#and gauged how sad i was when it washed off in the shower

[daisychainsandbowties]

CASPER LE FANTÔME???? Crying screaming can't believe that's how you chose ur name. Buried memories sticking a hand out of their grave.

i don’t even remember what this movie is about but yeahhhh. i loved the name as soon as it occurred to me, & i liked that it could be shortened to Cas, and i liked that it was 6 letters and there are other more poetic reasons too but those. are gay. so yeah i’m named after the dead boy from that movie 😌🙏

[faghubby]

CUCKOLD REASON

Jamie came home just as I finished getting the kids to sleep. She looked a mess. She had met a new lover tonight. She headed straight to the bedroom. I followed her as I walked in She had already shed her dress. I noticed bruises on her breast. And hickeys on her neck.

"Are you ok?" I asked concerned.

"Yes, very much so" she smiled and headed to the bathroom and a hot bath. Again I followed.

"Paul, he was an amazing lover. He was so aggressive and just took me" Jamie explained. Jamie had learned of my Cuckold fantasy months ago the whole idea turned her on as much as it did me. First she had hooked up with a guy she worked from. That had lasted a few months. After she had met a black man named Nathan she was fascinated by the size of his cock but it wasn't a good fit. She had turned to an online site and met this new one. I started to wash her hair and noticed the cum in it as Jamie told me about her date.

"We didn't even make it to dinner" she informed me. "He took me back to his place and used me" she almost moaned. "I have never, it was amazing" she continued. She then turned and looked at me.

"Did you?" She smiled.

"No the girls just got to sleep" I told her.

"Poor baby" Jamie giggled. Noticing the bulge in my shorts.

"You're alright he didn't hurt you?" I asked.

"No" she looked at her breast "well not really, I mean he was enormous and felt like he tore me in two. And very forceful. But it was the best sex in my life" Jamie continued her hand slid down and opened her pussy as if gauging how much he had stretched her. She sat and soaked as I washed her back and feet. Getting out only when the water was getting cold. She walked back to the bedroom and crawled in bed naked.

"I will help you with that in the morning" she told me pointing to my still present bulge. And fell asleep. I went and watched sport center fighting the urge to jerk off. Before go to bed myself. I woke in the morning to Jamie texted her lover. I could tell she was excited. She cuddled with me showing me thier conversation. He had told her to meet him again today. He was telling her what to wear and expect. This all turned Jamie on.

"Lick me while I answer him" Jamie said spreading her legs. I did as she asked. She then video called him. She told him how much she enjoyed last night as I realized how stretched her virgina was. She agreed to meet him for lunch. She hung up as I made her cum. Just as the girls knocked on the bedroom door.

"Poor baby" she smiled rubbing my hardon through my boxers. She told the girls I was coming to make them breakfast. "It seems even smaller somehow" she teased. I got up to make the girls breakfast. Jamie was still in bed when I finished getting the girls ready they where watching TV. I bought Jamie some coffee. She pulled down my shorts and reached into my boxers.

"Where is it?" She joked. Before grasping hold of it. She slowly ran her hand over it.

"I am meeting Alec for lunch. I don't know when I will be home" she told me. "Would you like me to make you wait?" She asked. I only nodded. She continued to tease my hard dick.

"How small are you?" She asked knowing the answer having measured me months ago.

"A little over 4 inches" I said barely over a whisper.

"Alec must be at three times as big" she told me barely touching my hard dick. She kept me on edge. "Your undies are two big for such a little man" she told me. She then suddenly stopped and got out of bed to get ready for her date. She went to shower. I went to check on the girls. The where playing dress up. Our oldest decided to dress me up as well. They had great laughs putting bows in my hair and jewelry on me. In the middle of this Jamie joined us.

"Daddy looks buetiful" she told the girls. And kissed me. She took out her lipstick and applied it to the girls. Then turned and smiled and did my lips as well. The girls where sad mommy had to go out again. But Daddy would play princess with them.

"You can wear one of my dresses" she told me. The girls giggled running off to pick one out for Daddy.

"In my drawer you might find undies that will fit you better" she whispered in my ear rubbing me thru my shorts. Then left I talked the girls out of dressing me up. Jamie texted me posts about being a Cuckold and a sissy. About wearing panties. Then she sent me a pic of her hand wrapped around a huge hard cock. Then nothing. I thought about what she had said all day. It was late the girls already in bed when she pulled in the garage. She came in and again headed straight to the bedroom. He dropped her dress she wore no underwear and stood naked. Her ass had red markes hickeys covered her breast shoulders and neck. Cum ran down her thigh. She stepped close and pulled my shorts down. Disappointment crossed her face. She stepped back and pulled out a pair of pink satin panties from her drawer. She handed them to me. I stripped and put them on.

"Would you like to taste him " Jamie asked her hand stopped up his cum from her thigh.

"I could never feel you again. And I will never let you have another woman." She told me offering me her cum covered fingers. I turn my head away. She rubbed me thru my panties.

"Rub yourself like this" she told me. I laid on the bed and rubbed myself thru the soft material.

"Did you wear one of my dresses today? "She asked. I nodded no. She pulled out her vibrator and held it against my dick. She slid down and spread my legs to hold it against my asshole. Through her panties. She again offers me cum off her fingers. This time pushing it into my mouth. She climbed on top of me and lowers herself to my tounge. I begin to suck her lovers cum from her as she uses her vibrator to tease my asshole and balls. Made her cum with my tounge. This pushed the rest of his cum out of her gagging me. She didn't let up until I came in her panties.

"Such a good boy" she laughed. She made me sleep in my wet panties. As she went to take a bath. I felt humiliated as I laid in wet panties and fell asleep.

Once again Jamie woke before me. When I woke up she showed me that she was ordering online. I was horrified as she showed me a strapon cock and an anal training kit. She just shush me when I tried to raise an argument. She got up and got ready for work. When she slid on a pair of cotton bikini cut white panties. She also pulled out a black thong and handed it to me. I knew she wanted me to wear them I showered and put them on as she watched while doing her hair.

"You look so cute" she said cupping me. "And they fit" she added. She pulled them up so they sank into my ass. I quickly got dressed so the girls would not see. Jamie left for work leaving me to tend to the kids. I ran a few websites and only needed to work a few hours daily. Making me the primary caregiver. I dropped the oldest off at kindergarten and the younger at daycare and went back home to work for a few hours. Jamie sent m sissy videos. Asking if I loved my new underwear. She then sent me instructions to order myself new panties. I did as she said buying a dozen thongs and a few other sexy styles. She spent the next few days sending me memes, stories and articles of what she expected of me. She avoided anything intimate between us. Although she did have me start wearing a small plug while I was home alone working.

Friday night she told me she was meeting Alec again. When she came home it was almost midnight. She woke me and handed me a present. I rubbed my eyes as she rubbed me thru my new purple thong. I opened the box to find a silver necklace. She quickly put it on me. It was tight a choker like a woman may wear I looked at it in the mirror and noticed it said sissy on it if you looked close.

"Alec fucked my ass tonight" she informed me. Pulling out the strapon she

It's had bought but we had not used yet. She made me help her adjust it. She didn't ask just pushed me back on the bed. And pushed my legs on to her shoulders. She lubed my ass before she pushed her cock in. I cried out. As she just forced it in. She shoved a rag in my mouth and fucked me. Tears rolled down my face as she took me.

"Everyday, everyday I am going to fuck you " she told me. She was not gentile but rained a brutal assault on my ass. I was even more humiliation humiliated when I came from this all over myself. Only then did Jamie stop. She had me remove her cock, then spooned me as we slept.

My ass hurt when I woke in the morning. Jamie saw me walking funny and laughed. She had me wear a larger plug all day. And under no circumstances was I to ever remove my necklace.

Jamie met her lover again that evening and returned home to fuck my ass again. Again there was no tenderness just a brutal assault when she finished she pulled me to her breast and held me as I cried.

"That's it let it out, little sissy girls need to except their place" she told me. "In the morning I want you to shave, I want you smooth like a girl." She kissed my ear. In the morning my ass still sore she reminded me.

Before she went to meet Alec again. "He is much tougher on me then I am on you" she informed me. "And I can't get enough, soon neither will you" I dropped the kids off for a play date and went home. I sat and thought about the past few weeks. It all excited me I had to admit. And decided to shave as Jamie had told me. I ran my hands over my legs and chest it excited me. I wanted to jerk off but instead rubbed myself thru my panties. I came in my panties and fell asleep. I woke to Jamie standing over me.

"Naughty girl" she laughed. And lowered herself on my face I licked her lovers cum out of her. But there was so much.

"He let his friends have a turn " Jamie told me. "Three mens cum you are eating" she informed me. After I had cleaned her to her satisfaction. She let me up. Stuffed a huge plug in my ass and sent me to fetch the girls.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #107

(taken january 30th; uploading surveys taken while gone)

Have you ever been to an animal shelter? Yes.

How far away do you live from the beach? Around two hours by car.

Have you ever smoked a cigarette? No, it's just never seemed at all appealing to me, but I'm not about to try one and then suddenly get hooked on them, especially having such an addictive personality.

Have you ever bought yourself or someone else lingerie? No.

If you have a dog, does it bark a lot? Sometimes she does, especially if she hears another dog barking or thinks someone is outside.

Have you ever seen a magic show? At kids' parties.

Have you ever begged the opposite sex for anything at all? Yes, to stay. Never doing that shit again.

Has your boyfriend or girlfriend ever cheated on you? Were you mad or sad? No.

Would it creep you out if you walked in on your best friend having sex? My best friend is my boyfriend and we're monogamous so I'd be pretty fucking upset, not "creeped out."

Does it scare you when the sky gets really cloudy and dark during the day? Yes, because of how terrified I am of tornadoes and conditions that look like they could spawn them.

Are you afraid of one certain ride at a theme park? I'm afraid of any ride that could very easily make me dizzy and cause me to faint and also - and even more - rides that might make me motion sick because I am very afraid of vomiting.

Do you usually wrap gifts or just put them in a bag? I use bags unless Mom wraps it for me. I am horrible at wrapping, and it's less mess anyway.

Do you have any scars from burns? No.

Does your bathroom fill up with steam when you take a shower? No; I haven't allowed that to happen for years, since that time I passed out in the shower. I've always kept the door AT LEAST cracked. Nowadays because I use a shower chair, even less condensation happens in the bathroom because when actually working shampoo into my hair or washing my body, the showerhead has to be turned off because I need both hands.

When was the last time you were given jewelery as a gift? This Christmas; I got a proper kit for gauging my ears.

Have you ever built a snowman? Yeah, I miss that.

Have you ever been in a tree house? No. That's something I always wanted as a kid, but we only had pine trees in our yard, so it was entirely unrealistic.

Have you ever had to do your laundry at a laundromat? Yeah, back at the old house when our washer sometimes decided to be a piece of shit.

Do you think it's likely that humans will go extinct in the next 1,000 years? Yes, frankly. We've caused too much damage to this planet, and it's not stopping, AND the population keeps going up and up, so...

Do you and your dad have similar personalities? We both have an embarrassing lack of common sense, if I'm honest.

What did your family usually do for Easter when you were a kid? Easter egg hunt, and we always got individual baskets of candies and stuff.

Do you live near any large rivers or lakes? The Tar River, yeah.

Are you emotionally stable? lol

What was going on in your life back in 2011? High school freshman. Juan and I had something brewing between us, but his reputation kept me from dating him 'til like, the VERY end of the year, and that lasted not even a day thanks to his ex, which was really a blessing in disguise, I'm sure.

Do you still talk to the very first person you had sex with? Question is irrelevent to me.

Are you an atheist? I don't really know if I consider myself atheist or agnostic or what. I have SOME spiritual ideologies, like I absolutely believe there's SOMETHING after death, but idk about a "god."

What’s the largest bug you’ve ever found in your house? Uhhhh, idk. Nothing THAT big. Rarely we've seen a wolf spider, but that's not a bug.

Do you believe rich people are worth more than those who are poor? Fuck off, absolutely fucking not.

Do you have any embarrassing health issues? I don't exactly talk about having some sort of gastrointestinal issues, as well as certain problems that come with being my weight and stuff.

Have you ever worked in food service? Technically yeah; I lasted at a deli for like... not even two hours lmao.

Do you write mostly in cursive or in print? It's a mix, but definitely mostly cursive.

Who was your first favorite cartoon character? I'd say probably Charmander.

Who is your favorite Disney princess? Mulan, if she counts. If not, I think Jasmine.

What grocery store do you shop at the most? Wal-Mart. It's like, barely even two minutes from my house and it's also most affordable with the widest variety of options.

What is your favorite fast food place? Sonic.

Do you like McDonald’s French fries? They're *usually* my favorite fries of the big, popular chain restaurants. But sometimes they're too crunchy for me personally. I'm one of those weird people that likes flimsier fries, lol.

What color is your hair? Holy SHIT I barely know anymore. It's this weird mix of what was once a seaweed-ish green and the remnants of purple that for whatever reason didn't take the green, and you can also see my brown roots clearly now. I even hesitate to call the green "green," it's so faded now. I need to dye it BADLY but I just can't afford that right now when I'm saving for my tattoo.

Did you get your hair color from your mom, your dad, or a grandparent? Mom, I guess. Though I was born dirty blonde, and I have no idea where that came from. But it turned into a brown that's very much like my two sisters', and Mom's hair is naturally a very dark brown, darker than ours but still brown.

What is your name (first and middle)? Brittany Marie.

What are some other names your parents considered when naming you? I feel like Kathryn was one. Idk about others. I should ask, that'd be interesting to know.

Who was the last person you know who had a baby? One of my older sister's close friends/a former neighbor.

... And what was the baby’s name? Holly.

Do you clean your room often? Nowhere near as much as I should. It's a major reason I'm trying to restyle my room with a more minimalistic approach, so I don't have to move SO much decor to clean adequately. I get legitimately stressed when I have to move all the stuff that's currently in there because I obsess over the idea that I'm not going to put shit back in a way that I like.

What color is your dresser? Brown.

Do you have a favorite aunt, and if so, who is it? Yes, my Aunt Caroline. I've only met her once that I remember, but I had an awful anxiety attack at her house and she helped me through it with such warmth and care and I still haven't forgotten it. She and my uncle Bill are wonderful people that I really want to see again.

Who is your favorite cousin? I honestly don't have one. The only two cousins I knew well I cut off when their father was causing massive familial stress and drama and supported his slimy decisions. Gotta love spoiled rich kids.

Do you have a problem with needles? I really don't like long needles, especially when they go deep through the skin. They used to totally not bother me, but now if I get a shot or something, I look away because I worry about getting woozy. I can handle seeing my blood be drawn, but even that I prefer to not look at these days. I don't know what changed.

If applicable, what color are your glasses? They have a black rim.

Have you ever stood up to a bully? Maybe? I definitely WOULD if I saw it happening, but I don't really remember an occasion where this has happened.

Which famous person do you think you could be friends with? Oh I could SO be friends with Gab Smolders (no idea what her real last name is, just going with the YouTube handle); we have such, such similar tastes in horror games and I feel like I could talk to her about various ones for hours lmao. Plus she loves cats so like, bestie lmfao. I just really like her personality and general vibe.

If you could sit down and talk to anyone for an hour, who would it be? Markiplier, absolutely zero hesitation.

Have you ever made your own Halloween costume out of clothes from your closet? Oh for sure.

What is your favorite alcoholic beverage? Sangrias, probably strawberry ones. I'm hoping to have one for my birthday when we go out for lunch.

Do you have anyone who hugs you regularly? Girt, when I see him, as well as my sister's kids, especially Ryder haha.

Who gives the best hugs? I feel safest and most treasured with Girt's hugs, but I absolutely have to give credit to Ryder with how enthusiastically he runs up and hugs me. :')

Have you ever thrown up on an airplane? No, let's keep it that way. It's funny just how worried I get about getting motion sick despite the fact I've never once in my life gotten motion sickness.

What were your favorite stores when you were in high school? Hot Topic.

Do you enjoy editing photos? I do. Ya kinda have to if you want to be a photographer, if I'm honest. Almost (emphasis on "almost") absolutely no famous picture you'll ever see went totally untouched in postproduction, I promise you.

How many tabs are open on your browser right now? Five. That's not many for me, lol.

Have you ever wanted to start a business? I very seriously want to be a freelance photographer, so yeah, I guess.

Ever had a pillow fight? I'm sure I have at some point.

What do you usually pick in truth or dare? Truth. I didn't really like/do dares.

Has there been a celebrity death that really affected you? Steve Irwin and Chester Bennington hit deepest for me.

What was the name of your third grade teacher? Mrs. Britt.

What did you get your best friend for their last birthday? I was really fucking upset that I couldn't get him anything because of money; I wasn't comfortable asking my mom to use her money. He completely understood and didn't care, but I did.

What did they get you for yours? Tbh I can't remember what he got me last year...

How's your life at the moment? I've been in this mental/emotional state lately where it feels like I'm driving a car but running on empty; I just feel very out of fuel with trying in the various things I'm trying to accomplish.

Have you ever had a close friend move away? Yeah.

Who is your favorite female celebrity? Bindi Irwin, most likely.

Are you literally afraid of anyone? I'll probably always be somewhat afraid of Jason just because I know how much power he probably STILL holds over my emotions. I know I'd be very, very afraid to see or interact with him in any way. I should emphasize though that I don't find him scary in the sense I think he'd actually cause me harm, he's a completely harmless person. Or was; I really shouldn't pretend I know how he is anymore.

Who was the last person to tell you a secret? My mom.

Who did you last take a picture with? One (or multiple) of my sister's kids, I'm sure. Sometimes Mom takes pictures of us when I'm at their place and not looking.

Who was the last person to comfort you? Girt.

What are your plans for tomorrow? I have my first appointment with my new therapist... I'm really nervous.

[TW: SUICIDE] If your friend tried to commit suicide in front of you, how would you react? I'm physically trying to intervene fucking immediately and calling for absolutely anyone who's in earshot to call 911 because that friend needs to go to the hospital. I've been in the shoes of someone trying to kill themselves, I don't mess around with this shit. I'm finding them help immediately.

Have you ever tried to impress someone before? Yeah. Literally the only reason I got my first job was because I wanted Jason to see that I "could" work. Ended horribly, btw.

If you found out you were pregnant how would you react? That's not scientifically possible so I guess I believe in the Virgin Mary now.

Have you ever been dumped by text? Did it hurt? Yeah, and I mean it did, but it wasn't excruciating. I just really, really don't know what Sara and I had; I was over it too quickly for it to have been what I once thought it was. Jason broke up with me via Facebook Messenger, but I'm just going with actual texts here.

What about by Facebook or Myspace? ... Oh, see above. It was fucking soul-annihilating, quite honestly. It completely shattered reality to me; I never, ever thought it would - or could - happen. It was a LITERAL impossibility to me until the night it actually happened.

If you could choose the gender of your child what gender would you choose? I'd strongly prefer a daughter over a son, if I could only have one.

Ever been pressured into something? Yeah.

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Lover, Please Stay

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get shot and Hotch worries about you while trying to keep it together. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: swearing, shooting, blood, injuries, hospitals, some angst and then fluff, mostly just wanted to write some worried!Hotch 

A/N: here we go! this is my first fic, so enjoy

Masterlist

---

As far as dates go, getting shot in the stomach twice was definitely not the way you wanted the night to end. Especially because you actually cared about the man sitting across from you in the dim lighting of the restaurant and you definitely had something else planned involving him, your clothes hitting the floor, and then the wall, kitchen counter, possibly the sofa, and of course, your bed and maybe the shower—but all that would have to wait as you slump back in your chair, stunned and bleeding. To his credit, however, Aaron Hotchner is not about to let the man who shot you get away with it, and swiftly tackles, disarms, and subdues the shooter, in record time, you think hazily to yourself with a small smile. After making sure the unsub won’t do anything else –not that he could even if he wanted to– Aaron turns to you. Eyes wild, he finds you –rather dramatically if you say so yourself—bleeding out and losing consciousness. So much for after-dinner plans.

“How romantic,” you gasp out and suddenly at your side, Aaron tips you out of your chair and lays you on the ground, immediately shedding his jacket to apply pressure to your abdomen and the growing red spots staining the dark green dress you had worn tonight. Fuck you loved this dress. And his jacket.

“….Sweetheart? You still with me?” Aaron’s voice wavers, and you realize he’s leaning over you and trying to gauge how you’re doing, aside from the obvious, of course.

You huff a laugh out—big mistake—and a small cry tears out of your throat as the pain in your midsection makes you regret your actions. Turning your head with a surprising amount of effort, your eyes float over him, taking in the way his hair sticks up, the frantic gleam to his eyes (tears?) and then down the black button-down he wore to his bloody hands on your body. You try for a reassuring smile—it doesn’t land—and then there’s some sort of commotion on the other side of the restaurant which you belatedly realize is the stampede of patrons out, as the ambulance slams to a halt outside, sirens blaring.

“Love, y’need t’figure this out,” you grit out, knowing that he won’t—can’t—argue with you as you look up at him.

“Y/N...”

“No, Aaron. Get th’ team,” your eyes are closing and breathing is getting harder so you stop, and hope that he figures this out. He has to. You know Aaron will want to protect you and go to the hospital this instant, but you can’t let him do that just yet. Not this time. It’s not everyday a BAU agent gets shot in a crowded restaurant in front of her boyfriend, who is also a BAU agent. It’s too weird to be random and the rest of the team needs to get here now.

The next few moments pass in a blur of shouting and pain, as you are lifted on to a stretcher and poked and prodded. Tiredly, you try to keep your eyes on Aaron, but in the noise you find your head rushing and with a sharp pain in your stomach, you fall into darkness.

Barred from climbing into the ambulance with you, Aaron has never been so scared and enraged. The ambulance screeches towards the hospital as he quickly fires off a text to the team –you’ve been shot, it doesn’t look good, meet him at the restaurant. And then he sits on the sidewalk. And thinks. And seethes.

How could he not have noticed the man advancing toward your table sooner? How could he not have noticed how out of place the man looked and the way that he kept a hand in his jacket pocket? And finally, why didn’t the man shoot him before getting taken down? Head in his hands, Hotch lets out a sigh before clenching his fists and closing his eyes, waiting. There are police officers milling around, taping off the restaurant and the unsub is in a car around here somewhere, or maybe already on his way to the police station, but Aaron can’t shake the fear in his mind. He should be speeding off after the ambulance, keeping you company, and pacing the hospital lobby until he knows you’re okay. You need to be okay. But your words ring in his head, figure this out, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. You need him to try. He needs to focus.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and Aaron jerks his head up to find Morgan and Prentiss looking at him with sad eyes. Accepting Morgan’s hand, Hotch stands, and after a beat, straightens up and becomes SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and not Aaron Hotchner, concerned and, quite frankly, terrified boyfriend.

“Garcia is pulling security footage from the restaurant and surrounding area. She’s also keeping tabs on the unsub at the police station and will let us know as soon as the cops figure out who this guy is.” Morgan says as Hotch looks around at the crime scene that’s sprung up around him.

“Unless she figures it out first,” Prentiss adds “which she probably will, it’s Garcia.”

A black SUV pulls up, and Reid, Rossi, and JJ emerge. Rossi immediately takes stock of the blood on Aaron’s hands and the usual chaos of a crime scene. Reid looks shaken to his core, and JJ isn’t much better, although she is valiantly trying to put on a brave face if only for her own sake.

“Aaron, you should be at the hospital. We can handle this,”

“Dave, she told me to figure it out. It was one of the last things she said and if I don’t and she…” Aaron trails off as the rest of the team looks at him, worried.

“I need to do this for her,” he says softly, thinking of how you looked as you were whisked away by the ambulance. How you passed out, face contorted in pain and then still.

“Hotch…” JJ lays a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“We got this. You can run point from the hospital with Garcia,”

That shakes him a bit.

“Garcia is running point from the hospital?” he wants to smile, but he can’t. Not while you’re possibly fatally injured.

“Of course she is,” says Morgan with a small smile.

“She went directly there after you texted us. She said she doesn’t want Y/N to be alone, ” Spencer supplies, and Hotch can’t help but be startled by how much he appreciates the thoughtfulness of his team in this moment.

Looking around the circle, he realizes that he doesn’t have to take on the investigation and your injury alone. No shit, he can hear you say. That’s what they’re here for, dumbass. Teamwork.

Halfheartedly, he tries “but the police need to take my statement and—“

“—and they can do that from the hospital after we’re done here, I’m sure they’ll make an exception for the Unit Chief of the BAU since his girlfriend got shot,” Rossi finishes for him. “Aaron. Go.”

“Come on, Hotch, I’ll drive,” and as JJ pulls him into the SUV, he watches the rest of the team disperse amongst the police and crime scene techs with a determination and focus he wishes he could emulate right now. Instead, he tries to focus on getting to you and how good it’ll feel to hold your hand again.

---

The ambulance ride is blurry and the lights are too bright and the noises too loud as you slide in and out of consciousness after initially passing out. Vaguely, you hear something about a perforated something or other and blood loss, but that’s really all you can understand before going back to being unconscious. Again. If only falling asleep was this easy.

---

Aaron never particularly liked hospitals, but now, with your life in danger, he hates them. Striding into the lobby, JJ at his side, his eyes find Garcia, furiously typing and wiping away tears as fast as she can. As his feet carry him to the desk, JJ breaks off to comfort Garcia.

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I’m here for Agent Y/L/N she should have arrived half an hour ago with two GSWs to the abdomen,” his voice is surprisingly collected, as the nurse looks up at him from her computer.

“She was rushed into emergency surgery almost as soon as she got here. I don’t have an update for you now, Agent Hotchner, and it could be awhile until I know something for sure,” the nurse replies with a sad smile.

With a curt nod, Aaron walks over to Garcia, who now has JJ’s hand firmly in her own. Upon seeing him, Garcia springs up and sets her laptop and JJ’s hand aside to instead throw her arms around her stoic Unit Chief. Stunned but not unwelcome, Hotch reaches around to hold the crying tech analyst. Pulling back from the embrace and sniffling, Garcia looks at Hotch and her eyes widen almost comically.

“Blood. Oh my God, blood,” she states in a hurried breath and it’s only then that Hotch realizes that his arms and torso are covered in your blood still; he hasn’t had a chance to wash it off. Looking down at himself, his vision blurs for a second and the weight of his appearance takes a toll. Stumbling to the bathroom as JJ and Garcia reach for him, he staggers through the door and to the closest sink before throwing up. Leaning heavily on his hands, he hangs his head and catches his breath before turning the tap on. Slowly, methodically, he cleans his hands, then up his arms. Splashing water on his face he looks in the mirror, noting the bags under his eyes, the way his hair sticks up on one side, and the dried blood on his black shirt as it catches the shitty fluorescent lighting.

You’re laughing at him and he can’t help but smile back at you. In the light of the restaurant he loves the way your eyes shine when you look at him. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, but you’re still laughing and he loves the way you look when you laugh. Bang. There’s screaming. Bang. You slump in your chair across from him. His stomach drops and there’s a roaring sound in his ears and years of training take over. The unsub stands still, gun in hand, and Aaron moves. Takedown. Push the gun out of reach. Hold the guy down. Swift punch to the face and the guy is out. You make a sound—a whine? a scream? his name?—and Aaron turns. You. Hands on your stomach, but Aaron can see the blood seeping through your fingers. Gently, as gently as he can, he gets you to lie on the ground and uses his jacket to try and staunch some of the bleeding. Your eyes flutter and he calls your name, asks how you’re doing, something to keep you awake and talking and with him and—

A knock on the door draws him out of his mind and JJ pokes her head in.

“I found a sweatshirt in the back of the SUV and thought you might want to put it on instead of having to stay in your shirt since…” she trails off and gestures to his bloody clothes.

Wordlessly, Hotch takes the sweatshirt from her. It’s one of his, he knows that, but he can’t remember why it’s in the SUV, especially because he hasn’t seen it since—You. You had it last. Inhaling your scent off the piece of clothing almost shatters him again and he holds the sweatshirt to his face as he tries not to cry. Slipping into a stall he slowly undoes his shirt before crumpling it up and dropping it on the ground. Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he takes a moment to collect himself before stooping down for his shirt and walking out the bathroom door back into the waiting area.

Sitting next to Garcia he can see that there’s a picture of the unsub on her screen, as well as general demographic information and stuff streaming past that’s too fast for him to read.

“Garcia, what have you found.” Business as usual. Except for the part where he doesn’t know how you are or if you’re alive.

“Well, Sir, the bastard who shot Y/N is Parker Harrison and from what I can tell, he’s a creep. Like look-through-your-windows-and-take-photos-while-you-change kind of creep so—“

“—so it’s weird that he came up to you two in a crowded room and shot Y/N when there is nothing that Garcia’s found to suggest that that’s even something Harrison would even consider,” JJ finishes while continuing to glare at the photo on the screen.

Hotch sighs and puts his head in his hands. Again. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he looks at JJ.

“Call the rest of the team and let them know that we know who the unsub is, but he doesn’t fit the profile for the crime and see if they’ve found anything out of the ordinary.”

With a nod, JJ moves to her feet and goes out the front door to make the call. Garcia makes a noise somewhere between frustration and surprise before renewing her furious typing. Aaron looks towards the nurse at the desk, the same one he had spoken to earlier, and catches her eye. She shakes her head and he tips his head back against the wall behind him, eyes closing.

---

You don’t think you’ve died. At least, not yet. Maybe this is some fucked up afterlife precursor, but you really, sincerely, hope you aren’t dead because that would suck for you and for Aaron. And Jack. And the team. Fuck you really hope you aren’t dead, but the fact that you can’t feel your body really isn’t helping you figure out what the hell is going on. There’s pressure building in your chest and as it expands, it feels like you are going to explode. You fight against whatever is happening—it hurts, dammit—and then back to nothingness.

