#i DID screen record this for almost 10 minutes though trying to get the perfect comedic overlap! so that def dealt me psychological damage

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ��bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

[issaxcharlie]

We say we're friends, we play pretend (2/2 )You're more to me, we're everything

PART 1 HERE

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem reader

Summary: Charlie and Y/N were best friends and a couple as teens, after their breakup they meet again 4 years later on JATP and have to work together. Will they be able to recover more than their friendship?

If Charlie knew anything in life, it was that he had to take things carefully. Especially with such strong feelings involved. In general, when you like someone, the least you want is for that person to see you as a friend, but particularly for them, recovering their friendship bond was the most important step.

“You were so cute!” Tori and Owen are looking at photos of the guitarist's childhood on his phone. A photo of little Charlie in a suit grinning from ear to ear while holding a girl as if he is spinning her around shows up.

That memory is one of his favorites. He was always a very loved boy with many friends, but in the case of girls he was not the most popular. His best friend on the other hand was, at least for him, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and boys were always around her. He knew he needed to find a partner for the dance so that she wouldn't feel guilty or he wouldn't feel humiliated by not having someone to go with.

However, he was rejected, quite a few times. He didn’t want to say anything about the dance to his best friend that week because he knew that she would stay home with him without hesitation. But that day half an hour before, he arrived in a suit and flowers for her, so at least he could have a picture of such an important moment with the person he loves the most, and he was the one surprised.

“It was about time Char, we have to take about 30 pictures before we go. Mom bought you a tie so we can match." She is up and down looking for one of her shoes, not even turning to see her friend who doesn’t know if he understood correctly.

At that moment she finally turns to see him and runs for a hug, Charlie barely had time to raise his arm with the flowers.

“You look so handsome, and the flowers are perfect. Best partner ever, I love you so much C! I’ll be ready in a second.”

She had planned to go with him from the beginning, and thought it was an implicit pact. That realization made Charlie's heart beat a lot faster that day. No matter how many people invited her, she wanted to go with him. He spent the night with his favorite person dancing and singing, feeling grateful for her, this light who always chooses him of all people.

“I looked pretty good in those clothes.” Y/N says as she and Madison sit at the table.

“You always look amazing, but yeah that night was special.” It's also the night that he realized that he was feeling more than friendship for his best friend, but this is not the time to talk about it.

He decides to continue preparing his waffles, than even though it already has like 5 ingredients, it seems something is missing.

Y/N blushes a little and smiles. “Here, handsome.” She hands him a can of pringles that she grabbed from the cafeteria when she saw him making eggo’s.

“Perfect, Y/N Y/L teaching everyone why she's my soulmate.” Everyone at the table begins to complain about what they qualify as the most disgusting thing they have ever seen, while the former couple smiles happily as they secretly link their legs under the table and continue their breakfast.

Little details like that one, or as removing all the products that she would take with milk from her hands because she seems to forget every morning that she is allergic can make a difference.

“You are 22 years old and you are still as careless as when we were children, I do not understand how you have survived these 4 years."

“You were always the one who cared about it and kept me safe, I guess unconsciously having you close my brain says, ‘no worries, Char will take care of it.’ So I’m sorry, I'll be more careful.”

A seriously ill 10-year Y/N on the way to the hospital invaded Charlie's mind, whom quickly shook off the bad memory.

“It’s all good, bright star.”

“What did you say?” Madison asks.

“Bright star. I know Kenny calls her ‘golden star’, but he’s the copycat. I've been calling her like that all my life.”

Y/N just smiles, enjoying the moment. She had not heard those words from his lips for years, and honestly Kenny also calling her a star even If it was sweet, made her remember Charles practically every day, and that didn’t help at all to get over the guitarist.

“You are my brightest burning star.” Madison replies, looking at Charlie with amusement in her eyes.

At that moment the actor understands what is going through his co-star's head and panics.

“So this queen is the one who has you so inspired, I should have realized it before.”

“She’s always my inspiration, period.” Y/N starts to laugh while blushing, and Madison’s attention falls completely on her.

“And I guess ‘Bright’ is a coincidence? And rise through the night, you and I, We will fight to shine together...Bright forever.” The songwriter wants to disappear at that precise moment while everyone turns to see her as if she had a third eye on her forehead.

“But you wrote bright long before you even knew Charlie was part of the proyect.” Owen adds, smirking.

“If you are asking me if I draw inspiration from the people I love, to write... the answer is yes. And yes, of course I love him.” How is it possible for the guitarist to slow things down when she says things like that in front of everyone? All he wants right now is to kiss her. This discovery means that despite the time she still had him in mind, the song cannot have been written for long. Hope is flooding his body.

“Ok but they inspiring each other is the sweetest thing in the world, goals right there.” Tori adds excited, her friends blushing.

All those teasing moments helped them to be more transparent with their feelings, hugging, touching, and basically staying close each time they finished their work obligations, almost as if they were afraid that the other would disappear or as if they were trying to make up for lost time.

“We need a lot more energy, especially from Charlie. Luke lives for music, nothing can give him more joy than being on stage."

"They have been working for 17 hours straight and at least 15 attempts with this musical." Paul tries to reason with Kenny mid-recording of Now or Never, which still does not come out as the director was expecting.

“What was in the recording studio that is not here now? I thought they would show an even greater energy than there after they stepped on stage."

They both turn to each other, as if the light had been turned on at the same time, and Paul takes his phone.

A few minutes later Y/N walks on set, Sunset Curve smiles upon seeing her.

“I wanted to make sure that we are fulfilling the vision of our beloved songwriter. Let's not disappoint her, okay? Let's try it one more time." Kenny shouts before starting to record again.

Instantly the energy is seen a thousand times higher, Charlie more radiant than ever, while Y/N replicates his energy behind the cameras, flooding him with sass and attitude. The young singer also motivates her now friends and unknowingly gave Sunset Curve that extra thing they needed to finally achieve the perfect performance. Kenny and Paul doing a fist bump behind the screens.

Soon their chemistry and energy turned into open conversation. The way they made everyone on set cry the first time they practiced Unsaid Emily or how connected and dreamy they were while dancing to Perfect Harmony when Madison wasn't on set.

But they still weren’t together, at least officialy.

If Charlie was honest, the fear of throwing himself all over and losing her again terrified him. The industry they love so much and decided to work in doesn't let having a relationship be easy, and if things go wrong again, they don't know if it might be possible to fix it again. It was basically a leap of faith.

Nonetheless, he knows he's willing, but what about her?

That morning he enters the set overwhelmed with his situation when he sees an even more overwhelmed Y/N walk by without even turning around, almost running to the recording studio.

“I advise you to give her some space for a few hours. Let's say she’s going to have a pretty difficult day."

"Why? What happened?" Jeremy asks as he and Owen stand next to the director.

“She got a call from the people at Netflix, they have already approved almost all the music except ‘Stand Tall’, the closing song, and her favorite. They will come in an hour to hear her presentation and convince them that it is good enough."

At that moment Charlie has an idea. There is no way that he will leave her alone, if he has the opportunity to help her he will do it and he’ll drag along all the people he needs to achieve it.

"Kenny, do you happen to have the music sheets for the song?"

“Don’t tell me-” Owen tries to ask but Charlie interrumpts him.

“Yes, let’s get to work boys.”

An hour later Y/N is freaking out, and she can't help but wish Charlie was around. Of all the days he could choose to disappear, he chose today.

She walks towards the auditorium, where to her surprise way more people than she expected are present, including most of the cast. But there is no sign of her lover boy anywhere.

Now or never. She takes a deep breath and start playing the keyboard. Her voice is the only thing that accompanies the keys. Everything is going as planned, but she can't help but feel distracted, nervous, and overwhelmed.

She is about to give up this fight internally when a drum before the second verse gives her the strength to continue singing, Owen smiles and winks at her to give her some peace of mind, and just a few seconds later Jeremy begins to accompany them with the bass. She knows whose idea it is and she just waits for him to come out from wherever he is hidden.

"I’m going out of my mind, Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing I’ma stand tall, I’ma stand tall." His voice finishes waking her up and she accompanies him in the chorus, their chemistry electrifying everyone until every single person is standing, the cast supporting, dancing and clapping while the couple continues to focus on each other, separating out of obligation every so often but taking the opportunity to sing along with Jeremy and Owen who were doing an amazing job too, impacting with their solos.

The song ends and the boys disappear while Y/N talks to the people who came to evaluate her work, who finally approve the last song on the soundtrack that she has been working on for so long and to which she put all her soul.

The very second people outside the cast leave, Y/N looks for who has always been the boy of her life, the one who has proven that even though the years go by, they only need a few seconds to be themselves again, to be everything again. And as soon as she finds him hanging around only with the other 3 members of JATP she runs and jumps on him, entwining her legs at his hips and hugging him from the neck with all her strength, he immediately secures her by putting his arms around her waist.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The band starts screaming “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” hoping that one of the two will already dare to take the next step, and Y/N stamps her lips against Charlie's, who reacts almost automatically and kisses her back hard, deciding quickly this is the happiest moment of his life. He finally got the girl, or with what just happened, her fierce girl got him.

Hours later both are in Y/N's apartment curled up on a sofa, enjoying being together again.

“Yes, that sexy, beautiful, adorable and talented man is my boyfriend, Charlie Gillespie.”

Charlie chuckles at her random declaration. “What was that?”

“I’m practicing, and I wanted to say it aloud. I’m just so happy right now.”

His heart melts, she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. His brightest burning star.

His girlfriend doesn't give him time to reply, devouring his lips again. After all, she has four years to recover, and as always, he is more than willing to help her.

Thank you so much for reading!

NEXT PART HERE

Tag list:

@siennanoelle01

@reblogserpent

@kiss-themoongoodbye

@writerinlearning

@rachelle3musicals

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction || First Ultrasound [Request]

[BTS XFem!Reader] [GIF Rights to the makers]

First Pregnancy Scan - 10 - 14 Weeks

Seokjin:

Jin watched the screen as the baby started to appear, it was hard to see at first but once the nurse began to point out where the baby was it was easier.

"Look at that, we made a whole new person." He chuckled as he held onto your hand, tears were streaming down your cheeks as you smiled but the nurse shook her head as she giggled.

"You better make that two new people, it looks like you're having twins." She smiled proudly but Jin's face fell and he looked as though he'd seen a ghost,

"Two?" He stuttered out making you laugh softly as the nurse began to point out where the second baby was hiding,

"We're having two babies?!" He finally yelled out in excitement jumping up a little as he realised what was going to happen, then he repeated the same statement in a more scared tone.

"I'm going to guess he's happy but worried?" The nurse asked as she began snapping pictures of the babies, you nodded watching as Jin began to pace back and forth while mumbling about twice as much work.

"Baby, it'll be a baby for me and you, it's okay." You reassured him as you stretched your hands out to calm him down but he began shaking his head and trying to work out how many nappies and supplies you were going to need.

Yoongi:

The whole drive to the nurses office Yoongi had been silent, you knew it was becuase he was nervous about going for the first scan. This was your first child together so he'd been going out of his mind researching everything almost scaring himself as he realised youcould have had a false positive and the baby might not be there. But as soon as the baby appeared on the screen you visibly saw the tension leave his body,

"Whoa," He mumbled as he looked at the screen, letting go of your hand as he moved closer to get a better look at the baby on the screen. A warm gummy smile appearing on his face as the nurse zoomed in closer for him,

"I'll leave you alone for a minute while I get the print out's." She whispered turning to leave the room,

"You okay Yoongi?" You whispered as you sat up in the bed, wiping the goo off your stomach as he nodded at you,

"I'm perfect, we're perfect...We're creating a family," He smiled brightly as he held onto your hands ignoring your whines about wanting to get the goo off your stomach and pointing at the baby on the screen once again,

Hoseok:

"I have to tell you, this is the weirdest ultrasound I've had to do." The doctor spoke as you held up your phone to face the screen, you smiled softly.

"Well, he's away on tour and he didn't want to miss the first scan," You told him as you watched Hoseok squint to see what he was trying to see on the screen,

"Here-" The doctor began clicking on the computer to outline the baby for Hoseok and you smiled, tearing up as you realised that you were growing your baby inside of you. Hoseok smiled to himself as he bit down on his lip, he'd promised you that he wouldn't cry but he was starting to realise he couldn't keep to his promise.

"Would you like a video recording of the heartbeat?" The doctor questioned but without giving you time to answer for yourself Hoseok screamed out yes and smiled shyly at you through the screen.

"I'll get it all sorted for you," The doctor chuckled as you turned the camera to face you once again,

"I told you we could do this, two more months and I'm home to look after you." He promised as he blew you a kiss through the screen.

Namjoon:

You knew how badly Namjoon wanted to be a father so when you first got pregnant you were both over the moon about it, always smiling and getting excited about it.

"Is this your first child?" The nurse asked as she pointed at the screen, your small baby appearing there making you smile brightly.

"Yeah, how can you tell?" You questioned looking at her when she nodded to Namjoon, you turned to look at him and he had tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared at the screen.

"Joonie?" You whimpered as you realised he was almost just as emotional as you were at this point,

"I'm going to be a dad." He mumbled before sobbing into his hands, you laughed softly bringing him into a hug as he held onto your arm the nurse smiling to herself as she continued to take videos and photos of the baby for you.

Jimin:

As soon as the baby was shown on the screen Jimin was a wreck, started crying and blabbering more than you had since becoming pregnant which made you and the nurse giggle.

"You sure you're okay?" You laughed as you got down from the bed and walked towards the door, he nodded at you as he took a tissue from the nurse and began wiping his eyes.

"Do we have to ell the boys?" He groaned as he remembered who was sitting in the waiting room for you, all of you had bets on when he was going to cry and you'd won.

"Baby, yes. I want my money," You laughed as you swung the door open and smirked at all of the boys who knew instantly that you had won by the look on your face.

"Pay-up, I had bets on as soon as he saw the baby," You giggled holding out your hand for their money. Jimin grumbled about being the source of your entertainment while the boys grumbled about you being right all of the time.

Taehyung:

The nurse had finally stopped asking all of the routine questions and was about to apply the cream to your stomach,

"This will be a little cold," You bit down on your lip as you held onto Taehyung's hand, he'd been silent the whole time as he waited anxiously to see your baby on the screen. Since the moment he found out you were pregnant he'd been stunned by everything going on inside of your body. Amazed by the fact that your body could make a whole new person, all of their vital organs and 10 toes with 10 fingers.

"You okay?" You giggled as you cupped his cheek in your hand, running your thumb under his eye to remove the tears that were starting to fall from them.

"Perfect," He breathed watching the screen as your baby first appeared,

"Do you want to hear their heartbeat?" The nurse questioned as she continued running the wand over your stomach, clicking a couple of buttons before a small healthy heartbeat was playing through the speakers.

"That's our baby, Jagiya," Taehyung whispered excitedly as he held onto your hand tightly and squeezed it softly watching the screen.

"All ten fingers, all ten toes and one very strong and healthy heartbeat." The nurse spoke as she began taking photos for you both,

"I'll leave this playing while I go to print off the photos." She whispered before leaving the room, Taehyung immediately started to cry as he looked at you.

"Oh baby," You laughed softly bringing him into your arms.

Jungkook:

"Miss Y/l/n?" You looked up at the nurse that was calling your name out and sighed, Jungkook told you he was running late but you didn't expect him to be this late. Almost an hour late to your first ever pregnancy scan, you couldn't hold it against him but it didn't make it any easier to deal with.

"Coming," You mumbled as you stood up from the chair in the waiting room and a couple of the other mothers all watched you walk towards the smiling nurse.

"No dad today?" She questioned as you laid back on the small bed that was inside the room, you bit down on your lip trying not to get too emotional over him not being there.

"He's running a little late-"

"That's okay, we can print off some pictures for him." She promised you as she began to get everything ready, pulling your files up onto the screen and asking you routine questions.

[X]

"EXCUSE ME YOU CAN'T JUST-" The door slammed against the wall and you jumped to see a sweaty and panting Jungkook standing there with an angry nurse behind him,

"Y/n? Did they scan yet?! Am I late!?" You giggled as his voice went up in pitch as he asked the questions, the nurse who was about to press to ultrasound wand against your stomach began to laugh softly.

"Father I presume?" Jungkook walked further into the room and the angry nurse from before shut the door, Jungkook came over to you and held onto your hand tightly.

"The boys are outside aren't they?" You laughed as you looked up at him, he nodded shyly staring at the screen as the wand was placed onto your stomach. A black and white image appearing on the screen, it took a couple of seconds until the nurse finally began to point out where the baby was and that they were in perfect health.

"We made a baby," He mumbled as he let go of your hand, staring at the small baby on the screen as he began to tear up.

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @rjsmochii​ @bisexualmess007​ @innersooya​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​ @agustdjoon​ @jin-from-the-block​ 

[fickle-tiction]

Gotham’s Ticklish Prince

This started out as a headcanon, and then it spiraled out of control. You’re welcome.

  ~~

One day Bruce Wayne makes headlines. This isn’t surprising, or even noteworthy. He’s always making headlines for some silly nonsense he does as Bruce, to draw attention away from Batman. What is surprising is when he walks into the Hall of Justice and sees his face smiling back at him from about 10 different magazines strewn all over the meeting table.

Specifically, he sees himself curling inwards, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched, mouth stretched into a wide surprised smile as Mike, his date to last night’s gala, stands behind him. Thankfully, Mike’s hands are out of frame so no one can tell from the picture that he’s squeezing Bruce’s sides from behind.

“Oh look.” Arthur says, coming out of nowhere with a shit eating grin on his face. “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince decided to show his face.”

If Bruce didn’t have years of training and self discipline under his belt he would have flushed.

A Different magazine comes flying at him and smacks him in the stomach before he can even blink. Bruce catches it on reflex and looks down, only to be met with the headline “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince Has A New Squeeze” and, to his internal horror, it shows a picture snapped about two seconds after the first one. Bruce is clearly laughing in delight as Mike squeezes his sides, in full view of the camera. Several smaller pictures are beneath it, catching Bruce as he latches onto Mikes hands, turns and leans in close to tell him to stop. He didn’t have to flip to page 4, where the story apparently continued, to know what other pictures they surely got. Mike hadn’t stopped after one squeeze, and Bruce was too into character, and for once too unaware of any paparazzo nearby, to make him stop.

He knew he should have skipped the gala last night. Getting only 3 hours of sleep over the course of 4 nights and then slipping into his Bruce persona was always risky. Normally the two whiskies he had wouldn’t affect him at all, but the exhaustion plus the fact that he liked this Mike guy and was feeling comfortable and loose, clearly created a perfect storm. He remembered Mike sneaking up on him, he remember his guard being down just enough for it to catch him unawares and cause a reaction. He remembered how good it felt, but he won’t be letting himself go there. No. No thank you.

What he didn’t remember was the paparazzi being right there.

Or what would happen when those pictures surfaced at HQ.

Bruce finally looked up from the front cover of the Gotham Globe and was met with identical smirks from Arthur and Clark. Well, that explained the newspaper smacking him in the stomach earlier.

“It’s a character.” Bruce said, voice flat as he tossed the magazine onto the conference table. It wouldn’t help his situation if he tried to throw it out or look like he was hiding something.

“Right.” Clark didn’t sound like he was buying it at all. “So you knew you were being recorded. That’s why you put on such a convincing act.”

Recorded?

Recorded?!

Again, Bruce didn’t outwardly react at the news, but inside he was curling into a ball, ready to wither and die at any second. They fucking got that on video?

Naturally, the huge screen on the wall clicks on at the moment, showing a video of Bruce doing something on his phone. He had actually been playing some asinine game as he waited for Mike to come back from the bathroom. Bruce Wayne couldn’t be caught doing anything more than slicing up fruit on his phone, after all.

“I see Victor’s here.” Bruce says dryly, as though his eyes aren’t glued to the screen. His face remains impassive, but inside he’s once again screaming for his past self to turn around as Mike comes into frame behind him. He’s so busy watching Mike smirk and start sneaking up behind him (and, really, how did he not notice this last night? The guy is being so damn obvious about it.) that he doesn’t notice Clark and Arthur inching closer to him on either side.

Bruce feels a hand latch onto either of his sides just as Mike reaches forward and does the same on camera. Thankfully, Bruce’s guard has been up since he first saw his goofy face smiling back at himself when he walked into the room, so he does nothing more than cock an eyebrow and look at first Arthur, and then Clark.

“It’s a character.” He repeats, ignoring the staccato squeezing at one of his worst spots.

“I’m not going to react like he does, even though this tickles like hell. Bruce Wayne is an airheaded goof ball. Batman might be ticklish, but he doesn’t let it show--what the fuck?!” Bruce looked down to see a glittering gold rope wrapped innocently around his ankle. “Diana! What the hell?! I’m going to--” He cut off, clamping his mouth shut as he felt words trying to spill out. Words he most definitely did not want to say in the present company.

