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chocolatedutchthehoe · 3 years

Text

Another Diamond Day.

TW: Cancer, Mentions of death.

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The sun peeked through my sheer curtains as I laid flat on my bed reaching above me. It’s rays kissed my eyelids, the tenderness of warmth lingered on my cheek and I smiled into its warmth. I don’t get this feeling often.

Its unexplainable.

This feeling, much like motivation, is fleeting. Some days I let it slip through the tiniest crack of my fingers. Other days The aches in my body melt away over night as I wake with purpose. I uncover myself from my soft linens and sit up allowing my feet to dangle freely over my plush white rug.

I take in the warmth of the sun, the smile set on my face for the day. I yawned loudly, standing and opening the large window in front of me and breathing in deeply the cool crisp air.

I don’t get many days like this but when I do I feel it through my body. I feel light, airy, as if if I jumped just a little bit my body would simply float above the satin covers sprawled across my bed.

I sat back down reaching behind me to touch the only tangible thing in my bed other than my covers. My body followed my arms as I laid back, I caressed his upper left thigh with my hand and laid my head on his stomach. The rise and fall of his toned abdomen made me feel like just my head was on a boat floating ever so softly up and down a small tide.

He sucked in a deep breath finally waking up before reaching above himself and stretching then bringing his fingers back down and playing in my tree rooted like Locs. Twisting the fully closed ends in between his pointer and thumb before slowly making his way up to my freely new hair.

“You have to re-twist it soon right?”

I chuckled a little.

“Its retighten and yes baby I do. But I will do it after my appointment.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“I know you are you weren’t gonna let me go without you anyway..”

I stared at the ceiling as silence filled the room.

“Are you scared..”

It was more of a statement then a question. But Dom was mostly asking himself.

“No... I’m prepared.”

I stood where I once was before he woke and rounded our bed to his side. Taking his hand in mine and leading him to the our connected on sweet bathroom.

We washed out bodies together; the water from the shower head above rushed from our heads to our toes. He watched me under tired lids. The lazy smile he stretched across his face. I couldn’t help but trace his chest with my fingers. We stood, For what seemed like hours, in each others presence was merely fifteen minutes as we took turns washing our bodies we couldn’t help but love each other in the process. Even if it was for just a moment just to take our mind off of the task we had to

Overcome today.

He stepped out first drying himself feverishly as I stayed under the water that has now turned cold. The fog from

Our heat escaped the bathroom as he opened the door to the bedroom. I gave it a few seconds letting the cold water run down my neck and chest before turning it off and following in pursuit.

We dressed comfortably. I wore my shirred beige backless hemmed dress with white sandals and he matched with his light brown slacks and white turtle neck. We bonded in the kitchen making our favorites for breakfasts. French toast with bananas, sweet sausage and eggs with a side of chopped fruit.

I like tea.. He likes coffee. I like the smell of coffee... He claims he doesn’t think teas have a smell. I smile to myself at the arguments we have about whether they do or don’t.

It’s the first day of spring, although the sun is out it was still chilly.

“Don’t forget your jacket.”

I rolled my eyes with my back facing him and my right hand on our front doorknob.

“I don’t think it’s that cold outside.”

I tried to convince with no luck. He sucked his teeth making his way to our coat closet and pulling out both our jackets.

“You don’t ever think it’s ‘That Cold’, Alana.”

He took my hand in his as he led me down the hallway, to the elevator and down to the garage to the car. We walked in unison towards his truck, both rounding to the passenger side. He opened the door and I took the passenger seat as he shut my door and rounded to the drivers side.

We drove in a comfortable silence. The stereo playing a random FM radio and his hand clasped over mine on the center console. The streets were quiet as if the day was made for us. No traffic, no loud noise from impatient drivers slamming their fist on the center of their wheel and screaming out their window. The trees were green, vibrant and lively. Although today was the first day of spring it’s has been warm for weeks with slight rain showers allowing the plants of all different shapes and sizes bloom freely.

The people on the side walks walked with purpose as the sun followed us to our destination. I opened the sunroof, The breeze was warm I could feel it on every part of my skin as it blew through my locs and tickled the top of my head. My doctors office wasn’t far but I know Dom took the longer routs just to waste time. Finally pulling into the parking lot. He stepped out first from the parked car and I Waited for him to make his way to my side as he always made me do. ‘Don’t touch my door.’ Was what he always told me. He grabbed ahold of my hand with his left as his right hand held the door open. The wind once again embraced me, it flew past my covered arms, giving me goosebumps, and dipped between my legs lifting my dress. We walked once again hand in hand into the large brick building. Patients, Doctors, Nurses, and other medical staff filled the large common area seemingly wandering aimlessly although I knew they had an agenda.

The secretary gave us directions to outpatient. When we arrived I signed myself in and got my blood pressure taken. We sat in the waiting room listening to the chiming bells and awaiting a nurse to announce my name.

His large fingers danced in my open palm as we watched whatever they had on their main television. A few minutes have gone by since we’ve been seated and I rested my head on his shoulder trying to stay awake.

“Alana Cole.”

my head lifted in response as the nurse smiled from the door way ushering us through. We followed her to an empty office and before she turned to leave she smiled again.

“Dr. Andrews will be in with you in a moment.” She shut the door.

We sat in silence, something that seemed to be in a common repetition for us today. But I could tell this silence more than the others. It was tense. Dom bounced his left leg nervously and roughly massaged my left hand. The weight of the world was on his shoulders for some reason. He breathed heavily and ever time he exhaled he pursed his lips like he wanted to whistle, blowing his cheeks out. I rested my right hand over his eager ones.

“Calm down baby.” I caressed his cheek taking my free hand turning his head away from the door where he stared waiting for the doctor.

I kissed him softly hopefully taking his mind off the inevitable that was sure to come. Even if it was for just a moment.

The doctor entered. Dom stood shaking his hand. I mimicked to not seem rude although it wouldn’t have made a difference.

“How are you guys this morning?”

He asked unease though he tried not to show it.

“We’re doing okay. A little timid if I’m being honest.”

Dom answered. He was scared.

“Well let’s not waste time then.” Dr. Andrews stood, pulling an image from a file folder with my name labeled on it. He attached it to a white board with an LED light on it to see more clearly.

“As you can see here we are in the early stages of Three. Which is a little further than what we were hoping for as far as surgery goes. The tumor has spread from the lower muscular tissue on the left side of you brain down to your left shoulder and c-v in your spine. That’s where the tightness and soreness you were talking about come in. It is still treatable with some chemo radiation therapy.”

“How early can we start therapy?” Dom jumped to the edge of his seat.

He and Dr. Andrews pondered through treatment strategies. I couldn’t help but fall into my own diseased mind. Their voices faded away as I took in my surroundings...

More importantly Dom’s face. His dark curly hair that contrasted perfect with his light brown eyes. The specs of green the surrounded the edges of his iris. His smooth brown skin was Arguably lighter than mine as I spent more Time Outside then he did. His chiseled jaw was perfectly even and his beard connected from his hair line to the end of his chin. He was always so clean shaven. His eyes curved down like a falling crescent moon. And he had the nose bridge of a Nubian prince. His smile was a bright as th-

“How does that sound Ms.Cole..”

Breaking away from my thoughts I smiled at him. I didn’t hear a word he said but did it really matter.

“If I don’t go through with treatment how long would you estimate my time.”

“Oh I’m-. we would have plenty of time if we started this week.“

“If we didn’t?”

“Alana he’s saying we can start trea-“

“I heard what he said baby.... I just want to know.”

The doctor pondered.

“I would estimate roughly eight- ten months if you refuse treatment..”

I nodded understandingly. Picking up my purse and going to shake his hand once again.

“Alana the chances of chemo going well outweighs anything else. And once we are able to shrink the tumor to a manageable size surgery would be just as easy. I would like you to take it into consideration.”

I knodded again holding his one large hand in both of my small ones.

“Thank you.”

I looked back at Dominic expecting my stance to be a signal to him to follow but he seemed to be still processing my choice.

“Dom let’s go.”

he stood from his chair, still dazed by the conversation that happened mere seconds ago, and walked towards the doctor shaking his hand with begging eyes.

“You two have a wander full day.”

We made our way back to the car. The sun was higher in the sky, the heat more prominent. The rays hit our faces as we walked towards the parking lot. I was a foot

In front of him. He treaded slowly behind me but his long legs didn’t allow him to fall far behind. I reached the truck before Dom waiting for him to open the door. He stopped just a hair before me and squinted up at the sky. He took my small hand in his and held on fully as apposed to me holding his pointer and middle. And squeezed . He pulled me

Into him and held me longingly. Kissing the my forehead like it was the first time we were meeting after years of separation but at the same time like we were parting again.

“I love you.” He whispered to the top of my head.

“I love you more...”

“You can be so selfish sometimes...”

He continued. Tears stained his face, falling in pattern onto my forehead and down my face.

“How do you manage, with so much love around you, how do you manage to be so selfish Alana.”

He was angry though he didn’t let go. I was dying and there was nothing he could Do about it.

‘How could I love him and do this to him.’ Is what he wanted to say.

I don’t know how. So I kept quiet.

He wasted no time reaching behind me and opening my door. I sat down and he closed the door roughly trying not to slam it. He made his way to the drivers side.

I watched as he started the engine and put the car into reverse. He tried not to look at me. For the first time I couldn’t tell what he held in his eyes. The mixed emotions that swirled in his golden iris’s were clouded by tears he refused to let fall.

Sitting forward he put the car in drive and clasped his hand over mine on the center console. The drive back home was hotter and the radio played louder to void what would have been an uncomfortable silence.

I don’t get many days like this but when I do I feel it through my body. I feel light, airy, as if if I jumped just a little bit my body would simply float. I didn’t want to ruin it.

#Love #black #black woman #black man #Sage #SageTheGemini #couple #sad #aesthetic #BlackLive #BLM

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mugiwara-rosewolf · 4 years

Note

what do you think an average day in the strawhat kitchen would be like?

Yay!! My first ask! Thank you so much, Anon! I decided to write about the morning part of the day, if that’s okay. I’m setting this scenario after Water 7 and before Thriller Bark because I forgot about Brook & Jinbe. I hope you enjoy!

Italics = dialogue (including rudimentary French)

Bold Italics = Japanese (spelled out, idk kanji)

Gif by 1997onepiece

An Average Day

The day begins early. There’s a thread of light leaking under the door even before dawn. Peeking in, a familiar lanky-noodle of a man can be seen in rumpled clothes, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. The soft clatter of dishes can be heard as his hands shuffle about on autopilot. One fist lifting a pan from a cabinet. Another fidgeting with the silk knot of his tie. A wisp of smoke trails from the corner of his lip and out the porthole window.

Every color of dawn passes through the windows. Dusky grey as the seas and shadows of night give way to light. He readjusts the buttons on his shirt that he missed. Faded indigo grows bright as flares of sunlight scatter across the wide open sky. He settles the loop of his tie under his collared shirt. The knot sits right beneath his throat. By then, the world out the window is nothing but blue.

Freshly pressed and clean as a chef can be, ‘Black Leg’ Sanji sets to work. The sizzling of ingredients over an open flame is enough to draw a few groaning bed-heads and rumbling stomachs into the room. Most are aware enough to mumble a greeting, which the chef appreciates. A small smile tugs at the edge of his cigarette as he registers each voice.

“Good morning, Chef-san,” a sweet voice croons into the room.

The click of recognition in Sanji’s brain is enough to send his heart a-flutter. “Robin-chwan!” Steam erupts from his ears like grease in a hot pan. “What a wonder it is to see you this lovely morning!” he crows. Spinning around on a perfectly-polished heel, he serves his beloved crewmate on the pristine porcelain plate she so admired back in Water 7. “A breakfast sandwich for our lovely nightingale. Bon appetit, mon amie.”

Robin hides a darling chuckle behind a delicate hand. Sanji can feel his knees wanting to crumble under the rush of hearing her laughter. Sparkling joy rushes down his spine. But he quickly shakes himself. There are more meals to be made, after all. And many more crewmates to feed.

Just as the willowy blonde cook turns back to the stove, he hears the crisp clop-clop of hooves on the hardwood floor. “Bon-bonjou--” A bright, squeaky little yawn follows the groaning of the kitchen door. “Bon morning, Sanji~”

The older cook chuckles to himself. “Très bonjour, Chopper,” He says, passing him a little wrapped package from the pantry. “This chocolate has some nuts in it, that okay?” The little reindeer gives a sleepy nod before wandering to sit next to the elegant Robin. Sanji smiles a little, gnawing on his cigarette.

All-too-soon, that chain-smoking cook hears the all-too familiar stomps of boots. The tinkling of scabbards like wind chimes rambles closer and closer until a bulky black shadow stands in the doorway. Sanji grits his teeth, nearly sawing his smoke in half. “Marimo.”

“Curly brow.”

“Go sit down.” The chef ground out. “Your food’s almost ready.”

“I think I’ll just stand here, actually.”

Sanji whirls around towards the swordsman. “You trying to piss me off, moss-hea—“

“Morning, Sanji-kun!”

Suddenly it was as if the clouds parted and the heavens opened up before him. But even the clouds of Skypiea could have hosted such a gorgeous angel. Sanji’s spinning feet nearly collapse underneath him. He pushes himself off the counter, eager to greet the darling of the Strawhat crew.

“Ah, Nami-swan!” He smiles, his heart singing at the sight of her. “What a blinding vision you are, a gift from the sea goddess herself!” He takes her hand in his, as if inviting her to dance. Her fiery sunset hair flares in the early morning light. Her warmth amber eyes dance with flattered mirth. The softness of her hand against his calloused palm has Sanji’s pulse fluttering in his ears. He leads her gracefully to the table, where she’s seated with fresh squeezed orange juice and a bowl of equally-Colorful fruit salad. “Profiter, belle mademoiselle.”

“Merci beaucoup, Sanji-kun!”

If it weren’t for the brooding Marimo glaring a variety of blades into his back, Sanji may have just fainted on the spot. However, determined to maintain his composure, he simply lifted a bento from the table and showed it to the man over his shoulder. “I told you to sit down, Moss-head. You forget where your spot was?”

Zoro grunted. Marching up to the table he swiped the bento from Sanji’s grip and dropped himself down on the dining room bench. The chef huffed. Ungrateful brute. And a messy one at that. Within a moment of sitting down, he has rice grains stuck to his cheeks and chin. Sanji rolled his eyes and returned to work. At least Zoro was enjoying the meal. That was all a good cook could ask for.

“urgh-guh-morning...” the rambling natter of a long-nosed sniper sounds almost gravely at such an early hour. Sanji can hear the soft scritch-scratch of the young man ruffling his mop of unruly curls.

“Mornin’ Long-nose,” he greets the younger man. He thinks he might hear a grumble of protest from the rumpled boy. Sanji chuffs to himself. Wordlessly, he passes Ussop a seafood omelette and a bottle of tabasco on his shuffle to the table. After a moment of hushed tapping, ceramic and silverware and murmurs of morning voices—Sanji blinks. He turns to the sniper once more. “Where’s Franky?”

“Bulled in all-Nighteye in da-shop again,” Ussop slurs. “He’s passed out. Da-sided to let’em sleep this time.”

The chef absorbs this information with a thoughtful nod. He knows there’s another bento box in the cabinet somewhere. He just needs to find one to fit Franky’s appetite. The shop is his anchoring place. Sanji will take the shipwright’s meal down there before washing up. Everybody gets messy in that place.

Speaking of appetite—“SANJI~!!”

Everybody looked up. The cook turned and braced for impact. Sure enough—THWAP! The rubbery captain smacked into him with all the force of a Marine cannonball. Sanji heaved, but managed to stand his ground. All the while, Luffy was chanting.

“Oi, Sanji! I smell food, you got food? I smell meat, do you have meat? I love meat, ‘specially meat on the bone. You got any of that, Sanji?!”

“You bet your ass I do,” Sanji retorted. Pulling open the SUPER deluxe oven Franky made last week, the chef reveals his culinary masterpiece. Three dinosaur-sized legs of meat, with a cleaned bone on one side, just like his captain liked it.

He’d had to let them marinade overnight just to make sure he didn’t make the rubber-twerp sick with undercooked meat. He wasn’t sure the impulsive freak could get sick. But he didn’t want to be the one to test that theory. Franky had to assure him many times over that the oven wouldn’t catch fire if left in attended. Just looking at the finished product, Sanji could feel his tired bones sag with relief.

Luffy had all three ‘meat sticks’ in hand in the blink of an eye. Sanji turned and growled at him. “Go sit and eat at the table, you rubber animal!”

“Course I will, Sanji. I’ll always eat what you cook!” Luffy replies with a beaming grin.

“That’s not what I—”

“Hey Ussop! I got more meat than you!”

“Of course you did, Luffy, you’re a freak of nature.”

“I think you mean force of nature—“ Nami-san commented dryly.

And so their chatter continued. Every voice overlapping and rising in a joyful noise unlike Sanji had ever heard before. Even when he sailed on the Orbit, or with the fighting cooks on the Baratie. The next time he blinked, that thrice-blasted swordsman was in front of him again. Empty bento in hand, mossy green hair mussed in all directions—the stoic fool eyed him with a level stare. Sanji was just about to bark an insult at him when...Zoro’s sash brushed past his arm. He walked just close enough so Sanji could hear:

“Itadaki—merci, Ero-cook. You did good.”

Where little embers of embarrassment were glowing on the swordsman’s ears, Sanji’s face caught fire. He stomped out his cigarette. Then quickly lit another. One deep breath. A plume of smoke follows his exhale like a sleeping dragon.

“De-rien—Dou itashimashite. Anytime, Baka.”

#straw hat pirates #one piece #rosewolf writes #mugiwara #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #op luffy #rosewolf #black leg sanji #rosewolf requests #rosewolf asks

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spooks-and-tea · 4 years

Text

Angel (Spencer Reid fem!Reader)

Word count: 3,781

Warnings: The usual Criminal Minds stuff, violence

Summary: You’re not sure where you are or what is happening, but you are sure that you’re being saved by an angel.

You’re an actress. An actress in a movie. This is all fiction, written and directed by Hollywood elites. This is your part to play. You aren’t really in agonizing pain. The leaves and rocks scratching the bottoms of your feet is actually grass and yellow daffodils. You aren’t in a dark, forested place, you’re in a bright, open field. You’re crying for the camera. This isn’t real.

Keep walking. Just keep walking forward.

You’re not sure why, but you’re walking towards bright lights.

Maybe they are camera lights?

They’re moving like the beam of a lighthouse, bringing you out of your dream.

This is your big moment, the final act.

You fall to the ground. The soft grass becomes rocks and twigs. They scratch your palms and you roll over onto your back.

The sunlit field go dark; large, old trees grow around you as your body grows heavier. There’s pain; you’re in so much pain. You’re confused, scared, and you’ve never felt so alone.

Except you’re not alone. The beams of light are real, voices are echoing through the trees.

A gust of wind sweeps through the canopy of branches and leaves float through the air, onto you. You’ve never noticed how pretty a leaf gliding on the wind could be; it’s a delicate dance, like a ballet in nature. Maybe, if you close your eyes, you’ll be able to drift into the wind with them. Maybe you can just float away from the pain.

“Y/N!”

The voices are louder now. Are they real?

“Y/N!”

It’s one voice that’s louder than the rest. How does it know your name? Why does it sound as sweet as wind chimes dipped in caramel? Is it an angel?

You try to lift your head to look, but your body is too heavy. You watch the lights illuminating the trees, one light is so close to you. You smile slightly at the light, but you’re not sure why it brings you joy.

Show me how to drift away, angel.

“Y/N!”

The voice is so loud now, it drowns out all the rest. You feel the need to answer the angel.

“I-I’m here. I’m here.” Your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you; it’s hoarse and scratchy.

Why does my throat hurt so much?

“Wait, I think I heard something!” The same voice yells. It’s so loud now, you swear it’s just behind you.

“I’m here. I’m- I’m here,” you try one last time. Your voice gives out as the last syllable leaves your mouth.

Your vision is starting to blur as the light beam grows larger and larger, until it’s shining directly in your face. You close your eyes in pain.

“I’ve found her! She’s over here!” The angel yells. You hear the leaves crunch violently next to you.

“Y/N. Y/N stay awake for me, alright? Just- just stay awake a little longer. Help is coming.”

You open your eyes at your angel’s soft voice.

He’s beautiful. You can practically see a golden aura around him. His eyes are searching yours and they hold so much warmth. You want to trace the curve of his cheekbones and run your fingers through his curls just to make sure he’s tangible.

That must be my guardian angel.

Having him near you gives you just enough strength to drag your hand to his. He looks down as you weakly thread your fingers through his. You don’t want to let go of him in fear that you’ll be alone again. You want to hold on to the angel.

He looks back up at you and covers your joined hands with his free hand. You’re shivering, but he’s so warm. As long as you’re near him, somehow you know he’ll keep you safe.

“You’re safe now, I promise.”

In your peripheral vision, you see more lights nearing you, but you pay little mind to them in favor of drowning in the warmth of your angel’s eyes.

“My guardian angel,” you whisper. You look at him with all the love left in your damaged heart.

You want to listen to your angel when he tells you to stay awake, but your eyelids are growing too heavy. Without warning, you lose consciousness.

Your dreams are empty, and maybe that’s a good thing. You’re sure when you slowly open your eyes to a blinding white light that you’re dead. The image clears and reveals a white room. A machine beeps next to you. Your mouth has never felt so dry and your whole body is stiff.

There’s a blonde woman next to you, you think she’s pretty, but she’s not your angel.

“Where-“ your voice cracks and the woman’s eyes widen as she sees you’re awake.

“Here, sweetheart.” She has a motherly voice that only comforts you half as much as your angel’s voice.

She holds up a cup with a straw to your mouth and you take small sips, your throat feels tight as you swallow.

“My name is JJ. I’m an FBI agent. We talked on the phone once, do you remember?” She asks as she sets the empty cup down.

You wince as you try to remember, a deep pain throbs in your brain. You shake your head, starting to feel panicked at the situation. You’re not dead, you’re still living in this hell.

“Are the painkillers starting to wear off? I can call a nurse in.” JJ speaks.

You shake your head again, eyes darting around the room for him.

“Where’s my angel? I-I want my angel.” Your voice sounds as panicked as you feel.

JJ frowns.

“Sweetheart I don’t know who your angel is, can you give me a description, so I can find them?”

Her words calm you down just enough to regulate the beeping of the machine next to you.

“He found me. I was about to give up and he held me and made me feel safe. I want my angel. Please. I want to feel safe.” You plead.

“Did he have an FBI vest?”

You think for a moment and nod.

“Did he have curly brown hair?”

“Yes. Please, I want my angel here.” You whisper.

A tear slides down your cheek. JJ’s eyes follow it.

“Listen Y/N. I know who your angel is and I can bring him here, but I need to know that you can cooperate with us when I do. We need to ask you some questions that you might not be comfortable with so we can catch the man who did this to you before he hurts someone else.”

“I’ll do anything, just give me my angel, please.” You don’t have to think twice before agreeing.

“Okay, just give me 5 minutes, he’s not far. Will you be okay alone here for 5 minutes?”

“Yes.” You calm your breathing even more knowing he’s close.

JJ leaves, giving you a strange look.

You study the bleak, white room you’re in. There’s a small tv in the corner and you’re sure this is a hospital. The sickeningly medicinal smell is something that’s hard to place anywhere else. An IV is hooked between you and a machine. You’re sure the beeping is going to drive you crazy if it doesn’t stop soon. The pain in your head is beginning to throb again and it’s spreading to your stiff limbs.

You move your toes, trying to stretch your muscles. A sharp pain pricks the soles and it comes back to you. The forest. The rocks. Snapping twigs. Cracking leaves. Your breathing goes heavy; it feels so real. You’re there again, in the forest. Where’s your angel? You need him.

“No, no, no.”

Tears are welling up as you try to prop yourself up on your elbows. Your arms are weak, the stiff muscles shake in protest. The beeping of the machine quickens.

“Y/N.”

All it takes is one word from him to snap you out of your memory. Your chest heaves as you watch him walk through the door, closing it behind him. He walks slowly towards you, careful to not scare you, but he could never scare you. He was the safest thing you knew.

“Do you want to sit up more? I can help you.” His words are gentle.

You nod ‘yes,’ unable to form words.

His touch is just as gentle and as warm as you remember as he holds your arm and supports your back. It gives you the strength you need to sit up further.

“There. Are you comfortable?”

You nod again, looking only at him.

He takes JJ’s chair and settles in next to you. You reach out your hand and he looks down at it. He hesitates, but slides his fingers through yours. You take a deep breath, finally feeling safe.

He waits until you’re comfortable enough to speak.

“Why am I still here?”

He frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you take me? Why couldn’t you have just let me die? Everything hurts me here.” You speak, searching his eyes.

He looks taken aback, his mouth opens and closes as he tries to form words.

“I-I”

“You’re my guardian angel. You’re supposed to protect me.”

His eyes soften in understanding.

“Y/N, I’m not-“

He stops himself when he sees your dried tears that stain your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” He says, standing up.

You clasp his hand for dear life.

“Where are you going? Please stay.”

Spencer would never say he stayed because of the desperation in your voice. He wouldn’t admit that he felt something ache in his chest at the beautiful, broken girl in front of him.

After a month of grueling over this case, a month of being teased by an unsub at the BAU’s failure to locate you, a month of staring at your picture and apologizing before finding sleep. He made a promise to protect you and he knew he had to be the one to find you.

He knew all of this culminated in your mind, in an effort to protect yourself from the pain, as a dream. You made a safe world to live in where he was your guardian angel.

He can’t destroy your dream, not yet.

So Spencer stays. He holds your hand without a passing thought of the germs exchanged. He needs to be strong for you.

“I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

You visibly relax and give his hand a squeeze. You look at him with so much adoration, it makes his chest ache more. You’re waiting for an answer, he knows he has to choose his words carefully.

“You’re strong, you know. You can pull through this.”

You give him a sad look. He has to look down at your intertwined hands to catch his breath.

“Will you help me?”

It’s a loaded question. He wants to help you, but he isn’t the kind of doctor you need. There are boundaries he can’t cross as this is an active case and his previous relationship to you is already making Hotch question if he should be involved.