---

He waits for hours. Pacing, sitting, standing, silent. Garcia mumbles to herself as she works, and calls the team with possible updates, but Aaron can’t bring himself to focus on anything but you. JJ comes and goes, standing, sitting, pacing, leaning over Garcia’s shoulder. She calls Will and the team a few times to give or get updates and for that, Aaron is grateful. He knows he should be doing more, as Unit Chief and as the person you told to get the unsub, but you you are his focus. He nods when Garcia shows him something and shakes his head when JJ appears with food and coffee. And he waits. At some point a police officer shows up and Hotch mechanically rattles off what happened. There isn’t much he can say since they have the shooter in custody already. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the team show up and all of a sudden Hotch is suffocated by the amount of people in the waiting room. Prentiss moves to JJ’s side and Morgan to Garcia’s, talking quietly. Reid and Rossi trade glances before descending on Hotch.

“Any news?” Rossi asks, but Hotch shakes his head.

“You guys find anything at the scene?” And Hotch is hoping for something anything to make this make sense.

“Well, according to the security cam footage, the unsub was dropped off at the restaurant and then walked inside, bypassing the hostess and making his way to your table. It seems like Harrison knew exactly where you were going to be and when, which is concerning. But after you take him down and he got to the station, he didn’t talk—and still hasn’t which indicates that he may be trying to protect someone which furthers the idea that he really didn’t come up with this on his own given that his previous criminal record didn’t indicate that he would shoot someone that he deemed a target, although Garcia is currently going through the contents of his electronics to see what she can find and—“ Reid is effectively cut off by Rossi, who states “and so we still don’t know enough about this guy to draw any concrete conclusions, but this isn’t an ordinary unsub and if he does have a partner, we need to figure out who that is before someone else gets hurt; possibly someone on this team.”

Aaron frowns to himself at this information. He thought that the team would be able to find something find more about Harrison, but it seems the universe is making him wait not only on you, but the fucker who shot you as well. Collapsing down on to the nearest chair, Aaron tries to come up with a plan, a preliminary profile, something that will help him figure out what exactly you’ve been drawn into. Staring down at his shoes, he fails to notice the way the team looks at each other, and then at him. With a sigh, Prentiss moves from JJ’s side to Hotch’s and sits. He doesn’t look at her, or even acknowledge her presence, but doesn’t shake off the hand that she lays gently on his shoulder as he continues to study his shoes.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when the team is alerted to a development in your wellbeing by the loud squeak of the swinging door that leads to surgery. Half asleep, Rossi wakes the others from their various levels of slumber as Aaron stumbles to the doctor after he announces your name, eyes wide and hopeful.

“First, Agent Y/L/N is alive. She coded in surgery about two hours ago,” Aaron swears he stops breathing “—but we were able to revive her and finish stitching her up and repairing the internal damage. The bullets entered her abdomen and tore through her large intestine, and she did suffer more blood loss that I had hoped, but in time, she will recover.”

Aaron’s breath rushes out all at once and he almost collapses with the weight of his relief. He hears the gasps and murmurs of the team behind him which confirm their own happiness that you are alive.

“Can I see her?” the words leave him quickly, and he knows you won’t be awake, but he needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still here, with him.

“As you can imagine, she won’t be awake for quite some time. Her body has sustained major trauma, and we will be keeping her under watch for at least a week, depending on how long it takes her to wake up and then the rate at which her body’s healing process takes place. However, you may see her, one at a time, and are welcome to be here during official visiting hours tomorrow.”

Without turning to the team, Aaron nods and gestures for the doctor to lead the way, mind spinning with relief and worry, a dizzying rush of feelings at knowing that you’re alive. Stopping outside of a room, the doctor looks at Aaron before opening the door and stepping aside. Making his way to the side of your bed, Aaron can’t help but take stock of your appearance. Eyes tracing your face, fingers lightly following the same path before coming to hold your hand as he sits in the chair next to your bed. Exhaling slowly, he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, eyes finding your sleeping face and finally, Aaron allows some tension to leave his body. You’re here you’re here and you’re alive and breathing.

---

Your return to actual conscious reality is slow, to say the least. The steady beeping of your heart monitor catches your attention first because it’s just so damn annoying. But hey, it means you’re alive—what a relief—so you really can’t find it in your hazy mind to care too much about the incessant beeping noise as you drift into consciousness. The next thing to draw your focus is the scratchiness of the sheets surrounding your body—are hospital sheets purposely so uncomfortable?—and the way that you can feel someone holding your hand. Aaron. Fighting to open your eyes damn those fluorescents you manage to squint your way awake. Well, as awake as one can be after what you just went through, but it’s an improvement to whatever semi-alive state you had been in even if you are still in a moderate amount of discomfort.

“…Sweetheart?” there he is. You squeeze his hand and turn to see him more fully, eyes raking over his face. Teary-eyed and smiling, you’ve never seen him look more handsome (okay besides when he was wearing his black button-down and black jacket at dinner before you got shot, but that’s obvious).

“Aaron,” his name leaves your lips on a breath and you smile back at him as he kisses your hand before leaning over and kissing your forehead.

“I was so worried, Y/N. So worried about you,” he continues down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally, finally, he presses his lips to yours. Hands intertwined with his other one coming to cup your face, you pull apart just enough to look each other in the eye. And to think you might not have survived to do this ever again. The thought is enough to bring tears to your eyes and as they fall down your cheeks, Aaron kisses your forehead again before leaning his head against yours.

“You’re okay, Sweetheart. You’re here, I’m here, the team is in the waiting room. We’re all okay,” he says gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You continue to cry, soft whimpers escaping you as the pain in your midsection sets in and you realize how much you could have lost if you died.

“Th’ team. Need t’see ‘em,” you mumble through your tears, and Aaron nods before reaching for his phone and texting someone, staying by your side the whole time. Your tears continue to fall, but Aaron’s presence and steady reassurance calms you and soon you’re just staring at each other, hands clasped, reveling in your closeness.

A nurse enters the room and checks your vitals on all the machines you’re connected to before remarking on how good it is to see you awake and then she’s gone; Aaron doesn’t leave your side.

A swift knock on the door turns your head, and a smile breaks across your face as the team shuffles into your room and gathers around your bed. You watch them as they come in, looking for injuries or something out of the ordinary. However, they’re all okay, looking at you with sad hopeful eyes, but they’re okay just like Aaron said.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, wide-eyed.

“We’re okay? Mama, we should be checking on you. You’re the one whose been unconscious for a day and a half,” Morgan chuckles.

“’M okay. Good. Great. Sp’tacular,” you assure them with a smirk and a wave at your general hospital-chic appearance. You don’t have to turn to Aaron to know he’s rolling his eyes as the others let out small laughs at your answer.

“Glad you’re awake, Y/N,” Rossi states with a smile as Reid nods behind him.

“We were worried,” JJ adds.

“Don’t you ever do that again! I mean it,” Garcia says, pointedly. You huff out a laugh and grimace as your abdomen twinges in pain. Note to self: don’t do that again. You catch the rest of the room in a collective wince out of the corner of your eye, but your focus is now on Aaron, as he leans impossibly closer to you, gauging your level of pain through his furrowed brow.

“We’ll be back later,” Emily suggests, laying one hand on JJ’s arm and another on Reid’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Y/N.”

“Will do,” you grit out, pain subsiding only slightly in your stomach. Your eyes shut and over the sound of your heavy breathing, you hear footsteps retreating and the closing of the door. Aaron’s hand brushes your hair back off your forehead and comes to rest on your cheek. With your eyes closed, you realize just how fucking tired you are now that you’ve confirmed everyone is fine with your own eyes. You squeeze Aaron’s hand, and as you give in to your exhaustion, you feel him kiss your knuckles with a sigh.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and then you’re out.

---

You wake up to a hushed argument taking place between Morgan and Rossi at the foot of your bed and surprise surprise Aaron’s scowling at both of them.

Fighting through a yawn, you mumble, “G’morning, everyone,” pointedly glaring at Morgan and Rossi who at least have the decency to look sorry for disturbing you.

“Afternoon, princess,” Morgan says with a nod. “Nice to see you awake again.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but notice the careful way Aaron’s watching your face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing his hand—has he let go of it since he got here? A thought to pursue at a later time—you turn your attention back to the agents at the end of your bed.

“What have I missed?” Rossi looks at Aaron before taking a breath and facing you.

“We think the guy who shot you has a partner and we’re trying to figure out who it is.”

Well shit. Schooling your face into a somewhat neutral expression, you repeat “…a partner…?” and something akin to fear washes over you. There’s someone out there who wants you dead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Steeling yourself, you look over at Aaron for confirmation and the hard look in his eyes is all you need. Fuck. Sinking further back into the pillows behind you, you stare at the ceiling and try to fully comprehend what you’ve just learned. Breathing deeply, you try and quell the panic that’s rising in your chest. Shit. Now what happens. Eyes clenched shut, you address the room.

“So, what now? There’s another guy so what do we have on him what do we know has the unsub said anything that might help us? Something? Phone calls at weird times, unusual credit card activity, change in schedule, unexplained absences from work, something has to stick out,” Your words rush out before you can stop them.

“Well—“ Morgan starts but you cut him off, rambling.

“—and what’s the name of the unsub anyway? What’s the name of the fucker who shot me two times?” you ask, eyes flying open at the realization that you only know him as “the unsub” and not his actual name.

“Parker Harrison,” Hotch states with enough contempt for you to stop and squint at him, worried.

“Sounds like an asshole,” you remark, but Hotch doesn’t smile like you thought he would.

It’s at this point that Morgan wisely makes some excuse about seeing if Garcia has found anything new and he herds Rossi out the door before the other man can protest. The click of the door behind them is deafening as you continue to watch Aaron’s face while he stares down at your joined hands on the bed. Tracing your knuckles, he doesn’t elaborate on the unsub and so you wait. You focus on your own breathing, Aaron’s hand in yours, and his presence next to you.

However, there’s only so much silence you can take when you have so many questions that you would like answered. Tugging on his hand, you wait for him to look up at you before speaking.

“Aaron, who is this guy?”

Silence.

You try again.

“Aaron, I can’t help you profile the partner if I don’t know who Harrison is. Let me help you catch this fucker,” and that catches his attention. With a small quirk of his lips, he exhales and leans closer to brush some hair out of your face.

“You shouldn’t be profiling or working at all, Y/N. You got shot. You need to rest,” he says as his hand settles on your cheek.

You snort and roll your eyes. As if.

“I can multi-task, love. Also, I need to work this case. Do you really think I’ll be able to rest and recover knowing there’s someone out there who wants me dead? Harrison is the first step to figuring this out and I can help, Hotch. I’m a profiler and he’s an unsub. This isn’t anything we haven’t faced before and we will catch him. So, once again, I’m asking you to let me help,” you implore. “I’m on bedrest, not dead. I can be semi-useful, even while lying in a hospital bed.”

With that, Hotch sucks in a quick breath and his eyebrows pull together.

“But you did die,” he says lowly. “You died you were dead. The doctor said you coded on the table. I could have lost you,” and with that last admission, his voice breaks. Bowing his head, the slight shake of his shoulders is the only sign you have to know that he’s crying. Crying over you. Oh, Aaron. Carefully sliding over in your bed—ouch—you pull on Aaron’s hand insistently.

“C’mere, love,” you whisper, and Aaron maneuvers his way on to the bed. Has he always been this tall or are hospital beds just smaller than normal ones?

Slowly, mindful of your injuries even in the midst of his own emotional turmoil, he curves himself around you as tears continue to fall. You lift your hand to card through his hair at a steady pace and eventually, just rest your hand on his face, catching tears and brushing them away. You raise your other hand, which is still holding his, to your lips and softly kiss his fingertips.

“I’m here. We’re here and we’re okay, and I love you,” you repeat gently until the shaking in his shoulders subsides and his breathing evens out to match yours. Holding your hand to his face, Hotch gives it the gentlest kiss imaginable before clearing his throat.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. So much. I was scared you weren’t going to make it, and then to find out you almost didn’t?” he trails off with a heavy sigh.

“It’ll take more than a few bullets to take me away from you, Aaron Hotchner,” you say. “I mean it.”

Instead of responding, Aaron nuzzles the top of your head and moves impossibly closer to you on the bed.

“I just—“ he stops. “I waited for hours to hear how you were doing. I was basically useless to the team because all I could think about was you and how you told me to get the guy and figure it out, but I couldn’t. Not without you.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you shift so you can smile at him warmly and then he’s leaning down to you, cradling your face, and kissing you with a desperation that makes your heart ache. You return his kiss with all the reassurance you can offer. I love you. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m sorry. Tilting your head, you move a hand to his chest, over his heart trying to do what you can to get closer to him. I love you I love you I love you. 

Breaking for air, Aaron presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead before settling back into your side. Heart racing, you smile contentedly at the man in front of you before trying to get comfortable. Leaning just a little too far forward, your breath leaves you in a whoosh before the pain sets in, letting you know you’ve overdone it just a bit—and just when things were getting good, too. Ever the protector, Hotch readjusts your pillows and presses the call button for the nurse as you let out a whimper. Soon enough, a nurse makes her way into the room and asks you how you are—brilliant—and what level your pain is at—an eight—before giving you a very welcome round of pain meds.

As your body relaxes and your mind starts to drift, you turn your gaze to Aaron, still by your side. He kisses your cheek and then your forehead softly as you close your eyes. Safe for now.

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (15 - Alt Ending)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda refuse to leave without you.

Warnings: dark themes, gun mentions, threatened suicide, manipulation

A/N: never expected to write this despite it being highly requested, but with me being stuck with Particular Taste and in the mood to write some angst, I ended up doing it. I’m still down to write angst, so I may do another Sad Song Sunday, but I’ll let you know.

Original part 15

-

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addresses you in a chilling tone as the two of them stop a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you tell her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjects with a stern expression. “Now you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stand slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you go. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You notice the glassy look in their eyes as they face each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds feel like minutes as they seem to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda is fully crying now, and Natasha seems to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“Please don’t do this, printsessa,” Wanda chokes out with a cautious step forward. “We just want you to come home.”

“What’s home to you is a prison to me.”

“But it didn’t always feel like prison, right? Remember those days we’d bake together, and watch your favorite movies all day?”

“Or that time we took you to Coney Island for a week straight because you couldn’t get enough of it?” Natasha added and you sighed.

“You don’t get it, do you? I was obsessed with those Coney Island trips because it was the only time you didn’t make me feel like a kid that would get lost if I wandered too far! The only time I felt like an actual human instead of a fucking meat puppet!”

“The moment we decided to trust you a little, you abandoned us!” Natasha yells so loudly that Wanda even flinches. “We’re in Nebraska right now because you couldn’t stand being a good girl and waiting for us to get home!”

“You left me with a fucking babysitter, Natasha! It doesn’t matter that it was someone I actually wanted around. You installed cameras and tried to bug Wesley and me. You put a tracker in my leg! If you trusted me, why did you go through so much to make sure I couldn’t leave? You can’t say that you love me and treat me like you don’t.”

“I’m so sorry.” Wanda’s voice comes out in a whisper as she steps forward again, and you watch her eyes for any hints of red. “I never meant to make you feel so cornered, but you have to understand that I’m an Avenger. I’ve seen what enemies are out there and at one point I was one, so I just wanted to do what I could to make sure you never ended up in the wrong hands.”

“She’s right,” Natasha chimes in, clearing her throat as a single tear slips down her cheek. “I know what lengths some people will go to hurt the loved ones of the other side because I used to do that exact thing. I’d let the world end before I let any harm come to either of you, and I guess I went a little overboard with protecting you because Wanda has a bit of an advantage.”

“I know I’ll never understand what it’s like to do what you do, and to live with your pasts…” You take a deep breath as you feel a lump forming in your throat, and the hand holding the gun to your head begins to shake. “But I do know what love is supposed to feel like, and it’s not this. I shouldn’t have to worry about setting you off because I didn’t agree with something, or waking up from a week-long mind trance because you didn’t want me to fight back.”

“How about we start over?” Natasha offers, glancing at Wanda and turning back to you once she nods. “No trackers, restraints, babysitters or manipulation. Just us getting to know you and vice versa, and hopefully rebuilding the love you once felt for us.”

“Please.” Wanda gives a pointed look toward the gun still pressed against your temple. “I know how upsetting this already must be for you, so please. Let us help you make it better. Let us fix this and hopefully have an even better relationship in the future.”

“We love you, and we agree that we should’ve gone about this in a healthier way. Please give us the chance to make this right.”

“And you promise there will be no more tricks?” you ask, and Wanda nods as two more tears make an appearance.

“Cross my heart--”

“--and hope to die.”

You stand there for what feels like minutes, your gaze bouncing between the two women in front of you, hoping to gauge their level of sincerity on expressions alone. As much as you didn’t trust them because of everything they’d done before, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that missed those happier moments, and wouldn’t mind starting over to create more. Perhaps it was worth a shot, if they were truly serious about not messing with your mind anymore.

“Okay,” you finally answer, and you notice the relief appear on their faces. “If you’re serious about starting over and doing this the right way, I’ll give this a chance. But you’re going to have to wait a long time before I start to trust you.”

Wanda grins at the two of you as Natasha approaches you cautiously, and you place the gun on the chair behind you before allowing her to pull you into a hug that you melt into surprisingly fast. Your other girlfriend joins the embrace, and her ecstatic giggle is the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

-

“Y/N/N...hey wake up!”

You jump up suddenly, nearly bumping into the person standing above you. After a few moments of blinking to adjust to the bright sunlight, you turn your head to see your cousin sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Wesley?!” you gasp as he grins in acknowledgement. “What are you doing here and why do you look like shit?”

“You know, I’m gonna let that go because it’s your wedding day, but I’ll get you back later.”

“Wait, my what?”

“Jesus, did you hit your head or something?”

“Feels like it,” you grumble as your eyes close for a moment.

“Bachelorette party must’ve been crazy.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You sigh and face him again as your eyes open. “Did you have a crazy night too or did you come here all bruised up?”

“I got into a pretty bad accident a little while ago,” he answers after a few moments of silence. “I guess I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to worry, but I probably should’ve said something when I got the invitation in the mail. Which reminds me, it’s time for you to get ready.”

He stands up slowly with the help of a cane beside him and limps out of the room, and a chill washes over you as the door closes behind him. You move to run your hands over your face and pause as you feel a cool metal bump against your nose, and you lower your hands to see a ring on the appropriate finger.

Of course it made sense considering--according to Wesley--you were getting married today, and the ring is exactly what you would want, but it just doesn’t make sense how you got here. As you move onto the bathroom and begin showering, you get hit with flashes of moments with Natasha and Wanda that include the moment they proposed, but it feels a bit more like watching a movie than a memory should. Still, there’s a warm feeling in your chest as you come to terms with the fact that you’re marrying two people that have been so good to you since your relationship was formed.

“Come in!” you respond to a knock on your door as you slip on a robe, smiling as Pepper enters the room holding what seemed to be a dry cleaner’s bag and a small jewelry box.

“Hey there, just bringing your dress.” She drapes it carefully over the end of the bed and faces you while holding the box out to you. “And your almost wives wanted you to wear this.”

You take the object from her and lift the top off, gasping as a necklace is revealed. It consists of a simple silver chain, but the pendant has a spider with a prominent red gem that almost seems to glow as the sunlight makes contact with it.

“Need some help?”

You nod with an appreciative smile as you hand her the necklace and turn around, feeling your smile widen as the cool pendant touches your warm skin. Your fingers run over the spider while you wait for Pepper to secure the chain around your neck, and you face her when she pulls away.

“Thank you. Wait!” you call out as she turns to leave. “I just have to ask...Do you think going through with this wedding is a smart idea?”

“Well, I haven’t been around the three of you much, but I’ve seen the way Natasha and Wanda react whenever you’re mentioned. It’s equivalent to someone finding out they won the lottery, honestly. I also know how much time and effort they put into making this house as safe as possible to put their minds at ease about you while they’re away on missions. In my opinion, I think you’re in good hands here, but I’m also not there for the little things. I’d recommend just listening to what your heart tells you.”

You thank her before she leaves the room, letting her words echo in your mind for a bit before moving to get ready for the ceremony. The dress, you quickly discover, is an exact replica of one you’d seen in a magazine that you loved so much you saved it in a scrapbook for years. How you’d managed to track it down, you had no idea, but the questioning thoughts seemed to fade away a bit once you realized how amazing it felt to be finally wearing it.

“How do you feel?” Wesley asks once you reach the bottom of the stairs, and you loop your arm through his free one as he leads you to the back yard.

“If I’m being honest, I’m super nervous about all this. Everything’s felt like a weird coma dream since the moment I opened my eyes.”

“Hey, you’re about to spend the rest of your life with Natasha and Wanda,” he reminds you quietly, and your gaze shifts away from his joyous expression to the small crowd that begins to stand upon your arrival and Natasha and Wanda smiling at you from the end of the flowery path. 

“It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

-

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[scarletnakazato]

Takeshi Nakazato - Spark in the Dark

• Takeshi Nakazato x Reader | Smut | • Word Count: 4,652. • Synopsis: In which racing to help out friends leads to meeting a potential love interest, a spark ignites during introductions, and sadness forms after the conclusion of the race, but a surprise appearance wipes away all traces of sadness, and brings two GT-R racers together.

➽───────────────❥

The race on Akina starts at ten tonight. (Y/N)'s friends, Iketani and Kenji, had begged her to race in the SpeedStars name for the race. Their 'saving grace' Takumi, couldn't make it since his father had taken the 8-6 for a meeting. (Y/N) isn't a part of a street racing team, she's more of a neutral racer. If a team, like the SpeedStars, asked her to race in their stead, she would represent them for the night. Of course, she doesn't do this with every team she comes across, more so just for her friends.

She sighed and looked up at the clock on the café's wall. Only two hours to go and she's off to prepare her car for the race. (Y/N) works at the popular café styled restaurant in the middle of town from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. It's a simple job and the customers were always friendly. It's more enjoyable when no one gives you a hard time.

The minute her shift ended, she made a beeline out the back door of the restaurant and to her beloved R32 GT-R. The sleek (F/C) paint shined, along with the rims. She hopped inside and started it up, the engine giving a low growl. She pulled onto the road and sped off to her house.

Having plenty of time to kill, she washed the car making it shine even brighter. She replaced the tires, brake pads, and calipers. It's always best to make sure your brakes work properly, especially on a heavy ass 3-2, she thought. Once she finished with her replacements, she checked all of the gauges on her dash and continued to work on anything else the car needed before heading inside for a well-deserved shower and change of clothes.

When the time came to leave, she eagerly grabbed her wallet, phone, and keys before heading back to the GT-R that waited patiently for her. She got in and started it up, backing out of the garage and onto the road, heading straight for Akina.

She reached the foot of the mountain and sped up, being sure to not take it too far to ruin her tires before the race. As she got closer to the top, the roar of the engine could be heard from where the others waited.

"Do you think that's her, Iketani?" Kenji asked.

"It has to be! The car sounds like hers!" Iketani exclaimed as he stared at the road intensely, not wanting to miss the soon approaching car.

So, their friend has a Skyline, huh? This'll get interesting. A man said as he leaned against his own GT-R, cigarette hanging from his lips as he listened to the familiar sound of an RB26 engine in the distance.

"Uh, who exactly are we talking about, guys?" Itsuki scratched his head, confused.

"Her name is (Y/N). You haven't met her yet, but she's won a few races for the SpeedStars! She's not on the team, but she's a great friend of ours." Iketani explained enthusiastically.

"Wait... you mean a girl is going to race for us tonight?! Oh, this is going to be great! I bet she's hot, is she hot?!" Itsuki rambled loudly, catching the attention of the NightKids' leader, Takeshi Nakazato.

The bright headlights of (Y/N)'s car came into view as she turned the final corner and pulled over next to her friends. She got out of the car and greeted them.

"Hey guys!" She waved and pulled them in for a hug.

"Hey, (Y/N)! How are you?" Iketani asked with a chuckle.

"Pretty good, thanks. I'm excited for the race. Who am I supposed-?" she was cut off by a guy with an undercut she's never seen before.

"Ho-holy crap, you're gorgeous! What's your name? Are you single? I love your GT-R, it's so hot- like you! I mean... I uh didn't mean it like that, it's just you're really, really, and I mean really pretty. I've never met a girl who can race, let alone one that owns a sweet ride like yours and all that just makes you like, a hundred times hotter-" Iketani cut him off by wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling the strange fanboy towards him.

"Alright, Itsuki, I think she gets it. Let's not scare her away with your questionable fantasies." Iketani held him in a playful chokehold as he scolded Itsuki. (Y/N) wore an amused expression and laughed at the two.

"Anyways, who am I supposed to race tonight?" she asked, not being interrupted this time.

"That would be me." (Y/N) turned around at the sound of the voice to see a man with gelled jet-black hair walking towards her. Wow, he's hot. They made eye contact and she noted how beautiful his silver eyes were.

"I'm Takeshi Nakazato, leader of the Myogi NightKids." He introduced himself and held out his hand for her.

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N), but I'm not with a team. I'm more of a neutral racer." She replied and shook his hand. When their hands touched, a small spark shot through them and they didn't want to pull away. They did so quickly after before anyone noticed.

"So, uh... a neutral racer, huh? Do you race for any team that asks you to, then?" he asked, a bit awkward at first but quickly regained his composure.

"Pretty much, yeah. I don't do it all the time and I don't do it for every team. I've raced for the SpeedStars the most since they're good friends of mine." She explained.

"Ah, I see. You got a sweet 3-2 by the way." He complimented her car, and it made her smile.

"Thank you. Yours is hot in black. It also kind of looks like you."

"It... looks like me?" he tilted his head and looked at his car, trying to find a similarity, "How?"

She giggled and explained, "The majority of it is black," she then motioned to his hair and current outfit which was completely black, "and the rims are silver, like your eyes." She looked into his eyes with a light blush on her cheeks as she finished her explanation. They really were something else, like two small pools of liquid silver. His eyes were almost hypnotizing.

Little did she know, he thought the same about her. She was easily the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, and she owned the same car as him? Perfection. He hoped he could gather the courage after their race to ask her on a date.

"Well, I'm ready to go," she turned to her friends, "wish me luck, guys!" The racers went back to their cars and (Y/N) lined hers up next to Takeshi's. They revved the engines to warm them up, the beautiful sound of two RB26 engines resonating through the top of the pass. Kenji walked out between the two Skylines to start the countdown. As soon as he yelled 'go', they sped off at the same time, staying next to each other until the first corner where (Y/N) gained the lead.

He probably has his car in all-wheel drive. I wonder how much under steer he has to deal with, not being able to drift, she thought as she threw her car into a drift around the third corner.

Takeshi's eyes widened in shock. Is she... drifting with all-wheel drive?! How the hell is she not ruining her car? He watched her movements, following behind her closely.

I must've surprised him. She chuckled when she saw him slow down then speed up just after the end of the corner.

She drifted around the next few corners and Takeshi felt both impressed and confused. All-wheel drive cars are hard as hell to drift because they're naturally made to want to grip onto the road. So, how is she drifting such a heavy car, so easily?

She's going to ruin the car if she keeps doing that. It's only natural that something would break, right? 3-2s are meant to grip, not drift. The weight of the car would put too much pressure somewhere it shouldn't, and something will blow. Takeshi thought something would've happened to her car by now, being close to the bottom of Akina now, but nothing did.

Soon enough, they reached the last corner and that's where Takeshi decided to make his move, pulling up next to her, trying to accelerate fast enough to beat her. Takeshi only had enough time to line up with her car equally, and they passed the finish line in sync.

"They just passed the finish line!" One of the SpeedStars called through the radio. Iketani quickly picked up the radio on his car, "Well, who won?!" Everyone at the top of Akina waited to hear the results.

"They tied."

"What do you mean they tied?!" Iketani exclaimed.

"I mean, they tied. They crossed the line at the same time, man. How else do you want me to explain it?"

The spectators and other teams talked amongst themselves while Iketani, Kenji, and Itsuki stood there with their mouths agape. The NightKids were surprised, but at least it wasn't a loss on their part. Tch. At least Nakazato managed to keep it together this time. Shingo thought, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Takeshi and (Y/N) pulled their cars over to the side of the road, getting out and meeting each other in the middle. "So, a tie, huh? I suppose this leaves an unsettled score between us." He spoke first.

"I suppose it does. It looks like we'll just have to settle it one day," (Y/N) smirked lightly, "you're a great racer, as well. You handle the understeering quite nicely." Her compliment took him by surprise and a small blush creeped up onto his cheeks.

"T-thanks, same to you. Speaking of which, would you mind telling me how the hell you can drift the 3-2? It's all-wheel drive, and extremely heavy."

"Normally, I wouldn't tell anyone but the look on your face when you saw me do it changed my mind," (Y/N) smiled cheekily when his blush worsened, "There's a type of 'switch' in the drivetrain that you can flip to convert it from all-wheel drive to rear-wheel drive. It's kind of a pain in the ass to get to, but once you do you can hook it up to some wires and electrical pieces to put through your dash so it's easily accessible, and you can change it back whenever you want."

"Wow, really? That's interesting." He replied softly.

"Mhmm," she pulled out her phone to check the time before looking back up at him, "I should head home, it's late and I have to work tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Takeshi!" She waved to him with a smile before rushing into her car.

"Uh, h-hey, wait-!" Takeshi tried getting her attention, but she had already driven off. His shoulders dropped a bit as he stared at the road she disappeared on. Takeshi was a fast racer and he felt like he had met the girl of his dreams, but he wasn't fast enough to ask her on a date.

He sat in his beloved R32 thinking of her. How far away did she live? Does she live in Shibukawa? Is she far away from Myogi? Would he ever see her again? His heart seemed to tighten at that last question. It's only been a night and he's fallen hard for her. She is friends with the SpeedStars, she said. I might be able to ask them where to find her.

