough that when you breathed in your chest nearly brushed his, that Harry found himself truly lost for words. The water covering your skin was glowing in the dim moonlight, and he tried not to think too much about the few thin pieces of fabric that were separating the two of you.

“I want to try something.” You whispered, eyes flicking away from his for a moment to look up at the sky, before moving down to his again.

His breathing stopped, mind reeling with what you could possibly mean. Although slowly, he let you slip from his grasp and sink deeper into the water a bit, before pushing yourself up from the ground and laying your head back in the water as you moved to float on your back.

Your eyes focused on the stars above you, loving the clear sky and lightly disconnecting from the fact that you were floating in water, instead feeling like you were floating along those stars. You should feel cold by now, but you really didn’t. Your skin burned from where Harry’s skin had just been on yours, if anything you felt hot at the moment.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that night, Harry felt like everything was moving in slow motion. He dragged his eyes down your exposed body, the water on your skin glistening in the dim light. What little clothing you had on was slipping in the water, the swell of your breasts nearly exposed from under the thin fabric as you rested on your back.

He watched your eyes shut, a complete silence seeming to surround the two of you and he felt so completely at peace, deciding to follow suit and move to float gently on his back next to you.

Neither of you really knew how much time was past like this. It could’ve been less than a minute for all you knew, but it felt like an eternity. Like you had fallen asleep and this was your dream.

Eventually though, you woke up. Goosebumps were starting to rise on your skin, the cold of the water finally catching up to you. Moving your leg out to the direction that Harry was, lightly kicking him in the water as you wordlessly regained your footing in the water.

“Getting chilly,” you hummed, hugging your arms to your chest.

Harry truly could not help it when his eyes briefly dropped to where your chest stood out, hoping you didn’t notice or say anything, a deciding to blame his slip up on his state of mind. “Let’s get you warmed up then.”

The two of you wadding out of the water, jumping over to your discarded clothes. You were hit with the realization that all you had with you was you dress. It was long, going down to your shins but it was still sleeveless and probably wouldn’t do that much in keeping you warm, especially with wet skin.

“Did you want my sweatshirt?’ You briefly wondered if you had voiced all your thoughts out loud, as Harry handed his big sweatshirt over to you.

“What about you?”

“I brought my jacket, remember?” He grinned, reaching down to grab the light coat sitting against the sand. “It’s really no trouble,” adding afterwards, obviously noticing you were unsure.

“Okay,” you spoke slowly, realizing you were still nearly naked and quickly pulled on your dress before grabbing his sweatshirt. “Thank you.”

Your dress was sticking to you, nearly uncomfortably but you didn’t mind too much. Harry’s shirt was soft and warm, the perfect thing you needed to be wrapped in right now. You watched Harry pull on his trousers and zipping on his jacket. He looked a bit silly with a jacket and no shirt, but you were not one to comment considering that you were the reason he looked so silly.

You sat down with a sigh, shaking out your hair briefly, not caring that it was going to be a bit of a mess as it dried. Harry sat down next to you, silent for a bit as you both sat unsure of what the next move was.

“Do you want to,” looking over at him for a second, nearly nervous. “Smoke a bit more? Don’t really feel it anymore and this has been one of the nicest highs I’ve had in so long.”

“Sure,” Harry smiled, wiping his hands on his pants. “You’re right, it is really nice. It’s like,” he paused, thinking over his words. “Not completely stoned and out of it, but just relaxed. Feel like all my senses are heighted. My head is clear, but everything is a bit…slow.” Like all my senses are on fire, he wanted to say, but still found it in himself to sensor his words.

“Yeah.” The word was a small whisper from your lips, nodding along as he perfectly described how you felt.

“Plus,” he tapped his leg with yours as you pulled your small pipe from your bag. “Makes it better to get stoned with you. No one else I would float around with.”

Even in the cooler summer air, your body warmed at his words. “Same here.” That was all you could say.

He watched as you picked small buds from the container, quickly shutting your grinder and giving it a good amount of twists until you were satisfied. Nimble fingers plucking the plant from the grinder and placing them in the bowl of the pipe, making sure no ash was stuck in it. Gently placing the closed grinder on your lap, fishing your lighter from your bag and offering him the pipe for the first hit.

Hand wrapping around yours as he grabbed the pipe from you. You watched his lips pucker, bringing the pipe up, quickly flicking the lighter as he inhaled the smoke through the pipe.

There was something about watching someone look so peaceful as the exhaled smoke. Seeing Harry do it though, was always especially nice. He always tilted his head up slightly, jaw tense as he blew the smoke out from parted lips.

Passing it over to you, as you repeated his motions and he repeated yours as he watched you exhale.

Continuing in silence, passing the pipe back and forth a couple more times before you opened back up the grinder to add a few more pieces of the plant. Harry watched you light the bowl again, unable to take his eyes away from where you mouth met the pipe.

He had an idea. One he had had a while back actually, but it seemed to be a much better idea right now. It was the oldest trick in the book. A tale as old as time.

“There’s something I was always curious about,” he started, voice slow as he watched your every move. Turning to him with a lazy grin, handing him the pipe and watched as he fidgeted with the lighter.

“Have you ever shotgunned smoke?”

Your lips curved into a smile, knowing exactly where he was going. “Yeah… years ago when I was younger, like at parties.”

He hummed at your words, slowly nodding. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, lips pressed to a line as he bit down on them. His eyes were bleary, and hair starting to dry in every direction. “I’ve never tried,” he started slowly. “Always had been curious if it really worked or not.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh, imagining the words he was going to say next. “Can’t really pinpoint if it does…”

“Well,” he shifted his body bit more towards yours. “We could try? You don’t have to of course, I’m just –”

“Curious.” You said the word for him, nodding. “Yeah I – if you want.”

“Okay,” his voice had dropped to nearly a whisper as he tried to not sound too eager. You moved towards him, so that your body was facing him a bit more, while still sitting close enough that your leg brushed his.

He brought the pipe up to his mouth, eyes stuck on yours. He slowly inhaled the smoke, cheeks hollowing and eyes briefly fluttering shut. Keeping his mouth closed as he moved the pipe away from his mouth and brought his other hand to hold a gentle grasp of your jaw.

Your tongue quickly darted out, wetting your lips and leaving them parted. His hand under your chin was warm. He knew very well this was probably some kind of line that would be crossed, but that was kind of the point, wasn’t it?

Titling his head down, mouth parting open to meet yours. His eyes shut closed, knowing this technically wasn’t a real kiss but wanting to treat it as such.

Your lips were soft and warm, and for a moment he forgot that he was supposed to be passing the smoke from his mouth to yours, and not kiss into your mouth until he couldn’t breath.

Harry was always warm around you. Being wrapped in his sweatshirt, having his hand on your jaw, and having his mouth against yours had you burning hot. You could feel him start to pull away from you after passing the smoke from his mouth to yours, and you couldn’t help but pucker your lips the slightest bit.

He was sure he imagined it. Your lips had barely moved against his, he wasn’t sure if it was real or not. It was as if you were about to kiss him, as if your lips were about to pucker and slide against his.

Instead, he moved his on yours. All very brief and very light, he kept his hand by your jaw and held you in place, just as you made no sign of moving away. Pressing just a small kiss on your parted lips, letting his mouth linger on yours before slowly moving away.

Watching you blink your eyes open as he did the same, completely unable to help the small smirk that grew on his lips. Letting out a little breath as the smoke escaped your mouth, unable to look away from Harry.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, a moment a bit too long.

He broke the silence with a little laugh. “Did you… feel anything?”

You knew he was talking about the weed, on the surface he was anyway. But you also knew that he was so obviously hinting at something more, at that little almost kiss and you couldn’t find it in yourself to form one coherent thought.

“Yeah,” seemed to be the only thing you could utter right now, stuck in some kind of staring contest with him. His hand moved from your jaw, shifting a bit to sit back in his original position. You were a bit fucked out, more than a bit.

The high was the kind that made you feel calm, like you floated when you walked. Like you were sitting on a cloud instead of having to use your limbs. And, it was the kind of high that made every glance and touch that much more electric, every conversation that much more intimate.

And now sitting so close to Harry, neither of you speaking and seemingly stuck in this trance with each other, you felt like your entire body was on fire.

Though the longer the silence went on, the calmer you got and soon you were nearly laughing to yourself for no apparent reason. Relaxing in your seated position, leaning up against the log behind your backs.

Nearly at the same time, each of you looked down to the pipe that remained in Harry’s hand. Noticing it was mostly ash, and that you had both probably had enough to smoke, you decided to pack it all back up.

“Think I’ve had enough,” you hummed, feeling your high settle in nicely. Harry nodded, twisting his body around to knock out the ash from the pipe behind him. “Same here. Also I’m really starting to feel the cold.”

“You good to head back?” Brushing your hands on your dress, gathering everything up in your tote bag before turning over to Harry.

Nodding, suddenly remembering that he would be staying over at yours. That conversation felt like ages ago, like the two of you were two completely different people now than you were before. “That sounds good.”

The walk back was even quicker, both talking about whatever came to mind. You were aware of the way his arm kept brushing against yours, the way he would slightly pause the conversation when you would glance up at him.

Leading Harry up the steps that led to your door, relaxing once you entered your studio and immediately grabbing two glasses of water as you guys had emptied the bottles you brought.

“I think I have some clothes you could borrow.” You mused, finishing water as you watched Harry from across your kitchen. “Some baggy basketball shorts that I have.”

“I’m sure it’ll do,” Harry laughed, suddenly remembering how uncomfortable he was in his current clothes. His boxers had dried since your swim, but his pants still felt damp and sticky to his skin, and he wasn’t about to sleep in just his jacket. Or even his sweatshirt, but he was more than fine leaving that with you if that’s what you wanted.

You disappeared around a corner, no doubt going to look for the shorts in question. You had easily found them, happy to be true to your word, and grabbed a shirt and shorts for yourself to change into.

“Hope they fit,” you hummed, oddly aware by how quiet your apartment was. “Did you want to shower or anything?”

He shook his head, big smiling still playing on his lips. “I probably should, but I honestly really don’t feel like a shower right now.”

“I get that,” you agreed with a laugh. “The washroom is right over there. Towels in the cupboard under the sink if you need one, feel free to use anything in there.”

He only smiled over at you again, before heading to the direction that you pointed him to. You knew that you always felt a bit uneasy when you were staying over at someone’s house unplanned, especially if you had never stayed at their house before. You hoped Harry felt comfortable.

While he was in the washroom, you cleaned up the clothes that were haphazardly thrown across your floor by your bed, making sure there were enough pillows and blankets. He quickly reappeared, in nothing but that pair of your shorts.

They fit him okay, clearly a bit snug on him but you pretended not to notice. Placing his clothes on your counter, watching as you stood back up to face him. His hair was sticking up all around his face, very much unstyled after getting wet and drying outside.

“So, my couch is obviously really small,” you murmured. “It’s easiest to just share the bed, if that’s good with you.”

“Yeah of course,” he couldn’t help the smile at the thought of sharing a bed with you all night long. You nodded, telling him to make himself comfortable as you went to change in the washroom. You didn’t realize how high you were in that moment until you caught sight of yourself in the mirror.

Your eyes heavy and red, hair a mess, looking a bit silly in a long dress and big sweatshirt. Unable to help the laugh that overtook your body, washing your face and teeth before changing. You blinked slowly in the mirror, unable to focus on any aspect of your face as you always thought it was so weird when you were faced with your appearance under the influence.

Shaking any odd thought out of your head, and leaving the washroom to find Harry already made at home in your bed. He was off to one side, phone in hand and under the blanket.