You’re a victim, you’re suffering and see him as your hero. He doesn’t want to take advantage of your state as some sort of sick savior complex. You have no clue who he is, no memory of him. It pains him, but he has to bring those memories back if they are going to catch this unsub. He’s no angel, and the moment you realize that will be the moment you really break down.

“I’m right here, but in order for me to stay, I’m going to need you to remember some things that are going to hurt you. I-I also don’t want you to call me your angel anymore, okay? Call me Spencer.” He skips the formalities. Calling him doctor would only make you more uneasy; he has to be careful.

Spencer. It sounds right.

“Okay, Spencer.” You swallow your nerves.

“Do you remember how you got here?” Your angel, Spencer, asks.

There is no going back to your safe place now.

“You found me in a forest. You saved me.”

“Can you tell me in more detail?”

You nod.

“I was walking in a forest, I-I didn’t have a destination. I just knew I had to walk straight until I couldn’t anymore. I fell and my body was-it was so heavy, I couldn’t move. I saw lights and I heard you calling my name. I knew immediately by your voice that I needed you.”

Spencer frowns at your choice of words, but nods for you to continue.

“I called out for you and you heard me. When I opened my eyes all I could see was you and this beautiful golden aura. I felt safe, finally; I wasn’t scared anymore. Then I passed out and woke up here.” You finish. Your brain is starting to register the pain in your soles again.

“My feet, they’re scratched up, aren’t they?” For the first time, you start to study your injured body.

“They are. You didn’t have shoes when I found you. You were also wearing a torn dress, it was torn before you were in the forest. Do you remember how it got like that?”

You squint at a deep purple bruise on your arm. It starts to throb.

“No. I’m sorry.” You want to give him the answers, but something in your mind is making the gap of missing time hazy.

“That’s okay. You’re doing great.”

“Before the forest, what is the last thing you remember?”

This one takes some thought. There has to be a specific point in time that you can place, but your sense of time is muddled. There’s a scene, however, a recurring scene playing in your head and you aren’t sure if it is entirely made up.

You close your eyes to coax out the memory.

“I think- I see something. I see you, I think. You’re on a screen and you’re angry. I-I don’t want you to be angry, but I’m angry too. I can’t make out what you’re saying.” You frown.

“Are you outside?”

“Yes, I see pavement moving under the screen. I’m holding a cellphone. I’m walking in the dark.”

“Look around, is there anyone around you? Do you hear footsteps? Are there any smells that stick out to you?”

“I can’t hear anything. It’s like I’m watching a silent film. I think I smell something, though. It’s strong. Cigar ash. My dad used to smoke them, it has to be that.”

“Follow that smell, where is it coming from?”

You turn your head slightly.

“There’s an alleyway. I’ve just passed it, but there’s a cloud of smoke coming out of it.” You scrunch your nose and clasp his hand tighter to ground yourself. You distantly feel his thumb drawing figure 8’s.

“I don’t understand. Why are you there? Is it real? Did this happen?” You ask.

“It’s real.”

“I feel someone behind me. I’m watching you on the screen, but someone grabs me. I drop the phone. Their hand is over my mouth.” You reach your free hand up to touch your lips.

“Can you see who’s grabbed you?”

Your mind doesn’t register the question.

“I think I’m trying to scream. I’m trying to reach for the phone.” You move your hand down to your neck.

“Y/N can you see the person that grabbed you?” He tries again.

“They hold my neck and throw me into the trunk of a car. I look up. It’s a man. He’s pale, with jet black hair that reaches past his ears. He has a long beard. There’s a blue sparrow tattoo here.” You point to the left side of your neck.

“He closes the trunk and everything’s dark... Spencer.” You frown as the name comes to you.

“Do you remember what happened after that?”

“No.” You open your eyes, squinting at the brightness of the room.

Spencer looks gutted. He can’t meet your eyes.

“Spencer. Were you there when the man grabbed me?” You ask. You’re so confused.

“No, but I should have been there. It happened a bit differently than you remember. You called me that night while you were walking home; do you remember that?”

You think for a moment, trying to picture the memory he’s painting.

“I remember,” you whisper.

“It was just a phone call, I couldn’t see you and you couldn’t see me.”

You nod, following his words. You watch his freehand grip the hospital bed sheets.

“We were fighting, but I-I’ve never met you... before the forest. I don’t understand.”

Spencer shakes his head.

“Y/N. You know me. You made me an angel in your head to cope with your trauma. Look at me.” He gently reaches out and places his palm on your jaw. You inhale, sharply, and look at him.

“You know me.”

Your eyes widen as the haze in your brain clears just enough to reveal the parts he wants you to see.

“Spencer.” The way you say his name is different now. There’s pain there.

“You found me. I was taken, but you found me.”

Spencer bit his lip.

“I did. I’m sorry I took so long.”

“How long has it been?”

“1 month and 3 days.”

You gasp. All that time, lost. How could you forget?

“Y/N I need to call Emily and give her your description of the man who took you. Do you remember anything else about him? Where he took you?”

You shake your head. Different areas of your body are starting to hurt now.

You half listen to Spencer as he makes the phone call. You’re trying so hard to remember things, but it’s making the pain worse.

Spencer stands and moves near the door, saying something so quietly, you can’t hear. For a moment you’re afraid he’s going to leave. The heart rate monitor, you realize, is speeding up. Spencer hears it and looks over his shoulder. Your eyes are pleading with him, saying the words you don’t need to speak. He walks back toward you and finishes the call. The beeping of the machine regulates again.

“I’m staying with you tonight. Is that okay?” He doesn’t need to ask. Your heart beat answers him well enough.

“Yes.”

“Emily sends her love.”

“Emily.” You test the name, but frown when it doesn’t ring a bell.

“You’ll remember everything eventually, don’t worry.”

“I’m not sure if I want to remember everything.”

Spencer nods and looks at his hands in his lap.

“I love you.” You state the words as fact.

You remember loving the man next to you. He was your boyfriend, your partner, whatever you wanted to call it, you never labeled it. It made sense that he was an angel in your dreams.

Even though you know he’s very much human now, he still has a golden aura in your eyes.

“You would say that.” Spencer smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Why were we fighting that night?”

His smile falls.

“It was my fault. We were supposed to go out together that night, but a case came up at the last minute. You were angry, rightfully so. I was tired, I’d just finished a case and I didn’t have a chance to even go home before another one came in. You were waiting for me at my apartment and I called you to tell you I wouldn’t be able to make it. You left and we argued. I um....I said some things that I didn’t mean and it hurt you. You were breaking up with me when the unsub grabbed you. The last words I said to you, when I realized, was that I would find you.”

You take in his explanation, not noticing the tears beginning to fall. Guilt was laced with every word.

“It was my fault you were out that night. I’m the reason this happened to you. I should have been there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Spencer. You’re the reason I’m still alive. I should be lying dead in a forest, but I’m not.”

“I’m sorry, for everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there that night. I’m sorry I always put work before you. I’m sorry I made you question that I love you. I’m sorry it took so long to find you.”

“Spencer.” You reach out to him and he moves closer. You pull him to you and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands hesitate on your waist before he’s pulling you closer.

“I forgive you; for everything. I don’t want you to feel guilty,” you say, and he falls apart in your arms.

He can’t let it go, for 1 month and 3 days he blamed himself; he worked himself to death to find you. Spencer sobs apologies and you forgive him for each one. He’s heavy in your arms, and your side is beginning to hurt, it’s almost excruciating.

Eventually he calms down, he pulls away and his eyes are rimmed red. He sees you wince and immediately goes into protective mode.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine. I think the pain meds are just wearing off.”

“I’ll go get a nurse.”

“Okay, but promise you’ll come back?”

“I promise.”

You watch him move and it’s so familiar. It’s the one sure thing your memory serves you.

When he returns he’s talking medicine with the nurse. You want to ask her about your condition because it’s starting to feel like you have broken ribs, but Spencer is holding your hand again in the next second and you’re not sure if he knows, but you don’t want him to.

The nurse fills the IV and you wait with baited breath for the medicine to kick in. She leaves with a smile and you turn to Spencer. He sees you fidgeting as you try to get comfortable. He reaches out to hold you, but his hands hover; he’s afraid to touch you. He opts for holding your hand.

The medicine is starting to work and your body is growing delightfully numb. It makes you giggle. This stuff is strong.

“This stuff is great. No more pain.” You comment.

“Yeah, they’ll give you morphine for a few days and eventually substitute it for something less strong.”

You nod and pull the blankets higher. You’re finally comfortable as you watch Spencer who’s looking back at you.

“You’re still my guardian angel, Spencer.” You whisper.

He raises your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“Sleep. I’ll be here to keep you safe. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Your heart is warm and you smile as you fall into a restful sleep. Maybe tomorrow you would remember the horrors of what you went through, but tonight, with Spencer by your side, you’re comfortable and safe.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

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orbitariums · 5 years

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more afro carribean please please please!

hi anon!!! this got super lost in my inbox i don’t know how long it’s been for u so sry!

instead of headcanons of peter parker with an afrocaribbean girlfriend i’m gonna do a quick imagine based of the headcanons! this is the first part!

this one is an imagine, so it mentions afro-caribbean culture/heritage but i also wanted it to b super cute and like a regular imagine ! also i hope this brings about a bit of light during this quarantine bc this is very cute and very much involves events with other people (which aren’t really allowed rn lol)! also i was watching love is blind, that’s why i was so focused on weddings and i made it all deep HAHAHA.

keep sending in requests! it’s short but cute so here it is

peter parker + afro caribbean reader

“peter, don’t you dare put on more cologne,“ you scolded your nervous boyfriend while standing in front of the mirror, applying more eco-gel to the loose curls on your edges.

peter pouted, and he looked like the literal equivalent of the crying emoji with the small pout. meaning his cuteness overpowered the intense amount of cologne he put on.

“i’m nervous. i wanna smell nice,” he complained.

“you smell nice. trust me, i can tell. but it’s not like you haven’t met my family before, honey,” you pulled up your braids, which were currently in the style of fresh faux dreads.

peter shifted on your bed behind you, shrugging his shoulders up and down,

“i knowww… but this is a wedding. very different.”

“just…” you sighed, finally tying your thick dreads up. “don’t think about it too much, yeah?”

“yeah. don’t think about it too much,” peter said, in that timid way you knew all too well. he was saying one thing but definitely thinking another, and you knew he needed further reassurance.

he was currently looking at himself in your vanity mirror as well, readjusting his hair, which had taken on a wild, curly form since the beginning of summer. and you lived for his hair like that. so luckily, you had the opportunity to turn on the charm, and you put down your scrunchies and eco-gel, turning to walk towards him. you stood in front of him with a gentle smile on your face, playing gently with his curls so you didn’t ruin them, just like how you taught him to do when he ran his fingers through your hair.

“your curls look really pretty,” you cooed, smiling down at him. he looked up at you, a grin on his face. his gentle hands took hold of your waist, which was encapsulated in your colorful dress that fit tight your body shape. his worries seemed to be alleviated just from the sight of you up close, as he gazed up at you, a twinkling in his eyes as he smiled,

“you’re so beautiful.”

and you were. you were all made up, you’d gotten your hair redone specifically for this day - it was your cousin’s wedding, and your family went all out for weddings. you’d taught peter all about afro-caribbean wedding traditions, but he had gone out of his way to do his research beforehand. they weren’t so different from other weddings, maybe just a lot more fun. peter was nervous though, going to a wedding with you.

he’d met your family before and impressed them with his dance moves (courtesy of yourself), and he was a hit amongst your relatives. they saw him as your cute white boyfriend who knew how to whine. he was polite and sweet, charming your family instantly. so he wasn’t necessarily worried about that. he was just nervous because of the significance behind weddings. he didn’t want to open up any possibility of embarrassing himself or making too big a deal out of the fact that you were at a wedding together in front of your entire family, but he already had. still, your very presence calmed him down. you’d be there with him, and that was all that mattered.

you blushed at his heartfelt compliment, the way his voice got softer and quieter.

“you’re beautiful,” you replied, biting down gently on your lip, which was lathered in clear lip gloss. you sat down on his lap, your legs hanging off of his. “listen, i know you’re nervous. i get it. weddings are a big thing, and you’ll be in front of my family and all that. they’ll see us together. i was nervous too, but it’s not like we’re being expected to get married right now! we’re just a young, cute high school couple to them.”

“i know, i know,” peter nodded, relaxing. “i just want it to be perfect, you know? and you know, it’s not that i’m scared they think we’re gonna get married because we’re here together. i’d love that. you know that. i want… us to be together for a very long time. sometimes i just let my nerves get the best of me, y'know?”

"i know, spidey-boy,“ you grinned, once again using the nickname you had donned for him. "i know.”

you leaned in to kiss him, his soft lips against your own, the two of you forgetting your surroundings until you heard the door open and the disgruntled noise from your brother.

“ah ah!” he put on his best west african accent. “what are you two doing, eh? you want to be fondling my sister, when i’m right here?”

“sorry, sorry!” peter was exclaiming frantically as you climbed off of his lap with ease, unbothered by your brother’s scolding.

he was laughing wickedly like a hyena as you marched up to him, ushering him out of the room.

"use protection, sis!“ he called out, just as you pushed him away.

”thanks!“ you chimed in sarcastically. you closed the door behind you, rolling your eyes. but you couldn’t be annoyed for long, not with peter there. the two of you found yourselves chuckling, shaking your heads.

"your brother’s great,” peter nodded.

“i could use a better word to describe him. come on,” you extended your hand towards him, getting ready to leave.

| | |

the wedding ceremony was beautiful. everyone, including the bride and groom, was dressed in traditional afro-caribbean clothing. your cousin and her almost-husband looked like kings and queens. and their wedding vows brought tears to your eyes, and you definitely heard peter sniffling as he sat next to you.

you each squeezed each other’s hands as you sat next to each other when they said “i do.” cheers from the wedding-goers, and then the long-awaited broom jumping. peter was amazed, as he forgot about that tradition, and you could see his face light up into an open-mouthed grin.

“that’s so cool,” he said, turning to you, and you giggled - he looked like a little child.

the wedding reception started, and you and peter were almost too tired to dance - that is, because of the amount of jollof rice and jerk chicken you piled down on your plates. but even then, your bellies full and eyelids heavy, you were on the dance floor the whole night, dancing with your aunts and uncles and little cousins. you stayed close together for the entirety of it, and peter realized he never did have anything to worry about, not with you here with him.

he reveled in your culture, the naija and caribbean music blaring on the speakers during the reception time. your family knew how to have a good time, and because of this you found that you and peter were very popular on the dance floor. your aunts complimented you on your good taste in boys, and your uncles challenged peter to dance battles, which only ended up in clownery for all of them.

by the time the night was winding down, it was time for the crossing sticks ceremony. the bride and groom had picked a lovely beach venue, standing by the water on the cool sand. the sun was going down and it was getting dark, calling for more intimate times. you stood by peter, holding his hand, your head on his shoulder as you each held a sparkler together.

"you ready?“ peter asked, his soft face turning to you as he lit the sparklers.

"i’m always ready,” you nodded up at him, as if challenging him.

"believe me, i know,“ peter chuckled, shaking his head playfully.

and your night ended with the bright flash of all the sparkling lights, as you watched the bride and groom run by you, eternal smiles on their faces. you looked up to peter and kissed his cheek, because you knew you’d always be that happy with him.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker headcanons #peter parker poc #peter parker imagine #peter parker x black!reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot #afrocaribbean #african #caribbean #black!reader #poc!reader

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 5 years

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Taken By The Wind: A Sam Winchester x Rowena McLeod Love Story Chapter 1: You Naughty Boy

Tags: 18+, sex, explicit sex, smut, porn. Fingering, penetrative sex, condom, consent, size kink. Excessive descriptions of Rowena being gorgeous.

It was another night in another cheap motel in another dreary town when Sam and Dean Winchester rolled in, the angel Castiel and the witch Rowena in tow. They weren’t really sure what they were hunting, but they figure it had to be some kind of monster. After dinner, they sat down in the shoddy hotel room to discuss their plans. “I’ll take the first shift tonight,” said Sam. “Nah.” Replied Dean. “Cas and I will. I need you to stay here and do a little more research into what we are dealing with. Plus we can’t leave Rowena alone, even when she’s sleeping.” “Yes.” Chimed in Cas. “You can stay here and sleep with Rowena.” Cas seemed unaware of what he had just implied, but everyone else in the room caught it. Rowena smirked and darted a playful glance at Sam. Color crept up Sam’s high cheekbones. Dean smothered a laugh with a cough before hurrying Cas out the door.

Sam kicked off his shoes and socks, stretched out on one of the beds, and opened his laptop. Connecting to the wifi that magically seemed to follow him around, he began to dig into local lore and unsolved cases. He was vaguely aware of Rowena moving about, humming and maybe washing her hands, but he was completely absorbed in his research. After a couple of hours of reading and taking notes, he realized it was dark and his eyes were getting tired. Without looking up, he stretched one long arm and then ran his fingers through his long ash brown hair. “Well,” said Sam with a yawn, “I guess its time to get ready for bed.” He looked up with a start when he felt a small, warm hand on his ankle. “I am ready for bed, Sam,” Rowena purred.

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. Rowena had changed from her daytime tunic and leggings into some kind of long, slinky dark green dress. The fabric was rich but thin, and clung to every curve and angle of her body. Rowena walked towards Sam, trailing her fingers lightly up his legs, over his belt and across his chest until her hand found the laptop. Shoving it aside, she bent over Sam, curtaining his face with a waterfall of rich red curls. He could practically feel the sweep of her long dark lashes as she gazed into his eyes. “Sleep with me, Sam.” Rowena whispered, her breath hot on his cheek. Sam pushed her aside and sat up, planting his feet on the floor. He seemed frozen with indecision. He couldn’t deny that Rowena was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. Her body was tiny yet curvy, her face exquisite, and she had amazing, curly, red hair. Of course he would love to be with her. Yet Sam was suspicious. The Winchester’s history with Rowena was long and complicated. She hadn’t always been on their side. Even when they were working as a team, the witch wanted to maintain the upper hand. Sam knew that, over the course of her 300 years, she had often used sex as a means to power or to get her way. He couldn’t help wondering what she really wanted. Sam raked his hands through his long hair and over his stubbled cheeks. Finally he looked up. “What do you really want, Rowena?” Rowena’s cat-like green eyes widened and she responded with evident sincerity. “You, Samuel. I just want you.” Her words sent a shiver all the way through Sam. He took in the vision of Rowena in front of him, letting his eyes wander over her body before returning to her gaze. Lust flashed hot and gold in Sam’s green blue eyes as he reached out towards her. “No tricks?” Sam asked, his voice husky with desire. Rowena placed her small white hand in Sam’s big one. “No tricks.” “No magic?” Sam drew her towards him, to stand between his knees. “Only the magic we make-” with every word, Rowena’s mouth moved closer to Sam’s- “together.” Their lips met. Rowena’s soft dark mouth tasted like honey. No, like wine. No, like pomegranate juice. Sam couldn’t tell, but he knew he wanted more of it. Their kisses deepened as they tasted and explored one another. Sam gently nibbled on Rowena’s full bottom lip, and she took advantage of the moment to slip her tongue between his lips. Sam moaned against Rowena’s mouth. His hands circled her waist, drawing her body closer to his. Gradually his hands slipped up her body to her breasts, peeking full and white from the top of her dress. They were surprisingly high and firm for a woman who was over 300 years old. The fine dark green fabric dragged between his fingers and her nipples rose erect. “Is this what you want, Rowena?” Sam asked, a note of teasing in his voice. “Yes,” Rowena breathed, drawing his hands up in hers to cup her breasts more fully. Sam traced a finger along the white curve of her pale cleavage, then slipped the fabric aside. Rowena’s bare breast was full and round like a ripe peach. Sam lowered his mouth to her, licking and tasting her velvety skin. He kissed her round pink nipple, and then flicked it with his tongue. Rowena hissed, and arched her back to press her breast more firmly to his mouth. Sam sucked greedily on her skin before drawing back. He turned his attention to her other breast, giving it the same tender foreplay with his mouth and tongue. Slowly, Sam slid his hands down her back to that sweet spot where her hips curved out. His big hands almost spanned her waist. He he cupped her perfect round ass, enjoying the weight and bounce of it. Under his fingers, he could feel lace trailing along the top of her thigh. He held her hip in his left hand, and with his right, reached down for her hem. Slowly, he ran his hand up her leg, letting the soft fabric brush her thigh along with his callused palm. He used both hands to lift the dress still higher, revealing that Rowena wore small gathered panties of the same dark green fabric, tied with a satiny bow. The words “french knickers” flashed through his mind, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than that beautiful bow. Rowena had practically gift wrapped herself for him! Sam ran his right hand eagerly along the gathers at the top of her panties and heard her laugh seductively. No, he wouldn’t give her what she wanted that easily. Instead he traced his fingers up again, over the creamy skin of her soft stomach, up her smooth sides. When his right hand found her breast again, he pushed the dress up, up- Rowena lifted her arms and it slipped right over her head as her dark red hair tumbled down in a waterfall of curls, over her pale full breasts. Sam tossed the dress aside in a pile of green silk and moved his mouth to Rowena’s hot skin. For a time, Sam busied himself with her breasts, but gradually moved his kisses lower- down Rowena’s ribs to her belly button and then still further. Rowena gasped as he ran his tongue, hard, along the inside of her hip bone. He kissed across the top of her knickers, feeling the heat rise from between her legs.

Finally, Sam lowered his mouth to Rowena’s panties and took the bow between his soft lips. Tossing his thick brown hair, he pulled the bow with his teeth, and the dark green fabric pooled around Rowena’s feet. “The curtains match the drapes,” he thought briefly, as his gaze fell on the space between her legs. Her hair there was dark red, tightly curled, and wet- so wet. Sam held Rowena between his legs with his left hand on her hip, while his right hand slipped to the cleft between her legs. He explored her with his long fingers, feeling the warm slick contours of her body. His practiced fingers soon found was looking for, and he began to caress her. Sam’s gaze stayed locked on Rowena’s face as he touched her. Her expressive features displayed her fast shifting feelings. Pride, that she had Sam Winchester at her command. Pleasure, that his touch felt so good. And lust, that she desired so much more from him. Sam watched her intently to see what she liked best, what she desired most. When he got it just right, she pressed into his hand wanting more. Her grip tightened on Sam’s muscular forearms, silently begging him to keep going. “Is this what you want, Rowena?” Sam growled, his voice low and commanding. She didn’t speak -couldn’t speak- so she only nodded. He shifted his hand to grind against her with the heel of his thumb. As Rowena’s breath came in short, hard pants, Sam slipped two fingers into her wet depths. She arched her back and a low moan escaped through her gritted teeth as she came hard against Sam’s cupped hand. A flush covered her elegant neck and pale breasts as pleasure washed through her. He continued to hold her close as she lowered her head to his shoulder, shaking with the sensations he had coaxed from her. Sam locked eyes with Rowena and pulled his hand from between her legs, sucking greedily on his wet fingers before drawing her mouth to his. When she could speak again, Rowena purred, “Oh Sam Winchester! You naughty, naughty boy.”

Sam and Rowena kissed as her breathing steadied. After a few moments, she began to unbutton his shirt. Gradually he shrugged off first his plaid shirt and then his t-shirt, leaving him in a white ribbed tank. “Turn about is fair play,” Rowena told him, her fingers brushing his waistband. Her hand fell on the front of his jeans, where his erection strained against the denim. A smile curled her dark full lips. “And it looks like you’re ready to play.” First, tho, Rowena lifted his white tank over his head. His brown curls fell to his broad shoulders. Rowena’s eyes raked over his muscular, tanned body. She gripped his biceps and lightly kissed his anti-possession tattoo. He shivered at her gentle touch on the scar tissue. She ran her fingers down his perfect abs, then traced the irresistible v of his hips down to his belt buckle. In one motion she undid belt, button, and zipper. Sam’s erection sprang to her hands. “Wait,” said Sam, pushing Rowena gently away. He stood up to step out of his jeans and boxers both. Naked, he was an impressive man- fit and beautiful- with an even more impressive erection. “Rowena, is this what you want?” Rowena swept her gaze over Sam, long and hard, lingering on his cock. Finally she fluttered her thick dark lashes and lifted her green cat eyes to his. “Oh yes I want you. Sam, you naughty boy. I want you!”

Sam sat down on edge of the bed and reached into the nightstand before drawing Rowena back between his legs. He handed her the condom he had grabbed. Rowena took her time putting it on, stroking his thick cock between her fine white hands. Sam’s breath quickened and a sound that might’ve been “please” fell from his lips before she finished covering him. Sam picked Rowena up, holding her small body tightly in his firm grasp. He let her settle on his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. His big hands supported her freely as he lowered her onto himself inch by hot inch. His eyes never left her face, watching as she filled with the sensation of him. With one final thrust, he buried his length inside her, and she gasped, throwing back her head in delight. Rowena began to rock on top of Sam as he thrust towards her, and together, they found a rhythm. He tangled his hands in her long red curls, pulling her close. He buried his face in her pale soft cleavage as a flush spread up from her breasts to her smooth neck. She ran her hands over his arms and chest, lightly grazing him with her nails. Sam pushed into her harder and deeper, while Rowena’s breath came in short mewling gasps. Her orgasm unfurled inside her like a hot wave of light before crashing down between her legs. She dug her nails deep into Sam’s shoulders as she screamed his name. The combination of her pleasure and the sudden pain tipped Sam right over the edge of his own orgasm and he shuddered as he came, hard and hot. For a moment they sat still, joined together, throbbing with shared pleasure.

Finally Sam untangled his fingers from Rowena’s curls and fell back on the bed. He pulled Rowena down with him, holding her close. She rolled to the side, keeping her skin in close contact with his. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. That taste on her lips was still like honey- like wine- like magic. A smile crept over Rowena’s lips. “You naughty naughty boy,” she purred, “Sam Winchester.”

Thanks @thoughtslikeaminefield for my gorgeous series header and revising it 17 times. Thanks @marril96 for the graphics for each story. Tag list: @tloveswriting, @idreamofplaid, @awesomesusiebstuff

#sam x rowena #samwena #samwitch #supernatural fanfiction #taken by the wind #rowena

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years

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Until we say goodbye || two

Warning! This multipart story takes place after the events of season 3. There’s huge spoilers already in the synopsis down below. I warned you.