“Going to what, Brucie?” Diana asked, smirking as she held the lasso of truth in her hand. Bruce glared daggers at her, lips clamped tightly even as the squeezing on his sides turned to wiggling fingers and, to his horror, he felt his resolve breaking. 

“I’m--” Bruce huffed, biting his lower lip to keep from both speaking and laughing. “--I’m going--” His mouth was trying to curve into a smile, but Bruce was nothing if not stubborn and refused to let it happen.

“We’ve almost got him.” Arthur smirked, venturing a little lower and pinching just above Bruce’s hipbone. 

Clark noticed the jolt that caused and immediately followed suit on his side.

“I’m-Going-To-Pretend-To-Hate-all-of-you-to-keep-up-my-image.” Bruce was forced to say, as he finally caved and latched onto Arthur and Clark’s hands. Not that it did him any good. He might be The Batman, but outside of his suit he didn’t stand a chance against Superman, Aquaman and Wonder Woman, if she decided to get more hands on.

“You don’t actually hate it, do you.” Clark marveled, giving that spot above his hipbone another gentle pinch. Thank God for his super hearing, because without it he probably would have missed the squeak Bruce let out.

“I-” Again, Bruce was trying to clamp his mouth shut, but it wasn’t very effective since his mouth was stretched into a wide grin. “I have an image to maintain!” It was supposed to come out as a growl, but instead it sounded more like a whine as Bruce’s dam broke and laughter started pouring out of him.

“Well, if you’re trying to maintain the Ticklish Prince of Gotham image, you’re doing a fantastic job.” Arthur mocked him, now fluttering his fingers up and down Bruce’s side rapidly. 

Bruce was lost to the laughter, something that hasn’t happened to him since he was a kid. He began backing up, trying to back away from the tickling fingers flying furiously up and down both sides of his body. Absently, he noted that Diana must have let him go because he didn’t trip over the lasso as he tried to get away. He did, however, back himself into the wall without realizing it since his eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to contain the wild laughter pouring out  of him.

“Fahahahack!” Bruce cursed himself as Clark and Arthur boxed him in, each still tickling away. Clark was now experimenting with Bruce’s stomach while Arthur, the bastard, was worming his way under Bruce’s arm. 

They let him try to defend himself for a minute, wordlessly taunting him as they both danced around his arms with half-hearted attempts to get at his armpits. Finally, Arthur spoke up. “Clark, do you mind doing something about these?” He asked, tracing his fingertips gently up and down Bruce’s forearms. Bruce was well and truly gone if even that tickled like hell.

“Wha-” Bruce asked, laughter starting to die down as he got a short break. He cracked his eyes open, realizing for the first time he had been hunched in on himself, arms clamped down tightly, trying to protect as much of his sides as he could. 

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure.” Clark grinned. Lightening fast, he grabbed up Bruce’s wrists in one strong hand and pinned them to the wall above his head. Bruce’s eyes widened comically, too far gone to have any hope of controlling his facial features.

“Hey now.” He said, voice breathy as caught his breath. “You’ve had your fun.” Instead of the gravely voice they’d come to expect, Bruce’s voice was closer to that of his alter ego Bruce Wayne’s now. Nearly high pitched, and just short of panicky as he flexed his arms against the steel grip they were in.

“Tell me Bruce,” Arthur started, fingers slowly crawling up his ribs towards their destination. Bruce’s nerves immediately jumped to attention because they were already so worked up. “Are your armpits ticklish?”

Bruce tried to glare at him, even as his muscles twitched beneath Arthur’s fingers and his mouth started curving into another grin.

“Diana left.” Clark added, grinning at the man he had pinned to the wall. “And she took her lasso with her. I guess we’ll have to find out for ourselves.”

“Fuck.” Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while.

When Clark and Arthur finally let him go, he slumps to the floor in an exhausted heap and marvels at the last time he laughed that much (The answer: never.) or the last time he felt this exhausted without getting his ass whooped, or whooping someone else’s.

Once he’s regained some of his dignity, Bruce goes to the security feed with the intention of deleting the last hour of footage. He surprised to find it’s already gone, the tapes spliced seamlessly, with only a minor blip to show anything is missing. 

Victor, naturally, saved the entire thing to his personal servers. Just in case.

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

I’ll never stop loving you

Ok, so, this is very heavy. This piece is about eating disorders. As always, this is only about my personal experience. This is probably very triggering, so I don’t recommend reading if you think this will be upsetting. 

This was not easy for me to write. I kind of just started writing one day when I was feeling really bad about myself and then it just kept getting longer. I decided to post it because I know there have to be some other people out there who have these same feelings, and I want to help them feel less alone. 

warnings: eating disorders, calorie counting, insecurity, hospitals/medical stuff

word count: 4.9k

Y/N held back a sigh as she unlocked her phone. She glanced up to make sure Harry's back was still turned before she opened her calorie counting app and entered the apple she had eaten earlier. 

95 calories. That wasn't really so bad. Well... she battled with her thoughts a bit. No, it was fine. If she didn't eat anything else this evening, besides the pasta he was making, that would bring her to just below 500 calories for the day. Perfect. Y/N's relationship with food was... complicated. She had been overweight as a child, and even now she really struggled to keep from gaining weight. At her last doctor's appointment she had been told to try exercising and eating more greens. She desperately wanted to lose weight, but she also had a very hard time staying away from junk food. 

There had been more than one occasion where she's snuck to the kitchen after she was sure Harry was asleep and eaten everything she could get her hands on. She always felt terrible afterwards. She was physically in pain, but the worst part was how ashamed she was.  She often sat on the kitchen floor, crying and wondering what to do. She hadn't resorted to purging, but honestly that was only because she couldn't make it work. She had tried. Several times. She wasn't sure if it was physical or psychological, but she just couldn't. So, most of the time, she just restricted. 

It had been easy when Y/N started, but since she started dating Harry 8 months ago, it was much harder to keep this secret. It was manageable since they didn't live together, but he was very perceptive and asked her several times a day if she was hungry or if she had eaten. She had gotten very good at lying. 

A simple "not really, I actually ate just before you got here," or a "yes, I finished the pizza we made" was enough to satisfy his questions. She could rattle off these answers without missing a beat. Luckily, he never noticed how much food got thrown in the garbage. Every so often, she could tell he was suspicious. That's why she always made sure to let him see her eating at least once a week.

  Even though she was essentially starving herself, Y/N wasn't seeing any results. She had actually gained a pound in the last month. After she saw this, she didn't eat anything for almost 3 whole days. Harry had been away on business, so he didn't see when she nearly collapsed in the shower. He didn't hear her crying at night because she felt so hopeless. She hid it all from him. 

She had only felt more determined to lose weight since that incident. 

"So, I was thinking we'd watch a movie tonight while we eat. Maybe a Christmas one?" Harry pulled her out of her thoughts, turning away from the stove. She quickly closed the app and smiled up at him. 

"Sure, I'll go pick one out," She said, getting up from the table, taking her phone with her.

Harry was a little confused. She usually had no problem with him looking at her phone; they often used each other's interchangeably. They knew each other's passwords and their fingers could unlock the other's phone. Lately, though, she would quickly turn off her screen whenever he looked in her direction. He trusted her completely, but he knew something was going on. 

Y/N was searching through the list of Christmas movies on Netflix. She loved watching them, but they were so upsetting at the same time. The main character was always so skinny, so effortlessly beautiful. Of course she knew it wasn't real, but... still. She knew she would probably never look like that.

Y/N finally picked one. It looked incredibly cheesy, so hopefully she could focus on that instead of how skinny the main character was. 

She made sure her calorie counting app was cleared from her recent apps and went back to the kitchen. She grabbed two plates, already worried Harry would try to dish her food up for her. Luckily he moved away to wash his hands. She used that time to scoop the smallest amount she could (without causing suspicion) onto her plate. She spread it out as much as possible and took a rather large serving of green beans to make her plate look full. 

He turned back around, frowning slightly.

"That's not very much, love. If you don't like my cooking you can just tell me," He joked. 

"No, you're an excellent chef. I just had a big lunch," she smiled, lying right to his face without a second thought.

"Alright, if you say so. Shall we start our movie?" 

"We shall," Y/N laughed, copying his formal tone. 

He smiled as she walked toward the couch. He absolutely adored her, even though she had a hard time appreciating herself. She had never said anything to him, but he could see it on her face when she spent long amounts of time in front of the mirror, inspecting her appearance from every angle. He couldn't figure out why she felt this way. She was absolutely gorgeous. He didn't want to bring it up until she did, not wanting to push her to talk about anything she wasn't ready to talk about. 

Harry started the movie, settling into the couch. About halfway through, Y/N got up to put her plate away and use the bathroom. Harry noticed she took her phone with her again. 

While she was in the bathroom, Y/N quickly opened her calorie app. She estimated how much she had eaten, then added an extra 1/2 cup just to make sure. Her daily total was... 511 calories. She nearly let out a sob. Tears started forming in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. She could 𝘯𝘰𝘵 let Harry see her crying. He was so attentive and loving, and would stop everything to find out what was wrong. She closed the app and splashed some water on her face. Luckily, it was dark in the living room and there would probably be a sad part of the movie she could blame her puffy eyes on. 

She stepped back out into the living room, avoiding Harry's eyes as she sat down. She pretended not to notice his concerned look as she started the movie again. 

Sure enough, about 10 minutes later came the sad scene. The main character was breaking up with her perfect boyfriend, because "they just didn't work". Even though it was very cheesy and Y/N knew they would get back together before the movie ended, she couldn't help but get emotional. All the stress of undereating, recording every bite of food she ate, lying to Harry, and eating more than she planned today was building up. She was just so overwhelmed. She couldn't help when the tears started rolling down her face. Harry didn't notice until he heard her sniffling.

"Oh, love, it’s ok! Don't cry, they'll get back together soon, you know they will," He soothed, moving closer and putting his arm around her. 

Y/N couldn't say anything, but Harry being so close just made her feel worse. She felt too big. She felt like she didn't deserve to have such a loving boyfriend.

"I know, I know, I don't know why I'm so emotional today, I'm sorry," She said, wiping her eyes. 

"Why are you sorry? It’s alright if it gets your heart a little. I just hate to see you so sad," He said, rubbing circles on her shoulder with his thumb. 

Having Harry so close, telling her how much he cared about her, was even more overwhelming. Nevertheless, she tried to keep her tears in so he wouldn't ask any more questions. She managed to hold off, promising herself she could cry to her heart's content once he went home for the night. 

Once the movie ended, Harry moved his arm and kissed her hand. 

"Feeling better now? I told you there'd be a happy ending," He smiled sweetly.

  "Yes, much. You were right," She grinned, which quickly turned into a yawn. Harry checked his phone. 

"Oh, it’s way later than I thought. I better get home, let you get some sleep." He stood up from the couch, stretching. Y/N stood too, walking with him to the door.

  After putting his coat and shoes on, Harry gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  "I'll text you when I get home. Goodnight, Y/N, love you," he said, smiling.

Y/N blushed. "Love you too, babe." 

She was already feeling worse as she watched him drive away. she opened her calorie app, staring at the numbers. 511. How could she have done this? 511 calories. She felt miserable. She got into her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Against her better judgement, Y/N started thinking about her relationship with Harry. What would happen when Harry wanted to... take it further physically? She could barely handle seeing her own body in the mirror without breaking down, how would she let someone else see her? 

Harry was a good guy, she knew he was. She knew he wouldn't pressure her to do anything she wasn't ready for. But... that really wasn't fair for him. It was unrealistic to expect him to wait forever and, what, never have sex again? She very much doubted he would be ok with that. 

The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. Soon, the tears were rolling down her cheeks again. She did nothing to stop them. 

A few minutes later, her phone dinged. She picked it up and saw it was from Harry. 

"Got home safe. Love you darling, sleep well<3 " 

She texted back, "Love you too, talk tomorrow :)" 

She shut off her phone, not wanting to see his reply that would probably be very sweet and would make her feel worse. 

She laid in bed for hours, feeling miserable and wondering what she was going to do, before she finally fell into a deep sleep. 3 days later (she didn't sleep for 3 days I just didn't know how to make this time skip haha) She startled awake after a very unpleasant nightmare. She dreamed she had finally agreed to be intimate with Harry, but at soon as he had taken her shirt off he started laughing. He broke up with her right then and there, telling her no one would ever want to be with her. 

She hugged her pillow, checking her phone. it was 4 A.M. Great. Now she could either try and fall back asleep or give up and sit on her phone until the sun came up. 

She chose the latter. She swiped away the text from Harry before opening tumblr and scrolling through her feed. Pictures of skeletal girls wearing fishnets, high waisted shorts, dresses, whatever they wanted, flashed across her screen. Y/N decided to continue fasting until the end of the week, then decrease her intake to 300 calories per day. She wasn't making progress at 500, so this had to work. It had to. She didn't have anything else to try. She was already doing yoga for weight loss 2 hours every day and eating next to nothing. This was her last option. She rolled out of bed when the sun started coming up and walked to the bathroom, weighing herself. She sighed, seeing she had only gone down 0.2 pounds. Better than gaining, she thought. 

She changed into leggings and a sweater and rolled out her yoga mat. Y/N found her weight loss yoga series and stretched. She usually did every episode 4 times, just to make sure she was getting the full benefits. 

On her second time starting over, she nearly fainted when get got up from the downward dog. She swayed on her feet, quickly getting down on the floor so she wouldn't fall. She laid there until she felt better, then slowly stood up. She sunk into the couch, deciding to be done with yoga for the day. She was exhausted, and she thought she might really pass out if she kept going.��

Her phone dinged and she picked it up, seeing it was from Harry.

  "Good morning love:) The sky's supposed to be clear tonight, want to come over and stargaze?" 

Y/N smiled. He knew how much she loved the stars. 

"Of course! I'll come over around 8?" 

"Sounds good, see you then:)"

  As long as he didn't try to offer her any food, everything would be fine. This would work. She could just tell him she finished the pasta he made so he wouldn't try to give her supper. Perfect. Y/N pulled one of Harry's hoodies out of her closet, slipping it over her jeans. She loved wearing his clothes. it made her feel small and safe and loved. She scooped the rest of the pasta into the garbage, only feeling a little bad for wasting the food. 

She got into her car and plugged her phone into the car speakers, starting Harry's album. She had been playing it on repeat since it came out. The music was already incredible, but what made it even better was knowing it was about her. Harry clearly felt Y/N was amazing, which was hard for her to process. How could someone who looked like that be in love with her? It didn't seem real. 

By the time she got to the third song, Y/N was almost at Harry's house. She pulled into his driveway and unplugged her phone, giving herself a minute to take a breath. Everything would be fine. She would tell him she had eaten the pasta and he would believe her. Everything would work out.

She turned off the car, walking up the path to Harry's door. He opened it before she even knocked, beaming and pulling her into a hug. 

"I missed you, love," He said, squeezing her tighter. 

"Harry, I saw you 3 days ago," She laughed.

"Yeah, well, that's way too long," He shook his head, pulling away from her a bit. "Did you eat? I can find something quick before we get out there-" 

Y/N quickly cut him off. "No, I'm good, I finished the pasta you made. How does your food still taste amazing, even days after?" 

"I dunno, I guess I'm just magical," He laughed. 

He led her out to the back porch, gesturing at the ladder. 

"I figured we'd sit up on the roof. There's a better view, and... it's more private," He smiled. 

Y/N pretended she didn't know what he was implying. 

"Sounds good!" She began to climb up the ladder. Suddenly, she didn't feel so well. She was dizzy and black spots were appearing in the corners of her eyes. "No, no, no," She thought desperately. "Not again! Just focus, one rung at a time, you can do it." 

Luckily, she got to the top and made it onto the roof safely. She sat on the slightly tilted surface, putting her head between her knees.

Harry's head popped up from the edge of the roof, looking very worried. He rushed over, putting his arm around her. 

"Y/N, are you ok? You don't look so good," He said nervously.

"I'm fine, I'm just..." Y/N tried to think of what to tell him. She couldn't exactly say "I'm  dizzy because I haven't eaten in 3 days" because she had already lied about eating supper. "I'm not a fan of heights." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me? We didn't have to come up here!" He looked like he felt terrible, but Y/N was quick to reassure him. 

"No, it's totally fine, I thought I could handle it a little better. I'm ok, maybe just... don't move your arm?" She moved closer into his side. While she felt self conscious with him so close, she really did feel dizzy and worried she might fall if he moved away. She was also freezing cold, despite the warm air, so she liked having his extra warmth.

"Of course I won't." They sat in silence for a few minutes before Harry spoke again. 

"If... if you're feeling alright now, I'd suggest looking up," He said. She could hear the smile in his voice as she lifted her head. 

"Oh... it's... beautiful," She whispered. 

She had never seen such a clear sky. Billions of stars shone brightly, which was weird since there was usually too much light around to see them. That's when Y/N noticed it was a lot darker than normal. 

"Harry, where are all the street lights?" 

He blushed, looking down. 

"I wanted you to be able to see the stars better, so I got the electrician to turn them off for a few hours. He's an old family friend," Harry explained. "He said he had no problem helping me woo a pretty girl." 

Now it was Y/N who was blushing. 

"Well, it worked. I am very... woo'd," She said. They both laughed before looking back up at the twinkling sky. 

"Oh look, there's... that one constellation!" 

Y/N laughed. "Brilliant, Harry, that ONE constellation." 

He smiled. "No, no, it's... I can't think of the name! it's one of my favorites. it's the one shaped like a W. The one that's a queen, sitting on her throne. This'll drive me crazy if I don't remember it." He reached for his phone, hand patting his empty pocket. "Oh, must've left it in the house. Mind if I use yours?" 

Harry didn't miss the split second of panic that crossed her face. He didn't know that she was frantically wondering if her calorie counting app was still open. She knew she couldn't say no without looking very suspicious, so she faked a smile and handed it over.

Thankfully, he didn't even open her recent apps. He just clicked on the safari icon and typed quickly. 

"That's it! Cassiopeia! The beautiful queen on her throne," He said, handing her phone back to her. "Anyways, I think of you when I see that constellation." 

Y/N smiled. "You see me as a beautiful queen?" 

"Obviously, I do," He said, kissing her cheek. 

For the first time, Y/N didn't feel embarrassed to be in his arms. He had always told her he loved her, but comparing her to a literal queen? A queen made out of stars? That was different. 

Y/N was so happy that she didn't mind when Harry's lips lingered on her cheek, then moved to her jaw. They had never done anything except cuddling, so this was all new to her. She leaned into him, getting lost in the sensations. 

Then she started thinking. She realized where this was going as his lips migrated down her neck. Though she was really enjoying this, she started panicking when she thought about what would happen next. 

Her breathing and pulse sped up. Harry smiled into her neck, thinking it was just her reaction to his touch. Then she was pulling away, or rather, pushing him away.

"Stop, stop, I want to stop!"  

He snapped his head up, backing away and holding his hands in the air to show her he wasn't going to do anything.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should have asked you before I..." he was also breathing heavily. He knew she was inexperienced and was very nervous to try anything new. 

Y/N felt tears springing to her eyes. 

"I- I have to go," She said, swiping at the tears on her face. 

"Wait, Y/N!" 

She was already climbing down the ladder. As soon as she got down, she ran through his house and to her car. Harry was right on her heels. 

Y/N started her car and drove away as fast as she could. She felt bad because she knew Harry was beating himself up right now, thinking he was the reason she freaked out. She just didn't know what to do. She couldn't explain why she had pushed him away without going into... everything. She couldn't tell him the reason she pushed him away was because she hated her body so much it physically hurt. He would just tell her she was beautiful, and then he would probably figure out she wasn't eating enough. He would force her to recover. And... she couldn't do that until she was skinny. 

She pulled into her driveway, running inside. Before she had even gotten up to her room, she heard Harry pounding on her door. 

"Y/N, open the door!" More pounding. "Y/N, I need to know you're ok! Please, you don't even have to let me in, just... text me or something to let me know you're ok! Please!" He kept pounding on the door. 

Y/N crept up the stairs, ignoring his pleas. She felt awful, but she couldn't do anything. He kept pounding and yelling and she got worried someone would call the police, so she pulled out her phone, sending him a quick text. "i'm fine." 

Then she shut her phone off, jumped in the shower, and cried.

By the time she got out, she didn't hear any more noises. She checked her phone, eyes widening when she saw the 27 missed calls and dozens of texts from Harry.

Her phone started ringing again, but she immediately declined the call when she saw Harry's smile light up her screen. She hoped he would get the message. She silenced her phone, settling into her bed and drifting to sleep.

