#i’m sure he considers himself very lucky to have pen around to laugh at those clunky ass jokes

[waltricia]

Of course he loves her, she laughed at this terrible pun.

And the fact that she laughed is how you know she loves him. Literally, if he wasn’t so unaware of who he is, he could’ve caught on way sooner. smh dumbass lol

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ starting prompt: “Everything changed for me when I met her... My Beloved.”

♡ pairing: yandere! damian wayne (Robin) & fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “imagine me and you? I do. I think about day and night, it’s only right, to think about the girl you love and hold her tight. so happy together.” 

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / in this AU everyone in the batfamily is a yandere and probably has a darling so yeah.

Gotham Academy, for the wealthy and elite one might say. you were one of the lucky ones who got accepted through their scholarship programs and busted your ass off to keep your grades up all years. 

you had very few friends considering most Academy students hardly interacted those who they deemed poor. one friend you did have though was the Wayne heir himself. Damian was one of the first to introduce himself to you when you first arrived to Gotham Academy and really remained your friend throughout the years. 

the fresh morning air blew in the wind, making you pull your jacket closer to you as you tried to find warmth in it. the jackets they provided for your uniform were extremely thin and hardly held in any kind of heat. 

“hey! I think the Wayne kid is looking for you!” you heard your friend, Reagan tell you, “he’s waiting for you at the central garden!” you gave him a smile, thanking him for letting you know before running to where Damian usually was in the morning. 

your mornings with Damian, when he would attend school, would start with him bringing you your favorite coffee and switching homework assignments. 

unlike Damian, you were usually better in courses that had to do with humanities, such as history and english courses and you lacked the smarts that Damian had with science and math courses so the two of you would swap homework first thing in the morning. 

“good morning Wayne,” you said, sitting down on the bench. he handed you his coffee, blowing it to make sure it wasn’t too hot, “good morning, beloved. how did you sleep?” he asked, making sure your eye bags weren’t too harsh. 

you shrugged, “I’m okay. just stressed because of midterms and all of that. how did you sleep?” you asked, taking a sip of coffee. “great considering we fell asleep on Facetime together,” he mentioned, “I did the ap calc homework that you can finally copy!” he added on. 

Damian handed you the calc homework as he watched you scribble down the answers. he noticed that you had painted your nails a new color and touched the polish with his finger, “baby blue? that’s new,” he murmured. you nodded happily, “I love this color on me. I even brought color with me in case it chipped throughout the day!” you exclaimed. 

you showed him the bottle and he grabbed it, “put it on me,” you were taken back by the request. you didn’t take Damian was the kind of guy to dabble in wearing polish but nevertheless complied and put the polish on it before grabbing his hand and blowing on it to make it dry quicker, “I didn’t know you wore nail polish!” you mentioned. 

Damian thought for a moment. 

“I don’t but that way people will know we’re matching,” he murmured as the warning bell rang off. 

you and Damian walked slowly to your first period class. the summer going into your Senior year, Damian made it a duty of his to make sure that the two of you shared the same classes. so without you knowing, he had Tim hack into the Gotham Academy school system and pull Damian onto the rosters where you were enrolled in. 

you found the similarities to be funny, however; some of the teachers wondered how the hell they put the two of you in every class together. some didn’t care considering you were able to keep Damian from saying smart shit to someone in class and others were just weirded out by the coincidence. 

“god, I hate this class. you know Matt who sits in front of the class? I have to swear some gross comment about how great my legs look in the uniform by him at least twice every day.” 

Damian’s eye twitched at what you had said, “does it bother you?” he asked, his fist clenched. you nodded annoyingly, “more than anything in the world. I can’t go one day without hearing the comments,” you groaned. 

the two of you got to class but as you walked in, you had saw that Matt wasn’t in class and sighed in relief. Damian had told you he was running off to the bathroom before class started and just to write down whatever he missed while he was gone. 

you sat down, immediately writing what was already on the board but as the class started, Damian still hadn’t shown up. you were beginning to think that maybe the coffee had upset his stomach but about half way through the class, Damian came and plopped down at his desk. 

“where were you? Jackson nearly had a fit because you were late!” you muttered to him. he shrugged, taking out his pen and notebook before leaning over to copy what you had on yours.

it took about another twenty minutes when another teacher ran into the class frantically, “Matthew Harrison was just found in the garden, unconscious and is barely hanging onto his life!” the teacher told your teacher, making all of you gasp in surprise, “call an ambulance!” 

you stared to Damian wide eyed, “my God, that’s insane! we were just there. I wonder who did it,” you told Damian, chewing your lip nervously, “I hope whoever did it doesn’t come for any of us.”

Damian could tell you were scared from the news and he quickly grabbed your hand, “I think you’re safe, beloved. you shouldn’t worry about it,” he assured you. you nodded, going back to writing down the notes, “hey, he finally got what he deserved for harassing you, right?” Damian mentioned. 

you laughed shaking your head, “I guess but I mean, I hope he doesn’t die or anything,” that was the last thing you said before the both of you got to working on the work the teacher assigned for the class while she was gone.

Damian could tell you were shaken by the news but at the end of the day, he did what he had to do. someone was harassing his beloved and he’d be damned if they got away with it. it took every ounce of self restriction to stop himself from actually killing the idiot but the beating he actually gave him did more than enough to satisfy him for the time being.

two broken legs, a broken nose, and making him go blind in one eye was more than enough. the great thing about Gotham Academy was that because of how old the building was, cameras weren’t installed anywhere outside and any cameras that were inside were just in the upgraded part of the school which happened to be the front of the school and the gym. 

the end of the day came as Damian had offered to take you home. you denied the request, telling him you wanted to walk to get some fresh air before you trapped yourself in your room for the rest of the night. 

Damian was hesitant on letting you but at the end of the day, you weren’t his...yet. he knew his feelings for you weren’t exactly normal. far from it, actually. 

when his feelings for you boiled over to damn near obsession, he confided in the one person he trusted the most and that was Dick. he practically confessed how he needed to be near or around you every day or else he would go insane. even if it was just seeing you from afar made his day a 100x better. 

Dick laughed at his brothers confession because he knew it was about time it happened to him. he had gone through the same feelings when he met his now wife and so did Bruce, Tim, Duke, and Jason. 

when Damian was finally confident enough to tell everyone else, they finally let him in on the family secret. these feelings were nothing to be afraid of. he should embrace them and hell, make his feelings get even ‘worse’. it was his job as your protector to feel that way and act on his instincts for you. 

Damian got home, seeing his father and brother watching the news. they were covering what happened at school and a part of him laughed seeing the coverage. 

“did you see what happened?” Dick asked his brother. Damian nodded, kicking off his shoes and laying on the other couch, “of course I did because I was the one who did it,” he said nonchalantly. 

Bruce and Dick stared at him, wide eyed and shocked, “the scum was messing with my beloved. he was making disgusting comments about her and degrading her in a way she and I didn’t like. the piece of shit deserved more than what he got,” he stated, not even bothering to look at them to see their reaction.

“so it’s best we don’t investigate this, I assume?” Bruce asked, “you would assume right,” Damian replied. 

Dick got off the couch and went on one knee to look at his brother, “Damian, you know the implications that comes with how you left him. you know that, right?” he stated. Damian stared at Dick with no fear in his eyes, “everything changed for me when I met her... my beloved. I would kill for her if I had too.” 

Bruce sat in his seat, proudly smirking at what his son said. Dick nodded, walking back to the couch as Damian stood up to go to his bedroom, “it’s only a matter of what before I make her mine so expect her to be around soon enough,” he told them.

+

a few weeks had passed since the incident with your classmate. since then, you had gotten clingier to Damian, not wanting to be at the end of the beating. Daimian had no issue in it, he was practically basking in the touches and side hugs you were giving him. 

you and Damian had decided to head back to his place after school to get some studying done. Friday nights were usually reserved to studying at your place but Damian had offered to make you dinner at his place and study before watching a few movies. 

you had never been over the Wayne manor before and frankly, you were kind of scared to run into his father. THE Bruce Wayne would most likely be in attendance and meeting the most powerful man in Gotham would probably scare anyone. 

Damian unlocked the gate, quickly taking your backpack as you snuggled into his jacket. you were immediately welcomed by his butler, Alfred who offered to put both of you bags in the hallway so no one would step over them. you thanked him profusely, making Damian mutter to you that that’s why he was here. to serve you. 

“so, what would you like to eat, beloved? I can make you anything you desire,” he boasted. you looked at the cookbook that was laid next to you and flipped through the first few pages, “this sounds nice,” you pointed to the plant based steak with veggies.

Damian quickly got to work, making the veggies first as he offered for you taste them every now and again. you would usually relay a kiss on his cheek as he finally got to cooking the steak. you couldn’t help but wonder how he got to be such a great cook, however; as he was finishing plating the food, you saw his father as well as you assumed were his brothers. 

“uh Damian?” you mentioned, pointing to the three men who walked in. Damian sighed knowing that of course his brothers were going to come and annoy him, “who’s your friend?” Dick asked, putting his chin on his hand. 

“this is ( your name ), my beloved,” he told them proudly. you were a bit taken back by the nickname he so easily used on you, “ahh, we’ve heard so much about you,” Tim continued, “she’s so pretty....she’s not like other girls,” Dick mocked. 

your face felt a burning sensation as Bruce told his sons to be quiet, “nice to meet you ( your name ),” Bruce introduced, “welcome to the family,” you barely caught what he said as Damian excused the two of you to go up to his bedroom. 

“your family is...nice,” you tried to say without sounding nervous. Damian rolled his eyes, “they’re bunch of idiots. that’s what they are,” he muttered, not bothering to look back at them. 

once you got to his room, your mouth dropped a bit. you had never seen such a luxurious bedroom before. satin sheets, the coldest pillows, his bedroom could probably house a family if he really wanted too and the fact that this was his bedroom, you were taken back. 

“wow, so this is how the rich and famous live?” you joked, sitting down on his bed. he shook his head, “all this means nothing to me...as long as you’re with me, I’d be the happiest person alive,” you stared at Damian, wondering if what he said was really true. 

the two of you ate, mostly in silence as you tried to take what Damian had said. there had been rumors floating around Gotham Academy that Damian might’ve liked you. you tried to dispel the rumors, claiming that someone like you was no where near Damian’s type but now that you were hearing the words he was telling you, you were more keen on acting on his feelings. 

after finishing dinner, he offered for you to join him on his bed to watch a movie. you had never actually gotten to hang out with Damian outside of school. since you were always so busy doing schoolwork and Damian always had things to take care of, as he put it, you two never relaxed together. 

the aura in the room was cozy as he offered you a very expensive looking blanket to cover you up from the chilly air coming from his window. the movie the two of you picked was some random rom-com, it felt kind of stupid to be watching this kind of movie with Damian but at some point, you stopped paying attention to the movie and looked up to him. 

“did you really mean what you said earlier?” you whispered to him. he gave you a confused look, “of course I did. would I ever lie to you?” he said back, kind of offended that you would even accuse him of lying. 

you sat back up on the bed and turned to fix yourself as you finally gave him a kiss. Damian’s eyes widened, not expecting you to do that to him. regardless, he immediately pulled you on top of him and deepened the kiss by pushing you up against him. 

Damian slid his hands in the back pocket of your skirt, finding it a bit confusing why the uniforms even had pockets on the skirts. he gripped your ass a bit, making you moan in surprise as Damian tried his hardest to contain himself but failing as he slipped his tongue into yours. 

the two of you remained kissing for what felt like hours. you knew your lips were bound get bruised from the amount of tugging Damian was doing but by the time you pulled away, you could see the faintest of blushes appearing on Damian’s brown skin. 

“wow, didn’t know you felt like that for me,” you muttered shyly. Damian chuckled, giving you a quick peck, “I have feelings you wouldn’t even begin to understand but one day....one day you will,” he replied. 

you didn’t pay no mind to his reply as he had brought you down for another kiss. what you didn’t catch was the smirk playing on his face. he knew that once graduation came, there would already be a ring on that left ring finger and soon enough, you’d be baring his heirs. 

the Wayne’s got what they wanted. it didn’t matter what they had to do to get it but what the Wayne’s wanted, they got. 

[mandoalorian]

What about Javier Pena being jealous?????? 🥺

Thank you for the request! I hope this is okay for you!!

Into You [Javier Pena x Female Reader] SMUT

Warnings: SMUT, inexperienced reader, angst in the start but fluff in the end ;) <3

Rating: 18+ only.

Word count: 4k

MASTERLIST | Submit your requests HERE

Javier Peña did not get jealous.

But he heard the way they talked about you. He saw the way they looked at you. Gawked, undressing you with their minds. The way their lips spewed dirt and filth about the things they'd do to you if they were graced with the chance of some ‘alone time’ with you. And he hated it.

Javier Peña was anything but a saint. He had his ways. The DEA had a renown of being more reserved than the CIA, which meant Javier had earned a name for himself due to his lothario reputation.  Javier's colleagues were a lot older than him, settled down with families, children- and some even with grandchildren. Even his old partner, Steve Murphy, had a wife and a daughter. Javier had none of that. Except from you.

You were the new receptionist. Shy, fresh faced, and beaming with anticipation as you found your feet in your new job. Javier found it endearing, but he wondered how long your bubbliness would last. It wasn't all rainbows and butterflies- working for the DEA. You had an air of innocence to you, and he swore you had the kindest heart in the whole of Colombia. Javier knew from the moment he met you, that the men in his department were not deserving of you.

Javier didn't give a fuck about his reputation. But when the Colombian department extended to the CIA, Javier met a lot more men who were like himself. He saw them chat up women from his previous encounters in bars, and he saw them visit the same brothels as he did. That behaviour seemed to become normalized.

You were the only women in a department filled with horny, sex crazed men. Often, Javier would find himself watching you from his desk, only a pane of glass seperating you both. Almost always you were on the phone, doodling in a notebook as you talked to potential informants. Other times, your head was down and you were whisked away in your work. Occasionally though, he noticed CIA agents bust their move with you.

He never confronted you about it- it wasn't his place, but seeing the way they spoke to you filled a rage in his heart. Javier was lucky enough to blossom a friendship with you; one that you really valued. You didn't have many friends in Colombia, but knowing a man like Javier Peña had your back? That really brought you comfort.

Even better, you lived in the same apartment building as him. Same floor, just two doors apart. It meant that you were constantly over at his flat spending time with him. He taught you how to play poker and you enjoyed watching movies together and ordering take-out. Javier was a lot of fun.

Maybe, just maybe, you and Javier were spending too much time together. You were catching feelings for him, and shit- he was so sure he had already caught feelings for you.

Javier Peña does not catch feelings. He ran out on his and Lorraine's wedding because he was sure that he felt nothing for her. And she was his fiancée. Now, all of a sudden, he had a thing for the new DEA receptionist who sat outside his office. Only, it was more than just a thing. Javier Peña was in love. The sweet girl he had found to be so caring and compassionate, the angel who had eyes that must've been crafted by the Gods themselves and the softest lips he wished he could kiss.

You had sworn you had never been in love either, until of course, you met Javier. There was no way to explain it. You both just clicked like magnets. There was an electricity that exceeded just mere sexual tension. There was genuine feelings. 

Javier Peña is impulsive and so, when his feelings for you dawned on him, he called up his favourite sex worker; Vanessa. Not only was she good at her job, Vanessa was a good person. She was good to Javi when she didn't need to be, and that was hard to find in 80s drug-torn Colombia.

When Javi had a bad day at work- Vanessa would be at his beck and call. Sex was a way he could release any negative emotions he had. A temporary fix.

That night, you had planned to confront Javier. He had confided in you previously that he had stopped sleeping with women. Deep down, it was because of his feelings for you; although he would never admit that to you. You wanted to tell Javier that you liked him… a lot. But, you stood behind his apartment door, bottle of wine in hand, and heard Javier fucking Vanessa.

You froze up as you overheard their mixed up moans and groans of pleasure, immediately feeling stupid. Why would you believe that you actually had a chance with Javier Peña? He clearly didn't feel the same way about you.

And so you went back to your apartment, climbed into bed and finished the bottle of wine on your own. You closed your eyes and masturbated over him, whining his name as pleasure filled your core. 

And when Javier fucked Vanessa, he had her wear your pale pink lipgloss. He imagined her eyes match your specific shade and as he reached his climax, he wished it was with you. When he came, he screamed your name.

Of course, Vanessa didn't care. A job was a job to her.

After that night, you done your very best to brush away any feelings you once had for Javier. You tried really hard. You were beginning to believe it was a lost cause until CIA Agent Milo approached your desk about a month later.

Of course Javier noticed. He tried to take in the interaction between the two of you, judging from facial expressions as the glass pane in between you was practically soundproof. You were smiling, and you looked happy. Milo leaned against your desk, taking a pen and scrawling something on a sticky note. It was his number.

Jealousy was rife inside of Javi. Maybe Milo was about ten years younger than Javier, and maybe he read more fashion magazines. Although Javier considered himself stylish, you would often tease him for his 70s style wardrobe— an array of brightly coloured button up shirts, the same pair of dark blue denim jeans and pair of yellow tinted aviators. 

Javier knew Milo was no good for you. He reminded Javi of a younger version of himself. Milo was a heartbreaker, and you didn't need that. You needed someone who could look after you. Take care of you in all the ways you needed.

Not only that, but Javier knew what the CIA department was like— especially Milo. He would have nothing but questionable intentions with you. Another one of his sexual encounters that meant nothing to him but everything to you.

It was late on a Saturday evening when you nervously knocked on Javier's door. Just about to light up a cigarette, he stood up and unlocked it. His eyes widened when he saw you, slightly surprised. 

You were wearing a little black dress which clung around all your perfections, and ofcourse, your signature pink lip gloss.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he greeted as you slid past him and into the kitchen. "Want a drink?"

"No thank you." you replied, and Javier shut the front door and followed you into the kitchen.

"So what brings you here?" Javier asked, lighting his cigarette and taking a puff of smoke.

"I have a date with Milo in 45 minutes," you told Javier, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

"Oh," Javier didn't really know how to respond.

"And, I missed you." you shrugged innocently, beckoning a small smile out of Javier. The blush that crept upon his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"So, uh, Milo, huh?" Javier questioned, taking another drag of his cigarette. He failed to realise why exactly you had come to see him- 45 minutes before your date.

"Um, yeah," you looked around his kitchen awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "He's pretty great." you managed to force out. "He was employee of the month like, three months ago."

"Yeah a real sucker upper," Javi rolled his eyes and you gasped, nudging him playfully.

"He is not." You laughed but Javier really wasn't in the mood for whatever you were trying to do here.

"Why are you here?" he deadpanned, cutting your laugh short.

"I…" you frowned, unable to complete your sentence and earning an annoyed sigh from Javi. Maybe you were wrong to come to him.

"I don't think you should go out on a date with Milo." Javi informed you matter-of-factly; stubbing out his cigarette in the ash-tray that was conveniently placed on the kitchen counter.

"Excuse me?" you asked, your voice going uncontrollably high pitched. Javier casually placed the burnt out tab back in his mouth.

"I hear the things they say about you in the office, the sly little comments they make about you." Javier grunted, dismay written all over his face. The cigarette that was balanced in-between his perfect pink lips wobbled slightly with his building up anger. "They're no good for you. No good."

You narrowed your eyes. "No good? Javier, you don't get to be the judge of who is good for me and who isn't." You tried to stay composed but in the heat of the moment, your words came out as a snarl. Javier's dark eyes snapped up to meet yours as he tried to weigh up your expression.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that." he raised his hands in defense and you folded your arms across your chest, awaiting an explanation for him. "It's just- we're friends, right? And I'm a guy and so, I understand what these other guys are like. And I care about you and-" 

"What if Milo cares about me?" you croaked out. Judging from everything Javier had told you so far, you were beginning to wonder if he was right. You just didn't want to believe it. Your one shot of happiness. Your one chance.

"Milo doesn't care about you." Javier deadpanned.

"Ouch Javi." you shuffled your heels around uncomfortably. You were certain your cheeks were heating up from the shame and you probably looked like an absolute mess in front of Javier. You felt embarrassed for not realising sooner. And seemingly, Javier had caught on to those feelings too.

"You have nothing to feel ashamed about," Javier comforted you, awkwardly reaching out and placing a hand on your back. You shuffled closer to him and he finally pent up the courage to pull you into his chest.

His embrace was warm and you could smell the mixture of his cigarettes and aftershave in his white shirt. You wanted to cry. If you were alone, you would've cried, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so in front of Javier.

"I feel pathetic," you whimpered, fidgeting with his tie. "You know Javi, I'm not very good at this kind of stuff. That's why I came to see you in the first place. I know that- I mean I've heard things about you. You have the experience."

Javier stiffened up and you awkwardly pulled away from him, desperately trying to read his expression in case you said something wrong. "Experience?" he questioned, his dark eyebrows knotting together.

"You- you know," you murmured, closing your hands into a fist and looking down at your feet. "You're experienced and I'm… not."

"I don't understand." Javier replied and you huffed out your cheeks.

"Fuck Javi, are you actually going to make me say it? I'm a virgin."

Javier blinked a few times. The silence was deafening. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

"I- I would've never have guessed."

"Yeah well…" Fuck, this was awkward.

"Y/N, can I tell you something?" Javier prompted.

"I guess?" you replied in bewilderment.

"When I see him talk to you- when I see anyone talk to you… I get jealous. So fucking jealous."

You swore your heart stopped. "Jealous?"

"I see the way they make you laugh and smile- and I curse myself because I wish that was me."

You raised a hand and pressed it into his chest. "Javi…" you didn't know what to say. "I- I came here for… advice. About… you know. Sex."

Javier looked you up and down and rolled his eyes, walking into his living room. When you followed him, he was already slouched into the sofa, nursing a bottle of cold beer.

"What do you need from me?" Javier sighed, feeling defeated that his attempt of admitting his true feelings had become completely lost on you.

"Show me." you whispered nervously, taking a few steps closer to him.

"I don't want to take advantage of you…" Javier trailed off but he was already wishing he could undress you.

"I want you to." you admitted, feeling butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

Javier contemplated for a moment but really, there was no question about it. He had dreamt of fucking you since the moment he first laid his eyes on you. Javier leaned forward and put the bottle of beer on the coffee table.

"Take off your dress and come sit on my lap." Javier instructed and you nodded, sliding out of your dress and letting it pool around your ankles. You went to kick off your heels when Javi interrupted. "No, keep them on."

You nodded with a slight smile. It wasn't long until you found yourself standing completely naked in front of your best friend, and Javi had gotten rock hard from just watching you undress. All his fantasies were alive.

He beckoned you over and you sunk down onto his lap. "Rock your hips over me," Javi mumbled, pressing a light kiss into your ear.

You followed his command and immediately felt a wash of satisfaction as you started to dry hump him through his jeans.

"Javi," you moaned, your eyes rolling back as you grind harder over his bulge.

"That's it, good girl," he praised, fucking a stand of your hair behind your ear. His hand fell down to your chest, grabbing and squeezing at your breasts. "Take what you need."

A huff of air escaped your lips at his words and you buried your head into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and you could smell the tobacco burnt into his body. But also, there was a sweetness to him, like honey. The scents did not get lost on you. He was your addiction.

You raised your hands to his head, lacing your fingers amongst his locks of dark brown hair. As you increased your speed, you tugged on his hair which earned a hearty groan from Javier's mouth. The noises he made only spurred on your arousal and you felt your cunt getting wetter by the second, contracting around nothing as you began to grow desperate for his cock.

Javier felt his boxer shorts dampen as his precum dripped through the thin material. His big hands roamed your bare back and he knew that pretty soon he'd want to take his pants off. You loved the sensation of rubbing your pussy over his denim jeans, the friction tickling you in just the right ways. You loved the way he would moan or tense up when you occasionally brushed over his erection.

"This feels better than I ever could've imagined." you admitted and your eyes were hazy, glazed with tears as you pushed towards your climax.

"Yeah? Fuck, first times usually aren't this good," Javier grunted as he felt you twitch on top of him, your legs beginning to shake around him. "Can you cum for me?"

"You- you want me to cum?" you blinked, a blush creeping upon your cheeks.

"Please," Javier groaned. "Need you to cum all over me. Make a mess of my jeans."

"Oh Javi," you whimpered, putting more focus on grinding over his hard, defined bulge. It rubbed between your folds and stimulated you in a way that your fingers could never.

"I love it when you say my name," Javier hummed, holding you steady as you rode out your high. You gasped and pressed your lips against his.

He swiped his tongue over your lower lip, begging for entry which you happily granted him. But the second you opened your mouth just slightly, he slid his tongue in and you gasped out another loud moan of his name causing his grip to tighten around you. You came undone all over him, just how he had always dreamt about, whimpering into his mouth. You stopped grinding but stayed still on his lap for a few moments, letting him hold you and kiss you.

His kiss eventually left your lips and he planted sloppy love bites down your neck and along your collarbones. His grip on your breast was soft yet firm and the roughness of his hands made you want to help, especially when he rubbed his thumb over your nipple, pinching it slightly just to see what reaction he could get out of you.

"Your tits are fucking perfect." Javier groaned, licking a stripe down the valley of your breasts. You watched him with eager and excited eyes as he played with you, feeling your cunt drip with your arousal once more.

"Javi," you groaned, tossing your head back.

"What is it?" he responded, a mouthful of your tit. You paused for a moment, letting him suck on your nipples. "What do you need, my love?"

"I need you," you mewled, your toes curling involuntarily when he pulled his mouth away from your nipples with a 'pop' sound. "Need your cock to fill me up."

"Yeah? Fuck you're so dirty… never had no cock before. And you want mine? Are you sure that's what you want, sweet girl?" Javier's mustache brushed against your neck and you giggled at the tickle it gave you.

"Mm yes Javi, wanted this for so long and so bad. Wanted you. I'd hear about all the girls that you fucked and I, I just wanted to be one. One of your little fuck toys." You groaned, pleasure pooling in your eyes.

"My love, you're more than that. You're so much more than that." Javier promised you, gently pushing you off his lap so he could unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. He stood up, pulling his jeans down, along with his boxer shorts, and you couldn't help but yelp when you saw the way his long thick cock sprung out against his stomach. The tip was red and already leaking for you.

"Oh Javi," you whispered, unable to take your eyes off his manhood. "You're so- you're so big."

"Come here," he curled his finger, gesturing for you to come back over and sit on his lap.

You straddled him again and gasped, feeling his cock press between your folds. You continued to rub over him, this time feeling more freeing as your wetness glided over his erection. "I'm nervous," you admitted. "I want this Javi. I really do, but I've never- done this before." you gulped and Javi planted a reassuring kiss to your lips.

"I'll go gentle sweetheart, I promise. And if it ever gets too much, you can just tell me. Your comfort is the most important to me." Javi whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine. "Let me just…."

Javier lowered his hand to your clit and began to rub gently. He closed his eyes, your wetness soaking his fingers with just the smallest of touches. "Already so nice and wet for me," Javier smiled, bringing his fingers up to your lips and pushing them gently into your mouth. He watched you with his dark, lust blown eyes as you sucked your own arousal from his fingers. "How do you taste?" 

"Good," you replied, blushing again and hopelessly fluttering your eyelashes which framed your eyes.

Javier lowered his hand again and you lifted yourself up slightly. He slid his middle finger in, deep, and you were surprised at how well you could take him. He left his finger inside of you for a second before rubbing his index finger against your hole. He looked at you, asking for approval, to which you gave him a nod and smile, and Javier pushed a second finger inside of you. This earned a moan from you, followed by a giggle as he slowly stretched you out by pumping his fingers in and out of you.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he removed his fingers and brought them up to his own mouth, this time tasting you for himself. "Perfect." he corrected you, humming in delight.

Javier reached over to the drawer inside the coffee table and pulled out a string of condoms. He teared open the packet of one and skillfully slid it down his length.

Javier adjusted himself slightly and you lifted off him just a few inches. He reached to his cock and held it upright, before signalling for you to sink down on him. He wanted to let you be in control. He wanted you to start doing it at your own, comforting pace.

The second you sunk down on him, you felt him twitch inside of you and your eyes widened at the unfamiliar feeling fullness. You sat down on him, nudging your nose against his and he kissed you again as you warmed his cock in your pussy.

"So tight," Javier growled, biting down on your lower lip. "How does it feel for you? Is it hurting?"

You shook your head 'no' and Javier offered you a warm smile. "Just- you're just so big."

"Take your time sweet girl." Javier murmured, kissing down your neck.

Slowly, you lifted yourself off him before sinking back down. And repeat. Until eventually you felt like you could build up a steady and comfortable rhythm— you realised you were riding him. Javier buried his head into your breasts as you bounced on his cock, your breathing hitching as you felt every one of his bumps and veins inside of you.

Javier was a mess underneath you, slurring out an abundance of incoherent curses in a wash of satisfaction as your cunt clenched around him. He knew he wouldn't last long.

You straightened up your posture and Javi shuffled backwards a little, leaning into the plush of the sofa cushions. His hips started to snap into yours as he began to meet your thrusts with loud moans. His large hands held you by your waist as he fucked you so perfectly. His cock was buried deep within you, and with every one of Javier's thrusts, he hit your sweet spot.

"I'm close," you gasped as Javier continued thrusting. You felt your heart rate pick up and your legs begin to shake as his balls slapped against your dripping core.

"Me too," Javier concluded, bumping his nose against yours and kissing you passionately. Breaking away to catch breath, he grabbed a fistful of your hair. "Cum with me. 3, 2, 1." 

The second he said '1' you broke on top of him, and Javier's cock pulsed inside of you, his seed spilling into the condom. Your cunt clenched around him, milking him of all his arousal and you were left, a breathless mess, on Javier Peña's lap. His cock slipped out of you and you groaned at the lost feeling of fullness. Javier pinched the condom and took it off before throwing it into the nearby trash bin.

Javier's dark eyes blinked up at you a few times as you both took a few minutes to regain your breath. "How was it?" Javier asked eventually, exhaling shakily.

"Better than I ever could've imagined." you offered him a smile. He always found that your smile was contagious and he couldn't help but grin at you back.

"Listen- what I said to you before- the whole, "I'm into you" thing… if you're not ready, I completely understand." Javier told you.

You couldn't bring yourself to fathom words so you simply just pressed a kiss into his lips. "I'm into you too, Javier Peña." you whispered and felt Javier grin into the kiss, his hands twisting into your hair as he pulled you deeper into him.

Permanent taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!):  @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

.

Smutty bit is now here!

.

More CM fic here! 

[alittlextrathatway]

Penelope/Colin: “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

YAY SOMETHING BESIDES BRETTSEY. (Not that I don’t love them.) I’ve never written Polin before! I’m excited to play! 🙌🏻 Thank you!

How about a modern AU for this one? Just cause.

******

It all started because of the pandemic.

He’d been perfectly happy traveling. It’s not like he had anything else to occupy his time. He wasn’t particularly talented and he didn’t have any hobbies or interests. Aside from eating but he doubted his mother would approve of him becoming one of those professional hot dog eaters and he didn’t care enough for the piddly portions of fine dining to become a food critic.

The only thing that truly distracts him from his lack of drive or ambition is traveling — learning about the world and it’s many cultures.

He has journal after journal full of his discoveries and experiences. Travel is really his only love.

Which is why he’d stopped and started his studies so many times. He took a year between high school and college to backpack through Europe. Then another year after freshman year to “study abroad”, not that he actually studied. Which is why his mother forced him to come back and finish his third year stateside. After that, he’d set off traveling again. Every year he found another excuse not to come home for any longer than a month or two, allowing him to put off his final year.

It’s not as if he’s getting a degree in anything useful. He’s an English major. And it’s not as if his career isn’t already decided for him. Upon graduation he’ll be given an office at Bridgerton Family Publishing. Doing what? Well, no one knows. Not even him.

So, what’s the rush?

He’d still be gone abroad right now if not for COVID forcing him to return home. God, he hates 2020. What a waste of a year. He came home too late for the spring 2020 term so he’s spent the last several months going absolutely crazy.

He’s a man of the world who is not being allowed to go out and see it. He can’t imagine anything more cruel.

Actually, no, he takes that back. There’s one thing:

Using the time he’s forced to stay in Mayfair to discover he’s completely and stupidly in love with his little sister’s best friend.

The friend who overheard him, last time he was home for any considerable length of time, declaring to his brothers that he would never be interested in her.

Because, of course, Colin Bridgerton is a colossal jackass who doesn’t know a good thing when it’s been staring him in the face his entire life.

There’s laughter coming from the direction of the foyer. Very distinctive laughing. One high and tinkling like a pretty little bell and the other deeper and hoarser. The alto to the other’s soprano. The alto in this case is his younger sister, Eloise, and the soprano is Penelope.

The woman he should have noticed long before now.

He gets up from where he’s lounging on the sofa, mournfully watching the Travel Channel, and takes his plate full of sandwiches with him.

He finds them giggling and applying lipstick in the mirror by the front door. They look dressed to go out. Eloise in her slick tailored pant suit and intricately adorned lace top, in monochromatic lavender. And Penelope in…

Holy shit, what is that?

Apparently, it’s the instrument of his imminent death if the erratic beating of his heart is any indication. He’s going to have some sort of attack and go into cardiac arrest right here in the foyer of his childhood home.

It’s a tight forest green dress that has an off the shoulder neckline. It hugs her curves so perfectly that he thinks someone must have sewn it onto her. It shows the perfect amount of skin along her neck and shoulders, giving just a tiny glimpse of cleavage.

And she’s had a haircut since she was here yesterday. Her ginger locks now rest against her cheeks in a wavy stylish bob. She was beautiful before. He was never blind to that as some other people around Pen have proven to be, but now...

She’s absolutely stunning.

So stunning that other people will surely see what he sees. And he’s grateful for that, truly. She deserves to be seen as she is — brilliant and beautiful — but that means he’s about to have competition while trying to win her over. And he is not grateful for that.

He’s been trying to be more forward with her when they’re alone but that doesn’t happen often and he’s not sure Penelope takes him very seriously. (No one does.) She seems to always be in disbelief when he flirts with her.

“Where are you two off to?” He asks, leaning against the wall opposite the mirror.

“Double date,” Eloise says, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “Pen arranged it. She met someone extremely gorgeous at the library today.”

Penelope blushes and grins demurely. “It’s the magic of a fresh cut,” she says motioning to her new hair. “He was there with his friend and we were all scrambling for resources for our bibliographies together and he asked if I wanted to get dinner and I asked if Eloise could come. No big deal.”

“It doesn’t look as if it’s not a big deal,” Colin observes, his gaze sweeping over Penelope from head to toe.

“His father owns that new super exclusive restaurant Kate’s been begging Anthony to take her too. You know, La Table Gourmande?” Eloise explains.