Synopsis: (Y/N) Hargrove has to come to terms with the fact that her twin brother is dead and she had to watch him die, unable to do anything about it. There is something she can do for him now though and that’s keeping a promise. The promise to go back home to California. Together. In order to drive cross country and spread Billy’s ashes in a place where the Hargrove kids used to be happy, (Y/N) enlists the help of Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who decides that it’s time to break out from his parents expectations and be the person he always wanted to be.

This time on “Until we say goodbye”: The teens stay at a quirky motel. Steve talks to mama Harrington and (Y/N) give us a look into her childhood.

(caution: mention of death, emotional abuse, slight mention of physical abuse, mention of alcohol // if you need me to tag any other possible triggers let me know)

One //

Part 2 of ?

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Help a girl out with a reblog, thank you ♥

And if we hit on troubled water

I’ll be the one to keep you warm and safe

And we’ll be carrying each other

Until we say goodbye on our dying day

A cool breeze is blowing past (Y/N) as she sits on edge of the old abandoned lifeguard tower, feet dangling in the air. She’s well aware of the fact that the wind is making a mess of her hair, leaving it a tangled mess. She doesn’t really give a shit though.

The beach is practically deserted except for her and the couple strolling by the shore, throwing sticks for their puppy every once in a while. They seem so happy, as if nothing matters but them and their dog and the ocean.

Her thoughts wander towards Pumpkin, the little Jack Russell puppy they adopted a few years ago when dad was dating this woman named Laura. Laura loved dogs and dad loved Laura and so when she moved in, so did Pumpkin.

(Y/N) loved that stupid dog, hell even Billy did. But like all good things in the Hargrove’s life, this one didn’t last very long either. Dad messed up his relationship with Laura and Laura was smart enough to get the fuck out and take Pumpkin with her.

The thumping of boots against the wooden planks of the lifeguard tower, pulls (Y/N) back from her trip down memory lane.

Billy plops down next to her, fumbling a cigarette from the pocket of his denim jacket and lighting it. He’s started smoking a few months ago, just after the twins 13th birthday. Dad was really mad when he found that first cigarette hole in the carpet of their room.

“ Why are you here ? ‘s about to storm “ Billy mumbles around the cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips.

“ Dad’s being as asshole “

“ As per usual “ Billy scoffs, “ what happened ? “

“ He found out that I pierced my ears, said I look like a slut. “

The words still sting even now that she repeats them to her brother. (Y/N) doesn’t think it’s something a father should say, especially to his daughter. It’s just earrings, what’s the big deal ?

It doesn’t make her a slut. Right ?

“ What the fuck does he know. He still lives in 1971 with his ugly ass mustache“ Billy jokes, effectively getting a laugh from his twin sister.

“ You know what the worst part is ? “ (Y/N) asks.

“ Hmm ? “

“ I think my ears might be infected. They burn like hell. “

“ Ya know what ? That’s your own damn fault. I told you using Galliano liqueur was not the best way to sanitize the needle. “

(Y/N) chuckles, nodding her head in agreement. “ Yeah, you were right, I admit it “.

“ Good. “

She turns to look at her brother. His hair is growing longer now, the curls sitting messily on his head reminding her of crashing waves during a thunderstorm.

Dad hates that Billy is growing his hair and and (Y/N) is fairly sure that’s part of the reason why Billy likes his hair so much. Everything that pisses off their dad is a good think in Billy’s book.

“ Still think you should’ve let me pierce one of your ears. Would’ve looked damn cool. “ she says, teasing smirk playing on her lips.

Billy shakes his head, curls bouncing from the motion. He’s mirroring her smirk though.

“ No fucking way. Never. “

(Y/N) finger plays with the tiny silver spike dangling from her ear as her eyes focus on the scenery passing by the window. There’s not a lot to see really, it’s almost pitch black outside. They’re on the road for about an hour and a half now but Steve keeps bringing up stopping.

He’s tired, (Y/N) can tell. Tired and still a bit freaked out by the whole situation.

“ So Terre Haute is coming up at I think we should see if we can find a place to stay the night, then stock up on food and gas tomorrow morning and drive through the entire day “.

Steve speaks up, more of a monologue than anything else. (Y/N) doesn’t mind how long the journey takes as long as they get to California in the end. She doesn’t mind stopping for the night. Doesn’t mind the occasional food or toilet breaks. Leaving Hawkins behind already feels liberating.

Every mile they put between themselves and that fucking town feels like a weight lifted off her shoulder.

“ Alright, sounds good to me. We gotta find a cheap place though, I don’t have a lot of cash with me “.

“ S’alright I got it “ Steve exclaims.

“ I don’t need your charity, Harrington, “ (Y/N) snaps at him. Maybe it’s a Hargrove thing, being bad at accepting help from other people. From basically strangers.

For the biggest part of her life, (Y/N) only had Billy to depend on. Now that he’s gone it feels absolutely terrifying putting her trust in someone else.

“ Sorry I — that’s not what I meant. “

“ No, “ (Y/N) sighs “ I’m sorry for snapping. I know what you meant. It’s okay. “

There’s a thick awkward tension filling the car and (Y/N) absolutely hates it.

“ Can I turn on the radio ? “ she asks motioning towards it.

Steve nods in agreement. “ There should still be a mixtape in the player. “

With the push of a button the opening chords to Mötley Crües ‘Shout at the devil’ echo through the vehicle, making (Y/N) raise her eyebrows in surprise.

“ Steve Harrington, I did not expect you to listen to this kind of music “.

Steve just shrugs “ why not ? I like all kinds of music. “

“ Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ golden boy listening to the Devil’s music. That’s a surprise. “

“ Golden boy, “ Steve scoffs “ yeah right. I just about graduated High School. I didn’t get into college. I work at a video store and my own dad thinks I’m goddamn loser. “

“ You wanna talk about shitty dads ? Cause let me tell you, I’ll win that one. “

It’s quiet for a moment, before Steve clears his throat and speaks up again.

“ Can I ask you something ? “

“ Mmh “

“ What did they tell your dad happened ? Did they — did they really tell him that whole fire bullshit ? “

“ Yup. “

“ And he believed it ? “

(Y/N) nods. “ He did. He has no reason not to “.

The fire story. Authorities told Neil and elaborate story about how Billy died in a tragic accident in the big fire at Starcourt mall. Something about wrong place wrong time.

(Y/N) was there when they told him. Susan was crying hysterically. Max was — numb. Neil though. Neil didn’t even flinch. There was no sign of emotion. No sign of grieve. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“ I don’t think he gives a shit either, to be honest. “

“ That’s horrible. “ Steve exclaims.

“ That’s my dad for ya. “

Steve’s BMW rolls up to the parking lot of the Cardinal Inn Motel. It’s a small Motel complex and it looks like it’s seen better days. The walls are a dirty white, almost gray color and all doors are painted a bright red although most of the paint is chipping off.

The kids enter the motel lobby, a small room decked out in all kinds of kitschy decor. There’s cross stitch art and paintings and decorative throw pillows. And all if it proudly features various images of a red cardinal bird.

“ Welcome to the Cardinal Inn Motel. “ a chipper voice speaks up from behind the reception desk. “ I’m Ruth, how can I help ya ? “

Ruth is a plump little woman with a kind smile, round cheeks and extremely curly ginger hair. She looks more like a caricature than an actual person. Though (Y/N) thinks she fits this place perfectly.

“ We would like twooo — ? “ Steve trails off and glances towards (Y/N) in question.

“ One “

“ — one room. With two beds though “.

“ Oh sure sure. Let me see. It’s 32 $ for a night. “ Ruth says and opens a book, probably looking up which rooms are occupied and which rooms are free. She walks towards a board holding a lot of keys and takes one of handing it to Steve.

“ This is your room key, It’s number 44. When you step outside, the room is located in the building to your right. It’s on the first floor, first door once you walk up the stairs. I would have to ask for a down payment though. Just in case. “

Steve hastily pulls out a bundle of cash from his jeans, counting the right amount and handing it to Ruth. “ That’s the entire amount, we’re only staying for one night “.

“ Very well then. I hope you have a pleasant stay at the Cardinal Inn. “ Ruth chirps almost like a bird herself.

“ Thanks “ Steve says and walks towards the door.

(Y/N) stays rooted though, eyes wandering around the room from one red bird to the next to the next.

“ Hey Ruth, “ she chimes up.

“ Yes, dear ? “

“ What’s with the birds ? “

“ Oh the cardinal ? That’s Indiana’s state bird. “

“ They’re funky looking little guys, huh ? “

“ Truly. They’re also very interesting. If you want to learn about them, they’re an informational brochure in every room. “

(Y/N) gives Ruth a soft smile then rushes after Steve, out into the chilly night air.

“ Knight Rider, really Harrington ? “

Steve sits up from his slumped position on the bed as (Y/N) comes back from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in her pyjamas. A choice of pyjamas she thoroughly regrets now as the cool air inside the motel room hits the skin of her legs.

She’s dressed in a pair of short red pj pants and one of Billy’s old band shirts. One she’s stolen from his closet after — the incident. It smells like him. Makes her feel like he’s still there.

“ What, It’s good. “

“ It’s so stupid. It’s a talking car. “

“ Okay, whatever. You keep on hating but I tell you this show is gonna last forever and it’s gonna win all the awards. Trust me. “

“ Mmmh. Sure. Shower’s yours. “

Steve gathers some of his stuff from his duffle bag and moves towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

As she is left alone in the room, the gravity of it all comes crashing down on (Y/N). This is it. That trip she wanted to go on with Billy. That trip they had fantasized about since the moment they left California.

Now it’s happening but it doesn’t feel right. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. With Billy in a thermos. With Billy — dead.

The room suddenly feels too small. Like the walls are gonna close in on her any second now. She needs air. Fresh air. Needs to get out of here. Now. Now.

So she does.

Slips on her shoes and the room key and dashes out through the door and into the night. It’s cold. Way too cold for the amount of clothing she’s wearing or not wearing depending on how you see it.

For a while all she does is walk up and down the road, wishing she had remembered to take her pack of smokes with her.

When it gets too cold though, she spots a neon sign in one of the windows of the Lobby building. “Souvenirs”.

She wonders if all of those souvenirs have red birds on them.

They don’t. Most of them do, but not all of them. A lot of them display what she can only assume are important buildings of the city of Terre Haute, Indiana.

(Y/N) remembers the few trips she used to take with her mom and Billy, when they were just little kids. Mom loved to take them to the little quirky little towns across the coast and the kids loved exploring them. Billy always got a postcard, from every single place. (Y/N) got keychains. She still has a box of them stuffed beneath her bed at home.

Her eyes wander around the room before they fall onto a display of all kinds of different postcards. Most of them, as expected, have birds on them. Though there’s one that doesn’t. It says “Terre Haute” in big bold letters. It reminds her of the ones Billy used to get from those coastal towns.

Greetings from … the few happy childhood memories she can remember.

(Y/N) takes the card over towards the reception, where Ruth greets her with another of her signature Ruth smiles. Kind and warm.

“ Hi, dear. “

“ Hi uh — I want to buy this postcard. I can’t find a price though, ah shit I left my money up in the room let me just — “

Before she can hurry towards her room though, Ruth stops her.

“ It’s okay, Darling. You can have it for free. “

“ Oh no, I — “

“ Please. You asked about the birds that pretty much the most anyone has cared about this place in a while. Take it. I want you to have it. “

It’s kinda sad, (Y/N) thinks. That her just asking about those silly birds made Ruth this happy. That people pay so little attention to her adorably little bird room.

“ Thank you, Ruth. That is very sweet of you. And this place is adorable. “

“ Thank you, dear. Do you need a stamp for that ? “

(Y/N) sighs “ No. No I don’t. “

The Bean is a little diner at the edge of town looking out onto the Wabash River. It’s emitting a perpetual smell of coffee and waffles and breakfast food.

Steve is munching down an entire plate of eggs and bacon. Oh to have the metabolism of a teenage boy.

(Y/N) takes another sip of her black coffee, hoping that the caffeine is gonna help keep her awake and not get too tired during their drive. After all they plan on being on the road for the entire day.

The pancakes on her plate are long forgotten. She hasn’t really been feeling like eating since it all happened. It’s like she’s acting on power saving mode. Always tired. Always sad. Always working on half speed.

“ You should eat something. You need it. “ Steve remarks.

“ Are you flirting with me ? ”

“ I uh — what ? “

“ Male cardinals feed females as part of their courtship ritual. A female’s partner bears total responsibility for satisfying her dietary needs. “

“ How do you know this ? “

(Y/N) smiles and takes another sip of coffee “ my friend Ruth recommended me some interesting reading material “.

She doesn’t mention that the nightmares didn’t allow her much sleep and that she spent most of the night staying up reading the informational magazine. There’s things Steve just doesn’t need to know.

“ Alriiiight. “ Steve exclaims, eyebrows raised “ Hey, what’s that. You gonna send a card home ? “ he asks and motions towards the postcard she’d been scribbling on while he had been ordering their food.

“ Nah. Not really. This one’s for someone else “.

“ Alright … hey uh. I think I should call my parents “

She looks up from her cup at Steve’s words. This can’t be happening. She can’t go back home now. He can’t bail on her.

“ Harrington “

“ Don’t look at me like that, I’m not turning around and crawling back home. I just don’t want my mom to worry. I need her to know I’m safe. “

That’s right, Steve has a mom too, not just an asshole dad. A mom who cared and who worries and who loves. God it’s been so long since (Y/N) had one of those.

“ Okay, yeah. But um — can you not mention my name. I don’t want any news to get to my dad. “

“ Of course. Yeah, no worries.“

“ Thanks “.

Despite what Billy always said about him, Steve seems to be an alright guy after all. His hair’s ridiculous though.

It rings once, twice, three times before someone picks up.

“ Hello ? “

“ Mom, it’s me. “

“ Oh god Steve. Honey where are you I’m worried sick “.

That sends a little pang to his heart. His mother is a nice lady, she loves him deeply and she doesn’t deserve for him to worry her like that. But this is something Steve has to do, if not for (Y/N) then for himself.

“ I’m alright mom. I’m taking a friend on a — uh a roadtrip. “

“ A roadtrip ?”

“ Yea. To uh — “ his mind wanders to Billy. “ We’re going to help her brother “.

“ Okay, well are you alright ? “

No. He hasn’t been alright in a long time. Since 1983 to be completely honest.

Maybe this trip is just what he needs. A way out. An escape.

Steve leans his head against the payphone, taking a deep breath.

“ I don’t know, mom. But I’m safe and I need to just — just get away. “

“ Is this because of what happened with the Holland girl ? Or the mall ?“

Yes. All of it. If only she knew.

“ It’s just a lot lately. Can you just trust me in this, mom. That I’m doing what’s best for me ? “

His mother hesitates for a moment before clearing her throat.

“ Of course I do, sweet boy. But I am a mom and I do worry. I always will. “

It warms his heart. To know someone does care and someone does love him, no matter how much he messes up.

“ I know. I love you and I’ll be back soon. I promise. I just need to do this, for me.“

“ Be safe, Steve “

“ I will. “

Before he hangs up he can just about make out his father’s voice in the background, asking if “that’s him” and “what’s he messed up this time ? “

And it once again becomes crystal clear why getting on the road with (Y/N) is the best decision he’s made in a long time.

He walks back over to her, as she leans against his car chewing some bright pink bubble gum.

“ You ready to head out ? “

“ Yup. Your parents mad ? “

“ No. Surprisingly not. Mom just wants me to be safe. “

“ Aw little Stevie. How adorable. Anyway let’s go. “

As they both settle back in their seats, Steve slides the signature dark shades back onto his nose and turns towards (Y/N).

“ Sooo, snacks ? “

“ Snacks “ she nods and throws him one of her signature smirks “ definitely need some twizzlers to survive this trip “.

“ Happy Birthday to me “ a freshly 9 year old (Y/N) mumbles as she buries her feet in the warm sand. It’s almost time for the sun to set behind the horizon and color the sky in beautiful shades of reds and pinks and oranges.

For the last 8 years this has been a moment she has shared with her mom. Every birthday the two of them would come down to the beach and watch the sunset. Just them two.

Billy had the morning to spend alone with mom, going to the beach to catch some waves, and (Y/N) got to have the evening.

They’d sit and talk for hours and hours and hours. About everything. The silliest things.

This year she hasn’t so much as called. As if neither (Y/N) nor Billy ever existed in her life.

Billy’s been grumpy all day, refusing to spend time with his sister and deciding to go hang out with some of those stupid boys from the neighbourhood that always call (Y/N) dumb names.

(Y/N) watches the sun lower itself as if to drown the light in the dark water of the ocean, when a little plastic bag lands next to her. Just a moment later Billy drops down onto the ground too.

“ Got you some candy. Twizzlers, your favorite “

“ Did you steal them ? “

“ No, dingus. I bought them with my own money. “

“ Good. Means I don’t have to feel guilty when eating them. “

It’s silent for a moment as they sit beside each other, watching the sunset.

“ Hey I’m sorry “ Billy whispers, as if speaking any louder would mean destroying the magic of the moment.

“ It’s okay. You’re sad. I’m sad too. “

“ I’m not sad “ he claims “ I’m angry. So angry. “

“ You can be sad and angry at the same time. They’re not mutually exclusive. “

“ Stop using big words. “

“ Sorry. “

Billy takes a big breath “ I’ve decide “ he exclaims “ that from this moment on I’ll missing her. If she doesn’t want to come home, doesn’t want to see us. Screw her. I don’t need her and neither do you. “

(Y/N) knows that’s absolute bullshit but she also knows that Billy has a certain way of coping with loss and sadness and maybe she doesn’t share his ways or understand them fully but she can respect them if it means he’s less angry and less sad.

“ Okay. “

“ We don’t need her because we have each other “ he says, placing his hand on hers “ right ? “

In that moment, little (Y/N) knows that whatever the world is gonna throw her way, it’s only half as bad with her twin brother by her side.

“ Of course. Always “

If only they had known how terribly short ‘always’ would turn out to be.

_________

tags:

@sargent-barnes //

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

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kitsune-kirei · 5 years

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Neverending Survey: Kirei Meztli

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs! (Or as many as you’d like)

Tagged by: @lightofthecrystal, @elegie-de-sang, @ataki-yuuto, and @lillies-n-lilacs, thank you for tagging me, It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these!

Tagging: @gaillaffxiv, @infiniteleftdoesffxiv, @sparrow-ffxiv, @fensa-valehart, @mai-takeda, @seina-kurokiba, @gaggle-of-dorks-ffxiv, @jorandalkitor, @thesinsofgreed

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Kirei Meztli ( @kitsune-kirei )

NICKNAME: Kitsune, Kitsu, Rei, The Firefox.

AGE: Unknown, looks in her 20′s or 30′s.

BIRTHDAY: Unknown.

ETHNIC GROUP: Half Hyur, Half Doman .

NATIONALITY: Ul’dahian, Doman.

LANGUAGE/S: Hingan, Eorzean.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Quoiromantic (thank you for this term Spurrow)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Complicated as fuck.

HOME TOWN / AREA: Yanxia, deep within the bamboo forests.

CURRENT HOME: A hidden cave in the Mists. The location is unknown, except to those Kirei has become dedicated to.

PROFESSION: Flower arranger/seller, deliverer, information broker, exorcist, spy.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Curly, wavy, and messy, fire orange in color, recently cut to cheek length.

EYES: Peculiar lavender eyes.

FACE: Almost doll-like and delicate in appearance, sometimes covered in dirt.

LIPS: A bit pouty, rarely wears lip-paint.

COMPLEXION: Olive, dewy.

BLEMISHES: A mole on the left side of her chin.

SCARS: Small, barely noticeable scars mar her entire body.

TATTOOS: None, sometimes Kirei will mess with Henna.

HEIGHT: 5′6, pretty tall for a Miqo’te.

BUILD: Skinny, lanky, tall.

FEATURES: Foxlike ears and a foxlike tail.

ALLERGIES: None.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Neutral, melancholic, bright, friendly, ever present smile.

USUAL CLOTHING: Practical clothing on the skin-showing side.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Losing sense of taste, hands and feet being cut off, feeling trapped.

ASPIRATION/S: To liberate every single slave under the Echion slave branch, to understand what it means to be human.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Empathetic, helpful, friendly, dedicated worker, passionate, self sacrificing, able to look at the bigger picture, peacekeeper.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Self sacrificing, self pitying, generous to the point of poverty, feral, half truths, holds too many secrets.

TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic- individuals tend to be relaxed, peaceful, quiet, and easy-going. They are sympathetic and care about others, yet they try to hide their emotions. Melancholic- individuals tend to be analytical and detail-oriented, and they are deep thinkers and feelers.

SOUL TYPE/S: The Shaman- This type of soul is wise and old. They can give great advice as well as truly connect with people around them. Others often feel better in their presence.

ANIMALS: Fox, Deer, Otter.

VICE HABIT/S: Smoking, drugs every so often, having strong urges to dig holes in the ground out of nowhere, toxic relationships, succumbs to feral instincts every now and then.

FAITH: Loose faith in Kami/ Shinto.

GHOSTS?: Yes, Kirei can communicate to spirits and sense ones nearby.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes.

REINCARNATION?: Yes. Kirei has brief episodes where she gets feelings from her last lifetime, and rarely, will share a familiar feeling among people she had been acquainted with in her past life.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Taught to read and write, self studying.

FAMILY.

FATHER: R’ihan Meztli - Estranged, Keeper of the Moon. Kirei traveled with her father in Thanalan for a while before he ultimately sold her to a slaver. Spent his life work searching for a powerful Kami in the east.

MOTHER: Leiote Sekai - Deceased, Doman Hyur. Leiote was a Geiko in Hingashi, and was well known for her ethereal presence, beauty, and kindness. She was ultimately charmed by the outsider R’ihan Meztli, and they both moved back to her home village in Yanxia to start a family.

SIBLINGS: Kaeyu Meztli - Half sibling, half Keeper half Seeker. Kaeyu and Kirei don’t know the other exists. Kaeyu has a reputation for being rather rambunctious and a trouble maker.

EXTENDED FAMILY: Kirei has family on her mother’s and father’s side, but she doesn’t know anything about them, or there whereabouts.

NAME MEANING/S: Kirei (きれい)- The Hingan word for ‘pretty’, or ‘beautiful’. It has been heavily implied to Kirei by others, that she was named after her mother’s beauty and kindness in hopes that she would inherit these traits.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: A Hingan child’s book called ‘The Tale of Mohatsu-Otome’, otherwise known as the Eastern version of Rapunzel.

DEITY: None.

HOLIDAY: Moonfire Faire.

MONTH: Fall seasons.

SEASON: Autumn.

PLACE: The astral plane, various hidden nooks and crannies throughout Eorzea, Doman bath houses, hot springs.

WEATHER: Sunny with a chill in the air, warm desert days, rainy.

SOUND / S: Ethereal singing, the singing of lesser nature spirits within the woods, wind chimes, ocean waves, water, the rustle of leaves in the wind.

SCENT / S: Incense, tobacco, fresh unpicked flowers, old tomes, herbs, fresh baked bread, tea.

TASTE / S: Peaches, apples, fresh sweet cream.

FEEL / S: Soft and bristly fur, warmth, fresh snow, crunchy leaves, fine sand, hot rocks, pebbles.

ANIMAL / S: Goobbue, Tortoises, smaller creatures.

NUMBER: 3, 6, 9, 33.

COLORS: Rich purple, pink, light/bright blue, green.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Dancing, healing, cooking, making shitty looking but durable furniture, sewing, manipulation, twin daggers, aether control.

BAD AT: Lying, drawing, staying clean, writing.

TURN ONS: Charming cockiness, depth, intensity, shoulders, meaningful words, white eyes, dark eyes, smirks, someone who can figure her out, making her laugh, a nice voice.

TURN OFFS: Simple minds, tunnel vision, someone who doesn’t listen to her words, racism, un-needed/careless violence and aggression, calling her a ‘cat’, unflattering colors, self absorbed.

HOBBIES: Flower frolicking, cooking, traveling, swimming, making junk, people watching.

TROPES: Girl next door, Hippie, Undere/Yandere

QUOTES:

“I want to understand... The weight of a human life.”

“We need to keep moving forward. We have our eyes in the front for a reason after all, there is no point in looking back to the past.”

“I take a hold of my fate with my own two hands. I will not leave things to chance.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : I’m not sure about the title, but it would definitely have to be an animated film. And It would probably be about Kirei’s backstory and about her parents. There’s a lot of details about her past that I don’t get to touch on too much in RP.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Something that would invoke a lot of emotion if possible. Ghibli/Disney-esque would be awesomeeee.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : Long story short, something happened to me while visiting Japan that gave me inspiration to write Kirei. Close friends know the entire story, but its a bit long and wild. I’ll just say it involves a Fox shrine I ran into!

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : Besides the thing that happened in Japan, I wanted a character where I was able to express my interest in things like shamanism and the spirit world. I also was really attracted to the idea of writing a character that was still kind to others even though she has no reason to be, due to the rough life she lived.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I’m a really open person who likes to approach people to start conversations, but Kirei is the opposite of that. It makes it a bit harder to approach in RP since I wrote her to be a wallflower. She’s also much more reserved than I am, so if there’s a wild scene happening in RP that I would like to get in on, I really can’t on Kirei since she’s not one to participate in things unless asked.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Probably too much in hindsight rofl. Kirei is the first RP character I ever wrote, so I gave her a lot of commonalities from myself so it would be easier to write her and learn how to RP.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : She would probably tell me that I’m trying my best, but she thinks that with most!

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : A whole other side of Kirei comes out if she interacts with manipulative/cunning characters, and I really enjoy writing that darker side of her that appears.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9: A big inspiration for the core of Kirei is Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket (if you couldn’t tell but all the fruits basket stuff I reblog). I just loved how she was written, and how she stayed kind despite her hard life, and I loved her layers and how she viewed others. Tohru gave me a lot if inspiration to be kind to others growing up, Kirei is really just a homage to her.

Q10: How long did this take you to complete ?

A10: TOO LONG, I worked on it on and off throughout the week.

Thanks for reading if you stuck around this long!