--------

Two weeks had passed since the race between Takeshi and (Y/N) and he hadn't seen any sign of her. He traveled to Akina on a few different occasions at different times to see if he could catch her practicing the course but found nothing. He went to all the nearest street races he heard of, hoping to see her at one. He never did. Takeshi was hesitant to ask the SpeedStars where she was, since the first time he met them at the gas station, he wasn't exactly friendly with them and quite possibly left a bad impression. If he didn't see her for the next few days, he would head over to the gas station and ask them, and apologize for being a dick.

Takeshi pulled into the car park of the popular restaurant a lot of the racers go to. Heading inside, a hostess greeted him and led him to a booth next to the window, the rays of the setting sun covered buildings in a brilliant glow.

"A waiter will be right with you." She chimed before leaving. A minute later a waitress walked over to his table.

"Good evening, can I start you off with anything to- Takeshi?" the man in question turned his gaze from the window to look at the woman he's been dying to see.

"(Y/N)?" he looked up at her, surprise on his defined features.

She gave him one of her beautiful smiles and replied, "That's me! How are you? It's been a while."

"I've been fine. I didn't know you worked here either, I usually show up around this time of day." He stated, curious for an answer.

"Normally I work from seven to three but I'm covering my friend's shift tonight since she had an emergency." Takeshi hummed and nodded.

"So, what have you been up to these last couple of weeks? Anything interesting?" she asked with a small head tilt. It felt nice that it was easy to strike up a conversation between the two of them. It felt natural and not awkward like when they first met.

"Well, I've been spending a lot of time practicing on Myogi and other passes. I spend most of my time driving." And looking for you.

"That sounds fun. Maybe I should hop over to Myogi one night and see what your home course is like, and we could possibly have our rematch there too."

"You want to race me on my territory? Good luck with that." He smirked.

"How about a little bet, then? Loser takes the winner to dinner." She suggested and held her hand out.

"Deal." They shook hands and (Y/N) went back into work mode, asking what he wanted to order and bringing them out moments later. This bet worked out in Takeshi's favour whether he wins or loses; he gets to go to dinner with his crush.

I see this as an absolute win.

--------

The rematch was a private race that no one knew about. They decided to keep quiet about it since it was more for fun and a test of who drove an R32 better. The next day was date night, and the loser of the race was currently on his way to pick up the lady at her apartment.

Yep, Takeshi lost. It's been a while since he lost a race on his home course, but he didn't mind one bit that (Y/N) was the one to beat him. It showed him just how impressive her skills were when it came to racing a mountain pass and controlling her car. If anything, it only made him fall in love with her that much more.

Takeshi parked his car in an open spot and made his way up to her apartment door, ringing the bell. A minute after, (Y/N) walked out the door wearing her favourite outfit.

"Hi, Takeshi." She greeted him with a smile then locked the door.

"(Y/N), you look... beautiful." He said as a blush began forming on his cheeks.

"Thank you. You're looking quite handsome yourself." She winked and chuckled when his blush got worse. 'It's so cute how easily he gets flustered.'

"O-oh, uhm, t-thanks." He looked at the ground, mentally scolding himself for stuttering. In all honesty though, Takeshi is really attractive. His black button up shirt was undone and had the sleeves rolled up over his elbows, showing his defined forearms. The white t-shirt underneath was slightly form fitting and was tucked in showing the belt wrapped around his black jeans that matched his black and white converse. He was looking like a sexy rebel today, wasn't he?

"You ready to go?" Takeshi asked and (Y/N) nodded enthusiastically.

"Sure am! I get to have dinner with a cute racer." She hooked her arm in his and pulled him along the down the stairs and to the car where he drove to dinner.

--------

They hit it off extremely well during their date that it led them to going on two more before Takeshi asked her to go out with him. She had said yes so quickly that she believed she hasn't replied to anyone that fast before.

The new couple had just finished another date and Takeshi was driving on Myogi. It was a calm drive with comfortable silence, the whistle of the turbos and Takeshi shifting gears being the only occasional sounds besides the constant growling of the engine.

"Ya know, this is a really fun pass to race on." (Y/N) piped up, breaking the silence.

"Why's that?"

"It has a nice balance of straightaways, corners, and hairpins. Some corners are easy, some are challenging. Same goes for the hairpins. It has a combination of everything, I can see why you love it so much." Takeshi couldn't help but smile. Finally, a girl that understands the importance of having a home course that offers everything.

(Y/N) watched him drive up the rest of the way until they reached the top of Myogi. Her eyes never left his form but definitely wandered. She noted how he was wearing the same outfit he wore on their first date. She kept complimenting him and couldn't get enough of it.

"See something you like?" Takeshi asked with a smirk and looking at her through the corner of his eye.

"Staring at someone I love, actually." (Y/N) replied smoothly with a mischievous smile. She wrapped her right arm around his left one, bringing her hand to his forearm to squeeze it. In an instant, Takeshi felt all the blood rush to his dick and he mentally cursed. Fuck.

Sometimes, he hated being a guy for the sole reason of being turned on and having to deal with a dick that gives it away so damn fast. When (Y/N) continued on with trailing her hand up and down his arm, giving it the occasional squeeze, he was quickly losing his mental restraint.

He quickly pulled in an empty parking spot in the corner, blending the black R32 in with the dark surroundings. As soon as he pulled up the e-brake and unbuckled the harnesses, Takeshi leaned over the centre console and cupped (Y/N)'s face with both hands, pulling her into an almost desperate kiss.

His quick movements took her by surprise, but she easily responded to his kiss. She kissed him back just as feverishly, her hand swiftly tangling itself in his soft black hair. Takeshi groaned lowly when she tugged on his hair. (Y/N) swiped her tongue along his bottom lip asking for entrance but Takeshi kept his mouth shut and smirked.

His smirk didn't last long when (Y/N) roughly tugged on his hair and brought her free hand to his neck to lightly squeeze it as she bit his bottom lip. He shivered and moaned loudly, allowing (Y/N) to slip her tongue in. Takeshi had a dark blush form quickly over his cheeks from both their actions. He had never moaned that loudly before and found it a bit embarrassing on his part.

On the other hand, he never thought he would love for a woman to take control so easily. Takeshi believed he would always be the dominant one during sex whether he was on top or bottom, but god damn he loved the dominance his woman was displaying right now.

Their tongues fought but (Y/N) quickly won that fight. Takeshi let her do as she pleased, marking every corner of his mouth as hers. She pulled away from the kiss a few moment later and slid her hand from his neck down to his chest, pushing him to lean back in the seat. She climbed over the console and straddled his lap, Takeshi's hands holding her waist.

"So," she started, a playful smirk on her lips, "you either like having your hair pulled or being choked, maybe even both. Which is it?" she finished with whispering in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. This woman is going to be the death of him.

"Everything." He replied breathily.

"Do you want more?" she whispered again, tracing his jawline with her thumb.

"Y-yeah." He tightened his grip on her waist at the thought. (Y/N) happily obliged and left a path of feathery kisses from his ear to his neck until she found the spot near the crook of it that made his breath hitch. She focused there, kissing, biting, and sucking at it. His moans rang out, one after the other at her territorial actions. She pulled away and the spot was a dark purplish red with small traces of bite marks.

She moved to the other side of his neck, surprised to find another sensitive area that was just below the side of his jaw. (Y/N) gave the same treatment to the new spot as she did the last. Takeshi had his head leaning back against the seat, giving her more room. She could feel the vibrations his throat made as he moaned her name and groaned.

She loved how he fell apart so quickly from such simple actions as well as how vocal he was. The way his voice lowered when he groaned or slightly raised when he moaned was heavenly and it sent waves of heat straight down to her core.

When the second mark on his neck was made, she pulled away, getting a good look at him. His beautiful liquid silver eyes were clouded over. His ears, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose were tinted red with a blush. His silky blacky hair was messy and more of his bangs were ruffled over his forehead.

Takeshi was a hot mess.

She smiled affectionately and gave a series of kisses that he eagerly returned as he rubbed his hands up and down her thighs. (Y/N) took off his black button-up shirt and untucked the white t-shirt underneath. They broke the kiss so Takeshi could take it off while she did the same for her clothes. When she was left in her underwear, Takeshi eyed her up with lust filled eyes.

She pulled the lever under the seat up so Takeshi could push it as far back as it would go, giving them more leg room. (Y/N) made quick work in taking off his belt and lowering his pants. She lowered herself to the floor and palmed his hard arousal through his boxers, a low groan emanating through his throat.

She pulled his boxers down and Takeshi gave a relieved moan. With her slim fingers wrapped around the base, she started with slow pumps that had the worked-up man throw his head back against the seat with drawled out moans of her name following. (Y/N) continued her slow pace, waiting for Takeshi to beg her to do something.

Tonight, he was at her complete mercy.

Although, he has behaved wonderfully so far, which is working out in his favour. The better you behave, the more pleasure you'll receive. He brought a hand to her hair, tangling his fingers into it but wasn't able to hold it roughly due to his shaking from such euphoria. His other hand was gripping the edge of the seat so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

"(Y-Y/N) ..." He said shakily, his voice quivering as much as his body.

"Yes Takeshi?" she asked with a seductive tone that made his breath hitch.

"F-faster, p-please..." His voice cracked. (Y/N) complied and quickened her pace as Takeshi's moans resonated throughout the car. She brought her lips to the underside of his arousal and licked upward until she reached the tip. She took most of him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down. She continued to use her hand for what she couldn't reach, keeping the fast pace.

Takeshi muttered that he was close to coming and (Y/N) stopped her actions, leaning back. The desperate man above her whined in protest from the denial.

"Don't worry love, you'll get it." (Y/N) hummed reassuringly. As she was pushing herself up, Takeshi weakly pointed towards the glove box of the car. She immediately understood and dug around for a second before pulling out the small package and tearing it open, sliding it down his length.

Takeshi watched as she straddled him, some strands of his hair slightly blocking his eyes. He was truly at a loss for words. He never thought he'd see the day where he became so undone under (Y/N)'s touch. He felt like he went completely numb, barely being able lift a finger and not having any feeling in his legs, yet he could feel everything she did to him so vividly.

All in one fluid motion, she had taken off her underwear and lowered herself onto his length. They moaned in unison before (Y/N) lightly wrapped her fingers around his neck with one hand and leaned in, capturing his lips with hers in a passionate kiss. She rubbed her thumb along the side of his neck in up and downward motions. When she lightly squeezed, he hummed pleasantly into the kiss. Takeshi slid his hands up her thighs to hold her hips, his grip tightening for a moment every time she lowered herself back down onto him.

As (Y/N)'s pace increased, the pressure she applied to his neck did as well. They had broken away from the kiss, their breathing getting heavy quickly. Takeshi moaned her name repeatedly as if it were the only thing he knew. His hold on her hips were rough and his nails were leaving small crescents on her skin. The vibrations she felt coming from his throat had her grip on his neck tightening just a bit more, another euphoric moan passing through the man's lips.

(Y/N) loved the way his length filled her so perfectly. The tip hit the right spot that had her eyes roll back and her back arch. When they were nearing their release, she let go of his neck, moving it to his hair. Lacing her fingers through the soft, messy strands, she tugged on it lightly and held onto his shoulder with the other hand for balance.

"Takeshi!" She screamed his name as she came, and he followed shortly after with a drawled-out moan of her name. (Y/N) placed her head on his shoulder, catching her breath. She lightly kissed Takeshi's neck, her hand caressing the other side. He rubbed her hip and pressed kisses on her head.

They sat there in comfortable silence until their breathing had returned to normal and they situated themselves with their clothes. "I don't know what you did to me," Takeshi started, "but fuck I loved every minute of it." He chuckled lightly and (Y/N) joined in.

"Seems to be that you love being the submissive one, hmm?" she gave at him a teasing smile.

"Only for you." He hooked a finger under her chin and pulled her towards him, pressing a long, passionate kiss on her lips then pulling away. "How about I get you home?"

"Only if you stay the night with me?" (Y/N) asked hopefully.

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't?" Takeshi winked and started the car. The minute they were under the covers of (Y/N)'s bed, Takeshi pulled her towards him, her back pressing against his chest as he spooned her.

"I thought subs liked being the ones that get spooned?"

"Yeah, yeah, just go to sleep."

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || jung hoseok

>> because hoseok's too lost in his thoughts to see he's not alone <<

_____________________________

1973, October

“I could have sworn the tracks were around here somewhere… are those it?” Hoseok moves through the Forbidden Forest, the flashlight on his phone guiding his way in his blind search for his most recent obsession. He’s only 13, and he’s well aware that every other normal 13-year-old is fast asleep in their bed this late at night, but he’s never been normal. Crouching low to the forest floor, he holds out his phone to get a better look at the animal tracks stamped into the mud. When he sees that they look vaguely dog-like, he can’t help the cheer of success that escapes him. Only when it echoes through the air around him does he remember just how reckless he’s acting by being out here without having informed Dumbledore first.

The headmaster had granted him access to the Forbidden Forest on strict instructions to always ask permission before venturing into it. Usually, Hoseok would have visited the man, but tonight he’d just gotten so excited about potentially discovering the legendary sentient pack of wolves that he had simply… forgotten about the one rule he’s always supposed to follow. The wind picks up suddenly, and a shiver rips through him violently. He shakes his head, returning his attention to the tracks on the ground and the notes he’d jotted down in his journal beforehand.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just stay a few more minutes, and then--” The sound of heavy breathing just behind him brings Hoseok’s monologue to a screeching halt, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he very much wishes that he hadn’t.

Hovering between the trees not too far away is a creature he’d only seen in his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. The werewolf hasn’t seen him yet, and that’s the only reason Hoseok hasn’t started running for his life. It’s sniffing cautiously at the air around it, whining softly every few moments as if in pain. Without even daring to take a breath, Hoseok slips his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, praying to whatever higher being that might be watching over him at that moment that it hasn’t noticed the flashlight and will continue to remain oblivious to his presence.

Rising to his feet painstakingly slowly, he starts to back away from the werewolf, refusing to even blink out of fear that he’ll miss the moment he’s caught. Pursing his lips together to keep himself from breathing too loudly, he immediately opens them to gasp when his foot comes down on a branch, the snap of it attracting the werewolf’s attention right to him.

In the seconds that follow, Hoseok isn’t sure when he started running or when he started crying, but he’s suddenly stumbling through the forest, his vision blurred with hot tears as he tries to escape. Leaves crunch behind him, alerting him to just how close he is to being ripped to shreds.

I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to-- there!

Slipping on a piles of leaves, Hoseok makes a beeline for the tree just beyond the clearing he’s currently racing through, having seen its low-hanging branches even through his tears. He screams when he feels something tear the back of his shirt, and he knows that he’s literally within death’s reach. Unwilling to look back, he starts to climb, swinging himself up through the branches until he gets to the stable trunk of the humongous tree. He can hear scratching just below him, and he knows the werewolf is trying to follow. He spares a glance down at the ground when he gets high enough, seeing that it’s failed to chase him up the tree. Hoseok climbs a few feet higher just for good measure and stares down at the creature that’s watching him with predatory eyes. It even goes so far as to howl at him, startling him beyond his current state of overwhelming fear.

Settling into his spot in the tree, Hoseok examines himself, feeling at his torso and limbs with trembling hands for any wounds. His pajama shirt is essentially useless now, but there are no scratches, which is really all he cares about. Watching the werewolf carefully as it circles the tree, he reaches for his phone to call for help, only to find his pockets empty. He'd dropped the damn thing.

“Damn it… looks like I’m stuck here for the night.” Glaring hatefully up at the full moon, he gauges how many hours it’ll be before the sun rises and decides that this might as well serve as firsthand research into werewolves.

For the next three hours, Hoseok watches the wolf dance around his hiding spot, trying with futility every now and then to make its way up the tree to him. Eventually, it howls wildly at the moon, the sound almost pained. Hoseok watches with horror as it turns on itself in frustration, tearing at its own skin with cries of pain and rage. He can only watch for a few minutes before he’s reaching out for anything in the tree that’ll get its attention. Latching onto a branch nearby that’s weak enough for him to break off, he launches it down at the werewolf, yelling out to it angrily.

“Hey! Hey, stop that! You’re gonna kill yourself doing that, you idiot!” The creature glares up at him in surprise, almost as if having forgotten his presence. It snarls at him once, and Hoseok immediately regrets that he’s just reminded it that there’s a meal not even 20 feet above its head. When it sees that it still can’t reach him, it turns back on itself, its skin already torn and bloody.

For the next hour or so, Hoseok plays this game with the werewolf -- throwing whatever he can get his hands on down at it so that it doesn’t hurt itself anymore, and then sitting in fearful silence as it attempts to snag him from the tree. By the time the sun’s started to peek out from behind the mountains, Hoseok is both proud of himself for not letting this werewolf die and in a real state of annoyance for keeping its dangerous attention on him for so much longer than necessary.

When the first beams of light hit his face, he feels an overwhelming sense of relief wash over him, but it doesn’t last long. Below him, there’s a quiet whimpering, and when he looks down, there’s a young girl curled up on the ground, very naked and very wounded. Swearing under his breath, Hoseok scrambles down the tree, stopping short when he turns and sees just how young she is. Despite this girl almost having torn him apart, he only feels sympathy.

It tears at his heart even as he’s removing what’s left of his pajamas, shivering in his boxer shorts as the chilly October air nips at his skin. Doing his best to avert his eyes wherever necessary, he pulls the shirt over her head, cradling her in his lap as he slips his pants onto her body, noting just how small she looks in them. There’s so much blood that, if not for her labored breaths, he wouldn’t even be able to tell if she was still alive.

Lifting her onto his back, he tries so painfully hard not to jostle her as he races through the forest, piggy-backing her across the grounds and into the castle in the faint early morning light.

1974, January

Hoseok hears the crunching of the leaves long before it comes anywhere near him. It’s just around lunchtime -- he’d learned his lesson about wandering the forest late at night. Turning just when the person gets close enough that he’s sure to be discovered, he isn’t prepared to meet the eyes of the same girl who’d tried to kill him all those months ago.

She’s peering out at him from behind a tree, her gaze filled with caution and, quite honestly, fear. Hoseok rises from his crouch, a noise of recognition leaving him and falling into the space between them awkwardly.

“It’s you… you’re okay.” Hoseok remembers staying with her after bursting into the Hospital Wing with her on his back, her blood staining his skin for much longer than he’d care to think about. Once he’d known for sure that Madam Pomfrey could help her, he hates to admit that he’d run straight for his room, sobbing as he’d tried to scrub her blood from his body in the shower before any of his roommates could wake up. Even now, he sometimes stares down at his arms under the burning hot water and thinks it might be pinker than it actually is.

He’d avoided almost everyone from that moment on -- in fact the only person he’d talk to was Dumbledore. He’d demanded to know what the hell was going on at Hogwarts, but even through his anger he hadn’t been able to erase the memory of her, the cries of pain that had left her as she’d tried to rip her heart from her own body. Only when he’d stopped barging into Dumbledore’s office, blind with terrified rage, had he started visiting the man simply because he could think of nothing -- could feel nothing -- but the need to protect her from herself.

“She’s just a kid.” He’d told the headmaster one day, wracked with a terrible sadness. “She didn’t know what she was doing -- she’s just a kid…”

“Mister Jung, why exactly is it that you keep coming to me when you’re conflicted? What is it that I can do to ease your pain?” He’d met Dumbledore’s concerned gaze then, his own eyes wide and watery with tears of frustration.

“I need to do something. I need you to help me help her. Please.”

“It’s you…” Hoseok finds that he’s repeating himself, calling out to her in the softest of whispers, terrified of scaring her off. She inches out from behind the tree, and Hoseok notes that, for a murderous werewolf, she’s shaking like a leaf in his presence. She’s holding a paper bag, refusing to meet his eyes as she creeps toward him. Hoseok only watches with careful eyes, taking her in in the light of the day.

When she’s close enough to reach out to him, she stretches the bag out in front of her, offering it to him. He takes it with care, opening it slowly and peeking in at its contents. There’s a bowl inside covered in tin foil, and when he removes it he sees there’s a serving of pasta, still warm from the Great Hall.

“I asked Jungkookie to keep an eye on you at meal times to see what you liked, but you never eat lunch… so it took a while for me to find out…” Her voice is soft, fearful. The sound of it has him fixating on her again, almost obsessed with this new layer of her that he hadn’t known until now. He has no idea who ‘Jungkookie’ is, but a part of him is relieved to know she has a friend. He opens his mouth to thank her for the meal, but she’s not done talking.

“It’s not much of an apology, but I needed an excuse to say it in person… I’m really sorry for what happened that night… I’ve been trying to gather the courage to face you, and I understand if you hate me for almost killing you…” They stand there in uncomfortable silence, Hoseok unable to respond to such an unexpected conversation. She takes his silence as her cue to leave him be, and, with the slightest tremble of her lips, she turns to leave. Hoseok blinks, stepping toward her slightly.

“Wait, don’t -- don’t go.” She looks up at him in surprise, the expression turning to guarded caution when he reaches into his pocket for something. Catching the change in her body language, he moves slowly, pulling a vial out and offering it to her. Its contents, a milky grey, emit a faint blue smoke which swirls gently in the space between the liquid and the vial’s topper. She takes it from him, examining it with confusion. He explains, stepping ever closer to her.

“I have more in my room… I packed it away so no one would find it. It’s supposed to taste really, really bad, but Dumbledore said… he said it would help.” She gazes up at him, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears as she realizes what he’s gifted her.

“Why are you… why are you helping me after what I did?” Hoseok smiles ever so slightly, crouching so he can sit on the cold ground and motioning for her to do the same. When she’s next to him, he removes the bowl from the bag she’d handed him and digs into the pasta. He swallows hard, offering her the fork as casually as possible when he’s done. He offers it once more when she looks at him in surprise, his smile widening as she finally picks at a noodle carefully before setting it between her teeth.

They sit there awkwardly, taking turns eating his lunch, while he figures out how to answer her. Eventually he just decides not to, asking his own question instead.

“What’s your name?” He knows it, of course -- Dumbledore had told him only after Hoseok had begged to know, but he wants to hear her say it. He wants to know if she’ll trust him with even that much. He’s barely able to contain his smile when it falls from her lips in a whisper.

“It’s Y/n… I’m Y/n.”

1976, May

Hoseok runs a hand down the side of his face, rubbing at his eye with a yawn as he stares down at the endless pile of study material on the table in front of him. With only a few weeks until his O.W.L exams, he can feel himself quickly falling apart from the stress. His only saving grace is the boy that sits in front of him, looking equally exhausted. Yoongi stifles a yawn of his own as he scratches down a few notes on the scroll of parchment before him, only pausing when he realizes he’s being watched. Glancing up through his lashes and finding that Hoseok’s staring quite openly at him, the pale boy flushes with embarrassment. Masking his smile at the reaction he’s gotten out of Yoongi, Hoseok raises a single eyebrow, gesturing at his cheek.

You’ve got ink on your face, he mouths, careful not to be too loud in such a silent, crowded library. Yoongi’s own eyebrows flick up, and he scrubs at his completely ink-free cheek with the sleeve of his sweater. Hoseok glances around at the rest of the table, filled with the group of their housemates that he always finds himself surrounded by, and notes that none of them have noticed this little conversation he and Yoongi are having.

Emboldened by this thinly-veiled privacy, Hoseok leans forward and reaches across the table, catching Yoongi’s attention. Swiping his thumb along the span of cheek where he’d claimed to have seen this nonexistent ink, he lets his hand linger on Yoongi’s skin. He leans back with an easy smile when he sees that Yoongi’s stopped breathing entirely, cursing himself internally for the sudden show of affection. He’s about to return to his work as if he hadn’t just very clearly hit on his own roommate, but a flash of blue passing by catches his eye.

Almost as if nothing else exists, Hoseok’s vision focuses in on a very familiar Ravenclaw, watching as she makes her way down one of aisles in search of something. A quick glance at the date on his phone tells him that the next full moon is less than a week away, and suddenly he’s rising to his feet, completely forgetting about the boy he’s just caused to short-circuit as he wanders in Y/n’s direction.

Keeping his pace easy, as if he’s looking for something himself, he alerts her to his presence with a simple brush of his elbow against her torso. She jumps lightly, glancing up at him before looking away, not wanting to be seen interacting with him. She reaches up for a book on a shelf above her head, but her fingers are barely able to skim the spine of it. Hoseok reaches up for it immediately and, once he’s lowered the tome into her hands, he’s checking his surroundings.

When he knows no one’s looking, he lifts his hand to her forehead, feeling for her temperature while she still faces inward toward the bookshelves. Grimacing at the warmth, he lowers his hand to her throat, pressing two fingers into her pulse point. It’s thunderous under his touch, about as fast as it usually gets right before the full moon.

Releasing her, he positions himself in the opposite direction as her, leaning against the shelves as he thumbs through a random book. After a moment, he lifts his gaze, meeting her eyes and breathing out deeply when he sees how bloodshot they are. She looks exhausted, her expression hazy and disoriented enough that Hoseok almost steps in to steady her, forgetting that they’re in public.

Guessing that he’s been here too long, Hoseok offers Y/n one last squeeze to her hand as he passes her on his way out of the aisle. It’s only when he takes his seat and takes out his phone to text Jungkook that he remembers how, not even five minutes ago, all he could think about was the boy in front of him. It seems silly to him now, stressing over a schoolboy crush when he’s got so much more to worry about.

1977, September

“H-hobi?” Hoseok looks up from where he’s examining animal tracks, his eyebrows raised with amusement when Y/n comes into view. She’d only just called him that nickname for the first time over text not 15 minutes ago -- he can’t help but find it endearing that she’s testing the waters in person.

“Hey, you.” She’s holding two paper bags, their lunches likely packed by house elves so she could avoid the Great Hall. Hoseok beckons her over, pointing at a fallen tree trunk not far away for her to sit on. She perches on it quietly, setting his lunch down next to her for whenever he gets hungry. He can tell by the cautious way she’s eating that she’s trying her best not to disturb him, and he can’t help but snicker under his breath. He glances up to meet her confused gaze before returning to the animal tracks, his smirk well-placed.

“You get invited to a nice lunch by a friendly housemate, but instead of awkwardly sitting with Park Jimin and his friends, you choose… to sit awkwardly with me in the forest.” He doesn’t need to look up again to see that she’s probably blushing, always embarrassed when he mentions how shy she still gets when she’s alone with him. It never happens when they’re texting or talking on the phone -- almost as if not physically being near him gives her courage, she shows him her true self in those moments. But when they’re alone like this, Hoseoks feels the effect that his presence has on her.

It’s been years since they’d first met, but Hoseok can tell Y/n still feels guilty and indebted to him for the night she’d almost killed him.

No matter how many times he’s tried to free her of that feeling, tried to reassure her that he’d forgiven her long ago, she inevitably becomes nervous every time they’re together. It almost makes Hoseok feel like they’d never get past it, and for that, he worries. He knows he’s not Jungkook -- boy, does he know it -- but no amount of teasing seems to ease the concern he feels when he sees how uncomfortable she is around him. Sometimes, the thought crosses his mind that maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. At least then, she wouldn’t have to face her guilt every time she meets his eyes.

“See, Moony, we told you Hoseok would be out here! Good man, predictable as always.” The sound of four pairs of feet heading in their direction has Hoseok rising to his feet, ready to greet the newcomers. He smirks when Sirius and James crash into the clearing, followed closely by Remus and Peter.

“Boys -- welcome to my little corner of the forest.” The Marauders greet Hoseok easily, their attention only drawn away when they see Hoseok’s not alone.

“Y/n! What a nice surprise!” Sirius calls out to her with a boyish grin, to which she only offers a shy smile and a wave. Lupin peers around Hoseok, smiling kindly in Y/n’s direction.

“Alright, Y/n?” Hoseok can practically feel the embarrassment radiating off of Y/n behind him, her crush on the older boy painfully obvious.

“R-remus, hi…” Sirius and James share a knowing glance, offering the same look to Hoseok when they’re done. He only rolls his eyes playfully, causing them to break out in matching smirks at his reaction. Deciding that he should maybe save Y/n from all the attention, Hoseok addresses them.

“So, what can this lowly Slytherin do for such high-ranking Gryffindors?” Sirius claps Hoseok on the shoulder good-naturedly at the remark.

“If only all Slytherins were like you, Jung. You’re one of a kind.” Hoseok only nods at the compliment, glancing at Remus for the answer to his previous question. The boy smiles tiredly in response.

“We were hoping you’d be able to help me out this month… our supplies are running low, and we can’t make enough for my full dosage.” Hoseok hums, thinking about the potion kit sitting under his bed. After a moment, he nods.

“I think I’ve got enough to spare this month. I’ve noticed there’s a shortage of certain ingredients recently, so it would be hard for you guys to get restocked in time. Let me know what you need.” He says it with finality, knowing how hard it would be on Remus this month without the wolfsbane potion. Lupin smiles gratefully at him, pulling a list from his pocket and beckoning Hoseok in to peruse it with him.

In the midst of jotting down notes in his phone for later, Hoseok hears when Sirius and James shift their attention to the girl still sitting on the tree trunk quietly. They call out, Sirius motioning out over Hoseok’s shoulder at her.

“Y/n, why are you so far away? We’re not strangers, you know!” Hoseok can tell it’s a very obvious ploy to get her to stand closer to Remus, but he ignores their antics while he focuses on the list of potion ingredients. Y/n doesn’t respond, and Hoseok thinks maybe she’s politely declined their invitation to join them, but a gentle tug at the back of his shirt alerts him to her presence.

Pulling his gaze from the list just long enough to glance over his shoulder, he finds her there, peering out at the Gryffindors from behind his shoulder. Hoseok knows from experience and years of friendship with Y/n that she can certainly hold her own -- she’s a werewolf for fuck’s sake -- but in this moment she looks so… small. Hoseok definitely has the height, but the pull of her hand on his shirt and the way she seems to cling to him -- it makes him feel like a wall between her and the world. Even in front of her childhood crush and his friends, people that have proven time and time again to be her allies, she’s won't face them head-on.

Humming contemplatively, a slight smirk growing on his lips, James shoots Hoseok a nod of acknowledgement at the display.