“The one that told Anthony the next available reservation was in two months? That restaurant?” Colin asks, trying not to scowl.

Really, there was no need for this guy to show off. He seems a bit full of himself.

“That’s the one,” Penelope replies with a nod. “He says he can get us the Chef’s table tonight. I’ve never done anything like that before. It sounds exciting. Might be the closest I ever get to authentic French cuisine. For a while anyway.”

Okay, so now he feels like a heel for wanting to keep her from going out. He knows he’s lucky his family is so well off. It allows him to travel. Penelope’s family, while not destitute, has spent most of their surplus funds putting three daughters, soon to be a fourth, through school. In fact, if not for a distant rich aunt who died they wouldn’t even have been able to afford that.

Any money Penelope used to travel would have to be her own, and he isn’t sure how much of that she has.

“Pen,” Eloise calls, interrupting Colin’s thoughts. “Have you seen my clutch? Did I bring it down?”

“I don’t see it anywhere,” Penelope says with a shake of her head. “Did you leave it on your dresser?”

Eloise groans in irritation, turning toward the main staircase of their massive house. “I guess I did. I’ll be right back.”

Finally, they’re alone. Colin clears his throat and sets the plate of sandwiches he’d been snacking on down on the hall table. He crosses the space until he’s standing mere inches away from her.

“Don’t go out tonight. I can take you somewhere else. Somewhere better,” Colin suggests.

“Better?” Penelope asks skeptically.

He nods. “I have a friend who opened a restaurant here that I met while I was in Nice. It’s smaller than that La Table Gourmand monstrosity and not quite considered fine dining but it’s real. It’s better. It’ll be closer to actually being in France than anything in that obnoxious place.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go with Marcus tonight and then you some other time,” she tells him, lifting one perfect brow and pursing her lips.

“This guy sounds like a prick,” Colin says with a scoff. “Bragging about his father’s connections on the first date? That’s not a good sign, Pen. Trust me, I know these things. I’m a guy.”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, a small knowing grin on her lips. “But I think I should decide that for myself. Don’t you?”

That grin…

She knows exactly what he’s trying to do.

She’s being difficult on purpose.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave,” she challenges him, continuing to grin smugly.

Well, if that’s the game she wants to play then so be it.

“Why waste a night figuring out what I already know when you could just let me take you out instead for what, we both know, would be a better time?” Colin asks, caressing the length of Penelope’s arm with a light tender touch.

She sucks in a breath at the contact, but doesn’t show any weakness in her expression. “Yes, but going out with Marcus would be a date that might actually lead to something. What would be the purpose of ditching a real date for you instead?”

“Oh, you want it to lead to something?” He asks, a smirk growing on his face as he backs her up toward the wall.

“Y—yes,” she stammers, her grin slipping as nerves shine in her eyes.

Her back hits the wall and he brings one hand to her cheek, cupping her face and trailing his thumb along her cheekbone.

He leans down, nearly closing the distance between them but stops just short of kissing her. “Come out with me, Pen, and you can choose where it leads. I’ll give you whatever future I have, even if I have no idea what it is. You set the terms, you call the shots.”

Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush but she instinctively leans into his hand. Call him a cocky bastard, but that’s the moment he knows he’s won. The moment he knows she’ll choose him.

“I set the terms?” She asks, biting her bottom lip while she stares at his.

He nods, waiting for the moment she leans up and kisses him.

“Well, then you know what I think?” She asks, rhetorically while she rests a hand on his chest.

“Tell me,” he pleads.

She smiles wickedly and pushes him away by one step. “I think you could do with some healthy competition.”

She sidesteps him and saunters off to the front door, leaving him gaping at her like a fool.

Like a besotted, astonished, completely smitten fool.

Eloise reappears, patting Colin’s shoulder as she follows after Penelope. “Tell mom we’ll be back late.”

They leave, the door shuts, and all he can think is…

Well played, Penelope Featherington.

But the Bridgertons are famously competitive and this game is only just beginning. He’ll win her over yet.

Wait and see.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.6

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Six: Do I Wanna Know?: Late nights at the office. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading.   Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: cursing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, mentions of cheating / cheating, this series is a real slow burn babyyy

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A/N: i actually i can't get over all of your support and just the nicest feedback omg !! i hope you like chapter six as much as you liked the others.. ENJOY!

-

“Look dad, I can’t really talk right now.” You muttered into the phone. “Don’t tell me you’re working pumpkin.” Your dad responded, a slight hint of fatherly disappointment in his voice. “It’s Friday night. You should be out with Ethan, enjoying your youth!” He exclaimed.

“We just got back from a case so I have a mountain of paperwork.”

“And what does your fiancé have to say about this?”

“He’s working too.”

Anthony sighed on the other line. “At least tell me you’re not in that office all alone.”

“Don’t worry dad, uhm, Spencer is here.” You glanced in the direction of the brunette doctor. He looked up at the sound of his name escaping your lips and a timid smile appeared on his face. Nervously, you smiled back before quickly averting your gaze.

Ever since your slip up on the case, you didn't know how to act around him. You felt incredibly guilty for allowing your emotions get the best of you, and almost ruining the friendship both of you cherish so hard.

Spencer on the other hand, being his usual kindhearted self, didn't let the tense situation change anything. Partially because he felt guilty too, although mainly because he knew that he’d lose you forever if he allowed for one moment of weakness to get between you.

He did everything in his power to make sure things weren't super awkward. He initiated conversation at every opportunity. He brought you coffee in the mornings, and walked you to your hotel room at night. He showed no sign of anger or disdain, yet you remained distant.

“Ah good, good.” Your dad retorted. “Say hello to the brilliant doctor for me, won't you pumpkin.” “I will. Bye dad, love you.” “Love you too.” You hung up the call and placed your phone on the desk. Sighing softly, you ran your fingers through your hair before once again glancing in Spencer’s direction.

The hazel-eyed man was already looking at you. This time, as your eyes locked, your heart skipped a beat.

“My dad,-” You cleared your throat. “My dad says hi.” You repeated the short message making the small smile on Spencer’s face spread a little wider. “Next time you’re talking to him, say hello from me too.” You nodded at his request and with one last shy smile, you turned your attention back to the files spread across your desk.

As you tried your best to focus on the task at hand, Spencer found himself unable to avert his gaze.

It hurt to see you act this way. It hurt to see you hurting.

“Are you hungry?” Spencer asked, making conversation. You shook your head ‘no’ without even looking at him.

The brunette doctor could tell that there was something on your mind. He could also tell it was something bigger than the almost kiss.

He got to his feet and ambled towards you, stopping at the edge of your desk. His sudden closeness, more so the smell of his cologne, caused you to avert your gaze upwards.

“We should talk.” He stated calmly.

“What about?” You played oblivious, blinking up at him.

“About what happened the other day.”

Shit. “I have a lot of work to do Spencer.” You replied quietly, so quiet in fact you weren't even sure he heard you.

“I think this is more important Y/N.” He uttered while pulling up a chair next to you. “You’ve been walking on eggshells around me for days now, and it needs to stop.”

You swallowed your breath. “That’s easier said than done. We almost crossed a line, and I can't help but feel terrible about that. Fuck Spencer, I’m getting married.”

“I know. Which is why almost is the key word there Y/N.” He said. “Plus, don’t forget that you’re not the only person complicit in what happened. I was there too and unlike you, I didn't stop us.”

He was of course correct. Spencer was the voice of reason even back when you were dating. He always did the right thing, and knew exactly how to bring you back to earth - especially when you didn't want to.

You nodded your head slowly. “I-I guess you’re right.”

Spencer smiled at your response. “Of course I am. Now, are we good?” “I guess we’re good.” You repeated. Although your gut was telling you something different.

Spencer sprung to his feet and extended his hand. You furrowed your brows slightly confused. Spencer immediately noticed the perplexed expression and your face and chuckled lightly. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“Sure I can.” You tried to stand your ground but the brunette doctor wasn’t having it. Usually, this is where he’d grace you with a fact or statistic about using your brain while your stomach was empty. But not this time. Without uttering another word, he reached for one of your hands and pulled you up effortlessly.

“Let’s go. Come on.”

Over the next week while everyone cleared out for the evening, Spencer and you remained. To anyone that asked the excuse was of course work. The truth was a lot more complicated.

Although neither of you admitted it, those late nights at the office were the best part of your days. You laughed, ate cheap take out dinners, reminisced, played chess. Spencer taught you card tricks, while you played him newly discovered music. Bliss.

Of course, you could have done all of this either of your homes. Ethan was away at a conference meaning you had the free space, but you couldn't bring yourself to suggest it. Since with every day that passed your feelings for Spencer shifted into something all too familiar. The office was safer. 

“We better get some work done.” You laughed as Spencer threw his arms up to celebrate yet another chess game victory.

“You're just saying that because you lost.” He grinned causing you to roll your eyes. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘sore winner’ doctor? Because that’s what you are.” You said making him laugh.

“Still a winner.” Spencer replied shrugging his shoulders. He opened the drawer of his desk to retrieve a black notebook and grabbed a pen. He flicked briskly through the pages to find the correct one and scribbled down the scores. “This marks my tenth win against you this week.”

“Don’t get cocky genius. I’m not that far behind.” You affirmed.

Spencer’s grin grew a little wider. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘sore loser’ Y/N? Because that’s what you are.” He teased. Laughing, you reached for one of the chess pieces and threw it at the brunette doctor. He caught it with ease and gloatingly stuck his tongue out at you.

“How very mature doctor.” You joked while standing up. You straightened out your skirt and fixed the hem of your shirt before glancing back up at the hazel-eyed man who was watching you intensively. The second your gaze landed on him however, he looked away clearing his throat.

“I should eh, get those boxes back to the file room.” Spencer said while pointing at the stacked cardboard pile.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“No, no. I can manage.” He replied while getting to his feet. Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the boxes. “Don’t be silly doctor. It would take you at least four trips, and together maybe we’ll manage in two.” You said looking back at him.

The brunette doctor swallowed. Spending this much time with you alone was a dream come true, and he knew he should consider himself lucky. However, with every second that passed he could sense something lingered in the air. The kiss that didn't happen.

It wasn’t a huge issue. As long as the two of you were preoccupied, Spencer’s mind stirred away from wondering about things it shouldn't be. The almost kiss. Yet now he found himself feeling lightly awry of going to the file room with you.

Eventually he nodded and moved toward you, reaching for one of the boxes still on the ground. His heart hammering inside his chest as you looked at him with the prettiest smile gracing your already perfect features.

“This way we’ll be done in no time, and maybe have time for another game of chess.” You stated as you walked ahead to the elevator.

“Another chance for me to beat you.” Spencer replied, trying his best to hide his sudden nervousness.

“Someone’s feeling confident.” You noted while stepping inside the machine. The brunette doctor followed close behind. He pressed the floor button with his elbow and soon the elevator began to move.

Spencer chuckled. “Taking into consideration our past games, the odds are in my favour.”

His eyes locked with yours again. Of course he caught himself staring at times over the last week- how could he not? He knew that you noticed it too, but it didn't seem to bother you. Quite the opposite actually. It ever so slightly made you blush.

“Why didn’t you stop us?” The question escaped you unintentionally. Once you realised you said it, it was too late. Shit.

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, although he knew exactly what was on your mind and your lack of response only proved he was right.

Before he could say anything, deflect perhaps, the elevator stopped on the desired floor. The doors flung open, and you didn't waste any time to hurry out of there - away from the conversation.

“Y/N, wait!” Spencer called after you.

“I shouldn't have said anything.” You replied without looking back at him.

Spencer huffed. He hurried ahead and towered over you, causing you to halt in your spot.

“We were doing good, we had a great week. Can we just forget I even asked that stupid question? It just slipped out and...” You trailed off; hesitantly glancing up to meet his gaze.

“I can tell this is bothering you. I can tell this is obviously still on your mind just like it is on mine, therefore this time we should talk it out.” Spencer retorted.

“Please Spencer, just drop it.” You muttered back. With your mouth pursed into a tight smile, you began to walk around the brunette doctor.

What happened next was a blur.

Faint thud. Clatter. The cardboard container previously in Spencer’s hands was now on the floor, papers spilling out.

He pulled you back. His grip around your arm strong yet not too tight. In the space of a single heartbeat, before you got a chance to react, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be.

As Spencer’s hands moved graciously to your face, your grasp on the box loosened and fell to your feet completely betraying your better judgement. Once there was nothing left between you, Spencer pushed himself in closer so that you were now standing chest to chest. Completely melting into one another.

Your instincts were to push him away and tell him to stop. Tell him if what didn't happen last week was wrong then this definitely was too. Instead your fingers tangled in his perfectly messy hair, tugging slightly at the roots. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered harder with each passing second.

Spencer bit your bottom lip causing your mouth to part. His tongue slid inside within an exchange of breaths and attached itself to yours. His hands still holding your face, thumbs gently caressing your flushed pink cheeks.

Without warning, past memories of the two of you in this very position flooded your mind. Spencer and you kissing for the first time outside your old apartment door. Sharing soft comforting moments after particularly tough cases. Leaning across the dinner table at a restaurant, the flickering light reflecting in Spencer’s eyes. In the middle of the street, under the street lamps, as if you were the only people left in the world.

The overpowering euphoria you felt just seconds ago passed and was immediately replaced by guilt.

Both of you pulled away breathless.

“This- I- we- I can’t. I’m sorry.” You blurted out, freeing yourself from his embrace.

The words were painful to say and even more agonising for Spencer to hear. His nose twitched, and his eyes glossed over with tears. However, he didn't protest. He nodded his head in understanding and swallowed his breath.

“Treat it as a goodbye kiss.” Spencer rationalised. “Now, there is nothing holding you back from your happy ever after.”

His lips formed into a thin half-smile before he began to clean up the files currently scattered over the floor.

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out. What could you have said? That now there was something holding you back?

You chewed on your lip and wiped the single tear from the corner of your eye before joining him in complete silence.

It was better to leave it alone. Yet another memory - right?

(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

-

A/N: hello friends! i hope you liked this chapter (not a fan of cheating so this was a little hard for me to write but THEY FINALLY KISSED AH !! i’d love to hear your feedback and as always if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

[kishillaa]

SSM21 Day 19: Office

Sakura knocked on the door of the Otokage office, feeling anxious and nervous but excited at the same time. She feels like 2 years ago again, when she first land her feet on that very front door in that very village.

-

2 years ago

"Enter." A stoic, somehow oddly familiar voice responded to her knocking. She was a little anxious, not knowing who is behind that door. Kakashi has been very vague and sonewhat playful when he told her about her long-term mission in a village which supposed to be their enemy base.

"The Otokage has confirmed an alliance with Konoha." He said, from behind his hand which was folded together with his elbow propped up on the table.

"And who is he might I ask?" Was Sakura's respond.

"You'll know when you get there. Now off you go. I'll get some genin team to send your medical books that you might need when you're there." He said.

Not delaying any more time, Sakura squawk the door open and walk into the room with cautious, eyes train to the black mane of the Otokage head, staying alert. Here she is right into the ex-enemy's territory, offering help of which she couldn't care less of.

Clearing her throat she greets, "Otokage-sama." She bows her head, because her mother taught her to respect others and that's what she's doing.

At the sound of her voice, she heard the scribbling of pen on paper stopped.

"Is it... Sakura?" The hesitancy and confusion were lacing into the familiar voice causing Sakura to raise her head up quickly.

As she meets the kage's eyes, hers widen, "S-Sasuke—kun?"

The young man before her let go of the stationery in his hand, and lay back on the chair, "So they sent you huh, Sakura?"

Sakura bites her lips, throw her head to the side as she nods, "I didn't know you're the new Otokage. I—I thought y-you–" She couldn't finish her sentence.

Sakura return her gaze to Sasuke, a tear escaped her eyes as she stares at him, relieved.

Sasuke sighs, "Sakura." The way he pronounced the three syllabus of her name sounded so familiar, she yearns to hear more of it.

He rose up from his seat, taking a moment too long staring intently into the green of her eyes. "I apologise." He finally spoke, the sincerity was obvious from the look on his face and the shining of his mismatched eyes.

More tears cascade down her cheeks as Sakura sniffs, "You better be." She said, moving, running to the direction of Sasuke, roughly pull him closer and embrace him into her hug.

"Sakura, too–tight!" And she laughs, because after all this time, that sounded ridiculous.

"Alright, alright. Geez." Sakura said, pulled away from him, sniffing and wipe her tears before she beam up at him.

"I'm so happy you're all well and–" She pause as she really look at him. He is as handsome as ever–when was he not–but the obvious bags under his eyes, his more disheveled than usual hair and tired face, "You're not very well, are you?" She pressed, hands crossing over her chest.

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose, "I've literally no time for anything else now, Sakura."

"Of course you do. You're the Otokage. I'm sure you've been very busy, but I don't think it'll hurt you to rest up a while. When was the last time you showered?"

"I can't remember." He dismiss her unthinkable agitation and told her to seat for them to discuss her position in the village, "As you know, Kabuto went missing after the war, and so Sound has no proper medical expertise. We've built the hospital, currently ordering medical supplies and medicines. We have medical staffs, but only a handful they can do. They weren't train in medicine."

Sakura nodded, "That makes sense. So, what's your proposal?"

"Well, I asked for Konoha to send me medical expert to train my people as an exchange of an alliance. I didn't know they're sending you."

"Kakashi-sensei didn't tell me anything more to come here and stay for until the Otokage let me leave. He's really responsible sometimes but definitely not helping in this case. Did Naruto know you're the Otokage?" Sakura lets out a chuckle, "I'm sure he'll freak out if he knew."

"I went to Konoha myself last week to prepare the alliance papers with Kakashi, I met him too. You..weren't in the village that time."

Scurched her forehead in confusion, Sakura asked, "Really? Why didn't anyone say anything?"

"I'd like to keep my status as an Otokage a secret. This village isn't stable yet, I prefer it that way before my enemies knew about me and decided its a good opportunity to destroy it."

"Fair enough. So, how long do you need me here for?" Sakura asks, smiling.

"As long as you need. Like I said, these people aren't familiar with medical skills and also hospital management. For the time being, I would like you to see the hospital yourself, and see if there is something to fix and change. I had asked a contractor expertise in building to build the hospital a year ago, and are just currently doing the minor part of the back wing."

"I see. Well, you're lucky. I helped Tsunade-shisou handling the hospital sometimes, so I might know a little too many things about hospital management." She winks playfully at him making Sasuke lower his head, smirking.

"Good then."

-

"Sasuke-kun." Sakura calls out. She's been staying in Oto for few months now, and everything has been great. The hospital went from unmanageable to run as smoothly as Konoha's hospital does.

The trainee she's been training was unexceptionally fast learner, that she had foreseeing them undergoing their own surgery. Her current plan is to open up a medical course for those ninja who took interest in medical field.

But right now, work aside, she needs to take Sasuke out of the dreaded office of Otokage.

"Come in, Sakura."

Skipping into Sasuke's office, Sakura take a seat before her ex teammate , "Its been half a year, Sasuke-kun." She spoke.

"Hn."

"And you haven't ask me on a date." That somehow got his attention as Sasuke stops writing on the paper he's on. Cautiously, he looks up at her and lower his pen, putting it on his table.

He put his elbow on the table and prop his chin on his palm.

"Isn't that what you did, Sakura?"

Sakura crossed her hands over her chest, and look away from him, "That was years ago. I'd like to be the one being asked. Not that I'm not used to it by now, seeing how my charm has successfully attracted many of your people."

"I can see that." He frowns as he stares at her.

"And I turn each and every one of them down." She told.

"That makes sense. They are nothing compared to you." Sakura burst out laughing at the arrogant way Sasuke spoke of her.

"That's a little mean, Otokage-sama." She mocks, she knew he doesn't like it when she calls him that.

Sasuke rolls his eyes, "What do you want, Sakura?"

A light blush appear on her cheeks at his question when she remember to what she was about to say, "I still only like you." She started, "I've always only loved you. I will wait as much as you want me to. But I feel bad turning everyone down. One of these days, I really will considering their offer, you know." She pauses, smiling almost sadly at him, "Have you think how long I've been waiting for you?"

He let out an almost exasperated sigh. "I'm no good, Sakura."

Chuckles humourlessly at what he said, Sakura look down at her hands, "I don't think perfect is what I look for in a person. Even when we were younger, Sasuke-kun, you're far from perfect. You're no good, either. But still, I loved you didn't I?"

She returns her eyes at him, "I've said this once to Naruto and I'm going to tell you too. When a girl truly falls in love, Sasuke-kun, her feelings won't change that easily."

Sakura went confused when Sasuke's expression morphed into a content relief one, as he let out a sigh while he close his eyes. After a moment, he smirks at her which makes Sakura even more bewildered, "You really annoying, aren't you?"

Sakura's eyes turn into slits at the familiar way Sasuke addresses her, "I really don't understand you calling me annoying all this time, Sasuke-kun. It really hurt me–" She stop mid sentence when something was tossed towards her. Clumsily catching it, Sakura asked, "What is this?"

"Marry me." Sakura's breath stuck in his throat at commanding of his voice asking for a marriage.

"W-What?" She looks at him, startled.

The tip of Sasuke's ears turn red as he looks away, "I don't do date."

Sakura blinks a few time at Sasuke before she turns to look at the crimson small jewellery box in her palm. She opens it.

At the sight of the ring inside, Sakura gasps. It was simple, with a silver band, and a white stone sculptured onto it but somehow so pretty, and so hers that Sakura's tears flow down her cheeks.

She looks up, "A-Are you sure, Sasuke-kun?"

Sasuke suddenly feels like the office suffocated him as he fix his shirt and nod, "Yes."

"Very, very sure?"

"I didn't carry the ring for this whole time for not being sure, Sakura. I was just afraid that you wouldn't agree to it ."

Sakura rose up from her seat infront of him, and move around to stand right before him. Sakura shoves the ring to his face, "Put it on me."

And that's what he did, slowly retrieve it off from kts place in the case and carefully slide it on Sakura's ring finger.

More tears make it way down her cheeks now that the ring is securedly place on her, "This looks perfect." She said, look up to Sasuke who looking at the ring with the same adoration.

"It suits you."

Sakura chuckles in her joyful tears, "It does, doesn't it?"

"You can stop crying." Sasuke frowns at Sakura's wetted face.

"I can't." She bark a laugh, "I'm so happy." She squeals and pull his neck towards her, hugging him so tightly that Sasuke groans.

"Too tight, Sakura."

Laughing, she let go of him, "Thank you, Sasuke-kun." She said as she send a smile his way.

Not able to refrain himself, Sasuke lowers his head down, angle it a little and kiss Sakura lightly on her lips.

Sakura was shocked, because Sasuke initiated an intimate touch of kissing. It shouldn't be real, but it is. So Sakura savour the moment as she deepen the kiss, pulling Sasuke closer by his neck and run her fingers through his hair. Sasuke surprised her again as he circle his lone arm around her waist, pulling her even closer.

The kiss start off soft but clumsy and almost sloppy–she suspected it was his first too–before it went a little rough, desperate but somehow passionate, as if trying to cover all the years between them.

Panting heavily as they pull away, Sasuke rests his forehead on top of Sakura's, "I apologise." He started, "For keeping you waiting."

Sakura breathed a laugh, "You better! God, I love you." She could feel his smile as he presses his lips on his forehead, right where she know her seal is placed.

"Did you really walking around with the ring with you?"

Sasuke scoffed loudly and let go of her, mumbling something remotely close to annoying.

-

That was a year ago. And right now, she was a nervous wreck, but excited. An excited nervous wreck.

"Come in."

Sakura walks into her husband office, "Anata." She calls out making him raised his head.

Pulling one if his eyebrows up in questioning manner, he asked, "What is it?"

"I have news." She said, biting her lips as she sit on the table right before him.

"News?" Sakura nodded, her hands fix the crumple fabrics of his shirt.

"About what?" He said, pulling her to him so she sits on his lap, his hand keep her head onto his chest. Sasuke lightly sniff the mixed smell of his wife's favourite shampoo and the smell of antiseptic. It's a weird combination, but he loves it.

Sakura was playing with the hem of his shirt, which alert him right away. Because that's her way of saying she's nervous.

He gently push her away to look her in the eyes, "What's this about, Sakura?"

"Naruto's going to be a godfather." She said, decided to not going straight to the point.

Sasuke frowns, "Who's having a child? Shikamaru?"

Sakura can't help the throaty laugh that makes it way out of her mouth at her confused husband, "No."

"Then?"

She takes Sasuke's hand from her side and put it on top of her abdomen, "We're having a child."

Sakura waits when Sasuke's eyes went wide as his expression become more confused. He turn rigid and stay still for a long moment before he blinks a few time and activate his eyes prowess, aiming it to her stomach. He gasped.

"You're pregnant."

"I am."

"I thought I saw something weird in your stomach before. Somekind of small chakra."

"You did?"

"I didn't think about it."

"That's great, Sasuke-kun. You can see her?"

"Her? It's a girl?"

"I'm not sure. But I feel like it's a girl."

"My family was male dominant."

Sakura makes a face, "It could be a girl too."

Sasuke nods, "I don't mind, boy or girl."

Sakura nods too, happy that her worry was for nothing because Sasuke is feeling happy, he looks content of the news and definitely looked nervous and excited just like she does, "Me too."

Sasuke place a kiss on Sakura's temple, "Thank you, Sakura."

She thinks, every good things happen in between them happen in this office.

[blueskrugs]

Some People Do | Nathan MacKinnon

title from an Old Dominion song of the same name. highly recommend a listen while reading.

the only other words I have are that I cried while writing this.  

length: 6.2k words

I know that time just keeps going on And words by themselves can't right all the wrongs

No one ever claimed that dating an NHL player was easy. In fact, it was hard as hell. Dating the face of a franchise, the savior of a franchise, was hard as hell. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Nate. You loved him more than anyone else, more than you sometimes thought was possible. But sometimes you wondered if your relationship was doomed from the start, if carrying the weight of the expectations of Denver on Nate’s shoulders was too much for both of you to handle. 

Nate had proclaimed himself unromantic before, but you didn’t really need flowers and extravagant gifts. With Nate, it was always the little things. He would cook you breakfast in the mornings before you left for work and he for practice. He would sneak into your apartment when you had a long day at work and clean up. (Never laundry though. He always said he was too scared of fucking that up.) It was letting you cuddle on the couch, no questions asked, no words spoken, on days you really needed it; he always seemed to know about those days even before you did. You knew the other boys teased Nate sometimes, everything from ribbing him about being whipped to roasting him for his somewhat abysmal gift-giving skills. Nate would just blush and give them that shy little smile you loved so much. 

That’s the way things were for a long time. You were both happy, comfortable. You wondered sometimes, on the hardest nights, if you had gotten too comfortable. If you had forgotten just where you were, who you were with, and how lucky you were that Nate had ever given you the time of day in the first place. 

You missed the drama of the Avalanche’s historically bad, never-before-seen debacle of a year that had been the 2016-2017 season and came into Nate’s life when they were back on their feet, making a name for themselves in the standings again. You still saw the damage it had done to him, though, in the way he blamed himself for losses, took them a little harder than anyone else– except maybe Gabe– in the way he dialed up his intensity even stronger than ever until he was satisfied. Except he was never satisfied, probably would never be, bar winning a Cup or three. 

The Avs dug themselves out a hole. And then they hit a wall again.

It was the same old shit that always seemed to dog the team, injury after injury, games that just never seemed to go their way, no matter how hard they fought. 

October started out fine. They won more than they lost, and it looked like they could have a chance at being something this year. The end of October came with a string of losses. Mikko went down with a lower-body injury on Halloween. 

November continued a downward spiral. Nate stopped scoring, Burky broke his wrist, and they only won a handful of games the entire month. Nate started coming home late from the arena, sweaty and exhausted; you knew he was running himself ragged, literally, on the treadmill and on drills. His blue eyes were hard as stone, and the set of his jaw grew more tense with each loss the team strung together. 

Road trips were the hardest. From the start of your relationship, you and Nate made a point to FaceTime during roadies. You looked forward to those calls all day, because no matter how terrible the game had been, Nate would see you and smile. You would always do anything for him to smile. The calls continued that terrible season, and for a while, it seemed like nothing had changed. Nate’s eyes were more tired than usual, his brow permanently furrowed, but you would answer the phone, and that would all disappear for a moment when he grinned at you.

You had just gotten out of the shower when your phone started ringing with a FaceTime call. You were surprised to see that it was Nate. You hadn’t been officially dating for very long at all, and he had only left for the road trip that morning. 

“What the hell is on your head?” was the first thing out of Nate’s mouth when you answered the call. Somewhere off camera, you could hear Tyson Barrie cackling. 

Your hand flew up to your hair, which was wrapped in a towel. “It’s a towel, dumbass. And I just got out of the shower, I’m not wearing makeup or anything,” you whined. 

Nate rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond when Tyson leaned into frame. “Hi, Y/N!” he yelled. Nate flinched.

There was a moment of darkness and what sounded like the two wrestling on the bed for a moment, before a whispered, “Get out of here!” and a door closing. “I’m sorry about him,” Nate said, picking his phone back up. 

You just laughed. You had only met Tyson one time so far, and he seemed like fun, if not a little crazy. “Let me just-” You reached up to tug the towel off your head. 

“No, don’t! I mean, I think it’s cute,” Nate said. You froze, staring at his blurry face on your phone screen. You were pretty sure he was blushing in the shitty hotel light. “I just- I missed you, and I don’t care what you look like. I mean-wait, I don’t want you to think you need to have makeup or shit on for me to think you’re beautiful.” Yeah, he was definitely blushing now. He was also smiling a little bit, cautiously, as if he was afraid of your response.

You smiled back, settling in against the pillows on your bed, and saying, “Nate, I literally saw you this morning.” He shrugged.

“Wanted to see your face again,” he mumbled. Then, “Can I call you tomorrow after our game, too?”

He did call you the next night, and the night after that, and then roadtrip FaceTime calls became a routine.

As the season went on, you waited by the phone every night Nate was out of town, but slowly the calls became few and far between, until they stopped entirely. 

Most wouldn't forgive what I put you through But I'm here tonight, hoping some people do

Nate started watching game film obsessively, coming home and sitting up for hours. He would watch his own clips, his teammates’ clips, clips from every other team, watching for any mistake or flaw, some way to fix this. He’d always been so serious about schedules and routines, but he started coming to bed later and later. You always tried to get Nate to come to bed with you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and murmuring a, “Babe, c’mon, it’s getting late,” but he’d shrug you off and say back, “Just a few more minutes.”

You resigned yourself to going to bed alone. Cox started laying in Nate’s spot on the bed. 

The Penguins came to town. The slump continued, for the team and for Nate. Nate got benched. It was December, and all the Crosbys and MacKinnons had come to town, too, planning to celebrate Christmas a little early while everyone could be together. 

Bednar had told Nate he wouldn’t be playing against the Pens following a morning skate. Cale told you he had broken his stick against a wall afterwards. His temper followed him home, came back with a vengeance, and you would never forget the sadness on Taylor’s face and the anger on Sarah’s when he snapped at Taylor over something stupid and let the door slam behind him for good measure. He didn’t talk to any of you for the rest of the night, and he drove to the arena alone.

The Avs won in a game that was nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Nate came home in a slightly better mood, apologized to Taylor, and started channeling his anger into his time on the ice instead. It might have had something to do with the fact that you were sure he hadn’t missed the way you flinched when he had yelled. 

The end of December saw a win streak for the Avs and a scoring streak for Nate. 

“I thought about asking for a trade,” Nate said casually one January night. It was the All-Star break, and Nate had found a cabin on a lake in California to rent for bye week. He didn’t look up at you as he said it, gazing instead up at the stars, and your heart broke.

Nate’s arm was draped around your shoulder, and it had been a comforting weight, but suddenly it felt like it would crush you. You hadn’t been in Denver for the drama of the last teammate that had requested a trade midseason, but you knew the tale, knew the bitterness that was still in that locker room. You knew how it could destroy a team. And you’d had no idea Nate was even considering it.

He kept talking. “Thought about trying to go somewhere where people didn’t care about hockey, somewhere where it didn’t matter if I had been a fluke.” His voice broke. “I just want out sometimes. Get away from all the fucking expectations, the hope that I’ll bring the Cup back to Denver, that I can be the next Sidney Crosby, just the next best thing out of Cole Harbour.” It was the first time you had ever heard Nate say Sid’s name like that, with venom and bitterness.

You were speechless, couldn’t find the words to respond to Nate. You weren’t even sure he wanted you to respond, to argue with him. So you just shrugged off his arm from your shoulders and pulled him into your chest, resting your chin on his head as you watched the stars together.

The trade deadline passed. Nate still wore an A for the Colorado Avalanche, and no one would ever know any differently. 

I know you're hurt, I know it's my fault But I've kept "I'm sorry" locked in a vault

You called Sid late one night in March. He answered quickly, because he always did when you or Nate called, even though it was after midnight in Pittsburgh.

“Sid, I don’t know what to do anymore,” you had cried, with Cox curled up next to you on the couch in the dark. Nate was asleep upstairs, gone to bed early for the first time in a long time. Cox heard your tears and shoved his face into your hand, asking for attention, letting you use him as comfort. You petted him absently as you told Sid everything. And Sid listened, even as you told him stories of the season he already knew, told to him by Nate in similar late night phone conversations, even as it ticked past 1 in the morning in Denver. Sid waited until you finished talking before responding, spewing sympathy and advice that you only half listened to, still caught up in your thoughts. 

In the best days of your relationship and in your worst, you didn’t know what you would do without Sid.

You thought back to the first summer you visited Nate in Cole Harbour. You hadn’t gone the first summer after you’d started dating, as you’d only been together a couple of months, although Nate had begged you pretty much the entire summer. The next summer, though, there was absolutely no getting out of visiting. 

You had never been to Canada before, and you had grown up spending your summers on a lake, but you were convinced nothing would ever compare to Nova Scotia. Nate had laughed at you when you ran out onto his deck, a wide smile on your face. You spun around to look up at him.

“I love it here,” you said. Nate laughed again.

“You’ve barely even been here. You haven’t seen the good stuff yet.”

“I have a house, water, and you, what else is there to see?” Nate chuckled fondly at you. 

You spent the day out on the water with Nate, Sid and the dogs. It was peaceful out there in the sun, the silence only occasionally broken by Sid’s ridiculous laugh or one of the dog’s barks. You were dozing in the sun when Nate came over to you.

“Come swimming with me for a bit.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m tanning, Nathan.” Sid laughed. Next thing you knew, you were being picked up and thrown over Nate’s shoulder. Sid laughed louder. Sometimes you really hated him and that fucking laugh. “Nate!” you shrieked. “Put me down!”

Nate simply said, “Okay,” before he was throwing you in the lake. You came up spluttering. Nate and Sid were both doubled over in laughter, and dogs were caught up in the excitement and barking. 