Harry’s eyes jumped to you as the bathroom door swung open. You looked warm, even in a teeshirt and shorts, but you looked calm and relaxed and it made him ease onto your mattress as bit more. You sent him a smile, turning off the light by your washroom but keeping your bedside lamps on. He noticed you had quite a few lamps though your place, oddly placed around where your bed was.

“Did you want a snack, or want to watch something or…?” You trailed off, ever the host even if you couldn’t fully process your thoughts.

“I’m okay, just kinda nice to sit back y’know?” He acted as if he was tired, although oddly feeling the most awake he’d been all day.

You slid into the sheets next to him with a little nod, glad he agreed with you. Although, you felt like it was quiet, so quiet. Didn’t you usually talk more? You couldn’t remember. Being stoned with Harry was something that had happened countless times, and you were always comfortable with him, but right now you couldn’t help feel the slightest bit nervous.

The bed was soft around you, the faint smell of sandalwood incense lingering in the air. As soon as you settled in next to Harry, leaving a gap, you felt slightly more intoxicated. You knew you weren’t, that it was just the fact that you were finally lying down without any distractions (except for the man next to you), that the weed made its full affect known to you.

Making yourself comfortable on your mattress, completely in your own head.

Your nervousness was fully realized, when the feeling of the dull ache building between your thighs made itself completely known. Something that happened after smoking and was very much not helped by the memory of Harry’s lips pressed against yours, and apparently as soon as you fully relaxed next to him it, made itself known.

The subtle throbbing was overly distracting, attempting to squeeze your thighs together subtly and trying not to think about it. Realizing you hadn’t said anything in a bit, only readjusting yourself and squirming in the bed next to Harry.

“Are you okay?”

Harry’s voice was low and if anything, it made you feel even more antsy.

“Yeah,” muttering, as you shifted on the bed again and moved onto your side with the pillow pressing against your cheek. “Its just kind of… hot.”

If he caught the double meaning in your words, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he mentally paused for a second before his hand moved without his mind. He shifted a bit so that he could fully face you, as he brought his hand over to you and brushed his fingertips along your cheek.

“Burning hot,” he whispered, eyes focused on yours as he watched every reaction you had to him. You blinked quickly at his touch, just as he shifted on the mattress as well to lay facing you.

He trailed his fingers away from your face and down to your shoulder. Rubbing small little circles over your arm, moving along any line and curve in skin and muscle that was exposed to him.

“Feel’s nice,” you murmured, eyes shutting gently. Not so much in exhaust but in content. And although the feeling of his skin on yours was sending continuous little jolts through and under your skin, you didn’t want him to stop. It definitely wasn’t helping with the ache between your thighs, praying he didn’t notice at the way you shifted slightly to squeeze your legs together.

His fingers trailed along your folded arm, moving down to your hand that was resting by your face on the mattress. No words were shared, but you moved your palm to face upwards and let him play with your hand.

Mindlessly playing with each others fingers, your eyes peaking open as you grabbed his fingers in your hand, lightly tracing lines up his palm. Flipping his hand around in yours, tracing around and playing with the rings that he was still wearing.

Index finger trailing over his individual digits, your lip slipping between your teeth. You always noticed his hands, always working quickly when rolling joints, holding you warmly, and now toying with yours mindlessly as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What are you thinking?” Harry apparently knew you better than you realized, and maybe it had been slightly odd that you were completely silent. He could see your eyes flick over his skin, narrowing and brow furrowing every once and a while.

Your bleary eyes jumped up to his own, pausing as you registered his question. “I – it’s nothing.”

“Seems like its something,” he murmured, hand squeezing your own.

“It’s a secret,” weakly stated, watching Harry’s lips twitch with a smile at your feeble words.

“I’ll tell you one if you tell me yours,” he muttered, eyes flicking away from yours for a moment. You laughed lightly at the juvenile nature of his words, finding yourself agreeing to him.  

“Okay…”

Your hesitation only made him more curious. His eyes narrowed on you, anticipating your answer and watching every thought run across your features. “I – the high, the weed, it made me a bit… hot.”

“Y’already said that.” Harry was surprised by how hoarse his voice came out, mind jumping to conclusions about what you meant (even though he was right).

“I mean,” you couldn’t hold his intense eyes anymore. “Hot. You know… randy.”

He spluttered a laugh at your choice of words. “Randy?”

Your hand left his, covering half of your face with it instead with a little laugh. “It’s embarrassing.”

Although it really wasn’t. And you would be way more embarrassed if it wasn’t for your state of intoxication, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were fairly sure Harry was feeling the same way.

And he was. Had been all night in fact, had been every time the two of you shared a bowl and you sat just a little too close to him, or stared at his mouth just a little too long.

“You said you had a secret too.” Your voice broke Harry out of his reverie. You were barely peaking up at him, and Harry once again felt like he was living in a movie, scenes unfolding in front of his eyes in slow motion.

“I can’t stop thinking about your lips.”

He propped himself up on his elbow a bit, able to fully glance down at you. You blinked quickly at his words, rolling over to your back seemingly deep in thought. You looked perfectly fucked out, eyes heavy and a big lazy smile lining your lips. “And what about it?”

He wanted to wipe that stupid smirk from your mouth. “Need to kiss you again.”

Suddenly your hand was behind his neck, prompting him to lower his face down until his mouth gently slotted over yours. His mouth was just as warm as it was before, softly kissing onto your top lip as he leant his body over yours.

You rolled towards him a bit, as his chest covered yours, legs lying next to yours on the mattress. The hand that wasn’t holding him up came down to your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. Lips sliding over his, letting his tongue lazily brush against your mouth.

Sigh making its way from the back of his throat, reveling in the way you felt against him. Unable to get this out of his head since he shotgunned that smoke, since the beginning of the night, since the past couple of months in fact, finally happy to have under him with your lips pressed together.

Your fingers were weaving through his hair, other hand grabbing at his arm and tracing blind drawings on his skin. Kisses were growing deeper from soft sucking lips, grazing into each other mouths. He was sweet, like a raspberry, not too sugary and just sour enough to make you want more.

You didn’t realize you were gasping for air until he briefly pulled away, eyes fluttering open and lips curving to a lazy smile while peering down at you. His breath was heavy against yours, body sliding over a bit more so that his leg pushed its away between yours, not completely crushing you.

Another second passed, before you were chasing his mouth again. Easily falling back into the heavy kisses you were sharing, pulling more and more out of each other until soft whimpers were being shared between your mouths.

You don’t know if it was the weed or just Harry – probably a bit of both – but every touch on your skin was like a little jolt of hypersensitivity. His hand had moved down your arm again, grabbing at your waist, your hip, until his fingertips were just pushing up under your shirt and gently rubbing into the skin at your side. His bare legs were tangled with yours, not yet brushing where you were burning for him but making you feel like your legs ended and his began, not a single ounce of distance between your bodies.

And his mouth, his pretty mouth that you so often watched wrap around the butt of a joint, or the end of a pipe, was making you feel like you were in a dream. Moistened lips never leaving yours, experimenting with you as they pushed and pulled on your own. Teeth nipping you bottom lip, quickly peppering small kisses against your mouth before licking deeply into your mouth again; it felt like you might pass out from the overwhelming sense of his kisses.

You marveled in the way he grunted when you pulled on his hair, or whined when you moved your lips away form his for even a second. He was so enamoured with the way you pushed your chest up with a little back arch as his fingers gripped your particularly tight, and the soft woodsy scent of your room mingled with your sweet perfume.

He felt completely woozy with every sensation of you.

Just as he was running out of breath once again, he felt your hand snake up from his arm up to his shoulder. “Wait,” you breathed out against Harry, patting his shoulder. He quickly retreated from your mouth, eyes flicking between yours.

“Sorry I –” he cut himself off at your breathy giggle and wide smile.

You smacked your lips together, accentuating your point. “My mouth feels really dry.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed out a little giggle, head dipping down slightly. “Mine too.”

“I’ll grab us some water.” You patted his chest again, wordlessly telling him to move off of you. He complied easily, rolling over to his side and watched you slowly push yourself off the mattress, feet hitting the floor.

Your hair was untamed from your dip in the water earlier, eyes glazed over and lips kissed even darker. Harry watched the fabric of your shorts ride up your thighs, exposing just the slightest bit of your backside and his mind whirled with the memory of you nearly naked with him in the water.

Taking a second before pushing himself up from the bed, following to where you stood in the kitchen filling up two glasses of water. Silently handing him one of them, keeping his gaze with a little smile dancing on your lips while you brought the glass up to your mouth.

Tipping the glass back, he mirrored your motion and watched as you quickly finished up the water. Bringing the back of your hand to wipe at the water on the corner of your mouth, Harry didn’t know why the small and mundane move made even more blood rush to his bulge.

Refilling your cup, finishing off your second glass before turning back to Harry. His hair was sticking out every direction, eyes a bit red and small smile permanently etched on his lips. He reached out a hand across the kitchen, silently asking for you to place your own hand in his.

He pulled you towards him, laughing as you spun on your feet a bit until he had both his arms around you again. His bum hitting the counter behind him as he leant against it, pulling you close into his chest as you mirrored his actions and wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Feel better?” Chest vibrated against yours as he spoke.

“Yeah,” your voice was a whisper. “Mouth feels… wet.”

“Wet?” His eyebrows shot up, dimples on full display at his wide smile. “I like the sound of that.”

It was very apparent to you that he liked the sound of that, his hard bulge very obvious in the too small shorts you gave him, and even more apparent when his pressed his hips against your thigh. You only hummed at his words, reveling in your closeness as your nails dug into the bare skin of his back.

His lips quickly found yours again, wanting to pick up right where you left off. You weren’t giving him back the same fervour, pressing smaller pecks to his mouth and letting him chase your mouth. His lips brushed over yours but you tilted your head away as soon as he leaned it for more, hushed giggled leaving your parted lips.

A little groan building in the back of Harry’s throat at your teasing, seeking out your mouth. Growing impatient, he held you tight and in one motion spun you around so that you were now the one against the counter, trapped in by Harry’s body.

“Much better,” he muttered against your lips, catching the little smirk that he had every intention of kissing away.

You sighed beautifully against him, pressing your hips against his own and feeling the very prominent bulge that had been growing in his pants ever since your little dip in the water. Every inch of him that was on you was sending a new wave of heat under your skin. Unable to distinguish what was real and what was an effect of the weed making you feel like Kissing Harry was the only thing to keep you alive.

And then he was kissing you again. One hand still gripped at your hip, while the other moved to cup your face and tilt it towards his. His lips slid against yours slowly, kiss growing in fervour very quickly. Your hands found their way back to his hair, tugging and scratching your nails along his scalp.

Pitched whine was pulled from your mouth, his warm chest pressed against you, kiss a bit frenzied as hands seemed unable to rest on one spot on your body. Grabbing at your hip, sliding over to your ass with a little squeeze and prompted you to push your hips against his.

Other hand sliding up under your thin shirt, fingers rubbing into the skin of your tummy. His lips moved to press kisses along your cheek, urging your head to tilt back until he was licking and biting at the sensitive skin of your neck. His mouth was hot on you, whispers of your name while you whined up at the ceiling. Head dipping down until his mouth met the collar of your shirt, taking his sweet time to memorize the sweet smell of your skin and every spot that made you whimper his name.

Suddenly stepping back from you, your eyes fluttered open as if in a haze while you searched for his touch again. He was standing just a couple inches away from you, hands still resting at your sides under your shirt.

“Let’s get this off of you, baby.” He whispered, pulling tightly on the fabric of your shirt.

Lifting your arms up in the air a bit, surprised by how heavy they felt, you tilted your head at him. “Help me?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Hands slowly pushing up under your shirt, bunching up the fabric while he exposed more of your skin. Brushing over the swell of your breasts, lifting your arms a bit higher to allow him to pull the garment over you completely.