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ff14 #ff14 rp #kirei meztli

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frenchfryspaghetti · 7 years

Text

Raining Men

Obviously I️ had some inspiration by the lovely song It’s Raining Men.

Summary: Knowing Eddie hates thunder, Richie goes to find Eddie in the middle of a storm. Richie accidentally scares Eddie.

Word count: 1.4 k

Age: around 14/15

a/n: this is kinda shitty but I️ just had an idea and went with it

Eddie knew a storm was coming. He felt the wind pick up and whip his once perfectly combed hair into a mess on top of his head. He shivered, biting his lip as he continued the short walk home from school. He stared down at his worn white converse and watched the different colored leaves swirl around the cracked pavement. Autumn had set in and the leaves were changing and falling. Trees had begun to look like chameleons as they changed color every day.

A large drop of rain splattered onto Eddie's cheek which startled the absent minded boy. He glanced at the darkening sky and quickened his pace. His mind wandered to Richie. He couldn't place exactly why but he wanted to be with Richie. Richie was comforting. He was a distraction, especially during awful storms.

Eddie made it home just in time. The heavens opened up as soon as he closed the front door. He made sure to take his muddy shoes off near the door so as not to track anything inside, his mother would have an aneurism if she saw mud on the carpet. He padded upstairs softly, making his way into his small room.

The rain continued its rampage, sliding in torrents down his window. His brown doe eyes watched in fascination and unease as the sky lit up. Lightning. Flashes appeared in every direction. The dark sky was illuminated for seconds at a time.

Eddie stood at his window anxiously tugging on the hem of his burgundy sweater. His eyes darted back and forth, following the path of the lightning. Thunder cracked loudly causing him to jump out of his skin. He yelled and backed up quickly. His quick motion sent him right into the edge of his bed. Toppling over, the boy landed with a soft thud on his newly washed bedding.

He placed his hand on his chest, desperately trying to steady his wild heart. A thought, or rather a song, popped into his head. He started humming a tune to distract himself from the dark storm blowing wind angrily against his house. He hopped up from his bed to snatch his Walkman off the desk.

He popped in a tape labeled 'favorites' and pressed play. A few songs later and the familiar notes started playing in his ears.

"We're your weather girls!" He chimed in happily, his attention flickering from the noises outside his window to the upbeat song drifting through his ears.

He sang along and tapped his feet against the soft carpeting. The rain beat down on his window as a shadowy figure pressed a hand to the glass, peering in. The oblivious boy continued dancing around his room. His arms flailing awkwardly as the music played on.

"It's raining men! Hallelujah! It's raining m-" Eddie stopped dead in his tracks as a dark figure fell through his window and onto the floor in a heap. He shrieked and stumbled backwards. A stray sneaker sent him tumbling to the floor.

Memories of IT flashed through his mind like a projector spitting grotesque images onto the back of his eyelids. Pinpricks of pain scattered up his arm as the memory of last summer flooded his mind. Scrambling away from the hunched shadow, he let out a low whimper.

"Eds it's just me." A familiar voice rang out as the figure rose.

Recognition and relief gushed through his veins as his heartbeat slowed. Richie stood above him, now in the dim light of his room. Headphones connected to a Walkman had fallen from Eddie's head in his dash to escape. Long arms scooped the pieces up off the floor before extending a hand to Eddie. Eddie's small hand fit snuggly into Richie's large one. Eddie struggled and was helped up. They locked eyes.

"You okay Eds?" Richie asked carefully.

"Yeah.. just freaked me out a little." The frazzled boy whispered in a hushed tone.

Suddenly Richie lifted the headphones to his head and pressed play before he could be stopped by Eddie. Music drifted softly around the two boys as a slow smirk formed on Richie's face in response to the song. Eddie's cheeks flared.

"I'm gonna let myself get, absolutely soaking wet!" Richie sang out of key as he danced wildly around Eddie's bed.

Eddie finally took a moment to glance at the dancing boy's appearance. Dark locks of hair were plastered to Richie's forehead due to the rain outside. He was soaking wet just like the song said. His shoes were ratty and falling apart. He looked a mess. Yet he still looked good Eddie thought to himself. Eddie shook his head to clear his thoughts.

An amused expression found its way to the anxious boy's face as he watched Richie dance horribly. Richie reached up and pulled the headphones from his head, turning off the music at the same time. His ears were immediately filled with the harsh sounds of the storm outside. The wind whistled against the window angrily. Eddie's smile fell as a flash of lighting lit up in his peripheral vision. He jumped as thunder fell over head. The sound was like a bomb falling.

"Eds?" Richie's voice caused Eddie's head to whip up in his direction. His frantic eyes met with Richie's.

"Rich, I️ really don't like thunder." Eddie squeaked.

Another bone-rattling boom made Eddie jump and whimper. A pair of arms locked around his shaking frame within seconds, pulling him onto the bed. Richie lay back with Eddie curled up against him. The smaller boy was shaking like a leaf and Richie tried his best to comfort him. Richie was still soaked to the bone so he sat up letting Eddie go for a second to lift his shirt up and over his head. He threw it on the floor. He also shimmied out of his pants, comfortable enough with Eddie to do so.

He crawled under the covers, taking Eddie with him. Eddie felt his heart rate skyrocket at the close proximity with a practically naked Richie. His worries and fears of the storm were shoved into the corner of his brain as all bodily functions went haywire. He couldn't breathe and not out of fear or his asthma. Richie seemed to notice the change in his demeanor.

"Hey, you okay?" Richie asked worriedly.

Eddie choked out a garbled response and Richie pulled back to look Eddie in the face.

"Eds? What's wrong? Do you want me to leave? I️ can leave if you wan-" He was cut off as Eddie stopped him.

"No. No I️ don't want you to leave. I️ just...I️..." Eddie trailed off looking away from Richie's gaze.

"Eddie goddamnit just tell me what's wrong." Richie huffed.

Eddie glanced up at him again, his stomach rolling with conflicting emotions. His gaze dropped to Richie's pink lips. Richie's breath hitched in his throat as he waited for Eddie to do something, anything. Richie still had his hand on the other boy's waist. Prickles of heat surrounded the fingers on Eddie's waist, giving him the courage to lean in.

"Fuck it." Eddie whispered before connecting their lips in a rushed breath.

The kiss mirrored the churning storm outside. Teeth clashed clumsily and lips moved hungrily. The kiss was wild like the storm. Wild like the emotions of the two boys. Eddie let his hand wander to Richie's neck before delving into his damp locks. Eddie savored the feeling of weightlessness. Richie felt loved and wanted by the one person he cared the most for.

They pulled back after a few moments to catch their breath. Richie rested his head against Eddie's forehead as they panted to regain their breath. Their hearts beat frantically as they both came to terms with what they had done. Richie's thumb stroked the bare skin of Eddie's hip and Eddie's fingers raked through curly locks.

"Wow Eds. I️ didn't know you felt that way." Richie said hoarsely.

Eddie pulled back to look into Richie's eyes before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I've wanted to do that for years." Eddie whispered into the dark, the thunder overhead dissipating.

"And I've wanted you to do that for years as well." Richie smiled.

The love sick boys pulled the covers up around them as they lay in the dark. The thunder drifted away into the night. They shared sleepy kisses as their hands smoothed over any exposed skin, both boys wanting some sort of physical contact. Something to know that what they had was real. Some form of reassurance to know that this wasn't some dream or trick.

Their legs tangled together and their arms wrapped around each other as soft rain fell over two boys who were finally content in each other's arms.

“I️ guess it really was raining men tonight, huh Eds?”

“Beep beep Richie.”

#it 2017 #it fic #it stephen king #reddie fluff #reddie fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #mine #one shot

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dyde21 · 7 years

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Cafe Half-Caff 1: The Orientation

Hey there! This is the first chapter of my new PJO Percabeth series. It’s going to be a pretty long one based off the plan forming in my head. Absurd amounts of fluff, and hopefully antics ahead. I will be cross posting this to my FF.net account under the same name. This first chapter is a little shorter to gauge interest, and I will be continuing it, but please let me know if you enjoy it so far. It’d help motivate me. =P Anyway, enjoy!

XxXxXxXxX

Percy shoved his hands just a little farther into his sweatshirt pockets as a shiver racked his spine. He was really starting to regret not bringing the jacket his mom had recommended. Nestling up in the corner of the doorway, between the glass pane and the slight lip of the brick wall, Percy tried to hide from the wind chill. 7:30 was far too early for orientation. In fact, if he wasn't so desperate for this job he would have seriously considered just looking for another job. Clearly anyone who could schedule an appointment like this had to be heartless.

Pulling out his phone, he stared at the screen through the slight fog of his breath.

7:02

Great. Only 28 minutes left to go.

He had spent the past night at his mom's, partially because she wanted to give him some advice to actually keep this job, and partially just because he missed her. Moving out had made him miss her more than he thought he would.

Unfortunately, his mom had gotten a call early that morning that owner of the candy shop she worked at wanted to meet with her, mentioning a promotion. Which meant that she wouldn't be able to drive Percy to work like she had promised, so he could either walk there on his own, or be dropped off early. He had opted for the later, hence finding himself waiting around in the crack of dawn for orientation from some cruel person who would subject him to this.

Mentally, he made a note to never get picked up by his mom again, he refused to lose access to his car. There was no way he would suffer this ungodly fate again. He also made a note never to visit Canada. Any place this cold couldn't be that great.

Sliding down the wall, he got settled in the corner as he pulled his knees up to his chest and shivered in the breeze. It was slowly getting warmer, but his breath was still visible in the fall morning. A yawn escaped his lips as he pulled his hood more over his head. Shifting his weight to get a little more comfortable in his cranny, he let his eyes slide shut.

He wasn't exactly used to waking up this early. He figured he wouldn't pass out, but resting up just a bit before orientation would probably be a good thing. He needed all the energy he could get, especially considering he wasn't the best at learning new things quickly and he desperately wanted to make a good impression.

He would just close his eyes for a moment, that was it.

What Percy hadn't expected to happen, was to feel something nudging his foot. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see a pair of shockingly gorgeous gray eyes and curly blonde hair staring back at him with an amused smirk.

“You drool when you sleep.” Was all she said before she stood up again.

Quickly wiping away the drool on his face, mentally dying on the inside Percy quickly scrambled to his feet. “Uh- sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep. I'm just waiting for...”

“Orientation, right? I take it you're Percy Jackson, the new guy?” The voice asked, the amused tone still in her voice. “I'm surprised you could sleep in this weather.” She offered, stepping back.

Percy ducked his head, hoping the rosy color in his cheeks looked like wind chill versus the blush that was currently dominating him.

Of course the person training him had to not only wake him up, but also be almost criminally attractive.

“It's early.” He muttered. “I haven't gotten up this early... ever.”

The blonde just laughed, her laugh sounding like wind chimes to Percy. Utterly unfair. She held out one of the two cups she held in her hand. “Here's a peace offering for calling you out so early. I don't know what kind of coffee you like so I got you hot chocolate. I hope that's okay.” She said, her voice trailing off slightly at the end in a hint of worry.

Taking the cup gratefully, Percy took a sip.

“Wait! It's a li-” She winced as she saw Percy flinch. “A little hot...” She finished.

Ignoring the scorching pain and increasing numbness in his mouth Percy smiled. “Thank you... uh...”

The girl's eyes widened as she realized she hadn't introduced herself. Offering her hand, she smiled a bit sheepishly. “Annabeth Chase. I'm one of the two managers here.”

Percy shook her hand, impressed with her firm grip. He quirked an eyebrow. “Manager?” He muttered a bit subconsciously.

A challenging smirk crossed Annabeth's face. “Is that a problem?”

Quickly shaking his head Percy raised his hands in a show of peace. “I'm just impressed. I think we're the same age, and you're already a manager.”

“I've been here for years.” She replied with a slight shrug, though Percy saw the proud grin she was trying to suppress. Looking him over for a minute, she tilted her head slightly. “22?”

“23.” Percy replied.

“Same here.” She offered, before a shiver wracked her spine. “Let's get inside. I'm not like you, I don't enjoy sleeping in the cold. I prefer the nice heater we have.”

She fished out a set of keys as she unlocked the door, holding it open for him.

Quickly ducking into the cafe, Percy looked around curiously. He had only been in there twice before. Both times swarming with customers. Once to drop off his resume, once for an interview with a girl named “Reyna.”

The cafe was pretty simple, but elegant. Most of the outside walls were glass planes, and various booths littered the walls. A spread of tables dotted the floor, all with the chairs upside down on them. The far back wall had the three registers, and the wall of various prepackaged coffee beans. One side of the counter was a massive display case that usually contained various pastries and other food. Behind the display Percy could see what looked like a kitchen window, and the echoes of some sort of kitchen beyond it.

The color scheme was a earthy green and black, very sleek and pleasant. Not too fancy, but also nice enough.

Subconsciously taking another sip as he looked around, Percy winced as he burned the roof of his mouth again. Right. Lava was in his cup.

“It looks completely different in the morning without all the people here. Much cleaner and organized, I wouldn't get too used to it though.” Annabeth offered as she unwrapped her scarf and moved behind the counter. “You coming? Or are you deciding what to order.” She teased.

Percy had jumped at her voice, momentarily forgotten she was there. Luckily he hadn't squeezed too hard because he really didn't want to spill burning coffee all over himself on his first day. He had made enough of an impression already.

He followed her a bit nervously towards the back, starting to feel some nerves set in.

Annabeth lead him to a small room off to the side of the back. Inside was a table, some lockers, a sink, and a fridge. It was small, but organized well. It felt bigger than it was, much like the front of the shop.

“This is the break room. Your locker is the top right one. You can bring a lock if you like, but we all trust each other here. Nothing's gone missing yet. Well, aside from some food from the fridge. I'd put your name on that.” She offered, a light-hearted smile on her face.

Annabeth quickly deposited her bag into her locker.

Quickly pulling off his hoodie, Percy bunched it up and put in the back of his locker. When he freed his head, he could have sworn he saw Annabeth's eyes staring at him for a moment, but a heart beat later and she was looking down at a phone so he figured he was imagining it.

He dumped his keys in the locker as well before he closed it, turning around to find Annabeth leaning against the table.

“I heard good things about you from Reyna. I'm sure you know this, but she's the other manager. Also the only person aside from the owner who has been here longer than me. A bit of advice, I'd try to stay on her good side. She's a nice person, but she takes her job seriously and will do what it takes to keep this place as successful as it has been. You do good work, and you'll be treated well.” Annabeth offered with a friendly smile.

Nodding, Percy made a mental note of that.

“But... I read that this is your 5th job this year?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow with a relatively neutral expression.

Percy's head drooped again. Great. Lifting it, he looked back at her with a sheepish grin as she scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I have... bad luck. Trouble has a way of finding me, or so I hear. I promise you I will work hard.” He said a bit too earnestly. He needed this job. He couldn't go home to his mom with bad news again.

Annabeth studied him for a moment carefully. “I believe you.” She said after a moment. She nodded to herself, as if satisfied with the answer to another unspoken question. “We'll just have to keep you out of trouble then.” Pulling out a bag from another locker, she tossed it at him. “You said you were a medium, right? Put that on and meet me in the front. There's a bathroom over the-” Her voice trailed off.

Percy raised an eyebrow, in the middle of shimmying the new shirt on, his old one discarded onto the table. Realizing he probably should have just stripped his shirt off in front of his new manager, he quickly pulled it down. “Sorry! I'm sorry. I just wanted to be quick...”

“It's” Annabeth's coughed once. “It's okay. I just wouldn't do that around Hazel.” She offered, turning and walking away quickly.

Percy could have sworn her cheeks had looked a little pink. He paused for a moment to drop his head against the lockers with a soft thud. He had known his manager for all of 10 minutes and he had already screwed up so many times. If he made it through the day it would be a miracle.

Quickly following his new manager out, he saw her starting to flip the chairs back down so he joined her.

“Normally you most likely won't be opening, but it's easier to teach you the ropes before everyone gets here. Easier to answer questions, the like. Speaking of which, please ask questions. I'd rather answer your question, than clean up your mess.” Annabeth explained, a smirk on her face.

Percy nodded, setting down another chair. “So... Reyna mentioned I was a waiter?” He asked, a bit confused. Most cafe's didn't have waiters of this size.

Nodding, Annabeth motioned for him to follow as she moved back behind the counter.

“You'll be a waiter/cashier. We usually get pretty busy during the days, so when things are hectic we'll have you be a runner. We also may have you be a cashier if it's slower or we need the extra hands at the registers.”

Percy nodded, a clearly a bit nervous. Handling money was a scary prospect for him. He saw Annabeth purse her lips for a moment before she scooted over and gestured. “Here, it's not that bad. I'll teach you the ropes.”

About ten minutes later, Percy had managed to successfully enter three orders. Annabeth beamed next to him, clasping a hand on his back. “Good job. You'll get the hang of it in no time, and we won't leave you stranded while you learn. I'll be here if you get stuck or have questions.” She promised.

Grinning in return, Percy turned to face the blonde. “You're a really good teacher. I'm not sure many other people could have taught me that.”

Annabeth just scoffed. “Give yourself more credit. You're smarter than you think.”

Before Percy could reply, there was a knock on the door. Instantly his heart sank to his stomach. He wasn't ready for the day yet.

Sensing his distress apparently, Annabeth just laughed. “Don't worry. It's just Leo and Hazel. One of our chefs, and one of our bakers respectively. They have to get here early to prep for the day.” She explained, moving over to open the doors and let them in.

They had both been in the middle of some conversation when they froze and saw him.

“Hey there new guy! I'm Leo. Don't worry, I'll take you under my wing.” The Latino boy said happily as he walked in, offering a big grin and a wave.

The younger girl walked up closer, offering a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, my name is Hazel. You're the new waiter, right?” She asked, with a slight tilt to her head.

Nodding, he highfived Leo who seemed to be holding out for him, before turning to Hazel. “Yeah. My name's Percy. Nice to meet you.”

Hazel just nodded. “By the way, what's your favorite pastry?” She asked, a slight glint in her eye.

Percy was caught off guard, but thought for a moment. “Probably those bear claws. The ones with the apple in them?”

Hazel nodded, still beaming. “I love those too! That's good to know.” She said, a slight wink before she headed towards the backroom with Leo.

Annabeth just grinned. “Don't worry, you'll love them. Leo's a bit crazy but he's a good cook. Hazel is also a bit young, but our best baker. Her treats are to die for. If she offers you one, never say no.” Annabeth said with a laugh.

Percy nodded. “Right.

Reaching under the counter, Annabeth handed Percy a half apron. “Here, this will be useful. Today will be just you and Jason. But it's also our slowest day of the week so we shouldn't have too much traffic. Speaking of which...” She trailed off as she moved to let two more people into the shop.

A blonde boy and a girl with a feather in her hair both entered the shop.

“Oh! You must be the new boy. I heard Reyna talking about you. I'm piper, pleased to meet you.” She said, offering a handshake. Immediately she walked over to one of the espresso machines and started making something.

“Piper, we're not supposed to make ourselves drinks.” Annabeth warned half-heartedly.

“Don't worry, I'm making you one too. Besides, you owe me this, calling me in early and everything.” She said.

Annabeth just rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. Seeing Percy's amused, and slightly confused expression the manager decided to explain. “We've been friends since high school. That's why she doesn't show me any respect. She's also the primary cashier usually, and works the espresso machines.”

“When she's working, our job is pretty easy. She's quick and customers love her so our lines are shorter.” The boy offered. Offering a firm handshake he continued. “Jason. I think I've seen you around campus. Swim team, right?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Percy nodded. “Yeah. You... soccer, right?”

Jason nodded as well. “Yeah.”

Annabeth clicked her tongue. “Swim team.” She muttered to herself, as if she had answered a question that had been plaguing her.

Piper walked over, and whispered something that had Annabeth's cheeks turn red and had her swat her best friend's shoulder. “I could have you fired for that.”

“Nah.” Was Piper's only response.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, taking the drink offered. “No respect. Don't pick up those habits from her Percy.” She warned, half teasing.

A grin crept on Percy's face. It seemed like this place would be pretty fun. Which was a relief, considering he planned on sticking with this job as long as fate would let him.

“Anyone else coming in today?” Jason asked as he returned from the break room, tying his own half apron around his waist.

Annabeth thought for a moment. “I think Reyna wanted to drop by at some point and check in on how Percy's doing. Frank has mid shift, he'll be by later. Aside from that, other than the evening crew, it's just us.”

Still standing there a bit awkward, Percy perked up as he smelled something amazing starting to come from the back room.

“That'll be Hazel's magic. She's a magician in the oven, I swear.” Jason offered, sniffing the air himself.

Laughing slightly, Percy felt his nerves ease ever so slightly.

“We're opening up in thirty.” Annabeth announced, returning from her office with a clipboard. “Percy, come with me. We have some more paperwork for you to do. Jason, take care of front prep please? Piper help him out.” Annabeth instructed as she moved Percy back towards the break room.

They all offered some form of acknowledgment as Percy saw begin some well rehearsed routine.

About twenty five minutes of tedious paperwork later, Annabeth finally straightened the stack on the table before she put it away. Offering him a sympathetic smile, she cocked her hip. “That's done with finally. Now you can legally work here and all that. And...” She checked her watch. “Just in time.”

Leading him back out, Percy was surprised by the different atmosphere in the cafe. There was the subtle smell of a mix of baking and food from the back kitchen area that made the place more inviting. Coffee was boiling from the front, and all the tables had been wiped down and looked ready to go. Jason was sweeping a bit, and Piper was filling out some log near the registers.

“Here we go.” Annabeth said, glancing over at Percy.

Apparently the sense of dread and fear that washed over him was visible as he felt Annabeth rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it's going to be okay. Jason will have your back today, and we're all here if you need help. You'll do fine, don't worry. I'll cut you some slack today.” She said a playful tone masking a genuine promise.

Percy felt his nerves calm down to a dull throb and nodded. He could do this. He wouldn't screw this job up like the others. Too much was riding on it, and he was honestly looking forward to working with everyone.

Moving to the front, Annabeth offered him one last friendly grin before she flipped the close sign to open.

“We're open now. Good luck everyone.”

XxXxXxXxX

That’s the end of the first chapter! Kinda short for what you can expect, but I’ve been super eager to get this out. I really hope you guys like this, and some of you get as excited for this as I am! Thanks for reading and please look forward to the rest!

#percabeth #pjo #percy jackson #Annabeth Chase #Cafe Half-Caff #I'm super excited for this #I think this is going to be a really fun one #I have quite a few ideas planned out for this

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dereksgarcia · 7 years

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DYWM?

DYWM (DO YOU WANT ME?) — ' i just wanna feel you nearer. not gonna pray that bit closer. ' / spencer's got a thing for derek's new girlfriend. it feels as awful as it sounds. ( 2.6k words )

NOTES — soft baby season one spencer is most definitely the inspiration for this here imagine. i'm only a few episodes into the second season, but i already know i'll never get over season one. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy. as always, my ask is open for any feedback or requests! p.s. y/n/n stands for your nickname.

SNIPPET — "First thing you need to learn about me and Derek," Y/N pauses, drags her fingertips down the length of his arms, burns holes through his tux with her touch, and guides his extremities to the same dip in her waist her boyfriend was gripping moments ago, "we aren't the jealous type."

"NEED HELP, SPENCE?" He hears her before he sees her. Above the sound of shuffling feet, chest drawers opening and shutting, and discontented grunts and mutterings, her steady hum could be heard as she flit from bedroom to bathroom and back again before finally materializing behind him in the hallway.

Y/N Y/L/N, Derek Morgan's most recent girlfriend with the pretty eyes and curly lashes, a laugh that Penelope Garcia has affectionally tokened the 'Disney Princess Laugh', and plush lips that always, always — there's never a time when they don't — look soft. She took to calling him Spence from the moment they were introduced, which was perched on the hood of Derek's car with the hem of her skirt bunched around her upper thighs and the aforementioned man betwixt her legs. (To give credit where credit is due, she did manage to look more shameful than any of Morgan's previous flings Spencer's witnessed going at it like teenagers, but it still wasn't much. What was there to be ashamed of anyway when a guy like him was into you? Hell, Spencer sure wouldn't be.) A gentle breeze lifted her mussed hair from blazer-clad shoulders, and he watched his fellow agent tenderly smooth the tendrils back down. He remembers wanting to mimic the action, but chalked it up to the mere desire of wanting a girlfriend to publically display affection with in general, despite never really being the PDA type. Derek introduced him with his complete title, Doctor Spencer Reid, and Y/N had shed all formalities and simply chimed, "It's nice to meet you, Spence." He didn't necessarily mind.

The following silence is mistaken for consent. Once again, Spencer doesn't mind, especially when she angles his lanky form toward her, stands on the toes of already heeled feet, and does his bowtie for him. His breath remains stagnant in his throat. No inhale, no exhale. If Y/N notices, she chooses not to comment.

"You look dashing," she compliments in the teasing nature she always does. Genuine but not too much so to be mistaken for flirtation. No, she only has eyes for Derek. She smooths the lapels of his tux down once finished with his bowtie before pivoting him toward the mirror.

They could pass for each other's dates, you know, if Y/N wasn't infinitely more attractive than him. The red satin dress she's adorning doesn't hug her form, but that doesn't diminish how sexy it is, how sexy the girl wearing it is. It ends just below the ankles and there's a slit up the left side that showcases her miles-long leg (and the undisputable fact that she isn't wearing underwear.) Her hair, pinned up into an intricate bun with invisible bobby pins, highlights the delicate contours of her face. There's a shimmer on her cheeks that's either blush or the body spray she likes to spritz twice and walk through like the women in the sitcoms, she's told him. Her chandelier earrings are so long that they graze her exposed shoulders, and the jewelry is accompanied by a matching diamond necklace and ankle bracelet. (Because her legs need any more advertising.)

He, on the other hand, feels like he's trying too hard in his well-tailored tuxedo and dress shoes. Like the second he enters the gala everyone will notice him and stage-ask whose kid that is playing dress-up in his father's clothes. Between his startlingly young age and lack of date, Spencer knows he'll be the subject of hushed murmurs throughout the night. Maybe if he remains glued to Y/N and Derek's sides, no one will notice him at all. The couple has a way of being the cynosure at every event they attend. They could walk into a funeral, he's sure, and the mourners would abandon the casket to appraise them.