“It seems Y/n has more than just Jungkook to protect her.” The grip on the back of his shirt tightens, as if to tell him that she doesn’t like the attention she’s being given. Years of hiding from everyone and anyone who could possibly look her way had made her anxious person, and Hoseok knows she’s not comfortable. The Gryffindor's comment bounces around in his mind as he realizes that, despite how nervous Hoseok makes her, James is right. Y/n has deliberately put herself behind him -- it’s not that he’s conveniently in the way, a wall without purpose. Hoseok knows that he probably could have seen this long ago, that he's been too stuck thinking of his presence as a burden to her to see this simple truth.

That she needs him.

[notquitecanon]

Ohhhh or maybe one where the reader just makes jasper talk for a while just cuz she adores his accent 🥺

Jasper could feel your bad mood from outside your house- he was always so attuned you you. If his abilities were anymore developed he would probably be able to see your mood like a dark storm cloud hovering outside of your bedroom. Alice had a vision in the middle of their hunt of how your day would go, but with the sunny weather and the face they were already in the Canadian wilderness- he could do nothing but hope it wasn’t too bad. After stopping by his house to change clothes, he made a beeline to the tree line that surrounded your yard like a natural property line. He’d seen your silhouette in your window starting at five pm, but couldn’t make a move until the sun had gone down. The last thing his family needed was Chief Swan getting called because your neighbor caught him climbing into your window. The moment the sun dipped below the tree line, he raced up and into your bedroom.

You had been wallowing in self pity: already showered, in pajamas, and lying face down in bed with your computer playing some of your music quietly. The moment he crossed into your room, you felt his presence like a calming wave washing over you. Eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension left your body, you muttered, “Jasper.”

“Evenin’ Darlin.” His voice was like honey-warm, sweeter than sugar, slow, and sticky. Drawing you into his words and keeping you there while he lingered on the edge of your room. Ever the gentleman, waiting for your invitation. Prying your head out of your pillow, you faced him.

While you observed his freshly glowing golden eyes, slightly disheveled blonde hair, statuesque posture, and heavenly face- he did the same, taking in your tense muscles, dark under eye bags, flushed cheeks, and the general feeling of resignation and annoyance in your emotional map. He didn’t fail to notice you’d been crying- you didn’t fail to notice that he noticed. You were the first to break the silence, adjusting yourself to meet his eyes easier, “Good hunt?”

Jasper breathed a quiet laugh, such an abnormal question asked so nonchalantly, but entertained the notion nonetheless, “Most of us went up into Canada, into the mountains. Emmet took on a pretty big grizzly so he’s in a particularly good mood. I got a Moose and a couple deer.”

You didn’t know what truly constituted a “good hunt” but his thirst seemed appeased so you nodded. The head ache that came after a long day hadn’t put you in a particularly chatty mood. Jasper filled the silence, “Alice told me you had a bad day- well, told me you would have a bad day. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, doll.”

Shaking your head, you brought your knees up to your chest before wrapping your arms around them, “Not your fault, Jazz, bad days happen.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you stared at each other, him trying to dissect every emotion you were feeling and you mentally begging him to just drop it. Finally, you just patted the spot beside you, motioning for him to join you. Talking waant something you wanted to do, but just having him close would be a big step towards feeling better.

As always, the vampire had a hard time saying no to you. So with the mattress dipping beside you, he easily slid beside you- staying perfectly still until you were situated. As usual, you bunched up a blanket where you cheek would rest against his chest- thick enough to cushion against his stone chest but thin enough to be close enough to smell the comforting scent he always had on him. Cologne, cedar, leather, something woodsy, and a sweet scent you could never quite put a finger on. After letting you settle, he looked down to you, “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He felt you shake you head before you nestled closer to him, so he just wrapped his arm around you alternating between tracing patterns up you arm and running cold, graceful fingers through your hair. One of your arms flopped across him just to have more phsyical contact, and Jasper frowned out of your sight. Besides truly changing your emotions (which felt invasive), he didn’t know how else to help. So for the moment, he just let you curl into him. Golden eyes raked across the room before landing on a book on your nightstand so without jostling you, he easily snatched it up.

Not bothering to read the synopsis, he began flipping through the first chapter- quickly becoming amused at the scandalous historical fiction set during the Civil War in Mississippi. Now that he thought about it, he remembered Angela passing it off to you during third period. He chuckled at a particularly inaccurate and racy part. His laughter was deep and reverberated through his hard chest which roused you, at your movement, he tried to quiet himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This book is just so terrible.”

His amusement made it hard not to smile as you tried to snatch the book out of his hands, the racy novel had been on lend from Angela and after the second chapter had been collecting dust on your nightstand. He easily kept it out of your reach, amusement growing at your protest (and quiet proud that he’d got you laughing again, he could already feel your mood lightening up). Listening to his laughter made you long to hear him talk in the smooth southern accent, about anything (anything other than that awful book), “Well, if the book isn’t up to par, how about you tell me what it was really like?”

As his chuckling was dying off, he thought about it before tossing the book back on the nightstand. It wasn’t that his past was an off limits topic, there was just a lot of it and he preferred to live in the moment with you. But you were staring up at him with hopeful eyes, and he could feel the remnants of sadness and frustration so he just nodded. “Well, first of all Mississippi didn’t see battle until The Spring of 1862, and union soldiers didn’t make any head way until a year later. So the notion that a this woman met a union soldier celebrating victroy in New Albany is just wrong. Even if it was true, she wouldn’t be so eager to fall into any soldiers tent considering Conderate troops would of torched her father’s plantation for being a sympathizer or vice versa.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed in response to the history lesson, before he continued going back and forth between learned history and personal experience until he hit where he was changed. You’d heard this story, traced the silvery scars on his arms, so once he went quiet you didn’t press any further. “So where were you at the turn of the century?”

“I was still with Maria, we were going back and forth across the border in Texas and New Mexico, I honestly didn’t now it was the new century until 1905, but we were the cause of the Austin Dam failure.” He mused, thinking pack, “I left shortly after the start of the First World War, to search for my friend Peter and because I was tired of fighting Maria’s battles- she starting to lose trust in me and me in her.”

You’d heard him talk about Peter and Charlotte, the only two he ever let escape, “Did you find him?”

“No, not until the late 1930’s, so I mostly just wandered around the South and the West as a nomad. The roaring twenties were fun between Chicago and Mexico City, I’d like to go back to New Mexico someday.” He thought aloud, cold lips ghosting on the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. The hand laid over him searched for his so you could intertwine you fingers with him. He squeezed for a moment before detaching just to play with you fingers, burning hot compared to his cold touch.

“Where’d you go next?” You asked, letting him gently tug and curl your fingers with his. Jasper laughed bringing your knuckles up to his lips. When he had just fed, it was so much easier to be so close- which is where he preferred to be.

“You’re mighty full of question tonight, ma’am.” He teased, dropping you hand in favor of lightly digging his fingers into your side. The quiet squeal, laughter, and weak attempts at fighting him off was so delightfully human that he couldn’t help but do it every now and then. Jasper gave you a moment to calm down before continuing, “I spent some time in Tennessee and then Kentucky, the Great Depression hit those areas pretty hard, but it was better than being involved in a territory war.”

“Peter and Charlotte ran into me in the Appalachian mountains- that would be the late 30’s- it was easier to hunt without gaining attention up there.” He paused to gauge you reaction, carefully checking for any fear. Finding none, he sighed in relief before continuing, “They told me about Coven’s in the North, how there weren’t many territory disputes and how in some areas they could even go out in day light...”

You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting as you listened to his honeyed words, and his fingers toyed with your hair. Jasper kept going, talking about traveling with Peter and Charlotte through the Midwest and Northern states before breaking off from them too. Then it was the Fifties, going into a diner and meeting Alice. You’d always envied Alice a bit for her closeness to Jasper, even though you knew neither of them felt that way for each other, but you were also incredibly grateful to her- who knows where Jasper would be without her.

“I remember she said that I’d kept her waiting long enough and I thought to myself I’ve never seen this woman in my life, but I sat down with her regardless and she told me about ‘vegetarianism’ and our future family. I could feel her excitement but I thought she was crazy.” He laughed to himself, a beautiful sound. You’d heard this story a few times from him and Alice. “I was about to go on my way, leave Alice in the wind when she told me something I couldn’t ignore.”

You perked up, neither of them had ever mentioned this part of the story. Craning you’re neck up, you saw he was watching you expectantly with a soft smile tugging those perfect lips up- waiting for a reaction, “She told me that she’d seen me with my soulmate and her future family. She couldn’t tell me when, or where, or how, but she’s seen it and I had to trust her. She felt so sincere and I’d been lonely for so long that I left with her that very afternoon.”

You sat up very suddenly, blood rushing to your cheeks ass you turned around to him, “Jasper, you’ve never told me that before! What are you doing with me then?”

Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the flash of indignation and feisty anger, but quickly frowned when it morphed to hurt. His movement was much faster and infinitely more graceful than yours as you took your face in his hands, “You were the girl in the vision, (Y/N), you’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

It was like someone pulled a plug on your negative emotions as they drained out to be replaced by jittery happiness, and he didn’t need his brother’s telepathy to see the wheel’s turning in your head, “Oh.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to being told your someone’s soulmate. You’d never really imagined life without Jasper, you’d long since admitted to yourself that he was the love of your life, “Well, I’m glad you believed her otherwise I could be with Mike Newton right now.”

It was a bad joke, but he laughed nonetheless and pulled you back down with him, now wrapping both arms around you-effectively trapping you to his chest, but you had no reason to be afraid or even attempt to break free. There was a long pause of silence, him sending off soothing vibes, (it was getting pretty late) listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it slowed, and waiting for you to doze off. It did surprise him when you spoke back up.

“Where’d you go next?” It was quiet, sleepy, but a request he wouldn’t deny. He’d pay you back by asking a hundred inane question about your childhood tomorrow.

Pulling your comforter over the two of you, he adjusted you to what would be a more comfortable sleeping position. He continued, “Well, in took a few years but eventually we met Carlisle who welcomed us to the family with open arms. It took a bit to adjust to the new life of going to highschools and colleges, being around humans. Alice would occasionally drop little hints about you, your hair color, eye color, things you would do in her visions, and that was enough to encourage me to stay with it.”

You only hummed in response, turning over a bit as you let him nudge you towards sleep. Jasper was more than surprised when you made it to the mid-seventies without falling asleep, but was satisfied that he could no longer read any anger or frustration on you. Brushing a lock of hair out of your sleeping face, he silently laughed at your unconscious reaction to his cold touch. Yes, he had waited nearly sixty years for you.

“Good night, darlin’. I love you.”

Bad moods and all, he’d wait a hundred years more for moments like these.

[flowerfan2]

We’re getting close to the end, folks!  Chapter 17 of 20 is up.  This one features some cuddles/comfort, a trip to NYC, a sparkling holiday party, and a romantic dance.  Enjoy!

David x Patrick, A03, 5k this chapter.

Chapter 17

David is sitting outside on the lanai, drinking his coffee and ignoring Alexis’ texts.  He doesn’t know how to answer her question.  He’s not sure why she thinks that texting him about the same thing over and over will make any difference, when he clearly told her, three days ago, to stop bothering him about it.

The problem is that he’s running out of time to make a decision, although in a way that’s a decision in itself.  He knows that the adult thing to do is to talk to Patrick about it, but if a little more time goes by, he won’t have to.

It’s only a few days away from one of his family’s most honored traditions, their annual holiday party, which has now become the Rose Motel Group holiday party.  This year, it’s at a trendy club in New York City, and it promises to be even more spectacular than ever.  David is expected to attend, whether he’s working remotely in Florida or not.

Of course, his parents would understand if he didn’t come… but he’ll pay the price, he knows it.  His father will have that sad look of disappointment, and his mother will be hurt, but hide it under fancy words and an extra ridiculous outfit.  And he really can’t stand the thought of upsetting Alexis.

It’s not only guilt, either.  David misses his family.  For better or worse, they have continued to be close since their days in Schitt’s Creek, and it’s not all due to concern about David’s mental health.  David genuinely enjoys their company, most of the time, and he’s come to rely on them.  Especially Alexis.

David had managed to put the holiday party completely out of his mind until Alexis started texting him about it.  Apparently his father finally caught on to the fact that he hadn’t committed, and put her on the case.  It’s been easy not to think about it, or anything to do with his old, sad, non-Patrick life, here in sunny Florida where the Christmas decorations look wildly out of place on the palm trees.  Even Patrick’s thoughtful gift of a menorah hadn’t overcome David’s willful not-thinking-about the holidays, annual festivities included.

He’s so happy here, with Patrick and no one else, in their bubble of suburban domesticity.  They pretty much do whatever they want, no one stopping in to put demands on them, no one asking questions.  Sure, they spend some time working during the day, but they’re never more than a few feet apart, unless one of them leaves the house to run a quick errand.  It’s not very realistic, and it might well have backfired, but so far it hasn’t.

Frankly David finds it comforting that Patrick is here, safe from all the demons that have been troubling him.  Although now he has to rewrite that story a bit, seeing as Marcy’s heath scare happened here in Florida.  But at least Patrick is far away from the site of his employment melt-down and his ill-fated night on the town with his cousin, cocooned in this little bubble where David can keep a close eye on him.

He worries about Patrick.  Over the past few weeks the Patrick he used to know is making his appearance more and more, but he’s still not the same.  Almost worse than the quiet sadness he sees in his eyes when he thinks David isn’t looking is the tentative surprise he shows when something goes right.  

It’s ironic, David thinks, that now, more than three years after their break-up, Patrick is the more damaged one.  It’s not what he ever imagined, when he thought about their future.  In the hazy mist of his imagination, Patrick was always and forever steady, guiding David through the stormy waters of his turbulent life.  (David acknowledges that his imagination is prone to purple prose.)  But life didn’t turn out that way, and he can only thank the universe that fate and shitty weather in Milwaukee brought them together again.  

David finishes his coffee and goes into the house, toeing off his shoes just inside the door.  He makes a cup of deliciously scented jasmine tea for Patrick, and heads back into the bedroom.

Patrick is still in bed, curled up in a ball with the duvet almost covering his face.  He hadn’t wanted to get up when the alarm went off, muttering to David that he didn’t have to do any work until the afternoon, and burrowing back down into the blankets.

David puts the tea down on the nightstand and slides under the covers, spooning up against Patrick’s back.  He moves slowly, trying to gauge whether his presence is welcome or not.  He knows Patrick isn’t actually asleep – his eyes flickered open when David entered the room.  The fact that he’s still in bed despite this isn’t a tremendously good sign, but David knows all too well how sometimes just getting out of bed can seem overwhelming.

To an outsider, he thinks that Patrick probably seems fine.  He is taking care of himself, doing what needs to be done in the house, and even starting a new job.  He gives the impression to others that he is completely in control, friendly and capable – and David thinks that more and more, it’s not a façade.  But David sees these moments, too, when it’s all just too much.

He curls his hand around Patrick’s arm, gently.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “I brought you some tea, if you want it.”

No reaction.

“Or you can just nap for a while.”

Patrick stirs, inching back towards David.  

“Okay if I nap too?”  David asks.

Patrick takes David’s hand and pulls it to his own chest, tucking his arm around David’s.  David can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his palm.  

“Mmm.”  David presses a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck.  “Sweet dreams, baby.”  David closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of Patrick’s skin.  There are a lot worse things to do than cuddle his boyfriend through a difficult morning.  David can handle this.  He’s starting to think there’s quite a lot he can handle, when it comes to Patrick.

He knows Patrick was up late last night, going down rabbit holes on the web.  At some point David had woken up and peered at the screen of Patrick’s laptop, so he knows he was reading about depression.  He hopes it helped.  The internet can be a scary place; he’d probably be better off talking to someone.  David would talk to him about it, if he let him, but ever since their first few conversations Patrick hasn’t wanted to discuss it.  

David has almost fallen asleep when Patrick turns over and squints his eyes open.  

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he says, blinking at David.

The sentence seems to carry more weight than he intended, and David shakes his head and puts his arm around Patrick, pulling him close.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  David shifts on to his back, and Patrick tucks himself against David’s chest.

“You have work.”  It’s a half-hearted protest at best, mumbled against David’s sweater.

“I already told Rory to move my meetings to the afternoon.  I’m fine.”  David presses a kiss to Patrick’s head. “I’m exactly where I want to be.  It’s a perfect day for sleeping in.”

Patrick is quiet, while David rubs his back and shuffles closer until they are entwined just right, legs and knees and arms all pressed together.  

After a few minutes David feels Patrick’s breath slow, and his hold on David relaxes.  He’s about to drift off himself, when Patrick jerks himself awake again.

“You okay, honey?”

Patrick nods, his chin digging into David.  “Yeah.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  It’s all right.”  David strokes Patrick’s shoulder and back, making lazy circles, hoping it will help.  

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, his hand flat against David’s stomach.  It’s the last thing David hears before he falls asleep.

When David wakes up, Patrick is gone, but the shower is running so there’s not much of a question as to where he went.  David drags himself upright and checks his phone.  Rory has indeed moved his meetings, one to this afternoon, one to tomorrow, and one he had taken care of all by himself.  Maybe there won’t be coal in his Christmas stocking after all.

David is in the kitchen sniffing various take-out containers to figure out if he can stand eating any of them for lunch, when Patrick shows up.  He’s wide awake and smells delightfully like David’s favorite body wash, so naturally David has to kiss him before anything else.  When they separate, Patrick is smiling sweetly at him, and David feels his whole body light up.  If there’s something better than Patrick’s fond attention, he has yet to discover it.

Patrick insists on making lunch, and they pull together a salad with some bagged lettuce, leftover grilled chicken and an overlooked cucumber.

“We have got to get something better for dinner,” David says, as they lean against the kitchen island and eat their food.  

“There’s an Italian place in a new shopping center that I haven’t tried yet, but it looks good.”  Patrick sends David the link to the restaurant’s menu, and David is checking out their desserts (they have cannoli, which is a definite mark in their favor), when Patrick’s phone chirps several times in a row.

“David?”

“Hm?”

“Why does Alexis want my measurements?”

David freezes, his good mood draining out of him.  “What?”

“Alexis wants to know my-”

David yanks the phone out of his hand.  “Let me see.”  He scans the messages.  The party isn’t directly mentioned, but there’s no getting out of it now.  He’s going to kill Alexis for pulling this shit and going around him.  “I can explain.”

“Okay, go ahead.”  Patrick takes a bite of his salad, then looks up at David.  “What’s going on?”

Time to bite the bullet.  “This Saturday night is the RMG holiday party.”

“Okay…”

“And my parents want me to come.”

Patrick looks… disappointed.  “Oh.”

David realizes his mistake instantly.  “Us – they want <i>us</i> to come.  But – you don’t have to.  I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

David stands up from his chair and paces, to the patio and back, wishing it wasn’t raining so he could go outside and pace there too.  

“David?  Is that a hard question?”  Patrick is standing now, too, and there’s a tinge of anger in his tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you <i>have</i> to come,” David says, coming towards him and gripping his arms. “I don’t want to rock the boat.  We’re good here.  There’s no reason to risk it.”

“To risk what?”  Now Patrick just sounds confused.

“Anything.”  David tilts his head back.  “I know I sound crazy, that’s why I didn’t bring this up.”

Patrick pulls them towards the couch, and they sit down.  David leans his head in his hands.

“David. Tell me what’s really going on.”

He sighs.  “What if you don’t like it?”

“The party?”

David looks up and rolls his eyes at him.  “No, not the party.  What if you’re mad, about why I didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, David, but you might be overthinking things.  Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Fine.”  David straightens his shoulders and looks at Patrick.  “I like being here with you. I like the <i>us</i> we have.  I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Patrick says, winding his fingers through David’s.  “Go on.”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you, and have people… talk at me about it.  Put thoughts in my head, about how it might not work.  And I don’t want you to come and have the same thing happen.”

“So, you’re afraid that if we leave here, and see anyone else, they’ll be able to convince us that what we have isn’t going to last?”

“All right, all right, I know that’s silly.”  David squeezes his eyes shut.  “Also I don’t want you to get upset.”

There’s a pause, and when Patrick speaks, his voice is quiet, his slightly teasing tone gone.  “Upset about what?”

David shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Things that might… upset you.  Strangers.  The city.  A crowded club.”  He can feel Patrick go still next to him.  “I don’t know if that’s why we keep to ourselves down here.  But if that was any part of it, if this is your safe space, I don’t want you to feel you have to leave.  Not for something as dumb as a holiday party.”

Patrick breathes in and out, audibly, and David opens his eyes.  Patrick’s looking down at where their hands are entwined, studying them, his lips pressed tightly together.  David reaches over and cups Patrick’s head with his hand, bringing them closer.  “I hope that was okay to say,” David says softly.

Patrick nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “yeah.  That was okay to say.”  He looks at David, and his eyes are wet.  “You’re right.  This is my safe space, here, with you.”

David feels his chest clench, and he nods back.  “I’m glad.”

Patrick inhales deeply, and blinks away a tear.  “But I don’t think your family’s holiday party is necessarily a dumb reason to leave.”

“No?”

“No.  I think it might be good for us.  Especially since Alexis is apparently finding me a really nice suit.”

*****

It sounds easy – Patrick says sure, they should go to the party.  But there are a dozen decisions to make after that, and by the next night, David is really wishing he had found a way to just say no.

When to leave is easy enough – there’s no way he wants Patrick to have to take Friday off, not with a brand-new job, so they’ll fly into LaGuardia on Saturday morning.  But will they come back on Sunday – Christmas Eve?  Or spend that night with his family and come back on Christmas itself?  Spend yet another night to avoid traveling on Christmas?  And how is it fair to Patrick’s parents, to make this special trip to be with David’s family, and not see them?

Add to that figuring out where they’ll stay (one night on Alexis’ pull-out couch is barely tolerable, but more than that, forget it), what social events David will agree to while there, and who is going to pay for the whole charade, and it’s a giant mess.

“Ok, I’ve had enough,” David says, when their dinner of take-out sushi has been completely dominated by debating the pros and cons of the various options, each of them trying to anticipate what the other wants and as far as David can tell, defeating the point of the entire conversation.  “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand it anymore.  Whoever wins, chooses.”

“That won’t solve it.”  

Patrick’s right, it still doesn’t mean whoever wins will actually pick something reasonable, and not just what they think the other person wants.

“But you might be on to something,” Patrick continues, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Please, tell me, and put an end to this so we can get on with our lives.”  And pack, David thinks.

“On the count of three, put out a finger for how many nights you want to stay in New York.  No more debate, no more thinking about it.”

“Each of us puts out a finger for how long <i>who</i> wants to stay?”

Patrick glares at him.  “Don’t make this harder than it is.  The conversation is over.  Ready?”

David nods.  Whatever happens, at least then they can move on.

“One, two-”

“Wait, do we put out a finger on three, or are you going to say one, two, three, go?”

Patrick smacks David on the arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to say one, two, three, go.” There’s a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes when they meet David’s.  “Ready?  One, two, three, go!”

Both of them put out one finger.

“Oh, thank god,” David says, sagging forward, his forehead against Patrick’s.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?”  David didn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary; he didn’t want to have any other days to worry about what his parents might want him to do versus what Patrick might want to do, he didn’t want to have to manage any of it any longer than he had to.  But he also didn’t want Patrick to feel like he was cutting David’s time with his family short, or that David was giving something up for him.  Because right now, all David really wants is whatever is best for Patrick, and what’s best for him and Patrick together.  And his gut is telling him that getting back to Florida on Sunday, and then spending Monday (even though it’s Christmas?  Because it’s Christmas?) together, alone, with no work and no family for a whole day, is what’s best for them both.

Patrick laughs.  “Sure.  And you know what’s great about our decision?”

“That it’s done?”

“Yes, and now we can just stay at Alexis’ place, since it will only be one night.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

*****

They wake up at a painfully early hour Saturday morning and drag themselves to the airport, which is packed with Christmas travelers.  But everything goes smoothly, and by noon they’re in an Uber on their way to Alexis’ place.  When she opens the door she ignores David completely and envelops Patrick in a hug that goes on for so long, Patrick signals to David for help.  It’s unbearably sweet, and David is suddenly, overwhelmingly happy that they decided to come to New York.

Alexis gives Patrick a tour of her tiny apartment, and Patrick appropriately oohs and ahs over everything.  Alexis is especially proud of the little corner of her room that serves as an office, with its mood boards and tastefully decorated shelves.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Patrick says, and Alexis beams.

“Yes, Patrick!”  She sits down at her computer and pulls up a file to show him her latest spreadsheet achievement, when David sees a glossy looking envelope on her counter with Patrick’s name on it.

“What’s this?”  He picks it up, admiring the heavy paper, when he recognizes the ice blue logo.  “Alexis, why do you have-”

She plucks it out of his hand and does a little shimmy.  “It’s not for you, David.”  With a flourish, she hands it to Patrick.

Patrick exchanges a “what can you do” glance with David, and opens the envelope.  David crowds close, too excited to wait.

“It’s from your mom,” Patrick says.  

“It’s a lil’ couples massage,” Alexis says, practically bouncing on her toes.  “She specifically said to tell you that <i>there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself</i>.”  Alexis points with an impeccably polished nail to where it says that on the card, and David rolls his eyes, remembering the day Patrick reassured his mother that she wasn’t responsible for the dead guy in Room 4.  He <i>knew</i> she was being purposefully obtuse about the scone.

“Do we even have time for this massage thing?” Patrick asks.  “It’s for today.”

“Um, yes, we have time.  We absolutely have time.  This is one of the most exclusive spas in the city.”  David grabs Patrick’s coat off the couch; his own leather jacket is barely warm enough for New York in December, but at least it’s appropriate, unlike Patrick’s down monstrosity.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alexis says, linking her arm through Patrick’s.  “Maybe we can make it a trio.”

“Not unless you are ready to walk out this door in thirty seconds.”

“Ugh, David.”  

Luckily Alexis takes only fifteen minutes to get ready to go, and they’re on their way.  Despite the fact that David has never heard of a trio massage (and he shudders to think of how expensive that might be), he doesn’t dissuade her from coming along.  He’s got barely twenty-four hours to hang out with her, and he’s going to soak up every one of them.

In the end Alexis drops them at the spa to do some shopping of her own, while David and Patrick are pampered to within an inch of their lives.  During the initial consultation with the massage therapists, they are fed chocolate covered strawberries and cucumber water.  They agree on the massage oils, and the music, and then are led to a dim room which smells delightfully like eucalyptus and jasmine.  David tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch Patrick melting into jelly on the table next to him.  It’s without a doubt the best massage David has ever experienced.  He can practically feel the oxytocin swirling in the air between them.

Afterwards they are helped into fluffy white robes, and then collapse together onto a wide, padded lounger.  “That was really nice,” Patrick says.

“Nice?”  David asks.  “Just nice?”

Patrick snuggles into David’s shoulder.  “Mmm.  I can’t think of words right now.  Full review later.”

David noses at Patrick’s hair.  “Okay.”

“Love you,” Patrick says muzzily.

“Love you too.”

They dose together, boneless and content, until a soft chime wakes them.  Reluctantly they find their way to the changing rooms, and then out into reality.

Alexis is buzzing with excitement and wants to immediately go back to her place to get dressed, but David insists that they find something to eat first.  It’s still hours away from when dinner will be served tonight, and as lovely as the chocolate covered strawberries were, he needs some real food or things will get ugly.

Luckily, they spot one of his favorite places to get a quick snack (it’s a chain with pretentious communal tables, but David has spent many hours here and he loves it anyway), so they load up on quiche and avocado tartine and mochas before returning to Alexis’ apartment.

When they arrive it’s fashion show time.  Because Alexis loves dressing up, she had agreed ages ago to let David keep some clothes in her closet – just a few choice outfits for when they were in New York together and felt like going out.  But David can feel Patrick hovering next to him, all the afternoon’s relaxing threatening to disappear, so he suggests they look at his options first.

Alexis beams and starts chattering about what she got for Patrick, and David leans in close, a hand on the small of his back.  “You don’t have to wear any of that if you don’t want to,” he whispers, as Alexis pulls out a silver shirt with a shiny gleam.  “You can wear what you brought.  Or what you’ve got on right now.”  David gives Patrick’s jeans-clad ass a little slap, and Patrick snorts out a laugh.

“What?  You don’t like this one?”  Alexis asks.  “You’re right, it’s too flashy.  How about this?”  She reaches airily into the closet, and David can tell by the way she’s standing, like she’s posing for a photo, that she’s presenting her top choice.  It’s a dark navy blue suit (Tom Ford? How did she get a Tom Ford suit for Patrick?) with a deep, rich purple shirt.  She holds it up to Patrick, and he nods carefully, then looks over to David for approval.

David pets it, and looks inside for a label.  The suit isn’t a Tom Ford, although it looks damn good.  And now that he examines the jacket more closely, he can see it has its own distinctive style.  “Where did you get this, Alexis?  And who made it?”

Alexis preens.  “One of my friends has a connection with an up and coming designer,” she says.  “She’ll be at the party tonight.  I’ll introduce you.”

“And we don’t have to pay for this, right?”  David asks.  The cut is classically elegant, and he thinks it’s going to fit Patrick like a glove.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.  “She’s just happy to have someone wearing her clothes.”

“I’ll try it on,” Patrick says, and Alexis shows him to the bathroom.  When he comes back out, David can’t help but go to him, running his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“You like it?”  Patrick asks.  

“I like <i>you,</i>” David says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips.  “And you look amazing in this suit.”  He unbuttons another button of the shirt, liking the way the open neck shows just a little bit of Patrick’s skin.

“It doesn’t need a tie?” Patrick asks.

“No, you’re perfect just like this.”

“Yay!”  Alexis cheers, coming over and booping Patrick on the nose.  “I knew this was going to work!”

David decides on his black and white Armani short jacket, with a sharp collared white shirt underneath and slim black ankle-length trousers.  He likes the contrast with Patrick’s rich colored but still traditionally styled suit.  Alexis twirls for them in her dress, a silky blush colored gown that makes her look like a 50’s movie star. They’re finally ready, and they pile into a waiting Uber and head uptown.