Shirt ending up on the counter next to you, forgotten completely when Harry’s eyes roamed over your skin. The bralette that you were swimming in already left little to the imagination, but no daydream or fantasy could do you justice.

“You are,” he sighed, closing the little gap once again as his thumbs ran over the underside of your breasts. “A dream.”

His hands palmed over your chest while he kissed you, your teeth clashing as you whispered your name against him.

Taking your time kissing him, hand sliding over the expanse of his back before you reached the small curls hanging above his neck, tugging on them between your fingers. He was licking into your mouth, pulling soft sighs from the back of your throat while he kept you pinned against the counter with his hips.

Hand on the band of the shorts he was borrowing, you slid a finger underneath and quickly released it to snap the elastic against his skin. “Come back to bed?”

You had caught him slightly off guard, pushing against his chest so that he took a step back and you slid out from between him and the counter, pulling at the waistband of his shorts again.

Shooting him one more glance over your shoulder, starting to walk the short distance back to the bed. He quickly followed suit, pitched gasp leaving your lips as he took you by surprise, arms gripping you tight and pulling you onto the bed with him.

Falling on the mattress on top of him, readjusting yourself so that you had a leg on either side of his waist, your bare chests pressed against one another.

“Quite like you like this,” Harry hummed, as your lips kissed at his jaw. Leaving small bites on the side of his neck, moaning at the way his hand moved to grab your ass, giving it a light smack.

Clothed core rolling against his crotch when he repeated the action, spurring you on while your mouth kept working on the skin under his jaw. “Like you like this very much.”

You had nearly forgotten about your state of intoxication, until Harry wrapped his arms tight around your waist and sat up. You shifted down bit on him, straddling his lap as the two of you sat so closely intertwined. You didn’t even register the movement until seconds later, your mind needing to slow down from the quick movement.

“You good?” You face must’ve expressed your dazed mind, while Harry’s quiet voice broke you out of your reverie.

“Yes,” you said, unable to help the little laugh the accompanied your every word. “The weed is just… this is such a nice high.”

“It really is,” Harry hummed, while you dipped your head down and ghosted your lips over his shoulder.

“Do you remember that time I got so spaced out, couldn’t hold a conversation?” You giggled, lips brushing his neck as you moved your head away and kept you arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Shifting on his lap a bit, chest resting against his as you couldn’t help the laugh that was building at the memory. His thumbs rubbed parallel circles in the spot above your hips, lips smoothing over your hairline. “Which time?” He was quite frankly finding it hard to think of anything else at this moment.

“There were a few,” you nodded, head moving away from the crook of his neck. “But with those edibles, those chocolate cookies remember? There were walnuts or something in them.”

You shifted on him, lifting yourself up for a second to straighten out your legs, completely sitting on his lap and wrapping your legs around his hips to have the two of you sitting pressed against the other. Harry sucked his lips in between his teeth, as you moved over just where he wanted you to.

“Those one’s yes,” his shoulders shook with a laugh. “I’d never seen you so out of it, was a bit worried.”

Tightening your thighs around him, squeezing him lightly. “I fell asleep practically on top of you,” murmuring softly, recalling when he had let you have his bed since you weren’t having a good high.

Your laughter had more or less died down, smile hadn’t left your lips all night and it was the last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut when you moved in to kiss him again. You hummed softly against him, Harry’s hands rubbing up and down your bare sides, before sliding all the way down and dug his fingertips into the skin of your bum.

Grinding your centre over his bulge, soft moan building in Harry’s throat at the tight pressure. The only way you could be any closer to him in this moment was if the two thin layers of clothing were removed, which you were promptly working on.

Your legs wrapped all the way around him, hips rolling against his as his hands guided you over him. You were sighing into his mouth, teeth biting into his top lip before he dipped his head down to kiss under your jaw.

And suddenly, hands that let go of your skin pushed you back against the mattress. You blinked in your daze, eyes trailing up over Harry as he sat up on his knees, before swiftly hovering back over you. Lips finding their place on your neck once again, humming against you.

Whimpering as his mouth moved down over your chest, lips circling around your nipple with a harsh suck. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingertips trailing up to play with his hair while his mouth moved over are your exposed skin.

Warm and wet kisses followed suit, open mouth lightly biting down on your skin. He was whispering mindless things against you, just making out small praises.

Your hips were lifting against nothing in the air, urging him to pull off the little shorts as his lips trailed over your stomach. Large hand grabbing at your thigh, pushing it out as his head moved past right where you wanted him and his lips kissed up your thigh instead.

“Harry,” his name was a whine leaving your lips.

His eyes flitted up to your face for a second, mentally kicking himself for not doing it sooner. Your bottom lip was firmly lodged between your teeth, eyes barely open but a little smile still playing at your lips. He thought you looked fucked out before, but this was something completely new.

“What do you want?” Open mouth biting down at your thigh, quickly licking over the spot as your hips jolted again.

“You. Please,” you propped yourself up a bit on an elbow. “Touch me.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He hooked his thumbs in the band of your shorts, your hips quickly jolting up to help him pull them over your hips. Quickly pulling them down, flicking them aside without a care once they were pulled over your feet.

“Truly a dream,” Harry’s mouth dropped, shamelessly dragging his eyes over every inch of your body. Hand quickly back on you, pushing your legs apart until your knees hit the mattress. “A dream,” he repeated, leaning back down towards you. His lips on your inner most sensitive skin of your thigh, hands holding your hips tightly.

One of your hands smoothed over your own stomach, fingertips just over where you wanted to feel him. You could feel his breath hitting your skin, a sharp inhale as your middle finger teased yourself just above your clit. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Just,” your voice was a moan. “Showing you what I want.”

“Christ,” the word came deep from the back of his throat, prompting you to lift yourself up a bit and watch him. He didn’t move from his spot between your thighs, cheek resting just on your sensitive inner leg with his palms spread over your hips, watching your fingers move down through your folds.

“Is this what you do after we smoke together?” His voice was slow, deep – dark eyes unwavering from you. You felt his breath hit your skin, hips jolting a bit as you tugged harsher circles onto your clit. “Can’t wait to fall into bed with your fingers under your dress?”

You could only moan at his words, feeling the heat of his chest on your legs and his fingers brush against your thighs, but nothing more. “Tell me, do you ever think about me?”

“Yes,” the word was a quick pant, answering him truthfully. His finger gripped you tighter at your answer, barley audible swear to himself.

Middle finger slowly dipping down, feeling how slick you were before moving back up to circle around your clit. You jolted at the feeling, falling back against the mattress with your eyes fluttering shut and Harry’s name on your lips.

“And what do you think about?” His voice was slow, the smirk on his lips nearly audible. “Tell me baby.”

“How you would feel,” you spoke in one long breath. “You – your fingers, your mouth.”

It wasn’t until you slowly pushed your finger into where you were aching, that he grabbed hold of your wrist. “Let me do that,” he hissed, pulling your hand away from yourself and slipping his mouth around the finger that had been playing with yourself.

He hummed around it, getting his first taste of you and only wanting more.

Soon that hand was weaved through his hair, as his tongue pushed through where your finger had been and he circled his lips around your clit. “That’s it,” you gasped, when his teeth just grazed over the sensitive bud, tongue smoothing over it.

“Could do this all day,” Harry’s voice was muffled, getting nearly as much out of this as you were. “You were right about being wet.” Soon his fingers joined his mouth, soaking in your wetness before pushing through your core. Every whine was laced with his name, spurring him on at your praise.

He only hummed against you, just as his lips circled around your swollen clit eliciting a sharp cry at the end of your praise. Fingers pulling tightly in his already messy locks, not caring about the roughness of your actions in the moment. All you could focus on was how you felt completely on fire by the way Harry touched you

Sucking harshly around your clit, hand that was trialing up your thigh joining his tongue as it pushed through your folds, finger slowly pushing into you. He reveled in the way you were slick around him, clenching around him at the new contact. “Oh… !”

Single finger quickly curling up and hitting that spot that made your eyes squeeze shut, noticing the way you reacted right away. “That’s it, yeah? Is it good?”

“So good.” Your hips bucked with his hand. But you wanted more, his finger wasn’t enough inside of you and you were certain he would feel so thick and heavy inside of you. Gently nudging his head up, calling his name over.

“Can we,” you panted, “I mean – I want to fuck you.”

That caught his attention. He blinked slowly, your words circling around his head. “I –” he found himself speechless. “Yes, I want you.”

Scrambling up to his knees, as you sat up as well, both breathless and wordlessly facing each other for a second. “I don’t have a condom.”

His expression faltered at your words, quickly realizing he also didn’t have one. “Me neither…”

“I have an implant. I’m checked out I’m good… I – want to feel you.”

“Fuck me, darling you…” this for sure had to be a dream. “Are you sure?”

Your hands slid up his sides, resting at his shoulders as you pulled him in for a heavy kiss. “Yes.”

It was your turn to push him back, hands immediately reaching for the band of the tight shorts and pulling them down. Throwing them aside with your own shorts, watching his length fall free. Your mouth was probably hanging open, you didn’t care. He was a dream.

You didn’t even realize you were moving your hands towards him until you saw them wrap around him, thumb brushing over his bulging red tip as you smoothed over the bit of precum. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of you, watching in awe while you slowly pumped your hand around him.

Leg swinging around his to straddled him, wet core grinding down over him. You leant to trap Harry’s mouth in a kiss, while his hands gripped your sides tightly before sliding down to your hips. One hand still around him, glancing down as you lifted your hips.

Both of you were watching the way that you sank down around him, slowly but surely taking every inch in. “Baby I –” Harry hissed, restraining himself from bucking up into you.

The pressure burned, but not in a bad way. Maybe if you were sober you would need a bit more time to get use to him, but right now you just needed more of him. “Oh my god,” your voice was pitched, eyes shut as you felt him twitch inside of you.

Bottoming out, you felt him deep in your stomach as he hit spots you didn’t know were possible. “God, ‘s full.”

His hands found their place on your bum, squeezing tightly when you made your move on top of him, slowly rolling your hips around him. Your own hands were flat on his stomach, giving yourself leverage as you started to move up on him.

“That’s it,” he hissed, watching you sink back down, slowly getting a feel for him. You were circling your hips, grinding and rolling on him. It felt too good he forced his eyes to stay open, not wanting to miss a second of the sight in front of him.

Watching the way he disappeared underneath you, the way your breasts moved, the way your head was titled back slightly. He knew it was impossible but he wanted to keep you in this moment forever.

It was when he bucked up into you that your eyes rolled back with a moan. Repeating the action at your reaction, holding onto you tightly as he thrusted upwards into, while you rolled against him. Managing to hit inside of you so wonderfully, feeling yourself stretch out just for him. “Fuck Harry.”

The pressure he was creating in the pit of your stomach was already building, your hips moving together as you both felt on fire from every touch, every whimper, every moan of the others name. “My name – y’sound so good saying my name.” His words were strangled, you weren’t even sure you were hearing him correctly.

“Harry,” whining as a hand smoothed over your ass, urging you on top of him while his other hand grasped at your chest.

Low moan breaking the noise of your pants, your walls fluttering around Harry as you quickly found yourself being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. Unabashedly chasing the high, the burn between your legs stronger than you think you’d ever felt it.

You knew part of that was from the drug previously smoked, but another big part of that was from the man lying under you. Harry fit so perfectly with you, fucking you so well you couldn’t even begin to think about it.

Hovering down over him, open mouth pressing messy kisses up his jaw until your mouth was on his, slowing down your motions of your hips for a moment as the two of you got lost against each other’s lips.