The next day, Y/N startled awake to more banging sounds. She sat up, leaning over to look out her window. There he was, pounding his fists on her side door. "Well," she thought, "At least there's less chance someone will call the cops on him." 

She heard faint yelling and knew she had to do something. He probably wouldn't leave, at least not until she actually asked him to. It was nearly 3 P.M., and she guessed he had been there all day, if not all night. 

She swung her legs over the side of bed, but a wave of nausea and dizziness hit her as soon as she stood. She took a moment to steady herself before stepping out into the hallway. 

Y/N held the railing with an iron grip as she slowly climbed down the stairs. Black spots began to swim in her vision and she felt even worse than before. Then the room spun around her and she fell. 

Harry's p.o.v. He stopped pounding on the door for a minute to call her again. His phone rang for a while, so at least she wasn't just declining his calls. 

Which... was actually worse. What if she wasn't ok? What if she was hurt, or worse? He knew she hadn't left, he had stayed outside her door all night.

  Right before he started knocking again, he heard it. A very loud crashing sound. It sounded like something had fallen down the stairs.

His eyes drifted to the window and he pressed his face against the glass. His view was distorted through the sheer curtain, but he could make out something on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

He focused his eyes and gasped when he realized it was Y/N, lying in a heap. He ran back to the door, trying again to open it. When it didn't budge, he went to the front and back doors, trying the same. Finally, he decided what he had to do. Harry ran to the back door so no one on the street would see him and picked up a shovel lying in the garden. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and rammed it into the glass. He rotated the shovel around, clearing all the shards before he climbed through the hole. 

He ran over to Y/N, dropping to his knees and feeling for a pulse on her neck. He nearly sobbed when he felt her heart beating, though it felt pretty weak. He yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. 

Harry had been sitting in the waiting room for a few hours when the doctor approached him.

"Mr. Styles?" 

Harry stood up quickly.

"How is she?" 

She's doing fine now. But..." He didn't seem to want to tell Harry something. "Mr. Styles, she is extremely malnourished. She fell down the stairs, you said? It seems the reason for this is because she lost consciousness, because her blood sugar was so low. We usually only see levels like this in people with diabetes." 

"She's... she not diabetic, though," Harry said, confused. "And what do you mean by malnourished? I see her eat all the time." He said, voice faltering a bit.

"From her labs and scans, it would seem she hasn't eaten in several days, maybe a week. She also shows signs of chronic undernourishment, which means she's been eating less than her body needs for a while now.  She is extremely dehydrated, and her electrolytes are very imbalanced." 

"But- how could she- I mean, she doesn't-" Harry couldn't seem to collect his thoughts. "Can I see her?" 

"You can. She's not awake, but I'll take you to her room," He said, leading Harry towards her room.

Harry's eyes teared up when he saw Y/N in the bed. She was connected to several machines, and a nurse explained that they were getting her nutrients up and keeping her hydrated. She looked so fragile.

Harry fell into the chair by her bed, clasping her small hand in both of his. 

"Was she- I mean- was she... starving herself?" Harry's voice broke as he spoke to the nurse. 

She offered a sympathetic look. 

"It appears so, yes." 

"What can I do? how can I fix this?" 

"Mr. Styles-"

"Harry." 

"Harry, you're doing everything you can. We've got her, physically. all you have to do is love her and support her. 

"Right," Harry said, looking down. "Thank you." 

The nurse left the room, leaving the two alone. Harry stared into her face, silently willing her to wake up. She had to wake up. This was all his fault. He must've done something that upset her so much she stopped eating. He thought back to last night on the roof when she had pushed him away. Had she felt like this the whole time? Had she felt so unhappy in their relationship that she was slowly killing herself? 

Y/N's p.o.v.

When Y/N woke up, she was in her bed. No, wait, not her bed. A hospital bed? She looked around, confused. 

She saw Harry, asleep in the chair next to her. She tried to say his name, but she couldn't get out more than a hoarse whisper. 

She looked around, searching for something to get his attention with. She settled on the empty plastic cup next to her, throwing it and hitting him in the shoulder. He jerked awake, eyes darting around until they landed on her. Relief flooded his face as he moved his chair closer.

"Y/N, you have no idea how worried I was about you," Harry said in a soft voice. Tears pooled in her eyes as she grasped his hand.��

"I'm so sorry," She whispered. 

"Just... why? Why did you do this? Is it because of me? Do you..." His voice shook and he took a steadying breath. "Did I do this to you?" 

Y/N shook her head frantically, squeezing his hand. "No, no, Harry, you didn't, I promise, this isn't your fault. It's... I've just... I don't know," Y/N's voice broke off as tears started streaming down her face. 

"It's not your fault, Harry. I-I just... I wanted to be... perfect," Her voice sounded so small. "I wanted to look like the girls in the stupid hallmark movies, who are so skinny and... just gorgeous," She said, still crying. "I wanted to look like them and I just wanted to feel pretty and I just hate my body so much," Her words ran together and got harder to understand as she buried her face in her arms. 

Harry's heart broke a little more with each word she spoke. He stood from his chair, situating himself on the bed next to her and putting his arms around her. They just sat like that, Y/N's shaky breaths slowly settling to match his even ones. He could still hear her sniffling every once in a while, but she had mostly calmed down. 

"I love you more than anything else on this earth, Y/N," Harry said softly. "I don't know what I would ever do without you. I'm so sorry I didn't notice you were going through this. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I don't want to change anything about you." 

Y/N looked up at him. "I think... I think I need help," she said, her voice shaking. Harry just pulled her back against his chest, kissing the top of her head.  

"I will stay with you, always," he murmured. "I know you can get through this. I won't leave your side." 

"No, I... I think I have to go away somewhere," She said, avoiding his eyes.

"If that's what you need to get better, Y/N, then I will support you. I'll visit you as much as they'll let me, as much as you want to see me. I'll do anything for you, to see you get better." 

"I love you so much," She said, eyes welling up with tears again. 

"I love you too," He whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll never stop.” 

[woah-were-halfway-there]

The Sweetest of Them All

A/N: just another little bonus part of the AFTR universe that I came up with out of nowhere. Also, I left this as third person instead of second. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.2k

Y/N has never been a big fan of Valentine's Day.

To her, it was overrated and expensive. But, she'd be lying if she said she didn't love the fact that it gave an extra reason to love on Auston a ridiculous amount. Sure, she did that every day, but to be fair, she loved how the title of Valentine's Day added a bit more fun and excitement to something she'd normally do any other day. It felt different for some reason, so even though she didn't love the so-called holiday, she still tried to plan something special for it every year.

Admittedly, she and Auston almost got competitive about it with trying to one-up the other with affection. They didn't care about gifts. They cared about the time they spent together and the thoughtfulness behind it.

Usually, it was Y/N that came up with something ridiculously sweet for Valentine's Day to do for Auston. However, this year, he had her beat.

For some odd reason, Y/N woke up very early that day. Maybe it was the baby waking her, or perhaps it was her internal clock saying sleep was no longer necessary. But, regardless, she was awake much earlier than usual. She also knew Mia wasn't awake or else she would've heard her, so she took that time to lie back in bed and relax for a few minutes on her own.

The bed felt incredibly empty, given that Auston was with the Leafs in Washington and wasn't expected to be back in Toronto until late that night. Frank was a good cuddle buddy alternative, but sometimes the Goldendoodle just wasn't enough when Y/N was missing her man. Of course, this was one of the days when she missed him a lot, so she took that as an excuse to text Auston and at least get this so-called holiday kicked off.

Y/N Happy Valentine's Day, Aus 🥰 can't wait to see you tonight

She wasn't expecting him to message back right away, seeing as it was only 7:30 in the morning, but much to her surprise, he did.

Auston Happy Valentine's Day, babe 💕 Can't wait to see you either. Did the flowers for Mia get delivered?

Y/N Yes, they got here last night. They're beautiful. I set them on the kitchen counter, so once she's awake and we go downstairs, she'll see her little V-Day gift from you

Auston Perfect. I got part of your Valentine's thing with me right now too. Ready for it?

Y/N Is it going to make me cry?

Auston Probably

Y/N Great. Hit me with your best shot

She stared at her phone screen for a moment, expecting it to light up with the notification of an incoming FaceTime call from her husband or a picture, but instead, he sent her a link. But not just any link, it was the link to the video recording of a new Spittin' Chiclets podcast episode that was over an hour-long called 'Love Day: Part One.'

Confused, but also insanely curious, Y/N then leaned over to grab her laptop from the bedside table and got into the most comfortable position her growing baby bump would allow so she could watch the video like that. As soon as she was about to press play, her phone buzzed with another text.

Auston This was filmed a couple of weeks ago when the Chiclets guys were in Toronto. They interviewed at least 10 different guys in the league at different times, and they're kind of long, which is why there's more than one part. Just watch the intro, then I'm the first interview. Mitch is on part 2 if you want to watch that as well, but yeah... call me when you're done 💕

Still unsure of how to process what was going on, Y/N just shook her head and followed the link.

The video started with Biz, Whit and Rear sat all-around a table, each wearing a different red, white or pink shirt with heart-shaped balloons positioned behind them. Empty bottles of Pink Whitney sat on the table, acting as vases for bouquets of roses, making Y/N roll her eyes and chuckle at how far these guys would go for good product placement. But, she kept watching, and unsurprisingly, Biz was the first to speak.

Biz: "For Valentines Day this year, we wanted to do something different. Something more soft. So, we're going to tell, well, I guess, show some love stories."

Whit: "Bet you all didn't know that some of the greatest love stories to ever be told have happened to some of the guys that play in the NHL. Don't believe me? Guess you'll have to listen to find out what they are."

Rear: "We asked some players to come in and talk to us about their relationship stories and give as many details as they were willing to give. And let me tell you, they were great. To start us off, we have Auston Matthews of the Toronto Maple Leafs telling us his fairytale romance."

The video then clipped to a shot of Biz sitting next to Auston in what Y/N assumed was the hotel downtown that the Chiclets guys were staying at. Auston wasn't dressed extravagantly or anything, just wore a grey hoodie, black pants, and his signature Raiders snapback.

Y/N immediately recognized his outfit. She remembered Auston coming home in those same clothes early one afternoon after he did some running around downtown with Mia, and started thinking of how not once did he mention doing anything for the podcast. He kept this very on the down low, and Y/N was excited to see how it would all play out.

Biz: "Alright, with us today, we have none other than the Leafs number 34, Auston Matthews. Welcome back to the show, Auston. How ya doin?"

Auston: "I'm great. Thanks for having me. How are you guys?"

Whit and Rear: "Good."

Biz: "Great, real good. Now, Auston, you know what you're here to talk about, right?"

Auston: (chuckling) "You're acting like you didn't spend the last week blowing up my phone until I agreed to do this."

Biz: "Amazing! You do know. So, here's how it's all going to go down. We've got a list of questions about your relationship with your significant other. Your obvious better half. And are going to take turns asking them so the people listening at home can get a bit of insight on your, and I quote, iconic love story. Why don't you give us a little summary of your relationship before we dive in?"

Auston: (hesitantly) "Sure, okay. So, my wife Y/N and I have been married for almost two years now. Our anniversary is at the end of July. She accidentally forgot it last year, which I haven't let her live down. Y/N, babe, this is your six month in advance warning that our anniversary is indeed coming up again this year… She's going to hate that I mentioned that. We, uh, we've been together since my first season in Toronto, so for a pretty long time now, and it's been amazing. We have a daughter, Amelia, but everyone just calls her Mia unless she's in trouble. She just turned two on January 25th, and we have our second baby on the way. They're due to be making their grand appearance in late June. We also have our firstborn, Frank, the Goldendoodle. Can't forget about him. But, yeah, that's my little family."

Whit: (nodding along with Biz and Rear) "Fair enough. Now, how and when did you and Y/N meet exactly?"

Auston: "We met on the night of my first NHL game back in 2016. She was at that game."

Biz: "Oh, yeah? Was she there for a reason?"

Auston gave him an unimpressed look.

Biz: "What?"

Auston: "You know why she was there!"

Biz: (shrugging) "Our listeners don't. C'mon, refresh my memory. Was she there to cheer someone else on?"

Auston: (shaking his head) "Yeah. She, uh, she's a cousin of one of my teammates, so she was there with their family to watch him during our first game."

Biz: (grinning widely) "What teammate?"

Auston: "The one out in the hallway keeping my daughter occupied while you keep being annoying and asking me questions you already know the answer to."

Everyone laughed at that, including Y/N, as she shifted onto her side, being mindful of her growing bump that seemingly became more noticeable each day, and got comfortable as she braced herself for what the rest of this interview would entail.

Biz: (still laughing): "Just to clarify for everyone who still doesn't know, he's talking about Mitch Marner."

Auston: "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up."

Rear: "I take it that Mitch and Mia get along really well? I haven't heard a peep from her since you came in here."

Auston: "Oh, she loves him. Yeah, that's her Mitchy, alright. Him and Steph, who you will hear all about once Mitch comes in here, are Mia's godparents and some of her favourite people."

Whit: "That's awesome. And how was that at first, though, being romantically involved with one of your teammates' family members? Sounds like grounds for some chaos, if I'm honest."

Auston: "It sure made meeting the family a bit more nerve-wracking. I'm just kidding. No, it was fine. It was definitely a little awkward at first trying to figure out how I was going to tell Mitch that I wanted to date his cousin. Like, he and Y/N are very close. Always have been. And the last thing both me and Y/N wanted was for Mitch to be uncomfortable. He did handle it really well, though. It's because of him I was even able to get to know her in the first place, which I'll never be able to thank him enough for."

Rear: "Now, you're a pretty private guy. You post the odd picture of your little family from time to time. Y/N is rather private, as well. So, really, no one knows your guys' story other than those who have lived it with you or watched it unfold. I'm sure many people will jump right on the chance to listen to this, seeing as you and Y/N are one of the most beloved couples in the NHL. But, what exactly made you want to come on here, give a bit of insight into your private life, and talk about it all?"

Auston: "Well, for one, Biz would not stop asking me to do it. Literally kept calling and texting me for days until I finally agreed."

Whit: "Shocker."

Biz: "Hey, now."

Auston: (chuckling) "That and also I figured, why not. I love my wife, and I love our little story. It's nice to think back on everything that's happened and see how it all got us to where we are now. With all the ups and the downs, its uh, it's been an amazing ride for sure, and I wouldn't change it for a thing. Also, it's for Valentine's Day. I haven't told her I'm doing this, so when you guys drop the episode, I'm just going to send it to her without much context."

Whit: "Do you think she'll cry?"

Auston: "Absolutely. I know this kind of thing would make her tear up regularly, but those pregnancy hormones have got her bad. Without a doubt, she's going to call me crying once she's done watching this."

Y/N scoffed as he said that and grabbed some tissues to wipe away the waterworks she already felt coming on.

Biz: "I've met Y/N many times now. The first time being back in what, 2018?"

The screen then showed an old picture of Biz sitting in a restaurant with his arm wrapped around Y/N's shoulders, both smiling widely as they held up their drinks, with Auston seemingly moping off to the side a little bit. Y/N chuckled at the image, instantly thinking back to the day she first met Paul Bissonnette and how wild it was before the photo faded away and showed the guys again.

Biz: "Yeah, it was when she was in Scottsdale visiting you during the summer. Great girl, completely out of Auston's league."

Auston: "Hey!"

Biz: "I'll never forget you sassing her when she commented on how hot Arizona was, with her being Canadian and all, but damn she was fast putting you in your place by calling you a, what was it?"

Auston: (grumbling) "Desert Boy."

Everyone burst out laughing again, except Auston, who just rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

Auston: "Whatever. She sasses me all the time when I complain about the snow, but the one time I do it back, I get called a Desert Boy and can never live it down."

Biz: (still laughing) "Ugh, amazing. Okay, moving on because we don't have much time and can probably fit in like two more questions. So, Auston, tell us how you knew that Y/N was the end game for you. How did you know that she was the one?"

Auston: "Oh, man. I don't even know how to explain it. Growing up, you see all these movies and shows, or read books where people always find someone who is their soulmate. Their perfect match. And I never knew what the feeling of finding that person was because I had never experienced it. My mom would tell me that when I did find that person, I'd know. That it'll be such an intense feeling, and to be honest, I didn't believe her. Until I met Y/N, I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. The first time I met her, something drew me in, and I knew I wanted to get to know her better right away. Mitch spoke so highly of her, so did the other guys on the team that had already met her and over the first couple of months of us knowing each other, I saw what they meant. She quickly became one of my best friends ever. When we started dating, I saw more of how good a person she is, which attracted me even more. She is so selfless and caring for everyone around her; it truly blows my mind. I had never seen my family welcome a girl I introduced them to as quickly as they did her, and I trust their judgment the most. But even if they didn't do that, I know they would have accepted her regardless because, honestly, I probably seemed like a lovesick idiot. I still do. Y/N became this significant light in my life that I knew I wanted to be there forever. I began thinking about what it'd be like spending the rest of my life with her. Then it became something that I knew I needed. I can't imagine my life without her, and I never want to. She makes me so happy and has given me more than I could ever thank her for. I'll never understand how I, of all people, was the one to capture her massive heart, but I do know how lucky I am."

As he spoke, the screen showed a little picture slideshow of Y/N and Auston over the years of their relationship. It started with one that Ema took the first time Y/N had ever gone to Scottsdale. Y/N was sitting on the edge of a pool, and her legs dipped into the water. Auston stood between them as he wrapped his arms around her middle and leaned against her while looking over at where Ema stood taking the picture. The next one was from a Christmas party where the two were under a mistletoe as Auston leaned Y/N back and was kissing her cheek as she laughed and held onto him for dear life. There was a picture of them with Auston's family, one of them with Mitch and Steph, and another of Auston with his arms around Nate and Mya, Y/N's younger brother and sister, as the three smiled at the camera and Y/N was in the background looking confused.

The last few pictures were a bit more recent. They showed Y/N holding Frank as a puppy, a maternity photo of her and Auston posing when she was pregnant with Mia, and one of them on their wedding day with Mia and the rest of the gang. Then, the slideshow concluded with a very recent picture of them taken just a couple of weeks prior at Mia's birthday party, where Auston has his arms wrapped around Y/N from the back, showcasing her growing belly. At the same time, she leaned against him and glanced over her shoulder at him lovingly. The photos then went away and showed the guys again as Auston finished speaking.

Auston was right. Y/N was full-on bawling by that point.

All the guys were smiling as Auston finished saying his thing, but were soon interrupted by a knocking noise followed by a door opening.

Mitch: (offscreen) "Wait, no! Don't let her in!"

Mia: (also offscreen) "Daddy!"

Mia then came into the frame as she ran towards Auston, not caring about what was going on or who was there. Auston was quick reacting as he smiled widely and scooped Mia right up into his arms, making sure to place multiple kisses on her cheek as she giggled and squirmed in his hold, while Mitch became visible too and shrugged.

Auston: "Hi, mini. I missed you. Did you have fun with Mitchy?"

Mia: "Yeah! Where's mommy, daddy?"

Auston: "She's at home, baby girl. I'm almost done, then we can go get a Timbit while we wait for Mitch to be done. Sounds good?"

Mia: (knuckling at her eyes, tiredly) "Mhmm."

Rear: "This is adorable."

Biz: "Hi, Mia."

Mia: (shyly while hiding against Auston's chest a bit) "Hi, Biz."

Whit: (laughing) "Okay, I think we've kept you long enough now, Auston. Is there anything else you and Mia would like to say to Y/N?"

Auston: "Yes. Happy Valentine's Day, babe. I love you so much, and I'm sorry I'm not there right now. You're going to hear a lot more from me on actual Valentine's Day, but for right now, I think that's just about it. Mia, can you blow a kiss to the camera so mommy can see it and say 'happy Love Day!'"

Mia: (blows the kiss) "Happy Love Day, mommy!"

Auston: "Can you tell her that you love her?"

Mia: "Love you!"

Auston and Mia then waved to the camera and said bye as the clip faded out, and a new interview of another NHLer began playing.

Y/N's heart felt so full. She couldn't stop crying over how much she loved her family and how badly she needed to hear something like that. Life had been particularly hard on her as of late and seemed to keep throwing her curveballs, but this, this was exactly what she needed. To be reminded of how loved she is and that she genuinely is never alone.

She then grabbed her phone to call Auston and remind him of how much she loved him, that day and every day. The two talked for a few minutes before Y/N was pretty sure she could hear Mia waking up. After saying their goodbyes, Y/N found herself thinking about how, regardless of how she feels about the actual day, this was a Valentine's Day she will never forget.

[stxvercgersslut]

Why today?

Request: @teller258316 hi! can i request a jake jensen x reader where she goes into labor when hes on a mission?