"You do, too," Spencer offers, and is then hasty to add, "Uh, I mean, like, in a girl way." God, why was he cursed with vocal chords? "Beautiful." Okay, he can stop now. "Sexy." Now would be a nice time for the sun to burn out and they all just die.

Red-stained lips ascend, a sign of no harm, no foul. He still feels like a stammering dumbass. "Sexy," she repeats and quirks an arched brow.

"Platonically," Spencer appends because in a roundabout sort of way Morgan is his best friend and he respects him and every woman who accompanies him. "Platonically sexy." His hair remains gelled in position as he bows his head. Growing out his hair was deliberate, for times like these. He hates himself now for styling it.

"Platonically sexy," Y/N says as if trying the term out. She hums her content. "I'm gonna start calling you that."

"Great, I'm sure Morgan'll love that."

"Pfft, watch this." She shifts her weight to the right, cups her hip, and calls down the hall, "Hey, Der?"

"What's up, princess?" Morgan exits his bedroom in a tux (the third he's tried on) that resembles Spencer's own, though is somehow more appealing on his broad stature. Deft fingers work on his tie as he swallows the gap between them.

"I'm calling Spence Platonically Sexy now," Y/N announces like she's decided to join a movement. Spencer's cheeks heat up. "You alright with that?"

"Uh, no." His arms wind around the dip in her waist, back facing the perennial third wheel. They're the only two in the world. "My nicknames are so much cooler than yours. You're only embarrassing yourself."

Y/N tips her head back and laughs. Spencer diverts his gaze to his reflection. "Please! Pretty Boy is the oldest one in the book."

"Platonically Sexy isn't even catchy!"

"It's an inside joke, meaning you just had to be there. Right, Spence?" Just like that the girl's managed to make his verbal diarrhea sound cool. A party Morgan should've attended, but was never invited to in the first place.

Somehow, Derek peels brown irises off his date to witness Spencer's head bob. "Inside joke? I lefft you guys alone for five minutes."

"Mr. Steal Your Girl strikes fast."

"Oh, really?" The agent hugs Y/N into his side. Spencer's such a freakin' third wheel. "I always knew you were a little playa." Morgan winks and he struggles to decipher if his teasing's malicious or not.

Y/N grins her tongue-through-the-teeth smile. "Playa playa," she sings. "The singles aren't gonna be able to keep their eyes off o' you tonight."

The male catches her eye in the mirror and dips his head again, smiling bashfully. "Yeah, sure."

"Look at those dimples! I could build a home in 'em." He thinks Y/N gets a kick out of making him blush, a self-esteem boost. On the other hand, he also thinks she just likes building him up. Friends compliment one another, don't they? Are they even friends?

"You're killin' him, Y/N/N."

"Sorry. Sorry. I'll stop." But she continues. "I just have the hottest dates tonight. I can't get over it." With a hand pressed to the small of her back, Morgan ushers her to the front door, pausing momentarily to grab her clutch off the coffee table. Spencer treads behind them and the two share a knowing look. What it is they both know he isn't sure, but they both know it.

Honestly, it's probably about her.

Scarlet material flares out around her feet. She twirls and twirls and twirls under the expert flick of Morgan's wrist like those ballerinas in their musical jewelry chests. Wisps of hair have come free from their restraints and now frame her face. The crowd easily parts for her as to not be a barrier. Once she's grown bored of being the sun and having everyone revolve around her, he pulls her back into him so they can resume their basic two-step. Her laugh is muted beneath the swell of the jazz music. When the song ends she's still laughing.

"Hello, my lovesick friend," Garcia greets, choosing now to materialize beside him at their assigned table. The blonde was originally mapped to be feet away from them, but there was no separating her and Morgan. He's been meaning to ask her with who and how much she paid to switch seats.

They applaud the live band. Y/N makes to clear the dance floor like the twosomes surrounding them, but Derek pulls her in for another dance to inaudible music.

Spencer hooks an index finger into his button down's collar and pulls. "Your what?" He heard her; he's hoping she'll have the sense to neither reiterate herself or elaborate.

Y/N perches her chin on his chest. Derek curls a renegade strand of hair behind her ear. Spencer wishes that was him.

"Oh, c'mon, Reid. We're totally friends now."

A corner of his mouth twitches. "Not the part I was confused by."

Seconds tick past before Penelope completes the puzzle. He watches the couple to fill the time. "Oh! Oh, my little boy genius, you have absolutely no clue how obvious you are, do you?" The hand not clutching her crystalline flute drapes over his.

"I'm not– I'm not obvious," he refutes. Immediately, it dawns on him that his rebuttal should have been: obvious about what? Now it's out there for everyone's confirmation. His crush on Y/N Y/L/N is as blatant as it is pathetic.

"You're looking at her and not at me."

Morgan's hand rests at her lower back now, the other swallowing her own. "Coincidence, I guess," Spencer murmurs almost trance-like. (That's what being in her vicinity is like, being in a trance.) He doesn't look away.

A real coincidence is the couple's timing. An impossibility in and of itself considering the distance betwixt the foursome, Morgan and Y/N's gazes veer toward himself and Garcia like they knew themselves to be the topic of conversation. Spencer offers an awkward wave and they take it as their cue to approach.

"Would y'like to dance, baby girl?" In one fluid motion, Morgan's extended his palm and Penelope's accepted it with an 'I thought you'd never ask.'

"Try not to be too jealous," she teases Y/N over the bright shawl adorning her shoulder as she glides toward the dance floor.

"I'm already planning your funeral." Y/N looks back at him, eyes glinting with their signature mischief. The globular apples of her cherub cheeks lift from the force of her Splenda sweet smile. Dainty hands are clasped behind her back. "And you, baby boy? Do you wanna dance with me?"

Yes.

Spencer chortles. "What happened to platonically sexy?"

Her only sign of contemplation is the subtle narrowing of her eyelids. "I gotta see how well you shake your ass on that dance floor first."

His uncharacteristically raucous laughter attracts the attention of passing FBI agents and their dates. Their dubious looks are directed toward him before softening around the edges once reaching her. "You're ridiculous. Does Morgan know you're like this? Should I warn him?"

Incredulous, she inquires, "Don't you know finding out how weird your partner is is half the fun?"

Spencer's still smiling when he says, "No, I don't, actually."

Y/N's lesser lip looks especially cushiony upon sinking her front teeth into it. Some of her lipstick stains the ivories and she flicks her tongue along the red until it disappears. "Well tonight, you get a trial run with moi." Barrettes are extracted from her hairdo and abandoned on the ivory tablecloth; the strands tumble down from their previous position in rivulets and Spencer watches them ripple. "Let's go, vanilla shake. Get that cute butt up and dance with me."

He obliges because there's no scenario where he wouldn't. "Vanilla shake?"

"Are you not white?"

"I am."

"Are you not as cute as a milkshake?" The male hesitates for longer than she'd like. "You are," she answers. "And thus, vanilla shake was born." The darling girl slips her fingers between the interstices of his own, zigzagging him through the barrage of suits and cocktail dresses. The band's returned from their five minute recess.

"Morgan was right about you," Spencer says, barely detectable above the room's clatter and drone.

Y/N hears him somehow and cocks her head. "Yeah? What'd he say, that I'm beautiful?" She claims a space closest to the stage and drapes her arms around his neck.

"That you're bad at nicknames," he retorts, grinning.

She blows a raspberry. "Haters are just confused fans. Now, hands on my waist."

Shocks assuages his sharp features. Granted, physical contact comes with slow dancing, but he figured they'd work their around that. "Don't you, uh, think Derek would mind?"

"First thing you need to learn about me and Derek," Y/N pauses, drags her fingertips down the length of his arms, burns holes through his tux with her touch, and guides his extremities to the same dip in her waist her boyfriend was gripping moments ago, "we aren't the jealous type."

She's soft within his palms. If he squeezes too tight he might break her; if he doesn't squeeze at all she might slip through his fingers. They sway in a sort of dance that doesn't require much footwork, which serves him well because he's a rhythmless liability when on the dance floor.

"I guess there isn't a reason to be when you guys look like that," he jokes, half-hearted.

A chuckle parts full lips. "Everyone has their insecurities. At the end of the day, you just have to accept that the only person you can control is you."

He hooks onto what wasn't said as opposed to what was. "You didn't deny it."

"You're attractive too, you know. You're so pretty. And those dimples." Y/N cups his cheeks in his hand. She probably feels the heat radiating off his face. Like warm putty he is when in her embrace. How does Derek survive it? "And when you wear your glasses, every girl in a 25 mile radius swoons." Spencer laughs, nervous. He won't last long if she continues on like this. "I'm serious! You probably haven't even noticed the way some of these other girls here are looking at you."

It's uttered before he can think to swallow it: "What other girls?" The girl, the only girl, mistakes it for a challenge. Curious eyes scour the sea of people for proof, hoping to catch a familiar face she probably witnessed glancing at him in passing. Then, it dawns on her. Slowly and all at once, Spencer watches as Y/N faces him once more, her countenance relaxing into a slack state. Her lips are ajar, eyes wide and beautiful and glossy, and eyebrows centimeters higher than normal.

"Spence," she breathes — a verbal kick to the gut, but he's dealt with worse. He doesn't expect some confession of latent love. He doesn't expect her to kiss him or tell him she always knew. Why would she kiss him? How could she have known? Gradually, her world is becoming Derek. They've entered the phase in their relationship where they're so hopped up on processing these new feelings that they think they'd take a bullet for one another. Considering Morgan's line of work, Y/N probably would. So Spencer hasn't disillusioned himself. If there's one thing he is it's practical. Daydreams are daydreams and reality is reality, and Y/N falls somewhere in between that in the way only she could. Because in his world of black and white, she hasn't smudged the lines so much as doused them in her favorite colors.

His quiver-lipped attempt at a smile could and does probably resemble a grimace. "Can we just, can we keep dancing?" he pleads.

"We were never gonna stop."

#spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x reader #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan x reader #this oneshot is genuinely the best of both worlds #sorta #it's also lowkey angsty

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etoilesdephan · 7 years

Text

Duality

Read it on ao3!

Summary: It was eerie in the prison, yet somehow Dan’s smile could calm him down.

Word count: 4.4k

Trigger warnings: Imprisonment, Mental Illness, not much else to tag but I also don’t want to spoil it. Be careful reading it

A/N: Sudden inspiration struck so I had to write this. Turned out kind of halloween-y appropriate ahaha, hope you enjoy!

=====

It was as dreary indoors as he had expected it to be, and the uniform was as uncomfortable as he was told. Despite that, Phil neatly tucked the white shirt into the black trousers, smoothing out the wrinkles accordingly before he reached out for the belt, and the issued baton, carefully winding the former around his waist and attaching the latter to it. The radio was next and his fingers fumbled clumsily until he finally attached it correctly. The tie was pitch black, and around his neck it made him think of a noose more than anything else ever had.

When he looked up in the mirror, he was a perfect grayscale, his skin matching the shirt, his hair - the tie. Only his eyes still shone brightly, differently, in the midst of it all, and he stared at his reflection for a little longer until the world around the reflection had become as bleak as his own image.

“Ready?” An older prison officer with a comically bushy moustache and a bit of a beer belly turned to him when Phil emerged from the changing room.

“Yes, sir,” In a trained manner, Phil responded and his back straightened in an instant, too.

While Phil had been growing up, he had dreamed big and small, thinking he’d be a weatherman, or a writer, or even make movies for the BBC and move to Hollywood eventually. Sometimes he had dreamed about being an astronaut, but then he’d land back on Earth and want to work with animals.

He’d never thought that he would end up enrolling into a police academy only to go on to work as a prison guard. People were caged like animals for behaving against the law, some full of remorse, others - in constant glee for what had put them there. It was a dark place, full of emotions that made him jumpy on the inside still even if his face showed none of it, his expression trained to be neutral or even a little friendly, but always well guarded and hiding any vulnerabilities.

“I’ll show you around and after that you will be assigned to a post for the day. We rotate them throughout the month, but you might be stuck in one for a while.” The older officer, Officer Waletzki, as his nametag suggested, explained as the two men walked through several different locked doors, the chime of the of keys mixing in with their steps and the occasional noises made by the inmates. Phil’s arms crossed behind his back, the young officer kept nodding whenever something was explained to him; there was the hallway to sectors C, E and break room, the bathrooms were across the hall that way, the lunch canteen for the inmates was behind and the schedules for when each inmate would eat was given at the beginning of each week though it rarely changed.

“You’ll stay in Sector H-6 for now,” Finally the other man stopped and motioned Phil towards the said sector, “Remember, these are all dangerous criminals. Keep your guard up. Don’t engage unnecessarily. You are in charge and they must follow the rules.”

Though Phil nodded, once the older officer disappeared around the corner, he made a face.

===

“Are you sure, honey?” His mum placed a hand on his shoulder as Phil was filling out the paper form that he had fought the printer for almost an hour over, when the old thing kept getting paper jams.

“It’s just a temporary placement,” He looked up and regarded her with a smile, “And I’m sure it will be alright. They’re all locked away and it’s the most secure prison in the area.”

He could see the doubt in her eyes, but then again he was used to it. She had been patting him on the head and smiling when he announced that he wanted to be a policeman. She had kissed his cheeks happily, embarrassing him, when he graduated. She had been speaking words of pride when he finally received the official documents.

Her eyes always betrayed her though. The worry lurked behind them, say where did the little boy with dreams much brighter and happier go? She knew that he wanted to do good, but there was always something that seemed to hold her back from believing that this was what Phil really wanted to do.

===

“Would you look at that, they got somebody new,” Phil felt his expression flatten when he heard the words and he looked over at the prisoner who was lounging lazily on his bed, eying Phil up and down like he was a piece of meat. It sent a shiver down Phil’s back, but he just glared at the inmate and continued walking onwards, slowly.

It wasn’t as dark as he had always thought it would be, the cell walls light and the daylight lamps actually implemented. The cells were more spacious, too, than some of those that Phil had learned about and the beds didn’t look quite as bad as they could.

The inmates, too, were quite the variety.

He noted some men older than his own father, either reading or sleeping. There were guys a little older or about Phil’s age, some really neat and others that looked like they had been dragged out from the middle of the forest and thrown behind the bars. There was a face here and there that seemed younger, too, most seeming quite restless, either exercising or pacing around the cell like a caged animal. There was even one that was furiously mumbling under his breath only to stop and stare when Phil was passing by.

It was eerie.

As he continued on, nobody really talked to him. That is, until he reached a cell set a little further than the rest, and there was something about the bars that made them look sturdier than others. Only when Phil eyed the number next to the door did he understood that he’d ventured into a higher level security, where more vicious men were locked away.

“Hello there, new face,” He was greeted with an almost awkwardly joyous greeting and he looked over to where the sound came from. There, in the corner on the floor next to the bars sat a tall man, his long legs crossed, and a book on his lap. His hair was curly, his eyes were soft brown, his face was dotted with stray freckles and his skin though pale looked like it held a warm quality about it. “I was wondering when I could get something new to read,” The inmate continued on and the awkward edge disappeared from his voice momentarily only to return more prominently when he laughed and scratched the back of his head, “As much as I love this, I think I’ll soon know how to cite the book word by word.”

Phil hadn’t even realised when he had stopped, just staring at the inmate who was offering him a smile wide enough to show dimples.

For all Phil understood, this man didn’t look like a criminal at all, there was no edge that wasn’t soft about him, and perhaps it was that what made Phil feel so much more cautious about him. This man was listed as dangerous, if the location of the cell and the number said anything, and Phil could already envision him luring people in with his looks, only to perform an atrocious crime that nobody could expect of him.

Even so, Phil allowed his eyes to wander down to look at the book in the inmate’s lap, “Library will be available on Thursday,” He announced bluntly, pulling his eyes away, his fingers tempted to grab at the baton just to remind himself of the safety, but Phil stopped himself; rule number one was to never show if you were in any way scared.

“Oh! Really? Can I get some good fantasy? Maybe science fiction? I’m so tired of these reality novels. They’re all the same,” The inmate spoke in a manner so genuine that it took Phil by surprise, only to make him tense when he realised that the inmate was pushing himself up on his feet and fully turning to face Phil, the book hugged tightly against his chest like the man was some highschooler.

“You look like you would know some good books. Please,” He saw the inmate looking down at the name tag briefly before he looked Phil straight in the eyes, “Officer Lester, bring me something interesting before I feel like banging my head against the wall over these sappy romances,” There was a light laugh that escaped the inmate’s mouth again and the sound poured into Phil’s chest warmly. He didn’t even realise that he was smiling a bit until he nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do. Nobody should be stuck with only a single, boring book choice.”

There was almost childlike excitement in the inmate’s eyes and Phil shifted, vaguely motioning with his hand that he had to go and wordlessly he began walking away. He felt a little dazed after the brief exchange, and he could feel the inmate still watching him until he was too far from the cell.

===

“There’s some sandwiches, new guy,” A tall, even taller than Phil, officer waved at the table across the break room as soon as Phil entered, “Beverly’s wife makes them for all of us once every other week, so it’s your lucky day.”

Phil regarded the other officer with a smile, watching the man bite hungrily into the sandwich before returning to his conversation with another guy.

As he was nibbling on one of his own, he looked around at the few men present; there was joyful chatter around, the most alive place in the prison so far and it was an oddity after the darkness filled morning. Of course, there was the book inmate, who had spoken to Phil like he was a person, but he didn’t dare to trust him.

“How’s it going, new guy?” The same tall man suddenly plopped in the seat next to Phil and he nearly choked on a bit of a bread. The other guy watched him with amusement as Phil coughed, clapping on Phil’s back lightly a couple of times until Phil stopped coughing. “Would be quite a lousy way to go. A job accident by choking on your own lunch,” The officer, Wakefield apparently, laughed and Phil joined in with a light laugh.

“I have a good survival track record. A whole twenty-nine years.”

Wakefield laughed even more at that, louder and more joyous than it seemed possible in a place like the prison and Phil used the moment to take another bite of his food, careful to chew through it well before he responded to anything.

“So how’s it? Any trouble with the inmates yet?” There was a stone cold quality about the other man’s eyes though his face seemed like it was nearly splitting with a wide smile.

Phil shook his head, “Just some of them running their mouths a bit, nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, and one was curious about the library day,” Phil lowered his sandwich just as Wakefield picked up his.

“Ah, I think I know who that is,” Wakefield said thoughtfully before biting into his sandwich and continuing on with his mouth full, the words unexpectedly clear and Phil could only wonder if the other man had purposely learned how to hold lengthy speeches while dining. “Howell keeps going through books like crazy. Had to bring him a whole stack during my first month here.”

Phil, never expecting to have more than just a number for the inmates, cocked his head a little, curious when Wakefield continued with his sandwich.

“What is he in for anyways? He’s up in the higher sector,” Phil continued on with his lunch, eying the other man and there was a certain tension that seemed to take over Wakefield, his face hardening instantly and the atmosphere suddenly made it really hard for Phil to chew.

“I have to go back to my post. Lunch is starting soon. You better go back to yours soon too, new guy,” The way the other man spoke turned Phil’s blood to ice and when he tried to swallow, the bread seemed to get stuck in his throat. Wakefield left, and there was an ominous presence that made the air thick.

It killed Phil’s appetite.

===

“I could make some much needed changes to your face,” The voice was a growling one, mixing laughter and seething hatred, “Just come a little closer, you dirty piece of shit.” It was a gross sound when the man retched and spat at Phil, missing completely, but it was clearly a step out of the line.

“Get away from the door inmate, immediately,” He brought up the baton, threateningly and the inmate stepped back. Slowly, slowly, the man sat down on the bed, all whilst staring at Phil with the purest hatred Phil had ever experienced. “It will go on your inner record,” Phil added just before the man flipped him off.

Nothing that he wouldn’t expect.

“I’m hungry, when’s the lunch?” Someone called at him and he looked around until he could see the inmate.

“The usual time. You can wait.” His voice was strict but his heart was beating rapidly. He hated mistreating people, even if they were mistreating him. He’d gone into police academy to learn how to help, serve and protect people. He’d known what he signed up for when he applied for prison guard position, but it was then that he was reminded of the ugly parts of his intended job.

He had always grown up being polite, taught to be so, and now he had to forget it all.

“Officer Lester! How is your first day going?” A much more pleasant voice reached out to him when Phil passed through the passage between the two security levels. When he looked up, Howell was smiling brightly at him from the same spot he had been sitting at earlier, the book on his lap now flipped open somewhere in the middle.

“Good, thank you,” He tried to be curt, remembering Wakefield’s expression. He tried to keep walking onwards but it was difficult when curiosity was stronger than reason at times. It was so hard to believe that this man could truly do something that would make men like Wakefield so cold.

Never judge a book by its cover. He reminded himself, but his feet stopped and he turned a little to face the inmate who closed the book after placing an old folded envelope into it to mark the page.

“Today is casserole day, right?” The inmate took lead in supplying more conversation and Phil shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scratched the back of his neck and then shrugged.

“It should be. Yesterday was fish, and fish always comes before the casserole.” Howell hummed to himself merrily before stretching his arms and legs with a yawn, “I hope it’s pork, we haven’t had that for a while.”

That made Phil arch his brow and he found himself speaking before he could stop himself, “How long have you been here?”

To that, the inmate just leaned his head back against the wall, looking at some random point in the cell’s ceiling, “Three years? I lost count after day four hundred twenty-eight.” What made it so much more eerie though, was the way that it sounded like the man didn’t really care that he was in the prison. Like it was something that he had talked about so many times that the reality had lost its meaning to him and he was over trying to salvage it.

“Aren’t you in your early twenties now?” The frown had taken place on Phil’s face; he couldn’t feel sorry for the older ones that much anymore, they had had lives to live and learn, and had still ended up in the prison after all those experiences. Howell, however, looked too young to be locked away. The security level meant most likely a life imprisonment and it hurt Phil thinking that someone had thrown away all those years of wonder and exploration away so early on in their life.

“I’m almost twenty-five,” The inmate answered and plucked at the envelope that was sticking out of the book, “Mum sent a reminder just last week about it. I should have some visitors finally,” There was a pure happiness that showed in those deep brown eyes when Howell looked at Phil and for all he knew, Phil frowned even more.

“I hope it’s pork today, too,” He muttered under his breath and turned to go, but something told him that the inmate had heard him anyway, if the happy sound he made was anything to go by.

===

“Away from the door, Howell,” Phil instructed and watched as the inmate put away his book obediently and stood up against the wall, hands against it and legs at shoulder width even before he was instructed to do so.

Phil unlocked the door and the officer assigned with him from a nearby sector, Horsfall, walked in and took the inmate’s arms to cuff them around the wrists. For a moment, Phil expected the officer to also cuff the young inmate around the ankles too, but instead he grabbed him by the shoulder to lead him towards the exit.

The inmate, nearing Phil, offered him a wide, dimply smile and Phil’s lips quivered, wanting to return it but instead he locked the cell door and followed the two people through the hallway towards the canteen.

It was silent. Too silent.

As they walked through the hallway that Phil had been patrolling, all of the inmates were tucked away, sitting in their beds, watching the trio silently as they walked past the cells. Even when coming close to the rudest and loudest of them, Phil was only greeted with silence and blank stares and it made him uneasy. One glance at Howell, and he was calmed by that smile on his face and that hum in his throat that sounded awfully lot like a song Phil knew but couldn’t quite place.

“You know the drill,” Horsfall pushed Howell inside the canteen and the tall inmate tripped a little over his feet before he caught himself, and Phil could swear that there was a light blush on Howell’s cheeks when he nodded at the two officers and walked across the canteen to queue with a tray in his bound hands.

“That was strange,” Phil murmured quietly to the other officer and when given a questioning look, he elaborated, “They’re usually not this calm, the other inmates. Or is that just a thing in the mornings?”

Instead of an answer, he was regarded with a weird stare, like if what he’d said was something really bizarre. When he returned that with a question in his knit brows, the other officer excused himself and left the canteen to help with bringing in more of the inmates.

Howell was sitting at one of the empty tables alone, happily munching away what looked like a really bland casserole.

===

“You’re going to die,” The whisper that followed Phil through the hallway had set his heart on a race. The first time he had heard it, he had hushed the inmate. The second time he had lightly hit the baton against the bars of the cell. As the whispers continued on, he tried to put it off as a cruel joke that the inmates were trying to pull on him, to try and scare him away. Perhaps that’s why the previous guard had resigned, tired of this choir of whispers, anger and darkness seeping through every corner of the building.

Phil definitely couldn’t see himself working here for too long, and he was already wishing to hear back about his applications elsewhere. He just needed the money while he waited, but now he hoped that the wait wouldn’t be long.

He couldn’t imagine how bad it could get if after less than a day it felt too heavy already.

And he couldn’t shake the dread that was taking its residence in his joints when more and more officers left him without an answer when he actually got around to asking about Howell. Phil couldn’t understand it; either there was a huge mistake or the man was a lot more dangerous than anyone wanted to admit, but no matter how hard Phil raked his brain he couldn’t remember any big case around this strange young inmate. So he was left wondering.

“It was chicken again,” The voice was already too familiar to him, and it was openly disappointed when it spoke. As if charmed, his feet stopped and Phil looked through the bars where the inmate was lounging on the cell floor, arms behind his head as he stared at the light in the ceiling.

“Hopefully it’s pork next time,” Phil didn’t know what else to say, as he watched the tall frame so relaxed on the floor like Howell belonged there.

“Probably not, we haven’t had any for months now,” The tone was dismissive but still filled with so much disappointment that Phil felt himself move closer to the cell door, not feeling threatened at all with the inmate so leisurely on the concrete floor.

“Howell, get off the floor, you’ll get sick,” He tried to instruct sternly, but his tone came across more caring and it seemed to catch the other man’s attention.

Or so Phil thought until the inmate laughed, “Please, I’m no officer, just call me Daniel, or Dan, whichever is good for you. I know it’s a customary thing to call us ‘inmate’ or by our family name, but it’s just us here.” Dan winked at Phil and Phil found himself swallow, uncertain as to what to do or say, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Phil shook his head, “We’re not supposed to acquaint ourselves with inmates,” He squared his shoulders, raised up his chin and pressed his lips together. Dan was just looking at him with a soft kind of amusement, but finally moved to sit up. He never stood, and instead crossed his legs in that familiar manner.