“Help me out,” you whined, reaching a hand out of the water. Nate took pity on you and grabbed your hand.

You pulled him headfirst down into the water. 

Sid came up to you on the dock on your last night in Cole Harbour. Nate was up at the house, getting you a blanket and more wine, and you were watching the stars.

“You’re really good for him, you know,” Sid said without preamble, settling next to you on the dock. You waited for him to continue. “I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him as happy as he has been this week with you here.” You blushed. “And you should hear the way he talks about you on the phone, God, I didn’t know it was possible for anyone to get him out of his head and stop focusing on hockey, I don’t know how you do it.” He paused, gazing up at the clear sky.When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Nate takes everything so seriously. He’s gotten pretty fucked up over bad relationships in the past. I was a little worried when I saw how fast he was falling for you, when he’d call or text me like a middle-school girl with a crush. But I don’t have to worry, because you two are so good together, like you’ve known each other forever, and will be together forever.” 

Nate chose that moment to reappear. “Talkin’ about me?” he asked, pushing Sid out of the way so he could sit next to you. 

“Only good things,” Sid smiled.

Nate draped his arm across your shoulders and the blanket over your legs. You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” Nate whispered into your hair, brushing a kiss to the top of your head. 

Nate came downstairs not long after you hung up with Sid. He found you crying on the couch, trying to muffle your sobs into the sleeves of one of his Avalanche hoodies. He made a soft, wounded sound, and you startled. You didn’t have a chance to apologize– for waking Nate, for breaking down– before he was climbing onto the couch next to you. He pulled you into his lap wordlessly, kissing away your tears, holding you as you shook. 

He whispered sweet things to you as you calmed down, I’m sorrys and I love yous breaking the silence of the night. Cox whined, crawling his way into your lap as well. Nate’s heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his breathing even, and you found yourself soothed by it. The two– well, three, if you counted the German Shepherd who was decidedly not a lap dog– fell asleep on the couch like that. When you woke up again, sunlight was streaming into the living room, and you were still safely wrapped up in Nate’s arms.

He looked younger, softer, in his sleep, the burden of being Nathan MacKinnon momentarily forgotten. You couldn’t help but stare, a soft smile on your face. Nate shifted under you a couple of minutes later, eyes blinking sleepily open. He grinned when he found you inches from his face, already watching him. 

“Good morning,” he whispered, stretching up to kiss you gently. “D’you want breakfast?”

You buried your face in Nate’s neck. “In a minute,” you mumbled. “Comfy.” Nate laughed, loud, and you felt it in every inch of your body that was touching his.

As you sat sipping your coffee in the kitchen later, watching Nate cook you breakfast, like he had for so long, you could almost convince yourself that everything was fine, that the stress fractures of your relationship weren’t on the verge of breaking completely. 

Some people say sorry to hear it's okay But I know it's not so you don't have to say That you understand 'cause I know you don't

In the living room where you had left your phone after last night’s phone call, you got a text. Then another. And another. Nate’s phone started ringing; his face went white, and he dropped the spatula he was using.

Confused, and starting to get worried, you set your coffee down and rushed to pick up your phone. The first thing you saw was a text from Mel, simply saying, “i’m so sorry.” Nate was still on the phone in the kitchen, speaking in an anxious hushed tone to whoever was on the other end. You ignored the handful of other texts you had received in favor of looking at your Instagram and Twitter notifications which were blowing up. You clicked on one with a shaky hand.

Your heart dropped. Your phone fell to the floor with a clatter. 

In the kitchen, Nate’s voice rose, but you couldn’t hear any of the words he was saying over the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

You sank to the floor and picked up your phone again. You had been tagged in a series of pictures, all of Nate. There was Nate with a girl in a bar, with a girl in his lap, his arm wrapped around her waist, his lips on hers. There was more than one post, too, all dated, starting all the way back in November. All nights when Nate and the Avs were on road trips. Different cities, too, but always the same girl.

Blonder than you. Prettier than you. Better than you, apparently.

There were dozens of pictures. Some were dark and kind of blurry, but all were unmistakably Nate. 

You scrolled through all of the pictures again. Cox whined next to you. Nate still hadn’t left the kitchen, but you knew he had been tagged in all of the posts too. Texts and notifications were still rolling into your phone, from friends and family and strangers. You turned your phone off.

Then Nate was crouching in front of you, brushing your tears away. You hadn’t even realized you had been crying. You scrambled away from Nate’s touch like it burned you; his hand stayed outstretched in the air.

Just ten minutes ago, you had been beginning to think that things could get better again, that you could fix the damage in Nate, in your relationship. Now, everything you had known for the last two and a half years lay shattered at your feet, spread out for the whole world to see.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this,” Nate murmured.

A hysterical laugh forced its way out of your throat. Your hands were still shaking, but your anxiousness had just been replaced with anger. “I wasn’t supposed to find out like this, or I wasn’t supposed to find out at all?”

Nate flinched a little, and you felt a brief flash of vindication. “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what, Nathan? Didn’t mean for me to find out, for the whole world to find out? Or you didn’t mean to say it like that? Like you were just waiting for the right time to tell me, but it never worked out?” Nate had stood up again, but he wasn’t looking at you. “God, I was sitting around like a fool all season, waiting for you to call me, but of course you never did, because you had found someone better than me. Did she get to go to games, too, when you were flying her all across the country?”

Nate was flushed with anger now too. “You don’t understand-”

You cut him off. “No, Nate, I don’t fucking understand. I thought, I don’t know, maybe the past two years actually meant something. So tell me, make me understand, because you lost me a long time ago.”

“Just shut up!” You took a step back from Nate, though he hadn’t moved. You weren’t sure Nate had ever raised his voice at you. “We were in Ottawa in the beginning of November, and we all went out to a bar because we finally got a fucking win. She started flirting, and she had no idea who we were, and it was so nice to meet someone and not have the expectation of being Nathan fucking MacKinnon. I never had to listen to her lie to me about how well I played or some shit about how the team would figure it out, that we could get better.”

“Did all the boys know?” you whispered. “Have you all just been laughing at me behind my back all season, while I’ve been blindly in love with a boy who’s been flying another girl to all of his road games?”

Nate paled and took a half-step in your direction. You backed up again, until your knees hit the couch. “No, they- they knew I was taking the season hard, I guess, so they gave me space. Gabe might’ve been getting suspicious, but I- they would never do that to you.”

“Excuse me for not believing that. I believed you would never cheat on me, either, but here we are.” You turned to leave the room. 

“If you’d just-” Nate was angry again. You spun around, your heartbreak fanning the flames of your own anger.

“If I’d just what, Nate? Stopped caring about you and hockey? Stopped supporting you? Stopped caring about us?” Your voice broke, and you blinked back the tears burning behind your eyes. You had started out yelling again, but now your voice was quiet. “I’m sorry I tried, Nathan. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”

You turned again, started making your way towards the stairs. 

“Wait, Y/N, please.” Nate’s voice came out desperate, like he was choking back tears. You couldn’t possibly understand why; he had done this to himself. “I never actually slept with her.”

“Good for you, Nate.” You let out a humorless laugh. “I hope the PR team has fun trying to save you and your fuck-ups. The posterboy of the Colorado Avalanche showing his true colors at last.”

Nate finally let you turn and make your way upstairs. He didn’t follow as you made your way into the bedroom and packed a bag with enough clothes to last you until the next road trip. He was sitting on the couch, stiff and tense, but he jumped up when you came back down the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, starting to reach out to grab your arm, but stopping himself at the last second, grasping at the air instead. “Please, Y/N.”

“I don’t know, Nate,” you sighed. “But I can’t stay here. I’ll be back to get the rest of my stuff while you’re on your next road trip. Say hi to your other girlfriend for me.”

Nate followed you outside. Cox barked once as you climbed into your car. “But-but you live here, with us! Please, let me fix this.”

You turned to Nate one last time. “You know, you could have fixed everything else that screwed us up this season. I really thought we could’ve been fine. But this, Nate? I don’t know anymore.” 

Nate flinched as your car door slammed. You watched in your rearview mirror as you drove away. His hands were shoved in his pockets, unmoving, and then he was out of sight. 

You drove aimlessly around Denver for a while. You let yourself get lost before you found somewhere quiet to pull over. Except, the breakdown, the tears, never came. Instead, you felt numb and hollow. You had really been foolish enough to believe that you could love Nate through everything, and that he would love you back. Hadn’t Sid said it seemed like you would be together forever?

When Nate showed up at the game the next night with a fresh black eye, no one commented on it. No one commented on EJ’s freshly bruised knuckles, either.

The season ended quietly. The Avs had managed to turn the season around, stop the bleeding, but they never quite could fix the damage. You had moved out of Nate’s house after the fight. You rarely saw each other anymore, but you didn’t tell him you kept going to games until the very end. You just couldn’t keep yourself away, no matter how much it hurt to watch him down on the ice.  

Nate went home to Cole Harbour. You stayed in Denver. 

Sometimes you thought back to the beginning of your relationship with Nate. You remembered what it was like when you first met, when Nate was still shy and quiet. It had been so stupidly fucking cliche, too: in a goddamn Starbucks. 

You listened to the man next to you in line rattle off a list of coffee orders, ranging from basic to borderline ridiculous. The baristas were already beginning to look overwhelmed as the cups lined up. He had the grace to look sheepish, at least, and tucked what looked like a ten dollar bill into their tip jar. You didn’t pay him much more mind after that, stepping to the side and trying your hardest to stay out of the way of other patrons while you waited. Then your grandmother had called, asking for technology help, even though you were hundreds of miles away from home, and you had other family that literally lived five minutes away from her. You were distracted and missed that a barista had called your name. You were still caught up with your phone and didn’t realize until someone was tapping you on the shoulder and tentatively saying your name.

You looked up, surprised, and your entire field of vision was filled with one very blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered man. First, you made the connection to him being the one with the list of coffee orders in line next to you, and then, that the man standing in front of you, struggling to balance several coffee carriers, was Nathan MacKinnon. 

“I grabbed your coffee by mistake,” he said. “It got mixed in with all our orders, and I only just noticed it had a different name on it. I’m really sorry.”

You smiled, taking your coffee. “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. I didn’t even hear them call my name.” Nate still looked apologetic. “Did you lose a bet or something?” you asked then, looking at the stack of coffee cups Nate still held. 

He grinned at you. “Something like that.”

You had left the Starbucks that day with Nate’s phone number. At the time, you had no real intent to use it; you didn’t kid yourself. Nathan MacKinnon was a former first-overall draft pick, hero of the Colorado Avalanche, and you were just some girl whose coffee he accidentally stole. 

Nate texted you first. He did that a lot in the beginning. He was always a little awkward– a life spent focused on hockey meant that he wasn’t the best at small talk– but he was sweet and could make you laugh.

When he first asked you out, you said no. You had watched his face fall, watched him bite his lip and take a step back from you. You felt a surprising rush of sadness settle in your chest as Nate’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You had said no because you didn’t want to be just another girl, another fling that meant nothing. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if that’s all you would be to Nate, and you were a little scared by how willing you were to see how far it could go. 

“Ask me again in a couple weeks,” you said softly. Nate startled, still looking a little bit like he wanted to run. You looked up at him fondly.

Life went on in Denver that summer without Nate. You went to work. You went home to your empty apartment. Really, it wasn’t all that different from life with Nate in Denver, at least not in the last couple of months. You texted with Sid and Sarah every once in a while, but you got complete radio silence from Nate. Tyson Barrie texted you a video of Cox and Ralph playing one day in mid-July, and you could hear Nate laughing somewhere in the background. You didn’t reply. You didn’t want to admit to how many times you watched the video, just to hear Nate’s laugh again, either. 

“You are not getting my dog a fucking-what it’s called? A puppuccino?” Nate gripped his iced black cold brew tightly in his hand and glared at you. Cox sat patiently at your feet, eyeing the cup of whipped cream in your hand and licking his lips eagerly.

“It’s just whipped cream, babe! And, look, he likes them!” 

Nate raised an eyebrow at you. You had forgotten that the trips you took to Starbucks with Cox while the boys were on road trips were secret. “Y/N.” Nate crouched down and squished Cox’s face. Cox looked unimpressed. “This is a highly trained guard dog. He does not need any fucking whipped cream.” Cox’s tongue darted out and licked Nate’s nose. It was Nate’s turn to look unimpressed.

You bent down to give Cox his puppuccino. He lapped it up excitedly, getting whipped cream all over his nose and whiskers. Nate rolled his eyes at the both of you. 

“You’re not allowed to spoil our children.” You paused, still watching Cox try and get the last of the whipped cream out of the cup. Nate had never mentioned kids before, but you sometimes watched the smile he had when he played with Linnea or Sophie, even though he was still a little terrified of holding a baby. You looked at him, but he was still watching Cox calmly.

“Are you saying that Cox isn’t already your son?” you asked, only deflecting a little, and trying very hard to not picture Nate with a tiny baby of your own. 

Nate scoffed. You both looked down at Cox, who had rolled onto his back, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “Besides,” he said, tugging you closer by your hips, “I think Cox will be great with kids, and there’s only one way to find out.”

You just rolled your eyes.

You always had to grit your teeth and smile when someone heard that you weren’t originally from Denver and asked, pretty much without fail, if you had moved for Nate. The answer was always that you had moved for work and had met Nate by chance. If Nate was a part of the conversation, he would chip in that he’d had to work to even get you to consider dating him. He’d always kiss you after that, on the forehead, on the cheek, and he’d look at you like he was the lucky one. And you could look into his eyes and forget for a moment that you’d been upset.

You always wondered why everyone assumed you had dropped your life, your family and friends and your hometown just to follow Nate and his hockey career. Now, you were wondering if you were ready to drop your life, your friends, and everything you loved about Denver just to get away from Nate and his hockey career. 

You didn’t hear from Nate when he returned to Denver for training camp. It hurt in a way you couldn’t articulate, a bone-deep ache, a hollowness that you had never felt before, the fear that you had both let your relationship go past the point of no return while neither of you were paying attention. You thought wildly as you laid in bed alone, if you would ever see Nate again, be able to look him in the eyes and tell him you loved him one more time.

Because you did. You still loved Nate, maybe always would, and you missed him, spent the whole summer missing him, had missed him long before he went back to Cole Harbour by himself. You were terrified that you lost the best relationship you’d ever had. You were too scared to reach out to him yourself, half-sure that he’d never even respond, and that would be all you needed to know that you had reached the end. 

You watched the boys’ Instagram stories as they went golfing everyday after practice. You watched Nate smile and laugh with Gabe and Burky, though you noticed that the smiles never quite seemed to reach his eyes. You looked at the Avs’ social medias every day for the pictures they inevitably posted of Nate. He never seemed to be smiling. You would drive down near the Pepsi Center, only to see his face plastered everywhere. Seeing Nathan MacKinnon around Denver seemed unavoidable; he was on posters and on shirts and jerseys. Seeing Nate, though? Your Nate, with the lisp and the love for dogs, who yelled at his teammates on Fortnite and loved his family more than anything? You weren’t sure you’d ever see him again. 

So whether you kiss me or you close the door Just know that I'm better than I was before

You were surprised when someone knocked on your apartment door one night after dinner, only a couple of days before the regular season began. You were even more surprised when you pulled open the door to see Nate. He startled a little when you opened the door, and you leaned against the doorjamb, allowing yourself to just look at him.

His summer tan had already started to fade. He was wearing jeans, but an old Avs T-shirt, and he was picking at the fraying hem. He was no longer as lean as he was the last time you’d seen him towards the end of the season, but he looked exhausted the same way he did in the final stretch.

It hurt to look at him for long, so you cleared your throat, tore your gaze away from the dark circles under his eyes. Nate shook himself a little, looked away from the 29 on your right shoulder. You had forgotten that you had put on an old, stolen hoodie after work. For a while, it had still smelled like him, but now it didn’t smell like anything. 

“I thought you gave everything of mine back,” was the first thing he said.

You shrugged, tugging the sleeves of Nate’s hoodie over your hands. “Couldn’t bring myself to give it up.” You looked back at Nate. He looked pained. “What’re you doing here, Nate?” The exhaustion of the last couple months, the heartbreak, the worry, showed in your voice.

“I just-I wanted to see you. Wanted to try and explain, if you wanted to listen. I know I’ll never get the words right, and you could slam the door in my face right now, and I wouldn’t blame you. And if you do, I’ll leave you alone. But if you don’t, I will spend the rest of my life apologizing, trying to show you how much I love you.”

You covered your mouth to cover the sob that rose out of your chest. Nate’s eyes snapped up to yours, those bright blue eyes that you still loved so much, and he looked panicked. “Nate, I-”

“Look, if I were you, I’d hate me. Hell, EJ socked me, and I thought Sid was gonna leave me out on the lake to die when I first flew home. If you spend the rest of your life hating me, it’s all on me. You probably wouldn’t be the only one. But, fuck, Cox misses you. I miss you.” Nate stepped closer, reached out to brush his thumb across your cheekbone. 

You let yourself revel in that touch for a moment before you took a step back, clutching your door for support. “I spent all summer wondering if we were over, Nate. Wondering what I could’ve done differently.” Nate bit his lip. He was still standing in the hallway outside your apartment. You hadn’t invited him in, and you weren’t sure you were going to at all. “I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can fall in love with you, be in love with you, and watch you go off on road trips and wonder if I can ever trust you again. I don’t know if I can do this,” you repeated. 

Nate closed his eyes, seemed to be steeling himself for something. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I know it’s not enough, will never be enough, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

You hesitated. Nate blinked once, twice, fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt again. It would be so easy, you thought, to let him back into your life. 

You closed the door.

The last thing you saw was Nate’s face, hurt but resigned. You leaned back against your door, slid down to the floor, and let the tears that had been burning under the surface for months out.

Part Two! 

[yandere-daydreams]

Kinktober - Day Eleven

Prompt: Office Desk

Pairing: Kuroo/Reader (Haikyuu!!)

TW: Non-Consensual Touching, Abuse of Power, Implied Financial Manipulation, Sexual Harassments, Delusional Mindsets, and Dehumanization.

It wasn’t even his desk.

Kuroo didn’t have one, technically. He had a dedicated conference room, three different phone numbers, and business cards he found a reason to hand out so often, you’d learned to put in a request for replacements every other week whether or not he asked, but he didn’t have a desk, he just wasn’t on-site enough for there to be a need. You had one, though. As his personal assistant, you had your own office, something you never would’ve dreamed of when you first signed up for an internship under the Volleyball Association. It’d seemed like a miracle when he first showed off your new territory, and you thanked him so profusely and so wholeheartedly, you were almost scared he’d revoke the privilage just to calm you down. For a few weeks, you’d loved it. For a few weeks, it made you feel like you belonged with your infinitely more qualified coworkers. For a few weeks, it made you feel like you were an actual professional.

Now, it just made you feel like a trophy, one who’d been more than happy to lock itself into a gilded case.

You find yourself wishing you hadn’t put so much effort into decorating, a lot of the time. It might’ve made it easier to let Kuroo bury his face in the crook of his neck if you didn’t find your attention drifting to the painting you’d hung on the closest wall, just over his shoulder, from your current perspective. If you’d never brought in a succulent, short and round with needles that were softer than they were sharp, it might not hurt so much to hear the ceramic pot hit the floor and shatter as he shoved it to the side, your skin stifling soft curses as dirt and shards of clay spilled over the carpeted floor. You might not feel so filthy, if you hadn’t thought to bring in a framed picture of your family, all smiling faces and bright expressions and prying, unblinking eyes that burnt holes in your back as his fingers brushed against your thigh, as his teeth brushed against your shoulder, as he touched you in a way that was anything but appropriate for the workplace you thought you could grow to love. The workplace you really, really wanted to love. The workplace Kuroo had laughed at, crumpled, and ripped to shreds the moment his hand dipped to your lower back and he admitted you’d be doing more than just making spreadsheets and scheduling appointments.

He’d just come back from one of his frequent business trips earlier that afternoon, and it showed. You should’ve made and excuse the moment he called you from the airport, the moment he told you he’d be stopping by the office to finish some post-contract paperwork, and you should’ve screamed when he took you by the wrist and asked you to stay for just a few minutes longer than the rest of the staff, for just long enough for you and him to have the floor to yourselves. You’d just nodded, though, agreed and let him drag you onto your desktop, posed like a perfect, complacent, obedient doll as he took you by the hips and forced his tongue down your throat. You could only consider yourself lucky he’d gotten bored of your mouth quickly, and his lips were on your neck, now, biting and sucking until he knew he would leave marks.

The receptionist would probably ask you about it tomorrow, and you’d laugh and say your date last night had gotten a little intense. It’d be a lie, but at this point, telling the truth sounded more implausible than any amount of fictional one-night stands and nonexistent boyfriends ever could.

You wished he wouldn’t talk, you really wished he wouldn’t talk, but Kuroo had never been very good at keeping quiet. “A week.” He was muttering, mumbling, talking to himself and only barely bothering to process the idea that you might hear him. You couldn’t blame him, honestly. You tried not to talk when Kuroo got like this, and he liked to fill the silence. He didn’t seem to care whether or not you were listening. “Those fuckers kept me away from you for a week. I couldn’t think about a damn thing,” He chuckled, shaking his head. You couldn’t see him, but you felt his grin as it pressed against your shoulder, Kuroo eager to get you as close as possible and trap you there, until he was forced to let go. “Almost fumbled the deal ‘cause I was so desperate to get back. I thought I was losing my mind, for a second there.”

“You could’ve called.” It was a weak attempt to placate him. You were thankful for every hour he was gone, for every minute you could concentrate on your work rather than the needs and urges of your boss, but you might be able to tolerate more exposure to him, if it just meant he was a little less touchy when you saw him in-person. “It’s not like I have anything better to do, when you’re not here.”

He pulled away, at that, just long enough to send you a playful smile and bring up one of his hands, nimble fingers soon toying with the buttons of your shirt, undoing them with all the grace and all the speed of someone who had far too much experience. You didn’t bother trying to stop him. Last time you did, he’d left a ring of bruises around your wrists, and your back had ached for days, afterwards - hell, he’d even threatened to cut your pay for ‘insubordination’. If you resisted, it meant he got to be rough with you. And if he was rough, he wouldn’t stop being rough until he knew you were too beaten-down to make the same mistake twice.

“Missed me that much, huh?” You didn’t deny it or indulge him, but Kuroo was already moving on, tugging on your sleeve and letting crisp, white fabric wrinkle and pool, exposing the top of your chest. Your fists tightened as he kissed over the area above your collarbone, your nails biting into your palms as his teeth sunk into tender flesh, harsh enough to draw specks of blood. There was a moment to let the indents set, a second of searing, burning pain, then Kuroo withdrew, looking over his work with a satisfied huff. “You shouldn’t say things like that, baby. Every time you do, I think about how sweet it’d be to bring you home.”

There it was, the ever-looming threat, the worse alternative - he was going to bring you home. He’d told you about the life he wanted countless times, ranting about how nice it would be to have someone to keep his bed warm, about how he’d always like the idea of a stay-at-home partner, about how cute you’d look in an apron and little else. Spending a third of your day dealing with Kuroo was bad enough. You couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t let him monopolize your personal life, too. “I like having a job,” You managed, hastily, straightening your back and forcing yourself to take him by the shoulders. “I’ve never been very good at cooking and cleaning, I’m a lot better with--”

“You’re a lot better at keeping your dirty mouth shut.” Instantly, you fell silent, and Kuroo hummed contentedly. “I know you can learn, (Y/n). You’re so smart, and resourceful, and beautiful - that’s why I hired you.” You winced at the admission, but he didn’t seem to notice. The only hint that he acknowledged your disappointment came in the form of a fleeting peck to the corner of your jaw, an arm snaking around your waist and pulling you towards him, until your chest was flush with his. “You know how to do what's best for yourself, and I know what’s best for you. My pretty little secretary is never gonna work for anyone else. I’m the only one you whore yourself out to, right now, and I’ll be the only person who gets to see your face everyday, nobody else can.” He paused, but he didn’t hesitate. His tone was arrogant, when he continued, confident. As if there was no doubt in his mind you couldn’t take care of yourself, not on your own. “Nobody else deserves to, besides me.”

You weren’t a secretary, you were an assistant. It was a small distinction, and aside from the name, there was virtually no difference, but it nagged you, eating away at something in the back of your mind until you had to say something. You almost corrected him. You tried to, but as soon as you moved to speak, there was a shove, a push that left you lying on your back and made your desk shake under the force. A jar of pens tipped over, a stapler toppled onto its side, and something made of glass fell over and cracked, loudly. Your picture frame. It had to be your picture frame, you were sure of it.

For some reason, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be replacing it.

[yume-fanfare]

Sakuragaoka Highschool’s Newspaper Extra: Interview

this is a translation of one of the short stories published for LIPxLIP’s birthday in japanese here. you can read the other one, starting line, here. this was translated from this spanish translation by mieltrabajos

Yamamoto Koudai went to the staff room after class. He was now the president of the journalism club, as the one before him had graduated, and he’d been called in by the club’s advisor, Akechi Saku. Koudai thought the talk would be about the school’s newspaper report on the school festival as it was supposed to be ready by December, but it turned out not to be the case. 

Mr. Akechi had said it nonchalantly, without looking up from his computer with a lollipop in his mouth. Koudai, however, was very confused.

“An interview…?”

Mr. Akechi nodded and then turned towards Koudai.

“Every now and then we have a section named Sakuragaoka’s Stars, don’t we?”

“Yes… well, there is one.”

They did have a section like that, introducing active students as stars. It wasn’t a bad project, but the... old-fashioned title was a bit cringy and people didn’t read it much. Well, the school’s newspaper as a whole wasn’t read much, people weren’t interested in it. They published it monthly and handed it over in the school festival, but not many people took them. Maybe if they didn’t publish information on all the school activities, they’d be able to cut down expenses next year. 

(I am lucky to be managing the school’s newspaper, journalism is the only school activity I’m interested in).

“Have you decided who it’ll be about this month?”

“No, I’m… still in the process of selection.”

He was thinking about the light music club, or maybe the drama one as they both were active during the school festival. Or maybe interview the students from the festival executive committee themselves. It could also be one of the swimming club members, as they were doing synchronized swimming even in the cold, or someone from the tea ceremony club who were doing something called “creative dancing tea ceremony”. December’s issue was going to be the last one of the year, so he wanted to end on a high note. There were lots of students he’d like to see.

“Would you like to interview my students, Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou?”

Koudai stayed silent for a few seconds thinking about Mr. Akechi’s words.

“Wouldn’t that be hard?” he answered.

With just a few comments on those two’s appearance at the sports festival, that month’s issue had skyrocketed in popularity as their fans scrambled to get a copy. If Koudai got to interview them, the newspaper would be read everywhere.

But Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou were professional idols. Interviewing them without getting through their office first would be a problem. That was why Koudai was unsure about being able to handle the project.

“They’re students of our school, so there should be no problem, right?”

“I’ll ask but… I’m not sure if they’ll cooperate.”

“That’s fine, Yamamoto.” Akechi smiled and offered him a lollipop, like always. “Please do it properly.”

“Ah…”

(He’s even telling me to do it right…)

Koudai excused himself out of the staff room, and twirled the lollipop in his hands.

“It’s so easy to say that…” he sighed.

But, did that mean he trusted Koudai as the club president? Mr. Akechi may look a bit eccentric, but he never said anything without a reason. Koudai couldn’t answer his “Will you be able to do this?” question with a no. He was determined to do it.

He put the candy in his pocket and pushed his glasses up.

“I want to do something really good…”

(If I got to interview those two, I want to make it a special issue, use big pages and highlight it. It’d be great if I could take a photo too).

“Is that really possible...?” Koudai brought a hand to his chin, deep in thought as he walked down the hallway.

He still wasn’t sure, and even if he didn’t have much hope, it may be possible. It was a very rewarding job for him, even if Mr. Akechi had put him between a rock and a hard place. If he managed to get it right it would be a fantastic opportunity to get more people to learn about the club.

(Where do those two go after school?)

He hadn’t heard anything about them being in clubs. Maybe they headed straight to work after class.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, Koudai!”

Shibasaki Ken was walking down the stairs. They were in the same class and together with Enomoto Kotarou, had been good friends since middle school. They usually called him Shibaken.

He looked like he was about to head home. Since he wasn’t in any clubs, he always wandered around after class.

“What are you doing? Club activities?”

“Something like that. Are you going back home, Shibaken?”

“Yeah. Kotarou is also doing activities, so I have no other choice.”

“And Takamizawa-san?”

Takamizawa Arisa, whom Ken was always running after, didn’t seem to be around either. She wasn’t in any clubs, like Ken, and Koudai had seen them going back home and spending breaks between classes together recently. However, that wasn’t the case today.

“Arisa-chan has intensive classes today,” Ken sighed, crossing his arms behind his head with a bored grimace. “Lately, everyone does.”

“You have a lot of free time. Why don’t you find a hobby or join a club?”

When they were in middle school Ken spent his time playing with girls, but he seemed to have lost interest in that. Now, he was really invested in Takamizawa Arisa. As a close friend of his, the fact that Ken was so focused on a single person alone was a bit surprising. Despite his appearance and carefree attitude, he seemed to be becoming a little bit more serious.

“There’s no club activity that stands out to me. I could consider your journalism club, though. You don’t have many members, right? It’d be a friendship club!” Shibaken joked.

“We don’t allow ghost members. What about the gardening club?”

Kotarou and his childhood friend Hina were in the gardening club, but there barely were any members, and it was at risk of closing. Though the journalism club was, too, they had only gotten one new member this year. The track and field was the most active one and the students were really good athletes, so most freshmen applied for that one.

“I’d only be a bother there.”

Kodai turned his head to the side.

“Really?”

He guessed it was because of Kotarou and Hina.

They were childhood friends, but everyone could clearly see Kotarou liked Hina, although she constantly made fun of him. Koudai, however, didn’t know how she felt about him and he wasn’t going to snoop.

Ken put his arm around Koudai’s shoulders.

“And where are you going, Koudai?”

“To an interview. For next month’s issue.”

“Oh, that sounds fun, I’ll go with you! Who are you interviewing?”

“A pair of freshmen idols,” Koudai answered.

Upon hearing that, Ken drew his arm back and stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Oh I just remembered I have a really important business to handle. Well then, Koudai, do your best with the interview!” Ken walked away towards the entrance.

Like always, Ken’s personality was a fickle thing. It seemed like he had some complicated and uncomfortable circumstances.

Koudai had wanted to ask Ken about ‘him’, because he probably knew him better. But as Ken’s friend, he prefered to not touch the topic much either.

After all, the interview was about ‘them’ as students, not some scoop.

Koudai took out his pen and notebook and whispered:

“All right, let’s go.”

Maybe they’d still be inside their classroom.

---

Koudai reached the first years’ hall and looked around with nostalgia. The first years who looked so nervous at the entrance ceremony now seemed completely used to high school life.

Time to start looking for those two.

Loud voices could be heard from one of the classrooms, so he stopped by there first. Most students seemed like they were about to go home or were getting ready for club activities. Only a few girls still crowded around their desks, excitedly talking about some magazines.

“Doesn’t Aizou-kun look like someone dangerous in this picture?”, Koudai overheard.

“Yes, and Yuujirou-kun looks so cute!”

“What kind of CD did you choose? I want a poster!”

“I preordered everything! If you get a Yuujirou-kun sticker we can trade~”

Seemed like those two were the center of attention.

(I hope I can talk to them…)

When Koudai walked into the classroom, someone seemed to have noticed him. A girl wearing the sports uniform looked at him with sparkly eyes.

“Could it be, Yamamoto-san from the journalism club!” She smiled brightly.

She was at the track and field club and had participated in the relay race. Suzumi Hiyori, Setoguchi Hina’s underclassman. Koudai had interviewed her a bit some time ago.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“Yes… for a small interview.”

“An interview!” The girl leaned forward with eyes full of curiosity.

“Yes, could you help me a bit?”

“O-oh, yes, if you’re fine with me!”

They moved away from the hall to not bother anyone and Koudai opened his laptop.

“Could we do it now?”

“Yes, of course!”

“I wanted to interview two of your classmates for next month’s issue, Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou-”

“Shibasaki-kun and Someya-kun?!” Hiyori’s voice became surprisingly low and she took a step back.

(Uh…? … Why such an exaggerated reaction…?)

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“Yes… I just want you to tell me a bit about them.”

“So it’s not an interview for me?” Hiyori’s face fell down and her shoulders dropped.

(Oh, so it was that…)

“Of course, I’ve heard about your feats at the sports festival. Setoguchi-san is also really happy about how you did and praised you for your hard work,” he tried to cheer her up, and it immediately worked as Hiyori lifted her head and smiled.

“For real?!”

“Yes, she always says she’ll do her best not to lose against Suzumi-san.”

“My goal is Setoguchi-senpai too! I’m so happy~” Hiyori laughed cheerfully, a bit embarrassed, touching her cheeks.

“Suzumi-san, you’re in the same class as them, right?”

“Yes… for now…” Hiyori rocked back and forth as she answered.

“Anything is fine, but if you know something, please tell me.”

“About what…?” “Anything is fine…”

“I don’t know anything, really!” Hiyori shook her head and stuck out her tongue, like she was annoyed.

“Why? You don’t talk with them?”

“I don’t! Whenever I try, their fans bite me…” Koudai slid his pen over the notebook as he mumbled:

“Even in the classroom…?” Then added. “Then, do those two usually stay alone in class? During lunch break, I mean.”

“Hmmm… they’re not always together. They usually eat by themselves… it’s kind of rare to see them talking to each other?” she answered.

Koudai leaned forward.

“That’s… surprising. Is their relationship bad?” He put his hand on his chin, thinking.

Hiyori grimaced and quickly added:

“That’s not it! There’s times where they have fun and cheer each other up when they’re feeling down!” After saying that, for some reason, Hiyori added in a whisper: “In front of the fans… I’m not sure…” she sighed. “It may look like they don’t get along… but they like the same things.”

“The same things?”

“Yes! Singing, dancing… and tuna mayo riceballs.”

“Tuna mayo…” Koudai mumbled. Without noticing, he doodled a riceball and wrote tuna mayo next to it.

“Oh, I prefer the dried plum ones. My grandma said that eating acids makes you live much longer and have 100 times as much energy!” Hiyori said and then crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks. “But those two don’t appreciate their greatness…”

“Eh?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! I was just monologuing…”

She got nervous, and Koudai softened his gaze behind the lens.

“I understand, Suzumi-san. But this is about them.”

“I know, I was just trying to explain!”

“What kind of bond do Shibasaki Aizou and Someya Yuujirou have in your eyes?”

“For me…?”

“Don’t think about it too much. How do you think they are like…?”