Harry’s thrust nearly stopping, the slow roll of your hips being the only source of friction while you tasted him for the thousandth time that night, still not finding yourself getting enough.

It was when his hand on your ass smacked your skin lightly, that he started to spur you on again. Teeth clashing with yours as he spoke against your mouth, praising you endlessly. “Look so fucking good around me baby.”

Moaning into his mouth, rising yourself up with your hands played out over his chest, rising your hips up and down over him again until your heart rate sped up again and you couldn’t help but pant.

Harry couldn’t believe the sight before his eyes. Every noise you made was music to his ears, as his fingertips dug into your skin and thrusted his hips against yours, looking for the spot that made you curl around him.

He knew you were close, and he wanted more than anything than to see you completely thrown back on top of him. Moving one of his hands around your hip, smoothing over the bottom of your stomach, sliding his fingertips over your skin until they made contact with your clit.

You were already so worked up from the way his mouth had moved against your cunt, from even before then when the two of you lay close together in bed, from even before then when the two of you swam together.

One of his hands sliding around your hips from your ass to your stomach, pressing tightly onto your lower abdomen until his hands cupped over you. Fingers finding your clit easily once again, your chest jolting forward at the sharp jolt of pleasure the new contact made you feel.

“Want you to come.” His words were hoarse, slick fingers pushing rough circles around your clit until you dropped down a bit against him, arms shaking by your sides. “Please baby.”

And then your eyes were peering into his, red and bleary with your skin burning hot. “Harry I –” mouth falling agape, not being able to find any words at the moment, when yours and Harry’s hips moved in sync, the tip of his cock hitting inside of you so perfectly and his fingers on your clit giving you just the extra push you needed.

His other hand was gripping the skin of you ass, fingertips digging crescent shaped marks into the skin as he rocked your hips with his. Lips were ghosting over your neck, with your own not far away, nearly biting down into his shoulder.

And soon you were shaking on top of him, whimpering his name unashamedly as your walls fluttered around him. Your thighs clenched him tight, vision going dark and you didn’t realize at first that it was because your eyes were squeezed shut.

Harry was muttering into the skin of your shoulder, sweet words of praise. “Look so fucking good, you are a dream,” moaning your name deeply, holding you tight against him as both your motions slowed a bit while you rode out your high.

Eyes reopening after a beat, lifting your head to look down at him. His fingers were still working slow circles on your clit, skin far too sensitive as you jolted against him. You wanted to say so much to him, yet found not ability to think of what to say or even how to speak.

So instead, your open mouth slid over his, messy kisses shared before you hoisted yourself back up so that he was hitting so deeply inside of you, knees digging into the mattress to start to move against him again.

“Fuck me so well,” Harry’s head was pushed back into the pillows behind him, skin clammy and shining, tattoos looking even better in the dim light. His hair was sprawled out and around his face messily, his lips kissed deep raspberry. Truly something out of a fantasy.

He moved slower with you than earlier, hips just rising from the mattress to meet your thrusts in languid motions. There surely should be a cramping feeling in your knees, but you didn’t feel it, or more so couldn’t. All you could focus on was the way your walls fluttered tightly around Harry, already feeling the dull burning of a second orgasm.

“’s sensitive,” you moaned as his fingers never stopped on your clit, urging you along with him as he knew his own orgasm would not be far behind.

“Take me in so well baby, wish you could see yourself,” his eyes glued to every inch of your skin, especially where he was so intimately connected to you, cock disappearing into you. “How do you feel?”

“Too good,” you cried, overly sensitive but still finding yourself wanted more and more and more from Harry.

“Want you to cum again.”

“Harry…” the feeling was overwhelming; you didn’t know if you even could.

“Feel so good cumming around me, please,” his voice was unbelievably hoarse, lips tight between his teeth.

The deep fire was building in you again, even stronger this time and Harry was very aware of it by the way to you clenched tightly around him. He wanted to see you come undone so badly, sucking in his breath and doing everything in his power to slow down his own release.

You lifted yourself on him, pace quickening a bit as he pressed you on. He was rubbing so tightly in you, the two of you truly finding your grove as he repeatedly hit the spongy spot that made you see stars.

“Cum for me,” he said, as if it was a chant. “Need you to.”

You were so overstimulated; you didn’t even know what to do. “I don’t know if – fuck Harry it’s so much.”

Falling back onto his chest slightly, hitting a new angle inside that made you move quick short thrusts on top of him.

His lips quickly found your skin, sucking and biting onto your neck as he wanted nothing more than to have you come undone around him for the second time. Your name sounded heavenly as he moaned it.

You knew he was not far behind, his motions getting more and more sporadic, sound of slapping skin filling the room as his chest heaved. “Please.”

And then you were pushed over the edge again, jolting so quickly against him it nearly scared him. You fell completely against him, bare chest pressed tight onto his it trapped his arm. The moan that came from deep in your chest was barely human, breathy and loud and Harry knew it would be playing on replay in his head for the rest of his life.

“Thank you thank you thank you.” Harry’s orgasm followed suit quickly after yours, not being able to hold back when you clenched to tightly around him he could barely move. Slow thrusts he released inside of you, feeling his cock twitch with every drop.

He slid his hand from between your body’s, falling to his side on the mattress as neither of you made another move, chests moving quickly as you tried to catch your breath. You could’ve passed out right then and there, completely content with Harry as close as he could possibly be.

Slowly blinking your eyes open, head moving up to gaze down at Harry. Teary eyes blurring your vision slightly, offering him a sly smile as you shifted off a him with a heavy sigh.

“That was…” Harry’s voice cracked as he turned his head towards you, unable to take his eyes off of you “Better than I could’ve dreamt.”

                                                           ***

The first thing you felt when you woke up was the same grogginess you always had after a restful night sleep. That, along with a strong arm wrapped around your middle, some breaths gracing your neck.

The second thing you felt was a slight panic of not knowing what time it was.

Fearing maybe you had overslept and might be running late for work, you scrambled up in bed while you tried to figure out whether or not there was a shift to get to.

Your sudden action had stirred Harry in his sleep, groggy eyes peeking open at your from where he laid next to you on the bed.

“Wha’s wrong?”

Deep voice pulled your attention away from your confused thoughts about which day was it really, feeling the mattress shift as Harry rose to a seated position.

You felt his breath hit your shoulder, an arm circling around you and lips on the nape of your neck. “I have to get to work.”

“You do?” His lips trailed across your neck, chest pressing against your back as he his craned around to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes – fuck.” You sprang up suddenly, catching sight of the mainly decorative clock that you had hanging up on the opposite side of your studio.

Rising to your feet, Harry’s arms falling down to the mattress as the two of you lost contact. It wasn’t out of nowhere that you’d smoke on a night before you had to get up and get ready for work, after all it was a half day shift today but you were usually in bed and fast asleep not too late.

“I’m really sorry,” you called out from behind you, as you quickly dug through your drawers to look for a new pair of underwear. “I completely forgot…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry spoke softly from where he sat on the bed. He didn’t voice it of course, but he really did wish you could crawl back in bed with him. By the looks of the hazy orange sky, the day was just starting and he’d much rather start it with his arms wrapped around you.

It really was no worries, you couldn’t do anything about the fact that you had to get to work. Rising up to his feet, watching you half naked scurry around your studio in search of clothes to wear, pulling them on and then quickly off against as you seemed to change your ideas about your outfit.

You rushed off to the washroom, mentally scolding yourself for not showring last night, at least to get refreshed. Realizing that your hair was what it was, not able or having the time to tame it all that much and did what you could.

Quickly going through your routine, brushing your teeth and dotting on some makeup, re-emerging from the washroom to find Harry dressed and helping himself to some water.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, as he turned to face you at the noise of the washroom door opening.

He beamed at you, quickly placing his glass back down on the counter. “Don’t be, really no need to apologize. Can I drop you off or anything?”

You paused, returning his smile. “Yeah that’d be great actually! Thank you.”

And soon you were sitting in the passenger seat of his car, giving him directions to you work. You wished your morning hadn’t started like this, you wished that you could stay in bed and have some coffee with Harry, but instead you were a disaster rushing off to work.

He got you there in record time, even with a few minutes to spare, just before 8. Bag in hand, facing Harry with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry again…”

“Stop apologizing, darling.” And although he was ever so accommodating to rushing you off to work, he still missed you touch on his.

Just as you were reaching for the door handle of the car, his hand gripped your forearm. “Wait! Just –”

And he was leaning over the center console, other hand cup your jaw and was pulling your lips to his. “Just wanted another taste.”

Leaving a short sweet kiss to your lips, breaking away with a grin and the minty taste of your toothpaste. “I’ll see you soon.” Returning his sentiment, the image of his wide grin etched into your brain for the rest of the day.

Thinking over the previous night; the smoking, the swimming, the sex.

It all seemed too good to be true, but the left over feeling of Harry’s lips on yours very much reminded you that it was real, and you really couldn’t help the little smile that grew at the thought of it.

The ghost feeling of his body underneath yours, his hands gripping your tightly and his lips moving all over your skin. It was something you had secretly thought about before, usually in an inebriated state after sharing a pipe with Harry, and you were truly hoping Harry felt the same.

                                                          ***

You didn’t get that confirmation until nine days later, both finding time in your schedules to head back to that little beach by your place.

He greeted you on the sidewalk in front of your apartment like last time, sunglasses on and big smile adorning his lips. “Hey,” extending an arm out, inviting you in for a little hug.

“You look nice,” he muttered into your hair, as you circled your arm around him.

“Thank you,” you hummed, both starting the small walk that led to the water from your street. You easily fell into conversation, catching up over small things like how work was going and anecdotes about your mutual friends.

The both of you made yourselves comfortable at that same spot you had last time, laying out the tapestry to sit on.

“I brought snacks,” you reached over to your back, pulling out a couple containers – some filled with fruits and another one with crackers and hummus. “

“Stunning,” Harry reached for the food you had pulled out, reaching for the cut orange slices.

“Did you want to smoke, or…?” Harry’s expression didn’t change as you asked him. You didn’t know why you felt nearly nervous, as if this wasn’t the first time the two of you spent time alone together.

“Not really,” he finally said, leaning back on his elbows and extended his legs out, looking out in front of him. “You go ahead, I just…”

He never finished his sentence, and you just hummed in agreement, deciding not to smoke either. Quiet music filled the little silence, before you guys once again easily feel into conversation while you snacked away.

It was comfortable, and you liked the way he sat so close to you, your legs resting on his. The sun was still out and shining, small breeze keeping you cool, filled with the warm smell of the air around you.

Eventually you were both lying back on the blanket, you on your back and Harry on his stomach right next to you. The only sound between the two of you was the music coming from Harry’s phone. He had his arms next to yours, aimlessly trailing fingertips along your skin just as he had the last time you were together.

Arms hanging by your sides, fingers moving from your arms to trace patterns over the fabric of your shirt. He lifted his head for a moment, mouth opening as if to say something but no words came out.

You didn’t notice at first, but by the third breathy sigh coming from his lips, you realized he was tempting to say something. “What’s up?”

“Nothing really, just thinking.”

“What about?” Moving up a bit on your elbows so that you could sit up, watching his hands fall down from your body and onto the towel under the two of you.

“I just –” he paused, head turning away from yours for a second before meeting your eyes again. “I really like spending time with you, you know that right?”

You warmed at his words. “I think I do, yeah.”

Just making out the smile that played on his lips, before he turned his head away from your, resting on his opposite cheek. You kept your eyes on him, feeling as though he had more to say but instead mindlessly played with a thread that was fraying from the blanket.

“Was that all?” You eventually spoke up, nudging his back with your arm. He shifted his head, taking a second before he faced you again.

“What?”

“Was that all you wanted to say?” You knew you were teasing him, watching a red blush splatter across his cheeks.