“Officer Lester, a true law enforcer. I like that,” There was a little bit of cheekiness in those words and Phil was unsure whether or not it was meant offensive.

“I guess that’s what puts us on the opposite sides of these bars,” Phil reached out, placing his hand against the cold metal and arched his brow when Dan laughed.

“That’s very true.”

He could feel the question burn in the back of his throat, the curiosity stronger than reason and Phil couldn’t explain the need to find out; he’d always scored so well in tests of mental preparedness to follow orders and to not let the emotions win over reason when faced with the most unusual situations. Yet, he wanted to know.

He needed to know.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Dan seemed to be genuinely confused, the tone a clear indication that their conversation had changed completely.

“Why are you here? In the prison?” Phil could hear the heartbeat in his ears from how strong his heart was pounding against his chest, anxious. It was almost like he was breaking the most sacred rules in the universe and his heart understood faster than his brain.

He watched as Dan pushed himself up to his feet and though he knew that he had to stop him, Phil couldn’t, instead watching as Dan neared the door, neared Phil. He was so close that Phil could see his lashes in detail as they fluttered closed, then open again, and the way the skin on Dan’s lips was chapped. He was too close, because Phil could feel Dan’s breath on his face as it ghosted over him.

“Who said that it’s me who is locked away, Phil?” The voice sent a violent shiver through the entirety of Phil’s body and he stepped back, tripping over his own feet and landing on his butt painfully.

“H-how do you know my name?” Phil stammered and there was panic running through his whole body when the cell door easily opened and Dan stepped out of it, nearing Phil slowly as the young officer tried to scramble away backwards on the floor.

“Why wouldn’t I know it, Phil?” Dan was close, too close, and it felt like Phil’s heart was going to burst.

“Stay away,” Phil’s voice faltered, and he swallowed before he could find it again, louder, “Inmate step aside immediately!”

But as he tried to grab for the baton or the radio, he found himself unable to, his arms and legs as if bound to the floor and he couldn’t do anything but to trash, trying to keep Dan away as the man leaned in closer with what seemed worry on his face.

===

“Phil, can you hear me?” Dan spoke loudly, shining a light into the man’s eyes the best he could as Phil kept trashing despite the bonds around his wrists and ankles holding him down to the white bed.

“Nurse, we need Lorazepam, now!” He instructed while trying to reach out and hold the man down, and it was clear that whatever was happening was taking a toll on the body, the skin reddening around the bounds painfully and the heartbeat underneath Dan’s fingertips skyrocketing from what he could catch.

“I’m holding him, go on,” He leaned himself onto the trashing man’s body, grabbing a hold of his arm enough to allow for the anesthetic to be injected.

It didn’t take long for it to kick in and when it did, Dan fell back into the bedside chair heavily, wiping the sweat beads from his forehead as he looked over at the sleeping man.

Dan frowned, the lines on his face much deeper than his age should’ve allowed.

“You’re going to be fine,” He murmured quietly, “We’ll figure a way to give you a proper life.”

It hurt him to watch the young male when he had been brought into the hospital, hallucinations more often there than not, most causing violent reactions that had finally worn the family out and frightened them enough to seek out help.

“We’ll do our best,” Dan promised before reaching out and placing the three plush toys on the bed next to the man that Dan knew Phil lovingly liked to refer to as Waletzki, Wakefield and Horsfall.

#myfanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #phanfiction au #phandom #phan

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2013sharry · 7 years

Text

DJ Got Us Falling In Love

Hello, hello! I am finally back with more writing! Honestly, the only reason I took so long was because this literally took me almost two months to write because I am the worst and my computer broke and I don’t really even know. This isn’t completely how I wanted it to be but I’ve been writing it for two months and I couldn’t keep tweaking it anymore. Let me know what you think!

EDIT: I totally forgot to mention that I kind of set this up as a Part 2 for Secret Love Song. It can be read as a standalone one shot if you want but if you want some backstory for it or were looking for a part 2 for SLS you can read it like that as well!

“So baby tonight, the DJ’s got us falling in love again.”

You’re torturing yourself. Scrolling through all your social media only hurts you but it’s like your fingers work of their own accord.

It’s everything Harry trained you not to do. “Don’ pay attention t'it, love,” he’d murmur in your ear as he’d reach around you to close incriminating tabs open on your laptop. “Doesn’t mean anythin’.” But it did mean something, it always did.

More than ever, you should be heeding his advice. Every article, every new picture, every interview twists the knife in you that much more. It’s enough that he isn’t a part of your life anymore. But now you’re forced to watch his life unfold in front of your very eyes, whether you like it or not.

And like it, you do not. It isn’t as simple as unfollowing him like with any old ex. No because his face would still be splashed all over the internet, even if it isn’t his social media pages you’re checking.

Although, you are checking. And you don’t like what you see.

Countless blogs and gossip sites have his picture all over their page, speculating about the new girl he’d been parading around. Even as you read the various accounts, you can hear his voice in the back of your mind, “S'not real. These people are jus’ bored. Need something to do,” but you push it away. He’d broken up with you, hadn’t he? You don’t have to listen to what he says, even if it is only in your mind.

“Stop it,” a voice chimes out that mirrors the one in your head. You peel your eyes from your phone screen in time to watch your best friend snatch it from your hand.

“Hey!” You reach to grab it back but she only pulls it farther.

“This is not healthy,” she continues, rolling up the window of the cab. She smooths out the unruly mess the wind had made of her hair, dropping the phone in her bag. “I’m taking this hostage.”

“Give it back,” you insist. You had been only moments away from discovering the identity of your ex’s mystery girl. A sigh escapes you when you remember that you were once considered his mystery girl.

“No,” she fights back. “Come on. We’re having a girls’ night.”

It had been months since you and Harry broke up but you still didn’t feel ready to get back out there. Your friends had understood, giving you the space to figure things out for yourself, but tonight you aren’t being granted that space. It isn’t so much a girls’ night as it’s your best friend dragging you out of the house. And though she’d nearly had to pull you out of your bed kicking and screaming, once you walk through the door of the bar, you feel good. Maybe you aren’t ready to put yourself out there yet, but you could still dress up and have a good time with your best friend.

“Drinks?” she asks and you nod in agreement. “You go find a table, I’ll grab us something.” With that, she’s off to flirt her way to free drinks.

Your eyes scan the room, hoping for an empty table. Nothing was worse than wearing shoes you couldn’t possibly stand in all night in a place with nowhere to sit. Much to your dismay, that seems to be exactly the case tonight. Undeterred you make your way over to a table of drunk girls. If nothing else, your specialty was hovering around tables in the hopes of snatching them up as soon as they became available. However, these girls are just as determined to stay as you are, so you glance around the room for another table almost ready to leave. And that’s when you spot him.

You hope you’re imagining things but the curly head and flashy shirt are a dead giveaway. It’s definitely him, and with the flock of people hovering around him, you’re surprised you hadn’t noticed earlier.

And it’s like he can sense your eyes on him because within seconds, he’s turning to face you, eyes wide with surprise when they register you. You avert yours, hoping it’ll give the impression that he shouldn’t come over. But either he doesn’t notice, or he ignores it, because out of the corner of your eye, you see him excuse himself and make his way over.

Your heart is pounding at such a rapid pace you feel like everyone else in the room can hear it. The space between the two of you is growing smaller and smaller which each one of his heeled boot steps but you still can’t manage to look over at him. Maybe if you keep your eyes squeezed shut you can will this to just be your imagination.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ standing here all by yourself?” And suddenly, your eyes fly open. There Harry is, standing in front of you, his signature smirk pointing directly at you. The sound of his voice hits you like a train and you’re certain your knees are going to give out. You’d heard his voice in interview clips and the crooning sound of it on his album but to hear it directed at you makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Hi,” you reply back lamely. Neither of you say anything after that and even in the crowded bar, you feel like the silence is swallowing you whole.

“Yeh know,” he says after realizing you aren’t continuing, “you don’ have to stand over here alone. Could sit with us.” He gestures back across the room to his already packed table. You catch glimpses of members of his team that had never approved of you and people that look so glamorous that you feel out of place being in the same space as them. The exact group that had intimidated you out of your relationship.

“That’s ok,” you say, coming off a little shy. “It looks like you’re all full anyway.”

“‘S’always room for yeh.” He says this so directly, his eyes locked on you. You’re suddenly aware of how empty your hands are and would kill for that drink your friend promised you.

You choose not to respond, mostly because you don’t know how to. “I’m here with someone, anyway.” You swear his smile falters. “Uh, she’s at the bar getting us drinks.”

His face brightens a little at the clarification and thankfully, he finally averts his eyes from you to take a look towards the bar. He squints, “’S tha—?”

“Yeah,” you confirm and he smiles.

“Doesn’ look like she’s bringing ‘em over anytime soon.” You follow his gaze to see your friend making conversation with the bartender with what is most definitely her flirty face, sipping on an already half empty drink. You note yours sitting right in front of her, discarded and ice melting.

“C’mon,” he says and you turn your attention back to him. His hand is outstretched and you hesitate.

Its one thing to make casual conversation with him in passing but it’s a different thing altogether to take his hand and spend the night at his table with him. It would be too much like old times for you to bear. But his eyes gently plead you, something you’re very familiar with, and like always you’re powerless to resist. Your hand reaches out, almost on its own accord, and takes his. The smile on his face grows and he moves to lead you through the crowd.

At his table, he introduces you to a few people loitering around before pulling you to sit down next to him. You can’t help but note the mysterious blonde from the internet photos and the fact that he doesn’t extend his hand to introduce you.

He’s got bottles at his table and though you’re about to refuse, Harry’s already poured you a drink – your favorite, of course. He slides it over to you without a word and he picks up his own glass. It’s quiet between the two of you, both sipping on your respective drinks, until he speaks up and it’s like his voice echoes across the whole place.

“You look…amazing,” he says, almost breathless. The intensity of his gaze used to make you feel special, the most important person in the room to him. But right now, it makes you feel shy, like you don’t deserve it anymore.

With averted eyes, you reply with a soft, “Thanks.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you and you feel the sudden need to reciprocate. “You look very handsome, yourself.” Your compliment is spoken just as softly with an added, “As always.” A blush flies over your cheeks at the involuntary addition but he doesn’t seem to mind.

His lips curve into a smile and it fills your body with unexpected warmth. It may not have happened too often right before things ended, but nothing could make you forget the feeling of knowing you were the reason he was smiling. His expression lingers and you find yourselves just looking at each other. To be honest, after all this time, it was nice to be able to see his face somewhere that wasn’t the grainy screen of your computer.

As if on cue, Sign of the Times comes blaring through the speakers. It’s some insane club remix, and you scrunch your nose in displeasure. “You know,” you say, straining to be heard over his voice pumping out of the speakers, “your new stuff is really good.”

“Don’ think I forgot to add a bass drop?” he comments with a cheeky smile as the beat thumps heavily around the bar.

A giggle escapes your lips at the thought of him making beats in the studio. “Definitely not.”

He chuckles, breaking eye contact and looking down at his drink. “Thanks, though. I, uh, I’m glad t’see your opinion hasn’t changed.”

“I’ve been listening to it non-stop,” you admit. “It’s my favorite album to listen to at the moment.”

“Mine too,” he replies. “In the least self-absorbed way possible, of course,” he adds with a dry chuckle.

And with that, the two of you fall into a rhythm that feels almost too natural. His head still falls back the same way when he laughs at something silly you say. Your eyes still nearly roll out of your head when he tries to subtly sneak a few puns into the conversation. And even though there’s plenty of space between you two, his hand still manages to brush up against the bare skin of your knee a few times, sending your heart rate soaring.

A few more drinks, a few sideward glances you throw the blonde at the end of the table, and almost an hour of catching up goes by. His arm is resting around the back of your chair now, his own chair having been slid over little by little directly next to yours at some point.

He’s leaning in when he speaks, so close you can feel the fan of his warm breath across your skin. “You know, it’s really…” Harry trails off, like he’s lost steam but the inquisitive look on your face pushes him forward. “It’s really good t’see yeh.”

And though your heart aches for him even more now that he’s sitting right next to you, you agree. “You too,” you say. The hint of politeness in your voice isn’t lost on him.

“No,” he says, sighing as if you didn’t understand him. He runs a hand over his face, frustrated, seemingly trying to string together the words to make you understand him. “I jus’…I haven’ been able to stop thinkin’ about yeh since everything happened.”

His face displays a hint of the same sadness that you’d been feeling deep in your chest every moment you’d been separated from him. He’s given you an opening. It’s a chance to really tell him how you’ve been feeling – the night you broke up, the months since, and even the bittersweet moments you’d spent with him tonight. It’s your chance to finally tell him how desperately you miss him.

But missing him is an understatement and you aren’t even sure how to express that to him.

“No, no,” he says hurriedly, and it’s only then that you realize your eyes are filling with tears, “I didn’ mean to upset yeh, love.”

You sniffle. “I need some air.” And without waiting for a response, you’re shimmying out of from behind the table to find the door. You don’t make it too far when a hand tugs on yours and you look back to see Harry.

“Door’s this way.” His head nods in the opposite direct and you allow him to pull you towards it. Feeling a bit childish, you wipe away stray tears with your free hand. The cool night air hits you as soon as the back door swings open. It’s obvious why the outdoor tables are all vacant but Harry heads towards them anyway.

“I don’t want to sit,” you say. You shiver as you wander over to the fence that closes in the back area.

Harry’s right behind you – you can feel him – but he doesn’t say anything. You take a deep breath in, hoping the fresh air would clear your head. If anything, being outside makes you feel worse. The inside of the bar, with the noise and the people, is full of distraction. Out here, it’s just the two of you.

“Talk to me,” he whispers quietly when it’s obvious your deep breathing isn’t calming you.

When you remain quiet, he sighs. “’M’sorry.” You sniffle but don’t turn around. “M’not trying to overwhelm yeh. Jus’ when yeh show up here,” he pauses and you can see from his shadow that he’s gesturing to you, “lookin’ like that, it’s hard for me to stay away.”

A puff of air blows past your lips and you finally turn to face him. “I miss you too.” It’s so quiet you’re sure you have to repeat yourself but the twitch of his lip almost into a smile lets you know he heard loud and clear.

“Then talk to me.” Looking into his eyes, it seems so easy. Like the last few months of hurt and yearning would spill out of your mouth just because he asked. His earnest expression nearly tricks you into thinking you could solve everything in the back of some random bar.

“I just…” you trail off, contemplating the right words, even though you know there aren’t any. If there were, you’d have said them to him long ago.

Though he doesn’t prompt you any further, his body inches dangerously closer to you and the pull for him you’d felt when you first spotted him is getting hard to ignore. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close to each other and selfishly you want to soak up every second of it, even if it’ll hurt later.

“I just miss you,” you repeat. It’s simple, and doesn’t even come close to the ache for him you’d been feeling, but it’s all you can come up with – nothing but the shallow characterization of your emotions that the statement brings.

His body responds to the tears continuing to brim your eyes, almost to convey words he isn’t ready to say. His hands reach out, hesitantly, to settle on your waist, pulling on you until you’re flush with him and his forehead drops to yours. With eyes closed, he lets out a sigh.

“’M so sorry,” he mumbles. Your hands feel stupid, hanging limply at your side, so you slid them to grip his arms. His sleeves are rolled up and the brush of his skin against yours sends shivers down your spine. How long had you been desperate to feel this again? “Ruined everythin’, didn’ I?”

“You didn’t,” you reassure, grip tight on his arms. Your eyes squeeze shut, sending the tears pooled in them spilling down your face. “Just…circumstances got out of hand.”

With a shake of his head, he insists, “Circumstances I let get out of hand,” and you can’t deny it. Had he not let his team’s opinions cloud his mind, maybe things wouldn’t have changed so much between the two of you.

He senses your agreement through the silence. “I’ll fix it,” he murmurs quietly. “I’ll make everything up t’yeh. Please let me make it up t’yeh.”

You want to pinch yourself. There’s no way he’s standing here, holding you, gently brushing the tears from your cheeks, telling you everything you’d been desperate to hear the last few months. Your fingers dig into his skin, involuntarily. You want to believe him so badly but it can’t really be as simple as him promising to change the hurtful way he’d let his team treat you. If it was, wouldn’t he have had tried it when you were still together?

You hold each other in silence, his hands now cupping your face, yours gripping onto the warm skin of his forearms, while Harry waits for a response – affirmation that yes, he could still make things work with you, or rejection that no, it’s too late.

At the prolonged quiet, he lifts his forehead from yours, eyes intently searching yours for some kind of answer. You look up at him, lip pulled in between your teeth. Words are lost on your tongue as you feel a breeze blow through the two of you. Being this close to him is too much, any resolve you’d have to think straight being broken down with every stroke of his thumb over your cheek, every waft of his familiar scent. And though there’s so much you want to say in response, all you can muster up is a nod of your head.

A flash of joy – or was it relief— passes through his eyes, though his serious expression doesn’t change. His thumb tugs your bottom lip from where it’s nestled between your teeth. Shallow breaths escape your lips as he leans his face closer to yours. Fingers resting on your chin, he tries to tug you closer to him. You let him.

The door to the bar banging open suddenly makes you look up. It’s a bunch of college kids, too drunk to even notice that Harry Styles is standing right in front of them. But it’s enough for you to push his hands off of you and take a step back.

“Can we go somewhere else?” he asks, not discouraged from the space you created, though he does seem to be aware of the company around you. “To talk?”

You consider the invitation for a moment. You’d barely been resistant to his kiss in the middle of a very public place. In the privacy of one of your places, you didn’t stand a chance. And though it’s become more and more apparent with every touch that you long to feel him between your legs again, you know you need to talk more.

But if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that you’re no match for the soft gaze of his eyes.

“Ok,” you say softly and the smile that stretches across his face sets off a fire in your belly. He reaches forward to take your hands and give them a light squeeze. “I’ve got to say goodbye, though.”

Harry nods vigorously. “That’s fine. Talk to your friend. I’ve got to go make the rounds before I leave anyway,” he admits. Your heart, so high now from the proximity to him, nearly sinks right down to your toes when you recall one specific person he has to make the rounds with.

Unaware of your hesitance, he moves to let go of your hands but you tug him back. “What about that girl?” His eyebrows scrunch in confusion and you’re tongue burns as you clarify. “That you’re all over the blogs with. The one that’s been hanging off the end of the table all night.” You look away from him as soon as the words leave your mouth, feeling like a child that was about to be scolded.

His reaction lacks frustration, and to your surprise, has more amusement to it. “The tall blonde? She’s just my new image consultant.” A relieved puff of air escapes your body and a smile attaches to your face as a similar one reemerges across his. “So you’ll meet me at my place?”

Your bottom lip is back between your teeth in contemplation but it only lasts a moment before you nod your head again to confirm. His smile spreads wider and on impulse he moves in to kiss your cheek. It’s quick but enough to send a spark through your body.

“See you there.” And then he was off, back into the bar, leaving you outside with your head spinning.

—

It takes a while to get your friend to pay attention long enough to understand what you’re talking about. Once she manages to pull herself away from making eyes at the bartender, she hands you back your phone (finally), insisting that she was fine.

The drive down the familiar roads is quick and instinctive, like you still traveled them every day. It takes no time at all to get to Harry’s. Working up the courage to get you to the door takes a bit longer.

You stand outside with a fist hovering over the door, hesitant to knock. If you left now, you could avoid any heartbreak that waited on the other side of the door. Just because he’d promised to fix things didn’t mean that they would actually work out this time. And the thought of losing him twice makes your stomach sink. But all your fears aside, you know not going in would do more harm than good.

Knocking on the door doesn’t seem right, so you lower your hand to the knob, choosing to let yourself in. The sight of his place sets your heart racing in your chest. You’d assumed he’d switch things up a bit, take the touches you’d added back down at the very least. But he didn’t. Everything down to the photos of the two of you is exactly where you left it.

“Love?” Harry calls out. “’S tha’ you?” The sound of his voice snaps you back to why you’re here in the first place.

He’s sitting on the bed when you finally make your way to his room. His shirt is unbuttoned a bit more than before and his shoes are strewn haphazardly across the floor. He bites his lip when he sees you in the doorway, the same look in his eyes from when he’d first seen you tonight.

“Took a while,” he comments. “Was afraid yeh weren’ coming.” And you swear he’s a bit bashful. You’d seen him be many things over the course of your relationship – vulnerable, needy, a tiny bit jealous – but you’d never seen him lose his charm, not even a little.

“I almost didn’t,” you admit.

He stands up closing the space between the two of you. “Glad yeh did,” he says. You hold your breath as his long frame strides closer to you but you deflate when halfway there he turns to his dresser.

“Been meaning to call yeh,” he says as he rummages through the drawers. It isn’t what you expected but you follow him to the open drawer anyway. “Left this behind ages ago.” You recognize the shirt he pulls out immediately, wondering how you’d hadn’t noticed its absence at all in the last few months.

It’s impossible not to remember first and only time you’d worn the shirt. Before the break up, it had been a part of an outfit worn on a night out with your friends. Although, tried to wear the shirt out with your friends might be more of an accurate statement because you’d barely made it passed the kitchen before Harry was desperately trying to tear it off of you.

“Look so good, love,” he’d whispered into your ear as he hastily tugged on the straps. “Always so good.” And he’d hiked your skirt up, pressed your underwear aside, and taken you right there on the counter, girls’ night be damned.

The memory makes your cheeks burn, especially considering it had happened not too far from where you’re standing right now. It’s obvious he’s thinking of it too because he has that mischievous smirk played across his lips as his fingers stroke the fabric thoughtfully.

“Remember when…”

Your heart rate spikes and you reply before he even finishes, “Yeah.” A blush rushes over your face when you realize the damp heat spreading between your legs at the memory.

“Here.” His voice is barely perceptible at this point, reaching the shirt out for you to take. Electricity rockets through your body when you take it and your fingers brush his. You feel like a teenager standing close to their crush with the way your eyes are unable to move from lips that had so desperately pressed kisses into your skin in the memory recalled from the fabric in your hands.

His gaze is just as intense on you, looking in the way you always loved, when his hand reaches out to grab yours, using it to pull you to him. “C’mere,” he murmurs quietly. And though he’d just handed it to you, Harry reaches to slide the shirt from your hand to place back on his dresser. The hand holding yours slides to your waist once you’re close enough and his other grips behind your neck. Every bone in your body is screaming that you just came to talk but you can’t hear anything over the pounding of your heart.

Gentle pressure against your back brings you to him and his thumb presses into your cheek. The butterflies swirling in your tummy apparently are contagious because he hesitates for a moment when his lips hover just above yours. Back at the bar, he’d been more than ready but between the time it took you both to get here, he seems to have lost his nerve.

He’s mere millimeters away from a much anticipated kiss but instead he brushes his nose lightly against yours. You tug involuntarily on him with your hands at his waist, unable to wait anymore and the subtle motivation from you kick starts him again.

His lips twitch above yours, hesitating before pressing a firm kiss to yours. With his bottom lip tucked into between yours and the way your bodies form together, it’s like nothing had changed. Both his hands grip at your waist, digging into the material of your dress so forcefully you swear they could rip right through. The fabric of his shirt is smooth beneath your hands as you slide them up to wrap around his neck. A gentle tug encourages him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with ease.

His taste on your tongue overwhelms you, both familiar and foreign at the same time. Everything that you’d been too afraid to say out loud radiates through your body as you press into his to kiss him as deeply as possible. You hope it’s enough to convey words that had been left unspoken for months.

Kisses that start out soft and gentle turn to hungry and needy, tongues battling to rediscover more of the other first. His lips move across your cheek to your jaw then your neck in burning kisses that leave a fire wherever they land. The sudden intensity makes your stomach swirl with a hunger for him and your mind is cautious to where it’s leading.

You press a hand to his chest to push him back in an attempt to catch your breath. “I thought you wanted to talk,” you whisper quietly and the words are barely out of your mouth before he’s pulling you back in for another kiss.

“Can talk later,” he murmurs and its obvious chatting isn’t all he’s desperate to catch up on. You can’t blame him since you don’t protest when he runs his hand down to rest at the lowest point of your back. You know you very well could protest, push back against him, insist on really talking first, and he would stop. But he’s got his hands all over your body for the first time in months and the thought of where else they’d be soon is enough to push everything else out of your mind.

You trip over his feet when he moves backward in the direction of the bed and despite the intense atmosphere, he can’t help but chuckle at your clumsiness. His thumbs rub against your cheek affectionately as he searches your face. “Don’ have t’do anything yeh don’t wan’ to,” he murmurs close to your lips. It’s a sweet sentiment, him making it clear he’s not pressuring you, but there’s no way you could stop now even if you wanted to.

You hope your eager kiss is enough of a reassurance to him, paired with quick fingers that work to undo the few buttons his shirt has still got left. When the fabric swings open, it’s impossible for you to not reach out and touch his skin. You take your time as you trace every familiar inch of the tattoos covering him, from the intricate pattern of the butterfly all the way down to the ferns, brushing lightly at the tufts of hair that lead somewhere lower.

He stutters at the feeling of your hand dipping dangerously close to where he’s beginning to strain against his pants. “Tell me what yeh wan’,” he breathes out against your lips.

You’re toying with the cool metal of his belt when you respond a soft, “You.” At your confession, he pulls your chin up to face him, almost as if he can’t stop himself, and he presses a slow kiss to your lips that knocks the breath out of you.

Your fingers are fumbling with his belt buckle and the two of you break apart only to give you a chance to undo his belt. A loud clink greets you when you finally pull it open but you’re not as successful undoing the rest of his jeans. The anticipation of the moment makes your hands clumsy and looping his button back through its hole is proving difficult for your shaky fingers.

“’S ok, love. Go on,” he encourages. His warm fingers come to steady yours and aid in sliding the zipper down. The sharp hissing sound sends a spark of motivation back through you and you’re ansty to get him undressed. When you eagerly press him to sit down on the edge of the bed he falls back without question and watches as you kneel down between his open legs. Your heart races as fingers dig into the band of his jeans to tug them down. How long had you wished to be right in this position? How often had you hoped you were still the only girl he let see him like this? And here you are, yanking his underwear down his legs haphazardly in your haste to get them off.