The back room of the club is already crowded, and David can’t help but feel a little swell of pride at how RMG has grown.  Stevie waves to them from where she’s standing across the room with Ruth, but David doesn’t have a chance to get over to her before his parents descend.  There are hugs all around, and when the wave of familial affection finally recedes, David can’t help but notice that Patrick looks a little overwhelmed.

He weaves his arm through Patrick’s and leads them away, finding an alcove where they can catch their breath.

“You okay?” he asks, a palm to Patrick’s chest.  He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute.  This is exactly what he was worried about, this is too much for Patrick, too many people.  “We can leave anytime, we made our appearance, I’ll call a car-”

“No, David, I’m fine,” Patrick says, taking David’s hand.  “Really.”

David searches his face.  “Are you sure?  Because you seem a little…”

“David,” Patrick says firmly.  “I’m fine.”  He slides his hands around David’s waist, under his jacket, and David can feel the warmth of his fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt.  David slings his arms around Patrick and leans his head against his shoulders.  “Your parents are very enthusiastic, but it’s great to see them,” Patrick says.  “Everything’s okay.”

“You’re fine,” David repeats, willing himself to believe it.  Patrick really is.  Nothing’s wrong.  

“Could it be, maybe, you’re a little nervous too?”  Patrick says, his voice gentle.

David wants to deny it, but realizes instantly that Patrick is right.  He feels a little fizzy, a little unsteady.  “Maybe.”  Patrick isn’t the only one who has been enjoying their little Florida bubble.  

Patrick hugs him closer, and then steps back, inclining his head out towards the party.  “Come on.  Alexis said there’d be crab puffs.”

“Crab cakes,” David corrects.  

“Crab cakes, then.  And baked brie.”

“I still don’t see any coherency in the hors d’oeuvre selection,” David gripes, back on solid ground.

“But you’re going to eat all of them anyway.”

“I am definitely going to eat all of them anyway.”

They’re grazing by the cheese platters when David sees a few familiar faces coming towards him.  This is going to be fun, he thinks, a smile tugging at his cheek.

“David, hi!”  

“Vanessa, you look radiant.”  She does, her dark skin set off by a metallic pantsuit and glimmers of gold around her eyes.  

“Most beautiful woman in the room,” rumbles her companion, a huge man with a barrel chest who towers over both David and Patrick.

“Patrick, meet Vanessa, my favorite gallery employee from back in the day, and her husband Rory, my current favorite employee.”

Rory laughs, his deep voice probably setting off small earthquakes somewhere.  “I’m not your employee, Rose.”  He holds out his hand to Patrick.  “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick turns to David, and the reveal was definitely worth it.  “This is your assistant Rory?  The one you bother all day long about your schedule?  The one you sent to pick out your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  David <i>knows</i> Patrick thought “Rory” was some college kid, he just knows it.  Instead he’s a thirty-five year old sculptor who wanted a day job for a steady paycheck.

“What, you don’t think I can be trusted with David’s clothes?”  Rory asks.  “I admit, I was surprised, too.  But I guess he had a good reason to ask me to go through all of his drawers.”

“Drawers?  My knits aren’t in drawers, where did you-” David sees the look on Vanessa’s face, and abruptly changes course.  “You made Vanessa do it, didn’t you.”

Vanessa laughs, and tucks her arm through her husband’s.  “I’m sorry, David, but come on – you send Rory an emergency text telling him to Fed Ex you extremely specific selections from your warm weather clothing, and you think I’m not going to get involved?  I’ve known you for years and you never let me into your closet before. It was an experience I was not going to pass up.”

Patrick is giggling into his glass of seltzer, and David has had quite enough of this.  “Fine.  Tease me if you want.  But I think we can all agree it was a successful mission.”  He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, his arm snug around him.

“From the way you two look together, I’d say so,” Vanessa says.

“Here here.” Rory raises his glass, and they all follow suit.  “To David and Patrick.”

“Oh my god, enough with that,” David says, and buries his burning face in Patrick’s neck.

Rory and Vanessa excuse themselves, but David has hardly had a chance to visit the buffet again when Patrick tugs at his arm.

“What?” he says, looking up from a particularly delicious egg roll.

“Come dance with me,” Patrick says, his eyes wide and warm, and David drops his plate on a table and follows him.  

“What brought this on?” David asks, as he loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and starts to move in time to the music.

Patrick shrugs a little and pulls David closer.  “My parents always dance to this song,” he says into David’s ear.

David feels his chest expand, and he presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek.  “It’s a nice song.”  

<i>Moon river, wider than a mile</i> <i>I'm crossing you in style some day</i>

<i>Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker</i> <i>Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way</i>

David listens for a moment to the bittersweet melody.  “Is it a love song?” he finally asks.  It’s not as if he’s ever given <i>Moon River</i> much thought before.  

Patrick slides his fingers up the back of David’s neck, into his hair.  “I think it’s love for the journey, rather than a destination.”

<i>Two drifters, off to see the world</i>

<i>There’s such a lot of world to see</i>

David glances around, and now his parents are dancing too, along with a handful of other couples.  He nuzzles against Patrick.  “Not to quote my sister or anything, but… I like this journey for us.”

Patrick turns his head and finds David’s lips, kissing him sweetly.  “Me too, David.  Me too.”

[marvels-writings]

Quarantine Madness

Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel) Masterlist

Requested by Anon: Hiii! Because of the current situation literally everywhere, I got this idea of carol x female reader who are both head over heels for eachother but neither admitted it, and they get stuck quarantining together in a ONE bed room penthouse in new york (cuz u know the one bed trope). They fall even more in love there getting to know each other more while feeling tortured by how much they blush and get flustered by literally the tiniest things the other does. Thank u and sorry for my english haha

Word Count: 3,508 (long and worth it)

A/N: Instead of making this into a mini series I just wrote a ginormous oneshot, hope you like it!

“Perfect timing,” you grumbled, Carol flopped down next to you on the couch.

“What?” She asked, offering you a bag of candy she took from the counter. 

“Thanks to COVID 19,” You showed her the phone. “We’re in lockdown for at least a month.” 

Carol read the news and groaned, leaning back onto the couch. You raised an eyebrow at the blonde.

“I can’t be that bad.” You joked, Carol shot up instantly to correct the statement. 

“You’re not, I’d rather not be stuck in one place for a month,” She groaned, you shrugged. 

“We still haven’t explored.” You commented, gesturing to the rest of the enormous penthouse. 

Getting sent on a mission with Carol was already stressful enough as it is. You were already under constant pressure to try to impress her, on top of it, you were with her for a month. Without anyone else to talk to. You doubted the situation could get worse. 

“Good point,” She got off the couch. Dropping the bag of candy on the coffee table and started walking around the huge penthouse.

Most of the furniture was white or a light grey. Everything was modern and comfy. You expected most penthouses to be steel and white, you expected them to be cold. But this felt homey, there were succulents everywhere, paintings, blankets. It felt a little like home.

You walked into the bedroom, Carol followed you in, whistling at the furnishings. It was a simple king size bed, there was a side table on both sides with a succulent and a lamp. A ginormous bathroom was on the right end of the room, the ensuite bathroom on the left.

“I’ll take the other one, you can have the master,” Carol stated, you raised an eyebrow.

“Nope, you take the master bedroom,” You argued, Carol raised an eyebrow and grinned. 

“Race you there,” She winked and raced out. 

You opened your mouth in surprise but followed her out to the large living room. The blonde looked around and spotted a door near the kitchen and ran to it. It was a closet, you frowned and opened the door next to you, it was another bathroom. 

“Guess we’re sharing the master then,” Carol remarked. Closing the closet door after both of you had finished checking every door.

The situation just got worse, a lot worse. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go change.” You gestured to the bedroom with your thumb. 

She nodded and went to explore the kitchen. After you took your duffel bags from the living room and moved them into the kitchen.  You picked out a casual outfit consisting of a white Calvin Klien sweatshirt and black jeggings. 

Even the bathroom was lavishly furnished, Tony had gone all out on this penthouse for both of you. You went into the shower, turning up the heat to a warmer shower. You washed your hair and towel dried most of it before you realized you didn’t know where the blow drier was. 

You sighed and wrapped a towel around yourself since you didn’t want your sweatshirt to get wet. You opened the door and gasped when you saw Carol lounging on the bed and reading her book. She turned to look at you in surprise. 

“Oh, uh, shit,” She stuttered, trying not to stare. She turned around quickly, closing her eyes shut. Carol couldn’t get you out of her head. You looked surprised but gorgeous in just a towel dress with your wet hair trailing down onto your shoulders.

“Sorry, do you know where the blow drier is?” You asked, she nodded. 

“It’s in here,” She pulled out the blow drier from the wardrobe and hesitated to turn around.

“Carol, I’m not naked,” You chuckled, a blush creeping onto your face. 

She turned around and handed you the blow drier, trying not to let her eyes linger on you. You thanked her and twirled around to go inside.

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Carol muttered to herself. 

“Did you say something?” You shouted from inside the bathroom.

“Nope,” The blonde shouted back. Living a month with her crush by herself was going to be harder than she had thought. 

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

After both of you had showered, you lounged on the couches and watched TV before you realized you were hungry. 

“We need to make something to eat, I’m starving.” You complained, reaching for the remote and pausing the TV show.

“Do you have anything in mind?” Carol asked, seated on the couch as you got up and checked the fridge.

“Well, the fridge is stocked,” You moved some things around in the fridge. “We could try making pasta.”

Carol got up and helped you get the ingredients out. You started boiling the pasta when you noticed it was too quiet. After telling Carol you were going to go look for something, you searched the apartment for a speaker. You found a light grey Bose speaker in the living room and connected it to your phone.

“Any requests?” You asked, showing her the speaker as you came into the kitchen.

“I’ve been trying to catch up on pop music, so we could do that,” She suggested.

“Okay…” You trailed off as you flipped through the playlists on your phone. “Lana del Rey, Dua Lipa, or Billie Eilish?” 

“I don’t know who any of them are,” Carol stated, your eyes widened.

“Well, Lana Del Rey is a classic, let’s start with that then.” you clicked on the playlist with all three artists and many other pop icons. 

Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey started playing in the room, you grinned. But you noticed Carol raise an eyebrow at your music choice. 

“This doesn’t count as music.” She gestured to the speaker with her cutting knife. 

You stuck your tongue out at her jokingly and played a remix of the song. The Cedric Gervias remix started playing and Carol’s mood improved instantly.

“Better your highness?” You mocked, Carol glared at you playfully and finished chopping.

You started mixing the veggies with some olive oil and spices in a cast iron pan. Carol sat on the barstool opposite the kitchen, watching you dance and hum softly to the music. You were oblivious to her staring, too absorbed in the music and the food.

Carol continued staring when she saw you weren’t paying attention to her. She noticed the subtle way you danced while cooking, your voice as you sang along to the beat. Your foot tapping to the beat of the music. She was swooning. 

“Wanna help?” You asked, gesturing to the cast iron in front of you. 

The blonde snapped out of her daze and nodded, making her way next to you. You handed her the wooden spatula, oblivious to the way her breath hitched when your fingers brushed hers. She held it awkwardly in her hands, making you laugh.

“You have no idea what to do, do you?” You asked, she shrugged and tried mixing it. A few veggies fell off the edge of the pan, causing you to giggle.

“No need to mock me,” Carol argued, stopping the stirring when more things fell from the pan.

You laughed and moved to stand next to her. You placed your left hand on top of her right hand, noticing the way she tensed at the contact.

“Is this okay?” You asked, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Ye-Yeah,” She stuttered, nodding as a small piece of short hair fell into her eyes. She blew it out of her face with a puff of air. 

You laughed and guided her hands to mix the pasta without dropping anything. Carol was blushing at the contact, but she faced the pain and tried not to show it. You stole a glance at her while cooking, gauging her reaction while staring at her features. 

“This is good, right?” Carol asked once she got the hang of it. You turned to look back at the pasta and nodded. 

She noticed your flustered expression when she caught you staring. The blonde decided not to overestimate it and continued stirring the veggies. Once you’d drained the pasta, Carol tumbled it in with the rest of the veggies. You helped her stir it again before putting it into the oven to let it bake. 

“This is Dua Lipa?” Carol asked when ‘Break my Heart’ started playing after a few other Lana Del Rey songs. 

You nodded and grinned, showing her your playlist. She scrolled through it and quickly realized she didn’t know any of the songs. 

“What do you think?” You asked curiously. The blonde shrugged and tried to pretend that she knew what she was talking about. 

“I think this is better than Billie Eilish,” She stated, trying to be confident. You raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t compare them, they are different styles.” You argued Carol’s eyes widened slightly but she tried to play it cool.

“Aren’t they the same?” She asked, you giggled and took back your phone, playing the first Billie Eilish song you came across in your playlist.

‘Bad guy’ started playing from the bose. Carol felt like facepalming at her embarrassment. 

“Man, you do have a lot to catch up on.” You commented and laughed. 

Carol opened her mouth to say something snarky, but your laugh entranced her more than she had expected. She found herself staring at you. Before you could ask what she was staring at, the beep of the oven cut you off.

You turned around and put on an oven mitt before pulling the pan out. Grinning at the pasta before setting it down on the countertop, and taking the mittens off. Carol looked surprised at how well the pasta had turned out. 

“Don’t look that surprised.” You commented, she shrugged and grinned at you before pulling out some plates and a few glasses of wine.

“Damn, Tony went all out on this penthouse,” Carol pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir from the wine cupboard. Your eyes widened slightly and you whistled before serving both of you a plate of pasta as Carol brought the wine to the table. 

Dinner went as it normally was between both of you, there was plenty of bantering and joking throughout the meal. Carol drank a few glasses of wine and urged you to drink more since the wine tasted better than most things she had drank. 

After 2 glasses, you were opening up to her about your past and a few of your previous relationships. Carol listened, fascinated by a lot of your stories. She found herself staring at the way you spoke, animating everything, and talking casually. The blonde constantly found herself entranced by the way you looked at her like she was the most important thing in the world to you.

But after your third glass of wine, you started to get a little drunk and Carol noticed. She guided you to the couch and took the bottle away. You flopped down on the couch, your feet resting on the armrest. Carol sat on the opposite couch and started talking, but you managed to pull her closer to you and rested your head on her lap.

Carol bit her lip at the closeness, barely resisting the urge to play with your hair in her lap. She smiled down at you as you talked about something Tony did that almost set fire to the entire compound.

“What are you looking at?” You slurred when you noticed her staring at you. 

“Nothing,” Carol smiled, gently running her fingers through your hair. You leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut before you opened them to look up at her. 

“You know, you’re really pretty.” You muttered, Carol blushed and grinned at your sudden confession.

“I think you got a little too much wine,” She chuckled and tried to help you off of her lap. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Okay,” You slurred, letting Carol pick you up bridal style and carry you into the bedroom. 

She didn’t bother helping you change since you’d swore that they were ‘the comfiest thing’ even after Carol urged you to wear sweatpants. After getting you settled on the pillows, she covered you with the duvet and smiled down at you.

“Goodnight y/n/n,” She whispered, in a surge of confidence, she leaned down and kissed the top of your forehead softly. She smiled at you and started to walk away to sleep on the couch when you grabbed her hand. 

“Stay?” You asked, looking at her through half-lidded eyes. She winced, unsure of what to do.

“I really should sleep on the couch,” She argued softly, you shook your head vigorously. 

“No, please,” You hiccuped and yawned lightly. “Stay?” 

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Carol finally gave into your soft voice. 

You grinned at her sleepily and moved over to make room for her. The instant she was under the duvet, you snuggled into her. You laid your head on her shoulder and wrapped both arms around her waist tightly, tucking your head into the crook of her neck. Carol’s face lit up in a bright blush, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. 

Carol could have told you to move over, to not be as cuddly, but she didn’t want to, even though she had told you she hated physical affection. The blonde couldn’t help but wrap an arm around your waist and melt into your embrace. The tension left her shoulders as she felt your breathing even out, your breath coming in soft puffs on her neck. 

She smiled at you and ran her hands through your hair a few times until she fell asleep. Happy to fall asleep in the arms of her secret crush.

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

You groaned the second you woke up, you had a massive headache and you felt slightly nauseous. You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked around. The area next to you was messy, showing someone had been there before. Before you could think about it, Carol opened the door with a tray of food in her hands. 

“You’re awake,” She remarked, balancing the tray as she walked inside. You nodded and scooted over to give her some space. 

“What do I owe this pleasure?” You asked sarcastically, rubbing your eyes as you looked at the plate.

There was a plate of pancakes with maple syrup and some butter, with two cups of coffee on the side and some cutlery. You took a sip of coffee after thanking her and groaned at the bitter taste. You put it aside and cut into a pancake with your fork, putting it in your mouth and moaning at the taste.

“Oh my god I love you,” You muttered through a mouthful of pancakes. Carol’s eyes widened as she blushed at the comment, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

But before she could say anything else, you offered her a bite on your fork. She looked at it in confusion before you nudged it lightly towards her. She understood the gesture and opened her mouth, letting you feed her. After eating in silence, you sipped your coffee and downed some aspirin.

“How much wine did you let me drink?” You asked, throat stinging from the hot coffee.

“A few more glasses than I should have,” Carol answered, you glared as she laughed. 

The blonde sipped her coffee as she thought about what you said. Did you love her or did you just say that because of the pancakes? She wasn’t sure. 

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

Two weeks went by. Neither of you got drunk again after your hangover. But you were going crazy, it was killing you to spend so much time with Carol. Every time she did something for you, whether it was putting on your favorite show since you were angry. Or ordering something you liked, it made you swoon over her.

Music was a constant at this point, you’d claimed the Bose soundlink as yours and used it constantly to introduce new music to Carol. You danced to it most of the time as Carol stared at you and listened to the music. Her personal favorite had become Summertime Sadness. The remix since you’d nicknamed it ‘Quarantine Madness’.

But the closeness was killing you, both of you fell asleep on opposite ends of the bed. But when you woke up, you were always in Carol’s arms somehow. You meant to get out before she could wake up, but being so close to her. Feeling her behind you was more comforting than you could imagine. So you stayed, Carol awoke and lay there for a few seconds, treasuring the feeling of having you in her arms before getting up.

Neither of you spoke about it. You never spoke about how you wore Carol’s clothes more than yours because they smelled like her. She didn’t speak about how you caught her staring at her many times or how she played with your hair whenever she got the change. 

The closeness was killing both of you. 

Tonight, Carol had been planning to change that, she put on a plain, black t-shirt and your peacock blue flannel and navy blue jeans. She planned to tell you how she felt about you.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Carol asked, sitting next to you on the couch as you browse your phone for DIY ideas.

“Not sure, we’ve done most of the things on this website.” You muttered, scrolling through different recipes. 

Carol bit her lip, considering when she should tell you. She called your name to get your attention, you gave her a nonchalant hum and resumed scrolling. Carol opened her mouth to speak, but you cut her off by shoving your phone in her face, showing her a plan for a blanket fort.

“Blanket forts? What are you, five?” The blonde asked after she got over her initial shock. 

“Come on, it’s a clear night and we have string lights,” You argued, you saw her features flicker as she started to cave. 

“Y/n…” She trailed off. 

You grinned at her, knowing her resolve had dwindled completely. You pulled her up by her wrist and dragged her to the bedroom to gather everything for the blanket fort. Pillows, blankets, some string to tie up the blanket, string lights and a speaker for music was all you needed.

Carol helped you set it up on the roof of the penthouse, thinking of a confession the entire time. You noticed how absorbed in thought she was but decided not to question it. 

Eventually, you finished setting up the blanket fort at the edge of the roof so you could still look down on the city below. You sat down at the edge of the fort, looking down at the city below, your legs crossed under you as soft music played from the speaker.

Your eyes glinted softly in the moonlight, your features seeming softer in the dim lighting. Carol stared at you a bit before leaving to get drinks from the kitchen.

Carol got you a few beers and sat down next to you. You leaned your head on her shoulder and sipped the beer thoughtfully. The blonde took in a deep breath and decided this was the right time to tell you.

“Y/n, can I tell you something?” She asked, her heart starting to beat faster as her palms became sweaty.

“‘Course, you can tell me anything Stargirl,” You answered, Carol, smiled softly at the nickname you’d grown used to. 

“I think,” She stuttered, taking in a deep breath and watching the cars whizz by below. 

“Promise we can still be friends if this doesn’t end well?” She asked, you almost groaned.

“Pinky promise.” You lifted your pinky. She laughed and linked her pinky with yours, resting both your hands in her lap.

You played with her fingers as you waited for her to tell you. Carol took in a final deep breath and chugged the rest of her beer. 

“Y/n, I think I’m in love with you,” Carol Whispered, your heart skipped a beat as you grinned.

You pulled away to look at her, in the darkness, she could see the grin on your face, but it confused her. She opened her mouth to justify herself, to ask you something, but you cut her off by pressing your lips to hers. 

Carol’s eyes widened slightly before she melted into your lips. Your hands slid into her short hair, gently pulling on the strands as she sighed into the kiss. Her hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer to her. You pulled away for breath, resting your forehead against hers as your breath fanned across her face.

Eyes fluttered open as you pulled away with a small smile.

“I’m in love with you too.” You whispered, eyes sparkling in the soft light. 

Carol smiled at you, her smile was so soft it made your heart melt. She leaned in again, swearing to herself she would never let you go. 

At least something good came out of this quarantine madness. 

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver​, @versdan​, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught​, @lovebotlarson​, @dhengkt​, @5aftermidnight​, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers​, @veryfunnyal​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ , @ophelias-heart​  , @never-didbefore​ , @justarandomhumanhere​, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn​ , @lesbian-x-blackwidow​ , @marvelbbyx​ , @wlw-imaginesss​ , @hcartbyheart​​ , @summergeezburr​​ let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

A/N: This was long, I wrote this in one day. Please tell me what you think

[hrina]

Dopamine (A Serotonin Extra)

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M  WORD COUNT: 5.7k REQUESTED: um sorta? everyone wanted more TArry so here it is!

hey guys!!! i couldn’t get enough of my serotonin babies (and apparently, neither could you), so i couldn’t resist churning this out. i really hope you guys enjoy it! if you do, please don’t hesitate to send in feedback to my askbox because i love hearing your thoughts! also, here’s my masterlist if you’re interested in checking out some of my other pieces :-)

read Serotonin HERE

~*~

November 29th, 2019

“What are you smiling about?” Margaret grumbles, drumming her fingers on the countertop.

You’re smirking down at your phone, watching three little bubbles wiggle above the keyboard. The line at Grounded is long today, and Margaret isn’t in the best mood. She’s been venting all morning, but you’re sure that once she has some caffeine in her system, she’ll calm down.

“Hm?” you ask, peering up with raised brows and innocent eyes. When she gazes at you questioningly, you shrug. “Oh. Um—just Harry.”

“I knew it.” Her lips twist up wryly. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

You scoff, shutting your phone and tucking it back into your pocket. “What look?”

“The ‘Harry’ look,” she explains, snickering softly. The barista bustles over and hands you your drinks; he shoots Margaret a wink, and her face flushes crimson. You giggle as you step back and begin to make your way down the hall.

“I think someone’s into you,” you murmur, grinning widely.

“Shut up,” she scoffs, placing the back of her hand against her hot cheek.

“He was cute!” you say, nudging her gently with your elbow. She bats your arm away and lifts her latte to her mouth, taking a tentative sip. You give up on provoking her, for now. The subject of the cute, flirty barista will no doubt surface again in the future, and when it does, you’re sure that it’ll be because you brought it up.

“So,” Margaret starts, smacking her lips and humming appreciatively, “You and Harry. Have you guys fucked again, or…?”

You sputter, nearly choking on your coffee. “What?” you spit out, shaking your head vehemently. “No!”

“I’m just asking!” she protests, smiling deviously. You cough and glare daggers at her; it seems as though her mood is already improving.

The two of you pass by Harry’s office. The door is closed, much to your dismay. Instinctively, your gaze falls to the silver plaque standing out against the wood, and you feel an urge to run your fingers over the inscription. Harry E. Styles.

“Are we going to be doing a review for the final in class today?” Margaret asks you, snapping you out of your trance. You focus your attention back on her, your brows knitting together in thought.

“I would hope so,” you say. “The exam’s next week, and I haven’t even started studying.”

“Neither have I.” Your friend sighs, playing with her hair anxiously. You purse your lips; your shoes squeak against the floor.

“Well,” Margaret starts, tracing her index finger along the bottom of her coffee cup. She bumps your arm gently and shoots you a small, pained smile. “At least we’ll fail together.”

You snort and nod in agreement. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you fish it out quickly. Immediately, a smile breaks out across your lips; your eyes eagerly scan over Harry’s message, drinking in each letter as though it’s the last thing you’ll ever read.

Wednesday night is perfect. See you then. H. x

  December 4th, 2019

You want to bash your head against the wall. The information just won’t stick.

You know that you’re in dire need of taking a break. But the final is the day after tomorrow, and it’s worth thirty-five percent of your grade, and you’re stressed beyond belief. Your grey sweatpants have been rolled up to the knee, and your red crewneck is wrinkled from where you’ve been pulling nervously on the hem. You need to wash your hair—you’ve been putting it off for two days now. The mere sensation of it sitting atop your head makes you feel greasy and gross.

But you don’t have the time.

“Content validity, face validity…,” you mumble to yourself. You’re fairly certain that there’s a hollow on your mattress in the shape of your body (particularly your bum), but you haven’t moved enough to properly gauge the severity.

“Construct validity…,” you mutter, shaking your head. “What the fuck is construct validity?”

The pages of your textbook flap loudly as you search for the definition in the glossary. Your eyes are tearing through each word when suddenly, a loud knock echoes down the hall of your apartment. You freeze for only a moment before bouncing to your feet.

You make your way out of your bedroom and toward the front door, your mouth watering at the promise of the Chinese takeout that’s waiting out in the corridor. When you twist the knob and pull the door open, however, you come face-to-face with Harry instead of your usual delivery man.

“You’re not Chen,” you say blankly.

“No,” Harry replies. “I’m not.”

The first thing you notice is the casual brown suit jacket draped over his torso. His trousers match. There’s a khaki button-up beneath his coat; the first few clasps are undone. His hair is parted down the middle, framing the sides of his face. He looks like he’s just stepped straight out of the nineties, boyish and rugged and incredibly handsome.

“Oh fuck,” you say, your eyes widening as the realisation dawns on you. “I’m an idiot.”

Harry rakes his fingers through his hair, humming as his gaze skirts down your body. “You forgot.”

It isn’t a question.

“I forgot,” you admit, covering your face with your hands. You groan loudly, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry. My exam is on Friday and I’ve been studying all day—I literally haven’t left my room. It completely slipped my mind.”

“It’s alright,” Harry tells you, brushing your apology aside. “I get it. Do you want to just reschedule?”

“Of course.” You nod, digging your fingers into the pockets of your sweatpants. Harry nods, and you hesitate. “But, um—,” you start, peering up at him hopefully, “I actually ordered some food. It should be here soon, if—if you wanna stick around?”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Sure.”

“Cool,” you say dumbly, stepping back and motioning for him to enter. “Come on in.”

Harry carefully toes off his shoes as you close the door. You watch as he arranges them meticulously against the wall, a small smile curling along your mouth. He looks at you when he stands back up, smirking slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. He chuckles quietly as you lead him down the hall. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’m alright,” he responds. You concede with a meek shrug of your shoulders. You guide him into your bedroom, cringing immediately at the untidiness of the space.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” you ramble, picking up a dirty sweater from the floor and tossing it into the hamper standing a few feet away. “Like I said—I’ve been holed up in here all day. All week, actually.”

“It’s alright,” Harry says. “Like I said—I get it.”

“I look gross, too,” you continue, though you’re speaking mostly to yourself. “My hair’s all greasy, and I feel disgusting—”

“I think you look wonderful,” he cuts you off.

His palm lands on the small of your back; you stiffen, your head snapping to the side to look up at him. You’re suddenly painfully aware of the proximity between your bodies. Harry steps closer to you, and your heartbeat picks up beneath your ribs. Part of you wants to veer backward, but your feet stay rooted to the ground.

“Can I have a kiss?” he murmurs. He slips his fingers beneath the material of your sweater and draws gentle circles against your skin. You feel like your knees are about to give out.

“No,” you say quickly. His brows knit together, and you hasten to make amends. “I mean—I need to shower, still, and brush my teeth. Give me, like, twenty minutes, okay?”

His features soften, lips curling upward into a soft smirk. “Okay.”

~*~

When you step out of the shower, the smell of noodles and grilled vegetables is unmistakable. You quickly change into an old sports bra, a baggy grey t-shirt, and a pair of bright green shorts. Your hair squelches as you wring any excess water from the sopping strands. You brush your teeth, smacking your lips together and savouring the minty taste of toothpaste on your tongue.

Upon re-entering your bedroom, you find Harry sitting on your mattress amidst the mess of sheets, flash cards, and books. He’s removed his jacket and undone another button on his shirt. There’s a plastic bag on his lap; the smell wafting from the food inside lures you closer, like a moth to a flame.

“Takeout came,” Harry says. “I got it.”

“How much was it?” you ask, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “I’ll pay you back.”

“No need,” he tells you.

“Harry—”

“No need,” he repeats sternly, but the look in his eyes is lighthearted. “It’s my treat.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, approaching him and blowing out a sad sigh. “I fucking ruined our first date.”

“You didn’t,” he assures you.

You chew anxiously on your bottom lip as he removes the takeout from his lap, setting it on your bed and spreading his legs. He reaches out for you, grasping your fingers with his and tugging you forward. You shuffle closer, absentmindedly placing one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. He splays his other palm out onto the back of your left thigh, giving a light squeeze.

“Can I have that kiss now?” he asks softly. His gaze is sincere.