He shifted again, rolling over from his stomach to his back, bringing a hand up to his forehead to block out the sun while he kept his gaze locked up towards the sky. Mouth falling open, taking another beat before he spoke.

“Seemed kind of inevitable, didn’t it?”

“What?” You had no idea what he was talking about. Sitting up, slightly, resting on your folded elbows to hold your upper body up.

“I just mean…” he sighed, head rolling over to look at you. “Us. Seemed a bit inevitable no?”

Your smile grew. “What do you mean inevitable?”

His cheeks grew even redder. “You know what I mean. Smoking together and all, could never get enough of you.”

It was your turn to warm at his words as he kept speaking. “And I do like smoking with you, and spending time with you, and…” he trailed off, silently saying that he really liked being intimate with you.

“And?”

He lifted himself up with a laugh, leaning over you to press a small kiss to your shoulder. “And had extra fun spending time with you that night.”

“So did I,” your voice dropped down to a whisper, his face close to yours once again.

“And,” he continued, eyes gleaming. “I like not smoking with you too. I just,” he paused again. “Like being with you.”

He had the widest grin you’d seen on him, and you were sure that your face was mirroring his expression. Bring a hand up to his neck, pushing some hair that was hanging a bit lower through your fingers, before pulling him in for a slow kiss.

Lips naturally slotting over yours, encompassing your mouth with his as he sighed against you. “I like being with you too,” you hummed, pulling and nearly feeling intoxicated all over again with out even having to touch a drug.

Harry’s mind slowed, watching your lips curve into a smile before meeting your eyes again. He loved the little laugh that laced your words, the same one you had when you smoked too much and couldn’t form a sentence due to your own laughing. Better than any dream.

[pagesoflauren]

Money’s Worth - You’re Mine

soft husband!Ransom Drysdale x reader

Summary: Starting 2021 answering the question I got asked the most in 2020: “How will the reader react to learning that Ransom hooked up with someone when she was away for Christmas?”

A/N: When y’all filled out this poll, there was a 100% yes answer for a spinoff for The Highest Bidder. Well, here it is: Money’s Worth. In which Ransom is getting $50,000+ worth of experiences with his wife and child(ren). If you have more ideas, don’t be shy, drop ‘em in my ask box! I’ll update this series from time to time. 

If you were tagged in Highest Bidder, I automatically tagged you in this. If you’d like to be removed, let me know! My feelings won’t be hurt, I promise ❤️

Also, I’m sorry if your name is Amanda 🥴

Warnings: smut, swearing, jealousy, angst, daddy!kink

The Highest Bidder Masterlist

Money’s Worth Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“Darling, can you go over to the next aisle and get a couple boxes of pasta?” 

Ransom nods, even though you’re too engrossed in looking at the differences between chickpea-based and gluten-based pasta. 

His son is awake, wide eyes looking around at brightly colored food packages and fluorescent lights with a pacifier in his mouth. From what Ransom recalls of tales from when he was a baby, Harlan Jr. is more like you. Quietly observing, not kicking up too much of a fuss. 

Pinching the baby’s nose gently and coaxing a small giggle out of him, Ransom ventures over to the next aisle to find the pasta you like. 

A sharp gasp and an obnoxious “oh my God,” draws his attention. When he looks up and finds the source of the voice, his stomach gurgles with dread and annoyance. 

“All the times I’ve been here, I’ve never seen you,” she says. “What are you up to? Disappointing more girls in bed?”

Ransom weighs his options in his head. He could dig low, reminding her of all the times she was actually begging for him, or he could take the high ground, grab the pasta, and ignore her. 

He does the latter, though makes the mistake of using his left hand to do so.

“Is that a wedding band?” she scoffs. 

“Yeah, it is--” 

“Oh, Ransom, don’t get that one, we want the bigger noodles.” 

Shutting his eyes, Ransom shouts all the swear words he can think of in his mind. This is such bad timing! 

“No fucking way,” Rebecca--or is it Veronica?--scoffs. 

“Hi,” Ransom sees you give a sickeningly sweet smile and he wants to disappear into the shelves. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall ever meeting you.” 

“I’m Amanda.” 

Wow. Completely different name than the ones his mind was supplying. 

“Your husband and I know each other pretty well.” 

He can see the gears turning in your head, analyzing the situation. 

“Quite frankly, I’m not surprised about the little one. I’m sure he did the same thing to you as he did to me, just finished and decided he was done without fully getting the job done!”

You’re visibly taken aback. “I’m sorry?” 

“Oh, we just hooked up casually like, two years ago? I can’t really remember, it was during Christmas though. Hadn’t heard from him in a while and he mentioned being lonely and I figured ‘Why not?’”

“Two years ago?” you echo, looking at her, then at Ransom. 

“It was casual, I left right after,” he points out, 

“Oh, were you two together then? I’m so sorry--”

“You know what, Veronica, just get your stupid pasta or rice or whatever the fuck you’re here for and leave me and my wife in peace! Don’t you have better shit to do?!”

“It’s Amanda.”

“I don’t care.” 

Rolling her eyes, she leaves, turning on her heel and exiting the aisle. 

Ransom turns back to you and doesn’t like the thoughtful look on your face. You don’t look at him or Harlan, just at the contents in your cart. 

“Hey, don’t let whatever she said get to you. You know I love you,” he reaches for you, fingertip just grazing your cheek and you cringe away from him. 

“Just put the pasta in the cart and let’s go.” 

You’ve snapped at him before to remind him to stop completely at intersections or double check the temperature of Harlan’s bottle. You’ve never snapped at him that way, in irritation as if you can’t stand him. 

He recoils, drawing his touch away from you. “Well, just...let me get the right one.” 

“Ransom,” you deadpan, “I wanna go home. Just put the pasta in the cart and let’s. go.” 

He does as you say, carefully placing the boxes atop the other items. 

You don’t speak to him as you check out and sit in the backseat with Harlan to make sure he’s okay as he drives the three of you home. His little eyelids drop closed, completely calm despite the palpable tension between the two of you. 

Once at home, Ransom takes care of the groceries while you bring Harlan upstairs to his crib so he can continue to sleep. Just as you get him settled, you hear your husband pipe up. 

“So, can we talk about what happened at the grocery store?”

You sigh, straightening up. You cross your arms as you turn to face him. “When was the last time you saw her?” 

“When you were on winter break a few months after you had just moved in.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, a whirlpool of emotions spinning around in your chest. 

You’re angry and hurt, but you don’t know why. The two of you were just starting your sugar arrangement and it wasn’t anything deeper than that. There weren’t any feelings on your end until the following spring. 

“It wasn’t anything, it was just some hook up. She was just being a bitch because I left--”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” you interrupt him. 

You had long reconciled Ransom’s past and never held it against him. But you just cannot pin the exact reason why this revelation bothers you. 

“Look, I’m still figuring out things going on in my head. And I don’t really...I don’t really want to see you right now.” 

“I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” he argues, “We weren’t anything. We only became a thing in July.” 

“Really?” you wonder. You weren’t going to bring this up, but it feels fair in order to get him to understand your perspective. “I had a crush on someone from my cohort.” You watch his expression shift from annoyed to surprised. “I kissed him once. In November, after I moved in with you. But it didn’t work out because I was living with you, so we decided to not do anything about it.” 

You can see the visible tinge of red on his neck. “Are you saying that just to get at me?”

“It’s the truth,” you say. “Does it bother you?” 

You can see him setting his jaw as he takes in the information. 

“But we weren’t anything, right?” you remind him of the words he spoke just minutes before. 

Ransom doesn’t say anything. He turns away and walks down the hall. You hear him going down the stairs and then the door to his office slams. 

You check on Harlan, he’s still sound asleep. Slightly relieved, you move into your bedroom and sit on the mattress. 

Ransom lets out a long-winded groan when he deletes the sentence he’s been working on for the fifty-second time in twenty minutes. 

He feels odd knowing you liked someone when you were living with him, just as the seeds of his feelings were being planted. He’s taken pride in the fact that he was the only one to have you, but turns out your heart was a better prize and that wasn’t his completely. 

He doesn’t doubt you love him and he’s certain he never has to worry about sharing you ever again, but it still bothers him. 

He scrubs his hands over his face and rubs the back of his neck. 

He remembers fights between his parents never being resolved, which resulted in their marriage slowly disintegrating into a financial arrangement than a romantic relationship. 

He knows you late at night when you’re both hungry; knows you pregnant and crying over hermit crabs while watching nature documentaries; knows you between his arms and keeping him warm, making him feel safe and loved when he felt he didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t want this to turn into anything close to the example of marriage he saw growing up. 

Shutting his laptop, he gets up and marches to the door. When he yanks it open, you’re standing there. 

“What are you doing?” 

You look caught, as if you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. “I...I wanted to talk. Unless you don’t want to.”

You begin to leave and he grabs your arm. “No, let’s talk.” 

Stepping into the room feels reminiscent of walking into his office at the publishing house for the first time. You’re not comfortable entering this territory. 

Hugging your arms around your middle, making yourself look as small as you feel, you decide to just be forward. Your words come out sheepishly, “I just...I didn’t like knowing the moment I was gone, you went out and replaced me. Even if we didn’t have an exclusive label. And, I just thought, like, I realize it doesn’t matter because we’re married. And like you said, I know you love me. But, I don’t know. Just didn’t sit right with me.” 

Ransom sighs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t replacing you or anything like that. I...I saw a change in myself from just having you with me for a few months. But I thought you’d leave as soon as you got the opportunity,” he uses a large sweeping gesture as if he’s picturing you leaving all over again. “And I’d…” he hesitates, hand up by his head before his arm goes slack, “be back to my shitty normal self.” 

It’s different now with the explanation, and you wish you had been in the mindset to listen to him earlier instead of hurt him.

“And I get it. Knowing you had a crush on some guy doesn’t sit right with me either. I just,” he looks up and distantly, “I wonder what he had. What made you like him but then you were fine with nothing happening and then you started liking me?” 

“Neither of us were ready for a relationship at the time. We had just started and our first semester was crazy.” You take your turn to explain. “And feelings just come and go sometimes. I saw him again in February and it just...wasn’t there.” 

He takes in your strikingly simpler explanation, understanding your reference to fleeting feelings that are gone almost as quickly as they appear. 

“I’m sorry, Ransom. I shouldn’t have said anything about that. It was so stupid and it really didn’t mean anything--”

“Neither did Amanda.” 

“I…” you trail off, not knowing what to say. 

“I wasn’t being very understanding earlier when you first said it bothered you. You were just trying to get me to know your side of things.” 

“Doesn’t make it right,” you counter. “I really am so sorry.” 

Ransom smiles and laughs to himself. He still doesn’t know how to accept an apology. He sighs, reaching for you. “How long do you think junior will be asleep?” 

“Could be an hour, maybe two,” you answer as he draws you closer with a hand around your waist. 

“Think that’s plenty of time for us to make it up to each other.”

“Technically I need to make it up to you,” you correct him as you take his hand. “And I know how I want to.” 

You lead him back around his desk, ushering him to sit in his chair. It’s large with dark blue velvet, providing enough room for you too and straddle his lap. 

You dive for his mouth, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. 

His left hand comes to cradle your jaw, keeping your lips locked onto his, while his right hand drifts down your back to cup your bottom. 

You grind your core against his, smiling when you feel his hips jut up to yours. Tilting your head you give a tentative lick into his mouth. He opens up, bringing his tongue in to play with yours. 

It reminds you of how it was when it started; being shy  and letting him take the lead. You haven’t fallen into this cloudy headspace in a long time, but it feels so good that when you pull back and gasp the word “daddy,” it feels so natural. 