She took a while to think about it, but focused again.

“Hmmm… they’re incredible…” she closed her eyes as she answered. “They work very hard every day. When I look at them, they’re always doing their best, and they make me want to work hard too, so, to me… they’re cheerful partners?”

Then, she blushed and pressed her hands together in a plea.

“Don’t write that in the article, it’s too embarrassing!”

“Suzumi-san, you sound like you’re a fan of them too.” Koudai put the pen on his mouth, smiling.

“Yes… but even so, my number one idol is Setoguchi-senpai!!”

Koudai laughed and said: “I’ll let her know.” Then added: “Well, do you know where those two are? I was looking for them.”

“Today Shibasaki-kun has to record a song, and Someya-kun has a photoshoot at a fashion magazine, so they’ve probably left already.”

“Oh, I see...·

“Ah! Then, maybe I could…! I heard those two talking about that… something like...” Hiyori bowed. “I’m sorry, I have a club meeting!” she exclaimed and bolted out of the classroom in the blink of an eye. As it was to be expected, coming from a track and field pro.

“Such an interesting girl, Suzumi-san…” Koudai wanted to interview her, some other time. 

But now, he had to work on those two. Talking to them after class seemed complicated, since they left so quickly.

Koudai closed the notebook and pocketed the pen.

(I’ll look for them during lunch break tomorrow, maybe I’ll get lucky)

---

The next day, Koudai heard excited screaming as he was walking through the courtyard during lunch break.

The first years were playing soccer, and a lot of girls crowded around the fence, cheering and yelling. And not just first years, but also second and third year girls. Even the school’s nurse was looking towards the field from one of the school’s balconies.

(So popular…)

The reason for all of that was no other than Aizou. He had taken off his blazer, rolled up his sleeves and was running after the ball with his classmates. 

The soccer club members watched the first years with interest too. Koudai noticed Kotarou amongst them and walked up to him. A tournament was about to start, so they were practicing during lunch too.

“Hey, Koudai, what are you doing?” Kotarou called out to him. “An interview?”

“Something like that.”

Aizou reached the boy who had the ball, easily stole it and ran towards the goal. The defenders tried to stop him but he dodged them and scored a goal. The girls all stood up and screamed and his classmates high-fived each other and laughed, celebrating the victory. Koudai quickly snapped a picture. He didn’t know if he’d be able to use it but he didn’t want to lose the chance.

“He’s great. I wish he’d join the club.” Kotarou crossed his arms and sighed heavily, looking at Aizou.

He’d been pretty good during the relay race at the sports festival, and his motor skills would surely be great at any sports club. No matter what, he could adapt and excel at it for sure.

“Why don’t you try to recruit him?”

“He’s too busy with rehearsals, he’s a full-time idol…” Kotarou crossed his hands behind his head and eyed Koudai. “What’s the interview about?” “The first year idols. They’re hard to find.”

“Shouldn’t you hurry up and talk to him then? Before a girl bites you for getting too close.”

Kotarou clapped his hands together:

“Everyone, gather!” he ordered the first years in a serious club-president tone.

Koudai walked up to Aizou, who was still breathing heavily.

“Shibasaki Aizou,” he called out. “I’m from the journalism club, may I interview you a little bit?”

Aizou wiped his forehead with his sleeve and turned towards Koudai.

“Yamamoto-senpai.”

“Oh, you remember my name?”

“It’s because… I saw it during the sports festival. But I don’t know if I can accept the interview.” Aizou rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Probably because of his agency.

“I think it’ll be okay, I don’t want to interview you as an idol, but as a first year student.” It was what Mr. Akechi had said: after all, he was a Sakuragaoka student.

Aizou changed his expression to a friendly grin.

“I don’t think that makes much of a difference but… what would you like to know?”

“About your school life. How’s this year going? Anything is fine, it’ll be interesting.”

(He seems like a normal student after all… not as carefree as Shibaken).

Both brothers were a bit shy but kind, with friendly personalities. Easy to talk to. Koudai had a lot of classmates like that. The other boys who were playing soccer called him by his first name, too. Koudai thought the fact that Aizou was an idol would make him less approachable in class, but it seemed like that wasn’t the case.

“Well, something interesting… do the cultural and sports festivals count?”

“During the last festival, your class did a haunted house, right? You were one of the best classes during the costume contest too. Yours was a very popular one, Shibasaki-kun.”

“The girls from our class were really excited about it and they were the ones to design the costumes. I hope everything looked good…”

Aizou seemed a bit embarrassed.

“I think it suited you…” Koudai remembered all the screaming fans running to the haunted house to see Aizou’s costume.

(It went quite well I think).

“Maybe the zombies could have been better,” said Aizou. “Even if it was a haunted house, I wasn’t very scared. I would have wanted it to be more realistic…”

“In my opinion it was pretty well made. Especially the sound. Though, in some areas the lights were too dark and we couldn’t really see the production work. Things like the chandelier, the mannequins or the hands on the walls. I would have liked to see them properly.”

Aizou crossed his arms and mumbled: 

“Yeah, it was a bit dark after all…”

Maybe it was so he and his partner stood out less. It was inevitable, though. If they were there, all eyes would be on them.

“The voice and the wind noise that played when you walked into the room was seriously frightening. It felt so real,” Koudai reminisced.

Aizou grinned widely.

“Oh, that was my voice! Maybe most people didn’t notice… The wind was Yuujirou’s hair dryer, though it wasn’t very strong.”

“It looks like you had a lot of fun at the cultural festival.”

Koudai thought he wasn’t very interested in school events, but it seemed like they both had participated with their classmates both in the sports and the cultural festivals.

“You really are a regular student too, like Mr. Akechi said.”

“Mr. Akechi?”

“Ah, um yes… It’s nothing. This is enough.”

“Are you sure?” Aizou asked rushedly.

“Yes, thank you. By the way, I’d like to interview Someya Yuujirou too, do you know where he is?”

“Yuujirou? Well… I don’t know if he’ll be okay with being interviewed. He can be a little problematic sometimes, but, if you want to… He must be at some secluded place, without many people. The backyard, maybe…”

“I’ll look for him. It’ll be a great article.”

“I haven’t answered much though… just things about the school festival.”

“Everyone wants to know about it. About you doing normal things.” Koudai closed his notebook. “See you,” he told Aizou before leaving.

The girls who had been looking at them from afar immediately ran towards Aizou.

Such a hard life, the school idol’s.

Koudai continued with his path: “The backyard huh…?”

---

When he got there, there were no other students around. Usually, it was the third years who met here, not the freshmen, but there weren’t any seniors around either. Probably because of the November cold. The cherry trees’ leaves had been taken by the wind a long time ago.

Koudai caught sight of a student, standing alone in front of the flower beds.

(Exactly where he said…)

It looked like there were no noisy fans around. That should be better, right? Koudai walked up to the flowerbeds, the ones the gardening club was taking care of. Yuujirou looked at them absentmindedly, like he wasn’t really there.

“Someya-kun,” Koudai said, raising his voice.

Yuujirou turned around, quickly changing his expression. 

“Senpai… Are you talking to me?”

Much like Aizou, Yuujirou also remembered him from the sports festival as a senior from the journalism club.

“I’d like to publish an interview of you and Shibasaki Aizou in the school’s newspaper next month.”

“I’m not supposed to agree to things like that though…”

Koudai sighed lightly at the negative answer, touching the rim of his glasses. He had gotten him to answer some questions at the sports festival, but maybe it was because there were a lot of students around… It wouldn’t be that easy this time.

“I only want to ask about your school life, is that still no good?”

“I am not very good at talking,” Yuujirou bowed his head. “Sorry.”

(I’ve already interviewed Aizou so that could be enough, but…)

He wanted an interview with both of them, but he didn’t want to force him.

Yuujirou turned his head back to the flowers and Koudai looked at them too. Swaying with the cold wind, they were yellow flowers.

“Rudbeckies… they’re still in full bloom…” he commented.

Kotarou and his childhood friend Hina had planted that one. They had joined the club as first years and had fought to preserve them. It was nostalgic. That flower was very important for those two friends.

Yuujirou lifted his gaze and looked back to Koudai, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“They’re from the gardening club,” Koudai explained.

“There’s a gardening club…” Yuujirou said to himself, looking at the flowers again.

“Well, I’m not sure if there’ll still be one next year, there aren’t enough members and no one new has joined yet. If you’re interested…

“I can’t join, I’m not interested.”

Koudai exhaled, casually pushing his glasses up.

“Of course.”

Balancing idol work and school couldn’t be easy. He had no time for clubs. And even if he had, it’ll probably attract too many fans.

It was plain to see that Ayase Koyuki’s graduation had been the cause of the club’s demise. Kotarou and Hina were trying to revive it, worried for the club. They really wanted someone new to join.

“You’re staring at the flowerbed a lot… Are you worried about something?”

“It looks like they’re about to die. I was wondering if they’re well cared for.”

“Yeah, it’s because the season for flowers is over. They bloomed already, they’re fine.”

“... You know a lot about this.”

“One of my best friends is in the gardening club.”

He had stayed late reading a flower book with Kotarou at the library once. The season for these flowers was from summer til October. Maybe they had lasted this long because the warm days were expected to continue until mid-January this year. But their season was already over.

“Is the gardening club in charge of the flowerbeds at the rooftop too?”

“Indeed. Kotarou and Setoguchi-san said they had planted pansies. They plan on planting tulips there next spring.” Koudai pointed to a remote flowerbed. The grass had been removed from it and the soil had been smoothed out. “Since the third years are graduating…”

During spring, beautiful and colorful tulips would bloom. Just like the year before.

(Really, in the blink of an eye…)

“Have you had fun? This year…” Koudai asked casually.

Yuujirou furrowed his brow.

“I will not be interviewed.”

“It’s just small talk. I won’t write an article. I promise.”

Yuujirou looked ahead.

“Well,” he said. “It was…” His gaze softened and he smiled slightly.

He must have remembered something good. Koudai wanted to hear a bit more now but…

“I’m glad,” Koudai smiled and turned around.

“That was good?” Yuujirou said, confused.

“This was not an interview. Though, if you were to accept one, I’d gladly do it,” he answered, turning back to face him, and waved his hand.

“Oh, here you are!” Suzumi Hiyori rushed towards Yuujirou with a cheerful voice. “Someya…!!!” . When he noticed Koudai was there, she covered her mouth with her hands mid-yell.

Yuujirou furrowed his brow at her mistake:

“God…” he mumbled.

“Someya-kun… uh… eh… it looks like… Teacher Uchida is calling you,” she said to Someya in a terrified tone and then ran away.

(Is there a teacher named like that in school…?)

Passing by them, Koudai went back into the building.

---

Koudai went to talk to Mr. Akechi at the staff room after class before heading to the club room.

(Mr. Akechi told me to wait until tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ll be able to ask him again…)

He walked down the hall as he thought about it and opened the biology classroom they used for their club. The other members had other work that day, so there probably wasn’t anyone there yet.

However, when he opened the door, he stopped in his tracks. There was in fact a student there.

Yuujirou, standing next to the shelf by the window. He was looking with curiosity at the cameras and lenses Koudai used at the club.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Koudai commented.

Yuujirou looked at him, chin in hand.

“You said you wanted to interview me, Yamamoto-senpai. But I want to interview you.”

Koudai laughed.

“I wanted to interview you, Mr. Akechi asked me to.”

Yuujirou clumsily turned around. He puffed out his cheeks in annoyance.

“I see,” he said, lowering his voice.

Koudai closed the door behind them.

“Then, let’s start.”

There were lots of things Yuujirou could ask about.

This was going to be a fun interview.

“I wanted you to tell me about the camera.”

“The journalism club is also looking for members. If you’re interested…”

“I can’t join.”

The answer was still simple, but his jaw softened a bit.

“Well… do you want to learn how to take pictures? Of whom?”

“For now… of my dog?”

Koudai walked closer to Yuujirou and handed him his single-lens reflex camera, his favorite one. Yuujirou held it very carefully and pointed the lens towards the window.

“...How do you focus?”

“Like this. It’s set on manual now, but if you set it to auto, it’ll focus on its own. When you change it to shooting mode, you can-”

“Ohhh...” Koudai noticed how bright Yuujirou’s expression was while he looked at the camera.

“... adjust the exposition,” Koudai finished.

Yuujirou nodded with a serious face.

“Can I take a picture?”

“Of course.”

Yuujirou took a step backwards and, much to Koudai’s surprise, turned the lens away from the window to focus on Koudai.

The shutter went off.

“Wait, I am supposed to be the one interviewing you.”

“A bit of change is always good,” Yuujirou joked, lowering the camera.

Koudai pushed his glasses up.

“I see…”

(With Shibasaki Aizou and him… this should be popular)

---

Mid-december brought Yuujirou and Aizou relaxing at the office’s break room.

Yuujirou was sleeping on the table while listening to music. In front of him, Aizou played mobile games to kill time. That day, they had had a meeting with their manager regarding their next mv.

In that moment, Suzumi Hiyori, manager in training, barged into the room yelling:

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!”

Yuujirou was startled by the scream, lifting his head with a sleepy face.

“Monster…” he mumbled. Maybe he was still asleep, actually.

“What the hell, you scared me!” Aizou put his phone down, frowning.

“I brought a surprise!”

Suzumi held the school’s newspaper in her shaky hands. The journalism club members had been handing it out in the school that morning.

“Our… our interview is here!”

Aizou quickly took the newspaper from her hands with sparkling eyes. That morning the girls at school had made a fuss over that issue and he’d been unable to catch a copy for himself; they all disappeared within seconds.

(Oh, last month’s interview… do I have it?)

Yamamoto-senpai had given Aizou a newspaper, but he’d been too busy to read it. He’d left it in his school desk’s drawer and had forgotten about it.

“Where’s the interview?” he asked, skimming through the pages.

Hiyori leaned over.

“Here!” she proudly pointed at the main article.

Comments from their classmate, S-san, a subheader said.

“‘Apparently, they like tuna mayo riceballs’...? What the hell is this?” Aizou complained. “Don’t accept interviews without permission.”

“Well… but I didn’t say anything out of place!” Hiyori shook her head.

“Don’t sound so happy about it. It’s a single line on a school’s paper.”

“Hey, it’s okay! Sometimes I like standing out too, alright? You two are always getting interviewed everywhere.”

“It’s only natural, who’d want to interview a manager in training?” Aizou got up, angry. He wanted to chop Hiyori’s head off.

“Wh… that’s the school newspaper? It’s out already?” Yuujirou mumbled in a sleepy I-just-woke-up voice while he ran his hands through his bangs.

“You got interviewed too. How did they buy you?” Aizou asked him with a  mocking smile.

With his interview, there was also Yuujirou’s. Aizou was surprised, he was sure Yuujirou would’ve refused.

“It was fine… I didn’t answer much…” Yuujirou looked at the article. “‘Preparing for the school festival was hard, but cooperating with everyone was very important’... Aren’t you a fraud? You didn’t do anything, just slept in a coffin.”

“Do you ever shut that irritating mouth of yours?” 

Yuujirou kicked Aizou under the table.

“That hurts! Don’t kick me!”

Right before the argument escalated, the break room’s door opened.

“Sorry for the wait!” It was their manager, Uchida, who seemed to be in a good mood. “The pictures in this newspaper are very good! I wonder if the boy from the journalism club took them, he’s got a good eye. He captured that natural side you two rarely let out.”

“Eh?! Why did Uchida-san read the newspaper?!” Aizou asked loudly, pointing at the school’s newspaper.

“Oh, the teacher in charge of the journalism club sent it to me. He asked me for permission to interview you two, he’s a good teacher. But, above that, he’s a good man~ ❤” Manager Uchida giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I don’t want to hear that!”

“I didn’t really cooperate anyway…” Yuujirou mumbled sleepily.

“I wonder if I can post the newspaper’s pictures on our website,” Manager Uchida wondered. “Like a precious photo of LIPxLIP’s school life!” she suggested.

“Oh, that’s right! If our interview appeared in a newspaper, I should contact my grandma and my mom!” Hiyori excitedly pulled out her phone and started to dial her house. “Oh, but I should contact my school counselor too and send them a picture!”

Manager Uchida happily strolled around the room, skipping steps, almost jumping.

“Stop that-!!”

“You’re so loud. You’re not a speaker, lower your volume.”

“Don’t cover your ears and stop Uchida-san! She’s out of control, what if she makes merch out of the pictures?!”

“It’s fine by me. Unlike Aizou, I don’t find it embarrassing.”

“What do you mean ‘unlike Aizou’?”

“Oh, mom! I got the newspaper! It’s our school’s but… I’ll fax it to you at a convenience store. So you can read it! Eh? Dried plum? Yes, I’d love to eat some! Oh, send me rice too. Yes… hm, canned.”

“Hey, potato girl, call your home outside of your work schedule!!”

“Don’t call me potato! … Oh, mom? It’s nothing. The pineapple from my part-time job is making fun of me… Yes, it’s fine. I totally defeated him!”

“Eh?! What are you telling your parents?!”

“Pfft… a pineapple!”

“Don’t laugh, Yuujirou…”

---

Koudai leaned over the rooftop’s railing after school, looking at the ground that was dyed by the sunset. The soccer, baseball and track and field club members trained with enthusiasm despite the cold.

Kotarou’s figure received a pass and ran after the ball. Hina’s running figure seemed small. And Suzumi Hiyori’s, who ran with her, did too.

Takamizawa Arisa and Shibasaki Ken were leaving the school building, walking next to each other. He saw Ken stop and laugh, waving at Kotarou.

In the school’s gate, the idol duo’s fans were waiting for the manager’s car to arrive, surely making a fuss. And it was not just Sakuragaoka’s uniforms, but from other schools too.

It was a familiar sight.

“It’s cold…” mumbled Mr. Akechi, his advisor, as he opened the door and walked into the rooftop.

When he got to Koudai’s side, he trembled and rubbed his arms. He put his hands in the pockets of his white labcoat.

“Mr. Akechi…”

“Thank you for your hard work. Today’s article was very well received,” Mr. Akechi smiled. “A success.”

“It was because those two answered properly…”

They had balanced what they should answer, what they wanted to answer, what Koudai was looking for and the proper wording for it. They were clever and talented. Going to school with those two…they really were pros.

“It worked because you’re you, Yamamoto, don’t you think?”

When he heard those words, Koudai turned to look at Mr. Akechi. His eyes were fixated on the ground, where the students could be heard yelling.

“Ah, the youth,” he whispered with a smile.

“I only wrote.”

It had been Mr. Akechi who gave him the article, and he had apparently called the office to ask for permission. Thanks to that, he’d been able to publish a special picture of those two in the newspaper. The interview wouldn’t have been possible without him.

“Did you ask me to do it because you trusted me? If not, I don’t think I would’ve done it. Those two…”

Koudai saw Akechi’s furrowed brow and laughed.

He must fight with them constantly too. They probably weren’t easy-to-handle students at all. 

“It’s hard, right? For teachers, too.”

“Well… they’re never boring, though. It’s like this every year.” He smiled, hands in pockets. His eyes were looking at the sunset sky, gazing at an airplane far away.

“I see,” Koudai commented.

“Those two’s manager praised your picture. It was a very good shot. She wants to put it on their website, is that okay?”

“Yes, I’ll send it to you later.”

Koudai waved him goodbye, and Mr. Akechi left the rooftop. Koudai stayed there some more time. The sun’s warmth hit his back, his shadow falling over the flowerbed.

He took out the lollipop Mr. Akechi had given him before. He unwrapped it and put it in his mouth. Koudai gazed at the ground, leaning over the railing.

An irreplaceable year for everyone.

Everything moves forward while the present turns into a memory.

Like the older graduated students, and the ones to follow too.

“Someya Yuujirou and Shibasaki Aizou, they both seem to have had a satisfactory year. The journalism club wishes to look over them to see what awaits them in high school.” -Yamamoto Koudai

[infinitegalahad]

SHE WILL BE LOVED (Floyd Talbert X F! Reader)

Summary: Floyd drove for miles and miles, and still wounded up at the same door. Every. Single. Time.

Word-Count: 6.5k

Warnings: Slight mention of smut, past mentions of abuse/ rape

A/N: Based off of the Maroon Five Song. Not gonna lie, there old stuff is salvageable and can go hard, Overexposed is a great album. I have a love and hate relationship with this oneshot. I should be sleeping because I have to wake up at 7:50AM tomorrow but like...Floyd Talbert, am I right? Also, I'm working on dribbles. My inbox is acting strange so if you sent in anything, please send it in again, thank you! Hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist!

Women say men are all the same; A gentleman, at least what Floyd Talbert considered him, proves women wrong.

Floyd Talbert knew he was no good. He didn’t consider himself a playboy , even though he charmed a new girl every week and possibly took them to bed, but he definitely knew how to play the game. Heck, his friends called him the master of the game. Girls back home and Europe loved it when Tab would break their young hearts with his dashing smirk. Every week, he’d have a pretty lady or two hanging off of his arms, giggling and smiling at anything he did or said. It boosted his ego even bigger than it already was. What was there not to love? He got whatever he wanted, when he wanted, and he always was satisfied in the end.

Guys wished they were him and any girl he could get his hands on simply adored him. Floud Talbert was like Hercules, but more conceited and naive. He was too young for marriage and too old for foolish games. He liked the flamboyant lifestyle he lived, it kept him on edge. Besides, who would Floyd Talbert, the one, the only, change for?

--------

“Busy night?” You questioned, leaning against the counter, overlooking the packed bar. There was soft jazz in the backing music, singing, dancing, and loads of drunken men. Most of them were Americans. Alborune had been hosting the Paratroopers in the quaint little town. On the weekends, the pubs would turn into total clusterfucks, at least according to your boss.

Your boss looked at you and shrugged his shoulders, throwing a towel over his shoulder. “Unfortunately, and a lot of damn drunks,” He cursed. You looked behind him, seeing the American soldiers sloppily dancing with the local girls and even some of the waitresses. You could see the soldiers, their breaths of beer and hands grasping the waitresses' backs and butts, spinning them around as swing music played in the black. You had worked in a pub and knew how these relationships ended; divorce or after an awkward one night stand. Unfortunately, you had experienced the two of those more times then you could count on your fingers. Not wanting to get hurt, you made it official that you were here to do your job, make drinks, and serve the men. Nothing else and nothing more.

You bit your lip, letting out an inhale, “Another Friday night at the pub.”

“Jus’ be careful, you hear me?” Your boss warned. He was like a father towards you; an old man with sweet eyes. He always made sure the waitresses in his bar weren’t being harassed in the pub. “And whatever you do-”

“Don’t get yourself into trouble,” You repeated as you tied the apron onto your hips, “I know. ‘S not like I’ll be getting into it anytime today, or at all.”

At the bar you worked at, most of the waitresses were the most beautiful women you had ever seen. They looked like they belonged in Hollywood with their soft curls, red lips, and large breasts. They were always either chatting up a storm with a Paratrooper, giving a paratrooper a motorboat, dancing with a Paratrooper, or sneaking with a Paratrooper to the back of the Pub. It was because they were beautiful on the outside, but not within. The men weren’t smart enough to see that. All they desired was a pretty girl to use and then dispose of the next day. It occasionally made you a tad bit jealous. You knew how childish it was, but you wanted to be that girl who was loved not only for her looks, but her personality. Loved for who you truly were. But you reminded yourself that it was better if you kept yourself out of the limelight.

You had begun your shift, taking orders and rushing to the counter to make two full trays of beer in your hands. The night was so far going well. A few of the men had hit on you, but it was nothing new or special. You simply ignored it, doing your mundae little schedule.

Rosie was one of your co-workers. She was everything you wished to be; pretty, bubbly, and got everything she wanted. Every week, Rosie would wrap another Paratrooper around her finger. However, she began to play their game as well. Rosie took pleasure in twisting the mind’s of the Paratroopers and breaking their hearts, finding entertainment in it. She was a tease and took great pride in it. As much as you wanted to be her, seeing the Paratroopers have drinking games and even fights over her hand in “marriage” or “too see her glorious caboose”, you stopped and questioned yourself with emotion and logic. Was she truly happy doing this? Was she trying to fill a void in her life? Was she more of an object then a woman? Was it moral of her to break hearts as well?

You saw Rosie sitting next to a young Paratrooper as they made out passionately, hands traveling across each other's bodies. You couldn’t help but look and see their burning desire and hunger for each other. Rolling your eyes, you walk around the crowded bar, the strong smell of Alcohol and vintage jazz pleasing your ears. Every table was full, and as much as you dreaded it, it was your job to go around and ask what the men wanted.

You approached the first time and put on a counterfeit red smile, tilting your head as you chirped to the men. They all turned to you, half smiles and tired eyes, begging for more alcohol. You simply took the groups and wrote down their orders, going from man to man until you reached the end of the table.

“And what would you like?” You asked, preparing your pen and pushing it against your tiny notebook.

The man at the end of the table was conversing with her friends. He first turned his head, greeting you

with his big hazel eyes. You observed his boyish features of ruffled golden hair, a babyface, and lightly tanned skin. Sure, he was handsome, but so was every other man in this bar. He looked at you up and down, a smirk forming at the edge of his lips before he turned his whole body around to face you. He leaned on the edge of the table and simply stared at you, like he was in awe.

“You,” He spat, earning a laugh from all of his friends.

Through your smile, you grit your teeth. “As If I’ve heard that one a million times..” It was a lie, that was the first time you had ever heard that in a while. You weren’t pretty enough to be noticed, but this time was apparently an expectation. “Do you want me to get you a menu?”

You pointed his finger at you, “Like I said-you.” He stood up and smirked, holding his hands out. “You-me, I think we’d make a pretty great match.”

“How would we make a great match If I’ve known you for less than a minute?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows. “I could be mean.”

“Oh, come now. You're gorgeous, I’m handsome.” He persisted. Great, not one of these. “Besides, I like challenges. Just be warned, I always win them miss…” He hesitated on your name before continuing, “Your name, doll?”

“Your order?” You said as you tapped your pen against your notebook. His little nickname had your cheeks flush a little. Thank god the pub had been litlety dimmed. “Please?”

“A beer and your name, please.” He politely requested. “I don’t believe I’m asking for much.”

You looked at him with a sarcastic and puzzled expression, “Why do you care so much about knowing my name? You seem like the type who would forget by the next morning.”

His friends made “ohing” noises like middle schoolers like a teacher would reprimand one of their friends. The cocky bastard let out a chuckle, flashing his pearly whites in a cocky smile. “Well, it depends. You’re feisty-I like it. Since it’s gonna be a while before we have anything going on between us, I best thought I’d make us familiar with each other. It’ll take some time for you to fall for me, but when you do, you’ll be lucky.”

This man could not be for real. It wasn’t a man, but a boy. But on the outside, he was so god damn handsome. He looked like a homewrecker, but god damn, he did a good job of being one. Your boss's word’s of staying out of trouble were lingering from your mind now, and so quickly.

“You’re not gonna shut up until I tell you my name now, are you?”

He shook his head, “Where’s the fun in that, dollface?”

You wrote down his order for beer and then looked up, a smirk, “Y/n. Now you?”

“Y/n, a good name for a good girl. I’ve met a lot of y/n’s, but none like you. They fell into my arms like flies, but you aren’t like that. Just yet,” He joked, earning an eye roll from you. “It’s only fair If I tronduce myself, Sergeant Floyd Talbert,” He gave you a quick salute before relaxing, ‘But you can call me Tab, your boyfriend, or that silver fox that swept you off of your pretty little feet.”

“I think Tab will be good. Just try not to forget my name now, even though my expectations aren’t very high.” You sassed. He gave you an air kiss and you simply gave him a side eye, holding the tray and notebook to your chest as you ushered back to the counter to retrieve Beers. As you prepared them, you thought about Floyd Talbert. There were thousands of men like him. Good for nothing players who were too damn handsome for their own goods. Floyd Talbert was the type of man your parents would warn you to stay clear of since their middle names were trouble in all capitals.

But if he was so bad, then why was he so good to look at it?

Back at the bustling table, Floyd had kept his eyes on you. He watched your eyemove, like a hunter with its prey. He saw you converse with other waitresses, turn down compliments from other paratroopers, and do your job. He wasn’t one for formality, especially in the dating fields. It wasn’t what he was accustomed to doing. By now, the two of you would’ve been in the back of the pub, faulting to get your clothes off of each other for a wuckie. But you were different, you were a special case that Floyd knew would take a lot of investigating,

“Why’d you ask for her name?” Malarkey asked, knocking Floyd out of his trance. “You say it’s not good to ask for a dame’s name. You know, to make it easier.”

Floyd didn’t look over at Malarkey and simply stared at you, filling the large drinks with beer. He pulled on his lip, slumped on the chair. He always knew the answer for everything, he always had a solution.

But this time, it was different.

Floyd had gone into one of the bathrooms with a waitress, who simply smirked at him. Her whole face had trouble written her face, and so did he. She had red lipstick, bedroom eyes, and the nicest rack Floyd had ever seen. He knew from that moment that he would use his words to woo her. After a brief conversation of aggressive flirting, her and Floyd headed to the bathrooms with the blonde, angrily took their clothes off, and fucked. It was quick and there was not a single word spoken between the two. Floyd loved the attention and girls he got, but he never got a relationship or word out of them. He only cared for their looks, which even he knew was shallow. But it was all he knew how to do. If they seemed happy, so was he. But inside, was he truly happy with this lifestyle he lived? Did he like leaving a girl heartbroken the next morning with no goodbye? Did it make him happy?

And yet, he never asked for her name or had a small conversation with her. After they finished, she simply cleaned herself up and left, acting like nothing had happened. Floyd acted like that too, it was easy to put on a facade. He brushed back his ruffled hair and looked at himself in the mirror. He liked what he saw on the outside, but what did he like on the inside?

He still thought about the girl who had served him, y/n, who was not like his other targets. Y/n rejected his advances and twisted his words, which even Talbert found entertaining. He didn’t know this girl very well, but he wanted to. Flirt with her and talk to her, heck-even have a drink with her.

His hyperixation with Y/n wasn’t going to be ending anytime soon.

--------

So Floyd did what he did best-he kept coming back to the Pub. He would come with the men from Easy Company, and sometimes on his own. There he’d find y/n, who’d roll her eyes as he’d walk over and make another “amazing” attempt at flirting. His comments weren’t very creepy, after all, he was a gentleman. You had seen him around the bar before, but never learned his name. You always saw him as the handsome player with a blonde or brunette on his arm. Sure, he had that classic boyish look every girl and guy wished or wanted, but under all that hair gel and his pristine uniform-was he doing it all for his own pleasure? Did he think of women as toys he could throw away the next day, just like had been before? So you did what you did best-keep your distance and roll your eyes at his remarks.

But everytime he walked in and the doorbell would ring, signifying his presence, your hand would grasp against the cloth you were holding to wash down the bar counter..

Floyd kept his promise and kept being persistent with winning your heart. He’d walk in and lean against the counter, saying your name like a sweet singsong. You’d serve him a drink, and he’d tell you about his day and occasionally flex his muscles. At first glance, Floyd seemed a boorish boy; the one who’d brag how he’d conquer multiple women like they were countries. You knew boorish men all too well, and didn’t need another one to increase your pessimistic view on romance.

While much has Floyd loved to boast about himself, he also loved to talk about you. He always complimented your outfits, asked about your day, and even scared off the creepy paratrooper’s who’d get too close for comfort. When Floyd would talk to you, he’d look directly into your eyes and respectfully listen. And he remembered the tiniest of details, such as your little daughter or your neighbor, an edlery women, who’d pester you about marriage and cooking.

“So, how’s Ms.Walsh?” He asked as you placed a Beer in front of him. He had a shit eating grin on his face, so you already knew where this was going. “Did you tell her about your new man?”

You shrugged your shoulders and played it off, “Much to your dismay, I did not. I’m still single.”

“Funny that you say that, y/n. Next time, tell her that you have a very handsome and strong Paratrooper with a dog. I think Trigger will like Poppy a lot.” Floyd boasted as he kept his eyes on you, leaned against the counter with your arms crossed. “Poppy will get used to Trigger, just like us.”

Every Time he’d throw a remark at you, you’d throw it back with a tint of sarcasm. You had learned how to play his game, but occasionally loosened up. Floyd wasn’t a bad guy at all, his ego was big, but he didn’t have any cruel intentions when it came to you. He treated you like a human, with feelings and emotions. He always asked about your day, how you were, made you feel better when you were sad, and did anything to make you happy. So you broke out of your ice a little and did what he did to you in return; show him kindness. You’d finally sit with him at the bar if it wasn’t busy and talked to him.

It was hard to deny, but as much as you hated it, you were falling in love with him. It was hard to resist him, his words were as smooth as silk. Whenever he’d see you, he’d call out your name and would make sure everybody knew you were his-or at least that’s what you thought. The girls you worked with in the bar tried to flirt with him, but much to your surprise, he would push them all away-just for you. All of his attention was focused on you, and only you.

You were beyond conflicted. Your head was telling you to simply be friendly and civil, but your heart was leading you to pursue this romance. You were torn between logic and emotion. One part of you loved him, one part of you hated him. You hated the way he made you feel, think, blush, and do things. Floyd was taking over your life, whether you liked it or not. Whatever you and Floyd had going on was no longer on thin ice. The two of you were deep in the water scuba diving, together.

The bar was busy at night, but tonight was different. It was less busy than usual and much quieter. The ambience was peaceful, soft souls playing in the background with the warm lights dimmed. Your manicured nails tapped at the counter as you observed the setting; some paratroopers drinking, a paratrooper cuddled with a fellow girl in town, and a waitress casually conversing with the costumors. Only a few more hours and you could finally return home with little Luna, nestled in your warm bed, alone and safe from the cruel world.

The little bell on top of the door had rang, alerting the whole bar of a new customer. You turned your head and bit your lip upon seeing the incoming danger. Great, your shift had just become a whole lot more entertaining.

Floyd was donning his new uniform, cap and gelled hair. He strutted across the bar to you, knowing that he was handsome. He knew he was hot shit and wanted to make sure everybody knew. He came up right to the bar counter and leaned against up.

“Miss y/n…” He greeted in his boyish voice, looking up and down at your figure as he usually did. He stopped at your face. You never wore makeup, and if you did, it was barely noticeable to the naked eye. However, Floyd noticed you looked different tonight. You had a bright shade of red on your lips, a light rogue pressed onto your cheeks, and a soft eyeshadow to match your (y/e/c) eyes. It was soft, just like Floyd perceived you as. “Are you wearing makeup?”

You nodded and looked down, feeling your heart skip a beat. You tried to snap back at him, but your body forced you to look and not embarrass yourself. “Yes. I suppose I try something new, to make myself look somewhat put together.”

Floyd looked puzzled at your response, “Put together? You always look gorgeous, I don’t know what you mean.”