He springs from the confines of the fabric, hitting against his belly. He’s already thick when you reach out to stroke up the length of him and you relish the familiar weight of him in your hand. He feels full against your palm, just as you remember, and your stomach dips when you realize you’re about to find if he still feels the same on your tongue.

With that thought in mind, your tongue darts out to lick up his length without much of a preamble. You’re pleased to find the fullness of him inside your mouth is just as you remember it and you can’t help but let your lips close around his tip to suck gently. A groan escapes him at the sudden warmth of your mouth on him and your eyes flick up to his as you open your mouth to slide down on his cock. He watches as your head starts to bob up and down, tongue flattening out as you go.

“Missed having m’ cock in your mouth,” he mumbles, hands tangling in your hair. You can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement but you moan against him regardless.

He tastes the same as you remember and you can’t stop yourself from hungrily devouring him. Your mouth chases your hand as it twists up and down on his length, eliciting little puffs of air and soft moans from him. His hips stutter and his hands press deep into the mattress to support him when you open your throat to take all of him in your mouth. “Bloody…” he trails off when his tip brushes the back of your throat and you gag a bit. You repeat the action a few times, swallowing him whole, fingernails digging into the skin of thigh.

When you pop back off for some air, you can’t help but smile at him with swollen lips when you see the mesmerized look in his eyes. “Fuck, love,” he whispers. “Missed this so fucking much.” His thumb strokes your cheek warmly, the rest of his fingers massaging the nape of your neck. The sight of him slightly sweaty, chest heaving, is familiar and you too missed the thought that you’re the only one that can get him this way. You stroke up and down him while you give your mouth a break and watch his slick tip disappear into your palm and reappear as you slide back down. His tip is leaking now, the sticky liquid getting on your fingers and making them move easier on him.

You’re hit with the overwhelming urge to taste it on your tongue and as soon as you lean down to tongue at his slit, his heady taste overwhelming your senses. The moan that flows out of your mouth earns a similar one from his. Stray hairs fall into your face and he reaches up to brush them away for you, balling your hair up in his hand while you continue to lull your tongue around his head. A suck harsh causes him to tug on you, desperately trying to pull you off of him.

“Love, please,” he pleads when you continue to suckle on his tip. “M’not gonna last if yeh keep at that.”

You feel greedy. One taste of him and you want to take him over the edge with your tongue, feel the weight of his thick ropes spurting down your throat. But you know that’s not what he wants right now so you allow him to gently pull you off of him.

The second your mouth leaves him, he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. The taste of him on your tongue doesn’t deter him from the quick succession of kisses he gives you while tugging at your dress. “Why s’this still on?” he questions, hands bunching up the fabric at the bottom. “Take i’ off.” You lift off your knees and spin around, pushing your hair to one side.

With a look over your shoulder, you ask, “Unzip me?” He’s eager to oblige, rising from his seat quickly. Hands skim your waist as they make their way up to the top of the zipper that runs along the back of the dress. His breath fans over your shoulder and he leans down to press a kiss to the skin there. As skilled fingers pinch the zipper to pull it down, you shudder at the trail of sloppy, uneven kisses he leaves across your shoulder and the base of your neck.

Even though his skin is smooth and soft running down your arms as he removes the straps, it doesn’t replace the empty feeling he leaves where they were on your waist. You feel like a brat, wanting him to be everywhere at once but at the moment, you’re craving his touch any and everywhere you can get it.

Your heels come off when you step out of the dress, leaving you in just the flimsy lace underwear you’d worn underneath. His fingers dance down your body, exploring the newly exposed skin, and your skin tingles as they drop closer and closer to your pulsing center. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to slide inside the band of your underwear, the pressure of his hand pushing you back flush against his chest. He finds your soft nub, aching to be touched, and an involuntary moan radiates from you. His lips are back on your neck, sucking harshly as his fingers work slowly against your clit.

You want to scream, cry, anything, from the feeling of him teasing you so agonizingly and your fingers dig into the hand of his that’s resting on your stomach. The way your nails dig into his skin must pinch but he doesn’t react, just breathes heavily in your ear, mesmerized by the way you’re already falling apart in his arms.

When you finally can’t take it anymore, you turn around to find his mouth for a heated kiss. Moving back towards the bed, he steps out of his pants completely. His hands only leave your body when you yank his unbuttoned shirt down his arms to discard on the floor.

He falls back onto the bed, pulling you with him. Your legs land on either side of his and instantly, your hips grind down against his uncovered erection. With the only barrier between you the delicate material of your underwear, you revel in the rush of his skin directly pressed to yours. His hand comes to the nape of your neck to tug you in for a kiss that he uses as an opportunity to flip you onto your back.

In the new position, you miss the contact that grinding down on him granted you but he doesn’t leave you hanging for long. His lips drag down your jaw, dancing around the sensitive skin on your neck before nipping at your exposed nipple. His reward is the soft moan the escapes you and he repeats the action. While his mouth pays attention to your chest, his hand is back down at your center, rubbing over the cloth covering it.

The dampness of the fabric is evident and his eyes peer down at it. “You’re s’wet, angel,” he says, continuing the gentle circles that are starting to make your breathing uneven. “’S that…for me? Still for me?”

You moan as he puts more pressure on your clit through your underwear. “Barely even touched yeh,” he comments, body shifting to lie between your legs. His nose nuzzles your sensitive bud almost lovingly. “Wanna taste yeh so badly. Can I?”

“God, yes,” and you’re practically begging as he’s tugging your underwear down past your feet. Your legs spread with his help and his hands hold them open.

He’s taking a second to admire, a soft, “Look at yeh,” escaping his lips. His cheek is resting on your thigh, while his fingers stroke your slippery folds, feeling the wetness without any barrier. They run up and down your slit slowly and your body flushes with anticipation when his breath fans out across you. You know he’s just trying to reacquaint himself your body but his mouth is so close to where you need him and you’re getting impatient.

He wants to chuckle at the slight bucking of your hips but he doesn’t. With a gentle kiss to the plushy flesh of your thigh and eyes that peer up at you, he puts you out of your misery and licks a firm stroke up your slit. The feeling of his tongue finally on you sends goosebumps over your skin and you lose eye contact as your eyes slide closed.

He’s quick to make it to your clit, tongue working a steady rhythm against it while in an attempt to settle your jolting hips, his hands snake under your thighs to rest at your stomach. They’re strong and hold you in place and you reach down to tangle your fingers in them.

His tongue is moving in short, quick flits against your clit and though you’re squirming above him, he’s relentless. Your hands are grasping for anything they can get a hold of – the sheets, the pillow, his curly head between your legs. He doesn’t let up though, lapping his tongue in ways he knows still make your legs squeeze closed around him.

His hands are everywhere too. On your stomach, giving your hand a squeeze, palming your breast, gripping your thighs as if his life depends on it. You’re certain he’s going to suffocate down there with the way he’s diving in, his full face immersed in your wet heat and he’s looking up at you now, slowing down to give you long, slow licks that drive you crazy in a completely different way.

You’re starting to feel the slow burn in your stomach when his middle finger slides into you easily with how slick you are. He leans back, letting his digit slide all the way in, pressing repeatedly on that spot deep inside of you. Your back arches, your head digging back into the pillow and you can’t tell because you’re eyes are screwed shut but you bet he’s got that smirk on his face, soaking up every second of what he’s doing to you.

“Just like that,” you breathe out, even though you know he’s got no intention of stopping what he’s doing. Your chest is heaving with uneven breaths and if you weren’t so caught up in how good it felt, you’d be almost annoyed that he could still get you worked up with just one finger.

You can tell he’s thinking it too because he’s not doing much now, just pumping his finger into you and admiring the way your body’s reacting to him. His eyes are glued to you, watching every desperate clutch of the sheets and breathy moan of his name. The pressure in your tummy is growing and he’s starting to sense it too. “Harry I’m…” you trail off and he smirks, knowing exactly what you’re trying to finish.

“Yeh about to come, pet?” he murmurs, the hand not inside of you pressing back against your thigh as it begs to close. “Can yeh get there? Fo’ me? It’s been s’long. Want to watch you come.”

All you can do is nod because he’s added an extra finger that stretches you out just a bit. In an attempt to coax your finish closer, he attaches his lips back to your clit, sucking the bud firmly between his lips. The combination of his nimble fingers inside of you and his skilled mouth working your most sensitive nerves sends you over the edge quickly, chest panting and walls clenching down around him.

“Tha’s m’girl,” he murmurs. “Yeh are, aren’t yeh? Still mine?”

“Always been,” you mumble on instinct, still coming down from your high. At the moment, you would’ve agreed to anything he said but you do mean this. It didn’t matter how long you were apart from him. You’d always be his, and him yours.

He gives a smile before pressing a kiss into your thigh. Your hand is at the nape of his neck, desperate to tug on it to bring him back up to you, but the gentle trail of mouth up the slope of your body feels too good to stop. His lips plant kiss after kiss along the smooth skin of your stomach, taking his time to work up to your chest and the hollow of your collar bone.

It seems he’s never done in his mission to relearn as much of you as he can. You can’t be sure but it feels like he’s covered every square inch of your body. If you’re being honest, he could kiss everywhere ten times over and it still wouldn’t be enough for you.

As he moves up the slope of your body, his heavy length makes itself known when it brushes up against your thigh. His mouth finally finds yours again and between the slow, languid pace his tongue is keeping and the weight of him against your leg, your cunt aches for him inside of you.

Harry’s just as needy, rutting against your thigh and letting the sticky substance of the precome still leaking out of his tip help him glide across your skin. His moans reverberate in your body, his chest rumbling against yours.

He’s so close, so ready to be inside of you that you can practically feel him already but instead of giving you want you both so desperately need, he suddenly jerks away. A whine escapes when he lifts off of you, mumbling, “Gotta get a condom.” He’s rummaging around in his drawer and you stop yourself from wondering if any of them had been used in the last few months.

Tugging on his arm, you dissuade him, promising him you’re protected. “Don’t need it,” you moan, feeling his hand still in the drawer. “I took my pill. Promise.” The drawer remains open but he’s pulling back towards the bed again. His eyes search your face, deciphering what you’re really trying to tell him. “Haven’t been with anyone else, prom—”

Your reassurance is cut off with his mouth hotly pressing to yours. His body exudes relief when he sighs against your mouth. “Me either, love,” he promises. His thumb reaches out to stroke your cheek and his eyes are looking at you so intently you want to squirm. “Jus’ wanted you.”

Your heart swells at his admission that he had in fact not slept with any of the girls that tabloids had been so certain he had. He really was yours, no matter the circumstances.

Overcome with emotion and a sudden neediness for him, your hand reaches down to stroke his length. “Wan’ my cock, love?” he murmurs. You nod your head eagerly, lip pulled between your teeth. “Go on, then. Get what yeh wan’.” And his green light is all you need to bring him to your soaking entrance. He slides in easily, just as his fingers had, and the stretch you feel makes you bite your lip. It’s been a while since you felt the thickness of Harry inside of you and though it’s a feeling you’d never forget, it still is something to get used to.

His thrusts inside of you at first are slow while your walls adjust to the delicious stretch that his cock provides. You can tell he’s working hard to control himself, the pace so slow and deliberate, lip bit in concentration. Beads of sweat are already broken out against his hairline as he works hard to keep his thrusts even and controlled.

Your fingers are pinching half-moons in his biceps, legs hooking over his. “Faster,” you plead, quietly, knowing he’s desperate to drive into you and hit deep inside of you and you realize you are too. As his speed picks up, his face gets nestled in your neck, hot breath puffing out against your skin. His chest is pressing hard into yours, and it’s a bit uncomfortable the way your breasts are being squished, but you revel in the heavy feel of his body resting on yours.

The bed shakes with the vigor of his thrusting, knocking back against the wall in a rhythmic pattern. Your head leans back against the pillow as your body arches into him. He takes advantage of your position and sucks a mark into your neck. You aren’t his to mark anymore –or are you?—but you let him anyway. The harshness of his lips is soothed by a flick of his tongue and then he’s moving down to kiss your shoulder and your collar bone.

His hips slow as he presses deep inside of you, opting for small, pulsing thrusts that press exactly the spot that gets you panting and digging your nails into his back. Your stomach coils when you feel the brush of his tongue against your earlobe before he nips at it.

With his face buried in your neck, your lips are equal with his shoulder, pressing out kisses and tiny nicks when he hits you particularly deep. He surrounds you, not one part of your body not completely enveloped in his and the smell of his skin, now sticky with sweat, is intoxicating. You’re overwhelmed with how every one of your senses takes him in.

He’s thrusting fully now, pulling in and out so he can slide the entire length of him in and out of you. Your groan of pleasure is immediately followed by one of pain when his shoulder accidentally nudges you in the eye.

“Wha’?” he asks when you press back against his body.

You’re rubbing your eye when you respond, “Poked my eye with your shoulder.”

He pauses for a second, pressing kisses to your eye. “’M sorry,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, then your nose and any other area his shoulder could’ve offended. “Didn’ mean to.”

You assure him you’re fine, it’s fine, everything is fine and he should keep going but he still leans back to create some space. One of your legs is lifted, granting him a new angle that almost makes up for the loss of contact.

This position gives him more of a brace as he holds onto your leg and really pushes into you. He’s grabbing you by the nape of the neck, foreheads pressed together while he unceasingly pumps in and out of you. You try to hold his gaze but he seems incapable of stopping from his eyes sliding closed in pleasure, mouth hanging open though no sounds come out. And though he’s so relentless that your eyes almost want to slide shut as well, you keep them trained on the sight in front of you. Nothing was better than the fucked out look on his face as he drives into you and the knowledge that you’re the one that makes him feel that good.

You know he’s close by the way he picks up his pace, thrusts coming uneven as his fingers dig into your leg. “Kiss me,” you whisper and he obliges placing a sloppy kiss to lips as he grips your face. Personally, you don’t know if you have another orgasm in you but then you feel the rough pads of his fingers rubbing against your clit to get you there again.

It isn’t long before you’re running your hand up the nape of his neck to tug at the hairs there as your climax washes over you. He only thrusts a few more times after your walls squeezing down on him enough to coax his finish as well. His thick spurts land inside of you, though you’re not concern because you really are diligent about taking your pill.

His body collapses down to yours, face finding its way back to the crook of your neck. The two of you lie with sweaty bodies panting against each other for a while. Your fingers dance along his back, drawing patterns and shapes against the skin, smoothing over the marks and scratches your nails had etched. They then make their way up to his hair, scratching the scalp gently in the way he’d always liked. You figure there’s a fair chance he’s already fallen asleep because, as you remember, nothing puts him out quite like back drawings and head scratches but eventually he does move off of you. His body lands next to yours, chest heaving significantly less than a few minutes ago.

He looks over at you, an unreadable look in his eyes, and you know he’s looking to talk finally. Instead, a smirk spreads across his face as he pulls you to nestle on his chest. “Now, what did I tell you about reading those bloody gossip sites?”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #dj

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greyskywrites · 7 years

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Wolf’s Price

[AO3]

Part I. Vulgason || Wolf’s Son

“The Sarenns, at their heart a superstitious people, are especially fearful of white wolves. Beyond simply the fear of bodily harm, they believe white wolves to have a special connection to their animal devil the Vintervulgas, or Winter Wolf, the incarnation of winter and a creature so fearsome that to speak his proper name—Vull—aloud is to summon him and his pack down from the ice, and to suffer whatever torment they may wreak…

“For those that do call down the Winter Wolf, it is believed that the god exacts a price for speaking his name. Most commonly in Sarenn lore, that price is the speaker’s life.”

Herrin Kellar, An Account of the Myth and Folklore of Saren

I. A Nothing Name

4.3k

Naturalists say that all life comes from a single source, that we are as much kin with the trees of the forest and the fish of the sea as our own kind. I am not a naturalist, and I do not truly understand it, but I suppose it must be true. Certainly, the Sarenn know that the land is a part of them, that we are not Sarenn without the land.

When I was small, my grandmother told me that the people of Saren came from the same earth as other folk, but we took the northern wind into our lungs and the meat of the forests into our bellies and we were changed.

Many people have come to call Saren home. First, there were the Hasi, the mammoth-followers. Among the Hasi there are several nations, but by the Kressosi they are considered to be the same. Other Sarenn are more likely to know their names, if not the nuances of their cultures.

After the Hasi came many peoples, whose names I will not trouble you with, as these days all will identify themselves simply as ‘Sarenn,’ and they are not the same peoples they were before they came. Some wandered, and some farmed. Whether they came from the south, the east, or from west across the water, all people who settled in what would become Saren were changed.

My grandmother said it was because of the gods. That is what the Kressosi most despise about us, you see—the gods. They are in the very air, water, and land. They were here before there were folk, and they will be here after there are folk, when there is nothing but ice, and wind, and snow.

The one that my people fear most, above all others, we call only the Winter Wolf.

In the summer he hunts on the ice, when the sun never ceases shining, and when night falls on the ice he brings winter to Saren, in howling winds and driving snow. He is a giant. His fur glitters blinding bright like fresh-fallen snow under the noonday sun. His teeth are ice. His eyes are as red as blood upon the snow.

He is the frost of death, and he is the greatest shield against Kressosi invaders Saren has ever had.

For centuries he protected us.

Until one winter, when he didn’t.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” I murmured.

“Nonsense,” Muras replied, putting his hand on my waist, “many men bring their mistresses.”

“Their mistresses are Kressosi.” I had felt the weight of the eyes on my back since we had arrived, smelled the jealousy on their breaths.

Muras leaned in, so that his lips brushed across my cheek, because he knew it distracted me. “You have as much right to be here as any of them.”

If anyone ought to have been there, it should have been Todd, but he had begged it off, preferring to dine with his sister and her husband, because he disliked royal events. (Todd said this was why he had left the army, so that he wouldn’t be obliged to attend.)

Muras had purchased a new dress for me to wear, in a deep red that flattered my complexion, and I hadn’t felt like I could refuse, but I didn’t want to be there. All those hateful eyes on my back, flinching when they accidentally met my gaze.

I knew from whispers that were meant to be overheard what they thought of me. Muras was too handsome, of too good a station, to waste himself on a Sarenn slut. He ought to take a proper Kressosi wife, stop wasting his money on a mistress. What could Commander Emiran, the man who slew the Sarenn king, want with me?

They hated that he had the gall to openly keep a Sarenn mistress, and treat her well.

A steward struck a chime, drawing the attention of the hall. The Kressosi struck me as so austere in their decor, those plain white walls with their gilt edges, not a tapestry or mural to be found. There was nothing for the shadows of the candles to dance over but a barren waste of paint.

The steward stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back, silver buttons glinting on his coat. “His Grace the Crown Prince of Kressos, Prince Andon, and Her Grace the Princess Arabel.”

There was a shift in the room, a stillness. Breath held in anticipation, in anxiety. I checked my posture, and as Muras dropped his arm from my waist so he could stand at attention, I fell half a step behind him, tried to make myself less noticeable.

Prince Andon was a young man, yet, only just thirty, with a spoiled, soft face and hair the color of new leather. He arrived in attendance with his wife, the Princess Arabel, whose beauty only made her husband’s inadequate looks more obvious. Dark curly hair, a face the glowing ruddy brown of polished mahogany—she would be a popular queen, when her husband was crowned.

There was another woman, almost unnoticed, who came in behind them. Her dress was plainer, though still richly made. She was older than either royal, perhaps near her forties, with a physician’s black band stitched down the sleeves of her dress.

The Kressosi did not permit women to be physicians.

“Commander,” the prince said, seeing Muras and smiling. “I haven’t had the chance to see you since you departed for Jasos. It treated you well, I hope?” He looked at me with a knowing smirk. I kept my eyes down. It had been near a year since I took up with Muras, though I was given to understand that the prince spent most of his time hunting game further south.

Muras rose from his bow. “It did, Your Grace.”

The woman physician watched me with the eyes of a cat assessing whether I might be a threat that needed to be taught a lesson. I kept my posture deferential, but met the woman’s gaze. Was she foreign? Why would a Kressosi prince keep a woman physician? Perhaps she tended to his wife—but then why would she attend a royal event?

“And what’s the lovely creature’s name?” Princess Arabel asked.

I curtsied slightly, in the Kressosi fashion. I found it to be an awkward gesture, but one I had been obliged to perfect. “Lya Sargis, Your Grace.” A nothing name, a name no one had any reason to pay attention to.

Prince Andon looked to the woman physician, and when she spoke, I was startled by the Sarenn burr to her accent. “A common suname, Your Grace. One of the middle south.” Her eyes met mine.

It was impossible to place her accent when she spoke in Kressosi, so I spoke to her in Sarenn. “I did not expect to meet another of my own folk here. May the sun shine on your head.”

The woman’s mouth twisted into an amused smile. “And may your family flourish,Miss Sargis.”

Southeastern, then, a woman of the mountain passes that joined Saren to Aziran trade routes. Perhaps that was how she had come to be a physician.

“Lady Tyna is my adviser in all things Sarenn,” Prince Andon said, more to me than to Muras. “Since the war, her counsel has been… invaluable.”

Tyna was a name I knew. They had been a powerful family in the east, once, but war with Kressos had destroyed them when I was still quite young. I had heard that the survivors given up their estates and scattered to the winds, some to Azira, some further east yet. It was rumored one branch had even gone so far as Luon. To find a member of that family advising the Kressosi throne—there were Sarenn who had killed their own kinfolk for less.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sargis,” Lady Tyna said, and the group drew away, to give their greetings to others.

I relaxed as they left, and looked back to Muras. “How long has the prince kept a Sarenn adviser?” I asked.

Muras drew me to the edge of the room on the pretense of getting drinks. “Lor Tyna does many things, the least of which is providing counsel.” I was surprised at the venom in his voice.

“Nominally,” he murmured, “she’s a court physician, so that Princess Arabel need not be troubled with a male physician—but she’s Andon’s creature. Spy, extortionist—assassin. Whatever he needs her to be.”

I looked back to the woman, acting as the prince’s shadow. “How do you know all this?” I whispered.

Muras put a drink in my hand, let out a breath. “She’s the reason Alek is dead.”

Alek Emiran, Muras’ cousin, over ten years his elder. He had died very shortly after the war, when it was rumored his popularity among the army and his personal dislike for Prince Andon made him very dangerous. I had heard once, in comments about how a taste for the north must run in the Emiran family, that Alek had kept a Sarenn mistress, just before he died.

Then I remembered what Muras had called her. “Lady Tyna—her name is Lor?”

Muras nodded. “Yes. After that damned river.”

The River Lor forms most of the border between Saren and Kressos. At its beginning, in the roots of the mountains, it is not an especially remarkable river. It runs cold and fast, but a man can fire a musket from one bank and kill a deer on the other.

As it stretches west, though, the Lor grows. It is fed by rivers on both sides, and it runs both deeper and broader, until the River Lor is a lumbering beast several miles wide from shore to shore.

The stories say the mud in the Lor is black because of all the Sarenn and Kressosi blood that has been spilled into its waters. Southern Sarenn children will tell you about the monstrous fish in the river that grow fat on the corpses of soldiers, and their parents will tell you about the Lor Worm, the old serpent god of the river. She slides along the bottom, waiting, until the day she rises to devour everything on the land, and both Kressos and Saren will be no more.

The Kressosi have a dull taste in flowers. Every flower garden in Kressos is overflowing with the same pale pink roses, no bigger around than the circle one makes with their thumb and forefinger, with the same cloying scent.

I spent a lot of time in gardens like these, when important men pulled Muras aside for private conversations which mistresses were not welcome to. The gardens allowed me to avoid conversation.

Most of the time.

“You must be quite the woman, to have snared Commander Emiran.”

I did not raise my eyes from the roses. “You must be quite the woman, to be so trusted by the prince.”

Lady Tyna chuckled softly. “I do what I must. As, I imagine, do you.” She came to stand at my side, hands clasped in front of her. “It has been a long time,” she said, “since I was able to freely converse with another Sarenn. Where do you hail from?”

I looked at her, wary. “Arborhall.” The best lie was no lie at all.

“Wool country,” she said. “Lord Anarin was among the first to surrender, was he not?”

I had learned to hide the sting of that memory well. “Yes. I was not there, at the time.”

“I was far from home as well,” Lady Tyna said. “I was in Azira. News of the war had not yet reached us.” Her eyes settled on me, calculating. “The fates are strange to have brought us here, don’t you think?”

I brushed my fingertips across the dark leaves of the rose. “That is one word.”

“You would not call it strange?”

“I would not call it fate.” Fate would mean it hadn’t been my fault.

“Hmm.” Lady Tyna turned slightly, gave me a flirtatious smile. “Will you walk with me, Miss Sargis?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Lady Tyna laughed. “Of course you do. If you did not, I would not have asked.” She walked off, and after a moment, I followed her.

The air was cool enough to make my skin prickle. That wouldn’t last long—Kressosi summers were suffocatingly hot. Lady Tyna walked with a sure stride. She seemed to know this garden well. “I was able to convince Princess Arabel to diversify her garden a little.” She stopped, and plucked a flower from a low, thin plant. Six pointed white petals, a deep red center. Lady Tyna presented it to me, with a small smile.

“A dawnstar,” I said, surprised. They were seldom grown south of the River Lor. Kressosi thought they were weeds. Sarenn planted them on burial mounds, to light the path to the underland. An odd choice for a rose garden.

An odd choice for a gift. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on Lady Tyna. She seemed surprised, but then—“Ah. Of course.” She smiled and glanced away. “Commander Emiran would warn his mistress about me. I apologize if the gift was misinterpreted.”

��What do you want?” I asked.

“Nothing, although I don’t expect you’ll believe that.” She shrugged, turned back toward the hall. “I think our walk is at an end. Doubtless, the commander will be looking for you, soon.”

“Is it true that you killed Alek Emiran?”

Lady Tyna paused, and looked at me. “Is that what he told you?”

“Not in so many words,” I said.

“What is the dead first cousin of your man to you?” Lady Tyna asked. “He died years before you even met Commander Emiran.”

I said nothing, and that seemed to draw her interest. “I had heard that I was not his first Sarenn mistress,” Lady Tyna said, thoughtful. “Though I was his last, according to the stories.” She looked at me. “You know that Alek was injured in a riot?”

I nodded. The king may have been dead, but that was not enough to break Saren. They had sought to avenge their king, and all their dead.