A/n: I kinda took so long writing this because I didn’t wanna ruin such a brilliant request. Thank you so much for requesting this.

Warning: Language, lots of fluff

Temporary tag list: @jtargaryen18 @et-lesailes @chuckbass-love @t-stark35

Description: Jensen prayed he wouldn’t miss the birth of his baby, but when he’s on the other side Of the world to where you were, that seemed like a pretty possible outcome.

3 months. 3 whole damn months away from his one and only. To make it worse you were pregnant. Not only were you pregnant but by now you were 9 months pregnant. Which unfortunately meant that you were just days or may less from going into labour. Making it even more difficult to be so far away from the one that he well and truly loved. His heart aching every time he even so much as thought about you or even how your unborn little baby girl was doing. Picturing you all alone in your small shitty shared apartment just seemed to make his stomach twist uncomfortably. He never would have even agreed to go on this damn undercover mission with the guys if he’d of known it was going to rip him away from you for 3 months of your pregnancy. Then again if he hadn’t of been there to help with the technical side to the job then there most certainly wouldn’t have been a job to do in the first place. Not that that would have been a bad thing of course. The ‘nerd’ wanted nothing more then to be home holding you in his arms with his hand cradling your large baby bump as your little unborn baby girl occasionally kicked directly on his hand, letting him know that everything was going to be okay. Moments like those always seemed to sooth him. Which was why, during those traumatic 3 months, he had missed you like crazy. No amount of text messages, phone calls, photos or occasional FaceTimes would make up for any of this. At least you had contact with him. Thank god he was good with technology. He would have lost his mind if it wasn’t for the fact that he was at least able to check that you and the baby were okay.

When the two of you had first found out about your pregnancy of course there were some understandable concerned about how exactly the paid or you would even be able to raise a baby together. With Jensen always leaving for missions with the other ‘losers’ it would most likely be insanely difficult for the baby to even grow up knowing the father. Oh but the added worry was the fact that unfortunately poor Jensen always seemed to get himself into dangerous situations that could have safely been avoided (it’s safe to say that you weren’t at all thrilled to see him when he came back home one night to inform you that he had in fact gotten shot and was almost murdered.) Maybe being the girlfriend to Jake Jensen wasn’t the smartest of decisions but you adored him. This man really was the love of your life. The way he was so protective over you seemed to fuel your burning desire to be with him. You were both so different yet so perfect for each other at the exact same time and you’d be dammed if you were going to let this gorgeous nerd leave you. Like you’re mamma always used to say “keep that boy on a tight leash or you’ll lose him”

After several weeks (6 to be exact) of carefully considering all of your options the pair of you finally decided that you were in fact going to have this baby. Jake, being the one more excited then you, couldn’t wait to tell his friends the brilliant news. However, not everyone seemed totally thrilled for you guys. In fact only Pooch and Couger seemed to be happy for you. Not that you really expected anything different to be totally honest you understood that it wasn’t the greatest it timings or settings to bring a baby into the world that wasn’t at all safe. Not that that seemed to deter either of you. Clay most certainly protested against the pregnancy, believing that it would just mess with Jensen’s mind. If Jensen wasn’t fully set on the task at hand then that could have extremely dear consequences.

However, no one (not even Clay himself) could break Jensen’s excitement for this baby. And believe me, he really was unbelievably ecstatic to know that you were carrying his baby. For the first time in forever Jensen finally felt like he had found where he belonged, years on his own ‘travelling’ with Clay, Pooche and Couger had always been what he had decided to settle for. But now? Now that he had found you, the girl of his dreams, whom of which he as little engaged to, well he finally found his home. The life that he wanted was staring him right in the damn face and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to grab it with both hands and hold it as close as physically possible.

Currently you were sitting alone in your 3rd floor 2 bedroom apartment in New York that Jensen had been paying rent for for the last 3 , laying in yours and Jensen’s shared bed with one hand on your stomach as you calmly continued to sleep. Even though it was a whole lot harder to sleep now that you were 9 months pregnant and could literally pop at any second, you felt calmer knowing that you’d soon be back in the arms of your fiancé. Thankfully today just so happened to be the day that he was travelling home from the mission. After 3 torturous months without him, he was finally coming home. But due to the fact that he was literally on the other side of the world he would most likely be home for a few more days. Even if that were true, at least you could feel happier and at comfort knowing that the man of your dreams was on his way back to you and that soon the two of you could cuddle back up in bed together like you always did. Due to the fact that you were I fact quite a light sleeper however, you were awoken to the sound of your phone buzzing 3 times in a row signaling that you had finally gotten messages from your beloved.

Jensen: morning baby ❤️ or maybe it’s afternoon for you? Xx

Jensen: How’s little baby girl Jensen doing? Is she still kicking a lot? Xx

Jensen: We’ve just gotten to the jet so we should be on our way back in an hour. Until then please keep me updated on how you and our baby are doing? I can’t help but worry Xx

Those three texts messages sent in a row, hardly giving you a second to respond to each one as they all can through, seemed to melt your heart. Of course they did. More so since you found worried and caring Jake Jensen to be the most adorable version of your fiancé that you could ever see. It was just so cute to see him all flustered and worried for you, making you realise just how special your man really was. Oh he was a definite keeper. As you wrote out your reply to his several questions you couldn’t help but laugh as the three little bubbles appeared at the bottom of the pile of messages, indicating that Jensen was once again typing. Yeah it could get annoying sometimes when he began to spam you in order to get a repsonse, but most of the time he was doing so out of love. Which made your heart swell even more then you ever thought that it could. This man really did love you and it showed.

Jensen: Baby are you awake? I’m sorry for pestering. I just need to know you’re okay Xx

You: Yeah I’m awake Jensen and our baby is fine. She’s been happy to spend some more bonding time with mama whilst you were gone. But now we really do miss you. Can’t wait to see you again. Xx

Jensen: I miss you too ❤️ Not long now baby girl and we can cuddle again. Xx

You: Can’t wait to see you! Xx

Jensen: Neither can I. Look I’ve gotta go since we’re bording soon. I’ll see you later baby Xx

You: Okay be safe! Love you Xx

Jensen: Love you too angel Xx

Those last little words that showed up on the screen seemed to bring a extremely bright smile to your face, well...that smile didn’t last long Since after a couple of seconds you felt a very uncomfortable wetness fall on to the bed. Unfortunately that just so happened to be your waters breaking. “Seriously? You couldn’t have just waited two more days for daddy to get home?” You asked of course fully knowing that the baby couldn’t hear you and you definitely couldn’t control this. But it was still awful timing for this little baby girl.

It was a struggle, but after around 10 minutes you’d managed to call your mother who of course got you to the hospital in record time. Which was why you were currently sitting in a very surprisingly comfortable private hospital bed with your phone pressed to your ear as you continued to try and get in contact with your beloved fiancé. But unfortunately, no matter how hard you tried he just wasn’t answering. “I’m not doing this without Jake! I’m not doing this” you spoke breathlessly as you pathetically attempted to stop yourself from pushing, too afraid of your fiancé missing the moment that he’d been waiting for this entire pregnancy. But unfortunately it was too late you were already pushing and your heart was thumping way too fast in your chest. Was Jake really about to miss the birth of his very first child? The answer to that was uncertain. Well that was until: “You don’t have a choice Y/n this ba-“ your mother began before being interrupted by a very familiar males voice echoing through the room “Rosie....her name is Rosie... our...baby’s name is Rosie Jensen” it was none other then Jake. He was finally here.

But you were far from impressed right now as you didn’t even bother speaking, you just held out your hand for him. Pulling him closer when he finally took a hold of your hand trying his hardest to sooth you. Well, he tried but nothing was working. So instead he just stood there, squeezing your hand as you pushed with all your might. And after 3 more minutes your little baby Rosie Jensen was born. Well it was safe to say Jensen had made it just in time.

[bakugous-bbygirl]

~Sleepless nerd~

Bakugou X F!Reader

First time doing this please don’t make fun of me please feel free to give me feedback and help me make more stories like this one!

Warnings: swearing. (That’s it really)

Bakugou called all his classmates nerds, but you, you were the actual worst nerd he’s ever met.

When you started attending UA high your room had been placed next to the angry blonde’s. Your quirk made you quite diffrent. You were incredibly smart and had the ability to hack into anything you needed no matter the size. It seemed like your quirk had no downsides

Except your god awful sleep schedule.

Durning classes you looked as if you were always alert. You participated well, never even dosed off in class once as far as everyone knew. But durning the night bakugou could hear you playing away on some game. At first he assumed it was a one night thing. But that was two months ago.

Night after night he would hear you turning on your tv leaning against the thin walls and would just play away for hours. He wondered how in the world you functioned.

It wasn’t your fault really. Your quirk has your brain running all the time constantly trying to hack into phones and other electronics. Not only that but constant math equations and other school stuff took over your mind all day. It was absolute hell for you but you never let it show.

Other than that though. The rest of your classmates loved you. You were socialble, always helping others when it came to school work, and even seemed unbothered by mineta’s terrible comments about you looked in your uniform. “Looking perfect as always (y/n). Your skirt is juuuussst right” “Thank you, please back away from me now your starting to drool :)” your reply was always the same regardless of what he said but it was still really impressive you delt with the comments at all. But Bakugou held a personal vendetta against you and your awful sleep patterns. He never attempted to talk with you besides the small rude comments on how your in his way, or smaller things, he couldn’t deny though. You were adorable durning the day. Your smile made him feel warm feelings in his chest, and he could listen to that laugh forever. Damnit why did the most annoying girl have to be the one he fell for! He knew one day he should probably just ask you to stop playing so late at night since it would wake him but he couldn’t bring himself to face you for more than a few minutes without getting all red and flustered thinking about being your boyfriend. Thinking about holding your small frame against his body and sleeping soundly together. Bakugou figured he didn’t have a shot though, since you were much closer to that annoying red headed rock, but after seeing your notes you had passed on to kirishima, Bakugou had no choice but to look at you in a whole new light

“Kiri, you need my notes again?” You whined while leaning against your doorway.

“Ah I’m sorry (y/n)! You know English just isn’t my strong suit.” The red head rubbed the back of his neck embarrassed while facing you. You weren’t surpised but you were realllly tired. He had just knocked as you were getting ready to crawl into bed and pass out. “Alright alright, wait out here I’ll go grab them” you yawned while closing your door back gently as to not seem rude. You rummaged through your bag while rubbing your eyes and grabbed the first sheet of paper that was labeled “English class” not spending to much time checking over it. Boy you wished you read that paper better

After handing it over to kirishima you admitted that you were planning on napping and to just give them back to you later in the afternoon. “Thanks again (y/n)!” You closed your door and decided before crashing to clean up your energy drink cans you had let make a small pile on the ground. It was kinda strange but you had done this since your quirk manifested. Your brain was always ticking, so you had trouble relaxing and sleeping normally. You had come to learn sleeping durning the night was a joke and your brain would only stop after you couldn’t stay awake any longer. So you decided to drink energy drinks durning the day to keep yourself awake letting your brain just go and after classes you would just curl up and proceed to drool all over the floor or wherever you passed out. Kept you alive this long, but durning the night once you awake your brain just started up again and the cycle restarted, however today you had messed up and forgot your drink so you were a bit groggy and more down than normal, people begun to notice but you played it off as feeling slightly sick. Kirishima though did not expect anything less from the perfect note taking student and just wanted to copy your notes so he could figure out how to spell certain words. What he GOT instead was a huge picture of Bakugou and half way copied sentences. The picture was his soul focus though as today you had decided to absentmindly draw serval small side profiles of the angry Pomeranian with cute little words under it. The main one looked amazing. He couldn’t knock it. You were a great artist! If hero stuff didn’t work out you could easily make money this way! It was Bakugou looking out of the window with his headphones in. It was some real good stuff. But he couldn’t stop laughing at how clear your crush was and no one has picked up on it. Not even Bakugou himself! He couldn’t pass up a chance to help you out for a change instead of you helping him. “Ohhhh bakubro is gonna love this” he hummed to himself while knocking on the man of the hour’s door.

When the door was opened Bakugou could not believe his eyes. Of course he had feelings for you as well! But damnit he wanted to confess first! Now this stupid shitty hair knew before he did! “Give me the damn paper you extra! Just go study and get out of my hair!” Bakugou slammed his door while clutching the paper to his chest. He was mostly in a state of shock, not only were you a remarkable artist, but you had drawn him. And it looked incredible. Truely heart stopping stuff. You really fell for him hard. “Tch, damn cute nerd..” he decided to hang the paper up near his bed out of most people eyesight and knew he had to talk to you tonight. Cause there was no way that red head was taking that paper back.

10:40.

You groaned silently after reading your clock on your phone screen. You slept passed nine again, meaning you way missed dinner, and would have to sneak down all quietly so you wouldn’t wake anyone. “What a pain..” you slipped out of your bed and slid your socks over your feet while opening your door gently, what you did not expect to find was a certain blondie waiting on you. “Jesus Christ..! Bakugou you scared me..why are you up so late?” You tilted your head as Bakugou’s body had tensed. Like he owes you some explanation! “Better question dumbass..! Why are you up huh? Shouldn’t we be both sleeping?” He got you there. You had made a promise to yourself to keep your weird habits to yourself so you wouldn’t worry any of your classmates. “W-well, uh. I..um..well...” you struggled to form a actual sentence. Since you had never had more than a few seconds of conversation with the punk boy. You couldn’t help it. Your feelings for him has bloomed so out of control you often found your brain slowing down and filling itself with him. “Save it nerd. We need to talk, can I come into your room?”

You swear up and down your heart and brain stopped working at the same time. Bakugou, big meanie, Katsuki wanted to come inside of your room. Your safe haven! And better yet! What in the world did you two have have to talk about?! He’s never spoken to you! You haven’t even begun to form your denial when he just grabbed your arm and dragged you back into your room “W-wait..! What do you have to say to me..?! Did I make you upset..?!” You didn’t know what you did but your mind was already back and running to a thousand different things you could’ve done to make this hothead mad. You’ve seen how he treats midoryia you didn’t want to take any chances. “What? No. Why would I be mad at you dumbass?” Bakugou actually looked...confused? Man this night was defiantly a weird one. The only face you’ve ever seen him make was a mad one. Why did he seem so relaxed around you? “Then...why are we standing in my room..holding hands..?” You pointed at your interlocked fingers gently seeing as you weren’t sure when in the world that happened since he grabbed your arm. And why were his hands so perfect for holding?! Bakugou was caught off guard clearly but didn’t let go while he was..blushing? “Listen stupid! Shitty hair gave me your trashy notes. If I knew you had liked me I would’ve spent more time speaking to you and shit.”

Second time. Second time you felt yourself die. Did, Bakugou, while holding your hand. Just confesss that he knew you had feelings? How in the world did he know?! “Kiri did what now.” You were almost fuming. You were gonna kill kirishima. Your foot. So far up his ass it was gonna be a new record. While plotting your murder you didn’t even notice that the blonde boy was trying to explain how he got his hands on your notes and that he’s felt pretty much the same since you’ve started attending school together. His confession had fell on death ears though as he faced you noticing that you weren’t listening. Bakugou sighed and snapped his fingers in your ears to jolt your attention. “Hey dumbass.” You glanced up tilting your head “ha? What’d you say?” Why in the world did his heart stop around you. “I tried to say you made a mess of your notes today and you had basically admitted you had a crush on me. And for some odd reason. I feel the same way about you. You spend all damn day stuck in my mind. Your damn quirk hacked your way into my head and won’t leave me alone. Then you would keep me up all night. And I thought I hated you but I guess it’s pretty clear I like you and your stupid noisy ass.” To put it lightly you are kinda caught off guard. This guy hated everyone! But you always figured it was kinda a act to make himself stand out better. “So..your telling me..you actually..like..like like me..?” Your brain had begun to slow down again.

Everything in your head felt so much better around him. You didn’t know why but everything settled with his skin met with yours. Even if it was the softest touch durning classes or a half assed hug it was all you needed to make yourself seem normal. After that night of confession and confusion you had agreeded to be his girlfriend and he started crashing in your room to make sure your stupid ass slept like a normal person. Surprisingly to you he was extremely patient and helped your body sleep durning hours that everyone should sleep at. In turn durning classes you actually started acting more like yourself than you had knew was possible. Your brain wasn’t racing all day and you didn’t need to drink out of a can every two hours or so to make yourself hyper. The change went noticed by all your classmates since Bakugou with his loud self made a huge deal after you walked in holding hands and denki pointed it out to everyone. “Yeah she’s my girlfriend now!! So what?! Your just all jealous I got a date first!” Overall though. He was extremely nice and gentle with you like he was always nervous and couldn’t control his real feelings around you. It was pure heaven to you. He was just what the doctor ordered and you needed your daily dose of him for the rest of your life

Please make sure give me feedback and tell me what you think of this! Like I said this was my first time writing really in this type of format! I can already feel some things I would have to change but don’t be afraid to tell me anything!

[i-write-newsies]

(A/N): I decided to do some really simple and classic fluff after all the stuff in the last Oneshot. Hopefully, this one won't take me a literal MONTH. Hope y'all like it!! <33

AUs:

- Modern

- Coffee Shop

- College

Jack POV:

Jack is a hopeless romantic. A hidden one for the most part, but a hopeless romantic nonetheless.

Truth be told, he's never been in too many relationships, at least not ones that lasted long. He's liked a few girls before, boys too, and even dated a few. But they lasted 3 months, tops. His record for the quickest breakup was after 5 hours when the person found another person to dote on.

Despite bad experiences like that, Jack remains infatuated with love and the idea of soulmates. He listens to romantic songs on repeat, would always be ready to lend you a romcom, and daydreams about perfect dates with some fill-in-the-blank person when he's supposed to be studying Art History.

But lately, that blank template has been gaining more qualities of a certain boy from school. A certain boy with dark brown curly hair, with an adorable hooked nose, with olive-green eyes and a shy smile.

The moment his mind finally puts the pieces of the person together, he shoots up from laying down in his bed. He quickly pauses the music and struggles to unlock his phone out of a mix of confusion and excitement.

He scrolls through his contacts to the K section, clicking on Katherine's contact and pressing the facetime button. "Pick up, Kath..." he nervously mutters.

Suddenly, her face appears on the screen, "Hey, Jack! What's up?" she then notices the half vacant, half nervous expression his face is showing.

"You doin' okay?" Kath asks, brows furrowed.

"Huh? Yeah! I uhhhh..." Kath waits patiently, knowing his ADHD makes him lose his train of thought all too easily.

"Right! So, you're the only one who knows about me bein' kind of a hopeless romantic..." Jack looks down slightly, and Katherine giggles, knowing his embarrassment around loving love.

"What? Does big ole Jack Kelly have a crush?"

"I don't know!" he gives an exasperated sigh, "Maybe!"

"Okay, okay, calm down cowboy. Now which lucky person has caught your eye this time?" Jack mutters something incoherent below his breath. "What? I can't hear ya."

"Davey Jacobs."

Davey POV:

Davey sighs, taking a look at his computer.

A 2000 word essay on a topic of his choice for History due in 1 month. He knows how much time he has to finish this, and he knows that he could wait until a week until it's due to start it and still finish it on time perfectly, but no matter the assignment, there would always be a thought gnawing at the back of his brain telling him he NEEDS to get it done right now. And so he does. But he knows he needs coffee to do so.

Davey carefully slips his computer into his crammed backpack, as well as his wallet. He plans on going to his favorite cafe. The coffee there tastes like shit (though he would never admit it), but he knows the staff, and some of the baristas even attend his school. There was one that stood out to him, a certain Jack Kelly

Davey isn't sure what's so interesting about the creative student. It could be his heavy 'Hatten accent, or maybe it's his enthusiastic puppy dog energy about anything. It's kind of... adorable, I guess. He looks down at the ground while walking, trying his best to hide his red face. Davey doesn't swear much, but fuuuuuck.

He likes Jack Kelly. Jack Kelly of all people. The guy who accidentally SHARPENED HIS FINGER IN A PENCIL SHARPENER ONCE. Davey sighs, Jack may be an idiot, but no one can deny that it's charming in a way. He has tons of golden retriever energy.

Davey doesn't know what to do.

He sits down in a corner booth to avoid as much human contact as possible. He opens up his laptop and opens the tabs needed for his project. He slips on a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and attempts to block out the thoughts of Jack Kelly. The essay is number one priority right now. Suddenly, Davey sees a looming figure out of the corner of his eye. He snaps his neck up to see...

Oh no.

Fudge.

"What can I get for ya, darlin'"

Jack POV:

Davey's face heats up. I don't really consider this a win, considering that's the way most people react when I call them darling. What can I say? It's a habit of mine.

"U-uhm..maybe-" he stutters quietly.