Keeping your gaze down, you were finding it difficult to be around him. The room got darker and you felt a cold sweat overcome your body. You weren’t asking for his sympathy. Of course he saw this and found another way to flirt with you. You refused to give him the satisfaction he wanted, even though you did enjoy his kind words. You shook your head, “You don’t have to lie, Floyd.”

“I never lie. Look at me, y/n,” Floyd stated as his fingers tipped your chin up. His grasp was as light as a feather. The two of you made eye contact with each other. His fingers rested on your chin for longer than you both expected. His long fingers slided away as he caught a glimpse of your face so close, noticing all the little features about you. “You’re beautiful, without all of this and with this. I don’t know if you could deny it. If a man doesn’t find a dame like you gorgeous, then they must need glasses.”

You looked at him and back down, scrambling to find your words. Romance was something that you hated. It should have made you feel happy and left you with a good relantishop, but instead you were left with broken hearts and scared. As much as you wanted to love and be loved, it was hard to. You were scared of getting hurt again but Floyd Talbert made you reconsider. And your mind was stubborn. You didn’t want to reconsider, all you wanted to do was stay in your old ways and be alone. But how long were the two of you going to play this game of cat and mouse? How long could it go on?

Every time Floyd tried to leave you, he always ended up back at your door, hoping you’ll finally open up to him; by either literally opening her door or letting him into her heart. Floyd’s way’s, the small and big things, illustrated his dedication to winning your heart. Floyd was willing to drive for miles to end  up with you, and he wished you would appreciate his effort.

“Well, I guess you need glasses then,” You smirked and turned around to fix Floyd a beer, his favorite drink. He always liked the glass to be half way since he wasn’t a real drinker, he was more of a social one. You had picked up on that after befriending him. But was he a friend? Someone who you were in love with? What was he to you, and what were you to him?

Placing the beer in front of him, you attempted to walk away, but Floyd even knew you weren’t getting away that easy.

“Sit with me,” He requested, patting the empty barstool next to him. You opened your mouth to protest, but he already beat you to it, “Nobody’s here. Just one drink, and I’ll leave you be.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked over and towards Talbert to sit across from him. Instead of patting the barstool, he was now patting his lap with a look of lust and humor. Knowing that he was teasing you, you chuckled and sat on the barstool.

“Okay, you have me now.” You said as you put your hands up, ‘Why do you want me here?”

“I wanna know the pretty dame behind all of the makeup,” Floyd responded as he pulled on his lower lip, “Tell me about you. Home, your cat, everything.”

“One minute you want to marry me, the next you want to know my life story…” You replied as you also leaned onto the counter, “If you want to know so badly, then you go first. Tell me your life story.”

And so Floyd Talbert did. He told every little detail he could about himself from his family, Kokomo, his love for fishing, his four brothers-basically, his whole life story. Floyd had no problem openly sharing his problems with the world, especially you. He was fine telling you about his dad not being present, working odd jobs in high school, not attending college-he was ok with it. He accepted and loved himself, as you could clearly see. You on the other hand couldn’t understand how open he could be with himself, in relationships and in general.

The hard front of Floyd’s boot gently kicked your heel, his toe caressing against your bare ankle. A chill was sent up your spine as you looked up at him, straightening his back.

“You seemed so interested that you started drooling,” He commented, a smirk on his face.

You gave him a puzzled expression before you could notice the sticky sensation at the corner of your lip. Groaning in embarrassment, you looked for a napkin to wipe the drool from. Before you could find a napkin, Floyd had grabbed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and grabbed your chin gently, wiping the side of your mouth. He held you like you were made of glass, easily broken by a little infraction, which was partially true.

Once Floyd removed his fingers, he handed you the handkerchief. “Here, for you.’ He slicked his honey hair back, “Some ladies would kill for that.”

Hearing the comment, you rolled your eyes and shoved it into your apron. “Hardy Har Har, thank you.”

“Ok, enough about me. What about you?” Floyd said as he scooted his chair towards you, resting his arms on the counter with his chin gliding against his palm. “I’d like to know more about my dame.”

You looked at him and back down, biting your lip. A sarcastic comeback crossed your mind, but somehow you couldn’t spit out the words. The possessive word made you freeze in place as your grasp tightened around your drink. Nobody had called you in years.

“I’m no one’s,” You stated, taking a long sip of your drink, “I’m boring. I grew up in Albourne, always have been here. I have a daughter, I like to read, smoke, I-”

“I know that, but I want to know what’s in here.” Floyd pointed a finger at your head and heart. It was sweet, and even adorable. As much as you wanted to give into his warmth, the ice that surrounded your heart began to freeze.

“Come on, darling. Don’t play so hard to get, I know it’s not easy. Just loosen up a little for once. I can tell you that I’m stubborn, just like you. I like a challenge, and I always win,” Floyd cockily stated, which only pushed your buttons. The closer he scooted his chair towards you, the more you felt like screaming at the top of your lungs. “Stop being so scared and jus-”

“My goddess gracious, shut up!” You exclaimed loudly, burying your hands in your face. Floyd, respecting your wishes, shut up and was left speechless, his face contorted. What had he done wrong? He hadn’t touched you at all.

“You know, I’ve been with guys just like you. Total flirts, sleep with whoever they want and do whatever they want. They don’t care, just as long as it doesn’t affect them. God forbid If a woman does that, she’s considered a whore,” You ranted, “Guys like you are bad news. You treat us like objects that you can use and then throw out the next day. I know this game-you don’t care about me or my feelings at all, do you?” You looked away from him, holding back years, “After all, you said you wanted honesty, so there.”

Floyd was shocked at your sudden rant. He considered you sweet and quiet. This was the most he had ever heard come out of your mouth. Normally, he wouldn’t be moved by these things since they never occurred. This was his longest “flirting avvenire” he had experienced in years. His heart broke at your words. Being ashamed of himself, he attempted to fix what had been broken.

“Y/n, that’s not what you think. I know I’m like that, and it’s no excuse. But you’re…” Floyd stopped and let out an exhale with a red face, “different. When I first looked at you, I thought I died. I haven’t talked to any other dame since-you’re the only one that matters. I think about you whenever I’m not with you. Y/n, I think I lo-”

You let out a dry laugh, “Yeah. You may talk to me, make me laugh and say the sweetest things...but how many other girls are you doing that to? How many other girls have you shamed for being your property? How many girls have you slapped for looking at another man for less than a second? How many other girls have you forced yourself on and left them with a child you never wanted? Tell me, I’d love to hear.”

Floyd listened to your words carefully, analyzing them. The thought processed on his head, and instead of looking offended, his face softened. He looked sad and pained. Even though you had said a little, Floyd could piece together your past. He felt like an idiot for not knowing. No wonder you were cold and distant. From what it seemed, you had been not only physically abused, but touched without your consent and forced to take care of a child you didn’t want. Floyd felt terrible for you. It was no longer a game anymore, it was serious.

“Y/n...I’m sorry. I never knew. I feel like an idiot for not knowing. I’m not like that. I’d never do something like that I-”

“You sound just like him. All of you are the same. You put on a fake little smile and say sweet little things,” You ranted as you pushed yourself out of the chair to walk out. Floyd cursed under his breath and followed you right out, “Then bomb, under your control.”

“Y/n-”

Slamming the door open, your feet angrily stomp through the mud. You don’t care if you're sinking. You don’t know where you're going, but you want to be as far away from Floyd as possible.

You turned around and pointed a blaming finger at his chest, “Don’t interrupt me. You're so damn manipulative. From the minute you sat down, I could see that you wanted me in your bed. My biggest mistake wasn’t falling for you, it was thinking you had fallen for me.”

Floyd didn’t say anything and watched you turn over and run a hand through your neatly done up hair and makeup, which both became unruly.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. Floyd walked over and grabbed your hands in an attempt to win you back, “I know it’s cheesy, but you're changing me. I tried to move on, but I can’t. Just let me help you. I can be whatever for you. A friend, a lover, anything. I had no idea what you had gone through. Can you let me inside so I can help you?” He was serious, this was no joke to him or you, “Let’s stop this game of cat and mouse. Honesty is number one here.”

You threw his hands away and began to back away, black tears streaming from your caked face. The nice outfit, soft hair, and pretty dress all for him. It was blind ignorance. How dumb you felt and looked.

“Goodbye, Floyd.” Is all you said before you hastily turned around and left him alone. You could imagine his gorgeous face, all heartbroken. Deep inside, you hated doing this. Breaking hearts, just like Floyd did.

But you and Floyd were different. He was the archer and you were the prey in the big scheme of things. In your world, to prevent history from repeating itself, it is better to be safe than sorry.

-----------

You always left your door unlocked. Albourne was home, you had  never left in. You knew your neighbors well enough. They liked you and your bubbly little daughter enough. Whenever you’d come home from work, she would run up to your feet and smile at you. Her smile would remind you of the man that shattered your heart, but there was something special about Poppy. She was not his, but yours, the light in that dark relationship. You made sure she was loved every single day and put her happiness over yours.

Another girl had taken your shift for the night, which made you relieved. You had a whole day to yourself, and Poppy. It was an indoors day due to the heavy rain. You accomplished from cleaning with the help of Poppy, some reading, and a game of princess and dragons. You were the dragon and Poppy played the role of the princess, and her stuffed animal the prince. The way she played the prince triggered the thoughts of Floyd.

After cleaning up, Floyd would infect your mind like a parasite. After you had bid him goodbye, you hadn’t seen him since. You had seen his friends at the bar and around town, but not him. Why did you miss him? You made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with him. You couldn’t stand being hurt again, even if a part of you, just a tiny one, considered feelings.

When Poppy had drifted off into a nap, you decided to go check out the rain. The garden you had built outside was weighed down by the heavy amount of train. You slowly walked into the rain as you felt your hair stick to your face and the clothes on your body become all moist. It was like taking a shower, it was beautiful. Closing your eyes, you tilted your head up and let the rain pour down your face and body.

The rain suddenly stopped falling into your mouth and clothes. Confused, you had thought it stopped raining. You opened your eyes and instead of a gray sky, you were met with the black top of an umbrella, being held by none other than Floyd Talbert.

“What are you doing in the rain?” He asked casually as he put a hand on your waist, walking with you to the cover of your house. He was drenched too, but you were soaking wet. “You’re gonna get sick.”

You blinked a few times to make sure what you were seeing and hearing was real. You stuttered and pointed at you, “Floyd...oh...I...how did you..?”

“Waitresses at The Pub. I got worried, I didn’t see you at the pub.” He explained not to sound stalkerish, “I looked everywhere for you because I needed to talk to you. Please, I know you hate me, but before I go, I might not come back. I rather tell you then die with it.”

You had forgotten there was a war that Floyd was a part of. He would soon be shipped off to Europe and be gone for forever or an indefinite amount of time. His hazel orb’s begged for your attention, and you were finding it hard to resist.

“Since you’re here...I suppose it’s only fair.” You accepted, “Go on.”

“I was thinking about what you told me, and it made me think too. I used to not do it a lot, until I met you,” He admitted, “Y/n, I know it’s crazy, but I could’ve sworn I died when I first looked at you. My heart stopped and I didn’t know what to say when you came over to me. You were sweet, quiet, and drop dead gorgeous. No other dame mattered to me, only you did. When I was with you, I only thought about you and what you wanted to do. You’re in my dreams and thoughts when I’m not with you. I think about you a lot, and...I love you, angel, as crazy as I sound.”

“I know what you’ve gone through and I’m sorry. But, I want to help you. I want to make you feel beautiful and loved. You know I’m there for you in whatever way you want, as a friend or a lover. I’m always a door away, and you know that y/n. But I love you more than anything in the world, and I want to show that to you in whatever way I can.”

You didn’t know what had triggered the kiss. Maybe it was Floyd’s speech, the hand on the small of your back, or his wet uniform. You didn’t respond with words and leaned in. Floyd didn’t protest and dived right into the kiss, his hands wrapped around your waist and back for support. The girls at your job were right, he was the best kieer you had ever met. He was gentle with you, his plump lips felt like heaven on your lips. It was a genius and heartfelt kiss. He could taste your lipstick and you could taste his cologne after the two of you had far gone.

There the two of you stood, wrapped in each other's arms as the rain poured down onto you.

You looked up and grabbed Floyd’s hand, nudging your head. “I’ll get you some warm clothes. I can make you a drink, if you please. Tea, coffee, anything.”

Floyd walked right beside you and pulled you in close for warmth. He planted a kiss on your wet hair, “You?” You looked at him with that motherly glare, which earned you a giggle. “You did say anything I wanted.”

“Well, I guess I did,” You raised your eyebrows and smiled. You leaned into his shoulder as you walked back into your little cottage, Floyd holding you close to his side.

You ended up serving him Tea. Poppy had woken up from her nap and followed Floyd around like a dog, believing that her wish of a father had come true. Floyd was intent on making Poppy’s dreams come true. Poppy would rave about the stories she wrote as you sat on Floyd’s lap, a blanket sprawled on your lap. His hand would play with the ends of your loose hair as you leaned in his chest, a soft smile on your face.

You had made dinner for three instead of two that night. As you cleaned the dishes, Floyd had read Poppy a story and sent her to sleep. He promised her that the next time he came over that she would get to meet Trigger and walk him. After Poppy had fallen asleep, Floyd came back to the kitchen and carried you to your room. The two of you got rid of your dirty clothes and left them sprawled on the ground, jumping into the bath with each other. He made sure that you were pampered that night as he washed your body and hair, massaged your back, planted kisses on your body, complimented you every other second, and did thousands of little things that would make a girl go head over heels. He took you to your bed and wrapped you in warm blankets and even made you a cup of tea. He knew he was going to get in trouble, but he stayed behind with you and cuddled with you until you fell asleep for “warmth”. It was cliche, but you absolutely loved it. Floyd’s radiance and warmth had melted away that icy barrier.

And with that, Floyd truly made you feel loved once again.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Chapter 14: After the Fire

Jon has some visitors.

Note: This chapter contains a few small instances of well-meaning people touching a blind person without warning in a way that startles them.

Read on Ao3

---

He knew that he was in a hospital before he was fully awake. The texture of the stiff sheets and gown, the antiseptic smell, some indistinctly medical quality to the air filled him with the memory of wandering through distant dreams, of emerging into a cold and brightly-lit room. He came to himself gradually, slowly growing aware of an uncomfortable heaviness, of something wrapped around his face and something else restricting movement on his right side. He shifted experimentally and felt a twinge. Quietly, he groaned.

"Hey," came a voice from nearby. "You actually awake, boss? Or is this another false alarm?"

I'm not your boss anymore, Tim, he thought. Then he thought, wait a minute.

"Tim . . . ?" his voice came out hoarse and thick with grogginess. "Where – augh . . . ."

Pain shot through Jon's body as he tried to lift himself into a sitting position. He heard Tim get up and felt a careful hand on his left shoulder, guiding him back down.

"Oooh, don't do that. They've got you on the good stuff, but you're still a mess on that side. Don't be such an impatient patient."

"Where's Martin? Is he –"

"Relax, Martin's fine. Well, not fine, he's been shot, but he's doing a lot better than you. Bullet glanced off your shoulder before hitting him, tore up some muscle and fat but didn't get anything vital. He was awake before you were even out of surgery."

The hand stayed on Jon until it was clear he was going to remain still, then came away. There was an audible scrape as a chair was pulled closer, and Tim sat down again.

"We're all fine too, by the way," he added, as if offended he hadn't asked. "Just so you know."

"And . . . Jonah?"

Tim was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued.

"Didn't check if he was breathing when we left him, but he wasn't getting up," he said. "And I can't see anything coming out of that fire."

Jon lay still and tried to process it all. He wasn't sure what he should feel. What he did feel was a distant sort of unsteadiness, whether it was shock or whatever painkillers were coursing through his system, he didn't know.

"Have you been sitting up with me?" he asked.

"Don't get too big a head about it," Tim smirked. "I've only been here a bit. Sasha's come by to peek in as well, and we've visited Martin too. I was just lucky enough to be the one to see your grumpy little face when you woke up."

"Huh." Surprise and a strange melancholy rose in Jon at the thought. He smiled wryly, "and for my part, the first thing I hear on regaining consciousness is Tim Stoker's terrible puns."

"Excuse you, I am a delight to be around and my puns are charming."

Jon laughed softly, lapsing back into silence. The quiet stretched on for a while, solemnity beginning to creep in at the edges again. Then Tim spoke.

". . . You think he's actually dead?"

"Jonah? I think so. Avatars can be hard to kill, but he was very afraid of death." Jon tapped his less encumbered hand against the mattress, considering. "I think . . . if he had reached to the Eye in his last moments, it would have simply watched as his life faded away, doing what it does. Drinking in his fear."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Tim muttered, something unsettled in his tone. "What about the circus?"

". . . Depends what you mean, I suppose." Jon tried to choose his words carefully. "I'm not the Archivist anymore, so I don't think they'd have any interest in me now. We're not protected from them, but I don't think they'd have reason to come after any of us. Unless, of course," he added pointedly. "Someone draws their interest by going after them."

"Even if we get away, they're still out there," Tim pushed, something limping in his voice, "Doing what they do to people. Am I supposed to just be okay with that?"

Jon was quiet for a while.

"If you could destroy the circus," he said softly, "which is a big ‘if', but if you could, the Stranger would continue manifesting in other forms. Possibly even as a circus again. You can't keep fear from the world, you'd only be changing details. In the end I don't know if it would save anyone."

"It would hurt those things, though. Wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Jon said. "Maybe not. Certainly not as much as it would hurt anyone who cared about you."

It was Tim's turn to be quiet. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Not sure I like this new, future-memories version of you Jon," he said. "He's kind of a know-it-all."

"You should have seen me when I was literally all-knowing."

"Nightmare. Don't know how Martin put up with you."

"Neither do I." Jon smiled, warmth running through him at the thought. He took a long, slow breath. ". . . You died hating me, you know. In that other life."

"Yeah?" Tim didn't sound very surprised. "What'd you do?"

"Plenty," Jon laughed mirthlessly. "Though by the end I'm not even sure how much it had to do with me. We were lost, hurt, broken people, lashing out in fear and pain."

"Yeah. Starting to think that the Magnus Institute didn't exactly facilitate a healthy work environment."

"No . . . ."

He heard a soft, electronic tapping in the pause that followed. Maybe Tim was texting the others, letting them know Jon was awake? He couldn't tell. A gentle shove hit his uninjured shoulder, making him flinch.

"Well. Let's try not to fuck it up this time around, huh?" Tim said. "I'm gonna go get a nurse and tell them you're up, they'll probably want to check your vitals or rotate your tires or something."

"Right. Uh, right . . ." Jon stammered, "thank you."

The footsteps faded, and Jon let his head sink back onto the pillow. He felt . . . adrift. More so than he had in a while.

He'd been confused and frightened through all of this, half the time he hadn't even known what he was looking for, but at least he'd known he was looking. Even in the long, terrible walk across the nightmare domains, the constant pull of their destination had given him purpose. He'd known what he was hoping for.

And there had been Martin there. Of course.

For better or worse now, Jonah was dead and he was alive. He was severed from the Eye, the others were freed, and dark and terrible powers still lurked beyond the edge of human perception, waiting to Become.

Jon wasn't sure what he was hoping for now. He lay back and waited for the nurse to arrive.

* * *

Time passed in a haze. He had little sense of how much he slept, and the divide between sleep and waking blurred together.

Sometimes he had visitors. Georgie came in not long after Tim, having gotten a very incomplete version of events through Melanie. He hadn't exactly intended to tell her anything when she sat down, but somehow after a few confused inquiries, and a gentle "try me" or two, he found himself spilling everything. It was far more disjointed and emotional than his recounting in the tunnels, but the bulk of it seemed to get across.

When it was over, she just said, "sounds like you've had a hell of a time."

It was the calmness as much as the sympathy that affected Jon. As if he'd just told her about a bad relationship he'd gotten out of, rather than his place in the universe's nightmare cosmology and the end of the world.

He didn't know what to say to it, really, and frankly saying anything at all risked letting the tightness inside his chest come spilling out - the pressure bandage would hide any tears, but Georgie would be able to tell. She saved him by breaking the silence, asking if he had any stock tips or winning lottery numbers from the future to share.

Melanie's visits were less steadying, twice devolving into arguments. It seemed to be a constant between them, that no matter what happened or what forces were acting on either of them, their ability to rile each other was inevitable. She was also insistent that he explain every detail he remembered about what she'd begun calling the "dark timeline." When he complained that framing it as an alternate timeline was likely inaccurate and, frankly, horrifying in its implications, she threw a pen at him.

Still, she came back again afterwards. And still, he was glad that she did.

Sasha reported that her hand was healing, though when pressed admitted he'd been right about her range of motion not returning. She also helped him set the voice assistant up on his phone, which was a great relief. Though it was a bit embarrassing to reveal how little he knew about his own device's functions.

"Honestly Jon, you're only thirty-one," she said, going through some final setup that he'd already forgotten her explanation of. "You've got no excuse at all to be so tech-illiterate."

"Yes, yes. I've had other priorities lately."

"I don't mind you asking for help, understand. But what are you going to do if I get eaten by another evil table someday?"

He felt a stab of shock at the blazingly conversational reference to it. Something must have shown on his face because he heard her pause..

"Sorry. Too soon?"

"Ah. . . depends on your perspective of time, I suppose," Jon said, trying and failing to make it sound like a joke.

"Right. You know, it's all a little distant for me. Unsettling, sure, but on my end it's really just a story. . . ." she trailed off. "Hey, what were you doing in Hainault?"

"Gertrude's storage locker was there -- are you going through my location history?"

"Just the more recent stuff," she made it sound as if he was the strange one for asking, and he grunted with annoyed resignation.

"You should be careful about that."

"About what?"

"Prying into other people. Invading their privacy," he lay his head back against the pillow. "Don't forget that you were part of a temple to the Eye until very recently. You're free of the Institute now, but the power behind it might not be through with you."

She was quiet for a while. Whether it meant she was contemplating what he said or ignoring him so that she could continue digging through his phone, he couldn't say.

"All I'm saying is that it can be addicting," he continued. "That urge to push past the boundaries that people raise against you. Trust me when I say that I know."

"I'd imagine you would." She paused. ". . . What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Being all knowing?"

". . . Hard to describe."

There was a pause, and when it became clear he wasn't going to continue, Sasha pushed out an annoyed breath and said "well you could give it more of a shot than that."

"I don't know. Overwhelming," Jon said. "In the most complete sense of the word. Sometimes I had answers, but so few of them were helpful in the end. And the things I saw, the nightmares, the pain of everyone trapped in them. Having to watch that sort of thing, all the time . . . either it destroys you, or you learn to distance yourself. At least a little. If only to keep from breaking down. Neither is very good, but one lets you survive."

Sasha made a thoughtful humming noise.

"It isn't anything you want. Believe me," he said softly. "Even if the world hadn't ended, if I'd just been another avatar . . . any rewards aren't worth the price that others have to pay."

"Yeah," she sighed heavily. "Sounds about right."

Jon relaxed, some tension he'd been carrying in him slowly unlocking. Sasha continued.

"Well. Talking about privacy, while I'm here let me at least show you how to stop broadcasting your location to anyone and everyone," she tsked and scooted her chair closer. "Honestly. No wonder you got kidnapped all the time."

"I don't really think supernatural manifestations of fears needed GPS to find me."

"Couldn't have helped though, could it?"

"Probably not," Jon smiled sadly. "Should've had you around."

"Yeah. Can't imagine how any of you managed."

* * *

Even with his visitors, there were long stretches of time Jon spent entirely alone. Laying in the dark and the quiet, his thoughts shifting like a tide. Sometimes he'd drift back to those first years at the Institute, or the time-beyond-time after the change. Other days he'd lay contemplating the past few months, all the things that he'd re-written and the worries he still had.

Mostly he thought of very little, the twin sophorics of boredom and pain medication fogging his mind into an uncomfortable stasis.

When the knock came, he'd been listening to the soft, white noise of the air conditioning and thinking of how much it resembled distant waves, putting him in mind of a cold and empty shore. Then he heard two soft taps against the door, along with a familiar voice.

"Knock, knock," Martin said.

It was the first time he'd heard his voice since the fire, since the two of them were falling to the ground together. Without really thinking he asked, "who's there?"

"Oh! Right –" he sounded embarrassed. "Sorry, it's Martin."

"Yes, I -- ah, yes." Jon sounded pitifully eager, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "C-come in. Please."

* * *

If Jon was asleep, Martin decided, then he'd come back later. He probably needed the rest -- had needed it a good long while before they'd both been shot. Really, Martin ought to be at home resting as well. But when he knocked softly on the half open door, Jon turned in his direction, wide awake.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"Oh! Right –" stupid, he can't see you. Going to have to remember that. "Sorry, it's Martin."

Jon nodded, inviting him in and slowly shifting into a seated position as Martin pulled a chair up to his bedside.

He could see the edge of a dressing covering the bullet's exit wound, just peeking up from under Jon's collar. The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and the area around them was still a little bruised and swollen. He looked wrung out, small and tired. But then, Martin supposed, everyone looks small and tired in a hospital bed.

"How are you doing?" Jon asked, "they told me you've been recovering as well . . . ."

"Yeah, just got released this morning." He stretched, rubbing over the bandage that was hidden below his shirt and jacket. "Went home, had a shower, then came right back to the hospital."

"Sounds like an exciting day."

"What about you?"

"Mmm, still looking forward to a few days here, at least. They don't think I'll be needing more surgery, fortunately, and they're weaning me onto less intense painkillers. It's a little exhausting, but apparently I'm recovering well."

"Considering you took a bullet for me," Martin muttered.

A startled-sounding laugh came from Jon. "I'm not really sure that's what happened. More like we both got shot at the same time?"

"Suppose so," Martin said. Didn't quite feel that way, though. "Honestly, I don't even know if he was trying to shoot us at the end, or if the gun just went off when they tackled him."

"Neither would surprise me."

"But then I didn't even think he had a gun, let alone murdered people with it."

"I suspect he was desperate. He probably only resorts -- resorted to things like that when some disaster crept up on him. Like us, or like Gertrude. He wasn't the hands-on type. Which came back to bite him with the ritual. In a way it's the reason I'm here -- or, the memories are, I suppose."

"Right . . . ."

Martin had plenty of time to think about it all, laid up in his own bed on another floor of the same building. About all that happened, about the things Jon told them in the tunnels. More than anything else, it just made him feel foolish. Like he'd been left out of a conversation that had been going on behind his back, and now everyone was looking at him and expecting him to catch up.

Which was pretty foolish itself, of course. Jon hadn't told anyone the whole story -- there'd been no conversation, no loop he was kept out of. It wasn't as if ‘post apocalyptic time-traveling memories' was a conclusion he could have somehow come to if he'd just paid closer attention. It was a ridiculous way to feel.

Sasha had told him, between games of dominoes, that she was glad he'd been there that night because she didn't think anyone else could have talked Jon out of his plan. Which was a lot to unpack, but didn't help with the sense of being out of the loop. Not if it was that obvious. Of course, she might have just been trying to make him feel useful. The way he saw it, he hadn't done much that evening except quietly panic, shout a bit and get held at gunpoint. And get shot. And get Jon shot with him, because he'd stood in front of him.

"I'm sorry . . . ." Martin said, softly.

". . . For what?"

"I saw what was happening, just before the gun went off. I could have pulled you away if I was faster, or thrown us to the ground, or done something. Instead I just froze."

"Martin . . ." Jon tilted his head in his direction. "Even assuming you could have been fast enough, most people freeze up when a gun is pointed at them. I did the same the first few times."

". . . First few times." Martin repeated flatly. "Jesus, Jon."

"I know. It's been a difficult few years."

"I didn't even know . . . ."

"I didn't want you to know," Jon said. "I couldn't tell any of you, Martin, not until everything was ready. You saw how close things came as it was, if he'd gotten wind of things sooner . . . ."

"Right . . . of course."

The two of them fell into an uncertain silence. Jon's hand worried at a thread on the edge of the bedsheet, twisting and twirling it between his fingers. Martin thought about that hand moving slowly and smoothly over his own, about the sorrow on Jon's face when he'd pulled away. Doubt anyone else could've talked him out of it, Sasha's voice repeated in his mind.

"About what you said. In the tunnels . . . ."

Jon visibly tensed, the edge of the sheet twisting in his fingers. "Er . . . which part?"

"The part about me," Martin said, praying that would be enough, that Jon wasn't going to make him actually repeat the words. "About us?"

"Ah. Right," he smiled weakly. "Funny how much easier it is to say these things when you think you're not going to be alive much longer."

"You were really going to tell me that and then go off to die a minute later, weren't you?" There was something quiet in Martin's voice as he spoke. Calm. Like the eye of a hurricane.

"I . . ." Jon hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Bit rude."

". . . Suppose it was."

Martin went quiet. What could he say to that, to any of it? It wasn't as if he didn't get it, insecurity only goes so far when there's a declaration that explicit. He knew what I love you meant, he just . . . felt like he'd only now joined the conversation.

Before the silence could grow too powerful, Jon spoke again.

"We were together. In that other life. By the end of it, at least. I --" he laughed softly. "It took me too damned long to even realize my own feelings, let alone imagine that -- but we were together."

I can't watch that happen again, he'd said. Martin had more or less guessed that was the situation, but it was still strange to hear it confirmed. Surreal to think that Jon had a history with him, or a version of him, that he wasn't a part of.

"Were we happy?"

Jon was quiet for a while before answering. "I -- I'd like to say we were. I don't know if happy is a word I can use. At first we were in hiding, and then after the Change it was . . . well, it was a nightmare. But we had each other, and that made all the difference. And --"

He took an unsteady breath. "I think I was happier in those desperate weeks we had before the world ended than I'd honestly been in years? And there were times I'd see you in that cabin, and you'd be complaining about something, or humming while we cleaned and laughing to yourself. And you'd look different somehow, and it felt like -- there was a part of you that had been tucked away in all the time I'd known you, that was letting itself breathe again, and I was so lucky to be allowed to see it," he laughed lowly. "Or maybe all that was me projecting. Maybe I was the fool who should have paid better attention before. I don't know."

Martin tried to picture himself tucked into some remote hideaway, hiding from sinister supernatural monsters but relaxed enough to be humming and laughing while they tidied up. Tried to imagine what Jon could be referring to, how he'd been different and whether that was a good or bad thing, even. He found that he couldn't do either.

"What was he like?" he asked. "That other me."

A soft smile spread through Jon. "He was like you, Martin. A little older . . . a great deal more tired. More short-tempered, or maybe just more vocal about it," he added with fondness. "He was brave, and frustrating, and . . . and wonderful. Just wonderful."

". . . Sounds like quite a guy." Martin managed.

Jon nodded. Then the smile slipped from him, and his hands came together in his lap,

"I know that you aren't him. That is -- you are, in a sense you're the same person, but you also aren't?" he gestured outward. "Our experiences, they shape who we are, they change us. I know that."

". . . Right."

A part of him had suspected something like this might be coming, and he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. It still hurt, and he felt guiltily relieved that Jon couldn't see his face just now.

"I just . . ." Jon continued, "I don't want you to think, ah, that I expect anything--"

"No, I get it." Martin tried to smile, tried to sound like every word wasn't twisting in him. "I probably remind you of him? And -- heat of the moment, you thought you were gonna die. I get it. I don't expect anything either."

Jon frowned, looking momentarily confused.

"I know I'm not him, like, it's not the same," Martin continued, clearing his throat. "It doesn't have to be a thing, you know, if you don't want--"

"Martin." Jon cut him off. "I meant every word I said down there. I still do."

The words dried up in Martin's throat as Jon continued.

“I love you. Just as much as I always have. I still want to have a life with you, and I’m still terrified of that life being torn from us. And I don’t know how you feel about me, but I know -- even if any, ah, feelings are returned, I--” He took a deep breath, “What I feel for you, it’s, well, it’s a lot? There are so many things I’ve been through with you that you haven’t been through with me, and that’s good, I’m glad you haven’t been through them because they were mostly horrible. But I can’t deny that many of them brought us closer --”

“Jon . . . .”

“And -- and I don’t want to scare you off with the -- the intensity of my feelings but I’d understand and I wouldn’t blame you --”

Martin reached out and put a hand on Jon’s arm. The flurry of movement and talk came to a sharp standstill.

“Jon,” he said again.

“Oh. Um,” Jon’s voice was small and quiet. “Oh.”

". . . I don’t know how I’m different from the Martin you remember. And I don’t know how he felt about you, or how what I feel is different,” he said slowly. “All I know is that when you said you were going to go off to find a quiet corner and kill yourself, it felt like the whole world was falling apart.”

Jon was still under his hand, barely breathing.

“Don’t do it again.”

Quietly, Jon nodded. Martin pulled his hand away, settling back into the chair. For a while neither of them said anything,

“I mean, listen . . .” Martin finally broke the silence, shrugging uncertainly. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are?”

An unsteady sound came out of Jon, his hand flew up to cover his mouth and when he pulled it away he was smiling. "I -- I'd like that. Very much," he said.

"Okay." Martin smiled back, feeling airy, lightheaded. "Cool." He laughed. "Getting shot together'll make a hell of a first date."

"Wh-- that was not a first date!" Jon protested, his own laugh coming out sharp and startled, "that was a -- a terrifying escape from our sinister employer."

"Kind of romantic though, right?" Martin teased, "in a bad action movie sort of way."

"Everything else aside, I refuse to entertain the idea that our first date involved Jonah Magnus in any respect," he shuddered, shaking his head. "Though it -- it honestly may be a while before I'm up for anything much better. I'll still be in the hospital a bit, and afterwards . . . well, I know there's a lot I'm going to have to adjust to."

Martin felt a twinge at Jon's voice, at the anxiety creeping back into it. ". . . You won't have to do it alone," he said.

Smiling weakly, Jon reached a hand over the hard plastic rail meant to keep patients from falling out of bed. Martin took it and squeezed. Jon nodded and let go, settling back.

"There's still so much . . ." he said. "So much you don't even know . . . about us, and about other things."

"You could tell me now, you know. If you wanted."

Jon paused, looking uncertain. "Are you sure you want to hear it? I don't know what you're expecting but it's not going to be some sort of --- pleasant office romance. It's just a series of horrible, traumatic experiences, one after another."

It was a fair question, really, and Martin thought about it before answering.

"I want to hear it," he said. "If you're okay talking about it, that is. I want to know what you've been living with all these months. And . . . I want to know more about that other life. Even if it's all just awful."

Slowly, Jon nodded. "All right . . ." he said, "but it really is a very long story. It's going to take a while."

"I don't have anything on today," Martin smiled, standing up. "I'll go and get us some tea."