Ransom, on the other hand, is taken aback. He’s gotten used to you calling him “darling” or other terms of endearment. Hearing you call him that awakens something that had long gone into hibernation; and he wasn’t sure if it would ever see the light of day again. 

But like you, he slips into the space, creating a firm grip on your ass as a smirk appears on his face. 

“Wanna call me ‘daddy,’ baby? Hm?” he taunts. Your eyes are wide and doey, feigning innocence when he knows you’re far from it now. “Well, guess we can do that. We’ll make up for that night I wasted on someone else.” 

He watches your brows furrow and eyes squint in anger. Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tightening in the tresses. It creates a pull on his scalp, something he enjoys. “You’re mine, daddy,” you whisper just before your lips are on his again, kissing him harder than before, certain to bruise. 

You pull away and lean down to nip at his neck, hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You pop the button and undo the zipper unceremoniously. 

You remove yourself from his lap only to kneel between his legs on the carpet, pulling his jeans down to his knees. His boxers are quick to follow, revealing his hardening member. You grasp it, giving it a few squeezes and tugs the way you know he likes, watching his head loll back against the back of his chair. 

“This is mine, too,” you say. 

“Yeah?” he pants, looking down at you. A hand grazes through your hair, stopping at the back of your head. “My cock only belongs to you?” 

You nod, working him with more determination. 

“Then take it, baby.” 

You practically lunge for it, leaning forward to take him into your mouth, lips spreading to accommodate his girth. 

You’re satisfied with the sound Ransom makes, something between pained and blissful. He eggs you on, gathering your hair into a ponytail secured with his hand as he guides you to take more and withdraw in rhythm. 

You want him to finish in your mouth, but he pulls you off him and makes to lift you back onto his lap. You stand, already shimmying out of your bottoms. 

Straddling him again, you focus your attention down to poise yourself just above the head of him. 

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and makes you look at him before crashing his lips on yours once more. 

“Take what’s yours, baby. It’ll always be yours,” he whispers. 

You sink down, crying out at the feeling of him within you. The doctor had just given you the green light to resume sex as normal after Harlan’s birth weeks ago, but you haven’t been able to find a lot of time to tangle with each other without your baby or Ransom’s book needing attention. 

Ransom appears to have an equally hazy feeling, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. You straighten up slightly until just the tip of him is in and lower yourself again. 

It’s so much for the both of you that his hands come to your waist and he guides your pace. “Slow,” he instructs you. 

You obey, finding a steady pattern as you build a climax for the both of you. Coaxing your hips the slightest bit forward, Ransom sinks all the way to reach that spot within you that makes you see stars. 

“Like that, baby?” he taunts you again, moving your hips up and down his length. “Tell daddy.” 

“Yes,” you gasp, “Just like that, daddy.” 

He works you until you’re nearing your end, tightening and pulsing around him to bring on his orgasm as well. Just as you’re about to fall over the edge, he taps below your eyes, a silent request for you to look at him. 

Your eyes meet his and he verbalizes exactly what he’s thinking. “I’m yours,” he pants, “I’m yours, my baby, my sunshine.” You fall forward and kiss him, letting him swallow your moans and whines. “Come for me, let me show you.” 

Your body weakens in his grasp, leaning onto him for support. Your movements falter and he makes up for them, jutting his hips up until he’s finishing within you. 

You gasp at the warmth that blooms in your stomach, feeling like gravity is failing but it’s okay; Ransom’s holding onto you, keeping you grounded. 

He holds you tightly as you breathe heavily, trying to recover your strength. You sigh and your arms wrap around his shoulders. You hear him chuckle and lean back. 

“We should’ve thought this through better,” he smiles, “We gotta get upstairs and clean up.” 

You moan your disappointment. “M’tired. Can’t we just stay here a bit?” 

Moving your hair out of your face, he kisses your exposed forehead. “Okay, sunshine,” he agrees. “Just a few minutes.” 

Permatag: @caffiend-queen​ @fckdeusername​ @lou-la-lou​ @bangtan-serendipity​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @lovemarvelousfics​ @rainbowkisses31​ @richonne4life​ @damnndeanndamnn​ @meetmeatyourworst​ @tinyplanet-explorer​ @vivien-1211​ @unknownmystery22​ @nerdygirl8203​ @xoxabs88xox​ @mariaenchanted​ @gotnofucks​ @denisemarieangelina​ @myoxisbroken​ @kelbabyblue​ @pspice639​ @maynay43​

Chris tag: @onetwo3000​ @patzammit​ @astheworlddturns​ @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme​ @tvckerlance​ @thiskindahotkindamusic​

Ransom tag: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​

Highest Bidder Taglist: @imanuglywombat @sapphirescrolls @just-another-wretched-egg @ladynightshade30 @angstsfordays @icanfeelastormbrewing @buckysteveloki-me @what-is-your-plan-today @geniedetails @twittytelly @an-awkward-human-1 @fanfiction-trashpile @jtargaryen18 @donutloverxo @princess-evans-addict @asiaaisa77 @kelbabyblue @my-emotional-self @saiyanprincessswanie @captainchrisstan @buchanansebba @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @andiebell2023 @avengerraven1023 @dahkness @saiyanprincessswanie@sllooney @sheerfreesia007 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @suzieqsez @edge-ofparadise @bellaireland1981  @tinystudentfirepurse @opheliadawnwalker3 @siggy85 @thatweirdwalangpake @captain-asthmatic @mery-be @isaxhorror @everythingisoverrated @imboredat2am @tsunderebae009 @arseofrivia @alexakeyloveloki @heyarely16 @empower-bi-women @buckaro0 @readermia @bubbaduck33 @ssworldofsw @woah-kanda @itgetsdarksometimes35 @pinkshenanigan @sweetwaterprincess @mrsenos08 @flowersnbeer  @syms-things-5 @leahedgehog @chase-your-dreams-away @my-dirty-spot @what-is-your-wish @candy-and-writing @shayrey @princessofdarkwinter @denisemarieangelina @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @ornella0910 @hailmary-yramliah @justlovelifeblog @wxstedhexrt @taketimeandappreciate @abundanceofcarolines @cassim297 @rachellovesharry @orenjineki @heyitsmeimdead @omgkatinka @mandiiblanche @mrsdeanwinchester19 @wtfevenismypage @nannies-dont-date @cockslut-padalecki @buckysknifecollections @wth-trippy @riverscyberwife @capcevans81 @lunarmoon8 @nowigetthereference @cltex84 @x-abi-sharp-x @miss-jackson500 @corneliabarnes @rogertaylur @selinakyle373 @tuiccim @celestialblu7 @maynay43 @jennmurawski13 @miri-est-fou @pastathighs​ @capsicle-shield​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @badbo1-evans @inactivewhore​ @wandascarlett​ @saint-bvcky​ @newdaynewyearnewlife​ @arianabrashierstuff​ @goldenfightergir​ @lalalalemonade11​ @actuallygroot @smediumsmeatbae​ @may-machin​ @onelovesr​ @loustan90​ @perplexed3001​ @deafeningwritingtechnologysoul​ @rhumphr4​ @pandawalnut​ @fanngirl19​

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Find my masterlist here. Requests are Open.

Based on a wonderful song fic request I received from @itsametaphorbriansblog for the song Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap. I'd never heard the song before but trust me when I say it's awesome and my head was full with these lyrics. And yes, Alice in Wonderland is my favorite book.

Requested: Yes l No

CW: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of smut but nothing too explicit, some angst but happy ending.

Plot: Spencer wants to believe he can have a casual relationship with you. But just the thought of someone else touching you the way he does sends him into a tailspin. He wants you all to himself.

WC: 3.9K

—————————————————————

I do not want to fight this anymore

I just want to lay back

And watch you pin me to the bed

How he ended up here was somewhat of a mystery to Spencer but he had no intention of complaining.

He was sure he’d have time to think about it later, but right now all he was focused on was the way you pinned him to the bed, your soft hands wrapped around his wrists.

He was too enamoured taking in every beautiful curve of your body, the swell of your breasts and hips, the feeling of your silky thighs pressed against his own much hairier ones.

He drank you in as you kissed him, your tongue tasting like coffee and vodka. Your lips against his felt as though they’d found their rightful place in the world.

And when you finally lowered yourself on his throbbing member, everything else slipped away. The only thing in the world he could focus on was how fucking good it felt to have you wrapped around him.

It was as though all the stars had aligned and all his birthdays and christmases had come at once.

He never thought he’d have a shot with someone like you. This was better than even his wildest dreams.

I used to call you my best friend

Way back before you were my everything

Now I’m sucking on your neck

You’d worked together for several years and quickly became best friends. But there was always something more between you. Lingering glances, a few too many casual touches.

An odd tension that Spencer had never been able to put his finger on until the first time you saw each other naked and it vanished.

It had started after a few too many drinks at Rossi’s and ended in Spencer’s bed. That had been six months ago and since then the two of you spent all your free time between the sheets together.

It just made sense.

But you had made it clear it was simply sex, a means to an end. You were seeing another guy who knew about Spencer too. You told Spencer he was free to see other women.

He didn’t want to see other women. He only ever wanted to see you. He wanted to see you all the time, preferably naked and sitting on his cock.

He had agreed this was fine. He was ok with this arrangement. He’d told you he was fine with this other guy you were seeing if he was fine with you seeing Spencer.

Fine. Everything was just fine.

And you wrote my favorite song

Now I’m fucked up and carrying on

I do not know the words yet, oh

It had been a lie.

He thought he could separate the physical from his feelings but he wasn’t that kind of man. He wished he could be. But the idea of not having you all to himself made him feel sick.

And it hits me

I don't want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

He thought he was ok with it until he was lonely in his apartment one night. He text you asking you to come over.

Your response told him you were with your other man. And he spiralled.

He couldn’t help his mind wander over the things you would be doing together.

Did he kiss you on your neck the way you loved? Did he know the way you liked to be touched?

Did he make you feel the way Spencer did? Did he make you come the way Spencer knew how?

The thought of you naked being pleasured by another man made his heart ache. Images of you touching him, being fucked by him, screaming his name; it was too much.

He wanted to be the only one who got to touch you like that; to see you at your orgasms peak.

It really wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to share you. He didn’t want to be left alone in his room wracked with sadness at the thought of you with another man.

Is it okay?

That I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

Yeah

“What did you get up to with Matt last night?” Spencer asked as he made you both coffees the next morning.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mark.” you sighed as you spoke. You knew Spencer knew his name, he had an eidetic memory for god sake. He was doing it deliberately.

“Matt, Mark same difference.” he shrugged, pouring sugar into his cup.

“We just hung out.” you took the other mug he’d filled and twirled your spoon around in it. “You know, usual stuff.”

You leant back against the counter, holding the warm mug between your hands and inhaling the smell.

Spencer turned to look at you.

You had a noticeable hickey on your neck, one he certainly hadn’t left. You must know he could see it.

“The usual stuff you and Morgan would do when you hang out or the usual stuff you and I do when we hang out?”

You rolled your eyes again and pushed yourself away from the counter and headed back towards your desk.

Spencer followed close behind you.

“Just because you don’t speak doesn’t mean you didn’t answer.” he whispered as he caught up with you. “Nice hickey.”

He practically stormed to his desk and threw himself in the chair.

You sighed to yourself. You should have known Spencer would be this way.

A little while later Morgan passed by your desk as you had your nose buried in a case file.

“Ohhh looks like pretty girl got some loving last night! The size of that mark on your neck Miss thing!”

You looked up at him, your cheeks stained crimson.

You made brief eye contact with Spencer. If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes were filled with tears.

He pushed his chair back and stormed away from where JJ and Emily were now getting a good look at your hickey too.

“What’s up with him?” Morgan frowned.