Despite the regret flowing through your veins, you smile and nod, untangling your fingers and cupping his jaw delicately. Harry hums as you plant a chaste peck onto his lips. He’s smirking when you pull back.

“We can eat in here, if you want,” you inform him.

You make room on your mattress, gathering up your textbooks and papers and setting them aside. Harry turns to face you as you collapse onto your bed. You groan dramatically into the duvet before scrambling into a sitting position. The takeout doesn’t stand a chance—you snatch it up with greedy hands, rifling through the bag and producing twin sets of plastic cutlery.

“I may have ordered enough for two,” you say sheepishly, your cheeks heating up. “I was hungry.”

“I can leave you to it,” Harry replies, his words laced with subtle mockery. You scoff, reaching out and swatting his shoulder weakly.

“Shut it.”

“Don’t be rude,” he warns. “Or I won’t help you study once we’re done.”

“I don’t recall asking you for your help,” you say, tapping your chin with your index finger.

Harry grins, his expression saturated with salacious mischief. “I’m a generous man. Have you forgotten?”

The memory of his head buried between your thighs pops into your brain, flashing like a neon sign and wailing as loud as a hundred sirens. You gulp violently, shaking your head and busying your hands with pulling a container of noodles out of the plastic bag. You keep yourself occupied longer than necessary, not wanting him to see the embarrassment warping your features.

“You’re gross,” you tell him plainly, though you can’t ignore the flash of heat that streaks through your stomach at his words.

“Hey, now,” Harry starts, snickering. “What did I just say about being rude?”

~*~

“Can you explain to me the basic concept of reliability?”

“The act of yielding consistent results.”

“Exactly.” Harry grins, tossing the flash card down onto your mattress. Your back rests against the headboard, hands convoluted in your lap.

There’s a handful of cards already lying in a messy pile on your bed, but neither of you pay the clutter any attention. Harry’s too busy studying the definitions that you’d written up earlier this week, and you’re too busy studying him.

His large hands practically dwarf the stack of papers clutched between his fingers, and his big, gaudy rings glimmer in the warm light of your room. His gangly legs are crossed as he sits in front of you. With each question that you answer correctly, he nods in approval.

His eyes have gotten brighter, you think, because whenever he looks up at you, the grassy green of his irises is all that you can see.

The air still smells faintly of the food you’d scarfed down. You’re surprised at how easily the two of you had fallen into conversation. Harry’s actually really funny—his humour is underrated (and definitely one of your favourite things about him, now). You’d always found him to be intimidating, but it’s refreshing to know that under that stoic exterior, he’s just as quirky as anyone else.

“Next one,” Harry murmurs, his eyes skimming over the cursive definition on the subsequent card. “What is a longitudinal study?”

You bite your lip. “It’s when…researchers follow the same participants over a longer period of time, right? Like, they retest them throughout the years.”

“Brilliant,” he says, nodding proudly. Your cheeks heat up at his praise.

Harry covers his mouth as he yawns quietly.

“Am I boring you?” you ask, your lips kinking up into a wry smile.

He shakes his head. “No, not at all. This is absolutely riveting.”

You snort; he smiles. He stretches out his arms, his mouth curling around a quiet grunt and his forehead creasing with a rough wince. “Fuck. My back’s killing me.”

“Should we switch positions?” you offer, sitting up straight. “You can come over here and lean against the headboard, if you want.”

“I love switching positions,” Harry hums; that adorable dimple carves into his cheek as the innuendo slips from his mouth. You swallow heavily and shake your head, rolling your eyes. You hope that it’s enough to hide the way your spine has stiffened at his words.

“Okay, let me just…,” you begin, shifting quietly.

“Actually,” he says, placing a hand on your knee. “What if I…?”

His exhale is guttural as he uncrosses his legs and turns himself around. You laugh incredulously when he flops backward, his head now snuggled securely in your lap. Your hands reflexively curl into his hair, and you run your fingers across his scalp, falling into a soothing rhythm. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a pleased grin spreads across his lips.

“There we go,” he says, nodding once. “Much better, I’d say.”

“You’re so dumb.” You chuckle and flick his nose gently. His eyes snap open and he releases a short, petulant whine. The sound is extremely adorable, but of course, you’re not going to tell him that.

“Can I have another kiss?” Harry asks.

Your gaze falls to his face—even though his features are upside down, he’s still ridiculously handsome. This time, there’s nothing teasing about his question—the inquiry is completely sincere. You chew on the inside of your cheek and try to ignore the butterflies flapping around in your stomach.

With a short nod, you lean down and seal your lips to his, your nose brushing against his chin. This kiss is longer than the one you’d shared earlier, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. It’s only when Harry parts his lips that you finally pull back, skirting your thumb over his Cupid’s bow and propping yourself up against the headboard. A strangled puff of air gets caught in your chest.

“What’s the next definition?” you prod, breathless.

Harry clears his throat, tapping the stack of flash cards against his chest once to organize them properly.

“No peeking,” he tells you, aware that if you tried, you’d be able to read each definition once he flipped them around to the other side.

“Cross my heart.”

“What’s an observational study?”

You know this one. “It’s when researchers don’t manipulate any variables—they just observe what’s going on and try to draw conclusions based on natural behaviours.”

Harry peers up at you. His eyes are shining. “You’re a clever one, y’know that?”

The compliment catches you off-guard. You avoid his gaze, shrinking into yourself. “Oh. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replies. He angles his head to the side and presses a smacking kiss to the crook of your knee. Your fingers falter in his hair for only a moment—you hope that he doesn’t notice.

“What’s a theory?” Harry asks.

You hesitate. “A set of statements that describe how variables relate to each other…right?”

“Close,” he says. “You left out the part about ‘general principles’.”

“Shit, yeah.” You sigh. “That one’s always tricky for me. I don’t know why.”

“You’re fine,” Harry assures you, reaching up blindly and giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Next one…what is a control group?”

“It’s the group that doesn’t receive the treatment,” you say. “It just kind of serves as the standard.”

“Perfect.” He nods and turns his face to the side again. You’re expecting another chaste kiss against your leg, but instead, you gasp when you feel his teeth sink gently into your skin.

“Ouch!” you exclaim, laughter trickling into your voice. Harry smiles, dragging his tongue over the shallow dents decorating the inside of your thigh. He soothes the brief sting with a series of quick pecks, and you nearly melt into your mattress.

You expect it to end. You’re waiting for him to pull away and fix his attention onto the next term needing to be defined. But—to your eager surprise—he seems completely happy with just lying here and making love to the sensitive skin on the inside of your leg. Your flash cards end up abandoned on the bed, still tucked into a neat little square. One of Harry’s hands reaches up to cup your knee, while the other splays out flat against the bed so that he can roll himself over with a soft grunt.

“What—what’re you doing?” you breathe, your eyes glued to his face. There’s a smug smile tugging at his lips, but overall, he does a good job of masking his glee.

“Nothing,” he muses, shaking his head. He’s on his stomach now, his chest flat against the duvet. You swallow down the hard lump in your throat when he snakes his arms beneath your legs and tugs you closer to him. He continues to pepper kisses over your knee, slowly making his way toward the hem of your shorts.

“Just…lovin’ on you,” he murmurs, inching the fabric further up your thigh.

His words are warm and sticky against your skin, though they’re quickly cooled by his saliva as he chases them with open-mouthed imprints of his lips. You exhale heavily through your nose; the noise is high-pitched, loud enough to be a sigh. There’s something hot brewing in the pit of your stomach, and you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment.

Can he smell you? Like how he had the last time?

“Harry,” you stammer when he kisses a spot right at the crease of your upper thigh. “I need to study.”

Despite your reproach, though, your fingers once again find a home in his hair. He chuckles darkly.

“And you will,” he says. “But first, tell me—,” he inhales deeply, a low growl resonating in the back of his throat, “—have you got any knickers on?”

You squeak when he brings one long, sure finger up to the apex of your legs and runs the digit down the middle seam of your shorts. He’s got his answer, now, because you’re positive that he can feel the protrusion of your lower lips and the budding of your clit. Harry pinches the nub through the material of your bottoms, and you moan quietly.

“Guess not,” he mutters, answering his own question with a snicker. Your abdomen tenses when his finger slips lower; he looks up at you with wide eyes when he feels just how wet you’ve become. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, but you hold his gaze.

“I’m…,” you trail off, not sure of what to say.

“Soaked,” Harry murmurs in supplication, rubbing his fingertip delicately over where your opening lies beneath your shorts. He coaxes your legs into a bent position so that your knees point upward at the ceiling, and your toes subconsciously curl into the duvet.

“I need to study,” you repeat stupidly, your voice quivering.

“Fine.”

Harry sighs, shooting you a small smile as he reaches over retrieve the stack of forgotten flash cards. You wait for him to pull away, now, but you’re sorely mistaken. Instead, he sets the pile down next to your hip, plucking a definition from the top and scanning over the words.

“What’s a cross-sectional study?” he asks, his index finger skating back up your center. You bite your tongue when he begins to rub slow, languid circles into your clit through your shorts.

“A—a design where researchers test different people of different ages. It’s like…the opposite of a longitudinal study.”

“Well done.” Harry nods, tossing the card away and reaching for another. “Want your reward?”

You gasp when he applies a bit more pressure to your clit. The change only lasts for a few seconds before he slows and reverts back to his previous pace. You swallow heavily.

“This one’s easy.” Harry smirks up at you after reading the next term. “What’s an independent variable?”

“The variable being manipulated,” you answer immediately. He’s right—it is a simple question. The definition has been hammered into your brain since your first year of university; you can recall it just as effortlessly as you can remember your own name.

Despite that, though, Harry still says, “Good girl,” and leans down, swiping his tongue over the full length of your clothed cunt. You moan in surprise, the sound tearing itself from your chest. He pulls away an instant later, an evil grin tugging at the corners of his lips. You peer down at him with dilated pupils and flaring nostrils, your mind going blank.

“Please.” The request falls from your lips before you have the chance to register what you’re saying.

“Thought you needed to study?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. You frown.

“Harry—,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“A few more,” he bargains, picking another flash card from the pile. “Define empiricism for me.”

“Er…fuck.” You close your eyes, inhaling deeply and taking a moment to collect yourself. Harry switches his fingers—the pad of his thumb takes up the task of rubbing you through your bottoms. Your exhale is shaky and forced; you wrack your brain for the right words.

“It’s the theory that—that all knowledge can only be derived from sensory experience. It’s what all branches of science are based on. I think.”

“Correct,” Harry replies, littering kisses along your inner thigh. You mewl when he hooks his middle finger into the left leg of your shorts, entering from the side and coming into direct contact with your folds. The digit glides down until it reaches your entrance. A faint curse falls from Harry’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ drenched,” he whispers. His features contort in what can only be described as pained desire.

Your walls bear down, clenching around nothing. Harry withdraws his finger, studying the way it gleams in the light of your room. You open your mouth to speak, but before you can, he envelopes his lips around your juices, sinking down to the knuckle. You suddenly find yourself struggling to breathe.

“Another,” he states, producing what feels like the millionth flash card from the pile. “What’s a—?”

“No,” you whimper, shaking your head and snapping your thighs shut.

As you anticipated, the action catches Harry by surprise. A small wrinkle forms between his brows, and he quickly pushes himself up onto his knees, fiddling nervously with the corner of the card. You sit up straight against the headboard, your hands flat on the mattress next to your bum.

“You alright?” Harry asks, no longer teasing. “Did I do something—?”

You launch yourself at him.

He grunts when your chest collides with his. The force of your attack is enough to push him backward, and his shoulders hit the mattress with a hard thump. You quickly scramble up his body, knees boxing him in as you straddle his hips. His hands reflexively land on your waist to steady you, and a loud laugh falls from his mouth.

“You’re mad,” he tells you, trapped in a fit of giggles. “Absolutely mad.”

“I don’t care,” you whine, flopping down and burying your face into the crook of his neck. “You’re such a dick.”

“That’s not nice,” Harry says, though he’s anything but upset. You pepper hot, frantic kisses along the column of his throat, circling your hips and applying the slightest bit of pressure to his groin. A low grunt reaches your ears, and you smile to yourself. Your fingers slip down his torso, hurriedly unclasping the remaining buttons on his shirt.

“Fuck me,” you murmur, nibbling softly on Harry’s earlobe. “Please?”

“Shit,” he wheezes. His fingertips dig into your sides; little pricks of anticipation whizz through your veins.

It’s all over, after that. In a matter of seconds, your baggy t-shirt has been discarded. Harry yanks down the material of your sports bra, catching one of your nipples between his teeth and biting down gently. You moan; the pain feels good, and it only spurs you on.

Harry’s button-up is next. You undo the last clasp before ripping the shirt from his body and yanking it down his arms. He chuckles at your eagerness, but the sound quickly melts into a soft sigh when you lightly scrape your nails down his toned stomach. You take a minute to trace the ferns inked into his hips before diving lower. The metal on his belt clanks loudly as you pull it from the loops on his brown trousers. The sound of his zipper being tugged down by your clumsy fingers is just as noisy, if not more.

“Help,” you beg, shimmying down Harry’s body so that you can properly grab onto the fabric of his pants.

His hands shoot down, swiftly pushing the material from his hips. You tug the trousers off the rest of the way, your damp hair falling into your face as you climb back into his lap. Now, the only things standing in your way are your shorts and his boxers.

“Glad to see you wore underwear, this time,” you say, the faintest hint of mockery snaking into your words.

Harry grins. “You didn’t.”

“We’ll take turns.” You shrug, concealing a smile. Harry chuckles, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and wrestling them down. You sit up on your knees, strategically lifting one leg at a time to slide the material down your thighs.

“Smooth, right?” you ask, lips quirking up when you position yourself back over his crotch. You can feel his cock beneath his boxers, hard and heavy. Reflexively, you roll your hips, and the two of you moan in unison at the sensation.

“Very smooth,” Harry chokes out, his large palms splaying against your ass. “Pull me out, love.”

You oblige, your fingers dipping past the elastic of his underwear. They wrap around his cock, and you gently tug him from the confines of his briefs. He hisses when you swipe your thumb over the leaking tip and give him a firm, steady pump.

“’Ve got…,” Harry swallows heavily. “There’s a condom in my trousers. Back pocket.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?” you tease. A weak laugh tumbles from his lips.

“Not presumptuous,” he corrects. “Just…hopeful, maybe.”

“I guess I’ll believe you.” You smile, reaching behind your body and blindly patting around for his pants. When you find them, you quickly fish through both back pockets, producing a gold foil square and holding it up between your fingers.

“Magnum,” you state. You think you see Harry’s cheeks tint with the lightest shade of pink.

“I used it last time, too,” he says.

You hum. “Guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“How rude.”

You giggle at his words, ripping the packet open and pulling the condom out. Harry groans softly when you roll the latex down the shaft of his cock, your fingers careful and delicate. Instinctively, his hips buck up; you place one hand over the butterfly on his abdomen to tame him.

“Gonna put me in?” he asks breathlessly, his fingertips pressing against the small of your back as you lift yourself up. “Gonna ride me?”

“Mm-hm,” you reply, positioning him at your entrance. You force your muscles to relax when you feel his tip prodding at your hole, and slowly, you sink down his cock, enveloping each inch as though you’ve done it a hundred times before.

“Fuck!” Harry hisses, throwing his head back into the duvet. Your walls flutter around his length, stretching to accommodate his girth. He looks up at you with glazed eyes, his lips pulled back over his teeth.

“Gimme a kiss, love,” he pleads, his hands stroking over your spine. “I’ve not kissed you once.”

“How rude,” you echo his previous words back to him, and he laughs. You fulfill his request, though, leaning down and smearing your lips against his. He sighs appreciatively against your mouth, and you slowly raise your hips, moaning when they drop back against his thighs. Harry swallows the sound, licking into you and cupping your face with one of his hands.

“Good,” he murmurs brokenly, squeezing your waist. “Y’feel so good.”

“So do you,” you breathe, your foreheads pressed together. “I feel…full.”

“Shit,” he says, and then he’s pawing at your chest, which is still partially covered by your sports bra. “Take this off, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper. You sit up straight, your fingers spread out just over his collarbones to keep yourself steady. Harry’s palms sweep up and down your sides as you rid yourself of the garment, tossing it away unceremoniously. Immediately, his gaze falls to your breasts. He wastes no time, cupping them and rubbing his thumbs over your nipples.

“’M not gonna last,” he confesses, his cheeks growing a darker shade of pink. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” you tell him, bouncing up and down quickly on his cock. “I won’t either. You—oh, right there—you’ve got me all worked up from before.”

“Was just trying to help you study.” His grin is forced, but it’s blinding.

You intentionally clench around him. Harry releases a loud swear, your walls nearly suffocating his dick. He reaches up, using his index finger to gently flick your chin in admonishment. You giggle, but the sound is short-lived, interrupted by the gasp that bubbles up in your chest when his hand fits around the curve of your throat. Your eyes go wide, and you peer down at him, stilling abruptly.

“This okay?” he asks gruffly. He makes no move to tighten his grip.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding vehemently and subconsciously arching your chest forward. You place your fingers over his and squeeze, encouraging him. “Do it harder.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters. His hips snap up into yours as he begins to apply more pressure against your neck. “You’re so—fuck.”

You smile dreamily, eyelids fluttering shut. Your hands find their way to Harry’s abdomen, using his body as leverage so that you can hasten your pace and ride him properly once more. He meets you halfway, bucking and slamming in profoundly every time. The room devolves into heat, pathetic little whimpers, and the telltale smell of sex and sweat. Harry’s now choking you just enough for you to feel a bit light-headed. It’s like you’re floating.

And it’s fucking wonderful.

“Har—oh my God, Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

The movement of your hips slows as you begin gyrating against him, aiming for something deeper, now.

Harry grunts in response. The hand that’s not wrapped around your throat snakes down to the apex of your thighs; he begins plucking messily at your clit with two fingers.

“Cum,” he says, breathless. “Lemme see it—cum for me.”

Your orgasm triggers his own. The fingers pressed against your neck twitch as he shoots into the condom. The two of you ride out your highs together, panting and groaning and trying to control the little spasms that rocket through your limbs. You fall forward, your chest smearing against Harry’s when you seek out his lips. It’s not even a proper kiss, permeated too heavily with gasps and sighs, but it’s enough. You don’t speak, sucking in deep gulps of air and trying to regulate your breathing.

Shoulders heave. Toes curl.

You squish your mouth to Harry’s temple. He sinks deeper into the duvet.

After a few long moments of silence, you feel a pair of hands cup the sides of your face, tucking your hair behind your ears and stroking the apples of your cheeks.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Glad we got to do that again.”

You snort softly, your heart hammering beneath your ribs. Harry wraps his arms around you as you bury your face into his neck, pressing haphazard kisses along the underside of his jaw. You shift your hips, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he’s still inside of you.

He’s still inside of you, and he’s…

“Are—are you still hard?” you ask, the words laced with disbelief.

His body rumbles as he chuckles. “It would appear so.”

You laugh quietly, your breath fanning out over the sticky skin of his throat. “We’ll go again,” you promise him, giving his shoulder a weak squeeze. “Have you got another condom?”

“No,” he says mournfully, stroking his fingertips up and down your spine. You sigh, nuzzling your nose against his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you say airily. “Maybe I’ll just blow you, instead.”

Harry groans at your offer, twirling a damp tendril of your hair around his pinky and tugging lightly. You hum appreciatively at the pulling sensation. He fixes you with an incredulous look—you just giggle in response.

“I’ll only give you head if you actually help me study afterwards, though,” you tell him, a teasing smirk spreading across your face.

“Deal,” he says. He pauses for a moment, but it’s clear that there’s something else on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” you press softly, drumming your fingertips over his chest.

Harry shrugs, shooting you a small smile. His next words fill you with giddy pride.

“Dunno why you thought you’d ruined our night,” he says. His eyes are brimming with sincerity. “This is probably the best date I’ve ever had.”

~*~

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[alagalaska]

A Summer To Remember- Prologue

Summary: Mini Series. Modern AU. You get a summer job working as a resort rep in Magaluf. The resident lifeguard helps make it a summer to remember.

Pairing: Lifeguard! Billy x Fem! Reader

A/N: So, the prologue is just a short explanation of how reader ends up in Magaluf. There’s no Billy in this part, sorry, but he will be in the first proper chapter, I promise! I have decided that I always take my stories too seriously and over-edit, which is why I update SO slowly! So, this one will be an experiment to see if I can just have fun and not stress too much about it being perfect; as a result this has hardly been edited lol, apologies if there’s any mistakes. Updates will hopefully be quicker but chapters will most likely be shorter. I was super excited to start writing this, so here it is! Hope you enjoy! Y/N= Your name and Y/N/N= Your nickname.

SERIES MASTERLIST // MY MASTERLIST

Chapter warnings: swearing, talk of a recently ended relationship, a smidge of angst.

Word count: 3,135

Please do not use or copy my work, in part or in whole. Plagiarism is a crime.

------

Sunlight filters into your bedroom through a gap in the curtains. You glare at the golden rays, thinking about all of the other teens, who are outside enjoying the glorious weather and the freedom of the summer holidays. You roll lazily onto your side in bed and face your alarm clock. It’s already well past midday. You groan, pulling the covers up over your head and will yourself to go back to sleep.

There’s a timid knock on your bedroom door. You reluctantly drag the duvet off your face, frowning in the direction of the sound.

“Y/N, sweetie,” your mum’s voice calls gently through the wood, “Heather’s here to see you.” 

You bury your head back under the covers with a groan. As much as you love Heather, you’re still not in the mood to see anyone; much less in the mood to talk about what happened yet. 

Your mum opens the door and cautiously sticks her head into the room and you mentally curse yourself for not having relocked it after sneaking out to the bathroom earlier. She sighs when she spots you, curled up in the foetal position under the covers, and steps aside to let Heather in. 

“I really think you should talk to her sweetie. It will make you feel better,” she says. 

When you don’t respond, she shares a concerned look with Heather, then leaves the two of you, alone. 

Heather stands near the door, staring at the lump in the duvet that is you; hot pink sunglasses pushed up into her dark hair. 

“You gonna stop hiding and talk to me?” she asks. 

“No,” you say childishly, voice muffled by the bed covers. 

She huffs loudly and crosses the room. 

Wondering what she’s up to, you peer out from your cocoon and watch as she picks her way through the clothes strewn across your bedroom floor. There’s a ‘swoosh’ of material as she draws the curtains back with a flourish and opens the window wide. 

You hiss at the sudden invasion of light and duck back under the covers again.

“It smells like something died in here,” Heather says, turning to face you, crossing her arms over her chest. Her foot taps impatiently against the carpet. There’s a beat of silence.

“Come on,” she says suddenly, in a stern voice, “Get up.” She pulls the covers off you, dragging them onto the floor at her feet. You try feebly to hold onto the material, but it slips from your grasp and you can’t find the energy to stop it. 

“I leave in a week,” she continues, “and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you spend the time we have left together lying in bed sulking! I’m taking you out for some retail therapy.”

You groan.

“Please, Heather, I really don’t feel like it.” You curl up tighter on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. 

“You know what?” she gumbles to herself, moving round to the side of the bed so she’s towering over you. “I’ve been patient enough. It’s been a week!” She says, exasperated.  

You say nothing, just offer her a sad little pout, hoping she’ll take pity on you.

“So Nate broke up with you,” she shrugs. You feel a sharp ache in your chest at the mention of his name.

“This is you trying to make me feel better?” you ask, lifting your head off the pillow and narrowing your eyes at her. 

“Face it, Y/N,” she says, acting as if she didn’t hear you, and leans back against your chest of drawers, “The guy’s an asshole and you are so much better off without him. Now you need to stop wasting your time pining after him and get on with your life! It’s the summer!” She gestures at the window with one arm.

You follow with your eyes to where she’s pointing, until you’re staring at the sunlight spilling into your bedroom and think again about your fellow ex-classmates, fresh from graduation. You think of Nate, smiling and laughing with his friends and feel defeat tugging at your gut.

When you don’t respond, Heather sighs.

“Ok, tough love’s obviously not working,” she says to herself, pushing away from the dresser, and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“Look,” she says softly, “I know this sucks, trust me, I do. But you can’t stay in here forever.” She reaches over to you and places a hand on your arm, rubbing it gently. “Y/N, please. I need to know that you’re gonna to be ok. I can’t leave you behind in this state.”

She falls silent, looking at the floor. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, flatly.

Heather looks at you. Knows you’re lying.

“I could stay here,” she suggests. “I’ll just tell the resort I found another job or something.” That makes you look up at her.

“What? No, you can’t do that,” you say quickly, sitting up. “You’ve been so excited about it, you have to go.” 

She smiles gently at you.

“But look at you, Y/N/N, you clearly need me here,” she says softly. Gestures to you and your room.

“Heath, I’ll be fine…” you say hesitantly, glancing down at the state of your floor, “eventually.” She looks at you like she’s not convinced. 

“Listen, you’re getting on that plane, even if I have to drag you to the airport myself,” you threaten. 

She huffs a laugh at your sudden feistiness. 

“At least that would get you out of bed,” she says.

You laugh too. Your throat strains a little in complaint and you realise this is the first time you’ve even so much as cracked a smile in over a week. 

A comfortable silence fills the room and you both share a smile.

“Will you please just come out with me?” Heather asks finally. “Even if it’s only for an hour. I think some fresh air will do you good.” 

You look at her pretty face as you reluctantly consider her offer. She’s already caught the sun on her forehead; lobster red hairline, clashing with her glasses. 

You suppose you could try to hold it together for the next week; to convince her that you’ll be ok whilst she’s gone. You at least owe her that. It’s just typical, that the one summer you don’t have a boyfriend to spend it with, Heather’s got herself a summer job working abroad. 

“Ok,” you agree, shuffling towards her on the bed. She pulls you into a hug and you rest your head on her shoulder. “It’s a shame you’re going away for the whole summer,” you say softly.

“I know,” she sighs into your hair. “What are you gonna do whilst I’m gone?” 

You lift your head to look at her. There was a bunch of stuff you had planned to do with Nate, which obviously wouldn’t be happening now...

“I dunno,” you sigh. “I could get a summer job, I guess.” You pull away from her.

“You know, I think that’ll be good. Help keep your mind off things,” she says encouragingly. “Hey, you know what?” she asks, slapping your leg gently with her hand, “If you save up enough money, you could come visit me in Magaluf! Spend a long weekend lounging by the pool,” she suggests excitedly.

You smile along, even though you know deep down you only said about getting a summer job to appease Heather.

“Right, come on,” she says, ushering you up off of the mattress. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

---

As reluctant as you were to come out with Heather, you’re really glad she’d convinced you to. You’d felt much more human after your shower, like a little bit of your sadness had been washed away with the dirt. Between that and the beautiful weather, plus some serious retail therapy with your best friend, your mood had been lifted considerably. 

You’re sitting outside of the 50’s themed diner, in the food court of the Mall, with Heather; a basket of french fries between you on the table and shopping bags at your feet. 

Heather had asked on your behalf about whether there were any jobs available at the diner over the summer, and the woman behind the counter, who was dressed as Marilyn Monroe, had told you to pop back in next week to talk to the owner. You’d just smiled and said thanks, knowing you wouldn’t come back. 

Heather animatedly chats away about her new job.

“Well, ‘cos of my experience working at the pool last summer, they want to train me to do lifeguard duties too!” She tells you excitedly. “Apparently there’s already one other rep who does that.” She slurps soda through a straw then plucks up a couple of fries, smearing the ends with ketchup. “And the best part is, if it goes well and I like it, there’s the option for me to go back next year,” she beams at you and pops the fries into her mouth, chewing happily. 

“That’s great,” you say, taking a sip of your own soda. It’s nice to see her so excited about it, but you’re still sad that you’ll be alone all summer. 

Her phone rings from next to her elbow, on the table. She wipes her hands clean on a napkin and looks at the caller ID.

“Speaking of,” she says, recognising the number. “You alright if I take this?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you say, offering her a smile. You look around at the shoppers passing by and help yourself to a couple of fries. 

“Hi, Brynn. You alright?” Heather says cheerily. 

She listens to the response and her brow furrows slightly. 

“Oh no,” she says, concernedly. 

You watch her, trying to gauge what’s wrong. 

The voice on the other end of the line talks for a bit then Heather’s eyes flick to you. Her face breaks into a grin. 

“Actually, yeah, I might know the perfect person,” she says. More murmuring comes from the phone. 

“Yeah, I’ll call you back,” Heather replies, “Thanks.”

She hangs up, still smiling. 

“Who was that?” you ask her warily. 

“That was the Head Rep of the resort I got the job at. Turns out one of the other reps has backed out and they need a replacement. Asked if I had any friends I could recommend...” she lets her sentence trail off meaningfully, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“I don’t know, Heather...” 

She lets out an exasperated scoff at your obvious reluctance.

“Oh, come on, won’t you at least consider it?” she asks disappointedly. “Listen, you’ll be earning some money, it’s right on the beach and we’ll get to spend the summer together!” she counts off on her fingers. 

When she puts it like that, it does sound tempting. But, as much as you’d love to spend the summer with her, you just can’t picture yourself actually going. Magaluf is well-known for its crazy party scene; something you’re not very experienced with. And you know, through Heather, that a big part of the job is accompanying groups of guests on their planned nights out.

“Seriously Heather, me in Magaluf? I’m not much of a party girl, am I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Well, how would you know?” she comes back quickly, “You’ve never been allowed to find out.” 

You blink at her in response. That was a dig about Nate. He used to make a fuss if you were invited to parties without him, so you hardly ever went to them. Heather hated that about him. Accused him of not letting you have friends; said he was trying to control you. 

“The timing literally couldn’t be any more perfect!” She grabs your arm excitedly and gives it a small shake. “Look, just think about it, please?” she asks with hopeful hazel eyes. 

You look away from her.

“Ok. I’ll think about it.”.