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Six: Wonder

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, tooth-rotting fluff and as always, a smidge of angst

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Six - Next

A beam of golden sunlight shone through the small crack in the curtain, warming your exposed skin, waking you up. Maxwell was still sleeping, lightly snoring and his bare chest rising and falling underneath you. You noticed that his cozy sweater from the night before had been discarded on the floor by the bed, but he was still wearing his pants, and his arm was lazily draped around your body. He held you close and tight, like he was afraid to let you go. You snuggled into him, relishing the moment and hoping it would never end. But you were awake, and it was a new day, and you had a lot to do.

You slipped out of Max’s arms, careful not to wake him up, and smiled when you remembered the night before. Kissing a man, a man like him, felt like a dream come true. It was something you had only imagined when you had read tales of it back on Themyscira. But it was even better than you thought. His lips were sweet like honey and his touch was strong yet gentle. It was perfect, and you wished for the moment it could happen again. Realising you were still completely naked, you glanced into Maxwell’s walk-in closet and wondered if you were entitled to select something out to wear. You figured it would be rude to do so without asking him, so you picked up his forest green sweater that he wore yesterday and pulled it over your body. 

You padded back downstairs into the dining room and grabbed a notepad and pen. You noted that Maxwell kept one near the front door of his home. Sitting at the table, you opened up the book. You had six days until the court date. Six days to figure out a way to bring Maxwell and Alistair together for good this time. But you had no idea where to begin. You knew nothing about the legal system or how this kind of thing worked. Back on Themyscira, if Hippolyta wished to gain justice, she would simply use the lasso of truth. You were there, many years ago, when she used the lasso on Captain Steve Trevor. You hadn’t met the pilot, only heard from your mother Hestia who provided Hippolyta with the lasso, but apparently, he revealed himself to be a spy. You considered it. You considered the implications of using your lasso in court, but doing so in front of so many people would mean you’d have to give up your powers. There had to be another way. Before you could put pen on paper, you gasped, feeling a pair of hands grab your waist.

“Good morning.” you heard Maxwell from behind you. His voice was low and husky in the morning and he was grinning, feeling happier than he’d felt in such a long time.

“Good morning handsome.” you smiled, turning around in your chair and looking up at him with doe eyes. His dark blonde hair was still wavy and disheveled, and he was wearing a plain, light grey t-shirt. It fit tight around his biceps and really highlighted the broadness of his shoulders. He looked really, really good. You spotted a pink blush creep upon Maxwell’s cheeks at your compliment.

“You look nice in my sweater,” he noticed, tugging on it slightly. “What are you doing there?”

“Oh, I was trying to figure out an approach for the court case this Sunday,” you frowned, biting your lip. “Do you think we could get one of those lawyer things like Theodore mentioned?”

“This short notice? I doubt it. But I can have Raquel make some phone calls and she’ll see what she can do. I uh- I appreciate you doing this for me. You don’t have to.” Maxwell said sheepishly, running his ring clad fingers through his hair.

You stood up from your seat and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his body and holding him close. You pressed a kiss into his lips. He tasted just as sweet as the night before, and the skin was just as soft. “I like doing that.” you told Maxwell, completely dismissing what he said before. “Kissing you. I mean.”

Maxwell tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and cupped your face. He ran his thumb over the height of your cheekbone and stared at you in complete admiration. “I like it too,” he agreed, his voice quiet as he leaned in and kissed you again, this time swiping his tongue over your lower lip. He was so good at it, and you wondered how many women he’d kissed before. You loved the way the curve of his nose pressed against your skin and how his eyes would flutter shut as his senses overwhelmed him. You loved the way his hands navigated around your body like it was simply just meant to be. When he pulled away, it was to catch breath, and he pressed his forehead against yours. “Let me make you breakfast.” he whispered.

“Or we could just keep kissing?” you suggested, already tugging on his hair for another one. He smiled, planting a quick peck against your lips and pulled away again.

“Believe me, I want that more than anything,” he exhaled shakily, dragging his hands up and down your arms. “But you haven’t eaten since you got here. You must be hungry. What did you eat on Themyscira?”

“Hmm, fruit? Berries? We picked them fresh from the bushes every morning and they’d last us the rest of the day.” you told him and he nodded slowly.

“Well we don’t have berries, but I can do you scrambled eggs,” Maxwell shrugged, already grabbing a few eggs from the refrigerator. “Is that okay?”

“What kind of eggs…” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“Uh… chicken eggs?” Maxwell shrugged, holding an egg up into the light to analyse it.

“You eat chicken eggs?!” You gasped, your eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yeah?!” Maxwell replied, trying to suppress a grin at your reaction. “So many people do! We crack a few, whisk it and put it in a pan!” You slapped your hands over your mouth feeling shocked. Maxwell chuckled, putting the eggs back and taking your hands, pulling them away from your face. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

You scrunched up your nose. “I don’t want chicken eggs for breakfast.” you mumbled.

“That’s okay,” Max nodded. “I can do oatmeal or pancakes, or we have cereal. Check that cupboard over there.” He said, pointing in the general direction to a cupboard by the kitchen sink. You followed his finger and opened the wooden door. Inside the cupboard were a few boxes of opened miscellaneous cereal. One box in particular caught your intention. It was a red box decorated with a rainbow and a leprechaun and the words read in a bold yellow font ‘Lucky Charms’. You brought it out and presented it to Max with an eager grin. “Oh, those are Alistair’s favourite,” Max grinned, taking out a bowl, spoon and carton of milk. “Help yourself.”

You smiled with gratitude and dug your hand in the box, grabbing a handful of cereal. You looked close at the little oat pieces mixed with the multi-coloured marshmallow bits, even bringing them close to your nose to smell. They were sweet, and the vibrancy of the marshmallows intrigued you. You tried a pink one and moaned as the sugary texture dissolved in your mouth. Max looked over to you as he brewed his coffee, his eyes wide as he watched you eat the cereal out of your hands. “No no no,” he chastised softly, placing his mug back down on the counter and walking over to you. He put the cereal box in your hands and unscrewed the cap on the carton of milk. “Pour some of it in the bowl, and then pour the milk over the top. Then you eat it with a spoon.” he taught you.

“Oh,” you sighed knowingly, understanding why he’d brought out the other utensils and ingredients for you. As he turned back to his coffee, you tried one of the oat pieces. They didn’t taste as nice as the marshmallows, so you put the rest of the oat pieces back into the box and picked out only the sweet soft bits of cereal, dropping them into the bowl. You poured the milk over, careful not to spill any, just like he’d told you. “I’m getting good at this!”

“You are!” Maxwell laughed, sitting down next to you with his mug of coffee and a few slices of toast. He peeked into your bowl and shook his head. “You’re just like Alistair,” he rolled his eyes. “He only eats the marshmallows.”

“Of course he does,” you giggled, taking a spoonful of your selective cereal. “They’re delicious.”

“So I was thinking about the dreamstone,” Maxwell said, taking a sip of his coffee. “If I was possessed by Romulus, the dreamstone would have been Roman. Which means the remaining dreamstone belonged to Dolos, meaning it’s Greek. But how do we find it?”

“If only we knew someone who could help,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Someone who knows about this kind of stuff just as much as we do.”

You stared down into your bowl of cereal, watching as the colour drained from the marshmallows and created rainbow swirls in your milk.

“Actually,” Maxwell exhaled, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “There is someone.” The thought of going to see that someone again, swarmed Max with fear and dread.

“Well- who?” you asked, dropping your spoon into the bowl with a clank.

“Diana.” Maxwell replied nervously.

“Diana Princess of Themyscira?!” You gasped, your jaw dropping.

“I’m pretty sure she goes by Diana Prince but-”

“Max you’re a genius! Where can we find her?” You stood up abruptly.

“Listen, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. The last time I saw her… I mean it was only a few days ago but it was not good.”

You took Max’s hand and pulled him up. “Diana is forgiving. Whatever happened, she holds no judgement, I assure you that,” you reassured him. “Diana could be the key to knowing where the final dreamstone is.”

Max nodded, sighing in defeat. You were right and he knew it. “She works at the Smithsonian museum. It opens to the public at nine, so we have a few hours to kill, but we’ll get down there as soon as possible.”

You smiled and enveloped him into a hug. “Thank you.” you murmured, squeezing him tightly.

“It’s okay,” he promised, hugging you back. “But there is something I gotta ask you about.”

“What is it?”

“I haven’t been out much since I renounced my wish. I went to the park with Alistair, and then Black Gold, and visited Julianna, but that’s it. I’ve been hiding from the world, living in fear that I’ll have to face some kind of repercussion for my actions. It only makes sense, right? I’m thinking about federal prison. Maybe even get sentenced to death. That’s if someone doesn’t see me on the street and kills me. But I don’t get it. I haven’t been noticed. Nobody cares. Julianna didn’t mention any of it to me, and she loves to bring up all my mistakes. Trust me. It’s just… there’s something not right.” Maxwell exclaimed. It was crazy. You were the only one he trusted to talk about this to. “I’m not sure,” you hummed, understanding his concern. “Maybe Diana will know?”

“Maybe,” Maxwell sighed. “I’m just worried about even being allowed in the Smithsonian. I kinda stole the dreamstone by nefarious means,” You tilted your head and frowned. “No don’t look at me like that!” Max pouted, raising both his eyebrows at you.

“Like what?” you questioned.

“Like you’re disappointed in me,” Maxwell huffed, running his hand through his hair. “I just want to make all of this right.”

“And you will,” you promised him. “We will. Together.”

Every little word you spoke, every action you took, filled his heart with warmth. You gave his life meaning and your presence made him feel a sense of belonging. You really cared about him. You were literally like his guardian angel, only instead coming from heaven, you’d come from the magical land of Themyscira.

“I guess if we have a few hours to kill… we should finish breakfast and find you some clothes. Something decent to wear,” Maxwell shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of leaving the house but I don’t think we have a choice,” he hummed, looking down at his green sweater that was draped over your body. You couldn’t just live in his shirts. You couldn’t keep walking around town, pant-less. And you certainly couldn’t wear your Amazonian warrior tunic and armour. “My tailor who makes my suits has her own boutique just off East Ave, I’m sure we can find something suitable.”

“It’ll be open this early?” you asked, crooking your head.

“They live there. Whenever I’ve needed last minute alterations before a charity event or gala, I’ve relied on them. Visited them during the early hours of the morning and Belinda- oh, she’s simply just a star. She works quickly and efficiently,” Maxwell praised, grabbing his car keys. He threw a coat in your direction and you quick Amazonian reflexes meant that you caught it in an instant. You smiled and mumbled a thank you before sliding your arms into his coat and zipping it up. You put on your gladiator sandals and met Maxwell in the car outside.

The journey was short, and you even vaguely recognised the area from your visit to Black Gold Cooperative. Maxwell fiddled with some buttons on the dashboard when he stopped at a red light. “What are you do-”

A loud booming melody cut you off and you jumped back into your seat. 

“So don't become some background noise, a backdrop for the girls and boys, who just don't know, or just don't care, and just complain when you're not there, You had your time, you had the power, you've yet to have your finest hour, radio…” 

“What is that?” you gasped and Max laughed, turning a knob down so the voice quietened down.

“You must’ve had music on Themyscira,” he chuckled. “That is Queen.”

“The Queen?!” You practically choked. “If I heard Queen Hippolyta sing like that I-”

“No,” Maxwell laughed, unable to hide his smile. “Just Queen. They’re a band. They sing songs and play instruments.” 

“What do they sing about?” You quizzed curiously and Maxwell adjusted the volume once more. 

“Listen.” he urged, pressing down on the ignition and drove away as the light turned green.

“All we hear is radio ga ga, radio goo goo, radio ga ga,” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Ga ga and goo goo? That makes no sense.”

“Keep listening!”

“Radio what’s new, radio someone still loves you.” 

“It’s about love.” you smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up. You placed your hand on your heart. You loved that behind the baby-ish words, the song had a meaning so beautiful and powerful. It really illustrated that love was still the most important thing in the whole world. Maxwell’s voice brought you out of your deep chain of thought.

“Actually I think it’s about the commercialization of radio stations-” Maxwell exclaimed and looked at you in the reflection of the rear view mirror. Your smile fell and you looked even more perplexed by his words. What was he thinking? Of course you wouldn’t understand the ins and outs of how MTV had destroyed modern radio. So he decided to compromise. “Yeah okay, you’re right,” he shrugged, pursing his lips into a fine line to refrain from smiling. “It’s about love.” 

You smiled once more, subconsciously swaying to the rhythm. Max couldn’t stop watching you. You were so pure, and you looked at this world with so much joy and compassion. You were always so excited to learn new things and it was so endearing. If anything, it made Maxwell want to be more like you. You helped him not take things for granted. By the time Queen sung the final verse, you had already familiarised yourself with the words, even changing some and earning a few laughs out of Maxwell. As the song finished you pointed your finger at Max who was just pulling up outside the boutique. “Maxwell Lord what’s new? Maxwell, someone still loves you!” You sang, before pressing a kiss into his jaw and then pulling back with the biggest, cheesiest grin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Max returned the smile but he couldn’t help but think about your words. Of course you were just quoting the song, but you had deliberately directed the lyrics towards him. He sighed, not having time to over think. But what if you loved him back? It sounded too good to be true. “C’mon, we’re here.” 

The boutique was beautiful inside. It was small, but filled with racks on racks of clothing. In every corner there were golden framed mirrors and an array of different flowers. The old lady, who you assumed to be the owner, was waiting half asleep by the cashier. When Max opened the front door, a little bell jingled, alerting her and waking her up.

“Oh, Mr Lord! How lovely it is to see you!” the old lady exclaimed, pottering over to Maxwell and shaking his hand. She must have only been about four foot, her perfect grey hair in tight curls and her glasses perched on the curve of her petite nose.

“Good morning Belinda,” Maxwell greeted with a charming smile. It was the same smile you recognised from when he was on television. “I’m sorry for dropping by so early. This is my friend,” Maxwell said, pushing you forward gently and introducing you by name. “She’s visiting just for 4th of July weekend and her luggage got lost at the airport so we’ll be needing a few things for her to wear.”

You waved shyly. “Oh darling, what a beautiful young girl you are!” Belinda exclaimed, pinching your cheeks excitedly. She then turned to Max, leaning into him. “You sure she’s just a friend? She’s wonderful. Definitely a keeper,” Belinda laughed and you giggled alongside her as Max stayed silent and only blushed. “Let me take your measurements and I’ll see what I can do.” Belinda told you, already grabbing some tape and sculpting your body to a suitable position. “Where do you come from, dear?”

“Themyscira.” You smiled.

“Them-a-what?” Belinda asked. “Oh pardon me, I’ve never heard of such a place.”

“Uh- small town!” Maxwell lied before you could reply. “Not really important.”

“I see,” Belinda said, holding up different materials against your body. “How long have you known Mr. Lord?” 

You looked over at Max and your smile grew wider. “Honestly, it feels like forever.” you told Belinda, finding yourself lost in Maxwell’s chocolate brown eyes. He was completely mesmerizing. It was true. You might’ve only known Max for two days but you already knew so much about him. He’d been haunting your dreams and thoughts for weeks before you’d even visited the world of man. You saw his past. You knew about his struggles. He told you things that he’d never told anyone else before. 

“Lucky for you I have Ralph Lauren’s new summer collection! They just shipped to us yesterday. I know that the colours will compliment your skin tone perfectly. They’re just out back, let me go grab them.” Belinda announced before padding away.

“Thank you.” Maxwell called after her.

“Who’s Ralph Lauren?” You asked, walking over to Max who was sitting on a sofa reading the business section of a broadsheet newspaper. You slipped down next to him and shuffled close.

“He’s a designer.” Max informed you, flicking to the next page of the paper.

“What are you reading?” you asked curiously, snuggling into Maxwell and leaning your head on his shoulder so you could take a look.

“Boring economic stuff,” Maxwell sighed. “Not sure why considering my business is broke now anyway. But this stuff is good to know.”

“What is the Cold War?” you frowned, reading the headline.

“Uh, there’s a war going on right now between us and the Soviet Union.” Maxwell sighed, narrowing his eyes as he focused on a piece of information presented in one of the columns.

“Us?”

“The US, United States of America.” Max confirmed with a scowl before turning the page again.

“A war… that’s impossible. Ares is dead.” you mumbled to yourself, feeling horrified. You hadn’t even noticed. You’d spent two whole days in the world of man and you would have never suspected that there was a war going on.

You pondered his words before Belinda came out holding a pile of clothes. “These should fit you perfectly,” Belinda exclaimed, shoving them into a paper bag for you.

“Will you be paying with your company card today?” Belinda asked, turning to Maxwell. 

Maxwell winced, knowing that his company had absolutely no money. “Uh- no. Personal please,” Max requested, taking out his wallet. This would be coming out of his own savings which probably wasn’t very smart but, you were worth it. “While I pay, would you mind getting changed in the dressing room?” Maxwell asked of you. “And then we can go to the Smithsonian.”

You nodded, taking the paper bag filled with clothing and navigating yourself to the store’s dressing room.

“Ooh, the Smithsonian museum huh?” Belinda asked as she registered each item of clothing into the till.

“Yeah, she’s never been before,” Maxwell hummed, his anxiety rising now that it was just him and Belinda alone. Of course the little lady wasn’t going to do anything to him, but it was like you were his safety. He was beginning to rely on you more than he’d quite like to admit. “Belinda, can I ask you something?”

“Whatever is it, my dear?”

Maxwell sighed, wondering how to phrase his question. Just like Julianna, Belinda was acting like she had no idea what he’d done. “Where were you on the fourth of July?”

“At the shop, working of course.” Belinda replied.

“Ah, so you didn’t catch what was on the television?” Maxwell quizzed further.

“No, my dear.”

So she missed the broadcast completely. And Maxwell supposed there was a chance that Raquel, Julianna and Theodore missed the broadcast, although that did seem ever so unlikely. Even if they had missed it, one of Julianna’s gossip-y friends would have seen it and notified Julianna of Maxwell’s mischief. Something wasn’t adding up. He had to confront Diana about it.

Just as Maxwell finished paying, you stepped out of the dressing room wearing a white blouse tucked into a brown suede skirt. Of course you were still wearing your gladiator sandals, but they practically completed the look. 

“You look… wow.” Maxwell exclaimed. 

“Now it gets warm out there so here!” Belinda exclaimed, propping a pair of sunglasses on your head. “To protect your eyes!”

“You really look amazing.” Maxwell said, completely entranced by you. His gaze hadn’t left your body once. 

“Thank you Max,” you hummed in delight. “I like it a lot.”

“Good,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. You really were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Belinda awkwardly cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “Right uh- thanks a lot for everything Belinda. But we better be going.” 

“No problem dear,” Belinda waved cheerily. “Have a great day my darlings!”

You slid back into the passenger seat of Maxwell’s car and watched as he put his own sunglasses on. You smiled and copied, letting the brown tinted glasses fall to the bridge of your nose. “These are cool.” you beamed.

“Yeah, they look good.” Maxwell complimented as he set off to the Smithsonian.

Luckily for the both of you, Maxwell spotted Diana when he first entered the lobby of the building. Just in case of being noticed (which he usually thrived in attention), he kept his sunglasses on. He couldn’t risk being arrested for his previous actions at the museum. Diana was dressed in a royal blue pant suit, her dark brown hair curled perfectly and bouncing off her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds and she hadn’t aged a day since you last saw her on Themyscira.

“Diana!” you called, waving your hands ecstatically. Diana recognised your voice and her head snapped in your direction, her jaw parting in shock when she saw you. She questioned your name out loud, but she knew it was you. 

“Oh my goodness!” Diana cried, enveloping you into a hug. Maxwell stood a few feet behind you, rocking backwards and forwards anxiously. “What are you doing here?” She smiled, holding your hands and giving them a squeeze.

“I had my calling!” You revealed.

“I am so happy to hear that,” Diana grinned. “So who brought you the world of man?”

“A man, actually,” you laughed at the irony. “A man you might know. Uhm- Max Lord?”

Diana’s smile fell but her face softened when she saw Maxwell. “Ah yes, I’ve made his acquaintance.” She said, her voice vague and emotionless. Her glance flicked between you both.

“Hi Diana.” Maxwell waved shyly.

“How have you been?” Diana asked Maxwell, taking a few steps towards him.

“It’s been difficult, but I’m managing,” Maxwell admitted, hiding his face. “Listen, I never got the chance to thank you.”

“Don’t think anything of it,” Diana smiled. “Water under the bridge.” she promised before turning back to you. “Did you come to the museum to see me?”

“Yes, we did,” you sighed. “There’s another dreamstone out there and it is my duty from my mother to find it and destroy it. Otherwise, it could be responsible for society’s future collapse. History is known to repeat itself. If someone gets their hand on Dolos’ dreamstone, just like Max did, the same thing could happen.”

“I know all about it,” Diana frowned. “And I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been searching for the stone itself and I’ve found out it’s located in a secret cave, in Athens, Greece. If you want the stone, you’ll have to travel there.” 

“Is it far?” you asked, not liking the sounds of the proposition.

“Unfortunately, yes. We’d have to get a flight.” Maxwell notified you.

“I’m going to Athens too,” Diana informed you. “I can take you to the cave.”

“You’d do that?” you smiled graciously. “What are you going to Athens for?”

“The sword of Athena,” she exhaled. “There’s a terrible war going on and if I want to save the world from Ares again, I’m going to need that sword. Do you still have the lasso of Hestia?”

“I do.” you confirmed.

“Good, hold onto it. The lasso contains the power of the truth, and by destroying Dolos’ stone, you will be destroying the God of Lies. You can only destroy the stone with the truth. But Max knows all about that…” Diana trailed off, peeking back at Maxwell.

“Thank you Diana,” you smiled courteously and Diana nodded. “Will you be taking a flight with us?”

“I have to stay late at the Smithsonian tonight, so I’ll catch up with you in Athens tomorrow. I’ll find you, don’t worry.”

“Would you like us to get your plane tickets?” Maxwell asked, thinking it was the least he could do for Diana.

“That’s okay. I’ve recently learned I have my own way of flying.” She smirked and you smiled back knowingly. Maxwell just furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment. Everything about this interaction made him confused and uncomfortable.

“Before we leave for the airport,” Maxwell spoke up, clearing his throat. “I have something to ask you, Diana.” “Yes?”

“No one has mentioned the broadcast to me.” Maxwell started but then stopped, feeling as though his words explained enough.

“I know.” Diana replied with a small nod.

“You know?” Maxwell quizzed.

“When I renounced my wish, Steve disappeared. I lost him again. But this morning, on my way to work, I ran into the man who possessed Steve’s body and we spoke for a short while. It’s like he never even knew me. Like we had never even met. He didn’t remember me. He didn’t know me. It was like… none of it ever happened.”

“What does that mean? Everyone who renounced their wish has forgotten?”

“Almost. When you renounced your wish, the world reverted back to the way it was before Romulus possessed you.” Diana explained and Maxwell couldn’t believe it.

“That doesn’t make sense. So I get away with all of this without consequence? That’s not fair.” 

“I think your consequence lies in your fate with Alistair.” Diana frowned sadly and Maxwell’s heart sank into the depths of his chest.

“No,” You shook your head profusely, interrupting their conversation. “Nothing bad is going to happen between Alistair and Max. I’m here to make sure that they stay together,” you turned to Maxwell and held his hand. “Julianna won’t split you apart. I mean it. I won’t let it happen.”

Maxwell let go off your hands and they dropped by your sides. “I’m going to wait by the car. I need some air.” Maxwell choked as anxious tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You nodded understandingly and watched as he sauntered out of the Smithsonian.

“I’m sorry to hear about Steve,” you whispered after a few moments of silence. You turned back to Diana, the princess of Themyscira. “I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose the love of your life. If I lost Max-”

Diana’s eyes widened and she stuck her hand out. “What?”

“W-what?” you repeated, realising what you had just said and immediately trying to figure out a way to retract it.

“You just implied that Max Lord is the love of your-”

“Don’t say it.” You begged.

“-Life.” Diana finished and you gasped. Hearing the words come from her only validated your feelings even more.

It was true. She was right. You were in love with Maxwell Lord.

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[follow-your-fire]

In your tender hands

Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Merlin)

Written for bottom Arthur fest 2020

@bottom-arthur

“You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“You did what?” Arthur nearly spits out his coffee, glaring daggers at his assistant.

Freya only rolls her eyes at the dramatic response. “You heard me. I booked you in for one hour when you take your break.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” He rubs at his eyes in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to squeeze a massage in? My break is one hour too, plus the commute, plus I want to have lunch.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know your schedule off the top of my head. How long have I been working for you?”

“Two years,” he replies automatically, taking a moment to appreciate the fact.

All in all, Freya is a wonderful assistant. Arthur knows she’s the only reason why he hasn’t had a mental breakdown yet. She’s punctual and diligent. Stubborn as hell and as ruthless as they come. It’s kind of a double-edged sword though. While she gets the job done - actually goes beyond her line of duty - she also takes great pleasure in bossing Arthur around. And of course, Arthur being the push-over he is, lets her get away with it.

So yeah, Freya is a godsent who saves Arthur from losing it on a daily basis. But she’s also the spawn of the Devil who loves to discover all the ways to drive him nuts.

“And four months,” she corrects. “So cut me some slack, Princess.”

Ignoring the jab - because really, Freya, it’s getting old - he comes back to his previous point of concern. “Then you should know that my schedule is fully packed today.”

“Not anymore,” she announces smugly, walking over to her desk to pick up the iPad before she returns to Arthur’s office. “I moved Masa to tomorrow at 11:15 and Cutforth to Friday at 2 pm, which gives you,” she does a quick count, “two hours and fifteen minutes for your break.” She closes the iPad, smiling victoriously. “Now, stop fretting and make sure you leave on time. I booked you for 12.:15. The commute is about fifteen minutes and you should be there at least five minutes in advance.” She grabs a pen and a post-it-note from his desk, scribbling quickly. “There,” she says, tearing the note off. “This is the address.”

“The enchanted cave,” he reads in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Shut up, Arthur. Merlin is the best there is. He put me back together after I lost my parents. He’s usually fully booked weeks in advance. You’re lucky that he has a soft spot for me and let me squeeze you in.”

Arthur turns more solemn at the mention of Freya’s parent’s untimely passing. It doesn’t make him any less confused, though.

“Sounds more like a shrink to me than a masseur,” he thinks out loud.

“He might as well be,” she laughs, affection evident in her voice, which softens Arthur’s irritation somewhat. “You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“I don’t have time for self-pampering,” he grumbles defensively.

“That’s exactly why you have to make the time!”

“That’s quite an oxymoron.”

“Shush.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Really, Arthur. You need to unwind.”

“I don’t-”

“Arthur,” she groans impatiently. “Go. Get. The. Massage. I’m gonna make sure you leave on time and I will check with Merlin that you actually turned up.”

“I think you’re confusing who’s the boss and who’s the subordinate here.”

“I think you’re full of shit and need to shut up and listen to someone smarter than you.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the office before Arthur has a chance to retort anything back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. For once in your life, do something nice for yourself.” And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

Arthur arrives at the place at 12:07, just in time to walk to the door as a woman walks out. He steps to the side, waiting for her to pass.

“Arthur?”

He snaps his head up from where he was blankly staring at the side-walk. “Oh. Hey, Mithian,” he greets when he recognizes one of his long-time friends.

“Don’t hey me and give me a proper hug hello,” she complains and doesn’t waste any time to rise on her tiptoes and wrap him in her arms. Arthur returns the hug with a smile on his face.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been great but how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she scolds him gently.

“Been busy.”

“Aren’t you always,” she scoffs, sympathetic. “Nice to see you’re finally doing something for yourself,” she says, getting a confused look. “You’re coming for a massage, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. My assistant made me.” Oh, shit. That shouldn’t have come out.

Predictably, Mithian bursts into giggles. “Figures.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, Arthur. Someone needs to look out for you if you don’t,” she explains, her eyes soft and a wave of affection washes over Arthur as he remembers his uni years and their brief but lovely time together as a couple.

Now that he thinks of it, Freya reminds him of Mithian a lot. It occurs to him he’s attracted to a certain type of person. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but more in general.

His sister is like that too. All fiery and strong-willed, calling Arthur names on a good day, but when it comes to it, she’s a protective mother-hen.

So is his best friend. Lance is usually calm and collected but doesn’t hesitate to call Arthur on his bullshit, in the most loving way, though. So does Gwen. Those two really rub off on each other.

What is it with him attracting people into his life who spend most of their time scolding or mothering him? He needs to look into it later.

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to help.” He shrugs indifferently.

“Oh, you’ll see. Just wait for it.” And good grief, she winks at him. “I need to get going. Let me know how it went. You have my number, right?” Arthur nods. “Great. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get in touch here and there, you know?”

Sighing guiltily, he humors her. “I will.”

“You’d better. Okay, gotta go. Enjoy yourself!” She blows him a kiss and takes off.

He very much doubts he’s gonna enjoy himself but if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to nap while the guy gets handsy with him. He could use an extra hour of sleep. God knows the five hours he’s come to consider his routine are not cutting it anymore.

He sighs in relief as he walks through the door to find a rather unassuming lobby. Given the name of the business, he expected the place to live up to its cringeiness but thankfully there are no tacky lights, no magical crystals scattered around, no candles in every corner, nor every surface. The only thing that can be considered a bit spiritual or whatever is the incense perched on the counter, right next to the business cards and leaflets. Thankfully, the scent is very subtle and doesn’t trigger a headache.

“Good afternoon! You must be Arthur,” says a voice to his left and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t even notice anyone in the room with him.

As he looks over in the direction the voice came from, he finds a man, presumably his masseur - Mark, Matt? - standing in the door leading to what Arthur guesses is the massage room.

“Oh. Hey. Yeah, that would be me.” He turns to face the man, straightening his back. He must look out of place, clad in his suit, still wearing his tie.

The man approaches him with a smile. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you, finally. Freya talks about you quite a bit.”

Arthur reaches to grasp his hand when Merlin offers it, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t believe anything the little minx lets out of her mouth.” He attempts a joke, hoping his discomfort at being told his assistant talks about him is not too obvious.

He must succeed because Merlin is throwing his head back with a laugh. “She said you would say that,” he teases. “That’s alright. I like to make up my own mind.”

Arthur withdraws his hand and gives him a stiff smile. Outside of work, he has no idea how to make a decent conversation. Not upon the first meeting anyway.

Tilting his head inquiringly, Merlin asks, “You seem quite tense. Is everything alright?”

“It’s just... Look. I know you’re busy, Freya said so. And I appreciate you making time for me. But,” he huffs, knowing he’s gonna sound like a jerk no matter how he phrases it, “I don’t really care for massage much but Freya insisted. She can be fucking scary sometimes. Don’t tell her that though! And I just... I feel really out of place, okay?”

He expects to see Merlin’s expression sour, thinking Arthur is just a pompous douche. He wouldn’t even blame him. But, to his bewilderment, the man’s face is nothing but open, not a single trace of judgement.

“I won’t, I promise,” he says with humor. “If you don’t mind me asking - have you had a bad experience in the past?”

“More like no experience at all.”

For the first time, Merlin looks caught off guard. “You never had a massage?”

“No. I just never saw the point. And anyway, I don’t really have time to spare. The only reason I’m here is that Freya did some magic with my schedule and cleared it up enough to give me two hours off today.”

“Oh.” Merlin suddenly perks up. “In that case, I’d like to show you some of my magic, if you let me.”

Arthur’s brain short-circuits for a moment. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Or is he so tired he started hallucinating? Plus, his dry spell of six months is probably not helping either.

“Um... I... magic?”

“Yeah, you know...” Merlin sweeps his hand over the lobby. “The enchanted cave? Seems fitting?”

“Oh.” Arthur chokes out. “Right. Right...”

“Oh God, I just realized how cheesy that sounds,” Merlin reflects with a hint of embarrassment. “Anyway, I should stop talking. You didn’t come here for a chat, after all.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the massage room. “I’d just finished setting it up before you came in, so it’s all ready for you.”

Arthur gets the hint and with a deep breath, he makes his way to the room. Unlike the lobby, it’s bathed in a soft yellow light and.... yup, those are candles alright. No crystals, though.

Merlin is right on his heels. “I’ll let you undress in private, to your level of comfort.You can hang your clothes here, or you can just fold them and put them on this chair.” He gestures to the chair in the corner. “After that, lie down on the massage table, on your stomach, this way around. You see the sheet over there? That’s for you to cover yourself with. I’ll be back in a few minutes when you’re ready. Do you have any questions? Requests?”

So many questions. He goes with the most concerning one. “Yeah, um, when you say my level of comfort...” He cuts himself off. Thankfully, Merlin picks up on it.

“Whatever works for you, really. I can even massage you with your clothes on, although...” He gives Arthur a quick once-over, “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for you.”

Yeah, no. Definitely not. And he has to go back to work after and he’s sure that showing up in a wrinkled suit would earn him a few judgmental looks.

“But really, it’s up to you. You can keep your clothes on, or just your underwear. If you’d prefer to be completely naked, that works too.”

Arthur hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals his blush. There’s no reason why a man of 32 years should blush at the thought of being naked.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Merlin echoes with an encouraging smile. “Be back soon.”

Arthur releases a relieved breath when Merlin closes the door behind him. This whole thing is even more awkward than he expected. Merlin seems like an alright bloke, if a bit odd but Arthur supposes that comes with the job. He seems nice though, with all the reassurances and effort he put into making sure Arthur is comfortable.

He wonders how many male clients Merlin gets. So far, he knows that Freya and Mithian are swept away by him. Although it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his supposedly outstanding massage skills or his looks.

He groans internally and maybe even a bit out loud. Nope, don’t even go there. No hitting on your masseur. Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. Not with Merlin about to spend the next hour gliding his large hands over Arthur’s whole body.

A shiver runs down his spine and in an attempt to push his thoughts away, he begins undressing, starting with his tie. He hangs his jacket and shirt on the hanger by the door and the rest he puts on the chair, just as Merlin instructed. In no time, he’s standing there clad only in his underwear, debating whether to leave that on or not.

To hell with it. Merlin must have seen it all already.

He ends up ridding himself of his briefs too, face going aflame as he adds them to the pile on the chair and rushes to climb onto the table, settling on his stomach and doing his best to arrange the sheet Merlin provided for him so it covers him as much as possible.

A minute or two pass with him fidgeting in his position. Whether it’s from discomfort or nerves, he doesn’t know, but then Merlin is knocking gently on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah,” he calls hoarsely, grateful Merlin can’t see his face.

The door clicks open and Merlin walks into the room, speaking from somewhere to Arthur’s left. “You probably already figured but one hour allows for a full body massage. Is that alright with you? Or do you want me to forgo any areas? Or spend some more time on a specific one?”