“I don’t think he’s feeling too good today.” You replied.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Tell me that nobody else touches you

Like I do, like I do

Oh, tell me that nobody else touches you like me

Tell me that nobody else touches you

Like I do, like I do

Oh, tell me that nobody else touches you like me

There was no case to take you out of the state and you were looking forward to going home.

Spencer caught up with you as you stepped in the elevator and shoved his way inside just before the doors closed.

“Do you want to come over?” he asked the second the doors shut behind him.

“Not tonight Spence, I’m exhausted.” you stifled a yawn as if to prove your point.

“Did you use all your energy on Mike?” he sounded so bitter.

“I did not use all my energy on Mark. I’m tired from dealing with a whiny, jealous baby all day.” you rolled your eyes yet again.

“I’m not jealous.” he scoffed. “Or whiny. Or a baby.”

“Sure you aren’t.” The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

You patted Spencer on his shoulder as you stepped out.

“Goodnight Spencer, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He pouted a little as he watched you go.

Maybe it was time to just let you go entirely.

You’re pulling on my habit lines

The more I smoke the more I find

I can’t just fall asleep instead

One am and Spencer’s phone startled him awake. He was used to being called in the middle of the night for work so he was wide awake in an instant.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and put it to his ear.

“Reid.” he spoke, expecting it to be Hotch calling about a case.

“Hey,” your voice was low and sultry.

Spencer swallowed.

“What?” he knew what. He knew exactly what you were calling for.

He had to say no. He had to stay strong. He couldn’t keep giving in to you. Not anymore.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb Spence, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Well I’m touching myself.” you moaned softly. “But I do wish it was your hand between my legs.”

You heard a breathy sigh leave his lips. You knew that was enough to make him hard.

“Fuck Y/N,” he groaned. “I’ll be over in a half hour.”

You grinned as you hung up the phone.

Spencer wished he wasn’t so weak. He wished he could say no to you.

He wished he could tell you it was him or Mark. You had to choose.

He would if he didn’t fear the answer.

And you’re not my protector

I hope you know it wasn’t her

That kept me off your side of the bed, oh

He put his all in that night. He wanted to make you feel the best you’d ever felt so the next time you saw Mark you were thinking of him.

He made you come seven times, you honestly didn’t think you would walk for days after. By the time the sun came up you were so sensitive you didn’t know if you’d be able to dress for work without your clothes flustering your sensitive skin.

“Jeez Spence, I hope we’ve got another office day today.” You ached all over. “I don’t know if I’m going to be any good in the field like this.”

He felt an odd sense of pride. You’d remember this, you’d remember how good he’d made you feel.

He hoped he’d fucked Mark right out of your head.

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

“Jesus pretty girl, your hickeys have hickeys!” Morgan chuckled as you walked into the BAU with no sleep and only one coffee in your system.

Spencer tried to hide the smug look from his face.

“Another night with your lover boy aye?” Emily nudged you in the arm as you made a beeline for the coffee machine.

He felt very good about himself right now.

“Speaking of your lover boy,” JJ piped up. “You had some flowers delivered this morning.”

Spencer’s face fell. No. No that wasn’t fair.

You forgot all about the coffee and headed to your desk where a beautiful array of red roses awaited you.

Spencer wanted to take them and stomp on them. The way you were stomping on his heart.

“Oh wow.” You smiled as you read the note. “How sweet.”

“If you ask me he’s trying too hard.” Spencer tried not to sound bitter or sad as he spoke. He failed miserably.

“Well good job no ones asking you.” You shot him an annoyed glance.

The tension suddenly grew thick. You and Spencer glared at one another while Morgan, Emily and JJ stared on in confusion.

“We have a case.” Hotch’s voice broke the stare off.

Thank god you thought. Saved before you had a chance to say something you’d regret.

You put the flowers down and headed towards the round table room. You heard Spencer shuffling behind you.

“What was that about?” JJ frowned.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Emily shrugged.

“I think I’ve got an idea.” Morgan smirked as the three of them started to follow. “Pretty boy has a crush on pretty girl.”

It is okay?

That I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

You barely said two words to Spencer in the four days you spent in Missouri unless it pertained to the case.

Everyone could tell something was amiss between the two of you. The team was so used to your playful banter and inside jokes you had with one another. It was painfully obvious something was going on.

It was late when you arrived back at Quantico so Hotch sent you all straight home.

Spencer caught up with you in the parking lot.

“Y/N, can we talk?”

“No.” You didn’t turn back to look at him as you headed to your car.

“Y/N please we need to talk.”

“I’m sick of this.” You groaned as you reached your vehicle. “You said you were ok with us seeing other people Spencer.” You spun back to look at him.

He was playing with the strap of his messenger back in an awkward fashion.

“Well...I’m not.” He shrugged.

“No shit.” You scoffed. “I’m sorry Spencer but I can’t do this anymore. I like Mark, he’s nice. We have fun.”

“So I’m not nice? You don’t have fun with me?” He stepped a little closer to you.

“You’re draining Spencer.” You confessed. “I once thought maybe you and I could be more than, whatever this is, but it’s exhausting Spence. With Mark it’s just easy. We spoke yesterday and he said he wanted us to get serious. No seeing other people. I told him I’d like that.”

Spencer’s heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. He felt as though you had punched the air from his lungs.

He fought for a breath, stumbling on his feet a little.

“You’re...you’re choosing him?”

“Yes.” You chewed your lip guilty. “I’m sorry Spencer but honestly, you’re too much like hard work.” You turned away from him and opened the drivers door, closing it quickly behind you before you changed your mind.

You watched Spencer in your rear view mirror as you pulled out of your parking space.

He hadn’t moved. He just stood there, dejected and sad staring in your wake.

You were barely out of the parking lot before your first tear fell.

You’re in his living room

And it may not mean much you

But your plates are in his sink

And your sweaters on his bed

Won’t you text me when you’re home?

My baby, spare me all the rest

It had been little over a month and Spencer wouldn’t make eye contact with you. He wouldn’t speak directly to you. He wouldn’t even be in the same room as you if he could help it.

At this point the whole team knew something was up. Hotch had pulled you both up on it but you’d both lied and said everything was fine.

Everything was far from fine.

Every night for just over a month Spencer had cried himself to sleep. He’d spent his waking hours in his apartment imaging what the two of you were doing.

Were you laughing at movies? Reading together? Having romantic dinners or walks in the park hand in hand? Were you making love over and over again?

His sleep was haunted by thoughts of you too. No where was safe. He’d started wondering if he could even work with you anymore. Maybe it was time to go into teaching?

Being around you every day just didn’t seem like an option anymore because every time he saw you, his heart broke all over again.

Please just tell me

That nobody else touches you like I do

Oh tell me that nobody touches you like me

It wasn’t just that he’d lost the woman he had started developing feelings for, he had lost his best friend too. He wanted to talk to someone about the heartache he was feeling and usually that someone would be you.

He wanted his best friend back. It was killing him.

He didn’t know how to deal with losing you so he didn’t. He didn’t know how to talk to you anymore so he stopped talking to you altogether.

The flower deliveries stopped after a few months which made it slightly easier for him to forget about you dating another man.

After about seven months your demeanor shifted a little. You stopped talking about Mark as much and were more vague about your weekend plans.

By the time it was coming up to a year you stopped talking about him entirely. When Spencer overheard you speaking to JJ or Emily about your weekend plans it was always along the lines of “TV and pizza for one.”

For Garcia’s birthday the whole team was going out for drinks at a local bar. Since you ended things with him Spencer avoided hanging out with the team outside of work when you would be there. He would always come up with some kind of excuse.

But Garcia was not the kind of person to take no for an answer.

So reluctantly he went along. Emily helped him pick out a gift for her, a unicorn charm for her bracelet. Certainly not something Spencer would have chosen but Emily insisted the tech analyst would love it.

Whilst in the jewelry store a delicate silver necklace had caught his eye. It had an intricate charm of a bottle with a little label with the words “Drink Me” etched into it.

It had taken him back to a conversation from years past.

You were still new to the team and trying to keep your head down and not get in anyone's way. The team was all so close and you didn’t want to step on any toes.

On the way back from your latest case in New York you didn’t sleep like the rest of the team. You were wide awake, probably on a high from the adrenaline brought on by the case.

You sat at the back of the jet alone with your head buried in a book. You didn’t notice someone watching you or approaching you until you heard the leather seat opposite you squeak a little as your company sat down.

You looked up to see Spencer smiling softly at you.

“What are you reading?” he asked with genuine interest.

You blushed a little chewing your lip, turning the book over in your hands.

“Alice in Wonderland.” you slid the old book across the table to him.

He picked it up cautiously and turned the worn pages.

“First edition.”

“Yeah.” you nodded as he looked back up at you. “It was my dad’s. He used to read it to me when I was young. He passed away a few years ago and it helps me feel close to him.” it was the most open you’d been since joining the team.

Spencer smiled at you sadly and handed you back the book.

“I’m sorry about your dad. But that’s nice you have that.”

“Yeah I suppose it is.”

Emily had stepped out of the store to take a phone call and he had found himself purchasing the necklace. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t help himself.

Garcia had loved her charm, she’d squealed and hugged him so tightly Spencer felt the air being squeezed from his lungs.

She opened the rest of her presents while the rest of the team drank. You and Spencer kept making accidental eye contact and each time you would both smile awkwardly at one another.

You got up from the table to buy a round of drinks. Spencer watched you go. It would be his perfect chance to get to talk to you. He needed to know what was going on. Had you and Mark split up? And if you had, did that mean there was anyway he still stood a chance with you?

He’d wanted to ask for so long but every time he went to say something, the words got stuck in his throat, refusing to leave.

But this time he was determined. He needed to know where he stood once and for all.

At the very least could he get his best friend back?

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

“Thought you might need a hand.” Spencer sidled up next to you. It was the closest you’d been to one another in almost a year.

“Thanks.” you smiled softly, a little awkwardly.

You looked at each other for a moment, neither of you sure what to say to each other.

Not so long ago the two of you could talk about anything and everything until you were blue in the face. You never ran out of things to talk to each other about. So much had changed.

Spencer reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the small jewelry box. He turned it over in his hand a few times before he held his hand out.

“I saw this when I was getting Garcia’s birthday present and I couldn’t help myself.” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

You chewed your lip as you cautiously took the box from him. You ran your fingers over it for a few seconds before you slowly opened it.

Tears immediately sprang to your eyes as you looked down at the little Alice in Wonderland themed necklace cushioned inside the box.

You looked back up at Spencer with a sniff.

“Spence,” a small tear escaped your eye. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you.” he shrugged again.

You sniffed back any more tears that might fall and gently lifted the necklace from the box.

“Could you help me?” you held it out for Spencer who nodded and took the necklace from you.

He unclasped it as you turned around. He gently draped it around your neck and secured it.

You turned back to face him, you fingers on the necklace charm.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled. “I hope Mitch doesn’t mind you wearing it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“We broke up.” you didn’t bother to correct him on his name. “A few months ago.”

“Oh.” Spencer tried not to look too pleased about this. “Do you mind me asking why?”

“I think you know why.” you stepped a little closer to him. “He wasn’t the right man for me.”

“Oh.” he squeaked a little. “That’s uhm...I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you aren’t.” you laughed, stepping even closer to him.

You placed your hands carefully on his shoulders and you felt him practically melt into your touch.

“Anyway I’m the one that should be sorry.” you whispered.

“For what?” he croaked, feeling weak at your proximity.

“For choosing the wrong man. I should have known better.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, your body so close he could feel your warmth. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but I have a guilty pleasure for rom-coms.”