Your gaze falls on a young couple, around yours and Heather’s age, walking along together through the food court. The girl is wearing a pretty baby blue dress, which is what drew your eye in the first place. The guy has one arm draped over her shoulders, whispering something into her ear that makes her blush. She giggles, turning to hide her face in his shoulder.

You go to avert your eyes, but then you do a double take, realising who it is and your stomach lurches, threatening to bring up the fries you’d just eaten. It’s as if the rest of the mall has been put on mute, the sounds of the other shoppers drowning out into nothingness, and all you can see is Nate, with his arm around that girl. 

You feel like all the air has been punched out of your lungs as you watch them from across the food court.

Heather asks you if you’re ok, but you don’t hear her. She follows your gaze to Nate and her face drops instantly.

“Oh God,” she whispers, mortified. 

She hurriedly gathers up your bags and eases you out of your seat by your arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

She guides you past rows of shops to an alcove near some toilets. She eyes you warily, as if she’s expecting you to break into pieces at any moment. A woman with a toddler in her arms casts you a concerned look and Heather smiles quickly at her, she’s ok.

Heather pulls you into the alcove.

“I am so sorry Y/N,” she says, remorse and concern etched on her face. She comes to a stop in front of you and gently places her hands on your upper arms, holding you there.

Your eyes drift to her face, almost dreamily, your expression flat. You feel oddly numb. 

“I just wanna go home, ok?”

She doesn’t object. 

“Yeah ok,” she says softly.

---

Neither of you says a word on the short walk back to your house.

When you enter through the back door, your mum is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. She lowers it to check who’s there then closes it completely when she sees it’s you, Heather trailing cautiously behind. 

“How was your little shopping trip?” she asks, beaming at you both. 

You walk straight through the kitchen to your bedroom, without saying a word. 

Your mum’s smile falters. She looks at Heather for an explanation. 

“We saw Nate,” Heather says in a low voice, eyes flicking to the hallway where you’d disappeared, to make sure you can’t hear her. “With another girl.”

Your mum’s brow creases deeply at the news. She gets up and goes over to stand next to Heather, both of them staring down the corridor after you. 

“How did she take it?” she asks.

“I don’t really know…” Heather replies, glancing at your mum. “She hasn’t said a word.” 

A heavy silence weighs down on them. 

“You ok if I go check on her?” Heather asks finally. 

Your mum smiles gently at her. 

“Of course. Oh, and Heather?” Heather turns back in the doorway to look at her. “Thanks for getting her out,” she says genuinely. 

Heather smiles sadly in response. Yeah but look how it turned out, she thinks.

When Heather enters your room a moment later, she finds you sat on your bed, with your back pressed against the headboard and your knees pulled up to your chest. You’re still wearing your sneakers, dirty prints marking the undersheet. Your forehead is resting on your knees, face hidden from view. 

Heather places the shopping bags on the floor by the door and comes over to the edge of the bed, hesitating before sitting down. 

“Are you ok?” she asks you carefully, reaching out a hand to stroke the back of your head. “No, that’s a stupid question,” she quickly corrects herself, “Of course you’re not ok.”

You make a small squeak, your shoulders quivering just the slightest bit, and Heather suspects you’re crying. She wraps her arms around you as best she can and gives you a big hug. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says. Sorry Nate broke your heart, sorry I forced you to go outside when you weren’t ready, sorry he’s a massive asshole… sorry this is happening to you.

“They looked so happy,” you whisper, so quietly that if Heather weren’t hugging you, she wouldn’t have heard it. You give another small tremor. 

Heather doesn’t speak, because she knows there’s nothing she can say to you in this moment that will make it hurt any less. Just holds you a little tighter. 

“Thanks for being here, Heath,” you say into your knees with a small sniffle.

She strokes your hair lightly in response. 

You honestly don’t know how you’re going to survive the summer without her here. The thought of seeing Nate and that girl again seems all the more awful knowing that Heather won’t be around to hold you like this. 

You lift your head and Heather pulls back to give you room. You wipe at your tearstained face roughly with your hand, frustrated with yourself for wasting tears on him. Heather rubs your back soothingly with her palm. 

You glance around at your room and it’s as if you’re seeing it for the first time; dimly lit and depressing. There’s discarded clothes everywhere, your bed covers still bundled in a sad pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. A couple of photo frames on your dresser, tipped over so that the pictures inside are hidden. You can’t go back to wallowing in here. But you can’t stand the thought of running into them again. Of pretending you’re ok. 

And suddenly, braving Magaluf’s nightlife seems like the least of your problems…

“I’ve made up my mind,” you say, your voice surprisingly steady. 

Heather looks at you, confused.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve made up my mind,” you repeat. “I’m coming with you.”

“Wait, to Magaluf?” she asks, still unsure what you’re talking about.

You nod. 

She beams excitedly for a second then quickly reigns it in. 

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t you wait until you’re less upset to make up your mind?”

You turn to face her more head on. 

“No, I’m sure about this,” you say resolutely. “I just need to get away from Hawkins for a bit, clear my head.”

She considers you seriously for a moment, her eyes searching your face for any uncertainty.  

Seemingly convinced, she lets herself be excited again.

“Oh, this is gonna be so great!” she says, giving you a squeeze.

You laugh at her enthusiasm and you can’t help but feel hopeful that this summer might not suck after all.

When Heather finally lets go of you, you wipe away a few stray tears from your cheeks, vowing to yourself that they will be the last you will ever cry over Nate. 

------

Please let me know what you guys think so far! I’ve been very excited about this idea. My taglist is always open, just drop me a comment if you wanna be added!

A Summer To Remember tags:

@charmed-asylum​ @alias-b​ @nottherightseason​ @hargroveswift​ @lilac-skies-xd​ @mikaelsonzz​

[universitykpop]

Ghost of You

Genre: Angst, slight fluff

Member: Yunho (ateez)

Words: 1,325

A/N: This is also posted on my ateez sideblog @alotofteez​, where I post all my ateez stories!

His eyes flutter open, sun rays shining through the blue tulle curtains. Yunho looks innocently beautiful in moments like this when he’s most vulnerable. Your eyes follow him go through his morning routine. The shirt tossed on the dresser from the night before is slipped over his head, and he stretches his arms up. Ruffling his hair lazily, he looks at the clock on his nightstand. It’s almost 1 in the afternoon. Neither of you is surprised he slept in this much.

As he leaves the room, you glance over noting his phone isn’t plugged in. He always forgets to charge it overnight. You lean over his bed to fix his oversight and hear the shower turn on in the other room.

The bathroom door is cracked, and you push it enough to step inside. Yunho’s eyes dart to the movement, toothbrush in mouth.

“When are they gonna fix that?” He grumbles to himself with his mouth full of toothpaste and shuts the door until it clicks.

You chuckle, gaze landing on the shower handle turned slightly to cold. He’s a hot shower kind of person; he must’ve been half asleep when turning it. You bump it a little more to the hot side.

His arm swiftly reaches in front of your face, nimble fingers gauging the water’s temperature. You stand back and allow him room to undress before stepping under the gentle spray. The smooth expanse of his back tempts you to reach out, but you don’t. Once he’s in with the curtain pulled, you quietly sneak out, making sure the door is closed all the way.

Yunho isn’t the best cook thus needs all the help he can get. You know he doesn’t have a clue what to make. First, you search through the refrigerator and move his tub of kimchi to the front. Next, you make sure he has a clean pan that’s big enough. It’s unsurprising that the only large one is dirty. Before he finishes in the bathroom, you wash the pan quickly in the sink and stow it away in the correct cabinet. Finally, you tidy up the living room but not enough for a noticeable difference.

Wiping away some dust on his bookshelf, you discover a framed picture of yourself. Teeth dig into your bottom lip holding back your emotions as you carefully lay it face down. Before you can seep into the past, the hairdryer turns on in the bathroom.

You seat yourself at the kitchen island waiting for Yunho to raid the fridge. It’s sad that you know his routine like the back of your hand, but the poor boy is pretty predictable. When he finally does, you judge him for settling on cereal. You always hate that he doesn’t eat something healthier.

He places the bowl in front of the stool next to you and goes to retrieve his phone. Once sat down, he slowly eats as he scrolls through social media apps with an occasional text message. It’s a quarter past two when he finally rinses his bowl and starts cleaning the apartment.

As he continues his chores into the bedroom, you slyly plug in his air freshener. He claims he can’t tell when the apartment smells weird, so it’s best that you turn it on when you notice. 

You hear the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floor and peer around to catch him running his hand through his hair. The feeling of his soft hair sliding past your fingers is something you miss. One of his favorite things is having his hair idly played with until he falls asleep. You loved having that kind of power over him.

A deep sniff brings you back to reality. Yunho finds the air freshener and scoffs.

“I swear this thing never works right.”

You roll your eyes and follow him back into the bedroom. He scans through his closet for something to wear. Simplicity is best for the day, and you know he’ll overthink what to wear. As he goes to the dresser, you find his red plaid flannel and pull the sleeve out further than the rest of his shirts.

Something lands on his bed causing you to glance back. Thank the stars he took out his ripped skinny jeans. Now you just hope he sees the flannel.

Relief washes over you when he resorts to grabbing the sleeve and tugs it off the hanger along with a clean white tee. You watch him change, remembering all the times you’ve done so before. Except, this time you’re not going to receive his usual cheeky wink after finishing, instead, his gaze lands back on the dresser.

Your faith in him plummets as he picks up his pink bucket hat. If he ruins that outfit with that goddamn hat, you’re going to strangle him. He hesitates before throwing it in the top drawer. You’re thankful, but it doesn’t belong in that one and he knows it. This is why he’s always losing things.

His phone chimes, beckoning him out of the room. With him distracted, you hurriedly switch it to the correct drawer but freeze as you behold the rest of the items inside. Your old hoodie and favorite t-shirt are folded neatly along with paper-clipped sticky notes of your handwriting, polaroids of your memories, and a small opal ring. Instinctively, you fidget with the same ring on your finger. When he changed the contents of this drawer you don’t know, but your heart aches knowing that’s why he didn’t put the hat there.

A loud clank down the hall pulls you back to the current moment. When you reach the kitchen, he already has the kimchi and large pan out on the counter. He opens a cabinet and takes a minute to reluctantly take the bag of rice down. The rice cooker is quickly produced from under a counter. This is what you were talking about when you said he isn’t the best cook.

While he sets up to cook the rice on the other side of the kitchen, you pull out the olive oil next to the stove before he can forget and cause the entire complex to evacuate. At this point, all you can do is sit back and watch.

Finding a spot at the island again, you rest your head on your hand becoming endeared by Yunho’s humming with random singing sprinkled in. He thinks his voice isn’t that good, but you could sit there listening to him all day. It’s soothing especially when he would hold you close in bed and gently sing in your ear.

During his little solo concert at the stove, the timer for the rice dings, but he doesn’t hear it. Sighing, you maneuver around the island and lightly shift the bag of uncooked rice enough to make a noise. Yunho glances over his shoulder before cursing under his breath and turning off the cooker.

You notice his slightly shaking hands and have the urge to brush your fingers through his hair to comfort him. He’s so nervous about tonight. Everything will be fine; you just know it, a gut feeling.

Around 5 o’clock, the doorbell suddenly sounds off in the background, and Yunho anxiously heads to the front door. Something makes him double-take and stop in his tracks. He lifts up your picture on the bookshelf and stares at it for a minute, his eyebrows scrunching together as he thinks. The doorbell rings again, startling him. He kisses it quickly and sets it in a drawer of the TV stand.

He cautiously answers the door.

“Hey.” His voice wavers from nerves.

“Hi, how are you?” The girl asks as he invites her in.

He smiles widely with the small talk.

Their laughter softens your worries. You sigh, content and relieved. Something just below your eyesight catches your attention. You glance down to find yourself glowing, fading into the light. Your time here is done.

[her-world-on-fire]

Malfoy Manor V {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

REQUEST HERE MASTERLIST

DRACO MALFOY SERIES

Part 1 The Deal Part 2 Charming Part 3 The Train Part 4 Dinner Part 5 Malfoy Manor Part 6 The Return

Word Count: 2,776

The next few days progressed in the same fashion. Learning new spells and more about each other. Today I wanted to try something different.  Once Draco got up I lead him to the kitchen. It's no surprise that Draco is not a morning person. He was still groggy and unaware of what was happening. "What are we doing?" I couldn't help but laugh at his tone, and his scowling face. "Well, I figured we change thing up a bit and make breakfast." He shook his head and laughed, never did he think he was going to make himself breakfast. He couldn't think of a time where the thought even crossed his mind. He was so used to having things done for him, now it was time to do something for himself. "Let's do it then."

We washed our hands and I looked in his fridge. Once again I wasn't surprised to find it fully stocked. "What about french toast?" I asked, he agreed so I handed him ingredients. Eggs, milk, vanilla, cinnamon, etc. "So what exactly am I supposed to do?" He looked over the ingredients confused. "It's quite simple, take 2 eggs and put them in the bowl. Add in milk, cinnamon, and vanilla." It sounded simple enough, he grabbed the eggs and gently knocked then against the table. He repeated this a few times. "You've got to use a little more force." I laughed he looked at me unsure. But listened anyways, finding that I was right. He managed to open the rest without getting eggshell in the bowl, it was a sight to see. While he did this I found some fruits and chopped them up to serve on the side. "Now what?" He seemed to actually enjoy himself. I grabbed the bread and handed it to him. "Now put the bread in. And then we put it on the pan." I wasn't sure that I trusted him to gauge the toast. It was already hard to tell if you knew what you were doing. "I'll do the next part." 

"What are exactly are you implying?" 

"I don't want under cooked toast, Malfoy." He stood up and came after me, "You've gone too far." I moved through the kitchen hoping to tire him out, but he was relentless.  He caught up to me and grabbed me. I let out a yelp, making him laugh. "Now what was that?" I looked up at him, we were both a little flustered. I never thought I would be standing in Draco Malfoy's kitchen in his arms. "What's all this?" I stiffened, Draco's mother was here. Draco held on to me a little tighter, refusing to back down just because his mother was here. She looked over the kitchen, it was a bit of a mess. I had every intention of leaving it just as I had found it. "What does it look like?" Draco asked, his tone was drastically different than when he had been speaking to me only moments ago. She looked between us, it was tense and no one spoke. She left without another word. 

I looked at Draco, "Let's finish what we started." We did just that. I finished up the toast, I even let him flip a few of them. Just so that he would feel like he contributed. We served ourselves and sat down next to each other. "I will admit, I did enjoy myself." He admitted looking at me. "See! I knew you would." I looked at the mess and sighed. He followed my gauze, there was a mess of dishes and ingredients. "I suppose you don't know how to do dishes." I joked it didn't hurt to try. In reality, I knew I was probably going to have to do them. He scoffed getting up from his chair grabbing both plates and placing them in the sink. He rolled up his sleeves and looked back at me, almost offended. 

"I'll have you know I am quite well versed in dish washing." I looked at him surprised and doubtful. "Forgive me for not being too convinced." It was true, he wasn't a dishwasher, but he wanted to help. I shrugged, "If you insist." Once we had finished I put away supplies where I had found them, and Draco did the dishes. I looked over at him, still in doubt but he seemed to be doing just fine. "How many times are you going to surprise me today Malfoy?" He looked over from the dishes, a smile playing on his face. "It is only 9 am." I finished before Draco did and sat on the counter beside him. He finished and then put his hands on either side of me, "Not bad for my first time." He beamed, I raised my eyebrow. "I thought you were well versed in dishwashing?" I quoted his previous statement. "Oh come on, you did everything it was the least I could do."

It was hardly true but the gesture was appreciated. "Now what?" He inquired I had a few more plans. "How about we get out for a bit?" I figured he and his mother needed some space. They were still really tense from their argument and I knew Draco wanted to getaway. He couldn't leave his room without her checking on him, which made him angry. In reality, they weren't used to being around each other anymore. For most of the year was at school, he only came back for a few weeks at a time. They also had to adjust to the loss of Lucius, losing him made both of them bitter. Although he didn't always agree with his father, he still felt love for him.

 He cocked his head to the side, leaning back a bit. He didn't mind the idea at all. He helped me off the counter. "I suppose we ought to change out of our sleep attire." The thought of changing into less comfortable clothes wasn't appealing. I figured it would be inappropriate to venture out in them. I agreed and we walked back to his room. We both looked in his closet since my luggage was in there as well. He grabbed his clothes and went to his bathroom leaving me in his room to change. In a few moments, we were both ready. "Do you have a coat?" He asked coming out of the bathroom I grabbed it off the bed, "Yes." He nodded and opened the door to his room gesturing for me to go out first. I gave him a thank you and we made our way out of the manor. We walked along aside the gravel pathway. It wasn't a long walk until we got to surrounding shops. 

As we walked Draco's influence was notable. People greeted him, doors opened for him. We walked into a small bookshop. Draco was immediately recognized, "Mr. Malfoy, I wasn't expecting your presence." The owner, an older gentleman remarked. "I can on an impulse." He looked over at me, the impulse being me. I had noticed the books on his shelf and was curious to see how he interacted with them. We browsed through the shelves. Overall the shop was very cozy, there were love seats next to shelves in case you wanted to read. Draco trailed behind me for a bit, then something caught his interest. I peaked over, he was in the ancient literature. I watched as he grabbed a book and trailed his fingers over the spine gently. 

I grabbed a book of my own and for half an hour we read on the love seat. We sat facing across for each other. The shop was fairly quiet getting a few costumers every so often. An older couple walked in, and they gave us a look. "What a lovely couple." I looked up from my book, Draco met my gaze and smiled. He looked at the couple, "Thank you." I  couldn't help but smile at them. They disappeared soon after, losing themselves in between the slim shelves. Neither of us had the heart to deny their compliment. I excused myself leaving Draco alone for a moment. Figuring it was my turn to have some surprises.

Once I came back he seemed ready to move. We thanked the shop owner and parted ways with the cozy shop. We went into a few more shops and were greeted in relatively the same manner. Draco looked up at the sky, it was getting dark once again. He wrapped his arm around me, leaning his head against, "Are you ready to head back?" I confirmed and we were on our way back to the manor. 

---

Once back in his room an owl was sitting on his bed. I looked at him and his expression was once again unreadable. It cooed, right in its beak was an envelope. I decided it was none of my business and went into his bathroom to give him some privacy. It could be his father, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Pucey, or even Pansy. Deciding there was nothing better to do I just got in the shower remembering his instructions. 

After a decent amount of time passed I figured coming out would be okay. I walked out and to his closet once more grabbing sleeping attire. He was putting away his supplies. On his bed, he had parchment, ink, a quill, and some wax to seal his letter. He also had left his window open, presumably to allow the owl to hunt. It was customary to make sure the owl was in good condition before sending your letter. 

Once I was dressed I reached inside my bag. I sat on his bed and placed his presence behind me. He looked at me suspiciously, although he seemed different. He wasn't in as good of a mood as he had been when we arrived. It was very easy to pick up the change in his behavior. "What do you have there?" He tried peaking behind me. He had to be the most impatient person I've met. I moved to make sure he couldn't see or reach for it. "I'm getting to that in a moment." He stopped being restless and sat up, anticipating I was going to speak further. He shifted his attention to me. "It's been a week and I just wanted to say thank you. For a lot of things, but mostly for your company. It's been a pleasure Draco." He looked concerned, "Why does this sound like a goodbye?" 

"It's not. I just wanted to get you something so that you know I appreciate everything." While we were out I had gotten little trinkets from the shops we visited. From the bookshop, I had gotten him the book he began to read when the old couple complimented us. I saw a ring at a jeweler that made me think of him. Whenever he touched me, I felt the cold metal of his rings. We went into a clothing shop and I saw a scarf, remembering how he's always making sure I'm warm. I grabbed the bag and handed it to him. He looked surprised as he looked inside it. As he pulled out the contents I explained why I got each one. By the end, he looked up at me, a sad look on his face. "I didn't-"

"Don't you dare say you can't accept because you haven't done anything for me." His mouth closed, and he sighed. That was exactly what he was going to say. He was stopped dead in his tracks. "I appreciate this. I just wish I would've done something as clever." I rolled my eyes, "You've done enough for me through gestures, let me do something for you." He seemed to be comforted by the answer. He didn't press further. Instead, he just pulled me in for a hug. "This was very thoughtful of you." He laughed, "So this is where you kept sneaking off to." I had tried to pace my disappearances.  It was hard, he wasn't easily led astray. He was very quick to realize I wasn't in his presence. A few times I was worried he would catch on. 

He needed the distraction. All his problems were put on pause. He didn't think about his mission, his father, or even his quidditch match. All stress was relieved for most of the duration of their time together. They stayed up late and talked about everything. After a few hours later, they fell asleep, neither of them aware of how tired they really were. 

The second week seemed to go by even faster than the first. They spent their time with afternoon walks, picnics, & more activities not centered around the manor. In this time Narcissa really came around. She realized her son was actually happy. It didn't seem like it because most of their time was spent in the argument. But she heard it, their late-night laughter, their breakfast talks, and she had even been told by people who saw them outside the manor. Everyone spoke of a different Draco, who actually enjoyed himself. Narcissa, in turn, decided to apologize for Draco, but for genuine forgiveness most importantly. She gave them both an apology things changed for the better. Slowly she joined them for breakfast and just spent more time with them. At first, Draco wasn't pleased, he was surprised and skeptical of his mother's turn around. he thought she was trying to see how focused he was. But he got used to the idea and everyone was more comfortable. 

Two nights before we were set to go back to Hogwarts, Draco received a series of letters. virtually no one could talk to him all day. The letters were sent back and forth in very quick succession. I was sitting in the kitchen when Narssica came to me. "Draco's still writing?" She asked if had been hours she expected him to be done by now. "All day," I confirmed, not seeing him leave for anything. He was confined to reply to the letter. Narcissa put her hand on my shoulder, "I'm sorry dear, I'll see if I can help at all." 

She walked into his room and closed the door. I could hear muffled voices, I had no idea what they were saying but I knew it couldn't be good. She didn't leave for almost an hour. Once she came back she was pale and even looked sickly. I figured there was nothing I could do. I went back to my textbook, I managed to get it off of Draco's shelf before leaving. I managed to get through everything I was supposed to for my lesson, although I was sure it was going to have to wait. It wasn't happening today, and tomorrow we had to pack. Draco didn't speak for the rest of the day.

We packed in silence for most of the morning, Draco obviously not wanting to talk about whatever happened. Even Narcissa was still unsettled. I grabbed the last of my things and shut my luggage. I sat on the bed as I waited for Draco. I don't know if it's best to let him have his silence, or if I should try and speak to him. Even the sky seemed to reflect the mood, outside rain clouds formed and there was the anticipation of the rain. I looked out the window, just trying to take everything in. Within just a few hours the mood had entirely changed even dragging it into the next day. He didn't take much longer. Once he finished he looked at me and sighed. "I'm really sorry." I shook my head and sat up. The first words out his mouth in almost 24 hours, and he was apologizing.  "You have nothing to be sorry for." He sat next to me and just looked at me. "What is it?" 

He looked down. he was scared for what was to come. He didn't know what was going to happen next. He didn't know how fast it was going to spread and how much time he had left. He figured he needed to spend the remainder of it as best as he could. There was a change they wouldn't speak anymore if word got around. He needed to delay the word getting around, and he needed to make an excuse. It would be too suspicious if he didn't. Normally lying didn't phase him too much. But now he really didn't want to lie. He wanted to be honest more than anything, but the truth wasn't safe. So, for now, he had to figure out something to say.  

"My father is ill." 

REQUEST HERE  MASTERLIST 

DRACO MALFOY SERIES 

Part 1 The Deal Part 2 Charming Part 3 The Train Part 4 Dinner Part 5 Malfoy Manor Part 6 The Return

[meetevieinthehallway]

and i can’t give that to you.

in which harry suffers from seasonal depression and she doesn’t know how to help.

-

there’s a thrum of guitar strings.

she hears it— and sighs.

she isn’t sure if she should breathe happily or sadly; there’s various possibilities of what she would find if she followed the sound until she unveiled the outcome.

she shivers because the gentle pluck of guitar strings is beautiful—he always plays so beautifully—but it’s a low toned, melancholic song and she’s torn between some unknown battle of duality.

she closes the door behind her body with her foot, the grocery bags in her hands making her arms begin to burn as she waddles to the kitchen. she sets them down and sighs, trying to ignore the guitar but she can’t and she shouldn’t.

his love huffs.

she blows air from out between her lips and her head drops to her chest. she turns, looking over her shoulder at the stairway— the music is coming from the top of it, their bedroom.

he hasn’t moved since i left, has he?

a glimpse at the clock confirms the three hours that have passed since she left, and her heart throbs at the possibility that he hasn’t shifted from his spot in their bedroom.

she kicks her shoes off and away and she’s mulling in her head some kind of speech but it helplessly dissipates as she walks up the stairs.

“haz?”

the plucking doesn’t cease and she isn’t sure if she wants it to anyways.

hesitancy.

always, always hesitancy when it comes to times like these.

moments like these are unsure and tentative for her; she can never know if she’s making the right choice because he turns so stoic and blank in the winter and she can never gauge any reaction.

even her steps are hesitant as she sighs outside their bedroom doorframe before walking in slowly.

his profile is to her.

he’s shirtless and sitting in the middle of their bed and his guitar is in his lap and he looks so fucking sad and gorgeous at the same time.

his eyes are downcast on his instrument and he seems lost in his music, so much so that he doesn’t react when she’s standing a foot into the room.

“haz?”

he jumps.

the dimples at the bottom of his back move and momentarily deepen and she sighs again—she feels like that’s all she does nowadays—because she hasn’t seen the dimples in his cheeks in what feels like forever.

she misses his smile.

his face turns so his eyes meet hers and she smiles small, hoping that his guitar playing was a sign of motivation— in any way.

“sorry.. i—... uh.”

hesitancy.

even he felt it.

“d-did y’just get home? would’ve... would’ve helped with the groceries—... putting them away.”

she smiles small, looking up at his curls as she steps closer. “’s okay.” she whispers. her hand moves to run through his hair, twisting it around her fingers, and his eyes flutter closed as his guitar is forgotten about. “you.. you showered?”

his eyes open. he nods, looking at the glimpse of pride that washes over her face and he draws his bottom lip in.

you’ve disappointed her that many times?— that a fucking shower makes her proud?

“that’s good. that’s—... that’s great, bub. h-how—” she sits next to him, hand falling to his thigh, “—how do you feel?”

harry looks into her hopeful eyes that beg for any indication of betterment, and he sighs. the truth is that yes, he does feel differently than he has been, but he still doesn’t feel happy, good.

he hates continuously disappointing her— but he can’t lie.

“i feel okay.” he whispers. he reaches slowly with his fingertips until they’re touching her skin, wrapped around her wrist and his touch burns her.

“scale from one to ten?”

he bites his lip.

he doesn’t like the number system.

his therapist had suggested it a long while ago, and his lovie likes it so that’s why he tolerates it.

to him, there was no way any value could replace a feeling, because some days his sadness could be a one but his loneliness could be a seven and averaging those together brings about a four and that seems wrong, off.

averages and means and medians have never been a solidified concept that most see it as—

it’s a summarization. a non specific, lacking of details summarization.

he doesn’t like summarizations.

but he does it for her— she says it’s a simplistic way for her to understand where he is in his own head, so she can try and help.

but nothing about this—him, being with him—is simplistic.

“four.”

she smiles small.

he’s been a two for the last couple of days.

he looks down on his guitar and his finger bounces on the string closest to him, “maybe a five? like—... a four ’nd a half.”

she smiles a bit brighter, squeezing his free hand. “okay.”

he smiles weakly but it doesn’t meet his cheeks or his eyes and he’s quiet for a long while and his fingers pulse in her hand. “do you wanna... do something today?”

she can tell it’s forced.

she can clearly see the reluctance on his face as he asks that— because he doesn’t want to go out.

but he’s being considerate because he knows it must be driving her crazy to be cooped up in here, taking care of her husband who barely wants to speak or move.

so she shakes her head.

“no, i didn’t necessarily have anything to do.”

he swallows.

harry slips his hand away from hers and her heart sinks, her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches him adjust his body to pluck at the strings again, his face further from her view.

“y’sure?” he’s mumbling and hasn’t taken her hand again, and she squeezes her fingers into a fist.

she nods. “yeah.”

but she isn’t sure.

this is when she is reminded to have faith—

where he’s looking away with saddened eyes and a rounded back and blinking away tears and not talking to her.

she prays every night after he falls asleep that he gets better—that spring comes sooner—because the outside winter air mingles with her husband’s sadness and she feels so lonely and cold and alone even when he’s next to her.

he’s heard her.

he’s heard the prayers— he’s seen her desperation.

google searches of how to make winter seem more lively, best ways to live with someone with depression, how to be a more supportive wife.

phone calls of her worried tone and hesitant breath and falling tears as she swallows down emotion and swallows down the advice from her mom, girlfriends, best friends, anyone.

tears at his therapy sessions where he admits he doesn’t take his medicine some days but throws it away— and he sees her shoulders deflate and he doesn’t have to know her inside and out to know that she’s belitting herself— that she thinks she is a failure.

he breaks every time.

it’s one of the only emotions he feels besides emptiness— heartbreak for his wife who feels like she isn’t enough.

she shouldn’t have to take care of him— not yet, anyways.

they’re fucking married, a team, a relationship that gives and takes equally and yes, takes care of one another—

but not like this.

not like this—where she can’t get through to him—where she struggles to coerce him to eat, to take his medication, to breathe, to let his emotions out.

he hates himself.

it comes with the depression, he thinks, the absolute loathing—

he hates that his depression is bringing her down.

harry sharply snaps at her sometimes and he hates himself every time he uncontrollably does so— his heart throbbing as he’s watching her inhale sharply and look away and back out and away from his space with a soft i’m sorry and teary eyes.

he always breaks into his own tears after he does so.

and she holds him, she holds him like he didn’t just yell at her for trying to help him— and he hates himself.

i don’t deserve her.

dumbass— you never have deserved her.

shut up, you don’t need to remind me.

but don’t i?