Logically, Arthur knows these are all valid questions but they do nothing to help him relax. More like the opposite.

“Um, no, that’s... you can do whatever you want.”

“Alright. Any contraindications I should know about?”

“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oh God, what did I just say? Stop trying to be funny, Arthur!

It draws a boisterous laugh from Merlin, easing some of Arthur’s tension. “Thanks for clarifying,” he says, catching his breath. “Any injuries?”

“No. I twisted my ankle playing football, but that was years ago.”

“Okay, good.” There is some rustling and thumping, then Merlin speaks again. “Do you care for any specific scent? I’ve got a variety of essential oils, energizing or calming. I have a special blend for stress relief if you’d be interested.”

Arthur winces a little at the fact he’s so easy to read. “Um... sure. But maybe not too much? I still need to go back to work after this.”

“Duly noted,” Merlin promises and busies himself with what Arthur assumes is mixing the oils or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, preventing Arthur from driving himself into a frenzy. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered about all of this. So he never had a massage, so what? People do it all the time.

It’s just then that he notices that music is playing but it’s so soft it could almost escape his hearing. He focuses on listening in hopes of distracting himself.

“Okay, I’m all set. I’ll start with dry massage, working my way down from your shoulders. That alright with you?”

Yeah, he never had a massage but he’s pretty sure that asking for affirmation every two minutes isn’t how this usually works. It occurs to him that Merlin is doing this only for him.

He’s equal parts irritated and touched by it.

“Yeah.”

Gently, Merlin places his hands on his shoulders over the sheet. It’s just a simple touch, not even on his bare skin, but Arthur swears he can feel the heat of Merlin’s hands seeping into his own body and spreading throughout. He suppresses a sigh.

“I’ll start with medium pressure. Let me know if it’s too much or if you’d like me to go harder.”

Arthur hopes the whimper that makes it past his lips is not very audible. He clears his throat to cover it up.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses his hands into the tense muscles of Arthur’s upper back, finding all the right spots from the get go.

A guttural groan escapes Arthur before he knows it.

“Too much?” Merlin asks, stilling his movement.

“N-no. No, it’s... it’s good. Just didn’t... expect it.”

“Good. Let me know if it changes.”

He stays on that area for a few minutes, lingering when he finds a sensitive spot, working out the kink. It’s a curious combination of pain-pleasure and Arthur is not sure if that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, but he knows it leaves him all pliant and floaty, so it’s probably alright.

Merlin makes his way down the spine, to his lower back, then goes back up and pays the same attention to his arms and hands.

He walks around the table and starts working on the legs.

Arthur releases a shuddering breath. He just had a leg-day in the gym yesterday and damn, can he feel it. Merlin’s touch is like a balm on his sore muscles and he exhales as pain gives way to relief.

It’s not long before Merlin comes back to the head of the table, hands grasping at the sheet.

“I’ll move onto the oil part now, yeah?”

“Okay.” At this point, Arthur will take anything. Why has he never done this before?

Merlin pulls the sheet down to his lower back, folding it over and leaving his back and arms exposed. The air of the room is not chilly by any means but Arthur shudders all the same.

There is a slick sound as Merlin covers his hands with oil before bringing them to Arthur’s shoulders again, spreading the oil over the whole expanse of his back and arms. Although the pressure is not as hard now, with the oil easing the way, Arthur finds this part even more intense, Merlin’s touch nearly searing without any barrier between them.

He glides his palms, fingers and forearms over Arthur’s back with long, confident strokes, then switches to short, firmer ones, alternating between the two.

Arthur’s vaguely aware he’s all but melting on the spot, feeling almost detached from his body despite every nerve ending being on fire.

At some point as Merlin rubs at the tense muscles of his neck, he slides his hands into Arthur’s hair, at the base of his skull, rubbing in circular motions.

This time, it’s definitely a whimper that Arthur lets out, blushing furiously.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Arthur,” Merlin instructs in a gentle voice. “You carry a lot of tension here. Plenty of people do but you even more so. Just let go.”

Against his better judgment, he does just that. As Merlin’s hands continue their ministrations, he lets out a series of little huffs and whimpers, unable to stop himself when he starts.

“That’s it. Just let go,” Merlin repeats and puts more force behind his touch, making Arthur’s noises grow in volume.

He both welcomes and mourns the loss when Merlin’s hands leave him in order to grab a hot towel and wipe the remaining layer of oil from his back before covering him with the sheet again.

“I’ll move to your legs now, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’s surprised when Merlin touches his shoulder, prompting him to lift his head. “Since I’m finished with your back, you can have a pillow if you want. It might be more comfortable for you.”

Arthur doesn’t object in the slightest, taking the pillow Merlin’s holding and resting his right cheek on it, sliding his hands underneath. Yeah, much more comfortable.

“Thanks,” he mumbles almost sleepily and hears Merlin chuckle.

“You’re very welcome.”

Then, Merlin is exposing his left leg, tucking the sheet in the space between his legs and over his hip, revealing his left butt-cheek in the process. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed.

Merlin doesn’t waste time before coating his hands with oil again and bringing them to Arthur’s leg. He starts with his feet, then moves to his calf, then thigh until he’s worked all the way to his bum.

Arthur nearly jack-knives from the table as Merlin’s thumb presses into the middle of his cheek.

“Sorry! Was it too much?”

Arthur presses his face into the pillow to hide his flush. “I... ugh... I just... didn’t expect... that.”

“Oh,” Merlin quips. “I can skip that part.”

Jesus, Arthur, stop being such a sissy. It’s just a massage. A professional massage.

“It’s fine. You just... surprised me.”

“Sorry about that,” he says genuinely and resumes the massage, albeit more tentative than before.

Now that the initial shock is over, Arthur begins to appreciate the attention Merlin’s paying to that particular part of his body. He never knew how tense he was in... well.... there.

He whines a little when Merlin presses his thumb into a tender spot.

“Shit. I would’ve thought that going to the gym four times a week would make up for sitting on my ass several hours every day,” he grumbles more to himself.

“I think you’re doing an excellent job at the gym,” Merlin replies with humor, then promptly freezes, Arthur following suit. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. That was... very inappropriate. I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not that you don’t have a nice ass. I mean... oh shit,” he starts panicking, removing his hands from Arthur’s body. Funny enough, witnessing Merlin freak out makes Arthur strangely relaxed.

He responds with a huff. “Take it easy, Merlin. I appreciate the compliment. You can continue.”

“Are you... are you sure?” Merlin asks tentatively.

“I’m sure. You like my ass, so what? I’ve been working hard on it.”

Merlin laughs, a bit nervous, a bit relieved, and eventually listens, resuming the massage on the other leg, starting from his foot again.

Maybe the whole exchange should make everything weird but strangely enough, Arthur is even more relaxed than he was before. The realization that Merlin is only human, with no filter it seems, making it easier.

Merlin hesitates when he works his way up to Arthur’s bum again, but with no complaint in sight, he repeats what he did on the other leg.

When he’s done, he steps to the side of the table and lifts the sheet off of Arthur, holding it in front of himself like a screen. “Can you turn over, Arthur?”

Arthur gathers all his strength to prop on his forearms with the intention to do just that, but stills momentarily.

“Arthur?” Merlin questions when nothing happens.

“I... um....” Well, shit. How did I not notice I was sporting a semi?!

“What’s wrong?”

“I... might have a... situation,” he admits, face burning.

At first, Merlin is silent, then the realization dawns on him. “Oh. I see. That’s fine, Arthur. It happens more often than not,” he reassures but it doesn’t help much.

“But I... God, this is embarrassing,” he hides his face in his hands.

“I understand why you would think that, but I promise it’s alright. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural reaction.”

It takes some more prompting but eventually, Arthur flips onto his back and closes his eyes as Merlin drapes the sheet over him again, the outline of his half-hard dick painfully visible.

“I can fetch you a blanket if it makes you feel better?”

“If you don’t mind,” he squeezes out without opening his eyes, only doing so when Merlin hands him the blanket and he rushes to throw it over his lower half. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

He dares a look at Merlin and finds him smiling in empathy. “Not at all. It’s no big deal, Arthur.” He reaches for a bottle of oil and puts his hands on Arthur’s arm. “Just lie back and relax.”

Arthur does his best to do just that while Merlin massages his arm and hand before switching to the other one.

By the time he’s finished with them, Arthur’s calmed down considerably and, thank fuck for that, the embarrassment was enough to have killed any interest his dick might have taken in the situation.

He expects Merlin to announce the massage has come to an end when he finishes wiping his arms with a hot towel, but to his surprise, Merlin slides a chair behind him, sitting himself down, hands coming to cradle Arthur’s head. Arthur lifts it automatically, assuming that’s what Merlin wants him to do.

“You just relax, Arthur. Don’t help me by holding your head up. I’ll manage.”

It’s not an easy thing to trust someone not to drop your head but Merlin is nothing but cautious as he maneuvers it around to get to the spot he’s aiming for and Arthur finds himself giving up control completely. Head massage doesn’t sound like anything special but to his bewilderment, it’s the most relaxing thing ever. At some point, he even starts dozing off. At least he thinks he does because he nearly jumps out of his skin when Merlin says his name.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he snaps his eyes open, looking up at Merlin upside down, seeing the other man smiling fondly.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“N-no?” he stutters, cheeks growing pink.

“Of course,” Merlin says in the way that screams he doesn’t believe him but humors him anyway. “Well, I’m all done here. How are you feeling?”

“Weirdly disconnected from my body,” he says with a grunt, attempting to sit up. “Shit, I don’t know how I’ll get any work done for the rest of the day.”

“What time do you finish?”

“Officially? Around five. Actually? Seven. Sometimes eight.”

“God, that’s disgusting.”

“You have no idea.”

“Thankfully, I don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s with sloth speed that Arthur puts his clothes on. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of Merlin’s busy schedule and can only hope he’s not stalling.

He squints at the bright light of the lobby when he emerges from the massage room. When his eyes adjust, he spots Merlin walking towards him with a glass of water. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” he accepts without objection, just because he’s barely standing. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s done to him but it feels like his body doesn’t even belong to him. He has no idea how he’s gonna drive back to work without driving himself into a street-lamp.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks when he’s chugged down the whole glass, reaching for his wallet.

“Oh. It’s already paid for. Freya used your credit card when she booked you in.”

Arthur blinks at him blankly. How dare Freya pay for something that Arthur hadn’t even agreed to yet?!

Yeah, as if she would ever take a no for an answer.

He sighs, pulling out a twenty pound bill regardless. “She would, wouldn’t she. That little shit,” he grumbles under his breath. “At least let me tip you,” he holds a hand with the bill to Merlin.

“Actually, she included the tip, too,” he says sheepishly, giving Arthur a crooked smile.

“Bloody hell,” he huffs indignantly, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever. Just take it.”

“But-”

“Merlin. Take. It. You’ve done a great job,” he insists, holding eye contact.

Merlin still hesitates at first but resigns eventually. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay. Thank you, Arthur,” he smiles appreciatively as he accepts the money. He bites his lip, seemingly in thought, then turns around and plucks one business card from the pile on the desk, grabs a pen and writes something down. “Here,” he turns to Arthur, holding the card to him. “If you ever feel like coming back for another massage.”

Arthur takes the card, noticing that Merlin wrote another number on in besides the one already printed. “Thanks but... I’m sure Freya has the number.”

“This is my personal number,” Merlin explains and Arthur’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m not always able to pick up the phone here but if you text me on my personal number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, that’s very... um... I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Merlin mumbles, fidgety. Arthur finds it both amusing and confusing.

“Well, I should get going. Thank you again.”

“Oh! Of course, don’t let me keep you,” he rushes to say. “See you next time?”

“Yeah.” As non-committal as he sounds, he finds he means it. Something’s telling him he’ll be back sooner or later. Probably sooner.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur,” Merlin calls as Arthur opens the door on his way out and his heart skips a beat at the genuine tone.

He turns around to give the man one last smile before the door shuts behind him.

“So? How was it?” Freya advances on him as soon as he comes back. He slumps into his chair, sitting upright when Freya places a box of takeout in front of him.

“Fine.” Freya is not impressed. “It was good, okay?” he adds, opening the box to reveal his all-time favorite pad thai and all but inhales the food.

“Told you,” she says smugly, ignoring Arthur’s glare. “Gonna go again?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s convincing.”

“Shut it, Freya,” he shoots back. “I got his business card. I’ll give him a call when I feel like it.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Nope, thanks. I’m sure I can manage to make a phone-call myself, even without an intervention of my obnoxious assistant.”

Freya throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Ungrateful prat,” she retorts and stomps out of his office.

“I heard that!”

Arthur lasts exactly four days and two hours before giving in and taking Merlin up on his offer to text him on his personal number to book another appointment. He didn’t expect to snap so quickly but after waking up the next day after his massage, refreshed and chirpy, feeling as though he had a brand new body - who could blame him, really.

Hey, Merlin. It’s Arthur. I was wondering if you had a slot available this week?

There, simple and straight to the point. Freya said that Merlin is usually booked out weeks in advance but asking never hurt anybody.

His phone chimes with an incoming message about ten minutes later.

Hi, Arthur! Nice to hear from you again. :)

Sure thing. Did you have a specific day and time in mind?

Nope, he didn’t. He was willing to adjust his schedule just to squeeze in an hour.

Not really. Freya implied that you’re usually fully booked so I thought I’d leave that up to you.

She’s over-exaggerating ;) I can make time.

Oh, God, he’s one of those people. Emojis and shit.

Oh. Okay, then. Thursday work for you?

It does :) What time?

This is... unexpectedly easy. He should have never let Freya bullshit him. But that’s what she does. She’d do anything to get her way and make Arthur do whatever she wants. No Christmas bonus for her this year!

Is 6pm too late?

As a matter of fact, he never finishes before six. Hell, he never finishes before seven. But maybe his friends are right. Maybe he should make time for himself once in a while. It won’t kill him, will it?

Thought you didn’t finish work until ungodly hour :D

He’s already typing out a reply but Merlin beats him to it with another message.

And it’s not too late. I’ll write you down for 6, then ;)

Oh. That easy, huh?

Thank you, he sends first, then rushes to add an explanation. I can make an exception once in a while. He hesitates with the next part but decides to throw caution to the wind, just this time. It’s worth it.

He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but doesn’t get a chance to wallow in it for too long before Merlin’s reply comes.

Oh no, now there are expectations I need to live up to :O

Jk. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself last time. See you Thursday ;)

Red to the tips of his ears, he types out a quick see you before pocketing his phone, busying himself with the remaining paperwork in hopes it will calm down his racing heart.

He’s not that lucky.

On Thursday, he wraps up his work just before 5:30, hoping it’s enough time to get through the traffic.

It is, as it turns out.Though he’s cutting it close, parking the car just two minutes before six.

“Sorry, I underestimated the traffic,” he rushes to apologize when he bursts through the door, finding Merlin lounging peacefully on the sofa, swiping through his phone.

As soon as Merlin lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s, his whole face lights up with a wide smile. “Hey! No problem at all. You’re my last massage for today, so no rush.”

“Thanks but it’s already late. I don’t wanna keep you any more than needed.”

Merlin dismisses his worries with a wave of a hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Come on in,” he smiles encouragingly and Arthur dutifully follows him to the massage room. It looks exactly the same but Arthur feels much more at ease than last time, now that he’s familiar with it.

“Thank you again for finding time for me,” he says gratefully because it feels like he hasn’t said it enough.

It earns him an indulgent smile. “I was happy to do it. It’s no trouble, really,” Merlin repeats and Arthur takes the hint.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. “You know the drill by now, right? I’ll be back in a few.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Merlin nods his head in acknowledgement, leaving the room to give Arthur privacy.

Similarly to last time, Arthur hangs his suit and shirt and folds the rest of his clothes, laying face down on the table and covering himself with the sheet. As promised, Merlin knocks on the door a couple minutes later, entering when Arthur gives him a go-ahead.

“Any requests today?”

He suppresses the urge to crack an inappropriate joke. “Not really. Same as last time is good.”

“Alright,” says Merlin and he starts the massage exactly in the same way he did last time, humming appreciatively when he rubs at Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’re not nearly as tense as before. Both literally and figuratively,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “I felt really good when I woke up the next day. All loose and relaxed.” He clears his throat, cringing at his wording. “And I was just nervous because it was my first time, I guess. Now that I know the ropes, it’s easy to just...”

“Let go?” Merlin finishes for him and... is that smugness he hears?

“Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling silly all of sudden.

“I’m glad to hear that. Glad I could help.”

“Me too.”

They remain silent after that. While Merlin doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary - or rather, anything that would be different to last time - Arthur can sense a shift in the energy in the room. In Merlin. In himself. He might be imagining it but he would swear that Merlin’s hands... linger - which is kinda a stupid thing to say, this is a massage after all, touch is a crucial component here - but... yeah... that’s what it feels like.

Every touch of Merlin’s hands on his body feels amplified, Arthur nearly vibrating in response to... he has no idea what he’s responding to. He only knows it feels good.

It feels right.

When Merlin asks him to flip onto his back, he’s relieved to find that the humiliating experience from last time is not gonna be repeated - no awkward boners today, ladies and gentlemen!

He hisses through his teeth when Merlin presses into a tender spot of his arm.

Merlin’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive here.”

“ ‘s fine,” he mumbles drowsily. “I might have overdone it in the gym today.”

“When did you have time to go to the gym?”

“Before work. Around five.”

“God, that’s disgusting. Why would you do that?” Merlin sounds truly appalled which only amuses Arthur.

“I’m too tired by the time I finish work. At least this way, I get a bit of a boost in the morning.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Without the gym, I wouldn’t have the ass you like so much.”

He snaps his eyes open in panic and finds Merlin gaping at him in shock.

“I... I did not... ugh...”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I’m just really tired, basically falling asleep. I just talk shit when I’m like that.”

Forget the boner. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.

Funnily enough, his stammering helps Merlin fight through his shock and now he’s more entertained than anything.

“No filter, huh? I can relate,” he brushes the whole thing off and resumes massaging over Arthur’s arm, softer this time and Arthur would moan appreciatively at the soothing effect the touch has on his sore muscles but given his previous faux pas, he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.

Merlin works his way down to his hand, paying special attention to the spot at the base of his thumb that is always so stiff after spending hours and hours every day typing on his laptop.

A weird thing happens after that. Same as the last time, Merlin slides his fingers in between Arthur’s, squeezing and pulling until he hears a cracking sound of the joints. That is all well and good but instead of pulling away, he remains with their fingers interlaced. It almost feels... almost feels like they are holding hands.

Arthur opens his eyes again to give Merlin a questioning look but Merlin is staring at their joined hands instead, an expression on his face that Arthur can’t really decipher but if he were to guess, he would almost call it... longing.

Merlin must realize what he’s doing because his eyes widen as they lock onto Arthur’s, panicked and so blue.

“Sorry!” he blurts out, pulling away and ducking his head as he makes his way to the other side to repeat the process on the other hand.

Arthur feels the air around them grow thicker. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and doesn’t dare ask.

He can tell Merlin keeps himself in check as he finishes with his other side and it’s not long before he moves to the head massage.

After all of that, it’s really hard for Arthur to relax but he does his best as to not make things even more awkward.

He’s equally relieved and disappointed when Merlin’s hands disappear, signaling that their session has come to an end.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?” Merlin asks stiffly.

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding when Merlin shuts the door behind him.

Since he knows he doesn’t have to rush because he was the last client today, he takes his time putting the clothes on and mentally prepares himself for facing Merlin in a few moments.

It takes all of his courage to maintain eye contact when he leaves the room, coming to the desk where Merlin’s already waiting for him with a glass of water.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t finish the whole glass, his stomach too unsettled for that and pulls out his wallet.

“I know for sure Freya didn’t pay in advance since I booked the massage myself this time,” he comments in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone. It works because it draws a chuckle from Merlin.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, going quiet again but shaking himself off at Arthur’s expectant look. “Oh! Sorry, it’s seventy pounds.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise. While he wouldn’t know anything about the regular massage price, it doesn’t seem too much considering how popular Merlin is. According to Freya, anyway.

He plucks out two fifty dollar bills and hands them over. Merlin blinks at him in confusion. “Um... that’s a bit--”

“Just take it. You deserve it. You’re good and you went far and beyond to make time for me even at the late hour.”

“It was no tr--”

“Merlin, will you shut up and take the bloody money?” he nearly whines at the man’s stubbornness, relieved when Merlin eventually gives in.

“You’re so bossy,” he shakes his head almost fondly.

“Goes with the territory. I’m the CEO after all.”

“In that case, that was a lousy tip for a CEO.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

And just like that, the tension has disappeared and they are back to their easy banter.

“I’m just teasing,” Merlin reassures unnecessarily, a dopey smile still in place. “Let me know if you wanna do this again, yeah?” He sounds unsure, although why, Arthur has no idea.

“Actually, if you really don’t mind, could we make it a weekly thing?”

“Oh,” Merlin says with surprise. “Sure. Thursday again? Or do you want a different day?”

“Thursday is good. Six o’clock?”

“Yeah. Yeah, works for me.”

“Brilliant,” Arthur smiles back. “I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Looking forward to it.” The way Merlin’s face softens further shouldn’t make Arthur’s stomach do flip-flops but for some reason, it does.

Oh, no. Abort, abort!

“Yeah. See you,” he mumbles and all but runs to his car.

Arthur lets out a girly squeal when Freya slams a pile of papers onto his desk.

“Why haven’t you gone see Merlin again?” she asks accusingly and... wait, what?

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you liked the massage. That you felt better after. I thought you’d go back.”

Well, not that it’s any of her business but...

“I’ve been like four more times since,” he argues back, watching Freya’s furious expression turn confused.

“No, you haven’t. There’s no way you could have altered your schedule yourself without me noticing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, annoyed that he, the fucking CEO, has to explain himself to his assistant. “Yes, I have. I’m going today, actually. I go every Thursday after work. Well, I finish early, so I can be there at six. Which, by the way, you could have done the first time around. I truly don’t understand why you’d rather mess with my appointments to get me a rushed massage on my break instead of simply booking one in the evening.”

If anything, Freya grows even more confused. “You’re lying.”

Arthur positively bristles at the insult. “I’m not!”

“You so are. Merlin doesn’t work evenings. And he doesn’t work weekends. His last bookings are for 4 o’clock. Hence why I had to book you for your break.”

He’s already preparing a come-back to defend himself when the words finally sink in. He snaps his mouth shut.

Then why... why did Merlin agree to Thursday evenings? That doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you sure you’ve got that right?” he asks instead because... because if it’s true, it puts many things into perspective.

Like the fact that Merlin literally beams every time Arthur shows up.

Or the fact that his touch seems to linger, seems to grow more and more intense with every visit. Like he’s enjoying touching Arthur.

At first, Arthur thought it was just his imagination, but upon checking the time when he got to his car only to find Merlin had extended the massage by at least ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that he wasn’t making it up.

Most importantly, it would explain why Merlin started texting Arthur randomly, usually on Fridays to ask how he was doing, if he felt alright and so on.

It would even explain why he would sometimes text on the weekend too.

It did not explain why Arthur indulged in the texting.

It did not explain why it was the highlight of his days.

“I’m sure,” Freya replies, confirming his growing suspicion. When he doesn’t react, she turns concerned. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “You’re not lying.” A statement, not a question, but he still answers it.

“No.”

“Oh,” she breathes, out of words.

“Do you...” He clears his throat. “Do you know why Merlin would make an exception for me?”

The glint in her eyes suggests that she might have a good idea about that, but doesn’t say so. “I think you should ask Merlin that.”

Yeah. Yeah, he should.

He will.

“You seem very... serious today. What happened?”

“Why did you agree on 6pm Thursdays?” he asks directly before he loses the nerve.

“Huh?” Merlin blinks at him.

“Freya told me you don’t do evenings. Why would you let me impose on your time?” God, he feels so stupid.

“Oh,” says Merlin. “Well, first of all, you’re not imposing.”

“But-”

“Second, working for yourself has a lot of perks. Like that I can do with my time as I see fit.”

“So you decided to spend it on me.”

“More like spend it with you.”

Spend it with-- oh. Oh.

“What? Why?”

Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts. “You don’t know?”

No. No he doesn’t.

“No.”

“Oh, my, you’re a right dumbass.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, apparently running out of patience. “I simply like you, okay? At first, I agreed because you seemed like you could use some relaxation. Quite a bit of it, really.”

Arthur bites his lip, hesitating with the next question. “And then?”

Merlin sighs, shoulders sagging almost in defeat. “And then I just liked seeing you.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath, both startled and excited by the admission. “Why didn’t you just ask me out, then?”

Merlin laughs, but there’s very little humor in it. “That’s hardly professional, Arthur.”

“That’s what worried you?”

“Of course it did! It does! Jesus, Arthur, you have no idea,” he shakes his head, “no idea how much I have to hold myself back when I have my hands all over you.”

Arthur swallows audibly, noticing for the first time how dry his throat has gotten. Well, here goes nothing.

”What if... what if I don’t want you to hold back?”

Merlin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his gaze roaming over Arthur’s face in search of something. Probably a confirmation.

“Arthur, that’s not--”

“It’s 6:02,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s two minutes past six. You should have started with the massage by now.”

Initially, Merlin doesn’t respond, looking as though Arthur’s talking in a different language. When Arthur holds his eyes, hoping to prove his point, he resigns on any further arguments.

“Come on in then,” he instructs tiredly and Arthur follows him to the room. He’s shedding his jacket even before they get there. He hangs it and starts taking off his tie just as Merlin turns around to face him.

“Okay, I’ll let you--” He cuts himself off when Arthur pulls the tie over his head, throwing it on the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t bother,” he says, too pleased with himself when Merlin stays rooted to the spot, openly staring.

“Uh...” Is all he manages when Arthur gets rid of the shirt, exposing his chest (which - it’s not like Merlin’s never seen it before anyway) and begins working his belt and trousers open. Soon, he’s pulling them down together with his briefs, stepping out of his shoes in the meantime.

As he straightens up, completely naked, he takes a few seconds to appreciate the way Merlin looks at him, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Lips twisting into a smug smile, he turns to the table to climb on it, settling on his stomach as he does every time, except now he doesn’t bother covering himself up with a sheet.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he calls with barely concealed amusement when Merlin doesn’t move an inch.

“Uh... yeah. Yeah, let me just...” he stutters, reaching for the sheet.

“Leave it.”

“W-what?”

“No point.”

“But--”

“Merlin,” Arthur says darkly, “leave it.”

Thank fuck, Merlin actually listens and abandons the sheet in favor of grabbing a bottle of oil, pouring some in his hands with trembling fingers.

“Arthur...” he tries one more time, hesitant.

“Merlin,” Arthur returns. “Shut up.”

He hears Merlin exhale shakily and then, the familiar sensation of oil-slicked hands takes over all of his senses. He sighs in relief when the touch causes his body to go completely lax as it always does.

Merlin’s hands are unusually tentative, like he’s still not sure he’s got Arthur’s permission to touch him - like this - after what he admitted to him. It’s for that reason that Arthur starts making deliberate noises of pleasure, humming softly, or outright groaning and moaning when Merlin arrives to a particularly sensitive spot.

Above him, Merlin begins making noises of his own, but he sounds more pained than anything. Out of curiosity, Arthur turns his head to the side to peer at Merlin, just to be able to see what expression is on his face right now.

He doesn’t get that far because all of his attention is stolen by the very visible, very prominent bulge pressing against the front of Merlin’s trousers.

“Shit,” he utters before he can stop himself, feeling his dick twitch helplessly where it’s almost squashed between his body and the table.

Immediately, Merlin freezes on the spot, his breath hitching.

“I... Arthur...”

Arthur lets out another moan at witnessing Merlin’s obvious desire for him and returns his head to the previous position.

“You can do my legs now,” he says suggestively, but it sounds more like an order. For a moment, nothing happens. Merlin doesn’t withdraw his hands but he doesn’t move either. Arthur is about to impatiently prompt him to action but in the end, Merlin goes willingly, moving around the table until he’s standing at Arthur’s feet.

He covers his left leg with oil and proceeds to massage it from the foot up, almost as if nothing unusual is happening.

It’s not until he makes his way past the knee, to the hamstrings and inner thigh, that Arthur feels him falter, the pressure letting off and in a desperate attempt to urge Merlin on, he spreads his legs further apart.

Behind him, Merlin makes a choked off sound, his grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening.

“A-Arthur,” he says like a prayer and Arthur feels himself grow harder the lower Merlin’s voice drops.

“Go on,” he orders and this time, Merlin recovers faster, sparing barely a few seconds before he starts rubbing his thigh in circular motion, slowly working his way up, up, all the way to his ass - his very exposed ass.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, barely audible, but Arthur hears him all the same. He knows what he’s asking and in lieu of an answer, he digs his knees into the table to push his hip up and back, groaning when the movement provides friction to his now fully erect cock.

“Do it,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”

Merlin makes an indescribable sound and then his slick fingers are dipping tentatively between his cheeks, brushing against his entrance.

Arthur feels his pulse quicken, heat spreading throughout his whole body at the single touch.

“Gods, Arthur, the sounds you make...” Merlin praises, rubbing at his opening in tiny circles.

“Merlin,” he returns, attempting to spread his legs further apart. Merlin all but growls at the display and then he’s bending over to pepper kisses over Arthur’s naked shoulders, even as his fingers press against him more insistently.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” he mumbles into his skin and Arthur trembles at the soft-spoken words.

“Fuck me,” he moans, hitching his hips up. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit, Arthur, you can’t just.... can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just hurry up and get on with it,” he tries to sound irritated but it falls flat when a whine is torn out of his throat as Merlin enters him with one finger.

“Shit. Shit...”

“Payback,” Merlin laughs, kissing just behind his ear.

“Merlin, I swear to God...”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he retorts with fondness and starts pumping the finger in and out.

Satisfied when Merlin actually listens, Arthur is able to relax again, offering himself to Merlin’s skilled hands.

He is nothing but gentle as he works Arthur open, adding more oil before a second finger joins the first, then a third one.

Under him, Arthur’s rolling his hips against the table, seeking as much friction as he can because Merlin’s taking too bloody long, checking on him every two fucking minutes. Just as he’s about to call him out, the fingers brush against his prostate, successfully stealing all the words out of his mouth, together with his breath.

“Fuck,” he grips at the edge of the table, struggling to breathe.

Merlin chuckles at his reaction. “You like that?” he asks smugly, totally unhelpful and unnecessary and hits that spot again.

“Would l-like it better if you f-finally got your dick in m-me,” he trips over his tongue, panting.

“Impatient,” Merlin clicks his tongue but before Arthur can tell him where he can stick it (pun intended), Merlin’s fingers leave him.

His breath hitches at the sudden emptiness and in hopes of speeding up the process, he gathers his strength to hitch himself up until he’s on all fours. He expects Merlin to climb up behind him but instead, there’s a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to twist to the side.

“Not like that,” Merlin explains, nudging him until he’s turned over completely, facing him. “I want to see you.”

Arthur wants to crack a joke, call Merlin sappy and whatnot, but he can only blush.

“Oh.”

“Can you sit on the edge?” Merlin instructs, helping him to get into position. He manages just fine by himself, sitting on the side of the table with his legs hanging off. He watches, mesmerized, as Merlin rids himself of his T-shirt and trousers in under ten seconds, feeling accomplished at seeing him so impatient himself even though he chastised Arthur for it only minutes ago.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, hearing the blood rush in his ears. Merlin gives him a dark look, clearly disapproving of his tone, and takes the final step until he’s standing between his open thighs, grabbing him by the hips and pulling forward.

The movement is so sudden that it sends Arthur flat onto his back, hips hanging off the table. Merlin nudges him to wrap his legs around him and braces himself against the edge with his hands.

“You’re such a bloody tease,” he chides with a shake of his head.

“Shut up, Mer-- fuuuck,” he nearly chokes as Merlin’s cock breaches him without a warning, sliding in fully with one push. “Shit.”

“Okay?” Merlin checks with a quake in his voice, proving he’s not as collected as he makes himself to be.

“Y-yeah. Just move already.”

Merlin chuckles. “So bossy.” Then proceeds to do just that. He pulls back almost completely before pushing back in, again, and one more time until he’s settling into a rhythm.

It takes Arthur a couple more minutes to catch his breath but when he does, he focuses on meeting Merlin halfway, although the position barely allows it.

“M-Merlin.”

Merlin snaps his hips almost violently at hearing his name tumble from Arthur’s lips in that tone and Arthur moans loudly when he drives directly into his prostate.

“Fuck! Fuck, Merlin. R-right there.”

“God, Arthur. It‘s so good. You’re so good.”

Arthur keens at the praise, urging Merlin to go faster.

Instead, Merlin halts all the movement, earning a desperate whine from Arthur. He chuckles at the reaction and leans forward to slide his hands underneath him to pull him up until he’s sitting up, their chests close enough to touch.

“Arthur,” he whispers in the space between them before there’s none because suddenly, Merlin’s crashing their lips together, unexpected and so good. He swallows the surprised sound from Arthur’s lips, licking into his mouth.

Arthur moans in agreement, wrapping him in his arms and deepening the kiss.

Merlin grabs him by the hips again and starts a new rhythm, his thrust shorter but harder.

Arthur whimpers against his lips, squeezing Merlin between his thighs. He gives up any effort to help Merlin out and decides to kiss the living hell out of him while Merlin plows his ass.

It works just fine and it’s not long before Merlin’s thrusts grow erratic and uncoordinated.

“A-Arthur,” he chokes out between kisses. “I’m gonna...”

Instead of replying, Arthur takes his lips in another kiss and clenches around his cock, drawing a hiss from him.

“Arthur!”

“Yeah, come on,” he encourages and clenches his ass again.

Merlin manages two, three, four more thrusts before he stills, buried to the hilt and spills himself inside Arthur. He presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, panting against the sweaty skin while his hips continue their subtle grinding motion.

Arthur presses a kiss to his temple, sliding his fingers through the dark locks, marveling at the silkiness.

Merlin lifts his head to peer at him from under his lashes. His pupils are blown wide, overtaking all the blue of his irises. There’s a lovely flush to his cheeks and the way his fringe sticks to his sweaty forehead is almost endearing.

Arthur’s never seen him like this and he wants to appreciate the view but doesn’t get much time because then, Merlin is untangling his legs from around him and slides to his knees in front of Arthur. He gives him a little smirk before opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock.

“Nngh!” Arthur yelps with surprise, throwing his head back in unexpected pleasure.

“Shit, Merlin.”

Merlin hums around his cock and starts sucking him in earnest. It feels so good he can’t even feel embarrassed when he feels Merlin’s come leaking out of him and to his shock, he also feels Merlin’s fingers slide into him again, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. “Merlin!”