I speak up to help him out a bit, "I've seen you here before. You always order the hot chocolate with 2 pumps of espresso, right?" He squeaks out a yes.

"Comin right up, doll" his face lights up a bright red again.

Shit. Did I mess it up? Is he uncomfortable with those terms? I come from southern roots, which has pros and cons. The pros are: I'm really resilient, my tea is sweetened to PERFECTION, and I can smell when it's going to rain. Cons: The situation that just unfolded.

As I enter the kitchen area, I sigh. I come on way too strong. I quickly make Davey's order, after all, I did memorize it. I look at the plain hot chocolate. Needs a little something. He seems like the spicy sweet kinda guy, so I carefully add a good amount of whipped cream, and sprinkle some cinnamon on top. I really shouldn't be bringing favoritism into my work, but Dave should be an exception.

Being careful not to spill my masterpiece built out of hot chocolate and whipped cream, I bring it to Davey, who seems very deep in thought, staring at his computer. Trying not to disturb him, I set the drink gently down, then I lift one of his headphones.

"Whatcha doin' Dave?"

He jumps, turning red once AGAIN. "Jesus Christ, bud, got some sorta skin reddening condition?"

"Wh- I- You-" He sputters before regaining his composure, "One, none of your business, two, none of your business."

I feign a wound and put my hand over my chest, "Davey Jacobs! So rude!" I put my arm over my forehead and sigh dramatically, then sneak a peek at him. He's laughing a little. I grin, so he doesn't hate me! Whew!

A few hours,10 drink orders and slightly too loud joking and laughing later, Davey's still here, working on some big project. At this point I've stopped charging him and have just been paying for them myself. I make my way to his table once more.

I notice his cup is empty, "Refill?" I ask, he nods. That's when I notice the bags under his red eyes. I walk back a bit and lean on his table. "You need to sleep, Dave." He shakes his head as a response and I sigh.

I make my way to the kitchen and decide to not add caffeine in this. He needs it. My hands go on autopilot as I start to think about him. He's just so... pretty.

I bite my lip. Should I...? Ah, fuck it, I'm almost done with my shift. I grab a scrap of paper and a pen and scrawl my number, with the message

'Call me ;P'

Beside it. I take a deep breath and carefully balance the cup all the way to Davey's corner booth. The sight is adorable. Davey is laying down on the table, asleep, head tilted to one side, face illuminated by the computer screen. I smile gently.

All I think about for the rest of the night is that sight. As I sit in bed, drawing the scene, I hear a ding from my phone. I open texts and see from an unknown number:

Hey, Jack?

It's Davey.

The student from the coffee shop.

I grin.

Hey Dave :P

I quickly change his contact to <3 Dave <3 with my recent drawing of him as the profile picture.

Before I know it, we're talking about everything. It's honestly so much easier texting than actually interacting with people. My brain decides to peace out for a long minute, and my hands automatically do the typing. Bad decision. Why? Because I barely even notice when I hit send.

Do you wanna go on a date with me? I was thinking about getting froyo, and maybe watching a cheesy romcom. Whaddya say, Dave?

I can only watch, petrified, as I see...

<3 Dave <3 is typing...

~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~Ω~

(A/N):

Hope y'all like this! Pt. 2 will be their date!! btw no one has really interacted or requested fanfics, so if you could vote for this or request something, that would really make me happy.

~ Race

[sunarintoes]

Dear Whovever: [Kenma]

Synopsis: You and Kenma are both best friends and youtube gamers however you want to be more than just best friends so you decide to ‘man up’ one day and write a heart felt confession in a minecraft notebook before then putting it in Kenma’s personal chest.

WC: 3K

TW: slight swearing :)

[Episode one]

[recording in 3… 2… 1… start!] 

“Hey gamers, Kodzuken here with Tulip-but-make-it-yellow! I've done a few Minecraft videos with Tulip before, but thought I'll start a new series that will be posted every Monday.”

“It's called Minedays with Tulip and Kodzu”

“I- no, Tulip. I'm not sure what we’re gonna call it. But you guys will know- obviously since it's the title of this video.”

You whine and pout into the monitor, “Kodzu I think Minedays is a cute name.” 

Instead of replying Kenma rolls his eyes and hits you ingame. “Should we introduce the challenge and get it started?”

“Yeah that's a good idea!” 

“Well, it's about eleven am right now, we have until eleven pm to build a Minecraft house from a random topic,” he pauses and moves to the side to point to a sectioned spinwheel, “on this bad boy,” whacks the spinner, “we have eight different themes, in a sec I’ll spin it and whatever it lands on will be what we have to build.”

You let out a high pitched ‘hmm,’ “I feel bad for Kuroo and Hinata, they’re both going to have to edit twelve hours of footage down to 10 minutes!”

Kenma chuckles, “fifteen minutes actually.”

This time you roll your eyes. “Hurry up and spin it you fool! I want to get buildinggg” 

Smiling, Kenma moves back a bit and spins the wheel, after thirty seconds full of anticipation the wheel finally stops and its small arrow is pointing at- “Yes! Cottage core theme!” you yell out while Kenma groans. 

“Really? That's lame why couldn't we have ‘Lucifer’s Bedroom’?” 

You poke your tongue out to the monitor - which Kenma could see, after all, you are in a Discord call with him. “Don't be sad just because you're prancing in my turf…. Looooooser!”

Kenma playfully glares towards you, “You’re on! See you in twelve hours!”

Unfortunately, the difficulty of building a cottage core house in the woods - in survival mode, proved more difficult than planned. 

“We spawned in a desolate area huh? Barely any flowers!” you hear Kenma make a sound of agreement as you sink into your comfortable ‘gamer’ styled chair. 

“Don't tell me you've given up? Just because you can't find any flowers?” 

You scowl at his cocky tone however your mood does a one-eighty when you suddenly get a good idea. “Ok everyone! I know what I have to do! I'm going to restart in another place because this isn’t working!”

Kenma makes a sound of surprise, “you're restarting? It's been an hour already-”

“Yeah and we have, like... eleven more.” Kenma sighs in response, “better get a move on.”

For the most part, the two of you kept quiet - not wanting to let the other know how well you were doing. However one look at your phone only to see that your twitter has blown up, you decide to take a short break, after all it has been four hours of you sitting on your ass playing Minecraft. Once you open Twitter you're met with a barrage of tags and mentions - all of which screaming ‘KenYn’ and ‘Kodzutulip.’ You felt heat rise to your face, you - yes you, Ln Yn with the online alias Tulip-but-make-it-yellow, has a big, fat, humongous crush on your best friend and fellow youtuber - Kenma, aka Kodzuken aka the cutest guy in the world. To make it worse - or better, you couldn't really tell, was that many of your viewers shipped you with him - as did his viewers. 

You are of course, happy with this but you can’t help but wonder if Kenma feels the same way, does he feel weirded out by all this shipping content? Does he find it uncomfortable? Does he find it unsettling to be shipped with his in-real-life best friend?

“Hey Yn?” Kenma calls softly, “you've been looking at your phone for the past ten minutes and your face looks sad.”

You instantly look up to meet Kenma’s face and try to find the right words to say, “I… I’m just kinda tired and eventually got distracted!! Sorry Kenken!”

Kenma visibly cringes at the old nickname - the one you gave him in primary school, “if you say so… better get your head in the game though - my mansion looks epic.”

Your eyes narrow, “mansion? The theme is cottage core!” Kenma quietly chuckles in response, “a mansion can still have a fairy aesthetic, you should know that”

You huff in faux annoyance as you place your phone away and ‘get your head in the game’ just as he requested. “Be prepared to be crushed! I am the cottage core guardian!”

There are ten minutes left to your’s and Kenma’s excruciatingly long Minecraft challenge, your ass hurts from sitting on it for almost twelve straight hours - including bathroom breaks. When the buzzer rings the two of you step back from your respective buildings and make your way to the starting point - which had been marked by a stack of 20 or so dirt blocks. 

“Well that was twelve hours of eye straining torture,” you say as you stretch your arms. 

“You're tired already?”

“Kinda… I can't wait to go to sleep after this.”

“Weak, I’m playing Battlefield as soon as this is over.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “this is why you look like a living corpse in the morning…”

Kenma looks you dead in the eyes and with a completely serious face he says, “yeah but you love it.”

You choke on your spit at his boldness, “y-yeah I guess.” 

If you were being honest, you were not the best at reading people and it was dark in Kenma’s gaming room, the only light coming from his three screen/monitor computer setup, but you think you see a light blush creep up to his cheeks. And you hate it, you hate when he says things that make your heart flutter, you hate it when he just sits there and the digital glow accentuates all of his delicate features, but what you hate most is yourself. You hate yourself because you have fallen in love with your best friend, you hate yourself because you know he doesn't like you back and you hate that you continuously give yourself a sense of false hope. 

“Yn… you want to stay up and game with me don’t you? ”

You sheepishly look to the side, ‘mayhaps.’

Kenma sighs looking at you with a soft face as he whispers “then I won’t play Battlefield and I’ll go to bed and so will you, ‘kay?”

You smile tiredly at him, “sounds like a deal.”

“We'll get back on at the same time tomorrow and we’ll do the final part of this video - the reveal. Until then.”

You smile and wave at the camera “cya soon~”

[recording over]

After your call with Kenma ended you got ready for bed but for some reason, no matter how tired you were, you just couldn't fall asleep - your mind was screaming obscene ideas that you couldn't help but contemplate. At first it was just wishful thinking but then came a thought that refused to leave, ‘confess.’ 

It was a tempting thought, but how? Surely you couldn't just say ‘hey Kenma I've liked you since high school lets date!’ yeah no, that was a horrible idea. Maybe if you confessed with some originality he would be more likely to accept but for now, you were going to do your best to go to sleep.

[Episode two]

[recording in 3… 2… 1… start!] 

In the morning you woke up feeling refreshed and excited for the day to come, Kenma had texted you and asked if you were feeling up to recording the reveal from last night and episode two today and of course you said yes. 

The video goes on without any troubles and soon you find yourself staring at the computer screen at eleven once again. 

“Remember to like, subscribe and comment below on who you think won this round.” Kenma’s voice is soothing - if you had to describe it you would say that it is silky like honey and smooth like dark chocolate; or maybe you would just say his voice is perfect. Kenma waves to the screen monitor, “hello? Earth to Yn! Are you dead or something? You look like a zombie.”

It takes a while to register, you weren’t really paying attention to the words he said as you were more interested in the way he sounded. You sit up and smile into the camera, “I'm awake… thanks for caring!”

He scoffs and swivels in his chair a bit, “I don't care about you, you're just my idiot best friend and flatmate.”

You playfully narrow your eyes, “well this idiot flatmate of yours helped you bake apple pie so you wouldn’t starve to death!”

“Hmmm, I guess. Well I'm going to head off. I'll see you later.”

You smile softly, “yeah I'll see you later, i'm just gonna stay on for a while.”

Kenma looks at you with an intrigued expression, “you're going to stay up longer? Better not be in this world, that's cheating. Want me to stay up with you?”

You roll your eyes and giggle, “it's all good I want to fix my house up in the other world. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He sighs, “if you say so.”

[recording over]

Your chair rolls back as you stretch, “maybe I should confess to him through a Minecraft journal…” you jump up. “Thats it! Thats a great way to confess! Its original and Kenma would appreciate it…. If he accepts my feelings that is…” 

You groan and slump back down into the chair, “maybe it’s best if I don't confess at all. No! I've wanted to do this for years! If he doesn't like me back it's all good! Maybe I just won't do this on a stream!”

You reach over to the bench and pull up your phone, “who to call, mmm ok let’s call Alisa I’m going to need some emotional support!”

“Hey gamers, Kodzu here in another Minecraft live stream, today we’re just in mine and Yn’s regular world and i'm going to build a house - a cottage to be specific,” he pauses and looks at the comment section; ‘no Yn isn't here right now, no Yn won't be joining this video, no I didnt know shes streaming at the moment, yes my favourite food is apple pie, yes I have a calico cat, no Yn is not my significant other, yes we are just friends.’ Kenma moves back and takes a breath, “wow you guys sure are interested in Yn huh? Maybe I should get them in more videos, might get more views that way,” he laughs a bit.

“Let's start off by heading to my base, I have the materials I’ll need there- oh uh what's this?” Kenma pauses as he stares at the foreign object, “I don't remember having a written book in my chest… maybe Yn went in here and put it in?”

Kenma stares at the book for a while before he opens it, only to be shocked. The comment section notices the blush on his face and continue to spam him with questions:

[kodzusbabe]: what's in that diary!!

[Kenmastan]: hahAAAHHA LOOK HE’S SO RED IN THE FACE

[piefacecutie]: ^^ omg you're so right @/Kenmastan hes so cute 💓

[Kenmaxyn]: I hope it's a confession!

[ynhater]: @/Kenmaxyn from who? Cause I didn't do it and I'd be the only one for Kenma oppAr

[kennismaken]: I hope it’s Yn! They’d be such a cute couple

[applepudding]: umm? Kodzu! Why did he get up and leave??

[ynhater]: babe come back!

[Kenmaxyn]: OMG MAYBE IT WAS YN !!!!

After your late night call with Alisa, you decided it would be best to just do it and then ignore Kenma for the day - well, not ignore him per se, just simply decline all his Discord calls and Facetime calls so you could put off being rejected a little while longer. You woke up with a throbbing headache that you could only blame yourself for, after all you are the dumbass who stayed up until God knows when just to write a heartfelt confession. Eventually the angst of waiting for a message from Kenma overwhelmed you and here you are now; streaming Overwatch to get your mind off of a certain someone.

“Ah no! Cant believe that stupid Hanzo got me! What a pain!” you frown at the screen and let out a sigh, “the round is over… bummer. Well while we wait an eternity for the next round I guess I should answer some of your questions… oh? I didn't know Kenma was streaming, no I’m not dating him… “ you feel your heart sink as you read the next comment; “what do you mean Kenma ran away after reading a book? Was he unhappy?”

The next moments felt like a blur, your heart was heavy and you felt tears well up in your eyes and somehow you missed the sound of someone breaking into your apartment and then your bedroom. Within a second you feel someone wrap their arms around you from behind, your body tenses up but immediately relaxes when you recognise the perpetrators scent; sweet yet salty, like caramel toffee.

“Kenma! W-what are you doing?”

“I like you too… I have for so long.”

Your eyes widen and it doesn't take too long for a smile to appear on your face, “I'm so glad to hear that.”

You feel him smile into your neck as his embrace tightens, “finish up your livestream so we can talk please.” 

“You don't need to tell me twice!”

It is eleven at night once again, but this time you’re not sitting alone in your gaming chair, instead you're sitting on Kenma’s lap - in his gaming chair as he slowly runs his hands through your hair and softly kisses your neck.

“So everyone’s pretty much freaking out over us huh?” you hum in response, “we’ve been officially together for what? Five hours?”

“Correct you are.”

You smile and hold up your phone while you continue to cuddle into him, “smile baby, I want the whole world to know that you're my player two.”

[Bonus - the love letter]

Dear Kenma,

This must be so strange - finding a journal in your chest. 

I have wanted to tell you this for quite a while and I guess I have never found the write words to say; or the right way to for that matter,

But I love you

I have loved you since our first year at Nekoma

It's been a while hasn’t it?

I'm sorry if this inconveniences you, makes you uncomfortable or makes you never want to see me again; 

Just let me continue for a little while longer because I need to get this off of my mind.

I love your smile - especially the rare one where you really smile, where your eyes crinkle and your cheeks begin to hurt 

I love your voice - it’s smooth and silky, like honey being spread across bread

I love your scent - it reminds me of salted caramel,  I can never get enough 

I love your mind - the way it works to make me laugh, make me calm and all else

I love your lips - not necessarily in a sexual way, but more so in the way you talk and speak, they move softly and slowly in a way only your lips could move in.

I love your body - how although you're hunched most of the time you still possess a fine elegance in the way you move. How at times it reminds me of a graceful swan floating down a lake. 

I love your hands - they are so pretty and dainty and soft, I want to hold them all day and all night

And most of all;

I love you

I love you in your entire

I could go ahead and pick the parts I love most and least but then you would no longer be you

I love you in your entire

Flaws and all

I know this may not be the most romantic, especially considering you’re reading this through Minecraft and I've never done this before but I had to let you know

Love 

Yn

Taglist: [open] @ladyrenart

note: sooo this is another style that i tried and i have mixed feelings about it :) also if you can’t tell,,, i’ve never written a love letter before :’)

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 3

Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: cursing, a bit of self depreciation Word Count: 2.2k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. Beta: None

Part 1  -  Part 2 Masterlist

Chapter 3: for the love of god, explain this

Sam Winchester lies awake at three in the morning, under foreign, scratchy sheets, stubbornly not tearing his eyes from the cracked, ugly wallpaper on the ceiling. A lot of things are happening and his brain is going about a million miles an hour, spinning endlessly, Castiel, Dean returning from hell, the stress of the hunting life, the current case and… Y/n. Wonderful, smart, talented, funny Y/n.

It’s been a while since someone has made him excited. He keeps bumping into her in his mind, keeps finding thoughts of her lying around, eager to distract him. He catches himself wanting to text her about every stupid thing that happens in his day, much like she sometimes does. She’s been the only thing that makes his heart a little lighter, and it’s such a strange feeling, someone’s presence being this uplifting.

He was suspicious of her at first. A strange woman (at least she claims to be one, he forgets he’s never actually… seen her) asking about him, his profession, and then about… ghosts? A bit random, too specific, Sam recognizes he got defensive. But the way she spoke afterwards… he doesn’t know.  His instinct tells him to trust her.

Amidst his thoughts, he doesn’t remember picking up his phone, but it’s just one of those nights, he needs someone to talk to- or rather, wants Y/n specifically. A thought he chooses not to dwell on.

are you awake? I can’t sleep.

I actually am. Lucky you.

Sam smiles. Lucky me, he thinks.

isn’t it like 4 am for you?

Tell me about it. No luck sleeping either.

happen to you a lot?

Yeah.

I happen to have anxiety induced insomnia.

Working at a bar also helps fuck up your sleeping schedule as well.

You?

i’m sorry :/

i don’t get much sleep either. something always keeps me up.

Yeah, I get that.

Where in the Great Unites States of America are you today?

hahah it’s Oregon today.

it’s the ugliest motel room i’ve ever been in.

Ooh

Do I ask about your case or is it confidential?

it’s confidential but i’ll tell you that i am investigating a bunch of strange murders.

You’re investigating serial killers?? That’s so fucking dope.

something like that yeah.

how was your day?

Oh, you know. The usual.

College assignments, a shift at the bar. I went out with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.

I need to clean my house desperately.

I also nearly burned my kitchen down trying to cook lunch. Emmy and I ended up eating some lazy-ass spaghetti, because pasta is the only thing I can cook, apparently.

hahahah what were you making?

You’re gonna laugh if I tell you.

well now you must.

Ugh, do I?

come onnn

It was eggs, okay? I was just trying to make eggs.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

I TOLD YOU YOU’D LAUGH AT ME

HOW DID YOU BURN EGGS?!

LISTEN, OKAY

I NEVER SAID I WAS A GOOD COOK

HAHAHAHAH

Sam laughs over his phone, as silently as he can, so as to not wake Dean up. He turns on his other side and realizes his cheeks hurt from smiling, and it’s a feeling he’s missed.

Yeah, yeah, laugh, culinary genius. Not all of us can be perfect.

i never said i was a culinary genius

but at least i don’t go near stoves if i don’t have to.

Well, it’s not like I can afford every-day takeout (or like that shit is healthy, even if I could) and someone has to cook for my sister while she’s in school

you have siblings?

and yeah you’re right i didn’t think like that sorry.

It’s okay.

And yeah, my sister, Emily.” Emmy”

oooh i thought emmy was your friend.

Nono, it’s my sister. She’s 17.

can i ask you a personal question?

Shoot

why do you have to take care of her? are your guys’ parents not around?

you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with that.

Well, it’s a bit complicated.

My parents’ marriage kind of fell apart when I was around 10. They tried to fix things by adopting a kid- Emily. For a while that worked.

When I was 16 my mom took off and dad took care of us for 2 years almost. He really dedicated himself to us.

He worked his antique shop and supported us. For two years, I didn’t see him spend a penny on himself.

But I ended up having to take care of Em when he passed. I was freshly 18, so I could take care of her as a guardian.

shit i’m so sorry.

It’s okay, honestly.

I mean, it didn’t use to be, and it was hell for a while.

But we made it.

i admire your positivity.

I try :)

i also love that you put smiley faces in your text messages.

Shouldn’t have said that, now I’ll always think about it before I do it

hahah

Sam bites his lip. What the hell is happening? They’re… flirting. Sorta. And it’s nice- better than nice. Fuck.