“You’ve definitely never told me that before. I would have remembered giving you a hard time for that.” he laughed a little and so did you.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” you nodded. “Anyway, with my extensive knowledge of rom-coms I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“That the girl always ends up with the best friend.” and with that you pressed your lips against his.

Spencer immediately took hold of your face in his hands and deepened the kiss.

You didn’t care that your whole team was probably watching. You didn’t care the whole bar could have been watching. All you cared about was Spencer.

When the kiss broke you both had tears in your eyes. You kept your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist to keep you close.

“I never want to have to think about someone else touching you the way I do again Y/N. I want to be the only person who gets to touch you.”

“Ok.” you smiled brightly at him. “But only if I get to be the only person who gets to touch you.”

Spencer laughed, kissing you again.

“That my love,” he smiled. “Is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Is it okay?

That I don’t want

Anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

—————————————————————

Taglist (find my tagist form here if you want to be added) -

All ships and genres -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl

@measure-in-pain

@ptrs-prkrs

@sexy-dumpster-fire

All SR x Reader -

@boxofsparklingmuses

@frickin-bats

@reidandhisgourd

@ukai-hoe

SR x Reader one shots -

@seasonfivereid

@willowrose99

[chibsytelford]

Requested by anon - Hear me out. What about a fic where the reader is related to one of the sons (maybe chibs or tig?) And they broke up with her long-term boyfriend and had to move into a clubhouse dorm but since hapoy recently patched over , they spend alot of time together and things happen between them(if you get what i mean😏) and eventually she sleeps in his dorm almost evey night but they keep is secret from the others because they dont know how to approach the situation then one day one of the sons burst into his dorm and are like "hap something happend we need you to- OH COME ON REALLY?". Then they have to explain to the sons shes related to how long its been going on? You can choose how it ends.

A/N - I tweaked the story a little bit, I felt like I would have to write 10k words just to include everything. I hope you still like it nonetheless!

If you want added / removed from my taglist let me know 😊

The thought of having to explain again that you and your ex had broken up had your stomach churning. This was the only one of your boyfriends that Chibs had liked, and you thought it'd be the relationship that you'd have for the rest of your life. Oh how naive you were. 3 years you wasted, thinking that he loved you, that he wanted you, but it turned out that he was doing a pretty good job of faking it all.

As you pulled up to Teller Morrow you gave yourself a quick once over in the rear view mirror. You ran out of tears 4 weeks ago, but you hadn't slept much since the break up 2 months ago, and your eyes were proving that. Your boss was also your best friend, so when you told her you needed time off, she told you to take as long as you needed, and she even suggested you come to Charming for some 'healing' is what she called it. She told you that visiting Chibs - who you called 'Uncle Chibsy' ever since he rescued you and your car 6 or so years ago - would be good for you, and that night you had headed off to Charming and here you were.

Grabbing your suitcase, you locked your car and headed for the doors of the clubhouse. Before you could even reach them you were stopped by a Scottish accent you were oh so familiar with. "Y/N?" Chibs shouted from across the yard. "Is that you?" You turned around and he smiled, holding his arms out for you. You dropped the suitcase -not caring if anything in it broke- and sprinted towards him, jumping into his arms and nearly making him fall backwards.

"Surprise!" You smiled back kissing his cheek as he spun you around. "I've missed you Uncle" you admitted as he finally put you down again, lazily draping an arm around your shoulder.

"What's brought ye here?" He asked, picking your case up for you and holding the door open, as he always did. Chibs led you to a table, grabbed you a beer and plopped himself down beside you.

You had no intention of hiding the breakup from him, you just didn't want to keep talking about it. You had told most people back home over the course of the last few weeks and having to repeat it just made you tired. But you knew better than to keep anything from Chibs. "Dale and I broke up" you shrugged, picking at the label on the bottle. "It is what it is" 

Chibs looked at you, raising his eyebrow and giving you the look. The look that had your walls crumbling, leaving your insecurities on show for him. He was always good at that, knowing when you were hiding something, knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't. "He told me he didn't love me, that he never did, and never will" you sighed wiping some stray tears away. "3 years" you laughed bitterly, "I'm an idiot". 

"Hey love, you're not an idiot" Chibs said, pulling you so you were now flush against his side. He placed his arm on your shoulder, using his thumb to draw circles on it - a gesture he knew calmed you down. "He's the idiot, and he will be a headless idiot when we are done with him" he said causing you to laugh out loud. The sound made Chibs smile. 

Just then some of the other men came bouncing through the door. You recognized them all from when you had visited Chibs over the years. Juice came through first, followed by Tig and Jax, and then your eyes landed on Happy's. "Hey guys" you said greeting them with a small smile and wave. The men nodded at you and smiled back, but they were too busy grabbing beers and lighting cigarettes to come and speak to you, except Happy who was hovering halfway between you and Chibs and the bar. You pointed to the empty seat at the other side of the table and Happy silently padded over, accepting your invitation. You pushed your beer over to him, inviting him to take a drink, which he did so, before wiping the rim and giving it back to you with a small smile.

"How you been?" Happy asked, genuinely curious. "How's Dale?" The name fell from his lips like venom from a snake. 

"She was just telling me about that asshole" Chibs piped up. "The twat broke up with her" you could have sworn you saw a slight smile grace Happy's face, but you couldn't be sure. "I was just telling Y/N about how we were going to find him and cho-" 

"Chop his balls off?" Happy finished, glancing at you briefly before looking at the Scotsman. 

"I was gonna say head, but balls work too brother" Chibs answered giving Happy a high five, making you laugh and shake your head at the action. 

Dale was soon forgotten as Chibs, Happy and you spent the night laughing, drinking and telling each other stories, which ended up being more embarrassing for you than the other two. 

"I'm going to bed now I think guys" You announced. You had no idea what time it was but a quick glance at your phone told you it was 230am. Time goes fast when you're having fun, and that saying was true for tonight. It was the most fun you had in ages. Chibs stood up to let you out and you bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek, doing the same to Happy too. He already had his cheek waiting for you, you noticed. 

Grabbing your case you headed for Chibs' dorm. The room you always crashed in when you came to visit. Chibs didn't mind sleeping on one of the benches in the clubhouse, or sometimes he even crashed in Tig or Juice's room. You quickly changed the sheets, brushed your teeth and then put one of Chibs t-shirts on. You slipped under the covers and sleep welcomed you quickly, which was the first time in 2 months that had happened.

You had now been in Charming for 2 weeks, and every day was a different day. You started helping out Gemma a bit in the office and you helped to tend the bar. It was the least you could do since they were letting you stay there. You and Happy had developed a strong bond over the last few weeks. After your first night, every night after that was spent with Happy. You guys played pool, drank beer, listened to music and one night Happy even had a go on the karaoke after you begging him constantly. You found yourself intrigued by the man nicknamed The Tacoma Killer by his brothers. 

You hadn't thought or spoken about Dale since the first night you got here. Your thoughts were slowly being taken over by Happy, and you were surprised by how quickly feelings had developed for him. You didn't expect to have feelings for someone so quickly after your last relationship, but you welcomed the feeling. And you knew that Happy felt something for you too. You noticed how he always went out of his way to bump into you, he always asked how you were, he made sure you had everything you needed and he also made you a cup of tea every morning and left it outside Chibs' door. In the 3 years you were with Dale, not once did he make you a cup of tea. 

"Need anything love?" Chibs asked you as you dried the glasses and placed them on the rack behind the bar. You looked up and noticed he had a crow eater on his arm, and you knew his intentions. 

You shook your head. "No, I'm fine thanks" you smiled. "Take your room tonight, give me 2 minutes and I'll change the sheets". Before Chibs could protest you had already left and changed the sheets, returning in a few minutes with your bag. 

"Where will you sleep?" He asked. 

"She'll sleep in my room" Happy said, suddenly appearing behind you, making you jump. "I'll sleep on the floor" he added before Chibs could shut the idea down.

Chibs looked at you and you nodded shyly, agreeing to the proposition. "Night love" he said leading his companion for the night to his dorm.

"Thanks Hap" you turned around and noticed how close Happy was to you. "You didn't have to do that" you smiled.

"Well I did" he said matter of factly. "You ready for bed now?" You nodded, placing the tea towel on the bar and wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans. 

"Lead the way" you murmured, getting slightly nervous. You followed Happy and he showed you where everything was. He pulled out a t-shirt and handed it to you, pointing to his bathroom so you could get changed. The t-shirt covered your thighs and ended at your shins, so you decided not to wear any trousers underneath. As you excited the bathroom, Happy was just finishing up making the bed. He pointed for you, telling you to get in and you did what you were told. 

He was mesmerising. A man who hardly said anything, yet the way he moved had you in awe. He took his kutte off and placed it over the end of the bed, leaving him in his vest and jeans. He took the jeans off too, not caring that you were clearly staring at him. 

Happy grabbed a sleeping bag out of the wardrobe and went to make his bed on the floor but you stopped him. 

"This is silly" you admitted "the bed is big enough for both of us, don't you think?" You had no idea where the sudden confidence came from, and you even caught Happy off guard with it too.

He blinked a few times, looking at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. "Yeah?" was all he could muster, and you nodded encouragingly, patting the space beside you for good measure. 

Happy's movements were slow. He maintained eye contact with you, looking for a trace if regret or hesitation but you didn't give him any. Instead, you curled up under the covers and waited for his warmth. A few seconds later he joined you in bed, switching the lamp off and you were both engulfed in darkness. Neither of you said anything, scared of breaking the silence.

"Goodnight Y/N" Happy whispered eventually. 

"Goodnight Hap" you replied contentedly. 

You were woken by some banging on the door that didn't seem to stop, even after you put a pillow over your head. 

"Happy? Happy? HAAAAAAAPY!" you recognized the voice as Chibs and he sounded like he was in a hurry or needed something urgently. 

You turned around and saw Happy was dead to the world. He looked peaceful but you knew if you didn't wake him up that Chibs was about to burst the door down. You poked him once on the chest but he didn't move. You poked him on the chest again, a bit harder this time but again it was no use. You then turned your poking into nudging and soon you had managed to wake him up. "If you don't let Chibs in he is about to break your door down" you laughed pointing to the door.

Happy huffed and clambered out of the bed. He unlocked the door and yanked it open, coming face to face with Chibs. 

"Finally!" He threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly. "What took ye so long?" 

Happy shrugged. "Y/N had to wake me up".

"Ye don't look like a man who slept on a hard floor all night" Chibs pointed out. 

"That's because he didn't" you said. Chibs poked his head around the corner and raised his eyebrows. "What?" You innocently shrugged "the bed is big enough for 2 of us". 

Chibs held his hands up, not saying anything else. "We can continue this discussion later" he said aiming that comment at you. "Jax needs us" he said to Happy. 

Happy nodded and shut the door, grabbing some clothes from his drawers and putting them on quickly. "Sorry" he mumbled "duty calls".

"Don't worry about it. I'll be waiting for you to get back" this time Happy kissed your cheek and you welcomed the feeling of his lips against your skin. 

"I'll look forward to it" he smiled, and walked out, but not before giving you one last smile. 

@rebelwrites @everyhowlmarksthedead @mayans-sauce @yourwonkywriter @pancakeisreading @mrsmarvelous1995 @encounterthepast @starrynite7114 @trulysuccubus @shelliechen @frightfulnite @scuzmunkie @blessedboo @jadesamhart @fangirlingaesthetics @i-love-scott-mccall @deeandbobbymcgee @gemini0410 @thisishowdynastiesareborn @meteora-fc @withmyteeth @est1887 @justjuiceyboy @destynelseclipsa @rocketqueen @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @queenbeered @lauraashley93 @talicat713 @jasminee97 @multiyfandomgirl40 @sadeyesgf @anangelwhodidntfall