It barely takes another half a minute before Arthur’s screaming himself hoarse as his orgasm overtakes him and he comes in Merlin’s mouth. Still, Merlin’s mouth doesn’t leave him, working him through his release instead until he’s whimpering from over-sensitivity and pulling at his hair to pry him off.

Merlin releases his cock with an obscene sound that echoes in the small room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up between Arthur’s open legs.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“Are you for real?” Merlin just blinks at him. “We should have done that ages ago, instead of the massage.”

Merlin groans in annoyance. “That’s not the nature of my business, Arthur!”

His irritation only amuses Arthur further. “You could make an exception for me,” he teases, pulling Merlin closer and Merlin goes willingly, although the scowl is still on his face.

“That depends on how much you’ll tip me,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I’ll tip you all you want, Merlin.”

Merlin slaps the back of his head gently. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Hmm. But I think you like it,” he says smugly, pulling him into another kiss, letting out a moan when he tastes himself on his lips.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who just got fucked on a massage table.”

“You mean for someone who just talked his masseur into fucking him on a massage table.”

“I think manipulated is better-fitting.”

“Or seduced.”

Merlin scoffs. “You did not seduce me.”

“Oh, really?” he teases. “I’d say you gave it up pretty easy after seeing me in my birthday suit.”

“I did not!”

“You did, though.”

“Your mind is misleading you.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur concludes dismissively, then gives Merlin a wicked grin. “Next time, you’re gonna lie down on this table and I’m gonna ride you.”

Unsursprisingly, Merlin all but chokes on thin air. “That... uh... sounds... agreeable.”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re so annoyingly confident.”

“Just because you make it so easy.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he huffs. “Shut up. And kiss me again.”

And for once, without a single protest, Merlin does just that.

OMFG, Merlin! You DIDN'T!

Huh?

Don't "huh" me! You know bloody well!

Apparently not.

You fucked my boss!

!!! JFC, I can't believe he told you! :O

I sent him your way so he got that stick out of his ass. Not for you to replace it with your dick!

He didn't. His limp did, jsyk.

He could have hurt his leg or something...

And he brought me coffee. He'd never brought me coffee before! I've never seen him in such a good mood!

Your welcome :-*

*You're

That's disgusting. I'm never getting a massage from you ever again!

Oh, well... it was worth it :-p

*Freya has left the chat*

[ibijau]

Burn it down AU // on AO3 // extras on AO3

Nie Huaisang doesn't let Lan Wangji know who the man he loved in his youth was and just like that, their fate is changed

(aka the one where nhs and lwj fall for each other instead of pining after men who turned away from them)

warning for self harm

Lan Wangji went to meet his husband, now sect leader Nie, to offer him comfort one last time before returning to the Cloud Recesses, and to gift him a small porcelain bird. He found the other man drunk and clearly depressed, but still appreciative of the present in spite of his state.

“A magpie,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “They’re clever, you know? Mate for life, or so it’s said. Don’t know why anyone would do that, but they do.”

“Hm.”

Lan Wangji sat near his husband, unsure what to do or say to comfort Nie Huaisang when he was so obviously distressed.

“I’ve heard that the Lans too only ever love once,” Nie Huaisang continued, carefully putting away the bird.

“Hm.” It was an old tale, one Lan Wangji had never given much consideration until recent years. He still wasn’t sure how he felt on that matter.

“Do you ever regret that it was Wei Wuxian?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“No,” Lan Wangji replied, the very thought of loving anyone else impossible, repulsing almost. It had always been Wei Wuxian. It would always be Wei Wuxian. To consider anyone else would have felt like a betrayal, like giving in to the voices around him.

“Lucky you,” Nie Huaisang chuckled bitterly, taking another sip of wine. “If I could, I’d choose someone else. Maybe you. At least I’d know where I’d stand if it were you, and I think you wouldn’t be a bad person to love instead of him.”

Lan Wangji frowned. “Huaisang is in love with someone?”

His husband starts laughing, only for it to quickly turn into heavy sobs. Lan Wangji immediately leaned closer to pat his shoulder, as he had done more than once in the past weeks. Nie Huaisang’s tears only doubled in strength. He moved as if he might try to hug Lan Wangji, only to stop himself at the last moment, curling up on himself instead.

“I just want it to stop,” he whined. “I just want things to be good. Nothing has ever been good since the war. I miss the time before, when I didn’t even know I loved him and it was easy! But now I’ve lost all my friends, and I’ve lost Da-ge, and I’m losing you and A-Yuan and… I was happy, I was so happy with you two! Wasn’t it good, all three of us?”

“It was,” Lan Wangji agreed, partly to comfort him, but also because it was true. They had gotten so comfortable together. It had taken a while to get used to this situation none of them had wanted, but… happiness was a good word for what they had built.

Lan Wangji too was sad to lose this, but he knew by then that nothing good ever lasted.

-

Nie Huaisang arrived in the middle of the night, furious and panicked, ranting about his brother’s body having disappeared. Lan Wangji took him to the rabbits’ pen so they could discuss what they had both discovered about the tomb, about a song played wrong, about betrayal from a man Nie Huaisang had called his friend and trusted as a brother.

“I needed to tell someone,” Nie Huaisang sniffed when he was done explaining. “And there’s no one… I can’t trust anyone except you. You’re Hanguang-Jun, you’re the best person I know and I… I can’t do this alone. I need your help.”

For a moment, Lan Wangji stared at his husband, his ears ringing with those words he had desperately wished to hear from another mouth. Once, he would have given anything to be asked for his help by the man he would have wanted as his husband, only to be rejected time and time again.

It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the right man who had run to him, and Lan Wangji wondered if Nie Huaisang would have turned to him at all, had he had any other option. But it still made something shift inside his chest to have his assistance finally wanted like this.

“Of course I will help.”

Nie Huaisang smiled at him, a weak little smile without much joy to it, but one that spoke of trust and gratefulness beyond anything Lan Wangji had ever received.

-

Lan Xichen was devastated when Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang told him about what Jin Guangyao had done, but he believed them and offered his support.

“You have a good husband,” Lan Xichen said when he was alone with his brother. “I’m… glad things worked out.”

“I’m glad too,” Lan Wangji admitted. “I am glad you chose him.”

Lan Xichen smiled. It looked so forced that his brother could only notice it, but he kindly chose not to comment on it. After a day filled with such difficult conversations, it did not surprise Lan Wangji that his brother found it hard to rejoice at that time.

-

The trip to Nightless City did not go quite as planned, and what they found there horrified both of them. Lan Wangji was glad neither of them had tried to go there alone, because neither of them would have managed without the other.

It was odd that he had come to make such a good team with Nie Huaisang. Lan Wangji would never have expected that. He’d always believed that whoever shared his life would have to be an exceptional cultivator, his match in all the art, a swordsman beyond compare with who he would go on Night Hunt to right the wrongs of the world. Nie Huaisang was none of those things, but he had proven that he was not a bad person to have at one’s side.

Still, as they rested at an inn that night after attempting to contact Nie Mingjue’s soul, Lan Wangji worried for his husband. First, because Nie Huaisang had been wounded in the fight with his brother’s arm, and was only then finally letting Lan Wangji treat his wound. Secondly because Nie Huaisang was never this quiet normally. His mood worsened with every passing moment, until he looked almost as severe as his brother did sometimes.

“What is on your mind?” Lan Wangji asked as he finished bandaging Nie Huaisang’s throat.

Nie Huaisang shrugged.

“We’d had an argument before he died, about Jin Guangyao. I think he still hates me. He was the only person left in my life who liked me and I’ve made even my brother hate me.”

Lan Wangji’s hand stilled against his husband’s neck.

“Not the only one.”

“A-Yuan doesn’t count. He’s just… he’s still a baby and I’m like family. He just hasn’t grown out of it yet.”

“I like Huaisang,” Lan Wangji corrected. 

Nie Huaisang made an impatient gesture. 

"You're used to me, it's not the same. If you'd had a choice in this, you would have happily gone the rest of your life never talking to me." 

Lan Wangji fell silent, taking a moment to consider that statement. It was true that he only became close to Nie Huaisang because they were forced to spend time together. But the same might have been argued of any pair of friends. Without the right circumstances, people failed to get close even if they were perfect for one another. 

He liked Nie Huaisang. It was a different emotion than the one provoked by Wei Wuxian. Less reluctant. Less desperate also. It was oddly easy to like Nie Huaisang, because their life together had been easy, as if they had been old friends from the start, or old spouses rather. There was no one else Lan Wangji would have trusted so much with A-Yuan, no one else he would have managed to talk to about his worries and hopes. He had never managed to reach that sort of trust with Wei Wuxian, no matter how he had desperately wanted to. But with Nie Huaisang… 

It really had been so easy to like his husband, and it had been painful to lose his constant company. 

"I like Huaisang," he insisted once he reached that conclusion. "I'm glad you were chosen for me." 

"I'm not the person you really want at your side though." 

"Wei Ying never wanted to be at my side."

It hurt. After so long it still hurt. It might never stop hurting to have been rejected again and again by the person he had most wanted, but… but Nie Huaisang gave him a crooked half smile, and took his hand, which soothed some of that old ache. 

"His loss," he said with a warmth and affection that had become rare since his brother’s death "Wangji's side is a good place to be." 

-

It took a while to prepare that final corpse finding spell, and all the while Nie Huaisang’s mental state became worse and worse. It brought back terrible memories for Lan Wangji, of seeing Wei Wuxian slowly crumbling into pieces before his eyes, unable to do anything to help.

Nie Huaisang too tried to push him away, but he wasn’t as good at it, or perhaps he was simply less reluctant to be helped. After what was probably the first true fight of their marriage, Nie Huaisang gave in and agreed to have Cleansing once again played to him. It did not take all his pain away, but he no longer seemed so desperate, and stopped talking about slaughtering every single Jin.

Then finally, after months of patience, the spell was ready for use.

Lan Wangji left A-Yuan with Hou Tianjian as soon as he received the news from Nie Huaisang, warned Lan Xichen that he had to go, and flew straight to the Unclean Realm. Nie Huaisang immediately took him to his house, and started explaining how this would go. It was an unpleasant spell to say the least, using methods that Wei Wuxian would have probably not frowned upon. It made sense that the Nie sect did not want these methods of theirs to become too well known.

"This one will work for sure," Nie Huaisang said, emptying a small vial of blood on a compass. “It has never once not worked since its creation. We’re going to get my brother back, Wangji!”

Lan Wangji dared not asked where the blood came from. At best it was an animal's, at worst a criminal's. Either way, he would rather not know.

But just as Nie Huaisang promised, this time they got a reaction. The compass’s needle started moving, pointing them toward four different directions. It was not a surprise to find that Nie Mingjue’s body had been cut in parts, they’d been expecting it, and yet it was still a shock. Nie Huaisang paled and trembled at this confirmation that Jin Guangyao had truly desecrated his brother’s body in such a manner. Lan Wangji grabbed his shoulder so he wouldn’t collapse, half wishing to pull him into a hug. It seemed like something that Nie Huaisang might need. Before Lan Wangji could act on that impulse, Nie Huaisang had himself back under control and was taking notes as to the direction they should head to first. 

-

They did not go very far for the first part of Nie Mingjue.

They did not even leave the lands owned by Qinghe Nie.

To both their horror, they found the legs of Nie Mingjue inside a mausoleum belonging to the Nie sect. Nie Huaisang explained its purpose while they searched it, his voice growing increasingly desperate with each new use of his blood compass which seemed to point at nonsensical directions once they were inside.

“The walls,” Lan Wangji said when his husband finished explaining how that place worked, what it did, and the horrifying understanding of what Jin Guangyao had done dawned on him.

Nie Huaisang furiously shook his head, tears forming in his eyes that he would not allow to spill.

“It can’t be! I was there when we repaired it! I supervised it, I wanted to be a good sect leader, to take responsibility, I… I would have seen it! All the bodies were whole, I saw it, I saw them!”

“Yet Chifeng-Zun must be there.”

Nie Huaisang wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and together they opened the wall in the place the compass pointed to. There was a body there, a whole one. They exchanged a look, and without a word Nie Huaisang started undressing that man, checking first his right arm since they had found the left one already, then his torso. Nie Huaisang cried out in horror at the sight of a line of careful stitches attaching foreign legs to that man’s torso, their skin a different shade than the rest of his body.

Nie Huaisang roared like a wounded beast.

“I trusted him!” he shouted, breaking into tears. “I trusted him, I liked him so much! But Da-ge was right, he was always right! I trusted him and he did this, I trusted him…”

Lan Wangji looked at his husband, kneeling next to the half body of his own brother, curled up and shaking from tears and rage. He moved without thinking, kneeling next to him and pulling him in his arms. It did not bother him when Nie Huaisang’s arms encircled his waist to cling at his back, when the other man buried his face against his chest to sob.

Nie Huaisang had long ago become one of those precious few people whose touch Lan Wangji welcomed.

More than welcomed, perhaps.

Lan Wangji rubbed circles on his husband’s back, silently trying to comfort him, to show him that he was not alone, that there was someone else for him to trust. Someone who would not turn on him the way Jin Guangyao had.

Nie Huaisang cried and cried, until he had no tears left, until he was just sobbing and hiccuping in Lan Wangji’s arms, until he calmed down, still clinging to his husband’s back. They remained like this a long while, longer than was safe in such a place. But Lan Wangji refused to be the one to break the contact, not when it felt right to be holding Nie Huaisang who so clearly needed it, and it seemed Nie Huaisang as well refused to be the one to give up on it.

They only let go of each other when they heard the voice of a Nie disciple calling out to them, surprised to find them there on his patrol.

Nie Huaisang quickly tore himself from Lan Wangji’s embrace and went to meet his disciple to feed him a lie about an anomaly he’d detected with one of the entrapped corpses, and how it would need to be discreetly replaced.

Lan Wangji tried not to think too much about how right it had felt to be holding his husband this close.

Fierce corpses and conspiracies he could deal with, but this he was not ready to face yet.

-

It took Lan Wangji over a week to finally understand where the blood used in the tracking spell came from.

When he entered their room at an inn and found Nie Huaisang cutting into his own arm to get fuel for the compass, Lan Wangji felt stupid for not understanding sooner.

“It’s the only way!” Nie Huaisang hissed before his husband could say a word. “It has to be a blood relative or it doesn’t work. If you don’t like it, go away, I’ll find him on my own!”

Lan Wangji said nothing. He closed the door behind him, and put down the tray of food he had bought for their dinner. Still silent, he came to kneel next to the bed on which Nie Huaisang sat, and grasped his husband’s arm. Nie Huaisang barely resisted before letting him inspect the cut. It was deeper than it probably needed to be, and longer too. Lan Wangji sent some spiritual energy into it so it would heal faster.

“I have to do it like that,” Nie Huaisang insisted, nearly pleading now. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like it. It’s bad magic, I know, but…”

“I don’t like it,” Lan Wangji agreed. “Not because it is bad. Because Huaisang is hurt.”

Nie Huaisang huffed, and tried to pull his arm away. Lan Wangji did not allow it.

“Ah, Wangji, careful with what you say. I’ll start thinking you care about me if you say things like that!”

“I do,” Lan Wangji protested.

Nie Huaisang was his friend, his husband, the other father of his son. Of course he cared. He thought he had made it clear.

He would need to make it clearer, because Nie Huaisang gave him a very odd look, as if he were almost scared to hear those words, and that wouldn’t do. He needed Nie Huaisang to know he was appreciated.

“How much blood is needed?” Lan Wangji asked, hoping that subject would be less distressing to his husband.

“That full vial every time.”

It was not a lot of blood as such, but they had been using the compass every day. Even for a stronger cultivator, this would not have been ideal. Lan Wangji quickly gave the situation some thought.

“We stop using it every day,” he decided. Nie Huaisang opened his mouth to protest, but Lan Wangji silenced him with a gesture. “We do not need it every day. We will take note of the direction and follow it. If the direction changes, we act accordingly. Your diet must also be changed to help you replace that blood. I will be monitoring your health.”

“It’s not necessary, I’m just fine,” Nie Huaisang pouted. “It’s just a little blood, who cares?”

“I care,” Lan Wangji reminded him, distractedly stroking the skin of the arm he was still holding. “I do not want Huaisang to be hurt.”

Nie Huaisang stared at him with an intensity neither of them could quite handle, forcing both of them to look away.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nie Huaisang muttered, weakly trying to pull his arm away again. And again, Lan Wangji refused to allow it.

“I have to do this. You are important.”

“To A-Yuan,” Nie Huaisang huffed, a spot of colour on his cheeks.

“To A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji granted him. “To me as well.”

More colour spread to Nie Huaisang’s face, and Lan Wangji felt the other man’s heartbeat quicken. He looked intently at Nie Huaisang, wishing to say something that he could not yet quite put into words, not even in the secret of his own mind. He wanted to explain just how important Nie Huaisang was to him, how much he cared, how deeply it saddened him that Nie Huaisang couldn’t see it, how he wished he were better with words to say it the way it needed to be said.

Lan Wangji hadn’t found it so hard to speak on any subject since he had made a similar realisation about Wei Wuxian, years before.

That, perhaps, ought to have been a clue as to what was happening.

But before Lan Wangji could fully process his own thoughts, Nie Huaisang started complaining about being hungry. That took precedence over Lan Wangji’s internal ramblings. He finally let go of his husband’s arm and went to pick up again the food he had brought. He made sure that Nie Huaisang ate his whole share, even when he accused Lan Wangji of being a nagging mother.

Someone had to take care of Nie Huaisang, and Lan Wangji did not mind being that person.

-

It had been good luck to meet Song Lan, more so than they realised at first.

Of course, Lan Wangji was a little star struck at first upon meeting such a renowned rogue cultivator and being offered to travel together since they were headed the same way. It was hard to say if Song Lan noticed, but Nie Huaisang did and teased him mercilessly over it every time they were alone. Lan Wangji did not mind. If anything, he was glad that Nie Huaisang’s mood was decent enough to think of joking this way. It had become rare since his brother’s death, and Lan Wangji had missed it.

It was good to have met Song Lan.

They only understood how good that had been when a blind girl led them to the place where she lived to meet a man that she claimed was Xiao Xingchen, and they found themselves facing Xue Yang instead.

Lan Wangji and Song Lan fought against him, while Nie Huaisang forced the blind girl to come with him so they could warn Xiao Xingchen of what was happening. Furious to see whatever nefarious plan he had come up with fall apart like this, Xue Yang pulled out every dirty trick he could. In a moment of distraction Song Lan was hit with corpse poisoning, distracting him just long enough that Xue Yang would have had a chance to slice open his mouth, if not for Lan Wangji’s intervention.

It was then that the fog already present around them since the start of that fight grew thicker, blinding Lan Wangji. Xue Yang was light enough on his feet that it made his attack nearly undetectable, the only warning his killing intent.

Thankfully Xiao Xingchen joined them at that point, and it seemed that not being able to see was not a problem for him. Lan Wangji, at that moment, guessed it had to be that the rogue cultivator’s level was simply great enough for it. He only understood later the true reason behind his ease, and cursed Xue Yang all over again.

It was a thrilling fight. To be side by side with two such renowned cultivators, trying to capture a black hearted villain whose crimes could not be denied because he had confessed to them with dark glee… it was the sort of life Lan Wangji would have dreamed of in his youth.

It only occurred to him too late that if Xiao Xingchen was there, then Nie Huaisang might have returned as well. Lan Wangji would have expected his husband to wisely remain hidden, since he was no fighter. And perhaps Nie Huaisang did remain hidden, but not well enough, because Xue Yang found him.

Lan Wangji’s blood froze in his veins when he heard Nie Huaisang’s pained cry coming from inside the fog.

He dashed ahead, following the sounds of a commotion. In the thick fog he spotted two figures struggling, the taller one having the clear advantage, the smaller one trying to protect a third shape curled up on the ground. Later, the blind girl who wasn’t blind in the least explained that Xue Yang had stumbled into the place where she and Nie Huaisang were hiding, and that he had wanted to make her pay for her betrayal. Nie Huaisang had tried to protect her, only to be stabbed. When Lan Wangji found them, Nie Huaisang was trying to stop Xue Yang from pulling his sword away so he could not strike again.

Distracted by this struggle, Xue Yang could not defend himself when Lan Wangji attacked, slashing at him with enough strength to sever his arm. The shock of that wound was such that Xue Yang could not resist the talismans Lan Wangji and Song Lan, alerted by the noise, threw at him to immobilize him.

With this taken care of, Lan Wangji turned to his husband. They were close enough that even in that fog he could see Nie Huaisang smile at him.

“I knew you’d rescue me,” Nie Huaisang said, before collapsing on the ground.

Lan Wangji heard a shout, which he did not realise then was his own. He rushed to Nie Huaisang’s side, inspecting his wound with trembling hands. He swiftly removed Xue Yang’s blade from his husband's body and poured as much spiritual energy into healing the wound as he could, desperate to heal him.

He could not lose Nie Huaisang.

Not him as well.

Lan Wangji was not sure he would have the strength to survive another loss.

He wasn’t sure he’d have the will to survive this.

The universe must have taken pity on him that day, because Nie Huaisang’s wound reacted well to Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy and soon stopped bleeding. Xiao Xingchen, although clearly shaken by everything that had happened, promptly offered to take them to his house so they could better care for Nie Huaisang and make sure that Xue Yang was properly chained up.

Lan Wangji picked up his unconscious husband in his arms, holding him close to his heart as they made their way to the house in question.

Later, when Nie Huaisang’s life was certain to be in no danger, when it was sure that Xue Yang would not escape, Lan Wangji came to sit on the side of his husband’s bed. He took the other man’s hand, needing to feel its warmth, and set out to patiently wait for Nie Huaisang to wake up. Before too long, he had the surprise of being joined by Song Lan.

Song Lan, with that cold politeness of his, enquired about Nie Huaisang. He appeared relieved to find that the other man was stable. His own corpse poisoning had been handled already. Aside from Xue Yang, nobody would have lasting sequels from that fight. Not physically, at least. It would probably take Xiao Xingchen a little time to recover from the ways Xue Yang had manipulated him, but he was a hopeful person and already making plans to leave Yi City so he and that not-so-blind girl could start travelling with Song Lan, exactly as he had once done before Xue Yang ruined his life a first time.

“Sometimes, life gives you a second chance,” Song Lan said, looking outside where Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing were putting their things in order. 

Lan Wangji nodded, his hand still holding Nie Huaisang’s. His husband would be fine with a little rest. His ridiculous, impossible husband who should have known better than to put himself in danger but had done it anyway, because Nie Huaisang was nothing if not dedicated to doing what was right. 

It had never occurred before to Lan Wangji how much Nie Huaisang trusted him. Even though the other man had turned to him time and time again since his brother’s death, Lan Wangji had told himself that it was simply by lack of choice. But the way he had said he knew Lan Wangji would rescue him, as if it had been an evidence to him… and he was not wrong. Lan Wangji had come running at the first sign of trouble. Lan Wangji would have done anything to protect that husband of his, this man he cared so much about that he did not know how to handle it.

Satisfied with that conversation, Song Lan left the two of them alone. Through the window, Lan Wangji saw him walk up to Xiao Xingchen to help him with something. Once, it would have filled Lan Wangji with envy to see the two of them work together like that, their every movement speaking of trust and habit even after years apart. But there was no envy that day. There would not be envy again, Lan Wangji realised.

It took him a moment to notice when Nie Huaisang woke up, but Lan Wangji eventually noticed the more rapid pulse in the hand he was still holding. When he looked down at the bed, he found his husband looking back at him with an expression he could not quite read.

“You saved me,” Nie Huaisang whispered.

“You knew I would,” Lan Wangji replied, letting go of his husband’s hand to push away the hair that had fallen before his eyes.

Nie Huaisang smiled weakly, leaning into that touch. Without thinking about it, Lan Wangji cupped his cheek, which made the other man’s smile widen.

“Ah, Wangji, Wangji,” he sighed. “I’ll be getting ideas if you keep being so nice to me, so you should stop.”

“They would be the right ideas,” Lan Wangji calmly replied.

He felt Nie Huaisang flinch, saw his eyes widen as if in fear.

“Wangji, don’t make me hope for something I can’t have,” he whispered. “I can’t go through that again. I know who you want, who you love.”

“I want a man who stands at my side and is happy there,” Lan Wangji said as he gently stroked Nie Huaisang’s cheek with his thumb. “I love a man who sees me and finds me worthy of trust.”

“Lans only love once.”

Lan Wangji huffed at that old tale. He had never thought of it in his youth, before clinging to it with desperation when everyone tried to order him to turn away from Wei Wuxian. Now, though, it felt as nothing more than a story, a cautionary tale to encourage Lan children to be careful with their affections.

“Not all Lans,” he stated, leaning forward to carefully kiss his husband.

Nie Huaisang gasped against his lips, but did not push him away.

It was a sweet first kiss, Lan Wangji thought. Different from the one he had stolen on a tree, so many years before. Nie Huaisang’s lips were a little parched but retained a certain softness, and he was leaning eagerly into the kiss rather than fighting to escape it.

When they parted, Nie Huaisang was smiling more brightly than he had in months. More brightly than he ever had before, Lan Wangji thought, and the realisation that he was the cause for such happiness made him smile as well.

He then kissed Nie Huaisang again, simply because he could, because it was allowed, because it was welcome, because he loved this man he had married, with whom he was raising a child.

Lan Wangji loved him and after that second kiss Nie Huaisang returned those words to him before kissing him again, and again, both of them too happy to stop.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.14

Chapter Fourteen: Sunflower: Things are really looking up. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2k Warnings: maybe a swear word or two, but really just fluff

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A/N: i know i probably sound like a broken record, but thank you for your continuous love and support! i probably wouldn't have finished this fic series if it wasn't for y’all, and now we are almost at the end! after this chapter, there is only the epilogue left omg!!! also, shout out to @ellesgreenaway​ for the song suggestion that titled this chapter! 

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Spencer’s arms were wrapped tightly around your frame, reminding you without the use of words that he will never let you go again. His hot breath hit the back of your neck. It sent a gentle shiver down your spine causing you to flutter your eyes open. As you adjusted to the bright morning hues, you could feel his heart beating against you and a sleepy smile circled your lips.

There was no better feeling than waking up next to Spencer.

With him by your side, greeting the day was easy. It came slow and relaxed, as if the universe was commanding you to bask in this comfort for just a little while longer.

This is what harmony really felt like.

The second you stirred in your comfortably warm spot, and turned so you could admire the sleeping man next to you, he also opened his eyes. A smile instantly graced his features.

“Good morning, doctor.” You whispered and leaned over to peck his soft lips.

“Hmm... Good morning, how did you sleep?” The handsome doctor asked, his hand travelling to your face and brushing away any signs of sleep. You swayed into his touch like a magnet before replying; “Would you believe me if I said it was the best sleep I’ve had in months?”.

Spencer chuckled airily, his hand still caressing along your cheek. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I definitely am flattered.”

“As you should be, doctor.”

In a split-second, his lips slanted over yours in one of those open-mouthed kisses, tender yet extremely passionate. His fingers tangled in your hair, as he pulled you in as close as it was humanely possible. It always amazed you how your lips fit so perfectly together like two puzzle pieces.

After what felt like a glorious eternity, the brunette doctor slowly drew away. He placed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before rolling onto his back, one arm draped beneath your neck and hand resting on your shoulder.

“What would you like to do today?” Spencer asked, looking up at the ceiling. You contemplated his question for a moment, but before you got a chance to answer, the sound of your phone ringtone caught your attention.

Sitting up, you reached over to the bedside table and quickly answered the incoming call, “Hello?”

“Oh thank god, you’re alive!” Penelope breathed a sigh of relief on the other line. “We were all worried sick! I even stayed with Tara last night just in case you came back here.”

“I’m okay, don't worry guys.” You replied, glancing briefly at Spencer who has since gotten out of bed. He leaned down to kiss your cheek and exited the bedroom to give you some privacy.

“Well, you’ll get a talking to about not calling or texting later. But for now, how did it go? Tell me everything!” She asked and you couldn't help but giggle, “It went well, Pen. Like really well.” You replied.

Garcia squealed. “AHH! I am so happy for you, sugar plum! You and our lovely resident genius are just meant for each other. A match made in heaven!”

The smile gracing your features grew wider by the second. “Yeah, I’m glad it worked out in the end.”

“Like I knew it would! Now, you get back to whatever it is you were doing and I’m going to update Tara with this wonderful news. Should I tell her she needs to start looking for a new roommate?” She teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“Firstly, nothing untoward is happening.” You began, but Garcia was quick to interrupt you,“Riiight... I’m gonna pretend like I believe you, honey. Love you, have a great day and we can catch up on Monday.”

“Love you too, Pen.” You giggled back before the call ended.

Gradually, you scrambled out of bed and with a light bounce to your step, you joined the hazel-eyed doctor in the kitchen - where the smell of freshly brewed coffee overpowered your senses.

“So, how much trouble did you get in?” Spencer teased, as you rested your body weight against the counter next to him.

“Surprisingly, none at all.” You replied with a shrug. “She’s happy for us.”

Spencer glanced at you briefly, a smile circling his lips. “That makes two of us.” He stated in a low tone and you blushed ever so faintly.

“I forgot just how charming you can be, doctor.” You reacted, earning yourself a kind-hearted laugh. The melodic sound caused your heart to flutter, and you proceeded to tilt your head up and attach your lips to his.

The kiss was short and sweet, reminiscent of many you’ve shared previously. When you pulled apart, Spencer handed you a cup of coffee, and the two of you made your way to his couch.

“Have you given any thought as to what you’d like to do today?” He asked before pressing the mug to his mouth and taking a sip.

“Well, we’ve a lot of catching up to do, doctor.” You replied, throwing your legs over his lap. “I honestly wouldn't know where to start.”

“Y/N, we’ve our whole lives to make up for lost time.” He retorted, and you couldn't help but smile at the thought of growing old with him. “Let’s just take today to enjoy each others company. The sun is out, maybe you want to go for a walk? Or we can stay in and watch a movie?” He suggested.

You took a quick sip of your coffee. “We could actually do both of those things today, doctor. And if you’re good, I can even cook us dinner later.”

Spencer smirked. “If I’m good?”

You nodded, a stupid grin plastered across your face.

Truth be told, you had forgotten just how effortless everything was with Spencer. Your mind was continuously flooded with memories of your time with him. Even when you were apart, you’d get bombarded with thoughts of how uncomplicated the most menial tasks were with him. Although those memories didn’t compare to the serenity you were experiencing right now. Nothing compared to living in the moment with him, again.

The day you spent with Spencer had an unsurprising natural flow to it.

The brunette doctor first drove you to Tara’s, so that you could shower and change out of the pyjamas he lent you. While he waited for you to get ready, he enjoyed a conversation with Tara and Penelope. A conversation about the diamond ring he still carried with him everywhere - but that wasn't for you to know.

The four of you enjoyed a nice breakfast before the girls waved you off for the day. Spencer took the liberty of choosing the park for your walk. Hand in hand, the two of you looped around the paths for hours. Hours of laughing, chatting, and reminiscing. Hours of pure unfiltered joy.

Next stop on the unspoken agenda was the grocery store. Arguably one of your favourite places to go to, especially with the handsome doctor. While you picked out what you needed, Spencer guessed the ingredients of each item you placed in the metal cart. It was no surprise he was always correct, but honestly, that almost made the game more fun.

Back at his apartment, he helped you unpack the bags and proclaimed himself your sous chef. You wanted to protest, tell him to sit down and to let you cook alone, but Spencer wasn't having any of it - “My kitchen, my rules.”. The statement earned him an eye roll because you were sure the last person to actually cook anything proper in his kitchen was you, years ago.

With his... assistance, it took about three hours to make a simple recipe. And once you were finished, the kitchen looked as if a tornado had passed through it.

“Looks like we’ve an evening activity lined up.” Spencer joked, analysing the mess around, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

“Can’t wait.” A detectable hint of sarcasm in your voice.

The two of you ate in congenial silence - the first one of that day. It didn’t bother either of you, however. If anything the moment proved just how comfortable and at home you felt around one another.

The move to the couch after dinner was effortless. Spencer picked a movie, one you’ve both seen before so you could cuddle up to one another and talk about random topics without worrying about missing the plot.

It wasn’t until Spencer’s phone rang that you realised how disconnected from the outside world you’ve both been all afternoon.

“I’ll grab it for you, doctor.” You quickly jumped up on your feet before Spencer could do anything. You briskly shuffled around the sofa until you reached the coat hanger by the front door. As you searched the pockets of his jacket for the phone, your fingers brushed against something else.

The ringing stopped when you retrieved the item.

“Spencer, what’s this?” You asked, brows furrowed together.

The brunette doctor turned around. His gaze travelled to the small box you were holding up and he swallowed his breath. Shit. He completely forgot that was inside his jacket, which was ironic considering his eidetic memory. Not to mention the fact he’d been carrying it everywhere he went.

Spencer immediately jumped up from his seat. He appeared in front of you in a flash, his hand wrapping around yours and the box.

“This is definitely not how I envisioned this moment. But then again, when it comes to us, nothing ever goes as planned.” Spencer began, looking into your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but ehm, I’ve known I wanted to be the man you marry since before we even started dating. You’re the most patient, caring, loving, and not to mention beautiful person I’ve ever met. I am extremely lucky to have you in my life.”

Your eyes glossed over with tears as Spencer continued, “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. The journey you and I have been on so far is more than your average couple goes on. Which proves that together we are extraordinary.”

He took a deep breath before retrieving the box from your grasp. He slowly got down on one knee and proceeded to open the small box, causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. I understand that you may not be ready to take this next step with me yet, therefore this is more of a promise rather than a question.” He licked his lips, fighting back his own happy tears as yours trailed down your face.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me, one day?” Spencer asked and your heart soared at the question.

“Of course, yes. Yes, yes, yes! Yes!” You squealed, holding out your hand. The hazel-eyed doctor didn’t waste any time to put the ring on your finger, a goofy smile visible on his features. He then stood back up and kissed you with all his might, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into his embrace.

“I would marry you in a heartbeat, doctor.” You mumbled against his lips.

Effortlessly lifting you off the ground, Spencer spun you around. The two of you laughing uncontrollably, basking in the love you were both experiencing. Your fingers tangled in his brown hair, as he trailed sloppy kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

“I love you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before pulling back to look at your face, his hazel gaze locking with yours. “I love you too.” You exclaimed in a hushed tone and pecked his lips.

Gently, he lifted your hand to admire how the ring looked on your finger. His lips twirling upwards even more, as if that was even possible. Both of you felt as if you were on cloud nine.

This is what the rest of your life felt like.

I promise I'm the one for you Just let me hold you in these arms tonight

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A/N: ahhh we’re almost at the very end, i can’t believe it!! as always i’d love to hear your feedback! thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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