What about you?

you mean what’s my relationship with my parents?

Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid. It wasn’t what I was asking either.

What I meant was, how’s your life right now. How’s the family business. You can pick which you wanna answer.

i don’t mind either honestly.

as for my parents my mom died when I was 6 months old. my dad passed away about a year and a half ago.

Jesus, I’m so sorry Sam

I don’t know what to say. It can’t have been easy. Losing a parent never is.

it wasn’t but as you said we’re trying to sort of find our footing with Dean. we’ve had our ups and downs.

Yeah I understand that.

Do you wanna talk about it?

right now not really. I mean there’s not much to say about it.

i kinda wanna forget about it. thanks though.

Alright.

So how’s the family business?

Does it feel good to be paid to be Sherlock Holmes?

crap. but we’re doing our best.

for the record i don’t get paid nearly enough for the shit i have to do.

Hahaha, hang in there.

Dean still refuses to come get his phone?

yeah. he says you can keep it.

Tell him to take care of his devices from now on, this one was battered beyond recognition.

duly noted.

The conversation continued until well after the sun rose. Sam had officially accepted this night to be sleepless, and Y/n was good company. Somehow she took his mind off of everything that was bugging him, made him, if momentarily, forget about it, and he truly loved that about her. The back and forth tended to flow easily between them, and he couldn’t get enough of the chemistry he had with this practical stranger.

Sleepless or not, this night was a good one, after she entered the picture.

-

The glow on her skin is blue-ish and soft, combatting the one from the fairy lights above them. Laptop absolutely not low in volume, couch dipping under two bodies, slumped together, legs leaning against one another, soft flannel pants and droopy eyes. Emily’s hair is out of its usual half-up hairstyle, exploding with volume and bright, firey color, flowing onto the back of the couch.

Jon Snow is yelling on the screen, and Y/n is completely ignoring him, constantly checking her inactive phone and the way the screen doesn’t light up with Sam’s name. Every time she feels disappointed, she tries to quell the relentless thoughts of the possibility of him being completely over her.

Damn it.

“Do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend I’m not aware of or something?” Emily mutters dryly, half-hearted but gentle teasing. Y/n sputters.

“Huh?”

“’Cause you keep checking your phone, and as far as I know you don’t have any friends.”

“HEY,” deeply offended, Y/n places her hand over her heart, glaring at her sister. “Excuse you!” she exclaims, “Connor? Ashley? Lydia?”

“Yeah, a neighbor and two college students that you haven’t talked to in like, what, two weeks? What a social butterfly.”

“Okay first off,” Y/n ignores the screaming and fighting on the screen and shifts to look at her sister. “Stop tracking my socializing.” Em scoffs.

“C’mon, bear, spill.” Bottom lip pouted. She pauses the episode, turning to face her older sister. “Who are they and when can I meet them?” A devilish smile, teasing like only a younger sister can, curling the right corner of her lip.

“He’s not my boyf-“

“AHA! So there is someone! I knew it!”

“I’ve known him for like- what, three weeks? Nothing is going on! I barely know the guy!” Y/n fiddles with her hair and huffs, holding back a smile.

“Where’d you meet him? Is he hot? What’s he like?!” Poking her sister’s thigh continuously, she grins wide, excited. “C’mon, you’re like, no fun.”

“The thing is… I didn’t. Meet him, I mean.” Eyebrows furrow.

“Uh…” Emily purses her lips. “I’m … not following.”

It takes all of five minutes for Y/n to explain to her sister all about her crazy adventure, the lost phone, the brother, Sam. The girls munch on leftover garlic spaghetti, talking about the stranger on the other side of Y/n’s screen.

“He’s just… different? I don’t know- I just, I’m intrigued I guess. He’s mysterious and hilarious. The type of guy we’d hang out with. Why pass it up?”

“Just hang out?” Emily wiggles her eyebrows. Y/n shoves her.

“It’s really not like that.”

“I don’t know, Y/n, he doesn’t necessarily sound just friendly to me.” Y/n won’t lie and say she hasn’t thought about it. She’s a romantic after all, and what a wonderful, movie-like love story would it be for them to fall in love and march into the sunset?

But she recognizes this is the romantic side of her picking up speed on a subject that definitely isn’t for her to decide alone. There’s a second participant in all of this, and he needs to do more than half the work by liking her. She knows it’s no easy feat. A bitter dab of paint dissolves in her chest, because why would he like her? She’s nothing quite special. She’s just a bartender, a college student, a boring, normal girl, painfully mundane, painfully boring. He’s brilliant, kind and sweet, a private investigator, he travels all the time, he’s the most interesting guy she’s ever met for crying out loud. Why would he ever give her a chance?

“I doubt it, Em,” is what Y/n decides to say, because there’s no way she can explain exactly what she’s thinking.

“No, no, you’re doing that thing again.” A hum in question falls from the older Andrews’ lips. “The thing where you put yourself down for bullshit reasons. He’d be lucky to have you.” Y/n wants to roll her eyes. “Hey,” a snap of Emily’s fingers in front of Y/n’s face to catch her attention. “I will literally slap you. You’re smart, funny, kind. He’d be fucking lucky to have you, and if you don’t believe it, I’m gonna beat some sense into you. Stop putting my sister down.”  Y/n doesn’t have anything good to say to that, so instead she lets out a huffed breath of a laugh and sits back on the couch.

“Now,” Emily leans over her own crossed legs and grabs her phone from the rickety coffee table. “Did you Google him?”

“Why the heck would I Google him?”

“It’s the 21st century, Y/n, gosh. Are you at all familiar with internet stalking?” Y/n watched pebbled coffee brown eyes get illuminated by the phone screen, freckles nowhere near as bright as they can be, because she hasn’t gone out into the sunlight today. Emily is gorgeous. Y/n is sometimes jealous, but also genuinely admires her younger sister. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

There’s typing, and then silence.

“Y/n…” And the warning tone on the younger one’s voice completely throws her off.

“What? What is it?” A phone screen is thrust in her face.

Mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, armed robbery, kidnapping, three counts of first-degree murder, and breaking and entering, she reads. Winchester brothers Sam and Dean, disappeared, considered dead.

“What the fuck,” she mutters under her breath, completely horrified at the chance that this is real and the universe isn’t playing some comic joke on her, creating another pair of Winchester brothers called Sam and Dean who, instead of chasing murderers, are the murderers.

She scrolls lower and sure enough, there they are. Mug shots, but more specifically, the guy from the dating app, smouldering cheekily into the camera –a real blue steel-, holding a police station name on a black plaque, sitting at close to six feet and two. Then the younger one, less joyful and sassy, more serious and puppy-eyed. Sam. Close to what was described to her, it’s all there. Pointy nose, sharp jawline, curly brown hair with a growing, swoopy fringe, pulled behind his ears. It’s him. There’s no way, the coincidences are too many.

“Bear…” Emily stares at Y/n’s shocked face, gaze empty and out of it. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Immediately, Y/n grabs her phone.

Sam

His reply is instantaneous.

hey y/n

i was just thinking about you

what’s up?

Please for the love of God.

Explain this.

She sends him the mugshot, photographed from the screen of her sister’s phone.

shit.

-

Part 4

A/N: Tell me what you thought? How the hell does he even explain this?

I realized I haven’t been tagging my forever taglist like a MORON, so just, sorry, I’ll start now. 

Forevers:   @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester​ @deanssweetheart23​ @nostalgic-uncertainty​ @mogaruke​ @superseejay721517​ @lady-hawkguy​ @thosefeelsarereal​ @superwholockmarauder​  @justiceiswater​ @petra-arkanian-1497​ @heyitscam99​ @danijimenezv​ @aj-reuth  @unicornblood4ever @mystriee​ @sadist-fangirl23 @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @superrandomnatural​ @altosaxplayer098 @winter-moons @hunterswearingplaid​ @novaddictx​ @choosemyname​  @live-like-a-girl​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @bowtomytenderaddiction​  @elara98azalea​ @lemondropirwin​ @emmagolden4118​ @glitchcypher @calaofnoldor​ @paradoxical-sleep​ @narynechan @canwenotdothis​ @suicidepanda07​ 

Sam Taglist

@kymberlytorres​ @theboykingsamwinchester​ @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes​ @captainmarvelcorps​ @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away​ @nellachain​

 Seen Taglist  @shutupiminlooove​ @sammysgirl1997​ @kymberlytorres​ @bambi95-blog​ @demonic-meatball​ @thekarliwinchester​ @littlekay15​ @li-m-ii​  @thinspo-isuppose​ @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker​ @marichromatic​ @illuminatus42​ @lazy-author​ @mirandaaustin93​ @hauntedsiriel​ @pilaxia​ @devilgirlsarah​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @captiveties​ @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​ @burningforsam​ @aiofheavenandhell​

[autumnsart22]

Oikawa x reader ch. 10

Hey! I hope you all are still enjoying the story. I know it’s long, I’m just having so much fun writing it. Don’t worry, it’s definitely more than halfway done. Let me know if you’re still liking it or if I should cut back on how long it is lmao

A week later, Oikawa and Iwaizumi invited me over to Iwa’s house, where they were having an alien movie marathon. All of Saturday afternoon, I worked on homework and my art (which was slowly improving as I practiced), and when 4 o’clock rolled around, I packed up a sleepover bag. I told my mom I was staying over at Kiyoko’s house, not wanting to have to explain why I was sleeping over with two boys. 

The drive to Iwa’s was less than three minutes, and I arrived right as Oikawa’s car parked at the curb. He waved as I stopped my car across the street, and I smiled as I opened the door and jogged over to him. 

“Hey chibi-chan, how are you?” He grinned. 

I smiled widely up at his, (fucking attractive ass face that makes me drool and melt everytime that he looked at me. His hazel brown eyes made my body feel like jello whenever he looked at me, and his soft brown hair made me want to run my fingers through it. His smile shone and made my heart stop, my breathing hitched and I made a guttural noise in my throat. My breathing was so hard and uneven that I probably needed a ventilator. Damn that man was too fine to be allowed to walk freely.) LMAO, prime content my friend wrote and I decided to keep it in 😂 

I smiled widely up at him, hefting my sleepover bag on my shoulder. “I’m great! How about you, Oikawa-chan?” 

“Oh uh-” His voice cracked a little and he blushed. “I’m doing good. Why are you in such a good mood?”

I shrugged, heading up the path towards Iwa’s door. “I don’t know. I just feel really happy to be able to hang out with you guys today.”  

Oikawa followed me up to the house, and Iwaizumi opened the door after only a few knocks. 

“Hey guys. My parents aren’t here tonight, so we have the place to ourselves.” 

Seijoh’s ace had been in the middle of heating up noodles, so we followed his example, setting our stuff down and meeting him in the kitchen. Iwaizumi had his speaker set up, and he was playing a rap song called “How you Feel?” by DJ Scheme, Lil Yachty, Danny Towers, and Ski Mask the Slump God. 

Iwaizumi sang Ski Mask’s part and Oikawa took Danny Towers, deepening his voice to match the pitch of the song. I covered my mouth so hard I started turning red, trying not to laugh at their terrible attempts. 

“What Y/n-chan?” Oikawa made a pouty expression, and I laughed in his face. 

“Singing is not the move for you, Oikawa-san. You should stick to volleyball.” 

“Hey!” 

After we all ate our noodles, Iwaizumi and Oikawa raided the closet and dumped a shit ton of pillows, cushions, and blankets in the living room in front of the TV. 

“Pillow fort!” I yelled, leaping on the pile with a whoop. Iwaizumi refused to participate, more happy laying on the couch while Oikawa and I created a massive and complicated fort built around the television. 

“We finished!” I pumped my fists, surveying the cushioned palace. I hadn’t made something like this since I was five, and I felt more satisfied and excited than was probably normal for an eighteen year old. 

Oikawa emerged from the kitchen with a loaf of milk bread he somehow found in Iwa’s pantry, and tossed it violently onto the couch. Before I could turn to look at him, he charged and tackled me onto the pillows, completely crushing our fort. 

I shrieked loudly, but as we fell, he wrapped me in a protective cage of his arms and the pillows cushioned our fall. 

“What the fuck Oikawa?” I cursed, gasping. 

He smirked down at me, his face only inches away. “Sorry, the opportunity was perfect.” 

I struggled, trying to get him off me, but my arms were pinned and his body crushed the air from my lungs. “Get off!”

“Hm, nope, I’m pretty comfortable,” he mumbled, arms wrapping tighter around me as he snuggled his head into my chest. 

I turned to look at Iwaizumi, who shrugged and went back to looking at his phone. I wasn’t going to get any help from him there. 

“Oikawaaaaa….” I groaned. “If you don’t get up, we won’t be able to watch!”

I hoped the threat of taking away the opportunity to watch “Arrival” would be enough incentive to get him off me. Oikawa had an obsession with aliens, more than anyone I had ever met. Obviously, it didn't even come close to his obsession with volleyball, but he still could list most of the UFO sightings on record and give a full rundown of them. He also had seen basically every alien movie in existence, and taken a few astronomy classes at the local junior college to learn more about space. 

Most of the guys on the team found it completely hilarious and/or annoying, calling him a fucking nerd whenever he brought it up. I thought it was adorable, and I loved hearing him talk about it. He just got so excited and genuine, more than I ever saw him. Usually, he put up a fake mask around other people, which slipped up even around his friends sometimes. But when it came to something he truly loved, there was no hiding how animated he got. 

As I had hoped, Oikawa groaned and rolled off me, allowing me to struggle to a seated position. 

“Iwa, did you rent the movie?”

Iwaizumi nodded, tossing his phone aside and grabbing the remote. Oikawa and I jumped onto the couch, and I ended up squeezed in between the two boys even though there was plenty of room to spread out. I was comfortable though, so I didn’t complain. 

The movie started, and I shifted my legs so they were laying across Oikawa’s lap, leaning my head on Iwa’s shoulder. Oikawa tore open the wrapping of the milk bread, passing me a large piece and stuffing a bite in his mouth. It was delicious, as usual, and I continued to munch on it as the movie started. 

The movie was amazing, way better than I expected. It wasn’t a basic pop culture alien movie like most of the genre I had seen, and was much more ominous and realistic. Halfway through, I glanced over at Oikawa to see him leaning forward, eyes bright as he stared at the screen. I felt my chest squeeze, happy to see him happy. 

There was a major twist at the end, making Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and I all lose our shit, and it took five minutes to calm our captain down. 

“That was so good!” Oikawa said, practically bouncing off the walls. I laughed and looked at the clock. It was 11pm, but it was also a Saturday, so there was no need to go to sleep any time soon. Oikawa clearly had way too much energy anyway, so I poked Iwaizumi. 

“What should we do now?”

Iwaizumi chuckled darkly, a creepy smile on his face. “One second, lemme just grab something.”

As we waited for Iwa to come back, I tore off pieces of milk bread and threw them into Oikawa’s mouth. My throwing skills were terrible, but he still ended up catching most of them due to his excellent reflexes. 

I threw another right as Iwaizumi emerged from his room and smacked the bread out of the air. Oikawa let out an outraged yell at the lost bread, but Iwaizumi ignored him. 

Coming over to sit beside me, he handed me what he had gone to get from his room. It was a magazine, Monthly Volleyball, dated from a month ago. 

“What is this?” I asked, and Iwaizumi flipped through the pages, snickering under his breath. 

Oikawa came over, looking down at the magazine before practically choking. “Iwa-chan, you--!” 

We stopped at a page, and I let out a surprised laugh as I noticed Oikawa’s picture taking up half the page. The setter tried to snatch the magazine from me, but Iwa jumped over me and tackled him. 

“Tooru Oikawa’s favorite food is milk bread,” I read, giggling and covering my mouth. 

“If you’re trying to embarrass me, Iwa, it’s not going to work,” Oikawa declared, crossing his arms, but his cheeks were tinted slightly red. 

I kept reading. “His personal motto is: if you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks? Wait, what does that even mean?” 

Iwaizumi snickered, and I was practically wheezing from laughter. 

I glanced up at Oikawa, only to find him smirking, eyes dark. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Oh, gross,” Iwaizumi snapped, and I felt my cheeks redden. I tried to laugh it off, but it came out a little breathless, and Oikawa looked triumphant. 

Later that night, we set up the beds in the living room. I was on the couch, while Iwaizumi and Oikawa slept on the floor in sleeping bags. 

It was almost 3am, and I was exhausted, so the second I curled up on the couch, I was asleep. As I drifted off, I felt a gentle hand running through my hair, and low voices murmuring to each other, but I fell asleep before I could figure out what they were saying. 

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

[benditlikepress]

growing pains

@coffeedepablo @indestinatus

dedicated to my queen @ncisjes who goes to work to escape my nonsense

Read in full on AO3

Tony was counting down the minutes until home-time when his phone started ringing. Usually he switched it off during meetings but for some reason it had slipped his mind, and that was why he jumped out of his seat to leave the room to answer it, seeing Tali’s school flash on the screen.

They never rang.

He closed the door quietly behind him and clicked answer as he jogged down the hallway towards the doors that led out onto a small balcony.

“Hello?”

"Hello, is that Mr DiNozzo?"

"Speaking."

"Hello, this is Tali's teacher Madame Belanger."

"Oh. Hello. Is everything OK?"

"I'm stood here with Tali, nobody has arrived to take her home."

Tony checked the time. School let out 10 minutes ago. "Uh, Tali's mom should be there. She hasn't shown up?"

"No, Mr DiNozzo. I know it's her that picks Tali up and she's always early so I tried to ring her but I got no answer. I know she's pregnant so I thought I best ring you to check everything is OK."

Tony felt his shackles immediately rise, a ball in his throat. "Um, thank you. I'll try to get a hold of her but I'm on my way myself now, so one of us will be there soon. Can I speak to Tali real quick?"

There was a small pause while the phone was passed over.

"Hey sweetheart, it's daddy. I'm on my way to come get you, OK? Don't worry about a thing."

"OK."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

Tony hung up the phone and began dialling Ziva's number as he went into his boss' office. He explained he had an emergency at home with the phone pressed to his ear and was waved away to leave just as Ziva's phone went to voicemail.

"Hey. It's me. Call if you get this, let me know you’re alright."

When she still hadn’t returned his call when he was getting into his car, he began to panic more. Though she’d been through rough patches and difficulties since she got home to Paris, she’d never once made herself unreachable. She’d always at least drop a text to let him know she was safe. Particularly since she’d found out she was pregnant.

Thoughts of the baby plagued his rushed journey to school, weaving through traffic in a way that made him wish he still had lights he could stick on the roof. Things had been going really well up until now – no worries or doctors concerns, nothing that had to be kept an eye on. Ziva had been a little anxious at first because there had been some concerns early in her pregnancy with Tali but they had turned out to be false alarms, likely caused by stress. When nothing had happened in the first 12 weeks of this pregnancy and then the next couple afterwards, her fears had been allayed. It was week 23 now and everything had been pretty much perfect.

He repeated to himself that she was in the bath and had lost track of time as he hopped out of his car and rushed up to the school gates. He was buzzed in and by the time he reached reception, Tali and her teacher were waiting. Tali immediately left her teachers’ side and came over to him, wrapping her arms around him for a hug.

“Hey, sweetheart. Good day?” He asked in English and Tali’s teacher smiled politely, though he was never sure if she actually understood a word he said when he wasn’t speaking French.

“Uh-huh. Are we going home?”

“Yeah, come on. Sorry you had to wait a little while.”

“That’s OK. Au revoir, Madame Belanger.”

“Au revoir, Tali. See you tomorrow.”

Tali took Tony’s hand as they left the building and walked with purpose although she was quiet and thoughtful.

“Everything alright?”

“Why didn’t ima pick me up?”

"I'm not sure, sweetheart. We're gonna go talk to her and find out, OK?"

"Is something wrong with the baby?"

"I don't think so. Let's just get home and we'll find out what's going on."

This seemed to satisfy Tali, who was her usual talkative self on the car ride back to the apartment. Tony was glad of the distraction – happy to hear about Tali’s class preparation for their upcoming recorder recital and her friend’s new dog.

The building looked normal from the outside when they got home, though decades worth of cop shackles were hard to shake off and Tony caught himself reaching for a non-existent gun as they entered the eerily quiet hallway and reached the locked door.

The apartment was cleaner than they’d left it this morning – clothes and breakfast and mail put away. The curtains were open but the light was on in the bathroom and everywhere was silent. Tony left Tali in the living room and cut through room-by-room looking for any sign of Ziva or something out of place, and when he reached their bedroom he found the door ajar and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a sleeping figure on top of the mattress.

Ziva was lying on her side, buried in blankets, a slight frown on her face.

Tony bent down by the side of the bed and lifted fingers to her forehead, stroking her hair.

"Hey honey, you awake?"