“what?”

he jumps a bit, his daze breaking as his fingers halt and he turns to her with furrowed brows.

“huh?”

“y’mumbled something.”

his eyes widen— he didn’t think his thoughts could escape his head like that; but he’s underestimated this fucked up brain millions of times in his life.

“i...”

he doesn’t know how to respond.

he’s staring at her and he can’t help but realize how utterly beautiful she looks— but how tired she is.

“nothin’... just, a lyric idea.”

“oh.”

he breathes.

—

the wind is fucking loud.

it’s loud and obnoxious and is causing the windows to rattle and harry is getting really fed up.

he knows better— he knows better than to let an uncontrollable force of nature piss him off, but it’s pulling him away from unconsciousness and causing an ache to pound in his skull.

or at least, add to one already there.

he groans when the branches knock at the window and squeezes his lids tighter, a frown falling onto his face as he wakes fully.

he grumbles, arm lazily flinging up to his face to drape across his eyes when he realizes the television is on and bright and he groans, eyebrows furrowed under his warm skin.

“h?”

he jolts. harry jolts up and his arm leaves his face and he pushes up slowly, rolling over and landing on the other side of his frame.

he squints.

she’s crying.

she’s wiping her tears quickly but he knows she’s crying because the dim light of the silenced tv illuminates the redness of her eyes as he blinks away the blurriness of sleep.

“sorry..— did the tv wake you?” she whispers, staring at the screen and praying he doesn’t notice the wobble in her voice.

he’s never seen her cry like this. she looks blank— like she’s unfeeling, unmoving, and his attention immediately jumps.

“you’re crying.”

she sniffles, shaking her head and placing an easy smile on her face as she glances to him. “i’m okay.”

he props himself up on his elbow. “no.” he murmurs, shaking his head. “lovie, you’re crying.”

she hasn’t heard lovie for such a long time.

it makes her cries choke her and she sobs once, pulling her lips into her mouth. she’s still looking at the television with saddened eyes, her fingers trembling in her lap as she shakes her head.

“love.”

she nods.

“you—... you can talk to me.”

he whispers and it breaks her.

“you can... am i—... am i the reason you’re crying?”

“don’t—..” she chokes, meeting his eyes and shaking her head. “don’t say that, harry, of course not.”

“it’s true, isn’t it?”

she’s quiet. she swallows once, hand reaching quickly for the remote, fingers nimbly moving to the off button.

the room goes black.

he sighs.

“go to sleep, harry.”

she rolls so her back faces him, and she tucks herself under the covers and sniffles.

he’s about to lay back down himself and let his drowsiness take over— but he stops himself.

he reaches over and twists the lamp on instead.

“no.”

her eyes flutter closed and they’re squeezed tightly.

“you’re sad. it’s because of me and...—” he places a hand on her shoulder and she moves to face him, letting the tears roll freely down her cheeks. he shifts greatly, sitting up so he’s sitting on the mattress and looking down on her, noticing the saturated pillow under her head. “i’m the reason you’re sad.” he whispers, folding his legs to sit cross legged.

“you aren’t, h.”

“please don’t lie to me.” harry’s eyes are pleading, hands folded in his lap. his shoulders are slouched, and he’s finally looking at her. “you’ve... you only show me your strength, but... i know you’re sad— that i make you sad.”

she swallows and looks at the comforter as she sits up and rests her back against the headboard. she doesn’t respond.

“do you regret marrying me?”

“what?”

he swallows. he looks down and away from her, wanting to hit himself for how desperate his brain is moving and thinking and spitting.

“...do you?”

his eyes are wet.

“are you crazy, h?”

“yeah. i am, that’s why i asked.”

she breathes through her nose and lets her eyes close, and she shakes her head.

“you... that’s not— you’re not crazy, harry. you know that.”

“i... i don’t know that.”

he hates himself.

he hates that he’s turning her sadness back into talking of himself— but he’s so far down that it pains his chest and it’s hurting the one person he loves more than anything.

“i act like i’m crazy.”

“you’re depressed; you aren’t crazy. and i don’t regret marrying you, why—”

“i hurt you.”

harry says it tremblingly and shakes his head, curls bouncing around his temples.

the room falls quiet and he hears the wind hit the windows again and a chill crawls through his spine and pushes on his throat to release his next words.

“i ask you that because i hurt you every day and you stay and i don’t.. i can’t comprehend how you don’t hate me.”

his eyes water.

it hurts to say but there’s a weight lifted off his chest the more he rambles and word-vomits and he lets his feelings run marathons across their sheets.

“i see... i see you. just because i’m sad and in my own head doesn’t mean that—... that i don’t see that you’re unhappy, that when i snap it makes you hesitant and when i don’t respond to you your heart breaks.”

the tears are flowing down her cheeks as she stares at the blanket, drinking in his emotions and there’s a weight lifted off her chest the more he rambles and word-vomits and he lets his feelings run marathons across their sheets and it hurts but he’s talking to her and—

“that’s why you’re crying.”

“harry—”

“no.”

he snaps at her and she flinches and he sniffles when he witnesses it— the turn of her face like he’s sent a flame to her cheek.

“and that.” he says, nodding at her. “you see it? you’re afraid of me, you have to tip toe around me like i’m a bomb and— you... god you are so good to me and i treat you so badly—”

“stop it.” her voice is trembling.

“—i am the worst husband—person—in the entire world—”

“stop!”

her voice is loud and it cuts through the room and breaks the rhythm of his speech. his eyes turn round and wide as she yells and his breathing is labored and his tears are pooled in his palms.

“i stay because i’m in love with you and because i want to take care of you. ever heard of in sickness and in health, harry?!”

“but i’m not taking care of you, love.”

“i don’t care!” she’s still yelling and now he’s the one who is flinching. “you’re sick, harry. when i have the flu or summat do..— do you get upset that you’re not taken care of?!”

he sniffs and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand.

“...no.”

“no. you don’t. because we love each other and care for each other and you act selfless when you’re in love with someone.”

he looks at her eyes and he can’t see her irises because the water is blocking his view.

“you just said it.”

“said what?”

“you act selfless when...— when you’re in love. that’s how it should be.”

she pauses.

“i’ve been so in my own head that—... that i fail in putting you first. you...” he shakes his head. “i have never loved anything more than i do you. you’ve stuck with me for so long and...”

harry swallows.

she swallows.

“i treat you terribly and... i don’t know how you haven’t left.”

it’s quiet.

“leaving you is worse than being sad for a little while.”

he sighs deeply, his body moving up and down with his sighs. her eyes are so sad and it causes more tears to pour from his eyes and suddenly he feels himself unable to catch his breath.

“i don’t make you happy.”

he’s sobbing now, harshly, and his hands land on his eyes as he cries into his palms. she sits up slowly, her fingers reaching to his wrist, her other joining when she sits fully.

“harry.”

“i want you to be happy and— ... i can’t give that to you.”

he’s shaking his head and his hands are still covering his eyes—pressing and pressing in hopes for the tears to just fucking stop—and she’s absolutely helpless; she can’t calm him and he’s trembling in her gentle touch.

“harry, breathe.”

he’s hyperventilating, breathing ragged and his chest is bouncing violently. her hand comes to his back and she’s rubbing slow, soft circles to attempt to lull him. his hands fall off his face and into her lap, his fingers reaching to wrap in her hand and he’s trying not to fall away from her. harry’s staring at their joined hands with widened eyes, gripping tightly, tears falling to his skin and hitting him at his forearms.

“love, shhh,” she’s shushing him through her own tears, helplessly trying to make him breathe. but she can’t pull her hands out of his grasp.

his eyes meet hers and he shakes his head, lips pulled in and he’s exasperated.

“this life is not what i promised you.” he cries, voice strained. “i want you to be happy and i don’t make you happy and i’d rather you leave me and be happy then stay here and be sad all the time—”

“shh,” her voice is quiet and her forehead falls onto his but he’s talking over her. “harry, i’m not leaving.”

“all i do is pull you under.” he whispers and he sounds angry— angry at himself and this fucking situation and his grip loosens on her hands. “you...” he hiccups and her hand lifts to his cheek and he whimpers and leans into her touch. “you’re so good, and-and..” he waves his hand dismissively, saying it sourly yet sadly “some other guy—some normal guy could make you so fucking happy—”

“i love you.” she cuts him off and he sniffs and meets her eyes. “i want to be here, here with you.” she whispers, tilting his chin up, “i’d rather be with you for a million winters than none at all.”

he swallows and looks down.

“hey.” she’s whispering. “look at me.”

he obeys and lifts his eyes again.

“the winter months are awful.” she murmurs. “but you always come back to me in springtime.”

he sniffs. “but i don’t—” he shakes his head.

“h.” she sighs, and he quiets. “i am sad when you are. you’re half of me, love— i’d be worried if i wasn’t.”

look at how sad you made her— how long until she leaves? don’t you wish you were normal?

“listen, h.” she pulls him back because she can feel his mind drifting away— his eyes turned more watery and his jaw tightens. “being not okay for a season... just makes the happy moments between us even better.”

his hand moves to hold the side of her neck.

“life is hard, bub.”

“i-i know.” he swallows. “i know but ‘s not much easier with me.”

“but...” she lifts his chin up and his eyes meet hers. “but you make it a journey.”

“it just takes a bit of time to find our destination.”

—

there’s a thrum of guitar strings.

she prays it’s better than those nights ago.

she can’t stop replaying it in her mind, the way he’s been crying and speaking and begging her to leave for herself but also beg her to just stay— with his tears in his palms and his face in her neck and she’s overwhelmed because for him to break down like this is unlikely.

but there’s a silent, indirect agreement between them two as she’s swearing she won’t leave while her own tears coat her eyes— that they’d live day by day, and do their best to talk and feel and cry and express, just as he has been. she had lulled his teary and achy body back to sleep with her every time she awoke to his sobbing, humming and her hands rubbing at his shoulder blades, and he had gently kissed at her collarbones before resting his forehead against them before he’d slip back away to momentary piece.

the wind hasn’t hit their window panes since.

it would all be okay— at least when spring came.

but now?— she has extreme déjà-vu as she pads up the stairs with her socked feet.

the air seems thinner today, like she can breathe easier, but now her throat feels tight again because she doesn’t want to see him in a ball in the same spot again like when she sees him through the dark.

day by day.

“haz?”

except this time the music halts.

she frowns because typically he’d be so zoned out that he wouldn’t acknowledge her entrance, her voice, but she reaches the top of the staircase and walks towards their room.

what if he’s sad and he’s been waiting for her to come home—

what if he just threw his guitar on the ground because he tried to write lyrics but he can’t—

what if—

“h? are you okay, love—”

she pushes the door open to their bedroom and she stops.

harry moves away from the mirror quickly, shifting so he’s standing in front of her with his hands behind his back. he’s blushing, and he’s looking at her and scanning her body with a shy smile on his face, a curl falling in his eyes.

“hi.” he murmurs.

“... you okay?” she questions him, drinking in his shirt covered torso and baggy sweats.

“i’m okay.”

her eyebrows are pinched in the center. his skin seems more glowy today, radiance oozing from his pores and irises and— the bags under his eyes are more purple but his little smile is a sight she can get definitely used to. she hesitates, frowning at his expression.

“you are?”

“yeah. i uh—” he sways gently, in a way that settles his nerves as his cheeks blush. “i’m... i’m okay..”

“you seem hesitant, bub.”

“no, no. i—... i’m alright i’m just...” he trails off.

“is there a number you—”

“six.”

she falters, a shocked look falling onto her face as she stares at him. she falters again, though— he looks so unbelievably proud of himself, of his own mind, but weary simultaneously and her face smiles brightly, slowly moving to bounce on her toes as to not outwardly explode in excitement.

“that’s — that’s fantastic... just—... great.”

he nods. then a soft look of revelation falls between his eyes.

“oh, and... uh—”

his hands behind him move to his front and he’s holding a small bouquet of yellow tulips between his twitching fingers and he doesn’t know what to say so he pauses before parting his lips.

“‘m sorry if they’re a bit wilted... i uh.. got them this morning.”

she’s shocked.

she’s gobsmacked and her lips are guppying as she’s trying to discover any phrase or word that she can respond to him with.

“you... what—...”

“after you left i—... just...”

he’s looking at the floor now because it embarrasses him to look at her directly, when she’s staring at him with those beautiful eyes filled to the brim with awe. there’s a twinge of disappointment he feels for himself—that for him to go out and buy her something as simple as flowers is a godsend—because she’s looking at him the same way that she did when she saw him with wet hair—

a look of pride, happiness, and somehow that diminishes any dismay he feels for himself.

“just thought... you deserved something good.”

his foot rubs atop his other.

“so...” 

he thrusts them forward, away from his body and he finally meets her eyes.

“for m’wife.” he’s blushing and biting the inside of his cheek.

her smile melts to an endeared one at the same time her heart turns to a puddle.

“you... got me flowers?” she walks forward and takes them between her fingers, eyes peering at him with awe and astonishment. “why?

he bites his lip and shrugs softly, smile cute and little on his face and it doesn’t meet his entire face, but his dimples pop out like flowers do out of the ground.

“happy first day of spring.”

[barnesthesarge]

A Bit Rusty

Shy!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky’s new to the team but doesn’t know how to warm up to you.

Warnings: swearing (the usual), angst, fluff!!

If you want to support me and my writing, my ko-fi is in my bio!!!!

The welcome ceremony of Bucky being a new Avenger was short, much to his liking. He was a changed man, a man who’d gone through many phases of life but still had plenty left. He was pleased to be in his current stage, finally feeling like he was righting his wrongs, and doing something meaningful with his time.

He was starting to like being social over the isolation he kept himself in Wakanda, and although he was constantly at Sam’s throat, the two were becoming friends. He was friends with Nat, and the two often cleaned their weapons together, and friends with Wanda who always had Vision around, and Tony even liked to joke with him. The only person Bucky was still wary of, was you.

You were never mean, and you certainly weren’t intimidating like Natasha, you were quite the opposite. Dorky and sweet, incredibly smart and very beautiful. You somehow managed to make Bucky lose his train of thought just by entering a room, of course you didn’t even know. You were absolutely oblivious to his little crush.

So when you entered the kitchen and Bucky stopped telling his embarrassing story about Steve, eyes fell on you. “Morning.” You smiled awkwardly, feeling scrutinized.

“Hi Y/N.” Sam stood up and followed you to the coffee maker.

“What were you guys talking about?” You asked with a tiny giggle as Sam kept trying to steal your coffee mug.

“Oh, Tin-man was just telling me an old war story of our stupid friend Steve.” You swatted his hands away and looked over his shoulder at Bucky, who watched you both with a tiny smirk.

“Tin-man huh? You let him call you that?” You teased Bucky and his smile dropped into a frown.

“I don’t need permission from him to do anything.” Sam took a sip of your coffee and cringed, “Ew, too sweet Y/N.” He sat back down and you leaned against the counter nervously.

“Are you guys doing anything fun today?” You asked and gulped down your coffee, turning around to make another cup.

“Not really, you?” Sam piped up, you saw him shoot a strange look at Bucky out of the corner of your eye.

“I think I might go to the library, it’s nice having these days off where I actually get to enjoy myself.” You chuckled, mixing creamer and sugar into your second cup.

“Hey, Bucky didn’t you say you needed to turn some books in? Why don’t you go with Y/N.” He suggested, you turned to look at Bucky who in turn looked at you with a terrified expression.

Bucky’s jaw went slack for a moment, “Actually I’m not finished with my books.” Sam frowned.

You took it as a hint, “Yeah, I’m gonna go, see you guys later.”

You placed your mug in the sink and rinsed it out, retreating to your room to think about how Bucky definitely hated you.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'*ﾟ▽ﾟ*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The next rainy Sunday morning found you excited for the Avenger’s movie marathon. Last month it was Harry Potter, but today was Star Wars. It was a new thing Tony decided to implement, since now there was two old men on the team, and Natasha who never watched movies. Tony was even able to drag Peter to the marathons, who always brought good snacks to share with you.

“FRIDAY, close the curtains.” Tony called out, the blackout curtains slowly went down, “Everyone ready?” He asked, earning many yes’s.

“Wait, I need to go to the bathroom!” Clint whined and exited his blanket tent he built around him and Nat, chasing it to collapse. She grumbled angrily as he sprinted out of the room.

You were comfy between Steve and Sam, Bucky on the other side of Steve. You shared a blanket with Steve and used his shoulder as a pillow. “Oh, while we wait, here’s your candy Y/N!” Peter tossed some chocolate and some skittles to you.

You gasped, “thank you Pete! If I could I’d hug you.” Peter grinned, nodding while Clint stumbled back into the room and rebuilt the fort.

Tony sat down and started The Phantom Menace, sitting beside Peter and stealing some of his candy. You relaxed into Steve and watched the movie, eating some Skittles and slyly giving some to Sam.

You were just getting to the middle of Revenge of the Sith when you started to fall asleep. It wasn’t intentional, because you loved the Star Wars Prequels the most. Steve was just so warm and comfortable you couldn’t help it.

You didn’t even hear him whisper to Bucky: “Hey, can you switch me spots? I’m dying of a heat stroke over here.” Bucky obliged and Steve leaned you onto Sam’s shoulder.

You noticed the difference in a couple minutes and grumbled, switching back to Steve’s side. You figured Steve had changed his position, because suddenly he smelled better and was even comfier than before. You wrapped your hand around his bicep and the other around his forearm and fell right back to sleep.

“Sam.” You heard the urgent plea and opened your sleepy eyes, you looked up at Bucky who looked down at you nervously, Sam pulled you off Bucky and onto his shoulder instead and Bucky left the room.

A sad sigh escaped your lips and you leaned against Sam, Peter left the room so Tony paused the movie. “Quick break time, Y/N wake up.”

You groaned and went into the kitchen for another soda, Bucky was talking to Peter in a hushed voice and Peter nodded at him, mouthing ‘sure of course Mr. Bucky’ and he walked up to you.

“Y/N can I sit next to you?” He asked, “Ned is really into these movies but I’m not, maybe you can teach me more about them!” You looked up and saw Bucky gauging your reaction.

“Of course Pete, lets make some popcorn.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'*ﾟ▽ﾟ*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

You woke up early and decided to make breakfast for everyone, quietly tiptoeing through the hallway into the kitchen. It was seven am, just thirty minutes until everyone was awake.

You lined bacon on tinfoil and set it on a timer in the oven, and then started on French toast that would later have fruit and cream cheese topping. At 7:25 you started the coffee maker and then waited. Like clockwork Natasha and Sam both came into the kitchen, Sam sporting a childish-grin.

“Good morning Y/N.” Sam dove right into making himself a plate, pressing an appreciative kiss to your cheek, while Natasha waited patiently.

“Thank you Y/N.” The redhead bumped her hip onto yours softly and made her plate, taking a quick bite of her bacon before she settled at the table.

The elevator beeped and Steve and Bucky got off, “Ooh, what’s this?” Steve peered over your shoulder, “I’m so glad I just worked out.” He grabbed a plate and handed one to Bucky who stood hesitantly to the side.

“I’m not really hungry.” He mumbled, pouring himself coffee.

Steve shot him a bewildered look, “You we’re just begging me to call it quits because you were starving, don’t be bashful and eat.” He demanded.

You made your own plate and sat down, ignoring the sting. Bucky didn’t bother putting anything besides blueberries on his French toast with two pieces of bacon. He sat as far away from you as he could.

Later, Clint came out and ate greedily, while Sam somehow convinced him to wash everyone’s dishes. You let Clint take yours while Tony strutted in to make more coffee.

“Wait who made French toast?” He asked, Steve replied saying you did and he smiled. “Angel Y/N, what would we do without you.” He patted your head affectionately as he passed by.

“Does this mean I have another dish to clean?” Clint groaned, “Wait! I wasn’t even the last to eat now! Tony is! No fair!” Clint stomped out of the room dramatically.

“Y/N, what’re you doing today?” Steve asked.

“Nothing, I figured I’d make everyone breakfast to say I did something.”

“Would you like to go window shopping around Brooklyn with me and Bucky?” He offered and Bucky stiffened in his heat.

“Oh that sounds lovely, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense, we’d both love if you went.” You nodded.

“Alright, when do you want to leave?” Steve gave you his signature smile and said in an hour.

You rushed to go change and shower, and once you were done you went to go tell Steve you were ready. His door was a crack open, you raised your fist to knock anyways but stopped when you heard loud voices.

“—Well I don’t want her going!” Bucky growled, “You said this was for me! I can’t believe you would invite her when clearly it’s the last thing I’d want.”

“Buck, come on! You just need a push in the right direction, remember? Those were your words just this morning!” You peaked to see flailing arms and Bucky’s upset expression.

“Yeah well I didn’t mean invite her to witness my episode of seeing what Brooklyn has become over the course of 70 years! You’re an asshole. I don’t even want to go! You guys go.” He grumbled, poking his metal hand into Steve’s chest aggressively.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna keep brooding? Whatever Bucky, see how far it gets you.” Bucky went to step out of the room and turned back to face Steve.

“I don’t want her around me Steve. I can’t make this clear enough. The only thing she ever does is make me uneasy. Have fun in Brooklyn.” The door opened all the way and Bucky froze, seeing the tears in your eyes and how deflated your posture was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to list—I’ve tried to make you like me..I’m sorry.” You stepped back before he could see you crying and went straight into your room.

You couldn’t get the horrible image of his shocked face, knowing that you heard his angry tirade about you. You sank against the door and cried for a long time. You hadn’t been disliked in so long, and you hated how sensitive you were.

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After a long day and night of refusing to leave your bedroom, even for dinner, you slept in until nine. You wondered just how long you were willing to isolate yourself, when there was a knock on your door.

You walked in front of the door, “Yeah?” You spoke into the intercom.

“Can I come in?” Steve asked, you clenched your jaw and opened the door.

Steve came in and shut the door behind him, sitting down on your bed. You crossed your arms and sat down next to him. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“It’s not like you were the one talking about not wanting to be around me.” You sighed and leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You realize you only got a snippet of that conversation right?” You shrugged. “I didn’t mean to leave my door open in the first place, but Bucky came in yelling so I got distracted. You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah it makes a difference whether he says it behind closed doors or somewhere I can hear it right?” You stood up and paced away from the bed.

“That’s not what I mean Y/N.” You looked at Steve, who held a strangely guilty expression. “Look, Bucky..he’s a bit rusty with uh..” Steve licked his lips, “ladies.”

“What on earth are you going on about Steve? Barnes talks to Nat and Wanda just fine! He doesn’t have to like me Steve. I just wish that you would stop making excuses for him. Maybe it’s good I heard what I heard so I can stop trying so hard to be his friend!” You spat.

“Woah woah Y/N. Not trying to make excuses, look he doesn’t see you the same way he sees Natasha or Wanda. He’s friends with them but with you—“

“He doesn’t like me.” You finished for him, “Of course he doesn’t see me the same way.” You moved to stare out your window and bite at your lip upset.

“He actually likes you, like a lot.” Steve stood up and walked to stand beside you, “Bucky always asks about you, he always tries to secretly stare at you. He’s just so bad at admitting he likes the way you try to include him even though you don’t know him. And he doesn’t know how to flirt anymore, because that man died from falling off a train.” You looked at Steve weirdly, who was now watching you with a clouded stare.

“Steve?” You waved a hand in front of his face, squinting at him, “That’s kind of weird you know all that about Bucky.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I can tell you about how he can’t stop thinking about when you fell asleep on his shoulder during Star Wars. Or how he likes that you read a lot too, he also tries to figure out what you’re reading to try and get to know you, and—“

“Steve what the hell.” You stepped away from him, “You’re overstepping way too much. You’re acting weird.”

“Listen to me Y/N, Bucky said he doesn’t even deserve to be close to you because of all the shit in his past, maybe that’s why—“

“Stop talking.” You growled, “If Bucky wanted me to know he would tell me, this is wrong Steve.”

“I guess you’re right, but see Bucky does want you to know, let me just..” He reached up and pulled off one of Tony’s prototypes for hologram disguises, and you felt energy course into your hands to defend yourself from whoever was using Steve’s face to get in your room to kill you.

Except under the mask was Bucky, with his hair pulled into a bun, an anxious expression on his face. He scratched the back of his neck, “Sorry I just didn’t think you’d let me in if..” he looked into your Y/E/C eyes and froze for a moment until he looked away, “If you saw that it was me.”

You pulled the energy back into your hands and got out of your defensive stance, you turned away and crossed your arms again. “What the fuck.” You mumbled.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I don’t know how to treat a crush anymore and I also don’t know what dating is like now...I just figured maybe—“

“Just shut up.” You turned back to face him and he immediately looked away, “Look at me.” You demanded.

Bucky’s shoulders went rigid, “I’m sorry.” He said again, he tapped his foot anxiously, “I’m not the man who fought alongside Captain America... Definitely not the one who gets the girl anymore.”

“Bucky, you realize that if you just, I don’t know, talked to me then we could’ve become friends, and I’d be more than willing to help you?” Bucky’s eyes dropped to the floor again, “Stop looking away you’re driving me crazy. This is all so sudden! And crazy! Why—“

“Because I didn’t know what else to do!” His eyes clamped shut, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell.” He opened his eyes again and stepped closer to you, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about this.” He gestured between you two.

“There isn’t a this Bucky.” You shook your head, “I would’ve helped you figure it out too.”

“Would’ve.” You heard the disappointment in his voice and wanted to kick yourself. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Quit it, just—sit down.” Bucky sat on the bed while you paced back and forth in thought, “You’re telling me this entire time you pushed me away and blew me off because you didn’t know how to flirt with me?”

Bucky nodded slowly, “I just can’t believe you didn’t notice. Everyone has been teasing me about it since forever, and that’s why Sam and Steve always try to push us together.”

“Maybe you should’ve listened.” You fidgeted your hands.

“Yeah I know, but I don’t even know how to act around you. You’re something else Y/N. I’ve never met anyone like you, you’re so beautiful and so smart, and sweet to everyone, and I’ve seen you take bullets for the team—I just wanted to...” His eyes fogged up, “I just wanted you to be my girl.” Bucky didn’t even look into your eyes, “But between all the things I’ve done and my inexperience with dames, I know I’d never get far.”

“You haven’t even tried.” Bucky looked up at you sadly.

“Can I try now?” Bucky had a strange-almost pleading sound to his voice.

“Well according to you—and Steve—you have no idea what you’re doing, so how are you gonna try Bucky?” He blushed.

“I’m gonna ask around. And I’m gonna research it online, maybe I’ll go to the library and see if they have dating manuals.” He missed your silent laugh.

“Bucky you’re killing me, did you really just suggest a dating manual?” Bucky looked at you self consciously, “Why don’t you and I just go to the library together, and we can actually talk, and get to know each other.” You suggested and he beamed.

“Yes! Okay, Y/N lets go on a date!” You rolled your eyes, “Okay yeah I went too far on that one, Y/N, lets go hangout at the library.”

“That’s better. Just..don’t ever dress up as Steve again.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'*ﾟ▽ﾟ*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Six months later you and Steve were in the kitchen making cupcakes for everyone, he bumped his hip on yours and smirked, “So you and Bucky have been getting pretty close.”

You huffed, “And? What about it?” You cracked an egg and levitated a stray shell out, tossing it in the garbage, while Steve began mixing it.

“He seems really happy s’all. Are you guys getting serious?” He asked, his curious protectiveness kicking in.

You leaned against his shoulder and smiled to yourself so he wouldn’t see, “Yes.”

Steve dropped his big spoon in the bowl and turned you to face him, “Y/N, please tell me you aren’t going to—“

“Steve quit it, he’s not your baby, or your bitch. I’m not going to hurt him.” He nodded.

“Do you want to marry him?” He questioned innocently.

You blushed, “Why do you want to know? Did he put you to this?”

“No Y/N, I just want to know.” He stammered.

“I don’t think Bucky is ready for marriage.” Steve stirred the batter thoughtfully for a moment.

“Have you asked him?” He looked at you with a tiny smile.

“Why would I ask him that?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, “I think someday we could get married, but for now I just want to live in the present. I love Bucky, but it’s just one day at a time, ya’know?” Steve nodded.

“For what it’s worth, he’s never been stable with a dame, so something tells me he wants to marry you t—“ Steve walked into the kitchen and the Steve mixing the bowl froze.

The Steve that walked into the kitchen stared before getting ready to attack, but the one mixing quickly pulled off his mask and you sighed. “Bucky what the hell?!” Steve growled, smacking him on the arm harshly.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t pretend to be Steve anymore.” You whined, “Why are you asking me abou—oh my god.” Steve furrowed his eyebrows and Bucky blushed a dark crimson.

“I’m so confused..” Steve eyed you both carefully, “Is there something you guys want to share?” He started to smirk.

“Steve get out.” You ordered and he sighed and left the room, “Bucky is this your way of asking me—“

“Doll I just wanted to see if you would ever be willing to get married, just wanted to see if I got the right girl on my arm..” The door opened again and Steve grinned like a child.

“Wait, you were borrowing my face to see if Y/N would marry you?! Holy shit! Y/N please tell me—“ Bucky shoved him back out the door and you giggled.

“Bucky I’m lucky to have you, and I love you, but I promise that if you ever decide to dress as Steve to ask me an important question like that again I’ll destroy you.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him slowly.

“So the answer is someday?” Steve had his head popped in the doorway.

“Yeah.” Bucky replied and kissed you again, causing the door to shut quickly with a cheer, and Steve’s footsteps running to Sam’s room. “Next time I might have to be Natasha just so you’re not onto me.”

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A/N: Hehe I hope you guys liked this one, it was super fun to write. Anyways I wanted to end this by saying I’m headed off to college on Sep 20th and after that I’m not sure how often I’ll update, but since writing is like ,, my biggest passion, hopefully as often as possible. That being sad, college is expensive so if you wanna support me, my ko-fi is in my bio (-; all my taglists and requests are open! 💜