“His own surgeons tended to him, but infection set in. Who better to treat such a well-respected officer than the prince’s Aziran-trained physician?” Lady Tyna plucked a rose from the bushes, running the pad of her thumb lightly over the tip of a thorn. “No one would look for further answers if a woman could not keep him alive, especially if it proved to be a particularly prolonged and difficult infection. Of course, everything else is only rumor.” She pressed her thumb to the thorn, and a spot of blood welled up when she pulled it away. She put the thumb to her mouth.

“Lya.”

I looked up, and saw Muras. He stood just outside the doors, the lantern light casting a golden glow around his silhouette.

“Apologies for keeping you, Miss Sargis,” Lady Tyna said smoothly. “I must return to His Grace.” She nodded slightly to Muras, with a smirk. “Commander.”

Muras inclined his head. “My Lady.” He waited until she had passed, and looked to me again. “Are you alright?”

I looked at the dawnstar in my hand, and dropped it to the ground. “Yes,” I said, looking up. “I’m fine.”

Muras took my hand, looking carefully at me.

“Muras,” I said, “I’m perfectly alright. What did the prince want to talk about?”

He grimaced, and let out a breath. “Let’s go,” he said, “I’ll tell you in the carriage.”

“Muras?”

“Please, Lya.” He squeezed my hand. “There is nothing left for me to do here.”

I disliked carriages. In Saren, I would have ridden, but it was seen as an improper activity for women in Kressos. Their physicians said some nonsense about it harming the woman’s reproductive organs, and when I bluntly asked one man how it was that his organs were not much more vulnerable than my own, he recommended I find another physician to deal with my questions.

I think Muras would have preferred to ride as well, but there were only so many boundaries he was willing to push, and I represented several.

Muras seemed ill at ease, and that made me anxious. I had not seen him like this since his father arrived unannounced one day, and discovered me. “Ah, you’ve finally found a woman, then!” he had said when he first saw me. “Tell me, my dear, what is your name?”

The welcome in his face vanished when he heard my accent, and so did any pleasure he had in my presence. For the rest of his stay, Muras’ father said not one word to me, though he had plenty to say to Muras about me.

My presence was an indiscretion that might have been tolerated in a third or fourth son, not a man’s sole heir. Muras would not be swayed, however, so his father left, and I remained.

“Muras, what’s wrong?”

He drug his hand down the lower half of his face, and let out a breath. “His Grace wants me to return to Morhall.”

I felt cold. Morhall was—had been—the seat of the Sarenn throne. It was the place where, seven years before, Alek and Muras Emiran had led a starving troop in a last desperate attempt to take the castle, and end the war. The place where the king of Saren had been shot, and his head packed in salt and sent to the Kressosi king as proof.

“Why?” I asked. “For how long?”

Muras put a hand on my knee. “There is trouble in the north. Some… wolf cult or some such. He says he wants me to assume command there. For however long it is necessary.” He was staring straight ahead.

“No,” I whispered.

Muras looked at me. “What?”

“Tell him no,” I pleaded. “Someone else can go, but not you.”

“I can’t say no to the crown prince.”

“There must be some kind of family consideration,” I said, “your father—”

“Is in perfect health, as the prince made a point of mentioning.” Muras took my hand, squeezed it. “I have no choice. I’m expected to leave by the beginning of summer.”

I couldn’t go back to Morhall. I would not set foot in that place again, not after everything I had done to escape it.

Muras paused, and looked at me very gravely. “I understand, if you do not want to go. That place… I know what it symbolizes to you.”

I stared at him. He didn’t have even half of an idea what that place meant to me. “What would I do, all alone here?” I asked, quiet.

He looked as though the answer pained him. “You could return to Kaspar. I know he would accept you at any—”

I slapped him.

Muras looked at me in such surprise, I wished I hadn’t done it. “I’m sorry,” I said, drawing away. “I didn’t—don’t speak to me as if I can just go back. Not after what I did.”

Kaspar Heita had been the man I lived with before I met Muras. I had not been his mistress; I did not have command of his house, or any sort of status outside of it. I had begun there as a maid. When he took an interest in me, I instead became something of a secretary, helping him with his business because I showed some skill in bookkeeping.

I had cared for him. With the distance of time, I suppose I can admit that I loved him.

The problem was that I was not his mistress. Though he was estranged from his wife, who still lived with his family and their children in the old family home, he had some principle that to take a mistress would be some shame to his wife, a degradation of her position. He would not divorce her, either, because it was his duty to see that she was supported.

I thought him a coward, but I did not say so.

The breaking point was when I found myself pregnant. Kaspar was delighted, but nothing changed, and I grew to resent him.

I met Muras then. He was a friend of Kaspar’s, they had grown up in similar social circles, though Kaspar was a good ten years older than Muras. I had the sense, then, that they had once been a bit more than friends.

He terrified me, at first—it was not lightly that I greeted the man who had killed my king. It was only gradually that I came to know him as a quiet man, soft-spoken, and considerate of what little he knew of Sarenn customs. I grew comfortable enough to correct him in particulars, and he listened with interest, which made me like him, in spite of myself. It was so rare, to find someone who not only did not mock me for what I was, but sought to understand.

Muras seemed keenly interested in me, though he had the grace to conceal it from Kaspar, and not to say anything to me directly. He was staying in Jasos for near half a year, to tend to something at the military academy there, and I saw him often. Perhaps he sensed my unhappiness, my discontent. Perhaps he realized how pleased I was to have his company and conversation.

My son was born just after midwinter, so small and feisty and howling like a wolf pup. It broke my heart.

I had told Kaspar I would be leaving.

He hadn’t seemed surprised.

He asked me if I would at least let him raise our son.

Muras had told me, in one of the few moments that we spoke privately and directly, that he would not mind my bringing the child along—but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t bring my boy into another man’s house, knowing how he would be regarded by everyone who knew he was not Muras’ child. So I left him with Kaspar, named him after his father. Better, I thought, that the only traces of me be in his blood. I kissed him goodbye, sang him the only lullaby I would ever sing to him, and gave my son over to a wetnurse, and resolved not to look back, so I would not lose my nerve.

I could not go back to Kaspar Heita’s house.

“I only thought—” Muras reconsidered his words. “He still cares for you. I do not believe he begrudges you anything.”

“I made my choice,” I said. “I won’t go back.” If I saw my son again, I wouldn’t be able to leave him, and that would only hurt everyone.

Muras was quiet for a moment. “I would value your counsel,” he said, “if you came with me.”

“More than just my counsel, I hope,” I said.

Muras smiled. “Your company, too, of course.”

I put my head on his shoulder and leaned into his side. To follow him, of all people, back to Morhall… the woman I was seven years earlier would have cut my throat for that.

A man of means in Saren may keep several wives, if he can support them. The marriages must be approved by the courts, with testimony from the families of both the groom and the potential bride, to prevent neglect. Each wife must have her own domain, her own domestic sovereignty.

No man in Saren may have more wives than the king.

I was seventeen, when I was sold to Corasin.

He saw me at a midsummer feast, when he came south to marry one of his daughters to Lord Haldur. He approached my father, offered him lands to the west of us that would ensure Anarin wool had priority access to the coast, and three ships in harbor there. My father couldn’t refuse.

So Liana Anarin was to become the thirteenth wife of His Majesty King Corasin II of Saren.

My mother could not have been prouder. She braided ribbons of Luon silk into my hair, drew the kohl around my eyes with care. My father bought me a fine cow elk to ride, a beautiful creature a pale gold color, with a saddle stitched with scarlet thread. My two youngest brothers, Corvin and Tatton, pestered me constantly about Morhall and what treasures it might hold, as if I knew anything more about it than they did.

Of all my family, only my brother Julas seemed perturbed.

He was sixteen then, less than a year between us. Most mistook us for twins. “You’ll write, won’t you?” he asked.

“Once a week,” I promised him. I was anxious, but trying to hide it. “I’ll be a princess,” I said, trying to pretend the thought didn’t frighten me. Julas would be Lord Anarin someday, he didn’t need to be worrying about me. I would be well cared for in Morhall, I wouldn’t want for anything.

“I’ll name one of my sons after you,” I told Julas, thinking it would please him.

“If you were marrying Lord Cader you wouldn’t have to go so far away,” Julas muttered.

“Lord Cader is approximately a thousand years old and reeks of onions,” I replied. I could hear our mother coming down the hall. “Will you do one thing for me?” I asked him.

“What?” he asked.

“When you’re at my wedding,” I said, “just don’t look as if it’s my funeral.”

#original fiction #prose #wolf's price

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limpblotter · 7 years

Text

Day 1: Tell the Lies and Get by

A/N: Uh, blame the Criminal Minds Squad for this ( @kinkshamer2k17, @hamiltonhistory (undercover au), @somepicassoshit, @ham-for-ham ) Summary: Morgan brings Reid to Chicago and puts on a show warning: T E N S I O N w/c: 3.7k

“Think fast, Pretty Boy.” Morgan chimed as he waltzed through the FBI office, he tossed a duffle bag at Reid’s desk cleanly destroying the his 50th straight game of solitaire he was about to win. “Time to hit the road. Our flight leaves in two.”

About a week ago the team had caught wind there was an ‘unsub’ had been tracking, stalking and going after same sex couples with prominent connections with social medias. They were looking at a profile of most likely: a man between his mid thirties and forties, probably antisocial and relies heavily on social media for communication who may or may not have suffered homophobic prejudices or feels wrongly done by the LGBTQA+ community. Reid had openly stated that if the unsub was looking for powerful same sex couples a celebrity or people within the nation’s government field would be a prime target for the long winded hunting tactics.

So now in little less than two days Spencer Reid had inadvertently agreed to going undercover with Derek Morgan as his ‘boyfriend’. It was all perfectly in place, Garcia had changed their social media pages round piecing together what looked like a year long, happy, open relationship between two strong agents in the field. They used pictures they had of field events; to Garica’s surprise she didn’t have to forge many. Morgan and Reid were close…

That didn’t make this mission easy. Pretending to be a couple and just waiting it out. Building on their social media fantasy, Reid did the bare minimum. He wasn’t much into social media as an outlet, he tagged Morgan in certain things, made sure to like his posts. Morgan on the other hand was a natural, enough for the both of them, making status’s about ‘Coming home to the best thing ever’ or ‘Dinner with the Boo’ decorated with a series of loving emojis.

He played the part too well, that as of late this mission had been the most draining for Spencer without needing him too much. He just felt…tired all the time. They still went on cases, they still lived their lives, Reid simply chalked it up to keeping up a lie was draining. Even if the lie was hardly in his hands to keep. “Where are we going?” He opened the bag (after playing 52 pick up) and found it had been already packed for him.

“Chicago, my mom wants us to spend the weekend there for my sister’s birthday.”

“Excuse me?” Spencer shook his head, “Why do I have to go?” This wasn’t a big deal, Reid had met Morgan’s family on a few occasions so it was nothing new. But something in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

Derek arched his eyebrow at Reid a bit taken back how defensive he was about going to see his family. “Because in my mother’s eyes her beloved son had kept a year old relationship a secret from her and she’s beyond disappointed I didn’t ‘trust’ her with this.”

“You should have told her the truth.” Reid urged as Morgan flicked down his Ray Ban sunglasses.

There was a silence for a long time, Morgan’s mind looking for some sort of excuse without making it look like to boy wonder he was piecing one together. He shot Reid one of his award dazzling smile, teeth so white and bright they could have reflected light off them. “We need this to be believable, its best we get some authentic reactions of them. Plus we need some more pictures of you and my family recently.”

It wasn’t too long ago, Morgan had taken Spencer and his mother out for lunch. The fresh air, having her sit there and take pictures of this goof, fleeting moment between the three of them was nice. (Although all for a show.) It was for a case, it was only a case, Spencer nodded a bit and silently picked up the duffle bag as the day’s work came to an end and opened for weekend escapades.

“Have fun, lovebirds~” Garcia whistled in passing as she shuffled along the hall with her high heels. The rest of the team gave Morgan and Reid a soft smile and a look that forced Spencer to jerk away from them and leave immediately. His face reddened by their strange and most likely false approval.

Reid felt the tension in his stomach grow worse and worse from the moment Morgan drove them to the private jet they were talking to when they were an hour into the flight and Reid fled to the bathroom for the third time. He dry heaved but nothing came out. He washed his hands four times over before using a paper towel to open the door. When he did he found Morgan there, finger curled as he if he was about to knock. “Everything ok there, pretty boy?”

No, he felt sick. Reid went down a mental list of what could have been wrong and came up with nothing…all within a second. “Must be the turbulence, it’s a little harsher tonight.” He squeezed past Morgan avoiding his skin and went right for a seat. He slumped into it and closed his eyes trying hard to focus on anchoring his stomach before it floated away. The seat beside him shifted, Morgan was sitting right beside him. “What if your family doesn’t buy this? We should tell them, there is no way we’re going to get away with this.” Reid groaned with his eyes shut tight.

“We’re FBI profilers, kid. I think we can trick my sisters and my mother.” Morgan’s low robust voice melted into a softer chuckle. “Come ooon, you tellin’ me with all that brain you can’t pretend to like me?” He chuckled a bit and Spencer’s stomach did a full frontal flip. “…not even a bit?”

That was not the issue. At least, Spencer didn’t think it was. With his eyes snapped shut and all his brain power funneled into not throwing up, Reid was out like a light for what was left of their ride to Chicago. By the time he did get up, he was in the passenger seat of a rental car. Drool collecting at the corner of his coral colored mouth, dangerously close to overflowing past his lips. His long, ash brown lashes flickered a bit as consciousness set in and the synapses in his brain began firing again. “Car?” He croaked out, arching eyebrow. His cheek was pillowed by Morgan’s folded up leather jacket.

“You were out cold so I got you in the car…it was either than or let you take the jet back to D.C.”

Reid’s lips pursued at the momentary image of Morgan lifting Reid up like he was nothing but a paper weight and carrying him out the plane into a car. There was a feeling that sparked only for a second, his mind tried to catch it to do what it did best, profile this foreign feeling but it was gone as fast as it came. It left Spencer…weightless.

“You know you’ve been out of it since we took up this mission, kid.” Morgan mentioned as he turned down a few streets, driving laid back with only one hand on the wheel the other just laid on his lap.

“Must be the whole principal of deception” Spencer smiled pressing his lips together until they vanished into a fine line. “I…wouldn’t want you to lie to my mother…I suppose the reaction flows both ways.”

Morgan’s face tensed up a minute, perhaps the guilt finally got to him? Reid wanted to press on but Derek’s heavy set lines relaxed and vanished from his smooth, mahogany face. Leaving him finally finished and polished like a piece of art work. The car didn’t even fully pull into the drive way of the small complex when the screen door swung open and a curly haired, white woman in her mid to late fifties scampered out.

“Derek!” She threw her arms up the moment Morgan stepped out of the car. Their embrace was deep and hard, she wrapped her frail arms that resembled twigs around the mass that was her son. “Mm I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know Momma, I’m—“ before he could get too comfortable in his mother’s arms he was met with a hard thwap on the back of the shoulder” Ah, momma!”

“That’s what you get for keeping a secret from your own mother.”

“Momma…”

“Don’t you Momma me, Derek. Now you unpack you and Spencer’s things and march your behind inside that house before I really get upset.” Derek shook his head a bit, be turned toward the back of the car and pulled out Reid’s suitcase and his own and marched as instructed.

Reid stood as awkward as one could be watching his partner and fake boyfriend get reprimanded in front of him. He shrank a little when Mrs. Morgan turned her attention to him. He half expected her to hit him too instead she walked over and gently touched his shoulder. “Its good to see you again, Spencer.”

Lying would have been easier if she didn’t have eyes like a mom. Soft and hopeful eyes that were ready to cry at a moment’s notice. Eyes that only wanted to see the good, eyes that reminded Reid of his mom and the resolve he needed to survive the weekend was slowly melting away. Thankfully as Reid walked in with Derek’s mom, holding her hand like she wanted, he was met with two sets of less impressionable eyes.

“Dr. Reid.” Sarah, Derek’s older sister stood there arms crossed. The siblings stood in away from each other. They positioned themselves in a triangle stance with at least two feet of space between them. The second nature training Reid had on the field kicked in, he was walking into an ambush and Derek saw it too. “How nice of you to come back.”

“Yea, real nice.” The youngest, Desiree, rolled her eyes with a little more juvenile annoyance.

“Desiree, why don’t you show Reid to the room. Derek you and Sarah set the table for dinner.” Fran commanded her children and though they were silently arguing through those dark Morgan eyes they divided and conquered.

“Follow me.” Desiree sighed, walking a foot a head from Spencer. Reid tensed up the same way he would if they were busting in head first into a crime scene. Only he felt like he was going to be the chalk outline if he wasn’t careful. The guest room swung open, the hinges whined as Desiree leaned up against the door motioning with one hand for Spencer to walk in.

“Thank you.” He bowed his head a bit, awkwardly bobbing through. He had his back to the door as he unpacked. Unnerved he knew the sister was still standing there. He knew what she was thinking, her body language and everything. Personally a soft rage formed in the pit of Spencer’s scholarly stomach. He didn’t have much in him for one sided debates, he knew he could talk circles around people but chose a passive route when it came to strangers. “…you don’t approve” he said hiding a seething sarcasm.

Reid wasn’t proven wrong. “Doesn’t matter if I don’t” she retorted with a pop of the lips coating the air in her attitude. Reid was readying himself for a lecture about family. “Look I don’t care who my brother loves, but keeping secrets is not what we do. And I know, Morgan wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut for nothing.” Oh, Reid was not use to being proven wrong. “Our family is close, so if you got anything to say you say it to all of us.” She turned away from Spence who was struggling to unswallow his tongue.

“I-I-“

“You must be one hell of a person to him if he felt like he couldn’t tell us.”

He wasn’t. Spencer Reid was ‘kid’ to Derek Morgan. A little brother at best, a friend to play pranks with. He was…ironically ‘pretty boy’ who had brains and not much force behind him. Morgan on the other hand he was engrossing, he wore his skills and his morals on his sleeve. He was popular; he had been in high school and still was. People got caught up in men like Morgan.

His hands distracted him as he began unpacking the things Morgan had packed, mindfully looking for the things he would no doubt miss. Reid’s methodology was near impossible to replicate. His system was complex dividing what he needed and what he would particularly want. To his surprise Morgan packed…well.

All of Reid’s favorite shirts were here, their corresponding vests and sleepwear. Of course they could have been folded better for his taste. His toothbrush and bathroom items were in a plastic baggie, Derek even packed him books. Not the ones Spencer would have picked but the intention was there. He looked over and noticed his underwear was neatly packed up as well “oh…” he swallowed letting his Adam’s apple bob. Now the thought of Morgan rummaging through Reid’s underwear was all he could think about. Did he pick by practicality or preference? Wait.

“Spencer! Dinner is almost ready, why don’t you join us out here.” Fran called out from the dining room while she started placing hot plates on the kitchen to be served family style.

Morgan leaned back, beer in his hand and his other hand leaning on the empty chair beside him. His sisters eyed him up, all in silence since his arrival. Their expressions relatively unreadable “you if you gotta say something just say it. Or this is going to be a very quiet visit.”

Sara’s mouth opened first, “why didn’t you tell us, Derek?”

“I just didn’t feel like telling just yet.”

“And you expect me to buy that? You tell us everything, then out of the blue it comes out you two had a year old relationship and its been all over the place.” Sarah’s voice was all colors of hurt. “Since when does family keep stuff like this?”

Derek felt his throat tense up, lying was hard but not impossible for what he did. “Didn’t know what you all would say about it.” No doubt there was talk around the old neighborhood. No doubt Derek was going to get some strange looks now but it was all going to be worth it when the team caught their guy.

“The only thing I can say is, I can’t believe it.”

Crap. Morgan looked up and noticed Spencer had walked into the dining room just in time to catch that. Derek shot him a worried look, as Reid nervously ran his hand over his hair. Their eyes holding a silent conversation of ‘this was a bad idea’ ‘no duh’ ‘now what’

‘I’ve got this’

“Mrs. Morgan let me help you with that.” Reid turned right in time to catch the heavy pot of food Fran was about to carry to the table.

“O-Oh, why thank you!” She smiled then gave Morgan a small smile of approval. She left the pot to Reid and took her spot at the head of the table. “Its so nice to get this all out in the air.”

Reid nodded a bit placing the hot pot of food on the table. He took the seat Morgan had his arm resting on. “Yes, it has been…exceedingly difficult to keep it all a secret.”

“I’m sure.” Desiree chimed in, getting a single nod out of her older sister. Derek tensed up by the comment and slowly started serving himself, then Reid some food.

Silence was almost as bad as doubt. Reid analyzed everything he did. Was it intimate enough? Was he making enough eye contact with Derek? Did they look closer than they did the first time Spencer visited their home? Did they look like two men who had fallen in love over the course of a year? The silence droned on until it was nearly unbearable. “So…Derek…how did you…well you two …worked together for years why now? How did it happen?”

“Well…” Derek began taking a long sip of his beer trying to piece together a story.

“It happened after a case.” Reid blurted out, having more or less thought about the scenario. “…Its not my place to disclose details of a case but…”

“No please” Derek smirked a bit, watching Reid’s eyes widen. “I think a little breech in privacy is owed. Afterall we kept it to ourselves for soooo long. I’m sure you’re dying to tell this story.” Morgan’s eyes were no longer tense. They playfully gleamed at Reid watching the cogs of his mind work to frame what was the foundation of their makeshift relationship.

“Uh…well…without giving too much information, we were on a case…Derek and I were on the field, per usual. We approached the lead to where our unsub was and closed in. Derek taking the front and I took on the back. The criminal had been waiting for us, he had Derek cornered.”

“Oh No….” Fran pulled a hand to her mouth in shock. The youngest sister reached for Derek’s hand, even through annoyance the family was still visibly as tight as ever.

“I’m fine.”

“He was, he had underestimated the situation. Walked in with muscles blaring and no regard for his own life, gun pointed. I’m not sure if he thought he was going to flex for the unsub or not…”

“Of course, even on the field, Morgan is showing off the ‘guns’ instead of pointing his gun” Sarah cackled, Reid successfully breaking the ice with her by using a common and relatable humor. Morgan’s ego.

“H-Hey now, I wasn’t that underdressed”

“…at any rate, I came from behind just as the attacker was going after Morgan and…” Reid of course was making this a vague lie. However, he remembered clearly one chase where Morgan had been compromised. He remembered seeing Morgan on the ground looking down at a gun and everything in Reid went red. There wasn’t a single coherent thought that matched the IQ that qualified for a PH.D. “In a moment I realized that I’d die if anything happened to him” He muttered softly, “I didn’t think, I reacted, and it was then I realized I never wanted anything more than Morgan.” Reid spoke softly, his eyes fixated on the wine keeping his thoughts in one line.

There was a sympathetic silence now. Fran swelled with joy while Morgan also swelled with emotion inside of his gut. He couldn’t tell if Reid had made something up or if this was one of a handful of times Spencer had come to Derek’s rescue. He wanted to believe…the latter. “Plus, Reid was always a fan of the gun show” Morgan flexed one bicep and elicited laughter from everyone but his ‘boyfriend’.

Reid’s face remained red for the rest of the dinner. The conversation flowed and after Reid’s vague story of how it all started, Morgan filled in the smaller, whimsical details of dates. Pictures they took and things they’ve done. His storyteller half truths of times they did in fact share but none truly romantic.

All their bar stories of times Reid and Morgan would play pool, Morgan’s skill often losing to Reid’s advance grasp of physics. Times Morgan had taken Reid to sport games and point at players Derek wasn’t particularly fond off. Every sweet, humbling time they had shared together all dancing out of Morgan’s mouth with a false filter of romance draped over it. Reid would have been more uncomfortable f his thick fingers weren’t idly twirling locks of Reid’s hair. The lock wrapped around his finger, the entire time until his sisters began clearing the table leaving the two alone for a moment.

“I think its going well…” Morgan whispered to Reid.

Spencer licked his lips nervously, “I don’t know how much they buy it…” He muttered. “You might sound it and our social media reads it, but how do we gauge that we are as intimate as we say we are…” This was a field of study Reid was not prepared to take on. He felt the tension from the plane ride come back… “Maybe we should tell them the truth…”

“Reid.”

“What?”

Spencer turned his face towards Morgan and found Morgan’s face was far too close to Reid’s now. His eyes barely registered anything else other than the dark eyes that were staring into Reid’s intensely. His pupils practically burrowing a hole within his sockets, getting lost in Reid’s. Morgan’s hand went taut at his hair, pulling the delicate curl he had fingered soothingly during the dinner until tender making something in Spencer tremble.

Morgan’s other hand slid purposefully between Spencer’s once locked knees and continued up. Smothering was the word Spencer wanted to use. Derek’s full lips parted slightly, and all Spencer could do was what he did best under times of uncertainty. He babbled. “Did you know…there..are over 16 facial muscles around the mouth…lips having several that…control pressure control and constrictions that speed up the visibility of wrinkles and laugh lines.”

“Hush up, pretty boy.” Derek chuckled, shaking his head a bit. The top of Spender’s thin but pronounced cupid’s bow was captured between the two, hot billowy lips that belonged to his falsified boyfriend. The hand snaking up Reid’s leg started to knead a hole into the inner thigh seam of his trousers. A stirring bubbled up again, the same as before when he thought about his belongings being packed by Derek. This time it did not subside against the waves of thoughts.

The pools of millions of ideas were emptied like a bath drain, leaving a tub yearning to be filled with new sensations that didn’t require a GPA of 4.0. Spencer breathed softly, mouthing the word “Derek” against his lips, his hand grabbing the end of the table for stability as Derek’s hands groped his thigh for a good second then—

“Alright you two, break it up. We still have dessert to serve before you both go at it.” Mrs. Morgan huffed, having brought out a pie. She placed it on the table and pulled Derek by the collar away from Reid and gave her son a stony, motherly look that read simply as ‘behave.’

Spencer slowly sat back out of breath while Mrs. Morgan turned her back to them.

“I think they’ll start believing us now.” Derek whispered, his hand still resting between Spencer’s thighs with ease. As if, he belonged there.

#criminal minds #drabble #one shot #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #probably the only thing I'll write fully for them for a while #but I wanted to give hamhistory's idea a go #whoops #fluff

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