Ziva stirred and then opened one eye. "What are you doing here?"

"School called."

"What time is it?" Ziva lifted her arms sleepily to check her phone. "Oh my god, I have to go and get Tali."

"Hey hey hey, relax. I got her. She's in the living room."

Ziva exhaled heavily and covered her face with her eyes.

"You OK?"

"Yes. I just... I have been asleep all afternoon. I did not get any sleep last night so I just lay down after lunch and.. I cannot believe this. I have never slept through anything in my life."

"Well, you're pregnant. It happens. Why didn't you sleep last night?"

"I need to talk to Tali."

"Just - take a breath first, alright?"

She closed her eyes as she inhaled and exhaled, but threw the blankets off her all the same. She had taken to wearing his shorts as pyjama bottoms, paired with either a tank top that rode up more as the days went on or one of his old baggy t-shirts depending on the temperature. Though she was almost always overheating these days.

"Is Tali upset?"

"She's fine. She was just a little worried something might've happened." Ziva brought herself up to a sitting position and pressed the base of her palms against her eyes. “You sure everything’s alright?”

"Yes, we are fine. Completely. I am so sorry for scaring you. Really, I.."

"Hey," Tony pulled her hands away from her face gently. "It's alright. It's fine. Stuff happens sometimes."

“It is not alright, Tony.”

Her insistence struck a chord with him, the way her breathing was a little laboured and she squeezed his fingers where they were still attached to accentuate the point.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

“We can talk once I have spoken to Tali. Let me do that first.”

“OK. Take a couple of deep breaths, though. Come in when you’re ready.”

Tony ran his hand over her head as he stood up, leaving the room and going back into the living room where Tali was sitting on the sofa with a game in hand kicking her legs backwards and forwards.

“Ima and the baby are all good. See? Like I said. Nothing for you to worry about. She’s gonna come and talk to you right now.”

He sat down next to her and she began to continue the conversations she’d started in the car, not seeming to notice Tony’s small responses as he kept an eye on the bedroom door.

Ziva appeared a couple of minutes later, her cheeks slightly pink with sleep and a practised smile plastered on her face as her eyes trained on Tali.

"Tali.."

"Is the baby OK?"

"We are both fine. But I need to apologise to you.” Ziva sat down at Tali’s side, opposite to Tony, and took Tali’s small hands into her own on her lap. “I'm so sorry I did not pick you up today, Tali. I did not get any sleep last night and I accidentally napped through my alarm. I promise you it will never ever happen again. And I'm very sorry for worrying you, that is not fair at all on you."

"OK. I forgive you."

"You do?"

"You promise.”

“I promise. Can I have a hug?”

Tali wrapped herself around Ziva but the position was starting to get awkward as Ziva had started growing more significantly in the last couple of weeks. She was carrying smaller than Tony had imagined, though he supposed it was a result of keeping herself fit. She said you’d have barely known she was pregnant with Tali until her third trimester.

He watched her expression now, over Tali’s shoulder, her eyes tightly shut and then opening to look up at him with tears threatening. She ran her hand over her left eye and the movement seemed to alert Tali to pull back and look at her.

“Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad, OK? Ani ohevet otach. I love you very much.”

Tony still wasn't quite used to the feeling he got in his chest when he saw the two of them together like this: hugging and whispering affection to each other, looking over each other’s shoulders at him with such automatic warmth in their eyes. It was a feeling he'd forgotten existed, something that he'd not felt since childhood until Tali and then Ziva took permanent place in his life - the pure comfort of being around family. The way that even when Ziva was clearly upset and hurting there was still pure, unadulterated love in the air.

Ziva sniffed and straightened her back. “Do you want to help me make dinner?”

“Can we have pizza?”

“You know your daddy can never say no to that. Come on, let’s get your hands washed.”

Tali jumped off the sofa and ran off in the direction of the bathroom. Tony got to his feet and held out his hand to help Ziva up, though she managed to get up mostly by herself. Her hand, as it often did now, instinctively went to her stomach. It was almost six months in and he still hadn't grown out of the burst of pride every time he watched Ziva privately acknowledge her bump, the knowledge that it was his child she was tending to when she didn't realise anyone was watching.

“Ziva..”

“I promise we will talk. I just want to make sure she is OK first. Once we have eaten, she will settle down. OK?”

“OK.”

It was a lot like this with a child: something Tony had never really considered before Tali came into his life, and something he was sure would only get more significant once the baby was here. Trying to find opportunities to talk was difficult, quiet moments alone few and far between, and though all Tony wanted to do right now was sit Ziva down and wait for her to explain every single thing on her mind he instead had to be content to watch her staring down at Tali thoughtfully while she helped her knead dough and overflow toppings in the way only a DiNozzo could.

They ate quietly but happily, Tali still leading conversation, and once she’d finished she’d taken herself off to her bedroom and shouted at Tony to follow her to help her with her math homework.

Ziva still had a fearful look in her eye, and it only seemed to increase as the minutes passed. She looked at Tali’s bedroom and then back at Tony, questioning, until he signalled at her to go to their own bedroom while he followed Tali.

(continue reading on AO3)

[hockeylvr59]

Life Changes Part 10 || Paul Bissonnette

Author's Note: So this one was tough for me because Paul’s head is a tough nut to crack so go easy on me. This is from his POV because I felt like we needed some insight as to where he stood in all of this because so far we’ve only see Leigh’s thoughts. Let me know what you think. We’re covering quite a bit of time fairly quickly now. In fact, there’s probably only 1 more chapter before the event everyone has been waiting for happens *hint hint*. Also, I updated the playlist for this story so feel free to go take a listen and let me know what you think and feel free to send me any songs that make you think of Leigh and Paul because I’d love to hear them. 

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no       Warnings: swearing      Word Count: 2,389

_________

Paul’s POV

“Only the wisest and stupidest of men never change.” 

Something had been different with Leigh since the awards but I couldn’t put my finger on what had changed or why. We still talked almost every day but where before she would be an open book, now it seemed like a glass wall was between us. Knowing that she would reach out if she needed me, I came to the conclusion that it was something to do with the pregnancy and tried not to dwell on it. 

Hopefully, this trip would make not dwelling a little easier. Thanks to some networking at the Awards and a little help from CCM, we’d finally landed our white whale for the podcast. And not only had we secured Crosby, but we’d also gotten MacKinnon as well. Having arrived in Nova Scotia yesterday, Whit and I were slotted to face off against the local duo in a round of golf, dinner on the line, before sitting down to record the interviews. 

It was a gorgeous June day on the course, and I was absolutely buzzing. This was potentially the best game of golf I’ve ever played in my life. But before we had even finished the front half of the course I was already being accused of being a sandbagger...fucking ridiculous. Nate was getting all sorts of worked up while Sid just laughed saying they’d have to wait and see what the back half brought. 

Needless to say, the second half didn’t go as well as the first...the damn yips taking over. Though we’d had the lead and secured dinner, for some reason Whit felt like giving the losers a second chance to redeem themselves so it was determined that we were only up 1 hole with two remaining. Whit came up just short for birdie leaving us square to start the 18th hole. 

Just as we reached the final tee, my phone rang, Leigh’s picture filling my screen. If it had been anyone else I would have ignored it but there was no way I could ignore her so I grabbed my phone and stepped slightly away as I answered. 

“What’s up?” I questioned. “We’re on the 18th hole with Sid and Nate.” Before she even responded I could hear the hitch in her breath and my heart raced with concern for why she would be crying, though lately, it didn’t take much to make her cry...pregnancy hormones. 

“I forgot.” She admitted, her watery voice cracking. 

“It’s fine. What’s up?” I repeated my question, my stomach twisting as I waited for her answer. 

“It’s a girl.” She whispered. Immediately my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.

“What?” The word slipped out while my brain was rushing to process. 

“Dustbunny...she’s a girl.” I had totally forgotten that Leigh had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for today. Without even realizing it, tears had pooled in my eyes and I let out a shaky laugh as I tried to blink them away. Deep down I knew that she was hoping for a girl and so I knew just how much this news meant to her. 

“That’s incredible.” I finally managed my throat tight. “Congratulations.” Though the concept of her really having a baby had become more concrete for me in Vegas seeing her bump, now it really did feel real. In just a few months there would be this little human who looked like her mom hanging around and the thought of that was almost too much. 

With Whit calling my name from the course, I signaled for him to give me just a minute but it was clear that Leigh heard it and she murmured that I should get back to the game. But before she hung up she made one final statement. 

“You can tell the guys if you want. And uh...let them know I’ll make a public announcement in the next couple days but to keep it to themselves until then please.” 

“Course.” I murmured, my brain still operating mostly on autopilot as it worked over the news she’d just dropped on me. “I uh...I’ll talk to you and dustbunny later.” 

“Yeah.” She agreed. “Now go have fun.” She added just before the line went dead. Frantically I tried to pull myself together, wiping at my eyes and pocketing my phone.

It was my turn up at the tee and as I tried to focus, laughter came at me from all directions. Whether it was the laughter or the thought of Leigh and her daughter racing through my mind, as I swung at the ball I sliced it way left and the laughter took full force. 

“Fuck off okay,” I mumbled, moving to sit on a bench, my nails scraping over my scalp. 

“What the fuck was that?” Whit demanded. “You take one phone call and make the worst shot of the day?” There was nothing but silence as we made our way down to the green and as we waited for Sid to putt Whit looked over at me. “Everything okay?” He asked, voice calmer. “I’m assuming that was Leigh.” 

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Everything’s good.” Whit looked at me skeptically before taking his turn and after sinking his putt for the win he paused. 

“Okay, Biz...spill.” He stated, leaning against his club. “You’ve been all hyped up all day and now you’re quiet. What was that call about?” 

“She’s having a girl.” I breathed, tossing my club back in the bag before reaching for a bottle of water to try and calm my still racing heart down. 

“Who’s having a girl?” Nate inquired, clearly confused by the statement. 

“Leigh. Our business manager.” Whit explained. “That’s awesome, I’m sure she’s over the moon.” 

“Wait...she’s pregnant?” Sid asked, having obviously paid no mind to her growing bump when they met just a week or so ago. 

“Yeah. It’s complicated.” I expressed. “And she is over the moon. She was crying over the phone.” I added, once again scratching my head. It was left unspoken, but not unnoticed by Whit that I had been crying over the news too and we made our way over to a little cafe to record both interviews, my mind gradually refocusing as I focused back in on hockey and the world surrounding it. 

~~~

It wasn’t until we were a few drinks into a delicious dinner courtesy of Sid and Nate that Leigh was brought up as conversation again. 

It had happened casually, Sid inquiring as to what we had upcoming for the podcast. Whit went into a ramble on the secret project we’d been working on for months, a Pink Whitney vodka, and how we had a launch party for that planned for Labor Day weekend. Then RA brought up how each of us was working to pick up some of the management job duties so that Leigh could have a proper maternity leave when the time arose. That triggered Nate inquiring about the whole baby thing and I quickly had to vaguely explain that Leigh wasn’t with the baby’s father and that we were close friends because she’d been with me in Arizona when she found out. 

We’d just downed another round of drinks when Whit threw the first real punch. 

“So Biz….when are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...we’re just friends.” I lied, doing everything I could to keep my facial expressions neutral. 

“That’s bullshit and everyone else can see it besides the two of you.” He tossed back. “You look at her like she’s the goddamn stanley cup. I haven’t seen you even look at another woman in months. If you aren’t talking about work you’re talking about Leigh and the baby so stop playing. You’re in love with her.” 

If it weren’t for the drinks I’d already consumed I probably wouldn’t have admitted to anything. But with the drinks, I felt my palms start to sweat and my filter let a few too many thoughts slip through. 

“Of course I love her,” I mumbled. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s absolutely stunning, and she has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. She’s handled everything thrown at her with far more grace than I ever could have and she’s going to be an absolutely incredible mom.” Downing the rest of my last drink I sighed heavily. “But we’re just friends and it’s going to stay that way.” 

“So you love her and you obviously love her baby...what’s the fucking problem?” Whit pushed. 

“The problem is that she deserves more. Better.” At those words, every head at the table turned to look at me. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” RA questioned, his tone brusque. 

“It means that she could do so much better than me. I don’t exactly have the best reputation with women or in general. She deserves someone that can match her in intelligence and who won’t fucking stain her name with his own. She deserves someone who isn’t mentally fucked up...who doesn’t experience episodes where he can barely take care of himself let alone her and the baby. She deserves stability.” 

After spilling out all of the reasons why friends was all we were ever going to be, I expected some resistance, what I didn’t expect was Whit to bust out laughing at me. Glaring at him I clenched my jaw and he just shook his head. 

“You’re a fucking moron Paul. You’re making excuses as to why you aren’t good enough for her and she’s making excuses as to why she’s not good enough for you when in reality you’re perfect for each other.” 

“What are you talking about?” I pressed, swirling the ice in my glass aimlessly. 

“I’m talking about the fact that she told Brie she didn’t think that you’d ever even have sex with her because she’s not your type. She minimizes anything you feel for her proclaiming that it’s just the baby you’re attached to. She thinks that all you’d ever want to be is Uncle Paul so how could you possibly want to pursue more when a relationship with her would come with the baggage of a baby that’s not yours. She’s just as insecure as you are….but I guarantee you that the way you’re shaking your head about the things she’s worried about would be the same way she’d react to the things you’re worried about.” 

It baffled me to think that Leigh thought I wouldn’t want her. At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if that expression meant that she actually did want me. For a while, conversation traveled back to less serious topics but before we headed back to the hotel for the night Whit pulled me aside one more time. 

“Look I get you have your own concerns and that you’re worried about unnecessarily dumping something else onto her plate but don’t let either of those fears keep you from something that could be great. Now may not be the right time, but I’ve seen the two of you together and you both bring out the best parts of each other...so just be patient and things will work out like they’re supposed to.” 

It wasn’t until I was settled into bed that I was able to watch the ultrasound video Leigh had sent me. Between that and dinner’s conversation, the moment that I closed my eyes, too many thoughts, thoughts of Leigh and the baby she was carrying, filled my mind making sleep impossible. Was it really possible that she felt the same way I did? Did I want to play a role more than Uncle in this baby’s life? Was she ready to move on after having her heart crushed not once, not twice, but three times? 

~~~

Just like she had said, Leigh dropped her pregnancy announcement as we were leaving Nova Scotia. Swiping through the photos I couldn’t help but be mesmerized at the way her bump had grown in the short time since I’d seen her last. She was very obviously pregnant now and though her photos only barely showed her face it was easy to see how much pregnancy suited her and how she was glowing because of it. 

Unsurprisingly the announcement garnered some attention both positive and negative. There were people both in her personal life and around the league that were absolutely thrilled for her. Then there were people that had very much jumped to conclusions as she expected they would and though there really wasn’t anything I could do, I was angry that I couldn’t protect her from their harsh words and suspicions. If I thought she’d let me, I’d chew out every idiot on the internet but deep down I knew that kind of attention would only make things worse. Instead, I focused on distracting her away from that content, asking questions about her plans for a nursery while trying to hide the feelings that were getting harder and harder to suppress.  

By the time her birthday arrived in the second week of July, I was determined to do something special for her. Though we were once again on opposite sides of the country I had been planning for her birthday since we left Vegas. In addition to sending flowers, I’d booked her a pregnancy massage session hoping to help alleviate some of the aches and pains she’d been complaining of. It didn’t seem like much to me but when she called after her appointment raving over how much better she felt, it was evident that my gesture was appreciated. Though I didn’t generally make posts for others on their birthdays, I felt compelled to share a few photos of the woman who had brightened my life up just by being a part of it. It was a little sappy but if anyone deserved it, it was her. 

Though we talked almost daily and her selfies came more frequently as dustbunny continued growing, I still found myself counting the days until I would see her in person next. And to be frank, it couldn’t come soon enough. I was completely screwed...but to be honest there was a part of me that knew that the moment I first laid eyes on her. 

Chapter 10 Social Media:

[sjjms]

trust me | 02

pairing: yugyeomxreader length: 2.3k words genre: fluff summary: reluctant avoidance

01 02 03

A chill wrestled with your body as you headed to the front of the company building. The wind was at a constant battle with your face, whiplash injuries could be completely unavoidable today.

“Do you really need to be here this early?” You decide to pick up the pace avoiding the question just asked by Daeho.

“Good morning,” A member of staff greets both of you briefly. Was it really morning? These dark cloudy skies, dull and dreary as anything, never made it feel like it was. For five in the morning, it was almost as if the clock was lying through its handles.

“...You haven’t slept.”

“Minjoon said he would be able to take a look at some of the songs I have been working on.” An opportunity to work with Minjoon was difficult to miss out on. He was often busier than you were. Despite being friends with him since middle school you didn’t like to take advantage of friendships for your own gain.

“Today is the only day I’m free.” Soon enough, Daeho would be putting up a protest and preventing you from entering the company after filming ends for the day. There had been a constant repetition of coming to your music studio whenever you could for the past couple of weeks.

“I know but I would feel better, as your manager if you would go back to your apartment and sleep before coming here.” He grumbles whilst trailing along behind you. By the time the elevator doors were opening, sunrise was breaking the spell of gloomy weather. You shroud your eyes while entering from the sunlight’s reflection and the elevator’s apparently bright lights. Since when had these little tea lights become so intense on the eyesight?

“I left my glasses in the car.” With a disappointing mutter, you let out a deep breath. Your actions and mind both led independent lives, never did they want to coordinate with one another to make life a little easier.

“I’ll go get them for you.”

“Is Aera coming to the wedding on Saturday?” An actress you were friends with was getting married, you were glad your friends were finding their happy endings. They all considered you to be the youngest of the group, each time you met with them they made sure to remind you not to rush into things. They kept saying ‘in its own time love would make its way to you.’ you could only wish these words were true.

“I believe so, it is her brother’s wedding.” Were you really that tired? Of course, she was going to be there! Aera had been saying for weeks she was going to be singing for the couple.

“Is this my descent into madness? I hope Aera will forgive me for thinking she wasn’t going to be there on Saturday,” You slightly pout. The elevator stops preventing you from crouching down and crying. It was alright, you were almost at your studio. Being exhausted never did show you in the greatest of light. Your emotions were in the constant in between, would you overreact or show no reaction at all?

“I won’t mention it, I’ll be right back.”

The hallway’s motion sensor light flickers on as you walk on a slow approach to the door. Your security lock lit up welcoming you to attempt to put in the correct code within three tries. It unlocked on the second try. The pads of your fingertips threaded against the rough soundproof panelling, somewhere along here there was a light switch. A post-it note caught your attention now the room was illuminated.

Peeling the note off you realised it was the reminder to go visit Minjoon, “Ah… I almost scared myself there,” You mutter. You gently pat your chest trying to calm the rising heartbeat. No one was able to get into this room apart from the building manager and what would they want with a desktop and empty notepad. It was becoming difficult to use this room to produce though, you had no access to a piano keyboard which did allow you to experiment with other sounds. If you moved apartments you would move your studio into there but since you were a solo artist, it was a lot easier to occupy one of the studios at the company. You were on the doorstep to many other producing artists.

“Here are your glasses.” Daeho appears and hands them over to you. You place them on your nose and push the bridge up higher.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You say. It was technically now your only free day of the week which also meant Daeho didn’t need to be watching over you.

“Mhm. At 4 AM.” You were waiting for him to say more, don’t stay here for too long or make sure you sleep today. Daeho, over the years, was becoming more like a nagging mother than your manager but you appreciated it. He was right, you weren’t always taking proper care of yourself.

-

“Minjoon?” You knock on the door before entering, a figure, not Minjoon was resting in a chair in front of the computer. He was playing around with the track currently on screen, you weren’t exactly sure what he was trying to do with it, you would need a closer look to figure that out.

With caution, you open your mouth again, “Who… are you?”

The chair swung around to face you, “It’s only me.” There it was, his friendly smile. You return the courtesy before taking a glance around the room, Minjoon wasn’t here.

“Minjoon will be back in a minute,” Yugyeom said.

It was a coincidence Yugyeom was currently sitting in front of you, right? He’d been one of the few people you were wanting to avoid, Daeho was the other. Detaching yourself from the situation was better than falling in love with someone you couldn’t have. But here he was. It was as if your heart had finally received a reply to the long-awaited question. Would your crush develop further from here? You were hoping for the sake of everybody, including yourself, it wouldn’t.

“You can sit down, I’m sure Minjoon won’t care… No, I promise you he won’t.” Yugyeom chuckles as he corrects himself, you couldn’t stop the smile from increasing.

Shit.

“What are you doing?” Changing the subject as fast as Aera could when she was drunk, you sit down beside him to stare at the soundwaves of the track. He continued to fiddle around with one part of the track for a few moments before answering your question.

“I’m producing.” You laugh and say nothing more. Producers more than anyone liked to keep the tracks they were working on private until they were perfect. Only a select few would help out, if they were needed, of course.

“A new GOT7 song?” You press lightly hoping to extract more information out of him.

“You know us?”

“Of course! We’re in the same company. Why wouldn’t I know you?” You protest. Okay… you had heard a couple of songs from them, before entering the company, however at that point you didn’t know who the members were. The most important thing was that you did enjoy listening to them. “Do you know me?” You retort jokingly. You didn’t expect much from him.

Yugyeom glimpses briefly to you with a wide smile on his lips before chuckling, “I do! I’ve been listening to your song, long nights a lot recently.” Ah... That song. For some reason, it had caught the attention of many, giving you the spotlight for the first time in your music career.

A sudden noise prompts you to turn around, Minjoon was here. His tall frame blocked the light from flowing in, he was almost as tall as Yugyeom now that you thought about it. You weren’t entirely sure how Yugyeom and Minjoon knew each other either, it could have been from anywhere.

“It looks like I’m interrupting something.” Minjoon clears his throat to regain control back over his studio.

“I just need to finish looping and then you can have your studio back,” Yugyeom mutters. He calmly returns to fiddling around with the track, it was as if the last few minutes hadn’t just occurred. Your heart was excited just for this? A small conversation. Disregarding Yugyeom, you use this chance to talk to Minjoon.

“Did you get the tracks I sent you?”

“Yes but I haven’t had the chance to take a look at them just yet. I was approached to make a demo for a drama OST… actually.” Minjoon pauses. Before continuing a few seconds later, “Would you be able to sing for the demo?” Sing for an OST? It would be your first time… well, it would only be for a demo though.

“Uh… When do you need me?” You ask still trying to scramble around your schedule in an exhausted brain, nothing was coming to you, but your thoughts seemed to be ringing alarms for the next two days. Best to avoid those two days.

“Right now…?” You feel your eyes stretch as Minjoon reverts to placing his to hands together, almost begging for you to participate. “I need to set up a microphone to record so about 5 to 10 minutes.”

There was reluctance with the following thoughts, dragging you down one by one, whispering to you, you needed to sleep. “Sure, I’ll just go buy some coffee and be right back.” A walk would refresh your mind and hopefully, the coffee would be enough to give you a buzz.

After a short walk, you are greeted by a worker standing behind the green counter, by the looks of it, they were as tired as you were with a college textbook hidden away in the corner. You give them a smile of encouragement before heading to the back of the store. You stare at each brand of coffee for a while, picking out which you had tried before and how useful it was going to be.

“You’re dozing off there.” A familiar voice appears beside you, it wasn’t surprising to hear it anymore.

“No…” You pout slightly and decide to reach in for the largest can of coffee.

“Staring into space for a good three minutes wasn’t you dozing off?” Yugyeom questions with some bafflement, he couldn’t convince himself that you were debating over which brand of coffee to buy for that amount of time.

“Do you always try to discover the secrets of your fellow labelmates?” You glance up to meet his gaze. No matter how many times you had done this, he was still looking with awe, as if the stars occupied his eyes and you were drifting to the centre of his universe.

“I’ll keep it quiet. Minjoon said to take your time, he’s wrestling with the equipment at the moment.” Yugyeom proudly smiles, you wonder if he was involved in some way, nether the less you chuckle.  

“Alright, I guess I will pay for this and sit down somewhere.” Most convenience stores always had a place to sit, usually, the ones you went to had them placed by the window. You say a brief goodbye to Yugyeom before leaving him alone.

You watch the quiet road through the window, most people were still enjoying their last hour of sleep while they could and in some places, market stalls were being set up for the day. With a small yawn, you rest your head against your arm, it never beats the softness of a pillow or even a person’s chest.  

“You can fall asleep, I’ll wake you up in ten minutes.” He was still here? Yugyeom occupies the seat beside you, bringing with him a cup of noodles, luckily you weren’t hungry otherwise the smell would have caused a loud stomach rumble. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself further in front of him. He hadn’t said anything since that day. In some ways you were thankful he had decided not to question you on it, but then it hit you, he saw you in one of the worst states you could have been found in.

Now he had brought up the idea of sleeping in front of him, had you not inconvenienced him enough already? No matter how hard you were trying to keep your eyes open they became heavier as time went by, Yugyeom silently scrolled through his phone. This only became encouragement for you to fall asleep and before you could open the coffee can, you were gone.

Yugyeom faintly chuckles watching your arm fall to the table along with your head. He points his phone in your direction taking a couple of photos to show you later. He couldn’t help but sigh with a smile creeping onto his face.

Would it be so bad if he started liking you? There was an ongoing debate running through his head: liking you without dating vs liking you with dating. He understood the reasons for the dating ban but wasn’t five years too much? Two more years to go and he was already questioning whether to rebel against everything he was warned not to do.

“Y/N.” You open your eyes slowly coming to the realisation you had actually fallen asleep, just your luck and another thing you can tick off your list of embarrassing things to do. You straighten up and swiftly run your hand through your hair wishing you had a mask on you. Your fingers search through the pockets hoping for the soft allergy mask you carried for emergencies. Yes, you were considering hiding your face as an emergency.

Your luck was somehow working today, you pull the mask over your face before finally turning to Yugyeom. He was amused by the small flustered show you had put yourself through. You apologise for falling asleep and get up from the seat ready to walk away.

“Wait! You forgot your drink.” Yugyeom hands the coffee can over to you. Luck was being fickle today. You profusely apologise and thank him once again before you were able to leave.

Was it selfish to ask him to stop appearing in front of you? It would prevent your own metaphorical heart from heartbreak. Shaking your head hoping that the thoughts were clearing themselves from your consciousness. You make a promise to yourself, avoid Yugyeom and keep working hard.

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Eleven

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I managed to finish up this latest chapter of my @cssns​ story before the insanity of the holiday starts and it picks up right where the last chapter left off with Emma and David heading out to search for the missing Killian Jones. My original plan had this as part of Chapter 10, but I decided to expand it and make it a stand-alone chapter. Emma's anxious to locate Killian but there’s going to be a surprising clue along the way that may provide a link to the past.

Many thanks again to @cocohook38​ for the amazing artwork above and to @lassluna​ for all of her beta reading assistance along the way

Read from the beginning on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten      Also on  AO3 and FF.net

In her short residence here in Storybrooke, Emma had only been this far down Highway 3 once - when she had been in pursuit of an intoxicated driver who struck a pedestrian in front of the church. She knew it was a narrow, two-lane road that meandered through the farmland on the outskirts of town before asphalt transitioned to gravel approximately three miles beyond Anton's farm. She was also well aware of the rumor that a fae community existed out here amongst the trees, but Emma was convinced that story was pure fiction. Even in this magical town, sometimes it as hard to draw a line between reality and fantasy.

Halfway into their drive out to the rendezvous point, Emma's phone rang with the return call from Belle. David asked if Emma would utilize the speakerphone so that he could hear the librarian's response as well.

"Good morning, Belle," Emma answered, immediately pressing the speaker button. "Thank you so much for returning my call so quickly."

"Of course, Emma. I would have called sooner but it took me a bit to find all of the information that you asked for," Belle replied.

"No problem," David assured her. "You're right on time. We're just about to meet with the search party, but since we're going to run out of cell service soon, what were you able to find?"

"Well, there are three registered properties with structures listed in the town records. There are a couple of other parcels of land with registered owners, but since they didn't have any dwellings or other structures registered, I focused on the ones that did," Belle explained over the growing static. "I emailed you and Emma the list with what details I could locate."

"Perfect. Any idea what sort of structures we're talking about?" David asked.

"They're listed as dwellings so my guess would be cabins or small houses. All were listed as being less than 1000 square feet," Belle told him.

"That's a huge help, Belle. I'll have Emma take a look at the email since I'm driving."

"Please let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and Emma - I'm still researching what you asked about your mother. I'll let you know if I can find that answer anywhere," Belle promised.

"Thanks for everything, Belle," Emma replied as she disconnected the call, her service signal down to a single bar.

"See if you can get that email opened up before the signal disappears," David instructed, as if Emma hadn't already thought of that.

"Already on it," Emma stated as she pulled up her work email folder and found the message from with its attachment. Her phone display still showed that single bar as she managed to download the file before service vanished. "Got it!"

She waited until David eased the Sheriff cruiser to the side of the gravel road in front of the Gardner's farmhouse since the tiny screen was too difficult to read while bouncing around on the crumbling road surface. When she could finally take a look at it, she hesitated for a minute, instead surveying the field and the people gathered in it. David was already scrambling out of the car to coordinate with the search party and she recognized most of the faces. Regina's boyfriend, Robin and his best friend, John Sherwood were here and she also spotted Leroy and a couple of the other miners. Graham pulled up and parked behind the cruiser in his 4x4 that would aid them with off-road capabilities.

"What did Belle's email reveal?" David asked her as he poked his head back into the car wondering why his sister was still sitting in the passenger seat.

"I'll know in a second," she replied. "It was kinda hard to hold onto my phone, let alone read the screen, when you were bouncing us all over the place. Did you try to hit every pothole on the highway?"

"Yeah, it was intentional," David huffed. "Seriously though, before we set off out there," he pointed his index finger in the direction of the treeline, "I want to know what sort of buildings we could encounter and where they are in relation to our search area."

"Just as Belle said, there are three dwellings listed. No surprise that one of them is John Sherwood's cabin. The second is a dwelling of unknown dimensions listed as under construction. Sounds like a potentially good place to hide somebody you don't want found…" But just as Emma made that comment, her gaze fell onto the third property listing, a moderately sized dwelling of approximately 900 square feet, but it wasn't the physical description or the location that drew her attention, it was the name of the registered owner.

Ozmund Welch.

She tried to shake off the coincidence, but she couldn't. Was there a correlation between this property's owner, Ozmund Welch, and her mother's mysterious suitor, Ozzie? Ava had described Ozzie as having vanished in a puff of smoke the moment she'd kissed him, but had he actually been real? Real enough to have built a cabin in the dense woods on the outskirts of Storybrooke or was the name similarity merely chance?

"Something wrong, sis?" David's question brought her back to the present. "You planning to stay in the car or are you going to get out of there and tell me about that third property?"

"I'm coming… Just had a little bit of weird deja vu."

"About searching the woods for your would-be pirate boyfriend?"

"Really, David?" Emma wasn't pleased with her brother referring to Killian as a pirate yet again. "Once and for all, he's not a pirate and no - that isn't what triggered it. This name… The third property owner listed is what caught my eye and gave me a weird feeling - someone named Ozmund Welch."

"Okay… what's so strange about that?"

"When I was leafing through mom's journal, she referred to the other man she was dating as Ozzie. He was the one she ended up choosing and caused her to lose the challenge, and of course, her powers. Ozmund. Ozzie. They sound a lot alike and it's a weird coincidence…"

"And you think there might be some correlation?"

"I don't really know," she sighed, knowing the probability was slim considering the rest of the information Belle had provided. "There's only one big problem with it - according to Belle, the structure was built and registered in the 1920s."

"I don't think your mother was really in to older men…"

"No. Certainly not based on the description she gave in her journal entries."

"Father and son maybe?" David suggested as Emma clambered out of the cruiser.

"I guess that's possible. Or it's possible that it really is just a coincidence." She tucked her phone away into her jacket pocket as she pushed the car door closed. "It's just weird…"

"Then why don't you and I take that particular property? If you've got any sort of suspicion about that property, we'll go with it."

"Okay. According to the property listing, it's located about a quarter of a mile from John's cabin. I copied all of the coordinates into my phone."

"Alright then. Let me go hand out assignments and get this search and rescue underway. That's in one of the more remote sectors so how about you go commandeer a couple of those ATVs?"

**********

Emma had never really considered herself to be the outdoorsy type so this trek through the forests of Eastern Maine riding an all-terrain vehicle was quite out of her element. By the time they reached the edge of the Welch property, they could both see the single-story wooden frame house that, at first glance, appeared well-kept, but vacant. As they got closer to the house, they began to see signs of recent occupation. Weeds had been cleared from the dirt road to the entrance as well as from a path to a small shed beyond the house.

With a reminder from David that they couldn't enter the property without permission from the resident or a search warrant, they parked the ATVs and started surveying the perimeter. Little seemed to have changed about the premises since it had been built nearly a century ago. They saw a neat stack of firewood next to the shed but no visible power lines connected to the building. Whoever resided out here definitely enjoyed living off the grid. The windows of the cozy house were covered with decades worth of grime, making it difficult to peer into the interior. If someone was living here, cleaning their windows to allow sunlight inside wasn't a priority which led credence to the probability that it was currently uninhabited.

"Looks vacant," David said as the siblings regrouped near the front door. "But it's almost impossible to see inside."

"Something isn't right," Emma insisted. "It may look vacant, but that wood pile over there isn't overgrown with weeds. There isn't any smoke rising out of that chimney right now, but my gut says there will be signs of a recent fire."

"Kinda hard to determine that from out here," David reminded her. "And one of the neighbors could be using the wood."

"Are you serious, David? Do you really think that someone out here would want to traipse through the woods to stack wood at an abandoned house? That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Just offering up possibilities."

"Well, it's pretty obvious that the bigger possibility is that someone has been secretly living here. It's rustic, but that doesn't mean it isn't livable. I don't know if Ozmund Welch is still living out here in the boondocks, but I'm quite sure someone is."

"Don't tell me - your gut is now telling you that this would be a good place to hide someone?"

"What? You don't think so? Come on, Dave - it's in the middle of nowhere and looks abandoned… Where would you hide a person you don't want found?"

"Em - you know the rules…"

"And this is a magical town where most rules don't even apply! David, my intuition is telling me that there's more to this place than meets the eye."

"You can feel your Captain boyfriend nearby?"

"I wish my instincts were that specific," she scowled at him, "almost as much as I wished that the locator spell came with GPS coordinates. I just know that there's something very wrong here…"

David pondered her plea for a moment. As Sheriff, he was tasked with upholding the law, not breaking it, but at the same time, if Captain Jones was here, being held against his will, rescuing the missing man should take priority. It was just that it all rested on his sister's gut feelings, not actual evidence…

"Okay, okay," he relented. "If you think this place is suspicious, let's go find out. Can you get that door open or were you planning to break it down?"

"Very funny," she scoffed as she withdrew her wand from inside her jacket. "Good thing I brought this along. Pretty sure a little magic can open that lock…" With a flick of her wrist and a swish of her wand, she recited the Latin phrase to open the door. "Recludo!"

David led the way once the door was unlocked, inching it open cautiously as he scanned the interior with his flashlight held in his left hand and his weapon clutched in his right. Emma followed at his heels, sweeping the beam of her flashlight around what looked to be a combination living room, kitchen and dining room. The room was sparsely furnished. A faded, but garishly upholstered sofa occupied a space facing the fireplace and a matching chair with worn wooden arms sat beside it. On the opposite wall, there was a makeshift kitchen featuring a sink with an ancient water pump, an old fashioned wood-fired stove and a two door cabinet hanging over the sink. At the other end of the building from where they stood, there was a wooden table with two flanking chairs and a narrow hallway leading to two doorways.

Emma took a few steps towards the fireplace while David immediately headed to the first of the two doors in the rear of the house. Her eyes were drawn to the mantle where a set of random books sat atop it, flanked by two heavy stone bookends. She recognized a few of the titles as books she'd been forced to read in school but there were others written in languages she didn't recognize. She also instantly noticed rectangular voids amongst the dust and cobwebs as though something had been removed recently.

She held no doubt that someone had been here.

David pushed open the first of the doors off of the rear hallway revealing a small, unoccupied bedroom containing only a spartan double bed and a plain, five drawer pine chest of drawers. He discovered the second door led to a primitive bathroom with a pedestal sink and an old claw foot bath tub. There was no toilet visible so the well-maintained path behind the house meant that the shed was likely an outhouse. In neither room did he find evidence of anyone being held unwillingly. Maybe Emma's instinct had been wrong…

"There's no one here," David announced as he strolled back into the living room area.

"Someone's been here," Emma assured him, pointing to the mantle. "Stuff has been recently taken off of that mantle. There are several areas with no dust."

"So? Someone might still be using the cabin, but Emma, there isn't anyone here right now, willing or unwilling."

"We're missing something," she insisted, combing her fingers through her hair in frustration. "We have to be…"

"It's a pretty small place, Em," David reminded her as he crossed through the center of the room toward his sister. "What do you think we might possibly be missing?" Emma shrugged as she turned to face the front door, ready to concede defeat - until David stepped onto the worn, heavy wool rug in the middle of the floor. He took two strides onto the rug when Emma's alert ears picked up a distinct change in the sound his footsteps were making.

"David - do that again," she ordered as she spun to face him.

"Huh? Do what again?"

"Take a step backwards, then forward again," she instructed her bewildered brother.

"Why?"

"Just humor me," she said as David rolled his eyes skeptically. He shifted his weight back one step and then another towards Emma, this time noticing the change in tone.

"There's something hollow here," he announced, tapping his foot a few times on the spot to confirm what they'd both heard.

"That's what I thought," Emma smiled as she hurried over to David. He kicked the well-trodden rug away to reveal a recessed trap door concealed beneath. "Well, well… what do we have here?"

"A trap door," David stated the obvious. "Maybe there's a basement or an old root cellar underneath?"

"What a great place to hide someone," Emma said, repeating her earlier words. David ignored her as he stooped to grasp the reinforced edge of the plank trap door. Emma kept her weapon trained into the void below as he raised the panel but there was nothing visible in the dark space except a rough-hewn wooden staircase leading deeper into the recess. Emma directed her light into the inky blackness of the stairwell, seeing that there was a narrow panel door at the bottom which was secured with a rusty padlock. "I see a doorway down there with a lock on it."

"I'm guessing you can open that one too?"

"Piece of cake," she grinned hopefully as they descended the steps. Reaching the bottom, Emma tucked her weapon into her hip holster, trading it for her wand while David maintained a tight grip on both flashlight and weapon. Her magic made quick work of the padlock and as David kept the flashlight beam trained on the door, she eased it open. A tiny room bathed in darkness lay beyond the wooden door and Emma crinkled her nose in disgust as the wafting odors of damp cement and moldy earth assaulted her senses. But she was also smelling faint traces of something else in the mix - the coppery scent of blood and the sweetness of the rum she'd partaken of last night. "Killian?" She called out to him. "Killian? Are you here?"

She heard no response as she retrieved her own flashlight, switching it on to find the limp figure curled up on the dingy concrete floor in the center of the room.

"Killian!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees on the dusty floor beside her unconscious friend, placing the flashlight on the floor next to her knees. He was lying on his right side and even in the dim light, she noticed something shiny was protruding from his left shoulder. She wasn't entirely sure, but it appeared to be his hook.

"Is that Captain Jones?" David queried, keeping a watchful eye on the trapdoor above as Emma checked on the person locked in the dark cellar.

"Yes and I think he's hurt. It's too damned dark in here, though." She needed more light and she remembered one of the first spells Zelena had taught her. Grabbing her wand, she held it above her head and recited "Inlumino!" Instantly, a series of twinkling, floating orbs began to swirl overhead, illuminating the dank room so that she could positively identify Killian and take a preliminary assessment of his injuries.

"It's him!" she shouted to David.

"What's that sticking out of his shoulder?" David wondered, staring quizzically at the glint of shiny metal. "It looks like some kind of hook…"

"It is a hook," she stated. "Killian sometimes wears it as a prosthetic and somebody plunged it pretty deep into his shoulder." David wanted to make a comment so badly about a ship captain wearing a hook for a hand, but he held his tongue as he recognized the concern evident on his sister's face. She had carefully rolled Captain Jones into his back and was pressing her index and middle fingers against his neck. "He's unconscious. He's got a pulse, but it's weak and a little slow. His skin is pretty cool to the touch so I'm pretty sure he's been in this cold basement for hours."

"Is he breathing?"

Not sensing any rise or fall of Killian's chest, Emma leaned in closer to his face, hoping she would feel the warmth of his breath exhaled against her cheek. As she lowered her face above Killian's slightly agape mouth, for a split second, her lips brushed his and she felt a little spark. It wasn't unlike the static shock you'd get when touching a metal surface after running across a carpeted floor in your socks but in the heat of the moment, it never dawned on her that she shouldn't be experiencing any static electricity shocks down here. She mentally dismissed any thoughts of the shock as she felt a soft puff of air against her skin.

"He's breathing, but just barely," she informed David who was immediately on the radio calling for a remote rescue unit. There was no way the two of them were going to be able to maneuver an unconscious man out of that root cellar and back to the road without assistance from the other teams. "Hang in there, Killian. Help's on the way," she assured her friend as she gently caressed his stubbled cheek